#only to discover that thomas has also changed in the same direction and is the first to suggest drastic action

[noknowshame]

black sails ending possibility #72: whether or not silver successfully 'unmakes' flint doesnt matter because it turns out that after spending a decade in asylums and prison camps thomas has also gotten radicalized as fuck and immediately reverses all of silver's efforts

[o-craven-canto]

Rough timeline of the discovery of genes and DNA

(mostly condensed from the first half of S. Mukherjee, The Gene: An Intimate History, 2016, and this 1974 paper)

1857-1864: Gregor Mendel experiments with breeding peas at the monastery of Brno. The results show that information about flower color, pod shape etc. is transmitted in discrete blocks that do not mix, and can persist unexpressed in a generation to manifest again in the next.

1865-1866: Mendel's results are published in a minor journal and effectively forgotten for 35 years. He corresponds with physiologist Carl von Nägeli, who dismisses them as "only empirical" (???).

1868: Unaware of Mendel's work, Darwin proposes pangenesis as mechanism of heredity: every body part produces "gemmules" that carry hereditary information and merge to form gametes. This does not explain how new traits aren't immediately diluted out of existence, or why acquired changes aren't inheritable.

1869: Friedrich Miescher extracts a mysterious substance from pus on used bandages and salmon sperm. He calls it nuclein (later: chromatin), as it seems to be concentrated in cell nuclei.

1878: Albrecht Kossel separates nuclein into protein and a non-protein component, which he calls nucleic acid, and breaks it down in five nucleotides.

1882: Darwin dies, bothered -- among other things -- by the lack of a plausible mechanism to transmit new variation. Legend has it that Mendel's paper lay on a bookshelf of his study, unread.

1883: August Weissmann, noting that mice with cut tails always give birth to fully-tailed mice, theorizes that hereditary information is contained in a "germplasm" fully isolated from the rest of the body, contra pangenesis. At each generation, only germplasm is transmitted, and gives separate rise to a somatic line, i.e. the body, which isn't.

ca. 1890: Studying sea urchin embryos in Naples, Theodor Boveri and Wilhelm von Waldeyer-Hartz notice large coiled masses of nuclein inside cell nuclei which can be dyed blue with aniline. They call them chromosomes, literally "colorful bodies". Simultaneously, Walter Sutton discovers chromosomes in grasshopper sperm.

1897: Hugo de Vries, after collecting hundreds of "monstrous" plant varieties near Amsterdam, realizes (also unaware of Mendel's work) that each trait is due to a single discrete particle of information, never mixing with the others, which he calls pangene in homage to Darwin. He also notices the appearance of completely new variants, which he calls mutants. In the same year, Carl Correns -- a former student of Nägeli, who had completely neglected to mention Mendel's work -- reproduces it exactly in Tubingen with pea and maize plants.

1900: Having finally found out about Mendel's publication, De Vries rushes to publish his model before he can be accused of plagiarism, which happens anyway. Correns does the same. Erich von Tschermak-Seysenegg also independently recreates Mendel's results with pea plants in Vienna. Come on, guys, this is embarassing.

1902: Boveri and Sutton independently propose that hereditary information is carried by chromosomes. Supporters of this hypothesis generally hold that information is carried by proteins, with the simpler nucleic acids (only 5 nucleotides vs. 20 aminoacids) serving as scaffold.

1905: William Bateson coins the word genetics to describe the field growing mostly from De Vries' work. He realizes it should be possible to deliberately select organisms for specific individual genes. Meanwhile, Boveri's student Nettie Stevens discovers in mealworms a strangely small chromosome that is found only in males -- chromosome Y. This is the first direct evidence that chromosomes do, in fact, carry genetic information.

1905-1908: Thomas Hunt Morgan and his students breed and cross thousands of fruit flies in a lab in New York. Contra Mendel, they notice that traits are not passed down in a completely independent way: for example, male sex and white eyes usually manifest together. This suggests that their information particles are attached to each other, so that the physically-closest traits are more likely (but not guaranteed!) to be transmitted together.

1909: Phoebus Levene and his coworkers break down nucleic acids by hydrolysis into sugars, phosphate, and nucleobases. They assume that nucleobases must repeat along a chain in a repetitive sequence. In a treatise on heredity, Wilhelm Johannsen shortens "pangene" to gene. It's a purely theoretical construct, with no known material basis.

1911: Using Morgan's data on trait linkage, his student Alfred Sturtevant draws the first genetic map, locating several genes along a fruit fly chromosome. Genetic information now has a physical basis, although not yet a mechanism of transmission.

1918: Statistician Ronald Fisher proposes that traits appearing in continuous gradients, such as height, can still be explained by discrete genes if multiple genes contribute to a single trait, resolving an apparent contradiction. (Six genes for height, for example, are enough to produce the smooth bell curve noticed half a century earlier by Francis Galton.)

ca. 1920: Bacteriologist Frederick Griffith is studying two forms of pneumococcus, a "smooth" strain that produces deadly pneumonia in mice (and people) and a "rough" strain that is easily dispatched by immunity. He finds out that if live "rough" pneumococci are mixed with "smooth" ones killed by heat, the "rough" can somehow acquire the deadly "smooth" coating from the dead.

1926: Hermann Muller, another student of Morgan, finds out he can produce arbitrary amounts of new mutant flies by exposing their parents to X-rays.

1928: Griffith describes the acquired "transformation" of bacteria in an extremely obscure journal.

1929: Levene identifies the sugars in "yeast nucleic acid" and "thymus nucleic acid" as ribose and deoxyribose, respectively. The two will henceforth be known as ribonucleic acid (RNA) and deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA).

ca. 1930: Theodosius Dobzhansky, who also had worked with Morgan, discovers in wild-caught fruit flies variations of wing size, eye structure etc. that are produced by genes arranged in different orders on the chromosome. This rearrangement is the first physical mechanism for mutation discovered.

1940: Oswald Avery repeats Griffith's experiments with pneumococci, looking for the "transforming principle". Filtering away the remains of the cell wall, dissolving lipids in alcohol, destroying proteins with heat and chloroform does not stop the transformation. A DNA-degrading enzyme, however, does. Therefore, it is DNA that carries genetic information.

1943: By mixing flies with different gene orders and raising the mixed populations at different temperatures, Dobzhansky shows that a particular gene order can respond to natural selection, increasing or decresing in frequency.

1944: Avery publishes his results on transforming DNA. Physicist Erwin Schrödinger writes a treatise (What Is Life?) in which he states, on purely theoretical ground, that genetic information must be carried by an "aperiodic crystal", stable enough to be transmitted, but with a sequence of sub-parts that never repeat.

1950: In Cambridge, Maurice Wilkins starts using X-ray diffraction to try and make a picture of the atomic structure of dried DNA (as Linus Pauling and Robert Corey had done earlier with proteins). He is later joined by Rosalind Franklin, who finds a way to make higher-quality pictures by keeping DNA in its hydrated state. By hydrolyzing DNA, Erwin Chargaff notes that the nucleobases A and T are always present in exactly the same amount, as if they were paired, and so are C and G -- but A/T and C/G can be different amounts.

1951: Pauling publishes a paper on the alpha-helix structure of proteins. Having attended talks by Wilkins and Franklin, James Watson and Francis Crick attempt to build a physical model of DNA, a triple helix with internal phosphate, but Franklin notes it's too unstable to survive.

1952: Alfred Hershey and Martha Chase mark the protein envelope of phage viruses with radioactive sulfur, and their DNA with radioactive phosphorus. The phosphorus, but not the sulfur, is transmitted to host bacteria and to the new generation of phages. This indicates that DNA is not just exchanged as "transforming principle", but passed down through generations.

1953: Pauling and Corey also propose a structure of DNA, but they make the same mistake as Watson and Crick. These receive from Wilkins an especially high-quality photo (taken in 1952 by either Franklin or her student Ray Gosling). Combining this picture with Chargaff's measurements, they conclude that DNA must be a double helix, with a sugar-phosphate chain outside, and nucleobases meeting in pairs on the inside (A with T, C with G). The complementary sequences of bases give a clear mechanism for the storage and replication of genetic information.

1950s: Jacques Monod and François Jacob grow the bacterium Escherichia coli alternately on glucose and lactose. While its DNA never changes, the RNA produced changes in step with the production of glucose-digesting and lactose-digesting enzymes. So DNA is not directly affected, but different sequences are copied onto RNA depending on need.

1958: Arthur Kornberg isolates DNA polymerase, the enzyme that builds new DNA strands in the correct sequence. By inserting into DNA a heavier isotope of nitrogen, Matthew Meselson and Franklin Stahl show that each strand remains intact, separating during replication and then serving as template for a new one.

1960: Sydney Brenner and Jacob purify messenger RNA from bacterial cells. This seems to copy the sequence of a single gene and carry it to ribosomes, where proteins are built. RNA must encode the sequence of aminoacids of a protein, presumably in sets of 3 nucleotides (the smallest that can specify 20 aminoacids).

1961-1966: Multiple labs working in parallel (Marshall Nirenberg-Heinrich Matthaei-Philip Leder, Har Khorana, Severo Ochoa) map every possible triplet of nucleotides to a corresponding aminoacid. Synthetic RNA is inserted into isolated bacterial ribosomes, and aminoacids are marked one at a time with radioactive carbon to check the sequence of the resulting proteins.

1970: Paul Berg and David Jackson manage to fuse DNA from two viruses into a single sequence ("recombinant DNA") using DNA-cutting enzymes extracted from bacteria.

1972-1973: Janet Mertz joins Berg and Jackson, and proposes inserting the recombinant DNA into the genome of E. coli, exploiting the bacterium for mass production. Herb Boyer and Stanley Cohen perform a similar experiment merging bacterial DNA, and linking it to an antibiotic-resistance gene so that the recombinant bacteria can be easily isolated.

1975-1977: Frederick Sanger isolates template strands of DNA to build new ones with DNA polymerase, but uses altered and marked nucleobases that stop polymerization. By doing so, then segregating the shortened sequences by length and recognizing their final base with fluorescence, it's possible to read the exact sequence of bases on a DNA strand.

[oswigailvr]

Hello everyone, I'm Oswigail and today I come to show you one of my alternate universes of Thomas and his friends, my human versions called 100% humanized, a world where the characters are students, locomotive drivers and locomotive drivers, or in some others. cases the guards or another official of the northwest railway of Sodor governed and directed by Sir Tophan Hat and here are the characters that have the most prominence in my au. 1 Thomas, who everyone already knows, but now as a young man of 15 years (in this universe he is paired with Rosie from the ships later we discuss) Thomas in this universe has the responsibility of being an older brother after saving his mother Lady from Diesel 10 he discovers that his mother had another daughter, one called Lady Jr, whom he must take care of at the request of his mother, whom it is not very common to see.2 Edward, a boy (here he is not old, honestly, he seems anything but an old man) well a wise and kind but shy but brave and helpful young man.3 Henry is the same scared young man as always paranoid and a little hypochondriac but it is simple a young man who was completely planned to be granted but not in the traditional way behind manipulating some things about his genetics looking for the perfect child was simply the opposite and the biggest scam and crime with the illusion of a couple who had difficulties having children, adding this to the unstable state of health of his mother, resulted in a premature Henry. and sickly going from hospital to hospital seeking to heal his illnesses until he decided to try experimental medications seeking to improve all his weaknesses and currently we are seeing the change (it is the equivalent of special charcoal and its reconstruction).4 Gordon, the oldest of the group although He shares the same age as his best friend Henry, the only one who will always have to endure him being childhood friends but still that bond is too strong Gordon and Henry are opposites because Henry is weak and sickly Gordon although he had health problems in the past more also family conflicts, he is Healthy, athletic, strong, fast and the strongest of the group, things that he seeks to increase in his quest to be the express train Gordon and Henry opposite but that does not prevent him from continuing to have his arrogant, arrogant, conceited, and even discriminatory attitudes that Henry almost always He has to correct so that his friend does not get the hatred of everyone because he knows better the reason for his attitude. 5 James, our dear reddish boy, the most conceited member of the steam team, conceited and often unbearable unless he has charisma James is simply James, I know he thinks he is the most handsome not only of the team but of the group but that doesn't stop him from having to put down to earth whenever he realizes or they let him know that he ruined everything James has a strong crush on Emily and hates seeing her sad because of him they are explosive many times but it is a relationship of yes you can stand me I will stand you better the typical boyfriends that one day they fight and the next they forgive each other.6 Percy is a very kind young man, Percy is small and adorable but he also has his fearful side but he also still retains his cheeky and mischievous side that he always tries to repress but it is something he knows will never go away. although a good friend to Thomas and a good boy to Lady Jr., Thomas' little sister. These are the first characters, the list goes on but I will bring it in parts

You can start asking your ship questions or au questions Or just questions from the characters I introduced for now

[gabrivale]

What happened to Arsenal?

"If you compare this game with last season, we can say it was 10 times better than last season, at least 10 times better." Hearing Arteta's words, and looking back at the result of Saturday's 2-2 game, Arsenal played at home, and Fulham lost one player in the last 10 minutes. I said bluntly: I am very disappointed.

It is true that the coach is not convinced after the game, and it is normal and commonplace for the coach to bite the bullet and say "we played better" if he did not play well. And Arsenal is indeed "overall dominant" in some statistics, such as the ball possession rate of more than 70%; as many as 19 shots are more than twice that of the opponent (8); the number of shots on target is even more , A total of 11 times crushed Fulham's 3 times. But is it really "Arsenal is better just bad luck"? As long as you have watched Arsenal's performance in the new season, you can actually detect that they have systemic problems, and it is not accidental that there are mistakes.

Generally speaking, 캡도메인 thinks that something like Saka's return error and direct assist to the opponent within one minute of the opening should be regarded as a temporary trance accident, but as long as you think about it a little bit, you will feel that this has already been buried. the bane. Why did Saka return the ball to a blank space without thinking? Wasn't it because of inertial thinking that he felt that there would be a right back/right center back there? But the reality is that Arteta changed his formation and changed his tactical requirements. Thomas, who was born as a defensive midfielder, wanted to play right back and move forward to the midfield. Ben White, who returned to the central defender position, had to pull side protection again. Just let out such a big hole.

Stubbornly trying new formations is the biggest "unsolved mystery" of Arsenal's new season. To put it simply, this is probably Arteta's continued tribute to Guardiola. Last season, he learned the trick of pressing the left back to the center to score the ball. This season, he will practice "right back kicking the midfielder". However, the staffing of Arsenal and Manchester City is not the same, and there is actually a subtle gap in the playing style. It is really awkward to copy them bluntly.

Not only this round, but also the 2-1 victory over Nottingham Forest in the first round of the league, the tactical problem is extremely conspicuous: even though Arsenal scored two goals in the first half, the defensive width is not enough, especially if they do not make up the right wing in time, they are afraid of being caught. The flaw of the quick raid was quickly discovered by the opponent, and it was good luck to be able to keep the 3 points in the end.

In fact, Manchester City's usual 4-back change to 3-back is mainly done by defenders such as Walker, Stones and Rico Lewis. It's putting the cart before the horse. What's even more weird is that Arsenal didn't lack a right back. Before Timber was injured and Tomiyasu got a red card, Arteta even handed over the left defensive position to the original right back, which is equivalent to disabling the entire defensive system. I tuned it again. And depending on the effect of such a change, losing 3 goals in 3 rounds is obviously not ideal. At the same time, it also aroused more doubts about the employment of the coach: As one of the absolute main players of the team last season, why did Saliba's best partner Gabriel suddenly come off the bench? Only played less than 30 minutes in the first two rounds, and even with Tomiyasu suspended in this round, Arteta's backup starter was Kiviol.

From a tactical point of view, it may be that the Polish defender is more suitable to play as a left back on the wing, while the Brazilian is closer to the traditional central defender, so he was sacrificed. But is this sacrifice worth it? When Fulham, who has one less man, used a corner kick to equalize the score, I believe many Arsenal fans will make the assumption: if Gabriel, who has a strong air defense ability, is there, will the opponent's 1.90-meter-tall Parrinha be the best? Won't be emptied?

Of course, there is another possibility that a Saudi team wants to sign Gabriel. If there is such a thing, it is logical that Gabriel is restless and not suitable for starting. But having said that, hasn't Thomas also had a scandal with the Saudi League this summer?

Arsenal decided to stay and stayed with peace of mind. Moreover, Gabriel only renewed his contract until 2027 in October last year. It must be more difficult for other teams to sign than to buy Thomas. In this regard, transfer expert Romano also broke the news not long ago: "Arsenal will not sell their high-quality players, even if someone offers 200 million euros, they will not let Gabriel go."

If Gabriel hadn't been temporarily abandoned because he wanted to leave, it would be even more bizarre for Arteta's tactical experimentation, which was tantamount to giving up his best central defender combination in order to let Thomas play the "right midfielder". At the same time, the staffing on the left and the offensive and defensive system on the right were also affected. Prior to this, Arteta had denied that he would send Tierney away, but now it seems that this traditional left-back with a side-to-side bottom is already on his way to Real Sociedad on loan-even if the "new main left-back Defender Timber will have to recuperate for a long time, and Arsenal will not have much time left for Tierney, because someone took up the right wing and started, and the back line suddenly became quite crowded.

Tierney was once considered the most promising player in Scotland and is expected to surpass Liverpool left-back Robertson. It is definitely a pity that he cannot shine in Arsenal or even lose his position completely. But what is even more regrettable is that the changes that forced him to leave did not bring enough ideal returns. If the reuse of Zinchenko last season activated Xhaka, the transformation of Thomas this season has not yet been discovered. of subtlety. As mentioned above, the gunners who have changed have defensive weaknesses on the right, and it doesn't stop there. The attack power on the right also has a downward trend. Although Saka scored the world wave in the first round and tied for the top scorer in the team with 2 goals in 3 rounds, without Ben White's frequent lapping and cooperation, there are indeed more scenes where the English winger struggles to fight alone. In addition, let’s look at the team’s 3 assists. Except for Saliba who steals from the right frontcourt in the first round, Martinelli and Fabio Vieira both assisted from the left. Vieira also made points in this game Enter from the left.

The hidden dangers in the backcourt have become bigger, and the two wings of the frontcourt cannot fly at the same time. The "most significant effect" of the new formation is only to increase a large number of invalid ball possession. This is certainly not a successful attempt, so it is also puzzling why Arteta is so stubborn. After switching back to the old routine of last season, the Gunners' substantial threats immediately increased. Two goals in a row resulted in a red card. If it weren't for the distraction at the last moment, it is quite hopeful to get 3 points.

Another point that must be mentioned is that in the pre-season warm-up stage, Arteta’s tactical choice is not as unconventional as it is now: 4 defenders configuration, the central defender is basically the same as last season, the right is either Ben White, Timber or Tomiyasu, at most The use of Timber and Kiviol on the left is a bit of an experiment. Including the Community Shield against Manchester City, Timber, Gabriel, Saliba and Ben White were side by side from left to right, and they did not show the feeling of changing their faces completely. In this regard, 캡도메인 can only guess that Arteta may feel that some problems have been revealed in the warm-up match, so he needs to solve them by changing formations.

So what's the problem? One thing is certain is that after Xia Chuang spent 200 million pounds on reinforcements, spending money did not make the Gunners feel "doubled in strength", but needed to find their own balance again. From being defeated 2-0 by Manchester United with a surprise attack, to staged a 5-3 goal battle with the under-prepared Barcelona, ​​Arsenal's defensive performance has always been flawed-including 4 warm-up matches, they have only had one match in the past 7 games. Crystal Palace got a clean sheet.

Although Rice, who is worth more than 100 million, is considered the best defensive midfielder in England, it is definitely not the best choice to entrust all the interception tasks to one person. Compared with last season, Arsenal's midfielder did not have Xhaka, who was "backward and forward", and Haverts, who was withdrawn from the guest center position, the overall defensive ability must have declined, so let Thomas help It is also a way of thinking. But there are only so many positions in the midfield, and the left and right wingers and Erdegaard's main positions are unshakable. Haverts has long proved embarrassing and useful as a center forward, so there is a "sacrifice right back"?

As far as the current situation is concerned, no matter what Arteta's thinking is, the goal he wants must not be achieved. The backcourt is chaotic, and the frontcourt is not that powerful, especially Haverts, who was introduced with a lot of money, seems a bit at a loss in the whole system. You can't count on him in defense, and the organization doesn't need him, and the "forward feature" that was originally considered to be highly malleable can't show its effect. Against Fulham, the German also had two "wonderful shots": one was when Saka knocked from behind in the first half, and Haverts outflanked the empty goal. The opponent's defender almost missed the sideline; the second is the left-sided inverted triangle assist Erdegao scored a long-range shot, but the ball was offside first, and the German was not rushing fast, so he passed the ball instead of The shot is over.

[startanewdream]

Do you know when there is something you are really happy of how it turned out but you also know that you'll never finish it? So a while ago I tried to write a fic about Harry realizing a little bit sooner that he fancied Ginny and Ginny not dating Dean at the beginning of HBP. All because, really, I wanted to give them more time together and allow Harry to be more of a teenager in love.

Well, I won't finish this, but it's too long to sit unread on my desktop, so I hope you enjoy those little moments of Hinny that could have been, with a strangely romantic Harry.

The moment that Ginny walks away from him, after telling she promised to meet her friends on the Hogwarts Express, Harry feels a strange twinge of annoyance. He watches her go, her long hair dancing behind her in a way that seems to reflect all the sunlight and he thinks he has become so used to her presence over the summer that he hadn’t stopped to think she usually did not hang out with him while at school.

He wishes he’d asked her sooner to sit with him.

It’s only when he is walking along the train with Neville and Luna, and he sees Cho Chang darting hurriedly into her compartment to avoid him, that he realizes this is not the first time he has wished he’d invited someone sooner. A shiver goes through his spine as he realizes the implications.

It’s not as if he feels for Ginny as he felt for Cho, he reasons silently. When he was near Cho, he was always nervous, like if there was a hole in his chest that was threatening to engulf him.

