#composition at its finest

[yikesgoodluck]

I hear your praises of kahoot music, and I raise you: Wii sports music.

[deforest]

SHE'S CRAZY WITH THE HEAT — 1946 ft. The International Sweethearts of Rhythm

In 1946, William D. Alexander began the production of a series of one-reel shorts, half-hour featurettes and feature films that would serve a dual purpose. These black cast subjects would be released to theaters that welcomed African American audiences; concurrently, the music segments would be excerpted from the films and released as Soundies. Ultimately, sixteen of Alexander’s musical shorts reached the Panoram screen, spotlighting the bands of Lucky Millinder, Billy Eckstine, Henri Woode and the International Sweethearts of Rhythm. (Alexander actually produced four films with the Sweethearts, three ten-minute short subjects and one feature, although some of the performances turns up in more than one film; only three performances saw release as a Soundie.) The International Sweethearts of Rhythm grew out of a band formed in the 1930s at the Piney Woods Country Life School, an institution – in part an orphanage – for poor African American children. A member of the music department had apparently taken note of the success of Ina Ray Hutton’s Melodears and decided that an all-woman band composed of school members might lead to something special. While they performed locally, the ISR did not begin to hit its stride until it left Piney Woods and became a professional touring outfit in 1941. The band was certainly “international” in nature, and its ranks included African American, Latina, Chinese, Indian, White and Puerto Rican musicians. In 1941, Anna Mae Winburn joined the orchestra as front woman and featured vocalist. During the war years Maurice King joined the band as both arranger and band manager. Born Clarence King in 1911, King played reeds and later became a fine swing arranger. While here we recognize his composition and arrangement for the Sweethearts – he called this tune “She’s Crazy with the Heat ” – King is best known for his longtime association with Barry Gordy and Motown Records for which he served as director of artist development. He worked closely with vocal groups, teaching the singers how to voice and phrase together. “Maurice brought sophistication and class to Motown,” said session musician Johnny Trudell. By 1946, the Sweethearts was recognized as one of the finest African-American bands in jazz. They recorded for Guild and RCA Records, broadcast regularly for the Armed Forces Radio Service, and toured Europe entertaining the GIs. While much of the success was due to Maurice King’s arrangements, the band’s musicians were all strong, and a special nod must go to Viola Burnside, one of the most neglected tenor soloists of the 1940s. I chatted with my friend Roz Cron, a member of the Sweetheart’s reed section, shortly before her passing. When I thanked her for her contribution, she paused and said, “Yeah, we were one of the best, one of the very, very best.” (via Jazz on Film)

[dungeonzine]

Need help prepping your zine portfolio or could use some pointers? Here’s a brief guide for choosing and organizing your works to make a successful portfolio!

Let’s start with artists.

What format should you use? Simple is usually best! Google Drive folders are often preferred because they easily display your work with no extra steps. Carrds, websites, or curated social media work too, so long as there is not extra material or posts hiding your work. Try to have as few clicks before seeing your work as possible, so no need to separate work into folders and certainly don’t require a mod to search your entire page for it—they may not have the time.

Make sure that your work is publicly viewable! Double and triple check that your Drive folder is shared publicly or your websites are not behind a password.

When choosing which pieces to include, always choose your best and most polished work. All works should be complete, in full color, and be fully shaded or rendered. Try to have at least some of your works be approximately something that would be found in a zine, which usually means about A5 sizing. Backgrounds are an essential skill for zines; make sure you show you can draw them well. Of course, sometimes some of these elements are excluded in a piece as a stylistic choice, but all are important skills to show you have.

If possible, try to include the topic of the zine in your portfolio. It does not need to be every single piece. If you only have WIPs or messy work of the topic, then it may not be worth it to include it and that’s alright (though make sure the zine does not require art of the subject when making that decision. Ours does not).

Most zines ask for featured works separate from the portfolio. These are the first things mods look at when evaluating your application. Choose your strongest three (or however many are asked for) pieces as your featured works. Typically, try to include art within the fandom as a featured work if you can. Try to have those vital skills on display in these as well (backgrounds, rendering, etc) so it’s immediately clear you’ve got what it takes.

No need for every piece to hit every point. Try your best for the portfolio together to hit most of them and meanwhile you can work on creating some art specifically to show off anything you’re missing!

There are some things you want to avoid including at risk of weakening your portfolio. A portfolio is only as strong as its weakest piece, so having less pieces is better than having weaker pieces. Only include polished work you’re most proud of. WIPs, sketches, or isolated character work may give the impression that you won’t provide a complete zine piece. Including multiple styles or mediums (especially ones that you wouldn’t be comfortable using for the zine) may confuse a mod as they might not know which you’ll use. If you include multiple styles, make sure that you are skilled and polished enough in all of them to use them for the zine. It’s totally fine to have a smaller portfolio, especially if you’re just starting out—don’t clog it with art that’s not your finest.

Merch portfolios are very similar to page art portfolios, but focus on character-centric work often without backgrounds. Do research on what makes a good merch design, because not all compositions translate well to physical products.

Photographs of merch you’ve made are excellent, but if you don’t have them then you can make mock-ups to help mods understand what you’re envisioning for the final product. Merch portfolios can be a combination of photos, mock-ups, and designs. Print samples may look very similar to a typical page art piece.

If applying as both a page and merch artist, you will likely want to have separate portfolios, as the roles require emphasis on different skills.

Writer portfolios are similar to artist portfolios in that they should contain only your best work. You may also use a Google Drive folder or another hosting website so long as it is highly curated and does not contain many other works to sift through. Typically, zines ask for 3-6 works under 3k words, but double check these numbers with each project you apply to.

If you’re applying to a specific role, such as poetry or article writing, try to have those kinds of samples ready. It may help to make a separate portfolio for those more specific applications.

Here are some other tips! Of course, there’s an infinite amount of ways to make a great portfolio, so if this guide isn’t working for you that’s totally fine. Experiment with different ways if you’d like!

Our applications open soon. Good luck!

Got additional questions? Send an ask here on Tumblr or on our Retrospring! We’re always happy to help or clarify.

Learn more about our Dungeon Meshi zine here!

[cartermagazine]

Today We Honor Lee Morgen

Lee Morgan was one of hard bop’s greatest trumpeters, and indeed one of the finest players of the ‘60s. An all-around master of his instrument modeled after Clifford Brown, Morgan boasted an effortless, virtuosic technique and a full, supple, muscular tone that was just as powerful in the high register.

His playing was always emotionally charged, regardless of the specific mood: cocky and exuberant on uptempo groovers, blistering on bop-oriented technical showcases, sweet and sensitive on ballads.

In his early days as a teen prodigy, Morgan was a busy soloist with a taste for long, graceful lines, and honed his personal style while serving an apprenticeship in both Dizzy Gillespie’s big band and Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers.

Due to the crossover success of “The Sidewinder” in a rapidly changing pop music market, Blue Note encouraged its other artists to emulate the tune’s “boogaloo” beat. Morgan himself repeated the formula several times with compositions such as “Cornbread” (from the eponymous album Cornbread) and “Yes I Can, No You Can’t” on The Gigolo.

CARTER™️ Magazine

[elegantsplendour]

Of Blossom and Betrayal

Sunmary:

AU: Green victory, the realm called for a new queen after Queen Helena's demise

Seraphina Tyrell did not belong to the worldly realm of Westeros; a lone child conceived of loyalty, love and devotion. A beacon like her attracts the darkest of souls, in the darkest of times.

💌 Aegon Il Targaryen + Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: manipulation, abuse of power, mentions of rape, slight underage, explicit sexual content , dub con, violence. Specific warnings will be added at the beginnings of each chapter.

Unlike in my other two stories, Aegon in this story is CANON. Read at your own discretion.

Comments and reblogs make the author jump and dance like crazy 😜

Word count: 2.5 k

Prologue

Chapter 1: King’s Landing.

Taglist: @heavenly1927 @vhagarswar @queenoflys @sweethoneyblossom1 @valleyof-goldenlilies @watercolorskyy @purple-writer8 @femmechaotic @boundlessfantasy @jasminecosmic99

It has been almost a week since Seraphina and her family had arrived to King’s Landing. Leaning on the windowsill, her golden locks shimmered, kissed by the sun’s golden embrace filtering into her room in the Red Keep. The ardors of the journey from Highgarden seemed hardly worth it now, she pondered, letting out a soft sigh. Her intended, Daryn Hightower, was nowhere to be seen, held back by the sudden illness of his mother in Old Town, while Lyonel and Jayne, preoccupied with socializing and testing the waters of the new court, have confined her to this chamber ever since her the news of Daryn’s absence, permitting only Lancel to visit her.

Of course she had protested relentlessly. From the first day since she stepped into the Red Keep, her father had arranged their own guards to hide her while other ladies arriving in their glamorous carriages descended with the most luxurious of embellishments, giggling and gossiping about the king’s pageant.

Lyonel had warned her of not exiting her chamber unless absolutely necessary, “We do not wish you to capture the king’s attention.”

Her eyes lingered from the musicians playing in the garden where she spotted her cousin Cornelia Lannister and friends, who were laughing and sipping tea, to the smoky centre of the royal city, where mystery and curiosity peeked Seraphina’s mind. The Red Keep, with its countless chambers, had seemingly conspired to hide her in its most inconspicuous tower, transforming her room into a luxurious, yet isolating, sanctuary. Perhaps, she smirked, they were gossiping about the scandalous ongoing pageant. Even her, the lone bird locked away from the festivities, had captured whispers of the comical incidents, especially the one where her cousin Cornelia faked to faint into the King’s arms, where she was captured y Prince Aemond, leaving her to Princess Cassandra Baratheon’s furious gaze.

She breathed, captivated as her gaze swept across the meticulously crafted garden. Her eyes wandered through the garden, where a symphony of hundreds of flower species bloomed in perfect harmony, their visual allure leaving anyone who took the time to admire them mesmerized by their allure. Yet there was something about this place that at the same time excited and unsettled her.

Gone were the carefree laughs of her handmaids, replaced by measured, refined chuckles. And the gentle melodies from her homeland's distant fields gave way to the practiced compositions of the Red Keep's finest musicians.

It was undeniably exquisite, perhaps a touch colder in its perfection. Yet Seraphina always sought to find the beauty in everything, sometimes to her own detriment.

She smiled as her eyes found her parents, giving a subtle wave. Lyonel was deep in conversation with Lord Hightower, father to her prospective betrothed. Their amicable gestures spoke of mutual respect. Meanwhile, Jayne sent a playful wink her way. Lord Hightower, following Jayne's line of sight, offered Seraphina a warm nod.

A moment later, Seraphina sighed as she watched their figures disappearing from behind the trees.

Now, back to solitude, again.

She pouted slightly and rested her head on the other side of the elbow. That was when she caught the glimpse of the lavender gaze meeting her startled emerald eyes sharply.

Not one-eyed, short hair.

It could only be one of the only two surviving Targaryens other than the lenient imprisoned dragons, the two youngest sons of the fallen false queen, the King himself.

Her hands quivered instinctively, the intense gaze of the man her parents warned her to avoid at all costs was to her strange, dangerous and beautiful, just like the alluring garden of the Red Keep.

An inundation of emotions surged within Aegon as the enigmatic maiden with hair kissed by the sun, whom he had been pondering, locked gazes with him without flinching. A smile graced her lips – not a mere gesture of politeness, but a vivid and authentic expression, complete with small dimples that adorned her cheeks.

Aegon stunned momentarily as the Lord Hand Tyland Lannister greeted him and went on and on about how unfortunate the accident with his daughter Cornelia was. He rolled his eyes impatiently and interrupted his words, quickly returning his gaze to the window from the high tower. She was already gone.

"I have little interest in Cornelia right now," Aegon asserted, not even attempting to hide his annoyance. "Who was that maiden? Do you have another daughter hidden away from court?"

Tyland's brows knitted in confusion as he traced Aegon's line of sight. Another Lannister? Why would the king assume such? And then realization dawned on him. The woman must be his niece, the offspring of his estranged sister who'd defiantly married the younger Tyrell son. Who would've guessed that the lesser Tyrell would ascend to lordship after the unexpected death of Bryan Tyrell?

"My king, I have but one daughter," Tyland offered cautiously, crafting his words. "Perhaps that maiden is of Lannister lineage, but not of legitimate birth."

"In such grand accommodations within the Red Keep?" Aegon's voice dripped with skepticism. "Spare me. Find her. Immediately."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Where did you go today?” Lyonel, followed by Jayne, bursted into Seraphina’s chamber asked furiously.

“Father? What is it about?” Seraphina gasped in surprise, putting down her book, “Nowhere. I stayed as you instructed.”

“The king had requested your presence tomorrow at the ball,” the lord Tyrell swallowed hard, his tone serious.

Seraphina’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, trying to explain to her father what had happened and process the significance of this news.

“I saw him in the garden today,” she confessed and lowered her head, “Silver hair, violet eyes. It must have been him.”

Lyonel paced the room, his agitation palpable. His hand wiped the perspiration from his brow as he grappled with the implications of her confession. Seraphina had rarely seen her father display such vulnerability. She rose, her heart heavy with guilt, attempting to touch his arm in a gesture of solace.

Jayne stepped forward, her voice soft yet firm, "We'll arrange a gown befitting the occasion."

Lyonel, without another word, exited the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Was he trying to salvage the situation? Or was he evading confronting his daughter about her unintended mistake?

Seraphina stood in front the door for a long time after Lyonel departing figure. She sobbed quietly.

This wasn’t the first time she had put her family in this situation. She remembered how her parents, even Lancel, looked at her with pity and rage when she brought the two injured Hightowers to the castle. All she had ever done was acting on her instinct of kindness, simply in the way she had always been treated.

On the other side of the Keep, Aegon sipped from his cup, chuckling and gasping. His hand grasping the hair of the blond maid as she sucked him off eagerly. His mind wondered in the memory of that girl’s sweet smile, her adorable dimples. Her emerald eyes, of the colour he had associated with rigid rules and his family’s control over him, blinked with such purity and vibrance.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he felt himself getting closer to the edge.

The little maid is a skillful one, he smirked.

“Look down,” he growled.

Of course he didn’t want to see the whore’s face. He watched the honey coloured lock bouncing on his cock, imagining it was her soft and inexperienced tongue wrapping around his cock while her green eyes meeting his unabashedly with love, committing the most sinful acts with the purest of intentions.

“Good girl,” He patted the her golden lock. He frowned as he felt the rough texture of her hair, the one of servants and lowborns, dragging him back to reality.

“Slower,” the king ordered, “Pretend,” he laughed cruelly, “That for one night, you aren’t this pathetic dirty cock sucker.”

Aegon winced as he felt the one of the maid’s reaction to his words with her teeth accidentally grizzling on his member. He clenched his jaw in pure lust and fury, “Fucking forget it. Worthless whore.”

He grabbed her hair violently and pushed her head to his cock at an agonizing pace. Now, he didn’t have to avoid her eyes. Why would he now? He enjoyed her fear and helplessness.

A short moment later, he pushed her away roughly, causing her head almost dropping to the cold stone floor.

“Out.”

Aegon didn’t even bother to notice her whimpers as she quickly exited from his chamber.

All of his children were dead.

Aegon tried to not think of it, but the ghostly memories of their memories still haunted him.

