#its chaos theory day in my country already :

[iffasart]

@campbenji JWCTcountdown: release day / free day

HAPPY CHAOS THEORY DAY!!!!

I'M SO EXCITEDDD :D

Edit: added some close-ups under the cut

[deadassluv]

Y’all I’m losing faith. How come Arcane already has its trailer when there is still two months until it’s released, and chaos theory doesn’t when there’s only 42 days left. I’ve been going through so much lately, like I’m so depressed. A trailer will make me feel way better.

Also, for those who don’t know there was a school shooting here at Georgia, and it happened super close to my school. That school is literally a few minutes away from mine. The schools in the district are all under a threat, and we don’t know which school will be next, and I’m scared it might be mine. Please pray for Apalachee High School and the ones who couldn’t make it out alive. No one should go through something like that, I wasn’t even there but I got so scared when I heard what was happening. Not only that, but my little cousins elementary is close to that school too and I’m scared something might happen to them too. I heard the shooters (yes is more then one) are only targeting high school but there’s always a possibility. We don’t know why they’re doing this to so many innocent people, and it’s scary to think about it. This is getting an out of control, schools should be more worried about security instead of policies for phones. Sorry this turn out from being something about chaos theory to this tragedy but I had to share this with someone cause this is really stressing me out. Please pray for us and for this to stop, this is insane! We’re supposed to be the future of our country and instead of protecting us they’re letting us get killed! Schools should start worrying about what’s actually important. Rest in peace for those we lost, and stay safe out there. And again sorry for changing the subject like that 😭

[mariacallous]

Fascism begins with political violence on the streets. In 1922, Mussolini ordered his supporters to march on Rome and threaten to overthrow the democratic government.

In the early 1930s gangs of Nazis and communists fought for control of Berlin’s streets. In 1999, a mysterious bombing campaign, that killed dozens of people and destroyed apartment blocks in Moscow and Volgodonsk, allowed Vladimir Putin to take power by posing as a strongman, who could keep Russians safe.

The UK is experiencing its own version of fascistic violence.

As befits the modesty of this country we have a quintessentially British version of fascistic intimidation. Nothing too grand or showy is on display. Nevertheless, violence and the threat of violence is successfully perverting the course of democratic life.

In the chaos of yesterday’s attempt by Parliament to pass a motion on the war in Gaza it became clear that MPs were not frightened of the party leaders and whips but of Islamist terrorism and mobs at their homes and offices.

Paul Bristow the Conservative MP for Peterborough was clearly scared. He wanted to back a motion from the Scottish National Party, which was the most pro-Palestinian motion on offer.

But procedural infighting led to it being withdrawn.

It sounded as if he wanted to support the SNP motion because of a desire to divert men making rape and death threats.  

People had misrepresented his position, he said. ‘Someone suggested on social media that they would show my wife a real man. Someone else suggested that they would attack me and my family. Already today, Labour councillors in my patch are tweeting that I have not supported a ceasefire’

He wanted to vote for the Scottish National party motion on a ceasefire but could not. He asked the speaker, ‘Can you advise me how I can make my constituents clear of my views, given that I was not able to vote?’

There’s a saying knocking about in the Jewish community: ‘it starts with the Jews but it never ends with the Jews’.  It’s the modern version of Pastor Martin Niemöller’s refrain that ‘first they came for…’

 It ought to be possible in theory to deplore the brutality of the Israeli assault on Gaza without bringing anti-Jewish racism and violence to the UK.

But as the Jewish self-defence group the Community Security Trust pointed out there was an upsurge of antisemitic attacks within hours of the Hamas attack on Israel on 7 October.

They weren’t protests against the Israeli invasion of Gaza. It had not then begun. But a celebration of a pogrom.

Inevitably, the first UK politician to suffer was Mike Freer, the pro-Israel Conservative MP for the Jewish constituency of Finchley and Golders Green. He said he was resigning from politics at the next election because of ‘a constant string of incidents’ including death threats.  

He revealed that, before the Gaza conflict, Ali Harbi Ali, the Islamist who was to go on to murder the Southend West MP Sir David Amess in 2021, had tried to find him.

But if people thought hatred would be confined to Jews, they did not understand the reach of antisemitic conspiracy theory.

As I and other veterans of the wars on the Labour left can tell you, the concept of Jewishness is now unmoored from reality. It can’t be contained. Step away from left-wing orthodoxy and the gentile becomes a Jew and is denounced as a ‘Zionist’, even if they have never visited a synagogue in their life.

 Anyone can be Jewish these days, and anyone can be marked as a target of conspiratorially driven violence.

The reason why Labour broke with all precedent and forced the Speaker to allow its motion was that it was frightened for its politicians. If Labour MPs did not have a motion they could support, the left, the SNP, and political Islam could paint them as standing by and abstaining as the body counted mounted in Gaza.

There have been demonstrations outside the offices of the London Labour MPs Vicky Foxcroft and Rushanara Ali.

 On the Tory side, protestors targeted the home of Tobias Elwood while his children were in the house.

I don’t want to be melodramatic. Compared to fascist marches on Rome and bombs in Russian apartment blocks, the violence in the genteel UK is not much to look at.

But it is not nothing.

When the British public see the results of votes on Gaza, should they believe that their politicians are voting out of conviction or out of fear?

Lucy Powell, the Labour leader of the House of Commons, spoke in Parliament today of the ‘long shadow’ of violence being cast over political life.

 MPs do not like talking about it for fear of attracting attention to themselves and their families, she continued. They do not want to come across as whingers.

But they worry about the targeting of their homes, and believe the intimidation will get worse during the election campaign.

Lethal political violence is real. It comes not just from the Islamists who killed Sir David Amess but from the far right, which killed Jo Cox in 2016.

Yet until they turn lethal, the initial threats that so alarm politicians can seem trivial.

We have the right to protest. Demonstrating outside a politician’s home on a public highway is barely a crime: it is a breach of the peace if it is anything at all.  Meanwhile everyone in public life experiences foul abuse on social media.

But do not diminish it. A little fear goes a long way, and as Lucy Powell told the Commons, ‘Unfortunately, it is starting to affect people’s decisions and their behaviour’.

Unless the police and courts become considerably more authoritarian than they are today we will see two consequences.

Sensitive people will back out of politics. You might want to say that MPs should butch-up and grow a pair, but be careful what you wish for. Do we really want to be represented by a succession of preening tough guys (for most would be guys) who don’t care about the safety of their families or even have families?

The other consequence is perfectly obvious. It won’t just be Islamists and their allies who use the threat of violence. If the threats work, and they clearly do, for they persuaded the Speaker to tear up the rules yesterday, why should not others follow fascistic tactics?        

[anothanobody]

I find it interesting that you commented “honestly i think the romans with the adoption and selection had it best”, because at first I would agree. Hereditary succession through primogeniture is plagued with obvious theoretical shortcomings. What if the heir is obviously incompetent? What if there’s no son and the dynasty ends, who inherits the throne? What if there’s a better second son or uncle more competent to succeed? In this context, Roman adoptive succession seems more logical. Or some method like the Ottoman and Chinese ones, where the elders of the dynasty choose the next Emperor from amongst the family ranks.

However, historical analysis has shown us that the most stable and powerful countries were the ones with the Frankish succession through masculine primogeniture, with the occasional exception for women to rule. I. e., western European countries. This is because, even if uncomfortable situations like regencies or mad kings occasionally happened, the monarch’s family proved to be an axis of power with firm rules to guide who comes to the throne and when. That’s why France, England, Spain, Portugal and Sicily had enormous advantages among other countries and eventually surpassed them. Naturally, the succession rules aren’t the only or most important thing, but they showcase the power axis of a monarchical country. Behind all this there’s what recent historiography calls ‘the logic of Empire’, which is much more complicated, but you can read Walter Scheidel if you want to get to know more about this.

Take the Holy Roman Empire in present-day Germany. The position of Emperor was elective among the prince-electors across Germany. So, in theory, it would be fitting to always chose the strongest, right? Not exactly. The HRE fell  in constant civil wars and the imperial government was absolutely nullified and became just ceremonial. Poland had elections to choose the king, the voters being all the nobles from the realm. What happened was complete chaos among the nobility and the eventual partition and dissolution of Poland in 1795 until 1919! The Ottomans became plagued with succession disputes among the House of Osman until the empire fell into disarray and was called ‘the sick man of Europe’. Meanwhile, the member-states of the HRE who followed Frankish costume became strong countries in their own right, like Bavaria, Austria and later Prussia. Byzantium itself slowly died from within because of internal strife and unending civil wars among the noble families disputing the title of Emperor. All that because there were no fixed rules.

When the Habsburg Dynasty died out in Spain with the death of Charles II ‘the Bewitched’ and there was no certainty about who would be the next king, everything fell apart and the Spanish dominions across Europe were disputed and shared between the Austrian Habsburgs and the French Bourbons. The Roman Empire itself initiated its downfall by not knowing who would be emperor. That’s why we had the tetrarchy, the year of four emperors, constant civil wars, the crisis of the third century, usurpers, and so on. Anyway, that’s just me musing about inheritances!  Just like my previous asks were just musings. Regarding the au, my proposition is to ignore all the variables and just make Eren establish Frankish succession for his eldest son to unite their realms as if the Huns practiced it already (they didn’t). By the way, did I mention all I said does not apply to republics, like Carthage, the Roman Republic, and city-states like Venice and Genoa? Different power dynamics!

history anon i always beam and light up at your long ass asks 😭😭🤔🤣 its so cute to be honest like fr fr. i think that the difference also comes into molding a person from birth to fit your standards and occupy a role and getting a grown ass person to fit your standard who already has their own mind that in the minuscule part of it could disagree with something and that become a great problem. that can lead to domino effect and everything crumbles. but still some kids can become incompetent in the role for whatever reason. leading everything to shit and also tainting a bloodline for the bad reputation honestly and lose the trust of the people.

when we talk about elections is also a tricky subject tbh because obviously the nobles will be the ones to vote, but nobles have their own interests to protect which lead to basically civil wars and blood. a lot of it.

but these nobles cannot go against the birth right if royalty and position pass down to a son.

i think tbh it all comes into gambling. betting on whether and hope that the kid will be a good one. a good ruler. emperor. whatever it is. it’s still a gamble.

just like choosing another is.

they both have pros and cons in my opinion.

imma read that tho. that book you suggested. everything for you history anon.

[theslushpile]

Slush #2/ Wordless: And the Words Became Flesh

AdriAnne Strickland     2014     Short   1/21 (Started and finished in the same day)

Summary: Tav is a 17 year old garbage boy. He is a Wordless (basically an illiterate person). One day, he is given a new job working at Eden City’s version of the rich neighbourhood. While there, he manages to rescue the embodiment of Life (Khaya) from her gilded cage. She is marked as one of the Words, someone who can speak their power into existence, by the ever flowing tattoos on her skin. There are 8 other Words like her (basic elements + creation). Tav has to help Khaya escape the city and spends the rest of the book trying to get her to Switzerland, avoiding the police and the other Words in the process.

Review: This book is written like how people think teenage boys think. Every woman is sexualized in one way or another. This goes for the scientists, the prostitutes, and the 17 year olds. Appearance is a massive aspect of this book as well. All of the Words are marked by their beauty. There is also a bit of casual racism/xenophobia based entirely off of World War 2. Of course the bad Words are the German (the only mentioned gay character, which has its own issues as a stereotype) and the Russian. The only bad Word who wasn’t white and blonde, was the French one, who dies from his own actions (There are two more bad Words, but they barely show up in this book). And that’s forgetting the fact that WW2 somehow still happened despite Geneva having been conquered and turned into Eden City, because history doesn’t radically change when you drop a new country on the map.

Favourite Parts: The characters were allowed to be powerful. None of the Words are seen to be less powerful than any of the others. This book, after the first chapter, is incredibly easy to read in one day.

Least Favourite Parts: The whirlwind romance. The main characters knew each other for a week. They already want to fuck. They almost did. But “they are in love”. The whole “you must be good because you are beautiful” thing. That was the reason that Khaya gave to Tav for why she trusted him. The misunderstanding of basic history and Chaos Theory.

Rating: 5/10. Despite my misgivings about this book, it was still a decent read. If I was in the age demographic, I would have probably liked it more. But anywhere outside of being a 16-18 year old it is not that enjoyable. I had to set the book down multiple times while reading this just to get away from it. I will not be reading the rest of the series any time soon.

Have fun in your readings.

-Rolanthon

[trustrenta]

Towermadness 2 slithering sands hard

Trump’s astonishing victory apparently disordered Hillary’s mind. Obama remained an enigma, passing the baton to Her Inevitableness in 2016 - which she commenced to blow utterly in overestimating her own political charm - she had none - and underestimating the appeal of her opponent, the Golden Golem of Greatness, Donald Trump. Meanwhile, President Obama took care of Hillary by anointing her Secretary of State, from which perch she grifted tens of millions of dollars into the coffers of the janky Clinton Foundation. And notice that his DOJ, under Attorney General Eric Holder, managed to avoid prosecuting anyone but mortgage vampire Angelo Mozilo for all the banking crimes of the day. He managed to do next to nothing to change the conditions that had wrecked black America - namely, the paternalistic policies that shattered families - but he put up a good front while the country teetered economically. Obama proceeded to make it a lot worse.īarack Obama served as liberalism’s bowling trophy, the capstone of the great civil rights crusade: a black president, proof of America’s moral uprightness. Republican George Bush II got the blame for all that and Mr. He came on-board in 2009, just as all that skeezy financialization blew up the banks and launched the era of government rescue operations that heaped previously unimaginable quantities of debt on the USA’s already unmanageable burden. In retrospect, Barack Obama appears to have been manufactured out of some misty Marxist cabal of the Far Left that infested a sub-basement of the Democratic Party. Where’d he come from? This pavement-pounding community organizer with the 1000-watt smile? And four years later he made a fool of Hillary, cutting her off at the pass from seizing her supposedly ineluctable turn - and supreme glass-ceiling-breakthrough triumph - as president. The new star lit up the joint posing as a Great Uniter. Something weird happened starting in 2004 when one Barack Obama came onstage at the Democratic convention that nominated the haircut-in-search-of-a-brain called John Kerry. Even the two most noble endeavors in our society, education and medicine, disgraced themselves with shameless moneygrubbing. What a racket! But then every activity in America was turning into a racket - which is to say, making money dishonestly - until it became the immersive economic milieu of the land. Plus, pay for the stuff with US treasuries (IOUs). Fob off all those filthy, polluting factories onto other countries, and pay the natives three bucks a day to make all the stuff we needed. Off-shoring seemed like a good idea at the time. And, by the way, let’s stipulate that the Republican Party mostly abetted all that, even despite transient rumblings from its Tea Party renegades.įorgive me at this juncture for repeating my oft-stated theory of history: Things happen because they seem like a good idea at the time. Gawd knows what went on in that Shakespearean marriage… but the Democratic Party in the post-2000 Hillary years discovered that its very existence required the government to get ever-bigger because the American economy - the real, on-the-ground economy outside Wall Street’s financialization hall of mirrors - was withering away with the off-shoring of industry and something was needed to replace it. Few, I daresay, thought at the time that Hillary would come to eclipse Bill in influence - though more came to suspect that the first lady operated as the demented megalomaniac she has proved to be. What provoked the mental illness of the Left? What turned the Democratic Party into the Party of Chaos? It seemed pretty sane in 1996 when President Bill Clinton declared - to much surprise - in his State of the Union address that “the era of big government is over.” Of course, few understood back then how cravenly corrupt the Clintons were, even especially as Hillary launched her own political career once Bill’s turn was over. The big question hanging over the 2022 election, then, is: Must America commit suicide? If it’s not being managed by malign forces, such as der Schwabenklaus and his WEF myrmidons, then it sure looks like some sort of controlled demolition. But so are all the other nations of Western Civ. In a confab of friends on a warm evening this weekend, someone asked: Do you think what’s going on is due to incompetence or malevolence? The USA is certainly skidding into a great and traumatic re-set featuring a much lower standard of living for most citizens amidst a junkyard of broken institutions. Support this blog by visiting Jim’s Patreon PageĪnd thanks to all my Patrons for your support For your reading pleasure Mondays and Fridays

[7ven-devils]

A really long overanlysis of minecraft servers.