When he thinks of Ginny, he doesn’t feel nervous, he doesn’t feel like he is missing anything. If he thinks of Ginny in those last weeks of the summer, he remembers her being brighter than the summer sun. She is lively and fiery, and Harry had enjoyed her company, had shared her jokes, had made her laugh as much as she had made him laugh. After everything that happened – after Sirius – it had been nice to feel light and Ginny had helped him.

He feels peaceful and complete around her, which Harry tells himself it is perfectly reasonable. She is his friend after all, and if he considers Ron as his brother, then she would be like his sister, like Hermione.

Except now that Harry’s mind is grasping the effects of Ginny Weasley on his life, he realizes he doesn’t really think of her as his sister, no way. He remembers watching her imitating Fleur, her long red hair dancing around her in a way that seemed more entrancing than any veela power Harry ever met; he remembers when they got caught in the summer rain and the way her clothes were glued to her body and he had hastily looked away, feeling so embarrassed at how his stupid teenage body was reacting to that vision.

But now Harry doesn’t think it was just a normal teenage reaction. He thinks about how it would be if he were in the same situation with Hermione and the thought is unappealing just because he doesn’t really see her as anything but his friend.

It’s not the same with Ginny.

He thinks about her smile, about her long red hair, about the curves of her body he’d noticed even though he tried not to and about the freckles on her face that he was once strangely attempted to count.

He feels attracted to her.

That realization comes at the same moment that Ron enters their compartment and Harry feels suddenly guilty; Ron trusts him. He remembers hearing to Fred and George teasing her about her previous boyfriend and how her brothers are so protective of her; Ron would hate him if he knew Harry was –

What? Harry doesn’t know what he is feeling. Somehow this makes him feel less guilty. So he thinks Ginny is pretty. That’s reasonable, anyone with eyes could see she’s beautiful. So he misses her presence; that’s also fair, considering how much time they spent together over the summer.

That doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself when he attends the invitation of Slughorn and his heart skips when he sees that Ginny is already there.

It’s just a silly attraction, he insists, when his fists close after hearing Blaise Zabini commenting on how good-looking she is.

Oh, I'm screwed, he admits when Hermione is explaining how Amortentia works and Harry knows exactly whose perfume he is smelling in the potion.

-----------------

So he has a crush on Ginny Weasley.

That’s okay, Harry tells himself, I can manage it.

Except he is really horrible at pretending he doesn’t care for her. Harry knows this is stupid; it’s not like those feelings developed overnight, he probably was falling for her during the summer, but somehow realizing these feelings exist have made him flustered around her.

He nearly drools during trials when she flies perfectly and outflows all the competition, thinking that her flying is better than any dance he’d ever seen.

He sighs watching her play with her pigmy puff, and he looks around hoping that no one saw it.

Still, he can’t help but keep stealing glances at her in the Common Room, careful only to avoid Hermione’s increasingly knowing looks, and he realizes that maybe he should stop pretending he doesn’t have feelings for Ginny when he sees her talking to a boy from her year.

They could be just friends, for all Harry knows, but that’s when he understands that if he doesn’t do anything, someone will ask her out and eventually she will say yes.

He remembers how she teased a while ago that she was going out with Dean Thomas just to pest Ron and he feels suddenly happy that Dean is not on the Quidditch Team, that he doesn’t spend much time with her. He’d heard Dean and Seamus talking in low voices about her in their dormitory when Ron is not around, and he knows Dean still fancies her.

Sometimes Harry looks at Ginny and wonders what she would say if he asks her out. He remembers Hermione telling them that Ginny used to like him but she gave up on him ages ago. Indeed, now she treats him with so much friendship that Harry wonders if she will just be offended with his invitation. That fear burns inside him, but he cannot help himself from walking back with her from training – even if Ron’s there most of the time – and he doesn’t really think when he volunteers to help her with some spells for extra points in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry soon finds out it was a terrible wonderful idea to spend a few hours with her on Friday night, just the two of them, in a closed classroom. His heart is beating faster as he watches her dodge his spells and he knows it’s not adrenaline from the duel. It’s her, it’s always her.

She is strong, he realizes, when Ginny looks fiercely as she fights him, her eyes blazing with determination and she deflects spell after spell he throws in her direction. She is gorgeous, he notices shamelessly, when her face is red and sweaty from their duel, and she is beaming at him at the end of their duel.

‘You are amazing’, he says and if his eyes are shining he thinks it could be explained by the fact that she really was very good.

But what he can’t explain is how much the energy he was spending on their duel is still running through his vein, filling him with heat and desire for her, desire to do something, anything. He wonders what she would say if he suddenly acted in his urges and just kissed her – he wonders if she would hex him if he pushed her against the wall, and his lips captured hers, his body pressed against hers, feeling her curves, their hands desperate, hearing her moan into his kiss –

‘Thanks’, she says, breaking his imagination. Harry nods, avoiding looking at her. The images are still very clear in his head and he’s glad he’s wearing a cloak. It’s much easier to hide the effects of his imagination this way. ‘I thought you were going easy on me at first’.

It’s the teasing in her voice that makes Harry turns towards her and he almost regrets it. She is still breathing hard, sweat shining on her neck, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to her neckline and then lower seeing her chest going up and down and suddenly the room becomes even hotter.

It takes real effort to look her in the eyes.

‘I would never’, he promises. ‘You’d hex me if I did’.

She giggles and Harry pretends that innocent sound doesn’t fill his chest with longing.

‘Let’s go? I need a bath after this’, she says and Harry considers seriously that she has to know the effect her comment makes on him. His imagination has been working overtime lately.

‘I need too’, he whispers more to himself than her. He doubts she needs a cold shower as much as he does.

‘So’, she begins, as they walk back to the Gryffindor Tower. ‘Excited for tomorrow?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t tell me you forgot the first trip to Hogsmeade. I’ve been waiting for ages for a day-off’.

The thing is Harry hadn’t forgotten Hogsmeade. He couldn’t, not when ideas of taking a stroll with Ginny through the village were constant on his mind; he’d thought about it ever since they announced the date of the trip, but his – that one that always got him into trouble – had faltered him for once.

‘I just lost track of time’, he says, hoping to sound distracted. ‘Got any plans?’

‘None so far’, she replies, her voice sounding as distant as his.

Harry takes a deep breath and urges himself to be brave. If he can face a basilisk, he can do this.

‘You could come with me’, he says, and when she turns to look at him, Harry discovers that looking her directly in the eyes would probably be as mortal as a basilisk eye. ‘Us, I mean, me and Ron and Hermione’. Harry forces himself to smile calmly, even though his heart is beating painfully fast now. ‘You know, if you want our company’.

He glances briefly at her. Ginny is frowning slightly.

‘I don’t want to intrude’, she says finally. Harry is glad she is not rejecting the idea.

‘You wouldn’t’. He smiled as charmingly as he can. ‘Come on, it will be like summer over again, we can tease Ron and Hermione’.

She laughs. ‘I would never miss an opportunity to tease them’, she agrees, and Harry tries not to beam as she accepts joining him – them – for Hogsmeade.

But he beams later that night when he hears Dean grumbling to Seamus that he’d asked Ginny out for Hogsmeade and she answered that she already had other plans.

Plans. They have plans together.

---------------------

The trip to Hogsmeade is an utterly disappointment, with the bad weather and finding Mundungus Fletcher nicking Sirius’s stuff and the curse of Katie Bell. Not even Ginny’s presence is enough to save the day and Harry is left feeling miserable the whole weekend.

The meeting with Dumbledore helps to ease his tension – never mind that they are discussing Voldemort’s past – but it’s in the next morning that Harry feels hopeful again.

First, Hermione tells him of Slughorn’s Christmas party and Harry’s mind, already exceptionally good at creating scenarios involving him and Ginny (he’s been so creative lately that he thinks he could provide ideas for Fred and George’s Patented Daydream Charm), immediately wants this opportunity to ask Ginny out. And second, Hermione invites Ron to go with her, and Ron’s subsequently bliss is enough for Harry to feel that his best friend wouldn’t mind if he asks Ginny out.

Harry tries to say to himself that it’s still early – they’ve just entered November and the party is a month away, but an unforeseen complication arrives the moment that Harry asks Dean to join the team.

He’d thought that Dean would have given up on Ginny already, but from what he collects – and Harry is becoming really good at overhearing conversations -, Dean considered that Ginny denying his invitation was not because she already had a date, just because she was going with her brother. He sees Dean is more invested than ever, and when he gives her a very nice drawing of her face, Harry feels suddenly useless.

Dean can draw. What can Harry do? Sure, he flies well, but it’s not like he could impress Ginny with that when she probably flies better than him. And it’s not like being the Chosen One is a talent – it’s more of a burden, really, and Ginny already knows him enough to see he is not a hero.

He’s feeling really dismayed after the training and for once, when he realizes he and Ginny are alone in the changing room, he doesn’t feel excited.

‘Spit it out’, she says, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, as soon as the door closes after Ron.

‘What?’

‘What’s been bothering you’. She frows at him. ‘You’ve been quiet all training. You didn’t say anything when I called Ron a prat. You didn’t say anything when Ron punched Demelza and he really deserved a call. So tell me, what’s wrong?’

‘Do you ever feel like a failure?’

She blinks, clearly not expecting that question.

‘Hum. Yeah. I once opened a secret chamber, you know’.

‘That was Voldemort, not you’.

‘Well -’, she takes a step back, but she relaxes her arms. ‘But before it was his fault, it was mine. I only let him get to me because I was feeling so insecure’.

‘You were eleven’.

‘When you were eleven you were stopping You-Know-Who’, notes Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘But what I meant is that I still question myself sometimes. And when I do, I remember that the last time I really doubted myself, I let someone control me’. Her gaze burns into his eyes and Harry thinks she never looked so fierce than now. ‘No fear will ever control me again’.

Oh, God, he feels so smitten by her.

‘Thanks’, he says instead of pulling her closer to him, which is everything his body screams for him to do. She smiles.

‘No problem, Captain. And you are not a failure. How could you be when you have me in the team?’

He laughs easily.

As they walk the grounds, Harry asks her in the most meaningless voice he can manage: ‘I saw Dean giving you a present early. You and him –‘

She sighs and Harry tries to understand if it’s a happy or sad sigh.

‘Yeah, he is – and that’s his words, not mine – courting me’.

She doesn’t sound pleased and Harry’s heart nearly bursts then, satisfied.

‘It was a nice drawing’, he says nonchalantly. She just nods. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Really? We wouldn’t work out together’.

‘How do you know?’, asks Harry, but he is not really thinking about Dean.

‘Well, for starters, he uses the term courting’, she says, making Harry chuckle without meaning to. ‘It’s just – well, I had one relationship so I’m not an expert but – he is the kind of guy who runs to open doors and I am the kind of girl who likes to open doors for herself. We just wouldn’t click’.

‘Oh!’, Harry bits his lips but the question is his mind slips through his mouth anyway. ‘And what kind of guy am I?’

She stops to look at him. They are a few steps away from the Entrance Hall and Harry almost lost his track when he sees her illuminated by the light of the castle. It feels like a vision from the heavens.

‘The kind who would let a girl open the door if she were closer’, she says warmly, but before Harry can answer, she turns away from him, entering the castle.

--------------------

The minute the door closes on the changing room, Harry lets out a dismayed sigh. His plan was supposed to help Ron get his confidence again, to let himself back into that bliss that had accompanied him in the days after Hermione asked him out for Slughorn’s party. Now, he doesn’t even know if Ron and Hermione will remain friends.

When he leaves the changing room, there is a crowd, many of whom are congratulating him. He just nods without really listening and when someone pulls him away from the crowd, he reacts until he realizes it’s Ginny.

‘Come on’, she says and instead of taking the shortcut that every other Gryffindor is using, they use the normal stairs to go up. ‘What happened?’, Ginny asks, when the sound of the crowd vanishes behind them.

He tells the story in a low voice, not wanting to look at her as he recalls his plan, wondering now how he didn’t think Hermione would assume the worst –

‘It was a good plan’, Ginny mumbleswhen he finishes the story. They are in the seventh-floor corridor now, and she stops by a window, crossing her arms as she lays her back against the wall. The wind makes her hair flow like flames around her; this distracts Harry for a few seconds until he sighs.

‘It backfired completely’.

‘Well, yes, but only after the game’. She bits her lips, thoroughly. ‘But for your plan of helping Ron, it worked. He is a good keeper when he can keep his head in the right place’.

‘Yeah’. He sighs again, taking a step closer to her and looking at the window, trying to ignore how her scent of flowers threatens to overwhelm him. ‘Except now he is mad at Hermione and she is feeling hurt and –‘

‘They are bickering, Harry’, she notes. ‘That’s what they do’.

‘Yeah, but –‘, he remembers that day in the greenhouses. ‘- but for once they were closer to be over that phase, you know? They were going together to Slughorn’s party’.

‘They still will’, Ginny says calmly. ‘It’s just another fight for them. You could call it foreplay even’.

‘Ew, thanks for the image’, he complains, but there is a smile on his face that reveals his amusement. It’s easy to let her quiet words wash over him, drawing away the apprehension.

That’s Ginny’s power over him, he thinks. There is a lightness in her, something that makes him feel as if he had just eaten a chocolate after encountering a dementor, or as if he is as protected as if he just casted the Patronus Charm.

‘You know, I can’t still believe Hermione invited Ron’, she says almost absently.

When Harry thinks about it, he considers that maybe Hermione just lost the patience that Ron would ever ask her out; but right now, he feels envy for her courage, for her stepping over any fear and asking out someone who is one of her closest friends. If Hermione could do it, then he can too.

‘I take you are nervous about it?’, she asks, and Harry turns to her, confused to what she means. ‘About Ron and Hermione, you know, dating’.

Harry shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

‘As long as I don’t have to see it’, he says. She raises her eyebrows, not believing his indifference. ‘Okay, I worry a bit. If they split up, I don’t know how things would be’.

‘No one knows. But that’s their problem, Harry, not yours’.

‘Our friendship –‘

‘- will survive’, she finishes for him.

‘How do you know?’

‘With the things you’ve faced together, you just can’t stop being friends’. She stares at him for a few seconds, then adds gently: ‘And they won’t ever leave you’.

He blinks, losing himself in the warm brown of her eyes, marvelous at how she always seems to read his mind. He wonders if there is more she can see through him.

If she knows how he feels for her.

‘And if they do split up, at least they will know. Not knowing is the worst sometimes’.

Harry agrees. Sometimes at night when he wonders how it would be Ginny’s reaction to him asking her out, he thinks that the agony of unknowing is worse than any rejection he could face.

‘So it’s good they have a date’, Ginny is saying, seeming to not notice any of Harry’s internal discussion. ‘Slughorn’s party looks nice’, she glances at him rather amusedly. ‘You would know if you had gone into any of his dinners’.

‘I wish I’d gone’, Harry says rather fervidly, thinking he’d enjoy that extra time with Ginny. Then he takes a deep breath. It doesn’t make sense to wish for more time and do nothing about it. ‘Are you going with someone?’

She blinks slowly.

‘Dean’s been giving me some hints he’d like to go with me, but, you know –‘

‘- you are not interested in being courted’, he remembers, with a smile that is calmer than he really feels. His heart is beating so loud in his chest that he wonders if she can hear it. ‘So if you don’t have any plans, would you like to come with me?’

The words are said so naturally that something inside him is almost applauding him, elated that he could really ask her without tumbling the words; he can still remember that Wangoballwime fiasco. But now, as time seems to stop as he waits for her answer, he thinks it’s obvious he would be better asking Ginny out.

Whatever he felt for Cho is in no way comparable to what he feels now.

Ginny is still looking at him, without blinking, and he thinks it’s the first time in a long time he sees her so quiet.

‘Just to be clear –‘, she begins, then she shakes her head. He sees her taking a short breath. ‘We could go together, yes’. There is a smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I imagine this way Romilda Vane and all those other girls will stop pestering you about’.

He could just nod. He could accept her perfect reasonable explanation for them going together to the party and that way there will be no chance of things being weird between them.

But for her, he is willing to take a chance.

‘They would, but that’s not because I am asking you’, he says, his voice low. 'I really -'

There is a high shriek on the end of the corridor. They turn around together to see the portrait of the Fat Lady opening and Hermione is leaving the Common Room. There is a cloud of birds around her head and as they watch, the birds suddenly fly directly to the Common Room; there is a scream of pain.

Harry and Ginny look at each other.

'I'll see Hermione', she says, just as Harry nods.

'I'll go check Ron', and they split.

--------------------

There are many things Harry could've foreseen, but Ron dating Lavender Brown is not one of them.

Things between Ron and Hermione are rocky, and as he plays the middle man between them, he finds out there is not much room for telling either of them that he has invited Ginny to go with him to Slughorn's party.

He supposes Ron wouldn't be mad at him, but he only supposes because his friend is always occupied with Lavender these days - or rather their mouths are. At least Harry feels any protectiveness of Ron would be rather hypocrite considering how much Harry has unfortunately seen his best friend snogging.

And Hermione looks so heartbroken and furious these days that he doesn't have the heart to tell her about his plans with Ginny.

He couldn't stop beaming if he told her and that's not very tactful.

Sometimes he feels like the worst friend – his best friends aren't talking to each other, Ron has lost himself in a relationship and Hermione is so upset – but the truth is that the idea of going on a date with Ginny fills his heart with glee and makes him want to sing.

And if Ginny mentioned to anyone that they will go together, Harry wouldn't know. He thinks not, because he doesn't hear anyone talking about it – and between Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane, he would've heard; even Ron would return to the surface to say something, he thinks.

It's just one of these things that somehow feels weird to announce after not announcing it immediately, so he considers that people will just notice when they go together.

And it's not like there is anything different between him and Ginny. She treats him as normal as before he'd asked her out, and if their eyes meet randomly through the day – and she smiles at him – it's still normal.

But he waits more anxiously than before to Slughorn's party, imagining candle lights and romantic songs, maybe a slow dance.

He can’t dance for his life, but for Ginny he thinks he could learn ballet.

Romilda Vane keeps hinting that she’d like to go to the party with him and Hermione advices that he should ask someone else so people can stop pestering him.

‘I have’, he says finally, and the smile is already in the corner of his mouth, as much as he wants to pretend it's no big deal. ‘I’m going with Ginny’.

His attempt at apathy is pathetic and even though Hermione has not been herself lately, she is still smart enough to see right past him.

‘Oh. Finally, then’.

Harry pretends to not understand.

‘Why are you keeping it a secret?’

They aren’t, not really, so Harry just shrugs. He has dealt with the effects that being related to him have caused before, and he doesn’t want for it to happen again - not so soon, not before he and Ginny even… What?

He doesn’t know what he is waiting to happen first, but, still, it seems important to wait.

‘You better tell…’, Hermione is suddenly quiet. ‘Well, you don’t want people to know second-hand’.

Harry sighs, but he nods in agreement. Hermione is probably right, as always.

‘For what matters, Harry, I’m happy for you. I hope things go well’. They exchange a short smile, before Hermione is serious again. ‘Now, I really think you need to be careful with love potions...’

Hermione’s advice - both about love potions and telling Ron – stays in Harry’s mind. He doesn’t get the chance to tell Ron that night – Ron’s too much occupied with Lavender to notice Harry – and he promises that he will tell Ron the next day, hoping his friend won’t notice that he is telling just hours before the party.

The next morning, he waits until Ron finishes his breakfast – his humour is always better when his stomach is full – before telling him bluntly just outside the Transfiguration classroom.

‘There’s something I need to tell you. Slughorn’s party tonight. I’m going with Ginny’.

The fact that Ron doesn’t immediately draw his wand encourages Harry.

‘Ginny? As in my sister Ginny?’

Harry nods in silence, careful not to give any provocative answer. Sarcasm has always been his best defence, but he doesn't think Ron would appreciate it right now.

‘As friends?’

‘Hmmm, not exactly, we - we will see’.

‘Oh’.

And then Ron stays silent, but Harry sees him throwing glances at Hermione for the first time in weeks and when Lavender approaches him, he looks less thrilled than before.

‘Don’t mess this up’, is all Ron says quietly to him, just before the class begins, and Harry wonders if Ron is sorry for all the things he has messed up with his own love life.

-----------------

The thing is Harry doesn’t get many moments in his life where he can feel like something has changed; well, at least not many good moments. When he found out he was a wizard is one. The first time he flew on a broomstick. When he and Ron saved Hermione and they became friends.

But he likes to think he’s in one of these moments now, as he watches Ginny coming down the stairs.

He knows she is beautiful and he knows he has been smitten with her for a while now, but still his heart skips a beat as he takes in her figure: the shining red hair, which instead of being in the usual practical ponytail is falling in delicate curls; the way her eyes are glinting, with a soft make-up that he rarely sees her wearing; and the dark green robes she wears, hightlighting her figure and showing her curves much more than the school robes.

'Hi', she says brightly, and Harry appreciates the fact that she doesn't comment on how he is blushing (he must be, his face seems to be on flames) or how he's staring open-mouthed at her. 'You look nice'.

Harry couldn't describe for his life the clothes he is wearing. He could be naked and he wouldn't notice it.

'You look amazing', he insists, and there is so much sincerity in her voice that a light pinkness arises in her face.

But all she says is: 'Shall we go?'

He nods quietly, and then he wonders if he should offer his hand - or his arm? His arm would be the respectable option, but if he took her hand, then -

Ginny decides it for him. As they walk through the portrait, in a gesture that seems more natural than breathing, she takes his hand.

Her hand is soft and warm and as their fingers interlace, it takes all of Harry's effort not to kiss her now and then, even before their date really begins.

'Who do you think Slughorn invited?', she asks, her voice casual.

Harry smiles to himself. Of course Ginny wouldn't let things get strange between them.

They talk normally as they descend the stairs to Slughorn's office, and Harry is feeling silly for all the times he has feared that something could go wrong this night. It's Ginny whom he is with.

