#but I think we can try to look past the artwork and appreciate the larger story that details Sasha's journey

[blimbo-buddy]

I wish we got more appreciation for the overall story of the TigerStar and Sasha trilogy. But the immediate instinct is to take the surface level "aesthetic appeal" of the art and immediately turn away from it because it looks wonky as fuck, as if that takes away from the great story hidden underneath all of that.

I've done that before too, for a while I straight up refused to even try reading the trilogy based only off of what I saw from the art. Unknowingly missing out on a great story (For Warriors) because of my first impression of the illustrations

It's unfortunate that quote on quote "Bad art" can instantly ruin an amazing story for many because it doesn't adhere to what they believe good art is supposed to be like.

An on the contrasting side: The graphic novels illustrated by James L. Barry look good, very good in some cases. But the writing in them is either dogshit, mediocre, or passable. But we may find ourselves looking past the "meh" writing because we see good art

(This is not meant to trash on James L Barry or anyone else. I respect James for putting so much work into the series for so many years and I respect the effort of TigerStar and Sasha's illustrator)

[robogart]

So do you just respond to anon hate because you know itll get you showered with compliments after? Because you really shouldve just deleted them and moved on ... Dont engage, just block, right? Or are you just too good for that. If its not worth the effort, why do you keep doing it? Look, I really truly love your work .... I *agree* with all the people complimenting you. But taking the time out of your day to formulate snarky responses to people that should not matter to you, for the sake of drowning it out with others' approval just makes you look really vain and desperate. Im sorry if that upsets you. Im not trying to judge your character, im just saying thats how you might appear to an outsider, but you shouldnt care about what i think of you anyway. Regardless, i hope you have a wonderful day and keep making the art that you want to make. ✌

I will say "don't engage, just block" has been a successful tactic that I have used/been using on twitter (and instagram, when I remember to use it) since two people can't really engage with a character limit. There's also no real anonymous posting on either platform, so people can get dogpiled on either side, which I try to be aware of and avoid.

So it's tough because I do agree that most times it is better to walk away - you're right! And I'd be inclined to do that for most internet circumstances. But I guess this Shadowheart situation has honestly just become something that I am going to speak up on, because to these anonymous messages, I want to state and clearly explain why this piece, and others like it, are important to me. Drawing fat people is very important to me.

And I have been very much "in the pocket" today in responding to things, much more than I usually am, considering I usually don't get this much inbox attention at all. In the past, the few times I'd get this sort of quantity of responses would also come from a similar circumstance when I would want to draw a character from a popular series (usually drawing them as fat, buff, larger-bodied than their original design) and people want to speak up on it. So when this does happen, and specifically on tumblr because it's a blogging platform that supports long text and anonymous messages, I do find myself responding to most things. Especially since it's revolving around drawing fat bodies and it is something I feel impassioned to speak up on and explain why I do it.

My more "snarky" and cheeky responses are towards the anonymous messages that are giving me that energy at the start. And I respond to them because I am a person, not just some art-making machine on the internet. I want these anons to know that I see their messages, their attitude is not appreciated, and their commentary is hateful and wrong because they have internalized shit they should work through (as do we all). But it's not going to fly here and there are MANY people who agree with me and do not tolerate this behavior, and these anons should see that that is the case.

The kind and supportive messages I get because of these situations I vastly appreciate. I respond to them because I'm grateful for the time, I'm in that typing/ready-to-respond pocket, and they help me (and hopefully others) remember that for every hateful thing someone might say, there are a dozen people who support you. Every time you dare to draw and represent a person outside of the beauty standard, there will always be people who will hate it and they are going to tell you. But with them, there will be dozens more who truly love it because they find it beautiful and they will appreciate what you do. It is immensely meaningful and important to me that people see this and see more artwork that expands the scope of beauty. That is why I respond to these messages.

[akanothere]

About me

Part time fandom artist, full time clown.

20+, she/her.

DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, PRINT FOR COMMERCIAL USE OR BULK PRINTING

DO NOT FEED MY ART TO AI PLEASE

AI IMAGE GENERATOR USERS DO NOT INTERACT

TRACING& COPYING ARE FORBIDDEN AND BLOCKED. IF YOU ARE TOO AN ARTIST PLEASE RESPECT THIS UNIVERSAL RULE (UNLESS MEME/PARODY). “HIGHLY INSPIRED” WITHOUT CREDIT WILL BE BLOCKED AS WELL. MY HOURS OF HARDWORK AND BRAIN JUICE ARE NOT FOR YOU TO USE IN THIS WAY. I APPRECIATE THE LIKE BUT PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, DO NOT FOLLOW.

THIS IS A MATURE BLOG OFTEN ENGAGING WITH DARK CONTENT, HOWEVER I STILL HAVE DNIs.

THIS BLOG CONTAINS NSFW, BLOOD AND GORE DRAWINGS, TONS OF TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND OTHER TW (ALL PROPERLY TAGGED UNLESS I FORGOT ONE OR TWO. IF I DO PLEASE TELL ME!!!)

FULL DNI, DOS AND DON’T, FANDOM CONTENT WARNINGS BELOW. I AM BAD AT EXPRESSING SO IT GETS LENGTHY BUT UM HOPE IT CLEARS UP EVERYTHING

THIS USER DOES NOT ACCEPT INSULTS, VIOLENCE, ABUSE, SLURS, AND DEATH THREATS TOWARDS HUMAN IN REAL LIFE.

What to expect or not here:

⚠️VERY IMPORTANT

I can tolerate/will create darker themed content when it comes to Danny Johnson or Tom Riddle, as well as some other slashers or mature fandoms and villains. I would say this is NOT a safe blog (I mean come on those are bad guys what do you expect! Don’t be too delulu to a point you gonna make them a good guy). However I do not tolerate any form of violence, abuse and discrimination in real life. Seriously, get help if you come across to any of these.

All my darker artworks are NOT for you to follow irl (can’t believe I still have to say this in 2020s do people use their brains nowadays)— It is for me to explore darker concepts, trying to figure out how, for example, how people attracted by psycho criminals, WITHOUT using an existing criminal and hurting anyone irl. Bc everyone is FAKE, they don’t exist, it’s FICTIONAL. Also, to explore my own/seen traumas. I turn personal issues into NSFW kinks or simply dark shit etc, and cope with it as a fictional content. Not exactly the best idea I know but this keeps me sane and overthinking about the past irl. I do not tolerate death/abuse threats and insults towards human in real life, it’s stupid. And all of you should also keep every dark shit fictional content in fictional world. We do not need anymore crime irl thank you very much. Think before you act or talk. Fandom is not that serious to a point you wish death and suggesting violence upon someone.

For my Haikyuu or Naruto art those are mostly safe as hell (my opinion) just loving caring and tons of smooch smooch!😭💖 OMFG I MEAN BOKUAKA HOW YOU GONNA LOOK AT THEM AND THINK OF ANYTHING DARK HELLO EXCUSE ME

Generally I’m open-minded to all ships and kinks (even with complicated relationships where abuse are mentioned for plot reasons, or larger age difference), but l0lic0ns and ped0s you can do us a favour go fk yourself🖕😘🖕While I’m in horror movies fandom, I do not support real life criminals. If you do or even a delulu fan of them please stay away from every living beings, also fk you too🫶💓 I don’t engage with inc3st contents, however will bear it for past trauma, but will not read purely inc3st stories. Pseudo/step c3st sometimes okay (depends on context really). Also I draw& read& reblog dead doves, which contains different TW like abuse/non-con/dub-con, you have been warned!!!! If it’s dark content with NSFW, please only recommend me with characters at least over age of consent but much more better if they are of age coz tbh I’m more into adult relationships really ahem. DO NOT SEND ME CREEPY PED0 (UNDER AGE OF CONSENT) SHIT THROUGH “ASK ME”. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED AND REPORTED. Also usual DNIs coz I’m traumatised by how stupid they are considering I am the most stupid people on this planet— c0mmies/ z!onists/ transphobes/ TERF/ homophobes/ biphobes/ typical fujoshis who complains about hetero but do same shit if it’s gay, do not interact.

ABOUT NSFW OR COMMISSION— In all circumstances, I cannot and will not create NSFW art piece regarding minors under the age of consent. PLEASE DO NOT EVEN ASK COME ON DUDE…

Also I DO NOT accept any NSFW commission, even it’s purely about adult characters. Adult characters with a bit of suggestive content, maybe um okay base on context. If it’s a pairing or character(s) that is at the age of consent (not an adult), and is from NSFW story/series, but you wish to make SFW art, please check with me before commissioning. Coz sometimes I read darker content but really do not have the heart to draw it if it’s too much for me…However let me be clear again— ANY NSFW OR SUGGESTIVE ART OF MINOR CHARACTERS UNDER THE AGE OF CONSENT IS NOT OKAY FOR ME. I’M NOT COMFORTABLE DOING IT. DON’T EVEN BOTHER ASKING. PLEASE. THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

I don’t post NSFW art directly (artistic nudes, maybe; explicit nudes? Nah). However, I talk nonsense/ adult jokes/ head canon on my socials, so please DNI if you are not comfortable with. I can’t check every single account before I reply, so minors and people who are not pleased with NSFW topics: if you see this post, do not engage with my posts even they are SFW. Sometimes posting slightly NSFW (aka suggestive) art or head canons directly, but will still tag it as NSFW.

I create art for my inner peace and needs. I cannot babysit and accommodate everyone, so, if you don’t like, don’t engage. The definition of “problematic ships” differs from person to person coz fk me people nowadays overuse this too much to a point idk what is & what is not…

-

Fandoms and ships

Dead by Daylight

Ghostface centric, Ghostface x OC/ x reader, sometimes GhostFrank, GhostMeg and GhostFrankMeg-the-daddy-issue-trio-poly

⚠️IMPORTANT: It’s totally okay to consume my version of Jed Olsen X OC content and imagining in your brain it’s you or whoever his S/O is, but I block people who draw my version of Jed with themselves/self-inserts/OCs, or generally drawing him. It’s a culture here: impolite to draw someone’s design without permission😭💦 So please don’t take it personally, it’s just me not comfortable with sharing my design of Jed with other people’s self insert/OC. Also I have many plans for him so when people draws him (even not a ship art), it might actually interfere with my WIP sketches and ideas which makes me so awkward like “should I continue when someone drew it already???” However I am glad many people like him! Thank you for giving him love he really doesn’t deserve it he belongs in the trash💥

PS. There are some designs out here alike which of course is fine, I do not own the character himself, but I‘ll stay away or block if it’s too alike/ overly referenced. I stay quiet about things I don’t like so unless shoving it in my face, I will just walk away🧍‍♀️💦Need not worry!

Haikyuu!!

BokuAka, sometimes Tsukishima centric and SunaKita

Harry Potter (Wizarding World)

Tom Riddle centric, Tomione. Casual: Tomarry, Drarry/Harco, Voldantonin, Antonmione, GGAD, SebOmi/OmiSeb, Sebastian Sallow x MC, Ominis Gaunt x MC, Seb+Omi+MC trio friendship.

⚠️I DO NOT SUPPORT JK ROWLING’S TRANSPHOBIC SPEECH. TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN. IF YOU CAN’T ACCEPT OTHERS HAPPINESS AND RIGHTS, THIS IS NOT A PLACE FOR YOU. FK OFF.

ALSO THAT ONE TOMIONE ANON WHO KEEPS ANNOYING WRITERS WHEN THEY WRITE FOR OTHER PAIR— DO NOT INTERACT.

Don’t follow me for ships. See me as a cheap ass £10 all you can eat cushion buffet please. No quality of art here. Just pure delulu and bad drawing skills.

Naruto

KakaSaku, ObiRin, ObiKaka and InoSaku.

⚠️Note that my main ship in this fandom is KakaSaku, but only when Sakura is of age and usually I ship them in same age AU. And I don’t ship them if they were very close as student and teacher before Sakura of age (it’s really weird). I also love them as platonically best friends, the way their personalities work together if they were born in the same generation, not the teenage-creepy-forbidden-love-in-classroom-gro0ming type of shit, in case you start wondering. If there’s no KakaSaku tag or it is described as “platonic”, it means that art is not a romantic ship art. There might be some head canon etc about teenage SKR having a crush on KKS or both of them feeling butterflies in stomach, but I will always prefer Kakashi not stepping over the boundaries in some close to canon AUs. He is a very nice person and would never take advantage of SKR, I think. It’s true crushing on older people like this happens irl, so I admire the storytelling, but OOC af if KKS lets himself be this low. If you are still concerned or feeling uncomfortable about this ship, please block me. ALSO DON’T RECOMMEND REAL FKED UP CONTENT TO ME that was the reason I stopped drawing coz mentally grossed out I had to stay away from the fandom for at least a while💀 I swear those KKSK doujins from like 15+years ago grossed me a lot if you know which ones you know… hell I don’t wanna spread those out no one should ever read that… would do anything to unsee the cover of those doujins MY FKING BRAIN WAS DAMAGED FK

Other games, films and anime

Who’s Lila?, Cube Escape & Rusty Lake series, Year Walk, Disco Elysiumc, Good Omens, Hotline Miami, Chainsaw Man, Golden Kamuy, Dorohedoro, any Kon Satoshi/ Ito Junji/ Wong Ka Wai’s creations, Horror and thrillers, Sci-fics

Fic recommendation lists

(Most of them are dark, dead doves and NSFW. Some are light and cracks! Read TW and tags. Read at your own risk.)

Danny x You/OC/SO

Tomione

[sometimesitrytowritethings]

Home

A great big special thank you to @peachy-mags for the full version of the fantastic companion artwork for this piece! (https://peachy-mags.tumblr.com/post/654049235542622208/)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Warnings:  Smut, Swearing, Canon-typical violence

Summary: After years of service to Angelo Bronte, who would have thought that the arrival of little Jack Marston could change your life forever?

Notes: My submission for @rdrbigbang! Be sure to check out the AMAZING companion art for this fic from @peachy-mags!

-----

Another beautiful morning in Saint Denis. You breathed in deeply, reveling in the calm peace that so rarely enveloped the town. There was a slight nip in the air that you knew would fade away as the morning drew on, the sun rising and casting everything in a pale-yellow light, before the city itself awakened. It was your favorite time of day.

A cup of coffee steamed in your hands as you slowly made your way through the gardens at Angelo Bronte’s mansion. One of the perks of being a live-in servant, you supposed, was unfettered access to the (admittedly slightly ostentatious) statue garden out back - given that Signor Bronte himself wasn’t occupying the space. After a few minutes of slow, calm pacing, you found yourself standing in front of a marble statue of some Roman goddess, Aphrodite?, and taking a sip of your coffee. 

It was hot and bitter, the perfect juxtaposition to the cool morning that you would allow yourself to enjoy for a few moments longer. Soon, you would need to make your way inside and ready the table for breakfast, but for now you could enjoy this moment. This peace.

Unfortunately, that peace was almost immediately broken by the sound of terrified cries coming from inside the house. It was not all that uncommon to hear screams and sobs from inside the building, due to the scrupulous nature of your employer, but these sounded different. Almost childlike.

Curious, you made your way back indoors, trying your best to steady your pace so as not to draw unwanted attention. Setting the coffee cup in the kitchen next to the large washbasin, you nodded to the cook, Giovanni, before opening the door to the servant’s stairwell. 

The crying was louder here. Anguished and frightened sobs broken only occasionally by cries for “Mama”. 

So it was a child?

Quietly, you crept up the creaky stairs to the hallway, where several of Bronte’s more scrupulous henchmen, Gene, Alfonso and Irvin, were gathered around a door. The crying was even louder now, and most certainly coming from the room where the henchmen were standing guard. Above the desperate sobs, you could just make out the sounds of your employer trying to shush the child, albeit unsuccessfully.

“Now, now, my boy,” he soothed, his accent unmistakable. “There’s no need to be upset, I’m sure your family will come after you soon enough.” The boy continued to cry for his mother in between sobs. Signor Bronte’s tactic wasn’t exactly working.

The men standing guard had spotted you, and closed their ranks tighter. You knew how this went - you were never allowed to see Bronte’s victims. In fact, as far as you were supposed to know, Bronte participated in no underhanded dealings whatsoever. Which was, of course, completely wrong, and you had figured that out long ago. But for the most part, you tried your best to ignore the dealings - for the sake of keeping yourself alive.

But this was a child.

You had to do something. 

Carefully, you moved closer to the line of henchmen standing in front of the door. They were larger than you, Signor Bronte had a habit of finding and employing practical giants to act as his henchmen, but they were also silent.

“Signor Bronte?” you called, standing nearly face-to-chest with one of the large men. “Is everything alright? Can I be of service?”

The men in front of you reddened, irritated at your immunity to their intimidation tactics. They stayed silent, however, and maintained their position as a wall of flesh between you and the crying child in the room. 

After just a few moments, you heard your name being called with a familiar Italian lilt . “Come in, come in. We could use your help,” he hailed for you over the steady sobs from the room. 

The three men at the door reluctantly parted to let you enter the brightly lit room. A fire was burning low in the hearth, likely more of a symbol of comfort than to actually provide any heat, and your boss sat on the side of a large, gaudy bed. 

The boss of the largest crime syndicate in San Denis was a feared man, but if you met him in the street, you would never know. He was small, with a prominent nose and dark eyes that never overlooked anything. At home, his dark was hair slicked back under a floral headband, and his red housecoat opened in the front to reveal an unbuttoned white collared shirt. To anyone who didn’t know him, he could have passed as any rich, european immigrant.

But you knew better. In the middle of the luxurious home, beneath the extravagance of his clothing, sat a cunning, intelligent man who had clawed his way up from hell itself. He was cutthroat, manipulative, and would not hesitate to sell out his closest comrade for a step up the ladder. Knowing this, it didn’t surprise you to see a small boy curled up on the large, gaudy bed, his clothes muddied and his light brown hair in tangles. He couldn’t have been older than four or five, and was screaming adamantly for his mother. 

Instinctually, you rushed to the bed and sat next to him, taking the spot that had been occupied by your boss. “Now, my dear,” he said as he stood, clearing his throat and adjusting his housecoat, “this young man is Jack, and he will be staying with us for a while.” You looked sympathetically at the boy, still sobbing and curled up in front of you, before giving your boss a solemn nod. 

You hated this; seeing the boy in such a familiar state. A state that you, yourself, had been in for years upon your arrival in San Denis. Hopefully his parents, unlike yours, could pay off whatever debt they had soon. “If you could stop his screams, I would appreciate it. He’s giving me a headache,” Signor Bronte continued, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose with one hand as he headed toward the door. “Get him some breakfast. I’m sure he hasn’t been fed since those hillbillies in Rhodes took him.”

Without another word, he walked from the room and the three henchmen followed closely behind him. As he entered the hallway, you could hear him speaking to them in Italian, “Let’s hope these bastards come for him soon. I want to have the little shit out of here as soon as possible.”

The door closed behind them, and you were left in the room with the poor, frightened child. You sighed and slowly moved closer to the curled up figure on the bed. Making sure you were as gentle as possible, you reached out to place a hand on his tiny shoulder. “Jack?...” you said his name, low and calm, as if you were trying to tame a spooked horse. He curled even further into himself, but you noticed his sobs had started to die down to exhausted whimpers. “Jack?” you tried again, pulling your hand back to yourself and placing it in your lap. Calmly, you gave him your name before continuing, “I’m very sorry about all of this, Jack. I know it’s very scary…. I-”

What could you tell him? That you had been in the same situation when you were just a few years older? That your parents had never been able to come back for you? That you had spent the majority of your life in service to Angelo Bronte, notorious mafioso, in order to pay a massive debt that had been racked up by your father when you were eight?

No. He didn’t need to know those things. He didn’t need to know the likely reality of his situation.

It was rare that Signor Bronte dealt in child kidnappings, but when he did? The poor kids were lucky if their parents were able to retrieve them.

“I’m sure your ma and pa will show up for you soon,” you soothed, hoping it was the truth.

The poor boy, whose sobs had now turned into quiet sniffles, stayed curled up with his back to you, unmoving. You reached out a hand gently, brushing his dirty hair away from his forehead, only for him to flinch from your touch. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Alright, Jack,” you said quietly, standing from the bed. A nearby armchair held a throw blanket that you spread gently over him. “Why don’t you get some rest, I’ll bring you some water and some soup in a bit, I’m sure you’re starving.” The floor creaked beneath your feet as you made your way to the door. He didn’t move. He didn’t look up at you. He just stayed on the bed, a shaking, sniffling bundle. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Sighing, you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, making sure to lock the door behind you. You didn’t think he would run away, he seemed far too exhausted and overwhelmed for that, but you have seen desperate people do crazier things. The least you could do was make sure he wasn’t accidentally hurt trying to make his way past Gene, Alfonso and Irvin trying to escape.

You made your way quickly back to the servants stairwell and down to the kitchen, where Giovanni was waiting for you with bated breath. A joyous, loving man, an immigrant from Italy alongside Angelo Bronte several decades ago, Giovanni was one of your closest friends - possibly the next thing to family that you had had since coming here. Over the years, he had taught you as much as he could about Italian cuisine, all the while boasting about the restaurant that he would surely open one day. 

At first, you had scoffed. Hardly anyone in Angelo Bronte’s service managed to leave and start their own life. And, with as much as Signor Bronte boasted about Giovanni’s food, it wasn’t likely that he would be let out of his repayment contract that easily. 

Hardly anyone actively sought out Angelo Bronte as an employer. In fact, you suspected that the only actual well-paid employees were the contract killers he sometimes took out to keep his hands clean - but again, you weren’t supposed to know that. The rest of you were given room and board and a pittance of a salary, in exchange for paying off whatever debt was owed to Signor Bronte. For you, it was your father’s sizable gambling debts. For Giovanni, it was the cost of keeping his nieces and nephews alive after their father, his brother, had suddenly passed. Bail, loans, gambling - every one of his employees had a past, and every single one of them owed their future to Angelo Bronte.

“And, my dear, what is the news?” he asked, turning from the freshly baked bread that he had just taken out of the oven to face you. 

You gave him a somber smile and picked up a slice of tomato from the cutting board in the center of the kitchen island. “A boy,” you explained, leaning against the island and taking a bite of the vegetable. You glanced over at the washbasin and saw your coffee cup had been cleaned. Giovanni was a saint. “Maybe four or five? Small, either way. I…” you trailed off, but the both of you knew what was going through your mind. You felt bad for him, you didn’t think he deserved this.