This will be my only warning, this shit is really long.

I promised this to @ivi-prism 2 weeks ago (hi, i am Svetla) but university said no and then i feel my notes were incomplete so i have to do more research.

So let's talk about anarchism and capitalism. As a future political scientist, really bugs me how the fandom and some content creators (im looking at you techno) misinterpret both theories.

Yeah this will be a overanalysis about the political, social and economic system of two minecraft servers. Why? Cause i like analysis things like this and finally i can solved what is the system of hermitcraft and thats make me happy.

Things to consider:

First im not native english speaker and im lazy so im not often write or talk in english so my typos can make Doc really proud.

Second i don't watch Dsmp i only know things about the server by the animatics, the constant information wich pop up here on tumblr, the crossover fanfics and the tiny vods that youtube insist play when i have activate automatic reproduction.

Third i tried to simplified this much as i can because this analysis i maded talking with my friends (also political scientists) and a former professor, so it got quite technical while i was writing it.

And finally don't take this seriously, I'm not trying to insult anyone, I only started this because the hermitfandom started saying that hermitcraft was capitalist and then everyone started comparing the Dsmp with hermitcraft saying anarchism vs capitalism, that's why the dsmp entered into this analysis.

Guys, seriously chaos isn't anarchism and "sucefully economic" isn't capitalism, even paid with "money" (diamonds in this case) isnt necessary capitalism.

First, mini glossary:

I understand a server like a Society/State (country) with Mr Weber definition. In really vague words a State is anyone that has a territory and has legal control of violence (the laws, no the abuse of authority).

I understand the private property as the hermits bases and/or shops (i suppose only base in dsmp? Idk)

I understand the mass production as the farms and resources.

Capitalism is a economic, politic and social theory, wich it considers private property essential and tends to monopolize the resources 'cause this it also considered private property.

Anarchy means "without government" it has its origin in the Ancient Greece. And Anarchism theory is just a society free from any political authority, but respecting the liberties of the others.

A Failed State is which one lose control of the legal violence, and can't provide the peace, essential human rights and the basics for a normal lifestyle to its people.

I think thats all the bored shit (i hope so). Now the interesting shit.

Why hermitcraft isnt capitalist?

Short answer, their idea of private property is not the same as capitalism has.

Long answer, even if they have their own stuff, they had a really strong sense of community and dont really care if someone take things from them.

We can see this in the beginning of season when Iskall take some mini blocks from Etho and he didn't really care (yeah, iskall "paid" him, but later i will explain this) or the multiple times Grian "borrow" things from Iskall and Mumbo in season 6 or Scar in season 7, the team ZIT constantly take things from each other and i can go on and on with examples, but the point here is this couldn't happen if they had a capitalist society because this would break the "private" part of private property and mass production.

Basically their friendship made so strong their sense of community that they are basically inmune to capitalism, Uncle Marx would be proud of them (not really, but would be funny). So they are communist? Nope, communist don't believe in private property and the hermits does.

But you just said-? I said they dont has the SAME idea of private property as capitalism does. They still have their bases, farms and shops, but for them their private property isnt sacred like in a capitalism system would be.

They're respect each other things because they appreciated the effort and values the time the person puts on their buildings and not only because doesn't belongs to them (and obviously cause theyre frends, but shush, this is a overanalysis, the obvious things doesn't have place here) i mean even for the shenanigans they are really polite and try to cause the least damage possible not because is not of them but because they valued the person.

Basically the famous honor code of hermitcraft.

What about the economic system and the shopping district?

Lets talk about the elephant in the room.

If Hermitcraft isnt a capitalist system, why they have a economic system based in diamonds?

Well, despite the exchange based in money for resources or services is a principal characteristic of capitalism, it isnt exclusive of that theory.

The money is a social consensus, cause barter has becomes obsolete and gold isnt cheap or infinite to use as payment. And basically, this is why we use money on this days (if you want to know the history of money ask to your trusted historian or Wikipedia).

What does this remind us? Yep, diamonds and iou's are a consensus too. When the 1.16 came out some hermits tried to change to netherite as payment and didn't suit, so they ignored it and continued with their current payment system.

And as much as Mr Smith likes to say that this is how the free market (and his stupid invisible hand) works, capitalism needs the monopoly of resources and people who works to pay for those resources.

But in Hermitcraft nobody really controlled the resources, anyone can go and collect their materials or made a farm. They just decided don't do it and go and buy it, because they save the time to go and collect for themselves, in other words they paid for the time.

Various hermits say they saved so much time go and buy the materials instead to collect themself or trade with the villagers (cause theyre the worst and all of us know it) thats why the barge and lookie lookie at my bookie are so profitable.

The shopping district it wasn't a thing before season 4, i dont really sure how it worked before, because i started watch in season six and sadly i have a boring adult life to saw the old seasons, but i assume it works in the same way that the trades the hermits does between them to accord a discount or a collab, and speak directly with the interested hermit or directly take it and pays what's considered it was fair, like iskall did with etho.

Like i said all what's happen in hermitcraft is a consensus, even the shopping district.

So yeah, that isnt a thing that would happen in a capitalism system, probably you would be dead, because "how are you dare to entered to my property", or in the jail, "because thats not yours".

So, what is hermitcraft?

For the surprise from much of you, Hermitcraft has an anarchist system.

What?! But their server is so peaceful, they don't steal from each other, they doesn't griefing, hows that possible?!

Well, the anarchism isn't really a violent political theory, at least in its beginning, actually anarchism is one of the most peaceful theories i studied, thats why i dont really thing it will worked in our society, but work in a server of 24 friends. Its too idealist.

I don't really study all of the thoughts corrents of anarchism because they are a lot. But the one we are interested is one of original thought corrent, The Mutualism, this in contrast with their cousin Communism doesn't believes the private property was something bad and considered like one of the rights from the individual, but different as capitalism because like i said before it wasn't sacred and communal things will exist to help others to start or recover.

Proudhon, one of it intellectuals, considered not paid for the work of the other it was a form to violate their liberties and feel horrofied with Marx when he said we have to abolish the private property.

The mutualists believes that each person should possess a means of production, either individually or collectively, and the products obtained would be trade in the market for the amount equivalent of their work.

This sound familiar, isnt it? Hermitcraft works in this way.

The thing with anarchism is they don't believes in a government over the people. And the hermits doesn't have one, yeah there's Scar being the mayor, but he isnt have a power over the rest and only is in charge of the "cowmercial district" even aquatown isn't part of his jurisdiction, his function is more of organization, like when we put a friend in charge to organizing part of a roadtrip.

It's the same with Xisuma figure, we all put him in a position of the admin of hermitcraft, but the truth is he isnt the only one with admin commands (but apparently some or all of them losed their admin status, at least in one of the last tango's streams, he hasnt it anymore) and various hermits said that he is more like an ambassador of them in the legal things of the server.

The hermits take all of they decisions in group and in the majority of things all of them needs to be agreed with the decision or they simple doesn't do it. And this is a characteristic of the mutualism because for them anyone are over the other.

And if you aren't already bored at this point and you put attention to what i wrote of the concept of private property in the mutualism, you would see it is practically the way hermitcraft works. They make their bases and farms, recolect resources and sell what they don't will use, buy mostly to save time and paid for the price what they considered fair. Yeah i know sometimes they do some farm specifically for one shop, but this is more "yeah, this is my thing" (Tango and Iron; Ren and wood) or a division of activities "if you do that, i do this".

The perfect utopia.

What about the Dsmp?

If you do it to here, congratulations.

So what about the Dsmp, i entered here because i want to read of them and the only thing i read was about hermitcraft.

Well, the Dsmp only entered in the equation because much of you said they were an anarchist server, but i see it more like a "failed state" and when i was talked with an exprofessor he agreed with me.

I know the term of failed state is controversial and is almost obsolete, but is the best way to describe the server and stop said it is anarchist.

So why failed state and not an anarchist state? Because they have a government (or apparently multiples) a failed one, but is there, if it were an anarchist server wouldn't have one.

Usually the failed states are known for being violent and volatile places in which ones their governments can't provides the basics to their people to live, normally are places with ethnics conflicts, civil wars, authoritarian governments or states in wars. The most common examples are Haití, Somalia or Syria.

And i am sure you can see the similarities with the Dsmp, so yeah, theyre chaotic but not anarchist.

The wars ruined the stability from the server, have a multiple sides and a megalomaniac for admin, but the goverment still there and they are fighting for the power wich wouldn't happen if the server were anarchist because anarchism don't believe the power should be possess for someone.

The server simply is failed state wich struggles under a violent fight for power.

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

If you read this far, you're a hero and had my gratitude for read my useless thoughts. Maybe some day i do it other overanalysis of this servers. I hope you enjoyed and dont confused so much.

Thanks for read.

And if there are some angry economist with me for "misrepresent" the capitalist i am completely open to a debate, my only condition is it would be in chilean spanish ;)

[laadgovernorandsankadevi]

IPK Rewatch: EP 01; the fateful night

ah the first look! the first impressions and the first introductions. it's interesting how the first snapshot after introducing us to Lucknow is of the Guptas. While both the families belong from the same city, it's now after 14 years that Arnav is at the point to take what is rightfully his, that Khushi breaks past the gates of his shell.

I love that bua ji's, the fiercely protective guardian of the two girls later onwards entrusted with their responsibility when they are sent to Delhi with her is the one introducing us to whose day it'll be.

"arre khushi ka mawqa hai!"

one of my favourite things about ipkknd were the possibly double meaning of dialogues. of course, it's a blissful and happy day for the daughter of the house is about to get married but today also marks the day where Arnav think he's won from his past. He is unaware that Khushi or happiness will come knocking at his door in span of few hours. Khushi is unaware that the turmoil her recklessness will pull through will lead to her, and her sister's best decisions of life.

Khushi's introductory dialogues reveal that despite being nervous she doesn't shy away from doing whatever she thinks is 'right'. I've always maintained that Khushi's moral compass is driven from the understanding of morality but whether whatever decision she makes will make the person she's doing that particular action for or from happy or sad. Right now, the shop being mortgage is going to take all of Guptas' assets and savings away. It'll also endanger her sister's happiness if the demand for dowry doesn't stop. While Khushi is right, as we know Shashi assures her afterwards, her going behind everyone to fix the situation herself isn't. These actions establish a running theme with Khushi's character. She is the definition of chaos and regardless of her intentions, things do tend to explode a lot in her face.

Also Payal's character's demure and ever-pleasing nature is established from the get go. While Bua ji is singing for her outside, she is worried about Khushi and her father instead of enjoying. The stoic tendency to please others and care for others before observing her own happiness stands out however her ability to go along until someone else takes the first step also shows her status as the elder daughter, whose often lauded as the perfect daughter of the house taking play.

The first look of Khushi, we see her eyes.

The eyes have a big role to play with both Arnav and Khushi, and to see the clarity and courage in Khushi's eyes from the first instance is just a beautiful directorial decision.

I also love Khushi's face reveal just as she is justifying her actions and revealing the same to Devi Ma. This is Devi Mayyian's child. Her absolute favourite and the closet confidant before Payal for Khushi! Sanaya looked absolutely ethereal in the first episode. The lengha is beautiful, the subdued green with pink with gota all over suits Khushi. Her switching out her khussas for tennis shoes few seconds earlier showing the unconventionality she doesn't shy away from. My only qualm is the amount of bronzer they put on Sanaya's face. (cough cough *colorism*)

Again with Khushi's moral compass, she wouldn't have stolen the milk man bike along with milk crates on the side if she actually took decisions which she thought through. Milk symbolises fertility and abundance blessed from gods. Khushi running away with stolen milk is a good use of metaphors in direction with Khushi being the force of change for everyone around her. Today in particular with Payal and Arnav's life. Also, 20,000 rs is symbolise the how the universe is shifting for the Guptas at least in the beginning. 20 being the universal number of harmony, balance and blessings and adding 0s to it which symbolise a divine journey. Three zeros simplify the divine journey Khushi has set out on and taken others along with her. The journey starting with loss will one day end with the gains Guptas didn't ever dream about. These little details were what pulled me into the script the first time around and seeing it repeat reinforces for me at least that I am glad to have been on this journey of Khushi and Arnav's from day one. (I started watching around the teej episodes).

Shashi's red kurta, I think at one point Shyam and NK both wore this during A & K's marriage. The recycling of wardrobes.

Shashi and Garima's conversation reveal the compliance that comes with being a woman in society and is understood by perhaps Garima and Bua ji. Shashi on the other hand might give into the norms, is also someone who stands against the injustices practiced in name of tradition and I love him for it! I really wish we had seen him recover before the show ended. A conversation between him and Arnav would've been heartwarming to witness since they both seem to align on their moral perspective of the world to an extent.

I know they try to tell us Khushi is around early adult years like 18, I really thought she passed as someone who was 21 and 22 through mannerism and with the bday tracks, I'm using that age as cannon.

We finally have the entry of our rakhshas urf rajkummar

I love the shot of Khushi's motorcycle leaving the gates and stopping at the signal for the chopper to fly over and her being the only one to look up in the shot. 

Ah ASR, Arnav Singh Raizada. He oozes arrogance, attitude, entitlement, purpose, and luxury. This is not an ordinary man and makes sure everyone around him remembers that. Of courses betiya didn't care about any. of it and that wasn't okay, at all!

With the first pap question we already know the this man has an established reputation of being hard to reach, of being mysterious, and making calculated decisions which leave others stumped in light of his age and experience. The second and third follow up are questions are just as enthralling. This is one of the most eligible bachelors and not many know much about his personal life. His mysteriously magnetic persona also begs answers to know why they're exceptions in him making a presence at events he is hosting in smaller cities of the country. All these questions and he answers nothing. Just calmly walks past. But we get hints. There's a past. A haunting one with a broken marriage, death, and a mother.

"Hum usoolon ke bare pakke hain!"

"Usooloon se somjhota nahi karte!"

ah chacha ji! where else do we go on to hear these lines from? Dadi ji. How ironic that a woman and her son taking pride in their ability to stick to rules, morals, traditions, are the ones at mercy of this man whose morals are deemed questionable throughout, who doesn't advertise morality, nor preach verse of tradition. These are also the people who wronged him and his sister as a kid. The Maliks left Arnav and Anjali at a place where they couldn't use their name without feeling disgraced. And now here, fourteen years later Arnav stands on the same grounds he was was told to leave from. I love the 630 above Arnav. The number signifying success. Apt! The white dove signifying the turmoil ending to some degree with the Arnav Malik rightfully taking what was his, a reign of peace.

In contrast Payal and Khushi once again having the conversation about what they're doing is right or not brings us to a contrast in decision making abilities. Arnav's move was calculated. He went over Chachaji's head to buy from the man the havali was mortgaged to. Khushi's move is driven through impulse of protecting her sister's happiness.

Khushi's words abut dil, zameer, paisa are hilarious because the man she loathes for the same reason is the one she is unable to hate. Oh how the tables turn!

I love Anjali's introduction. The first words are Arnav. The first interaction in the flashback of her's is with Arnav. The siblings are each others' first friends, first confidants, first people. Anjali wearing very thick visible sindoor after we just saw an ambiguous flash back of hers at her wedding is such a perfect example of Raizada's not being much different than the Maliks in their quest to bury the past and refuse to answer questions. Anjali wearing yellow in a see of red is such a perfect repression of what she means to Arnav. Yellow symbolises happiness, sunshine, brightness. Khushi later showing up in Green is also such a beautiful thing as green symbolises rebirth, revitalisation, and reincarnation of life. The two women are everything for this man.

We find out Arnav wanting to knock down Sheesh Mahal. Whether he does so or not, we don't find out.