So he talks with Slughorn and accepts being presented to anyone because with Ginny by his side, he thinks he can face anything. She makes funny comments – and Harry chokes more than once when she passes ironic comments with the most innocent face he's ever seen – and after a while he notes that even when the people they are talking to were originally interested in Harry, it's Ginny that draws the attention. She is so lively that he can't blame others for noticing it.

They talk and they laugh and they save Hermione from Cormac McLaggen.

''She'll come back in a minute, Cormac', Ginny says with a straight face when McLaggen asks them if they saw Hermione. 'Why don't you try these custard creams while you wait?, and she apparently takes a biscuit from the nearest tray, offering him one. 'Let's get some air, Harry?'

Harry nods with a smile, already awaiting. He and Ginny are already on the other side of the room when there is a sudden pop and they turn to watch a canary appearing in the middle of Slughorn's office, in the place McLaggen was.

They laugh together, but as his eyes meet hers, Harry feels the reason for his amusement changing.

Or maybe not. In any case it is Ginny that makes him happy.

But now instead of feeling joy for a prank, he feels a quiet warmth spreading through his body and when their laugh dies, the silence that fills them is not heavy; it's a silence that questions Harry and it's a silence that there is only one answer he could give.

His eyes drift to her lips for a brief second – they are pink and shiny and they look so soft – and when he looks at her again, there is a blazing look in her face that Harry wants to see forever.

Her hand is still connected with his – he realizes now that they never once broke apart during the party – so it's the easiest thing to pull her through a curtain, to a nice desert balcony and take a step closer to her.

For a moment, they stand together, looking at each other, then Harry presses his lips softly to hers.

The softness lasts two seconds as if neither believes the kiss is really happening. Then Ginny places her free hand on his neck and Harry holds her by the waist and then suddenly they are closer, their bodies together and their lips urgently. Her lips part and he can taste her - really feel the taste of the butterbeer she drank and the other flavor that is spicy and sweet and intoxicating that screams of Ginny. Her hand playing in his hair causes shivers that have nothing to do with the cold air of December.

A part of Harry wonders if maybe there are fireworks in the party, because he can hear them exploding, he can see all the colours even though his eyes are closed. He doesn't know where he is, what day it is,how long they've been kissing each other on that balcony; all he knows is that she is the only real thing in the world and he promises he won't ever stop kissing her –

Unfortunately Harry breaks this promise a second later. There is a distraction back in the room and the loud noise is enough to break them apart. Still, Harry doesn't really move, breathing hard – they hadn't stopped for something as silly as breathing –, his heart pumping fast in his chest, all his senses still concentrated on Ginny, until he recognises the voices.

Snape. Malfoy. Their voices break through his bubble of happiness and blissfulness.

His distress must be evident on his face, because Ginny takes a step back, with a knowing smile, and pulls him back to Slughorn's office.

He watches the discussion and when Snape and Malfoy are leaving, he hesitates, looking back at Ginny.

For one second his eyes drift to her lips – their lipstick is gone and he remembers his promise, wants to taste her again, wants to be lost in the feeling of having her in his arms –, but when their eyes meet, she unclasps their hands.

'Go', she says in a quiet voice. 'I'll come up with something'. When he still doesn't move, she smiles slightly. 'We'll have all winter holiday, Harry'.

It's that promise – and the ideas of being together with her for two weeks – that makes him leave her side for the night.

------------------

He doesn't meet Ginny again until the next morning, when he arrives to get the Floo for the Burrow.

Ginny smiles brightly at him. His body reacts as always – warmth spreads through every part, a grin comes to his face and his heart beats faster –, but it's a welcome feeling after all the worry he had been with Unbreakable Vows or whatever.

He will worry about it later; now his only concern is being with Ginny and –

His eyes fall on Ron, at her side. His best friend has his eyebrows raised, and he looks to Harry rather questioningly, but he stays strangely quiet. Then Lavender is there, kissing him as if Ron's going to war, rather than being away from her for two weeks, and Ginny rolls her eyes in disgust, but doesn't say anything.

'Happy Holidays, Harry, Ginny', he hears Hermione saying by his side, her eyes suddenly red and she enters the fireplace hurriedly.

Ginny scowls at this and throws an annoyed look at Ron – Harry sees her hand twitching to brag ger wand –, but she presses her lips firmly.

Harry feels like he's missing something.

'Hi', he begins tentatively, and Ginny turns to him with a softer expression.

'Hi. Ready to go?'

'Always. Ah - about the end of the party –'

Her smile falters for a short second.

'No harm done. I got back in time to save Hermione one last time from McLaggen, so everything worked out perfectly'.

Harry sighs.

'That is not how I imagined the night ending'.

'So you were imagining things?', she asks teasingly and Harry feels his cheek burning, but he nods, taking a careful step closer to her.

'I've been imagining them for a while now', he whispers, for once happy with all the kissing noise of Ron and Lavender behind them. There is a sparkle in Ginny's eyes now.

'Perhaps we can turn those imaginations into reality'.

He raises his hand, putting a lost strand of her hair behind her ear, and he thinks her smile is warmer than the fireplace in the room. He wonders if he'd dare kiss her now – there is certainly a challenge in her eyes – but before he can move, McGonagall is calling them for taking the Floo.

'Later then', whispers Ginny, winking at him, and Harry's heart beats faster.

------------------

The Christmas Holiday is anything but frosty for Harry, even though he has his fair share of stressful moments - werewolves, discussing Unbreakable Vows, unexpected visits from the Minister of Magic.

Still, if Harry had to summarize those two weeks in one word, he would say Ginny.

Not that anyone asks him about. There is some mutual agreement between Ron and Ginny, so no one knows they went out together to Slughorn's party just as Fred and George are left without knowing about Ron's new girlfriend and their activities.

That means no one – except Ron but he is turning a blind eye, albeit a slight judgemental blind eye – really understand why Harry is grinning through the holidays, why he always wakes up smiling, why he offers to help Ginny set the decorations, why he and Ginny tries to cook apple pie closed together in the kitchen (the pie ends up quite tasty if a little bit burnt).

Sometimes Harry thinks people should know – they can't be really keeping a secret from Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley always seemed to know things –, but most of the time his thoughts are occupied somewhere else.

Or rather in someone else.

Harry is patient on the first day of the holidays. He lets Mrs. Weasley take care of him – complaining that he is still too thin, asking how things are in school – until he drops his things on Ron's bedroom and says something about needing to take some air. Ron is not convinced, but Harry can't really care right now. Thirty seconds after leaving Ron he is already out of the house; ten seconds later, Ginny is in his arms, her body pressed against his as they kiss under an apple tree in the garden.

It's hidden there, with only the moonlight as witness, and Harry loses himself gladly in the feeling of her lips, her hands in his neck, the softness of her skin as he finds an opening in her jumper and touches her back, marvelling at the fact that she trembles upon his touch.

It's a routine they will share for the next few days. Hidden stolen moments in the garden, in the attic (ignoring the sleeping ghoul there), their lips exploring each other, discovering the best angle to kiss, until they are both left gasping for air, their lips swollen from the kisses and with that smile that Harry feels like an outdoor for ‘hey, I’ve been snogging’.

Still, no one asks him anything and for once Harry prefers it that way. They will tell people later, it’s just that for now it’s good to keep a secret that has nothing to do with Dark Arts or Voldemort, and it’s good to avoid any teasing or older brother-talking or – as Ginny says with a shudder – Mrs. Weasley’s delightful approval.

Maybe people think they are just good friends. In fact, every time he can’t be alone with Ginny without arousing suspicion, they are together, talking and discussing anything. It’s not much different from what they did during summer holidays, but Harry now thoroughly appreciates how Ginny is a good company, how he can talk to her about any subject.

Well, almost any subject. She doesn’t ask what he found out following Malfoy and Snape on the night of Slughorn’s party, and Harry doesn’t want to share with her – not because he doesn’t trust her, but because telling her it would somehow involve in that mystery and it would be too close to the fact that he is the Chosen One, and when he is with her, he just wants to forget it and be a normal teenager.

She seems to understand it. That's the thing he most likes about her, more even than the physical things he feels when he is with her; she never presses him for anything.

They kiss under the mistletoe she has left on the porch (and Harry can't help but think it's really an improvement from his first kiss), they kiss in the kitchen when they happen to meet late in the night for a hot chocolate (that he can taste in her lips).

It's the best holiday Harry ever had.

--------------

The night before they return to Hogwarts, Ron asks Harry nervously:

'What's going on between you and Ginny? Are you going out?'

Harry hesitates for a second.

'I don't know', he answers truthfully, but now that Ron has asked, this uncertainty bothers him. Ron frowns, his disapproval evident, and Harry hurries to add: 'I'm not messing her around. I really like her'.

At this, Ron seems to relax a little.

'Just - just talk to her, ok? I don't want people saying that my sister - well - just decide what's going on with you two'.

Harry nods in silence.

He lays in his bed for a while, hearing Ron’s soft snores in the bed next to his, before he quietly slips out of the bed. He’s careful to avoid any of the steps that always seems to resonate in the house, and before he can lose his courage, he knocks on her door.

After five seconds that seem to last longer, she opens her door.

‘Harry?’, she asks, blinking and confused. Harry doesn’t think she was asleep, but she was obviously preparing to; she’s wearing a robe, her hair wet, and he sees her holding a towel that she was using to dry her hair. When she sees him staring, a faint blush comes to her face. ‘I take a shower when I can’t sleep’, she admits.

That’s not where Harry’s mind was. He must have kissed her a hundred times by now, must have seen her blushing and teasingly and confident and daring, but seeing her fresh from a shower, with her floral scent heavier in the air, the only thing he was considering is how much he wants her, how much he is falling for her.

‘Do you want to go out with me?’, asks Harry. She blinks, surprised, and looks around quickly.

‘Come on’, she says, pushing him inside her bedroom and closing the door.

Harry had never ever seen her room before, so he is distracted for a moment, taking in the small bedroom, her decoration. Then his eyes fall on the bed and he feels suddenly very hot.

He tries to ignore the flush creeping over his neck as he turns back to her, but he can’t really meet her eyes – Ginny always seemed to read him very well…

‘Why are you asking me out, Harry?’

That stops his creative mind that was still fixed on her bed.

‘Well - because I want to go out with you?’

‘I figured that out, you know, considering how much we’ve been snogging’, Ginny points out. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question’.

‘It’s just – Ron said -’, at this, Ginny furrows her brows and Harry considers that maybe Ron is in danger. ‘I just don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of you or –’

‘I believe I was having as much “advantage” as you’, she says with a grin that Harry can’t help but share too. Then he shakes his head.

‘I want to do things right’, he says firmly.

‘You mostly definitive are’, Ginny assures him, winking. ‘I just don’t know if you really want to date me’.

‘Of course I –’

‘I mean, we sort of never told anyone we were going together for Slughorn’s party and I thought you wanted to keep things private’. Harry bits his lips. She takes a step closer to him, grabbing his hand gently. ‘I know you don’t like getting attention and if we’ve dated, people would talk about. I can handle people – that’s why I learnt the Bat-Bogey Hex, but I thought you’d be stressed’.

Harry raises his free hand, touching her face, the wet locks of her copper hair.

‘I don’t like people talking about my life’, he whispers. ‘But for once people would talk about something that’s making me happier than I remember being in a while, so that would be a change. Still – if we could keep just between us – I just don’t want to seem like I’m ashamed of you or that I want to keep you a secret -’

She smiles.

‘Keeping this low was my idea as much as yours’, she remembers. ‘And we don’t need to keep it a secret forever, just, you know, until people find out. Until then –’, she approaches him, raising on her tiptoes to press her lips softly in this neck. The goosebumps erupt all over Harry. ‘– we can have some fun’.

[maxwell-grant]

Might I please jump in with the suggestion that, while making Superman a Pulp Hero can be a little tricky, making LEX LUTHOR a Pulp Hero would be peculiarly easy? (In fact making him a Pulp Hero without making major alterations to his fundamental character might be far more difficult - given how much of a self centred jerk the man is).

Funny you mention that because, while I haven't read the comic enough to really speak much of it, that kinda seems to be the basic premise of Chris Roberson's Edison Rex, a comic about a supervillain who has to step in as Earth's protector after defeating his superhero enemy, with the titular character being a Lex Luthor-analogue who looks like Doc Savage with Thomas Edison's haircut.

In fact, the idea of Thomas Edison as a protagonist is not even a unique one, not when one of the earliest examples of dime novel sci-fi was named after him. Just as popular in it's heyday and irredeemably reprehensible as the man itself even. If you want to imagine how Lex Luthor looks like as a pulp hero, all you need is to look at the genre called "Edisonade", starting in the 1870s, and you'll see why you wouldn't even need to make that many substantial changes to Luthor's fundamental character if you were to try to pass him off as a dime novel sci-fi protagonist. Not just because pulp supervillains already starred in stories and magazines as is, but because Edisonade as a genre is already built to accomodate characters like him.

The term "edisonade" or "Edisonade" – which is derived from Thomas Alva Edison in the same way that "Robinsonade" is derived from the hero of Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe – can be understood to describe any story dating from the late nineteenth century onward and featuring a young US male inventor hero who ingeniously extricates himself from tight spots and who, by so doing, saves himself from defeat and corruption, and his friends and nation from foreign oppressors.

The Invention by which he typically accomplishes this feat is not, however, simply a Weapon, though it will almost certainly prove to be invincible against the foe, and may also make the hero's fortune; it is also a means of Transportation – for the edisonade is not only about saving the country (or planet) through personal spunk and native wit, it is also about lighting out for the Territory.

Afterwards, once the hero has penetrated that virgin strand, he will find yet a further use for his invention: it will serve as a certificate of ownership, for the new Territory will probably be "empty" except for "natives". Magically, the barefoot boy with cheek of tan will discover that he has been made CEO of a compliant world; for a a revelatory set of maxims can be discerned fuelling the entrepreneurial engine of the edisonade: the conviction that to fix is to patent: that to exploit is to own - Sci-Fi Encyclopedia's entry on Edisonade

The Edisonade, coined by critic John Clute after the Robinsonade, can be defined simply enough: it is a story in which a young American male invents a form of transportation and uses it to travel to uncivilized parts of America or the world, enriches himself, and punishes the enemies of the United States, whether domestic (Native Americans) or foreign.

The Edisonades were almost entirely an American creation and appeared in dime novels as serials and as complete novels. They were the single largest category of dime novel science fiction and were the direct ancestors not only of 20th century boys’ fiction characters like Tom Swift but also one of the fathers of early 20th century science fiction, especially in the pulps. And the Edisonades were among the most morally reprehensible works of fiction of the 19th century, on a par with the dime novels the Confederacy published to glorify slavery - Jess Nevins's article on Tom Edison Jr

Fun for the whole family!

Granted (and thankfully), Edisonades as a specific genre died down in popularity following the end of dime novel, although you can very easily see how their influence lingered on much of sci-fi as we know it. It makes for a rather interesting coincidence even that, in the turn of the century, as the dime novels and the Edisonades died down in popularity and the pulp magazines proper started to take their place in American culture, the Mad Scientist began to arise in popularity as a stock villain to the point you can make a drinking game out of reading pulp novels where the kind professor with a weird invention turns out to be a cut-throat master villain.

The Mad Scientist as an archetype, which is what Luthor started as, actually seems pretty much non-existant prior to the 1890s (the term seems to have only caught on somewhere after 1893 following the World's Fair Columbian Exposition) and only really started taking shape in the 1900/1910s following the influence of German Expressionism villains and characters like Fu Manchu (far from the first yellow peril mad scientist, but definitely the most popular) and the myriad of pulp villain, even pulp villain magazines, named after some form of "Doctor" (Doctor Death, Doctor Satan, Doctor X, etc)

I'm not particularly fond of Arch-Capitalist Luthor and I'm not gonna be the billionth guy online to talk about the relevance of that take on Luthor, because my preferred take on Luthor is more on the Emperor Scientist / Ubermensch Arch-Asshole, the kind that's not so much a stock villain archetype because he doesn't have to be, because "Lex Luthor" has practically become it's own archetype, you know it when you see it. I would prefer to emphasize a Luthor who's got more in common with pulp sci-fi supervillains who starred in their own stories, but the stories themselves had no delusions about what the characters were. And I think Luthor can make one hell of a protagonist in this regard.

In another place, under different circumstances, this man might have been a Caesar, a Napoleon, a Hitler, or an Archimedes, a Michelangelo, a da Vinci. A Gautama, a Hammurabi, Gandhi. But in this place, at this time, he was more. Superman made him more.

As an artist saw objects as an amalgam of shapes, as a writer looked upon life as a series of incidents from which plots and characters could be constructed, Lex Luthor's mind divided the Universe into a finite number of mathematical units.

The time he had spent in jail so far this year was three months of thirty days each, three weeks, six days, two hours, and sixteen minutes. This included four weeks, one day, and three hours in solitary confinement during which time he could do nothing more useful than count seconds and scrupulously retain his sanity.

There were other super-criminal geniuses in the world; he had met some of them, dealt with them on occasion. They were chairmen of great corporations, grand masters of martial arts disciplines, heads of departments in executive branches of governments, princes, presidents, prelates, and a saint or two. Unlike Luthor, these men and women chose to retain their respectability. They had trouble coping with honesty.

Luthor was not motivated by a desire for money, or power, or beautiful women, or even freedom. In solitary Luthor decided that his motivation was beyond even the love or hate or whatever it was he had for humanity. It was consuming desire for godhood, fired by the unreasonable conviction that such a thing was somehow possible.

He began by being an honest man. He was a criminal and said so. - The Last Son of Krypton, Chapter 12

[lets-steal-an-archive]

'Golden Girls' Polishes Its Scripts: Daily Revisions Geared to Sharpen Story and Hone Those Laugh Lines

TRUE OR FALSE:

Actresses Bea Arthur, Estelle Getty, Rue McClanahan and Betty White write their own dialogue for "The Golden Girls." (FALSE)

Older female writers write all 25 episodes each season because no one else could understand the problems of older females. (FALSE)

In order to keep the shows consistent from week to week, one writer prepares all the episodes. (FALSE)

Ten staff writers work together to prepare a season's worth of scripts. (TRUE)

It's a Monday morning in early October and on a sound stage at the small Renmar Studios in Hollywood, the "golden girls" have gathered to read a new script. This will be episode No. 60 of the series and it will air about three weeks later — on Halloween.

Everyone in the room has heard about this week's story line: Rose writes a letter to Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. But apart from the writers, no one has seen the final script until now. It was completed on a Saturday, photocopied 150 times on Sunday and distributed this morning to NBC; co-producer Touchstone Pictures; the show's creator, Susan Harris; the show's lawyers and researchers, and the "Golden Girls" cast and crew.

"Hopefully, they'll laugh," murmurs head writer Kathy Speer as she prepares to hear the "table reading." "If they don't, we'll be here fixing the script for a long time."

The table reading really is at tables — eight of them arranged in a rectangle. The actresses and guest actors sit on one side, facing the writers. To the actresses' left are director Terry Hughes, executive producers Paul Junger Witt and Tony Thomas and co-executive producers/head writers Speer and Terry Grossman. To the actresses' right sit NBC representatives, the show's casting director and props and wardrobe personnel.

They begin. Director Hughes reads the stage directions: Interior, kitchen — day. Sophia is seated at table. She is reading book entitled 'Magic Made Easy.' Dorothy enters.

Bea Arthur, as Dorothy, reads: "Hi, Ma."

Estelle Getty, as Sophia, reads: "Give me your watch."

Another week is under way. As the actresses go through their lines, everyone else listens intently. They laugh (or don't laugh) and take notes. By the Friday-night tapings, this script will need to play at 22 minutes. But Friday is a long way off.

As soon as the table reading ends, the writers, producers, director and an NBC program executive huddle to discuss script changes. Then, while the actresses begin rehearsals using the first draft, the writers rush off to their yellow stucco two-story building nearby to begin rewriting.

"The secret of TV half-hour comedy shows is the revisions," explains Dean Valentine, NBC director of current comedy and also the program executive on "Golden Girls." "What they start out with is 75% away from what they end up with."

"I don't think this episode is going to need much work," co-head writer Terry Grossman announces cheerfully on his way back to his office. "It got a good response at the table. We just have to cut it, smooth out transitions and clarify some story points. New jokes will be the tough thing." He anticipates a few hours' work.

"Early in the first season we were throwing out whole scenes," he recalls. "Now we know what works for each lady and what she does best. That's the advantage of being in the third year of the show. The disadvantage is that stories are harder to come by."

Grossman heads into the office he shares with his wife Speer, who is also his writing partner. They are in charge of the writing staff. "That means we are the two who get yelled at the most when something goes wrong," he jokes.

Also piling into the conference-sized room are supervising producers Barry Fanaro and Mort Nathan and producer Winifred Hervey. Despite their titles, Grossman explains, "We're all writers."

"We are the five most dull people," Nathan insists.

"We're much funnier on paper," Hervey adds.

These five, all in their 30s, met when they worked on "Benson," an earlier Witt-Thomas-Harris series. They have been with "Golden Girls" since the beginning, and every Monday they jointly rewrite the script being taped that week. They jokingly call themselves The Gang of Five.

While they start rewriting, the show's other five staff writers — Chris Lloyd, Jeff Ferro, Frederic Weiss, Robert Bruce and Martin Weiss — go back to their own offices to work on new scripts.

"To keep quality, you like as many writers as you can afford," Speer explains. "This year, we have six 'entities' (writing teams) — four sets of partners and two individuals. And we also use a few free-lance scripts each season."

Approximately 25% of the show's budget goes to the writers, executive producer Tony Thomas says. Staff writers on a comedy series earn a weekly salary plus separate payments for completed scripts. A free-lance writer who does a story outline, a first draft and a second draft can earn about $11,000. (Note: All outside script submissions must come through agents.)

"A good comedy requires a lot of teamwork, a lot of people sitting in a room working together," Thomas emphasizes. "A good team is rare, but it's not extremely rare. It's like winning the NBA title. We had it in 'Soap,' and we had it for some years in 'Benson.' Obviously this is one of the most successful staffs we’ve ever put together."