Giovanni nodded, and turned to the stove. “Well, my dear, let’s give the boy a warm welcome, shall we?” he responded before pulling a large pot from the back of the stove and looking inside. “We have some leftover minestrone from yesterday, why don’t you warm some up for him while I finish Signor Bronte’s breakfast? There’s some stale bread in the pantry you can add to it. I’ll call in Anne to set the table,” he handed you a wooden spoon and was out the kitchen door, where you heard him calling for the older woman.

Your smile was significantly less downtrodden after speaking to the man, but you still could feel anxious, worried butterflies in your stomach as you collected a bowl, spoon and glass. After a quick glance around the room to make sure no one was watching, you also slipped a small chocolate bar into your apron pocket, hoping it would help cheer the boy up, even a little. Within just a few minutes, you were headed back up the creaky stairs to the room where Jack was housed, hot soup and cool water in hand, and armed with a secret chocolate bar.

Quietly, you opened the door, balancing the soup and a glass of water with your left arm as you entered. The room was silent now, except for the low breathing of the boy on the bed. If it weren’t for his red-puffy eyes and the chapped rings around his nostrils, he would have seemed peaceful. Like nothing was wrong at all.

You stood for a moment, looking at the poor boy. Should you wake him? He was bound to be starving, but you were sure he was exhausted as well. You hesitated, but decided against it. You could leave the soup and water on the bedside table and check on him throughout the day - he deserved his rest.

Slowly, quietly, you crept across the room to the side of the bed and set the soup and water down, followed by the chocolate bar. You glanced quickly at him, relieved he didn’t wake, before making your way back to the door.

Just as you were about to leave and go about your duties for the morning, you heard a small cough and a hoarse, timid voice from the bed. “Wait…” he said. You turned to see the boy propped up on his arms, looking at you with puffy, shining eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

Looking at him made you want to cry. How could anyone hurt someone so small, so fragile, so helpless? How could someone be so cruel as to take him away from his family and thrust him into this god awful world?

He was already so exhausted, so frightened, so sad, you couldn’t leave him to sort his feelings out on his own.  You could convince Anna and Giovanni to take your duties for the day. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded at him and moved back toward the bed to sit with him. “I won’t.”

---

Slowly, Jack began to settle in. Although he was still obviously upset, the boy proved to be far more flexible and resilient than you had expected from someone so young. Whether from his natural resilience or from your constant reassurance that his parents must be doing everything in their power to get him back, you weren’t entirely certain. You spent plenty of time with him, making sure he was doing alright, and eventually he chose to sleep on a small cot in the servants quarters, next to your bed. 

He was prone to constant chatter during the day, and you soon learned quite a lot about him and his family. He apparently had plenty of aunts and uncles, who all moved together around the country. They had been down near Blackwater for a long time, where Jack had apparently left his favorite storybook, but then something brought them north to a small ghost town “with lots of snow, it was real cold!”. Luckily, they hadn’t been there long before heading south again to “a place by a river with lots and lots of trees” where, notably, his Uncle Arthur had taken him fishing. Most recently, they had moved down to Lemoyne, once again near a river, but this time Jack described it as “really hot and nothing ever dries and it always smells like fish.”

An accurate description if you had ever heard one.

In the meantime, although he wouldn’t talk much to the others, most of them couldn’t help but dote on him. Giovanni had a habit of slipping him sweets throughout the day. Anna and the other maids would occasionally bring him books or toys that they had found around town - he was amassing quite a collection. And from Signor Bronte himself, Jack received a brand new outfit made from the finest cotton. You suspected it was most likely to keep the worn rags out of the man’s sight than to actually please Jack.

But, despite the gifts and the treats from the others, Jack clung to you. On laundry days, he would help sort and fold. When cooking, he would clean the vegetables without a second thought. During cleaning, he happily carried supplies around after you, handing you what you needed whenever asked. Although you had told him multiple times that he was more than welcome to sit and read his new book, he preferred staying by your side. 

Almost as if he was afraid that, if left alone, he would be taken again.

And at night, it always came to a head. In the dark and left with no distractions, you could hear his whimpers from the cot next to yours. You could hear his murmurs and quiet cries for “Mama” as he dreamt. And it hurt. You couldn’t bear to see him so miserable.

After the third or fourth night, you reached down and brushed the hair from his head. “Jack?” you whispered, looking at the small boy with all the affection of a loving mother. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

He didn’t wake. Instead, he sleepily lifted his hand to yours, and held it in his until the sun rose.

--

The first few weeks went by similarly. Working during the day, with Jack at your side, helping you out as much as a child could, and comforting the poor child during the night with reassuring words. Soon, the reassurance and affirmations turned into stories -  tales about dragons and castles, about magic and the sea. 

About two weeks into his stay, you spent the day preparing for a large feast alongside Giovanni, Anna and with plenty of help from Jack. 

“You didn’t finish your story last night,” he said, pounding away at a ball of bread dough with his tiny fists. 

“Oh yes I did,” you teased, looking the boy dead in the eye with a grin. “You were just too sleepy and fell asleep before the end.” As you joked, you set down the knife and pushed aside the tomato you had been chopping to poke him lightly in the side.

His joyous laughter lit up his face. “Hey!” he whined in between bouts of giggles. “That tickles!”

“I know, silly,” you returned not relenting your tickle torture. “That’s the point!” You did acquiesce after just a few moments though, not wanting to actually cause him any pain.

“Alright you two, calm down, now,” came Anna’s voice from across the room. She was a lovely, portly older woman, with graying hair and a smile to light up a room. If Giovanni had been your father figure since coming here, she certainly took the place of your mother. “We’ve got plenty to prepare for tonight. Signor Bronte is having the Mayor over to talk about his party.”

You let your giggles die down, and nudged the red-faced child next to you. “Now look what you’ve done, Jackie,” you teased softly, ruffling his hair before going back to chopping vegetables.

“Nuh uh,” he responded, giving the bread dough a thorough punch before looking up at you again with a childish grin. He had lost a tooth recently, which only made it all the more adorable. “Can you tell me the end of the story?” he asked after another moment, turning back to the mound of dough on the table. “It was so good, I wanna hear the end. Pretty please?”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “Alright, alright,” you chided, picking up yet another tomato. It wasn’t a particularly good story, just a thinly veiled version of… well, you didn’t want to dwell on that, but if he wanted to hear it, you would oblige. “Where were we?”

“Hmmm…” he mused, stopping kneading the dough for just a second to recall. “Well, the king and queen had just sent the princess to talk to the mean dragon, and then he caught her in a trap, remember?”

“That’s the beginning of the story, Jack.”

“Well, that’s as far as I remember,” his giggles echoed through the room and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright, fine,” you feigned irritation that he definitely could see right through. “Well, the princess had been caught in a trap by the mean dragon, but he didn’t hurt her. He… he just wouldn’t let her go home. He wouldn’t let her see the king and queen again so she could be happy.

“‘Your king and queen need to send a knight to come get you,’ the dragon told the princess. ‘Little girls cannot roam the forest on their own.’

“And so, the princess waited, and waited and waited and waited. She learned to read, and write, and she even learned to speak Dragon, which were talents unheard of for princesses in those days. 

“She had lots of friends who came and went, and even though she couldn’t go back to the king and queen, she... she wasn’t so lonely… and she learned to find happiness in the small things, like the smell of coffee in the morning, or turning the page of a brand new book, or even the glow of the sunrise on spring dew. 

“After a while, she finally realised that she didn’t need the king and queen to be happy. She could make her own happiness… And she did…” you trailed off at the end, returning your focus once again to the vegetables. The other two adults in the room remained silent. You couldn’t have been more blatantly obvious. “The end.”

Jack was quiet for a moment as well, hands stilled on the dough as he looked at the ceiling in thought. “That wasn’t a very good ending,” he said quietly, looking up at you.

You had been caught.

“The princess should have run away, or she should have asked one of her friends to take her when they were leaving,” he continued, determined.

You chuckled solemnly. “You’re probably right, Jack,” you murmured. “I think she was just… scared. The world was dark and scary for her, and she weren’t a very brave princess, and she was worried about what would happen to the king and queen if she left.”

“But that’s not true,” he interjected, throwing one final punch at the bread dough before Anna came to collect it from him. “She was real brave! She lived with a dragon! And dragons are real scary!” He was handed another mound of dough which he immediately proceeded to punch with all his might. “And maybe some of her friends come back to save her! Maybe she helped lots of people while they were living with the dragon, and then they come back to help her! That would be an even better ending!”

Another chuckle. He was far too adorable and far too naive for this house. “Maybe, Jack,” you responded, plastering a knowing smile to your lips. “That would be a good ending.” Clearing your throat, you wiped your hands on your apron and turned to face the small boy. “Alright now, you. Finish up with that bread and then we can get cleaned up for lunch. I think Giovanni is making us spaghetti.”

---

The hot water splashed out of the bucket, spraying suds across the floor. Jack giggled and picked up a handful, blowing it in your direction.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The kid sure did know how to make even the most boring of chores into a game. Looking around first to make sure no one caught you messing around, you picked up a handful of bubbles and plopped them onto his head. This brought out a shrieking laugh from the boy. He really was settling in. For better or worse, at least he seemed to be happier. 

Finally, you told him gently that you needed to finish the laundry, and then the two of you could go outside for a walk. This, somehow, convinced him to calm down, left playing with the bubbles and giggling to himself until he was interrupted by a voice calling your name from the hall.

Signor Bronte.

“Get these men drinks,” you heard, his spoken Italian echoing across the hall.

Immediately, you put the wash down and wiped your hands on your dirtied apron before hustling to the liquor cabinet. “Wait here, Jack. I’ll just bring the whisky out and be right back,” you instructed, quickly gathering six whisky glasses and a serving tray.

This had been your job for years, you could practically do it blindfolded. As one of the youngest servants in the house, Signor Bronte tended to like to have you wait on his more esteemed guests. It was degrading, but it kept you in his good graces. You had seen enough servants come and go to know that complaining about your role would get you nowhere. Or worse.

Quickly, you pulled a decanter from the cabinet, and left the room with the tray full of glasses in your hands. Already in the hallway, you could hear the conversation between the men in the room. “Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, John Marston,” introduced one of the strangers, his voice confident.

You brushed past Irvin, who was standing guard at the entrance, into extravagant parlour. Upon entering the room, you could immediately see that these were not the typical guests that Signor Bronte would waste his good whisky on, but you hardly had time to look at them individually. They seemed dirty, rough, and completely out of place in the richly-decorated parlour. 

“The pleasure is mine, all mine, please,” he said, summoning you forward. You warily step between the chairs to place the tray on the table and pour the glasses, handing them to each man in turn. First, to a tall, thin man with dark hair and a frustrated scowl etched into his face. Next, a muscular man with light brown hair and bright teal eyes, and finally, another dark-haired man, his hair slick with pomade and dressed in clothing that looked like it used to be expensive. 

“So, can my friend have his son?” says one of the men - the one who had introduced them all earlier. You nearly froze. Can my friend have his son?

Jack. 

It took you just a moment to gather your wits before you turned to your boss, handing him the last glass. He took it with a nod to you and a chuckle, before looking back at the men in front of him. “Of course, of course!” he grinned, taking a sip of the whisky. You immediately got yourself out of the way, standing behind the couch in case you were needed for anything else, as you had been taught. “But… should I be out of pocket over a misunderstanding? Of course I know you would not want that…”

“No,” answered the man, slightly reluctantly. You noted that none of the other men had yet spoken, this must be their leader.

Bronte seemed satisfied with their response, choosing to ignore the reluctance with a jovial laugh. “No, no no. So, how about this? You perform a simple job for me and you get your son back,” he explained, rubbing his hands together like the villain he was.

Finally, one of the other men spoke.“What is it?” the larger of the two groaned, beginning to stand up, as if he knew he would be assigned to this task.

Bronte, of course, made light of the situation, waving his hands through the air as he spoke, “A couple of people have taken to grave robbing in the cemetery.”

“That is a fine place for it, the best,” joked the leader. You cringed, but Signor Bronte seemed to enjoy it.

Your boss burst out laughing, from the gut this time. “I love this guy, don’t you love him?” he laughed, looking at you. You nodded, plastering a smile to your face until he turned back to the other man. “I love you!” He paused for a moment to pour himself another glass of whisky before continuing his explanation. “See they’ve taken not only to desecrating the dead, but they've done so without paying a tribute to the living. Thing is, they see my men, of course, they run a mile. So maybe you two head off, huh?” he said, indicating to the men on the couch before pouring yet another glass of whisky and handing it to the group’s leader. “And you, Mr. Van der Linde? Why don’t you tell me more about my manners?” he finished speaking and held up the glass to the other man, Mr. van der Linde, for a toast as the other two men stood to leave the room. “Salute.”

“Salute,” parroted Mr. van der Linde, clinking his glass with your boss’s. The other two men exited the room, as your boss and Mr. van der Linde continued conversing. Their laughter was real, but something in the room was tense, fake. Two men cut from the same cloth, both trying to one-up the other without making it completely obvious.

You had seen this enough times to know that this would only end badly for at least one of them - if not both.

The hour dragged on, as you stood in the corner, ready to jump into service if need be. Your mind drifted to Jack - now sitting alone in the washroom - and that you would soon be saying goodbye.

It was bittersweet, this feeling that came over you. You wanted him to be happy, to be home with his family, of course, but over the course of the last few weeks, he had wormed his way into your heart. He was the family, the son, that you would never have. And it broke your heart to have to let him go.

But you knew better. You couldn’t keep him here. Not for you. It was better if he were able to go home, to see his mother and his family, to see his dog that he missed so much. That was the life he needed, the life he deserved.

You felt the tears well in your eyes as you stood, waiting for your orders. A little over three hours had passed, and the men were still away. Signor Bronte and Mr. van der Linde were well into their cups, and you were not surprised in the least when your boss stood and unceremoniously sent his guest on his way.

“And the boy?” asked Mr. van der Linde, standing from his position on the couch and reaching out a hand to shake.

Signor Bronte took it, gave it a quick shake and began to stagger out of the room. “Yes, yes,” he slurred, turning to you on his way. “Bring him down, would you?”

“Yes, Signore,” you nodded, looking from your boss to the other man. It was really happening. It was really time to say goodbye.

--

To say Jack was excited at the news was putting it lightly. He had nearly bounced with joy when you had told him that his Pa was here to pick him up. You had led him down the stairs and out the front door to where Mr. van der Linde was waiting patiently. Jack nearly tackled him to the ground in his excitement.

“Uncle Dutch!” he called, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist. 

A loud, barking laugh left the man as he patted Jack’s head. “Well hello there, son,” he said, a smile on his face. “It’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you around camp.”

You smiled, looking at the two of them. This was the right thing to do. But then, Jack did something wholly unexpected. He led Dutch to you, and introduced you.

“She’s been real nice since I got here,” he explained to the older man. “She told me stories and brought me candy, and today she even put bubbles on my head!” his excited giggles echoed across the yard.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Dutch said, looking you up and down before reaching out for your hand, which he then pulled to his lips in a theatrical show of chivalry. “And thank you so much for taking such good care of our boy.”

You plastered another smile to your face and gently pulled your hand away, wary of potentially offending the well-armed man. “Of course,” you responded. “I was happy to-” you were cut off by the well-timed sound of horse hooves on the cobblestones, and a loud, rough voice ringing in your ears.

“Like I said, we’ll see where we’re at once we got Jack,” said one of the men from earlier as their horses came to a halt in front of the gate. They dismounted and were immediately let in by one of the front guards. 

Upon their arrival, Dutch seemed to immediately forget your existence, instead striding towards the two men with an exasperated, “Well, you took your time.”

And then there was Jack, nearly bursting with excitement at the sight of the men, he couldn’t wait until they were through the gate before he ran to them with a cry of, “Pa!”

The sight warmed your heart. Jack was quickly picked up and clutched to the chest of the taller, dark-haired man as the other moved past you to hand something to the guards. “I’m so glad to see you!” he said, rubbing the back of Jack’s head and holding him close. 

However, Jack, completely oblivious to the nature of the situation, wiggled free of his father’s arms and, instead, grabbed his hand and pulled the man in your direction. “Pa, come here, come here, you have to meet my friend!” he said, voice loud and excited, as he introduced you to his father. “She’s been helping me since I got here. She tells the best stories!”

The man looked down at Jack with a loving smile and then up to you. “That so?” he asked the boy, reaching out to shake your hand. “John Marston.” 

You took his and introduced yourself as Jack rambled on, “Yeah! And she taught me how to make bread real good, want to see?”

“Sure, you can show us when we get back to camp,” John acquiesced, still holding tight to the boy’s hand, who then proceeded to drag the two of you over to the one man you did not yet have a name for.

“Uncle Arthur!” he called. The man, having dropped off whatever he had needed to give Signor Bronte, was leaning against a column and smoking. “You have to meet my friend too.”

“Is that right?” he said, smiling at Jack. He pushed himself off the column and snubbed his cigarette on his boot, moving toward the three of you. “Nice to meet you, miss,” for the third time that night, a hand was held out.

You shook it and introduced yourself, “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

John, looking both relieved and exhausted, heaved Jack back into his arms. “Thank you for taking care of him, I-”

Immediately, you stopped him. “It weren’t no problem, really. He’s a lovely boy,” you explained, once again trying to stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. Taking care of Jack had easily been one of the highlights of your life. Having someone need you, someone that loved talking to you, someone who was simply excited to be around you - it was such a drastic change from how you had lived for so long. And, even if you would never experience it again, you wouldn’t trade the last few weeks for the world.

John nodded, you didn’t have to explain any further. “Comeon, Jack, your ma’s been worried sick.” Jack nodded to his father enthusiastically, a grin on his face, before turning and surprising you with a big hug.

You bent over to hug him back, patting him on his head when you heard your name. “You’re coming with us, right?” he asked, his tiny face buried in your dress. You looked around at the others, Arthur had paused in his tracks, John was frozen in place, Dutch was stopped near the gate. No one said anything for a moment.

You don’t know how to break it to him.

So, you pull his face from your skirt and kiss him gently on the forehead, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “I’m real sorry, Jack,” you say, looking him in the eye, “but not this time.” You felt tempted to say something like I promise I’ll write or You can come see me any time but you knew both of these things weren’t true. He would get home to his family, and in a few days you would just be a stranger from his childhood. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood again, ruffling his hair and turning him to face his father. “Now, you go on back to your family, alright? Teach them how to make some good bread, like I showed you.”

His head was shaking as he looked back up at you, tears welling in his big brown eyes. “But…”

This hurt. More than saying goodbye to a child you had only known for a few weeks should. “I know, but…” you started, still not entirely sure how to explain yourself. “I have to stay here. This… this is my home.” You pull him to you once again in a tight hug and place a kiss on the top of his head. “You be good for your parents, alright?”

You can feel him nod under your chin, but he does not respond. It’s easy to tell that this is a new feeling for him - being so happy and so sad all at once. You wished you could tell him that its only temporary, and he will never have these conflicting feelings again. You wished you could have gone with him, broken free of Angelo Bronte and this life. There were so many things you wished you could do at that moment, but you couldn’t. Or you wouldn’t.

With a light sob, Jack wraps his arms around you one final time until he is gently pulled away by his father. “Comeon, son. We should get going.”

They walked to the gate together, John’s hand on his son’s back, leading the way. Jack was hoisted high onto a horse, and you could vaguely hear them talking to him, trying to cheer him up. “We have a new camp set up, Jack, you’re going to love it,” says Dutch before they ride off down the street.

Finally, you allow your tears to fall.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

---

The days pass slowly after Jack’s goodbye. There is little entertainment to pass the time. No dumb jokes, no begging for stories. It was exactly as it was before. Still, it felt like something was missing.

Early in the morning, a few days later, you walked around the house as usual, coffee in hand. You mused over the tasks for the days ahead: the Governor's garden party was in about a week, so it was time to start preparing. Clothes needed to be pressed, shoes to be shined, and, most importantly, mounds of food needed to be cooked.

Giovanni’s cooking was, although rarely shared outside of Signor Bronte’s home, lauded as some of the best in town. So, of course, Angelo Bronte’s personal chef would be graciously catering the meal.

It was supposed to be a sign of generosity, you theorised, but in reality it was all a show to keep Signor Bronte in the San Denis elite’s good graces - and to worm his way into another favor from the mayor.

You chuckled lightly to yourself as you paced slowly around the perfectly manicured gardens. Marble statues, imported from Italy, gazed down at you, unmoving. Quietly, you began to hum a short tune, not noticing the figure at the fence across from you. 

“Mornin’,” he called, his voice low and gruff, just as it had been when you had first met him.

You look up from the grass to the man, in surprise. He was leaning aginst the fence, patiently smoking a cigarette, and waiting. For you? “Ah, good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you call, making your way to him. He stubs out his cigarette on his boot and turns to fully face you. Only now, in the morning sunlight and away from the stress of Angelo Bronte, do you notice how attractive he is. Light brown hair framed an unshaven face, a strong jawline, light smattering of chest hair showing through the top of his unbuttoned collar. “It’s lovely to see you again. How is Jack doing?”

Arthur smiles at you, and the sun suddenly seems slightly brighter. “Boah’s doin’ good,” he says, leaning forward on the fence, one arm above his head to balance himself. “He’s happy to be home.”

You shoot him a small, bittersweet smile before turning your gaze to your coffee. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Misses you, though,” he continues, once he realises you aren’t going to say anything more. You look up at him, and notice he is fishing something out of his satchel. A small, folded piece of paper is passed through the bars of the fence, and you gently pluck it from his hand. “Sent this. Special delivery.”

You gently unfold the paper, and see a row of several stick figures, several people and what looks to be a dog, standing in front of some trees under a sunny sky. Under each of the figures, you can see several names scribbled in an adult’s hand.

Pa, Ma, Jack, Cain, Uncle Arthur… and you.

“Been told to tell you,” he continues, reaching through the fence with the hand that had been keeping him balanced and pointed at the figures on the paper. “That’s you… with us…”

You laugh lightly, glancing from the paper to the eyes of the man in front of you. A handsome teal, complimented by his, admittedly dirty, blue shirt. How had you not noticed him before? “This is real sweet of him, thank you,” you breathe, slightly softer than you had intended. You turn again to look at the drawing, hoping he didn’t notice the blush that had suddenly stained your cheeks.

The two of you stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun rise above the horizon. “You could come with us, you know,” he said after a minute, pulling another cigarette from his satchel and lighting it. “The boah would shoa be happy to have you ‘round.”

