#gilles de chin

[philoursmars]

Il y a une petite quinzaine, je suis allé avec Julien et Katie, au Louvre-Lens pour une expo temporaire : "Animaux Fantastiques". Une très belle expo ! Ici des dragons et une gargouille.

en alternance, nautile monté, argent - Allemagne, XVIIe s.

école de Toussaint Dubreuil - "Henri IV en Hercule"

en haut, prétendu dragon tué par Gilles de Chin, seigneur de Wasmes (en fait, crâne de crocodile momifié champsès) ; en bas, livre de Ferrante Imperato - Histoire Naturelle - Naples 1672

Louis Welden Hawkins - "Le Sphinx et la Chimère"

[wonder-worker]

“...The custom of calling [Agnès Sorel] the first “maîtresse-en-titre” or the first “official royal mistress,” as the expression is typically rendered in English, make it is easy to overestimate her visibility during her lifetime. But despite the claims of modern historians, the expression “maîtresse-en-titre” was manifestly not invented for Agnès Sorel. No contemporary document refers to her in that way. Indeed, the word “maistresse,” to designate a beloved woman whom one was courting or hoping to marry, begins to appear only later. [...] The composite expression “maîtresse-en-titre” becomes common only around the mid-eighteenth century as a general way of designating a favorite or current mistress, used to refer to the king’s favorite mistress but by no means restricted to this use.

Agnès, then, is never referred to as anything like official mistress. The titles that she held were associated with the properties given her by the king: she was the Dame de Beauté, Roquecezière, Issoudun, and Vernon-sur-Seine, although it is not clear that she actually exercised any real control over these towns. Another thing that the documents do not say is that Agnès was publicly acknowledged as the king’s mistress; it is not true as one historian writes, that in 1444, the king “publicly designated Agnès Sorel as the first official royal favorite” during a joyous entry. There is no trace of such a presentation in any document. Nor was she ever mentioned as the center of attention at any festival [...]

Still, chroniclers were aware of Agnès, and the attention that she receives from them far surpasses that devoted to any other woman of comparable rank of her time. As a basis of comparison, we might take the mistress with whom Charles VII’s father, the insane Charles VI, was supplied to protect the queen from the abuses that he showered on her. Odette de Champdivers figures in exactly one chronicle and then not even by name. The chroniclers who mention Agnès and were either rough contemporaries or active within about fifty years after her death and therefore able to consult people who had known her include Thomas Basin; Jean de Bourdigné; the Bourgeois of Paris; Jean Chartier; Georges Chastellain; Jean Le Clerc; Jacques Du Clercq; Mathieu d’Escouchy; Robert Gaguin; Nicoles Gilles; Jean Juvénal des Ursins; Olivier de La Marche; Thierri Pawels; Pope Pius II, Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini. With one exception, Jean Chartier, who claims that the king never touched Agnès below the chin, they affirm that Charles VII loved Agnès madly, that she was beautiful, and several note that the king bestowed inappropriate material favor upon her.

For a hint of her political activity we can turn to Olivier de La Marche, Burgundian memoirist and chronicler, who writes in an entry about negotiations that took place in May and June 1445 that the king had recently taken up with a beautiful lady and that she did much good for the kingdom “by bringing before the king young men-at-arms and excellent companions, by whom the king has since been well served.” This suggests that she was able to influence the king’s appointments. In addition, we have mentions of her influence over the king in three depositions, each related to court factionalism and plots to overthrow the king along with Pierre de Brézé, his righthand man and the dauphin’s nemesis. One recounts, for example, that Pierre de Brézé controls the king through “that Agnès who serves the queen.” In another set of depositions relative to a different bit of political intrigue, the deponent refers to Pierre who has the king’s ear partly through the help of Agnès, “from whom Pierre has whatever he wants.” The same document says that the deponent had been instructed to inform the king that the dauphin was so upset with the king that he, the dauphin, was going to put things in order himself and chase Agnès away. In addition, the deposition lists code names for members of the court. Agnès’s is Helyos: Héloïse? The sun?

Agnès unexpectedly joined the king in Normandy in January 1450, having crossed France, pregnant, to tell him, according to one chronicler, that he was about to be betrayed by some of his people and turned over to the English. She then fell mortally ill of what we now know was a sudden ingestion of a massive amount of mercury. Certain chronicles reference the dauphin’s hatred of Agnès and a handful of sources suggest that he had her poisoned. Simply the fact that contemporaries thought that the dauphin might have done her in indicates a perception that she was influential.

The evidence adds up to what may have been clout with the king, but a profile so low that no ambassador was ever given instructions to seek her out, or, at least nothing indicates that any ever did. Nor is her presence ever mentioned at festivals, something that would have suggested her importance. Ambassadors to François I’s court, for example, routinely mention that François’s most significant mistress, the Duchess of Étampes, was present at court festivities, often mentioning where she was seated and with whom she spoke. But Agnès’s presence at such events was never noted.

-Tracy Adams, "Queens, Regents, Mistresses: Reflections on Extracting Elite Women’s Stories from Medieval and Early Modern French Narrative Sources"

[1morey]

Every known Rainbow operator past and present (and NIGHTHAVEN operators)

GIS

Adriano “Maestro” Martello (2018-Present)

Antonio Maldini (1999-2012)

Aria “Alibi” de Luca (2018-Present)

GIGN

Alain DuBarry (1999-2012)

Emmanuelle “Twitch” Pichon (2015-Present)

Gilles “Montagne” Touré (2015-Present)

Gustav “Doc” Kateb (2015-Present)

Julian “Rook” Nizan (2015-Present)

Olivier “Lion” Flament (2018-Present)

1º Batalhão de Forças Especiais

Alejandro Noronha (1999-2012)

Spetzgruppa “A”

Aleksandr “Tachanka” Senaviev (2015-Present)

Genedy Filatov (1999-2012)

Lera “Finka” Melnikova (2018-2022 (defected to NIGHTHAVEN), rejoined in or before 2025)

Maxim “Kapkan” Basuda (2015-Present)

Shuhrat “Fuze” Kessikbayev (2015-Present)

Timur “Glaz” Glazkov (2015-Present)

AFEAU

Ana “Solis” Valentina Díaz (2022-Present) 

Special Air Service

Andrew Burke (1999-2012)

Eddie Price (1999-2012)

Geoff Bates (1999-2012)

James “Smoke” Porter (2015-2022) (Defected to NIGHTHAVEN)

Mark R. “Mute” Chandar (2015-Present)

Michael Walter (2008-2012)

Mike “Thatcher” Baker (2015-Present)

Paddy Connelly (1999-2012)

Peter Covington (1999-2012)

Scotty McTyler (1999-2012)

Seamus “Sledge” Cowden (2015-Present)

Steve Lincoln (1999-2012)

National Task Force

Annika Lofquist (1999-2012) (Under ONI)

NIGHTHAVEN

Anja Katarina “Osa” Janković (2021-2022)

Apha “Aruni” Tawanroong (2020-2022)

Charlie Tho Keng “Grim” Boon (2022-Present) (NIGHTHAVEN only)

Håvard “Ace” Haugland (2020-2022)

Jaimini Kalimohan “Kali” Shah (2019-2022)

Ngũgĩ Muchoki “Wamai” Furaha (2019-Present)

Belarusian Ground Forces

Arkadi Novikov (2001-2012)

Mossad

Ayana Yacoby (1999-2012)

David Peled (1999-2012)

Sharon Judd (2010-2012)

APCA

Azucena Rocío “Amaru” Quispe (2019-Present)

United States Army Rangers

“Bishop” (Unknown-2012)

United States Navy SEALs

Brian Armstrong (Unknown-2012)

Craig “Blackbeard” Jensen (2016-Present)

Meghan J. “Valkyrie” Castellano (2016-Present)

Miguel “Mike” Chin (1999-2012)

Garda Emergency Response Unit

Brianna “Thorn” Skehan (2021-Present)

FES

César Ruiz “Goyo” Hernández (2019-Present)

707th Special Mission Group

Choi Byoung-Ryang (2003-2012)

Choi Jae-Hoon (2003-2012)

Choi Youn-Suk (2003-2012)

Chul “Vigil” Kyung Hwa (2017-Present)

Grace “Dokkaebi” Nam (2017-Present)

Hong Min-Hyun (2003-2012)

Jung Park (2009-2012)

Jung Sang-Yub (2003-2012)

Kim Jae-Ho (2003-2012)

Kim Sung-Gun (2003-2012)

Kim Yu-Jin (2003-2012)

Lee Won-Ho (2003-2012)

Lee Youn-Jung (2003-2012)

Pak Suo-Won (2001-2012)

Seo Young-Lan (2003-2012)

United States Secret Service

Collinn “Warden” McKinley (2019-Present)

FBI Hostage Rescue Team

Daniel Bogart (1999-2012)

United States Marine Corps

Daniel "Bear" Malloy (1999-2012)

GSG 9

Dieter Weber (2001-2012)

Dominic “Bandit” Brunsmeier (2015-Present)

Elias “Blitz” Kötz (2015-Present)

Jorg Walther (1999-2012)

Marius “Jäger” Streicher (2015-Present)

Monika “IQ” Weiss (2015-2022) (Defected to NIGHTHAVEN)

CIA

Domingo “Ding” Chavez (1999-2012)

John Clark (1999-2000 (as operator))

Beredskapstroppen

Einar Petersen (2001-2012)

GEO

Elena María “Mira” Álvarez (2017-Present)

Ryad Ramírez “Jackal” Al-Hassar (2017-Present)

FBI SWAT

Eliza “Ash” Cohen (2015-Present)

Jack “Pulse” Estrada (2015-2022) (Defected to NIGHTHAVEN)

Jordan “Thermite” Trace (2015-Present)

Miles “Castle” Campbell (2015-Present)

JW GROM

Elżbieta "Ela" Bosak (2017-2022)  (Defected to NIGHTHAVEN)

Kazimiera Rakuzanka (1999-2012)

Zofia Bosak (2017-Present)

Delta Force

Erik “Maverick” Thorn (2018-Present)

George Tomlison (1999-2012)

Hank Patterson (1999-2012)

Homer Johnston (1999-2012)

Julio “Oso” Vega (1999-2012)

Logan Keller (2005-2012)

Mike Pierce (1999-2012)

Renee Raymond (1999-2012)

United States Army

Fred “Freddy” Franklin (1999-2012)

Mortimer “Sam” Houston (1999-2012)

Royal New Zealand Air Force

Gary Kenyon (2010-2012)

BATF International Response Team

Gerald Morris (1999-2012)