(The ipk Redux was amazing at plot analyses and predicting tracks through easter eggs in the show. The complete truth of Garima, Arnav's dad, Khushi's parents, Chachaji, Dadi ji, and Shyam being tied to their past was changed according to those theories and ofc they are theories not canon. but these narrative shifts annoyed me a lot which is why I think IPK would've been good as a finite series. It wouldn't have to adjust its tracks in accordance to trps. Regardless of this theories being right or wrong, we can already observe with the omission of Chacha ji that there were changes made. Ah well.)

I loved that poet dude. The insinuation of taking to rights and two lefts, and Khushi being lost in the labyrinth that was Sheesh mahal is apt in terms of how Khushi found her life tangled with Arnav's past later onwards. I love how Khushi always ended up unintentionally walking towards Arnav since this day onwards. We see that when she ends up at Shantivan with saris. We see that when she ends up in front of him after Shyam the first time around.

and now for that fateful moment. The moment planned by the Gods. the moment where Khushi finds herself scared, her phone battery gone, she has no one and in a sea of people her eyes land at that one person. Interesting how she pulls up her dupatta just as that man stares her. Arnav's eyes when looking at Khushi find a way to admire her or in this case, he was straight up being disrespectful towards this strange girl. When she turns around to leave, she slips on the dupatta his staff had pinned on her and god, this man was taken aback by her. The first meeting derived anger from Arnav but also it pushed something he didn't hope to have to that extent. There is a pull between the two. He looks at her eyes, observes her trembling lips, and her hand, her hand clutches onto his collar which becomes a theme. The dupatta and Arnav's collar are two things that become so important in their ability to communicate their comfort to each other.

And so it begins. The love story. The kahani of nafrat, of refusing to be indifferent but trying so so hard to be.

[queenlilith43]

Chain of Iron Theory Number Two

Alright, time to talk about necromancy and Jesse Blackthorn. Just a few days before Chain of Iron comes out. (Sighs.) Whelp, I'm going to go back through this and see which ones are right.

I think we all know at this point that Jesse has to be resurrected, or else there aren't going to be any more Blackthorns after Tatiana and Jesse.

Though my thoughts are on HOW Jesse will be resurrected, and the way Belial factors into this.

Lucie's powers have to do with the dead. She is the only one outside of the Blackthorns who can see Jesse. Keep in mind her grandfather is the Prince of NECROMANCERS.

Though Tatiana wants to get Jesse back, and she is striking this deal with Belial. I think the most likely thing to happen will be Lucie bringing Jesse back, but . . . Belial could have a hand in that.

Belial is already trying to control James, so he has a very good chance to try and mess with Lucie, too. She also hasn't really discovered what powers she has. We're going to have to see what her powers are.

One thing I love is that we have a Herondale doing necromancy with a Blackthorn. And there's romantic chemistry . . . Hopefully no one flees the country after this. (Cough, Kit, cough.)

I honestly think Jesse will come back, in his body, and be back to what he was before, or even better. I hope he'll be able to bear runes this time, because he could be a helpful asset.

Although, as we all know, even a seemingly perfect necromancy attempt has its pitfalls. Example: Jace Herondale in City of Glass.

I'm bringing up Jace, because this is the one 100% successful use of necromancy. Most likely because he was brought back by the Angel Raziel.

However, Jace did have some issues with demons. Because he didn't go through that one ceremony with the Iron Sister and the Silent Brother. And then he ended up bringing Sebastian back, and causing all that chaos. I might do an essay about why Sebastian wanted that little bromance with Jace, and why Jace deserved better.

I think something similar might happen with Jesse. I don't know if Jesse will have a ceremony to protect him. And because Lucie is so tied to Belial, Belial is going to mess with Jesse.

But Belial is messing with everyone. He could leave Jesse alone. Or he could not.

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for some more theories and essays on my blog.

[rosierocks30]

Hidden: Ch. 20

Chapter 20: Dancing with the Devil

(Levi/Arne)

It was dark and smelly. He can hear drops of water from wherever he was placed. Arne woke up from being knocked out at the tarven. He realized this was a cell and his wrists were cuffed to the wall. The son of farmers felt anxious from wanting to know where his wife was. Is Ingrid safe? Are they harming her? Is their unborn child safe too? So much fear of what ifs ran through his mind. 

Arne heard noises of the guards coming towards his cell. The sound of keys shuffled as the guard inserted the key into the lock and unlocked the cell’s bar. Once the guard opened, he shouted at Arne. “Prisoner, I see you’re awake. We’re moving you to the other dungeon.” 

Arne barely noticed the guard had a dark mask on his head. Probably concealing his identity. As Arne was uncuffed from the chains, the guard dragged him away from the cell. His body was a bit weak from who knows what they use to knock him out. 

The silence was killing him. All he saw the cold hallways leading to the other parts of the dungeon. The dark haired prisoner glanced at a room where a wooden like table was in the middle. 

Two others went to grab Arne and placed him on the wooden table. They strapped him down tightly with thick leather belts. 

“As a punishment for crimes, the king made you his labrat for risky experiments. The scientist will arrive soon.” The guard said. 

Not too long, a man arrived and looked at Arne. “Aw this is my latest subject?”

Latest? So there were other unfortunate lads before him? He won’t be surprised if none had survived from whatever sick experiment the king had approved. 

“Hello there! I’m Gabriel Hange, the king’s new scientist. You looked well fitted than my previous subjects. Good good. We’re gonna need a healthy one. Hopefully, you will be my breakthrough!” He giggled with excitement. 

Arne was already irritated with this mad lad. The scientist Gabriel dismissed the guards when they left the room. Now it was him and this deranged man. “It;s just you and me. Before I start, what questions do you have?” 

Arne does have many questions but most of them won’t get answered as this scientist might not know it. “What do you plan on doing to me?” He asked. 

“You’re a man of getting to the straight answers? Well, let’s start at the beginning. The king had wanted a loyal knight to serve and obey him only. So I was granted an audience with him when he heard about my theory of it’s possible to create a titan in it’s human form without shifting into one of the nine titans or being pure mindless ones.” Gabriel explained to Arne. 

“So basically I will become a weapon?” Arne said. 

“Yeah, something like that if you survive.” The scientist said. 

Arne doesn’t have a choice since he was tied to the table. He closed his eyes to pray to the gods and goddesses to protect his wife and their unborn babe. “Let’s just get this over with.” He mumbled. 

“Yes, yes. I hope you make it through, sir.” The dark brown haired man said. 

“I’m not a knight. Just a peasant farmer.” He glanced at Hange the scientist. 

“Of course, then what shall I call you?” He said. 

“Call me Ackerman.” Arne said. 

Gabriel nodded in accepting the other’s request. “Alright Ackerman this will hurt.” 

Arne took a deep breath to mentally be prepared for the pain he will endure. As he felt a burning pain inside his veins, Arne grunts from trying to not let this pain consume him. Gabriel had injected a small dose of blue liquid into the bloodstream of Arne’s veins. The scientist wanted to start off a small dose before giving the all the blue serum like fluid to his test subject. The dark brown haired man with glasses watched how this man endures the pain. Usually, the other test subjects begin to scream for mercy. Their bodies become purple as the serum slowly deteriorates their organs and melts them until blood comes out from their noses, eyes, ears, and mouth. It looked like a deadly poison killed them. Technically, this serum is like poison. This prisoner hasn’t shown signs of bleeding from nothing of the areas the scientist had seen with others. 

“You are strong for enduring this small dose. Let’s see if you can handle half of the serum I have.” Hange said. He connected a bag with serum to the tube that’s connected to a needle on Arne's arm.  He slowly squeezed the bag as the fluid went into Arne’s bloodstream. Arne felt sweats and heat from his body raising its temperature for trying to kill off the foreign fluid inside his body. Finally, the scientist finished the bag. 

“Alright, all done. We’ll just have to wait until the next day if you make it or not to add another bag of fluid into you. For now, I will observe how your behavior and symptoms react to the serum.”  He said. 

Arne couldn’t answer him as he still felt his body on fire. He began to scream when the fluid began to boil in his blood. Oh gods, this is the worst torture ever. He was thinking death would be more pleasant.

No...he can’t think like that. He must get this through to escape and find Ingrid. Ingrid and the babe need him. He must survive. He’ll live and protect his family. 

The sequence turned white and Levi Ackerman woke up with sweats and fever. The raven haired man grunts from the fever and the pain he felt from his body. Davos and his assistants rush to get him stable. Levi’s vitals were going off the chart. The captain felt hallucination of seeing a familiar blonde beauty that he loves and cherishes. 

“Historia….” His wife’s name whispered breathlessly from his dry chapped lips then darkness greeted him. 

Levi’s eyes opened slowly as the view was not the white room nor the dungeon cells. Where the fuck is he? Where did they move him this time? He slowly sit up and heard heavy chains move. He glanced down to see his wrists were cuffed and chained to the bed. He could smell sterile and medicine. Did they put him in a hospital? A figure appeared before him. The figure was an old man with few hairs on his head. He has a genuine smile on his face which Levi senses this man must be the doctor from the uniform white robe they wear. Right next to him was a familiar brat he used to kick the shit out of him to save his life. 

“Had a nice nap, Captain? The doctor had to make sure you won’t die on us, but you are Humanity’s Strongest. You’re too hard to die anyways.” Eren smirked. 

Eren is lucky Levi was chained and weak at the moment from kicking his ass again. Levi glared at the Titan Shifter. 

“How unpleasant to see you, Jaeger.” He mumbled. 

“You might find it hard to believe but I’m not the enemy, captain.” Eren said. 

Levi scoffed as he does find it hard to believe. “Tch.” 

“We have a lot of catching up to do because Historia has begged me to help you out to escape the palace and sent you back to the Assassins and the soldiers.” Erren whispered. 

Levi glanced at him in confusion. Is this a joke? Eren had decided to play the good guy? Levi doesn’t want to fall for this brat’s tricks. Did Historia contact Eren to help out?

“Look Levi, Historia and I made a pact to help you get out of here. Most of the soldiers are planning to strike soon. I am spying for the military and the assassins. I had to convince Davos to let the doctor check up on you. As to him and the templars, you’re valuable to them.” Eren said. 

“Didn’t you want the whole world to end to save Eldia or some fucked up shit?” Levi finally spoke. 

“I did, but my perspective had changed.” Eren’s thoughts were on Natasha when he said that. 

“You have done fucked up shit. So give me a reason why I should this time believe you have changed?” The assassin may be weak from recovering from a high fever but his tone was dark. 

Eren frowned; he remembered the atrocious he had committed for the sake of freedom to the Eldians. In his mind, he had to become a great villain for the world to be untied and defeat him while freeing the curse. Now, his selfish desire had altered his destiny. He wants to do whatever it takes to protect his girl and their unborn. He wanted to give them peace and freedom without causing the majority of the world into chaos. 

“We both have something in common.” Eren said. 

“Like what?” Levi said. 

“Being a father. My kid will be born in nine months and I want this mess that I create be dealt with before he or she comes into this world. I want to keep my family safe. I know you want that too for Historia and your son. So, this is what’s going to happen. While most of the people are busy attending the ball, me and two others, Rick and Reggie will help you out to sneak away from the city. But I won’t go out of the city since I need to be here to play the “good brother”.” Eren explained to Levi. 

“What about Historia? I am not going to leave without her.” Levi hissed. 

“I understand you want to take her away from this hell, but she needs to be here in order to work. Her alibi will be the ball as queen she will be too busy attending guests at the ball. I promise to you that she will not be harmed. The Brotherhood and Paradis needs you as much this nation needs the soldiers. Marley finally regains their country from the Templars’ soldiers. Reiner is one hella Commander in Chief.” He chuckled.  

“The Armor Titan was made into a Commander? Didn’t know Marley had sympathy to allow an Eldian to rise from the ranks.” Levi said. 

“Yeah, I guess it was the templars who made this side of the world more united than I did.” Eren chuckled darkly. 

“Promise you will keep her safe if I go?” Levi finally gave in. 

“Yeah, I’ll make sure she will be safe.” Eren confirmed. 

Levi nodded. “Alright, but I’m holding on to your promise, Jaeger.” The shorter man said. 

Both men begin to plan out to sneak Levi away from the Templars’ grasp. It’s a good thing the King was still out of the country to deal with some templar business. 

(Gilbert)

Ever since he accepted Alexander de Lorenzo’s offer, Gilbert had been receiving expensive gifts from many places around the world. Whenever he meet up the Grandmaster, they had an amazing sex. It felt exhilarating and forbidden. Gilly still received love letters from Nathaniel as the king was on a business trip along the Grandmaster. But Alexander somehow convinced Nathaniel to let Gilbert be in charge of the templars and the people of Paradis even by law it should be the queen. As if he’ll let that man stealing harlot gain more power than him. He had worked his ass off to get where he is. Right now, he had to attend the ball along with her. Ugh they have to work together to make this charity ball successful. This will show both of his lovers that he is capable of taking on a big role. He will not fail. The tailor was adjusting Gilbert’s outfit for the ball. It came from Italy where Alexander was from. 

“My Lord, this suit is at it’s finest. Such a luxurious material can’t be found on this side of the world.” The tailor praised him. 

“Yes, this is one of a kind.” Gilly gloated. 

“It’s all set to be used at the ball. I hope you have a wonderful time. You will be the center of it tonight!” The tailor said. 

“Yes, of course.” he smirked. 

The ball had started and Gilbert was wearing a viper mask made of gold and crushed diamonds which it’s one of the gifts Alexander gave him. The guests had arrived with their masked on and the outfits were filled with so many colors. The tables of food from all over the world were displayed. The music plays with joy to dance and mingle. So far the ball was looking perfect. It would be magical if this bitch next to him was locked in her room and not greeting the guests. This was supposed to be his night instead the guests praised the queen how beautiful and breathtaking she looks. She was wearing a silver ball gown with the top silk material and the hem was puffy with flower patterns. The chest of the gown was shaped into a heart as her breasts were pushed up a bit. It would be inappropriate but since the Templars took control, Alexander had encouraged Nathaniel to bring in modern fashion and lifestyle even though Nathan wanted the old ways when King Karl had reigned in this island.  

Historia’s mask looked like a delicate swan with white and silver. The eye shape had dark shade. She was a Swan Queen as the nobles and Higher class praised. After greeting, he took a glass of champagne to drink and tried to not let her ruin the rest of the night. He will be praised and admired by the end of the night. 

(Hange)

Today half of the people are heading out of the walls to prepare to meet their allies across the sea. It’s clear Mikasa had made Hizuru their allies again. Marley had become their allies as well. This was a historical moment. For centuries these two sides were enemies until now. 

The Commander of the Survey corps had been alone writing her journal since who knows if her journal could end up in some museum or used as a school research paper.

She and William had been strategizing to give a surprise attack to the templars. But first they are waiting for Eren helping Rick and Reggie to sneak Levi out of the palace. Once it is done, they will give their second base which it’s at the coastline of this island. To let their allies in and heading towards here to take back their home. If Marley was capable of winning their nation so the Paradisian can. 

(Sasha)

The female Eldian soldier was having the time of her life residing in the city that never sleeps. New York City was so pretty with light during nights. She had tried many cuisines of different cultures. She was in heaven. The baby had been so far easy to take care of. Atticus had been a good boy. He rarely cries unless it’s necessary. He was a curious baby when toys were given to him to play. Only soft ones as he is just a month old. For a month old, he was a big boy. Sasha thought this kid will be tiny like his parents. Maybe the prince inherited a tall gene from somewhere. That would be funny if the baby grew up to be taller than both of them. 

Sasha was strolling with the baby stroller to enjoy nature in Central Park. It’s not like the nature she grew up with back home in her village, but this will do. She spotted a nice big tree where she can place a big blanket and have Atticus lay down to enjoy the fresh air. He had been cooped up in the house for weeks. A child should start embracing nature at this age. Sasha's parents had taken her outdoors when she was days old. As it was tradition back at her village. 

She may not be a pro at raising babies but she will from now raise the boy as the way she was raised. Once the blanket was spread Sasha placed the big bag on the blanket then gently picked up Atticus who giggled with joy from being picked up. He loves being carried. This kid was definitely a prince. 