You smile at the thought. Waking up in the fresh air, telling Jack stories, getting to know his family. It would be lovely. But at the end of the day, it was easier said than done. “That… that’s a nice dream,” you told him, smiling. 

He huffed, and took a long drag from his cigarette. “It’s true,” he tells you, leaning against the fence once more. “The life… well it ain’t pretty. Sure as hell not as pretty as livin’ in a mansion. But it’s free. You ain’t gotta answer to no one you don’t want.”

You scoffed and found yourself kicking at the grass beneath your feet. It would surely be better than what you had here. Hell, it would be easy enough to walk through the gates with the intention to never come back. And, what was even keeping you here? Your family? You hadn’t seen them in years. Giovanni? Anna? They would both leave if they could. 

But, you knew it wasn’t possible. You’ve seen this kind of thing before. One of your fellow servants found a means of escape, only to be back within a week. If they weren’t found and killed onsight. Angelo Bronte had eyes in every corner. Flies on every wall. He would find you.

“I… I wish I could.”

--

You went to bed late that evening, your conversation with Arthur resounding in your head. You could come with us, you know. The boy would sure be happy to have you around. The thought had even permeated your dreams, enveloping you in a fantasy world. A beautiful campsite by a river, a group of people, happy, laughing, free. Jack and Arthur and John and Dutch, and even Giovanni and Anna. They were all there, and they were all happy.

But, of course, the threat lingered. What had started as a beautiful dream quickly turned sour as Angelo Bronte entered the scene, scaring away your friends, capturing you and dragging you back to San Denis, into a mansion that looked more like a prison with every step. You would never escape him. You could never be free.

You had woken early in the morning, covered in sweat and sheets kicked from the bed. Breathing heavily, you glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. It was early, but not early enough to warrant going back to sleep. Groaning, you stepped quietly from your bed and pulled on your dressing gown. Your morning ritual would begin earlier today.

The air was crisp, but your coffee was hot - the perfect combination for waking a person up in the morning. The birds sang in their early morning chorus as the slowly rising sun cast everything in a calm, light blue. It was earlier than you had been up in ages, and you were fully prepared to sit in the garden, alone, and bask in the peacefulness. 

To your surprise, however, the increasingly-familiar smell of cigarette smoke and campfire reached you. You turned to the fence, the same place as the day prior, to be greeted by the rugged cowboy, leaning casually against the railing. Tired as you were, you couldn’t keep the smile from lighting up your face. 

“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” you say, making your way over to him, coffee cradled in both hands. You took a sip, thinking that you may need to start making two cups if this becomes a habit. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. How’s Jack?”

Arthur’s grin immediately made your stomach flip. “Mornin’, miss,” he responded, tipping his hat to you. He lazilly flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground before leaning against the fence again, his arm above his head, like he had done the day before. “Boah’s doin’ good. Still talkin’ ‘bout you.” His grin never left his face as he looked at you. 

You cleared your throat and maintained eye contact even though you were sure you could feel the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Well, ain’t he a sweetheart?” you tease, only partially talking about Jack.

He chuckled and reached into his bag, mirroring his actions from the day prior. “I been asked to deliver this,” he said, pulling out a string of slightly crumpled red flowers from his bag. They were strung together, tied at the stems, into a long, vibrant necklace. 

You gingerly took the necklace from him with a smile, examining it. Wild yarrow.  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” you respond, pulling it over your head before striking a cheesy pose for the man in front of you. “How do I look?”

God, you could look at his smile all day. “Gorgeous,” he responds, only slightly teasing, and you are suddenly struck with a feeling of giddy embarrassment. It was rare that you got on with someone this well, this quickly. But with Arthur Morgan, despite his rough exterior, you felt strangely comfortable. 

The two of you stood together, talking through the morning sunrise until you were very nearly late for work. When the sun was almost fully above the horizon, you found yourself giggling and dashing into the house, with one last glance to the cowboy at the fence, eyes shining.

And so it went.

For the next week, like clockwork, you would wake, go for your walk, and meet Arthur Morgan at the fence. Gifts, supposedly all from Jack, were exchanged - a nice rock, a beautiful notebook, a seashell, a fountain pen - and you sent your fair share of notes back, including candy for the boy, and a (stolen) flask of good whisky for your postman.

Soon enough, you found yourself gladly waking earlier in the morning - butterflies in your stomach as you made your way outside to greet him. Your mood was better, despite Jack’s farewell only a week ago, and even your colleagues had taken notice.

“What’s got you walking around here all smiles lately?” Anna had asked on the morning before the Mayor’s garden party, as you sat together, adding finishing touches to several large pies that were to go into the oven. 

You scoffed, still unable to wipe the smile from your face, and looked at her over the stack of pans in front of you. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you responded. “Now don’t distract yourself with me, we need to get this all ready to take this afternoon.” Your chiding didn’t deter her, as she continued pestering you the rest of the day.

Her teasing had very little effect on your mood, however, despite the large amount of work ahead of you. And, so, the day passed quickly, in anticipation of the coming evening. It was well known throughout San Denis that Angelo Bronte had one of the best chef’s in town under his employ, so the household staff was asked to provide a portion of the catering. It was a massive, and time consuming project, but it was well worth the work. 

You finally had the opportunity to get out of the house, even if it were for just an evening, which would be an incredible change of pace. Almost before you could even gather your bearings, you were slipping into your best uniform, and were on your way to the even larger home.

You had been to the Mayor’s home a handful of times, but it still left you in awe. If you had thought that Angelo Bronte lived in the lap of luxury, but this home was somehow even more opulent. Marble pillars, statues lining the hallways, mahogany floors, golden chandeliers, art on every wall. You had to make a conscious effort to not allow your jaw to drop as you walked through the hallways to the kitchen. There was no time to dawdle, guests would be arriving shortly.

With an unintentional grunt, you hoisted the box of chopped vegetables you were carrying onto a table, and got to work helping Giovanni finish up a large pot of étouffée. It took some time, but after some significant effort from yourself, Giovanni, and Anna, as well as plenty of help from the Mayor’s own servants, the food was served and guests were mingling in the garden.

You leaned carefully against a counter and wiped sweat from your brow. Cooking for upwards of 100 people was exhausting, not to mention that the kitchen was absolutely scalding. You could use a large glass of water and a breath of fresh air.

Nodding at your colleagues, you told them as much before stepping into the hallway and taking a deep breath of the cooler air. If you were lucky, no one would be on the upstairs balcony, and you could head out and watch the fireworks for a few minutes. As you made your way to the back staircase, hoping that the balcony would be empty, you spotted a flash of a black tuxedo and familiar light brown hair in front of you.

Arthur Morgan. Now what was he doing here?

With a smirk, you carefully followed him up the stairs, catching a further glimpse of him as he entered the first door on the second floor. You hadn’t been up here before, but with the way he was walking, you could be sure that he wasn’t sneaking off to the toilet.

Glancing around, you saw no one else in the hallway. 

Good. 

Slowly, carefully, you pushed open the door to what appeared to be an office. And there, in all his glory, was Arthur Morgan, rummaging through the Mayor’s desk. As you snuck in and quietly closed the door behind you, he slipped a small stack of papers into his tuxedo jacket. 

You took a moment to look over him. Damn, he cleaned up well. A recent haircut, clean shaven, and a brand new tuxedo made him look like an entirely new man. Not that you had any problem with the bearded, dirt-covered version of him that had been meeting you all week.

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” you said quietly, startling him. He turned to you, wide-eyed, his hand instinctively flying to where his pistol was usually holstered. He was red in the face, adrenaline pumping, and you had to admit that it was a very good decision to not allow weapons at this party.

Upon seeing you, however, he noticeably relaxed. Face still red, he glanced quickly around the room before moving toward you, a predator stalking its prey. “Could say the same to you,” he whispered, voice low, as he backed you slowly toward the door.

That familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach rose again as he neared, but you held your chin high in defiance - and then you did something even you didn’t quite expect. You kissed him.

Lunged would be a more accurate description. You closed the distance between the two of you in a second, lips crashing with his. You had only known him for a week, but somehow it felt like you had been wanting to do this your entire life. 

After a moment of shock, he returned the kiss, lips frantically moving with yours as he wrapped his hands around your body. He was warm and strong, and smelled of campfire and cologne and you wanted to get lost in him. You wanted to lose yourself with him. Reaching up, you ran your fingers through his hair until you reached the base of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

He moved with you, slowly, steps matching yours, until your back was flush against the door. For only a moment, he pulled away. You heard the light click of a key and he was on you again, hands fluttering over your hips as he began to work his lips down your jawline. You had to swallow the moan threatening to spill from your lips as you pulled him impossibly closer, fingers toying with the ends of his hair. Then you pulled.

He leaned back with a guttural groan, following your hands as you gently pulled at the hairs on the nape of his neck. His cheeks were flushed, hair mussed, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. You couldn’t help yourself as you pulled him back to you, wrapping your arms around his neck and crashing your lips to his.

The taste of him, the feel of him, it was overwhelming and you wished you could be surrounded by him like this for the rest of your life. Silently, lips still on yours, he turned the two of you so that your back was against the nearby bookshelf. You lifted a leg and wrapped it around his, grinding into him without breaking your kiss. 

Before you knew what was happening, his hands moved from your hips to pull up the skirt of your dress and finger the waistband of your bloomers. A nip at the bottom of your lip brought out a groan from you as he slowly made his way into your underclothes, exploring until he found your core. 

Gently, he toyed with your lower lips, ghosting his fingers along the outside teasingly. If you were in any other state of mind, you would have been embarrassed about the way your hips began moving - wantonly, desperately, trying to maneuver his exploratory fingers exactly where you wanted them.

But Arthur Morgan was apparently not feeling cooperative. He pulled away from your kiss and brought his hand out of your bloomers at the same time, leading you to throw your head back against the bookshelf with a desperate groan.

The twinkle in his eyes matched the mischievous smirk on his face as he looked down at you, your breathing heavy, cheeks flushed. The cocky bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying this. This torment.

 With a sudden burst of courage that you didn’t know you had in you, you found yourself pushing him backward. Hands on his chest, you led him roughly to the mayor’s desk, and lunged. Lips crashed once again with his, the taste of whisky and tobacco overwhelming you once again. Your fingers toyed with his tuxedo jacket before slipping underneath and sliding it from his shoulders.

As good as he looked in this outfit, he was far too clothed for your taste.

Next came his vest, unbuttoned with help from him as you both lost your patience. You peeled his suspenders off until they hung loosely at his sides, and finally all that stood between you and his bare chest was his shirt. He yanked it roughly from his pants, the two of you unbuttoning it as quickly as your shaking fingers allowed, and flung it across the room before leaning in for another desperate kiss. 

As his lips met yours once again, you felt him push you back toward the bookshelf as he untied your apron to pull it over your head. Next, his fingers unbuttoned the high collar of your dress, quickly followed quickly by his lips as he placed kisses and nips on your flushed skin. He trailed ever downward - to your collarbone, to your cleavage - drawing moans from your parted lips.

Desperately, you reached for his face and pulled him back up to you, caressing the smooth shaven skin as you kissed. Once satisfied, your hands wandered downward, toying with the hair splayed across the hot, hard panes of his chest. Slowly, teasingly, you followed the path of his hair with your fingers until you reached the top of his pants, and his breath hitched in your mouth. 

Your kiss slowed and turned into a peck as you undid the button and pushed his pants down, revealing muscular thighs framing a growing bulge hidden under his underclothes.  Pushing down the thin cotton finally revealed his swollen member, which you took gently into your hand as you pulled him in for another heated kiss.

He groaned into your mouth, growing impossibly harder with each stroke, until he pulled away to look you into the eye. His face was flushed, his hair in shambles, and you swore you had never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life. You nodded, and allowed him to hoist up your skirt and slide into you through the slit in your bloomers.

In unison, groans left both of your mouths. You were balanced precariously on a bookshelf, your leg wrapped around his waist as he sank into you, head thrown back in pleasure. Once he gathered his bearings, he slowly, torturously slowly, began to move. 

He thrust in and out, in and out, his face buried into your shoulder. Each thrust was paired with a small grunt and a gasp from you. You reveled in the feeling, the warmth, the intensity. 

His hands gripped your hips through the fabric of your dress, pulling you closer to him with each thrust. You wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him up to you. Your lips met, tongues entangled as tiny gasps swelled up from your throat. It was all you could do to keep in the loud moan that was threatening to spill from your lips.

With each thrust, the bookshelves shook, sending a few trinkets to the carpeted floor with a light thump. You should be more careful. The thought echoed in your mind for only a second before it was whisked away by another thrust that shook you to the core. 

As he grew closer and closer to completion, his thrusts became faster, more frantic, and you found yourself clutching the edges of the shelf for balance. 

Finally, he pulled one of his hands from your hip and wormed it between your bodies to find the place where he had teased you so well before. And then he pressed. And rubbed. And stroked. And finally, in a glaring flash of white before your eyes, you found yourself biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming his name. Your body shook, your breathing came in harsh gasps, until you could finally open your eyes.

Not a second later, Arthur took a few final thrusts and pulled out of you, stroking his member once, twice, and then spilling himself on the floor with a series of loud gasps. A shaky breath followed as he fell onto you, his head balancing on your chest to catch his breath.

Finally, there was silence, only broken occasionally by a heaving breath. The two of you huddled together against the bookshelves, clinging to each other until you could regain your balance.

You found yourself leaning hard against the shelf behind you, running your fingers through Arthur’s mussed hair. “Those last few gifts… the journal, the pen… those weren’t from Jack, were they?” you asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

A low chuckle came from Arthur, still bent forward with his head balanced on your chest. “I s’pose I’ve been caught again…”

--

The party ended with a spectacular fireworks show, which you and Arthur watched together, now fully clothed and hidden from sight on the empty balcony. Shortly after the last firework had lit up the night sky, he left you with a lingering kiss that you swore you felt on your lips for the rest of the evening.

To say your head was in the clouds would have been putting it lightly. You would have never expected such a rough, dirty man to be your knight in shining armor, but here you were. 

Your good mood carried over through the party cleanup, into the night, and even on into the morning during your daily walk. Glancing at the gate where he usually stood, you were slightly disheartened to see his spot empty. Your smile faltered for just a moment, before you reasoned with yourself. He was probably just tired, or hungover, and just because he had showed up every day for the last week and a half did not mean he could keep up that habit forever. 

So, you sat and waited for nearly a half an hour at your normal meeting spot, before heading back inside only slightly disheartened. He had a life outside of meeting you, you reminded yourself, it was unfair to assume he would be there every day when he had never promised this.

Despite your disappointment, your good mood persisted through the day. Through stained laundry, through dusting and mopping, through cleaning a massive pile of cooking dishes from the night before - you couldn’t have wiped the smile off of your face.

And then he didn’t show up again. And again. And again.

For over a week, you missed Arthur’s presence on your morning walks. You found yourself waiting at the fence each day, coffee and the morning paper in hand to pass the time, only to end up disappointed once again. At the very least, there seemed to be a lot of dramatic news to report that week - a trolley station robbery ending with a crashed trolly on main street, a wealthy man on a steamboat robbed for all he was worth - but that information only helped pass the time you spent waiting for him.

Outside of your morning walks, your mood slowly soured. Maybe Arthur had gotten what he wanted. Maybe the dirty, lecherous outlaw’s only goal was to bed you and be on his way. Maybe Jack had forgotten you completely, and with nothing new to deliver, so had Arthur.

You took to writing angrily in the journal he had gotten you, having no other reasonable outlet for your emotions. Originally, you had wanted to toss the damn thing into the fire, but - without someone to vent to, without someone who could understand the depths of your frustration - it seemed like such a waste. Instead, you chose to use the gift for its intended purpose, and wrote down all of your frustrations toward the man who had gifted it to you, before stuffing it underneath your pillow and falling asleep for the night.

There it lay, throughout the day and night until you finally did see Arthur Morgan again. A loud crash, followed by gunshots and yelling in Italian and English from the back gardens, met your ears as you cleaned up after dinner with Anna and Giovanni.

“We’re comin’ for you, Bronte! Send out every man you got!”

The three of you had no guns, and even if you had it sounded less like a gunfight and more like a massacre. Quickly, you locked the doors, hoping that it would be enough to deter the intruders. And then, huddled together out of sight with your friends, you waited.

The back door was kicked open with a gunshot and a loud bang. More gunshots, screams, and crashes echoed through the hallway and into the kitchen. You heard the yells get closer, before the kitchen door was shot and forcefully kicked open. 

This was it, this would be your end.

Only, it wasn’t.

Standing in the doorframe was none other than Arthur Morgan, shotgun in hand, eyes frantic… until he caught sight of you. 

“Comeon,” he said, rushing over to where the three of you were huddled together and pulling you up by the arm. “You three gotta get outta here,” he ordered, gruffly, hurriedly, as he opened one of the larger windows. “We only came from the back, so head to the front and go somewhere safe.”

Giovanni and Anna looked from each other to you, and then to the open window, hesitant. Another volley of gunfire reached your ears from inside the house. There was no time for debate. “Go ahead,” you told them. “We can trust him.” 

That (plus another few rounds of gunfire in quick succession) was all it took. Giovanni nodded to you, grabbed Anna by the forearm, and they were out the window and running across the lawn to safety. You breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Arthur. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to ask, but there was no time. 

As if sensing your hesitation, he took you by the shoulders and pulled you in for a hug. “Go,” he said, face buried into your hair. “Get to the Fontana, I’ll meet you there when this is over.” You could have sworn you felt a light kiss atop your head before he pressed a crumpled ten dollar bill into your palm and lightly pushed you in the direction of the open window. “Get outta here.”

You nodded, mouthing a quick “thank you” before climbing through the window. In the distance, you could see Anna and Giovanni, silhouetted against the night sky. They were running as fast as they could, to safety, and you felt a pang in your chest. They had been the closest thing you had had to a family for so long. The three of you had been forced together by fate, and had come out a team. But… where would you end up if you followed them? 

Likely back in the service of another rich man. But, maybe it would be better. Maybe the freedom you found yourself longing for was to be found in the familiar, the known. Could you really abandon your friends, your way of life, for the promise of a man you had known for little more than a few weeks?

Quickly, you glanced in the opposite direction, toward the city. Toward the Fontana. Toward the promise of freedom. The clock was ticking, you needed to decide. Now.

Torn between what was and what could be, you took a deep breath and took the advice of a child who was far too wise for his age. You ran toward the Fontana. You ran as fast as you could to a new life.

The sound of gunfire and screams followed you to the gates, where it then became overwhelmed by the shouts and sirens of incoming police. Luckily, you were able to slip outside of the gate and get partially down the street before they stopped in front of the house.

Bowing your head, you quickly made your way down the cobblestone street and into the city, away from the violence. By the time you reached the Fontana Theater, the gunshots had all but faded into the hustle and bustle of the city center, and you became acutely aware of how much you didn’t belong. It had been years since you had been anywhere outside of Signore Bronte’s mansion other than the grocery and occasional trip to the tailors. It had been even longer since the last time you had been to a Magic Lantern Theater. And you knew, with your hair mussed and maid’s uniform, you must stick out like a sore thumb.

Luckily, if your memory served, the theater should be dark enough that no one would notice. You slowed your pace, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, and proceeded to the ticket counter, purchasing one ticket to the three upcoming shows. That should be more than enough time, you hoped. 

You entered the dimly lit room and practically collapsed into one of the seats. Now that you had managed to escape, now that you were in relative safety, the adrenaline you had felt earlier had completely vanished. You were exhausted. You were confused. You were scared. 

Now, you could only wait, and hope that Arthur would be back for you as promised.

In front of you, the film started with a flicker. The recorded voice of a man telling the story of several forest animals as a series of images were projected onto the screen. The room was silent, except for the recording, and you found yourself struggling to keep your eyes open.

What must have been a few hours later, you were shaken awake by an unfamiliar man. You were startled for only a minute before you realised that he was the same man who had sold you the tickets earlier. “That’s the last showing for the day, miss,” he was saying, quietly, pulling his hand away from your shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be on your way, now.” 

You blinked and looked around the room, now flooded with light. It was empty except for the two of you. “What… what time is it?” you stammered, voice cracking lightly.

“‘Bout 11:30,” he responded, looking quickly to his pocket watch to confirm. You had been asleep for a solid 4 hours, and Arthur hadn’t yet arrived. “You should get on home.”

Home. Where was that? 

You stood, nodding abashedly at the man. “Thank you,” you murmured before making your way out of the theater and into the dark streets. 

It was quiet, the same kind of quiet you had grown so used to on your morning walks. However, instead of finding it calm and refreshing, you found yourself longing for the noisy streets. The hustle and bustle of San Denis that would overpower your thoughts, that would drown out your anxieties. 

Instead, you were alone, left to mull over your current situation on the steps of the theater. The long, dark tendrils of doubt crept into your mind as you waited. Did you make the right choice? Did Arthur abandon you? Was all of this some horrible trick? Tears spilled silently from your eyes as you waited. Exhausted. Frustrated. Sad. The only thing to break you out of your thought spiral was the occasional drunk would wander by, heading home for the evening.

Eventually, the ground where you sat grew cold, and you found yourself falling asleep against the wall of the theater, huddled up like an abandoned animal. You could sleep here tonight, in case he did show up, and head … somewhere … in the morning. A hotel, maybe? A workhouse? You didn’t know where, but that was a thought for the morning.

It was only when the steady clip-clop clip-clop of horse hooves made their way down the dark street that you willed yourself to look up. Coming slowly into view through the darkness was a lone rider on a horse. He looked exhausted, frustrated, as he stopped his horse in front of the theater and dismounted, glancing around the area until he spotted you.

You stood on legs that were strangely both stiff and shaky and made your way over to him, where he pulled you into a tight hug. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, once again burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to leave you so long.” You nodded against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as tears of relief threatened to spill. “Let’s get you home.”

--

The ride went by in a blur. Not that you were moving fast, but rather because you were so exhausted that everything was a bit of a haze. You must have arrived at the large, dilapidated mansion early into the morning, before anyone was up to disturb you, because you could not remember the journey into Arthur’s bed for the life of you.

There was no crunch of the grass as you slid off the saddle, no creek of the stairs, no groan of the bed as the two of you lay down together. Nothing. All you could remember was that you were here. You were safe. You were home. 

You awoke around midday, sunlight streaming through the broken windows of a small-rundown room overlooking the swamps of Lemoyne. It was sweltering hot, but you found yourself cuddling closer into the strong arms that were wrapped around you. The scent of the swamps mixed with whisky and tobacco, campfire and gunsmoke, as you nuzzled into his chest.