1st Special Operations Wing

Harrison (1999-2012)

Royal Air Force

Jack Nance (1999-2012)

GSIGR

Jalal “Kaid” El Fassi (2018-Present)

Sanaa “Nomad” El Maktoub (2018-Present)

Unit 777

Jamal Murad (2001-2012)

CSIS

Joanna Torres (2010-2012)

Jaeger Corps

Karina “Nøkk” Gaarddhøje (2019-Present)

EKO Cobra

Karl Haider (1999-2012) (under GEK Cobra)

MI5

Kevin Sweeney (1999-2012)

ELDYK

Kure Galanos (2001-2012)

Pyrotechno GmbH

Lars Breckenbauer (1999-2012)

Special Duties Unit

Liu “Lesion” Tze Long (2017-Present)

Siu “Ying” Mei Ling (2017-Present)

DGSE

Louis Loiselle (2001-2012)

Special Assault Team

Masaru “Echo” Enatsu (2016-Present)

Yumiko “Hibana” Imagawa (2016-Present)

STAR-NET Aviation

Mina “Thunderbird” Sky (2021-Present)

Metropolitan Police Service

Morowa “Clash” Evans (2018-Present)

COT

Nayara “Brava” Cardoso (2023-Present)

REU

Neinke Meijer (2020-Present)

Special Forces Group (Belgium)

Néon “Sens” Ngoma Mutombo (2022-Present)

Joint Task Force 2

Roger McAllen (1999-2012)

Sébastien “Buck” Côté (2016-Present)

Tina “Frost” Lin Tsang (2016-Present)

NSA

Sam Bennett (1999-2012)

Fourth Echelon

Samuel Leo “Sam” Fisher (2020-Present)

UEI

Santiago Arnavisca (1999-2012)

40 Commando

Shawn Rivers (2010) (KIA)

BOPE

Taina “Caveira” Pereira (2016-Present)

Vicente “Capitão” Souza (2016-Present)

Inkaba Task Force

Thandiwe “Melusi” Ndlovu (2020-Present)

FBI

Tim Noonan (1999-2012)

Paul Bellow (1999-2012)

SASR

Max “Mozzie” Goose (2019-Present)

Timothy Hanley (1999-2012)

Tori Tallyo “Gridlock” Fairous (2019-Present)

LAPD SWAT

Tracy Woo (1999-2012)

MI6

William “Billy” Tawney (1999-2012)

Unaffiliated

Kana “Azami” Fujiwara (2022-Present)

Saif “Oryx” Al Hadid (2020-Present)

Santiago Miguel “Flores” Lucero (2021-Present)

Unspecified

Brody Lukin (2010-2012)

“Deimos” (Unknown-On or Before 2012)

Emilio Narino (2001-2012)

Gabriel Nowak (2005-2010) (Defected/KIA)

Harry (1999-2012)

Kan Akahashi (2010) (KIA)

Monroe (2005) (KIA)

Directors

John Clark (1999-2010)

Domingo “Ding” Chavez (2010-2012)

Aurelia Arnot (2015-2019)

Harishva “Harry” Pandey (2019-2023) (KIA)

Unknown (2023-)

[actaeoncross]

Rose's Thorn (A First Draft)

Lulla Beaumont cautiously crept through the dark house. Holding her breath, she carefully eased the door open to her parents' room. No movement came from the bed, indicating she had awoken her mother. The youngest Beaumont took a slow, deep breath to calm her nerves before crouching and scuttling across the floor. Now came the trickiest part. 

She had caught sight of her father removing items to sell in Raywich days ago. One particular item had caught her eye, and Lulla knew he left it. She just wasn’t exactly sure where it was. Her fingertips lightly grazed the old planks of wood, searching for one that was loose. As a board shifted beneath her touch, Lulla swallowed any noises of excitement and focused on gently lifting the wood. Quickly and quietly, she withdrew the long shape from the space before setting the board back and sneaking from the room. The treasure grasped firmly to her. 

Lulla left the door partially cracked, afraid that fully closing it would wake her mother and ruin her plans. The young woman didn’t pause to celebrate until she was across the family’s field. Excitedly, she pushed heavy brown curls from her freckled face. Her green eyes glowed with a mischievous twinkle as she set a quick pace to her destination. The overgrown path she used to travel deeper into the woods was one she shared with only animals. Years ago, her mother’s parents used the path to travel to town. The path was already abandoned when the Beaumonts arrived to inherit the property. The cause of its disuse? A stone bridge. 

The small, pristine bridge looked out of place among the wilderness. Lulla had never seen any animal brave enough to cross the stone. As she approached the bridge, birdsong and the rustles of life in the brush ceased. The stream’s babbling was the only noise accompanying her as she began to cross. Halfway across the bridge, the stones rumbled beneath her feet. Lulla gritted her teeth and redistributed her center of gravity. She would not fall this time. Her chin lifted in defiance as a voice boomed through the woods. 

“You must pay the toll should you wish to cross!” 

A massive creature rose from beneath the bridge. Though the troll slouched, it easily towered over Lulla. As its beady eyes blinked at her from the folds of its craggy and mossy stone skin, a disgusted sigh slipped from its lips. The young woman grinned in greeting. 

“Good morning, Malak. Have you collected a lot?” 

“Lulla, you have to stop coming,” his voice rumbled like a cascade of rocks. Malak sat across from her on the stones, bringing his face even with hers. “I’ve told you I’ll leave for the queen’s palace soon. The next troll will squash you into a pulp if you do this.” 

“But you haven’t left yet!” she ignored his rumbling to continue, “And besides that, I’ll be leaving soon myself!” 

The youngest Beaumont proudly ripped the nondescript fabric from her treasure to reveal it. A jewel-encrusted hilt topped the ornate scabbard Lulla firmly held. With a grin, she wrapped a hand around the hilt to draw the blade. The metal gleamed in the sunlight as she turned her hand to admire the sword. Seeing that her father had done something for the blade beyond keeping it hidden beneath the floorboards was a relief. Lulla giddily rocked on the balls of her feet before grinning at her friend. 

“What do you think? I’m going to use it and join the Hunt! Sir Gilles de Gris is in town, and I’ll show him my skills. I’ll probably be gone by nightfall to lead an exciting life adventuring across the land, slaying beasts.” Malak’s usual frown appeared etched deeper into his face than usual at the sight of the sword. Lulla rolled her eyes and snapped a question, “What’s that look for?”  

“Have you thought this plan out fully?” 

“Of course!” 

“Really?” a mossy brow rose. “So, you intend to slay me?” 

“No! I’m only going to kill the bad ones. You’re not bad.” 

“How do you plan to identify the bad ones?” 

“I don’t know; I’m sure it's part of the training.” Lulla sidestepped a shower of falling moss as Malak snorted in response. Her face tinged red in anger and embarrassment as she retorted, “Oh, and how are your dreams going? Going to guard your queen’s castle doesn’t sound like it's helping.” 

Malak grasped the parapet at her back, crumbling the stone to dust as he heaved himself back to his feet. Despite her jumping at the sound, Lulla refused to be intimidated and stared back at him. The troll trembled before jumping over the side into the stream, sending water cascading into the air. Lulla hurriedly sheathed the sword and wiped the water from her face as she scrambled from the bridge and down the embankment. Her boots slipped from the slope into the stream as it attempted to reestablish itself. Malak sat squeezed beneath the too-small overpass. His bulk impeded the water’s path as his teardrops splashed to feed it further.  

“I’m sorry, Malak.” Lulla dropped the sword before wrapping as much of her arms as she could around his rough exterior. “I know you’re worried and don’t want to leave. I shouldn’t have lashed out, but this is my dream. I want adventure in the great wide somewhere, far away from Panossa and its farms. This sword is my chance to obtain that.” 

“It’s too dangerous. What if we cross paths? I’d have to kill you,” Malak stuttered between sobs. 

From Malak’s size, it was easy for Lulla to forget the troll wasn’t much older than her. He was infinitely younger among the long lifespan of his kind. They had played together, splashing in the small stream when she was a child, and Malak was the size of her father. She had shared her fairy tale books with him, the only ones she claimed to be worth reading. The stories made her long for adventure. But poor, gentle Malak longed to read and study nestled beneath his bridge now, as new adults, their paths were finally splitting. Malak’s path leads to mandatory service to the troll queen, where reading and friendship with a human would earn him banishment at best. Hers toward a marriage and more of the mundane life she wished to escape. 

“You won’t! Give me just a year or two, and I will rescue you,” Lulla promised. “I’ll have you housed beneath the loveliest bridge on a river with more books than you could wish for.” 

She would do it, too. Lulla Beaumont firmly believed she could make both of their dreams come true. It started with her becoming a knight. The brunette had no doubts after playing the role of a knight for years with a troll; she could easily impress the traveling squadron passing through Panossa.

[sawyerconfort]

Could you do your First kiss with the Rockford peaches? (And max)

YAY! OF COURSE!

So, hope you guys are enjoying the ALOTO phase of the blog, I'm really excited and planning to post more about our girls, so please (I know I'm being annoying but...) ASK FOR PROMPTS OR PREFERENCES WITH THE PEACHES!

Ok, let's do a preference for anon!

I'm more excited than usual for this! Hope you liked it!

Got any requests? Ask me or comment in one of my last posts! I'll be glad to write for you guys!

Enjoy!

------

First Kiss with The Rockford Peaches (+ Max)...

W H A T H A P P E N S W H E N...

(Carson Shaw, Greta Gill, Maxine Chapman, Maybelle Fox, Jo de Luca, Lupe Garcia, Jess McCready, Esti Gonzales and Shirley Cohen)

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

Carson Shaw

Okay, so this was after a while when you guys met. Carson knew you had a crush on her, but she didn't push you to come out because she knew it was harder for you to own up to your feelings than it seemed.

Until one day, the two of you were talking, in the game's locker room. Being a baseball and Peaches fan, you held the ball out of your pocket toward her with a smile and a flushed face.

“Could you give me an autograph, Carson?” you whispered, embarrassed, hoping she could deny it.

But to her surprise, she didn't deny it. And she wrote on your ball.

Shortly afterwards, Mr. Baker came to call her.“Wait,” she asked, but not to him. "I need to do something before I leave..."

And, by surprise, Carson glued her lips to yours, catching you off guard.

“Sorry,” she whispered before leaving, with a goofy little smile and a redder face than you did when you asked her to give you an autograph.

And of course she left you wanting more.

Greta Gill

It happened at the bar. The two of you were talking, in a moment so beautiful that probably no one would dare to interfere. And they were a little drunk, of course, because who ever? But they were sober enough to know what they were doing.