“What a cute boy you are?” She coos at the infant. 

Atticus squeals in delight. He was laid on the blanket. Then Sasha places his toy jungle gym over him so he can kick and play. Today was a clear warm day with a breeze. Is this what it feels like to be free from discrimation, oppression, war, titans and corruption? This was a true paradise. Sasha didn’t have to worry for her life, but she felt guilty because back home her comrades and family are there where danger lurks. 

Sasha smiled at Atticus who was too entertained with his toys dangling over him. She didn’t notice someone’s presence when her mind was drifted away from thinking nostalgia memories with her friends from Levi’s squad. 

“What a cute baby you have?” The man looked at Atticus which the infant stopped playing to glanced at the stranger. 

Sasha quickly sits up to be on alert if this man gives any bad intentions. “Yes, he is cute. Isn’t he?” Her brown eyes stared at his brown eyes. 

“I mean it makes sense since he got his cuteness from his mother.” The man gave a flirty smile at her which Sasha responded with a blush from his bold comment.

“Thanks but I’m not his mother. I’m just his auntie well sorta. It’s really complicated.” She chuckled. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought he was yours, but that’s a good sign because you’re not with anyone, right?” He grinned. 

“I- right. I don’t have a boyfriend if that’s what interests you.” She said while her brow raised up. 

“That definitely interests me. By the way, the name is Niccolo Browns. What’s your name?” The man with blonde short wavy hair smiled. 

“My name is Sasha Braus and this cutie is Atticus Ackerman.” She glanced at the baby who was again busy playing with his toys. 

“Oh what a beautiful name you have, Sasha. The kiddo got a cool name. His parents must have out a lot of thought into his name.” Niccolo said. 

“Thank you. Your name sounds fun to say.” Sasha repeated his name especially because she likes the way his name sounds. 

“Thanks, I’m glad my name sounds fun to you.” He laughs from hearing her saying his name in different ways. 

“So, I notice you’re not from here? Your accent is hard to figure out where you’re from.” Niccolo had been thinking where her accent came from. It’s definitely not any European country. Is she from a Marleyan colony region? 

Sasha paused to think if it’s safe to tell this man where she’s from? There’s a chance he may not have heard the Eldian people and the conflict the Eldians dealt with most of the nations from the other side of the world. She took a glimpse at Atticus. The female soldier made a promise to protect the prince at all cost. She can’t let her selfish desires jeopardize the child’s life. 

“I’m from an unknown country that not many people knew about.” Sasha said. 

“Ah I see...trying to be mysterious?” He grinned. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me yet.” 

“Sorry, I’m a refugee so this place is still a culture shock, but the food here feels like heaven.” Sasha felt a drool escaping from her mouth at the thought of food. 

“Oh a refugee? I’m sorry to hear that. I bet it’s hard to adjust to a new life here? Hold on, you’re a foodie? This makes it easier to woo you.” Niccolo crossed his legs to sit on the grass to be comfortable. 

“It’s ok. One day, I will be able to go back home.” Sasha was curious what he meant about wooing her with food? “You know good places to eat?” 

Niccolo’s eyes sparkled as she asked him where are the best places to eat in NYC. “I have a restaurant in the Upper East Side.”  

“Wait, you’re a chief? That’s so cool. I will happily be your food taster.” Sasha grinned with joy. Food was her passion. She loves to eat that sometimes her friends have to drag her out from a tavern before they get kicked out. 

Niccolo was happy to hear she will taste his food whenever he creates a new dish for his customers. 

“I would be honored for you tasting my food. Maybe this weekend, I'll show you my restaurant and I’ll make a spectacular dinner. You’ll be the first to try a dish I have created recently. What do you say? A date?” Niccolo glanced at Sasha in hoping she accepted to have a dinner date with him. 

Sasha contemplates whether to go on a date with him or not. If she asked her new friend to babysit Atticus maybe she’ll agree to go on a date. 

“Yes, it’s a date.” She smiled. Niccolo was pleased she said yes. 

(Eren)

It was now the perfect hours to get Levi out of the clushes from the enemies. He had a little meeting with Reggie and that Rick guy. They plan on meeting him and Levi with a carriage full of metals. 

The green eyed Titan shifter had Levi dressed up as one of the Jeagerists. Both former comrades could hear the sound of the music and the people chatting. Eren thought of Natasha being there probably bored. He remembered her telling him how she hated going to social events. She dealt with her boredom by drinking and probably flirting with some random guy to where she takes him home for the night. Of course, this is different. She’s with his child. He hopes this escape plan with Levi will go smoothly. Eren wanted to be with his lover to hold her and give sneaking kisses. 

The quad holder titan shifter stared at the entrance where the ball was held. Right where Queen Historia was greeting, Eren spotted the woman he loved was also greeting and talking to the arriving guests. He was struck by what Natasha was wearing. Her dress was hugging her body. It looked like it’s her skin, only there were sprinkling diamonds on the top of the dress. Down where the hem of the dress was split on both sides to let her legs exposed including a bit of her thighs. Her mask was a gold and emerald venetian butterfly shape. It covered the upper part of her face. To Eren, she looks mystifying and beautiful. 

Levi interrupted him from gazing at Natasha so far away. “So is that your woman huh?” He whispered. 

Eren glanced at the captain then nodded to confirm. He could tell that Levi was also staring at Historia so far away. He understood how painful it was to not be with their lover without putting them in danger. 

“We’ll get through this, kid. One day, we’ll be with them, but right now we need to be focused.” Levi’s tone was compassionate towards Eren. Long ago, Levi was like a mentor and older brother towards Eren during the time when he was a soldier with one purpose to destroy all titans to free humanity. Now that purpose has changed overtime from learning the truth. 

“Right…” Eren takes in this rare moment of Levi being understanding. 

Both men resume to walk away the entrance of the ball before they get caught. By the time they exited the palace. Rick and Reggie were already on the carriage with leftover materials covered by a heavy cloak. Quickly, Eren led Levi to hide under the cloak where the materials are. 

“Alright guys, be safe and careful. There are many guards tonight because of the ball in this city, but once you get out of the city, you’ll be fine. Send me a letter when you guys make it so the queen can know this escape plan has worked.” Eren said. 

Rick and Reggie nodded. “Understood.” Reggie the assassin said. However Rick had one thing on his mind. 

“Eren, please let Eve and Maggie know that I couldn’t make it to the ball.” Rick said with a guilt on his expression. 

“Alright. I’ll let them know.” Eren said. 

“Oi, we should go now before we get caught.” Levi said from under the cloak. All four nodding then the carriage begins to stroll away. Eren watched them leaving the palace. As he can’t see them anymore, the former leader of Jeagerist goes back to the palace. 

While Eren was walking to go to his room, Floch stopped him. “Hey Eren, your brother was looking for you.” The green eyed man glanced at the red haired man. He noticed how Floch’s face was covered with bruises and a swollen eye. His cheeks were puffy due to being kicked repeatedly. This looks like how he had looked when Captain Levi beat the living shit out of him to save him from being executed during the first trials of the discovery of being a titan shifter. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Eren looked at the red haired Jeagerist. 

“Eh, it was some bitch that was playing hard to get.” Floch mumbled annoyingly. 

“Playing hard to get or you can’t take a no?” Eren’s sly comment made Floch glared at him. Once upon a time, Floch was one of his loyal followers. This guy admired and praised him like he was some god. When he came back to be a spy for the Assassins, Floch’s behavior became estranged and mad. He assumed power got over his head. As Floch now became the second powerful man in the Jaegerist group, Eren can see him being too entitled, especially having women coming to him. Of course, he had heard rumors Floch won't’ hesitate to cross the line if a woman doesn’t respond to his advances. It disgusts Eren to the core. Floch reminded Eren the First Fritz King when he took Ymir the Founder as his concubine/consort. 

“Shut up, Eren. You can’t say shit when you use Belia to warm your cock.” Floch scowled at him. 

Eren’s facial expression became dark. He didn’t hesitate to pinned Floch to the wall to remind him who is still in high rank.

“Whatever me and Belia had was an agreement we used each other to fulfill our needs behind closed doors.” His hand gripped tightly on to Floch’s neck. Between him and Floch, Eren is stronger than him. The power of being a titan holder gave him abnormal strength. The only who can compete with a titan shifter’s strength are the Ackermans. They were created to defeat a titan shifter or a pure titan. 

He watched how Floch’s eyes widen with fear. The coward forgot not to pissed off a titan shifter like Eren Jaeger. 

“T-that’s not what she told me. She thought you and her were together.” The other growled.” 

“And you believe her? You know what, don't answer that. Like I said, there was no us between me and Belia so you can tell her to stop with her lies and tell everyone we’re together. She’s too delusional.” Eren scoffed and dropped Floch as he wouldn't waste his time on Floch nor whatever Belia had been telling the Jaegerists. He should have not pursued sleeping with Belia in the first place. It’s one of the main reasons he distanced himself from her. She’s just batshit crazy. 

“Of course, she is my cousin, you fucker.” Floch coughed while being on the ground. 

Eren didn’t bother to give him attention. He kept walking to find Zeke. Finally, he entered Zeke’s study room which Nathaniel provided him when their alliance was formed. He knocked on the door to hear his brother to tell him enter. His hand turned the knob to open the door and saw Yelena there. It’s rare to see Zeke without Yelena being with him. Even when Eren needed to have a private discussion, she was always there. It irritated him. 

“Ah little brother. I’m glad you’re finally here. Make yourself comfortable.” Zeke glanced to see Eren entering. 

Eren goes to lean against the wall instead of sitting on a chair. He waits for Zeke to say whatever it was. 

“Eren, had you visited Ymir through the Path lately?” Zeke said. 

“No, I haven’t. She has been quiet lately, but I will try tomorrow night.” The younger Jaeger brother said. 

“That’s strange. She usually keeps in contact with you. Yes, try again when you can. You should wear something formal for the ball, little brother.” Zeke was already dressed in his suit for the ball. His mask was laying on the desk. 

Yelena was for once wearing a dress and not a suit like she usually does whenever she attended a social event. Her dress was surprisingly shiny where the flowers pattern spread from the top to the bottom of the gown. Probably, Zeke convinced her to wear something nice for this ball. She was already wearing her mask. 

“I’ll think about going to the ball or not.” He said. 

“Ah come on Eren. Live a little. You need to have fun once in your lifetime. You dance or flirt with some pretty girl at the ball. Maybe take Belia with you. I heard you two have been very familiar with each other alone.” Zeke grinned. 

The dark hair titan holder scoffed when he mentioned Belia. He will have a talk to her. This was all a misunderstanding. If Natasha hears any of these rumors, his chance with her will be over. That’s something he can’t allow. He won’t let anyone come between him and her and their unborn child. 

He pushed himself off from the wall. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?” 

Zeke noticed how his brother got irritated when he mentioned Belia. What Eren doesn’t know? He had spied on him and the handmaiden girl, Eveline Potts. It makes all sense how Eren behaves around her. His eyes were full of love and compassion. Something he had never seen his little brother act. This had worried him since there’s a chance his brother might not go with their plan. There’s two alternative plans both Zeke and Yelena could do. Either offer Eren to let his child born if he continues the plan or cause an accidental death of Eveline Potts. Something Levi's words had sunk in his mind. His little brother is a hot blooded man and he did spend so much time with Eveline, but he also spent time with Belia. Maybe he should ask Yelena to check if Belia is not with a child too. Zeke will only let one child from his brother exist. 

“Yes, we are done here. You can go now. Oh, if you do have fun tonight make sure you are extremely careful. You don’t want to end up having some poor bastard child born into this hateful world.” He said. 

This made Eren’s hand shaken on the doorknob. He was now suspicious what his older brother meant by that? Maybe it was nothing since he had once slept with Belia many times. Yeah, that’s what Zeke meant.

“Don’t worry about that. I am careful.” Eren opened the door then walked out. He shut the door. He was panicking inside. Does Zeke find out about Natasha and the baby? Damn it. He should have made Natasha leave with Rick, Levi, and Reggie. Fuck what Rico and the others will say. His growing family’s safety is his main priority. Guess he’ll be going to the ball to talk to her about leaving the palace. 

When Eren reached his room, he saw a suit already laid out for him to wear. Next to it was a mask for the ball. He sighed then began to get ready for the ball. 

(Eve/Natasha)

Earlier that night as the ball had just begun, Eve finished getting ready as she put on the emerald earring studs her grandmother let her borrow for the night. For the final touch she slipped the ring that Eren proposed to her. His mother’s ring was perfect for the dress she was wearing. It’s too controversial, but the Templars wanted to bring a modern lifestyle to this island. Let’s see if the crowds are ready for her entrance. Natasha is a Stark and the Starks are the center of the attention. Tonight, she is the late Tony Stark’s granddaughter. 

After being ready, she went to Historia’s chamber, who gasped seeing how beautiful Eve looked. Eve blushed from receiving praises from her own grandmother. Of course, Eve complimented Historia’s gown. She looked like a queen in her own rights. 

“Are you ready, your majesty?” Eve said. Historia gave a smile and nodded. 

“I am. Let’s leave. The guests should arrive by now.” The blonde woman came out of her bedroom and saw a few of her ladies chatting excitedly about the ball. One of them was Belia who happened to be a Jaegerist. What Natasha researched on Belia? She is the daughter of some lord and a mistress who’s related to Floch. Basically, both Olivia and Floch are cousins. That woman had given Eve hateful glares. It doesn’t bother the female Ackerman, but it all makes sense how they resemble each other. 

At the moment, Eve ignores her and focuses on the queen. The queen was in lead. Eve was almost next to her but a few inches behind her the rest of the ladies were behind Eve. She won’t be surprised if they all were offended in why the queen allowed a handmaiden in front of them who are noble blood. Eve may have royal blood but this time era no one knows beside Eren. By the time, they all entered the ballroom. People made eye contact with them, especially when the queen had arrived at the scene. The guests praised the queen on how beautiful and elegant she looks tonight. The brunette could hear the noble ladies were giggling and enjoying the attention they are also getting. Natasha was walking like the ballroom floor was the runaway. She may not have been a model but she was a fast learner whenever she had attended a Fashion show with her nana long ago. 

The queen began to greet the guests along with this guy Gilbert. Eve was quiet waiting patiently for the queen to be finished greeting. Meanwhile, she observed the crowd. She spotted Eren all the way at the hallways before entering the ballroom. He’s probably busy dealing with whatever a Jaegerist does. Finally, the greeting was over and Historia gave her ladies including her a dismissal for them to enjoy the event. 

Now, Eve goes to find her friend and his girlfriend. They were supposed to be here by now. As she was browsing through the crowds, some men had their eye on her. She can see the way they look at her like she’s some prize to possess. Eve noticed she was not the only one wearing a controversial outfit. Oh god, she hopes they don’t come towards her to ask for a dance. Just when luck was not on her side, a man approached her with confidence while sipping a glass of champagne. Wonderful. She is craving for a glass or more of champagne. 

“Hello you, majestic beauty. I haven’t seen you before. Shall I be your first to dance?” He smirked. The pregnant woman was about to reject the man but a certain obnoxious woman decided to step in for her. 

“Yes, she would love to dance with you, my lord.” Belia pushed her towards the nobleman which he caught her from falling. Eve can feel his hands on her waist. The heiress glared at the other woman who had a smirk. 

The man dragged her to the dance floor. Eve observed how the people are dancing. It looks like waltz so she positioned herself to dance. His hand gripped on her hip which he was supposed to place it on her back. She glared at the man. 

“Hey you’re supposed to have your hand here.” She removed his hand from her hip to place it on her back. 

“I do apologies, my lady. It seems my hand has a mind of its own.” He grinned. 

“Huh right.” She rolled her eyes but started to waltz around the dance floor. The music was playing as she danced with this stranger. 

While she was dancing, partners were switched to the nearest pair. Eve was dancing to another stranger then once again she was switched. 

“Ms. Potts, what a delight to see you here?!” Zeke smiled as he led the dance. 