He was breathing deeply, soundly, as you lifted your head from his chest to look around. The room itself was old and dilapidated, it would barely serve as a shelter during any storms that may strike. In the far corner stood an old shelf, filled with photos and trinkets. Next to it, a small table with a map, and across from that, a larger table, stacked to the brim with weapons and ammunition. 

Arthur’s room. 

You stood, intending to make your way over to examine the trinkets across the room, but were instead gently pulled back to bed by the man behind you. “Mornin’,” he grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes as he held you close.

You acquiesced, leaning back into him and basking in his presence. “Mornin’, Mr. Morgan,” you whispered back to him, gazing over his face. His eyes were still closed, but he couldn’t keep a small smile from forming as you spoke. Gently, you brushed hair away from his forehead and planted a light kiss to the revealed skin. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, finally opening his eyes to look at you. You could have melted in the soft, loving look that came your way. “Nothin’ to thank me for,” he said, reaching up to run his thumb along your cheek in admiration. “Just needed to get you out alive, is all.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I feel like that deserves thanks.”

A scoff came from the man beside you. “Nah, it was all selfish, really,” he explained, his gaze travelling over every inch of your face as if he were committing it to memory. “I just wanted to keep you ‘round.” With that, he planted a quick kiss on your lips and sat up, turning to his satchel that had been tossed to the floor by the bed. “It weren’t pretty last night… ‘n’ I’m glad I got to you before it got worse.”

“What happened?” you asked, watching as he pulled the satchel to him and began to rifle through it.

“Bronte… well he done his best to screw us over,” he explained. “Set some traps for us… ‘n’ Dutch made sure he paid for it.” You figured you knew what he meant, but let him continue anyway. “Bastard’s dead - some poor alligator’s breakfast.” 

To your surprise, you felt incredibly conflicted. The man had essentially kept you hostage for the last few years, but he had at least taken care of you. He had by no means been a good person, but… you had grown some sort of strange affinity for him over the years. And yet, you didn’t find yourself shedding a tear for him. If anything, it was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, like you could finally breathe freely after so long. 

You didn’t know what to say.

“I did manage to get hold of these, though,” he said, pulling several items from his satchel. You gasped when you saw them, and felt the tears that wouldn’t fall for Bronte begin to well up. In Arthur’s hands were a child’s drawing, a flower crown, a very special rock, a beautiful journal, and a fountain pen. 

Now, the tears did fall as you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you, Arthur,” you said, burying your face into his neck. “Thank you so incredibly much.”

With a small chuckle, he set the momentos down on his lap, and wrapped his arms around you as well. “‘Course.”

The two of you stayed like that, reveling in each other’s embrace, for a few perfect, blissful minutes. So this is what it felt like to be wanted. This is what it felt like to have someone really, truly care about you. This is the feeling you had been waiting for for so long.

It wasn’t a minute later before there was a tentative knock on your door, and Arthur pulled himself away from the hug. “I think someone might be excited to see you,” he said, nodding toward the door.

You looked over, calling for the visitor to come in. As the door swung open, you were greeted with the sound of your name excitedly being called, and the sight of a child, red with excitement, standing in the doorway. Jack. “You’re here! You’re really here!” he exclaimed, darting over to you and jumping into your arms. He was followed by a smiling, dark-haired woman, and a man who you recognised as John. “I knew it! I knew you would come live with us!” 

“Of course, Jack,” you childed, squeezing him tight. “I could never leave you.”

He squeezed you back, before pulling away and grabbing your forearm to lead you out of the room. “Come on!” he said, leading you forward. “You have to meet the rest of our family!”

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

Hi, @pilotkinkade! No worries about a delay—real life and school are way more important than critical analysis of a cartoon, lol. I’m thankful you got back to me, though. I appreciate your response posted here—and no, it didn’t feel patronizing at all! I can see what you mean about things.

In terms of Wikipedia’s definition of white savior as a cinematic trope, I can see where that could be applied to the entirety of the VLD show as you mention, even in aspects to the Balmeran episode. In VLD, I do see how in every case, the largely unprepared MCs save a group of people and in doing so, usually learn something about themselves/achieve a power unlock that makes them personally stronger, especially compared to the people they assist/save, who remain without such power-ups. Or, in various other instances, Team Voltron is shown as “more enlightened” in ethics or willpower, etc. compared to the people groups they’re trying to save/convince to join their cause. That concern absolutely does make sense, and it’s definitely a problem that our paladins are placed on that kind of pedestal and that it’s...celebrated?

I also felt this line of yours in my soul, lol: “i think this is an issue with voltron: liberating a country, let alone a whole planet, is a long, tiring, bloody process. i guess voltron by its nature circumnavigates that, but. it is, to say the least, frustrating to watch.”

Yeahhh lol, I think in terms of how it handles war and heavy situations, VLD accepts a lot of “this isn’t realistic war/politics” moments by virtue of it being a Y7 cartoon? Its fantasy violence is targeted for, I guess, 7-year-old American boys... So, I think when we sensed those more adult themes and moments of realism, we wanted the show to naturally follow up on those struggles more, but I remember an interview where the dev team talked about having to cut politics because the stakeholders felt it was too adult for the target audience, RIP.

But just thinking about this larger conversation about the unsettling images and implications of VLD Voltron’s power as savior…I keep wondering if “savior complex” is in some way inherent to the franchise as a whole by virtue of how it was fitted to a young American audience back in 1984? Like, not only did the original pilots from 1981’s Beast King GoLion get white-washed for an American audience, but it seems like the whole story structure got some pretty major adjustments, and some characters got altered for better (I’d argue 1984 did humanize Lotor and other antagonistic aliens) or worse in various ways (the Voltron pilots became “foreigners” to the war they grew to fight in as the most powerful warriors, instead of the GoLion storyline of the pilots being a band of escaped slaves)…And that’s all on top of the original story being rated much higher at TV-14, while Voltron: Defender of the Universe 1984 was sanitized to Y7.

I wonder if these decisions in 1984 feed into the tangles and weird power structures/savior narrative we see in VLD?

I feel like the only Voltron iteration that really reflects on and questions the “powerful savior” narrative is the one that was rated for older audiences (16+), which is the Dynamite Comics (2011), written by Brandon Thomas...

It was perhaps one of the most innovative versions of Voltron, even though its artwork is criticized for its quality. I say innovative because Team Voltron actually recognizes that they and their machine have been fighting in the name of a corrupted Earth just interested in further conquest and corporate control of its own, and that Earth is actually no better than Zarkon or other despots. It’s a really sticky mess. So we really see Team Voltron try to disavow themselves from that past and their leaders, at the same time that the team and Drule Empire both are realizing that a far darker force (sentient rift creatures, basically) has been instigating the entire war across the universe, using Voltrons to carry out its will, and poisoning people against each other. In this iteration, team Voltron is not the most powerful, nor are they even the only Voltron. And anyone in this iteration could learn powerful magic. So it’s a really complex backstory that tries to unite long-standing opposing groups together under fairly equal powers. And while it’s clearly still got some problems, I really appreciate what writer Brandon Thomas was trying to do here. It feels like a critique on DotU 1984’s mentality around Voltron, while also reaching back to Voltron’s 1981 Beast King GoLion origins—in which, in that version, the pilots were actively victims of the war and had intense, personal reasons for further involving themselves to stop Zarkon.

VLD seems to lift a lot of plot points from the previous Dynamite Comics, along with GoLion. But in doing so, VLD seems to strip out a lot of involved backstory and the past gray morality of Voltron itself. Which seems to reverse the reboot back to its 1984 “yay we’re here to the save the universe” fluff.

An anon recently joined in on our discussion here to suggest that maybe the trope we’re looking for regarding Allura specifically is called “xenos savior trope”? Which appears to be in reference to the larger genre concept of a foreigner of any kind outside the group being the only one who can actually save the day/that group. So it seems to be related without necessarily taking on some of the criteria I suppose I apply to white savior complex specifically….

About Allura’s sort of “Chosen One” hyper-abilities even as an Altean… You’re right that the show isn’t terribly explicit about it. Episode 1 prefaces some of Allura’s powers by referencing that they exist because her life force is tied to Voltron. I talk about it in an old meta here if you’re interested. (I also have this other meta too, where I try to argue that seasons 1-5 have details suggesting Alteans aren’t inherently a master race, but that world-building contradicts the latter half of the show which hinges on that master race concept. But the meta itself also gets into the screenshots about Allura’s life-force tie and her abilities vs. Alfor’s.) 

Ultimately, the show certainly doesn’t take time after episode 1 to reiterate why Allura would be so special, but her tie to Voltron is the only thing I can think of for why she’s on such a different level even from Honerva or Alfor, both of whom also made it to Oriande. 

I keep thinking about what it would mean to fully update VLD for modern audiences, and I wonder how things would have felt if every major race involved in the war’s scope were still represented by the paladins (reflecting the s3 OG paladin diversity, which did feel really cool). And if everyone had magical abilities but simply that different cultures had different understandings or uses of it—but that they weren’t inherently incapable of learning another’s way. I wonder how much that would have changed VLD as a show…

[pleasereadmycrap]

Never Thought I’d See You Again

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Reader

Warnings: violence, mild cursing and smut

Summary: Somebody from your past shows up on a job.

A/N: Finally something that’s not Ransom. I’m thinking of writing a prologue to this. Let me know what y’all think.

You slipped into the back room of the nightclub, escaping the noise of the main room. You tugged on your tight dress to make sure that it hadn’t rode up and was still hugging you in all of the right places.

“You asked to see me?” you said in a high and flirty voice as you slipped into the dark room.

2 men were sat across from each other at a round table, playing a hand of cards with a bottle of vodka between them. There was a larger one who you knew well. He had hired you.

The other one you were not familiar with. Although, judging from the fact that he was playing cards with one of the most powerful men in Russia and winning from the looks of it, he was equally important.

“Yes!” the larger man called out with delight in a heavy Russian accent. “This is the thief I tell you about,” he said, gesturing wildly to his friend and betraying just how much he had had to drink. “They say she can steal anything.”

“But she’s a woman,” the smaller man replied with a stiff English accent.

“And a very special one at that. Y/N, come sit! There’s always a place for you right here,” he said as he patted his lap with a wink.

“Thank you, Mr. Volkov, but you know my rules. I don’t sleep with clients.”

“Shame. Well, anyways I would like for you to meet my most favorite friend. May I present to you Mr. Studebaker.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said as you extended a dainty hand for him to shake.

“How did a pretty girl like you end up in a job like this?” he asked regarding you with a quizzical gaze.

“Times were tough after the war. You do what you can to get by,” you replied glibly. “Are we almost ready to start? You still haven't told me what you would like me to steal.”

“Oh no! We are waiting on one more associate,” Mr. Volkov said. “He is coming.”

At that moment, the other door at the back of the room burst open with a crash. Standing in the doorway was a man you never thought that you would see again, and wished to God you weren’t seeing him now.

“Mr. Winston! It is so good to see you!” Mr. Volkov called out from where he sat. Mr. Studebaker just gave the newcomer a cordial nod.

Winston. That was a new one.

“You have already met Mr. Studebaker, but you must meet the darling Miss Y/L/N.”

“We’ve met before,” Mr. Winston replied with a blinding smile in your direction. It was the same smile that used to make you melt into a puddle on sight. You just smiled tightly in response.

“Good! Good! So we are all acquainted then. Wonderful!” Mr. Volkov said heartily.

“I think it would be best if we got straight to business,” Studebaker interjected before Volkov could continue.

“Yes! Yes, of course. Straight to business! Miss Y/L/N, as you know you have been hired to steal something. Studebaker, here will provide you with the information. Winston with help with communication. From now on he will be your liaison between you and us. Studebaker?”

“Miss Y/L/N, we have heard tell that the Germans are trying to make a plane that is faster than the speed of sound and will be undetectable on our radar. We need you to find the plans for these plans and bring them to us,” Studebaker explained.

“But I thought that your governments were in control of Germany?” you asked.

“We are, but we got a bit distracted and may have given them more freedom than my government originally intended,” Volkov said, filling in the blanks. “Do you have anything to add, Mr. Winston?”

“Just that I look forward to working with Y/N again” he said with a sly smile in your direction.

“Well if that’s all gentleman, I think I’ll take a smoke outside.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N. Yes, from now on all of our plans with be related to you through Mr. Winston. He’ll be in contact shortly.” Mr. Volkov said before he stood up and exited back into the mainroom.

You stood and walked out the back door to stand in the damp alleyway behind the club. You pulled out a cigarette and placed it between your lips.

“Need a light?” came a deep voice from behind you, causing you to jump and drop your cigarette.

“What are you doing out here, Mr. Winston.”

“It’s been a long time, Y/N.”

“Not long enough,” you replied sharply.

“Look, just come back to my hotel room, and we can talk about this.”

“I don’t sleep with my clients.”

“I’m not a client and I never was,” he whispered in your ear as he pulled in by your waist. “It’s not safe to talk here and you know that. Don’t be difficult.”

“Fine,” you sighed as you leaned into his touch lightly.

After a silent cab ride back to his hotel, you finally made it to his room.

“Is the room clear?” you asked as soon as the door swung closed behind you.

“It’s clear,” he answered. “I’ve missed you Y/N.”

“It’s a pity I can’t say the same, Napoleon,” you replied quickly putting extra emphasis on his name. “Winston’s a new one. When did that happen?”

“When I blew all my old aliases, and the CIA comes up with my covers for me now.”

“You’re working for the CIA now?” you asked in disbelief.

“They backed me into a corner. I didn’t have any other options.”

“Napoleon Solo didn’t have any other options?”

“They caught me red handed. It was either this or jail!”

“Sell out,” you muttered.

“How have you kept yourself off of their radar for so long?”

“Because I don’t suffer from terminal male bravado.”

“I’m wounded,” Napoleon joked with a brilliant smile, and you could feel yourself giving in to his charm.

“So why are you here?”

“The US is worried that if the Russians get their hands on those plans, all of our international turmoil could come to a boil,” he answered. “That dress must be digging into you. Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable?”

“You’ve got to be kidding with me,” you sighed with exasperation. “That’s never happening again.”

“You can’t blame me for trying. We were so good together, Y/N.”

“You left me in Paris. I was forced to go to Belgium alone without the artwork our employers had already paid for and that you had stolen out from under my nose. I was forced to pay the consequences for that alone.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re thieves. Stealing is what we do.”

“Not from each other!” you shouted as you moved to the door. “Goodbye Napoleon. Call me when you have information about the job.”

…

“Hello,” you asked groggily as you picked up the telephone and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

Who could be calling you this early?

“Good morning, princess! Did I wake you?” Napoleon’s voice asked sarcastically on the other end of the phone.

“Do you have news about the job?”

“Yes. It’s happening tonight. I’ll pick you up at 8. You know what to wear.”

“Yes,” you said before disconnecting the phone and trying to go back to sleep.

…

That night you were waiting in the back alley of your hotel, dressed in all black, when Napoleon pulled up in his car.

“Does it have to be so flashy?” you asked as you slipped inside.

“I think it’s a perfectly fine car,” Napoleon said as he patted the dash appreciatively.

“Whatever,” you sighed, knowing that it wasn’t worth the fight. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a missile base near here. Volkov has provided us with a way in. It should be a quick job. The guards will be heavily armed though, so watch out for that. The plans are in a locked drawer in the commander’s desk. I trust you’re still good at lockpicking.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

“Okay. I’ll be covering you from the outside. You can radio if you get into trouble. You’ll meet me in the same place that I will drop you off.”

“Got it.”

“It’s a long drive to the base. How have you been?”

“Don’t try to make small talk with me, Napoleon. It doesn’t work.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Well, don’t!” you snapped.

…

When you finally reached the base, you exited the car and approached the gates furtively. You cut a hole through the wire and crawled inside. Once you were in, you found a door and picked the lock on it. You slipped inside and made your way down the narrow hallway.

According to the plans that Studebaker had obtained, the commander’s office should be just ahead on your right. When you reached the door, you were shocked to find that it was already open. You rushed to the desk and quickly located the drawer that the file was located in. You skillfully picked the lock and located the file.

You stood up from behind the desk, shocked at how easy this job had been, when you found yourself face to face with an angry German soldier wielding a gun.

With no other choice, you leapt over the table at the soldier, hoping that he wouldn’t have time to fire. You pinned him to the ground and began to punch him in the hopes of knocking him out, but unfortunately luck was not in your favor. Maybe it was something in the water that was keeping this soldier going. You finally managed to grab a mug from the desk and knock out the soldier with that.

“Uh, Solo?” you asked into the radio. “I’m gonna need that exit soon. Things aren’t looking good.”

“Got it,” came Napoleon’s staticky voice from the other end.

You raced down the hallway at top speed and flew out the door, tripping God only knows how many alarms. You could hear sirens start to blare behind you as you burst through the gates. You were closing in on Napoleon where he sat in the car that was already running. Just a few more feet, and you felt yourself get hit. You were down.

…

“Napoleon?” you asked as you sat up in bed and winced. You looked down and saw bandages wrapped tightly around your torso. “What’s going on?”

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” he said as he swept into the room.

You had never seen Napoleon look so casual before. He was wearing khakis and a T-shirt that was two sizes too small.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked as he pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed that you were laying in.

“We were on a mission. What happened?”

“You were shot.”

“How long was I out?”

“Two weeks. You’re mostly healed now. How are you feeling?”

“Good. It hurts to move a little though.”

“Well, I made you some soup. I’ll bring you a bowl, and I can get you some more medicine for the pain,” he said, heading into what you assumed was the kitchen.

“You always were a good cook,” you said as he set a bowl down in front of you.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N.”

“What about the mission? Volkov? Studebaker?”

“I told them that you had died, and the mission was a failure.”

“Thank you,” you said softly as you sipped some of your soup.

“If you want, there’s a place for you at the CIA. We could work together again.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said as you smiled softly into your chest.

“Where am I?” you asked as you took a look around at your unfamiliar surroundings.

You were in a cabin kind of place. Although it was sparsely decorated, it felt homey. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace across from you and you could smell dinner cooking in the room next to yours.

“My house.”

“We’re in the States?”

“No, I have a cabin in the south of France, and this is it.”

“When did you buy this. Why didn’t I know?”

“I bought this five years ago when I thought that you and I had a future.”

“You bought me a house?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Napoleon answered as he focused intently on the floor. “I always meant to come back for you in Belgium, but when I got there, I couldn’t find you. The men who hired us lied and said that you had left me.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have.”

You leaned up gently and pressed a soft kiss to Napoleon’s lips. He kissed you back slowly, careful not to hurt you. You pressed harder.

“Are you okay? Is this okay?” Napoleon asked as he pulled away.

“Just kiss me, Solo,” you said as you grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him closer.

You took his shirt off and ran your hands over his strong chest and arms. You had missed this. He was slowly pulling off yours, trying not to touch your bandages. He pulled off both your pants and panties in one swift motion and settled himself between your thighs. You moaned deeply as he ate you out.

“Please Napoleon,” you panted. “I want you inside of me.”

Not needing to be told twice, Napoleon finished undressing, and climbed back on top of you. He kissed you deeply, and thrust inside of you. He set a slow pace at first, but got progressively faster.

“I’m so close!” you shouted as your fingernails dug into his shoulders. You came all over his cock and he followed close behind you.

After you had both cleaned yourselves up, you snuggled into his side and sighed happily.

“You know, I think I will take that job with the CIA,” you said as you kissed him like it was something you were planning to do for the rest of your life.

[artappreciationmdc]

Art Appreciation - First Day of Class - week One 5/11/2021

Welcome to the summer session of Arh1000- ART APPRECIATION . I have sent an email to all of you so that you prepare for the semester ahead. 9 of you will be meeting me in person in room 1331 on Thursday. The rest will join us via TEAMS so please respond to the TEAMS virtual meeting when that email is sent to you on Tuesday night. 

Please note that I have been teaching this class via Tumblr since 2013. This platform works well for adding photos, artwork along with text. It is for this reason that I prefer this format to blackboard. 

This semester  you will get to learn about Art and the importance of artworks to culture and society. Though this is a very short semester, I will also give you an opportunity to engage in different art practices. 

As we go through the semester I would like you to keep the reference related to the Visual Arts. In popular culture, the terms  art and artists encompasses many platforms. As it pertains to our class we will only be dealing with 2D and 3D Art forms. 

On your first day ( Tuesday ) I would like for you to spend some time setting up the following platforms so that we may communicate throughout the semester . 

First - Create a Tumblr handle. This will be the platform for submitting your reflection papers and artworks produced. 

Second- Create a Twitter handle . This platform will be used to document visits to outdoor spaces and other venues such as museums or galleries (virtual or in person. ) 

Try and familiarize yourself with both platforms as those will be the way you submit your work for me this semester. 

Once you have set up both you will set about reading from the class textbook “ Living with Art “  by Mark Getlein, MacGraw-Hill . For week one 5/11 /2021 , you will be responsible for reading the following :

Chapter 1  titled  ‘Living with Art’ page 3-20. 

As you read the chapter pay attention to Artworks depicted  and the terms used. 

Once you have completed reading the chapter I would like you to choose TWO ARTWORKS that jump at you. You can copy paste those images from the internet to create your first class post. Create a post that addresses your reason for choosing the artworks. 

1) Note the name of the artist, the name of the work ( most works have titles ) and date. Next explain your reason for choosing these works. 

2) What do you like about them? 

3) Is it the theme, Colors, imagery ? 

4) Next , what can you say in regards to what the artwork represents ? 

5) What story, in your *opinion is being expressed ?

 Try to touch upon those points as you write  a short reflection essay as your first Tumblr post. 

Here is an example of submitting :

Hall of Bulls - Lascaux Cave, 40,000 BC. Paleolithic Period.

I see several animals, some are larger other smaller. The colors used are earth tones, some animals are in red other animals in black. All depicted in profile. Some of the animals seems as if they are getting ready to battle each other . This is noted in the bull on the left looking at the larger bull on the right. The artwork was created during the Paleolithic period over 40, 000 years ago. Thinking about society at that time, the artists of this time would have been hunter gatherers. It is my opinion that these where animals this society either hunted or domesticated. I love the quality of the lines used to describe the animals. The idea that such lines can define the weight , strength and variety of both fauna and other animals of the time for me is impressive. Beautiful work. 

This assignment should be posted on your Tumblr by 5 pm Friday , 5/14/21. Tweet your link to me on twitter to @Prof_AFresquet .