Both Witt and Thomas deal with day-to-day details on "Golden Girls." Harris, who created the series, is less involved this season because, according to Thomas, "She is working on a feature for Disney with us. But she reads all the scripts and is familiar with most of the stories."

Flashback to the previous Friday, a week when "Golden Girls" wasn't taping. Every fourth week during the season, the show shuts down, giving the actors and crew a rest and allowing the writers to catch up.

The Gang of Five is trying to explain how their writing process works. They insist on telling, rather than showing, because, as they say, they're shy. "At the beginning of the season, even having our new writers in the meeting made me a little uncomfortable," Grossman admits. "It slowed down the process."

"One of the most important things that exists with this group is that the bottom line is making the show as good as possible. It's still very difficult when your script is read for the first time and the material doesn't work. It hurts for a moment. But there's no time to take it personally. It didn't work, and the clock is ticking. You better keep moving and get it right."

Like all sitcoms, "Golden Girls" has a "bible," a book that synopsizes everything that has happened on a series. Thus, new writers don't have to watch all the previous episodes. But there is no master plan of what will happen in the future.

The idea for "Letter to Gorbachev" surfaced last May at a beginning-of-the-season meeting of the writers and producers. "It was one of 20 or 30 story notions kicked around," Barry Fanaro recalls. The obvious similarity to Samantha Smith's letter to then-Soviet leader Yuri Andropov isn't mentioned.

"Most of them didn't work,” adds Fanaro's writing partner Mort Nathan, "but this one sounded amusing. Because Rose is a childlike character, we wondered what would happen if she wrote a letter to Gorbachev about world peace. We started fleshing it out, but we couldn't think of a second act. We went round and round, and finally six weeks later we came up with a way to make the story work."

"The five of us went over it scene by scene and agreed it was workable," Fanaro continues. "Then Mort and I went off and wrote it. It took about 10 days because we were also working on other things."

Each "Golden Girls” episode is written to a formula: "the idea, the act break and the resolution," Grossman explains. "Usually there's an 'A' story and a 'B' story going. It's the natural structure."

Although Fanaro and Nathan, who won a writing Emmy last year for a "Golden Girls" episode, wrote the basic Gorbachev script, the story the audience will see has gone through the usual "Golden Girls" grinder: The Gang of Five read and dissect the first draft, adding new scenes, new lines, new jokes. "It's really a team effort," Grossman stresses.

The jokes can be the easiest part — or the hardest. "They're only hard to write when you've got one that isn't working," Grossman says. "A joke in the middle of a scene can be weak, but the 'out joke' — a snappy one-liner that ends the scene on a laugh — has to be strong."

"We may decide a scene needs a new opening," Speer explains. "There will be a long moment of silence. Then someone will ask if anybody's eaten at some new restaurant. In the course of conversation, somebody will say, 'Wait a minute. I have an idea.'"

"With five of us, at least one of us is paying attention," Hervey deadpans.

"Good writers should be able to write for men, women, old or young," Grossman says. "We all draw on other people in our lives — parents, grandparents. Part of the reason for the show's popularity is that these are very vital people. The very same story you've seen 100 times on every sitcom takes on new light with characters in this age group. That makes life easier for us.

"Also, these four actresses are sensational. To have the entire cast be able to give such high-caliber performances means you don't have to adjust your material. You write the material, and they deliver. If they can't make it work, there's something wrong with the material."

The week goes by quickly. On Tuesday morning, the "golden girls" read over the revised script and discover that one scene has changed considerably. Some lines have been cut, while others have been sharpened. There are several new jokes. A press conference scene has been shifted from a hotel room to the ladies' living room.

On Tuesday night, the Gang of Five works late. During the day's rehearsals they realized that the revised scene didn’t play well so they jettisoned it and added some new dialogue and a few more jokes.

Following Wednesday's rehearsals, they hone the script a little more. Time is pressing. By the Thursday afternoon dress rehearsal, the actresses try to be script-perfect, although they often aren't. By now, the original 52-page script has been reduced to 50 pages, and almost every page has had at least one alteration.

For instance, on Monday when Blanche accidentally spat Coca-Cola on a Soviet Embassy official, he responded by saying, "No apology necessary." Now he says, "No need to apologize. In Moscow, we have to stand in line four hours to get this."

Late Friday afternoon, the audience files into Renmar Studios to watch the first taping. The writers are standing by, just in case a last-minute problem occurs. During the 90-minute dinner break, while a new audience is arriving, the cast, writers and producers calmly discuss how to improve the second taping. A few lines are cut, the taping is completed, and it’s on to the next week.

Source: Mills, Nancy. 1987. 'Golden Girls' Polishes Its Scripts: Daily Revisions Geared to Sharpen Story and Hone Those Laugh Lines. Los Angeles Times, October 30, https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1987-10-30-ca-11702-story.html

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this week - 39

I spent over 50 (!) hours on the sofa this week, (enjoying myself 85% of the time)...

Sløborn, an ominous Danish-German TV pandemic series, very much like Soderbergh’s ‘Contagion’ and in ‘Black Mirror’ style. Normal life of a small island community between Denmark and Germany breaks down and completely collapses when it is hit by a lethal bird flue like virus.

It was extremely prescient, as it was shot in 2019, before Covid! Conceived as Si-fi, it looks today like TV, because the series was able to capture everything that happened around the world after January 2020 in accurate details.

With Roland Møller (of ‘Riders of Justice’). 7+/10

✴️      

My introduction to “The grandmother of The French New Wave”, Agnès Varda (Hard to believe that I never saw her films before!):

✳️✳️✳️ “Inspiration, Creation and Sharing...” Varda by Agnès, my first Varda is her last 2019 auto-biography, in which, at 90, she shared footage and stories from her life and work. The first sample clip (of meeting her Uncle Yanco in Sausalito) won me over, and the rest convinced me to catch up on everything I’ve missed through the years. What a wonderful artist!

✳️✳️✳️ Cléo from 5 to 7. A feminine film about female identity - a new favorite! A beautiful singer must wait 2 hours for the results of her cancer tests. With a magnifique mid-film scene (at 0;38) of the heartbreaking chanson 'Sans Toi', marking the beginning of her quiet transformation.

✳️✳️✳️ Vagabond, a story of a lonely, young woman, an unapologetic drifter, unglamorous, aimless, independent, desperately lost. Dark and nonjudgmental exploration of the refusal to conform to anything. 8+/10.

✳️✳️✳️ (For Sammy - Per our conversation). The Gleaners and I, "The eighth best documentary film of all time”, per ‘Sight & Sound poll. Derived from the famous painting by Millet. Simply wonderful!

✳️✳️✳️ One Hundred And One Nights, 100 year old Michel Piccoli “Monsieur Simon Cinema”, hires a young girl to reminisce with about the history of cinema. An unsuccessful Meta-film that nevertheless is a love letter for cinephiles. Populated by 3 dozens of Who’s Who of French (and World) stars, playacting in this symbolic, Fellinisque fable that draws upon the classics. Mastroianni, Depardieu, Belmondo, Alain Delon, Catherine Deneuve, Jeanne Moreau, Anouk Aimée, Fanny Ardant, Gina Lollobrigida, Jane Birkin, etc, etc..

(Photo Above).

✳️✳️✳️ The Young Girls of Rochefort, the wonderful, colorful, sentimental musical by Varda’s husband Jacques Demy, with the most beautiful woman in the world and her sister. Romantic eye candy set to music by Michel Legrand. A year later Deneuve would do Belle de Jour, and Françoise Dorléac would die in a car accident, 8+/10

✳️✳️✳️ Even better, The Young Girls Turn 25, Varda’s 1993 behind the scenes documentary and return to small town Rocheford, to show how it changed the town and left an impression. 9/10

“...The memory of happiness is perhaps also happiness...”

✴️         

The other Jacques Demy modern opera The Umbrellas of Cherbourg knocked me over all over again. Catherine Deneuve’s angelic beauty in this film made me cry for the duration like a baby. And not only at the train station when they say goodbye forever.

10/10

✴️          

Night moves, a tense thriller by Kelly Reichardt, about three radical environmentalists who blow up an Oregon dam. Slow and tense, and like her ‘First Cow’, watching it filled me with constant, low-level anxiety. The off-screen sabotage is placed at the exact mid-point of the movie: The first half is the preparation for it, and the second half shows the aftermath of the act. 7+/10

✴️        

2 unexpected Small Town gems by Miguel Arteta:

✳️✳️✳️ The good Girl, an odd and surprising mismatched romance between 30 year old Jennifer Aniston and Jake Gyllenhaal (22) as employees of a Texas big-box store that is always empty. Her voice-over reminded me of True Romance’s Alabama Whitman. 7/10

✳️✳️✳️ Ed Helms, a sheltered insurance salesman from the backwaters of Wisconsin, goes to an convention in the big city of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The nearly conventional story arc has some genuinely heartfelt funny moments. With Maeby Fünke, as Bree the prostitute and Sigourney Weaver as the ex-teacher he balls. Also a surprising drug party, where he smoke crack cocaine and loves it. 5+/10

✴️          

Same theme of people prostituting their own ‘morals’, the notoriously-prudish 1993 Indecent Proposal didn’t age too well. “Billionaire”-porn that asks the question ‘How much would you pay for one night with Robert Redford?’ Gratuitous semi-naked Demi Moore included.

Related: “Stop hitting the button!”

✴️        

Wildland (Kød & blod = Flesh and blood), an uncomfortable and claustrophobic Danish gangster thriller about a 17 year old girl who moves in with the criminal family of Sidse Babett Knudsen, her estranged aunt. 6+/10

“For some people, things go wrong before they even begin”

✴️     

Jim Jarmusch‘s Broken Flowers, a touching road film with Bill Murray, as an old ‘Don Juan’ who receive a pink, unsigned letter from an old lover, letting him know that he has a 20 year old son he never knew about.

Loveliest film of the week.

✴️       

The 2 films directed by Tom Ford:

✳️✳️✳️ A single Man, a sad and lonely gay professor, closeted in 1962 Los Angeles, is preparing to kill himself with a gun, after his boyfriend / love of his life had died in a car accident. Mute and haunting aesthetics in the fashion designer’s debut film, based on a Christopher Isherwood novel.

The ‘Stormy Weather’ dance scene between Charley and George. 8/10

✳️✳️✳️ Nocturnal Animals: Amy Adams is an unhappy owner of a fancy art gallery who receives a disturbing book manuscript written by her ex-husband, which symbolizes their relationship 20 years prior. Rarefied visuals and distinctive style.

Starts with an astonishing scene of obese old ladies dancing naked at Amy’s gala event. Michael Shannon rules as a dying Texas detective! 6+/10.

✴️        

Jean Vigo’s 1933 classic Zero for Conduct was so blatantly anarchistic, it was immediately banned in France until after WW2. In silent film style, it tells about a group of mischievous kids who rebel against the authorities of their old-fashioned boarding school. Part-inspiration for Truffaut's 400 Blows.

✴️      

Anatomy of a murder, Otto Preminger’s 1960 courtroom drama, with opening credits by Saul Bass. Crisp black & white cinematography, and with rape victim Lee Remick playing it as an outgoing loose girl of ambiguous morals, a modern floozy. 7/10.

✴️                

Blush, a wondrous, spectacularly-animated, wordless short by Joe Mateo. What starts as a riff on ‘The Little Prince’, ends up like the opening montage from ‘Up’. The obvious realization that this is a personal metaphor makes the story even deeper.

I watched it twice back to back. 10/10

✴️       

If You're Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast - 95 year old Carl Reiner asks a bunch of charming nonagenarian friends how they manage to live so well for so long. Their answers may (not) shock you...

Spry Dick Van Dyke (92) and half-his-age wife end the film with a lovely rendition of “Young at heart”

✴️            

Hi-school-level adaptation of Thomas Piketty's book Capital in the 21st Century. A breezy discussion of how slave economy and colonialist military repression 300 years ago turn into extreme capitalism of inequality & tax-avoidance today. America is now similar economically to what England was in the early 1800s. A tiny percentage of society controls almost all its wealth. (Full text of the book here).

✴️            

Ride the eagle, a flat new indie about a guy whose estranged hippy mother leaves him her cabin at the lake when she dies, but only if he complete a certain list of tasks. Could be so much better, but the actor playing the guy was just so terrible. Unlike JK Simmons who had a small role. Best detail, when he discovers that all the cabinets in the house are full with pot.

✴️       

Old, my first, (and possibly last), M. Night Shyamalan. The seductive premise of a secluded beach at a fancy tropical resort that ages everybody who comes there, turns into an unconvincing Twilight Zone bore.

...”(Gurgling sounds)”...

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First watch: I never saw (any) Planet of the apes before, and in spite of my misgivings, gave it a go. 100% anthropomorphic, it couldn’t visualize a universe different from the American mindset of that period. Preachy and very Rod Sterling-like. "It's a madhouse in here”. Pass!

✴️         

The latest Veritasium YouTube video about bowling current technology. Always interesting.

- - - - -

Throw-back to the art project:

Planet of the Apes Adora. 

- - - - -

(My complete movie list is here)

[alorenawrites]

On Words and Meaning

So I've been thinking a lot about how Loki is being discussed and the words used, particularly by Hiddleston, given his bent for using literary language in his descriptions. There are three words I want to touch on in this little post, one of them definitely rooted in his usage.

So the first I want to touch on is the term "romance." We've heard (often from Hiddleston), that Loki is, at heart, a romance. I think there's a dimension of the discussion missing in these conversations in that is important to consider.

To the layman, a romance is simply a love story, sometimes with a sexual undertone. But in the literary sense, a romance is a much deeper genre. I want to consider that this layer may also be present in Hiddleston's intent on using the term in describing the story arc. It certainly is in mine, as someone with a fascination with literary form and also with an English degree who has spent way too much time exploring genre.

So firstly, we need to define "romance." From literaryterms.net:

I. What is Romance?

In the strictest academic terms, a romance is a narrative genre in literature that involves a mysterious, adventurous, or spiritual story line where the focus is on a quest that involves bravery and strong values, not always a love interest. However, modern definitions of romance also include stories that have a relationship issue as the main focus.

II. Examples of Romance

In the academic sense, an example of a romance is a story in which the main character is a hero who must conquer various challenges as part of a quest. Each challenge could be its own story and can be taken out of the overall story without harming the plot.

Example 1

A knight who wishes to prove himself by recovering a stolen heirloom from an enemy may find himself attempting to make his way through a dangerous wood filled with thieves.

Once he has accomplished this challenge, he may find himself climbing a tall mountain on which a group of people are in trouble. He would save the group somehow, and then move on.

Then the final stage: the enemy’s kingdom. There may be a fair maiden whom he meets and somehow helps or rescues, or perhaps she helps him.

But the fair maiden is not the focus of the story – his quest is the focus. Each story can be taken out, yet each builds the hero’s strength to face his final quest. These stories tend to be serious rather than humorous and touch on strong values.

In considering this, I've thought about Loki's arc as a quest that does, indeed, involve the discovery and exploration of strong values with a three part quest, though I don't think the quests entirely stand on their own. The overarching theme is about Loki discovering his sense of self- his quest to become a full person, not just a trope for the universe to exploit so others can reach their better selves. I divide the show up in to three quests. The first, in episodes 1 and 2, is Loki finding a sense of purpose in the new world- his quest is to discover who this new variant is and where they are hiding. This is resolved by the end of that second episode. The second arc takes place in the next two episodes- Loki discovering his empathy for others is the continuation of the overarching personal development plot, while his quest is to discover Sylvie's goals and to uncover/share the truth behind the TVA. And in our third section, episodes 5 and 6, we get the culmination of the personal growth arc in his ultimate discovery of different facets of himself (illuminated by the different elements of self shown in the multitude of variant Lokis) while the quest is to uncover who is in control of the Sacred Timeline and why. The differences in colour palettes, settings, tones, etc. between the three episode pairings is a part of how I started to distinguish my thoughts on each. And regardless of the visual distinctions, I most definitely see the entire arc as exploring strong values and bravery, though the bravery is multi-layered, showing not only the visible bravery of facing down an apocalypse, Alioth, etc., but the internal bravery of challenging one's self and digging deep into discovering who one really is. This is a theme of queerness that I see lingering in this series- discovering who we are is a process, not an outcome.

I think that this definition of a romance, in the classical sense, is a little oversimplified, as there is often a theme of discovery of self or improvement of self along the way. In a Gothic romance, themes of "the people are the real monsters" come into play (Crimson Peak is an excellent example of this)- there may be elements of the supernatural, but the real thing of which the viewer/reader should be afraid is the person behind the curtain. Gothic romances also often do include a love story arc, but it is often deeply flawed on some level and often also includes some sort of sexual or romantic awakening, often by a female lead, that leads to the discovery of whatever darker is taking place (Crimson Peak turns this on its head in that it is Thomas' awakening with Edith that leads to his turning point and Edith's realization that the Sharpe siblings are the monsters, not the ghosts in the hall). The themes of discovery of self, or of the fortitude of moral values, or of the journey of a person's development, play into both a Gothic romance and its foundations in a classical romance.

So. There's part 1 of this ramble.

On to part 2!

The next word I want to examine is the term "relationship" and its companion, "love." Now, mind you, I come at this from a queer perspective as a demisexual, demiromantic individual, so these two words are ones I've spent a LOT of time pondering, in the quest to define my own identity.

We've heard the term "relationship" tossed around so often with only a romantic implication attached, but in truth, this word is so much more broad than this. You are in a relationship with your barber. You are in a relationship with your cat. You are in a relationship with a spiritual advisor, a professor, your best friend, your partner. Just because it is so heavily used in this way doesn't mean the relationship is only an intimate one (though intimate relationships are also not inherently sexual or romantic in nature, either, so let's remember this as well). Now if we break down what a relationship is, it's just a consistent interaction with someone based on some common interest or goal. It's a remarkably benign word. Its connotations, however, take it in a multitude of directions.

So let's look at it through the lens of an intimate relationship and add in the component of love. We'll start with just a blanket statement that love is not only one single thing. It isn't just romantic. It is our family, our friends, our pets, pie, the colour blue, that feeling of perfection when the waves of a warm lake brush over your calves...love is embedded in the experiences of these things. We love them. Love it as vast and broad as relationships. We love places, people, things, and experiences. We love ourselves (or we try to learn to).

In my world, through my particular brand of queerness, love changes in intimate relationships on a regular basis. I love my partner dearly. But on some days, that love is to my best friend, while other days, it is a romantic love and on others, sexual expression may be involved, but they may overlap in different ways. Sexual expression is independent of romantic attraction and the degree of each isn't tied together in any way. If we can separate these things, I think we can see the relationships in our everyday lives in different lights and with greater complexity.

I also think that looking at these things through the lens of diverse sexual and romantic experiences can inform how we interpret the Loki x Sylvie pairing and why some of us just aren't bothered by it (though certainly not the only reason people aren't).

We've been told Loki loves Sylvie. That much is beautifully clear. But love (and being in a relationship) doesn't automatically mean that 1) both parties are experiencing it in the same way, 2) both parties have the same approach or priorities, 3) the level of romance is necessarily the same between the people involved, 4) that sexual attraction exists at all.

Sometimes a kiss is a form of communication and not tied to the want to shag someone.

So this is where my interpretation of this particular pairing comes into play. I do see the story as a romance, in the classical sense, but also with a slight streak of the more modern sense involved. The focus is still on the quest, even when the love story emerges. And that is where I see the priorities of these characters and their definitions of the relationship differing and I analyze it through these different dimensions of love and relationship orientations.

Loki actually embodies one of the traits I've seen listed for demisexuals- we hold our friendships extremely close and because we hold our friendships the way we do, it isn't uncommon for us to end up with crushes on our best friends (and no, they don't generally develop into other forms of relationships, but they could). This is the phase in which I see Loki by episode 6. He has formed this intense bond, unlike any other it seems he's had, and his heart is breaking over the thought of losing her to her own rage. All he wants is for her to be OK, remember? This isn't a selfish action. But I think it is significant that while he tries to stop her, he's not the one who initiates the kiss. All his actions here are ones that a close friend would also do for their best friend. Like, I'd try to stop my besties from inadvertently destroying the universe. I'd even throw down over it. And for the exact same reasons- the risks are too great, we need to think, and I want them to be OK. Almost everything Loki does throughout his growing closeness to Sylvie is something I'd do for one of the people I've told I'd defend- as in, I literally told some of these people, "anybody messes with you, I'll cut a bitch- just tell me who and I'm there."

So because of all this, I don't see this relationship as sexual in any way. Romantic? Possibly. But not necessarily. Even being in love with one another doesn't mean a relationship has to have a sexual component.

Looking at Sylvie, I see her also as having found companionship with Loki, but her overriding goal is, ultimately, not to bond with someone- it's her mission. And she has sacrificed her entire life because of the TVA to this mission. She tells him repeatedly, in one way or another, that the mission comes first. Yes, she does care about him, but I don't think the way she cares about him is the same as the way he cares about her because they have differing priorities and needs (and hence why she feels betrayed by him when he tries to stop her). Or at least she hasn't allowed herself to express that. When she falls to the ground after she's killed He Who Remains, I think we get a glimpse of what Loki meant to her- she is alone, she grieves, and there is no meaning left to her story. She's done what she dedicated her entire life to and the person who could have given it other meaning is no longer beside her.

I still don't think that the first thing they would do upon seeing each other is suck face and have wild sex. Would that bother me? No, not really. I can headcanon something different than what actually happens, I'm fine with that (just look at all this glorious headcanoning happening right here!) I'd like it to stay a romantic friendship (queer platonic relationships for the win- they're squishes!) because I don't think we hardly ever see those types of relationships and queer platonic relationships are incredibly beautiful and powerful and yes, based on love and maybe even romance, in their own way. They are defined by the people in them, as are all relationships.

And now to address "but she kissed him!"