“Oh hello Mr. Jaeger. Yes, I finally decided to come to the ball.” She said. 

“I’m glad you decided to come. You look beautiful like a butterfly. I’m sure you have already got some suitors wanting to dance with you.” He smirked. Zeke noticed her gown was revealed on both her legs and shoulders. Even he can’t help how irresistible she looks tonight. His brother has a good taste. It’s a shame. She’s taken by his little brother. The way her dress was tight around her body, it seems she isn’t showing yet of her pregnancy. 

“Thank you and you look handsome as a bird?” Eve couldn’t tell what kind of mask Zeke was wearing. 

“It’s a peacock.” Zeke said. 

“Ohhh I see now because of the feathers.” She said. 

“Miss Potts, I’ve always been curious about where you're from?” Zeke wanted to fish for as much information from her.

“Where I’m from?” This caught her off guard. “I’m from Trost District. I’m curious why this interests you?” She felt a bit suspicious on why Zeke wanted to know where she’s from. 

“It’s the way you behave towards people. It’s not how a native of this island acts. I know you’re not from Marley or other nations where Eldians are being segregated.” Zeke said. 

“And where do you assume where I’m from, Mr. Jaeger?” Her brow raised up as she suspected where this would lead. 

Just when he was about to answer, Floch interrupted their conversation. “Zeke, you don’t mind if I steal this gorgeous creature?” 

“No, you can dance with her.” Zeke said, feeling disappointment their conversation was interrupted. He let go of Eve and bow to end their dance. “It was a pleasure to dance with you. Miss Potts.” Zeke left her with Floch which she was not pleased being alone with this creep. 

Floch already grabbed her hand and placed his on her lower back close to her bottom. He led the dance as a different song was playing. It was a bit faster to waltz. 

“What do you want now, pig?” She hiss at him. 

“I suggest you don’t make a scene. You’ll embarrass yourself in front of this stuck up rich and noble people.” Floch glared.

“Apparently kicking your ass once wasn;t enough for you to leave me alone.” She cynically responded. 

“Listen bitch. It wouldn’t get to that point that night if you give in. I would have made you crave my touch.” He leaned in to whisper seductively. 

This guy doesn’t have any self respect or to anyone if he thinks she’ll just let him do whatever he pleases. “You’re full of yourself if you believe I’ll beg for you to fuck me? Why are you so stubborn to want me? There are other ladies who gossip in wanting to get fucked by you.” She scowled. 

“Because you’re the mysterious woman every man in this palace wants to have. I will be the first to have that taste before any other man. Beside, that dress; you’re making it difficult not to ignore you.” Floch’s eyes stared up and down slowly. She felt he was undressing her with his eyes. How repulsive he was to her? 

“I’m not some sex object for you to keep being persistent like a child who doesn;t get what he wants.” She was about to free herself when a familiar voice cut in. 

“Floch, you heard the woman. She has no interest in you.” Eren placed his hand on Floch’s shoulder which the red haired man flinched cowardly. 

“Fuck off, Eren. She just hasn't been with a real man.” Floch tries to be brave and not let Eren take this woman too.

Eren ignored Floch’s hostility as he preferred to give his attention to Natasha. “Eveline, may I have this dance?”  

She gave a warm smile to her lover. Yes, she may be mad at his actions from a week ago but seeing him here may her heart beat fast. He always has a way to make her melt and he doesn’t try to do anything. 

“Yes, you may have a dance with me, Eren.” To free herself from Floch’s grip, she stomped his foot a bit hard to cause him hiss from pain. He let her go and Eren grabbed her hand to pull her away from him. 

Both couples left Floch alone as they headed away. Eve sighed in relief. “Thank you for saving me from not kicking his ass again.” She said.

“Again? He- oh it was you who gave him those bruises? What did he do to you?” Eren realized she was the woman who caused Floch pain for a week. 

“Let’s not talk about it. We’re at a ball. Let’s enjoy ourselves tonight, my love?” She doesn’t want a fight to break out if Eren finds out what Floch had tried to do with her that week ago. 

Of course, Eren sensed she was deflecting his question and became insistent. “Babe, tell me what did he do to you? Did he try to hit on you?” Eren’s tone was getting a bit aggressive yet it was low enough for only them to have a private conversation. 

“Eren, please can we talk about it after tonight? I promise I will tell you, tomorrow. I know you will cause a scene and fight him which the ball will be ruined.” Eve pleaded with him. 

Eren scoffed annoyingly but accepted her plea. “Fine, but tomorrow promise you will tell me then I will happily kick his ass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my hero.” Her tone was sarcastic. 

He smirked and leaned into her ear. “I can be more than just your hero. “ His tone was husky. Eve felt her body getting warm from how it reacted from his tone. 

Damn it her pregnancy hormones are acting up. She had read it’s possible that pregnancies can cause sex drive but randomly. She took a better look at what he was wearing. He wasn’t wearing a suit like other men were wearing tonight. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a suit?” She asked. 

“Oh, Zeke or Yelena had chosen an outfit for me but I used a black dress shirt that I bought earlier and a black dress pants. I picked the devil mask cause it represented me.” He said. 

She does see the horns from his mask. He does look like the devil which it made more difficult for Natasha not to make it obvious she desires him right now. They danced the fun happy music until it’s over. 

The group on the dancefloor clapped. Eren noticed the ring Eve was wearing on her finger. He gently grabbed her hand and smiled. “I’m happy that you’re wearing my mother’s ring. You make it look beautiful. And your dress. You love making people eye on you huh?” He teased her. 

“It goes with the earrings. That’s why I’m wearing it tonight.” Eve said. She was trying not to give him ideas of him being forgiven. Her fingers playing with the ring on her other finger. This jewel had gone through so much and yet it still looks good as new. 

Eren couldn’t help himself to brush a strand of hair from her elegant loose lower bun hairstyle. He carefully observes every detail of her. 

“What are you thinking, my love?” he whispered to her. 

“I am thinking of wanting a glass of champagne.” Her lips pouted when her steel eyes glanced at a waiter carrying a tray of glasses of champagne. Eren chuckled how adorable she looks. 

“You know you’re not allowed to. It’s bad for the baby.” He still whispered. She groaned and rested her head on his chest. 

“It would be simple if I feel repulsive like most of the foods I eat. Seriously, your kid doesn’t let me enjoy meals without throwing up.” Eve peeked up at Eren. 

“You should tell the kitchen staff to serve you mashed potatoes with lemon water. It will help the food go down to your stomach and the water will stop the nausea whenever you eat.” Eren said. 

Eve was amazed how Eren knew this vile information. “Where do you learn from?” 

“Remember my dad was a doctor? Sometimes as a kid I used to go with him to see his patients including Mikasa’s mother when she was pregnant.” He explained. 

“Oh right. Hmm, would you be a doctor if you didn’t choose to be a soldier to fight the titans?” In the background, a new song was playing to dance slowly which both pairs danced together. Eren held her hand to spun her gracefully. Once she spun, Eren pulled her against his body. 

“Probably or I might be a military doctor instead.” He admired the way her dress flowed when she spun around. 

“But instead you chose to fight alongside.” Natasha said. Eren nodded. Both remained quiet as they danced. 

“Wait for me here. I have a request to make to the musicians.” Eren whispered to her ear. She nodded but was curious what kind of request he would ask of them.

Eren let go of her then walked away from the dance floor. Eve was alone as others around her danced to the soft music. At first it felt awkward standing around alone until the music had changed to a melody that it sounds familiar but doesn’t remember where she had heard this song. It felt time had stopped and only saw Eren walking towards the dance floor. She noticed the dance floor was empty. Her thoughts wonder how she is going to dance this song which sounds medieval only a touch modern.  

“What song did you tell them to play?” Eve asked him. 

“Volta.” He said. 

Natasha didn’t know how she knew the dance moves to Volta but her legs began to carry her away. She danced around him in a way seducing her partner to dance with her. His emerald eyes focus on her. Once she made a few dance steps around him, he bowed mockingly. Natasha smirk then curtsy  to him. Her arm reached out for Eren to grab on. Natasha moved towards him but stopped as she held his arm. She slid her hand down to his hand. The heiress let go of his hand to dance around him but much closer. 

Eren could feel her warm alluring presence as his eyes watched her like a predator. Her dress flows from the twirls. Her legs exposed as she showed her dancing skill. In his eyes, he was looking at the temptress that seduced him from his once destiny to cause chaos to save humanity and his people. Eve was charismatic and mysterious which had intrigue some of the men in the palace. That irritated Eren by listening to them talking about his woman. Then his train of thoughts were interrupted as he felt Eve’s hand clap on to his front throat. She squeezed it but stroked up to his chin and held on to his jaw while her silver eyes gave off her seductive stare. Oh he knew what she wanted from him. Both could feel their lips hover teasingly. 

They can feel the desire and passion for each other as their dance turned into a battlefield of sexual tension. If it was possible, Eren would take her right here on the dance floor. He took a few steps forward making her take a few steps back. Their sights on each other haven’t broken once. The music begins to pick up the beat a bit fast. They may not hear the crowd excitedly watching them dancing, but they were aware of how their dance will give them something to talk about after the ball. 

Eren held her hand to spin her around then stopped her while her back was facing him. In the crowd, few faces watched with different expressions. Historia smirked with joy as she knew who was the person behind the devil mask dancing with her handmaiden. Zeke and Yelena had neutral expressions. On the other hand, Floch was making a distasteful expression. It didn’t take rocket science to know both Eren and Eve have a strong chemistry for each other. The red haired man glanced at his cousin who had a dark look. Belia understood why Eren had not given her divine attention. All this time he had someone and it was this lowly handmaiden. How dare this lowly harlot took what belongs to her. Just when Belia was thinking about the truth of these two, she noticed Eve made eye contact with her and gave a victory smirk. 

Belia’s mood became sour as she quickly snatched a glass of champagne from a waitress and gulped down furiously.  It looks like war had been declared between her and Eve. The noble woman didn’t bother to stay until the dance ended.

Natasha was pulled to have her back pressed onto Eren’s body as his hands moved to grope her breasts then slide down to her hips. She turned around to face him and took a few steps back to walk fast towards him and hop. Eren lifted her to have her legs wrapped around his waist while he spun both of them around. He places her down but holds on to her arm when both spin together again. He made her spin towards her to latch his hands onto her waist. Natasha could feel his warm breath on her ear which makes it hard to stay composed. She heard him whisper something huskily but her trance of euphoria prevented her from understanding what he said. Whatever he said, she instantly nodded. Once again he lifts her up but a bit higher and spins around. Eve was lifted up in a lying position until he let her down. Her hand movement was elegant and graceful and she was placed down.  Both intertwined their arms to have their hand pressed together while spinning slow. Carefully, his arm snaked around her waist as she leaned back to arch her body. He let his fingers to caresses from her neck down to her breasts. Finally, one last turn to Eve facing away from him but their bodies pressed each other. Her face was tilted away while regaining her breath from their intense dance. As the music stopped, the crowd applauded and cheered for them for the entertainment they provided. Their trance was broken when reality abrupted their own world. Both pulled away from each other and smiled at the crowd. 

Eve leaned to him to whisper. “Meet me outside by the hall that’s connected to the royal garden.” Just like that the Eldian-American left Eren alone. He gave her a smirk and waited until she disappeared from his view. Once a few minutes passed, the titan holder make way to meet his lady. 

(Eren)

The night sky was clear with stars twinkling. The weather was cool. Eren walked through the open hallway outside of the palace. He saw her leaning against the big pillar by the edge of the garden. The emerald eyes man walked towards his lover. She was still wearing her mask. Eren lifted up her mask to see her face completely. 

“You took a little long.” Eve said while she pulled him to her. Her lips crashed against his to passionately kiss him. In response to her aggressiveness, he pinned her to the hard surface pillar. His hand groped her thigh to lift up and place on his hip. Both lovers breathe heavy from the fiery intensity for each other. His fingers brushes on her exposing thigh then down to her leg and up back to the thigh. Eve let out an erotic moan. Eren smirks from her reaction. 

He breaks away from their kiss to sloppy kiss down on her neck to the valley of her breasts. He noticed her breasts looked  bigger than what he remembered. His hand pulled down the top of her dress to have her breasts free. Eren cupped one of them to greedily latch on to her nipple and suckling. Eve’s eyes widen while whimpering from how sensitive her nipples are from the changes of her pregnant body. It may hurt but the adrenaline and lust she felt turned into pleasure. Her hand stroked his dark brown hair then gripped harshly the move he sucked and pulled her nipples. 

“E-eren, which room is the closest?” She tried to form a sentence as her moans were increasing. 

“Mmmm my room is not that far from here.” His voice became raspy. 

“Take me there.” She mewls when his finger makes way where her wet core is. 

Eren chuckled how demanding she was being when she was at his mercy. “What’s wrong here? The night sky looks perfect for a passionate love making.” Just like the devil, he encouraged her to give in right here. His finger circles her clitoris teasingly. He could feel the amount of slick she produced. She was probably wet when they were dancing the Volta. He let his thumb attend to her clit while his two fingers entered into her hole to finger in a slow teasing pace. Natasha closed her eyes as she took in the pleasure he was giving. Her hips buck to rock against his fingers. 

“Dollface, if you can contain yourself  while I taste you, we’ll go to my room to resume our fortification.” He said then Eren pulled his fingers out to suck on them. She never disappoints him with how delicious she tastes. 

He kneel down to the ground and place her leg on his shoulder. Her back leaned comfortably as her eyes gazed down to watch him lifting the hem of the dress. She bit down her lips when his tongue stroked her core. Subconsciously, her hand gripped and pulled his hair while he feast between her legs. This will be harder than she expected for her not making any noises. He continues to ravish her until a wave of orgasm rush into her. A small whimper escaped from her lips which Eren pulled away from her core then got up to take a look at his work. Her face was flushed while her chest rose up and down from regaining her breath. Her hair came undone. He felt satisfied in leaving her like this. His hands help pull down her dress. He helped tucked her breasts back into the top of her dress. 

“Can you walk to my room?” He gave her a grin. 

She glared playfully then smirked. “Of course I can.” 

With that, both of them quickly walked to Eren’s room to finish off what they had started. 

(Alexander) 

He picked up his phone while it rang. Once the phone was answered, a breathless man began to speak. 

“Sir, Subject 18 had escaped.” The Grandmaster frowned at this news. 

“How did you let that happen? Your job was to make sure Subject 18 was locked with tight security. You have failed me. I will immediately take a leave back to Paradis. Once I arrive, you better find the culprit who let him escape.” His tone was dark as this news had ruined a perfect day in his villa home in Italy. Alexander hung up and sipped his wine trying to calm down. He will need another descendant to complete data if they can’t find Levi to bring him back. If his theory was true, the Eve had led the revolution to free humanity. With her memories, he could find a particular item to dominate the world. 

A/N: If you guys needed an idea how the Volta dance looks like, I use the one in The Tudors where Anne and Henry danced together in a small gathering. You can find it on YouTube. Other than that, enjoy this chapter. 

[firefield]

David Bowie - Reality (2003)

“The thing, probably, that keeps me writing is this awful feeling that there are no absolutes. That there is no truth. That we are, as I’ve been thinking for so many years now, fully in the swirl of chaos theory.” DB, 2003

I always learn new things about David Bowie whenever I listen through his complete discography chronologically, and this run through is no different. As I get close to the end here, I’m reminded how much less I know about these later works, due simply to the fact that they have existed for a much shorter time, and my experience with them is more limited. “Reality” rocks more than I realized on release day, especially coming off the heels of “Heathen” with all its layers and mystery and subtleties. An empty house afforded the opportunity to really crank this one up, a vinyl pass, and CD pass, and finally the 5.1 surround sound edition - and yeah - DB said he wanted a simpler sound, and wanted a record that could be translated into a live show easily and effectively and he got that in spades.

