#and even without the shadow of the original novel it's still rather flat

[quietparanoiac]

Gemma Whelan as Anne Weston in Emma (2020)

#Emma #Emma 2020 #Mrs Weston #Gemma Whelan #Anne Taylor Weston #my gifs #Gemma still is a treasure #the Westons looked so humane without any awful parody #in high contrast with the rest of the characters #I mostly disliked the film #an adaptation of Austen needs more social irony and way less farce #and even without the shadow of the original novel it's still rather flat #...of course they reminded me about crossover ideas for Emma 1996 with Strong

[louryanalarcon]

Thoughts on Shadow and Bone

08 May 2021

I did something. I read an entire book strictly for leisure for the first time ever really! And I fell in love with it! As you recall, I watched Shadow and Bone on Netflix, and it was fantastic, perhaps the best show I’ve watched since The Witcher and Game of Thrones. Can you tell I have a thing for fantasy series? Well in short, I loved the tv show so much I couldn’t wait another year for season 2. I needed to dive head-first into the Grishaverse and see what lies ahead. See, I tried doing the same with Game of Thrones, but those books are so dense I could barely keep my eyes open. It was like reading a bible. In contrast, these Grishaverse books are much more my speed. I know, they’re Young Adult novels, probably meant for teenagers and a younger crowd, but so is Harry Potter, right? Besides, I never was one for reading, but I can read these books like it were a tv show on paper. I swept through the first book in less than a week! I never do that. Reading is different. I see the allure now. It’s patient, slowly building up as you go until you find yourself a hundred pages in and you’re like, “Hmm, this shit alright.”

Anyways, I have some time on my hand and since I finished both book one and season 1 of Shadow and Bone, I want to write my thoughts on the books and the show. Which one do I prefer? Ultimately, I like the show more – if for one reason alone: the casting of Jessie Mei Li and Archie Renaux as Alina Starkov and Malyen Oretsev. The diverse cast is very much appreciated and they’re all incredible, but to cast two Asians in the lead roles… I can’t express my appreciation for that. In fact, I’m thankful for having watched the show first because now as I read the books, I can’t help but see Asian Alina and Mal fall in love. Am I a sucker for a good love story, of course, look who you’re talking to? But the thing is too, the show really breathed some life into Mal’s character, compared to his otherwise dull book counterpart. I love their love story… that’s really all I have to say about that.

Well, I think I’ve found my new addiction for the next couple months. To think I would like reading so much to the point that every day after work, I’m reading for two or three hours? At least, I’ve found something to keep me preoccupied.

30 May 2021

Well, finished the Shadow and Bone Trilogy – all in less than a month. Never was one for reading, (or continuing old entries), but here I am. I don’t know why I never posted, but I’m going to try to be less of a perfectionist and more personal. This is a blog after all.

Anyways, did I like it? Of course, I did. Considering the fact that I pretty much haven’t read an entire book cover to cover since forever, and now here I am trying to give a book review? It’s odd, but I want to try. What I loved the most about the Shadow and Bone Trilogy is the friends-to-lovers romance between Alina and Mal. I fell in love with them on screen, and honestly, their book counterparts aren’t too bad, especially if you imagine Jessie Mei Li and Archie Renaux in their place.

As far as the first book, Shadow and Bone, is concerned, I basically knew everything that was going to happen after having already watched season one on Netflix. So, that kind of took away some immersion and shock from pivotal moments in the story. However, there was some things the show did differently. By the way, I’m diving right into spoilers, so, sorry in advance. Mal never kisses Alina in season one, whereas in the books, he kisses her right before they meet the stag. I can’t help but feel like this was done purposely to heighten anticipation for their eventual onscreen kiss sometime in season two. I was okay with it. I don’t assume the show will follow exactly what goes on in the books, and that’s fine. Perhaps I was too harsh on book Mal because I felt like he kind of fell flat and never really showed more of himself. But as I continued, I grew to like him. Book Alina is much different than her show counterpart. In the books, she is very unconfident, not nearly as brave, and truthfully, not nearly as beautiful. Jessie Mei Li is almost too gorgeous to play the role, but then again, I’m not really complaining. Some might find Alina as pretentious, and yes, sometimes her constant doubt and jealousy can be, but it really does show what goes on in a young woman’s mind, particularly one who is not typically beautiful or sought after. And incredibly enough, she finds herself in a love-rectangle?

Book two, Siege and Storm, is my favorite. The introduction of Sturmond, Tolya and Tamar, and Zoya’s greater role in the story was what made me love it. First off, Sturmond’s surprise true identity reveal of him being Nikolai was maybe the biggest surprise of the entire series for me. Nikolai is great; his wit and charisma is charming and an appreciated change from the doom and gloom that sometimes characterizes Alina. Also, Tolya and Tamar, being Shu made me relate to them even more. I loved the fact that he’s huge and she’s small and wiry. It was nice. Zoya Nazyalensky. What more can I say? She is my favorite character in the series. The raven-haired Squaller – I’m in love with her. Maybe it’s because Sujaya Dasgupta is gorgeous, or maybe it’s because I love the “mean-girl to nice-girl” trope. She is great, but honestly, I wish we got to learn more about her outside of her incredible beauty. Maybe I’ll find out in the King of Scars duology, which I am currently on right now.

Finally, book three, Ruin and Rising, is probably second on my list. It ended well but took its time to get rolling. I never liked the Apparat, so the beginning of the book was not my favorite. Also, Nikolai wasn’t there to liven things up. It was very gloomy down there underground. But as they ventured up and eventually reunited with Nikolai, then things started rolling. Also, the Apparat kind of just fell off there. Like, we never really learned his true motives. Again, I still have the King of Scars duology to read, so there’s still room. For me, the Apparat’s arc felt unfinished. But oh well, didn’t really care for him. Mal being the third amplifier… I didn’t expect that to be honest. I should listen more carefully. If anything, I guess I didn’t like the final battle. In contrast, Siege and Storm’s final battle felt more climactic and consequential. Alina was left within an inch of her life, her hair turned white, her powers gone, the Darkling’s power gained, a coup, and the crew was forced underground. It was epic. This on the other hand, wasn’t really on that level. There wasn’t much of a battle at all. People get shot and bit, and then Alina kills Mal. It wasn’t so much an epic standoff between Alina and the Darkling so much as it was Alina gaining her third amplifier and winning by default. I went in thinking she had to harness the power of all the amplifiers and defeat the Darkling. Nothing of the sort came about. Perhaps Mal was the true Big Bad since it was his death that rid the Shadow Fold. I’m sort of torn because I’m happy Mal came back alive because he and Alina get their happily ever after, but his “death” didn’t mean much. So, he lived two lives? Also, Alina is left without her powers… I don’t know man, for why?

All in all, I’m happy with Alina and Mal’s ending. Their arc is finished. Orphans of Keramzin bringing up an orphanage of their own, and kissing beneath the stairs while the staff watches from afar? I can dig it. I decided to jump right into King of Scars (mainly for Zoya and Nikolai) rather than start Six of Crows. There are some spoilers unfortunately, so if you really like Nina then don’t do this. Otherwise, I’m mainly concerned with Zoya and Nikolai and the other characters from the original trilogy. So, that’s where I’m at. I’ve gained a newfound hobby and escaped into a new fandom. Reading can be fun sometimes. Give it a try.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Shadow of the Batgirl: A review type thing

I just read the graphic novel Shadow of the Batgirl by Sarah Kuhn and Nicole Goux, which reimagines the superhero origin of Cassandra Cain.

It was overall good and EXTREMELY cute! If you want an awesome story about a teenage assassin running away from her shitty dad and finding a neat library, a community of cool ladies and the hero within herself, AND WHY WOULDN’T YOU WANT THAT, definitely get this! 

It’s a standalone Batgirl story completely accessible to all and with none of the weird baggage and the complicated continuity of the regular Batman universe! it’s appropriate for younger teens but still a good read for adults, the art’s colorful and great, it’s packed to the brim with joy and hope.

And on top of all that, it gives a great character who’s been traditionally horribly neglected by mainstream comics for some reason (*cough its because she’s not white cough*) a spotlight and a chance to shine (and get written by an Asian American author for once!)! This also features one of my other faves, who had her disability and adult identity erased in the main universe, but not in this comic, hurray!

SO YEAH, if you like superheroes at all, highly recommend this!

NOW for a more detailed review, calling on all my expertise as a Cassandra Cain superfan and going into pros and cons. This’ll be long, but I’ll do it as a list to break it down.

Let’s start with the good stuff, there’s a lot of it:

- This story takes place in world where Barbara Gordon as Oracle (and former Batgirl) and Cassandra Cain as Batgirl exist, but Batman and The Killing Joke do not appear to. That is honestly transcendentally great to finally see this as an officially realized concept, Batgirl allowed to stand on its own as a legacy of powerful women, with all history of these characters being victimized for the sake of manpain erased. I am elated.

-The art was adorable, the designs were great, the clothes and Cass’s costumes were super cute, the setting was vibrant.

-Jackie was a really fun character and mentor figure for Cass. Loved her snark and how she and Babs basically become Cass’s two Moms and an awesome team in their own right. The relationships in this were just heartwarming. Loved the range of characters in general.

-Cass basically lived in a library aka my life dream. I mean, she did it because she was homeless and on the run from her assassin father, but like.

-Cassandra FINALLY knows her own race, (she’s half-Chinese) and gets to have a goddamn connection and basic feelings about it (Jackie bringing up what the bat means to Chinese culture), etc, god it should not have taken this long for this to happen.

(And it’s really important to have a version of Cass’s story where, y’know, the positive inspirational figures in her life include other Asian people, they aren’t just white people. it wasn’t until I read this it fully dawned on me how screwed up it is she never had that before.)

-For the first time in her entire existence, Cassandra Cain got to be in a canon romance that wasn’t fucking awful, can you believe it. Her love interest Erik was adorable, and him being a budding romance writer was an especially sweet touch- and I think there’s an implication/hint his dad’s the Bronze Tiger? Which is really cute Easter Egg for Cass fans, considering she had a strong friendship with the dude in her original series!

-The idea of Cass liking to draw and expressing herself through art is really fun and fitting. Her being visually focused, it makes a lot of sense.

-Cass extending her body language ability to sort of being able to guess at people’s underlying emotional problems from how they carry themselves is a really neat idea- it could have been implemented a little more smoothly but I like the concept.

-Cass going after the “evil-doers” in the library after becoming a hero was one of the best things I’ve ever seen. Deserves to be framed. I love what a huge nerd Cass got to be in this.

-The comic understood that core of Cass’s character is compassion and empathy, that how she reaches out for people, refuses to harm, and really believes in people and embodies change, rebirth, hope. THAT’S IT, THAT’S MY GIRL, THAT’S MY HERO..

-I’ve read a ton of comics with Barbara Gordon and this is the first one I’ve come across where she discussed her relationship with her mother having any sort of influence on her interests and personality, she isn’t even the main character of this and her mother matters more in it than every other comic I’ve read with her combined how sad is that

-I liked Babs just casually making gadgets and stuff all the time, and loved that she expressed she honestly preferred doing this and that was why she was giving Batgirl to Cass. MADE ME WANT TO SCREAM FUCK YOU DC ALL OVER AGAIN.

-Compared to the original Cass Batgirl comics, this story is obviously more accessible as a standalone, but it’s also just overall more appropriate for a wider range of ages since the darker elements of Cass’s story are way toned down. I was a young teenager when I read Cass’s series and was fine, but there are young teenagers that DON’T want like, graphic onscreen deaths in their comics, so it’s good there’s a lighter Cass story for them. It was just a really sweet, affirming story.

Now for some cons, none of them damning:

The romance was cute, but wish it’d had room to breathe. Ideally, it didn’t need to be happening alongside Cass’s origin, I think it would have been better if it was just hinted at and then was allowed to fully play out as an after-she-became-Batgirl thing, but I can get that Kuhn didn’t know if this would get a sequel and there were probably a lot of good reasons she wanted to include it.

-I think this came from Kuhn being used to writing as a YA author rather than doing comics, but it was weird to read a Cass comic with so much narration and the way it was used really detracted from the potential power of the story. We’re told through Cass’s super chatty narration she’s not a normal teen, she TELLS US that she barely knows how to read and speak and TELLS US she’s better at reading body language-but we never get a sense of this, not even at the beginning, because the story doesn’t trust the reader to take in the visuals without narration, and then she’s able to talk like a normal teen pretty much right off the bat.

 I’m okay with Cass becoming a chatty girl, and her voice in this comic was fun- I know “silent Asian” has a lot baggage and Cass’s original character leaned into some stereotypes- but the first chapter/part would been far more powerful if it had her world be a little more silent and fully emphasized the visual, for her interactions with people and words be garbled and confusing, and if it gave us more of a sense of the world she comes from and how her perception of things differs from the average person. Cass’s original debut and the beginning of her original series did a really good job giving us a sense of this, and took great advantage of comics as a visual medium, and I missed that.

-Cass learns to read and talk SUPER EASILY and it just comes off as unbelievable. I do like the idea of her camping at a library, eavesdropping, and teaching herself, but I would have liked to see her actually struggle like a person would. Moreover, while I know the presentation of it was very flawed, Cass basically had a learning/language disability in the original series. I was kind of hoping this comic would lean into that, and actually give a more realistic and nuanced representation of that kind of disability (it could have been presented as something she always had that was exacerbated by how she was raised, not caused by it!).

 Honestly, I think her romance with Erik would have been far more interesting and meaningful and tied in better if she’d actually struggled to read, maybe even discovered she was dyslexic and couldn’t quite read the same way he could. That could have been a source of development between them.

-David Cain’s a super flat as a character in this comic, he doesn’t have much presence, menacing or otherwise, and Cass’s complicated feelings and relationship with him is not nearly as painful as they were in her original series.This is partly because there wasn’t a lot of a space for it though, and that’s fine.

-Overall, the main thing that hurts the story is that we don’t see all that much of what Cass’s life was like as an assassin, and her life with David Cain was like. It’s harder to invest in Cass’s transformation into a hero when we don’t really have a sense of who she was before,it’s hard to appreciate her breaking free when we can’t get a sense of what kind of cage she was even in. How much language DID she know? How much of the world was she exposed to? What was she really deprived of? I hope if there’s a sequel we can see more of this.

-Babs isn’t the main character of course, so this isn’t a real complaint, but I did miss her cynical and angry edge. She’s pretty much just a chipper nerd with no sign of her own baggage in this, and it makes her relationship with Cass less interesting. It’s implied that her “accident” did affect her and she just managed to work through a lot of it before she met Cass, but I missed the element of their relationship where they both were hurting from losing  “the world they knew” and working through it together, sometimes clashing, etc.

-I read one of Sarah Kuhn’s YA novels in anticipation of this, and while I’m relieved this is better about it than her first book was (I expected it to be, writers improve, I definitely know how messy a first book is) there’s still some cringe-y ideas of how “average” teens talk creeping in, occasional clunky pacing etc.

But all in all? It was a really nice little story that did a lot of cool things, and I really want a sequel and want more of this version of Cass and her universe. As someone who was driven away from DC comics in part because of how badly they treated Cass, Oracle and the Batgirl legacy. it’s really like a salve on old wounds.

#cassandra cain #batgirl #shadow of the batgirl #oracle #barbara gordon #sarah kuhn #graphic novels #dc comics #my reviews #reviews #batfamily #nicole goux

[trek-tracks]

Trek Book Club: The Romulan Way

So I read The Romulan Way by Diane Duane and Peter Morwood! Overall, it was quite enjoyable, but I have some conflicting feelings about it. (Please come discuss it with me!)

(Spoilers Ahead)

This is an unusual book, as it features an original character as the main character (Lt. Terise Haleakala, posing as a Romulan head servant in order to better understand and report on their civilization), with Bones being asked to check up on her to make sure that she hasn’t fully “gone Romulan” after a two-year hiatus in contact. To get himself into Romulan space, he needs to get himself captured by Romulan officers who have a specific grudge against the officers of the Enterprise. He also needs to check up on Terise and get out before his automatic death sentence is painfully carried out, either in a preapproved “scenic execution pit” or behind the scenes by a Romulan willing to pay the highest price for his head. Of course, we don’t find out about this mission until much later on in the book, leaving us to assume for much of it that he’s just been captured, as usual.

The good:

Bones being Bones. Diane Duane and Peter Morwood’s Bones is great; unsurprisingly, they really understand both him and the Trek universe. His first scene in the ship, communicating with the Sulamid (shades of the “Planet Forbidden” exchange in Wrath of Khan) and then being a total badass with the Romulan leader and being as self-sacrificing as usual, even if it also turns out to be in service of a greater plan, was excellent. (There was a LOT of collateral damage here for a covert one-person mission. You’d think Bones would be even more perturbed about that than he is, but that would have spoiled the reveal of his purpose in the narrative).

Terise is a pretty solid new character; fleshed-out, interesting, conflicted, resourceful, successful, and refreshingly, a female character not there for any romantic purpose. She’d be cool to follow in her further adventures.

Terise’s immediate understanding of Bones’ “gentleness,” and his dislike of antagonism other than a shield:

Bones getting the undercover agent to break purely by purposefully being as annoying as possible.

Some good banter:

McCoy being the one to think of coating the Horta Starfleet officer’s body in Teflon so that the oxygen wouldn’t hurt him, because of course he creates more than one healing technology for this completely out-of-the-box species using duct tape and a dream.

Naraht (the Horta officer) in general, especially bantering with Bones who’s mother-henning him to eat more rocks so that he can grow up big and strong.

H’daen, Terise’s house lord and a complicated Romulan with a conscience - and numerous Romulans who don’t all behave the same way.

Bones using the Romulan filibuster method to stay his execution for as long as possible, saving his own life by ranting about everything under the sun, from criticizing the hypocrisies embedded in Romulan culture to discoursing on mint juleps, which is just so Bones that it’s amazing.

Random Sarek namedrop during one of the chapters on Romulan history, described as a “grimly handsome gentleman.”

This WAY too prophetic line about government:

“You have your own worlds to save.” Bones: “All of them.” <3

The middle:

The Romulan backstory was intriguing and very fleshed-out, but I also flipped forward to see how long the chapter was every time we went back to it, because for a story involving a heck of a lot of death and war, it was fairly dry. I wanted to know it, but I also wanted to keep reading the main story.

The “enhancing Bones’ brain with a chip so that he’s a recording device” was odd, but kind of fun, and did explain a lot of things. I enjoyed his musings about and discomfort with it. Felt like payback for Spock’s Brain and the remote control. I think they could have gotten into the implications of it for the character more, as he has a lot of trauma surrounding people messing with his brain, especially telepaths - which means that a mission like that would probably bring it to the surface. Though this didn’t really decrease my enjoyment of the novel, I kind of prefer when beloved characters succeed on their own attributes, rather than random technology enhancements (this is not a criticism of assistive tech at all - it’s just more narratively interesting when Jim Kirk bluffs his way out of a scenario using intuition than “Jim Kirk ate phlebonium and wins because he can now jump 20 feet in the air”).