Both Maelor and Jaehaerys brutally slayed. Blood grinned while being tortured in the dungeon, “A false king with no heirs. Will you make your bitch daughter heir? Pretender? Oh the irony.”

It was the first time Aegon killed a person. Aemond cut off his tongue while Aegon plunged a dagger in the rat’s heart.

Jaehaera followed her mother’s footsteps. Some of the whispers say that when Queen Helaena threw her self out of the window, the princess ran after her with tiny footsteps, crying, “Where are you going muña?” As the she took the final step to embrace her mother, she met the same fate as her.

He seized the half empty cup and engulfed the wine furiously, battling to bury the confused emotions inside his head.

If the gods gave him a chance to see his children again, would he take it? He was not sure.

He smacked the cup on the wall as the memories of the consummation with Helaena flooded his mind.

The rage of being played like a pawn by his mother and grandsire plagued him since he had turned ten and three? Maybe?

He had hated them, despised them even. The resentment still lives as strong as ever, but it didn’t stop him from relishing absolute power.

He had the power to take what he wanted, and he will take it. The Tyrell girl was not an exception.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The following day, powdered ladies gradually filled up the opulently decorated Great Hall. The omnipresent oppressive political undercurrent was now replaced or rather, masked by a seductive lavishness adorned by intoxicating scents of the finest foods and the rarest of performs.

There she emerged.

Seraphina, bathed in soft, radiant moonlight, like a fae of ethereal beauty. Dressed in a flowing gown of finest silver that captured the celestial light, her appearance was as though a star had descended from the heavens.

Her emerald eyes searched and travelled through the bewitching party.

There.

An enormous, sprawling banquet table laden with gleaming silver and crystal, groaned under the weight of exotic fruits, roasted game, and the finest wines from the far corners of the kingdom.

Here.

A soft murmur of violas and lutes echoed from the corner, where minstrels played enchanting melodies. The music was captivating, a symphony so sweet and subtle, it urged even the most reticent to sway. Nobles, dressed in lavish silks and satins adorned with precious jewels, twirled and spun in a beautifully choreographed dance, their movements as fluid and graceful as the notes that filled the air.

“Lady Seraphina Tyrell.”

Seraphina turned her head quickly and met the voice behind her.

Him.

The man her parents had warned her to stay away from at all costs.

“Why have you asked for me, Your Grace?”

Her abrupt question laced with softness and naivety caught the king off guard. Aegon chuckled at her audacity, placing a hand on her cheek, enjoying the pliant of her skin and innocence of her widened emerald eyes.

“I wished to know the beautiful creature who had the misfortune of being hidden away,” he breathed on her neck.

His hands started tracing on the delicate flesh of her waist while his eyes searched hers in amusement.

His brows quirked as she giggled, relishing in his touch comfortably. Her genuineness and purity laid her like an open book and a mysterious riddle.

As Aegon grew up, he never cared enough to read other people. And when he was crowned king, he was free of the obligation to read the lesser beings anyways. Everyone, from the lowly servants to the members of Small Council, racking their brains to deduce what pleased, angered, saddened or excited him. Yet at that moment when the Tyrell rose reached his hand audaciously while her emerald eyes blinking like an ethereal star fallen into the realm of mortals, Aegon desired to conquer, exult and own every inch of her angelic mind.

“Are you…” she asked, her voice sweet but firm, her pink lips curled and cheeks flushed, “Going to dance with me?”

Aegon’s heart skipped a beat, he smirked with an exaggerated bow, his mischievous smile making her giggle. "Might I steal the honor of this dance and perhaps your undivided attention for the night, my lady?"

Blushing, Seraphina hesitantly put her arms around his shoulders, “Only if you promise you can dance as well as my brother Lancel.

Aegon watched her giggle fearlessly, his throat throbbing with contained desire.

Seraphina bit her lips slightly as his silence, “Am I too forward, Your Grace?” She chuckled agin, her gaze still fearless and vibrant, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t behave as if I was around my brother all the time. I am sorry.”

With a low chuckle, the king seized her waist to the dance floor, “I have to admit,” he tilted her chin playfully, “I am horrified by the thought of you treating me like a brother.

Seraphina’s face flushed like an apple at his implication. She recalled when her mother spoke hopefully about her union with Daryn, honourable, handsome, courageous. Maybe it was wrong to be so intimate with the king while being so close to be betrothed to another.

Maybe it was wrong, but for that moment, she did not care. She kept moving, taking the lead, unintentionally surprising the lord of the Seven Kingdoms with her boldness, swirling the confusing thoughts away.

As the last note faded, Aegon rejoiced while Seraphina was oblivious to the jealous murmurs of the courtiers and their disappointed daughters.

“I had a delightful time, Your Grace,” Seraphina bowed, but barely, sweat from the dance glistening on her forehand like pearls, “I really do wish to see you again.”

She enjoyed the dance.

She was happy.

He made her happy.

The repulsive memory when he forced himself on a maid the first time. Her screams, fear and hatred that she could have only kept herself had made him even angrier. And he turned that rage onto others, again and again, simply because he had could.

He stared at her unwavering smile. So pure. He thought.

She desired him.

She appreciated him.

She expressed it fearlessly.

She was fragile yet powerful.

“Are you betrothed? Seraphina?”

“No,” She shook her head, biting her lip before whispering, “But father is speaking of it. Maybe… I will marry Daryn.”

“Daryn Hightower?” The king scoffed and nodded, a smirk on his face concealing the plans in his head.

“Wait.”

Seraphina pointed at the tall figure conversing with Princess Cassandra, “I’ve met him at Highgarden. Prince Aemond.”

“I was once supposed to marry him.”

[wifelinkmtg]

Wifelink: Murders! #sponsored

Welcome back to the best dumb idea I've ever had! Murder has come to the City of Guilds. Well, murder lives here, but it's crept out of the shadows, crawled up from the undercity, slunk through steam and oozed its way out of the breeding pools, and guild leaders are dropping like coins from a debtor's mouth. Who could be responsible? Who could be next? Who was that woman slipping furtively into an alley, and what's her deal? Is she single? Some of these questions and more will be answered on today's episode. Live from Ravnica, this... is Wifelink.

But first, a word from today's sponsor: picture this - it's your turn to host the monthly meeting of your true crime book club, and you maybe haven't finished Massacre: the true story of Ravnica's bloodiest killings and the woman behind them, and now you're trying to decide whether to finish it so you don't look like an idiot in the discussion group, or to spend time whipping up hors d'oeuvres so you don't have to serve everyone the same stupid veggies-and-ranch plate you did last time and suffer once more through Joanna's veiled disapproval. But what if I told you there was a way to get professionally-made charcuterie shipped directly to your home, leaving you the time you need to finish your last few chapters and craft a trenchant discussion question just in time for the doorbell? With Hello Flesh, it's just that easy: the incredible chefs at Hellbender will provide you with a mouthwatering selection of their finest meats: prosciutto, summer sausage, capicola, pastrami, and much, much more! Go to helloflesh dot com now, and sign up using offer code KNIFELINK to get your first month absolutely free! That's helloflesh dot com, offer code K-N-I-F-E-L-I-N-K. Hello Flesh: Don't ask where the meat comes from.

WAIT, WE'RE DOING RAVNICA? DIDN'T YOU SKIP A COUPLE SETS

What are you, Azorius? I've never felt any fondness for Eldraine, and I really didn't vibe with the new Ixalan set, so we're doing the Ravnica Murder Mystery set. I'm not going to do every single set that comes out or this will be my full-time job by 2026.

Cold Case Cracker (art by Wayne Wu)

Some things are very simple. Good cheekbones and the classic trench coat with the wide belt. I particularly enjoy the way her hair looks more like strips of fabric or parchment.

Merchant of Truth (art by Carissa Susilo)

"Goth angel" works on me every time, and this piece is particularly gorgeous - the composition and that dress, my goodness. You don't see a lot of angels from behind in Magic, on account of you would have to figure out what the anatomy and clothing situation is where the wings connect to the back, and Carissa has solved the clothing problem rather elegantly, and refused to engage with the anatomy problem at all. I can respect that.

I've never quite understood what's going on with Orzhov angels - I think they're mostly supposed to be disillusioned ex-Boros, but they don't really get much of a voice in story. You've got the flavor text on Angel of Despair, "it is as if their duty is to an empty void," but that's a quote from the most Boros of all the angels. Perhaps it's simply that the Orzhov don't labor under the same illusions as the other white-aligned guilds - the Boros and the Azorius and as we see in this story, even the Selesnya are all firmly entrenched in the idea that they stand for what's Right and Good on Ravnica, but ultimately they stand only for themselves and their own power and pre-eminence. The Orzhov, at least, make no secret of this. Maybe that's a comfort, to an angel.

Experiment Twelve (art by Michele Giorgi)

Oh baby girl the Simic fucked you right up, didn't they. Claws and scales and some sort of muzzle - do you feel like an animal, now? Do you hate what they did to you, or do you glory in your new sharpness? Did you escape, or are you on their leash? Are you hunted, or am I?

Bubble Smuggler (art by Leesha Hannigan)

This is Glovax. I've only had them for a day but if anything happened to them I would kill everyone in the room and then myself.

Honestly I'm disconsolate that this isn't a real animal that exists in the world and that I'll never get to rescue one from an aquarium and have an octopus fish best friend for life. You know that soul-sick feeling you get when you remember that Anomalocaris has been extinct for 500 million years ago and that you will never be able to pet one? Yeah. Goddammit they're going to make this a pet on Arena and I will spend real earth dollars on it.

ALL THESE TENTACLES AND STILL THE BIGGEST SUCKER IS YOU. NOW MAKE WITH THE LEGENDARIES

Etrata, Deadly Fugitive (art by Livia Prima)

I have looked at a whole lot of Etrata art, and do you want to know my considered opinion? This outfit fucking rules. It's got one and a quarter sleeves, thirteen visible buckles, a circular collar that connects only at the sternum, and a clingy ankle-length skirt with a slit damn near up to the thigh to reveal more buckles. It is the least practical outfit I can imagine an assassin wearing short of an inflatable dinosaur costume but god, it looks like it's meant for deadly stealth, and I am in love. Etrata is broody and gorgeous and has a big knife and extraordinarily naked shoulders, and what else could you want?

Judith, Carnage Connoisseur (art by Jodie Muir)

A look specifically crafted to elicit "step on me mommy"s from the general public. I'm on record as saying that there's no way Judith does any sort of aftercare, so maybe have a Selesnya cleric on speed-dial if you're gonna run that risk.

Judith, Carnage Connoisseur (alternate art by Alex Dos Diaz)

I think Loxodon Hierarch is screening my calls.

Honestly, I would do stupid, stupid things for a pretty girl with red eyes, sharp nails and facial scarring. I'm not sure what kinds of things I would do for a pretty girl with gold flame decals on her arms, but based on prior evidence, they would probably also be extremely stupid.

Izoni, Center of the Web (art by Justine Cruz)

It's weird how people get locked in your memory at the point in time you knew them. You know you've changed a lot since then, and if you thought about it you'd agree other people might well also have changed, but you don't think about it, and then you run into an old friend or an ex and the things you knew them for, the things you've tied their memory to in your mind, aren't even still part of their life.

So Izoni, my beloved Izoni, Ravnica's foremost bug girl and finder of beetles, has moved on with her life in the past six years. She's into spiders now, that's her thing. She's a spider girl. And that's cool, spiders are cool, too, but the way this went in my head I was going to tell her about the mantis-riders of Tarkir and the dune-beetles of Amonkhet and the behavioral quirks of giant ants on Innistrad and now, instead, I'm not sure what to say. "You're looking well," I suppose, or something about, "so, leading the Swarm now? How's that going for you?"

Analyze the Pollen (art by Anna Christenson)

It's not even that big a change, really. Hardly noticeable. She still has that same intensity, that same curiosity. Her brows still furrow in concentration. She's still covered in crawling things, and she is still the most beautiful woman on Ravnica. Spiders or insects, what's the difference? All it means is that six years have passed. All it means is that the places and people you love continue to move in your absence. All it means is that you're both talking past each other to your echoes, to the people you used to know, who no longer exist. Time has eaten them both.

And if you, like time, get hungry, don't forget to use our affiliate code KNIFELINK at -

HEY. HELLO FLESH IS A RAKDOS JOINT, RIGHT

- in the middle of the ad read, dude?

YOU SAID HELLBENDER CHEFS DO THE CHARCUTERIE. THAT'S JUDITH'S PLACE

Yeah, what about it?

DO YOU THINK SHE'S GONNA BE GOOD WITH CONTENT SHE SPONSORED CALLING SOMEONE ELSE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN RAVNICA

Ah.

OR LIKE DO YOU THINK SHE'S GENERALLY COMFORTABLE SHARING THE SPOTLIGHT

...so thank you all so much for listening to this episode of Wifelink! I'm going to lay low for a bit, and if my body turns up face-down in an undercity canal, y'all know who did it.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I saw your wand post and now I can't stop thinking about how veela hair works in a wand. Probably affected by the relative of that veela being the weilder. But veelas are close enough to wizards/muggles to seamlessly interbreed.

Do wizards/muggles have bits that can be used in spells wands potions???? What.

Ohh, this is a fascinating subject and my honest ansear is a resounding YES.

See, anything that has magic in some capacity can be a wand core. Wizards are easy to explain, but even muggles have magic in them (discussed here, and here), latent and dormant magic, but magic nonetheless. Ollivanders says himself the three wand cores he uses aren't the only ones that work, just the most reliable ones:

Early in my career, as I watched my wandmaker father wrestling with substandard wand core materials such as kelpie hair, I conceived the ambition to discover the finest cores and to work only with those when my time came to take over the family business. This I have done. After much experimentation and research, I concluded that only three substances produce wands of the quality to which I am happy to give the illustrious name of Ollivander: unicorn hair, dragon heartstring and phoenix feather. Each of these costly and rare materials has its own distinct properties. The following represents a short summary of my research into each of the three Supreme Cores. Readers should bear in mind that each wand is the composite of its wood, its core and the experience and nature of its owner; that tendencies of each may counterbalance or outweigh the other; so this can only be a very general overview of an immensely complex subject.

(from Pottermore)

Basically, Ollivanders is running a business, as such he wants to supply wands that people want to buy. We know Thestral hair, Horned Serpent horns, Troll whiskers, and more can all function as wand cores. Dragon scales could likely work as well, the thing is these other cores Olivanders doesn't work with fluctuate more greatly both in power and in pickiness. If he made a Thestral hair core, for example, he'd probably never sell that wand because of how picky it'll be. It's likely cores are also picky what woods they work with, and that the three cores he works with can pair with basically any wood, which allows him a lot of room to work with.

Ollivanders tells Fleur this about her wand:

“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands . . . however, to each his own, and if this suits you . . .”

(GoF, 308)

So, basically he only makes the wands that are easy to control and tend to not act on their own, are more likely to pick a wizard that comes into the shop, and are consistent in the magic they produce. And it makes sense from a business standpoint, he wants to ensure the widest variety of wizards could find suitable wands that they'll be happy with.

But it also means, hypothetically, that wizards who buy their wands from Ollivanders don't necessarily get their perfect match of a wand, since he isn't selling the core that would truly vibe with their magic. Sure, one of the three he does sell would work, and work well, but there could be a British wizard/witch out there that has an okay wand from Ollivanders that works well for what they need but if they pick up a kelpie hair wand, all of a sudden magic would flow through the wand way easier and more naturally. Idk, I think it's interesting.