[quintessence-sentimentalist]

quintessence-sentimentalist Takes on 30 Days of W.i.t.c.h.versary!: Week Two

Another week, another seven days of WITCHversary! Days 8-14 below the cut!

Day 8 Favorite extra/special

If I’ve read all or most of the specials, I can only remember like three of them... That said, of those three I have to go with W.i.t.c.h. On Stage. 

The artwork... isn’t my favorite, and my judgment is it takes place on the cusp between the Ragorlang and New Power arcs (or New Power and... whichever one comes next), which is a time period I largely ignore, but what can I say, it’s a fun special! I’m such a sucker for “let’s talk about our adventures in the form of a fictional story” narratives (part of why I love Will’s potential future as a writer in issue 50), so this special really hit on that with the girls creating a play about being Guardians. Even more fun is the existence of M.A.G.I.C. to be their stars, although it still would have been fun to see the girls play a fictionalized version of themselves.

But most of all, this special has a [ahem] special place in my heart because this was how I discovered that there were more issues after the Ragorlang arc ended the English translations. Even though, again, I largely ignore everything that happened after that arc, it was still such an exciting time to find out that my girls still had many many more adventures after things seemingly ended.

Day 9 Favorite Guardian uniform

Ok, I’m doing Top 3 (in no particular order) because this is difficult and my favorites are favorites for different reasons.

1) Will, classic Guardian design: This is absolutely where my obsession with bell sleeves began. Also really loved those boots. I generally preferred the uniform tops to be purple and the bottoms green, so this worked for me on multiple levels. Will’s was the uniform I would totally wear myself (sporty but still with some fun, girly aspects via the sleeves), so I’ve always adored it. I don’t particularly like how New Power updated it (with the exception of the long fingerless gloves), so this is my preference for Will.

2) Cornelia, classic Guardian design: I’m in love with that off-the-shoulder neckline and the pointy sleeve hem and that long, elegant skirt. Might not be the most practical design for fighting, but it’s just so pretty that I love it regardless.

3) Hay Lin, New Power: Vast improvement over the classic design (which was cute but, well, threadbare) while still capturing its essence and Hay’s as well (all the ribbons). I also adore Hay’s buns and the rest of the hair hanging free - the change from the pigtails really made it hit home that these girls have evolved and grown up (granted, not that the narrative will let them age) over the course of the series.

Day 10 Favorite world/planet

Hmm, well, at the risk of sounding boring, I still think I’m going with Earth. I do love the design and bits of world-building we get from the other worlds (primarily with Meridian), but I appreciate how the girls’ home was developed, considering quite a bit of action still happened there.

I enjoy how Heatherfield is still something of a larger city, but also has a... not necessarily small-town feel, but I guess more like a college town or a neighborhood off of a major city. Like you still get the city experience, but there are also cozy local hangouts that’ll become your usual haunts. There’s the diner, and the dance school, and the old bookstore... maybe I’ve just lived in a few too many of these types of places myself (where I can walk into one of my favorite little shops and the cashier recognizes me immediately), but that’s the vibe I get. Plus, Heatherfield is home to a few eclectic non-magical characters who largely make up the supporting cast, so that’s fun as well.

And it’s not just Heatherfield I like. Redstone was a cool change of pace, sending some of the girls to the other side of the world and to what I still think is an awesome campus. I also liked that we got at least a glimpse at/general idea of Fadden Hills with the visits to Kadma and the Year Before special, instead of just leaving it as mere spoken reference to Will’s old home. We even get to see Open Hill after Eric moves, so I think it’s pretty cool that things on Earth aren’t just limited to the girls’ hometown like it’s the only city that exists. 

Day 11 Something awesome

Oh, I’m so tempted to do another Top Three/Top Five, but most of the ones I’d cover I’ve either already reblogged from someone else (i.e. the comic transformation sequences, the final battle in Z is for Zenith, etc.) or waxed poetic about before (*cough* everything about animated Shagon). So I’m just going to go with the top most awesome thing I have in mind.

Listen. “We Are W.i.t.c.h.” is still by far the most played song in my music library. The first time I heard the full version waaaaayyy back when was on Radio Disney during a weird hour of the day, and from then on I had the radio on every moment I could so I could catch it again. (I never did, not until I got the CD.) I still get chills and a major throwback whenever I watch the US opening sequence. Long story short, I couldn’t ask for a more kickass theme song.

Day 12 Something that made you cry

It takes some effort to make me cry (or I’ll cry at the most unexpected things), so I’m not sure anything has actually made me burst out in physical tears. But here are a few things that just get me in the heart:

1) Dormouse’s death: In the retrospect of having lost a beloved pet over the last few years, this one is more painful than I can say. Especially so when you think about it and how it was basically used as tragedy fodder after things finally start looking up for Will. (Her father’s dropped the custody case! Things are actually alright with her mom for once! They’re going for a walk to celebrate! Really, can the poor girl’s happiness last for more than two seconds???) The US English translations (via the chapter books) ended with issue/book 26, and this event is omitted entirely, with the story ending on the happy note of Thomas dropping the case and then the back-end comic excerpts being replaced by a scrapbook-like section of the girls’ adventures.

2) Cedric’s death: At least this tragedy had some sort of impact on the narrative rather than just being senseless, but it’s still painful and some of the effects of his death (read: the writing-out of Orube) are uncalled for and hurt equally as much. 

3) That first reunion with Yan Lin in Kandrakar: Tears. Happy tears, but oh so many of them.

Day 13 Something heartwarming

Hrm, that’s a tough one. My immediate thought is “everything about animated Will/Matt,” but let’s go for some new material from me for once.

Oooh! My second thought was the issue about Anna Lair and her old friends and how she came to be in Irma’s life. We don’t often have focus on the girls’ parents and who they are outside of their daughters, and Anna is fascinating because we don’t even find out until issue 25 that - despite their near-identical appearances - she’s Irma’s step-mother and not her biological mother. That reveal is dropped in as hurtful words in an argument, and this detail is pretty much forgotten for three story arcs, until we finally get this issue on Anna’s past.

It’s heartwarming to me because it hits on so many tropes I love: (flashback) focus on a minor character, a different character (in this case, Irma) bringing back around something meaningful from the focus character’s past (fulfilling the pact Anna made with her two friends and reuniting them at the beach all these years later), and a tie-in to the main plotline via the W.i.t.c.h. girls promising that - should life take them in different directions - they’ll one day meet again in Heatherfield.

And now I really want to reread this issue, it’s one of my favorite standalones...

Day 14 Something that irks you

I think we’re all in agreement when I say this, but New Power Matt is the woooooorst. And I’m just going to leave it at that because I have tried to block it from my mind as much as possible, and if I start dredging things up and talking about it we will be here for a while.

Okay, maybe just a little bit...

It just makes no sense!!!! If they framed it like Matt’s memories of Kandrakar had been sealed the whole time or he was an emissary who’d been reincarnated as a normal Earth human, and he only got his true memories back “when the time was right,” that would at least explain some things! Like yeah, his behavior would still be downright dickish, but at least I could spin him as a more sympathetic character - one struggling with who he has been and who he used to be/now is again, and that’s why he’s behaving so erratically. (This is my area of expertise when it comes to fic. I could easily and enjoyably pick apart New Power Matt’s mind if we had this for context.)

But noooooo, we’re told that he’s known about Kandrakar the entire damn time, and he just... what, flat-out lied to Will and pretended to be surprised about everything related to Guardianship? Way to make both Will and the readers feel like fools. If this the story we’re supposed to believe, was comics Will/Matt a sham this whole time, just New Power Matt trying to weasel his way into the Guardians’ inner circle until he can finally play his true role? Ugh.

Like seriously, screw this entire plot point and just give me that New Power Eric idea I had a while back that actually made sense and would have worked so much better.

[cobwebcorner]

A Meeting of Dolls

Midnight rang in with a thunderous chime from the antique grandfather clock. All through the ballroom, workers paused in their tasks, looking up from garlands of paper bats and armfuls of glittering pumpkins.

“Midnight already? We’re never gonna get all this done,” complained one stout man to his companion in the artificial corn field.

“We had a late start. So quit flappin your jaw and hurry up, we’ve still got to get this corn field set up.”

“You know, I thought Mr. McDougal was going to cancel this party, ‘cuz of all the threats,” the shorter man continued, impervious to criticism.

“Changed his mind last minute, I guess.”

“Would’ve been nicer for us if he’d changed it a few days ago.”

“Yeah, well....”

“Chick! Wilbur!”

The two men stood up, the shorter one, Wilbur, hitting his head on a corn stalk as he went. A very harried man with a clipboard in one hand and a werewolf head under the other came up to them.

“Yes, Mr. Talbot?”

“We need to start moving the animatronics out here. Can you get them from the east store room?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Chick answered, and caught the key which Talbot tossed him.

“Animatronics?” Wilbur repeated, bewildered, after Talbot had moved on to yell something at the men who were building the stage.

“You know, those big mechanical decorations that’ll jump at you when you trip a motion sensor. Like the ones they have down at Spirit.”

“Ohh, those.” Wilbur nodded, smiling. “I don’t like those. They scare me.”

“C’mon, you big wimp, they’re plastic and cloth. They can’t hurt you.”

The two men drifted away from the chaos of the ballroom, crossed winding halls decked with spider webs and black and purple streamers, to a little door tucked into a corner. Chick unlocked this with his key and opened it.

Wilbur had one look inside and jumped backward with a yelp.

The store room was packed full of massive toys, decorations, and wax figures. It would have been a marvel in the daylight, but the dark shadows painted sinister expressions on the many frozen faces, so even the 8 foot tall teddy bear and the life-size Pinocchio seemed to leer out at them.

“Get a grip, would you?” Chick snapped. He flipped the light switch, to no effect. “Huh. Bulb’s busted. Hey, grab that lantern off that wraith over there.”

Wilbur gulped and looked up at the decoration leaning next to the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” he told it, and delicately pried the lantern from its plastic fingers.

“Does it work?” Chick asked impatiently.

Wilbur switched it on, bathing the room in a cold white glow.

“That’s more like it. Leave it in the middle of the floor there. Let’s bring that coffin out first.”

“The--the coffin?”

“Yeah, you see it?”

“It’s...it’s very close to the back.”

“And it looks like it’ll take both of us to lift, so hop to it. Once we get this out we can make separate trips for the rest.”

“Oh, boy,” Wilbur sagged, not looking forward to being in this room alone.

Chick led the way to the back of the room, where the two of them could lift the bulky fake coffin between them and begin walking it back out.

“Now be very careful. These things probably cost a fortune,” Chick cautioned as they moved.

“I’ll treat ‘em with kid gloves,” Wilbur reassured him, moments before one massive, shadowy figure sprung suddenly to life as they passed it, leaping forward with arms outstretched. A tinny midi file of a man roaring played.

Wilbur shrieked and tried to scuttle sideways, knocking his end of the coffin into a big red dog. The dog toppled gently over, starting a chain reaction which led to a small avalanche of toys and decorations piling in the center of the room. Wilbur dropped his end of the coffin and hid behind one of the few wax dummies still standing.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Chick snarled. “If any of those are damaged, it’s coming out of your paycheck!”

“It-it-it-it--did you see that?” Wilbur squeaked.

“Yes, yes, I saw it. Take a good look at what you’re so afraid of.” Chick gently set his end of the coffin down so he could pick up the lantern and point it to a 7 foot tall model of Frankenstein’s monster, which had whirred back into its upright position. “You see?”

“I see it,” Wilbur admitted, not moving from his hiding spot.

“And?”

“It’s terrifying.”

“Aw, you’re hopeless.” Chick moved the lantern over to the pile of fallen figures, and winced. “We’ll have to sort all this out later. I think I see one of our animatronics at the bottom. For your sake, I hope it still works. Now get over here and help me with this box.”

With some whimpering, Wilbur did as told, and the two men waddled out with it, leaving the door to slowly creak shut on the dark store room. Only the lantern remained behind, set on the floor near the pile of figures, casting its white glow on the stitched burlap face of a scarecrow that lay at the bottom of the pile.

The scarecrow raised its head, glaring at the door, its tattered witch hat drooping over one eye. Jonathan Crane huffed to himself and let his head fall back. As enjoyable as that performance of terror had been, he did not appreciate being buried under a pile of giant toys. He added the two faces to his mental list of people to track down later for special attention.

Aside from the unpleasant detail of his lower half being crushed by a surprising amount of weight, his plans had gone off without a hitch so far. He’d made it inside the manor, with no one the wiser. One would think his antics over the past years would have made people more suspicious of scarecrows, yet no one had glanced at him twice. Gotham was truly special that way.

He struggled to move one leg to a more comfortable position, still puzzling over how much the pile on top of him weighed. Sure, there were about 4 or 5 different toys lying on his legs, all larger than a grown man, but how heavy could all that fluff and stuffing really be? The heaviest looking thing of the bunch was a life-sized ragdoll with a pure ceramic head.

As the minutes stretched out, waiting in the dark for the workmen to return, Jonathan finally noticed a soft noise which had escaped him before. A little hiss and rustle, which came in time with a gentle shifting of objects above him.

Something in the pile was breathing.

“....hello?” Jonathan whispered.

The whole pile jolted, as if a startled someone hiding in it had just jumped. Slowly, the ragdoll above him twisted its head 180 degrees, the black eyes staring lifelessly down at him. That was a neat trick, Jonathan thought with a stab of envy. He wished he could turn his head that far.

With only the frail light of the small lantern to see by, Jonathan could only just make out the ragdoll’s blank doll face and a cloud of red rope hair. Its visible arm hung at an angle which a human couldn’t possibly replicate without breaking five bones.

“Oh. Hello there,” the ragdoll said. “You scared me.”

“That’s the idea,” Jonathan replied dryly.

“Ah! You’re the scarecrow, aren’t you?”

“And you are...” Jonathan trailed off.

“You can call me Ragdoll.”

“Never heard of you.”

“A person in my line of work does better without the notoriety,” he said. “And you, sir, are stealing my gimmick.”

“Gimmick?” Jonathan repeated, bemused. “You mean, pretending to be an inanimate object?”

“Yes. I’ve slipped into half the richest homes in Gotham this way. Made off with a bundle in gems and artwork.”

“So you’re the one behind the recent rash of thefts. Everyone’s been suspecting Selina.”

“It’s not my fault so much of the best treasures in Gotham are cat-themed. And what are you doing here? You don’t seem the burglar type.”

“It’s Halloween.” Jonathan grinned behind his mask. “And I have an old score to settle with Mr. McDougal.”

“Personal, is it? A tale of sordid revenge, betrayal, that sort of thing?”

“Ah...” Jonathan thought about it. “Well, let’s just say I’m settling an old professional disagreement.” He squirmed, once more trying to budge his leg. One of his feet was falling asleep. “Would you mind getting off me?”

“Sorry, chap. If we move they’re going to notice.”

Jonathan sighed. It was going to be a long night.

##

One am, chimed the great grandfather clock in the front hall. Chick Young dusted cobwebs off his clothing as he made his way out from the ballroom. You’d think someone as rich as McDougal could hire someone to clean his store rooms once in a while, but apparently not.

Wilbur was standing outside the store room, white as a sheet and shaking.

“Oh, what now?” Chick snapped. “Why aren’t you working?”

“I--I heard--voices,” Wilbur stammered. He pointed his fingers at the door. “S-something’s alive in there, I tell ya.”

“Voices? It’s probably another animatronic that got left on. What was it saying?”

“They were discussing Shakespeare.”

“They were--” Chick broke off, glaring at his companion. “Yeah, right. You’ve been talking to Talbot too much, that’s your trouble.” He shoved the door open and swept the room with the flashlight he’d borrowed. “You see? There’s nothing but dolls and dummies in here. I’d like to see you talk literature with one of these empty heads.” He walked over and rapped his knuckles on the white ceramic head of a ragdoll.

“I heard it, Chick. I’m tellin ya. I heard what I heard when I--”

“Yeah, yeah. What exactly did you hear?”

Wilbur drew himself up. “They were talking about Hamlet,” he said.

“Hamlet?”

“Yeah. Something about how Ophelia was really murdered by Hamlet’s mother.”

“That--” Chick broke off. “You must have heard someone talking in one of the other rooms, through a wall. Now get going, we’ve still got a lot to set up. Ah--here’s the last animatronic. Help me move all this junk off it.”

Gently, the two men shifted the pile, until Chick could extricate the Scarecrow lying on the bottom.

“Well, he seems in working order,” Chick said doubtfully, after a cursory examination of the burlap-clad figure. “I’ll take him on over to the ballroom. You can stay here and clean up this mess you made.”

“U-uhhh!” Wilbur squeaked.

“What?”

“You want to leave me alone with them?” Wilbur waved a hand vaguely at the contents of the store room.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“What if-what if they try to talk to me, Chick? I-I don’t know the first thing about Shakespeare.”

Chick rolled his eyes heavenward. “Alright, alright. You take the scarecrow, I’ll clean the mess. But you owe me for this!”

“Aw, Chick, you’re a saint.”

Chick dumped the scarecrow in Wilbur’s arms, gruffly commanding Wilbur to get a move on. They were going to be here all night, at this rate. While Wilbur trotted out with his burden, Chick set to work untangling the figures and setting them upright.

A horrified shriek came from the hall, loud enough to burst eardrums at close range. Chick tripped over the lantern in his haste to get to the door, which he flung open. Any sense of urgency evaporated the moment he got a good look outside.

“Wilbur!”

“I-it tried to strangle me!” Wilbur said, pointing an accusing finger at the heap of scarecrow on the floor across from him.

“It’s an animatronic, you dummy! You must have just triggered it somehow.”

“Well I-I-I-I’m not touching it again. It’ll try to kill me.”

“Fine! I’ll carry it. And then you come back with me and we both clean up your mess!” Chick barked, coming forward to pick up the scarecrow.

Neither of them noticed the ragdoll waving goodbye before the store room door shut.

[kathrynmaslow]

Love Lies 8/15

Summary: Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go to Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change.

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that.

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness. Rating: M Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content Chapter Specific Warnings: Mild Sexual Content

Chapter Notes: Okay, I said last chapter was one of my favorites, but this chapter is my favorite that I have written for this story. I want to thank @daveyjacobsthepotterhead for all of her help and editing on this chapter, since it was going to end up much longer and we were able to turn it into something even better than I could have imagined. Thanks to @princesse-swan as well for the amazing artwork that she made to accompany this story. It is even better than I could have hoped for. Enjoy, and don’t hate me for the cliffhanger!

Read on FF

Catch up on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven

Art by @princesse-swan here and here

Chapter 8 Emma and Killian were lounging in one of the upper levels of the library, his head in her lap as she sat one of the couches. They both still liked retreating to the library to get some alone time away from their friends. Killian was reading her copy of ‘Where the Sidewalk Ends’ that he had borrowed a few days ago, while she was sketching in one of her books. She pursed her lips, working to try and get the lines right.

Things had changed between them in the last few weeks ever since the circus night. While they had never truly sat down and had the ever important ‘Define The Relationship’ talk that most people stressed over, they had eventually just moved into that significant other relationship stage.

They spent more time together than with their friends, didn’t bother correcting anyone when they referred to them as boyfriend and girlfriend, and they just kind of slid into the title.

Not that Emma minded, she liked having something to call him that implied that he was hers.

And she didn’t mind being his either.

They were still taking things relatively slow, it never having grown as intense as that night in the tunnels since, but she was surprised how comfortable she was with him.

She hadn’t been comfortable around men, besides David, since the incident, and seeing how far she had come with Killian made her hopeful that the day would come when she wouldn’t shy away from people unintentionally.

“You want to know something Swan?” Killian asked her, snapping his book shut as he peered up at her.

“What?” She replied, carding her fingers through his hair to push it off his forehead. It had grown longer seemingly overnight to her, he would likely need to get it cut soon.

“I haven’t taken you out on that proper date yet.” He said.

Emma thought back on that. What he said was true. Besides that one night at the circus, they hadn’t gone out on anything that could formally be considered a date.

Sure, they hung out all the time and got meals at the dining hall on campus, but not many people would constitute that as a date.

Killian smiled up at her as he watched the thoughts flit across her face.

“Okay, I’m game. What did you have in mind?” She asked, looking forward to the evening. If it was anything like how the circus went, she was in for a good night.

“How about you let me plan the evening love. I’m sure I can scrounge something up to live up to those high expectations of yours.” He suggested.

Emma laughed in response to that. “Do your worst Killian.”

“You looked like you were deep in thought up there for a minute before I interrupted you, what were you thinking about Love?” He asked.

She cringed internally. There were still things about her past that she wasn’t entirely comfortable telling him about. She picked what she thought would be safe.

“Us. How things have changed over the last few weeks. That night in the alcoves.” She said, looking down at him.

Killian grinned up at her sinfully. “Really, hmm.” He said before pushing up to kiss her.

Emma smiled into the kiss, she would never be able to get enough of his kisses.

When he broke away from her, he leaned over to snatch up her book, curious as to what she had been drawing.

Killian barked a laugh when he saw it, looking at her with something like love shining in his eyes.

On the page staring back at them was a sketch of two figures tucked into a corner, a larger figure pressing a smaller body back into the wall, locked in a passionate embrace.

o.O.o

“I can’t believe you guys are going out tonight, right as we are all leaving campus for holiday breaks. Totally not cool Emma.” Ruby admonished from her place on Emma’s bed.

Emma had invited both of her girlfriends over to help her try and figure out what she was going to wear for the night. Killian hadn’t given much away as to what his plans were for the evening, just to dress for a nice dinner on campus.

There weren’t that many nice dining places on campus, so Emma was fairly certain he was going to bring her to either the Italian restaurant or the Mexican place right between the upper and lower campuses. Even though they couldn’t technically leave the campus to go out somewhere actually upscale and nice, it was still something different than eating lunch together at the dining hall on campus.

“Oh, leave her alone about it Ruby. It’s likely so she doesn’t have to deal with anyone hounding her about her evening for a while,” Mary Margaret said, throwing a stern look over at Ruby when she said ‘hounding’.

“Hey now, while I appreciate the canine related word play, I never said that I would get all over Emma’s case about every detail of what happened on her evening out. Nope, wasn’t insinuating that at all.” Ruby said sarcastically, rolling her eyes dramatically at Emma through the mirror.

While She and Ruby had never been the closest of friends, Emma had always been a bit closer to Mary Margaret, something in their friendship had changed after the circus.