The “hmmm…”:

I get that they wanted Bones to record a Romulan trial and get a feel for the Senate while he was there, which necessitated him to stay for the “trial,” even though the reasoning felt a bit tenuous as an excuse for a dramatic escape. I’m not sure I understand the purpose of essentially exploding the trial hall and killing a bunch of Romulans as Bones’ exit plan. Wasn’t this supposed to be a relatively covert operation, for Bones to check up on their spy’s mental health? I guess it took all suspicion off her, but it was a hell of a way to stage it.

I love Bones. He’s 100% my fave. But I really, really missed his interactions with Kirk and Spock when he’s totally on his own, and the fact that, other than accompanying him to the initial meeting to plan the incursion, we have no idea what the other two are doing. My favourite long-form Trek fic, Equilibrium, separates the trio for two-thirds of the story, but they’re all still very much in each other’s thoughts and influenced by what the others would do. I got a feeling of almost total separation from the book, other than Bones wryly thinking that, if something a Starfleet officer said as a compliment led to his current predicament, he’d take Spock’s insults any time (and thinking about Spock every time a Romulan or Romulan in disguised raised an eyebrow). His interactions with Terise and Naraht are good, but nothing beats the chemistry of the Triumvirate.

The pre-epilogue ending fell flat for me. Though it was cool that their rescuer was the aunt of the Romulan Commander from The Enterprise Incident, the space boss battle felt really unnecessary; if the story is about Bones and Terise, the climax is now basically something that essentially takes neither of their skills to resolve, so the main characters are either not on “screen,” or are just kind of hanging out.

Plus, the introduction of Ensign I Love Danger (the ironically-named Luks) only a few pages before he sacrificed himself made it fairly difficult to care deeply about his heroic sacrifice in and of itself. He worked as an analogue to a young Kirk, and maybe we could have explored that more in Bones’ reaction to his presence and death. Maybe that seemed too obvious to the writers, like it would have been hitting us over the head with the 2x4 of symbolism to make that any more clear. Really, it just made me miss the Bones-Jim dynamic, and felt like Ensign Ex Machina, without a greater thematic relation to the plot. Yes, I know sometimes in life things just happen in sequence, but that’s not as satisfying to read.

Leonard “Edward” McCoy gave me the same visceral reaction as James R(iberius) Kirk, even though I realize that both of these things happened before Horatio and Tiberius showed up, and I know Horatio is beta canon at best (from Provenance of Shadows, etc.) I just like it better.

Have you read the book? What did you think? Let me know!

#star trek #star trek tos #star trek book club #trek books #leonard mccoy #star trek books #bones mccoy #the romulan way #diane duane #peter morwood #i am uncomfortably aware that they're both on tumblr #because both of them have reblogged my posts #please don't read this

[wander-yet-wonder]

Parting the veil - Spaus

Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: Spaus, (Spain / Austria) Word count: 2319 Rating: All audiences Warnings: Historicised attitudes towards Islam do not reflect the author’s views.  Summary: Roderich isn't the best at travelling. Still, he'd gladly do so in order to spend time with his new husband. The Spanish landscape betrays things about Antonio he'd rather keep silent himself. It seems like Antonio has separated himself from his past through a sheer curtain and when visiting Roderich feels like he can almost see through it, see the ghosts that move on the other side. Everything is so foreign to him, will he be able to eventually harmonize with Antonio? Read on AO3: X

I was requested to write a Spaus drabble, apparently, I can’t write drabbles and instead put out a whole ass fic. So um- have this? @fandomghost I hope you like it. Special shoutout to @katemarley  for recommending me Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen when I was nerding to her about German renaissance music <3

At least there were mountains. Roderich was grateful for the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees that decorate the horizon visible from his window. They were the only familiar sight because he was in all other aspects “fast entheimt”. Unfortunately, now that they had reached Zaragoza, a city with a name so foreign that he wouldn’t have discredited as the name of an ancient Persian magician in a novel, the mountains were far more distant and only visible on clear days. The name of the city wasn’t the only thing that was foreign to him, when he and his consorts had crossed the mountains he had felt like the very bedrock that Spain was made of was unlike his own, down to the small crocus like flowers that bloomed in the meadows that their guide had explained to him were rare ‘false saffron’. In Zaragoza, he’d been given a room in the palace of the catholic monarchs that had taken residence there after Isabel I of Castile had married Ferdinand II of Aragon but that in the streets was still referred to by the people as the palace of Aljaféria. Though that royal marriage had unified Spain and was the reason he could stay there to visit his Antonio, Aragon was by no means gone. Her belongings and her culture were still found all over the province. However, he wasn’t to meet her until later that month. He felt like in a way, simply by travelling the land he already had met her. She wasn’t the only shadow of a nation that he felt. Besides Spain, that is to say, Castile and Aragon, there was a third presence within these castle walls, an invisible presence, a ghost from the past.

 Roderich had never fully realised the reality of the occupation by Arabic forces in the peninsula. When he had Antonio in front of him in Aachen, a fierce proprietor of Christendom, speaking Latin with a quintessentially Romanesque tongue… He had somehow thought that as the occupiers left the peninsula, Antonio was a roman again. That when they left, they took everything with them, left no traces, that whatever was left was carefully purged by his new husband. Yet these walls told a different story. In a moment where he’d been free to roam the halls, he’d let himself be spellbound by the strange arabesque masonry, the ever-spiralling geometrical decorative patterning in the friezes, the archways, the capitals. One gallery from where he could reach the stonework, he had secretly pressed his fingers against it, half expecting it to give way like bee’s wax due to how much it resembled a honeycomb. He let out a quivering breath and whispered the name: the Umayyad dynasty, the caliphate of Cordoba. That strange shadow that seemed to hide in the corners in the palace. Had he made a mistake when marrying Antonio? How much of his husband was still Moorish?

 Antonio was always secretive and defensive about his time isolated from the rest of them. Roderich never pressed him for answers. He’d lie in bed next to him and watch Antonio’s quiet breathing and think to himself that Antonio must’ve suffered a lot. Yet he looked at how his own hand looked like porcelain against Antonio’s chest, and he wondered.

 These thoughts were tumbling over each other as he was staring out the window, his letter to the bishop abandoned in front of him as his quill was resting idly between his fingers. He felt sick to the stomach again, he’d always get such bad Heimweh, if only Toni could just always visit him in Austria… that would be a perfect world.

“Ah, there you are!”

Antonio snapped him out of his reverie by materializing in the doorframe and looking at him like he was trying to figure him out, like studying a puzzling little flower, like a false saffron, and wondering whether it was edible or not.

“Have you truly been cooped up in here all-day writing? Come, this won’t do, come out and catch some fresh air.”

He’d already strode over and made to pull Roderich along by the arm despite the young man’s protests that it was too hot outside and that he’d tan.

“I gathered some courtiers, we’re going to play music in the courtyard. If you sit in the gallery you won’t tan. Just join it’ll be great. Did you play that Viol a lot?”

 ‘That viol’ was the lovely Soprano viol that Antonio had given to Roderich when they parted ways after their second visit. Roderich had been familiar with the more European Vieille already and had taken to the instrument like he’d never played anything else. It helped that it was a gift from Antonio, so whenever he missed him too much he could take out the viol, lovingly caress the little wooden face that was carved into the end of the neck with incredible craftmanship, and then by playing and studying bring Antonio a little closer. He’d carefully press down on the strings and would imagine Toni listening and smiling. He’d been playing it when sad or lonely so often he started to feel like he expressed his feelings better through music than through words. So to Antonio’s question, he gave a firm affirmative nod and looked at the case that contained it when he brought it with him here.

“Well bring it! I want to hear!”

Roderich’s heart quickened. He had fantasized about what would happen if he’d play in front of Antonio, that Antonio would listen and understand- that he could say what he wanted to say without words. That Antonio instantly recognised that he’d studied hard just to please him. But now that the moment was here, he felt suddenly nervous.

“Ah, very well, I’ll play for you. But not for your court.”

Antonio looked a little taken aback but then agreed with a smile

“We’ll have fewer instruments then, but it agrees with me.”

 Roderich tried to read Antonio and see if he wasn’t upset but he couldn’t tell. He took the dear instrument and tagged along, all the while trying not to be deafened by his heart nervously pounding in his ears. Antonio retrieved his vihuela de mano from the group of courtiers and declared they wouldn’t be joining them until later. They seemed a little disappointed, but Roderich observed from the doorway that the confident way in which Antonio declared he wouldn’t be present, rather than asked to be forgiven for not joining made no one even think of questioning him. He smiled; this is what he adored in Antonio.

 Antonio took him to one of the palaces many open courtyards and sat him down underneath the strange honeycomb arches on a railing. With just the two of them in an enclosed garden Roderich thought of the many courtly romance novels he’s read and blushed a bit. Antonio caught on and with a grin took his hand and kissed it.

“So, are we going to play music? Or was this all an elaborate plan of yours so we could exchange kisses?”

Antonio was already scooting a bit closer and his smirk grew. Roderich frowned as his blush deepened but couldn’t hide a smile.

“Don’t tease me, Antonio.”

He leaned in and gave Antonio a small kiss on the cheek.

“I had every intention to play music for you."

 Antonio nodded and sat back a bit and gave Roderich a tender smile that sent a warmth spreading through his chest. Roderich got in position and put the viol between his legs. He took a deep breath and took the bow to the strings. He took a deep breath and started to sing. It was the song he’d been singing ever since Innsbruck’s precious valley had been swallowed between the pine trees as they had crossed that fateful bend in the road that meant saying goodbye. Roderich had never been good at travel, he was in his essence a very rooted person. He needed the mountains, the pine trees, the fresh crisp winter air, he needed his home. At first, he had thought that this crippling nervousness that took hold of him when he was in unfamiliar territory had to do with the type of creature that he was: wouldn’t it make sense for countries to have to be close to their lands? But the more other’s he met, the more he learned that isn’t necessarily the case. He sang the first tender lines of ‘Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen’, which he had been practising to bring him solace ever since he had left. He had adapted the original choral piece by giving the higher register to his viol and himself singing a fragile tenor second voice.

 “ISbruck, ich muß dich lassen ich far do hin mein strassen in fremde land do hin mein freud ist mir genomen die ich nit weiß bekummen wo ich jm elend bin.”

 It had every property of a learned piece of music, despite its secular subject. In his opinion, the choral harmonies showed a Pythagorean harmony and evoked the harmonies of heaven. It was in every aspect a thing of technical ingenuity. But it was out of place. Singing about Innsbruck and his land in the Spanish summer heat just fell flat. All the emotion he could usually put into it, about missing home and struggling with travel didn’t seem to communicate either.

 “Groß leid muß ich yetz tragen das ich allein thu klagen dem liebsten bůlen mein ach lieb nun laß mich armen im hertzen dein erbarmen das ich muß von dannen sein.”

 The second verse, about parting from your lover was yet another thing very recognisable for him, as he and Antonio often spent large stretches apart from one another. Antonio, however, seemed more concerned with picking dirt out from under his nails than listening. He knew Antonio didn’t know much German, but he hoped he would at least get the gist of it. His voice wavered slightly as he tried to keep Antonio invested in the music all through the last verse.

 “Meyn trost ob allen weyben dein thu ich ewig pleyben stet trew der eren frumm nun muß dich Gott bewaren in aller thugent sparen biß das ich wider kumm.”

 A pledge of faithfulness to the one you’re leaving. It was silent for a moment between them after he finished and Roderich felt like he’d swallowed a brick. Antonio perked up again and took his vihuela.

“You did not enjoy it.”

He must’ve looked hurt because Antonio winced and reassuringly pet his hand.

“Ah no! It was good! I could tell it was technically perfect.”

Antonio was a terrible liar though and with one stern look, Roderich managed to get him to sigh and tell the truth.

“It was just- all the same. And a bit sad, but mostly just that it was the same thing three times, and all the rhythm stayed the same and the distance between the cords stayed the same… It made me feel like I was either at church or just- really bored.”

Roderich was confused, “But- isn’t that what music is supposed to sound like? With regular harmonies? I read in a book-”

Antonio cut him off: “That’s exactly it! It sounds so learned, so lifeless! Shouldn’t music be sweeping? To slowly build and make you feel this- this- Ecstasy! wait, I’ll show you what I learned!”

He started strumming the vihuela. “Ok, you clap along.” Roderich uneasily started clapping, a little off-beat because of the strange rhythm Antonio was creating.

“This is an old one Roderich so you might know it. Hmm, maybe not the words it’s easy, you just sing the refrain with me I’ll do the stanzas. Ok, it’s Santa María, Strela do día, Móstra-nos, pera Déus e nos guía. Got that?”

Antonio was tapping his foot to the rhythm and slapping the wood of his vihuela in between the plucking. Then he suddenly stopped and took a ring of keys of his belt and handed it to Roderich. “Here, shake this- hmm this would be better if we had more players.” But he kept playing until Roderich got the hang of it. Then he started singing with it, the refrain was relatively straightforward but once Roderich got it, Toni started to make strange variations on it that threw him of again.

“No, it’s ok Roderich, you just keep singing the regular version and I’ll vary upon it. Also, the rhythm is rha-pa-pa-pa, rha-pa-papa-pa-pa. Yes, like that.”

Once they sang together like that for a while Antonio inserted stanzas between the refrains where the end of the sentences ended in long drawn out undulating notes. They were unlike anything Roderich had ever heard in a church at home or even at the fair! Though they were singing about Mary, about asking god forgiveness for sins, Roderich felt strange with what was happening. He wasn’t very good at it, but it felt like Antonio was pulling him along in a wild dance. Just as he’d gotten the hang of it, Antonio sped up and harmonized with him. Roderich could feel his body sway from side to side, almost without his will and they moved in perfect unison, rising and falling. He felt his sadness slowly fading and he smiled while singing. The thing Antonio had said about sweeping you away, about ecstasy, he was starting to understand it now. This strange rhythm, and the way Antonio intuitively reacted to what he was doing… it was almost sensual. When they finished his cheeks were red and he was slightly out of breath. Any passer-by would’ve suspected them of exchanging kisses in the garden after all. Perhaps he might as well… He enthusiastically threw himself forward, wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed Antonio on the lips. Nothing as chaste as before, the vihuela awkwardly between them. Antonio was clearly surprised but not complaining.

 Hi! Welcome to this fic exploring the musical differences between Antonio and Roderich (and perhaps, by extension in their personalities). The music, however, isn't the only historical reference going on in here.

 This fic is set very shortly after their marriage so anywhere between 1520 and 1525. They're still trying to figure each other out and getting to know the other's culture. Or at least, Roderich is.

 The Moorish occupation of the Iberian peninsula was in that time seen as a very dark page in Spain's history and after the Reconquista Spain was portraying itself as an extremely Christian country (perhaps overcompensating slightly?). The time in Al Andalus, however, was a time when music, poetry and science flourished in Spain and the land and culture are still very influenced by it. The palace they're staying in is evidence of that. (Look up a picture it's gorgeous).

 Roderich is starting to notice these Islamic influences in his new husband. And as a Christian man living in the 1500's they make him warry (not to speak of the attacks of the Ottoman empire on Austria in that time). However, the thing he ends up enjoying immensely about Antonio in this fic, his music, is something that is extremely Moorish.

Moorish music was seen as highly skilled and highly superior music even after Christianisation and Moorish musicians were still employed by the court a lot for special events.

 There are two characters in here that aren't canon: the kingdom of Aragon and the Caliphate of Cordoba. The Kingdom of Aragon is a fierce lady that's the bane of Antonio's existence even though right now they're unified.

 The pieces that both of them play are from their respective countries, and links are included in the lyrics. Roderich's is a contemporary piece by Henrich Isaac. If the lyrics look strange that's because that's the original 16th-century german. Antonio's piece is older, It's one of the many cantiga's de Santa maria. These canticles were written for King Alfonso X, who made a great contribution to early Spanish Christian culture. They're in the Galician dialect of Spanish that's super close to Portuguese.

 As for their instruments, there are three instruments mentioned. The first being Roderich's viol. This is a predecessor to the modern-day violin, but also to the cello. It belongs to the family of the 'viola da gamba'. it was developed in 15th-century Spain. They are played upright in the lap with a bow. You can see one in use here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLgJPBDzS6o

 The viol bore some resemblance to the vielle, an older and more northern European relative to the instrument, that is actually played underneath the chin. The experience with the vielle is what made it easier for Roderich to learn the viol.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdps64D-u-g

 finally, Antonio is playing the vihuela da mano. While this seems yet another instrument of which the name resembles 'violin' it actually resembles a guitar more!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duHMeCndpjo

 And let's not forget about the important percussion instrument: Antonio's keys.

 Have any questions about historical things I forgot to explain? please don't hesitate to shoot me a message or comment on this fic and I'll gladly elaborate.

#Spaus #aph Spain #aph austria #historical hetalia #spaaus #bringbackhetalia2020 #bringbackhetalia2k19 #juliwrites

[pynkhues]

You're such a good writer. Have you ever thought about writing professionally? :)

Ah! Thank you, anon! You’re so sweet!

I actually do write professionally. It’s forever a weird thing to say, haha, but I’m an award-winning short fiction writer, and have had over 15 original stories published in journals, anthologies and collections. (Also actually just found out I’m having another one published this week, which means I’ve got three stories already coming out this year, which is exciting!) I’ve also written a few novel manuscripts that have been shortlisted for prizes, but haven’t been published yet, and have a screenplay that has been optioned by a production company, but hasn’t yet been turned into a movie. 

Unfortunately, there is not a lot of money in any of those things, haha, at least not in Australia, and I grew up pretty poor, so I also work as both a gun for hire / freelance writer, writing everything from utility manuals to child safety policies and procedures, to product descriptions for various online stores, as well as at a theatre company which makes interactive works for disadvantaged children. 

But yes!

I’m actually currently working on a new novel manuscript which is set against the backdrop of Houdini’s tour of Australia in 1910, and how during that tour he became the first person to fly a plane in Australia. The novel itself though is actually a mystery novel about a woman investigating her grandfather’s (who was a magician) strange death, and how she ends up sort of accidentally teaming up with an American journalist who’s out in Australia reporting on Houdini’s tour. 

You can have a little excerpt, if you’d like!

“Mrs. Hathaway?” Joe asks, and Alma laughs, but it’s empty, even to her own ears. 

“I was, I suppose. Once.”

If Joe has any thoughts about the matter, he keeps his face carefully blank. Instead, he lifts his scotch glass, swirls the liquid like a God does a muddy river in the palm of his clean hand. Before them, the fire crackles – lit for the cool desert night, and only serving to stifle the day’s stagnant heat. There are certain customs that are hard to shake, she thinks, and she pinches the sleeves of her sweaty blouse and thinks that any real place, accustomed to this heat, would never ask this constriction of its people.

In front of the fire, moths and beetles fly, a haphazard array of insects, crashing into one another, fleeing, crashing all over again. The realisation of it is not one that Alma especially cares for, but she keeps it in her head all the same. The way the flames cast their light across the glossy shells of the insects.