I also agree with you Fleur's wand works as well as it does for her because the hair came from her grandmother, who knew and loved her. So, similarly, if you take hair from a muggle or wizard who wants to power a wand for you and whom you're related to, it could work. I think the power of these wands would fluctuate quite a bit depending on who the hair comes from. I also believe the wand's personality would be affected by the person the hair is from, so you essentially have a stick version of that person, which is a little weird to think about but could be really interesting to explore in a hypothetical scenario.

Now, because I'm thinking about it, I kinda headcanon child Fleur was really close to her grandmother and her grandmother died either around the time Fleur needed to get her wand or a bit after, and her wand was something willed to her by her grandmother and something that allows Fleur to keep her grandmother with her after she died. (I don't think we know if her grandma is alive or not, but this is now my headcanon).

As for spells and potions, we know this to be true already. I mean, a Polyjuice potion requires the hair of whoever you want to turn to. You can say it's because the potion needs the DNA, but magic doesn't exactly work like that. Not only that, but it's specifically hair and not fingernails, or any part of the person, no, it's hair.

We also see you need to bleed on the rock to enter the cave where the locket Horcrux is kept, which, again, shows human blood (magical and muggle alike) has specific magical properties spells can recognize, just like their hair. Voldemort's resurrection potion uses muggle bones, wizard flesh, and wizard blood and they clearly work.

And if we think about this from the Alchemical lens, it makes a lot of sense. In the philosophy of Alchemy, everything is alive, rocks, plants, animals, and people are all alive in the way that they have a soul, a divine magical spark also sometimes called quintessence that exists in everything. So, any component you take from nature has magic and can be used for spells or wands to various different affects depending on many different components and the context of how it's used.

(I think the use of human ingredients like human blood and bones is probably taboo and considered dark in the Wizarding World and therefore, not really done)

TL;DR

yes, muggle and wizard parts can be used as wand cores and spell/potion ingredients. It all depends on what you want to accomplish and if these ingredients work for what you need or if that person is one you'd get along with as the kind of team a wand and wizard create. After all, the wand will still need to choose you.

[mononijikayu]

chapter one  — violetta and alfredo.

Every detail of her being held captive in a cascade of enchantment. Her beauty was a symphony of nature's finest elements, a composition that left him spellbound. Her hair, reminiscent of the morning light that kissed the shores and painted the sky, framed her visage in a halo of radiance. Eyes, bright and vibrant like the ever-changing hues of autumn leaves, mirrored the lively spirit of the earth's vast wild plains. Bathed in the moonlight, she seemed to emanate the very essence of life, casting out darkness with the light it needed to thrive.

Genre: No Curses Au!, 1800s Royalty AU!

Warning/s: Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pinning, One - Sided Romance, Royalty, Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Courting, Arranged Marriage;

masterlist

note: almost 12k words,,,,,,it seems im back to my old way of writing. its just that type of life i suppose. anyway, enjoy!!! i hope this makes up for ghost of you!!! i love you!!!

SHE THINKS THAT THE SIGHT OF A CITY LIKE THIS WAS MARVELOUS. The anticipation of the journey ahead filled her with a sense of excitement and wonder, her mind drifting to the possibilities that lay beyond the distant river. Lost in her daydreams, she imagined the adventures that awaited them on the other side, eager to explore the unknown.

However, her reverie was abruptly interrupted as she was pulled back to reality by the need to change into a new outfit. Her brother, Yu, was busy preparing for the journey as well, and she knew he must be equally disguised to blend in with the crowds. Yet despite the preparations, Yu seemed adamant about reuniting with his old friends from his academy days, particularly Lord Nanami, whom he held in high esteem.

The arrival of nobles from distant lands to celebrate the king's birthday added an air of caution to their travels. Father would undoubtedly be furious if he knew they were embarking on such a journey without proper precautions. However, Yu had planned their departure a day early, anticipating potential delays due to weather or other unforeseen circumstances.

Yu's thoughtful consideration for their well-being touched her deeply, a testament to his generous nature amidst the complexities of their world. She cherished his kindness above all else, a beacon of light in the darkness of the Jujutsu world. As they prepared to embark on their journey, she couldn't help but feel grateful for her brother's meticulousness in all of this.

Yu's decision to choose an inn east of the city, known for its discretion and privacy, was a thoughtful one, reflecting his understanding of their preferences. He took great care to ensure their privacy would be maintained by organizing the departure of all men in small groups, minimizing the risk of drawing attention to their presence.

She departed with the servants first, allowing Yu to bring up the rear and oversee the process without causing any delays. As they approached the inn, named 'Cherry Merry,' she couldn't help but giggle at the whimsical name. Yet, the sweet scent of cherry blossoms that enveloped the room upon their arrival immediately charmed her, offering a welcome reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the capital.

The simplicity of the room, adorned with cherry-colored sheets and subtle hints of silver, resonated with her taste. The presence of two large lamps on either side of the bed, accompanied by round tables, added a touch of elegance to the space. A small desk awaited her, adorned with quills resting atop clean white parchments, and a bottle of ink enclosed in a glass cylinder, inviting her to immerse herself in creativity.

Despite the temptation to open the wide windows that flanked the bed, she hesitated, mindful of the need to maintain their privacy. The unlit fireplace, filled with fresh logs scented with cherry blossom, added to the cozy ambiance of the room, creating a serene retreat for them amidst the chaos of the outside world.

Her luggage sat neatly arranged on the edge of the bed, a silent testament to her presence in the room. Embellishments adorning her belongings hinted at her noble lineage, with the wide heron's head emblem proudly displayed. It was a symbol of the once illustrious lineage of their clan, now revitalized by her brother's lordship. Their family's fate had been lackluster for years, overshadowed by the repercussions of siding with the wrong faction in the previous war. Whispers of their father's shortcomings echoed through the halls of Jujutsu society's higher echelons, yet her brother's tireless efforts had begun to mend their tarnished reputation.

Despite the weight of their family's history resting heavily on her shoulders, she found solace in the unspoken understanding between her and her brother. He never asked for her assistance, preferring to shoulder the burden alone, but she knew that her role extended beyond mere appearances. It was a duty she willingly embraced, masking her inner turmoil with a facade of poise and grace whenever required.

Raised in the sheltered confines of Haibara's distant ashy meadows, she had always felt stifled by the constraints of her noble upbringing. The societal expectations of a lady felt suffocating, constraining her desire for freedom and autonomy. Deep down, she yearned to break free from the shackles of her status, to embrace a life unrestrained by societal norms.

Her brother, understanding and empathetic, would have readily granted her that freedom had she asked. But she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone in their struggle for redemption. They were each other's pillars of support, their unwavering bond the only constant in an uncertain world. If she were to leave, he would be left to navigate the treacherous waters of politics and power alone. The mere thought brought a pang of guilt to her heart, a silent reminder of the sacrifices she made for her brother's sake.

As she stood at the threshold of her room, lost in her thoughts, Kusakabe's voice broke through the silence, drawing her attention. She turned to face him, the weight of her contemplation evident in her eyes.

“You alright, little one?” He asks her, taking a place by her side.

"I'm fine, just... there is much in my mind, Kusakabe," she confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I have no business being here."

Kusakabe nodded in understanding, his expression reflecting a sense of empathy. "No," he agreed solemnly, "but it is the king’s invitation. King Satoru insists on everyone being there to celebrate his birthday. And he likes your brother enough. Shielded both of you from the elders.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help but sigh in resignation. “I know that much. But I was happy at home, you know.”

"Quite obvious, little lady," Kusakabe chuckled softly, "But isn’t this your introduction to society?”

Her shoulders slumped slightly as she contemplated his words. "Not what I want. I’ll never hear the end of society if I show up.”

Kusakabe's laughter rang out, a warm and familiar sound that eased the tension in the air. “Hm, I suppose you won’t.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, enveloped in their own thoughts. Then, with a gentle smile, Kusakabe approached her, reaching out to tuck a misplaced strand of her hair behind her ear. "I can’t believe you’re already so grown up. I never thought I’d ever be watching both you and your brother like this.”

Atsuya Kusakabe had been a steadfast presence in their lives, standing by their family through thick and thin. From the siege of their family home to the challenges they faced in their daily lives, he had always been there, protecting them with unwavering loyalty. 

A few years older, he had been taken in by their father when he was gravely injured on the streets, offering him freedom in exchange for his service to the family. Since then, he had become an indispensable part of their lives, more like an elder brother than a servant. His dedication and loyalty had earned him their trust and respect, making him an integral part of their family.

"This is so new to me," She mused, a hint of wonder in her voice.

"Hm? What is?" He inquired, turning to regard her with mild curiosity.

"Atsuya would not say this. This is certainly not you," She replied with a playful grin, causing him to chuckle and nod in agreement.

He rolled his eyes affectionately, pinching her cheek. "You are ever so cheeky like this. Brazen even. A man would not stand a chance, I fear."

"Who needs a man anyway?" she retorted, her grin widening mischievously. "Yu would be happy to keep me at home as a spinster. Would you not be happy about that too?

He sighed softly, a wistful expression crossing his features. "It’s not that I wouldn’t be happy to keep you at home with us. It’s just that… don’t you want that life too?"

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, contemplating his words. "What do you mean?"

"You know, falling in love. Being happy. Having your own family," He explained gently, his gaze searching hers.

"But you guys are my family," She replied sincerely, her voice filled with warmth. "I’m content with that."

He sighed, nodding in understanding. "I can’t argue with that."

She smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you. Now, go and eat something. You must be famished after being stuck with me."

He laughed, the sound echoing with fondness. "As if. Go back to your room too, little one. You need to rest before we resume our journey."

With a playful wink, she nodded in agreement. "Alright, Atsuya. I'll see you later."

As he departed, she remained standing in the hallway for a moment, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. The conversation with Atsuya had stirred something within her, prompting her to reflect on her own desires and aspirations.

What comes next?

What is there to be for her?

She sighed, pondering.

What is there for a woman?

IT WASN’T LONG WHEN THE THOUGHTS OVERWHELMED HER. Heading back to her room, she couldn't help but ponder the notion of love and family. While she cherished the bond she shared with her brother and uncle, she couldn't deny the faint tug of curiosity about what it might be like to experience romantic love and create a family of her own.

Settling into her room, she allowed herself to daydream for a moment, envisioning a future where she found someone who cherished her just as much as her family did. But for now, she was content to enjoy the present moment and the journey ahead with her beloved brother and their sworn sword by her side.

As the hours stretched on with little to occupy her mind, she found herself grappling with an unrelenting sense of boredom. Initially, she attempted to immerse herself in the books she had brought along, eagerly flipping through the pages in search of diversion. However, the stories she once found captivating now felt dull and predictable, failing to hold her interest for long.

Turning to another favorite pastime, she reached for her writing materials, hoping to channel her restlessness into creative expression. Yet, as she attempted to weave words into poetry, she found her thoughts scattered and uninspired, unable to summon the eloquence that usually flowed effortlessly from her pen.

With a heavy sigh, she leaned back against the soft cushions of her seat, her gaze drifting aimlessly towards the ceiling. The emptiness of the room seemed to mirror the void within her, amplifying her sense of ennui and prompting a restless stirring within her soul. She knew she couldn't bear another moment of this oppressive boredom and resolved to find something, anything, to occupy her mind and soothe her restless spirit.

Frustrated by her inability to find solace in either reading or writing, she rose from her seat with determination, determined to seek out an activity that would banish her boredom once and for all. Casting a quick glance around the room, her eyes fell upon a familiar object tucked away in a corner – a beautifully crafted chess set.

A spark of excitement ignited within her as she approached the set, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings of the chess pieces. Chess had always been a favorite pastime of hers, a game of strategy and intellect that never failed to captivate her mind.

With a smile of anticipation, she carefully set up the chessboard, arranging the pieces in their starting positions. As she settled into her seat, her mind focused solely on the challenge that lay before her, she felt a sense of purpose and excitement wash over her, replacing the oppressive boredom that had plagued her earlier.

Lost in the intricacies of the game, she relished the mental stimulation it provided, each move calculated and strategic. The hours flew by in a blur of intense concentration, her boredom forgotten as she immersed herself in the timeless battle of wits that unfolded upon the chessboard.

By the time she emerged victorious from her match, her mind felt alive and invigorated, the lingering traces of boredom banished by the exhilarating thrill of the game. 

But the problem is she keeps winning.

She could only pout as she looked at the pieces.

She needed to get out of here.

She needed to not be bored.

IT WASN’T LONG WHEN SHE STARTED TO PREPARE TO LEAVE. As she rummaged through her belongings, her heart raced with excitement, her hands trembling with anticipation. She knew exactly what she was searching for, and when her fingers finally closed around the familiar handle of her fishing rod, a triumphant smile spread across her face. With the rucksack in hand, she practically danced towards the door, her mind already envisioning the peaceful tranquility of the nearby river.

However, her excitement was quickly tempered by the realization that there were guards stationed just outside her door, their watchful presence a constant reminder of her restricted freedom. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the door and greeted the guards with a polite nod, masking her inner turmoil behind a facade of composure.

Engaging the guards in casual conversation, she deftly maneuvered the conversation towards the topic of their well-being, using her charm and wit to subtly persuade them to accept her offer of refreshment. With a gracious smile, she produced a handful of gold coins from the folds of her dressage, insisting that they indulge in a well-deserved respite.

Despite their initial protests, the guards ultimately yielded to her request, their reluctance overshadowed by the implicit threat of consequences should they defy her wishes. As they hurriedly departed to enjoy their brief reprieve, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her ability to wield her influence and power when necessary.

With the guards temporarily distracted, she seized the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, her heart pounding with exhilaration as she embarked on her impromptu adventure to the river. As she made her way through the lush foliage, the sound of the rushing water growing louder with each step, she felt a sense of liberation wash over her, reveling in the freedom that came from defying the constraints of her gilded cage.

After swiftly changing into a simple ensemble to minimize the risk of being recognized, the lady deftly attended to her own attire without the need for assistance. With no ladies-in-waiting at her beck and call, she completed her dressing with practiced efficiency, braiding her hair before adorning herself with a scarlet hat that lent a touch of flair to her ensemble. A satisfied smile graced her lips as she appraised her reflection in the mirror, pleased with her appearance.

With nimble fingers, she quickly assembled her fishing rod, drawing upon her past experience to complete the task with ease. Gathering her essentials into a rucksack, she prepared for her impromptu adventure, ensuring she had everything she needed for a pleasant outing.

As she made her way down the stairs, she maintained a cautious vigilance, scanning her surroundings to avoid any encounters with the guards stationed throughout the manor. Concealing her face with the rucksack, she felt her heart quicken with nervous anticipation, yet her determination propelled her forward, undeterred by the prospect of potential obstacles.

Stepping out onto the stone cobbled street, she relished the sensation of her sturdy hunting boots against the pavement, the familiar weight grounding her as she embarked on her excursion. Despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach, a wide smile graced her features as she set out to seize the day, eager to immerse herself in the adventure that awaited her.

"Excuse me," she called out to a passing man, his long white beard and merchant's attire marking him as a familiar sight in the bustling capital. "Good man, I do not mean to disturb your morning, but could you tell me the way to the river?"

The man regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and surprise, but he quickly nodded in response. "Yes, uh, it's to the left, to the left."