And you were in an uproar because you agreed to go out with Greta Gill. All the men and women were completely envying you now, that's for sure.

Greta's laugh woke you from your thoughts. “Oh, I love this song!”

It was some jazz playing in the back of the bar, but since you couldn't risk missing this opportunity, he quickly got up from the stool he was sitting on and extended his hand towards her. "Do me the honor of this dance, Miss Gill?"

Greta smiled again. “With pleasure, Miss (Y\L\N).”

The two of you got up from the stools and started twirling around the room, in time with the jazz. At one point, Greta's eyes were getting lost in you and leaving you disconcerted.

“God, I don't think I've ever laughed as hard in my entire life as I do today,” she whispered, giving you huge shivers. “It's all because of you, (Y\N).”

"Me? No...", you laughed to yourself. "I'm not that special, Greta."

Suddenly, she touched her chin with her index finger and pulled it up. “And who said no?” she whispered. "There has to be some reason I couldn't take my eyes off you, so if you're not special..."

You were going to open your mouth, but she silenced you quickly. And then she glued her lips to yours, not hesitating for a minute, still continuing to twirl you around the bar.

That wasn't your only kiss, not that night. And not in the others.

Maxine Chapman

You and Max had agreed to go on a date at the movies. It was your first date, even though you had known each other for a while and had a strong friendship. And you had just agreed to watch The Wizard of Oz. You had it as a favorite movie and you wanted to see it every day.

It was fun hanging out with Max. Until she started taking the movie too seriously...

“She just wants to go home.” she whimpered. "But she can't."

“Max”, you smiled, turning to her. "It's just a movie, there's nothing."

“It's not just a movie, (Y\NN). It's a reality..." she muttered philosophically.

You laughed and got closer to her, taking the opportunity to steal some of her popcorn. She didn't seem to mind, she was busy wiping away tears. So you just stretched out your fingers and wiped away her tears, touching your fingers to hers.

"You're so deep... but I think that's amazing about you...", you whispered, and for the first time she looked you right in the eye. “I think everything about you is amazing.”

“Can I, like… kiss you?”, she whispered, very close to your lips. "Lights are out, no one will see us, I promise."

You didn't wait for her to finish. She pressed her lips to hers like there was no tomorrow. And Max stopped crying to focus on the buttered popcorn-flavored kiss, which was the best she'd ever tasted.

Maybelle Fox

As Beverly's only living relative, you used to accompany her as a chaperone to Peaches training. It wasn't intimidating for you to watch girls play baseball, and not see your mother giving orders all the time.

The only thing that could make you nervous on the field was a short blonde with dark eyes.

You tried not to think about Maybelle in the final moments of the game. She was disappearing into the massive silhouettes of her teammates, so it was very easy to get her out of your focus. Until the ball was hit at a huge height and practically shot through the air very quickly.

The crowd's eyes widened and you imitated them nervously. Suddenly, the ball hit a huge, fuzzy brown glove in the hands of someone strangely small. And the crowd went crazy in the stands.

It took a long time for you to realize that Maybelle had managed to hold the ball and ensured her team's victory. The girls went to celebrate with their teammates and then formed a huge circle around you and Beverly, who ran to hug them.

“We did it, (Y\NN), I did it!” Maybelle yelled, running towards you in those little shoes. “I got the ball and I got the ball for you! I defended in honor of you!” "What-"

You were interrupted by Maybelle's soft lips clinging to yours. You didn't even have time to react, because it was a surprise kiss that upset your heart and only made you think about reciprocating as much as possible.

When she parted, she was blushing and looking down.

"Oops...", she muttered, smiling slightly.

You gave a silly smile, feeling your cheeks burning, and did the first thing that came to your mind. He grabbed her by the feet and twirled Maybelle through the air, in a chorus of giggles that ended with more cute, adorable kisses.

If every Peaches win was like this, you'd be in profit...

Jo de Luca

You were competing for darts at the bar. And Jo was determined to win. But the gamble had been a little different this time: every time you got it right, you had to kiss each other. Jo didn't know how she'd gone along with the idea of you, but she did, having nothing to lose.

"Alright, you cunning fox, it's game time...", she whispered, very close to your ear, ready to distract you. “If you're over fifty, I'll kiss you. If not…you will be without a prize.”

You closed your eyes, rolling them to pay more attention. And he threw the dart with all his might. He dropped to exactly sixty points. And Jo's eyes widened.

“It's not possible!” she cried, shocked. “NOBODY WINS FROM JO DE LUCA! NOBODY! I've been training darts since I was eight!”

"Shut up! Accept that you lost!” you yelled, grimacing.

“Fine, then, shut up,” she whispered, and you bit your lip.

When your lips touched Jo's, she knew she couldn't stop. And she let you prolong the peck for a real kiss. Your eyes closed in reflex, and when they parted, both your lungs failed to breathe.

“God…” you whispered, shocked. “It was better than I imagined.”

"I think I want to play again...", she muttered, giving a sneer.

Lupe Garcia

Lupe couldn't stop looking at you. You were in the stands of a special and important game and it looked like you had been sent as a lucky charm. The Pitcher was getting excited by her presence and was hitting every ball that threw her.

When the game was finally over, and the Peaches still lost, she went to talk to you outside the Peaches House.

"Hey, stranger..." she whispered, close to your ear.

“Lupe!” you blushed. “Hey, it was... it was a good game, it's the first game I've watched and honestly you guys have great potential...”

"I hate to be too modest, but..." she smiled, clearly flirting. “But we only won because you were there. And I couldn't stop looking at you for a minute. You were like... like my good luck charm, you know? Not mine, but a charm...”

You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. “You know how to make small talk, eh, Pitcher?”

She smiled and lowered her head, biting her lip. “I could teach you my techniques…one day, when you, and if you agree to go out with me…,” she whispered. “A simple date, nothing fancy, I don't like it. Something like a bar, a pizza, a simple baseball game from another team...”

You smiled again. “I don't think it's a bad idea...”

Lupe winked at you, giving you a suggestive smile. And then she tucked the ball into her huge, fluffy glove before whispering in her ear, in Spanish, “Eres una de las chicas más hermosas que he conocido.”

And then, before leaving you in the clouds, Lupe gave you a quick peck.

Jess McCready

“Come on, (Y\N), truth or dare?”

“You look like a bunch of eleven-year-olds!”

It was true. The Peaches used to play games before baseball, but they had never been on a spree of asking each other questions and challenges, and you were sick of it.

“I didn’t get it, (Y\L\N), truth or dare?”, Greta repeated, teasing you.

“Truth, Gill,” you muttered, looking around at all the girls, waiting for some suspicious response or reaction. Carson laughed and leaned over to whisper something in Greta's ear, but she already had something on her mind. "It didn't take me this long to decide, Greta, and I didn't even need someone to guide me!"

Greta glared at you, then whispered, at the top of her lungs,

“Of all of us,” she pointed to the wheel. “Would you hook up with one of us and why would you hook up with that person?”

It was her turn to glare at Greta. She knew too much.

"Alright, alright..." You raised your hands in surrender. “Honestly, I would pick Jess. Because I think she's cool and pretty."

The girls' screams echoed through the locker room, and Ana even ruffled Jess's hat as she stared at you, shocked, giving a disbelief laugh.

“Wait a fucking minute,” she yelled, looking into his eyes. “Is this serious?”

You shrugged and leaned forward in order to surprise her with a kiss. Jess's eyes widened, but she responded without fear.

And the girls screamed even more in the background, just not to lose the habit.

Esti Gonzales

“Esti, what happened? Why are you crying?"

Esti lifted her head to face you, and a few small tears escaped her eyes. "Wanted... cinema...", she replied, still slurred with English, but willing to make you understand what she meant.

The Rockford Peaches girls had gone to the movies once again. And Lupe had said she couldn't go because of her broken English, because people would never understand what Esti meant.

You smiled, sighing and sitting down next to her. “Hey…” you whispered. “It's okay, seriously. One day you will be able to go to the movies.”

She sniffed. "I will not go..."

“I'll take you, I promise,” you replied, sticking out your pinky. “It's a pinky promise, it can't be broken.” You lifted her pinky finger and placed it next to yours. "Don't cry, Esti, honey, you're doing fine..."

She smiled, and took your face with both hands. "You're one of the nicest people I've ever met, (Y\NN)..."

And then, she surprisingly gave you a peck.

Shirley Cohen

“Shirl?”

You surprised her with a huge leap when she appeared at the bedroom door. She turned to you with wide eyes. "It's going to scare me to death one day, (Y\NN), I swear to God that-"

You chuckled derisively. “Now do you eat canned food?”

Her eyes scanned the room and found the cans scattered across the bed and on the table where the lamp was. Shirley shrugged. You waited for her to answer, patiently.

"I'm trying new things..." she whispered. “I'm tired of thinking that everything is wrong or that everything is wrong. It's time to innovate.”

“I enjoyed seeing it,” you smiled proudly. “And what is missing now?”

"One thing only...", she whispered, a little tense.

And by surprise, she pressed her lips to yours. And separated them in a few seconds. And she looked at you with her eyes still wide, while you smiled. I wasn't going to talk aloud about your crush on her, but it would probably come out and you would speak up when you could.

"God! What did I do?” Shirley asked.

“You kissed me!” you said, loud enough.

She pursed her lips. "I did? Ah..." and then, she smiled. "It was good. It was better than kissing a man, really. But I never kissed any man.”

[efrmellifer]

A More Perfect Union

see also: A More Perfect Union in pictures

Borel Manor had been a quiet house. Had been, when it was functionally empty, with only the master of the house (fairly young when he had inherited it from his parents, and still not even middle aged), the mistress, their infant children, and sparse staff. Maybe an occasional guest, for a few nights at a time.

But now, for the first time in years, the house was closer to its capacity, several guest rooms full and the buzz of the occasion making the house practically glow.

The Domans had been the first to arrive, Hien coming back to Eorzea, but bringing his wife along this time (she too was returning, rather than visiting for the first time). But it wasn’t just the two of them that had come. No, Doma was left in the hands of some few advisors for a time while the prince, his wife, and one of his most trusted retainers came to Ishgard.

Of course Yugiri would be in attendance. How could she miss it?

Anyone who needed somewhere to stay in Ishgard for the wedding was welcome to a room if they preferred a house over Cloud Nine, so extra hands had been hired to make sure everywhere was in top shape, not a cobweb to be seen or a creaking floorboard to be heard.