“I don’t want to pry,” Joe says suddenly, and Alma tilts her head towards him. Takes in his careful, downcast expression, his careful, downturned lips.

“I rather think you do,” she says, as gently as she can manage it. “You don’t have to be so careful, really. There’s no fantastic story to tell, and no particularly extraordinary tragedy about the matter. I was married, and now I am not.”

Joe looks at her then, properly, for perhaps the first time since Mr. Wellesley called her name across the gathering all those days ago. His eyes are so green, it almost surprises her.

“See, I’m not entirely sure I believe that,” he replies, and Alma laughs, dropping her head forwards and reaching for her own conspiring cup.

“Last I checked, I was not your story.”

Joe tilts his head, back and forth, as if weighing up her statement, a shadow of that familiar smile ghosting his lips.

“Perhaps I undersold your character.”

“Perhaps you did.”

The insects are growing in volume, if not size. Their wings a light catching gauze in the throes of this deep night. Vaguely, Alma can hear patrons on the floor above them, stepping the long corridors of the hotel, their laughs and their slurs and their missteps like a play across the stage of her head. And if they are, then perhaps she is to Mr. Goddard, she supposes. She sighs.

“You are aware that I worked as a governess in one of the northern houses?”

Joe nods, quickly, briskly, leaning ever so slightly forwards in his seat.

“Mr. Hathaway was a groundsman at the same house. He’d served in the Boer War, and from the stories I’d heard, not all of him had made it back.”

She swirls the scotch around in her own glass, watching the amber liquid mouth up the sides of her cup.

“That is not uncommon,” Joe says quietly. “At least, not of the men I know who have served.”

“No, of course not,” Alma says, shaking her head. “And that’s not entirely what I meant. I suppose I never knew him before it, and so the man I met was the only man I knew. He was kind and he was quiet, tormented, but I know a lot of tormented folk, so it was not unusual to me. We did not fall in love exactly, but - - I liked him. And I rather think he liked me, and perhaps that could have become love. I don’t know.”

She pauses, lost, for a moment, in her own memories of a man who had, for a very brief time, become the most important part of her life. It’s as if a tent has been erected inside her, forcing aside her bones and her organs, allowing unwelcome feelings to sleep within her. Alma sighs.

“He shot himself. About a year after we were married.”

She finishes her scotch.

Beside her, Joe is quiet, still turning over the glass in his hands, letting the liquid roll up the sides, warm between his skin and the fire. He brings it to his nose, inhales deeply, but does not take a sip. It’s unexpected, unusual, perhaps, but she had been warned about the strange habits of Americans, and of this, this seems like one of Joe’s lesser ones.

“I rather think you’ve done what many thought impossible,” Joe muses quietly. “And rendered me speechless.”

She laughs, and Joe weighs her with a careful, considering look.

“Oh, Mr. Goddard, if only I knew the key to that was a few well-timed words of my own.”

He laughs, but his face remains shadowed, uncertain, and she puts her own glass down on the floor and reaches her hands for his free one. He gives it freely, and she turns it over in hers, running her fingers, still damp from her glass, across the palm of his freckled hand.

“You know, back when I was a part of my grandfather’s act, I would put on a shawl and read palms as the opener.”

He laughs again, a gentler one this time, scrunching up his nose in a way that reminds her that they are both so young still. So young to have felt this much. He leans back, almost embarrassed, but Alma follows him.

“Hm,” she hums, stroking a finger down his palm. A part of her knows this is improper, a young, widowed woman, without gloves, touching the skin of a young, unwedded man, but for now, there’s nothing in the world that feels more proper than this.

“This,” she says, her voice donning the vague, European accent she’d wear during her shows. “This is your lifeline.”

She taps it once, twice, three times.

“It’s long,” and it is. Very long, stretching around the heel of his hand and curling at the base. “You’ll live a long life.”

Joe sits up a little straighter, leaning forwards in his own chair.

“A good life?”

“That, unfortunately, is not something the palms can easily tell.”

He chuckles, a breathy one, spreading his fingers better in her hand, as if offering better access to the lines of him, and Alma swallows thickly.

The weight of a hand in hers is not foreign to her, but somehow Joe’s feels both too heavy and impossibly light. Feels - -

Well.

Just feels, she supposes.

She turns his hand over in her own, looking at the long, graceful lines of it, the fresh dirt beneath his nails, the cricks in his skin that tell her everything and nothing.

“Your hands are long,” she says, running her thumb across his knuckles, relishing in the warmth it spreads through her chest. “And thin. Which means you’re loyal, and that you’re kind, and you’re thumb bends out, so you’re generous too. But,” and she tuts then, amused, shaking her head. “Your fingernails. They’re short and round, which means you’re a gossip.”

He hoots at that, like she’d thought he might, and a smile paints her face as she opens his hand again in hers. She can feel him then, leaning closer, his breath on the back of her head, shifting her sweat-damp hair.

She uncurls his hand in hers, moving her thumbs from the heel of his hand up towards the tips of his long, arching fingers. She can feel the pulse in them, the flutter of it just below the veil of his thin skin.

“Your head line is short, which means you are impulsive, but it curves down slightly, which means you are gentle.”

She can feel Joe getting closer, shifting beneath her hands, moving nearer to her in his seat, until his whole body is curved towards her. Her own breath picks up, the fire before them suddenly too hot. Hotter than it has felt before. She brushes a hand back through her hair. Tries to stroke any knot from it. Free it from its bindings. She must be quiet too long, for the next question Joe asks, is: “Are there any more?”

Alma blinks, feels the sweat building at her lashes, tries to blink them free.

“Your heart line,” she says, and she can feel more than see Joe smile. “It starts before your index finger, and it’s deep. Which means you fall in love quickly, but that you love intensely.”

He hums, a small sound like an agreement, and Alma touches the rough flat of her thumb to the softness of his palm, and she remembers all the ways she wasn’t made for this man.  That Joe - - that Mr. Goddard - - that he might be a working man in the bowels of New York City, but as far as the rough, dirty middle of Queensland is, he’s an upper class boy with no idea as to the gruelling design of this land. He was built for the tamed, not the wild, and he is not Alma. He is not a desperate, writhing snake trying to find family in the desert that has loved her and abandoned her and made her whole, nor the tropics which have weathered her skin, and shed her bare beneath the tempest of its moods. He will marry a good, American girl with a good, American dowry, and a quick wit and a smart look, and the wild of this trip, and the wild of Alma, will become a story he will tell friends at bars, if it even becomes that.

She pulls away, dropping his hand, and ignoring the way he tries to chase her.

“There will be someone worthy of that hand, some day,” she says instead, rising from her seat, a quiver in her legs that surprises her. “Sadly, this is where I must leave you, Mr. Goddard. I am rather tired, all of a sudden, and know we have a rather monstrous day ahead of us, if we are to make it back down to Marigold’s before the dusk.”

She turns, moving promptly towards the stairs leading up to their rooms, and she hears the scrape of the chair across the floorboards behind her, and the calling of her name - names, Miss Rivers first, and then Mrs Hathaway and then suddenly, strikingly, Alma, and she picks up her pace away from him before she can even consider that it is the first time she has heard her name at his lips.

#my writing #welcome to my ama

[eternityunicorn]

Elijah’s Eternity: New Orleans - Part Nineteen

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violance, Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Sequel to the AU Elijah’s Eternity - Ten years have passed, a mournful Elijah has finally started to move on without his lady. In that time, he has gained a reunited family and has also found a new lady love. Yet, all is not well as danger comes for the smallest member of the Mikaelson family: Hope, and it prompts Niklaus to call upon the white goddess, drawing her back into Elijah’s life. As they reunite, can Elijah really say he’s truly moved on?

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series! Masterlist link to all my fics is in my blog profile. Thanks and happy reading!

———————————————————————————————————

Jor! 

This man was Eternity’s eldest child, the one whom sided with Loki. He recalled what Eternity had told him about the young immortal. He hated his mother and worshipped his father like the god he was not. 

From what Elijah understood there was a long line of contention between mother and son over this fact. Jor believed Loki to be the wronged party and believed Eternity had forsaken the Trickster with malicious intent. In other words, in the younger immortal’s mind, him mother was the villain and his father was the victim, when in truth, it was the other way around.

Physically speaking, Jor was a spitting image of his father. There was barely any distinction between the two. He was of the same height and slender build. He had the same aristocratic features, same twisted smile, same pointed nose and thin lips. He even had Loki’s bright red hair and wore the same silks and leathers his father did. In fact, the only thing that was from his mother were his sapphire blue eyes. 

“Jor? What are you doing here?” Eternity asked her son warily.

“I heard you were getting married,” he replied, with a lighter version of Loki’s voice. “Word has spread through the cosmos of the Universal Queen’s unusual husband-to-be. An Earth-based immortal, to be exact. I had to see if it were true and let me say, what a downgrade from Father! Really, Mother? Surely you could do better than...this.” He gestured at Elijah with disgust, “or better yet, you could have simply stayed with Father instead of murdering him.”

“Your father was lost, Jor, to his darkness,” Eternity replied calmly. “There was no coming back from it for him. He was a threat to the innocent and I had to do it. I had to kill him. He wasn’t going to stop and I, as a guardian, had to put him down as I would any enemy. Duty before the heart, my son.”

Jor’s face twisted into a horrible snarl as he shouted in a fury, “He was my father!”

“Yes he was and I can see his darkness in you,” she responded just as evenly, with a hint of sadness in her tone. “You are your father’s son. Be careful of the footsteps you follow. There is nothing but misery down that path. Now, what is it that you have come for? Besides to be angry with me, of course.”

Jor grinned sinisterly. 

It was so foreboding that it sent chills down Elijah’s spine, whom stood beside his lady during this exchange. He was immediately set on edge with worry for his lady. He bristled at the threat before them, wishing more than anything that he wasn’t so helpless against the higher classes of immortals. That and he didn’t care for the boy’s condescending regard of himself, as if he were less than. It was rather insulting and wounded his pride as an Original. If only they weee more evenly matched, then he’d teach Jor some manners.

Then the younger immortal turned his hateful gaze on Elijah. “So you are the husband-to-be. I could crush you so very easily,” he sneered at him. “I do hope you never expect me to call you my father, as you are not only unworthy of my mother, but you are also unworthy of my respect or to be part of this family. You are beneath us all.”

Elijah was infuriated by his cruel words. His jaw tightened and his hands balled into fists, as they itched to retaliate. However, before he could respond, his lady stepped between them protectively. 

“Enough, Jor,” Eternity growled warningly.

Loki’s mirror image turned his attentions back to his mother. “Or what? You’ll kill me?” He taunted and then snickered. 

She stepped closer to her son, “Do not tempt me, child.”

Jor only grinned wider, seeming to be unafraid of his mother’s threat. “If you do, Mommy, then you shall never see your beloved middle son again,” he murmured down to her cruelly, causing her to gasp and take a step back. 

“What have you done?” Eternity sounded horrified.

“Nothing much, I only tried to make dear Fenrir see the errors on his ways in supporting you one more time, after I learned of your horrid plans to replace our father,” the insane young immortal shrugged nonchalantly. “I wanted him to side with me, so that maybe we could talk sense into you for this terrible decision. Unfortunately, he’s as stubborn as you are, Mother, and still refuses to join the right side.”

Provoked, she lashed out in a rage. With psychic powers, she threw her own son across the room,  sending him through the wall and into the parking lot. Jor’s body left a considerable hole there. Eternity followed his path with the grace of a panther, ready to strike again.

Elijah and Kol both chased after her. One brother wanted to make sure his lady stayed safe, while the other simply wanted to enjoy the show. The younger Mikealson did get a thrill seeing chaos unfold; though usually he was the cause of said chaos.

“Where is he?” Eternity demanded of her son, as he staggered to his feet. Her katana appeared in her hand, unsheathed and ready for use. “Speak quickly!”

Jor only laughed, “Denounce your ridiculous engagement to that inferior man and I’ll tell you, Mother!”

She wasn’t about to do as the young fool demanded. Instead, she attacked her son, forcing him to conjure his own sword - a broadsword to be exact - and defend himself against her relentless assault upon him. 

Jor was a good swordsman, but Eternity was of course better. She didn’t give him any room to counter her, only to block her blade strokes. They moved with equal speed, evenly matched in that regard. However, one single misstep had Eternity’s insane son flat on his back with his sword tossed away from him, out of reach. That one miscalculation had him defeated.

Elijah’s lady stood over the boy with the point of her katana directed at Jor’s throat. “You will tell me where your brother is or so help me, I will end you here and now,” she hissed threateningly. 

Elijah was impressed and turned on by Eternity in warrior mode. What made it truly sexy in this instance was the fact that she had fought her son in her short sweater dress and wedges. She was truly remarkable to be able to fight in any apparel and he found he could watch her fight all day long.

“The warehouse by the docks,” Jor groaned up at Eternity with a defiant gaze, despite having been defeated. “You’ll find your precious Fenrir there. This is far from over. Till we meet again, Mother.”

Then, as quickly as he had come, Loki’s lookalike vanished like a coward.

The ethereal beauty let her blade disappear from her hand and turned worriedly to Elijah, whom had been near by. “I have to go get my son,” she said urgently.

Elijah only nodded and proceeded to go to her side. He was of course going with her, not wanting her to make the journey alone. He wanted to support her in everything, especially if he was going to become her husband soon enough. That and he was rather curious to finally meet this other child of his lady’s. He wrapped his arm around Eternity’s waist and raced off at vampire’s speed to the warehouses by the docks.

Once there, his lady sensed out where exactly Jor had stashed Fenrir and together, they entered the warehouse cautiously. There was no telling what lay ahead, if her mad son had left traps for them. He did yield rather easy and Elijah wondered as to why.

“Because Jor wants to believe himself to be a ruthless villain like his father, but he doesn’t actually have the stomach to follow through,” Eternity whispered to him, answering his thoughts.  “The only reason why he kidnapped Fenrir in order to try and turn him against me is because, well because my younger son is vulnerable, an easy target as he is rather timid and not at all interested in fighting or leading or anything that has to do with conflict. Jor has always bullied his brother into yielding to him. Though, it would seem Fenrir finally learning to stand up for himself as my eldest wasn’t able to get him to give in this time.”

They moved quietly through the warehouse behind crates and stacks of pallets, sticking to the shadows until they knew it was safe to venture about without worry of ambush. They went around in stealth until Fenrir came into view. 

The boy was tied to a chair with his arms shackled with strange gold bracelets. He looked bruised and bloody - unconscious by the way that his head dangled downward. 

Elijah and his lady waited near by, until they knew that nobody else was there. Then as one, hand in hand, they still moved in with caution, just to be safe. There was no telling what could happen in enemy territory, even a defeated one’s.

“Damn,” Eternity muttered as she reached her son, her eyes automatically falling to the golden bracelets upon his wrists. “These are very special,” she told Elijah, “very rare trinkets that can render any magical being powerless, myself included. Jor no doubt put them on Fenrir and then proceeded to beat the hell out of him. My poor boy.”

“Can you removed them?” Elijah asked as he watched her stroke the boy’s curly white hair in that loving, motherly way. 

She gave a small grin as she answered, “Of course.”

Immediately the shackles were on the ground with a loud, echoing clank. Almost as quickly did the young man awaken, as if reviving from a sleeping spell. He blinked rapidly and groaned, before his eyes widened in relief at the sight of his mother before him.

“Mama!” Fenrir shouted, throwing his arms around her tightly. His wounds upon his pale skin were healing instantly, as he held her and she held him. “Oh, it was terrible, Mama! Jor, the bastard, cornered me on the way to meet Hel and clamped those horrid shackles on me, only it drag me here to beat me into submission - which I didn’t give him, much to ire.” He pulled back and looked proudly at Eternity. “I will never let Jor or anyone else turn me against you,” he cupped her face in his hands with an adoring gaze. “Hel and I will always be your greatest champions, no matter what.”

Eternity took his hands in hers and pulled them from her face gently, holding onto them tightly. “I know, my darling,” she said softly. “You are a brave boy, my brave boy.”

Fenrir grinned at his mother, before Elijah’s shifting behind her caught his attention and he looked up at the vampire with wide, mistrusting eyes. 

Elijah smiled gently in the most nonthreatening way he could manage. He found the boy fascinating, quite frankly. He really was a male version of Eternity. He had all the same ethereal paleness, though to a lesser degree like his sister. His hair was a curly mop top of white hair and he had the same big sapphire eyes she did, along with the exact plushly rose pink lips too. He was small like his mother too, but certainly broader. His voice was deeper, yet soft spoken just like Eternity’s as well.

Yes, a male version indeed.

“Are you the Earth-based immortal whom will be marrying my mother, I’ve heard so much about?” Fenrir asked him cautiously. 

“I am. My name is Elijah Mikaelson,” nodded Elijah. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Fenrir got up from the chair with his mother’s help and approached him slowly. “You are a product of dark magic, a violent creature with much blood upon your hands,” he said, in a slow, hypnotized sort of way, reading the vampire’s mind. “However, you detest the violence, reserving it for your enemies, including those whom would harm your loved ones. You are the devoted sort of monster. I can certainly see that you are completely devoted to my mother, a fact that truly matters to me, which is why I welcome you, sir, to our humble little family.” He grinned and held out his hand to Elijah.

He clasped hands with the young immortal readily, glad to see that this son was actually quite sane, as well as kind and accepting of him. “Thank you for your acceptance of me,” said Elijah. “I do hope that we get along splendidly.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Fenrir nodded.

Eternity came to stand beside Elijah, taking his hand in hers with her fingers threading through his. She smiled adoringly up at his and then at her son. “Come along, son. Let’s get you out of here and somewhere safe.”

“Actually, I should go meet Hel,” her son replied. “I’m recovered enough from Jor’s tricks to get to her. She’s probably wondering where I am and with her, I shall be safe.”

The enteral woman nodded, “Aye, you’re right. You should. Your sister is a worrier. She’ll send a search party after you, if you don’t show up to greet her.”

With that said and one final farewell between parent and child, the younger immortal vanished from the warehouse, leaving Elijah and Eternity alone together. 

The ethereal woman turned to him and smiled, “Thank you for coming with me. I apologize for our evening being hijacked by my out of control son. I’m sure Jor left quite the impression into the family you will be entering, my darling.”

He smiled back and brushed her hair back from her face as he replied, “I’ll follow you anywhere, Sweetheart, and your family is no more crazy than my own, so I am not scared off at all. As to the evening, the night is still young. We should probably get back to the club. We did leave a Kol and Davina behind. They might be wondering what became of us.”

She kissed his lips briefly and agreed, “Aye, we did. Besides I wasn’t quite done dancing the night away with you, my love.” She gazed at him flirtatiously.

Elijah smirked, pulling Eternity to him bodily and plundering her mouth with his own until she was moaning and clinging to him. Then he pulled back, before he got too lost to his never ending passion, and rested his forehead against hers. 

From there, without a word, he whisked them away back to the club to find Kol and Davina back inside, being merry together with the rest of the patrons, as if the threat of Jor hadn’t ever happened. The club was in full swing as if nothing amiss had happened. Typical of the supernatural community, Elijah supposed. 