"To the left, to the left," she repeated with a grateful smile. "Thank you, good sir!"

With a nod of acknowledgment, the man continued on his way, leaving her to begin her adventure.

As she made her way through the narrow streets, the vibrant energy of the capital enveloped her. She walked amidst a sea of people, each engaged in their own activities—selling, trading, and going about their daily lives. The sidewalks were bustling with activity, and makeshift markets sprang up along the paved pathways, offering a colorful array of goods and wares.

With her fishing rod in hand, she navigated through the crowd, her senses alive with the sights, sounds, and smells of the bustling city. The beauty of the capital unfolded before her, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation for the adventure that lay ahead.

As she strolled through the lively streets, the warm rays of the sun bathed the city in a golden glow, casting a cheerful ambiance over the bustling scene. People of all ages and walks of life meandered along the cobblestone pathways, some leisurely enjoying the sunshine while others bustled about their daily tasks.

Mothers cradled their infants in their arms, their laughter mingling with the cheerful chatter of couples strolling hand in hand. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from nearby bakeries, tempting passersby with its irresistible scent. Old taverns, steeped in history and tradition, stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time, their weathered facades echoing tales of days long gone.

Amidst the historic landmarks, she spotted newer establishments springing up, each one a testament to the city's vibrant spirit of innovation. A quaint watchmaker's corner caught her eye, its storefront adorned with a freshly painted sign that gleamed in the sunlight. Intrigued, she stepped inside and browsed the assortment of finely crafted timepieces on display, marveling at the meticulous craftsmanship.

After making her selections, she continued on her way, her steps quickening with anticipation as she approached a bustling market stall. There, she purchased provisions for her fishing expedition—a selection of bait and tackle, as well as a loaf of freshly baked bread and a refreshing cup of lemonade imported from distant lands. With her supplies in hand, she set off once more, eager to embark on her outdoor adventure along the riverbank.

As she wandered through the city streets, she couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for the simplicity of the lives she observed around her. The ordinary people she passed seemed content with their everyday concerns—finding love, pursuing careers, and building homes—without the burdens of status and expectation that weighed heavily on her own shoulders. Despite her privileged position as a high-ranking woman, she envied their freedom from the constraints imposed by societal norms and familial obligations.

Pushing aside these thoughts, she focused on her quest to find the river. With a warm smile and friendly greetings, she attempted to engage with the locals she encountered along the way, despite their wary and hesitant responses to her unfamiliar appearance. Clad in a dark velvet gown adorned with feathers, she stood out amidst the crowd, a foreign presence in their midst.

After a half-hour journey, she finally reached the riverbank, her eyes lighting up with delight at the sight before her. The calm waters of the river flowed gently, reflecting the blue sky above like a mirror. The riverbed, dotted with large and small stones, created a mesmerizing contrast against the water's dark hue. The peaceful ambiance of the surroundings made her feel as if she had stumbled upon a hidden sanctuary, a tranquil oasis amidst the bustling cityscape.

Setting aside her fishing rod, she retrieved a bag of worms from her rucksack and carefully baited the hook, following the instructions her brother had taught her. With a practiced hand, she cast her line into the water, watching with anticipation as it disappeared beneath the surface. Standing on the edge of the rocky outcrop, surrounded by nature's beauty, she felt a sense of calm wash over her, as if all her worries and cares had been momentarily suspended in the gentle flow of the river.

As she focused on fishing, memories of her childhood with her brother Yu flooded her mind. She recalled the days spent by the riverbank, learning the art of fishing from him. Yu, ever the resourceful and creative one, had fashioned her first fishing rod from sturdy sticks he had whittled down with his trusty knife. With a few modifications and some ingenuity, he had transformed the simple sticks into functional fishing rods, complete with thin wiring and metal hooks.

The nostalgia of those carefree days brought a bittersweet smile to her lips as she waited for a bite. Suddenly, she felt a sharp tug on her fishing rod, jolting her back to the present moment. Excitement surged through her as she realized she had caught a fish. With a surge of adrenaline, she gripped the rod tightly and began to reel it in, feeling the familiar thrill of the catch.

However, in her eagerness to land the fish, she pulled too hard, causing the fishing rod to slip from her grasp. With a gasp of surprise, she watched in dismay as the rod flew behind her, caught on something unseen. The sound of horses nearby startled her, and she froze in panic, holding onto the rod as she tried to free it from whatever it had become entangled with.

"You, woman with the fishing rod, how dare you fish here?" The voice boomed, causing her to whirl around and face two men on horseback. One was a tall, lean figure with sandy brown hair, his expression stern and disapproving. The other remained calm atop his horse, her fishing rod's edge snagged in his cloak. She gasped in realization.

"Oh, dear god! Please don't move," she pleaded, releasing her grip on the fishing rod and hastily reaching for her rucksack. With trembling hands, she retrieved a small pocket knife and rushed towards the two men on horseback, her heart pounding with urgency. She felt tall enough to reach the cloak and was about to cut it when the redheaded man stopped her. “Let me help you, my lord!”

"How dare you point a blade at the king’s high minister, you lowly woman?" he bellowed, dismounting from his horse and restraining her.

"Ino, there is no need for such fury over a trivial matter," the blond man interjected calmly. "We inadvertently interrupted her fishing. She has every right to be here. It is open to the public. That’s the purpose."

The man, named Ino, bowed his head slowly. “Forgive me, my lord.”

"The king’s high minister?" Her breath caught as she locked eyes with him, her gaze meeting his soft brown eyes behind green-tinted goggles. Yu will not let her hear the end of this with his teasing. She should have known who he was. 

He was handsome, far more than her brother had described. She glanced at the brown-haired man and attempted to free herself, but he confiscated the knife. Rolling her eyes at his overreaction, she focused on removing the hook from the minister's cloak.

Then she got down on her knees in a curtsey she had always known to do, her eyes averting the minister's gaze nervously as the man with red hair looked at her with proud demeanor. She had never seen Nanami Kento before. The times he visited their family’s estate, she would be out visiting Utahime in her family’s estate. She purses her lips, looking at him. But ending up flustered, cheeks colored scarlet.

He was very handsome, a bright burning star in an already bright sky. So bright that no one could even outshine him. His primed blond locks were neatly pleated on the side of his head. Dressed in a silver uniform, he looked ever so formal — Yu had said he never wore anything else but his military uniform. She wondered if he did this every day, walking and riding about the city without any guards and freely accompanied by such companions. It could be dangerous if he was not careful or keeping a low profile.

"My lord, I must apologize for any offense I may have caused," she spoke softly, bowing her head in contrition. "I understand that such a transgression is punishable—"

"Dear lady, there is no need for apologies when no wrong was committed intentionally," Nanami interjected, his voice calm and reassuring. "Please, rise and reveal yourself. We assure you, we harbor no ill intentions towards you."

Obeying his command, she stood up, allowing Nanami to fully see her. He couldn't help but be struck by her beauty; her long hair tied behind her back accentuated her celestial skin, making her eyes shine even brighter than he thought possible. In her innocence, she appeared as a vision of purity, and Nanami couldn't fathom her being capable of any wrongdoing.

However, her attire revealed her foreign origins. Such dress was uncommon among the women of the capital or the surrounding regions. She must have been the daughter of a merchant, Nanami deduced.

"What is your name?" the blond man asked as he dismounted from his horse. "I presume you are not from the capital, am I correct?"

She smiled warmly at him and shook her head. "No, my lord minister, I am from the countryside."

"Ah," Nanami smiled triumphantly. "I am correct, then. You are from the countryside, but your accent—"

"The countryside boasts a variety of accents, my lord minister," she replied, though she felt a pang of guilt despite the truth in her words. "I reside near the far meadows, within the Haibara lands."

"I see. You must be a vassal of my lord Haibara." Nanami nodded thoughtfully, patting his horse before gripping the reins. Ino glanced at his lord minister, unsure if this decision was wise. Turning to his friend, he hesitated, "Ino, will you return to the castle and inform them that I will be delayed? I intend to walk back."

"But Lord Nanami, this is not prudent. I cannot leave you here—"

"But you will," Nanami insisted firmly, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "That is my wish, Ino. I wish to accompany this lady back to her lodgings safely."

"But—"

"That is my decision, and if you disregard it, you are not truly following me, my friend," Nanami interrupted, his tone unwavering. "Have you not pledged to comply with any request I make?"

Takuma Ino sighed heavily, recognizing his friend's stubbornness. Reluctantly mounting his horse, he cast a concerned glance at Nanami. "Very well, but ensure you don your cloak upon your return. Your safety is paramount, my lord minister."

Nanami Kento chuckled softly at her words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Yes, my lady. It seems even princes are not immune to moments of chivalry."

She returned his grin, feeling a sense of warmth at his playful response. "Indeed, my lord. It's a refreshing reminder that chivalry still exists in this world."

As she began gathering her belongings, Nanami watched her with a gentle expression. "Take your time, my lady. There's no rush."

She nodded appreciatively, feeling a sense of ease in his presence. "Thank you, my lord. I won't be long."

With a graceful movement, she carefully packed her belongings back into her rucksack, ensuring everything was secure. As she finished, she straightened up and turned to face Nanami once more.

"Now that we're alone," he began, his voice soft yet commanding, "I would prefer it if you addressed me by my name. Kento will suffice, my lady. The formal titles... they feel unnecessary in our private conversation."

She nodded in understanding, a smile playing on her lips. "Of course, Kento. Thank you for your kindness."

As they stepped out into the bustling streets of the city, a sense of anticipation filled the air. The city buzzed with activity, merchants hawking their wares, street performers entertaining passersby, and the aroma of street food wafting through the air. Despite the crowds and the chaos, there was an undeniable energy that permeated the atmosphere, a vibrant pulse that seemed to echo the heartbeat of the city itself.

Walking side by side, Kento and the lady navigated their way through the throngs of people with ease, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they exchanged stories and shared insights about their lives. With each step they took, the city revealed itself in all its splendor, its grandeur and its flaws laid bare for all to see.

The lady found herself captivated by the sights and sounds of the city, her senses alive with the vibrant energy that surrounded her. She marveled at the towering buildings that reached towards the sky, the narrow alleyways that twisted and turned like a maze, and the colorful tapestry of life that unfolded before her eyes.

Kento, meanwhile, was content to simply be in her presence, enjoying the simple pleasure of her company as they strolled through the city streets. He listened intently to her words, his heart warmed by the genuine warmth and kindness that emanated from her.

"I think I get what you mean," the woman said, her voice carrying a hint of understanding.

"Hm, about what?" Kento inquired, his curiosity piqued as he raised a brow in intrigue.

"It’s as though those titles just feel like it's about to drown you and the expectations with it, just too heavy to carry," she explained, her words filled with a sense of weightiness.

Kento's gaze softened as he listened, his eyes following her every movement as she carefully adjusted her rucksack. "Yes," he nodded slowly, "Exactly like that. And there is no time for you to think about what you actually want to be."

The woman nodded in agreement, a solemn expression on her face as they continued their stroll through the city. "Well, the control is often out of our hands," she remarked, her voice tinged with resignation. "A woman is always to be charming to her husband and obedient to all men, father and husband, without having the right to think of it. The same as your predicament, Kento."

As the woman's words echoed in Nanami's mind, he couldn't help but be reminded of his own family's struggles with duty and expectations. His thoughts drifted to his mother, a woman who had been forced into a marriage with his father solely out of obligation and tradition. The weight of her sacrifice and the constraints of societal norms weighed heavily on his heart.

Nanami's mother had endured a life of silent suffering, bound by the chains of duty and obedience. Her marriage had been a transaction, devoid of love or choice, leaving her trapped in a life she had never desired. Nanami had witnessed her struggles firsthand, the longing in her eyes for a life of her own, free from the shackles of expectation.

For a moment, a wave of melancholy washed over Nanami, engulfing him in a sea of sorrow and helplessness. He felt the weight of his own obligations pressing down on him, the burden of his father's expectations suffocating his spirit. His mother's sacrifice had taught him the harsh reality of their world – that sometimes, duty came at the cost of one's happiness.

Yet, despite his inner turmoil, Nanami remained resolute. He knew the risks of challenging his father's authority, the potential consequences of defying tradition. He couldn't afford to act impulsively, not when the stakes were so high. Nanami understood that he would have to bide his time, waiting for the right moment to assert his own desires and ambitions.

As they continued their walk through the bustling streets of the city, Nanami's thoughts remained consumed by the weight of duty and the struggle for autonomy. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that gripped him, knowing that for now, he could do nothing but watch and wait.

As Nanami's thoughts swirled in a tempest of emotion, the gentle cadence of the woman's voice brought him back to the present moment. He found solace in the way she spoke his name, the syllables rolling off her tongue with a delicate grace that soothed his troubled mind.

"Kento." Her voice was a soft melody, a gentle reminder of the reality that surrounded them. "Are you alright?"

Nanami's initial response was a reflex, a facade he put up to shield his vulnerability. "Y–yes," he stammered, attempting to mask the turmoil brewing within him. "I am very well”

The woman's concern was evident in her expression, her eyes reflecting a genuine worry for his well-being. "I had thought I had broken you. Do forgive my words if they have offended you.”

Nanami's smile, though strained, radiated warmth and reassurance. It was a facade he wore with practiced ease, a mask to conceal the turmoil raging beneath the surface. "Oh no, do not be alarmed, you have not," he reassured her, his voice steady despite the storm brewing within. "It was just you who said such true things. On behalf of the men in the world, I apologize over that matter. Women have as much say in things as we men do, I agree."

His words were a testament to his belief in equality and justice, a declaration of solidarity with those who sought to challenge the constraints of societal norms. Yet, behind his composed facade, Nanami grappled with a torrent of conflicting emotions, wrestling with the weight of his own obligations and the desire for freedom.

As they walked together through the bustling streets, their conversation took a playful turn, the woman teasing Nanami with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"For a moment, I thought there that you are pioneering a way for the kingdoms, Kento," she teased, her grin playful as she gazed at the lord minister.

Nanami couldn't help but chuckle at her jest. "Maybe one day, when men realize women as their equals, then perhaps that will happen," he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. "You should know that if all women were like you, then perhaps men would fall to their knees and bow to all women, who would be our queens.”

A raised brow was the woman's response to Nanami's statement. "Must all women be like that in order to be queens? Can't sweet girls be queens, or ones who are powerless?" She challenged him.

Nanami paused for a moment, considering her words carefully. "Well, I suppose I did not think of that... all people can be queens or kings," he answered diplomatically. "If they manage to convince others, if they have the strength to do it, then they will have power."

The woman grinned at his careful response. "Careful answer, Kento," she remarked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I try my best to please others with my words, of course." Nanami replied with a smile, his gaze lingering on her as they walked. "I have forgotten to ask, forgive me.. What is your name?"

As she paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her features. She knew she couldn't reveal her true identity, aware of the potential consequences if her brother found out. Yet, with a graceful smile and a steady gaze, she decided to share a piece of herself with Nanami.

With gentle sincerity, she whispered her name to him. It was a moment that seemed to suspend time, as if the world around them faded into the background. Nanami's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name, finding it as sweet as the person standing before him. In that instant, it felt as though life itself was unfurling in the most enchanting way, as if a new chapter was beginning with each syllable spoken.