Etien had contributed heavily, too, the same as she did for just about every project she ever got involved in, throwing her shoulder to the wheel. Of course, this time, it was to pick up a broom and tie a scarf around her nose and mouth so she could sweep out the years of dust, and (once they had been taken down for her) washing the beautiful blue curtains in all of the guest rooms.

So now the house was full and bustling during waking hours, conversations ringing off the walls in several languages, card games and rulesets from every corner of the world taking place around the tables, and a pot of tea (and coffee, naturally, even if Estinien had to brew it himself) was always sitting within arm’s reach. And when everyone slept, the house was heavy with the slow, deep breaths of so many.

Mid-day, with a few days left until the big day of the wedding, Aymeric and Etien stood on the stair landing to catch their breath, watching the blessed chaos on the floor below them.

“Are the children still asleep?” Aymeric asked.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Etien replied. “I set them in their cradles and they were out immediately.”

“This must be a lot for them.”

She sighed. “It would be a lot for anyone.”

He looked over at her, concern starting to color his expression. “Is it too much?”

She scanned the crowd again, looking at the last seven years of her life mapped in relationships, studying people she had never dared to hope might meet chatting away—sometimes with translators, sometimes just in shared tongues.

She smiled. “No. It’s not too much.”

***

Etien stood near the door of Saint Reymanaud’s, in front of a pane of stained glass, just thinking as the light pouring in tinted her dress and her skin blue. This, right here, was where she and Aymeric had had their first kiss. She’d been so nervous that day, scared to tell him how she felt—and that it was starting to feel like she had always felt this way about him.

Now, years later, several repetitions of this ceremony later, it still felt that way.

She played with the layers of her dress as she thought. The first time she had gone away, it had been after the first wedding. An elopement, a secret, just a quick consecration of the union so if the gods had been merciless and Etien had died, she wouldn’t be sent to Alder Springs. Not when she had a husband to receive her.

The second time had been after Ala Mhigo was freed, and it had been for Ishgard’s benefit, more than anything. It was time to make things official, and the church had been packed to the gills, but that was with the Scions and Ishgardian society. Much had been missing from what Etien wanted. And yet she had danced and feasted, because despite all that was absent, she was happy to say out loud that she and Aymeric were married.

The third time had been at the Sanctum of the Twelve, so that the Alliance had proof of a marriage (the paperwork had been lost during the disturbance caused by the loss of the Scions). It was a little more like the eternal bonding ceremonies of adventurers. She’d attended a few of those and always thought they were nice, so she had enjoyed having one of her own. This dress was from that wedding, actually. Etien liked it, too, though it had had to be altered, since last time she had worn it was before Betula and Landric were born.

This time was for… several things. It wouldn’t be long before points eastward once more called her—called them all—from the comfort of their lives to take up warriors’ mantles once more. But before it did, sh and Aymeric could celebrate once more the bond they shared—this time, with all their friends (and with their children) present. This time would more closely align with what Etien had wanted before.

“Etien? Is aught amiss?” Aymeric asked.

She turned from the window. “No—”

“Are you supposed to see the bride before the ceremony?”

He laughed, a bit surprised at Tataru’s hands-on-hips stance as she asked him.

“I thought it might be allowed, because this was simply a renewal. Though maybe I did want a sneaky first look before she came down the aisle.”

She smiled. “Come look, then.” She spread her arms as if summoning him for a hug. He came a little closer, taking her hands in his, so he could see the undersides of her sleeves, and then let her go.

“I suspect I had best get to my place, and Lord Edmont will be coming to bring you to yours soon.”

She nodded, wanting to ask for a kiss, but deciding that she could wait just a little bit longer. She folded her hands, coming away from the window to wait but remaining out of sight, standing tall (a ridiculous notion when she was about to have her diminutive stature emphasized). But as Aymeric had predicted, Edmont was at her side in a flash, the few bridesmaids and groomsmen standing nearby.

Estinien whispered in her ear, and got the back of her gloved hand to his stomach with a low “Estinien, shh,” before Edmont fixed the flowers at her ears, making sure her veil sat just right.

“Now, now, no fighting with the best man,” he tutted as he guided her hand to his elbow.

She sighed, settling.

“Nerves?”

She shook her head. “You?”

“Fortunately, no. This is not my first time walking you down the aisle, and after how well the last time went, what have I to be nervous about?”

They stood at the doors to the sanctuary, watching the guests starting to settle now that the doors had opened, the bridal party pairing up as they had to to make their entrances.

It was funny, this time there was genuinely a bride’s side and a groom’s side that ushers might have asked guests to choose to sit on.

Last time, had been different. Not worse, not better. Just different.

But now, to her right, there were knights, the members of the Houses of Lords and Commons, the Alliance leaders who had been indecisive about whom they were attending for but settled on sitting to the right, some dragonets sitting confusedly in the pews. To her left, there was a wide variety of people, all of whom she recognized—all of House Fortemps (including Toto, but not currently Edmont because he was with her), the Scions (Tataru had taken her seat again), R’hyli, Sorako, Oki, even Zenos looked fairly comfortable among the guests. And to cap it off, a single Pixie, sitting with their legs crossed, eyebrows lifted as they waited for their sapling.

Before her, she saw Taerin, Yugiri, and Dae being guided down the aisle and seated in the front row by Hien, Handeloup, and Estinien. When they were all in their places, Estinien turned around and lifted a roll of paper, rolling it out until it ran out at Etien’s feet.

She looked up, and he nodded, gesturing behind him toward Aymeric, then sat down.

Etien lifted her chin, and took her first step, her entrance announced with strings.

She laid her hands in Aymeric’s with the ease of practice when they finally met at the front of the church.

“You aren’t shaking this time. Good,” he whispered.

She just smiled as the priest began.

Artoirel and Lucia did readings, and when the time came for vows, Aymeric looked down at Etien, as if asking her what she was going to do.

“Don’t worry, darling. I know my lines this time.” She took a deep breath and began reciting his composition, the combination of poetry and scripture from when they had eloped.

“O Halone, observe my solemnity as I take this vow.

I am sick with love. My beloved is distinguished among ten thousand, and me has he chosen. So do I bind myself to him. He is without flaw. His locks are wavy, black as a raven. His left hand is under my head, and his right hand embraces me. When I found him whom my soul loves, I held him, and would not let him go. The winter is past; my beloved is mine, and I am his.”

Aymeric laughed lightly when she was finished, flattered and impressed she still remembered, but responded in kind when the priest turned to him.

“O Halone, observe my solemnity as I take this vow.

She is altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in her, and me has she chosen. So do I bind myself to her. Departed from the dens of dragons, the young women saw her and called her blessed; asked ‘Who is this who looks down like the dawn, beautiful as the moon, bright as the sun, awesome as an army with banners?’

She has captivated my heart. When I found her whom my soul loves, I held her and I would not let her go. The time for singing has come. My beloved is mine, and I am hers.”

The priest spoke. “Do you, Etien Mellifer, reaffirm your pledge to love, comfort, honor, and keep Aymeric?”

“I do,” she replied, beaming.

“And do you, Aymeric de Borel, reaffirm your pledge to love and to cherish Etien as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” he answered.

The exchange of rings was as understated as it ever was with them, Etien’s a Borel heirloom, and Aymeric’s an engraved band. Simple, yes, but treasured.

Again, the priest chimed in. “Then let what the Fury has blessed remain blessed in Her eyes. Go now in peace.”

With his right hand on Etien’s back, and his left hand holding hers, Aymeric escorted her back up the aisle, and out the door.

They waited for the guests to follow before they went outside, where he dipped her and kissed her to seal their vows once more, this time to cheering and applause. There was no white chocobo for them to ride across to the Arc of the Venerable and home, but it was a beautiful day in Ishgard, so neither was going to mind the walk, least of all together and surrounded by family and friends.

[miminorenai]

Chapter 18

At the corner of the bar where cheerful voices fly around, two men are facing each other across the table. 

— Dazai, and Charles.

Although they exchange glasses and smile at each other, the air is different as to call them ‘close friends’.

Dazai “No way, to think that Charles-kun would call out to me.”

Charles “It was just the right time. I would like to discuss something with Dazai.”

Dazai “......Aren’t you supposed to call me ‘Tsushima Shuuji’?”

Charles “Yeah, but you usually call yourself ‘Osamu Dazai’, the novelist, right?”

Dazai laughs and puts his hand on the chin, then looks at Charles with the eyes as if to test him.

Dazai “My background is being exposed, huh.”

Dazai “You appear to be Shakespeare-kun’s acquaintance, did the topic come out while you talked?”

Charles “Oh, so you’ve known we’re friends with Will.”

Charles “There’s nothing to hide then. Yep, Will told us various stuff.”

Charles “Regarding Will, Ōsama said — ‘We accepted to cooperate since our interests were aligned.’”

Dazai “Ōsama......?”

As doubt’s slightly shown on Dazai’s face, Charles grins across the table.

Charles “I don’t really like doing things like scheming, so I’ll just be direct.”

Charles “Dazai, why don’t you become our nakama?”

Dazai “......”

Dazai opens his mouth (to talk) first after a moment of staring and reading each other hearts.

Dazai “Nakama, huh. I also don’t know much about your background, so I cannot take it easily.”

Charles “Oh, that’s right. Well then, I’ll introduce myself again.”

Charles “I’m Charles Henri Sanson. The same as Dazai — a vampire who died once and being revived.”

Dazai tilted his glass with alcohol without being surprised by the secret revealed.

Dazai “For you to be a vampire, I was wondering if that was the case.”

Dazai “Is Sanson the name of Monsieur de Paris, a family of executioners during the French Revolution?”

Charles “I don’t care about that title now, but you sure know a lot.”

Dazai “Miscellaneous knowledge is useful in some ways for literary creation.”

Dazai “By the way — it seems that the church at the outskirts of town is your stronghold.”

Charles “......”

Dazai “And also, the priest of the church in glasses, and silver hair man who sometimes shows up......”

Dazai “You appear to be friendly with them, are they your nakama?”

Charles “Hmm, you’re really looking into us.”

Charles “Ah, whatever. If Dazai becomes our nakama, I’ll introduce you to Doc and Ōsama.”

Dazai “......”

Even after all those revelations, *quite indifferently, Charles goes on talking. 

(*あっけらかんと - looking blank, looking as though one has nothing at all to do with what is going on

Charles’s smile feels friendly like usual, but it also invokes a different sense of discomfort.

Dazai urges him to continue speaking while observing his expression in details.

Dazai “......So, this means, they are your nakama? You are not talking about going to casino together, right?”

Charles “Ahaha, should we go out together next time? Well, to put it simply, I want us to cooperate.”