“Well, it seems we weren’t missed,” Eternity quipped good naturally, unpin their reentry. 

“No, but I’m not all that surprised,” he replied as he held up his hand for her to take. “Shall we, Sweetheart?”

She beamed, “We shall.”

Then upon her taking his hand, Elijah lead them back into the fray, where they joined his brother and Davina in their merriment on the dance floor, into the wee hours of morning.

To Be Continued....

#elijah mikaelson #daniel gillies #original character #elijah x eternity #klaus mikaelson #hayley marshall #klaus x hayley #hope mikaelson #freya mikaelson #finn mikaelson #kol mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #romance #drama #alternate universe #alternative universe

[impracticaldemon]

Chaos Theory: Sasuke Ch. 2

by impracticaldemon

Chapter 2: The Oda Strike Back  

Author's Note: The sequel to my first Ikesen Sasuke story (Do You Have a Fever?). Welcome to chapter 2. Chapter 2 still isn't ns/fw. Sorry. On the bright side: Mitsuhide.  Also, Chapter 3 is also done and much steamier.

Thank you to all for your support, kind notes, reviews, fun tags and so on!

~ Impracticaldemon  [Read on FFN HERE]

The Oda Strike Back

I didn't see Sasuke for over a week after The Episode of the Wardrobe Malfunction (also playing in my embarrassing moments highlight reel as The Day I Got High and Snuggled Sasuke). A week wasn't actually very long, but I harboured deep suspicions that his buddy Yukimura was keeping him away with comments like, "You can't trust those wild boar women, Sasuke—show even a moment's weakness, and they're all over you."

Of course, that was probably unfair to both guys. Sasuke wouldn't tell even his BFF—Sasuke's term, employed with his customary lack of expression—about what had happened. Probably. And Yukimura and I got along pretty well now, except when his tactlessness got the better of my patience. He just doesn't have my appreciation for your charming naiveté, noted my inner Mitsuhide, before I slammed the (mental) door on his comments.

In any event, whether it was Sasuke's gift of ibuprofen that helped me, or the unintentional snuggling, I got over my cold in record time, and then spent a week hoping to see my fellow time-traveler so that I could apologize for my behaviour. Inevitably, certain people made a point of commenting on my occasional lapses of attention.

"How are you feeling today, Chieko?" asked Mitsuhide, his lips curving into what the naïve might call a smile. Apparently, he was spending some quality spymaster-conqueror time with Nobunaga this morning.

"Fine, thanks. Why do you ask?" I paused, politely handed Nobunaga his morning correspondence, and then added, "It was just a cold, and I recovered six days ago." I gave him my haughtiest don't-mess-with-me-this-morning look. A pointless effort, but he'd asked every day since I'd—completely accidentally, and while under the influence of opium—pressed my aching head into Sasuke's surprisingly well-defined chest. For the record, Sasuke had done a fine job of holding on to me once I was there, so—

A soft huff of amusement from the white-haired Machiavelli of the Oda forces suggested that I might have inadvertently lost focus at a bad time. I glanced up at Nobunaga to see whether he'd noticed anything, but he appeared to be skimming through the letters I'd brought. I resumed my attempt at a withering glare, and tried to will away the ridiculous—and entirely uncalled for—blush that was creeping across my cheeks.

"I am merely concerned about the health of our dear chatelaine, after her recent illness." Mitsuhide's long, white lashes concealed the predatory gleam that no doubt lurked in his snaky golden eyes, but nobody was fooled.

"Perhaps; however, you do keep asking." Nobunaga's incisive tones were curious, rather than annoyed, but they demanded a response. So much for my small hope that Azuchi's premier candy thief wasn't paying attention. "She doesn't look ill, Mitsuhide, she looks infatuated. Does it involve you in some way?"

What?!

"I am not infatuated with—with anyone!"

Mitsuhide ignored me. "Alas, I do not believe that I am the object of her desire," he lamented, with patently false regret. Nobunaga shot him an oddly appraising look, but his so-called left-hand man merely returned his usual slithery smile.

"Well, Chieko? If it's not an entanglement with Mitsuhide, then what is it?"

I kept my eyes on Nobunaga, unwilling to risk looking at The Bane of My Existence. A sudden idea skittered through my brain.

"I'm not entangled with anyone, Nobunaga. However, I must admit that my thoughts have turned to Mitsuhide quite often of late."

For once, if only for a fraction of a second, both men looked surprised.

"Really now?" Mitsuhide was suddenly beside me. "Do tell!" Now that he was looking down at me—and so close!—I felt just the tiniest bit apprehensive. He was a snake who preferred to play with his food before finishing it off. Sometimes I curse my powers of imagination.

I took a calming breath, and resisted the compulsion to look up into Mitsuhide's eyes. I addressed my reply to Nobunaga.

"You see, Mitsuhide has been like an uncle to me"—I thought I saw a look of appreciation cross Nobunaga's face—"and recently I've found that he comes to mind when I am faced with a difficult decision."

"I see." Nobunaga managed to imply enjoyment without actually changing expression. Then his attention returned to his desk. "Mitsuhide, we have work to do."

"Of course, my lord." Mitsuhide's eyes were gleaming with mischief, and I suddenly felt a qualm or ten about my decision to poke back a little. A slender finger caressed my cheek in a way that was not at all avuncular; I was unable to fully suppress a shiver—of apprehension, mostly. Only mostly? Good grief! "Good morning then, my dear Chieko. Rest assured that I will keep an even closer eye on you, now that I know how much you look up to me."

I managed a rather sickly smile as I left. Baka! Idiot! What the hell were you thinking? Mitsuhide Rule Number One: Do not, under any circumstances, try to play his game—any of his games. You will lose, and not even the occasional, fleeting victory is worth it.

When I got back to my room, I decided to go down into the market instead of returning to work with the seamstresses as originally intended. Maybe I could find Yukimura, and warn him that Mitsuhide seemed to be uncomfortably aware of Sasuke's activities in and around the castle. When Inner Mitsuhide snickered at the word 'activities', I may have snarled aloud.

Unfortunately, Yukimura wasn't in his usual spot. My heart sank, although I tried to keep the disappointment off my face as I pretended to browse the wares in nearby shops and stalls. After half an hour of searching—and a rather convoluted walk around the market area—I was forced to admit how much I'd been hoping to see Sasuke again, and how worried I was that I might not see him again for a long time.

"Hsst, ojō-san! A moment of your time!" The words were pretty standard for both beggars and merchants, but the hushed tones made no sense. Plus, who used words like 'psst' and 'hsst' outside of old novels?

I was about to take a quick step back—strangers trying to kidnap me had been an issue in the past—when I realized that the stooped, oddly-dressed figure was the man I most wanted to see. He was wearing the traveler's traditional flat straw hat, and strange clothing, but it was Sasuke. My heart started to beat a little faster, and my attempt to play it cool failed miserably as I rushed headlong into the narrow, shadowed lane.

"Sasuke! I've"—one hand gripped my shoulder, and another pressed against my mouth, preventing further speech.

"Sorry Chieko, we need to get out of here. Okay?" Sasuke sounded apologetic, but didn't remove his hand until I nodded. His fingers seemed to linger on my face for a moment longer than necessary. A weird part of my brain replayed the sensation of Mitsuhide's mocking caress earlier, cataloguing similarities and differences. Then the hand on my shoulder slid down to close firmly over mine, and a giddy, swooping feeling in my stomach made me a little light-headed. I winced internally as I felt the goofy smile hit my face. You are an independent, adult woman, not a fourteen-year-old with a crush! Despite my best efforts, Mitsuhide's smirk flashed across my mind, followed by Nobunaga's irritatingly knowing expression.

Sasuke was already moving by the time I got my head together, and I had to hurry to keep up with him. Despite his obvious anxiety to leave town quickly, his grip never tightened too far, nor did his pace increase beyond what I could handle in my kimono and sandals. For some reason, I could feel myself smiling again. Pull it together, Chieko! He's just a considerate guy, not some kind of hero. I mean, you didn't see him for a week, and now he's dragging you off somewhere without an explanation! And you're happy about it! (Mental eye-roll.)

Out of nowhere, my usually quiescent—more like comatose—romantic self downed a few shots of espresso, sat up, and took umbrage. And how many considerate guys have you actually met in the last couple of years? Right? So shut up! I had a point, I conceded, blithely going where I was tugged.

Actually, Mitsunari was often considerate, if not always helpful. And Hideyoshi could be very considerate, once you got past his—let's be honest—obsession with Nobunaga, and if you didn't mind Extreme Fussing™. Masamune was a good guy—and a great cook—despite living life at twice normal speed. In fact, they all had their own ways of being kind, even Mitsuhide, although his version was subtle, and usually involved him entertaining himself at your expense while helping you. Fine, noted my romantic self, now sipping gently at a mild green tea with lemon, but you're not holding hands with any of them.

We traversed several of Azuchi's less pleasant lanes and back-streets, before emerging onto a footpath leading across a meadow toward a not-too-distant wood. It was a beautiful day, and bright flowers were scattered throughout the waving grasses. Sasuke came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the meadow, and I careened into his back. He automatically helped me to regain my footing, but his eyes remained fixed on some point ahead of us—at least, the glint of sunlight off his half-concealed glasses suggested that he was staring at something.

"Um—Sasuke?"

"I'm fine. Just don't move."

I still couldn't understand what was wrong, but I did my best to obey, a little relieved to get a break from trying to hurry in geta. I continued to peer around Sasuke's side—though without moving too much. The grip on my hand tightened a little, and my companion looked down at me and then away.

"We'll have to go around. I'm sorry about this—it will be slightly harder for you underfoot."

"Sasuke, what are we going around?"

His expression didn't change, but his cheeks and neck reddened a little. Was he embarrassed? His expression was as difficult to read as ever, especially since his upper face was in shadow under his straw hat.

"…Could we discuss that later? Right now we have to get under cover. Though it was clever of you to lose them back in the market."

"Lose who?" I demanded, starting forward a little reluctantly this time.

"Lord Mitsuhide's agents. I thought that was why you travelled so randomly around the market area."

I was stuck on the first part.

"Agents? Mitsuhide's agents?"

"My hypothesis was erroneous, it seems."

We were moving again, but a little more slowly than before. The grasses in this area had been regularly scythed, and there were no flowers. There wasn't so much a path as a wide, rather barren field that appeared to go on all the way to the trees in the middle distance.

"I guess so—that you were mistaken. I have no idea what's going on." I was momentarily distracted by a different question. Or maybe I just had too many things to think about at once and fixed on something irrelevant. "I wonder why this area is all grass? I hadn't thought about it before, but it's like this all the way around the town, pretty much. Not short and hard-packed like this, but you know what I mean." You're babbling, dear. Yeah, I'd noticed, thanks.

Sasuke's grip loosened a little, as though he appreciated the break from more difficult subjects (whatever they were). Naturally, he knew the answer to my not-quite-question.

"Most castle towns are like this—in Europe as well as Japan, from what I've read. You don't want an army to be able to creep up on your castle or castle town. So you cut down the forest around the town. The area we're crossing now is where the Oda forces drill. That's why it's so hard underfoot, and the grass has bare patches."

"They've been at war for a long time, haven't they? All of them, I mean." After two months, I'd finally gotten my head around it, but sometimes the whole Warring States thing really hit me.

"Yes. Over a hundred years already—so not just the existing warlords, but their fathers and grandfathers and so on. It was a terrible time, but…" Sasuke slowed, and I knew without looking up that his expression had become both more animated and a little distant.

"But there were some brilliant and wonderful people?" I asked softly, not wanting to break this brief sense of being outside all of the bloodshed and disaster. I could pretend to be out on a summer walk with a friend, just chatting—for no apparent reason—about historical Japan. Do you always hold hands with your friends? No—now go away, you're interrupting my fantasy. …Which involves holding hands with a Sengoku fanboy named after a famous, but probably fictional ninja?

"Yes, exactly," said the fanboy in question. For a moment, I couldn't recall which question he was answering, and just stared at him blankly. "…Chieko?"

We were almost at the edge of the wooded area, but Sasuke stopped and peered at me as though trying to figure out why I'd stopped working. I found myself holding my breath, keenly aware of just how close he was now that we were facing each other. He still had my hand, and my imagination was starting to get the better of me.

"I was just thinking things over," I said hastily, trying to ignore the fact that he looked adorable, even in the ridiculous straw hat. Wait—seriously? Adorable?

"I see. It's true that there's a great deal to consider. For my part, although I can't condone the way in which violence is used as the first—and often only—approach to dispute resolution, I have come to greatly respect the warlords with whom I've served, even beyond my pre-existing, quite considerable admiration. I suspect that they are all suffering from various mental health issues, but despite this, they seem more alive, more vibrant, than most of the people I know back home."

I found myself nodding at his words, and saw his lips curve into his rare, rather shy smile. My heartbeat sped up further. "I'm glad we can talk about things like this, Chieko," he told me earnestly. "I mean, I realize that you are the only other time traveller here—that I know of—but, just for the record, I consider myself fortunate that you were the person who was inadvertently trapped here with me."

"Oh…" I managed feebly. Was that some kind of confession, or was Sasuke just that oblivious?

There was a short, possibly awkward silence. Then Sasuke's eyes went very wide behind his glasses, and he quickly took a half-step backward, letting go of my hand. This time the blush was unmistakeable.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean—that is, we should keep going. This is all because of the—of them—being in the way when you were sick. Chaos rides on their fluttering wings. I should have known that something like this would happen."

Sasuke's last two or three sentences were muttered under his breath and largely incomprehensible to me. I had the impression that I wouldn't have understood even if I'd heard him properly.

We slipped under the shade of the trees just a few minutes later, and Sasuke took off the hat and peasant's kimono he'd used as a disguise—principally for changing his outline, he explained, although the hat was also useful for concealing his glasses (less reflected light off the lenses). Before I could ask any questions, he told me that we were "almost there," and moved silently away. His cheeks were no longer red, but he still wouldn't meet my eyes.

Despite Sasuke's assurances, it took another twenty minutes to reach our destination. Yukimura was waiting at the door of a small wooden hut, looking just about as twitchy and irritable as I was starting to feel. My sandals were pretty, but not appropriate attire for hurrying over rough ground, or through the woods. And my sore feet were the least of my worries.

"Sasuke! Where the hells have you been, moron?! You were supposed to be back here an hour ago—at least!"

"I'm sorry I'm late," Sasuke replied calmly, pausing to exchange a complicated fist bump that looked distinctly out-of-place in Sengoku Japan. "Things came up."

"What's that supposed to mean? You said you needed to tell Chieko about some stuff and then we could go. Have you even told her anything yet?"

"Hi Yukimura, nice to see you again," I said politely.

"Right—hi. I'm afraid we've got go now. Akechi's really turned up the heat in the last few days, since Sasuke's last mission went wrong somehow."

They were returning to Kasugayama? For good? I brushed away a sudden—and totally excessive—sense of disappointment. And something went wrong with Sasuke's last mission? Anything involving Mitsuhide was potentially dangerous.

"Sorry, I really don't know what's going on. Sasuke kind of grabbed me from the market and now we're here." I gave Yukimura my best innocent bystander look. He frowned, but it wasn't the scowl that I used to get. His eyes flicked over to Sasuke, and I sensed something like concern. I was impressed with the lack of eye-roll.

"Well? Do you need a bit more time? As long as you didn't accidentally lead anybody here—"

"I didn't." Sasuke's reply was unusually terse.

"Okay, fine. Just remember that everyone makes mistakes, even you, so—"

"I have never assumed that I am infallible, Yukimura. However—"

"Then stop beating yourself up for making one mistake, okay? It's annoying. Besides, we had to leave now anyway, as it turns out."

"…I understand."

This time, Yukimura did roll his eyes, but I couldn't blame him. What was going on with Sasuke?

"Alright, I'm heading out. You, uh, explain things to Chieko, then catch up to me." He gave me a quick nod, and a wry smile. "See you 'round, Chieko. Don't run off any cliffs after we've gone, okay?"

"Sure thing, Yukimura." My return smile wasn't feigned—it was an old jibe, and the guy had saved my life. "Look after yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Although—" Yukimura hesitated, then shook his head. "It's just weird, you know? The people I need to watch out for most are your buddies on the Oda forces. And vice versa." The last was said with chilling sincerity.

"As I explained before," interposed Sasuke, "Chieko values personal friendships above the feudal ties of lord and vassal. She wants everyone to be safe."

Yukimura just shook his head again—at me, at Sasuke, at life in general. "That's not how it works. But—hope you can stay out of the worst of it, Chieko. See you soon, Sasuke. No offence to Chieko, but we've got some feudal ties to honour. And Lord Kenshin won't go easy on you if you're late."

"I am aware of the value that Lord Kenshin places on loyal service. I will rendezvous with you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?! You're using weird words again, but tomorrow? We're due back—"

"ASAP. I know. But I have a few more loose ends to tie up."

There was a brief stare-off, then Yukimura shrugged. "It's your neck. Literally."

On that valedictory—and ominous—note, Yukimura turned and strode off. He navigated the undergrowth without difficulty, the sword on his hip and spear on his back as comfortable and familiar as his tunic and trousers. All at once I felt like I was seeing Sanada Yukimura the warlord, rather than Yukimura, Sasuke's merchant friend.

[END]

A/Note: 

Stay tuned for chapter 3, where things get decidedly more risqué! Okay, but Sasuke is just an overachieving cinnamon-roll and I ♥ him.

Tags:   @cherryb0mb79 @shell-senji @nalufever @hidetheremote @eliz1369 @iamaikotachibana @flower-dragon @canadiangaap @yum-chan  @llama-in-socks (thank you for wanting more!)

Thank you to @acrispyapple for your kindness. ♥ (also, Byron - nuff said)

#ikesen #ikesen fanfiction #sarutobi sasuke #ficsforvera #impracticaldemon #imp writes #cybird otome

[burningartwork]

Top 10 favorite characters Meme

The Rules:

Choose from 10 different fandoms & any medium (anime, manga, novels, movies, etc, Whatever you like) and tag 10 people.

(Did this in 2016 and I thought I’d share. The list has for the most part remained the same. Honorary #11 is probably Phoenix Wright from Ace Attorney. <3)

10. Sokka – Avatar the Last Airbender / Bolin - The Legend of Kora Starting off this list, I guess I'm going with a pair so I'm.... cheating? It was sort of impossible to chose between these 2 since they're both my favorites of their individual series/arcs(?) but part of the sameish fandom  and do share some similar traits and functions in their group. They're both the funny guys and both have been often under estimated. While Sokka fulfills my need to love a brainy character who is simultaneously hilarious, Bolin does the rest by giving me an adorable, nice-guy character... who is equally funny... you... guys will start to notice a trend with the male characters I like... so... don't be too surprised if the same types pop up. I apologize in advance.

9. Sailor Jupiter aka Makoto Kino - Sailor Moon Out of all the Sailor Scouts, Makoto has always been my favorite! I always saw a bit of myself in her & her dual personality. Both tough and strong but with a gushy girly side to her too. I LOVE that about her and how balanced and natural it is for her nature. She's lovely and passionate and loves deeply even if she is tall and seems intimidating.