"It's nice to meet you," he murmured, pressing his lips gently against her hand as she extended it to him. The touch was as delicate and soft as feathers brushing against her pillow. A sense of warmth and admiration filled her as she regarded the gentle lord minister before her. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She withdrew her hand, clasping it with the other as they exchanged pleasantries. Glancing around, she realized they were nearing her intended destination. Time seemed to have slipped away in the company of this charming prince, leaving her with a memorable stroll to cherish.

"Do you like music?" he inquired, his eyes sparkling with a mix of joy and melancholy as he spoke of his passion. There was a depth to him, a complexity that intrigued her.

"Very much," she replied sincerely. "I often find myself lost in all kinds of melodies. Sometimes, the music moves me so much that I can't help but dance. The musicians at home would play the best tunes to dance to! My brother teases me so much for it—” Se stops once she realizes he freezes and she blushes. “Am I talking too much?”

He shakes his head and smiles warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Not at all. Passion exists everywhere. Music is just one of them. Music is a deeply personal experience for everyone. Do you prefer lively tunes then?"

"Oh, yes, dearly," she chuckled. "If I could dance until dawn, laughing and giggling, I would!"

Nanami's compliment caused a faint blush to rise to her cheeks. "I could imagine you outshining all the ladies of the king’s court," he remarked. "A beauty and mind such as yours would be a power unable to be reckoned with by all others."

She offered a soft smile in response. "Such compliments must get you far with the ladies of court, then?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh no, dear lady. Women are always charming to me at court, yes. But there are other matters more important for me to attend to."

She regarded him curiously. "And you... you have no interest in them, my lord?"

"Kento," he corrected gently, his expression thoughtful. "It's not that I lack interest in women... it's just that I haven't found the right one."

She tinges red once more. “Forgive me for my slip of the tongue, Kento.”

“Not at all.” He reassures her again, a smile on his face. “It happens.”

She pouts back at him. “I still need to do better at it. You requested that I call you Kento and I slip.”

“It will get better with time.” The blond says to her, waving her off. “It’s not that important. We aren’t at the king’s court.”

“Oh, so you wish to see me again?” She now grins at him, looking up to his higher figure. “I am irresistible, I suppose.”

“You are quite a cheeky lady, aren’t you?”

Her eyes beamed with mischief. “Why, yes! ‘Tis would be dull if I was not.”

“Then you have my answer to your question earlier.”

Her brows furrowed. “On what?”

“I will not be shackled to marry someone that I do not like.” 

"But won't that matter?" she questioned, meeting his gaze with curiosity. "We don't always get to choose who we wed..."

Nanami nodded in agreement. "The king is insistent on seeing me married. He believes it will make me more sociable, less focused on my work. But….”

“You haven’t found the right woman.” She finishes for him.

He nodded. “And the king insists that I should make it happen as soon as possible.”

"Well, I’m sure you work so diligently that the king simply worries," she remarked with a small smile. “You are his friend, after all. Well, the whispers say he is.”

He snickered softly. “The man is more of a nuisance and trouble than he's worth."

She laughed lightly. "I’m sure the king is not that bad, my lord."

Nanami shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. "Believe me, you wouldn't wish to be at court, my lady."

She pivoted on her heels, coming to the realization that they had arrived. The familiar facade of her inn stood before her, a place she considered her refuge. A flicker of concern crossed her mind as she acknowledged the potential complications of bringing the lord minister into such a common establishment. The inconveniences it could cause were considerably too significant to overlook, and she resolved not to add unnecessary trouble to the lives of those around her.

Stepping away from his side, she turned to face him. A subtle height similarity emerged between them, with him only slightly taller. The streets around them whispered with the murmur of city life, the vastness of the cityscape stretching out beyond. In that moment, the boundaries between their worlds became apparent, and the delicate dance of their encounter carried an air of bittersweet transience.

"I suppose this is where you leave me," she said, her voice carrying a hint of resignation.

"Are you sure of that?" He asked, his brow furrowing with genuine concern for her safety. He didn't know her well, but he wished he did. "Not all of the capital is as safe as it once was..."

"I shall be fine," she assured him, mustering a convincing smile that could rival the radiance of a thousand women. "I am off to the ships tomorrow anyway. We will be returning home. I will be fine, I promise. I am a merchant's daughter, Kento. I know a thing or two about protecting myself. Do not worry about me.”

"But still..." he began, his worry lingering in the air.

"Please, Kento," she insisted once more, her voice soft but resolute. "I will be fine."

"But I must insist on bringing you to your quarters tonight safely, my lady," he persisted, his tone gentle yet firm.

"That is very kind of you, my lord," she conceded with a grateful smile. She looked adorable, slipping once more, with formality. She’s such a kind little soul, prim and proper. And yet so cheeky. When she finally realizes, she pouts once more. “This tongue of mine slips too often.”

"It is merely Kento," he said softly, his eyes reflecting a sincerity that touched her heart. "I insist on that with you. If I see you again. This informality makes me happy. It makes me feel…”

Amidst an atmosphere charged with unspoken tension, two figures stood resolute, their gazes locked in a silent exchange that transcended mere words. Despite the insistent push of the wind, urging them to part and surrender to the whims of the world around them, they remained steadfast, rooted in the intimate space they shared. In this moment, it was as if the external world faded into insignificance, leaving only the profound connection that bound them together.

Within the depths of their gaze lay entire universes, each conveying a myriad of emotions and thoughts that defied comprehension yet resonated deeply within their souls. It was a language of the heart, spoken in the silent symphony of their intertwined gazes, weaving a tapestry of understanding and empathy that surpassed the limitations of verbal communication. In this wordless exchange, they found solace and understanding, a sanctuary where their souls could converge in perfect harmony.

As they stood enveloped in this ineffable connection, it felt as though they were swept away by a force greater than themselves, engulfed in a love that knew no bounds. It was a sensation that consumed them entirely, suffusing every fiber of their being with a sense of completeness and belonging. With a gentle lowering of her gaze and a soft brush of his fingers against her hair, they shared a tender moment of intimacy, each gesture a silent affirmation of their shared bond.

In that fleeting instant, as their worlds collided and merged into one, it felt as though time stood still, allowing them to exist solely in the embrace of each other's presence. It was a moment that transcended the confines of reality, a sacred communion between two souls intertwined in the intricate dance of love and longing. And in the quiet stillness of that moment, amidst the echoes of their shared breaths and the soft caress of the wind, they knew with unwavering certainty that what they had was real, and it was enough.

The young woman, her voice barely above a whisper, breaks the silence with a single word, "Human." Her gaze locks with that of the man opposite her, their eyes briefly connecting in a moment fraught with unspoken meaning. 

Kento’s response comes in a contemplative murmur, his mind seemingly wrestling with the weight of her declaration. "Yes... human," he echoes softly, his eyes never leaving hers as they both linger more in the enigma of the other.

The woman's response was gentle, her words carrying a subtle grace as she acknowledged his gratitude. "You have been a gentleman," she murmured, her smile reflecting the warmth in her tone. 

He clears his throat, his hands resting at the small of his back. “It was nothing. It is…a gentleman’s duty.”

With a smile and a nod, she continued, "Thank you for your escort, Kento." 

Her gratitude held a depth that transcended the simple act of companionship, hinting at a mutual respect and appreciation for the connection they had shared during their time together. Nanami Kento could not help but be warmed inside.

"Will I see you again?" he ventured, his voice tinged with a mixture of longing and apprehension. 

Kento's inquiry, delivered with a blend of hope and uncertainty, hung in the air between them, pregnant with the weight of anticipation. “....If you return to the city. Will you come and seek me out again?”

She blinked at him, the drawing sun drawing immortality upon their silhouettes. His question carried with it the unspoken desire for their paths to cross once more, fueled by the fleeting but profound connection they had forged during their time together. She thinks it was her turn now, to feel this warmth.

Their exchange encapsulated a moment of delicate vulnerability, where unspoken emotions lingered beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged. As they stood in the quiet aftermath of their parting, the question lingered like a whisper in the air, leaving the possibility of a future encounter suspended in the balance of uncertainty and hope.

Nanami Kento's curiosity about her was insatiable. He longed to delve beyond the surface, to understand the intricate layers of her being. It wasn't just her love of femininity, strength, and wit that captivated him, though those qualities held a magnetic allure. No, he yearned to uncover the depths of her soul, to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden within.

He found himself pondering, contemplating the enigma that was she. And he wanted to know everything. He wanted to unravel her. All for his own. What were her dreams, her fears, her passions? What secrets did her heart hold, and what stories did her eyes long to tell? Each moment spent in her presence only deepened his curiosity, stirring an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

In her, he saw a world waiting to be explored, a universe of possibilities waiting to be discovered. And so, with each passing encounter, he sought to peel back the layers of her facade, to uncover the true essence of who she was beneath the surface. For he knew that within her lay a treasure trove of untold stories and hidden truths, waiting to be unearthed by the curious soul brave enough to seek them out.

"Who knows, Kento," he heard her say, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. "You may ask the gods. Wish for my presence very well. The gods are merciful to those who they deem worthy."

Before she could continue, she turned to face him again, her expression softening. "About what you said earlier." She smiled gently at him, almost sympathetic. "I don't think you should continue to let yourself suffer this way. The commandment of the holy books can be too much, even for the pious."

He raised a brow, a curious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And what say you?"

"I think that you should be able to be your own man, too," she answered, her voice gentle but firm. "You have a right to it. You are only a man, Kento. Be one that lives for yourself too. Not just for others."

"Then I suppose I must work on that then? Being my own independent man?" he mused, a thoughtful expression crossing his features.

"Yes," she nodded at him encouragingly, her eyes shining with sincerity. "Yes, yes you do."

And so she walked away from him, her figure fading into the bustling crowd until she disappeared from his sights.

In that moment, a sense of melancholy washed over him, a feeling of loss at her departure. Yet, amidst the melancholy, a glimmer of hope flickered within him.

Hope that he would see her again, that their paths would cross once more in the winding streets of the city. Hope that the connection they shared would endure beyond this brief encounter.With a wistful sigh, he turned to continue on his own path, carrying with him the memory of her presence and the anticipation of a future meeting.

HE COULD NOT STOP THINKING OF HER. As Nanami Kento returned to the castle later that night, his thoughts were consumed by her, an irresistible force that lingered in the recesses of his mind. The captivating allure of her presence was indelible, leaving an indescribable imprint on his thoughts. She embodied life in its most enchanting form, a woman who compelled him to consider possibilities he had not dared to entertain before. In her existence, he found a paradox, a challenge that both intrigued and unsettled him, becoming an unexpected anathema to his previously defined world.

Every detail of her being held captive in a cascade of enchantment. Her beauty was a symphony of nature's finest elements, a composition that left him spellbound. Her hair, reminiscent of the morning light that kissed the shores and painted the sky, framed her visage in a halo of radiance. Eyes, bright and vibrant like the ever-changing hues of autumn leaves, mirrored the lively spirit of the earth's vast wild plains. Bathed in the moonlight, she seemed to emanate the very essence of life, casting out darkness with the light it needed to thrive.

Her lips, a rich shade of red reminiscent of a precious ruby, were meticulously contoured like a finely crafted sword. Cheeks adorned with the delicate pink of apples in the late echoes of summer, ripened by the passage of time, crushed into a powder that the wind carried, infusing the scarlet wind with vibrant color. Yet, it was her blush, a tender display of vulnerability, that captivated him most profoundly.

Unable to escape the allure of her image, Nanami Kento found himself entangled in the enchanting tapestry of her existence. She became a muse that colored his thoughts, a presence that lingered in the corridors of his mind, leaving an indelible mark that defied both reason and restraint. As he navigated the corridors of the castle, he grappled with the unspoken emotions that blossomed within him, a tumultuous sea of longing, admiration, and a recognition that, against all odds, she had become a singular force that reshaped the contours of his world.

As Nanami Kento raised his goblet to his lips, the rich aroma of the wine enveloped his senses, but it was the scene unfolding around him that truly captivated his attention. The grandeur of the chambers, filled with an abundance of people, seemed to overwhelm him more than the wine itself. Despite the lively atmosphere of the king's party, his mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of her, her image echoing in his thoughts like a haunting melody.

Throughout the evening, he had fulfilled his duties with practiced ease, maintaining a composed facade as he greeted guests and exchanged pleasantries. Yet, beneath the veneer of social niceties, a sense of restlessness gnawed at him, rendering the mundane tasks of courtly life nothing more than background noise.

However, as a familiar face loomed into view, Kento's brow furrowed in a subtle display of displeasure. The sudden interruption disrupted the fragile semblance of calm that he had carefully cultivated, pulling him away from the sanctuary of his thoughts. Though the white noise of the party had momentarily receded, replaced by the distractions of familiar faces and idle chatter, he found himself yearning for the solace of his own thoughts once more.

As he navigated through the sea of faces, exchanging polite greetings and engaging in fleeting conversations, Kento couldn't shake the feeling of detachment that lingered within him. Despite the opulence surrounding him, it was the memory of her that held sway over his mind, casting a shadow over the festivities and leaving him longing for a moment of respite amidst the chaos of the night.

"My lord," Sir Geto Suguru's voice cut through the air, his figure adorned in the regal elegance of fine silk, a cloak trailing behind him as his hand rested on his side. He smiled as a gentleman would. It was clear why he’s the king’s favorite. An intrigued brow arched upward as he addressed Nanami Kento. "You seem to be rather...silent tonight."

Lady Ieiri Shoko, her demeanor playful as she lounged with her pipe, enveloped in wisps of smoke, chimed in with a knowing grin. Nonchalant as always, Kento thinks. But thicker with her bluntness. "My lord does have a lot on his mind, Suguru," she interjected, patting Suguru's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. "He deals with Satoru enough. Give him the space."

Lady Tsukomo Yuki, her presence commanding as she leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eye, joined the conversation. Her husband, Lord Choso tending to his brother, Kento’s god-son, distracted him. It would make sense why she was a stray in tonight’s gathering. 

"Though I must say, my lord," she teased, her arm resting casually upon Suguru's shoulder, "Ser Ino was rather...moody today. Tell me, my lord, with all your honesty, was he jealous? Was he jealous of you meeting a lover?"

Shoko's snort of amusement punctuated the air as she handed her pipe to Suguru, who eagerly indulged in a puff of smoke. "Make sure Satoru doesn’t hear," she quipped, her tone laced with amusement. “He’d find this lover and force our lord here to get hitched!”

Nanami Kento's gaze scanned the bustling chamber, searching for the familiar figure of the king amidst the sea of courtiers and nobles. "Where is the king, anyway?" he inquired, a hint of concern tingling his voice.

Sir Geto Suguru, ever the observant companion, gestured towards a cluster of individuals, his gaze settling on a pair of piercing blue eyes that shone like beacons amidst the throng of guests. "There he is," Suguru remarked with a wry smile, "Set loose upon the courtiers, scaring the old folks who don't want to fund his little projects."

Kento sighed inwardly, a sense of resignation settling over him as he contemplated the inevitable task of mitigating the fallout from the king's impromptu interactions. "I should have suspected as much," he muttered under his breath, mentally preparing himself for the diplomatic challenges that lay ahead. 

Satoru Gojo's family background was steeped in tradition, with his father known for his staunch conservative beliefs. However, Satoru himself diverged from his father's ideology, embracing a more progressive mindset that often clashed with the traditional views of the higher-ups in the court. This ideological divide was a source of constant tension and potential conflict, one that Kento Nanami knew he would eventually have to navigate as the king's minister.