Yes, she did. And I've kissed my partner when there wasn't romance involved because I wanted to share a moment, to express something deeper than I had words for (yes, even on one of my aromantic leaning days), or just because it's fun. And it doesn't have to "match" up with how the other partner feels it, either, so long as the message itself is what comes across. This is how I read the Sylvie x Loki kiss. It was a message of worthiness. Loki's entire arc, including in that scene, is in discovering if he's anyone different than the monster he's made himself out to be (and encouraged others to see him as). He tells Sylvie that he can't be trusted, falling back on the habit of characterizing himself as the professional liar, the one who can't form those attachments which are built on trust. He also identifies her as someone incapable of trust in that moment, which I think is also a projection of how he sees himself. He tells Mobius he can only trust himself and the show slowly shows Loki coming to trust others, but in this moment in the Citadel, he's falling back on a different perception of himself.

This is where the kiss comes in, for me. Sylvie isn't trying to tell him she'd jump him right then and there, if things were different. Sylvie is trying to tell him that she does trust him, that he can be trusted, and that he is worthy of the affection of a friend, even if she can't have him in her way. She is prioritizing her mission, yes, but not without giving him some sort of reassurance, in her own way, that this rejection isn't personal. That he isn't too broken to be loved. It doesn't have to go into romance (not saying it couldn't, just saying it isn't a requirement). It doesn't have to go into sexual relationship territory.

Maybe I see this so vastly differently because of my experiences exploring gender, sexuality, and romantic orientation. Maybe I see this so differently because at this stage in my life, I would absolutely kiss a friend if I felt something so heavy was going to break them. I have a friend I say "I love you" to every time we talk on the phone or video chat- we've been together for 20 years. I've got photo proof of a snuggle pile of friends when I was a young adult. I've shared a bed with a friend with no reason other than that we didn't want to sleep on the floor and why not. I've had friendships that were awkward to start and intense once they got going that are absolutely still important in my life. I've had crushes on friends that have faded and just shown me another dimension of what it is to love someone. I've watched adults who struggle to make connections to other people discover those moments of awkward "how do I do friend mode?" and come out stronger for them, with that huge sense of victory hidden behind a small smile they don't want to share with anyone else quite yet.

I see so much possibility in how we interpret a television show reduced to "it's a romance and that's sick and incest and he wants to fuck himself!" and it just saddens me that so many people have such a limited understanding and experience of the depth and breadth of human relationships and of how people love one another.

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Rhonda Fleming (born Marilyn Louis; August 10, 1923 – October 14, 2020) was an American film and television actress and singer. She acted in more than 40 films, mostly in the 1940s and 1950s, and became renowned as one of the most glamorous actresses of her day, nicknamed the "Queen of Technicolor" because she photographed so well in that medium.

Fleming was born Marilyn Louis in Hollywood, California, to Harold Cheverton Louis, an insurance salesman, and Effie Graham, a stage actress who had appeared opposite Al Jolson in the musical Dancing Around at New York's Winter Garden Theatre from 1914 to 1915. Fleming's maternal grandfather was John C. Graham, an actor, theater owner, and newspaper editor in Utah.

She began working as a film actress while attending Beverly Hills High School, from which she graduated in 1941. She was discovered by the well-known Hollywood agent Henry Willson, who changed her name to "Rhonda Fleming".

"It's so weird", Fleming said later. "He stopped me crossing the street. It kinda scared me a little bit -- I was only 16 or 17. He signed me to a seven-year contract without a screen test. It was a Cinderella story, but those could happen in those days."

Fleming's agent Willson went to work for David O. Selznick, who put her under contract.[5][6] She had bit parts in In Old Oklahoma (1943), Since You Went Away (1944) for Selznick, and in When Strangers Marry (1944).

She received her first substantial role in the thriller, Spellbound (1945), produced by Selznick and directed by Alfred Hitchcock. "Hitch told me I was going to play a nymphomaniac", Fleming said later. "I remember rushing home to look it up in the dictionary and being quite shocked." The film was a success and Selznick gave her another good role in the thriller The Spiral Staircase (1946), directed by Robert Siodmak.

Selznick lent her out to appear in supporting parts in the Randolph Scott Western Abilene Town (1946) at United Artists and the film noir classic Out of the Past (1947) with Robert Mitchum and Kirk Douglas, at RKO, where she played a harried secretary.

Fleming's first leading role came in Adventure Island (1947), a low-budget action film made for Pine-Thomas Productions at Paramount Pictures in the two-color Cinecolor process and co-starring fellow Selznick contractee Rory Calhoun.

Fleming then auditioned for the female lead in a Bing Crosby film, a part Deanna Durbin turned down at Paramount in A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (1949), a musical loosely based on the story by Mark Twain. Fleming exhibited her singing ability, dueting with Crosby on "Once and For Always" and soloing with "When Is Sometime". They recorded the songs for a three-disc, 78-rpm Decca album, conducted by Victor Young, who wrote the film's orchestral score. Her vocal coach in Hollywood, Harriet Lee, praised her "lovely voice", saying, "she could be a musical comedy queen". The movie was Fleming's first Technicolor film. Her fair complexion and flaming red hair photographed exceptionally well and she was nicknamed the "Queen of Technicolor", a moniker not worth much to her as she would have preferred to be known for her acting. Actress Maureen O'Hara expressed a similar sentiment when the same nickname was given to her around this time.

She then played another leading role opposite a comedian, in this case Bob Hope, in the The Great Lover (1949). It was a big hit and Fleming was established. "After that, I wasn't fortunate enough to get good directors", said Fleming. "I made the mistake of doing lesser films for good money. I was hot – they all wanted me – but I didn't have the guidance or background to judge for myself."

In February 1949, Selznick sold his contract players to Warner Bros, but he kept Fleming.

In 1950 she portrayed John Payne's love interest in The Eagle and the Hawk, a Western.

Fleming was lent to RKO to play a femme fatale opposite Dick Powell in Cry Danger (1951), a film noir. Back at Paramount, she played the title role in a Western with Glenn Ford, The Redhead and the Cowboy (1951).

In 1950, she ended her association with Selznick after eight years, though her contract with him had another five years to run.

Fleming signed a three-picture deal with Paramount. Pine-Thomas used her as Ronald Reagan's leading lady in a Western, The Last Outpost (1951), John Payne's leading lady in the adventure film Crosswinds (1951), and with Reagan again in Hong Kong (1951).

She sang on NBC's Colgate Comedy Hour during the same live telecast that featured Errol Flynn, on September 30, 1951, from the El Capitan Theater in Hollywood.

Fleming was top-billed for Sam Katzman's The Golden Hawk (1952) with Sterling Hayden, then was reunited with Reagan for Tropic Zone (1953) at Pine-Thomas. In 1953, Fleming portrayed Cleopatra in Katzman's Serpent of the Nile for Columbia. That same year, she filmed a western with Charlton Heston at Paramount, Pony Express (1953), and two films shot in three dimensions (3-D), Inferno with Robert Ryan at Fox, and the musical Those Redheads From Seattle with Gene Barry, for Pine-Thomas. The following year, she starred with Fernando Lamas in Jivaro, her third 3-D release, at Pine-Thomas. She went to Universal for Yankee Pasha (1954) with Jeff Chandler. Fleming also traveled to Italy to play Semiramis in Queen of Babylon (1954).

Fleming was part of a gospel singing quartet with Jane Russell, Connie Haines, and Beryl Davis.

Much of the location work for Fleming's 1955 Western Tennessee's Partner, in which she played Duchess opposite John Payne as Tennessee and Ronald Reagan as Cowpoke, was filmed at the Iverson Movie Ranch in Chatsworth, California, (known as the most heavily filmed outdoor location in the history of film and television). A distinctive monolithic sandstone feature behind which Fleming (as Duchess) hid during an action sequence, later became known as the Rhonda Fleming Rock. The rock is part of a section of the former movie ranch known as "Garden of the Gods", which has been preserved as public parkland.

Fleming was reunited with Payne and fellow redhead Arlene Dahl in a noir at RKO, Slightly Scarlet (1956). She did other thrillers that year; The Killer Is Loose (1956) with Joseph Cotten and Fritz Lang's While the City Sleeps (1956), co-starring Dana Andrews, at RKO. Fleming was top billed in an adventure movie for Warwick Films, Odongo (1956).

Fleming had the female lead in John Sturges's Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (1957) co-starring Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas, a big hit. She supported Donald O'Connor in The Buster Keaton Story (1957) and Stewart Granger in Gun Glory (1957) at MGM.

In May 1957, Fleming launched a nightclub act at the Tropicana in Las Vegas. It was a tremendous success. "I just wanted to know if I could get out on that stage – if I could do it. And I did! ... My heart was to do more stage work, but I had a son, so I really couldn't, but that was in my heart."

Fleming was Guy Madison's co star in Bullwhip (1958) for Allied Artists, and supported Jean Simmons in Home Before Dark (1958), which she later called her favorite role ("It was a marvellous stretch", she said).

Fleming was reunited with Bob Hope in Alias Jesse James (1959) and did an episode of Wagon Train.

She was in the Irwin Allen/Joseph M. Newman production of The Big Circus (1959), co-starring Victor Mature and Vincent Price. This was made for Allied Artists, whom Fleming later sued for unpaid profits.

Fleming travelled to Italy again to make The Revolt of the Slaves (1959) and was second billed in The Crowded Sky (1960).

In 1960, she described herself as "semi-retired", having made money in real estate investments. That year she toured her nightclub act in Las Vegas and Palm Springs.

During the 1950s, 1960s, and into the 1970s, Fleming frequently appeared on television with guest-starring roles on The Red Skelton Show, The Best of Broadway, The Investigators, Shower of Stars, The Dick Powell Show, Wagon Train, Burke's Law, The Virginian, McMillan & Wife, Police Woman, Kung Fu, Ellery Queen, and The Love Boat.

In 1958, Fleming again displayed her singing talent when she recorded her only LP, entitled simply Rhonda (reissued in 2008 on CD as Rhonda Fleming Sings Just For You). In this album, which was released by Columbia Records, she blended then-current songs like "Around The World" with standards such as "Love Me or Leave Me" and "I've Got You Under My Skin". Conductor-arranger Frank Comstock provided the musical direction.

On March 4, 1962, Fleming appeared in one of the last segments of ABC's Follow the Sun in a role opposite Gary Lockwood. She played a Marine in the episode, "Marine of the Month".

In December 1962, Fleming was cast as the glamorous Kitty Bolton in the episode, "Loss of Faith", on the syndicated anthology series, Death Valley Days, hosted by Stanley Andrews. In the story line, Kitty pits Joe Phy (Jim Davis) and Peter Gabriel (Don Collier) to run against each other for sheriff of Pima County, Arizona. Violence results from the rivalry.

In the 1960s, Fleming branched out into other businesses and began performing regularly on stage and in Las Vegas.

One of her final film appearances was in a bit-part as Edith von Secondburg in the comedy The Nude Bomb (1980) starring Don Adams. She also appeared in Waiting for the Wind (1990).

Fleming has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. In 2007, a Golden Palm Star on the Palm Springs Walk of Stars was dedicated to her.

Fleming worked for several charities, especially in the field of cancer care, and served on the committees of many related organizations. In 1991, her fifth husband, Ted Mann, and she established the Rhonda Fleming Mann Clinic for Women's Comprehensive Care at the UCLA Medical Center.

In 1964, Fleming spoke at the "Project Prayer" rally attended by 2,500 at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, California. The gathering, which was hosted by Anthony Eisley, a star of ABC's Hawaiian Eye series, sought to flood the United States Congress with letters in support of mandatory school prayer, following two decisions in 1962 and 1963 of the United States Supreme Court, which struck down mandatory school prayer as conflicting with the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution.

Joining Fleming and Eisley at the rally were Walter Brennan, Lloyd Nolan, Dale Evans, Pat Boone, and Gloria Swanson. Fleming declared, "Project Prayer is hoping to clarify the First Amendment to the Constitution and reverse this present trend away from God." Eisley and Fleming added that John Wayne, Ronald Reagan, Roy Rogers, Mary Pickford, Jane Russell, Ginger Rogers, and Pat Buttram would also have attended the rally had their schedules not been in conflict.

Fleming married six times:

Thomas Wade Lane, interior decorator, (1940–1942; divorced), one son

Dr. Lewis V. Morrill, Hollywood physician, (July 11, 1952 – 1954; divorced)

Lang Jeffries, actor, (April 3, 1960 – January 11, 1962; divorced)

Hall Bartlett, producer (March 27, 1966 – 1972; divorced)

Ted Mann, producer, (March 11, 1977 – January 15, 2001; his death)

Darol Wayne Carlson (2003 – October 31, 2017; his death)

Through her son Kent Lane (b. 1941), Rhonda also had two granddaughters (Kimberly and Kelly), four great-grandchildren (Wagner, Page, Lane, and Cole), and two great-great-grandchildren.

She was a Presbyterian and a Republican who supported Dwight Eisenhower during the 1952 presidential election.

Fleming died on October 14, 2020, in Saint John's Health Center, Santa Monica, California, at the age of 97. She is interred at Hillside Memorial Park in Culver City, California.

[elliemarchetti]

Do you plan to update your red queen fanfics anytime soon?

I take the opportunity of this ask to publish the update of Pride and Prejudice AU but apart from this story, which I intend to finish as soon as possible, I am not sure that I will continue the others, as long as I no longer receive feedback and some requests on how to continue. I hope you enjoy this chapter and quench your thirst for new Red Queen fanfiction! @lilyharvord I must also apologize to you for the very long wait, but life has definitely come between me and my interests

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Words: 2450

After breakfast, the girls took a walk in the village to find out if Mr. Maven was back, and to complain about his absence at the ball. He joined them as soon as they entered the city and he and Mr. Thomas took them home, a double advantage, as Mare could spend time with him undisturbed and the opportunity was propitious to present him to her father and mother. Immediately upon returning home, Miss Skonos was delivered a letter which was immediately opened: the envelope contained an elegant sheet of satin filled paper with beautiful, flowing feminine handwriting, which however changed her expression as she read it. It was from Evangeline Samos, and what it contained surprised her greatly, as the whole party had left the Stilts, with no intention of returning. When, later, Mare too was able to read it, she looked at the high-sounding expressions used with all the indifference of suspicion and, although surprised by the rapidity of that departure, she saw nothing really worrying: there was nothing to suggest that their absence would also prevent Mr. Samos from returning, and about the loss of their company, she was convinced that Wren would’ve certainly stopped worrying about it, being able to enjoy his. Sure it was unfortunate that she hadn't been able to see her friends again before they left the countryside, and that none of them were willing to return that winter, but wasn't that the reason why those who could afford it owned two houses?

"But you don't know everything. I'll read you the passage that particularly hurt me, since I don't want to hide anything from you," added her friend, and finally Mare noticed the second sheet she was holding in her hands.

"I am truly convinced that my dear friend, Lady Elane Haven, has no equal in terms of beauty, elegance and quality, and I don't think I'm at fault if I take it for granted that you agree with me. The affection she has inspired me for years is intensified by something even more significant, namely the hope of soon being able to call her my sister-in-law. I don't know if I have ever told you my feelings about it, but I won’t leave without trusting you, and I believe you won’t find them unreasonable. My brother already admires her very much, all her relatives desire this union for her as much as we do, and I don't think I am deceived by the partiality of a sister if I say that Ptolemus is certainly capable of winning the heart of any woman. With all these circumstances in favour of a bond and none that can prevent it, I am perhaps wrong to indulge in the hope of an event that will ensure the happiness of this many people?"

Mare was stunned. So this was the plan, it wasn't a marriage already orchestrated between Miss Samos and the General, but between her friend and her brother! Wren, however, didn’t want to believe her, and her words about the undeniable affection he felt for her seemed to do nothing but further hurt her broken heart as upstream they didn’t think the same about the letter's emissary, for not to mention that she was convinced that she wouldn’t be able to derive any joy from a marriage to a man whose friends and relatives hoped he would marry another woman.

"You must be the one to decide," said Mare, "and if after mature reflection you discover that the pain of doing a rudeness to his sister is greater than the happiness of being his wife, I certainly recommend you to refuse.”

These words brought Wren a smile, as they both knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t hesitate to accept his proposal, but the shadow of the possibility that he wouldn’t return in six months continued to cast a dark shadow on the general mood, to the point that only Diana’s invitation, addressed to both of them, managed to dispel that constant thought a little, replacing it with genuine curiosity, since she and Wren were by no means intimate enough for such a proposal. The answer to all their questions, however, came the next day when the Colonel's daughter told them that she needed female help, and that Mare was too involved to be the only opinion she would hear. From anyone else, this would’ve been an intolerable rudeness, but Mare knew her friend well, and if it was about romance, an assumption that soon turned out to be correct, she didn't want to be wrong and analyzed every single detail to the point of making the least gesture the most rational. The summary of the matter, however, was that Mr. Jesper had woken up early the previous morning, and unannounced, had gone under her window to ask her for a clandestine meeting. Diana accepted, and he, very awkwardly, revealed his interest in her, as well as his intention to marry her, if she accepted. The entire Farley family would’ve been thrilled with the event, but she had asked him for time to think about it, although she was already certain that she wouldn’t come to any conclusion alone, so she had bestowed that invitation. Wren, who was good-natured, greatly appreciated the gesture, and considered it an unspoken compliment to her sensibility and handling of the matter with Mr. Samos, so she quickly got busy, and all the years they had spent politely ignoring each other were recovered within an afternoon. Mare, however, wasn’t so well disposed towards the idea: she appreciated that Diana had asked for more help to reach the most favourable of conclusions, but she would’ve preferred that she had talked about it with her brother, as Shade had been silently courting her for years, and watched her from afar become the only woman he certainly wanted to marry; the prospect that she might want another man had bothered him and not a little, Mare had noticed, although she hadn't said anything, too absorbed in her own problems, but the real possibility that she might decide to marry another man would certainly have prompted him to declare himself, and everyone knew that those two were meant for each other, something that she wanted to remind to her friend.

"Mr. Jesper is smart and pleasant, and it’s certainly inviting for a woman to be the only one who can put a man at ease, not to say reassuring, even if he doesn’t seem like that kind of person. On the other hand, I can already see the blame on your face, Mare, and I want you to remember that your friendship is the thing I care about most in the world and even if I know how you feel, remember I too would behave differently if my perspectives were different, but they’re not, so I’m just asking you to be happy for me if I accept.”

"I will be," Mare assured her, though she wasn't sure she would ever be able to rejoice in her brother's unhappiness, "I just ask you to tell Shade before making any decisions. Do you think you can?"

To the affirmative answer of the other, Mare waited a time that she considered reasonable and took leave, followed by Wren, who asked her if she wanted to be accompanied home, which Mare refused, determined to be left alone with her considerations. It took her time before she could reconcile herself with the idea of ​​such an inappropriate union as she never imagined that, once called to decide, her friend would sacrifice all her best feelings. The next day, Mare was sitting with her mother and sister when Colonel Farley appeared and requested an audience with Mr. Barrow. Terrified of what might have happened, Mare remained tense the entire time they spent in the library, but the tones never rose, and when he left, the Colonel looked as calm as when he arrived. Mare waited a while before reaching her father and asking him what had happened, fearing a reproach for her advice to her friend, which could’ve broken the relationship between the two families, if the situation between Diana and Shade had been from her misunderstood, but he replied very calmly, saying he was happy and satisfied that Miss Farley, whom he had always thought fairly intelligent, wasn’t as foolish as his wife or daughter Gisa. Although this didn’t gave an explicit answer to her question, it reassured Mare, who was convinced that she could get more direct answers once her brother, who had gone out with Bree and Tramy, returned, as she didn’t want to be pressing with Diana, who could also have took offense at how things went the last time they met. At first, Shade seemed a little surprised by all that attention, but when he realized that Mare’s wasn’t just a fervent desire to know some new gossip but real concern, he told her not to worry, and that everything would turn out right in due time, a time that however established a reserve between the two friend that became a silence so heavy that convinced Mare their confidence was stained forever. Furthermore, these gloomy feelings certainly didn’t help Wren's mood, who hadn’t heard from Mr. Samos for a week and hadn’t even received an answer to her letter for his sister. Even Mare was beginning to have fears, not so much that Mr. Samos was indifferent, but that his sister could keep him far. Reluctant as she was to admit such a devastating idea to the happiness of the only friend she had left, and so dishonourable about the constancy of her love, she couldn't help but think about it often. The united efforts of two insensitive women and a friend so influential, favoured by the charm and amusement of Archeon, might’ve proved to be too much, so she feared, for strength of his affection. As for Wren, her anxiety about that uncertainty was, of course, more painful than Mare's, but whatever she felt she just wanted to hide it, and therefore between her and her friend there were never any allusions to that subject. The mother, on the other hand, wasn’t held back by such delicacy and hardly an hour passed without speaking of Mr. Samos, expressing the impatience for his return, or even asking her daughter to admit that if he didn't come back she would feel treated very bad. It took all of Wren's mild steadfastness to endure those attacks with acceptable tranquillity, which diminished, however, upon the arrival of Miss Samos' letter of reply, which removed any doubt about their winter accommodation, they would have settled in the General's residence, and, according to Wren, also regarding the feelings of Mr. Samos towards Lady Haven. Mare paid no attention to those speculations, she hadn’t seen, in fact, any warmth between the two in the time they had spent at the Hall of the Sun, but the fact that Evangeline was so evil she could take pleasure in the idea of undermine her own brother’s happiness, and in such a mean way, filled her with indignation and resentment, equal only to the concern she felt for her friend, who had fallen in love with a man of such lightness of character, a slave to intriguing friend, willing to sacrifice his own happiness at the whim of their desires. If, however, it was only his happiness

that was sacrificed, he could play with it as he wanted, but it was also Wren's that was involved and she believed he should be aware of it. In short, it was a topic that could’ve been thought about for a long time, even if, perhaps, to no avail, but she could do nothing else, and whether Mr. Samos's affection had really died down or had been suffocated by the interference of his friends, whether he had been aware of Wren's feelings or they had escaped his observation, in any case, even if the judgment would’ve been concretely influenced in the different hypotheses, the situation remained the same, and the peace of the girl equally wounded. It was a couple of days after, that Wren found the courage to talk about her feelings with Mare, but in the end, left alone by Mrs. Skonos, after a longer than usual rant on the Hall of the Sun and his owner, she said: "Oh! If my dear mother controlled herself more, she has no idea how much pain her constant considerations about him give me. But I don't want to complain, since it won't last long. He will be forgotten, and we will all be as before."