8. Zack Fair – Final Fantasy 7 Okay, here's my dopey joker fetish coming though... this will be followed by my "brainy" type right afterwards. lol. Zack Fair is hands down the funniest & most likable FF7 character period. I mean, what else is there to say about this guy? Fun, kinda reckless, skilled, an elite soldier, has that black haired, blue eyed combo I go nuts for and is just so willing to take little Cloud under his wing while winning off his future girlfriend in no time. lol Too charming for me to resist.

7. Donatello - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles And now for the brainy type. XD Donatello has ALWAYS been by favorite turtle and not just cause my favorite color is purple. lol I mean, I just like everything about him from his scientific brain to his choice of weapons. And I always say this to people who don't like Donatello: "If he wasn't around... all the turtles, in every series, in every continuity & medium... would totally be dead." Seriously. Donatello keeps the turtles alive for the most part by being a once in a life time genius. He doesn't get enough credit and need more praise.

6. Zoe Washburne – Firefly ... if I were to say that I had a crush on a fictional girl character, it would be Zoe. She's just... so awesome. Just so cool... like, I can't even describe it.

5. Helga G Pataki – Hey Arnold Helga from Hey Arnold is amazing. She's just so insanely in love with Arnold to the point that the football head is her muse and the light of her life. She's so obsessed that she builds shrines to his name. It's hilarious and amazing. She's a total nutjob and I love it! But she's also very astute, clever, a writer and it's painfully amusing to watch her lock that side away when she's at school to become a bossy bully. But you know... it's been 15 years almost... enough is enough. It's time to tell Arnold how you feel Helga! (and NO, I do not count that Hey Arnold movies as her confession. It was awful and very messy) The Jungle movie will FINALLY be released in 2017. I can't wait!

4. Ariel - The little mermaid Like I could leave her out. Ariel was MY Disney Princess. Fearless, curious, adventurous & a total dreamer wanting to live in the world above! I feel like she was very unjustly attacked by the internet as wanting to live out of the sea for a guy. I'm sure that cave of her treasures took her months if not years to fill and the prince was the icing on that cake combined with adolescent rebellion and persuasion after having all her collection destroyed by her father. She was not even crown princess for heaven's sake! Duh, she'd react impulsively!!! *heaves* Okay, okay. Anyways, Ariel single handedly revived Disney and paved the way for the Modern Princesses so don't say mean things about my girl Ariel!

3. Ron Weasley – Harry Potter (Books) Ron. Yeah, love this red-headed firecracker. I'll be frank, while I do enjoy movie Ron, Rupert Grint needed to have more grit written in role just to match up to book Ron. Book Ron practically acted on instinct for everything. He braved the Spiders for Hermione (it was his choice in the books) he tried to curse Malfoy and punched him in the face several times in the books. While I'm normally into different types of male characters, this red-head won me over quickly in the books even edging out funny brothers Fred and George and I think he deserved to be with Hermione after all he went through... i also have confidence issues so I relate to him a lot.

2. (Future) Trunks Brief - Dragonball Z Oh yes. My original Anime Crush. It took a very special character to dethrone Trunks from the top spot. What to say about him? Sweet, courageous, powerful so very likable. Purple Hair for the win! The Future Trunks version has always been my favorite. Being partially raised by Gohan in his dystopian timeline, his personality became kind and understanding and his quest to save his earth in the future was one of my favorite plots! Also, fell in love with his voice actors (both of them). A perfect paragon character... like the guy blow.

1. Robin/Nightwing/Agent 37 aka Dick Grayson - Batman/Nightwing/Grayson comics by DC Comics So this one was a sinch. I am flat out in love wit this character. If I could take any fictional character and bring them into real life, this guy would top my list every time. Dick Grayson, the original Robin, had been my re-introduction into mainstream comics on the DC side of things and boy what a pull! Fully encompassing everything that I find attractive in a man, (even going so far as to coincidentally having physical traits that I find attractive: dark hair & light eyes with a lean but muscular body) Dick is smart, objectively handsome, funny, playful/boyish & has a pure-hearted urge to do what's right because he believes it's what must be done. He differs greatly from his mentor's (Batman) motivations & methods by not being driven by vengeance but rather by justice & diving into a battle rather than hiding in the shadows. This former circus acrobat turned vigilante crime-fighter, is also a natural leader who people tend to trust easily and is always looking to help others with his (seemingly) constant need to be everyone's big brother. This is sooooo attrative to me and the fact that he is known to have the finest butt in all of DC doesn't hurt either.

I think in the future I might do art of all the characters in this meme... Gosh, I haven’t drawn Trunks since the early 2000s. After watching his ark in DBZ Super I have more motivations to do so...

Anyhoo, hope you got some insight into my tastes... and yes, I know, no Kingdom Hearts, Zelda or MLB characters but those franchises, I like more as a whole. But these particular characters I still like without context. (if the people I tag do this, remember to tag me back so I can read it!) And of course, if you want to do this, do it! Tag me also so I can read! @euclidstriangle @kidokaproject @stekadarr @sixofclovers @liberatedpuppeteer @littleredjay @fluoroidtheauthor @april-lilies @sofiedraws​ @re-defenestratin​  @ofpaintedflowers​ @pixelatedcoeur​ @pinoote-peanut​

#character meme #dick grayson #trunks brief #ron weasley #ariel #helga g pataki #zoe washburne #donatello #zack fair #sailor jupiter #makoto kino #sokka #bolin #meme

[petergirl10]

On July 22, 2010, four nights before the UK Sherlock premiere, Benedict Cumberbatch sat down with hosts Charlie Stayt and Kate Silverton on the BBC's morning news magazine, Breakfast. Silverton: Okay, welcome back. So, it seems fitting to just drop a few clues about our final guest. He's an actor who's been in Small Island, Atonement, Tipping the Velvet and numerous theatre productions, and he's here to talk about his latest role as a very perceptive investigator, who lives at the sort of London address that comes up in pub quizzes. Stayt: Yes, his partner in crime solving is Dr John Watson, and in the original stories, he didn't once say, "elementary". Ah, it's pretty obvious who it is, isn't it? The answer is Benedict Cumberbatch, who's here to tell us about all the new BBC One adaptation of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Good morning. Cumberbatch: Good morning. Stayt: We were talking about this sort of James Bond mantle... Cumberbatch: Mmm. Stayt: ...and taking on the idea of writing a James Bond story. The idea of playing Sherlock Holmes, as an actor, is a pretty big one, I think. Cumberbatch: Yeah, I mean, they're both very daunting, iconic characters to take on, and interestingly, there's a parallel with Bond. Holmes is someone who hasn't been reinvented in the 21 st century until now, so, rather like Fleming's original novel set in that period, why not continue the franchise in a modern setting? And he's always been a modern man, Sherlock, so the idea of him being... Silverton: How... What do you mean? Cumberbatch: Well, I think he's always been at the forefront of forensic science. He was, um, somebody who was investigating the idea of fingerprints and footprints, and wrote very long, probably very boring monographs on different types of ash, cigarettes and cigar ash, to detect where the cigar and cigarette may be bought from, and therefore lead to an identity of whoever's left the ash behind. So, the idea that he can exist in the 21st century, I think, sits quite neatly. It's a difficult one, I think, for traditionalists to swallow because it could be very naff. Silverton: And I've been saying... Yes. And I can imagine people saying you just can't touch Sherlock Holmes, you know, put it in the modern day, it just won't work. Cumberbatch: Yeah. Silverton: And I actually confess, I was one of those last night who sat down to watch it... Cumberbatch: Me too, before I read the scripts. Silverton: Were you? Cumberbatch (laughs): Yeah, completely. Silverton: Were you thinking, "Gosh, I can't do this." Cumberbatch: Oh, completely, I just... It's very easy, I think, to just... to try and, uh, reinvigorate something with a very tacked-on idea of modernity, whether it just be multimedia technology or a sort of tongue-in-cheek reference to something that's now, I don't know, taken on a new guise, but... Silverton: Well, let's take a look and give people a sense of what we're talking about. Cumberbatch: Okay, yeah. Let's talk about that. Silverton: This is your very first meeting with, uh... with Watson. Cumberbatch: Okay, okay. Sherlock: I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other. John: Oh, you ... you told him about me? Mike Stamford: Not a word. John: Then who said anything about flatmates? Sherlock: I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap. John: How did you know about Afghanistan? Sherlock: Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary. John: Is that it? Sherlock: Is that what? John: We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat? Sherlock: Problem? John: We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name. Sherlock: I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid. That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think? Sherlock: The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street. Afternoon. Mike Stamford: Yeah. He’s always like that. Stayt: That is, uh... And we won't go into too much detail, but you're pretty much right, aren't you? I mean, he is annoyingly... Cumberbatch: Yes... Irritatingly... But, I mean, he is fallible. He is fallible. It's not a complete science deduction. It is, pretty much, in his hands, but... There are red herrings. There are dead ends. But the brilliant thing he still can do, in the 21 st century, with all the multimedia and forensic science he has at his availability... At his availability! At his hands, at his beck and call... Is to turn that into a coherent narrative, to understand who, why, what, when, and he does that so fantastically brilliantly, and sometimes he gets it wrong, but... Silverton: And it's an illustration of how...If just by being, purely by being observant, that you can pick up on... Cumberbatch: He's great. Silverton: If just by being, purely by being observant, that you can pick up on... Cumberbatch: Yes, it's an achievable... It's an achievable power. It's not a superpower. It's... Silverton: It's... It struck me as sort of a cross between, and we mentioned forensic science, sort of a CSI, it's got a really pacey feel... Cumberbatch: Mmm. Yeah. Silverton: The scripting's very fast and very... There's a lot of wit in there. Cumberbatch: Yes, it's quite... Silverton: It's kind of Like an adult Doctor Who. But then, some of the writers have actually also written for Doctor Who. Cumberbatch: Well, Steve and Mark... Both Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss do both write for Doctor Who, but, um... I don't think there's that much of a crossover, but stylistically, you have a maverick. You have an outsider. Silverton: Yeah. Cumberbatch: You have someone who's voluble, who's incredibly smart and fast-thinking, and adept at thinking on his feet, and someone who leaps into action and leaves people going, "Wait! Hang on!" And, you know, catching up like the audience does, but... I think what's smart about this as well is that there are moments, without spoiling too much, where the audience is let into the thinking of Holmes, which is quite a new dynamic, I think, in any TV drama. You have these moments not just with sort of, screen technology, which is often a cutaway to a phone or a computer where the words actually appear rather than actually being on the screen. Stayt: Now that's worth explaining, isn't it, because I thought that was a very... Silverton: Yes. Stayt: ... I've not seen it before. Cumberbatch: Yeah. Stayt: Just to explain, so, I think filmmakers have been struggling with the idea of, how do you make texting interesting... Cumberbatch: Yeah, yeah. ... Stayt: ... in a visual sense. What you do in this film, is that you... You're receiving the texts and they appear as subtitles. Cumberbatch: Yeah. Stayt: And so you know what the actor's looking at. Cumberbatch: Exactly, exactly. Stayt: It's so simple. I don't know why... Cumberbatch: And yet very, very, very effective. I know, I know. I think maybe because people think it's some kind of intrusion on the actual physical space of what the camera's looking at, but I... You know, a word or two floating up, it's brilliant. It just works. Stayt: It comes like a thought bubble, really. Silverton: Yeah. Cumberbatch: Yes, it does a bit. Silverton: You've also got a lovely landlady that I think we should introduce very quickly, if we've got time. Cumberbatch: Oh, please. The lovely Una Stubbs. Silverton: The landlady at 221 B Baker Street, played by Una Stubbs. And we get to see what a mess you live in. (Cumberbatch laughs) John: Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed. Sherlock: Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely. So I went straight ahead and moved in. John: Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out... Oh. So this is all ... Sherlock: Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit. John: That’s a skull. Sherlock: Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’ ... Mrs. Hudson: What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two bedrooms. John: Of course we’ll be needing two. Mrs. Hudson: Oh, don’t worry; there’s all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door’s got married ones. Oh, Sherlock. The mess you’ve made. Stayt: I bet it was hard to keep a straight face filming that, wasn't it? (Silverton and Cumberbatch laugh) Cumberbatch: This stuff is fantastic. Holmes's default mode is quite a straight face. It's rare that he smiles without intent. But yeah, no, she's wonderful. She's just delightful. She's very, very funny. Stayt: Like I was saying that... Sorry, you were saying a second ago about how many actors have taken on the role of Sherlock. You were saying that it was... Is it 200? Cumberbatch: It's a huge number. If you take into the international contingent as well, it's... I think it is well into the 200s. I think it's possibly... This might be in the Guinness Book of Records, I'm not sure, and I should know this, playing a fact-meister that Holmes is. Um, I think he is the most-played literary fictional character. Um, I mean for me, one of the scariest things, as far as inheriting any of that and playing such an iconic role was thinking about Rathbone and Brett. To me, they are the two supreme English Holmes and always will be. So that was yet another appeal with escaping that shadow slightly, because of not having a deerstalker, a bowler hat, or a cape or pipe in sight, that there was... We were moving out of the Victorian smog of it into something which I could have some kind of a new identity with. Silverton: Mmm. Cumberbatch: Um, and also it's younger and also it's when they first meet and that's very rarely been done. Silverton: Yes. Cumberbatch: And it's a great place to start the story, where it originally started, in Study in Scarlet. Silverton: That's fantastic. Cumberbatch: Ours is called "A Study in Pink." Silverton: Well... Stayt: You get a scarf and a long coat. Cumberbatch: Oh yes, you have to come up with some kind of a silhouette. Silverton: There's some things that still remain. Yeah. It's so lovely to see you. Thank you so much... Cumberbatch: It's an absolute pleasure. Stayt: I know you're a little bit dicky on the throat. Cumberbatch: A little bit dicky on the throat, yeah. Stayt: Thank you. Silverton: So one not to miss, then. Sherlock on BBC One, 9:00 on Sunday night.

#sherlock #season one #2010 #interview #benedict cumberbatch

[alittlebookdust]

THE WEEKLY REVIEW: Caraval

Author: Stephanie Garber Publisher: Flatiron Books Publishing Date: 2017 Pages: 416 Rating: 2/5 Caraval. The title of the book is no doubt drawn from the game on which the foundation of its plot is established. The game takes place on a secluded island in the middle of some world—which the author leaves extremely undeveloped—and one can only play for the chance at winning a “magic wish” if invited. The book begins on the isle of Trisda, following sisters Scarlett and Tella Dragna, and it’s revealed that the sisters have been writing to Caraval’s gamekeeper, Master Legend (original name, I know), since their infancy. Out of the two sisters, the narrator singles out Scarlett as the novel’s main protagonist, who receives a letter from Legend, inviting her and the fiancé she’s not met—yet is due to marry within the fortnight—to participate in the next Caraval game, which begins on the third day’s sunset. Growing up in constant fear of her abusive father, Scarlett’s main priority is taking care of her sister. She sees her imminent engagement as an escape from her father and a way to obtain a means to protect Tella. With this in mind, Scarlett knows she must refuse Legend’s invitation in order to stay and be wed. She cannot bring herself to risk security, nor the promise of a seemingly better future, even for the sake of a life-long dream. But just because Scarlett is risk-adverse doesn’t quite mean her sister is the same. Tella’s impulsive and reckless personality lends the plot a bit of a push when she forces Scarlett on to a boat heading directly to Caraval with the help of a sailor named, Julian. However, upon arriving, Tella is kidnapped and Scarlett soon learns that finding her sister is the theme of this season’s game. I’ll begin with the positive… The concept of a game wherein one must strategize in how to use personal truths in order to advance and obtain clues was interesting to me. If you reveal too much, it can be used against you. If you reveal too little, it’s nearly impossible to progress. But besides this, the novel really fell short. I had higher expectations for the writing, the characters, and the plot development in general, seeing as this book was given the award for most anticipated YA novel of 2017. The world in which Caravel existed came off as flat and underdeveloped, as well as the central driving force: the bond between the two sisters, Scarlett and Tella. It was clear that the author attempted to portray a profound sense of loyalty from Scarlett, but in actuality the relationship seemed to be compromised of the repetitive phrases “I just want to find my sister,” “my greatest desire is to find my sister,” scattered all throughout the book without much weight or meaning behind the conviction. The sisterly bond, as well as the romantic interest, seemed forced. Tella was in no way a character connecting to the reader’s sympathy, thus is made it difficult to understand Scarlett’s protective nature over a sister who seemed more than distant, and at times, aloof. There are hardly any scenes in which the sisters are together, and very little is given to the readers as far as a foundation for their bond. Scarlett’s character in general came off as overly simplified by the constant repetition of her “greatest desires,” and there was no room, really, for the reader to guess at the contradiction of her actions because the narrator would always explain away Scarlett’s thoughts with flat justifications. Most of the book was a perfect example of “telling” rather than “showing.” The imagery detailing Caraval’s bright and magically iridescent atmosphere was for the most part well executed, but still the picture came off as a floating mirage hinged upon nothing but some shadow of a world that did not have the complexity to give the game any weight. The whole book felt shallow and lacking, starting from the world building, following up to the characters. The plot twists and whatever “development” the characters underwent, didn’t make any sense; the rules of magic seemed fickle, contradictory, and vague. This was all made worse by a writing style that was overly repetitive in phrasing and its use of color to describe Scarlett’s moods. It’s unfortunate to give this book a bad review since the concept and the elements introduced have really made the story a success. However, the plot was simply too predictable in a world with meaningless, arbitrary twists and undeveloped characters.

#my reviews #books #reading #caraval #bookworm #bookblog #writitng #book review #book #ya #ya fantasy #stephanie garber #read #write #review #ya book #ya books #ya book review #My Book Reviews

[uncertifiedqueer]

What Came After | Chapter One

Title: What Came After

Fandon: D. Gray-Man

Characters: Allen Walker, Lavi

Genre: Suspense, Horror(?)

Rating: T

Summary: It has been more than a century since the Holy War ended, but perhaps Allen was just a bit naïve in thinking that he could ever escape the horrors of it.  [21st Century, Reincarnation AU. Short Fic.]

Word count: 2.6k

Can also read on FFN. (Better format you know.)    Part 1/?

Chapter One: Heartbeat

Deep into the water

Deep into the dark

Deep into the places

Stories have to start

Peel open the layers

Go in for the kill

Bite into the onion

Taste it for the thrill

Got a fear of falling under

Underneath the dream

A fear of diving too deep

Deep beneath the seams

A fear of falling under

Underneath the spell

A fear of what the truth sees

Secrets I will tell

"A Fear Of Falling Under" — Darren Hayes

"Hey, Lavi!" The aforementioned male turned around at the sound of his name, not pausing in arranging his books but tilting his head to show that he was listening.