As with all his post-80’s work, and especially his post-heart attack material, “Reality” embraces the darker and more cynical side of DB’s many characters - from the irony of the album title with album art portraying a very cartoony space-man Bowie looking about as unreal and non-Reality as possible and still be recognizable - to DB’s insistence that he made a “positive!” record despite themes of aging and death, loneliness and anonymity, geopolitical strife, day-in-day-out mundanity and the creeping threat of urbanization to nature. Regarding the subject matter of Reality he told Interview Magazine, “This is probably a period when, more than any other time, the idea that our absolutes are disintegrating is manifest in real terms. Truths that we always thought we could stand by are crumbling before our eyes. It really is quite traumatic.”

I read quotes like that and I think, for a guy that is largely known for (and criticized for) his ability to synthesize the past and his surroundings into something entirely David-Bowieingly unique, he certainly shows skill at synthesizing the future as well. Beyond things like financial chicanery like Bowie Bonds and the impact of the internet on the creation and distribution of music, Bowie often hit at the very essence of what unites as well as divides.

The seeds of this malleablity of truth that DB describes had been planted in my country during the civil rights movement and the tragedy of the Vietnam War, but began to flower and bloom after the 9/11 event - affecting Bowie’s home turf and his family profoundly. Heathen is prescient, Reality is a little angry about things. DB took time to specifically say what Reality was not: it was not an angry album, it was not a response to 9/11, it was not his “New York Album” - but then he’d spend just as much time gently walking back those claims, almost wondering aloud if it was, in fact, all of those things and more. He speaks around this time about how naturally writing music came to him. Unforced, calmly. I think this “flow” is why you can glean so many little contradictions about Reality and it’s intentions and meaning. He’s letting it happen, not dictating the plot; the tensions of that city and that moment in time allowed to mold and shape the work. Polar opposite to the Heathen recording environment at Allaire Studios in the Catskill Mountains, Reality was recorded in the cramped Studio B of Philip Glass’s Looking Glass Studios in NYC and both those disparate studio choices impact their respective products acutely.

Reality is Bowie’s most “hands-on” record since Diamond Dogs, employing all his multi-instrumentalist abilities, and it’s also one of his most thoroughly demoed. Most all of Reality was demoed out in Studio B by DB and Tony Visconti playing all the instruments, with Mario McNulty (the same engineer DB would later trust with the posthumous reimagining/re-recording of Never Let Me Down) as studio assistant. According to Tony, he had a feeling that many of these “demo tracks” would not ever actually be re-recorded, so they were laid down at a useable fidelity. Consequently, much of the demo material survived on the final album. The band brought in for final overdubs was chosen with the live show in mind specifically. This was a smaller, tighter unit of BowieLive veterans and by all accounts recording was smooth and productive.

New Killer Star opens the record, and is also Reality’s debut single (that contained one of his more surprising B-sides, Sigue Sigue Sputnik’s ‘Love Missle F1-11’) and is a spectacular Earl Slick led hazy, woozy guitar statement.

This is followed by The Modern Lovers - Pablo Picasso - recorded in 1972 but delayed until their 1976 debut. This track mimics the space occupied by the Pixies cover Cactus - the second track on Heathen - DB pulling tracks from his past that he enjoys and placing them where they give the record momentum. Quite a different interpretation if you have heard the original - DB took liberties with both the lyric and the arrangement and it’s a cool little track.

Never Get Old follows and addresses the common theme of time and aging in DB compositions…. (Cygnet Committee, Time, Hearts Filthy Lesson, Changes, Fantastic Voyage, and many more) and the composition itself references much of his past in Space Oddities countdown, the elongated guitar strands of Heroes, bits of melody from Crack City, the four-walls-closing-in sense of Low and some of Hunky Dory’s ominous moments. A pounding live favorite.

…and seamlessly right into The Loneliest Guy. Anyone who saw the Reality Tour knows the captivating power of this piece, and it’s honesty and fragility was one of a few reasons why I thought this would be DB’s final album.

Looking For Water. Man, I *love* this song. It’s one of my favorite vocal performances on Reality and would certainly end up on my list of “underrated DB songs” were I compelled to make one. I like repetition in music, and it’s hypnotic and mantra-esque qualities - and this is one that always gets a significant volume boost.

She’ll Drive The Big Car - a supercool stab of Bowie sash and swagger, and a killer vocal performance, masking some seriously sad lyrics. Bowie manages to sound defiant, tired, funky, deferential, sexy and soulful all in the course of a single song. He’s such an effortlessly great singer, that’s it’s easy to become so accustomed to it that you almost miss it. It’s just “him.”

The exceedingly sweet “Days” fits nicely with all of Realities reflections, and has for me become a song I pay much more attention to since we lost the man to cancer.

Fall Dog Bombs The Moon is one of DB’s most overtly political songs, and was apparently written very quickly - under a half and hour - and directly addresses the Iraq War and the profiteering involved. Relatively bleak with murky lyrics, it’s a interesting and unique DB composition.

Try Some, Buy Some is just beautiful and I think one of Bowie’s most interesting and genuinely heart-felt covers (along with Waterloo Sunset, also from these sessions.) The inspiration to do this song comes directly from the 1971 Ronnie Spector version and the impact it had on him personally. DB seems to be absolutely sincere when he claimed that he had completely forgotten that it was a George Harrison composition until he sat down to work on the album credits.

Next up is the sizzling rocker Reality that has one foot in Tin Machine and one foot in The Next Day. Love Earl’s guitar sound here. Like New Killer Star, the guitar layers in this one sound amazing on the 5.1 surround mix.

Ahh yeah. Another in an amazing number of fantastic Bowie album closers. I’ve made it a point in my life to quit ranking art into “good/better/best/sucks categories and hierarchies and see art as an experience, not a competition. My friends know this about me, and consequently tease me and attempt to prod me into breaking this creed. Under unrelenting pressure to name a “favorite David Bowie track” I named Bring Me The Disco King.

I could give many reasons why this would be the one…. The repetition I mentioned earlier, here found in Matt Chamberlain’s drum loop (interestingly snagged from ‘When The Boys Come Marching Home,’) the overwhelming sense I had when I first heard it that this was DB’s final record, the sense that the threat of jazz that had always pounded on David’s door in his chord structures and harmonies had finally broken down the door… the very tangible sense that this was a composition that had already had a long life but stayed tucked into the shadows by its unsatisfied creator, only to be given life and light on this great album after it had been stripped down to almost nothing - simplicity being the sought after key to its finally being allowed to soar. If it’s not already obvious, I think this song is magnificent. Literally. The fact that David knew it was deep inside there, he just had to mine it out over the course of a decade or so is extraordinary.

Couple of thoughts about a track that didn’t fit well on Reality but made it to bonus/B-sides…

How cool is his cover of The Kinks Waterloo Sunset? In the years after his death, when I feel that loss in my heart, it’s Waterloo Sunset I turn up to 11 and allow it to yank me back out of that murk.

“People so busy

makes me feel dizzy

but I don’t feel afraid

as long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset

I am in paradise.”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 30

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 30: Tommy receives a letter from a dead man. 

       “Mr. Shelby, this was delivered to you.” Tommy’s assistant at the House of Commons set the envelope down on his desk.

           “Thank you.” He set his pen down for a moment and picked up the letter. It did appear addressed to him although the penmanship was very unkempt and blotted. Either way, Tommy opened the envelope.

           Inside was a very brief letter written in the same scrawling handwriting with several errors in spelling and grammar, almost as if a child had written it.

           Dear Tom,

Try an stay awy from black horrses. Rmind El ta feed Cril n Antea.

           Alfe

           It was utterly puzzling, to say the least. Tommy was holding what seemed to be the drugged-up stream of consciousness of a man who was supposed to be dead. If the letter was coherent, he would’ve assumed it had been sent before Alfie was shot. However, it wasn’t only the disjointed writing that proved that theory wrong. Up in the top right corner, no matter how much pain medication he was on, Alfie still managed to scribble out the correct date.

           Three days after he was supposedly gunned down.

           It took Tommy a moment and he wondered if he was mistaken. The idea seemed so outlandish but he had some sort of evidence.

           So, he picked up the telephone to find out where his sister was.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           To Ella’s dismay, it didn’t take Tommy long to find her. She wasn’t surprised when she heard his voice on the other end of the line, but she was disappointed.

           “Packing for America, then?”

           “Are you taking that tone with me while I’m grieving?” She retorted.

           Tommy leaned back in his desk chair and removed his glasses. “About that. I realized I never offered my help in assisting with the burial.”

           “Well, Jews have their own customs. They’re not like Travelers, they’ve got different ways of doing it.” She replied. The phone call had come out of the blue. Ella had returned to her room at the inn after walking the dogs to visit Alfie at the hospital. She brought them back and planned on returning to him once Cyril and Anthea were settled. Tommy caught her with one foot out the door.

           “Right.” He nodded. “Does that include addressing a barely readable letter to their brother-in-law?”

           Ella froze in place. Alfie was starting to slowly be weaned off the medication. He hadn’t mentioned anything about contacting Tommy, in fact, they both agreed that they’d lay low. At least until things were properly sorted and there wasn’t an evil anti-Semite threatening them.

           But she hadn’t been there by his bedside every second of every day. “I don’t know what you mean…”

           “I just received a letter from your deceased husband warning me about black horses and asking me to remind you to feed your dogs.”

           “I’m not sure what he meant, but I’m sure he sent it before he passed.” Ella clung onto the lie. The veil of falsehood was all she had to protect her husband as he lay vulnerable in a hospital bed. Absolutely no one could know.

           “Does he date his letters for the future?” Tommy inquired, clearly not buying what his sister was trying to sell him. He’d bought the tears but he liked cold hard facts.

           “Must’ve been a mistake.”

           He rolled his eyes. After all, he only had himself to blame for teaching her how to be such a damn good liar. “Where is he, Ella?”

           Silence.

           “My husband is dead.” There was no telling who was listening to Tommy’s calls in the Commons. Even if she was going to admit the truth to him, it wouldn’t be over the telephone. “But if you’d like to say goodbye to me before I leave for America, you’re welcome to do so. I would ask Polly of my whereabouts.” She wasn’t even willing to divulge her location just in case Mosley decided she was a loose end that needed taking care of.

           Tommy glanced at the phone and began to pick up on what his sister was implying. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.” He said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything about Alfie. I misread the date on the letter. His fours look like nines. It wasn’t fair of me to confront you while you’re grieving.”

           Ella could hear when Tommy was lying to her. He was playing a part over the line just like she was. “Alright, come soon then, I’ll be leaving within the next week and I don’t want to miss you.”

           “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy consulted with Polly who didn’t know Alfie was alive but did know Ella was still in England. She was in Southampton, still giving off the impression that she was leaving the country.

           He arrived at the small inn and met Ella at the door.

           “Where is he?” He asked the same question but with the intention that he was going to get the truth this time.

           “The hospital.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

           Tommy ran a hand over his face. “Why…why?” He asked. “Why did you lie to everyone? Ollie said…then you told me…”

           “What was I supposed to do, aye?” She snapped. “Let it get out that Mosley’s men missed the mark? They’d be storming the hospital room within hours. And they wouldn’t leave him alive the second time around.”

           It was a valid point that Tommy couldn’t refute. He sighed. “How is he?”

           “He’s making slow improvements.” She admitted quietly. “He’s blind in the left eye now. The stitches will heal but they’re worried about damage to his brain. He’s always complaining about pain if he hasn’t had medication. Said his head hurts.” She swallowed, her brow wrinkling. “But at least he’s alive. That’s all I can thank God for now.”

           “I’m sorry, El.” Tommy pulled his sister into a hug. “I really am, I just…”

           “Who’s doing it?” She asked, her voice muffled into his shirt.

           “Who’s doing what?”

           “Who’s killing this son of a bitch?” She pulled away. “Because I want to do it.”

           “I already recruited someone. I need you to stay as far away from this as you can.” Tommy replied firmly.        

           “That man tried to murder my husband solely because of his religion.”      

           “And if he finds out that you want to kill him then he could put hits out on our entire family.” He interrupted. “And if you killed him, the police would lock you up.”

           Ella looked disgruntled but dropped the matter. It was true that she didn’t want to worsen matters. She just wanted a little revenge. “Fine.”

           “Are you going to go see him now?”

           “Alfie? Yeah, I was just about to leave.” She nodded. “Do you want to come see him?”

           “I need to discuss plans with him.”

           “Plans? No, no, no, Alfie is not a part of this anymore. It’s over, Tom. He’s dead to everyone except you and me and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

           “I need his help for this to go through…”

           “No!” She shouted. “You keep pressing and pressing and I’ve had enough. He is in the hospital, nearly off his rocker because of the drugs they’ve had to keep him on because of how much pain he’s in! I could’ve lost him, Tommy, another centimeter and he would’ve been taken from me.”

           Tommy didn’t know what to say. At the end of the day, he knew that Ella didn’t control Alfie’s decisions. But it was rare that Alfie would disagree with her to agree with Tommy instead. Still, he knew he needed men from the Jewish community to cause a stir at the rally. And Alfie was the only way to ensure that.

           “Can I at least talk to him?” He asked.

           “You can talk to him for as long as you want. But under no circumstances will you put his life back in danger.” She jabbed a finger at him before starting to walk off.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Alfie wondered if he was starting to see things now. His dose of morphine had been decreased but it still affected him. Still, he’d yet to have hallucinations.

           “Tommy?”

           “Hello, Alfie.” The Blinder walked in and took a seat. “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

           “Hang on,” Alfie looked to his wife for clarification, “I thought I were s’posed to be dead to you.”

           “You wrote me a letter, Alfie.”

           “Did I?”

           Ella frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, you did.”

           “Well, fuck, m’sorry for what I did while I was on drugs. I were shot by a fucking cunt, weren’t I?” Alfie grumbled. “What’d I write to you about then?” He asked.

           “You told me to stay away from black horses,” Tommy replied.

           “Oh, right, right…see I’ve been having dreams, mate. Dreams, yeah, ‘bout you with a horse. Big black horse out in a field, right, and you said goodbye. Then, bang.” Alfie folded his hands over his stomach. “What’d you reckon that is then, Tom, aye?”

           “I would say it’s the drugs talking,” Tommy replied coolly.

           “What’d you want to talk ‘bout then?” Alfie asked.

           Ella perched on the edge of the hospital bed. She wasn’t going to leave and let Tommy talk Alfie into doing something silly. She had a feeling her husband might be pissed off enough to be talked into getting some revenge. Hypocrisy at its finest, as far as she was concerned.

           “I’m in need of some of your men. There needs to be a disruption at the rally Mosley’s speaking at. I need a distraction.” Tommy explained short and simple.

           Alfie pondered the idea. “Right, how much then?”

           “How much? Alfie, people need to think you’ve passed. You cannot get yourself involved in this again!” Ella exclaimed in disbelief. “You were nearly killed and now you want to put another target on your back?”

           “No, love, what I want is for this fucker to be killed. So if Tommy needs some of me men, then he can pay for that privilege.”

           “It’s never enough for you two, aye? You can be shot a million times over but as long as you fucking survive, you’ll keep at it. When will you learn? Because I’m fucking sick of this!” She snapped and stood up to leave.

           “El, Ella, c’mon!” Alfie groaned as she slammed the door behind her.

           Tommy sat quietly for a moment. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Alfie.” He reminded him.

           “I fucking know that.” He muttered in response. “But I ain’t just gonna sit ‘round doing nothing, am I? You need men, that’s fine. People are bound to find out ‘bout my survival anyway. Long as the right people don’t know then that’s fine. But you’re gonna need to offer me something in return.”

           “I’ll offer each man twenty pounds,” Tommy suggested.

           “Nah, mate, I want protection for Ella. Twenty-four-seven. From good fighters with good aims. ‘Cause if I do this for you, and it gets out that by God’s good grace that I’m still alive, he’ll be after her. Don’t fucking care if he offs me. But I’ll be damned if he even goes near her, right?

           Tommy nodded. “Alright. I can do that.” He stood up to shake his brother-in-law’s hand.