As he contemplated the impending conversation that awaited him, Kento felt a familiar ache begin to throb at his temples, a physical manifestation of the weighty responsibilities that came with his position. The intricacies of court politics were a delicate dance, and as the king's trusted advisor, it fell upon him to manage the inevitable fallout from Satoru's divergent beliefs.

Though the prospect of confronting the conservative factions within the court was daunting, Kento understood that it was a conversation that he, as the king's minister, was uniquely positioned to handle. His loyalty to the crown demanded that he navigate the delicate balance between tradition and progress, ensuring that the king's vision for the kingdom remained uncompromised.

As Kento braced himself for the challenges that lay ahead, the weight of his responsibilities pressed down upon him like an oppressive force. The relentless pounding in his head served as a grim reminder of the burdens he bore as the king's minister, a solemn duty that demanded finesse and diplomacy in navigating the complexities of court politics. Yet, as he prepared to confront the ideological divide threatening to tear the court asunder, Kento steeled himself for the difficult conversations that awaited, knowing that the fate of the kingdom hung precariously in the balance.

Amidst the weighty atmosphere, Lady Tsukomo Yuki injected a moment of levity with a playful tease, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "But go on," she urged with a teasing glint in her eyes, "Don’t leave your guests hanging. Satoru’s tomorrow’s business. We are your business right now. Continue with your little story about the eventful stroll, my lord! Give us your romanticism!"

Kento felt his lips retort upward at Yuki's jest, a fleeting smile gracing his lips as he acknowledged the playful banter of his companions. Despite the weight of his responsibilities and the intricacies of courtly politics, there was a certain camaraderie in moments like these, a shared understanding and camaraderie that served as a welcome respite from the rigors of noble life.

 And as he prepared to navigate the complexities of the evening's festivities, Kento couldn't help but feel grateful for the companionship of friends who lightened his burdens with their humor and camaraderie. But he knew he would never say that out loud. Not even if Yu would force it out of him. He supposed he was a bit more grateful for that. Haibara Yu was more than he could ever handle. They may have been childhood friends, but there are things Kento keeps to himself.

Kento sighed softly, crossing his arms in a casual display of nonchalance. "It was nothing much, really," he retorts, a hint of sheepishness coloring his tone. "He was merely angry with me for being too kind to the woman.That's all."

Suguru's laughter echoed through the room as he took in Kento's explanation. "A beautiful, kind stranger of a woman?” he exclaimed with mirth. "Love at first sight, perchance?”

With a resigned sigh, Kento met their amused gazes, preparing to divulge the details of his encounter. "She is a merchant's daughter, if I recall correctly," he confessed, knowing that his friends would appreciate the honesty. "It was merely that she was fishing by the lake and managed to hook onto my clothes by accident."

Suguru's laughter continued, the jovial sound filling the room as he teased, "Oh, my lord. I never thought the day would come when the mighty and trusted Lord Nanami Kento would be fished out from the river by a merchant's daughter."

Despite his attempts to downplay the situation, Kento couldn't help but feel a sense of bashfulness at their teasing. "It was only an incident," he insisted, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. Shoko snickers at the sight of him, as much as his response. "She may have fished a lord, but she saw me as a regular man, for which I am thankful."

Yuki nodded in understanding, her voice soft with empathy. "That is the only thing a man ever truly wishes for," she murmured, her gaze meeting Kento's with a shared understanding. "To be seen as nothing more than a man. Like you always wanted, huh?"

Shoko's smirk widened as she teased, "And how beautiful is this merchant's daughter, my lord? She must have been quite a surprise."

Yuki’s short empathy turned into mischief. “Oh, yes! Do continue to tell us about that!”

Suguru intervened with a sigh, handing the pipe back to Shoko. "You ought to stop it before he starts to be irate, Sho," he cautioned, though amusement danced in his eyes.

Kento sighed, feeling the wine loosening his lips as he opened up further. "And she is not just beautiful," he admitted with genuine warmth, a fondness coloring his voice. "She is very smart, lively, and opinionated, I may add."

Shoko's mischievous grin widened even further, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she leaned in closer to Kento, eager to hear more about the intriguing merchant's daughter. "Oh, she sounds absolutely captivating," she remarked with a playful lilt in her voice, unable to contain her curiosity. "I must say, my lord, you seem quite taken with her."

Yuki, sensing Kento's growing warmth and openness, couldn't resist adding to the teasing. "Indeed, it seems you've met your match, my lord," she teased, a playful twinkle in her eye. "A smart, lively, and opinionated woman? She must have left quite an impression on you."

Suguru, ever the voice of reason amidst the playful banter, offered a gentle reminder to temper their teasing. "Let's not push our luck too far, my dearest ladies." he interjected with a soft chuckle, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "We wouldn't want to overwhelm our dear lord with our curiosity."

Despite Suguru's caution, Kento couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the lighthearted distraction his companions provided. "Thank you, Suguru," he acknowledged with a nod, his smile reflecting the genuine warmth he felt towards his friends. "And you're right, she did leave quite an impression on me."

Shoko raised a brow, intrigued. “It must be enough that you would want to see her again.”

"I should hope to see her again.” he admitted, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. It was merely a chance encounter."

Yuki's teasing only fueled the jovial atmosphere, her playful twinkle mirroring the lightness in Kento's heart. "Ah, but my lord," she persisted with a playful glint in her eye, "a chance encounter that leaves such a lasting impression? It sounds like fate may have intervened."

Suguru, ever the voice of reason, interjected with a gentle reminder, his tone laced with amusement. "Let's not delve too deeply into matters of fate, my friends," he cautioned, though there was a fondness in his voice. "After all, we mustn't forget our duties here tonight."

Kento nodded in agreement, acknowledging Suguru's reminder with a grateful smile. "Of course, Suguru," he replied, his tone sincere. "But I appreciate your concern. Rest assured, I will handle matters accordingly."

As the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely, Nanami Kento found himself gradually opening up about his encounter with the merchant's daughter in a way that surprised even himself. Despite his usual composure and ability to handle his liquor with ease, tonight was different. Tonight, there was an energy in the air, a sense of camaraderie and warmth that encouraged him to let down his guard.

With each refill of his cup by attentive servants, Kento felt himself becoming more relaxed, more willing to share the details of his encounter. It was as if the wine acted as a catalyst, loosening his tongue and freeing him from the constraints of propriety.

The gentle prodding and playful banter of his companions only served to fuel his openness, encouraging him to delve deeper into the nuances of his interaction with the merchant's daughter. He found himself recounting the details of their conversation with a newfound enthusiasm, each word tinged with a sense of wonder and excitement.

Despite his initial reservations, Kento couldn't help but revel in the warmth of his companions' company, allowing himself to be swept away by the moment. Tonight, he was not just a noble lord; he was simply a man, sharing tales of love and longing with friends who understood him like no others.

As the night wore on and the wine continued to flow, Kento found himself swept up in the easy camaraderie of his companions. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to melt away with each passing moment, replaced by a sense of lightness and excitement that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was as if tonight held the promise of something extraordinary, a feeling that lingered in the air like the scent of blooming flowers on a warm spring evening.

Suguru's laughter subsided into a knowing smile as he regarded Kento with a twinkle in his eye. "It seems our lord has found himself quite intrigued by this charming young woman," he remarked, his tone laced with amusement.

Shoko leaned forward, her curiosity piqued as she pressed for more details. "Do tell us more about her, my lord," she urged, her expression eager. "What is she like? How did you find her?"

Kento paused, his thoughts drifting back to the lively encounter by the lake. "She is unlike anyone I have ever met," he confessed, a hint of wonder coloring his voice. "Her spirit is as vibrant as the sunlight dancing on the waves, and her wit as sharp as a finely honed blade."

Suguru couldn't help but interject with a teasing remark. "And he had a poet's career in a day's time," he quipped, a playful glint in his eye.

Yuki nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with interest. "And what of her opinions?" she inquired, leaning in closer. "Did she challenge your beliefs, my lord?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Kento's features as he recalled their spirited exchange of ideas. "Indeed, she did," he admitted with a chuckle. "She has a way of seeing the world that is both refreshing and enlightening. It was... invigorating, to say the least."

Suguru's gaze softened with understanding as he listened to Kento's words. "It sounds like she left quite an impression on you, my lord," he remarked, his voice tinged with warmth. "Perhaps it is a sign of something more."

Kento's heart skipped a beat at Suguru's words, a rush of emotions stirring within him. Could it be possible that this chance encounter held the promise of something greater? He pushed aside his doubts, allowing himself to entertain the tantalizing possibility. Tonight, amidst the laughter and conversation of his friends, Kento dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something extraordinary waiting on the horizon.

As Kento mulled over Suguru's words, a surge of anticipation coursed through him, igniting a spark of hope within his chest. The possibility of something more with the merchant's daughter danced tantalizingly at the edge of his thoughts, like a distant melody beckoning him forward into the unknown.

With a renewed sense of determination, Kento turned his attention back to his companions, a bright glimmer of excitement shining in his eyes. "Perhaps you're right, Suguru," he admitted, his voice filled with a newfound optimism. "Perhaps there is more to this encounter than meets the eye."

Shoko's eyes widened with curiosity as she leaned in closer, eager to hear more. "Do tell us, my lord minister," she urged, her tone tinged with excitement. "What do you plan to do next?"

Kento's mind raced with possibilities as he considered his next steps. "I suppose only time will tell," he replied with a thoughtful smile. "But for now, I intend to explore this newfound connection and see where it leads."

Suguru nodded in approval, a supportive smile gracing his lips. "A wise decision, my lord," he remarked, his tone filled with encouragement. "Follow your heart, and trust in the path that unfolds before you."

Yuki's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she chimed in, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Yes, my lord, embrace this opportunity and seize the moment!" she exclaimed, her excitement contagious.

As the night continued to unfold, Kento felt a sense of purpose and excitement bubbling within him, fueled by the support and encouragement of his companions. With their unwavering support behind him, he felt ready to embark on this new journey, eager to discover what the future held in store. And as he laughed and talked with his friends late into the night, a sense of anticipation and possibility filled the air, setting the stage for the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

[rogerriddle]

Albert Racinet's "Polychrome Ornament," 1869 PLATE VIII. GRECO- ROMAN ANTIQUITIES. POMPEIAN STYLE. DECORATIVE ARCHITECTURE.

THE purely decorative architecture, which we find represented on the inner walls of the apartments in Herculaneum and Pompeii, seems to belong less to the domain of reality than to that of fancy. Tradition attributes to the painter Lidius, in the time of Augustus, the invention of these architectural compositions, so elegant though so fantastic; and they are frequently intermingled with maritime scenes and landscapes, or animated by various figures. Executed by Greek artists, or by Etruscans working under their influence, they were highly appreciated by the Romans, who found in them the elegance and poetry of Greek art, in place of their own stereotyped forms of architecture, of which vaulted ceilings and arcades were the most striking characteristics. The principal subject of the plate is a painted wall from the Casa delle Suonatrici, taken from the great work of Zahn: Les plus beau, ornaments et les tableaux les plus remarquables de Pompei, d' Herculanum et de Stabice; Berlin, 1828-30. It is considered one of the finest of its kind. The two single figures have been added to the design; they do not exist in the original. One of them, that of the dancing girl, on the dark ground, was discovered in the Torre dell' Annunziata. It is the finest of the twelve figures which were found in the same apartment, and is similar to those which Pliny calls Libiclines. The little winged genius, with Bacchic attributes, which occupies the upper medallion, was found in the excavations at Civita. These two figures are taken from the great work of Mazois: Les ruines de Pompei ( 4 vols folio; Firmin Didot).

[cerastes]

Maul-A-Bear Factory: Dismantling the Big Sad Lock

Big Sad Lock -- colloquially known as That Damn Bear -- is the second final boss in Integrated Strategies 2, the Roguelite mode offered by notorious music company Hypergryph in the game they included with their music albums, Arknights. It is a stationary, large boss with special mechanics that, if the anguished voices of the ghosts of all defunct Arknights players that have fought it and failed are anything to go by, can be pretty tricky.

But fear not, innocent bystander and cultured Arknights enjoyer, for I open the doors to my dojo of grease this fine day in order to instruct you in the finest ways of how to beat the Big Sad Lock. Today, it’s not a dojo, it’s a factory, the Maul-A-Bear Factory, in which you and I will embark on a heart-throbbing journey of understanding, wisdom, and incredibly visceral violence.

Without further foreplay, let’s hit that g-spot (the flow state for gamers in the spot, as you all know) and let’s get making our little handy dandy essential bullet point list on what it IS that you need to rip the stuffing out of this bear with your teeth:

undefined

This here is a video of me beating the Big Sad Lock in Calamity. Now, you may be wondering: Is this a Calamity guide? Nope, this works on any difficulty, which is something important to note because it let’s us immediately jump into the first very important point about the Big Sad Lock:

The Big Sad Lock is an extremely static, formulaic boss.

What does this mean? Unlike Lucian and the Playwright, and especially unlike The Mouthpiece, Big Sad Lock (BSL), as a boss fight, more or less resolves in the first minute and a half of the fight, that is, you can quickly be sure if it’ll go your way or if it won’t very quickly. This is because BSL either breaks you quickly, or not at all, and you break it or you don’t. Unlike the other IS2 bosses, BSL doesn’t test you much in terms of placement, it’s almost purely a test of team composition. IS2 is, already, a big test of team building, but BSL embodies that aspect to the extreme -- much like Mouthpiece is an extreme test of your ability to adapt to quickly changing circumstances, the opposite of BSL! -- so knowing if you’ll be able to win against BSL or if you’ll lose is actually something that becomes immediately apparent, and you have to ask yourself one question: Is my line holding while I deal damage?

Let’s get into the details that’ll make this question actually valuable, shall we?

Big Sad Lock has 300,000 HP, 800 ATK, 700 DEF, and 60 RES, and regenerates 0.25% HP per second (750 HP per sec baseline) if you do not have the Blank Suicide Note. It additionally occupies 3x3 tiles. To put it in simple terms, it has immense HP but several tiles to be attack from, above average Attack, above average Defense, and high Resistance, so your best bet is to hit it with Physical attacks or True Damage. It autoattacks two targets with Physical damage with global range, and every 20 instances of damage it takes (not attacks, instances of damage, so poison ticks and the like count), it releases a map-wide explosion attack that hits all of your Operators for 150% of its Attack (1200 Arts damage baseline). It’s most infamous ability, however, is that a minute into the fight and then every 45 seconds afterwards, BSL creates a barrier worth 15% of its Max HP (45,000 HP baseline). While the barrier exists, enemies move faster and additional enemies are spawned. If not defeated within 8 minutes, BSL explodes and deals 30 Life Points of damage to the Doctor, most likely ending the run unless you loaded up on Lives. This explosion also deals 200% Physical damage to every Operator (1600 damage baseline) but that’s the least of your problems at that point. While fighting the BSL, you also have to deal with constant enemies spawns, and must hold 2 lanes. These enemies are mostly regular enemies, but some of them are best handled with Arts damage, such as Enraged Grotesque Gravekeepers (aka red gargoyles), Mudrock Zealot Leaders (aka red Mudrock hammer guys) and Greytail Leaders (aka red shield bat guys).