Dazai “Cooperate......?”

With a smile, Charles leans over the table.

Charles “Yeah......to protect the future of this world — for Lord Vlad’s ambition.”

When MC met Shakespeare back in the town, she was invited to his mansion and he told her a fact —

MC “Charles is a vampire......!?”

(No way......)

Shakespeare “What I just told you is not a lie.”

After Shakespeare left the mansion due to some circumstances, he met another greater vampire, named Vlad, and formed a cooperative relationship for the sake of their mutual purposes. 

Acting along with the greater vampire —

Shakespeare “Johann Georg Faust, the priest of church.”

Shakespeare “And also, Charles Henri Sanson......” 

Shakespeare “Their lives ended in the past, and now......they are being revived by the hands of Lord Vlad.”

MC “There was another person besides Comte who could do that......”

Shakespeare “Lord Vlad is Comte’s pure-blood old friend. Now I know of an approach, but......”

With a stiff face, he leaves his words hanging for a moment before opens his mouth again.

Shakespeare “......I needed talented great men for my purpose and Lord Vlad’s as well.”

Shakespeare “So, I conveyed information of gentlemen in the mansion to Lord Vlad, in order to determine if they could be of use......”

(He was trying to use everyone......?)

Disturbing sign’s flickering, and it makes MC’s body turns stiff.

But, the confession is squeezed out with his best effort, and now, MC could see he’s terribly regretting it from his expression.

(As I listen to his story deeply, I have a feeling this’s tormenting for him......)

While she’s hesitating to call him out —··· a single whisper fell.

Shakespeare “Everything was for the purpose.”

Shakespeare “But......my stake in him had created more tragedy than what I wish for.”

(Tragedy......? Ah......)

The moment MC hears his voice with grief, the scene that she drove away from the corner of her memory with fears — recalled in her mind.

Shakespeare “Wellington, Gilles de Rais……!”

Man 1 “…Ugh…Why am I still holding the sword…...? What was my justice……?”

Man 2 “……It’s not enough, I need more death to get him back……”

(Perhaps, what I saw back then......)

MC’s heart throbs loudly.

She wants to think that can’t be true, but she feels a certain and unpleasant premonition, and her heart beats even faster.

MC “I......before, at Shakespeare-san’s stage......I saw people fighting with swords.”

Shakespeare “...It was even seen by you......”

MC “Then, that’s......”

(They were really killing each other......)

The raw terror of that moment rises at the back of MC’s spine, and her body trembles.

MC “Did that guy, Vlad send them to you......?”

Shakespeare “......” 

Shakespeare neither confirms nor denies it.

Shakespeare “......Lord Vlad loves human.”

Shakespeare “For him, it was just one of the attempts in his desire to achieve peace in the future.” 

Shakespeare “Originally, those soldiers were revived to push forward with my plan. So......it’s my sin.” 

Shakespeare seems to be driven by the feeling of self-condemnation, but......

MC still couldn’t comprehend Vlad’s thought on human.

(Desiring for peace while using people? How could murders become part of his attempts......I just don’t understand.)

The more she listens, the less she can grasp the outline of that person.

MC “Why is Charles with that guy......?”

Shakespeare “Charles blindly adores Lord Vlad.”

(Is there a reason for Charles to adore him......?)

All MC knows about Charles is his friendly smile, and she cannot imagine he has such connection with Vlad.

Shakespeare “After the murders of those soldiers, Dazai came to me alone.”

Shakespeare “He realized there was someone behind me.”

(Huh — )

Shakespeare “But, he just overlooked me on this.”

Shakespeare “Why is he in contact with Charles now......?”

Shakespeare is feeling suspicious, but for MC who just heard it......

(I can’t help but to worry......)

Listen to all those disturbing stories, she’s really worries that even Dazai got involved in some ways.

But, MC doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do.

Shakespeare “I don’t know what Dazai is really thinking about, but perhaps —”

Shakespeare “Perhaps he got an invitation to side with Lord Vlad......as I did in my time.”

(Invitation......? Dazai-san?)

All the things that happened, MC only left with question marks and it’s hard to keep her head organized.

Shakespeare “Mimi.”

Two eyes of different colors stare at MC with unusual *anxious expression.

(*気遣わしげ - an uncomfortable look that has something to worry about

Shakespeare “Now, I already distanced myself from Lord Vlad.”

Shakespeare “If you make a bad move, it’s possible you won’t be able to reach out to the mansion.”

MC “......”

Shakespeare “Mimi shouldn’t get involved anymore.”

Shakespeare “You are a guest who eventually will return to your original world......as you are a fleeting human being.”

At the same time —

At the bar, Dazai gently narrows his eyes after listening quietly to Charles’s story.

Dazai “I see. In short, your purpose is — the world peace?”

Charles “Yeah, we will use the skills of great men to guide human being so that they will not do bad things and ruin the world.”

Charles “Ōsama said, with vampire’s long long life, we can watch over the fate of this world.”

Dazai “Such a big talk, hmm?”

Dazai, who speaks in soft tone while smiling, does not hide the poison that exudes in his words.

Charles “Why? If it’s Ōsama, he could do that.” 

Charles “And, isn’t it nice for everyone around the world to love each other and doesn’t get hurt?”

Dazai “Do you really think so?”

Charles “Of course.”

Charles “I think Mimi will understand. She is a girl who looks straight at the other person and believes in him.”

With a slightly lost tone —

Dazai “......Why does Mimi-san’s name coming out?”

Charles “I like Mimi.”

Charles “But Mimi likes Dazai.”

Dazai “——······”

Even when Dazai looks at him with scrutinizing eyes, Charles just shows a carefree smile and doesn’t falter.

Charles “Dazai......I want to be loved by Mimi too.”

Charles “Hey, take Mimi and come to us.”

Charles “Then — let’s have fun together, like we did when the three of us went out for date?”

[jiankimura-ffxiv]

The Legacy of the Broken Lance

Jian raps at the hard, oaken doors before clearing his throat and patting down his clothes, making sure his furs are in order. His chest pocket empty, the soul crystal remains behind at the Forgotten Knight, a precautionary measure in case his shade wished to throttle the man who seeks to criminalize the dark arts.

The door creaks opened, and an elderly eleven greeted him.

“Hello, I’m Jian Kimura. Chartered accountant of Limsa Lominsa, Vylbrand, Eorzea. Acting finan-“

“My master, Gilles Raoult, has been waiting for you.”

“-cial- Oh. Uh, sorry.” Jian chuckles nervously as he bows humbly. 

The door widens to invite him into the warm interior of the house. The lacquered walls are homely, made of wooden support beams and white plaster. Light emanates dimly from glass wall lamps stalled down the hall and up the stairs. The servant of the house escorted him to a brightly lit study room, with books lining the walls to the ceiling. A large window let in the morning light onto a clean, ornate desk and a pair of lush sofas facing each other with a low, coffee table between them.

A tall Elezen man -judging to be two heads taller than the accountant- stood to the side of the windows, watching the snow fall. The dark shades of his red satin suit accented his silvery blonde hair and pale, youthful face. If Jian had to guess, he would probably be ten or twenty years his elder. He subconsciously rubs at his aging sun-touched skin, thinking about it.

“Tea or coffee?” A firm voice erupted from the man, startling the Hyur from his thoughts.

“Uh tea. Thank you.”

The Ishgardian turns around; his violet eyes glance over him as he then looks to his servant.

“Tea for two, Rene. With cream and sugar on the side.”

Rene bows quietly, closing the door behind Jian, leaving both in the studies in uncomfortable silence as the statesman examines the highlander, from the wild wisps of his black hair, down to the wet leather boots. Gilles speaks up, offering the man a seat at one of the sofas.

“Jian Kimura.”

“Aye, that is me.” Jian smoothes down his coat again as he moves to sit.

“You are my first visitor that is not of Ishgardian citizenry. However, that letter you sent piqued my interest in your concerns, seeing as I am indeed the editor of Leaves from a Nymeia Lily.”

“Well, it’s been an honor, sir, to invite me here to have this discussion, as I’m just simply waiting for the trade hearings.”

Gilles put a hand over his chest, realizing his motion in the house of commons had left behind an inconvenience to a visitor. “Oh, well, I do humbly apologize for prolonging your stay in Ishgard, but the matters in regards to my legislation could no longer be ignored by my peers.”

“So, these dark knights, have they been that much of a large threat to Ishgard? From what I’ve discerned from the locals is that they don’t work in an organization of sorts, and so far, I don’t see them running around causing havoc, let alone seeing any.”

“The powers they wield are a much larger threat, second from the Dravanians. And since Dravanian are now our allies, instead of our enemies, most of the heresy laws have changed to criminal laws, and the dark knights are to be given no quarter or exceptions.”

“You are confident in that assessment.” The door opens once more, letting in a tray of tea and biscuits.

“Of course, I proudly specialize in handling them when I worked as a senior inquisitor prior to the end of the dragonsong war. You see, the dark arts these knights wield are amplified by their raw emotions. The stronger the emotions, the more potent their spells. There have been written records of incidents where dark knights were consumed by the arts, and caused untold slaughter and destruction in their wake, threatening the peace within the borders of Ishgard and Coerthas.”

Jian rubs his chin in deep thought, “If the dark arts is drawn by one’s emotions, shouldn’t there be more dark knights? From my experience in my field of duty, there are quite a number of folks with emotional personas, but I’ve not seen any that seem to be dark knights.”

“Well, that just means either I did my job well or they are well hidden,” Gilles chuckles, before his face returned to his serious demeanor, “As a means to handle these cases and identify suspects of the dark arts, I had to understand the source of their arts, the Abyss.”

“The Abyss?” Jian raises his brow incredulously.

“From what I’ve observed, the abyss is the source of one’s inner darkness. It mostly consists of one’s vices and personal trauma. Everyone has them, and several acted on them. The dark knights, however, somehow formed aethereal magic with the abyss, at the cost of being driven into insanity or death when they draw too much.”

“So, you are saying, if a dark knight loses control of their emotions, the magic will make them crazy?” He frowns in concern.

Gilles nods, “And I have experienced the consequences of the repercussions.”

“Surely, there’s a means to dispel the abyss, or control their powers. If someone finds it, then the knights won’t be a threat anymore.” Jian gestures in thought, “Sorry to offend, but I tend to consider long term solutions that don't require offing people.”

“None taken, Mister Kimura, but once someone drinks from the abyss, they are at the mercy of the abyss for the rest of their life.”  Elezen closes his eyes for a brief moment in thought. “However, there was once a means to somehow prevent the abyss from consuming a dark knight, despite having fallen.” 