The morning after that night, instead of bugging Emma how her night had been; because Ruby knew that she had stayed with Killian for the night, Ruby just smiled at her and continued on with the conversations that she was having with Mary Margaret. Emma was surprised, but at the same time thankful. That night meant something to her, more than she initially realized, and she was glad that her friends weren’t traumatizing her about it.

“Okay, what do you guys think of this one?” She asked, turning around to hold up a red dress against her body.

Ruby let out a low whistle. “Damn, you would look so hot in that one Ems.”

Emma flushed in response.

“I’m just saying, maybe you should wear something a little more toned down. I don’t think you are trying to get laid tonight, right?” Ruby asked.

Ruby was right, but there were painfully few nice dresses in her wardrobe that she could wear out on a colder night. Emma groaned and hung it up on the rack.

“Why is this so difficult?!” She yelled, turning away from her closet and slumping back on the bed between the two of them.

“Maybe it is because this is something more than just a casual hang out with Killian,” Mary Margaret said quietly next to her, “This is your first real date with him, right?”

“By his crazy standards, yes,” Emma said. She still considered that night at the circus to be their first date. It was her first date at least.

“See, maybe because you are putting all of this pressure on the evening, it is stressing you out more than it would normally would.” Ruby said. “Try and relax. What would you like to wear for the evening?”

“If I knew I could get away with it, I would probably go out in leggings and a t-shirt.” Emma grumbled. She knew Killian well enough to know that he had something over the top planned.

“Okay, but what do you think you can be comfortable in for the night? Forget about the weather and everything, what would you be truly comfortable in?” Ruby said, trying to put her at ease.

With those words in her head, Emma glanced back at her closet. She was putting a good bit of stress on the fact that she was worried about being cold for the evening. There was a dress in the back of her closet that she had been itching to wear for a while, but had never found the right occasion.

She walked over and dug through, finding the knee length pink dress tucked in with a bunch of other clothes she hadn’t worn for a while.

“Oh, Emma! It’s perfect,” Mary Margaret gushed, placing her hands against her cheek.

“Yeah Emma, Killian won’t know what hit him!” Ruby said, smiling at her.

Emma smiled back, turning to hold the dress up to her body in the mirror. Things were starting to look up.

o.O.o

After Mary Margaret and Ruby left to go and pack for school break, Emma sat down and got to work on her hair and makeup. She still had a bit of time before Killian was supposed to be picking her up, but she just wanted everything to be perfect.

She looked over next to her mirror and smiled softly at the purple teddy bear sitting there.

Initially after the circus, she had thought she lost the keepsake, forgetting it back in the grandstands when her and Killian had run off to go exploring. When she returned to her room the following morning, however, the bear was sitting there outside of her door, with a card attached. Surprisingly, it was from the fire-wielder at the show, repeating his words to her from during his performance. She was so touched by the fact that the gentleman had noticed that she lost her token from Killian and went through all the effort to track her down and return it that she teared up a bit.

It was a great reminder of that night, and that there was a place out there for someone with her abilities, even if it wasn’t what she had initially thought it would be.

Sticking the last of the pins up in her hair, she gave herself a final once over before moving to slip into her dress.

Once she had the back zipped up, she did a check once again in the full length mirror on the back of her door. Smoothing her hands down her skirt, she honestly felt a little silly for a moment.

She never dressed up for anything, let alone anything this nice, and the blush dress with the flowing skirt and heels were hardly something that she would consider her style.

A loud knock on the door broke her out of her thoughts and she smiled, he always did have the best timing.

Opening the door, she took a step back to admire what Killian was wearing for the night. Dark-washed blue jeans with a dark blue shirt under a silk waistcoat and leather jacket to finish up the ensemble. It looked like he had even trimmed his hair for the night.

“Like what you see darling?” Killian asked, raising a signature eyebrow at her.

Emma snorted a laugh, “Like you don’t already know the answer to your question.”

Killian took his hand out from behind his back and extended a single rose to her. “For you Love.”

She took it from him, giving him a peck on the lips in thanks, and turned around to put it in a small vase she had in her room. After giving her room one quick look over to make sure everything was turned off, she grabbed her clutch and keys and took his offered hand.

Thankfully as they walked across campus in the direction of the Italian restaurant, it was still sunny out, holding off the chill of the night. She had left her coat back in her room on purpose, hoping to snag Killian’s jacket again at some point during the night.

Emma let go of his hand only long enough for Killian to open the door for her, taking his hand once again as they entered the warmth of the restaurant.

“Jones, reservation for two,” He said to the hostess. She nodded as she grabbed two of the menus, gesturing for them to follow her into the seating area. Most of the staff on campus at the restaurants and such were people who didn’t live or go to school on the campus, so they were able to be open during the breaks when most people left.

Some of them possibly could have been former high risk students that lived in the community near the campus, as this was one of the few places in the country that they were allowed to work.

As the waitress stopped at their table, Killian moved in front of Emma and pulled her chair out, waiting for her to sit down before moving to take his own seat across from her. The hostess handed them both menus and listed the drink specials for the night before letting them know their waitress would be with them shortly.

Emma flipped open her menu and began looking through her options.

“Do you want anything to drink tonight Love? My treat.” Killian said.

Emma looked up at him over her menu. “No thanks, maybe not tonight.”

“What, worried you will find me even more irresistible after a few libations?” Killian asked, tucking his tongue in his cheek and grinning at her saucily.

Emma laughed. “No silly, that isn’t what I meant at all.”

“Just one drink Emma. I know you don’t particularly care for alcohol, and I don’t want you to be forced into drinking something, but a glass of wine is essential to any Italian meal.” Killian said, leaning over and taking her hand in his.

Emma really couldn’t say no him. “Fine, ONE glass.”

Their waitress finally arrived, taking down the order for a glass of wine for each of them and glasses of water. The waitress left to give them a few more minutes to look over the menu.

“What are you thinking about getting tonight Swan?” Killian asked, flipping through his own menu.

“I was thinking of having the chicken alfredo, but there really isn’t anything on this menu that you could go wrong with,” She said.

“Eat here often?” He asked.

“Mary Margaret, Ruby and I alternated girls night once a month between here and the mexican restaurant down by lower campus. So over about 3 years, you get to know a menu pretty well. I think between the three of us we have tried everything on the menu.” She said, chuckling a bit as she thought back on those nights. Her friends always knew how to have a good time out.

“Any recommendations?” Killian asked.

The dinner continued on in much the same manner, the two of them asking questions and bantering answers back and forth. Food and alcohol passed easily between the two of them, and Emma found that one glass of wine turned into three glasses, her and Killian laughing over funny stories about both mutual and different friends.

After they finished sharing a piece of chocolate cake and ice cream for dessert, Killian stood and extended his hand.

“Come on Love, I have somewhere I want to show you.”

Emma gladly took his hand, letting him help her up from her seat. As they walked out into the night air, Emma shivered, now thoroughly wishing for her coat.

Killian noticed almost immediately, pulling his hand from her’s and shrugging out of his coat and placing it on her shoulders.

“Thanks,” She said, grateful for the warmth of the leather.

Killian threw his arm over her shoulders, his hand wrapping around her right shoulder and pulling her into his side.

Emma smiled wrapping her arm around him as well, keeping herself tucked firmly into his side.

“Where are we going?” She asked as he led them in the direction of the science building.

“Somewhere that I like to go when I just want to be alone. It seems that I have taken over your quiet space, so it only seems fair that I show you where I normally go if I want to brood in peace.” Killian said as he pulled his ID out and bumped it against the readers on the door.

After the light blinked green, he pulled the door open for her, following her in and guiding her over to the elevators.

“Should I be concerned that this is the start of some horrible horror movie?” Emma joked as they rode the elevator up to the top floor.

“Ha Ha, very funny Swan.” Killian drawled. “No, this was something Dr. Hopper showed me a few months ago, not long after I arrived on campus.”

The elevator doors opened, revealing a small atrium before another set of double doors. “J.K. Roe Planetarium” was written in fading wording across the glass doors.

Emma opened her mouth and then shut it again, not having words. She followed Killian into the planetarium, continuing up the stairs to the upper levels of the domed building.

Killian flicked a light switch on the side of the room, illuminating a board of controls along the wall. He looked over the controls with a practiced eye, selecting a number of buttons and pressing in a code before looking back over at Emma expectantly.

She looked up in awe as the sliders covering the roof of the building slid open, revealing a cloudless night sky to them.

Killian tugged her hand again, leading her over to a pallet of blankets and pillows that was laid out over the floor under the roof.

Emma smiled as she laid down next to him, staring up at the stars above them.

“Killian, this is amazing.” She said. Normally the barrier obscured the stars from them, making them not as clear or in focus as they seemed to be here.

“Dr. Hopper noticed during the first few weeks that I was in his class that I was struggling. I didn’t know my place here, and I was still reeling from my discharge from the Navy and relocation here. So he invited me up here to see if this was somewhere I would like to spend some of my time. I just do some simple housekeeping around up here, but he allows me to come in any time I want to just lay out and study the stars.”

Emma looked over at him, but he wasn’t looking over at her, focused on the stars in front of him. How beautiful he was in that moment struck Emma like a ton of bricks.

That feeling that was sort of like love that had been blooming under her chest over the last few weeks grew warmer, pulling her under.

In that moment, Emma Swan knew she was in love with him.

Killian continued talking, not knowing the revelation that had just occurred next to him. “It reminds me of those nights out at sea with the Navy, when I was out patrolling on deck and could catch a moment to sit and admire the stars.” He sighed in what sounded like longing. “The stars are different here, and the barrier doesn’t allow us to see them that well, but it helps me remember where I came from. And that me being here doesn’t change that.”

Killian looked over at her, smiling softly when he saw her looking over at him.

“I don’t think I have mentioned it yet tonight, but you look amazing Emma.” He said, brushing the back of his gloved hand down her cheek.

Emma blushed not knowing how to respond to the complement. She turned and pointed up at the stars, “Do you know any of the constellations?”

“I would be a poor sailor if I didn’t Love,” Killian said, chucking a bit. He pointed up towards the sky, “That right there is the North Star. That is essentially your home point. I can always find my way anywhere if I can find the North Star.”

Emma listened, fascinated, as he continued to explain the constellations in the night sky, going over some of the finer details and some of the mythology behind the constellations they could see.

“Which one is your favorite?” She asked, leaning against him more, her arms wrapped around the arm closest to her.

He pointed towards the bottom of the open area of the roof that they were looking through, “That one right there.” He looked over at her, “That one is Cygnus, the Swan.”

Emma felt like she could melt because of the look in his eyes, and she leaned over and pressed her mouth into his, overcome with emotion.

His hand came around to the back of her head, keeping their lips locked together as they moved closer to one another. Emma untangled their arms a bit and pushed up, moving her torso over his, pressing her body in closer.

Killian groaned into her mouth, his hand and wrist moving down her back under her borrowed jacket. Emma kissed him harder, her tongue slipping into his mouth when he broke away for a quick breath. His hand landed on her hips, and using his wrist he lifted her up so she was straddling his hips.

Emma broke away and both of them groaned at the contact. God. He was so warm underneath her, like he had his own flames burning under his skin. Killian pushed up, fusing his mouth to hers as his hand on her waist pulled her tighter to him.

Her hands moved to shove into his hair, pulling on the strands and Killian nipped her lip in return.

“Minx,” He growled into her mouth. She smiled into the kiss and tugged on his hair again, loving his responsiveness to her.

Killian’s hand dragged down her lower back and over her ass, settling on her thigh just under her dress. He squeezed her thigh, and Emma rocked her hips into his.

Emma groaned into his mouth. She could feel him, hard and burning through his jeans against her.

Killian pulled back from her mouth. They both were out of breath.

“Maybe we should take this back to my place love.” He said, it coming out as more of a question than not to her ears.

He didn’t know whether she wanted this, wanted him.

“My dorm is closer,” She said against his lips. “Besides, my bed is bigger.”

He grinned before pulling her those last inches to place another breath-stealing kiss on her lips.

It was a couple more minutes before they finally pulled themselves apart to make their way back to her dorm building. They both chased one another in their hurry, making a game out of the run back.

If the other caught up to them, they would get punished. It normally meant minutes of long kisses stolen against trees or other buildings on campus, delaying what could have been a quick trip back across campus.

They finally made it to her building, the night guard looking the other way as they came stumbling through the doors, laughing with messed up hair and clothes still slightly askew.

He pressed into her from behind as they came to a stop in front of her room, kissing against her neck. Emma struggled to focus as she dug around in her small clutch for her keys. Finally, she pulled her keys out and, after a momentary lapse in focus when his hand brushed around her front, skimming underneath her breast, she shoved them in the door.

The door opened and they both stumbled in, Killian immediately grabbed her and pushed her back against the door. Emma moaned as his lips latched onto her neck, sucking a mark at the juncture of her shoulder. She grabbed onto his shoulders, fingernails digging in as she searched for some kind of anchor in the swirl of emotions flowing through her body. She dimly remembered the last time things got this heated between them, and made a slight effort to remember to keep her core temperature down, so as not to burn him this time.

He pulled back from her only slightly as his hand grabbed the top collar of his (her) jacket and pulled, trying to get if off her. She moved to help, both of them stumbling again as she got her arms out of the sleeves and pressed herself back against him as the jacket fell to the ground.

Killian’s hand found the tie holding her hair back, yanking it roughly out of her hair and shoving his hand into her locks as they tumbled down her back. His other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her roughly against his body. It made it a bit more difficult for her to reach her hands between them and undo the buttons on his vest, but not impossible.

She pushed the offending fabric off his shoulders and began working on the buttons of his shirt.

“You are wearing too many clothes.” She complained as they pulled back for a split second for a breath.

“You weren’t complaining earlier if I recall.” He said, nipping at her lips again.

She nipped at his back, loving the growl that he made.

The final button came loose on his shirt and she ran her hands over his chest as he pulled her back to his mouth with a hand at the back of her neck.  

Killian guided them across the room until the back of her legs hit the edge of her bed, both of them tumbling back onto the bed.

He braced most of his weight on his blunted arm, his hand trailing along her neck and down between her breasts. He was saying something to her, but she barely heard him.

Unable to stop it, Emma tensed, flashing back to when she was 12.

Another body, a heavier weight settled against her and she started fighting back, not able to tell the difference between her memories and what was really happening.

Emma slammed her hands into his bare chest, causing him to curse and stumble back off her as she continued to lash out at him.

In her panic and scramble to get him off her, she tumbled off the other side of her bed, pushing away until her back hit the wall, she wrapped her arms around her legs and pulled them against her chest in an effort to cower away.

Slowly, some of her awareness was coming back.

People were talking around her.

“Emma, Emma! It’s okay. I’m not touching you. Look at me Emma. I’m not touching you.”

Killian.

That was when she noticed that the other voice she was hearing was her own. Over and over she was muttering, “don’t touch me, don’t touch me.”

She blinked a few times, the darkness starting to recede a bit. Killian knelt a few feet away from her, looking at her with a concerned expression on his face. His hand and wrist were held up to show that he wasn’t touching her at all.

Emma’s eyes snagged, however, on the twin burns shaped like handprints on his chest.

[cha0ticmimzy]

Chapter VIII: Dinner For...

Author’s Notes: Can we appreciate that word count? But this chapter is relatively tame. Though, the next chapter gets spicy and I’m READY TO POST IT after I read through it to make sure I didn’t mess up. BUT IN THIS CHAPTER you see a little bit of politics, a little bit of dorkiness, some DANCING.  Word Count: 4567 Warnings: None. Rating: Mature.

This was a good dinner enough, to be sure, but it was not a dinner to ask a man to.

The walk down to the formal dining hall was full of chatter from Aurora, talking about herself, Ravus, the family, how Insomnia differs from Tenebrae. She asked about his family (he’d become an expert at lying about his family by the age of fifteen), if he had any pets (she was excited to learn about his corgi), if he had any hobbies or talents. It had helped to relax him, truly- as did the warm hand upon the small of his back. Finally, he worked up the courage to ask the question that had been eating at him.

“Why aren’t you like, freezing to the touch?” He asked, brows furrowing as he looked over to his right, where Ravus walked. “Like, I thought all vampires were supposed to the cold- like a dead body?” His cheeks flushed a dark red as a snort of amusement escaped Ravus.

“While we are, technically, dead- we are not fully dead. Our body still holds blood within it. There’s a long-winded explanation I could give and the full science behind it, why we’re able to breed, why we still require blood- but that would take longer than we currently have.” Ravus explained, before removing his hand and stepping forward. Prompto startled, eyes wide as he realized that the mahogany doors they were at lead to the formal dining hall. Oh.

“You’ll be fine, Prompto. Remember, elbows off the table, back straight, and wait until everyone is served before eating. Sit across from Noctis, not beside. Rise when Regis and Sylva arrive, and do not sit until they have.” Aurora whispered to him, her lips almost brushing against his ear. He nodded, eyes wide, blood rushing in his ears. He felt Aurora squeeze his shoulders before the doors were opened, revealing the massive formal dining room.

On the wall to the far left, a large fireplace in the shape of a lion’s maw sat, a fire crackling softly within it. A few small chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling- which was so high that he could barely see the top, he noted. The chandeliers hung low enough to cast decent lighting, but not low enough to touch. At least, not without standing on the table. Or a chair. Or the shoulders of a very tall man. They were small- at least, smaller than the one that hung over the long oak table. Each one was made of glass, a perfect, smaller replica of the large one hanging low- low enough to touch. To the far right lay a set of double doors- no doubt, leading to the kitchen. He could smell food cooking- his stomach rumbled, but he found himself wondering just what was being cooked behind those doors. The floor was a deep, rich mahogany that shined, freshly polished, as if shoes had never before touched its surface. The walls were a deep maroon, golden trim work acting as an accent.

The table itself was a piece of artwork, the color such a rich, deep brown, it was nearly black. There were places set up- one at each end, and then five chairs on either side of the table. As they approached, he took note of who was there already. A man, one of the ones he’d seen with the king, and Lady Lunafreya. Aurora took him by the arm and lead him to his place, across from where he assumed Noctis would be sitting. She took her seat beside him, placing herself between him and Ravus. Lunafreya sat beside the large seat at the end, no doubt where the Lady Sylva would sit.

His stomach was filled with butterflies holding razor blades.

“Calm down,” Aurora murmured, reaching beneath the table to give his hand a quick squeeze. “It’ll all be fine. Just breathe.”

Breathe, right. He could do that. Breathe in, and then out. Maybe. Watch him be the first human without asthma to completely fail at breathing like a normal person would.

“So, you are the troublemaker?” The soft voice held a thicker accent than Ravus’ own but made Prompto nearly leap out of his seat. Cornflower blue hues widened as he turned, meeting the lavender gaze of Lunafreya. Her eyes held more of a red hue than Ravus’ did. “We’ve not formally met yet. I’m Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, second in line to the throne of Tenebrae, and the next Priestess.” She introduced, flashing a smile that bordered on threatening.

“Right- I’m, ah. Prompto Argentum, your highness.” He greeted, giving her a nervous grin in response. Luna hummed, sharpened nails painted a delicate ivory tapping upon the table top.

“You’re… Different.” She began, leaning forward. “The way you smell is-”

“There they are!” Aurora quickly interjected, rising from her seat as Noctis made his way in with Ignis and Gladiolus training behind. Noctis looked… Amazing. The suit he wore was simple- black and dark grey pinstripe, a black button-down shirt beneath, with a tie of the richest navy. His hair had been tamed somewhat, less of the bedhead mess it’d been earlier. Ignis wore a suit of maroon, which was surprisingly flattering; it made the green of his eyes stand out behind the black, thin rimmed glasses. Behind them trailed the big guy- Gladio? He wore a deep grey suit with a tie that matched Ignis’ suit- and, now that Prompto looked closer, he realized that Ignis wore a bowtie the same color of Gladio’s suit.

“Glad to see you survived.” Gladio teased as he rounded the table, taking the seat beside Prompto. Ignis sat across from Gladio, and Noctis took the seat directly across from Prompto. “No hard feelings from earlier, yeah?” He asked, thick arm draping over the back of his chair.

“I do hope you’ll forgive my earlier actions,” Ignis spoke softly as he settled into his chair, head tilting to the side. “I’m afraid I acted purely on instincts.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine!” Prompto quickly replied, voice pitched higher than what he’d intended to sound. Cheeks flushing, he looked away, focusing instead upon the table. A silence fell over the table, the only sound that of the cooks working, fixing their food. Glancing up, he caught Noctis staring at him, causing the prince to startle and sit up straighter. Cute, he thought to himself, a smile curling the edges of his lips upwards.

Ravus cleared his throat, drawing attention towards the silverette. “So, Noctis,” he began leaning forward with a mischievous glint to his lavender eyes. “I’m curious- did you purposefully dress up tonight for our esteemed guest?” He teased, drawing forth a laugh from around the table, Gladio’s being the loudest. Prompto watched in awe as Noctis’ cheeks darkened in hue.

“I dressed up because I wanted to.” The prince defended himself with a pout, slumping back in his seat as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Liar, you spent over an hour trying to figure out what tie color would be best.” Gladio replied with a smirk, mirroring Ravus as he leaned forward, though his smirk seemed far harsher compared to Ravus’. Noctis slumped further down, lip jutting out in a pout.

“Well,” Aurora interjected, coming to Noctis’ defense. “I think that the prince looks rather handsome tonight! It certainly is a pleasant change.” Prompto couldn’t help but smile and nod in agreement, watching as Noctis’ eyes widened, his confidence returning as he straightened up slightly. “Though, I’d love to fix your hair-”

“Get up.” Lunafreya interrupted. Her voice was soft, her words barely heard and yet seeming to boom through the room simultaneously. Quickly, they all rose to their feet, the sound of chairs scraping along a marble floor echoing out, creating a harsh chorus. A moment passed before the door opened, revealing the men that had been with Regis that first night. He couldn’t recall their names… Though the woman that walked alongside Regis was what made Prompto freeze.

Lady Sylva Nox Fleuret, Queen Regent of Tenebrae. She stood tall and proud, her shoulders squared, chin raised. Her dress was a fitted evening gown of white, flowing down to the floor. She looked ethereal, her skin almost seeming to glow in the golden light of the formal dining room. She wore no crown, instead letting her hair flow long and free down past her shoulders, stick straight and pale blonde. Her lips were tinted a curious color, not quite red but not quite purple, somewhere in the middle, and her eyes were ringed with black kohl. She commanded the room in a way that Prompto had never witnessed. As for the men she walked with…

King Regis stood tall and proud despite the prominent limp. Before Prompto had been born, there had been a great battle, one that Regis was injured in, causing his leg to be injured grievously. Rumor has it, that he’s lucky he was able to keep it. Yet despite that, he was still handsome, a charming smile upon his lips, his facial hair trimmed to perfection, wine red hues glinting with humor. He wore a suit of onyx, the button down beneath the jacket solid black, accompanied by a solid, wine red tie. A metal brace encircled his left knee, and a menacing cane was clutched in his right hand.