Now, with all this information, let’s start formulating our bullet points on what it is we actually need:

This is how I usually set up for Big Sad Lock:

Pure red arrows are my Bear DPS. These units’ main job is to maim the bear almost exclusively, keeping a constant stream of hits going to it. You want strong single hits more than multiple hits for BSL, so as to not trigger its counter-explosion too often. Units that go on the right red arrow are those such as Ch’en the Holungday, Pinecone, Kal’tsit (Mon3tr on the tile directly to the left) to continuously pour damage into BSL, while the left red arrow is perfect for melee 1-range damage dealers like Skadi and Nearl the Radiant Knight. You want these to ideally be Physical units. Likewise, don’t use units like Exusiai or Ceobe S2, known for their extreme Attack Speed (though, of course, if your Attack Speed is some godly meme value like +400 or something, yeah, you’ll evaporate BSL, but a set up you’re not likely to get).

The Black-Red square is a special tile: Here, if you have them, is where you put Schwarz S3, Rosa, or any such unit. I personally put Schwarz S3 there and blast BSL from there. Otherwise, you can also put an AA Sniper or any such unit aimed down if you think your lane holding is not looking too hot.

The green squares are your Medics or otherwise healers like Skadi the Corrupting Heart.

The red square to the left is where you usually place a ranged unit to assist lane holding.

The blue-red arrows are lane holders, ideally damage dealer holders like Guards, Dollkeepers, or offense-oriented Defenders instead of turtles, as mob HP is overall low in this fight. The blue-red arrows to the left are double pronged because that’s a special tile that can also be used to DPS the Bear with certain units, if placed facing to the right: Pallas, Blaze S2, Thorns, and other such units can both hold that lane and assist with DPS. The right blue arrow is long to encompass the two tiles there: You can have a Lord or an Instructor behind a frontliner to hold that lane just fine. You can also use the ranged tile 2 tiles under the green square, if your deployment or strategy calls for it. Anywhere next to these arrows, you can place down a Healing Defender like Saria or Nearl for further blocking+healing if necessary.

Now that we have our placements, let’s examine the needs of the fight, based on the information we have thus far. In this section of my guides, we ask ourselves questions to organize our information into actually usable morsels of violence and wisdom:

What does the boss ask from me? -> The boss has regen if I don’t have a specific item, and even with it, it has high HP and a timer, as well as intensifying enemy spawns -> I want high damage -> But the boss counters every 20 attacks -> Prioritize fewer and heavier hits over multiple hits -> It has high RES -> Non-Multi-Hit Physical DPS for the BSL.

What does the rest of the fight ask from me? -> Several foes through 2 lanes, mostly resistant to Physical damage in one way or another -> Enough bulk and block to hold two lanes -> Enemies have low HP for the most part -> Prioritize damage over bulk, ideally Arts -> there’s constant damage from the boss’ explosions -> Bring enough healing to survive that -> High Physical damage can also deal with the enemies -> Bring Arts damage and/or high Physical damage and sufficient healing to keep your entire line alive to keep the lanes safe.

The fight is static -> The outcome of this battle is decided by how well I can set up so my units don’t die -> The battle is decided early, and it’s more about set-up than execution, of which there is very little -> Bring Vanguards if possible to hasten your set-up, as the faster you set up, the better your chances.

The boss explodes for damage constantly -> A small party with strong damage and healing fares better than a large party that I have to heal constantly, possibly running myself thin on limited Medic slots -> You don’t need a lot of units -> Thankfully, if you have what you need, the boss is easy and solves itself -> Quality over quantity, if you’re going for Bear, try your hardest to have the best of the best in your roster instead of a big overarching synergy, you don’t need much for this boss fight, just fulfill the damage and sustain requirements and you’re golden.

Once again, consult the video to see how I personally go about setting up for this fight, but, as you can see, the BSL is deceptively simple and frontloaded: If you have the tools and you lay them out properly, you win, simple as that. Once you get the hang of BSL, it’s trivial to beat it, simply because the building requirements for it are simple and straightforward, and most importantly, it requires very little execution, just on the set-up, which is just knowing targeting priority, the basis of Arknights.

BSL is mostly a very fundamental boss with lots of intimidating bells and whistles! It makes loud noises and sends enemies and grows shields but... Once you break it down, isn’t it just a very simple two-plus-two endeavor? There’s very little execution, you simply build your team on a diet of big single hit damage dealers and simple, bulky lane-holders with some damage and... You’re done. You don’t need more than that. It’s not me oversimplifying BSL, it really is that simple. It’s a boss that is difficult and scary until it just isn’t. I struggled a lot with it the first few times, until I realized, “wait, you just need like 3 things”, and now Bear runs are leisure runs.

Schwarz, Saria and Blaze S2 on the left with Corrupting Heart S2, Kal’tsit (+ Mon3tr) and Specter the Unchained on the right is the run I’ve done it with the least characters to memory. So long as your lanes don’t fall and your damage is constant... That’s it. That Bear is going nowhere, so a powerful static setup is very important.

And that’s that! We’ve finished this tour of the Maul-A-Bear Factory, now go out there and commit incredibly inspiring acts of violence!

[tavyliasin]

Upon The Devil's Stage - Raphael Romance Event

My second entry into the Make Raphael Romanceable event by @dmagedgoods because I felt like the first wasn't quite romantic enough. This one could follow on as a sequel, or stand on its own as a little one shot~

--- Raphael has returned to sweep Tav off their feet, wondering if they can truly dance to the steps he has set before them. Tav has long waited for this chance, the unspoken promise, drawn to the warmth of the Cambion's flame. --- Click here to read on AO3 1860 Words

Pairing: Raphael x Gender Neutral Tav SPICE Rating: 0/5, we're only here for the romance again~ Content Warnings: None Spoilers: End game and post game spoilers alluded to though not the focus. Canon Compliance: Ah, if only~ This can be the canon of your post-game dreams, if you wish!

Paired Song Whisper by Burn the Ballroom "His favorite days were the mornings She came with confessions of cardinal sin A beast in the business of selling forgiveness Dead eyes on a treacherous grin Yet he laps up the vice like a wolf in the night He's the left hand of God on the stage And with one hand he offers salvation to lovers The other, it taketh awaySo give me your fire, give me your fear Give me your faith when love gives you tears Give me your heart, give me your fate Give me your hand when love gives you hate Give me your prayers up on your feet And I'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats So give me your sins, give me your lies But whisper your love, and I'll whisper mine."

--- Full Fic Below The Cut! ---

Upon The Devil's Stage

Poetry. That’s what he was, a song written in lyrics designed to enthral whilst the music of his rhyme captured Tav’s heart and soul.

Thief. Though he would never admit to such a word being applied to himself, he stole the stage he walked upon, took the spotlight and outshone even that.

Playwrite.

The script he wrote became a performance all were drawn to, characters populating his world, a whole cast of little mice rushing through the maze and hoping to find the promised prize at the centre.

Raphael.

A Devil in name and nature, and yet he was also far more than the abject evil of old fairy tales written to warn Tav away from the temptation - temptation which evidently they had not been warned clearly enough about as they let him lead them in a waltz of his own composition. He called himself a saviour, once, and perhaps it would amuse him to see the daydreams in Tav’s head of the devil as the knight in shining armour, the prince coming to sweep them off their feet.

And yet…no romance novel printed on cheap parchment could compare to the image of the cambion dressed in his finest silks, hair swept back between horns that curved wickedly above like a crown without jewels. Raphael was purple prose brought to life on reality’s page, a vivid violet swirl of perfect cursive script spelling out the poise and grace he wove into every word and motion. 

It didn’t take a contract to have Tav accepting the hand offered to them, to follow him onto the dancefloor that appeared around them as the reality of the mundane melted away. Perhaps the ease in which he transported them both across planes without so much as a question first should have been a concern, but their only worry now was putting a foot astray in the devil’s dance. 

—

Raphael smiled. His favourite client, his Little Mouse, and they were radiant in the glow of his glory. A simple spell had transformed their dreary armour into fine silks that far better matched their status at his side - the soon-to-be Archduke of the Hells could not allow appearances to slide, even without any audience.

How he loved the way they hesitated for half a second before placing their small hand within his own, the way he could hear their heart stop for just a moment as his claws closed around their fingers. Such a fragile mortal soul, and yet Raphael could not deny that they had impressed him. He had told them once, that he had grown fond of them in his own way, and not one syllable of that had been a lie.

—

“Where’s the orchestra?” Tav finally found their voice in the genuine confusion at how there was now a swirl of beautiful music wrapping around them, as they gazed up towards the Cambion’s stern features as if looking for their answer in the charming wrinkles that decorated his face so beautifu- 

“The invisible choir sing when they are bidden, Little Mouse.” He spoke with a slight smile in the edge of his voice, the implication of a hundred lost souls just out of sight and at his command… It was not helping slow the rate of Tav’s racing heart. Raphael held such power so easily, so casually… His words were law, and his laws were as immutable as the Devil’s own capricious charms. “Do you not like the melody? It can be changed in but a moment if-” “No, no! It’s wonderful, really.” Tav almost bit their own tongue to punish it when they realised they had interrupted him mid-sentence. “I- Sorry I didn’t mean to…” Their voice lost all power under the burning gaze of the cambion above them, though to their surprise his expression creased into a smile within a moment. 

“Music, Mouse, was made to be danced to.” Raphael pulled them closer, one hand still entwined with theirs, his other wrapping easily around their waist. It was difficult to reach his shoulder when he was in this form, so Tav had to settle for gripping the sleeve that barely hid the strength beneath.

The musicians, still unseen, rose to a crescendo with a swell of strings as the devil began to lead their dance. 

Masterful feet wove a path around the ballroom, sweeping Tav between the shadows of a hundred fellow dancers who had neglected to attend the grandiose event made for two. No dream that had drifted through their sleepless nights could compare to the reality of the warmth of his hand on the curve of their back, no waking reverie of romance could match up to the almost weightless sensation of their waltz. Nothing could have prepared Tav for the moment he leaned over, taking the balance of their weight on his arm as he dipped them low, leaving his lips just a hair’s breadth from their own. 

Before they could catch their breath, or gather their senses enough to steal the kiss they had long dreamed of, the devil smirked and lifted them back to their feet. Their mind was spinning in the same manner as their body did while the dance continued, each move a push and pull that brought them tantalisingly close only to create distance once more. 

The heat of the cambion’s body, the grace of his movements, the danger of being so close to the power and devilish charm he possessed… Tav felt like they were dancing in the heart of a fire, and they had not one care if they were to burn to ash right there and then. 

—

Raphael savoured each moment like a delicacy. Watching the breath catch in Tav’s throat, seeing their pulse quicken almost imperceptibly through the exposed part of their neck, noticing how their lips almost wanted to chase him every time he pulled away. 

He had often spoken to them of how he preferred clients to be desperate, to be left with no option, no thought beyond turning to him and begging for his aid. This was…not the same, not quite. He did not want them broken and bowed with their knees in the dirt, he wanted…not an equal, but something close. Someone who could challenge him. Someone who would desire everything he was and everything he could be, but one who would not be afraid to chase it. 

And thus, Raphael had set the lanceboard pieces upon the table, making each move and daring Tav to take what they wanted. Were he to be the one to show his desire for them openly? That would not do, the balance of power would shift. He had perhaps gone far further than he might have liked in creating this moment, in calling them his favourite client, in revealing his fondness for them more than once… But that was the limit of his grace in showing them he was receptive to an advance. They had to be the one to want him, and he was to be the one to so generously allow them to be close. 

“You dance well, Little Mouse.” A simple compliment, earning him a smile and the blush that spread across their cheeks - of course, it helped that his whisper was directed into their ear, lips almost brushing the ever reddening tip.

“I could say the same of you, Raphael.”  Ah, there it was. A little more confidence, that edge of bravery returning, driven by the desire he was stoking within them so carefully. He allowed one more soft breath across their ear - a gentle bellows to grow the flames within them - before he pulled away again. 

This time, however, Tav was faster.

—

The tension was infuriating. Tav couldn’t tell if Raphael was merely teasing them, or waiting for them to make the first move. Either way, if they didn’t do something about it soon, they were certain it would leave them with nothing but a lifetime of regret when the music reached its final cadence. 

The depth of his voice, the heat of the air that carried it, the scent of his perfume so close to them… When the cambion tried to move away this time, their hand found a grip on his horns instead, holding him a few inches from their face as he embraced them in a dancer’s dip in his arms. 

“Not this time. Wait.” They had meant it as a request, but desperation turned the words to more of a command.

“Issuing orders? To me?” Raphael’s eyebrows raised, a slight smile toying at the edge of his lips. “My, my, Little Mouse. We have become so very brave in the face of the cat. Perhaps I should drop you right here upon the floor.” 

“You don’t want to do that.” Tav continued, emboldened in the knowledge he could have fully pulled away at any moment…yet he allowed them to hold him here. They even softened their grip to caress his horns, smooth, sharp, dangerous and regal… Everything that they admired in him.

“Oh? And what is it that I want from a mere mortal such as yourself?” His voice was subtly lower now, the spaces between his words saying far more than the sound. 

“I don’t know,” Tav admitted, their hand drifting from his natural crown to the side of his cheek, “but I know what I want. And I’m tired of waiting for it.” They threw caution into the depths of the inferno and stole his lips in a kiss, savouring the heat of his touch and the scent of cherry that was almost intoxicating as he softened, yielding - in so much as a devil would ever yield to a mortal - and returning their affection with his own. The cat might have set the trap, but as long as they still got the reward they had yearned for, the mouse did not care that the cambion’s claws were firmly embedded in their soul. They had danced to his tune, waltzed right onto the board of his game willing to sacrifice every piece they had if he were to ask.

—

Devil. The name that most would give the man with a crown of horns, eyes like living fire, and a burning desire to rule all the hells. And what would that make Tav, now? Willing to take his hand, to follow him into the depths of Avernus and beyond just to be at his side… Ally. No, more than that. This was no brokered deal of warring nations, nor a mere friendship between neighbours. Their goals had aligned, in such a way as they might. Partners, perhaps… Putting a name to the lack of space between their lips felt like a fool’s errand. Saviour. The title he gave himself when they first met had proven true, in its own way. Appearing when he wished to, giving them not what they wanted but only what they needed to prove themselves. To be worthy of him. “Raphael.” His name tasted all the sweeter whispered into his kiss, the last seal of a fate they would choose a thousand times without a second thought as he swept them away into the night.  

--- --- ENDING NOTES --- --- Would you dance with the devil? What song might you pick for his invisible orchestra to play for you as he whisks you around the ballroom? Thank you for joining me with these little event pieces, it's always fun to write some Raphael content~ He's truly fascinating and captivating as a character, we were blessed by some wonderful writing and performances in the game, with the stunning art and animation to match.

[leapyearforever]

Book Of Japanese Tattoo Designs

Japan, 1880-1910

A rare book of hand-painted tattoo designs made for Western clients, Japan, 1880-1910. Watercolor on silk, accordion-folded pages,

One of the few books of Meiji-era Japanese tattoo flash known to survive. Its silk pages are painted with a spectacular array of designs—bearded dragons, snakes, geishas, and heroes and immortals riding plunging, soaring beasts—truly some of the finest and earliest flash in existence. The book's route to Northern Ireland, where it recently came to light, is shrouded in mystery, but its construction and subject matter align with a small body of documented flash painted by Japanese tattooers for Western clients. Its anonymous artist painted in a precise style reminiscent of the famed Japanese tattoo master Hori-Chiyo, and was likely an equally-skilled contemporary working in Japan during the same period.