“And that is?”

“It’s a lost cause.” He sighs as he opens his eyes, looking up at a painted portrait of an elder Elezen, with similar striking violet eyes and dark gray hair, holding a serious expression that borders between fatigue and determination. Jian furrows his brow, and his eyepiece whirs quietly, feeling some familiarity with the man, like he recognized his shape somewhere.

“Say, are you interested in some family history of mine?”

Jian leans over to pick up the teacup from a tray on the coffee table, before sitting back and making himself comfortable.

“Well, I do enjoy listening to stories.”

“You might enjoy this one then, as it had been stricken from the written history of Ishgard.” He looks back up at the painting.

“That portrait you are seeing is Sir Jacques de Raoult of the Stalwart Lance. That was his full title. Now, he goes by Jacques Raoult of the Broken Lance. He was a decorated dragoon who belonged to a well-established house under the Fortemps, one of the four high houses of Ishgard. He was a fierce warrior and well-versed with Halone’s scripture. With so many dravanians slain under his lance during the early era of the war, he was chosen to be the next Azure Dragoon.”

Jian tilts his head in thought, as he sips from the tea cup.

The statesman continues, pacing back and forth, “Then one fateful day, he decided to defend a caravan of heretics during a Dravanian attack onto Ishgardian soil. The Holy See was displeased by his actions, indicted him for dereliction of duty,  and sentenced him to trial-by-combat as a means to restore honor to the Raoult house.”

“He lived?”

The Elezen’s face darkens. “He survived indeed, and the house of Raoult fell into obscurity for his actions alone. What was even worse was finding out months later that he was consorting with the dark knights.”

“And so now you are on a crusade against them?”

“Whatever it takes to restore the Raoult name for the sins of my forefather. The portrait is just a painful reminder of what I am fighting against.”

“So, what happened to Jacques afterwards?”

“The dishonored coward fled the lands, abandoned our family, so he could live a different life under a different name. Judging by your letter concerning a book I edited, you are familiar with an author named Fudo Yasumura.”

“Yes, I-wait. Fudo Yasumura was your ancestor?” Jian nearly choked on his tea. 

“The very same.”

The highlander looks down at his emptied cup, feeling the room shrinking all of the sudden. He stares once more at the portrait.

“So, Fudo- I mean- Jacques had the remedy to cope with the abyss?”

“Of the sort, but his scriptures were not accepted in Ishgard. No one would read to the harmless ramblings of a dark knight’s thoughts, fearing being branded a heretic. I had to take the liberty of editing the literature so it would remain in Ishgard.”

“So, you can not use it to help the dark knights cope with their problems because the un-edited book itself is heresy?”

“The book is merely half the solution. The other half also requires the soul crystal that housed the memories of Jacques de Raoult.”

The accountant blinks, “And he died somewhere in the Far East. That sounds like finding a needle in a haystack then.” “As I said, it’s a lost cause.” Gilles sighs, “And so, we must cull the knights as tradition.”

Jian returns the tea cup back onto the tray, “I thank you for your insight, but I shall not overstay my visit.”

“You’re welcome. Pray tell, what made you decide to stay in Ishgard? You could have left when the trade talks were postponed.”

“Oh, well, it's rather an embarrassing reason, but I tend to get air sick, and had only ordered enough medication for a round trip. And of Ala Mhigan descent, I don’t work well with the cold to travel on foot.”

“I see. Well, I hope you enjoy your stay, Jian Kimura.”

He stands up, and gives a curt bow as Gilles opens the door out to the hallway. Rene awaits at the entrance, stoically opening the door to the bitter cold. Jian pauses midway out, and he turns.

“I almost forgot, Sir Raoult, but do you have the original manuscript of the Leaves from the Nymeia Lily? I lost my copy decades ago when the Garleans invaded my homeland.”

“Unfortunately, no. It had to be burned like the rest of the heretical manuscripts.”

“Ah, forget that I asked,” And the man leaves.

[solac1um]

inspired by a couple of tweets by des/hornsandtales! it reminded me of when i was learning to free dive and used to get panic attacks in the water. also, my mc has no sense of self preservation and neither do i so here we are lmao. i don’t write levi a lot so,, sorry if he’s ooc. but I had to write this. pls have mercy.

"you ready?" leviathan's hand finds yours, weaving his fingers between your own. he's confident, here; this is his territory. you bring his hand to your lips, plant a fleeting kiss.

"ready as ever, gorgeous."

you let him lead you into the waves.

the first thing you notice is how at home he seems in the water, more comfortable than he is on dry land. you aren't surprised, but it was something else to see in person. and a welcome distraction from the unease in the pit of your stomach. you paddle behind him, relishing the way your fins push against the water. you travel more effortlessly than you're used to, with the three kilograms of your weight belt; the water seems to carry you. today, the ocean is your lover's arms.

leviathan turns to check on you every few strokes, the muted sunlight glowing in eyes the colour of the sunset on a clear day. you flash a smile through your mask.

he stops, and the water eddies around the both of you. "here."

you let your legs sink under you. you don't need a float here, not with him. the sea waits with you, this time. you start your breathe up, holding his forearms instead of a floatation device. he watches, head tilted. everything feels so still, this time. all you can hear is the beat of your heart, pounding in your ears, the jolt in your blood that accompanies the prospect of a held breath. leviathan catches your vacant stare and holds it. you got this. you smile weakly and take the penultimate breath of your preparation.

"you okay there?"

you nod, with more assurance this time.

"alright, then. i'll go down with you. take your time. i know you said you want as little help as possible, but i'm here. it'll be okay. take that final breath good and slow."

you empty your lungs and breathe in so much ocean air you think you will explode. and then, head over heels, you plunge into the depths. you see the glint of sunlight on levi's tail. he's there. and you give chase.

he is never more than two meters ahead of you. he lets you navigate the water, as you requested, but stays close. you are moving, but the space in your head is quiet without the rattle of your breath. thirty seconds, probably. you're still comfortable. you allow yourself a grin as you chase the bright blue of levi's scales. he turns, coming to swim beside you, and you stop.

you look up, away from him for the first time. the reef extends above and around you both. for a moment, you forget the tension in the back of your throat, the fear in your chest cavity. it's wondrous.

"i thought you'd like it." levi's voice echoes in your head. you blink at him, surprised, and he laughs. "wanna go closer?"

you nod, smiling, all fear forgot.

you glide together over the bright corals, for a few heartbeats. the fish are surprisingly agreeable, under leviathan's sway. it is as if they don't see you at all. you watch, wide-eyed, as they swim around you, brushing up against you harmlessly as if you are just so much coral. levi smiles at your excitement from beside you. you reach out to take his hand, when you realise your lungs are burning.

he looks up at your touch into your wide, panicked eyes. you struggle, your hand now a vicegrip on his wrist. he is beside you in a flash, eyes boring into yours. "love. try to relax. we'll get you out in a bit."

you don't hear him, your eyes vacant. he makes to pull you to the surface, but watches the air in your lungs escapes in a veil of bubbles. your body tenses, eyes screwed shut, you struggle to keep from reflexively inhaling water -

- and suddenly, the touch of lips on yours, and the pressure ebbs. you open your eyes as your body completes the breath it begun. you feel the water rush into your mouth and out your... gills? you give your hands a quick once-over and, satisfied to see you are still very much human, you stare at him in open-mouthed confusion.

levi looks abashed. "i-i-i-i-i, uh, i made you able to breathe underwater for a while."

your laughter dissolves in a cloud of bubbles. his expression is apologetic. "should i have.... not? i know you wanted as little help as possible, but you looked like you were in trouble and i-"

you take his chin in your hand and kiss him firmly, fastening your arms around his torso. you look up, your heart swelling at the blush of tender blue that graces his cheeks. you press his hand. thank you. he smiles shyly, and you stare agape at the light glistening on his face.

he holds your gaze, suddenly serious.

before you, slowly, his demon form ripples and changes. you watch as his body lengthens, changes, twisting. watch as limbs grow and fuse, watch the spines and fins rising from his back, watch as the irises that behold you are now no longer two, but four, still the same violent colour of a sky at sundown. you watch them, watch you imperiously. the grand admiral of hell's navy. you're transfixed. leviathan watches you, wordless, and you feel the entirety of the ocean around you holding its breath.

somewhere, at the back of your mind, you remember that the word for fear and the word for awe in another language somewhere were one and the same, or something along those lines. you are entranced by the iridescent scales. "good lord," you breathe, forgetting yourself, forgetting where you are, that the water swallows every sound, your words disappearing into streams of bubbles. "you're beautiful."

this must be what it feels like to behold a god. awe and fear and terror and love. you do not flinch, despite the cocktail of emotions sparking in your veins. you hold levi's gaze, watch as he blinks slowly at you. you're not sure if you should reach out, break the precariousness of the moment.

and then it is over, and the demon is there again, still watching, still waiting. breath after inexistent breath, you grasp for something steadying, but simply stare, agape. and you reach out steadily, to beckon him wordlessly to the surface.

[jefferoni-quotes]

Red-headed

Hamliza Month, Day 2: First Meeting

Historical AU, with historical appearances mostly.

@mamapeggs

Enjoy, gems!

-

Piano music graced the ballroom with soft, romantic notes. Soldiers filed in, height ranging from anywhere from 6’2 to 5’6. Not a single one was shorter than 5’5. Quite the few important figures doted around the hall with crystal champagne glasses filled with bubbling liquid.

Soldiers looked around. The hall was the fanciest, cleanest place they had seen in many months and the smell of rose flowers hit them like tons of bricks. Suddenly, the scent of mud and red coat blood that was strangely un-washable wafted away, out through a crack in an open door.

There was a small man, he stood by the side of General Washington, which made him appear even smaller. He reached a height of, an estimated, 5’7. His red hair glowed in the warm light radiating from hanging golden chandeliers and a large blue coat rested around his frame. Peach fuzz decorated his chin and cheeks, and his pale skin made his blue eyes shine beautifully.

As the hall became more crowded, food was pushed out on rolling carts and people began eating posh seafoods and sipping on fine wines and champagnes. And then they appeared, the five women Burr had told him of. Angelica, Eliza, Margarita, Cornelia and Catherine Schuyler. Three of the five were married, but if you thought that was going to stop him, you are sadly mistaken.

A taller, also red-haired male sauntered over to Angelica Schuyler, a married woman, yet so nonchalantly. The French nobility, Marquis de Lafayette, greeted her graciously and kissed the back of her hand. Angelica beamed already smitten over the man.