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Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[whitewater-writing]

The Arrival

It was raining the night the child first came to Whitewater Manor. Thunder cracked loudly as they waited, slouching on a plush couch and tear tracks covering their face. The click of heels grew louder as someone approached the door, the child's anxiety growing with each of the Duchess's footfalls. They stared hard at the floor, counting the tiles and trying their best to disappear before she should see them. 

The doors opened, and despite their efforts, the child couldn't help but look up at the woman before them. The duchess was an intimidating,yet beautiful, woman. She reached over six feet in her heels and towered over the child. She was dressed in all black, with a sword hung at her side. Odd for the late hour that she should be fully dressed. 

Despite her otherwise frightening appearance, her gaze was gentle as she crouched before them, gently taking their face into her hands. "Oh Petty... What a horrible thing to have happened to you..." She sighed, brushing a stray tear from their cheek. 

"I'm sorry Aunt Bomby, I tried to help I-" They immediately tried to explain but were cut off by a heated glare. 

"Hush child, it wasn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done.." She stood and offered her hand. "Come along. I've had your rooms prepared, and you need some rest." She smiled at them gently. Or perhaps it would have appeared gentle if lightning hadn't stuck outside the house, illuminating the room and giving her a threatening aura. 

A whimper escaped Petty's lips but they took her hand without protest, following her down the halls of Whitewater in silence for several moments before she spoke again. 

"You'll be staying with me from now on. I'll ensure your success as a noble my dear, as should be expected of my ward..." Her grip tightened on their hand almost painfully and a twisted smile tugged at her lips. "This is a blessing for us both Petty. I'm sure you'll realize this eventually. " She stopped at a large door and ushered them inside the dark room once the door was opened by a servant. "Get some rest. Your maid will wake you and prepare you for tomorrow," she told them before the door shut once again, leaving them alone with only the light of a candle illuminating the room. 

____________________________

The duchess made her way back to her rooms, the only sounds the clicking of her heels on marble tile and the rain beating hard against stained glass windows. She entered her chambers silently, a maid jumping to help her undress and prepare for bed. 

"Such a shame what happened to the rest of them," she said absently, with a small smirk, setting her sword on the bed. 

"What's that ma'am?" the servant asked softly, looking perplexed. 

"Petty's relatives. The rest of the family. I didn't think he'd slaughter all of them, including the children," She laughed evilly as she climbed into bed. "Oh what will the queen think of this? No matter. I got what I wanted. The child is under my rule now, they'll make quite the effective pawn when they're of marrying age." She stretched and relaxed in bed. "You’re dismissed," she instructed, and the maid bowed before extinguishing the lights. 

"Goodnight, my lady," she said to the darkness before leaving the room. 

Minutes passed before anything but rain was heard. A sloshing noise like someone getting out of a bath came from the washroom, then moments after the door creaked open. Lightning struck again, casting shadows and lighting up the room for a few seconds where a blond man was stalking across the room with a sword black as tar. 

He raised the blade over the sleeping woman, intending to strike. As his sword fell, the sound of metal clashing together filled the room and the lights lit once again. The duchess held her sword above her, smirking. "Really Basty? As if I wasn't expecting your visit." 

The man only rolled his eyes, the sword disappearing into a viscous liquid that seemed to be absorbed by his body. "I'll kill you one of these days."

"We'll see about that." She laughed and got out of bed again. "Would you join me for a cup of tea? I'll have them bring it here so you don't have to hold your form," she suggested, not waiting for an answer before alerting the servants of her manor to bring them tea and a selection of sweets. 

"If it weren't for the information I know you have, I'd refuse." Bast sighed before the two of them went back to the bathroom where the man's physical form melted into a thick, black liquid.

She hummed and shrugged, "I'm well aware Basty. What's this information worth to you?"

"A trade. If my theory is correct, I have information you might find…" He hesitated as a servant entered the room, handing the Duchess a tea cup and doing her best to avoid looking at him, "useful." 

"Deal," she immediately agreed, "what's this information?"

"And why should I be the one to share first?" he asked, reaching out and dripping a bit of his tar-like liquid into her cup and earning a glare in response. 

"Because one of us keeps our promises, and we both know that isn't always you." She huffed and dumped the contaminated tea into the bath. The Bastard of the bathtub cringed slightly as it mixed into his liquid form. 

"As much as I like tea, kindly don't pour things into me," he huffed, "You nobility types are so disrespectful."

"'Us nobility types'?" She mused, setting the empty cup aside, "You act as if you weren't once one of us… your majesty."

"Don't call me that," he snapped at her, "I never wanted my title. Royal is a better ruler than I ever would have been. " 

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. The kingdom has dissolved mostly into chaos since she started associating with the Marquis." 

"Indeed…  but Dumbass has their own motivations. They may align for now but how long that lasts is still yet to be seen. "

"Right," she sighed before sitting up straight and clapping her hands together, "Now, your information for me?"

"The Count of Caspen’s family has been killed, or, rather, assassinated, as I'm sure you already know."

She nodded. "Of course I already know that."

"There's a survivor." He smirked at her, leaning over the edge of the bath. 

She sighed in disappointment, "I'm aware of that as well. Petty, the youngest, has become my ward."

The liquid mass looked amused as he sunk back into the bathtub, making no indication to deny or confirm that that's what he meant. 

"Is that all you have?" she asked, a scowl pulling her lips downward. 

"All I'm currently willing to tell." He shrugged. 

"Fine… I suppose you kept your end, it isn't necessarily your fault I already knew. What do you want to know?"

"You're responsible, aren't you? You hired the assassins?"

A smirk pulled at her lips and she nodded, "I did."

"Why?"

"I needed a child. I'm still young, sure, but…" She bit her lip and shrugged, "It's unlikely that l will marry. I need to have someone to inherit my estate. Unlike some of you, I wasn't blessed with magic or immortality."

"You could just make them legally your heir, why would you need to kill their family?"

"I need to shape them into my successor! And this gives me a wonderful political advantage. I'm already making arrangements with a noble of the neighboring country to arrange their marriage. Once they're of marrying age, my plans will come to fruition."

"...You're insane, my lady." He laughed softly, a horrifying sound, like a person drowning. 

"I'm doing what I think is best for myself. I don't need nor want your judgement." She stood. "It's late. I need my beauty sleep." 

"You could sleep for centuries and it would do nothing to help," he teased her.

"Go to hell." She laughed softly, rolling her eyes. 

"Oh, and my lady?"

"What is it now, Bastard?" She sighed, yelping in surprise as black fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her down toward the bath with inhuman strength. 

"For crimes committed to earn an heir,

Beware when giving up your hand,

By forces not sent up above,

The last shall be the last to stand." 

"God, not another one of you prophetic riddles," she groaned and jerked her arm away, hissing in pain and rubbing at the bruising skin, "When do you come up with this stuff?"

"I have a lot of time on my hands." He shrugged in response, liquid moving around the bath as she moved to leave again. 

"Right, well… I'll be going. Goodnight Bastard."

The man didn't reply, having drained himself back into the pipes and left the manor.

She groaned softly as she put her sword in its sheath, hanging it up before putting out the lights once again and climbing into bed. What an exhausting day. 

[toglidethroughlife]

Brighter Than Any Star:

An intimate look at everyone’s new favorite bass player

(or the blades band au that nobody asked for)

*inspired by @iaraiumi‘s STUNNING guitarist tyril art (here)

tyril-centric and tyril x mc bc this would be 7k+ words if i didn’t focus on just one of them but i tried to give everyone a moment in the spotlight. credits to a fic i read from the 100 fandom years ago for the format

used my f!elf mc ryllea graywater for this (though i guess this is kind of a modern au idk asjdla); also i don’t play any musical instruments i’m sorry in advance for butchering any of the technical parts 😬

Tyril Starfury — with his red silk shirts and slicked back hair — looks every bit the part of a rock god on stage with the rest of BLADES; but here, in the confines of their tour bus, he is a quiet presence, calmly sipping tea in the corner with a notepad and pen in his hands, his mind far away in the early hours of the morning.

If you had told me eighteen months ago that I would be shadowing Broadway darling Tyril Starfury as he traveled cross-country with his new rock band, I would have laughed and called you preposterous.

And yet, here I am, witness to the madness.

Nia Ellarious, the band’s youngest member and resident pianist, offers me a cup of the same tea as Starfury’s, telling me to enjoy the quiet with an almost apologetic smile.

I understand what she means not long after.

(There’s no such thing as a quiet morning in the world of Mal Volari.)

Every bit as charming and flamboyant as his on-stage persona, Volari greets the entire bus a good morning with flourish, throwing both me and Ellarious a magnetic smile before slipping towards the coffee machine with exceptionally light feet. (More on that later.) He taps on every available surface while he waits for his coffee to brew, humming softly as if figuring out a melody right there on the spot.

If Starfury is bothered by Volari’s banging and humming, he makes no show of it, paying him no mind as he continues to scribble in his notepad.

Ellarious beams as the scene plays out in front of her. “It’s not every day that they don’t get on each other’s nerves,” she explains. “Especially in the morning.”

It’s around this time — almost noon now — that Ryllea Graywater, lead guitarist and vocalist, wakes and joins the group, heading straight towards Volari and the cup of coffee in his hand.

“Thanks,” she winks as she takes the cup from him, shooting Volari a shit-eating grin that he returns easily, already procuring another cup for himself.

It should be noted that Graywater doesn’t seem to talk to anyone until she’s had at least one cup of coffee, choosing instead to slide in beside Starfury in the dining booth, eyes darting towards the notepad he’s writing on. They kind of just... sit there, minding their own business amidst the chaos that is the rest of the bus.

(Volari’s launched into an animated story about the inspiration behind last year’s summer hit, “Contessa, Contessa”, but I can’t help being drawn to the more quiet story unfolding behind him in the dining booth.)

Slinging one arm against the backrest of Starfury’s seat, Graywater casually invites herself into his space, a thoughtful smile on her lips as she looks over the notepad in his hand. There’s an openness between them that tells me that this isn’t a new occurrence, a comfortable ease in the way they seem to be engaging in a wordless conversation.

“He’s kind of really private,” I recall the younger Starfury sibling, Adrina, telling me about his creative process years ago, at the release party for his collab album with then rumored girlfriend and writing partner Kaya Duskraven. “He’s always been a perfectionist. Doesn’t really let anyone other than Kaya hear anything until it’s finished.”

But there’s no trace of that here, in this quiet moment with Graywater, bright, almost triumphant smiles on their faces as she picks up a pen and scribbles something on the pad too, immediately tapping out a melody against the table as if to test-run it by Starfury.

The smile he gives her is glowing.

I look away — suddenly feeling like an intruder in their private moment — catching the tail-end of Volari’s Contessa story, right before Imtura (no publicly released surname) accidentally slams me against the wall when the bus makes a rocky turn.

“Oof, sorry there little guy.” She raises both hands in apology before heading straight for the coffee machine, haphazardly dumping its contents into a generous-sized mug before immediately proceeding to consume said coffee as she plunks onto the other end of the dining booth.

And that’s how the first morning of me shadowing BLADES goes.

Ellarious tells me I’m lucky it was a good one.

-

With over 16 years of experience under his belt, Tyril Starfury has been in the music and entertainment industry far longer than the rest of the BLADES members combined. At the tender age of nine, he won his first piano competition, regarded highly for his precision at such a young age. He would continue to play competitively until he discovers a new love — musical theater.

It’s no surprise that Starfury ends up on Broadway — he comes from a long line of revered artists, all of them regarded as geniuses of their time. Though some would argue that his family name opened doors that would otherwise be unavailable, no one could deny that it was his clear, soaring baritone and unrelenting work ethic that kept him on stage.

It’s on this stage that he met young Kaya Duskraven, an understudy in one of his shows, prompting a fruitful five-year partnership spanning two EPs and a mini-concert series, Stars in the Dusk.

(The name was a little on the nose, but the critics loved them all the same.)

The two shared such a comfortable rapport, on and off-stage, that they naturally sparked dating rumors — Starfury was always quick to deny them.

No one could have expected the partnership to end on such a bitter note.

To this day, no one knows the real reason behind their fallout — Starfury walked out in the middle of their televised performance without apology or explanation — though there have been no shortage of rumors and theories, a lot of them involving one Eleryn Rosecoven, better known in the industry as Shadow Court bassist dXenia.

I tried to bring it up once, after several bottles of beer have been consumed and the band is swapping stories over s’mores made over the tour bus stove.

I’ve never been shut out so fast in my life.

There’s an audible crack from the s’more now crushed in Imtura’s hand, her piercing amber eyes seemingly driving a death sentence into mine. Volari sighs disapprovingly (and dramatically) at me, and even Ellarious — friendly, cheery Nia — looks at me with a pointed glare, turning off the stove, signaling the end of s’mores night.

“I would prefer not to comment,” Starfury nods at me, years of practiced courtesy showing in his tone and all I want in that moment is for the earth to swallow me whole.

Graywater follows when he excuses himself from the group. Everyone else avoids me like the plague.

It’s hours later when Starfury and Graywater return to the bus — I pretend to have fallen asleep in the dining booth in hopes that I can avoid their fury until the morning — but Graywater approaches me with two cups of tea in hand, an unreadable expression on her face.

She slides over one cup to me — if the scalding temperature of the tea is intentional, she makes no obvious show of it.

“Look,” she begins with an exasperated sigh. “I know you’re only doing your job here. And we did agree to this article, so I’m sorry if things got a little tense back there.” She pauses, as if considering her next words carefully. “We’ve all lived moments in our lives that we’re not proud of. Tyril’s had to live his in front of the public eye. He’ll talk about it when he feels ready to... but his past doesn’t define him, none of ours do.”

I nod, understanding that this is the last we’ll speak of the subject. She smiles as if in truce, telling me that I don’t have to banish myself to the dining booth and that no one will pull any pranks on me if I sleep in the shared bedroom.

I barely catch any sleep anyway.

There’s a ferocity in the way they protect each other that I didn’t notice at first — it could be subtle sometimes, like in the way Volari always checks in with each of the band members every night before going to bed (even though Starfury usually brushes him off); or in the way Imtura always makes sure every one stays hydrated (feel free to interpret that however you wish, whichever way is true); or in the way Ellarious always has some form of baked good running in the oven, more often someone else’s favorite rather than her own.

(I learn the hard way that no one is allowed to get in between Imtura and her cupcakes. No one.)

It’s also plain as day whenever they’re on stage together, their set list a carefully curated show that highlights each member’s strengths without anyone getting overworked. Everyone’s always quick to catch each other whenever they hit snags along the road — there’s a moment in one of the shows when Volari’s mic suddenly gets cut off and Starfury swoops in without missing a beat, a small nod of the former’s head seemingly the only cue he needs, the trust between them implicit.

When I had asked earlier why he’d joined BLADES, Starfury simply shrugged, as if it was no big deal.

“It was by accident. I happened to be at one of their shows and they needed a bass player. We kind of just… worked and we’ve played together ever since.”

But this kind of chemistry doesn’t just happen by accident. No, this is the product of months and months of hard work, of opinions clashing and arguments spanning days before sitting down and realizing it’s not impossible to see eye to eye; it’s battles won and battles lost together, respect earned and trust merited.

To call them just another band seems too small a word almost. Insufficient.

They’re kind of like a family.

(If your typical family involved regular knife and axe-throwing contests, that is.

... it’s best not to ask.)

-

Tensions are high backstage at Deadwood Festival Grounds.

Volari has been pacing around non-stop. Ellarious looks like she’s using every bit of her willpower not to bite her fingernails. Imtura keeps violently tapping her drumsticks together. Starfury’s got his arms crossed in a corner, brows furrowed.

Graywater is doing a handstand for no apparent reason.

The anxiety is understandable — tonight’s a crucial moment for the band.

With only one more show before the grand finale at Whitetower Stadium, all the bands are doing their best to retain the crowd’s favor, each playing well-established fan favorites, saving the riskier song choices for the finale.

That is, everyone except BLADES.

They’re planning to debut two new songs tonight, both of which written solely by Starfury.