Mare looked at her friend with affectionate disbelief, but said nothing, although the doubt about those words could be read on her face like lines from an open book. Wren blushed: she knew that this man, who had been so lovable to her, would live forever in her memory, but that was all. If she had something to hope, fear, or even blame him for, the situation would’ve been different, and time would’ve done nothing but make the pain greater, but in that case she had the immediate comfort that it was nothing more than an error of her imagination, which had hurt no one but herself. If she had said those words aloud, Mare would’ve told her she was too good, and she would’ve attributed ethereal adjectives to her sweetness and impartiality, but it wasn't praise for her character that she needed to hear at the moment, only how much she was loved, words that not even her mother seemed willing to give. Even her father considered it only a mere disappointment, and indeed, he seemed inclined to joke about it when the Barrows went to visit them, inciting Mare to have her own heartbreak with Mr. Maven, who seemed a very nice and stylish man. Regarding him, it can be said that his company helped to dispel the melancholy into which the last, unfortunate events had thrown the two friends, who saw him often and had been able to add to the long list of his qualities the total absence of reserve, as the whole story already exposed to Mare soon became public, and everyone was satisfied thinking about how much they had always thought the General unpleasant before coming to knowledge of the whole matter. The only one who could imagine that there could be some extenuating circumstance in the matter was Miss Skonos, whose mild and firm candour always put forward justifications, and insisted on the possibility that there were misunderstandings, but by all the others the General had been labelled like the worst of men.

[lokimostly]

Polaris (Ch.16/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU

Word Count: 4,466

Warnings: violence, language

Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: As promised, this chapter is entirely from Loki’s perspective! Don’t worry, we’ll get back to our debutante reader soon. For now, this is his part of the story. Let’s let him tell it.

Chapter One ~ Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three  ~ Chapter Four ~  Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Eleven ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen ~ Chapter Fifteen

The sun was making its first appearance over the glass sea, turning the sky pink and lighting on the waves with a rosy glow. The clouds were as pale and wispy as stretched cotton. As the sunrise dimmed the map of stars above, it burned bright in the reflection of Loki’s bloodshot eyes, staring out at the waves as they turned to gold.

His hands were already blistered from rowing. The sinew of his muscles had been stretched to their limit a few hours ago, and so he had let go of the oars to hold his head in his hands instead, filled with a despair that felt larger than the ocean around him. Hot, frustrated tears fell from his eyes, more to try and soothe their dryness than to curb the aching in his chest. Perhaps it was a mix of both. It was only in raising his head to dry his eyes, blinking away the water and fatigue, that he saw the merchant ship approaching.

Loki’s brows pulled together. It was a trading company ship; not Odin’s. Rather small. The bell on deck was ringing, signaling a man overboard as they approached, and a few seconds later, a rope landed in Loki’s lap.

Several pairs of hands helped haul him over the side, pulling him onto the deck, but they were quick to leave him; Loki’s reddened eyes and haggard look gave him a frightening aura, one that the men obviously weren’t keen to hang around. He slowly straightened his posture, rolling his sore shoulders and looking down at the Captain, standing in front of him. 

Loki gave him a single glance, surveying him without much consideration. He was small and portly with receding hair, hardly intimidating– though clearly he was doing his best to look nonplussed by Loki’s sudden and unexpected arrival.

“Glad to have you aboard, sir,” he greeted, as warmly as he was able. “I’m Cap’n Montgomery, and this’s my ship The Duchess. How’d you wind up all the way out here?”

Loki didn’t answer. He stood still on the rocking deck, his posture stiff, looking out at the pale dawn sky with a hardened expression. 

Captain Montgomery waited awkwardly for his response, shifting his posture. Then he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’d like to talk elsewhere?” He gestured to the doors that led to the Captain’s cabin.

Loki’s eyes trailed to the left, and he nodded. He followed the Captain inside, walking slow and cat-like with a look of apprehension as he stepped over the threshold. His eyes were quick in surveying the small room, unadorned by lavish decor. The only notable object of interest was the mahogany desk that Captain Montgomery sat himself behind, setting his elbows atop its surface and waiting for Loki to close the door.

He did so, and stepped over. The ship’s charter laid open-faced by the Captain’s hand, and Loki’s dark eyebrows pulled together. “Where is this vessel headed?”

Captain Montgomery’s eyebrows raised and he held out his hand in a stopping motion. “Now, hang on a minute. I have some questions to ask you first–”

Loki reached forward and spun the paper to face him, scanning the lines. “Kingston?”

The Captain’s eyes flickered. “Aye, that’s right, sir.”

Loki’s frown deepened. “That is exactly the opposite of where I need to go,” Loki muttered in annoyance.

The man shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable. “Well–”

“What day is it?” Loki interrupted again, looking up at him. His gaze was sharp enough to cut glass. They might have been a different color, but when he wanted them to, Loki’s eyes could hold just as much chill as his father’s. 

The Captain blinked. “Uh– the first of August, sir.”

“What was your name again?”

“Mont– Montgomery. Captain Montgomery.”

Loki hummed shortly, leaning on the desk. He glanced back at the closed doors, then returned to the paper in front of him, running a finger over his lip in thought. The captain watched him uneasily as he stood there, still as stone, with nothing but the rocking of the ship to mark the passage of time.

Suddenly Loki reached forward and grabbed the captain by the collar, slamming his face into the mahogany and twisting his arm behind his back in one fluid motion. The Captain shouted in surprised pain, only to be silenced when Loki twisted his arm further, his lips curled in a snarl.

“Listen to me very carefully, Montgomery,” he threatened between his teeth. “It is in our mutual best interests that you take this ship to St. Thomas immediately. One more inch in the wrong direction and this arm will break. If you don’t do as I say, the same thing will happen to your neck.”

The Captain struggled fruitlessly beneath Loki’s grip, his face squashed against the desk in a contorted expression of anger. “You – you bastard!”

“Pirate,” Loki corrected, applying the slightest fraction of pressure. It was enough to make the captain gasp and pant in pain. “Do we understand each other, Montgomery?”

“It’ll–” The Captain wheezed, struggling to speak. “It’ll take more’n three days to get there. The wind… the wind’s against us.”

“Then you should bear a hand and tell your men to come around,” Loki suggested coldly, and let go of him. Captain Montgomery stood up so fast that he stumbled backwards, holding his arm and staring at Loki with frightened eyes. He darted past Loki and out of the cabin, running faster than Loki suspected he ever had in his life. Judging by his portly stature, it was probably a good thing for him. Nothing like a healthy fear of death to keep you fit.

Loki stood in the empty cabin and listened to the muted sounds of the captain shouting orders above, and he tightened his jaw, reaching into his pocket. The cold coin was there, safely stowed away. He rubbed it between his fingers, smoothing over the serpent’s pattern with the pad of his thumb. His eyes drifted to the window. Somewhere, out there, you were being held in a cell – stuck behind rusted bars while the sand in the hourglass slowly sifted through.

August the first. That meant he had until the end of the month to secure your safety, with at least four days already spent by the time he reached St. Thomas. Loki’s grip tightened on the coin. If fate had pushed you together – and he firmly believed that hit had – then fate would keep you from being pulled apart.

~

Nearly a week later, The Duchess floated into the rainy port of St. Thomas. The sun peeked out occasionally behind the clouds while it showered. It was one of those odd, rainy summer days before hurricane season where the weather couldn’t quite whip up enough energy to storm with full rage and intensity; not yet.

The sailors were still tying the small merchant ship to the dock when the gangplank dropped and Loki descended from the ship, running down the slippery wharf so fast that he nearly stumbled. He dodged the men loading crates, ducking underneath a load of lumber carried between two sailors, and climbed the cobble stairs with exhausted determination.

Home was only a few hours away, but Loki wasn’t headed there; not yet. Instead he headed up the street, doing his best to keep his tired legs from giving out underneath him. He made a right and found the corner bar, stumbling inside. This was the place you and Loki had first encountered one another, but also somewhere that he’d frequented long before your fateful meeting. The creaking floorboards beneath his feet were as familiar as the mattress of his own bed, and the heady smells of mahogany and beer reassured his senses that he was safe. Home. 

Being the middle of the day, the corner bar was totally devoid of customers. Light streamed in through the fogged windows while the building’s only occupant, the bartender, polished glasses behind the counter with monotonous repetition, glancing up only when Loki pulled himself into one of the barstools and leaned against the counter, his hair and clothes dripping wet. The only sounds were the steady shower of light rain outside and the squeak of fabric rubbed against glass.

“You’re a bit early in the day, young master,” The bartender observed curiously. The man sported a heavy accent behind his mustache, but his tone was good-natured and amiable. He was as much a part of the bar as the polished countertop and neatly lined bottles on the shelves behind him.

“I need a drink,” Loki said hoarsely, dropping his head into one hand and massaging his temples. His whole body ached, inside and out. Beating slow inside his chest, Loki’s heart weighed him down as though it was made of lead.

The glass slid down the counter and Loki caught it with his free hand: cold, polished glass with dark liquor inside. He tilted his head back and downed it in one go, setting the empty cup down on the polished wood. The bartender refilled it without asking, handing it back to him before returning to his former task. He polished the cups until they sparkled like crystal, despite the fact that they were already clean; no doubt it was a soothing, repetitive notion to help the empty afternoon hours pass by. “You ‘ere to talk, or just drink?”

Loki scoffed. “What’s there to talk about?” He asked, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them tiredly. Dull sparks floated behind his vision, signs of dehydration and an oncoming headache.

“Fair ‘nough, sir. I won’t press you.”

Loki dropped his hand and regarded the man with a flat expression. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and he dropped his gaze, spinning the glass of liquor in his hand. He stared at the distorted wood pattern of the bartop through the brown liquor. 

The bartender watched him with soft, dark eyes for a moment longer before he tried again. “Is it a woman?”

“Of course it’s a woman,” Loki snapped, though his words didn’t have much bite; they never did when he was telling the truth. He thumbed the rim of the glass. “It’s the woman,” he admitted, more quietly.

The bartender nodded knowingly, tossing his rag aside and fetching a fresh one. “She leave you?” He asked, his tone conversational and unassuming, from decades of practice with discussions far more delicate than this one. 

Loki shook his head. His wet raven hair slipped past his shoulders when he did, falling in gentle waves past his ears and smelling of saltwater. “No. I lost her.” He frowned at the sudden blurriness in his eyes, downing his second glass and setting it down with a gentle thud. He sniffed. Straightened in his seat. “I’m getting her back.” Whether he said this to reassure the bartender or himself, Loki wasn’t entirely sure.

The city bell tolled out the hour, bringing him back to a state of clarity. It was later than he’d thought. Loki reached into his pocket for money to pay – and then realized he didn’t have any, apart from the serpent coin. The coin he couldn’t give away. Loki stalled, his elegant fingers still at his sides while he tried to think of a solution to this sudden dilemma. 

The bartender noticed his hesitation and extended his hand with a polite shake of his head. “You’ve been generous in the past, young master,” he stated. “I trust you’ll be back.”

Loki met his eyes. Normally he would take offense to a gesture of charity; Loki had never lacked for money, not once in his life, and he never intended to. But if he’d learnt anything from the past weeks, it was that even his best intentions didn’t guarantee the future. He met the bartender’s eyes and found them to be soft and reassuring. He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

The man shrugged, like it wasn’t any problem to him, taking Loki’s empty glass and polishing it alongside all the rest. “Bring your woman next time.”

Loki laughed once, humorlessly, and stood. “I will,” he promised, with a final nod of thanks before he turned his back to the bartender and walked back out towards the drenched cobblestone street, feeling renewed somehow – perhaps by the drink, though more likely by the man’s kindness. Not everyone in the world was bloodthirsty and rotten.

Not everyone in the world is a pirate, Loki thought. Of course, he considered himself a rare exception: Loki was a pirate, yes, but a reputable one. Honorable, even. However – somewhere deep in his heart – Loki was beginning to come to terms with the fact that getting you back might permanently soil that reputation. He intended to do whatever it took, however foul, even if it meant killing Vane and all his crewmen with his bare hands.

Would you be able to love him, if it came to that? If he became a murderer? Would you let him touch you with bloody hands, or would you turn away in fear and disgust?

The thought disquieted him, and he shook his head to clear the thought. Whether you hated him or not at the end of this didn’t matter, so long as you got out alive. He owed you that much. 

His seaglass eyes looked up instinctively towards the road that he knew lead home, but he turned the opposite way instead: there was still one more errand to run. 

In order for Loki to both save you and maintain a clear ledger inside his father’s business, he had to find a way to combine the two. That meant enlisting in his family’s help, while simultaneously making it look like he wasn’t involved at all. During his time floating adrift in the waves, waiting for the sunrise, Loki had surmised a plan of action. With some skill, and a great deal of luck, it would prove itself successful.

He hoped his luck hadn’t run out yet.

Loki found himself in a familiar backside alley, the entrance hidden behind empty fruit crates stacked six feet high. He stepped carefully down the narrow cobble path, wrinkling his nose at the stench of city sludge and old bathwater dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. The clotheslines above hung limp in the afternoon, the fabric heavy and wet from the rain – whoever put them out had neglected to retrieve them. He found the heavy wooden door with gold hinges and knocked, twice. Then he stepped back into the rain, no more than a light mist at this point, and waited. 

He was considering turning away when it finally opened. The man who answered the door had dark skin and eyes that shimmered like copper. His hair fell over his broad shoulders in locs, decorated with metal clasps. His face wore a stern expression that revealed exactly nothing, and he waited with one hand on the door – prepared to shut it again at a moment’s notice. “Yes?”

“Heimdall,” Loki greeted solemnly, and glanced out at the alley for listening ears.

“You don’t have an appointment.”

“This isn’t my usual business,” he explained, squinting as misty rainwater dripped down his face and clung to his eyelashes. “It’ll be quick. I only need one page; no forgings, no signatures. It just can’t be my hand.”

The dark man hesitated, gripping the door while he considered this. Loki’s clothes stuck to him, and he silently wished that Heimdall would at least let him inside, but he knew not to press the matter. Their relationship was a strictly professional one, and he knew how much he was asking. “I’ll pay twice whatever you ask,” he added.

Heimdall’s copper eyes met Loki’s, his expression still flat, and then he opened the door further. “Come in. Don’t sit. You’ll ruin the chair.”

Loki obliged, stepping in quickly. The room was dark and smelled of leather, lit only by candles and the narrow, cross-hatched windows that lined one wall. The other three sides of the small, square space were lined by bookshelves, lined with bottles, parchment, and bookkeeper’s tools. Less conspicuously, there were a few shelves full of antiquated volumes, which he knew to contain ledgers upon ledgers of signatures and scripts. A forger’s library.

Heimdall sat down at the desk, dipping his quill into the inkwell. “You’re lucky. I’m not busy today.”

Loki nodded in agreement, feeling relieved. “Yes, I know – it’s short notice.”

“So,” Heimdall began without looking, pulling a clean sheet of plain paper from the desk drawer. “This isn’t a false shipping charter, or an inventory log, or a bank note. What is it?”

“A ransom letter.” Loki regretted revealing this information the moment it left his mouth, but he had no choice – better to tell it now, rather than when Heimdall started realizing it halfway through writing and risked blotting a page.

Heimdall’s metallic eyes flitted up and he frowned at Loki, setting the quill down and leaning back in his chair. “Now, why would you want me to write that?”

Loki looked up and set his jaw, shaking his head slightly. “That, I can’t tell you.”

Heimdall regarded him silently. Whether it was judgement, scrutiny, contemplation, Loki couldn’t say for certain. Heimdall’s expression didn’t change. While Loki respected his ability to be discreet, Heimdall’s strong-and-silent personality made reading him nigh impossible. Finally, he raised one eyebrow. “It’ll cost extra.”

Loki’s mouth opened slightly and he nearly rolled his eyes. “I can afford it,” he grated, feeling a flicker of agitation in his chest that the man would even be concerned about such a thing. “This isn’t a fleeting interest. Give me what I want, receipt it under my private catalogue, and I’ll be on my way. ”

Heimdall sighed and picked up his quill again, leaning over the desk. “Fine.”

Loki inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrows and directing his gaze to the ceiling. He’d been devising a speech from memory for a week, running it over his tongue inside his mouth and sounding it out when no one was around. He dropped his eyes and began reciting the words from memory, watching Heimdall’s skilled hand start painting the words on the page almost as soon as he spoke. “To his esteemed grace who receives this note …”

~

“... I hope it finds in a prosperous enough position to enable us both to get what we want,” Thor read aloud, his elegant brow furrowed in both concentration. He unfolded the letter further and skimmed a few more lines silently. Flipped it over, and found no return address.  He looked up at the maid standing at the door and held it up in the air. “What is this?”

Her eyes were wide with innocence and confusion. “I – I don’t know, sir, it was delivered with all the rest.”

Loki sat silently at one end of the long table, holding a spoon in his hand and stirring the bowl of soup before him in slow, disinterested circles. Green flecks of some kind of vegetable rose and fell from its cream-colored surface; neat chunks of tomato, too, alongside pale meat cooked to perfection and pulled apart. 

It was a favorite of his. He knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind, but even the smell of it wafting up in gentle curls of steam failed to appetize him. Every ounce of his focus was bent on looking unassuming as Thor continued to read the note aloud; the note that he’d carefully hidden amongst the other letters, delivered at breakfast every morning.

“I have in my possession one soon-to-be bride of your eldest son. I understand she means a great deal to you, so let me get to the point: in exchange for 12,000 guineas, I will return her unharmed, so  long as the exchange is made at the end of August…”  Thor’s brow furrowed further. 

Loki had been home for three days– it was the ninth of August now, and an otherwise ordinary Wednesday morning. It felt strange to know the date again after being stuck on an island, where the only sense of time could be ascertained in the rise and set of the sun.

Only last night had he decided to risk delivering the note. Waiting to reveal your situation to Thor and his father was agony, but Loki couldn’t afford to take any kind of risk. The coincidence of his arrival and the note’s arrival on the same day would have been too close for comfort. Loki was cautious to a fault, and he was painfully aware of that fact: he was treading on your borrowed time, after all. His stomach twisted, feeling physically ill, and he abandoned the spoon entirely, staring out the window with a thinly veiled expression of discomfort as Thor finished reading.

“Otherwise, she will die gruesomely, after her usefulness and entertainment to us has been spent. With a letter V as the signit,” he added as an afterthought, setting the letter down carefully, like it might bite him. He reached for the envelope it had been delivered in and tilted it, and the serpent coin fell into his palm. He gazed at it in silence.

Loki was practically crawling out of his skin. “V,” he repeated, breaking the silence with false curiosity and looking between Thor and his father. “Like Charles Vane, perhaps? The pirate?”

“No doubt,” Odin replied amiably, reaching across the table for the letter. Thor handed it to him, his expression stony, waiting while their father read the ransom note over for himself. He let out a derisive scoff and shook his head, letting it drop. “Twelve thousand guineas.”

Thor’s handsome face lit on confusion. “You will pay the ransom, won’t you? Her ship was supposed to arrive in Norway weeks ago. Who knows how long she’s been held captive.”

“That much for one girl?” Odin said skeptically. “A girl who wasn’t keen on marrying you either, I recall. Ungrateful thing. The whole arrangement has been nothing more than a bad business venture.”

Loki’s face was dangerously pale, anger lighting up his veins like fire on alcohol. “But we have the money,” he argued, trying to keep his vocal tone only mildly invested. It cracked. “And you made a deal with her father.”

Thor nodded in agreement, though clearly exhibiting a great deal more patience. “Loki’s right, Father. We have a duty of care–” 

“Silence!” He interrupted, and they both shut their mouths. Odin set down his fork to eye both of them with a steely grey stare. “There is nothing we can do.”

“But we can,” Thor argued, leaning against the table on one hand and gesturing with the other. “We’ve seen the bank ledgers – Loki and I both,” he added, nodding to his brother. “Your wealth would hardly be dented. I don’t see why –” 

“I will not deal with pirates,” Odin groused firmly, his voice icy and cold.

Something inside Loki snapped. He stood abruptly, turning to Odin. The chair scraped on the ground behind him. 

“So that’s it, then,” he began. He was smiling, but in more a baring of teeth than an expression of joy. “You would first resign her to marry a man she doesn’t know, and then let her die when it’s inconvenient to help?” He pointed an accusing finger. “You’re just afraid Vane will slip through your grasp, the same way he did before, and wound your pride more than he ever could your prospects.” Loki realized that he was snarling, his lip curled and tone venomous, cheeks flushed uncharacteristically red but he didn’t care – it was too late now. The man who he called Father stared back with equal animosity, the two of them locked in heated, palpable silence.

Thor excused himself from the dining room with a quiet, grumbling apology, and Loki followed.

When he exited the room and the doors shut behind him, he saw Thor walking down the hall – but his footsteps were slow, and he clearly didn’t know where they intended on taking him. Loki’s eyes flickered, and he sighed, loud enough to draw Thor’s attention and halt his steps. 

He turned around and came to Loki’s side. He watched his brother reach up and press at his eyes, rubbing them none-too-gently, and he glanced back at the gilded door. “It sounded like you know a great deal about her,” he stated quietly, breaking the thin silence between them. His large hands were restless at his sides, wanting for actions instead of words. 

Loki dropped his hand and cleared his throat, and his eyes were distant. “I spoke with her at the ball before she left. You remember.”