This sparked an idea in him and he strutted over towards one sister. She was the second youngest, Cornelia, only to spy her speaking to another man. He sighs and knows that interrupting whilst she was conversing would only decrease his chances of actually getting with the girl.

His eyes trailed around the hall as he scanned for a possible suitor. He was beginning to feel like a robot looking for a target. His eyes landed on one woman in the corner. She was sipping a white wine slowly, clearly trying to not spill any on the gorgeous baby blue ballroom gown she wore. He tucked a strand of red hair behind his ear and made his way towards her, as he got closer, he could see the peaks of very dark brown hair through her powdered hair.

He was a good seven steps away, when the girl was whisked away by Angelica Schuyler. They were giggling together and the woman whirled her head around to steal a glance at him. He waved happily and she went pink.

-

Eliza stares at her sister. “Angie, what are you doing?”

“He’s looking at you, I’m being protective,” she hissed, somehow in a loving way. Like... a mother lion carrying her naive young.

“Maybe I want him to look at me!” Eliza tried to stare over Angelica’ shoulder. She desperately looked for the man she saw before. “Listen, Angie, I’m looking for a husband, leave me be.” She pushed her sister off and sauntered back out into the centre of the hall. She was promptly met with someone gently tapping her shoulder.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a short red-head spoke, bowing and kissing her hand.

Eliza giggled, somehow already smitten beyond comparison. “Good evening, sir,” she took into account the blue trench coat draped around his body. "Elizabeth Schuyler," she introduces herself.

"Alexander Hamilton, pleasure to meet you," he brings his head up and meets her eyes.

"Thank you for all your service," Eliza laughs with a beam, twirling powdered hair around her ring finger methodically.

"If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it," Alexander's words flow effortlessly. Smooth like the gills of a serpent, and he knows that Eliza is already wrapped around his finger. He knows that he is, indeed, like a snake squeezing it's prey to death.

Eliza is stunned to silence and fidgets with her brown locks, power flaking off in her hands. "I-"

"Would you care to dance, my lady?" Alexander extended his hand, fingers curled elegantly. Eliza blushes scarlet, and it shows through the thick cake of makeup on her face.

“Why I’d simply adore that,” she laces her own frail fingers with Alexander’s calloused ones.

Alexander led her towards the floor, placing one arm around Eliza’ shoulder, the other one planted gently on her hip. He could feel the harsh, protective stare of Angelia burning into his skull, but in that moment he didn’t care. All that mattered was the flow of the music and the feeling of Eliza in his arms, her head resting on his chest and the gorgeous smile painted on her face.

-

Day 2 is done! I’m having a great time doing this!

[onceuponatimeaw]

H.P.Lovecraft’s inspiration

Both of Lovecraft's parents died in a mental hospital, and some critics believe that a concern with having inherited a propensity for physical and mental degeneration is reflected in the plot of The Shadow over Innsmouth. It also shares some themes with his earlier story, "Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family". Cthulhu, an entity from previous Lovecraft stories, is the overlord of the sea creatures. The mind of the narrator deteriorates when he is afforded a glimpse of what exists outside his perceived reality. This is a central tenet of Cosmicism, which Lovecraft emphasizes in the opening sentence of "The Call of Cthulhu": "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents."

Lovecraft based the town of Innsmouth on his impressions of Newburyport, Massachusetts, which he had visited in 1923 and fall 1931. The real Newburyport features as a neighboring town in the narrative. A likely influence on the plot is Lovecraft's horror of miscegenation, which is documented by Lovecraft biographer L. Sprague de Camp and others.

Robert M. Price cites two works as literary sources for The Shadow over Innsmouth: Robert W. Chambers' "The Harbor-Master" and Irvin S. Cobb's "Fishhead". Chambers' story concerns the discovery of "the remnants of the last race of amphibious human beings," living in a five-mile deep chasm just off the Atlantic coast. The creature of the title is described as "a man with round, fixed, fishy eyes, and soft, slaty skin. But the horror of the thing were the two gills that swelled and relaxed spasmodically." Lovecraft was evidently impressed by this tale, writing in a letter to Frank Belknap Long: "God! The Harbour-Master!!!" "Fishhead" is the story of a "human monstrosity" with an uncanny resemblance to a fish: his skull sloped back so abruptly that he could hardly be said to have a forehead at all; his chin slanted off right into nothing. His eyes were small and round with shallow, glazed, pink-yellow pupils, and they were set wide apart on his head, and they were unwinking and staring, like a fish's eyes. Lovecraft, in "Supernatural Horror in Literature," called Cobb's story "banefully effective in its portrayal of unnatural affinities between a hybrid idiot and the strange fish of an isolated lake". Price notes that Fishhead, as the "son of a Negro father and a half-breed Indian mother," "embodies unambiguously the basic premise of The Shadow over Innsmouth.... This, of course, is really what Lovecraft found revolting in the idea of interracial marriage...the subtextual hook of different ethnic races mating and 'polluting' the gene pool." Price points out the resemblance in names between the Deep One city of Y'ha-nthlei and Yoharneth-Lahai, a fictional deity in Lord Dunsany's The Gods of Pegana, who "sendeth little dreams out of Pegana to please the people of Earth"—a precursor to Lovecraft's fictional deity Cthulhu, who sends less pleasant dreams from R'lyeh.

The description of the Deep Ones has similarities to the sea creature described in H.G. Wells' short story "In the Abyss" (1896):

Two large and protruding eyes projected from sockets in chameleon fashion, and it had a broad reptilian mouth with horny lips beneath its little nostrils. In the position of the ears were two huge gill-covers, and out of these floated a branching tree of coralline filaments, almost like the tree-like gills that very young rays and sharks possess. But the humanity of the face was not the most extraordinary thing about the creature. It was a biped; its almost globular body was poised on a tripod of two frog-like legs and a long, thick tail, and its fore limbs, which grotesquely caricatured the human hand, much as a frog’s do, carried a long shaft of bone, tipped with copper. The colour of the creature was variegated; its head, hands, and legs were purple; but its skin, which hung loosely upon it, even as clothes might do, was a phosphorescent grey.

[erdelcroix]

J’ avais besoin d’un vrai livre de contes après la lecture des légendes de la met. Contes et légendes de Wallonie de Max Defleur chez Fernand Nathan a rempli à merveille cet office ! J’ai d’autant aimé ce livre que l’on y parle de Gilles de Chin (combat du lumeçon de Mons et Bouzouc de Berlaimont) mais aussi la légende que le racontait mon grand père maternel avec la légende de Bayard et des fils Aymon quand nous allions nous promener à l’étang de la galoperie à Anor ! #contes #legende #wallonie #maxdefleur #contesetlegendedeWallonie #livre #lectures #lecture #livres https://instagr.am/p/CHVImL4A8v1/

[whomp-whump]

The Count -

Council had ran late. Michael ushered the newest pups in, frowning at the clock; he hadn't been summoned yet, but it was well past the hour for diatribes. A girl stumbled over the Persians and plummeted face-first into the ground. She stayed down. 

“Up, up,” Michael didn't have time to waste. He took one look at her scrunched, angry red face, and the snot caking her upper lip. She wasn't gonna survive the night. 

And like her, he could pinpoint every last one of those who were being sent to slaughter. It was hard to find someone with spirit these days. As they entered, fumbling and sobbing, Michael chanced to peek inside. 

The conference table was surrounded: the highest members were all reunited, for their annual review. And at the head of it, standing in front of the fireplace, Master Faust. The group was deep in conversation, but stopped soon as the doors slid open. 

“Goodness,” Madame Saltykova reached for one plump blonde, “Is it time for supper already?” She gripped at the girl’s arms, testing the give of her flesh. Her red gowns opened up around the girl’s naked legs. 

Michael glanced at Master. He didn't turn, only flicked a finger in his direction; Michael stepped in and locked the entrances. Good thing he'd already sent words to set up the bedrooms. It was gonna be a long night. 

He heard a groan. “Old! These are all so old,” Baron de Rais scanned the pups, with inquiring eyes. His mouth was set in a thin, disappointed line. 

“If you are unsatisfied, Sir, I can send for --” 

“No need.” 

Michael hadn't heard the Master approach. He never does. Faust planted a cold, wide hand on the small of his back. “The Baron is going to settle for the pups we have selected.” He nodded at a fawnish, half dead little thing shivering in the corner. “I trust you'll leave my home satisfied, as you always do, Gilles.” 

“And beside, it's not as if you're getting any younger, dearest Baron!” The group erupted in raucous laughters, while de Rais swore in French at the Woman who'd spoken. Michael couldn't remember her name. A new entry to the Council? 

Why hadn't Master told him? He'd have prepared a much better session, and a few specific choices of pups for her. He'd have -- he couldn't have known -- 

Faust’s palm travelled up to the base of his skull, and squeezed. Michael felt his mind go blank and numb, a slight tingle in his ears. White noise filled the space between his ears; just for a moment, enough to calm him. No one noticed, in the general ruckus. 

Most of the guests had started feasting. Some of the pups tried and pulled at the door handles, others went to hide. The better part of them just stood, paralyzed, and waited for a pair of claiming hands. 

Michael felt Master Faust’s grip slide higher, pushing his chin up. The smell of blood sprayed into the air, pungent and impossible to ignore. “How long has it been?” Master asked, pensively. Michael knew time was a forgettable notion for him -- always had been, and the latest human technologies had enhanced that characteristic. 

“Not since my arm healed, Sir,” Michael said, turning to look at Faust. “Three months.” 

Master hummed. He walked past the guests, over agonizing pups, and patted the side of his chair. Michael quickly followed. In a moment, Master had him spread on the table, sheens dangling off the edge. 

The same, familiar numbness overtook him: when he blinked into sense again, he was naked. A small group had gathered around, some cradling a pup in their hold.

“Look, look: this one, over the thigh. A slash three inches deep. And not a complaint.”

Master was grasping at the scar Michael had ironically named the smile. It was a reference to the Monnalisa, which Master had brought him to see once a few years ago. He'd managed to convince security and management to keep the Louvre open just for the two of them. 

His Monnalisa was a long, large, pinkish crease in the skin. Michael sighed when Master pinched at it. 

A demonstration, then. Michael nodded to himself, he should've known. 

“Give us a live show. We all want to see your wonder boy.” A voice from the crowd. Michael recognized it as the thirty-something CEO of the Hannover House. A loud, modern, sprout of a man. He stuck out between the drapes and historical figures, virtually a child in comparisons to the Master. 

Still, his prestige made him bold, and cocky. Michael felt Faust’s annoyance before he spoke back. 

“Very Well.” 