Following the opening of Japan in the 1860s, wealthy Western tourists flocked to the previously reclusive nation. There they were captivated by the lush, dynamic, full-body compositions of traditional Japanese tattooing on the local artisans, laborers, and service people they met in their travels. Acquiring the exotic, transgressive body art—and undergoing the long, painful, and costly experience of being hand-tattooed by a Japanese master—became a status symbol for the first wave of moneyed Western globetrotters. However, when the Japanese government banned the tattooing of its citizens in 1872, Japanese tattoo artists adapted their traditional practices to better suit the tastes and imperatives of the growing crowds of their Western patrons.

Smaller tattoos accommodated sailors' and travelers' limited time and funds, and a design repertory of cranes, lizards, cats, bats, and other animals—largely detached from their original symbolism—replaced larger, heroic scenes of warriors, comic figures, and gods of popular Japanese literature and art that had so enriched traditional Japanese tattooing. This book's preponderance of small designs exemplify this adaptation to a Western audience.

By the 1890s, several Japanese tattoo artists opted to take their skills directly to their clientele, traveling and setting up shops in Europe, Great Britain, America, and Australia, often generating headlines along the way. Perhaps this book of tattoo designs was carried to the West by such an itinerant artist, became separated from its owner, and passed from hand-to-hand as a beautiful and exotic curiosity.

[writerfae]

Masterpiece – Part One

Welcome to another episode of “this could’ve easily been its own short story, but I am too attached to my Alder OCs to not make everything about them”.

I had this idea a while ago and thought it would be perfect for who? You guessed it! Aiden and Talon. So I wrote this. I decided to break it up in two parts, with part one being posted on Aiden's birthday - so today (Yay!)

I hope you'll enjoy it! ^^ (also Happy Birthday to my boy Aiden <3)

The young knight’s hair shines golden in the light of the sun that falls through the window behind him, illuminating the scene.

His armor is black, a stark contrast to the lightness of his hair and skin. He kneels before a tall figure dressed in finest robes of gold and black.

The man before the knight is young as well, probably not much older than the knight himself, but the crown adorning his dark locks leaves no doubt about his position.

The knight’s lips are pressed to the signet ring on the other man’s outstretched hand, a pledge of loyalty. His eyes never leave those of the young king, who looks back at him, seeming pleased.

There are other people in the background, too, but with the light that falls on the king and his knight and the look the two share, it feels almost intimate, as if they are the only ones in the ballroom.

Out of all the paintings at the Willow Museum of Art, this one is Aiden’s favorite. It is one of the lesser-known pieces, tugged away in a corner of the museum that isn’t as well visited as the rest.

A little treasure he had discovered on his very first visit as a freshman in college.

Aiden has been interested in art ever since he was a little boy, guided through an art gallery by his mother’s hand. But never before had he been so drawn to a painting.

He stumbled over it by accident, sitting down the nearest bench to tie his shoelaces. As he looked up, the painting caught his eye and Aiden found himself unable to look away.

There were many things to admire about the painting. The composition, the play between light and dark contrasts, the carefully painted details. But what really caught his attention were the two men portrayed.

One, a knight kneeling before his king, looked almost ethereal with the light that illuminated his handsome features and golden hair.

The sight of his beauty stirred something deep inside of Aiden, a feeling he couldn’t quite explain.

The knight’s lips were pressed against the knuckles of the other person at the center of the painting, his eyes fixed on the man in front of him.

Following his gaze, Aiden took a closer look at the figure – and couldn’t believe his eyes. Startled, he took a step back.

The other man – undoubtedly a king, judging by the crown on his head – looked exactly like him. He gasped.

It was as if Aiden himself was looking back at him from the painting. Or at least a version of himself. It was scary, really.

The king in the painting could’ve been his twin.

They had the same unruly dark locks, the same deep brown eyes and olive skin, even their noses were the same. If Aiden had to guess, their ages seemed to match, too.

For a moment, Aiden wondered if this king ever really lived, or if he only existed in the artist’s imagination.

He studied the small info sign by the painting, but it couldn’t answer his question. The piece was painted by an unknown Croatian artist.

It was a scene like he had seen on other paintings before, a knight showing his loyalty to his king.

Yet this was different, somehow. There was something about the fondness in both their eyes and the careful, almost gentle way the knight held the hand that he kissed, as if it was that of a lady he courted, rather than that of the king that he served.

It looked so much more private than one would expect from such a gesture. Intimate, even. Aiden almost felt like he wasn’t supposed to look at them, wasn’t supposed to witness this moment they shared.

Ever since that first encounter, Aiden had been enchanted by this painting. He came by almost every weekend just to look at it, to study it, to wonder what story the artist intended to tell with it.

He even made some sketches, using his new favorite painting as inspiration for his own art.

He did research, too, about the masterpiece and its creator, but without much success.

No art historian, no critic knew who the mysterious artist was. Just that he presumably was Croatian, because that was where the painting was from and that whoever it was must’ve been extremely talented to create such a fine piece of art.

There weren’t many interpretations for the painting itself, either. Aiden only found a handful of them, since it was by far no famous painting, even though he thought it should be.

One of these interpretations caught Aiden’s eyes in particular.

“What we see is a moment between a king and his loyal knight. But with the way the normally so formal gesture is portrayed, it could just as well be a private moment between lovers, hidden away behind the pretense of a normal courtesy.”

Lovers.

That seemed right. Aiden found it quite fitting. It matched the feeling he had whenever he looked at the two men on the painting, at the look they share, at the way the beautiful knight held the hand of his king.

It felt warm. Familiar.

These two obviously had a deep connection and Aiden somehow felt a connection to them as well. He didn’t know why.

Maybe it was because one of them looked so much like him.

He studied the face of the young king again. In his eyes lay such fondness that Aiden was certain that the man must be in love with the knight kneeling in front of him.

His affection seemed to practically radiate from the painted canvas.

It was the same for the knight in question, golden eyes filled with affection just as much as those of his king, if not more.

Everything in his posture spoke of pure devotion and fondness, of a loyalty deeper than that of a guard.

No, there was truly no doubt, at least not for Aiden. The more time he spent studying the painting, the more obvious it became.

These two were more than just a king and his knight. They loved one another.

That thought made Aiden smile.

He was so absorbed in the painting and his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the person that came to stand beside him, looking up to the painting with the same wonder Aiden did the first time he saw it.

Only when said person let out an awed gasp did he notice the young man. But he didn’t get a proper look at his new company because he already moved forward.

All Aiden saw was a flash of gold that caught his eye as the stranger passed him with fast steps, getting closer to the painting, presumably to get a better look at it.

Looking back at it, Aiden couldn’t tell what moved him to put aside his sketch book and approach the stranger.

Maybe it was just a feeling. Maybe it was because he never saw someone beside himself so fascinated by this painting before.

Or maybe it was destiny.

Either way he stood from the bench and came to stand beside the stranger, who looked up to the art piece, lips parted slightly in astonishment.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aiden looked up to the painting, then he turned his gaze to the stranger.

The young man startled at his words. Quickly he turned to the side, facing Aiden with golden eyes wide with surprise and shock and Aiden felt like the world stopped turning.

He blinked. Once, twice.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Looking right at him was the knight from the painting.

Well, he wasn’t really the knight, of course. But he looked like him. Same fair skin and sharp features.

Same blonde hair and eyes of molten gold. He was handsome in a way that was almost otherworldly.

It was like he had just walked out of that painting, exchanging his armor for black jeans and a black sweater with a white collar.

Aiden saw his own surprise mirrored in the face in front of him. Apparently, the stranger had recognized the similarity between Aiden and the king on the painting as well.

Taking a step back from him almost as if he had just encountered a ghost, he put some distance between them, looking back and forth between the painting and Aiden’s face.

“How…” That was all that he managed to say.

Aiden couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since I first saw it.”

He looked up to the painting again. “It is kind of creepy, seeing your own face in a painting that is hundreds of years old. But at the same time, it’s pretty cool!”

He looked back at the other, smiling. “I’m Aiden, by the way.”

Aiden held out his hand to the stranger, who still seemed stunned, but took the offered hand anyway.

“Talon,” he said. And now he was smiling, too.

“Nice to meet you, Talon.” Aiden grinned.

“I never thought I’d get to meet the knight to my king.” he added, nodding to the painting.

Though he rolled his eyes, the other’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink at his words, much to Aiden’s delight.

“Do you want to know more about the painting? I could tell you about it. I’m sort of an expert by now.”

Talon smiled at him again, a soft smile that reminded Aiden of the knight on the painting and made his heart skip a beat.

“That would be nice.”

.

tag list: @andifthestarsweretodie @bloodlessheirbyjacques @bluehourskyeli @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @justafrogandherumbrella @ladywithalamp @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @phantasticdomains @rhikasa @saltysupercomputer @sleepy-night-child @soupopoireau @theguywithnonickname @thewalkingnerd @vampywriter @vsnotresponding @writing-is-a-martial-art (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

[ds9-polycule-tales]

3 - 2375

Elim looked up as Julian came through the doorway, the faint blue flash of the antiseptic field momentarily creating a sketch of his thin shape, stooped with exhaustion, as an afterimage on the back of the Cardassian’s retina.

“How is he?”

“He’ll live. And keep the leg, even, though that was touch and go a few times before I managed to modify the chemical composition of the antibiotic a little. If his grandmother had waited a few more hours before managing to sneak him out to us…”

Some of the sag of the doctor’s shoulders was relief as well as crushing fatigue, Elim realised. He held out his arms to Julian; drew him down into his lap and folded his arms around him. The younger man’s hands were rock-steady as ever, but his shoulders shook a little as he slowly relaxed against him.

“I still can’t believe his parents didn’t bring him to us sooner. I know sepsis can come on suddenly, but the original cut itself was deep enough. If we can’t get people to trust Federation doctors, even…”

“The medical profession on Cardassia may not…quite have always lived up to your particular ideals, my dear,” Elim replied, savage irony heavy in his voice despite its softness. “And given the Founders’ fondness for biochemical control of populations under their figurative thumb, I rather doubt that has changed for the better in the last two years.”

Julian’s body sagged a little more as he considered the implications. Elim tightened his arms around him, but resisted the sudden, still-surprising urge to say something to comfort him. The kindest thing I can do here is tell him the bald truth of the situation, he thought. Letting him discover it for himself – and potentially make costly mistakes in doing so – will hurt him more in the long run.

He could almost smile at the realisation that he, Elim Garak, was genuinely weighing his options for kindness, of all things; might have laughed, quietly, to himself, at the sheer absurdity of it. Except that Julian had never had to learn the many tricks of irony and distance that he, Elim, had carefully cultivated since he was younger than the boy whose blood still speckled the doctor’s uniform; Julian’s empathy and compassion was genuinely as raw and authentic as an open wound, and, somehow, that seemed to be bleeding back to Elim too.

“We can’t even supply shoes to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Julian said tightly into his shoulder; almost as much a raw vibration of pain and frustration in his flesh as sound. “We have adult footwear in Supplies, but they’d all be much too big for him, and the whole reason he cut his foot on the rubble in the first place was that he’s already grown out of his existing shoes. I’ve already checked; all the replicators we have are flat out keeping supplies coming to keep everyone fed and housed and the time to work out a replicator pattern for shoes that will be outgrown again in another two months would mean other children going hungry. It’s awful, and I can’t stop it being awful without making it more awful.”

Elim drew him closer; held him silently, and eventually lay down with him. A cot in an infirmary cupboard had its drawbacks, but Julian was only going to sleep at all within earshot of his patients, and it was worth it, every bit of it, to share those snatched moments with him.

*****

A couple of days later, as the boy’s grandmother came to bring him home, accompanied by a somewhat stiff younger couple who had probably looked very much younger six months ago, Elim slipped through to intercept Julian as he went to bring him out.

“One moment, please, my dear. Child – Arabrus, isn’t it?”

The boy turned large dark eyes in a too-thin face up to Elim. Children all had eyes like old women, these days. “Yes, sir.”

“Try this on, Arabrus. Just your good foot will be fine for now.”

He held out a shoe to the boy. It wasn’t his finest creation by a long shot, but he was strangely gratified that his guess had been close enough that it required surprisingly little adjustment. He had the child wiggle his toes and push his heel back against his hand just to make sure, but he was satisfied.

“When your toes start feeling pushed against the front, Arabrus, just unscrew this little bit here a little and loosen them until you have room to move them again, just like this. I think your grandmother will know what to do, but if you have any trouble, you can ask back here. My name is Mr Garak.”

After Julian had seen the family off with medication and instructions, he came back to Elim with the first smile in days splitting his face.

“However did you manage that?!”

“Oh, never ask me to explain all my tricks, my dear. You must allow me to keep a little mystery, after all.”

Elim smiled his most untrustworthy smile, spreading his hands wide. But as Julian embraced him, he looked over his shoulder. It was hidden in the ever-present clouds of dust, but he knew the direction of Mila’s small marker stone like he knew his own heartbeat.

She had been an incredibly thrifty woman, always managing to keep things running smoothly even when sudden dips in Tain’s political fortunes had meant he was unable to send resources for months or even years at a time. It had been more common in those early days than the pride of the Head of the Obsidian Order had later allowed any of them to remember.

But Mila would have been proud, he thought, that her old working-class mother’s trick for making shoes that always kept her unspoken son shod no matter how little money they had or how fast his feet grew was still keeping children safer now, even after the end of the world. She would have been prouder of that, he thought, than of any monument he could build for her.

[cartermagazine]

Today We Honor Lee Morgen

Lee Morgan was one of hard bop’s greatest trumpeters, and indeed one of the finest players of the ‘60s. An all-around master of his instrument modeled after Clifford Brown, Morgan boasted an effortless, virtuosic technique and a full, supple, muscular tone that was just as powerful in the high register.

His playing was always emotionally charged, regardless of the specific mood: cocky and exuberant on uptempo groovers, blistering on bop-oriented technical showcases, sweet and sensitive on ballads.

In his early days as a teen prodigy, Morgan was a busy soloist with a taste for long, graceful lines, and honed his personal style while serving an apprenticeship in both Dizzy Gillespie’s big band and Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers.

Due to the crossover success of “The Sidewinder” in a rapidly changing pop music market, Blue Note encouraged its other artists to emulate the tune’s “boogaloo” beat. Morgan himself repeated the formula several times with compositions such as “Cornbread” (from the eponymous album Cornbread) and “Yes I Can, No You Can’t” on The Gigolo.

CARTER™️ Magazine carter-mag.com #wherehistoryandhiphopmeet #historyandhiphop365 #cartermagazine #carter #leemorgan #jazz #blackhistorymonth #blackhistory #staywoke

[superfruitland]

omg i feel like a dork for never commenting on your blog banner before

the atmospere created by casey and the composition and the colour is so good

im eating it <3

thank you <3 rare getting a note on composition and atmosphere, this will stay in my head forever anon /pos

its actually an earlier btwfa panel concept, slapped a cyan hard light layer (...or soft light, i can't remember) at half opacity and decided it'd make a great banner - not my finest work but i like it a lot for what it is, holds a soft spot in my heart for sure