Thor grunted, looking out the window. “I didn’t get the chance. I had business to attend to.”

Loki’s lips upturned in a bitter smirk. “You always do.” His gaze found the window, too, staring out at the palm fronds as they blew in the humid afternoon wind. His chest tightened with the reminder of your island – the trees and the cave, of your smaller body pressed beneath his, smelling sweet and tinged by saltwater. Of feeling complete.

Loki could only guess at how much his father knew. Thanks to his outburst, Odin knew Loki was aware of his true parentage – which meant it would only take one line drawn in the sand between Loki and Vane to connect the dots and undo all his work. Your life and Loki’s livelihood, felled in one devastating blow.

Thor was uncharacteristically still, a sign that he was deep in thought. His wide arms were crossed over his barrel of a chest, brow furrowed, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, silently dissatisfied. “We have to do something.”

Loki scoffed and rolled his eyes, picking at the dark green fabric of his wide sleeves and spreading his fingers, staring disinterestedly at the faint scars that lined the back of his hand from years of seamanship. “Don’t humor me. You would never act outside father’s orders.”

“I would,” Thor argued, and paused, glancing over his shoulder at Loki. “If I had help.”

Loki’s expression flickered and he looked up, meeting Thor’s gaze. The two of them shared a silent exchange; the same kind that they had since boyhood, a silent discussion and a mutual agreement. Perhaps your cause wasn’t lost after all.

The corner of Thor’s mouth turned up in a smile, and he shrugged his broad shoulders, returning his gaze to the window. “Besides,” he added, “What kind of husband would I be if I couldn’t keep her alive?”

At the same time as a humoring chuckle left his lips, Loki’s breath was punched from his lungs. Realization hit him like a hollow bell – something he had forgotten to consider when he decided to enlist Thor’s help. The two of you were, by all accounts, still engaged. If Thor and Loki succeeded in rescuing you, you would wed him all the same, hopelessly stuck in the same trap as before. His mind searched frantically for an easy solution, some weakness in this sudden and unexpected obstacle, but to his growing panic he found none, and a feeling of utter hopelessness rooted inside his chest that was too deep to claw out.