Michael couldn't help the tension tha built in his muscles. Years of servitude had trained him to keep a clean face, to suffocate any tremor and cry - unless his Master required him to, of course. 

But he couldn't erase his human nature, and the instinctual need shaking his legs to run run run. 

Master’s face came into his vision. One strand fell from the accurately slicked back hair, and dangled over his forehead. He didn't speak, and neither did Michael. In a matter of seconds, they agreed on the evening’s number. 

Faust raised a hand. He stood, and stared at his own finger. The index extended with a cracking sound, tip sharpening into a fine point. He presented it to his audience, as if to say, here, I don't have any need for knives or daggers. 

Michael gulped as the claw lowered to his sternum. He struggled to keep his eyes open and his breathing even. 

It sunk in easy. The first few beats, as it slowly ripped a line through his chest, Michael didn't feel any pain. Then, as he filled his lungs, diaphragm pulling at the skin, the pain set in. 

Michael gasped, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The cut was deep, much more than he'd imagined. He thought he could reach in with his own bitten down nails and scrape at his ribs. 

When the blood began to seep out, a new tension came over the room. Then, even those who had kept their business, approached, and sat to watch. Meanwhile, Faust applied his claw to Michael’s wrist. 

The vein came open with a hiss. Michael raised a leg, knee up in the air. One, budding hiccup bubbled out of his lips. He'd forgot the searing hot burn of skin peeling apart. 

Master took his limp arm between two hands, and lapped at it. Even while slobbering blood all over his new suit, he maintained a semblance of class. The press of his fangs on the edge of the slit made Michael’s heart give. 

Nausea set in Michael’ stomach. He even let himself yelp, when Master planted his nail into the center of his hand and pushed. Tendons snapping and nerves straining, Michael waited, half conscious, for the final blow. 

There always was one. Got to leave a lasting impression. 

Master Faust leaned over to plant a kiss to Michael’s temple, wet, and long. Something came up in his mouth - he couldn't tell if it was longing or bile. Just then, the claw settled over his neck. 

“I hope everyone had an entertaining night,” Master said. 

His arm moved in a theatrical curve, almost melodramatic, as he sliced Michael's neck open.

Michael woke the next morning, bandages so tight he could barely get a word out. Master was sitting next to his bed, waving at the House nurse - a pup who'd managed to skip selection night thanks to his medical knowledge, and the lack at the time of a competent personnel on property.

“I'm sorry.” Michael cracks out. He winches. His skin feels tender, and there's a vague taste of metal in his mouth. “Was I -- it, was it satisfactory?” 

Faust shrugged. “For them? I'd hope so. You were a spectacle. Only an idiot wouldn't appreciate that.” 

Michael scoffs; they hadn't even hit bone. Amateurs. 

Master laughed. His voice dissolved into white noise, and soon Michael was closing his eyes again. 

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of February 26th, 2020

Best of this Week: Avengers #31 (Legacy #731) - Jason Aaron, Various Artists, Rachelle Rosenberg and Joe Caramagna 

Tony Stark is Iron Man.

What makes him Iron Man isn't just the suits, but the brilliant mind capable of forging them. Tony’s been flung a million years into the past and, lacking the proper equipment to either build a new suit or time machine, has to fend for himself until he finds a way back home or dies. Along the way, he staves off both his past and futures as madness and hopelessness begin to seep into his mind, but being the resilient bastard that he is, we all know that he can do it.

The issue begins with a flashback sequence to Tony using one of his first inventions, some X-Ray contacts, to spy on a seedy meeting that his adoptive father, Howard Stark, holds with some horrifying implications. Howard’s “goodness” in the Marvel Universe has flip flopped many a time throughout the years with the most recent being a swing towards good through Jonathan Hickman’s S.H.I.E.L.D., but this flashback peels back some layers on what Howard’s always been about. Through Geraldo Borges, we get a scene similar to Eyes Wide Shut and Rachelle Rosenberg contrasts the light that Tony thought his father was, with his immense darkness.

We then cut to the future...or the past rather, with Tony sitting in the same cave that he and T’Challa found the calcified remains of Tony’s armor a millennia later and he’s grown a sick beard and wears the pelts of various things he’s killed while trying to preserve his vibranium energy. Gerardo Zaffino takes over the art for this section and, per his amazing issues of Conan, continues to do an amazing job in portraying the wilderness as dark, cold and ravenous. There’s a black madness behind Tony’s eyes after being stuck for so long.

Soon after Aaron Zaffino, and Rosenberg show us just how Tony wound up in the predicament that he’s in with only half functioning armor. Zaffino shows The Ghost Rider, Starbrand, Odin and Phoenix of the era fighting the metal man from the future. It’s intense as he staves off the intense, orange fire from the Rider’s mammoth, takes a brutal shot on the chin from the Hulk-Brand, stops the buzzing blue lightning from Odin wielding Mjolnir and tries to reason with the Phoenix before she shoots him back to the ground. Her colors are striking with intense particle effects as she tells him to “Remember the face of the Devil.”

Throughout the issue, we get Tony’s narration of the whole situation and he’s so very hopeful in the beginning up until the offerings start coming in. It starts off with just one woman bringing him some cave grog and then more and more start pouring in. Aaron starts spreading the seeds of temptation as Tony bemoans the nights getting “lonelier and thirstier” and Zaffino shows these busty cave babes kneeling with their grog skins towards Tony. As time goes on, the men of the cave come with clubs and grogs in an attempt to force Tony to drink and Tony is forced to drive them away again and again.

He’s starting to lose things and get angry before a silver tongued snake appears in his helmet with Joe Caramagna giving him a voice through familiar red lettering and bubbles. The snake mentions Howard’s name, saying that his adoptive father paid some sort of price and Tony lifts his helmet, thinking to slam it down on the snake before realizing it’s just another temptation. It’s almost horrific and really sells just how much this time period and everything is getting to him.

At the same time, the Devil doesn’t like being denied, so it sends a monster after Tony, the Gorilla wielding the Power Stone from Avengers #13! It’s a short and one sided fight as Szymon Kudranski steps in and shows the Gorilla savagely beating Tony. Rosenberg’s purple background and debris signals us to the Power (wink wink) of the stone and the intensity of the splash page itself is immense as the Gorilla whips Tony around, smashing rocks and Tony's bones while he’s powerless to do anything except yell and think. It’s not long before it leaves Iron Man for dead and allows him time to form a plan.

Tony does his best when he’s trying to not die, in his words, so the wheels of his mind begin turning as he sets traps outside of his cave as various snakes begin to appear outside and are skewered by his spikes. Oscar Bazaldua does an AMAZING job as he introduces us to his “Ice Age Man” design with Tony wearing a suit made out of hardened ice and powered by the last of his Vibranium energy. It’s very reminiscent of his Mk. I Armor and even has blades similar to Baraka from Mortal Kombat coming out of its forearms.

I love this design because it’s gaudy, retro and bulky all at once and made even better by the stark white, the fur on Tony’s neck and the stippling shading that I do love so much. Bazaldua even gives Tony the classic pose as he confronts the Devil at his door. It turns out that the figure is… *gasp* Howard Stark in the red cloak from Tony’s initial flashback. Tony knew that the man behind the Devil Mask was his father in that cult meeting because of the X-Ray contacts and had been scared since.

Aaron portrays him as an evil bastard that wants to have Tony cast away his future and rule the world as Father and son, only for Tony to send a spike through his head, “killing him.” Unfortunately for him, the body rises and reveals himself to be MEPHISTO and he absolutely launches himself at Tony and uppercuts the hell out of him. Robert Gill takes over the art here and shows parts of Tony’s being smashed off before Mephisto hammer fists Iron Man in the chest. It’s fast and intense to a point where the speed lines are almost nauseating.

The Avengers One Million look on at the fight and ponder if Tony’s strong enough to hold out against Mephisto alone. It’s a tough fight because Tony’s running out of energy, his suit is melting and the Devil has far more power than he can handle, so he makes one final hail mary upon seeing that Mephisto has the Time Stone. As he denies the offers Mephisto makes, one last time, and blasts the stone full of his last reserves of energy.

It’s a beautiful set of shots with Gill giving Tony a dynamic pose as the armor cracks off of him, shattering into pieces as he expels a beautiful beam of blue and white light thanks to Rachelle Rosenberg. Tony’s unkempt hair flies out and looks amazing as it flows out of the cracked half of the helmet and the wires dangle back. Mephisto lets the energy hit the stone and looks on with his evil grin and blasts Tony back with Time energy.

Throughout the book, Joe Caramagna has been providing excellent lettering and placement, filling the empty space and hinting at the villain throughout. He does this to great effect when Tony is flung back to his normal future, but has to witness other possible futures. Caramagna spaces each of the thought bubbles, grouping them based on the image in the background and spacing them out as to draw attention to Tony words and the corresponding panel of horror.

The question is, what was this experience meant to teach? 

In many ways, it could be seen as a way to strengthen him against the coming threats that Mephisto has coming and that’s doubly true since Arno Stark has resurrected his father in the pages of Iron Man 2020 and he could be used against Tony again. On the other hand, as Mephisto says in the final pages by Mattia de Iulis, he’s sown fear and doubt in the heart of Tony. Tony does some pretty dumb things when he’s afraid and wh’s to say that this won’t create a new ripple among the Avengers becaue of it?

Overall, I enjoyed this issue! While not all of the artists were to my liking, the story made up for the pages that I wasn’t enamored with. I really enjoyed seeing how Tony would find a way out of the mess and I do enjoy when Mephisto is being used well. Jason Aaron is doing his best to pace out the story and weave pieces into place for the Mephisto Event that we’ve been waiting for since it was revealed that he was the Avenger’s true threat.

The various artists did well, of course there were a few that I didn’t enjoy as much as others, but everyone has their tastes. Rachelle Rosenberg stunned with her amazing colors on every page and Joe Caramagna made it all possible through his lettering. This book was cohesive and a lot of fun throughout, but the price and the fact that this was more of an annual kinda story drags it down just a bit. 

For the most part, however, it’s a high recommend.

Also, support me on Patreon: patreon.com/TyTalksComics

[hihoneyimdead]

aw, beans

[ID: the photo is of three people sitting on a couch in a streaming set up. On the left is Patrick Gill, a white guy with chin-length dark brown hair in a dark blue shirt. In the middle is BDG, a white guy with a mustache and a grey tshirt. He is hold a microphone in one hand and a can of beans in the other. On the right is Simone de Rochefort, a white woman with long dark brown hair in an orange tshirt. Patrick Gill looks focused, BDG looks in mild pain, Simone de Rochefort looks done with life

END ID]