The last bell of the day had rung just a few minutes ago and everyone was eager to leave the school building in favour of more fun activities. Well, other than the nerds or geeks who actually enjoyed spending their spare time pouring over dull textbooks. Then again, if he were being honest, he would most definitely fall under the latter category. Not that he was particularly keen on the idea either as it was mostly history he was interested in. So, even if he could, he would rather read any historical documentary or novel than the syllabus he was given. Not to say he was bad with other subjects because he was not, his position among the top five in overall academic ranking was definitely a proof of that, it was merely that he did not enjoy them as much as he enjoyed history.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that his grandfather, whom he had spent most of his childhood with, was a history professor. The elder even had a massive library solely dedicated to the topic. Lavi had, naturally, developed a strong liking for the aforementioned subject after spending hours surrounded by those old but rather well-kept tomes. Rather than just books, he could say that they had been his friends. His only companions during those lonesome days, after all, the old man could hardly be classified as a pleasant company most of the time. He was glad that Bookman had been there, really, but he could not exactly say that his grandfather was an ideal parental figure. Hell, he wasn't even sure how exactly he had survived all those years with him. He was only relieved that he had come out relatively intact, even if the said relativity was questionable at best. Then again —

"Heading out early?" A brash looking male —Daisya Barry, one of his friendlier classmates— asked. By then he was almost beside Lavi's desk.

An apologetic smile filtered across the redhead's face as his dominant left-hand automatically reached towards the bridge of his nose to steady the half-rimmed glasses. His dark haired companion had once commented on this habit of his, saying that he could not understand why he was always trying to fix his glasses when they weren't even slipping, further inquiring if everyone wearing spectacles also did that or was it just his nervous tick. He had laughed then, the comment both ridiculously random and equally amusing. Really, it was not as if it was a compulsion born out of anxiety or anything, simply because they could not feel the frame sliding down their noses did not mean his glasses were not on the verge of falling. Honestly, the woes of being the only bespectacled person in a group.

"Yeah, I'm kind of busy today." Lavi replied, slinging the backpack on his right shoulder. The other teen made a disappointed sound.

"Aw well, that sucks. But it's your loss really, missing out on the fun with our awesome group and all!"

A chuckle left his lips as they both walked towards the classroom door. "I think I'll live without it."

"Ha-ha. Funny."

"Thanks, I try." He received an amused snort in reply. "Well then, see ya' tomorrow Daisya."

"Later man." With a last wave in his direction the soccer enthusiast was walking in the opposite direction.

A silver cased cell-phone was flipped open as the teen left the maneuvering of hallways to his trusted muscle memory. After pressing a few buttons he brought the screen to his left ear, absentmindedly listening to the caller tune before it switched to an almost robotic voice. Person or no, with as much inflection as there was in their tone, it could be argued that perhaps a real robot would sound more human. Then again, maybe it was actually a computer generated voice. To tell the truth, the teen had never cared to find out and he really could not bother at the moment.

'The person you're trying to reach is not answering the call. Please try again in a few minutes.'

A frown marred his features as the call was disconnected. Discontented, he tried again.

'The person you're trying to reach is currently not available—...'

'The person you're trying to rea—'

'The perso—'

He closed the phone with, perhaps, more force than necessary after yet another failed try before sliding it back in his pocket, looking up to see that he was almost at the entrance. He tried to smother the blossoming concern with the thought that the other boy might be sleeping. Considering the fact he had been feeling unwell since morning it was a high possibility. Not to mention if he was awake there was no way he would not answer his phone, sick day or not. He was just that polite. Comforted by the knowledge, Lavi reigned in his anxious side, at least for the moment. He could not help but push his glasses further up his nose, however.

The eighteen-year-old teenager took a deep breath as he exited the school premises. The warm wind caressed his freckled cheeks before twirling away, carrying the smell of pine cones with it. Dried leaves crunched under his shoes as he walked in long strides, his legs covering the distance so easily that he did not feel the need to run. After all, it would be kind of a waste to not savor the nice weather that had graced the present day. Deep green eyes surveyed the surroundings with a passive sort of fascination. The sunset colors encompassing the nature were, indeed, quite beautiful to look at, and autumn was definitely his favourite season, but even when faced with such vibrancy he could not help but think that there was something else that he found breathtaking beyond words.

Even though for most people pale shades such as gray and white were rather dull and boring, the redhead begged to differ. Sure, they may not be the most appealing colors one could think of but he thought they were certainly mesmerizing in their own right. Then again, maybe he was simply biased. After all —

It took him roughly twenty minutes of walking and ten minutes in a convenience store, most of which was spent standing in the slowest queue he had the misfortune of suffering in his entire existence as a human being (or maybe he was exaggerating because of impatience, but whatever the case, the fact remained that it was slow), to reach the intended apartment complex. His eyes scanned the letters imprinted on the wooden plaque, reading Noah's Ark as they had done many times, for a brief moment before he walked inside.

It was a ridiculous name, his younger friend had commented once, when they were both lazing around on a summer day, under one of the many trees in the compound's vicinity, popsicles melting in their hands as they tried to battle the raging heat with flimsy paper fans. The boy was sure that whoever came up with the name "Noah's Ark" must have been an idiot. To which he had countered with the fact that the teen was still living there, was he not? The comeback had been quick, his tone bordering on monotonous, pointing out that this was the cheapest place he could get that was also close to school. The older boy had wisely kept his silence after that, but, of course, not before claiming that he found the name cool. It was creative. After all, these days most of the buildings were either named after the owners or a famous person or a sort-of-famous-person. Which, let's be honest, was so not original. The other's reply had included a snort, and a muttered idiot. He had been rightfully indignant, not that his companion seemed to care. Really, the rather comedic situation ought to be more ridiculous than a name that had become the topic of their discussion.

The elevator stopped with a resounding ding as the door opened on the ninth floor of the building. The redhead navigated the hallway with a familiar ease, soon finding himself in front of his friend's door. Sliding the grocery bags to his elbow he fished the spare key out of his jeans pocket before unlocking the door and stepping inside. He waited with bated breath for a few seconds, ears strained for the tiniest sound or some kind of indication that the sick teen was awake, letting out a breath when only silence met his ears. He didn't know what exactly he was expecting.

The flat was nothing fancy, for sure, painted in various shades of blue, white and violets with the basic furniture in corresponding hues, and that was just the living room. There was a painting too, hanging on the wall behind the couch, pastel colors more abstract than realistic depicting the ruins of a place long forgotten, a figure crying for the person who laid lifeless upon their lap and the crescent moon which only served to darken the shadows further. It unnerved him, if he were being honest, but for some reason the fifteen-year-old boy had quite a morbid taste when it came to these things. The other painting in his bedroom was even creepier. He could not fathom how anyone could sleep with a visage of a madly grinning clown, crimson tears trailing down his cheeks as he carried a coffin on his back, hanging above their head.

The peculiar tendencies of the boy aside, it was, at least, much cleaner and organized than the clutter he called his home. Not so much out of some sentimental value, but more so because it was convenient to call that three roomed —four if he counted the bathroom— apartment “his home” instead of “his apartment” or “his house”. It would be quite troublesome, in his humble opinion, to say those mouthfuls of words when he could save himself some trouble by using a more common term. Then again, it did feel like a home, a place he would want to return to and a place where he belonged, sometimes, but perhaps that was not the correct description seeing as the feeling was not related to the place itself as much as it was with —

Lavi stilled.

His hands stopping mid air in the process of dumping the bag full of ingredients on the kitchen counter. A pair of dark eyes glared holes on the black-and-white checkered wallpaper in front of him as he concentrated on his surroundings. He was sure he heard something just now. It sounded like something falling on the ground, something that produced a kind of metallic sound. Few minutes passed in waiting yet he could hear no other sound following the abrupt disruption. The air, however, felt a lot different now. His lips tugged downwards in instant wariness. The first course of action, of course, involved checking on the invalid occupant of the flat before he could proceed to figure out just what had made that sound. Just as he was about to turn around, something halted his movements. He swore he saw something in the corner of his right eye. Approaching the other side of the kitchen with measured steps, he finally noticed the fallen drawer, its contents rattled and some even scattered on the floor. That, however, was not what caught his attention. He crouched down to properly inspect the shining drops of liquid that were definitely thicker in density than water. Unable to identify the exact color due to the dark floor, he swiped some on his forefinger and smeared it across his thumb while he was at it.

'Huh. It's red.' The thought floated around his mostly vacant mind, for once, without registering the implications of such a thing. It smelled like salt and copper. The redhead drew a sharp breath. Why was there —

- xxXxx -

Ba-dumm

A drop of liquid fell on the ground.

Allen?

- xxXxx -

He was on his feet before he could complete that thought, his pace hurried yet trying to be as silent as possible. His heart hammered inside his chest. With plenty caution he approached the bedroom, eyes narrowing when he found the crimson trail leading up to the once perfectly white door that was now stained with bloodied fingerprints. Peeking around the door frame he found the usually neat room in disarray. The bed sheets and blankets were falling halfway off the bed as if the occupant was wrestling with it prior to his awakening. The half-filled laundry basket across the room was toppled over, the clothes scattering around messily. The computer on the side blinked lazily, flickering between the black screen and the open word document for a minute before going black again. The bookshelf had a few missing spots and the lamp on the bedside table was knocked over, probably broken now, and… goodness was that more blood? Needless to say, it was the messiest state he had ever seen this room in.

One curious thing that did not escape the teen's notice, even in his worried mindset was that the brown door, on the right corner of the room, was ajar. Perspiration gathered on his palms and he rubbed them on his clothes, wringing the bottom of his shirt in the process, as he slowly walked towards the bathroom. His glasses slipped again. Perhaps, this time it was the sweat gathering on his forehead that caused it, nevertheless, Lavi was glad for even that little bit of familiarity in this situation.

His fingers lingered on the aforementioned accessory for a second longer than necessary.

The floor was furnished with green tinted tiles and the walls themselves were painted in a medium shade of sea green. The color was comforting, the albino boy had said. It reminded him of the time he had spent with his foster father in a coastal region. Apparently, most of the man's family, distant cousins and whatnot, had settled somewhere beside the sea and they had gone to pay a visit. He had been around eight then. The teen remembered little of those days now, but he still recalled the feeling of safety and comfort and peacefulness he had felt while gazing at the vast sea. In time, he had come to associate those feelings with the color itself. It was not a bad thing, on the contrary it was quite endearing. Thinking about it, the redhead could say that it created a positively soothing atmosphere for just about anyone.

In spite of that, scanning the dimly lit room (because the lights weren't on and the subdued illumination from the bedroom only amplified the darkness within) Lavi could not stop the dread from surfacing under his skin in that moment, coiling around his abdomen in an extremely unpleasant manner. The colors muted by the lack of light were barely distinguishable from the shadows at this point and —

There was figure, shorter than him, standing in front of the mirror, leaning almost too close while his right palm rested against the reflective surface. The person —his wayward friend he realized a moment later— who was supposed to be resting and not trying to give him a heart attack, had his back towards him. Even so… even in the faint glow that turned the reflection indistinct and fairly ominous, he could see.

He could see, so, so clearly, and, for once, he wished he could not.

A/N: I’m suffering from a really bad case of catarrh. (Which is just cold tbh. /trying and failing to keep a straight face/) Haha, it’s kinda irritating, especially when we can’t breathe, but there’s more fanfiction to be written. At least we plotted about this fic ahead of time otherwise I fear it might not ever be completed.

/cough/ Anyways, the only reason there’s a note here because — Lavi’s glasses. Can we just say that it sucks bullocks that we can’t add links on FFN? Okay, I’m done.

#dgm #fanfic #lavi #allen walker #d.gray man #allen #dgrayman #d gray man #bookman jr #tbh i didn't know if we should post it here but #we thought what's the harm? #really though i'm so fucking self-conscious about this like assjfnhfh- #thank you in advance whoever reads this #i'll probably not die before completing this #don't worry #lavi has issues #just saying #we're really bad at assigning genres and writing warnings and stuff so... #we had a hell of a time choosing the title though #nothing seemed to suit it and anything we came up with just felt... not up to the standard #we're still not sure about this one

[the-dorothinquisiton-blog]

The Ravaging Flames - Chapter XIV

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**Okay, okay, so pretty much, I’m really new to this site. I normally hate the idea of social media, but I guess I want to try some new things or something, I dunno. Anyway, I like to write in my free time, or whenever I feel bored outta’ my ever-loving mind. I thought maybe a good start for me on this site would be to share some of my work; or at least, I hope so. This is just a little excerpt from a story I’ve been writing based on the game ‘OFF’ made by Mortis Ghost. I’ve always wanted to publish my work, so I decided to start writing a ‘test-novel’ of sorts to see if I might be able to interest a few people before moving onto something completely original! I might’ve made a few grammatical errors,  and I know that already, so don’t be all that harsh. I’m not opposed to criticism by any means, but I’m just not really looking for any of it right now. I’m posting this manly to make someone’s day a little better, if I’m even capable of that in the first place! This is Chapter 14, and for another note, (if you’re familiar with OFF) some of the character’s personalities and motives have been changed; so just try to bare with me! Sorry if it’s a lot out of context; I just chose one of the chapters I liked best. If people like this one, I might post more, I dunno. So, anyway, here it is. Enjoy this copy-pasted mess from my word document. ;~; 

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The cool night breeze flooded through the doorway, meeting the Batter’s cold gaze immediately. He had emerged atop the apex of the Great Library. The summit was rather flat, about forty feet wide and long. An eerily placed barred fence walled off the steep edges, preventing anyone from falling to their untimely demise. The night sky was lit ablaze with stars; from which the Batter could barely avert his eyes. Even he had to admit, it was truly an astounding sight to witness. Dark purple clouds swirled slowly in the midnight breeze, casting a series of somber shadows down upon the library’s peak. However, no one appeared to be anywhere within sight. No signs of life shone at all; the only sounds to be heard were the delicate howling of the wind. The Batter walked calmly over to the barred fence that enclosed the summit of the Library, and looked down at the rest of the Zone far below. The sight was stunningly beautiful to say the least; especially the vibrant lights of the city, and the pale glimmer of moonlight off of the ocean’s waves. Hordes of phantoms still flew around below, tormenting the Elsen ruthlessly in the streets and atop buildings. Most of the Zone’s citizens appeared to have already fled to their homes for the night, but the unlucky few were torn to shreds by the vicious carnivores far below the Library’s summit. The sight was truly painful to watch, even for the likes of the Batter. In an effort to break the eerie silence, the Batter spoke aloud to himself. 

“Show yourself Japhet the Millennial Firebird, for I have arrived.” The Batter’s cold statement echoed heavily in the stale air, reverberating countless times before dying off. After a short yet antagonizing silence, the Batter’s words were finally met with a response.

“Beautiful… isn’t it?” The voice came across shy and nervous; as if anticipating what was to come. As the Batter turned in the cold night breeze, he laid his eyes upon the feline host of Japhet, starring down at the breathtaking view. She stood facing away from him on the opposite end of the summit. “A sight as beautiful as this used to bring me to tears… That was a long time ago, however… I cannot even seem to recall how to cry any longer, to be perfectly honest.” Japhet proclaimed from within the feline’s body, a small yet noticeable frown spreading across her face. The Batter however, had dealt with enough of these foolish back and forth verbal games, and was growing distain of Japhet’s careless banter.

“You have brought nothing but chaos and suffering to this land. You are the parasite that not only feeds off of Valerie’s body, but this Zone in its entirety. Stop hiding behind your host, coward. Show yourself to me.” The Batter’s hardened words echoing out into the night sky. Japhet suddenly turned to face the Batter, her eyes glowing a deep purple. The Batter’s impatience seemed to resonate sourly within her.

“It isn’t like I wished so desperately for the poor feline to devour me whole! Is that what you think?!” Japhet shouted aloud, her voice growing pained and weighed down by thoughts of regret. “As I lay, in a peaceful sleep, the foolish predator tried to devour me, as you must already know… However, the foolish beast didn’t chew, and I now reside inside her body controlling her like a puppet… She deserved a fate such as this…“ Japhet’s eyes lit ablaze with anger as she bared a toothy grin. The Batter stomped the ground impatiently, cracking the ground beneath his cleat.

”Enough chatter. I understand that the incident with Valerie wasn’t your fault entirely; thus I have already forgiven your sins regarding the matter. However, that still doesn’t justify your crimes against this land, whether you wanted this or not, tonight you will close your eyes for the final time. Show yourself to me now, and die an honorable death.” The Batter proclaimed sternly. The frightening cat only giggled quietly in response, her grin spreading wider than before. Her emotions were clouded and vivid, changing from one to another within mere moments. Insanity was slowly setting in.

“As you wish!” The small feline began hacking and coughing violently as she uttered those chilling words. A pool of fresh blood gathered on the floor below her mouth, as something began to push its way out through her throat. A small avian-like head emerged from the bleeding maw of the cat, one that resembled that of an elegant, white bird. The bird blinked several times, adjusting herself to the cold outside breeze before speaking out in a hatred fueled voice. 

“Valerie couldn’t even chew through a little bird, right until the very end!” The small yet oddly exquisite fowl screeched. The Batter took a somber step backwards, as if he wasn’t expecting her statements to hold any water. It truly was a horrifying sight to witness; a bird forcibly ripping its way out of the mouth of a feline who attempted to devour it.

”What’s the matter, purifier? Could it be that you too fear my true appearance? Well, in that case, allow me to grace you with an even worse sight!” Japhet maliciously cackled, her voice shrouded deep within insanity. Without much warning, Japhet’s host body erupted violently, blood spewing profusely in all directions. As the cat’s body convulsed, two stunningly huge wings, at least sixteen feet long, seemed to arise from Valerie’s now trembling carcass. The horrifying visage of a huge, crane-like bird arose from the weakened corpse of the dismembered feline. Japhet slowly staggered to her feet, still not fully accustomed to her true form. The elegant Phoenix stood at least fifteen feet tall, her wings fully outstretched to the sky. Her eyes gleamed a sickening white, stained with a demented craze. Her neck was long and slender, leading up to her crane-like head. The saddened carcass of Valerie adorned her neck in a rather morbid fashion. It appeared as though when she began to grow into her true appearance, Valerie’s corpse had gotten stuck around her neck; ripping her body open in the process. Blood dripped down from the corpse of the cat, staining Japhet’s magnificent form in fowl drops of crimson red. A long, smooth tail protruded from the phoenix’s rear, slamming fiercely against the tiled floors of the Library’s apex. Yet, her elegant voice remained soft and calm, truly not matching her monstrous crane-like form.

“The more I fight for my people, the more I work to keep them satisfied, only to be let down miserably in the end. They have forgotten me. Against all reason… they’ve become mortified of my very appearance. I’m trapped in an everlasting misery, as if damned by the Thousand Faced Queen herself… But now, I am finally free. Far below this very Library, the carnivores that I wrought into existence look up to where I soar, far above the clouds themselves, far above the storms that plague this tainted world. I can feel the pure power flowing through my veins… The phantoms have set me free of my everlasting burden! They’re all around me, circling like vultures to a rotting carcass! I can feel their sickening presence even now as we speak! Yes, it is true! It was I who summoned the phantoms from the depths! They are truly by my side, even now in my final moments! I’ve risen up beyond the sky that confines me, beyond the stars that withhold me!“ Japhet preached to the stars above, her stunningly beautiful voice echoing far into the sky. With a sudden and fierce flap of her mighty wings, Japhet lifted herself into the sky. The now brightening stars above shone on her massive wings, giving her body a stunningly divine appearance. 