The men behind him were in suits, as well; the one with the dark brown hair and intense blue eyes wore a suit of navy and black, with a sky black tie. He was lean, slight, but he had a subtle strength to his movements. His companion wore a suit of ash grey that did absolutely nothing to hide the muscles that lurked beneath. Now that Prompto looked closer, he noted that the larger of the two held quite the resemblance to Gladio; perhaps he was his father? That would make sense…

Regis walked completely around the table, pulling out Lady Sylva’s chair before pushing it in for her, before going to his own chair. All together, they took their seats. A silence crept across the room, and Prompto felt the sudden urge to start fidgeting, his left leg tensing beneath the table.

“Shall we begin?” Regis asked, a smile curling his lips. As if on cue, the doors to the kitchen opened, and food began to pour out, carried upon silver trays. The servants- or would it be wait staff? Prompto wasn’t sure- moved with startling ease despite the heavy trays they carried. “I do hope you enjoy pasta, Prompto.” Regis spoke up, causing Prompto to startle. “Linguine Carbonara is the only thing we could all agree on.” He joked, causing a soft round of laughter to fill the room.

“It’s my favorite.” Prompto managed to get out, offering a nervous, small smile. Beside him, Aurora reached over, patting him on the hand twice before reaching out, taking hold of her freshly filled wine glass. At first, he thought it was simply red wine. However, upon closer inspection, he realized it was far too thick to be considered a wine, and his stomach churned at that realization. Blood. They were drinking blood. Though, the man in the navy suit who came in with Regis had his glass filled with actual wine; red, Prompto noted. So… Was he human?

“So, Prompto,” the smooth, silken voice of Lady Sylva had his head turning, meeting the deep red violet gaze of the vampire. “Noctis mentioned that you’re a photographer. How long have you been interested in it?” A normal topic. Prompto released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Since I was a kid. My mom bought me my first camera when I was eight- it was one of those simple little digital cameras.” He replied with a flush, flashing a bright smile. “And from then on, I fell in love with it. I… At my apartment, I have a small collection of antique cameras, actually.”

“Antique cameras?” Ravus asked, a brow raising in curiosity. “How many do you have?”

“The last time I checked, it was around six or seven. They can get pretty expensive, so I don’t get to get every single one I see.”

“Do they still work?” Came Lunafreya’s voice as she leaned forward, resting her chin upon her hand.

“Some do- some of them are missing parts, one of them’s missing it’s lens, and you just… You can’t, y’know, find the lens for it anywhere anymore. They don’t make them anymore.” Prompto explained, only to pause as his plate was set before him. The pasta looked perfect- picture perfect. And the salad that came with it looked almost fake with how green the lettuce was, how perfect the parmesan shavings were.

“You work for the Insomnia Times, correct?” Regis asked, voice soft, velveteen. Prompto managed a nod, watching as the king cut into- something. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the meat was made of. “Do you like it there?”

“Yeah- yes, it’s nice. I have a good position; I work as a field photographer, so I’ll go out and get pictures of accidents or events.”

“So, you’re like a glorified paparazzi?” Gladio asked, amusement evident in his tone. It made Prompto pause, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

“I wouldn’t-”

“I think that’s an amazing job.” Noctis spoke up, gaze trained not on Prompto, but on Gladio. “Someone needs to be out there, documenting what’s happening. Otherwise, history wouldn’t be recorded.” An uneasy silence settled across the table as Noctis and Gladio had a silent battle with their eyes, daring the other to speak up.

“Well,” the man with the shaved head spoke up, clearing his throat. “As lovely as this all is, we should eat before our food goes cold.”

“Yes, we should!” Aurora agreed, perking up.

Regis took hold of his wine glass and raised it up, causing those at the table to mimic him. “A toast- to our new friend, to new routes opening, and to the history that is about to be made.” Quietly, the members of the dinner agreed before beginning to dig into their food.

The pasta was heavenly. The sauce was perfect. Prompto found himself eating slower than he normally would because he wished to savor the food. That, and to distract himself from the fact that on either side of him sat a vampire, who was eating- what he desperately hoped- was a slab of extremely rare cooked meat. Cornflower blue hues glanced from his own plate to across the table, catching Noctis staring at him. A smile curled his lips as he watched Noctis panic, magenta hues widening as his cheeks colored. A soft snort escaped Prompto, prompting Aurora to look up and watch the scene unfold.

“So, Noctis,” she spoke up, causing the prince to send her a desperate look that Prompto read as “please don’t do this”. The woman had no sympathy. “How long do you plan on housing Prompto here?” She asked, causing all eyes to suddenly be glued on the pair of boys. Noctis shifted in his seat, frowning.

 “As long as he wishes to stay.” He answered with a shrug, directing his gaze back towards Prompto.

“And you, Prompto? How long do you wish to stay?” Aurora asked, head tilting to the side to study him. Swallowing the pasta that remained in his mouth, he thought over the question.

“Well… I mean, I wouldn’t mind staying for a few days? But I have a job, and my dog, and my plants…” He trailed off, shrugging. “So, a few days, maybe four? At most.” He decided with a nod. Though, he noticed the way Noctis’ shoulders seemed to sag at his answer. Brow raising, he opened his mouth to ask, only to be interrupted by Ravus.

“You’ll be attending the Gala, I assume?”

 “Gala?” Prompto echoed, eyes widening in surprise. “I… Hadn’t planned on it? It’s invitation only, and I’m just a- a commoner-”

“Nonsense!” Ravus shook his head, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back, before staring Noctis down. “Noctis will invite you. Won’t you?”

“Of course.” Noctis replied with a scowl, before wiping the expression from his face. “Only if you want to attend, though.”

“I… It’d be an honor!”

“Good.”

As dinner continued, the conversation topics easing from one into another. Prompto felt himself relaxing, even laughing as the bald man- Clarus, Gladio’s father, he’d been told- recalled a story with Regis and a man named Weskham, who was not in attendance. By the time dinner was finished, he’d relaxed into the way they worked. He’d been in the middle of laughing when the feeling of a foot creeping along the inside of his calf made him freeze, cheeks heating up. It couldn’t be Aurora nor Gladio, which left…

 Noctis.

Sparing the other a quick glance, he found the prince staring at him once more. Only, this time, he didn’t look away. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on his face. Swallowing around a suddenly dry mouth and throat, he reached out for his wine glass, only to knock it, and Gladio’s, over accidentally. A sound of surprise escaped him as he reached out, and before anyone else could react, had grasped both glasses and set them right once more.

Silence filled the room.

“Impressive… Reflexes.” Gladio commented, golden hues wide in surprise. Prompto gave a nervous titter of laughter, withdrawing his hand. His heart beat hard within his chest, blood rushing through his veins, echoing in his ears.

“I do believe we should all retire for the evening.” Regis broke the stunned silence, gaze locked upon Prompto.

“I agree,” Sylva echoed, slowly rising from her seat. Regis rose from his, and as one, the rest of the table rose. Lunafreya joined Sylva this time, looping her arm with her mother’s. Regis was flanked by Clarus and Cor as the left the dining room together. Prompto could just make out the murmured tones of conversation as the door closed, leaving the remaining six within.

Ravus cleared his throat as he stepped away from the table, hand outstretched to take Aurora’s. “That was entertaining, to say the least. Who knew you had such good reflexes?” His tone was joking, thought the tension didn’t waver within the room.

  “I have an idea!” Aurora declared, leaning into Ravus with a giddy grin before she turned her attention to the four still standing awkwardly at the table. “Come to the ballroom with us!”

“The… Ballroom?” Noctis questioned, a brow raising. “Aren’t they decorating for the Gala?”

“They are, but they should be done for the night. And the night is still young! Plus,” her smile turned mischievous, wicked, as she stepped over to Prompto, draping her arms over his shoulders. “Prompto most likely doesn’t know how to dance- properly.”

“She has a point,” Ignis chimed in, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You will need to know how to dance for the Gala.”

“I-… If Noctis wants to?” Prompto answered uncertainly, looking over at Noctis who looked, for lack of a better term, like a deer in the headlights. It prompted a snort to escape him, which caused Aurora to let out a giggle.

A sigh left Noctis before he shrugged, hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “Why not?”

A cheer left Aurora as she quickly linked her arm with Prompto. Together, the pair led the men from the dining room, giggling and laughing. Perhaps it was the wine, or maybe leftover nerves spilling over, but Prompto hadn’t felt this excited in a while. Aurora paused them as she looked over her shoulder, lip jutting out in a pout. “They’re so slow.”

“What was that?” Ravus called back, a brow raised. “We’re slow?”

“Oh, we can’t have that.” Ignis murmured, unbuttoning his waist coat. “Can we, Gladio?”

“No, we can’t.” The large vampire agreed, flashing a toothy grin.

Aurora released Prompto’s arm quickly before taking off in a sprint- one he would never have been able to keep up with. The trio took off after her, leaving Prompto behind to walk with Noctis.

Prompto’s eyes were wide as he stared at the retreating figures. “That’s… Fast.” A snort from Noctis brought him back to earth. Quietly, he walked alongside the Prince, enjoying the silence between them. “The architecture here is gorgeous. I-… If you don’t mind, I’d love to get some photographs of it? I know you guys don’t let paparazzi inside, so there aren’t many photos of how it looks in here. And it’s a shame, because this architecture- it’s Gothic, and calls back on some of the oldest parts of Insomnia, and I’m rambling.”

Noctis was smiling as he listened, magenta hues studying the blond. “I’ll have to clear it with dad, but… I don’t see a problem with it. I’ve been saying we need to let the public in more, instead of creating a protective barrier to keep us in and keep them out.”

“Good idea- oh. Is this the ballroom?”

“About time! Come on, slowpokes!” Gladio called out as they entered into the grand ballroom. It was in the midst of being decorated, tables set out but not yet covered, fabric sat in heaping piles of satin and silk, rich reds and deep burgundies. The ceiling was tall, and as Prompto studied it, he found that there were paintings across it, depicting the creation of man. Beautiful.

“Now, Ignis, are you alright to play?” Aurora asked, watching as Ignis took his place at the piano.

“I heal quickly. I’m fine,” he assured, though his words reminded Prompto of what had happened earlier. A grimace crossed his face.

“Good!” Clasping her hands before her chest, she turned, dress swirling out about her knees. “Ravus, you’ll teach Prompto!” She all but ordered, watching as her soon-to-be husband raised a brow.

“Me?” Ravus asked, amused.

“Him?” Prompto echoed, alarmed.

“Yes. Now, come on!” Aurora pulled Ravus to his feet, watching as he took off his suit jacket, leaving him in a vest and button down. Sleeves were rolled to his elbows as he moved to the center of the floor. “You too, Prompto!”

“Ignis,” Ravus called over his shoulder. “Play… Nocturne in E Flat Major, please. Op nine, number two, to be specific.” The sound of knuckles cracking filled the air as Ravus turned to study Prompto. A coy smile curled his lips as he slowly bent down at the waist, extending a hand in a far too elegant fashion. “May I have this dance, Prompto?”

A flush darkened Prompto’s cheeks as he reached out, placing his hand upon Ravus’ palm. “Sure…?” A chuckle escaped Ravus as he placed his hand upon the small of Prompto’s back, pulling him closer.

“Your left hand will rest upon my right shoulder- I’m leading. Keep your arm up, but not too stiff- relax, Prompto. I’m not going to bite you.” Ravus directed softly, and Prompto shifted nervously. “There we go. Now, chin up, and either keep your gaze over my left shoulder, or at me. Nowhere else. Ignis, if you’re ready?”

 “Wait, I’m not-”

“Hush,” Ravus whispered, shaking his head. “Relax and follow my lead.” His voice was so soft, Prompto noted, the accent of Tenebrae creating a soft purr in his words. He found himself relaxing as the piano notes began. Ravus stepped forward, and he stepped backward. “One, two, three. One, two, three. There we are, see? You’ve got this.”

It was easy, once he got the hang of it. Cornflower blue hues focused on Ravus’ face; his lips held a nearly perfect cupid’s bow, and he had… Freckles. They were light, but he could see them, dusted across his nose and the high points of his cheeks. And moles- more than he’d thought. And his eyes… Prompto found himself suddenly moved away, his hand still gripping Ravus, before he was pulled back. “There we go! See, a natural, you are.” Ravus praised, bringing a smile to Prompto’s lips.

The song ended, and as Ravus took a step back, he found himself floundering. “Bow,” Gladio called out, causing Prompto to frown. But Ravus dropped into a bow at the waist, and Prompto quickly followed suit.

“Very good! Noctis, your turn! Let’s make sure you still know how to lead.” Aurora teased, and Propmto would have laughed if it weren’t for the intense look upon Noctis’ face. Swallowing thickly, he held himself still as Noctis approached.

“Here, I’ll take over,” Ravus murmured softly, taking Ignis’ place at the piano. Quietly, he began to play, a soft, dark, medium paced song. Ignis didn’t want to admit it, but Ravus was better than him at the piano.

Leaning over, Gladio whispered to Aurora. “What song is he playing?”

“Franz Liszt’s Liebestraum- Love Dream.” She replied softly as she watched Noctis take Prompto into his arms, the pair easily moving together. Far more easily that he moved with Ravus.

Far more easily than she’d seen Noctis move with Lunafreya.

Prompto’s gaze was locked upon Noctis’ eyes, that intense magenta hue burning into his sole. He didn’t remember starting to dance, didn’t realize that the waltz Noctis was leading him in was far more difficult than the one he’d just gone through with Ravus. No, all he could focus on was the intensity in Noctis’ gaze. He could feel his cheeks warming, could feel his chest and neck flushing, the tips of his ears turning red. But it wasn’t from embarrassment; no, he wasn’t embarrassed in the least. His heart was beating a hard, steady rhythm within his chest.

 He wanted, no, needed to kiss Noctis. He had to. Noctis was his. He was Noctis’.

Far to soon, the song ended, but Noctis didn’t part. No, his fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt, and he simply studied the blond with the freckles within his arms.

The sharp sound of clapping startled them both apart. “Well… That was… Something.” Aurora spoke, cheeks flushed a bright pink. Clearing his throat, Ravus rose from his seat and draped an arm around Aurora’s shoulders. Ignis and Gladio moved closer to one another, and it occurred to Prompto that perhaps their dance wasn’t the most appropriate.

“I… I’ll take Prompto up to his room. I’m sure he’s exhausted,” Noctis called, and before Prompto could agree, he was being all but drug out of the room by Noctis.

“Hey, hey, buddy, pal, slow down.” Prompto forced Noctis to stop, causing the other to spin around. Brows furrowing, Noctis stared Prompto down, and for a moment, Prompto wondered if he’d done something wrong.

Until Noctis surged forward and captured Prompto’s lips in a stinging, biting kiss.

Prompto wrapped his arms around Noctis’ shoulders, pulling him closer, as Noctis backed him up, caging him against the wall. He could feel the tips of Noctis’ fangs pressing into his lips, but not breaking the skin. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how long they stood there, kissing, until he felt Noctis’ tongue brush against his lips.

“Take me to my rooms,” Prompto whispered as he pulled back from the kiss, cheeks flushed rosy, eyes glazed. A smirk curled Noctis’ lips as he leaned down, pressing one lingering kiss after the other to Prompto’s neck. A shudder danced down his spine, spreading across his skin like a cold, silk blanket.

   “Gladly.”

[southeastasianists]

Singapore has long tried to combat its reputation as a cultural desert. An influx of state funding in the past two decades has almost singlehandedly cultivated an art scene from the top down, as the city-state has tried to locate itself as a premier destination for art in Southeast Asia and beyond. But in a bombshell interview with the South China Morning Post in January this year, Lorenzo Rudolf, the founder and president of Art Stage Singapore – long hailed as the flagship Southeast Asian contemporary arts fair – delivered a shockingly sobering assessment of the arts scene in the city-state.

“Strong economic growth has led to many new galleries and private museums opening in the Philippines, Indonesia and Thailand. Everywhere, everywhere, the art scene booms. The only place we have stagnation is Singapore,” he told the Hong Kong-based newspaper. “If the market doesn’t grow, then I will have to reflect on what I do. I sure won’t be sitting here until the end.”

And Rudolf echoed those sentiments to Southeast Asia Globe last month.

“Everybody truly thought that Singapore [could] become the centre of this entire region,” he said. “Singapore mainly concentrated on its own art scene, while in the countries around Singapore, art scenes massively grew due to economic growth and, often consequently, social liberalisation. The private sectors and collectors began to take over responsibilities to support and develop the growth of the scenes… As a result, we have this situation today that there is a danger of these art scenes around Singapore becoming more attractive internationally… We see now that it is harder to build up culture than infrastructure.”

Art Stage Singapore brings together industry leaders along with top international talent and galleries in a bid to place the regional art scene on a global stage. Launched in 2011, it became Asia’s answer to Art Basel, also founded by Rudolf and considered by some to be the premier art fair series in the world. In 2013, leveraging the event’s success, state agencies the Singapore Tourism Board (STB) and the Economic Development Board (EDB) built Singapore Art Week around Art Stage, with the latter seen as a centrepiece for the city-state’s art scene.

But with the number of exhibitors at the fair having halved since 2016 – 84 took part this year, compared to 131 in 2017 and 170 in 2016 – coupled with Rudolf’s downbeat outlook, the city-state’s position as a regional arts hub is on rocky ground. Beyond Art Stage, the Singapore Contemporary Art Show was discontinued this year after only two editions, and the Affordable Art Fair was scaled back from two shows per year to only one.

Since the turn of the century, Singapore has tried to position itself as a top cultural destination in Southeast Asia. The Renaissance City Plan of 2000 laid out a long-term scheme for massive development of the arts, with the state pouring millions into public art museums, non-profit art spaces, residency programmes and research centres to try to shape a market in which there is little private investment and where arts appreciation is known to be relatively low. According to the National Arts Council (NAC), the state’s investment was $412.8m in 2016, which equals about 85% of all investment in the arts that year.

Rudolf said that despite Art Stage’s potential back in 2011, the scene’s government-led development has meant that it has grown differently to its neighbours, which poses unique challenges.

“Singapore’s art scene is not organic,” he said. “A successfully sustainable, functioning art scene can only grow from the bottom up. Never in history have you seen an art scene which has been built from the top down functioning.”

Mark Saunderson, co-founder and director of the Singapore Contemporary Art Show, a branch of the Asia Contemporary Art Show based in Hong Kong, agreed. “The National Arts Council cultivates artists in Singapore. But when you look at the depth of art history, skill, craft, technical aspects of art, there’s huge depth in Indonesia, Thailand, Cambodia even,” he said. “I think the challenge with the arts in Singapore [is that] this is a process, and you have to involve people in art who are obviously interested, but engage with them and develop that interest over time.”

The city-state’s relative lack of art history is one of the gaps that were intended to be plugged with the opening of the National Gallery Singapore in 2015. A sprawling, $370m state-funded project, the gallery houses the world’s largest collection of modern art from Southeast Asia, and it was hoped it would cement Singapore’s place as an arts hub thanks to its regional focus. “This is the first time this is happening anywhere in the region: a Southeast Asian collection to tell the regional story of art,” said gallery director Eugene Tan.

“This understanding of art history, which was previously absent, is something we are beginning to introduce to the public.”

Saunderson linked the closing of the Singapore Contemporary Art Show and some of Art Stage’s problems to a downturn in the economy, and while he disagreed with Rudolf’s assessment that the art scene was stagnating, he said that the key to a successful art scene in the city-state was to understand the uniqueness of Singapore’s young art market and the nascent tastes of its audience – and to let it evolve naturally over time.

“When you’re an art fair organiser, as we are in Hong Kong, we are very, very conscious in terms of where we select our artwork – [it should] appeal to the maturity, the taste, the diversity [of the audience],” said Saunderson. “The key to nurturing, developing and growing the market is to take stock of where the market is at… It’s a hard thing to do, as Singapore has discovered. It’s a hard thing to jumpstart top down.”

With growing competition from emerging regional markets and events such as Art Fair Philippines and the recently established Art Stage Jakarta, not to mention the powerhouse that is Hong Kong – the largest art market in Asia – some fear that Singapore is becoming increasingly irrelevant on a global stage and that attracting non-local artists and galleries into its borders has become more of a challenge. The sky-high costs of renting studio and gallery space mean that setting up in cheaper alternatives in other countries can be more appealing.

Also, according to Singaporean filmmaker and visual artist Sherman Ong, the Singaporean focus on economics has helped keep art appreciation in its infancy. A 2016 statistic from the NAC showed that only four in ten Singaporeans would say they are interested in the arts. “Singapore has always been a very pragmatic place – it’s a very commercial city,” said Ong. “The population still does not see how arts benefit them materially. Of course, the government is working very hard to change that, and you can see these changes, but it still needs time.”

Ong sees a contradiction between the government’s agenda and the needs of local artists, which can result in a restrictive space for meaningful artistic creation. “What is needed for the arts is different from what the government wants. The government wants to create Singapore as an international hub for Southeast Asian art,” he said. “Sometimes art also has to have its own standing… Because once it’s tied to a certain source of funding then events have to, in a way, support the larger objectives of nation building.”

This is intimately linked to what Ong considers the imperative of combatting a “bland” art scene that comes out of a setting where artists may – at least subconsciously – stay away from controversial or political subjects. “I think that’s kind of a survival mechanism, because the funding always comes from the centre,” he said. “It’s not to say that artists need to do work that criticises the centre – it’s actually to create an environment where the artist is free to think and go beyond… to create work that is not so restricted.”

Jasdeep Sandhu, gallery director of Singapore’s Gajah Gallery, which has exhibited at all eight editions of Art Stage, disagrees with the notion that artistic censorship is still an issue in Singapore. “That’s actually rubbish,” he said. “I had my gallery for about 15 years at the ministry building and I had full homosexual scenes displayed on my walls. For months. And I’m 30 metres from a minister’s chair. No one once told me to take it down. They don’t want to know. This whole censorship thing is ridiculous… It’s a headache for them to fill out all these papers and answer to media and to grumbling artists.”