Loki might yet be able to save your life. But it wouldn’t be a life with him that you’d return to.

~~~

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[justforbooks]

Robert Lee Frost was born on March 26, 1874. He was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United States. Known for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech, Frost frequently wrote about settings from rural life in New England in the early 20th century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes.

Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime and is the only poet to receive four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He became one of America's rare "public literary figures, almost an artistic institution." He was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 1960 for his poetic works. On July 22, 1961, Frost was named poet laureate of Vermont.

The poet and critic Randall Jarrell often praised Frost's poetry and wrote "Robert Frost, along with Stevens and Eliot, seems to me the greatest of the American poets of this century. Frost's virtues are extraordinary. No other living poet has written so well about the actions of ordinary men; his wonderful dramatic monologues or dramatic scenes come out of a knowledge of people that few poets have had, and they are written in a verse that uses, sometimes with absolute mastery, the rhythms of actual speech". He also praised "Frost's seriousness and honesty", stating that Frost was particularly skilled at representing a wide range of human experience in his poems.

Jarrell's notable and influential essays on Frost include the essays "Robert Frost's 'Home Burial'" (1962), which consisted of an extended close reading of that particular poem, and "To The Laodiceans" (1952) in which Jarrell defended Frost against critics who had accused Frost of being too "traditional" and out of touch with Modern or Modernist poetry.

In Frost's defense, Jarrell wrote "the regular ways of looking at Frost's poetry are grotesque simplifications, distortions, falsifications—coming to know his poetry well ought to be enough, in itself, to dispel any of them, and to make plain the necessity of finding some other way of talking about his work." And Jarrell's close readings of poems like "Neither Out Too Far Nor In Too Deep" led readers and critics to perceive more of the complexities in Frost's poetry.

In an introduction to Jarrell's book of essays, Brad Leithauser notes that "the 'other' Frost that Jarrell discerned behind the genial, homespun New England rustic—the 'dark' Frost who was desperate, frightened, and brave—has become the Frost we've all learned to recognize, and the little-known poems Jarrell singled out as central to the Frost canon are now to be found in most anthologies". Jarrell lists a selection of the Frost poems he considers the most masterful, including "The Witch of Coös", "Home Burial", "A Servant to Servants", "Directive", "Neither Out Too Far Nor In Too Deep", "Provide, Provide", "Acquainted with the Night", "After Apple Picking", "Mending Wall", "The Most of It", "An Old Man's Winter Night", "To Earthward", "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening", "Spring Pools", "The Lovely Shall Be Choosers", "Design", and "Desert Places".

In 2003, the critic Charles McGrath noted that critical views on Frost's poetry have changed over the years (as has his public image). In an article called "The Vicissitudes of Literary Reputation," McGrath wrote, "Robert Frost ... at the time of his death in 1963 was generally considered to be a New England folkie ... In 1977, the third volume of Lawrance Thompson's biography suggested that Frost was a much nastier piece of work than anyone had imagined; a few years later, thanks to the reappraisal of critics like William H. Pritchard and Harold Bloom and of younger poets like Joseph Brodsky, he bounced back again, this time as a bleak and unforgiving modernist."

In The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry, editors Richard Ellmann and Robert O'Clair compared and contrasted Frost's unique style to the work of the poet Edwin Arlington Robinson since they both frequently used New England settings for their poems. However, they state that Frost's poetry was "less [consciously] literary" and that this was possibly due to the influence of English and Irish writers like Thomas Hardy and W.B. Yeats. They note that Frost's poems "show a successful striving for utter colloquialism" and always try to remain down to earth, while at the same time using traditional forms despite the trend of American poetry towards free verse which Frost famously said was "'like playing tennis without a net.'"

In providing an overview of Frost's style, the Poetry Foundation makes the same point, placing Frost's work "at the crossroads of nineteenth-century American poetry [with regard to his use of traditional forms] and modernism [with his use of idiomatic language and ordinary, every day subject matter]." They also note that Frost believed that "the self-imposed restrictions of meter in form" was more helpful than harmful because he could focus on the content of his poems instead of concerning himself with creating "innovative" new verse forms.

An earlier 1963 study by the poet James Radcliffe Squires spoke to the distinction of Frost as a poet whose verse soars more for the difficulty and skill by which he attains his final visions, than for the philosophical purity of the visions themselves. "He has written at a time when the choice for the poet seemed to lie among the forms of despair: Science, solipsism, or the religion of the past century ... Frost has refused all of these and in the refusal has long seemed less dramatically committed than others ... But no, he must be seen as dramatically uncommitted to the single solution ... Insofar as Frost allows to both fact and intuition a bright kingdom, he speaks for many of us. Insofar as he speaks through an amalgam of senses and sure experience so that his poetry seems a nostalgic memory with overtones touching some conceivable future, he speaks better than most of us. That is to say, as a poet must."

The classicist Helen H. Bacon has proposed that Frost's deep knowledge of Greek and Roman classics influenced much of his work. Frost's education at Lawrence High School, Dartmouth, and Harvard "was based mainly on the classics". As examples, she links imagery and action in Frost's early poems "Birches" (1915) and "Wild Grapes" (1920) with Euripides' Bacchae. She cites the certain motifs, including that of the tree bent down to earth, as evidence of his "very attentive reading of Bacchae, almost certainly in Greek". In a later poem, "One More Brevity" (1953), Bacon compares the poetic techniques used by Frost to those of Virgil in the Aeneid. She notes that "this sampling of the ways Frost drew on the literature and concepts of the Greek and Roman world at every stage of his life indicates how imbued with it he was".

Robert Frost's personal life was plagued by grief and loss. In 1885 when he was 11, his father died of tuberculosis, leaving the family with just eight dollars. Frost's mother died of cancer in 1900. In 1920, he had to commit his younger sister Jeanie to a mental hospital, where she died nine years later. Mental illness apparently ran in Frost's family, as both he and his mother suffered from depression, and his daughter Irma was committed to a mental hospital in 1947. Frost's wife, Elinor, also experienced bouts of depression.

Elinor and Robert Frost had six children: son Elliot (1896–1900, died of cholera); daughter Lesley Frost Ballantine (1899–1983); son Carol (1902–1940, committed suicide); daughter Irma (1903–1967); daughter Marjorie (1905–1934, died as a result of puerperal fever after childbirth); and daughter Elinor Bettina (died just one day after her birth in 1907). Only Lesley and Irma outlived their father. Frost's wife, who had heart problems throughout her life, developed breast cancer in 1937, and died of heart failure in 1938.

Frost died in Boston on January 29, 1963 of complications from prostate surgery. He was buried at the Old Bennington Cemetery in Bennington, Vermont. His epitaph quotes the last line from his poem, "The Lesson for Today" (1942): "I had a lover's quarrel with the world."

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[dungeons-bat]

Not Just a Little Party (6th Chap)

Warnings: Cursing;

The complete fic

———————————————

‘Shit’, is the only thing that I can actually think about when I wake up. It takes me a while to realize where I am, and when I do, I feel a pair of hands hugging me by my waistline. And I had my face buried in his chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Oh, good morning, darling.” - I hear him saying. Lord, his port-sleep voice is gorgeous. “Good morning, slept well?” - Because I certainly did. “Incredibly well. If I knew that was the solution to the problem, I would have done it sooner.” - He said. Well Thomas, me too. “How did you know I was awake?” - I mean, he said good morning ten seconds after I woke up. “Your breathing changed.” - He simply said. That means that he was at least paying a bit of attention, so why didn’t he move. I mean, we were sleeping like a teenage couple. And we’re not any of those things. “And what time is it?” - Because it was five thirty when we went to bed. “It is nine thirty, darling.” - Usually, I’m completely okay with the fact that he calls me darling, but now I’m blushing. Maybe it is the position that we are in. “Four hours sleep, that’s not bad.” - I don’t like sleeping that much, but we need it, don’t we? “Do you wanna go out to have breakfast? Or we can bake some pancakes here.” - Thomas’ pancakes are probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten, but I don't know what he feels like doing today. “I don’t have a preference.” - He hates when I do that. “Little one, you have three seconds to tell me what you want.” - But I’m the last person you should ask when you want to make a decision. “I love your pancakes, but it takes time, and we have to clean everything after. I also love to eat out, but we have to look presentable to go out of this house. So, as I said, I have no preference.” - Really, I’m fine with anything. “Out it is, but just because I’m craving Jenny’s waffles”

We're at Jen, which is a restaurant specialized in breakfast, and probably the love of Tom's life. Jenny, the chef and owner of the place, is a 57-year-old lady, who cooks better than anyone I’ve ever met. I was eating a croissant with strawberry jelly, and a cup of coffee with vanilla extract. Tom was eating his waffles, and tea. We were talking to Jenny when out of nowhere she says. “So, what does the cute couple has planned for today?” - Oh, Jenny, my dream, but not reality. “We’re not…” - Both Tom and I said at the same time. “Oh sure, still at the denying feelings phase.” - She simply said, and left. I look at tom and see that his face is as red as the ketchup bottle at the table. I also felt my face burning, so I was sure I was blushing too. I mean, I know that I'm into him, but I won't fool myself thinking that TWH was into me too. So we just kept eating, no words coming from none of our mouths.

“Ready to go?” - Now, we were at my house, I needed to get ready for the party. Tom was waiting for me in the living room, but I had to lock Hades in a bathroom because he was leaving his fur all over Tom’s suit. I decided to go for an all black dress, black heels. My hair was down, and as I let it dry naturally, beautiful wavy locks covered my chest. I put some make up, but I wanted my face to look as natural as possible. Then it was the hardest part, in my opinion, jewellery. I decided that I was wearing my favourite colour, green, so everything I put on, rings, necklaces, earrings, all white gold and emeralds. When I stepped out of the room, Tom looked shocked and said, “Lord, you look gorgeous, loyally breathtaking.” - Well, I have to agree with him, I do look gorgeous now. “You don’t look bad yourself, Tom. I told you once, and I’ll tell you again, the suits suit you.”

Sebastian had some stuff to do in London, he had rented a giant house, where he was going to satay for two more weeks. Since he paid a huge amount of money on this, he had to have fun, so he decided to throw a party.

When we arrived at Sebastian’s house, I could not help but notice how big it was. Compared to the other actors houses, it wasn’t that huge, but lord, I was not used to this lifestyle. “Hello miss, you must be Isabela, am I correct?” - My god in a shining armour and purple pants. That is Sebastian bloody Stan. Asking me my name. Sebastian bloody Stan. “Hi, yeah, Isabela Grey sir. Thank you very much for welcoming me to the party, your house is lovely, mister.” - I say. I mean, I know his name is Sebastian, not mister Stan, but I’ve just met him, what am I supposed to cal him? “Well, I thank you for coming, it is a pleasure to finally meet my new colleague. And please, no need for “sir” or “mister”, Sebastian is just fine.” - Well, that answers my question. After greeting me, Sebastian starts to talk to Thomas, they chat a bit, then we go to the living room, where the party is actually happening. The other actors are there. Scarlet freaking Johanson is there, what surprises me a bit, I mean, that woman is my idol. I can also see Anthony Mackie, Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Tom Holland, wait, I thought Seb hated Tom. I can also see Mark Ruffalo, Benedict Cumberbatch, Elizabeth Olsen, Paul Rudd and Jeremy Renner. Also, I see RDJ, who’s not a Marvel Actor any more, but apparently he’s still pretty close to the others. They all greet me, say that it is ‘so nice to see you’ or that ‘your dress is marvellous’. But I was almost dizzy, all this people that I’ve been seeing in the cinema since I was eight, are now here, in front of me, talking to me. Lord. Thomas noticed that I was going crazy, excused both of us and took me to the yard. “Honey, are you okay?” - He asked me. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry to worry you. I’m just surprised. I mean, wow, I’m an actress, you know. That was my dream since ever. And more, I’m a Marvel freaking actress. I grew up watching Marvel, Tom. And look at where I’m now. I literally have a plastic figure of every single one of those people that said ‘hi’ to me. That’s crazy. If you told the twenty-year-old Isa that this was happening, she would tell you to stop lying and giving her expectations. This is ten hundred times bigger than anything I had ever thought I could accomplish.” - I think I talk too much. “Well, darling, that's amazing. I just did not know that you had figures of them. Do you have a Loki one? But anyway, I’m happy that I could be a small part on all of that.” - Is he crazy? A SMALL part? He got me my life. “TWH, you’re not a small part, if it was not you, none of that would have happened. Really, thank you.” - I say, and he leads the way back inside. “And by the way, I do have some figures o Loki. He is my favourite character, and I thought you had noticed it by now.” - He has been to my house, I have tons of Loki merch.

After some hours of party, the guests started to leave, but I discovered that it was like a rule that we, the ones I named in the previous chapter, should stay. Since they work with him, and I'm going to do the same later, we stay a bit longer for chatting and playing something. Like a friends' reunion. Both Chris Evens and Hemsworth were getting more beer, I believe today was the day that I had more alcohol in my whole life, but unlike most of them, I'm not drunk. They were controlled until the other guests left, but after that, they drank three litres of beer in an hour and a half. They were not crazy drunk, but you could see that sober was something that they were not. Thomas, Hemsworth, Scarlet, and Benedict were as sober as I, but the rest of them were stoned as a rock.

We were telling embarrassing stories that happened to us, when Lizzie says, “But no funny stuff about you two?” - While pointing a finger at Tom and I. “Oh, come on. A cute couple, like the two of you, had never walked through something you could not solve and ended up embarrassing yourselves?” - Shit Lizzie. “We are not…” - I said, while Thomas just said, “Not dating.” - Well now I have an embarrassing story to tell, when Elizabeth Olsen asked me if I was dating Tom Hiddleston. “Oh come on, I can smell the sexual tension from miles. You’re lying. Either to us or to yourselves.” - RDJ is visibly drunk, so I’ll just ignore that. “Let's change the subject, shall we?” - My saviour, Ben, says. I look at Thomas’ direction and can see that he’s trying, but failing, to hide a blush.

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

The Colors of my Soul(mates) [1]

[Second oneshot]

[AO3 link]

Kanene’s Notes:

Nope, I do not regret the pun. Okay, okay! I’ve plaining this AU for almost an year so I’m pretty excited to post it!! dfghjsdfrtyucfvgbhjv yaaaay!! Thank you very very much @olliedollie1204 for such a positive feedback and awesome ideas. it helped me a lot!! 

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Virgil, Logan, Patton and Roman (only a brief mention of Remy) in a platonic relationship (yet), but it can be viewed as romantic, if you wish. 

* Warnings: A bit of swearing and depreciative thoughts. It’s mostly fluff and hurt/comfort, tho.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 4.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Say to someone important how much you love them, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

                           [~*~]

What can do a creature if not, between creatures, love?  - Carlos Drummond de Andrade

  - What the fu-

 Virgil only discovered he had more than one Soulmate when he was twenty years old, more specifically the exact moment he took a wrong turn and kept going even knowing he was in the wrong way because one hour it would lead him to somewhere Virgil would recognize before his mortal being inevitably starved to death in the middle of nowhere and his eyes got dragged from the visions from thousands of futures created by his mind to a Teddy Bear Store - they seemed to replicate worse than bacteria during Valentine’s Day - and two bears from the crimson shelter suddenly dyed themselves in two milliseconds as he slightly glanced at them.

 Two of them. Virgil felt his entire face burn in hot shades of embarrassment with drops of disbelief, almost as if all the people running, stumbling, locked in their own worlds and swearing while walked in the sideway because ‘some stupid teenager decided to just stop and block their way’ could, by only looking at him, stare deep into his soul and realize the one staring astonished the store already carried in his fate another one more Soulmate at home.

One completely different in shape and form, even if also blue, however in a light, sky blue completely opposite shade from the new navy one staring him down - Virgil knew plentily their link wasn’t bonded yet, albeit he was equally sure that the person behind those black glooming teddy bear’s eyes were already judging him, - wondering why, between all the people, he was their soulmate. The other red one was very much likely crackling in his face when an employee came and pointedly turn the adult’s attention to the sign in big, graphed words clued in front of their store:

 “You dye, you buy.”

 Virgil signed, pushing his hoodie down further, wondering how much time it would take of him hitting his head on the wall to finally pass out. This option sounded much more attractive when he realized that this new ‘discovery’ about himself would cost all his month’s saves.

 He asked, to the Universe, the stars, the Earth and whoever was seeing him in that exact moment: why?

 Was it a kind of prank? A punishment from fate when, years and tears ago, Virgil lifted his chin up and dared the Universe to give him more soulmates as he locked all his uncolored – although never really free of some weak drops of paint from what one day they came to be – simply stuffed animals, - and nothing more, anymore, - away and promised he would never, ever allow himself to go all through this shit again?

 But… That had been… years ago. Almost a decade since that soft voice he got to know so well, the impulsive acts, long conversations and warm feelings.

 But…

 Time has passed, that is true. Nevertheless, deep down has he really changed?

 Virgil stared at the bag carried so close to his chest since his bare hands were sweating and shaking way too much for this task. Yes, he knew his Soulmates won’t feel anything until both of them decided to ‘give the First Step’, accepting to link their souls and fates, for the longest as it lasts. However, he didn’t want to risk it, because what if they felt? What if he in some way broke the Soulmate System when got two at the same time and now everything was messed up and they could already feel his touches even through the bag and the first impression Virgil would gave to them was ‘That anxious, weird boy and his creepy, sweaty hands’ and-

 A girl almost hit him as she passed running at his side, making his arms protectively hug further the teddy bears closer to him, arms protectively involving them, the soft touch somehow calming his tumulted thoughts. The lost man took a deep breath.

 Clear your mind. Rational thoughts. Focus on the two sides of the coin. Three people wouldn’t be able to break a millennial, unknown system, don’t matter how good he was in screwin… No, a voice that sounded suspiciously a lot like his psychologist calmly pointed, not like that. Virgil huffed, trying again. He was a magnet of problems and bad…Okay, also wrong. Neutral thoughts, focus on neutral thoughts. Come on. Come on.

 It was okay.

 They wouldn’t feel him until they gave the first step. Right, that… sounded like a start. He didn’t do anything. Now, what Virgil needed to do was go to his house, clean his bed in order to find a good place where he could put and ignore them and then he would get his headphones, listen his playlists and wonder where the fuck his life was going.

 It was okay. Everything would stay okay as long as he didn’t give the First Step.

 Virgil unconsciously hugged tighter the teddy bears, his fingers finding way and drowning themselves in the soft, cozy fur, combing them in light, soothing touches as he continued his way.

 Okay. Everything was okay.

 [~*~]

 Plurinfanto, or Multiple Souls, it’s the nomination used for the cases when a person has diverse soulmates at the same time and in a same period.

 The first known case was with Pharaoh Cleopatra when multiples of her woolen fabric started to dye themselves in various colors and shades. In Ancient Roman, it was believed that the occurrences were blessings from Venus in a sign of prosperity and abundance. Grand, longstanding parties were executed through days nonstop in order to get together those intertwined souls. When the connection broke and the colors disappeared, it meant that days of pain and foreboding were waiting forward.

 It is not known for certain the exact moment when the meaning changed, albeit researchers believe it was around the fall of the Roman Empire, when all the invasions resulted in a cultural reconstruction which led to the loss from much of their costumes.

  CLICK HERE TO DISCOVER HOW TO HAVE THE SOULMATE OF YOUR DREAMS!!!!  

 [~*~]

 The computer made a soft ‘click’ as Virgil closed it and sat on his bed, adjusting slightly his position to stare the three vivid, brilliant stuffed beings contrasting to the general dark theme of his room.

 Virgil growled, resting his back on the cold wall, the shivers calming his flowing thoughts about all the variants this whole thing had. No to mention that people change with time, leading to the souls who they “relate” to change as well, meaning that you can have someone in your life for years and then, one month, or weeks or the next day, you can wake up only to discover you and the said person don’t “match” anymore.

 And NO ONE talked about this just because it was a freak tabu to doesn’t have ‘an only one soulmate who will be with you until the end of your existence’. Oh, for fuck sake. Virgil ran his hand through his hair, wincing when he accidently pulled some tangled strands. That sounds like a line of commercial, does anyone believe that bullshit for real?

 “Hello dear, newer fellow!!” The popping thought broke his line of reasoning, jumping excitedly in his mind and automatically pulling him out of his wanders. It has a strong and full of… about everything, tune demanding attention. Virgil felt a warm kiss on his forehead, meaning one soulmate – a deep part of him turned his attention to the red colored teddy bear, - had given the First Step. The one who in some moment changed his position so now he was sitting on the floor felt his face get hot again, heart thumping strongly in his chest as his arm moved, fingers stopping inches away from the fur, questioning if he was ready to retribute the gesture.

  [~*~]

 Many history icons have reports of being Pluriers, as shown in the book ‘The Romance in the History of Those Who Wrote It’, by historian Henry Senyura. The subject is also beginning to gain more visibility after the protest from the teacher Joan A. in 2010, who got touched towards the situation of some of her pupils being forced to choose only one among their Soulmates for the six-month annual exchange, by the end of that period most of them lost or weakened their bonding due lack of communication, small changes of personality and continuous absence. She held a protest at the front of the school, stating that no one had the right to interfere in ‘matters of the heart’.

 A lot of fiction works are beginning to address the topic more frequently, as in I’m Not One, a movie directed by Devon Stan; The Seven Colors of Rainbow, a book written by Lílian Lee and the psychological analysis Life’s Watch, recently found between drafts by the famous writer Robin Green, published after their husband’s authorization, Josué Green.

 [~*~]

 Logan hummed. As it seems, this was a relatively common thing, since the concept of Soul Mates surpassed the barriers of unity and time, being ‘souls who in a way or other intertwined themselves in some part of their life. Sometimes it didn’t necessarily mean a romantic relationship, as the majority of society and media pointed, but it also didn’t hold any assurance that all of them were platonic.

 He massaged the bridge of his nose. Remy wasn’t in the dorm so everything was silent enough for him to hear his own thoughts.

  It has been a remarkable amount of years since he got his last soulmates, - except for Remy, however they both considered this occurrence as a separate incident - well, until, of course, this day. At least it was a good thing he always carried in his bag extra easy manageable stuffed animals or else maybe the System would dye one of clothes, what would be less than ideal for him in the middle of his philosophy debate. But things got even more interesting when, after his classes, as he arrived at the small, pleasantly well-organized store next to his university, one more stuffed animal colored itself right before him.

 He didn’t exactly understand why. Logan considered himself an owner of a… quite strong, strict personality, this added with his difficulty in managing his and one another emotions usually tended to bring some complex tribulations in his rela-

 Anyway, that is beside the important matter. The one laying his chin on his crossed fingers undid his pose for a bite of time in order to adjust his glasses, barely fixating his gaze on the two plushies in the desk before him, his third – Pat - resting a few centimeters away, closer to Logan’s fingers, who were barely touching. Mind running. Asking, reflecting, wondering what was the exact amount of time to be acceptable to give his First Step?

 ‘The First Step’.

 Logan never really understood from where and how that expression emerged. It didn’t come from the words’ etymology nor some semantic detour. His most concrete hypothesis consisted of the phrase being derived from old romances.

 “Did you know it used to be called the ‘First Kiss’?! But that confused a lot of people who really believed that, to be able to talk and interact with their soulmates they would have to kiss each other, like the Sleeping Beauty! I always got confused in this movie when I was a child, by the way! That ended up messing with a bunch of relationships before they even started, since a lot of peeps don’t feel comfortable enough with strangers kissing them. However, they also speeded up a bunch of them as well…” Logan blinked, his attention escaping from his previous thoughts to the light sky blue plushie of Baby Yoda, for a moment surprised with the sudden input. He felt fingers carefully holding his arms and a bit of ghost movements as Pat probably moved his representation to somewhere else, a hug and warmth engulfing the one yet absolving the new information moments later.

 “That was… enlightening.” His voice danced across the room. Even though he was completely aware they could chat telepathically, the childish act of saying the words out loud still comforted him, in a way. “Thank you for your contribution.”

 He took a deep breath and closed the tab of research on his cellphone, internally thanking from the escaping of his turmoil of thoughts, his free hand carefully combing the Baby Yoda’s head fur, almost methodic.

 “Looo, no!” The other protested with no heat in his tune, leading a toothless smile to resurface in Logan’s features. “Stop doing this. You know I end up sleeping every time!”

 “Oh no, what a tragedy.” He deadpanned, already plugging his phones and changing to a most relaxed position on his chair, his eyes traveling across the countless movies on the device before him. “In which episode did we stop?”

 “I’m going to fight you.” Pat sounded like he was pouting.

 “How so?” Logan asked, trying to hide his amusement.

 Silence followed his words.

 “Pat?”

 “What is the skeleton’s favorite instrument?”

 “Pat, don’t you fucking da-”

 “Language! It’s a xiloBONE!”

 Logan audible growled, fast in his final decision. “I’m going to drop you out the window.”

  “I’m going to hug you!” And immediately the one rolling his eyes felt himself being squished in a strong bear hug, huffing only half annoyed.

 “You are an incorrigible heathen, let me go in this exact instant.” His answer was a ‘butterfly kiss’ – as Pat was fond in calling them – on his forehead. “Urg, affection.” Yet he smiled and mirrored the act, lightly poking the other’s side.

 “We’re on episode 19.”

  [~*~]  

Roman stared the paper, his pencil’s tip stopped in the middle of the biggest petal’s flower, his eyes narrowing in the hope of a clearest way of how to convert the vague idea he had in transforming the night full of stars in a flower. No to tell he also would need to choose a good pallet of colors indication for it, later, and probably re-do all the process over and over and over until got the best result as possible. A yawn found its way from his lips and the designer stretched, getting up to drink a bit of water and rubbing his eyes, wondering if it was really worth it to make a black tea to help him through the night.

 A glimpse of color caught his attention. The navy blue teddy bear on his couch, the main inspiration of his newest tattoo. Roman wondered why it wasn’t resting in front of him while he drew. A corner of his brain, obscured by the tiredness, telling he had a previous good reason for this choice although his actual self carried absolutely no idea of why.

 Well, if he couldn’t remember it, it means the reason wasn’t THAT good, right?

 Roman held the stuffed animal, spinning with it across the room for a couple of minutes, imagining who would be the person behind it. A king, a queen, a non-binary royalty? Did they like Disney? Musicals? Sing? Would they chat for hours at first with a few words exchanged or would they take a bit to warm at each other? Was navy blue their favorite color or…

 Or…

 Navy blue.

 Oh.

 He fixed his glare on the plushie, his hands feeling and slowly drawing in the soft fur of it.

 Navy blue, huh? A humorless chuckled flew in the air. It could have no significance, it could be a world of it. It probably didn’t mean what he, for a moment, a so silly, stupid moment, wished it meant. Of course, one day this would happen, right? It was something normal, something expected. Not the magical, right out of the story books or his old daydreams, occurrence.

 This wasn’t a second chance. The Universe doesn’t give you second chances. He wasn’t the same boy from eleven years ago, holding his own costumed teddy bear crying his eyes out, hugging he – No, it – the closest as possible, wishing with all his heart and soul for the color, the voice, the thoughts, the rambling, their bickering, the forgiveness to come back again.

 No, he grew up. He moved on. He got better.

 Then why did a part of him still felt this way? Like he was about to hear the excited giggles, the soft reprimand, that lovely, deep and so truly -and sometimes boring, Roman had to admit – questions? Why would a part of him still say that he could have it all again if he just… waited long enough, hoped high enough, dreamed long enough…

 …If he was enough.

There aren’t more than seven billion colors in the world. Roman would be stupid if he really believed there was a path where he wouldn’t stumble in that so (un)fortunate well-known shade of blue again.

 Roman growled, his forehead making a loud, dry thumping sound as hit his desk. The one who should be asleep hours ago had absolutely no energy to battle against those thoughts, again. At least for now. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the teddy bear laid on the cold tabletop before him. Well, what a better way to get rid of your own means thoughts than put some stranger’s unpredictable thoughts in the middle of it? Roman slightly pushed the bunch of flowers and some warmup sketches he had out of the way, carefully carrying the representation next to him, nodding. Honestly, that was the best idea he had for a while, why did he even put the lovely thing away?

 Awake Roman was so silly, thinking that… something he couldn’t quite recall right now would be a bad idea, he pointed as snorted softly, pressing his lips on the teddy’s forehead, the quote he knew by heart flying from them in a natural flow.

 “It is not immortal, since it’s flame. But let it be infinite while it lasts.”

 A warm sensation rested on his own forehead moments later, leading the sleepy form to hum happily.

 “Is it… poetry?” Oh shit, Roman widened his eyes. His soulmate heard that?? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Roman mentally facepalmed himself. So that was why he usually said it before the First Step!

 “Uhh, yeah. Of course. Fidelity Sonnet by Vinícius Moraes.”

 “I see. Classicism, I presume. A literature of very soundly pleasant rhymes, indeed. The first sonnet was probably created by the humanist Italian poet Francesco Petrarca, although it got even more known in the western literature after the works of Camões, who- ”

 “He is from Modernism, actually.” Roman didn’t know why he suddenly sounded so defensive. Logan felt a cold feeling run his body when the other’s hands let go of him, for a piece of second wondering if it was supposed for him to do the same with the red narwhal plushie on his hold.

 “A very common mistake to make due the lack of context.” He retorted, unable to formulate another answer. He had, of course, thought, balanced options and chosen the best topics to discuss with his new soulmates when they bonded. However, his fingers firmly gripped the pen, its tip tapping on the first topic written in the notebook partially forgotten in front of him, the poetry figuratively threw him out of his tracks, leading the decision to be the most impartial as possible due his… not so impartial past memories with that specific shade of red an even more difficult task than it already was.

 “Yes. Sure. Sorry, I- I’m just… very tired right now.”

 “You should go sleep, then.”

 The other snorted with the direct, immediate response. “I should, shouldn’t I? Gotta work, though.”

 Some part of Logan’s brain registered the new fact, separating and keeping it in a special place so he would remember to write it down in the new folder he bought, later.

 “I see.” … poetry? That wasn’t a hard topic to talk about. The one now nervously cleaning the very clear lenses twisted his mouth. He could talk about this for hours. No, correction: he already had previously talked about this for hours non stop.

 Logan strangely felt the urge to rub his face and scream. It has been years, - eleven years and 10 months to be precise – and exactly eight years since the one wearing glasses learned poetry because of him. Because of his constant habit of reciting Shakespeare before they would go to bed, until Logan brought himself to research and decorate all the poems he could muster, taking the task to now wake Prince – the name still carried a strong taste in his tongue – in the same way every single day. Before they realize, that becomes something between them. There were times when both didn’t talk, content in only reciting some verses and hear the other complete them. A part of Logan, that illogical and unfortunately full of feelings one wondered how their rap battles would be if they found each other right now.

 Did Prince even maintain his liking the same things he one day did? Does he still recite poetry? Does he maintain the same dreams? The same habits?  Does he even remember about him?

 Highly improbable.

 “You can call me Lo.”

 Roman slowly blinked, getting out the fog surrounding his brain to realize he was mindless staring at the pan’s boiling water, surprised the other still there. Well, it seems like he hasn't screwed terribly everything yet.

 “Lo? Like Lowrance?”

 “Even though my name does contain ‘Lo’ in it, no. It’s ‘Lo’ like Logic. I came to believe it’s a good idea the nomination after a predominant characteristic, since we can’t actively exchange our real names through the Soulmate System.”

 Roman’s breath hitched, a memory with yellow-ish edges and nostalgic smell unrolling in front of him.

 …

 ‘I think we should choose you a name with more personality in it, ya know?’ He threw himself on his bed, kicking his legs on the air before immediately scoping the plushie and laying it on his stomach. ‘Like a characteristic!’

 ‘I don’t see what is wrong with the nickname I choose.’

 ‘No, no! There is nothing wrong with it! But that could be something just between us!’ Then he gasped, picturing that, if he was inside a movie there would be a lamp shining right above his hair in this moment. ‘We could call you Ro!! You wanted to be a robot, right?’

 His soulmate growled and Roman felt a few pokes on his arm, the verbal protest doesn’t taking long before accompanying it. ‘I was three years old!’

 ‘And I’m never letting you live this down.’ He beamed, both knowing the annoyed scoff he got as response held no real heat. ‘Besides, we could even match our names!!’

 ‘That would be very counterproductive.’ Roman felt his hair being softly smoothed, a usual indication the other was losing himself in his thoughts. ‘Nicknames are supposed to help us. Having two equal names is not the most efficient thing.’

 Roman dramatically scoffed, picking the stuffed animal and half hugging it, his free hand occupying itself in making a couple of gestures to no one, since his soulmate couldn’t exactly see them. ‘It’s not about being productive, Bear! It’s about feelings!!’

 ‘And since when,’ a light poke was delivered on his belly, making him squeak and mess with the teddy bear’s hair in revenge ‘Everything isn’t feelings for you, your highness?’

 …

 “Okay,” Roman and his self past disappearing with the fading memory said, in synchrony “You shall call me by Prince, then.”

 Suddenly he felt himself falling, his hands quickly holding on the tabletop as the cold, nauseous feeling took over his stomach, more like a punch on it, his veins being filled with amounts of adrenaline for a glimpse of a second.

 “Excuse me? Warn a guy next time you decide to just drop his representation, dude! Damn.” Roman shook himself, trying to bring his body to calm down.

 “Sorry, I got… startled.” Logan gulped. The word ‘Prince’ echoing on his mind as a broken vinyl disc. What were the chances? That couldn’t be such a common nickname, right? Nor color. Nor interests. What were the chances? What could be the chances? Maybe he was just projecting, being played, tricked by a dangerous partnership between his own brain and emotions. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions due the nostalgic feeling fogging his actions, his thoughts. Perhaps-

 “Hey, Lo? Are you there?”

 “Yes.” Logan answered, his fingertips colliding quickly with the fabric of his pants as he visualized his options. “Yes, I am.”

 “Hm. Okay, then. I’m… glad to know.”

 Silence. Logan took a wobbly breath.

 “Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back; Wherein he puts alms for oblivion; A great-size monster of ingratitudes:”

  “Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd; As fast as they are made, forgot as soon.” Roman continued without even noticing until the words danced in the air, just like the years haven’t passed.

 Then he understood.

  His heart stopped for a second, his eyes widening and his voice disappearing, as if his whole being was afraid to break the moment, the spell; as if this was a dream and a miscalculate step would make everything fade.

 “Bear?” Roman felt a light poke on his cheek.

 “Hello, Prince.”

 Roman choked a laugh, quickly crawling the teddy bear next to his chest, hugging it both firmly and yet so caring, curling around its - no, him - feeling an equal warmth involve his form as he hided his face on the soft fur, giggling and hugging, feeling so happy, so alive and right and good and he would never, ever, ever again let him go.

 “I missed you, bitch. Never scare me like this again.”

 “I… missed you, as well.” Logan tried to not let the emotion take over his tune, his hand petting the narwhal plushie softly, the words had abandoning him, as it seems. “This reunion is a… good surprise.”

 “Oh, shut up, I know you’re having a blast somewhere in that logic soul of yours, too.”

 Logan huffed, grinning. “Stop crying on my hair, your troglodyte.”

 “Make me, I dare you.”

 “Always so dramatic.” They both rolled their eyes, letting the moment be bathed in the deep waters of a comfortable silence.

 “Eleven years.”

 “We have so, so much to talk about!! Oh, my goodness gracious, I’m going to get my tea. Do you remember about that play I wrote about zombie princes and a dragon witch? You will NOT fucking believe what happened with it!”

 “Good thing I have you to explain to me then.” Roman stopped, a gigantic smile taking over his features as he closed his eyes to feel everything even more.

 “Yeah, I agree.”

 Somewhere in the world Patton and Virgil smiled during their sleep, unable to control themselves when a gigantic wave of pure joy and delight filled every corner of their hearts, coloring it on the most brilliant gleam, just like their stuffed animals resting peacefully on their grip.

[tracelessrp]

ROLAND BANCROFT-BISHOP is a 28 year old WITCH, who looks a lot like THOMAS DOHERTY. RO spends time at Traceless because HE IS TRYING TO FIND SOMEONE. HE is known for HIS EXPERIENCE WITH DARK MAGIC, HIS ENHANCEMENT SKILLS, AND CRAZY DREAMS.

Hometown: Salem, Massachusetts  Current Residence: Traceless Village  How long they have visited Traceless: New Arrival (2-3 days). Abilities: Roland is a jack of all trades but master of none when it comes to magic. He finds it easier when he uses emotion with his magic; when he is happy, or focused, the magic is easier to use. He also has incredible durability, with the ability to use magic for extended time periods, or withstand a lot of magical attacks. Ro is best with potions, and often does better with spells or runes, and can be a great enhancer of power for others. Honestly? He is still searching for his “great power”, which he is convinced he must have hidden somewhere. 

Character Background: 

Trigger warnings for violence, death, neglect of a child

Being born a Bancroft-Bishop had more history than Roland realized for most of his life. Salem, Massachusetts was famous for its folklore with witches and The Salem Witch Trials, and somehow his destiny became tightly interwoven with past, present, and future. During the original Trials back in the 1690s, the Bishop name was synonymous with witch hunter. It was something that never truly left the lineage of the family, even after a marriage in the 1740s between a Bishop and a Bancroft was arranged to establish peace. Bancroft was a particularly strong lineage of witches, one almost eradicated in the Trials. Fast forward a few hundred years, and you have him - Roland Bancroft-Bishop. There was a fast bond between Ro and his father, one that only deepened with the passing of his mother when he was 11. Along with her death came the anger, and with the anger, centuries old grudges resurfaced. Ro was filled with stories of Salem’s history, of the witches who ruined it, who cursed and poisoned the town, and the men who rose from the ashes to save it from their wicked power. 

Ro’s father blamed witches - and a 300 year old curse placed on the Bancroft name - for his wife’s death, and so Ro did, too. It wasn’t long before his father decided Roland should know the truth about their quaint, tourist-y town… witches still existed, and the fight was ever on. 

Aside from the supernatural element, Roland lived a pretty good normal life for most of his upbringing. His family was wealthy; they were old money, roots deeper in Salem than the trees. Their home at the end of Main Street was all brick, lined with windows, and could’ve leapt from a historical site itself; but you’d never have guessed how lush Ro’s pockets were by looking at him. He liked the outdoors, he liked the “survival trips” he’d take with his dad, he loved camping and boating, climbing - it didn’t matter what it was, Ro thrived on the adventure of it all. Witch hunting came easily to him because of that, those base animal instincts to hunt, catch, survive. His father did nothing but encourage and praise Roland, so by his teenhood, the boy had become quite cocky and energetic. 

Then it happened… magic flooded Salem, and a coven was unveiled from the shadows. It was chaos from the first moment Roland laid eyes on the first of the witches he would eventually be captured by, with ice-blond hair and a frosted gaze. Blood was spilled, friends were lost on both sides, and Roland found himself left in the wreckage with the one thing he held most dear gone forever - his identity. 

First the tea, drugged, and then, the dreams, and finally… the awakening. Ro had fallen asleep himself and awoke as something more. The same witch who had been entrusted to hold him captive had turned his own blood against him, pumping him full of what lay asleep underneath, and he woke with magic. A witch. The hunter becomes the hunted. 

Of course he couldn’t go home. Roland doubted his father’s hatred of witches would stop him from taking any of them out, himself included. He couldn’t join the coven, obviously, not to mention the war between the hunters and the witches had torn the survivors apart, and scattered them in opposite directions. There was nowhere else to go but to stay with her, his captor, his now self-proclaimed mentor. Ro was surprised how quickly it felt natural, how quickly the two fell into a routine, and somehow, began to build a life. He’d watch her in moments she thought she was alone, practicing her most incredible magic; the ability to wield the cold around her. It became different to him as he’d watch, see her grow, see how own abilities grow. No longer was magic something to despise and snuff out, but something to pursue. 

Though magic had always run through Ro’s blood since birth, it was heavily diluted and weakened, rendered dormant. It never would have come forth without some extra help from a powerful, determined witch and an ancient ritual. It was weaker than the magic he’d witnessed in Salem, and this frustrated Roland. He’d never wanted to be a magical being anyway, but once he was, he had to be stuck with fickle, mild powers that were basically useless? Perhaps this instinctive desire for power is what originally drove Ro to dark magic, at least in the beginning. Something to “jump-start” the process, something to coax out what he knew had to be lurking inside. The sinister spells and the power of dark magic tempted Roland, and when he found a medallion pendant that promised to lend the wearer strength, he was sold. It snowballed from there, and Roland was already in too deep by the time he realized he’d lost her. 

The longer he wore the pendant, the worse Roland’s mind got, the more his heart darkened. He received the power he wanted, but the cost continued to get greater, and this carried on for years. Roland found himself traveling, familiarizing himself with vampires and other witches, picking up the pieces of everyone’s magic and creating a capsule within himself. When the dreams started, Ro ignored them… but it was the same dream, night after night, and growing more realistic. 

What neither he or the ice witch had realized was that the ritual performed to turn Roland into a witch created a soul bond between the two. It was all but erased by the black magic Ro had taken to using, but something had changed. Something had strengthened the bond between him and the witch, and now it was calling to him. Hidden in Traceless, and a witch and her daughter carried on their life, and the older the little girl got, the more Ro couldn’t fight the dreams. 

Roland is a hunter, so he followed the clues, and he broke free of the darkness fading his mind. His connections with the supernatural helped him find Traceless, a suggestion from a friend of a friend who knew a guy who served a good cup of coffee (and hid a whole world right out the back door) leading Roland into the coffee shop’s doors, and discovering the village. Hopefully, discovering the witch, and fixing the disaster he’d left in his wake. 

(ooc: ghost, 25, they/them, est)