“The energy of the galaxy’s divine expanse has given me power beyond the stars themselves. Now Batter, strike me down! End my sinful existence before the very beings of my creation destroy this crumbling Zone!” Japhet screeched down at the Batter, her voice heavily weighed down by fear and grief. Even while begging for death itself, she still feared what lied beyond life’s touch. The Batter pointed his blood soiled bat up at the huge phoenix, a menacing glare upon his stern face.

“Now, look upon yourself. Driven insane by the very power you were graced with in the beginning… how regrettable. You are truly a demented child of evil, Japhet. Your reign of fear and your rule over the phantoms ends here.” The Batter’s voice grew cold and dark, a gnarled hatred growing from within him. The towering phoenix raised her head upwards towards the stars without another word, and opened her gaping beak wide. Her silky white eyes glowed brightly in the darkness of the night. From deep within her throat erupted a vibrant plume of pale purple flames into the night sky. The deep purple blaze spread out in the sky before arching back down towards the Library’s summit. The sky was truly raining heavenly violent fire. As the plumes of fire rained down from the sky, the Batter leapt from place to place; desperately trying to avoid the scorching blaze. He tried to maintain his balance, seeing as though one wrong step would land him straight into the searing flames. From far above, he could hear the demented cackling of the colossal phoenix as he leapt from place to place.

“Try as you might, Batter… I hold within me the searing flames of creation! This Zone and everything in it is about to come to an untimely climax, whether you care for its people or not! What will you do?! Run and hide like the coward you truly are?! Or stay and fight?!” The Flaming Sovereign taunted, her voice soaring far above the flames. She began flapping her heavy wings at a great speed, attempting to blow the plentiful fire straight into the Batter. The sportive purifier stopped dead in his tracks, noticing the vibrant violent flames spiraling around him.

The dancing flames seemed to form a towering hurricane of hellfire, engulfing the entire summit of the library within a barrier of churning flames. The Batter could feel the immense heat harshly pressuring his body from all angles. Japhet was now nowhere in sight, hiding somewhere upon the other side of the scorching hurricane of flames. The crazed phoenix’s chaotic laughter rang out in the Batter’s ears, emanating in all directions. Such an elegant voice should never have to utter such guttural laughter. It simply isn’t natural. It was near to impossible for the Batter to locate the direction of the maddening laughter, seeing as though the roaring flames that surrounded him emanated with such an unknown fury. Without warning, large assortments of phantoms began shooting out from the scorching barrier of fire; all headed straight in the Batter’s direction. They all laughed hysterically as they charged at him from all conceivable angles. Japhet was putting her mastery of the phantoms to sparingly good use. The air was filled with maniacal snickering and violent hisses of anguish. The souls of the dammed were closing in. The Batter swung his mighty bat from phantom to phantom, ducking and dodging as many cackling specters as he could in the process. No matter how many phantoms the Batter seemed to banish, more and more spewed from the spiraling vortex of vibrant purple hellfire. The Batter’s reflexes were spot on, however. He began swinging his cast iron bat as hard and fast as he possibly could in a furious attempt to ward off the countless spirits. Finally, the phantoms seemed to begin to die down in frequency. He had totally lost count of the amount of vicious ghouls he had purified, but all that mattered to him at that moment was completing his sacred mission; and of course avenging the tragic loss of the Judge’s dear sister. He would not stand for such a cruel and heartless deity to get away with these unspeakable actions, no matter how kind and compassionate she may have been in the past.

The walls of vibrant, swirling fire began to close in around the Batter however, leaving him with only a few feet of space left in which to move. The emanating heat and bursts of volatile cinders from the walls of broiling fire seemed to dance about, lighting the night sky ablaze in vibrant color. As the Batter glanced overhead, he saw Japhet circling far above at the highest point of the spiraling vortex. Her voice rang out above the churning flames.

“Farewell, foolish purifier! To think I actually thought you’d be strong enough to snuff out my life like a dying cinder. Now there’s naught left to do but burn you to crisp ash!” As she spoke her hateful words, bright violet flames brewed between her gapping jaws. The mighty phoenix reeled back her head, only to thrust it downward towards the Batter, releasing a fierce burst of blistering purple flames. The plume of fire traveled swiftly down into the spiraling vortex, leaving the Batter with no place to run. He was hopelessly trapped; Blistering fire resonating from all directions. All he could do was prepare to block the oncoming breath of searing flames with his mighty cast-iron bat. As the twisting flare of vibrant purple came in contact with the unprepared Batter’s bat, a vicious explosion of intense force ensued; dissipating all of the surrounding fire. Plumes of smoke erupted bleakly from the explosion as the rising dust began to settle back to the ground. Japhet soared above the scene, observing her handiwork from far above the summit of the Library. As the dust settled, and the sounds of churning flames died down, Japhet gently lowered herself back to her roost upon the Library’s summit. Bowing her head slightly while closing her eyes, she spoke aloud to no one.

“Sleep well, young purifier. You tried your very best indeed… but in the end, no mortal can best an entity of pure divinity such as I.” Japhet proclaimed confidently, folding up her colossal wings around herself tightly. Small cinders still flickered on the now singed ground, as a deafening silence rose into the stale air. The wind could still be faintly heard blowing gently through the air; its soft breeze stirring up dust along the Library’s peak. Just when Japhet was positive her resilient adversary was no more, a deep voice pierced the eerie silence once again.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Japhet. Divinity is just a concept of delusion, rendering you just as mortal as I am. Not even the darkest flames of the devil himself could cast me down.” The Batter slowly emerged from within the thick cloud of smoke, a stern look plastered over his face. Even after such a devastating blow, the Batter was virtually unscathed by any stretch of the word. His batting uniform was miraculously unsigned, and his ghastly black ball cap still sat eerily upon his head. “If you still wish for death’s icy embrace, now would be a wonderful time to accept.” The Batter spoke, all remorse vanishing from his voice in that single instant. Japhet calmly ruffled her feathers in an expectant manner, not at all surprised at the Batter resilience.

“Ah, you are certainly full of surprises, Batter… And here I thought you’d be singed to a fine crisp. In another life… or maybe, in another reality… we could’ve been… good friends…” Japhet preached softly, somewhat relieved to know that her furious adversary might still be able to finish her off. All Japhet dreamed of now was death’s oh so sweet release. The sickening corpse of Valerie still clung lifelessly to the back of her neck, shaking moderately in the soft wind. Streams of blood trickled down from the putrid corpse, sending forth bright trails of crimson liquid down Japhet’s slender neck. Unfolding her massive wings once more, she gathered her thoughts as quickly as possible. “I would have been overjoyed to be your… friend. Yes… your friend…” Japhet meekly inquired, attempting in vain to hold back tears. All of her cruel wrong doings finally seemed to be weighing down on her conscience as she felt the warm streams of blood traveling down her tensed body. In a sudden moment of clarity that temporarily pushed aside the dreadful madness that plagued her mind, Japhet remembered what it was like to be a Holy Guardian once more. The happiness, the admiration, and the joy. The smiles of her closest friends, the tangled feelings of love she felt in her heart, and the one person who never left her side even in the darkest of times. The one girl she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Japhet knew there was no going back now, however. Her sins were unforgivable, and had driven even her closest friends and loved ones out of her life for good. She had pushed all of them away, except for the girl. The girl who she knew deep down would never look at her the same way if she was to learn of Japhet’s wrong doings. All Japhet wanted now was for it all to come to a close, an end to the pain. Glistening tears began to flow from her glimmering white eyes, staining the feathers lining her gentle face. The Batter starred up at mighty phoenix, who was seemingly falling apart mentally before his very eyes. He knew naught what to expect; Japhet was now on the verge of mental collapse. He understood her pain however, somehow he knew what it felt like to be in her position. The loss of everything she loved, the loss of everyone she loved. All that remained within her was the maddening power she possessed, and the only thing left to do with it. To destroy everything.

“Maybe we could’ve been friends in some other reality. You wish so desperately for me to destroy you, yet you have been the only Holy Guardian thus far to even consider for a brief moment the consequences of your actions. My previous offer still stands. We can compromise. Let us put an end to the fighting, Sovereign Phoenix.” The Batter proclaimed calmly, hoping to get through to the troubled Guardian. A long, agonizing silence ensued as the phoenix pondered the Batter’s words ever so carefully.

“You want… to be my friend…? Even after my countless attempts to take a stab at your life…? I have no one left to love… I’ve driven everyone away… I deserve this fate… Batter, forgive me… but I must respectfully decline your proposal of friendship… I must die tonight.” 

#writing #off mortis ghost

[mrmichaelchadler]

The Virtue of Stillness: The Performances of Glenn Close

Midway through “The Wife,” Nathaniel (Christian Slater) asks Joan (Glenn Close) about her writing. The wife of Joe (Jonathan Pryce), the new winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, Joan gave up her own burgeoning career decades ago. She gives a slight smile in amused contempt. “I’m not a writer. I had some potential.” Bone burrows further, trying to find the reasons why, the feelings she has about living largely in his shadow, and a greater truth about her creative influence over him. The mask doesn’t slip: beyond a mocking laugh (“Aren’t you the therapist?”), she reveals very little. Her face and body hardly move. When they do, she’s mostly toying with him. No matter how much he prods and probes, she’s in total control, ready to take whatever secrets she has to her grave.

“The Wife” features one of Close’s best performances, and her most notable role in some time. Once one of the top actresses in Hollywood, garnering five Oscar nominations in a seven-year span, she’s had more success on TV as of late, earning two career-high roles on major FX dramas while mostly popping up on film to bring a certain level of professionalism to small roles. Seeing her in action again in “The Wife” is seeing a performer who gets more out of stillness than almost any other actor, using small glances and smirks to reassure or unnerve, depending on the moment. No matter the character’s intentions, however, she’s almost always the figure whose choices shape the lives of the people around her, for good or for ill.  

Close came to acting after an unusual youth: born in an affluent world, her family forsook their privilege to join the Moral Re-Armament, a communal group that Close has since described as a cult that “[dictated] how you’re supposed to live and what you’re supposed to say and how you’re supposed to feel.” After exiting the MRA at 22 (her family has also since left), she studied theater and anthropology in college before beginning her professional career on Broadway at 27, acting in shows ranging from “King Lear” to “Barnum,” for which she earned a Tony nomination. It was on stage that George Roy Hill saw her and chose to cast her in her first film, “The World According to Garp.”

On paper, the choice to cast Close as the mother of Robin Williams despite their four-year age gap is curious. In practice, it’s perfect. Even beyond her relatively late start on film at 35, Close shows the sensibility of an older, wiser, and slightly stranger woman. As Jenny Fields, she walks through life with a unique combination of maternal warmth and steely determination. It’s funny when she answers her son Garp’s big, philosophical questions with an unearthly matter-of-factness (“Everybody dies … the thing is to have a life before we die”), and funnier still when she races into situations on a whim without any measure of self-consciousness. In a scene in which Jenny and Garp get a cup of coffee with a prostitute, Close’s uninhibited curiosity manifests itself in an exaggerated forward lean and unbroken gaze, as if the whole idea of sex for pleasure (something she doesn’t partake in or seem to understand) were both inexplicable and fascinating rather than commonplace. Better still is her utter bewilderment and matter-of-fact dismissal of the idea that prostitution is illegal (“that’s silly!”). Close’s Jenny radiates intelligence, confidence, righteousness and sweetness in a way that makes it easy to see why a whole movement might form around her as a feminist icon, as it does. At the same time, her nurturing but domineering nature, however well-meaning, warp Garp in ways she couldn’t possibly have predicted, showing how children can mirror their parents while reacting wildly against them.

“Garp” earned Close her first of six unsuccessful Oscar nominations (she has more without a win than any living performer). She garnered two more in consecutive years, first in Lawrence Kasdan’s “The Big Chill,” then in Barry Levinson’s adaptation of “The Natural.” Both big middlebrow hits at the time, neither film has aged particularly well, the former playing to Boomer narcissism while only somewhat undermining it, the latter selling out the downbeat ending to Bernard Malamud’s novel for triumphant but hollow iconography. Still, Close makes an impression in her limited role in both films. As Sarah Cooper in “The Big Chill” (pictured above), she puts on a good face as the mother figure in the group of friends, hiding her deep self-judgment for her affair with their dead friend, Alex. In a confession to JoBeth Williams’ Karen, she races through her story without putting too fine a point on any of the words, letting their rueful tone come through naturally, suggesting grief and nostalgia in equal measures. Iris Gaines in “The Natural” is less interesting, too strenuously symbolic of down-home absolute goodness, but Close lends the character some tenderness with a regretful, almost whispering tenor that helps chip away at how tediously forgiving the character is on paper. 

A more interesting role, improbably, came with the 1984 Randa Haines-directed ABC movie-of-the-week “Something About Amelia.” Close plays Gail, the mother to a teenager (Roxana Zal) who tells her guidance counselor that her father (Ted Danson) has sexually abused her. The film’s strongest thread is Close’s gradual journey from furious disbelief to agony: Close beautifully underplays her initial reaction, her smile slackening but not quite fading as she prods insistently, taking a soft, defeated tone as she refuses to accept it. When she later realizes the truth, Close’s gestures are just as inspired: first crooking her head slightly (“you’re not lying, are you?”) then, after a furious outburst (“why did you let him?”), she races toward her daughter almost as if she might strike her before embracing her, that pent up energy and anger falling away in an instant. The film is smarter and more sensitive than one might expect, but Close’s choices cut the deepest as she gradually internalizes Gail’s deep guilt, letting it guide how she makes decisions for her family.

Guilt and disbelief come into play in 1985’s crackerjack thriller “Jagged Edge” as well. Close plays Teddy Barnes, a top lawyer who reluctantly takes the case of a rich man (Jeff Bridges, chillingly unreadable) accused of murdering his wife, going against the sleazy district attorney/her former boss (Peter Coyote). Close plays Teddy’s growing attraction to Bridges deftly, leaning in but demurring before she’s under his spell. She’s even better in the courtroom or when butting heads with rivals and her skeptical P.I. friend (Robert Loggia, equal parts vulgar and decent), radiating justifiable confidence without being smug, bringing the same matter-of-fact tone she brought to Jenny Fields (“If he didn’t do it, I’ll get him off … if he didn’t do it, I’ll get him off”) for another unfailingly determined heroine. But more revealing is how she plays Teddy’s remorse for her role in an innocent man’s conviction and suicide, her usual composure only barely holding as her voice and breathing almost fail when she finally admits fault. It’s in these moments that Close shows a powerful but decent woman showing the whys of her change in worldview, as well as the hows of her manipulation by malevolent men. 

Close spent the first few years of her film career playing largely well-meaning maternal figures, with her first attempt at a change of pace falling flat with Paul Aaron's “Maxie,” in which Close’s spirited attempt to play a mousy woman possessed by the ghost of a flapper girl are defeated by lackadaisical direction and writing. She got a better opportunity two years later in Adrian Lyne’s 1987 erotic thriller “Fatal Attraction” (pictured above), her most iconic role. Alex Forrest initially comes across much like Teddy: self-assured, inviting, even glamorous. She beams at Michael Douglas’ Dan and picks the exact moments at which to look at him, averting her eyes when broaching the subject of their mutual attraction, then staring straight into his eyes, unblinking: “We’re two adults.” 

It’s easy to read Close’s energy early in the film as mere persistence before her actions become more troubling, first with an attempted suicide attempt after a rejection, then with unending calls and unwanted office visits. Close, an advocate for mental health issues (her sister has bipolar disorder), has since expressed misgivings about how the film eventually turns Alex into a knife-wielding psychopath for a conventional thriller ending (one she fought at the time, when it was decided that the film’s original conclusion was too bleak). James Dearden’s script takes too many shortcuts with Alex’s psychology, but Close more than compensates, playing her as troubled, not crazy. She manages to find intonations that suggest she’s behaving the only rational way, given Dan’s callousness (“I’m not going to be ig-NORED, Dan”), and she maintains that same steadfast determination that helped define Teddy and Jenny Fields, latching onto their good memories in a way that becomes deeply sad, no matter her behavior. Had the film kept its infinitely superior original ending, their final moment together—with Close giving a sad, defeated look as he walks out the door—would have maintained its unbearable sadness, rather than being undermined by a boilerplate finale. 

“Fatal Attraction” gave Close a chance to play the ostensible villain, but Stephen Frears’ delectably nasty “Dangerous Liaisons” allowed her to get downright catty as Marquise Isabelle de Merteuil. Introduced contemplating herself in the mirror self-lovingly, she’s a less transparently sordid character than John Malkovich’s Valmont but no less predatory. Where Malkovich’s open lasciviousness leaves little room for doubt as to what his intentions are, Close approaches each scene with an innocent character with a falsely welcoming smile; she lowers her head as if she’s letting Uma Thurman’s Cecile rather than orchestrating her ruin, taking on a concerned tone that only sounds cruelly mocking if one listens closely. She describes herself as a “virtuoso” of deceit, and what’s fascinating is how she manages to pull the wool over Makovich’s eyes even as she’s far more honest about her black-hearted treachery with him than with anyone else, apparently letting her guard down as she speaks (semi-honestly) of her love while letting a slight upturn in the corners of her mouth hint that she’s planning his destruction. It’s a thrill watching her get so much joy out of controlling the destruction of others, and it’s nearly as thrilling watching her face fall when she realizes she’s about to lose that ability altogether.

“Dangerous Liaisons” provided Close with arguably her best role. 1990’s “Reversal of Fortune” (pictured above) meanwhile, is the best film in which she’s appeared, as well as one of her most essential castings. Director Barbet Schroeder gets a lot of mileage out of the juxtaposition of Close’s mischievous, dryly funny narration as the comatose Sunny von Bülow and her impassive body, but he gets even more in flashback scenes between a boozing, depressed Sunny and her icy husband/future accused murderer Claus (Jeremy Irons, who won a richly deserved Oscar). Close carries herself throughout as a woman who’s simultaneously in control of her family’s destiny and slowly self-destructing, possibly by choice, keeping herself still while tearing into Claus in with a smile or a sly remark, then collapsing as her drinking gets the best of her. Sunny is the rich spouse, and the one with the old-money view that her husband shouldn’t deign to take a job. The actress plays their confrontations with a mixture of blueblooded arrogance and genuine unhappiness, turning over her accusations that he’s a “prince of perversion” and that she “didn’t marry you for this” into daggers while hugging herself in self-pity. By the time she slips fully into addiction, her final confrontation with Claus sees her manic, jaw moving a mile a minute while everything else remains still before she finally breaks down. In these scenes, we see both potential Sunnys simultaneously—hyper-controlling narcissist and pitiable addict, plausible murder victim and suicidal wreck—and it’s key to the film’s success.