Despite feeling the strain of low sales, Sandhu is hopeful about Art Stage Singapore’s future and thinks that the shrinking number of exhibitors was inevitable because enormously high costs for galleries mean that the city-state was never going to be able to continue to support a fair of that size. “They’re a bit too premature for their time… At the end of Art Stage 2018 I was actually very optimistic, and I hope that they [learn from] having an 80- to 100-gallery art fair,” he said. “If they’ve spent a few years building it up it’ll be a shame to give away the initiative.”

Sandhu also feels that, despite a growing number of complaints, the city-state’s art scene has come a long way. “I think the government is doing a fantastic job… No country around Southeast Asia has put that much effort into creating museums,” he said. “If you look at 20 years ago, a Singaporean artist would be hard pressed to sell at $2,000. And you have young guys at 30 years old selling at $30,000 right now. That’s a lot. That’s what I call real progress.”

Beyond Singaporean borders, Vietnamese-American artist Richard Streitmatter-Tran, who is based in Ho Chi Minh City, feels that as an artist he has only benefited from Singapore’s plan to position itself as a hub for Southeast Asian culture. “Coming from someone who is not Singaporean, much of my early career was supported by Singapore. And it still continues to be,” he said. “I’m glad to be involved in a lot of the initiatives that Singapore has because I find them interesting. Do I find Singapore itself exciting? I don’t know… I don’t know what it can do to combat its image of being the most boring country in the world.”

It appears that the futures of Art Stage Singapore and of the city-state itself as an arts hub are intrinsically linked. While the winding down of the country’s showcase arts event would be a hammer blow, it seems unlikely that it would sound the death knell for the arts scene in general given the level of investment ploughed into the project thus far. What is more certain, though, is that there is no easy path ahead for Singapore.

“Everybody is actually catching up. So eventually I think we will have to come to another equilibrium. I think it’s now a transition. [It] is not clear how Singapore can navigate the situation,” said Ong.

And while Rudolf was bullish over this year’s Art Stage Singapore, describing it as “surely still the biggest and most important art fair in Southeast Asia”, he is in agreement that the city-state’s neighbours are finding their place on the regional stage.

“The only way for Singapore to be successful in the future is to make all efforts to collaborate among all local players and to seriously focus on the cultural aspects of art,” he said. “Art is not a merchandise.”

[britonell]

This @inusecretsanta gift is for @animaniacal!

Successful Proposal

...BUT WAIT, it’s not just a single gif!

Because we want to know how he proposed, so…

DRABBLE TIME! WITH PICS! BUCKLE UP!

Be warned, for there are hints of naughtiness at the very end.

Alarms went off in his head as Inuyasha gripped the ring box. How had he gotten into this predicament? Well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why this was happening: He was a terrible planner.

Kagome, his girlfriend of three years—had it already been three years?—had asked if he was doing anything during his Christmas break. That had been when the lightbulb on top of his head lit up. (Now Inuyasha wondered if that proverbial lightbulb had fallen and given him a concussion.) He had immediately booked a hotel room, and then promptly thanked his lucky stars because there had exactly been one room left due to a cancellation. Then he had gone ring shopping.

Inuyasha stared down at his girlfriend, who wore an adorably puzzled expression, and seriously contemplated if it had all been a mistake. Had he misread the signs? He was certain he hadn’t. After all, she had made comments in the past. Obvious comments that even he couldn’t miss.

More than once, they would walk past a retired couple taking a stroll in the park and Kagome, with that small smile he loved so much, would quietly say she looked forward to growing old together. Inuyasha usually stuttered and blushed, caught off guard by her soft-spoken words as much as her nonchalance, like there was no question they were in it for the long haul. Then there was that one time when she had inquired, while they lounged on the couch, what they would name their future kids.

Red-faced and stupefied, he vaguely remembered saying he didn’t care, as long as they didn’t name any kids after a certain half-brother…or that wolf who still wouldn’t stop flirting with her whenever they ran into him, god dammit.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome gently said his name, looking up at her boyfriend with wide eyes. Despite her high heeled winter boots, he still towered over her. A familiar surge of protectiveness swept through him and he resisted the urge to suddenly embrace her.

Stay on track, Inuyasha mentally berated himself. Just gotta say the words.

“Inuyasha? You OK?”

Then again, what if he had been reading the signs wrong? Because it seemed like the universe was telling him this was a terrible mistake.

The hotel had been less than ideal, to say the least. Granted, Kagome had marveled at the ornate tapestry and antique furniture in the hotel lobby, but that still meant the hotel was from a bygone era. The ancient elevator was slow and loud, so much so that Inuyasha opted to carry Kagome up the stairs in frustration, ignoring her squeals of protest. Their room, though larger than he had anticipated, wasn’t any better. Their windows faced the courtyard behind the hotel instead of the festive streets, the aging lock on the bathroom door was busted, and the walls were paper-thin, at least for his ears.

Fortunately, he had managed to hide his frustrations. Kagome loved the hotel, she claimed. She grew up in a shrine, so she of all people could appreciate a building’s history. Her gratitude was so earnest that Inuyasha almost wasn’t sure if she was only being kind for his sake. 

She probably appreciated his efforts to keep his temper in check. Oh, he had been tested. Like when he had overheard the two guys in the lobby argue whether the cute girl in the green coat and pink hat was a 9 or a 10. Donning a dreadful expression, Inuyasha had blocked their view and stared long and hard until they got the message and quickly left the lobby.

Dressed in her favorite green coat and pink hat, Kagome gasped in joy when they had found an authentic French bistro for lunch. Inuyasha thought he had actually done something right for once…until they finished ordering their food and his ears swiveled towards the harshly whispered words from the opposite side of the room.

“A surprise proposal?”

“It was an absolute disaster,” one of the women at the table explained before delicately sipping her tea. “We were all mortified. We all knew the instant it happened she would reject him.”

“You mean he did it in public?” The other woman asked, appearing shocked but unable to hide the sadistic glee in her eyes. “My goodness!”

“Oh yes, it was a terrible idea. He should’ve known better.”

Everything was white noise after that, which was why he missed their in-depth discussion about “manipulative boyfriends trying to save failing relationships with public proposals.” No, he heard nothing but “He should’ve known better” all throughout lunch. The words continued to haunt him after the sun had set and most of the tourists had left for their hotel or restaurant. Inuyasha didn’t know how long they had walked, but if Kagome hadn’t called out when she did they might have wandered for another hour.

“Inuyasha?”

His knuckles went white; his grip so tight he was surprised he hadn’t already crushed the ring box hidden in his pocket.

Just gotta say the words, Inuyasha chanted. Just gotta—

“He should’ve known better.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Kagome reached up and stroked his cheek. Despite the million things racing through his head, he still recognized the fingerless gloves she wore. He had bought them for her last year because she had mentioned her old ones had holes in them, not realizing she had already bought another pair. How many times had he done things without forethought and proper planning? It just never seemed like he was doing enough for someone as incredible as her.

Pretty and fashionable, popular yet studious, fiery, determined and utterly devoted to her family and friends; Kagome was perfect the way she was and she deserved everything.

What did he have to offer?

“If you’re not feeling well,” she started but Inuyasha nervously cleared his throat. Of course she would worry about him. She was selfless like that.

“C-close your eyes,” he said, more quietly than he intended.

“What was that?”

“J-just close your eyes, dammit!” he said, louder this time and supporting a blush that refused to clear.

She raised an eyebrow but silently acquiesced and closed her eyes.

God I could kiss her right now—STICK TO THE PLAN.

…he didn’t have a plan. Wait, why did he just ask her to close her eyes? What the hell was he doing!?

He pulled out the ring box and looked around. The street was deserted. This couldn’t be a public proposal if no one was around, right? He nervously eyed the ring box in his hand and brushed his thumb over the smooth red velvet.

Now or never, I guess.

“Uh…open…your mouth?” What?

She didn’t have to say anything to show her confusion. A small frown marred her brows, but she still followed his instruction.

He abruptly shoved the ring box in her mouth, paused to stare at the result of his impromptu decision, and whirled around to face the wall, silently shouting, “Why the hell did I just do that!?”

A moron, I’m a moron.

A salty scent and a muffled sniff made him freeze.

She was crying.

Oh crap, did I break her teeth!? Lingering doubts, previously swept into the dark recesses of his mind, mockingly emerged one after another. Maybe she doesn’t want to marry. Maybe I did read the signs wrong. What the hell was I thinking?

Hoping to repair the perceived damage he had just inflicted, he turned back around with his hands in the air.

“Ka-Kagome! I-I-I’m not forcing you! You don’t have to marrrrrmph!”

Perhaps he hadn’t messed up.

Any and all remaining worries were soundly erased when they returned to their hotel room--which was a feat in and of itself because she refused to detach from his torso--and then as soon as he closed the door she practically tore his clothes off. In fact, he had to remind her multiple times not to be so vocal until eventually giving up, opting to swallow her cries as he pulled her closer to him, his dog ears mercifully picking up only the sound of their bodies.

AN: I can see Inuyasha bumbling through a proposal yet somehow being successful. BTW, this postcard was the first version of the artwork.

[twosidestarot]

On Art & Cards: An Interview with Jennifer Dranttel of the Nomad Tarot

The hard-to-find Nomad Tarot has long been a favourite here at Two Sides Tarot. I cherish my personal copy, and every time I have it in stock in the shop, it gets snapped up within weeks. It's been a little while since this cult favourite deck has been available, but if you've been longing for a copy, your prayers are about to be answered! 

Nomad creator, Jennifer Dranttel, has just announced that, to celebrate the fifth anniversary of this deck, a new edition is on the way, seeking funding now through Kickstarter. Can I get a HELL YES, please?! 

I had a chat with Jennifer about her tarot origin story, her art practice, and what's new with this edition of Nomad. Read on for all the juice!

Hi Jennifer! Welcome to Two Sides Tarot. Could you introduce us to yourself, and to your work, tarot and otherwise?

Hello! I’m Jennifer, I’m an artist, illustrator, educator, mother, and traveling nomad. I’m American, but am currently living and working in the UK. My whole life I’ve been drawn to creative fields- my undergrad degrees are in Architecture, Graphic Design & Printmaking, and after a decade-long career as a professionally exhibiting artist and curator, I decided to go back to school to get my MFA in Textiles (from Savannah College of Art & Design) because I wanted to be a teacher at the University level.

I always begin my creative process with tons of research, and am inspired by a pretty wide (and wild) range of material from scientific journals to botanical gardens to poetry. I am drawn to both high-tech and low-fi materials, processes, and ideas. The history, layered imagery, and ties into traditions of folk healing, witchcraft, and other religions made Tarot a natural draw for me.

Tell us about your tarot journey - how did the cards first find their way into your life?

I had friends who read the cards and for years they were just always around at parties, dinners, and lazy sunny afternoons in the park. I never really identified as a reader myself, but always really enjoyed using them as a lightly fun way, like a horoscope or a palm reading.

I had an art show booked in 2014 and randomly decided to start looking into the Tarot, and illustrating the Major Arcana as large silkscreen prints. After about six months of research and development of my own interpretations, I became obsessed with having the entire deck in my hands, and illustrated the remaining cards. I really only set out initially to create the deck I wanted to use- with imagery drawn from my life, from the specific things that are inspirational and evocative to me- and I have to admit I’m still amazed every time a stranger wants to use it as well. So I initially began the Nomad Tarot project looking at it from the point of view of an illustrator, but in the past five years they’ve really become a part of my everyday life, and now I frequently do readings for myself and friends, have lectured on Tarot, and have sold this deck to customers all over the world.

How did you come to be inspired to design your own deck? What was the process of creating the Nomad Tarot like?

After the initial research, I have to say that most cards I had an immediate reaction to how I wanted to interpret the material in my own way, and the artwork came quickly to me. Some (The Emperor! Ugh!) still haunt me because I don’t feel I’ve gotten them just right yet. I drew all the artwork by hand, screenprinted them at double size, then scanned in the artwork and added text, borders, and numbering digitally. I prefer to work in that way- combining the high-tech with hand drawing, because I appreciate the quality of the hand that can never be perfectly replicated by a computer. I wanted to cards to be very obviously hand-drawn, not to feel too slick.

How has creating your own deck influenced your tarot practice, or your spiritual practice in general? And what about your art practice - do you feel that working with tarot has informed your creative process at all?

I have to admit I’m still a bit of a novice when it comes to Tarot. I’m not a super experienced reader who has felt a connection to this tradition for years, I found my way here mainly through the art first and then have fallen in love with the spiritual aspect of Tarot. It was always a fun tool to self-reflection when I was younger, but since I created the Nomad Tarot I’ve definitely deepened my practice. I now try to really connect with the cards several times a week, both as a reader- as someone looking for that connection to Universal energy- and also as the creator of this deck- to keep checking in and making notes about how the cards are working and feeling, so I can make slight improvements to them to improve their use.

I think that working with the Tarot- reading and using it now for myself, as well as the result that illustrating the deck had on my career- has made me more confident and focused in all areas of my art. I think it’s made me feel more dialed-in to the world around me, tapped into a larger reservoir of creative inspiration, and more sure in my gifts as an artist.

Tarot geeks can't help themselves, so I just have to ask - what are your favourite tarot or oracle decks? What were the decks that helped to inspire or influence the creation of Nomad?

I love the spirit of the Wild Unknown Tarot, though I was pretty conscious as I was illustrating the Nomad Tarot to not look at a lot of other indie decks, because I wanted to keep my interpretations original and not be influenced by what was already out there. And I’m currently crushing on the aesthetics of the Wooden Tarot and the Ophidia Rosa Tarot.

The Nomad Tarot has been through a couple of editions now, and this relaunch looks like it'll be an exciting new chapter in this deck's story. How has your relationship with Nomad evolved since you first conceived of it? What can we expect from this new edition?

As I said, when I began this journey with the Nomad Tarot nearly five years ago, I just created the deck I wanted to use. I was new to Tarot, didn’t have a lot of experience reading, and I think that really influenced the type of deck I created. I wanted something that felt modern and fresh, that would appeal to people like me- who had dipped their toes into the Tarot pool but hadn’t really connected with a deck yet or felt slightly offput by some of the more typical and traditional Tarot imagery. So I used imagery drawn from my life, and drawn from my specific interpretations of the cards that were mostly very personal.

I’m interested in creating a new edition of the deck because after actually working with it for five years, I have a lot of new insights and small changes that will improve the Nomad Tarot for readers everywhere. There are some cards that made complete sense in my head, but after receiving tons of feedback from customers, they’re not responding to them in the way I’d intended- and I can see slight shifts that will improve their clarity and the ease of using this deck. I think the biggest improvement for this relaunch will be in the guidebook, however. I am working with a professional Tarot reader, Sara Galactica, to add new insights and make it both more specific by including way more information about using the Nomad Tarot, as well as including a lot of general ideas about how to use the Tarot as a tool for self-knowledge and realization. It’s going to be worlds better, with beautiful full-colour photographs, more ideas for spreads to use, and inspirational words from Sara. I can’t wait to get it into my hands!

How can we help get this new edition of Nomad out into the world? Where can readers find and support your work?

Well, if you don’t yet have the deck, buy one through the Kickstarter! There are also some options in there for items like limited-edition screenprints and the new edition of the Nomad Guide to the Tarot, for those who already have the deck but still want to help us get it out to a wider audience. And of course, word of mouth is the most important way to support an indie deck. The success of this deck so far has always depended on the tight-knit community of tarot fans, who have shared it, gifted it, and used it in their readings for years.

You can also follow @thenomadtarot on Instagram, and tag pictures of the deck if you’ve already purchased one with #nomadtarot. The more pictures we have out there the more people will fall in love with and want to support the project! If the funding goal is met, the deck will be available through Two Sides Tarot (Australia) [THAT'S ME!], Little Red Tarot (UK), and Altar PDX (USA).

*

You heard that right, Two Sides Tarot will have the new edition of Nomad in stock later in the year, but only if we all band together and get this Kickstarter campaign funded so Jennifer can send the deck to print!

Head over to the campaign to secure yourself a copy of the deck, pick up a print or book, or make a donation to help make the new edition of Nomad a reality!

[annaspoolstra]

Reading Response #14

🔍 My Thoughts on “Art as a 21st Century Calling” PDF

In this chapter, the author discusses how art is a Christian calling, and what that looks like practically. There were a couple of points that stood out to me. The first was the author’s suggestion that Christian artists may be the ones to effectively “stand in the gap” between the lofty, skeptical art commentators and the general public. This is  because we seek to create art with meaning, which can lead to powerful and enduring artwork. I would love to be able to make art that positively affects those around me––art with a purpose. Another point was that Christians are usually a generation behind in their art-making in an effort to be relevant but also safe. The problem with this approach is that it forces some of us to bury our talents. We have been called to form culture, and that involves investing in it and adding something new, not merely mimicking what has come before. This mimicking is something we need to be on guards against; it takes courage to step out and try something new, but this is our calling. The author lists some practical advice for Christian artists as they fulfill their artistic calling:

Christian artists should reject knee-jerk irony

They should refuse pretension and power

They should take responsibility for their actions

They should affirm ultimate values

In doing these things, Christian artists follow Jesus’ example and distinguish themselves as different from the other artists of the world. Additionally, it’s not wrong to embrace the title of “Christian artist.” Publicly recognizing this title helps us realize that we are not alone, but rather part of something much larger. I think it’s easy to believe that Christian artists are little solitary islands struggling to make a difference in the world through their work. This idea is encouraged by the lack of successful Christian artists, at least in this day and age. However, we are not alone; rather we are part of the body of Christ, and we are called to use our talents to cultivate our culture. Our work has a purpose, and we just need to find other Christian artists to grow in community with and encourage one another.

🔍 My Thoughts on “Love the Art, Hate the Artist” video

This video mainly addresses the repercussions of an artist’s “odious” acts on their artwork. It creates a tricky dilemma when artists’ mistakes come to light, particularly if they are/were offensive or harmful to other people. Their work is harder to appreciate because their pasts have impacted their reputations. I have definitely experienced this as I’ve encountered certain artists’ artworks and histories, and it makes me sad. Their work is ruined in a way. Conversely, I’ve encountered artists whose backgrounds and actions I admire, and it makes me like their artwork more. Our reputations are clearly important, and they impact our influence in the world.

🔍 My Thoughts on “Inspired: Deanna Marsigliese, The Art of the Pivot” (Season 1, Episode 2 of Inside Pixar)

I thoroughly enjoyed this episode and getting to hear Deanna’s thoughts on her creative approach. Deanna works on character design for Pixar. She talks about the powers of observation and exploring different materials when looking for inspiration. Although she has traveled to find inspiration, distance is not always necessary; sometimes all you need is a change in perspective. She touched on the need to adapt in her workplace, and how every new project is a new education process. I noticed this specifically when they showed people in costumes moving around so that the animators could understand how to portray the different characters realistically. This attention to detail is part of what makes the Pixar films so powerful. I was also fascinated to see how Deanna’s own vintage clothing collection inspired costume designs for Incredibles 2, which just goes to show that inspiration is everywhere. Personally I feel like I could benefit from observing the world around me more, and I plan on working on that. Overall, this interview with Deanna was inspirational, and I loved getting a glimpse into her world as an artist at Pixar.

📷 Image above

Picture of Deanna from Inside Pixar

https://www.google.com/search?q=deanna+marsigliese&sxsrf=ALeKk02rtq7PvwrRXt1jJY0P-ibMh8QUHA:1606783178095&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjiq77kxavtAhVDHDQIHek0CsoQ_AUoAXoECAUQAw&biw=1440&bih=789#imgrc=xMJ-hm71ByfSlM

[artappreciationmdc]

Welcome to the Spring semester 2021-2 of Arh1000- ART APPRECIATION 2/10/22

I have sent an email to all of you so that you prepare for the semester ahead.

We will meet via TEAMS every Weds. Make sure you are set up and ready ten mins before class.

Please note that I have been teaching this class via Tumblr since 2013.

This platform works well for adding photos, artwork along with text. It is for this reason that I prefer this format to blackboard.

This semester you will get to learn about Art and the importance of artworks to culture and society.

I will also give you an opportunity to engage in different art practices through various assignments.

As we go through the semester I would like you to keep the reference related to the Visual Arts. So all questions pertain to Fine Arts.

In popular culture, the terms art and artists encompasses many platforms. In our class we will only be dealing with 2D and 3D Art forms.

On your first day I would like for you to spend some time setting up the following platforms so that we may communicate throughout the semester .

First - Create a Tumblr handle. This will be the platform for submitting your reflection papers and artworks produced.

Second- Create a Twitter handle . This platform will be used to document visits to outdoor spaces and other venues such as museums or galleries (virtual or in person. )

Try and familiarize yourself with both platforms as those will be the way you submit your work for me this semester.

Once you have set up both you will set about reading from the class textbook “ Prebles Artforms “ by Patrick frank, Pearson Pub.

For week one 2/10/2022, you will be responsible for reading the following :

Chapter 1

As you read the chapter pay attention to Artworks depicted and the terms used.

Once you have completed reading the chapter I would like you to choose TWO ARTWORKS that jump at you.

You can copy paste those images from the internet to create your first class post.

Create a post that addresses your reason for choosing the artworks.

1) Note the name of the artist, the name of the work ( most works have titles ) and date.

Next explain your reason for choosing these works.

2) What do you like about them?

3) Is it the theme, Colors, imagery ?

4) Next , what can you say in regards to what the artwork represents ?

5) What story, in your *opinion is being expressed ?

Try to touch upon those points as you write a short reflection essay as your first Tumblr post.

Here is an example of submitting :

Hall of Bulls - Lascaux Cave, 40,000 BC. Paleolithic Period.

I see several animals, some are larger other smaller. The colors used are earth tones, some animals are in red other animals in black.All are depicted in profile. Some of the animals seems as if they are getting ready to battle each other .

This is noted in the bull on the left looking at the larger bull on the right.

The artwork was created during the Paleolithic period over 40, 000 years ago. Thinking about society at that time, the artists of this time would have been hunter gatherers. It is my opinion that these where animals this society either hunted or domesticated.

I love the quality of the lines used to describe the animals. The idea that such lines can define the weight , strength and variety of both fauna and other animals of the time for me is impressive. Beautiful work.

This will be your first post for today once you set up your Tumblr handle. You will then send me a link of your post to Twitter.

After we finish our virtual meet today , students will watch the following videos and create a reflection post regarding the videos.

Again all work is to be posted to your class blog (Tumblr) by Tuesday of next week 5pm.

We will have fun this semester learning about art and art practices, all I ask is that you keep yourself on task and engaged.