Following a bizarrely stilted turn in “Hamlet” that’s improbably far worse than Mel Gibson’s work, Close spent much of the '90s veering back-and-forth between DOA prestige projects (“The House of the Spirits,” “Paradise Road”) and middling TV movies (“Sarah, Plain and Tall,” the pre-Don’t Ask Don’t Tell-set LGBT military drama “Serving in Silence”). Still, there are some gems in the period, including Istvan Szabo’s lovely “Meeting Venus.” Playing a Swedish opera star who’s initially unimpressed with the unknown Hungarian conductor (Niels Arestrup) leading a production of Wagner’s “Tannhauser,” Close embarks on a love affair with him. Their scenes together in hotel rooms show are incredibly tender, with Close wistfully smiling as she talks about how failed romances made her more gentle. If the film leans a bit too hard on their romance to symbolize the tenuous relationship of a reunited Europe, it never forgets the human beings struggling to make sense of a difficult romance in a new world, with Close’s heartbroken but not regretful pronouncements at their breakup suggesting the limits of trying to force a union. “Alright, it’s over. Go to hell. It was beautiful, it’s a pity it’s over.”

Most of Close’s best work in the ‘90s came in comedies, whether it was as a very funny Pat Nixon/Nancy Reagan hybrid in “Mars Attacks!” or a turn in “The Simpsons” as Homer’s long lost mother. Close received the most attention for her star turn as Cruella de Vil in the live-action remake of “101 Dalmatians.” The film itself is a bland “Home Alone” knockoff, but while Close can’t quite match her animated counterpart, she’s still by far the best thing about it, seemingly playing de Vil by way of Norma Desmond (a role she took on, and won a Tony for, in the musical version of “Sunset Boulevard”), all lunatic grins, flowing handwaves and exaggerated “daaahlings” as the megalomaniacal fashion goddess. She’s equally funny, and only slightly less broad, in Robert Altman’s “Cookie’s Fortune,” playing the pretentious playwright niece of Patricia Neal’s Cookie with a lilting southern belle voice and a constant judgmental grimace. Mortified by her aunt’s suicide (“suicide is a disgrace”), Camille is another one of Close’s controlling family heads, deciding the potential jailing of an innocent man is preferable to the personal shame she may face.

Her best comic performance came in 1994’s “The Paper” (pictured above), by far the best of Ron Howard’s comedies. As Alicia Clark, the managing editor of a scrappy NYC tabloid, Close is torn between her sympathies for the regular staff she used to be a part of and her duties to the bottom line; she sits in staff meetings with a cross-legged, leaned-back “I’m in charge” demeanor as she looks over the brim of her glasses, but still trying to get in jokes with her co-workers (on what to do after stepping over bodies: “I have a cigarette and go to sleep”). The film’s central conflict between her and Metro Editor Henry Hackett (a very funny Michael Keaton) over getting an accurate story vs. getting the paper done on time is further complicated by her ulterior motives—more money for expensive tastes—which Close physicalizes with an insistent lean and casually threatening tone when she mentions her potential job offers. What’s remarkable about Close’s work in “The Paper” is how she blurs Alicia’s self-interest and pragmatism without making her a monster, showing a woman who became controlling to self-justify her bad choices as she gradually makes her way to the right one.

After being bitten by the Altman bug, Close spent much of the early- to mid-2000s co-starring in ensemble-driven dramas. Though she does solid work in her two Rodrigo Garcia films (“Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Her,” “Nine Lives”), her best work in the bunch is in Chris Terrio’s “Heights,” a somewhat self-serious everything-is-connected drama that nevertheless comes to life whenever she’s on screen. Playing an acclaimed actress dealing with A) her husband’s infidelities, and B) her belief that her daughter (Elizabeth Banks) is marrying the wrong man, Close finds a way to come off as both genuinely well-meaning and deeply controlling. A sidewalk conversation with Banks sees her brilliantly signifying slight alterations in intention over the course of a minute, first raising her voice in a “what’s the big deal?” tone as she pushes her daughter toward a nice guy, then letting her face and voice drop as she reprimands her daughter for not listening to her, then offering advice with a friendly smile before an offhanded cruel remark from Banks sees her eyes going darker as she turns away, wounded. Throughout the film, Close lets small shifts in her eyes and face show a woman coming to terms with her weaknesses and insecurities while trying to balance caring for her daughter and not smothering her, leading to a truly lovely, understated finale between the two.

While “Heights” gave Close one of her better film roles, the late 2000s saw her doing her best work on TV. After a memorable appearance as a Supreme Court nominee in a late episode of “The West Wing” (in which her work helps make up for a Supreme Court gamble that’s somehow dumber than “let’s hope the Republicans blink on Merrick Garland”), Close took on the female lead role in the fourth season of “The Shield.” As Captain Monica Rawling, close comes off as weathered and warm as she tries to clean up both the precinct and Los Angeles without alienating citizens or cops. Whether she’s interrogating an abusive foster parent with barely hidden venom or calling out her predecessor-turned-councilman’s self-serving reasons for cutting a deal with a dangerous drug kingpin through gritted teeth, Close suggests a decent cop who’s had to fight like hell to do the right thing in a rotten system, and who’s barely maintained her sanity and self-control doing it. At the same time, she lets an arrogant streak (and racial blind spot) show through as she flippantly dismisses concerns about her search-and-seizure program, which eventually leads to her downfall. Her relationship with Michael Chiklis’ Vic Mackey grows from tenuous to genuinely respectful, almost affectionate; their final scene together is one of the most moving of Close’s career as she takes on a motherly role, holding back tears just long enough to plead that he not go down the dark path that seems to await him. She’s done her best to do right in a lousy world, and her thanks are an unceremonious sendoff and the knowledge that what good influence she had, on the the city and on Mackey, was fatally limited. 

A pair of remakes—2003’s “The Lion in Winter” and 2004’s wildly uneven “The Stepford Wives”—gave Close a pair of her classic villain roles, the first as the manipulative Queen Eleanor, whom she distinguishes from Katharine Hepburn’s version with a chillier take, the second as the psychotically chipper mastermind behind a reactionary society. Her best villain as of late, however, came with her other FX drama, “Damages” (pictured above) in which her high-profile attorney Patty Hewes represents vulnerable people by lying, cheating and far worse. Close’s mind games with Rose Byrne’s idealistic underling are that of a Machiavellian mother figure—her icy dismissals with a casualness that suggests she barely has time for anyone, her warm reassurances as her eyes suggest her smile isn’t entirely genuine—always lying just well enough to keep us in doubt as to her true feelings. Good and evil are passé to Patty; winning at all costs is all that matters, and Close makes that potentially limited story worth watching by showing its thrilling highs and its ultimately isolating lows. 

Close has appeared in a number of genre films over the last decade, from big hits (“Guardians of the Galaxy”) to gargantuan flops (“Warcraft”). Most of her roles are small and not particularly memorable, but she stands out in the uneven but not uninteresting zombie drama “The Girl with All the Gifts.” As Dr. Caldwell, a cropped-hair-sporting military scientist who’s more than willing to test (read: kill) Sennia Nanua’s Melanie, a young girl afflicted with flesh-eating compulsions, despite her human behavior in order to save mankind, Close plays her role as someone who takes no pleasure in her task but little compunction in carrying it out. In her debates with Gemma Arterton’s more humane schoolteacher/researcher, she speaks with a tenor that’s both understanding and firm in its resolve, constantly rationalizing her choice to write off a by-most-appearances human life. Though she’s saddled with some of the most thuddingly expository dialogue in the film, Close imbues even the most cumbersome monologues with a coldly rational manner, as if her every moment sees her gearing up for the unthinkable. She can take charge and do what is necessary by killing her conscience, or else acknowledge the unthinkable and lose mankind.

Though she earned a pair of Emmys for her work on “Damages,” Close’s Oscar has remained elusive, with her most recent nomination coming for her 2011 drama “Albert Nobbs” (she lost to Meryl Streep’s near-worst work in “The Iron Lady”). Playing a woman who disguises herself as a man in order to escape violence and earn a decent life, the actress gives a technically accomplished performance, but the film (directed by frequent collaborator Rodrigo Garcia) never defines Nobbs beyond a desire to stay hidden for safety. The success of the performance depends on Close concealing her emotions and desires from others while projecting them to the audience; she succeeds at the former, but the latter never really happens, and the role comes off mostly as a stunt as a result.

“The Wife,” by contrast, shows exactly how that balancing act is achieved. In its early scenes, Joan’s reticence can easily be written off as simple shyness and discomfort in the spotlight, her long pause and faraway look as she listens to the news of his Nobel win a simple case of nerves. As the film carries on, however, her simple explanations of her clear discomfort ring true while not quite revealing the whole truth. “I don’t want to be thought of as the long-suffering wife” becomes more than just a simple point of pride, but a barely suppressed acknowledgement of her own contributions to their lives and success. With her careful elisions and studied responses, Close paints a portrait of someone who has relished being the most important person in her family’s life while chafing at the lack of acknowledgement of her credit within the family. The role is both atypical in its apparent recessiveness and ultimately of a piece with her body of work, a woman whose stillness and quiet bely a self-described “kingmaker.” 

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All The New Shows To Screen Or Skip In Spring And Summer 2017

There’s a reason networks often save their weakest fare for the time of year when more people are less likely to spend their evenings indoors.

Of course, that’s not always the case, since “Game of Thrones” is scheduled to make it’s much-awaited return this July. 

But when it comes to new shows, you can bet networks generally save the worst for last. In the coming months, viewers can look forward to some stellar series this spring (including ”The Handmaid’s Tale,” “American Gods,” “GLOW”), while they’re more or less better off embracing the warm weather and misplacing their remotes by the time summer hits. 

APRIL   “Girlboss,” April 21, Netflix 

With allegations that former Nasty Gal CEO Sophia Amoruso was accused of creating a “toxic” workplace, it’s easy to see why the lead character of Netflix’s “Girlboss” is so incredibly unlikeable. The question, however, is why would anyone want to spend a significant amount of time watching her?

“Girlboss” is loosely based on Amoruso’s memoir of the same name and tells the story of how she began her vintage clothing eBay shop, before it became what we now know as Nasty Gal.

The show stars Britt Robertson as 23-year-old Sophia, a college dropout who works menial jobs and yet can somehow afford a studio apartment in San Francisco circa 2006 ― and damn is it ever hard to watch. Sophia is petulant, whiny, and often just flat-out mean. What’s worse is that the series rarely gives you a reason to root for her. Characters don’t always have to be likable, but there has to be at least some reason to follow a person through their journey. With “Girlboss,” there’s nothing here.  

“Great News,” April 25, 9 p.m. ET, NBC

”Great News,” the new workplace comedy from executive producer Tina Fey, can’t be described as great or even good.

The show follows Katie (Briga Heelan), a wallflower of a producer at a cable news program called “The Breakdown,” and her overbearing mother (Andrea Martin), who manages to land a job as as the show’s intern. Hilarity ensues, right? Not so much.

The show’s jokes just repeatedly fall flat, though surprisingly it’s Nicole Richie as a super-hip if slightly vapid co-anchor who actually shines brightest.  

“Genius,” April 25, 9 p.m. ET, National Geographic 

What do you really know about Albert Einstein aside from the fact that he developed the theory of relativity? National Geographic is willing to wager that you know very little.

“Genius” is an anthology series from executive producers Ron Howard and Brian Grazer about the lives of those deserving enough to be deemed as such, and Season 1 kicks off with none other than Mr. E = mc2 himself.  

Based on Walter Isaacson’s book Einstein: His Life and Universe, the show stars Johnny Flynn when Einstein was a student in Zurich the 1890s, and Geoffrey Rush, as his older counterpart against a backdrop of the rising anti-semitism in 1922 Berlin, Germany.

“The Handmaid’s Tale,” April 26, Hulu

Hulu’s “The Handmaid’s Tale” is by far the best new show debuting in the spring and summer season. Based on Margaret Atwood’s 1985 dystopian novel, if you don’t already have a Hulu account, you’re going to want to sign up for one today.

Set in the not-too distant future where a fundamentalist Christian regime rules over the former United States, now known as the Republic of Gilead, women have been stripped of their rights and any sense of life as they once knew it. Elisabeth Moss stars as Offred, a woman who is forced to bear children for high-ranking men and their wives, after environmental problems cause widespread infertility issues. 

The series is a chilling reminder of how quickly the Republic of Gilead could become a reality. 

“Dear White People,” April 28, Netflix 

If you liked “Dear White People” the movie then you should probably watch it again, because the 2014 film from writer/director Justin Simien is far better than Netflix’s 10-episode series.  

That’s not to say the series adaptation is a failure by any means. The show is still a smart and sharp take on the complex issue of race relations, and is definitely worth checking out. 

The series picks up where the film left off in the aftermath of a racist blackface party, which has left a campus divided. Episodes are told and then retold through different student’s perspectives, which requires some commitment by the viewers since that format can feel awfully repetitive. 

 “American Gods,” April 30, 9 p.m. ET, Starz

“American Gods” is absolutely the weirdest and most mind-bending new offering this season. Starz’s visually-stunning new drama is based on British author Neil Gaiman’s 2001 fantasy novel of the same name and requires total suspension of disbelief. 

In this America, gods live among us mere mortals. There are two types of gods ― old and new. The old are the ones you’ve read about in myths and were brought to America by faithful immigrants centuries ago, while the new gods have gradually replaced the old ones and were born out of our modern obsession with media and technology.

As war brews between the gods, an ex-con named Shadow Moon (Ricky Whittle) finds himself caught between the two sides.  

MAY “Anne with an E,” May 12, Netflix 

Netflix’s “Anne with an E” is easily one of the most charming new shows. Yes, this is yet another adaptation of Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery’s beloved children’s novel Anne of Green Gables, but it’s far the best. 

Amybeth McNulty stars as Anne Shirley, the young orphan who never stops talking and comes to live on Prince Edward Island with elderly siblings Marilla (Geraldine James) and Matthew Cuthbert (R.H. Thomson).

While you may have read the book a 100 times as a child, Netflix has managed to reenergize the story for modern audiences without betraying its source material. If anything, “Anne” digs deeper at some of the darker elements that Montgomery glossed over in the novel, and is a thoroughly binge-able experience for all ages. 

“I Love Dick,” May 12, Amazon 

You may have already watched the pilot episode of Amazon’s new series “I Love Dick,” based on Chris Kraus’ 1997 novel.

The show stars Kathryn Hahn as a filmmaker in an unhappy marriage, who follows her husband (Griffin Dunne) to his writing residency in Marfa, Texas, and becomes completely infatuated with a professor named Dick (Kevin Bacon).

“I Love Dick” is the latest show from “Transparent” creator Jill Soloway and is an intentionally uncomfortable yet humorous examination of human sexuality and the female gaze. 

“Downward Dog,” May 17, 9:30 p.m. ET, ABC

From ABC comes “Downward Dog,” a sitcom about a dog named Martin and his owner Nan (Allison Tolman), a woman struggling to get ahead at work and make sense of her personal life. 

The show is told from Martin’s perspective’s via his internal monologue, voiced by Samm Hodges. The series is inoffensive enough if you can stand to listen to Martin, who is the male incarnation of a droning Valley-girl in canine form. 

 “Twin Peaks,” May 21, 9 p.m. ET, Showtime 

Showtime didn’t provide any screeners for “Twin Peaks,” which is returning as a limited series 24 years after David Lynch’s original version ended.

Because of this, we can only tell you what you probably already know: Lynch will direct the entire series and you can expect to see many familiar faces, including Kyle MacLachlan, who returns as FBI Agent Dale Cooper. 

JUNE “I’m Dying Up Here,” June 4, 10 p.m. ET, Showtime

Showtime’s new drama “I’m Dying Up Here” is a look at the lives of stand-up comics trying to make it in Los Angeles in the 1970s ―  and you’ll be tempted to heckle if you can muster the strength to make it through a full episode. 

Yet another show based on a book, the series is inspired by William Knoedelseder‘s 2009 nonfiction work I’m Dying Up Here: Heartbreak and High Times in Stand-up Comedy’s Golden Era and features an ensemble cast including Ari Graynor, Melissa Leo, Clark Duke, Michael Angarano and RJ Cyler.

“GLOW,” June 29, Netflix 

Even if you’d rather do just about anything else than watch professional wrestling, you really shouldn’t discount Netflix’s new original series “GLOW.”

Inspired by the real story of the 1980s women’s wrestling league “Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling,” “GLOW” is one of the most enjoyable shows to debut this season. 

Alison Brie stars as a struggling actress desperate to make it in Hollywood, giving one last shot at her dreams when she auditions for a series about female wrestlers. Featuring an outstanding and diverse cast, the series hilariously tackles issues of racism, stereotyping, sexism and sisterhood in the world of women’s wrestling. 

JULY “The Bold Type,” July 11, 9 p.m. ET, Freeform 

Freeform’s “The Bold Type” is inspired by Cosmopolitan and its editor-in-chief Joanna Coles, and it’s the perfect show for summertime viewing. 

Starring Katie Stevens, Aisha Dee and Meghann Fahy as three friends working at Scarlet Magazine, the show follows the young women as they navigate their careers and personal lives in New York City.

This show is exactly what you would expect from reading Cosmo ― not a bad way to curl up on the couch with a glass of wine. 

“Midnight, Texas,” July 25, 10 p.m. ET, NBC

The remote town of “Midnight, Texas” seems to be the supernatural center of the United States with witches, ghosts, assassins, angels, psychics and other creatures calling it home. But there is entirely too much going on. 

Based on the trilogy series of the same name by author Charlaine Harris, “Midnight Texas” follows Manfred (François Arnaud), a psychic who can communicate with the dead, as he arrives in Midnight and befriends fellow outsiders like himself. 

AUGUST “The Sinner,” Aug. 2, 10 p.m. ET, USA

USA’s “The Sinner” is a different kind of thrilling mystery that finds Jessica Biel starring in a TV series for the first time since her days playing Mary Camden on “7th Heaven.”

Biel plays Cora, a young mother who commits an unspeakable act of violence against a stranger at the beach. There’s no question that she did it. The only question is why. Bill Pullman also stars as a detective obsessed with uncovering Cora’s motives.

As the series delves into Cora’s past and pieces together what happened that day at the beach, chances are you’ll be just as obsessed. 

“Weekend Update,” Aug. 10, 9 p.m. ET, NBC

“Saturday Night Live” is on hiatus this summer, but Colin Jost and Michael Che will fill the void with “Weekend Update” ― a 30-minute, primetime version of the long-running segment. With “SNL” seeing some of its highest rating in years, Jost and Che will keep things going in August and make sure you’re on top of all the news that can be satirized. So basically everything.

“Marlon,” Aug. 16, 9 p.m. ET, NBC 

Marlon Wayans stars in what’s supposed to be an update on the classic family sitcom, but this isn’t anything we haven’t seen before. 

“Marlon” is loosely based on Wayans’ real life as he plays a wise-cracking, over- protective yet immature father to two precocious kids (Amir O’Neil and Notlim Taylor). He also appears to share a too-close relationship with his ex-wife (Essence Atkins). 

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