It’s a ballsy move on its own — no one’s exactly itching to drop the ball on their fans this close to the end — but add in the fact that Starfury hasn’t released any solo-written music since the Duskraven fallout and you’ve got the makings of a battle that could either go incredibly right or disastrously wrong.

Let’s back up a bit.

After the Duskraven breakup, Starfury had gone into something of a hiatus (if that’s what you call disappearing off the face of the entertainment industry) before dropping the 13-track self-written album, “Honor,” without prior notice or promotion. Fans were ecstatic to hear from him after his sudden break, but critics were less enthused, calling the album ‘a brash, arrogant attempt at flipping the metaphorical finger at Duskraven that ultimately falls short’, noting the clear absence of Duskraven’s touch in his music — all technicality, no soul.

Starfury’s penned a couple of songs with BLADES since, spanning genres as colorful and diverse as its writers, but there hasn’t been a solo venture since Honor, leaving long-time Starfury fans anxious to hear him take lead again.

Graywater calls everyone into a circle, locking eyes with Starfury as she gives his hand a squeeze.

She makes a speech that I‘m not privy to — but everyone is visibly more resolute after she speaks, each raising their fists to meet in the middle of the circle.

“I’m honored to be on this journey with you all,” I hear Starfury share, a glittering smile spreading on Volari’s lips at the statement.

“I knew you liked us!” he says, crossing the circle to throw an arm around Starfury’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Group hug!” Ellarious laughs and Imtura closes the circle into a solid embrace.

Starfury appears to be in shock — as if this is the first time this has happened — but he recovers quickly, a quietly contented smile on his face.

The last streaks of daylight have disappeared by the time they’re called to stage, the crowd restless from a long afternoon under the blistering heat.

Darkness has fallen.

But then the opening chords to fan-favorite “Murderous Masquerade” cut through the evening air, a flurry of flashing lights bursting through the sky, and the Deadwood comes alive.

Volari takes center stage in his flashy black and gold ensemble, working the crowd with such ease that it’s no question why he’s been dubbed the band’s de facto showman — he’s frankly just mesmerizing to watch.

Next up is “The Priestess and the Warrior,” an epic tale crammed into four and a half minutes of heart-racing drum beats — provided by the insanely talented Imtura — with a tender piano-driven bridge near the close, Ellarious’ heartbreaking vocals driving the whole thing home.

Graywater takes lead in the third number, “Flirting with Monsters,” a delicate neo R&B number that sounds nothing like the title suggests, her earnest, airy vocals lulling you into a comfortable, almost dream-like state as she entices her lover to stay.

The one thing common between the seemingly weird mishmash of genres is Starfury’s steady bassline, providing a much needed thread of cohesion to the set list. Where Volari, Imtura, Graywater, and even Ellarious tackle their music with the raw aggression of fresh blood on stage, Starfury attacks with quiet, seasoned finesse, his expertise evident in tracks like “Watch your back (or I’ll watch it for you)” and “Drakna Queen” — two unconventionally energetic numbers that would be difficult to listen to live if not for Starfury’s sure hand bringing them harmony.

“Alright, we’re gonna slow things down for a bit,” Graywater announces, eyes sparkling with excitement as she looks at Starfury. “Tyril’s got a new song and we want you guys to be the first to hear it.”

By now, I’ve seen enough of Starfury’s performances to say that he’s not a nervous performer. Even in the earlier stages of his career, there was always a quiet assuredness about him — which could have also been easily called arrogance — and while that’s still present now, there’s something different about the way he interacts with the crowd, a sense of humility present in the way he put his hands together and gives them a brief bow before he sits himself in front of the piano.

“I would like to dedicate this to a person very special to me,” he begins, his fingers gentle on the keys, a soft, lilting melody dancing in the air.

(He’s not even the least bit subtle about the way he looks at Graywater.)

“She has reminded me, time and again, that hope and love, when we allow it, can shine the brightest light in the dark.” Graywater shakes her head as if to shrug in nonchalance, but she meets his eyes dead on, her smile beaming with pride.

Turning to the crowd, Starfury adds, “I hope this gives you as much joy as you’ve given me. This one’s called ‘Kilvali.’”

For the next minute, it’s just Starfury and the piano, the world quiet as his voice fills the air. If there was ever any doubt that Starfury had lost his vocal prowess, there wouldn’t be any now. His voice is clear and strong — reaching even the farthest row of people on the music grounds — albeit with a softness now that I’ve never heard from him before, his attachment to his music feeling infinitely more personal.

“All my moments with you are worth whatever pain that came before,” he sings, his voice soaring as the rest of the band join him in the second verse. The performance is even more powerful with the added instrumentation.

Tiny cellphone flashlights illuminate the crowd as they sway their hands in time to the song, the emotion in Starfury’s voice rolling out in waves.

Twitter user @notmxwllbmnt13 sums it up nicely:

SJSKJSJSK TYRIL STARFURY KILLED ME TONIGHT!! ALL!! THE!! FEELS!!

(It really was beautiful.)

The crowd cheers as the song draws to a close, but the battle’s not over yet (as Starfury would tell me himself later) — the true test lying in whether or not his second song proves a testament to his newfound voice in songwriting… or if it’s just a one-time stroke of luck.

“If it’s alright with you, we’d like to play you another new one,” he says and the applause is deafening when he turns over the mic to Volari, the latter pulling him into a one-armed hug before taking to the crowd.

If Duskraven’s interviews post-breakup are to be believed, Starfury has never — not once — written a song that wasn’t intended for himself. (She claimed to have co-written plenty of solos for Starfury, but he allegedly never returned the favor.) A quick glance at his repertoire would make this allegation appear true.

“It is true,” he tells me simply when I bring it up later in the tour bus. (Despite the coolness of his voice, I notice him shift a little in his seat.) “I was... unconfident, extending my words to other artists like that. I was also prideful and arrogant — afraid to face the judgment and criticism of my peers, and for that, I truly am sorry to Kaya. She deserved better from me as a partner.”

It seems Starfury has taken that incident to heart. Listening to “Purple Dreams” with Volari’s teasing falsetto on the forefront, it becomes clear that Starfury wrote this with the former’s vocals in mind, the flirtatious mix of his sassy vocal riffs and playful onstage antics giving the song a delicious, intoxicating energy.

It’s probably the most experimental I’ve heard from Starfury as a writer, both in terms of lyricism and melody.

“I’ve learned a lot this last year, creating music with BLADES,” he explains. “Not only did I find a new perspective on songwriting thanks to them, but my bandmates also gave me the courage to try things outside of my comfort zone and to allow myself to make mistakes. They inspire me.”

Years ago, he was dubbed as stiff and awkward outside of the theater stage, with Duskraven providing all the charm in their partnership, but now, on stage with BLADES — as Volari points his sultry gaze at him, singing his own lyrics to him — Starfury smirks, leaning ever so slightly against the showman as his hands tease along the guitar strings, driving the crowd wild.

It’s clear by the end of the song that Starfury has won over the crowd, and for once, he actually seems to revel in it, his smile beaming as he takes in the applause.

The rest of the band are even more thrilled for him, each leaving their posts to engulf him in another hug.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, allowing the fond gesture in front of their adoring crowd, each of them savoring the quiet moment, and I think, out of all the times I’ve seen Starfury on stage, this has to be my favorite version of him.

In the company of his friends, lifting and supporting each other, Tyril Starfury shines brighter than any star.

“We haven’t talked about what we’re doing after yet,” Starfury admits when I ask him about the future of BLADES after Morella Fest. (Each of the members are also solo artists in their own right, after all.) “But whatever happens at the end of the tour, we’ll always have each other, regardless of whether the band continues or not. I can’t imagine my life without these people now and I hope I never have to.”

He’s smiling as he says this, watching his bandmates fight over the last levenfruit before he excuses himself to join them, Graywater and Ellarious easily making space for him in the dining booth, Volari and Imtura rounding out the little world that now seems completely their own.

-

This article also appears in BLADES: The Most Ambitious Crossover Event in Morella Music History. You can find the full feature on www - kadethebard - com.

-

tagging: @sophie-summer ✨

[benevolentbirdgal]

worldbuilding asks --- my friend and I do this thing where we ask each other "multiples of" since I'm not sure what you've already answered or want to !! so do as many multiples of 4 or 11 as you would like!!

Thank you for asking! So I have two stories in progress/writing/worldbuilding land writing now, a sci-fi space dramedy that’s aimed at adults and a a modern-take-on-Jewish folklore (like YA fantasy novel set in the modern-day but make it Jewish). The latter takes place in United States, so I’ll tell you about the former. 

I also don’t know how much detail is too much detail, so here we go! 

For the former: 

#4. What kind of government do they have in theory? What kind of government do they have in practice?

So there are a ton of governments and government-like entities in this universe because space exploration and meeting beings from other planets, but the most relevant ones are: 

The Collective Association For Governing Earth, which is hypothetically a united democratic alliance for the betterment of earth. In practice, most of its power is in space exploration and it has very little influence on the home planet itself. The CAFGE organizes the official diplomatic missions for earth and official exploration, and while theoretically, all members get an equal vote, but money talks. The characters we interact with, who live and work on a CAFGE spaceship that runs a regular-ish route checking in on far-out human settlements, are employed by CAFGE and impacted by its policies, get their paychecks from CAFGE, but it’s through the branch that checks in on outer space stuff. It has a similar level of impact and direct interaction as the federal government does in the U.S. for lower ranked federal employees. 

The Big United Bridge Between Litigious Entities (BUBBLE) is basically CAFGE but on a galactic scale, although a much lower percentage of empires have signed on to it than percentage of countries on earth who have signed on to CAFGE. 

#11. How is the country subdivided? How many subdivisions are there and what are they called? How do different states (or territories or provinces or whatever) feel about one another?

So I’m going to take some creative license with this question, and interpret “country” as “earth’s galactic holdings.”

Although CAFGE has limited power on Earth (which, a few mergers and new countries notwithstanding, has very similar countries under CAFGE as exist today), it does exert pretty good control on its holdings in space, at least for zones one and two. Earth’s empire is geographically divided into three zones based on distances, and within zones solar systems are grouped into the kinds of settlements and outposts hosted on planets and certain clusters get nicknames (like an economic cluster of planets that’s often called “The Outlet Mall”). 

It should be noted that faster-than-light-speed but not instant travel exists in this story. 

Zone One is the “home zone,” a concept adapted from BUBBLE which basically describes an empire’s home planet, solar system, and other close stars whose settlements are heavily influenced by the homeworld. If you tune your radio you can often catch the recast on Earth shows. CAFGE and its agencies exert a lot of influence here and have pretty good control on the economics and social structures. Most places in the home zone take less than three days to get to from Earth on the better end of normal commercial and business spacecraft. There’s excellent public transit to and fro within the Home Zone. Mainstream culture, politics, and social norms are crafted in the home zone and life moves pretty quickly. Insiders love the Home Zone because it’s exciting and the place to be for movers and shakers, those outside the Home Zone find it exhausting, too fast-paced, and on occasion, snooty. The Home Zone is characterized by expectations, influence, and safety. It’s roughly the equivalent of a big, exciting, culturally relevant, politically powerful city at the core of a country. 

Zone Two is officially the “Middle Zone” which CAFGE made up on its own but has since been adopted by a few other BUBBLE member states. The Middle Zone is also colloquially known as the “Suitcase Settlements,” because while they’re definitely still Earth-influenced, you probably need to back a suitcase for the length of the trip. The Middle Zone has many of the niceties of the Home Zone, but is much more laid back. You’ll get Earth shows and news out here, it’ll just take a minute and the economic subsidies and interactions are consistent. People living in the Suitcase Settlements are satisfied with the predictable, generally safe flow of life. The Suitcase Settlements almost pride themselves on being boring, which Home Zoners and Outlanders (Zone Three) dislike. The Middle Zone is characterized by safety, quietness, and predictability. The Suitcase Settlements are roughly the equivalent of the suburbs or the exburbs. 

Zone Three is officially known as the “Outer Zone” but more commonly as the “Telescope Zone” or the “Outzone.” The Outzone is kind of like rural areas and small towns. CAFGE comes out sporadically and on as-needed basis, as opposed to regular checks in Zones 1 & 2. Depending on where you land in the Outzone, it could be anything from a pirate outpost to a lone mining settlement to a small town but in space to a cult. The Outzone is technically part of Earth’s empire, but not a part it particularly cares about. Although citizens both inside and outside the Outzone describe it as characterized by chaos and freedom and by life in the extremes, both social and planetary (at least as far as inhabitable planets go), the true defining trait is the variety: the Out Zone is an unpredictable place with much more local variety than either of the first two zones. Out Zoners find this exciting and liberating, Home Zoners and Middle Zoners find it terrifying and unpredictable. 

[melissanovels]

♡ Chapter 3 of TRANSIENT TIME TRAVELLER is out! ♡

○ Read on my Website ○ Read on Tumblr (below) ○ Read on Ao3 ○ Read on Royal Road  ○

TTT  is an LGBTQ+ historical fantasy novel about Aida, a time traveller hellbent on proving the innocence of a 1,200-year-old dead queen, and Lorian, an escaped princess-turned-officer who wants to drain the royal blood from their body, & the two coming together with the help of their mischievous future selves.

♡ Reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Read Chapter 3 Below:

The second Aida stepped off the boat, she was struck with awe, an intense yearning of something grander than she’d ever thought was possible.

Then the seasickness sullied the occasion, but she wouldn’t let her bodily issues ruin this once in a lifetime experience.

You could feel when you entered Rome, when you officially made it to the country you’d been dreaming about for months, years. The air was different, the energy warmer. Unlike Bělico, which sprawled out into farm valleys and snow-capped mountains with the occasional farm, Roma was anything but. Firstly, the people here had a place to be. They hauled barrels of water on to carriages, they sang for money, they bartered and sold their wares with the utmost power to their actions. The streets always seemed to be moving, something Aida had wished for in Bělico but didn’t know how in which to hold herself.

After exiting the carriage that brought her deeper into town, she kept herself small, the grip on her cane and rucksacks making her hands sweat. The buildings were ancient and tall, and the noise overwhelmed her to the point of freezing her in place. She knew there were taverns near the center of the city, which was where she was going to sleep until the semester started, but here, in the middle of the busy streets, she was stuck. All at once, it felt like people were staring at her and ignoring her, like she was an uninteresting problem they couldn’t be bothered to solve.

She took a breath, pressed her weight onto her cane, and carried on.

The architecture was dazzling. Rich period houses made of brick, cottages built around markets selling seasoned meats and sugary sweets. Unlike her time as a child, when she thought food was free and people were kind, she now knew what to use her money for and bought cheap food to keep herself alive.

The streets were decorated in triangular pennant flags and ancient art, not for a festival, just to preserve the ancient traditions, and in the center of the intersections, written on that rich paper Aida fancied, was a drawn illustration of that princess that went missing.

Aida heard Lucia’s name whispered in the streets. Women with their hands over their mouths. Men with their hands on their hips, nodding about the obvious as to why she’d left. There were more officers walking around, the men in the red jackets and black hats who kept Roma safe. They patrolled the streets with vigilant eyes, waiting to spot the hidden princess in her wedding dress.

An arranged marriage. Aida didn’t know much about the people of Aldaí, though she supposed one of her birth parents might’ve claimed a place of origin there. The prince sounded like a normal fellow with average values. Though, if she were to re-examine the predicament, she couldn’t blame the princess for escaping such a marriage. If Aida had been arrange married, she too would’ve run, though probably not the day of. The girl must’ve either been a juggernaut for chaos, or an incredibly indecisive person.

The streets winded and were made of cobblestone that the Siinans and Eve herself must’ve walked. It was difficult discerning which parts of the city belonged to Siina, which streets and plots of land had been claimed by the Roman crown after the city-state’s destruction. The city had white, ancient columns, fountains with Circa’s statue atop them, and even a few ancient buildings preserved from the Classical Era. She knew how to spot them with their white walls and timber frames. They must’ve been 1,000 years old, so close to Queen Eve’s timeline yet too far away for her to ever have seen them. Aida wondered how many ancient people had walked these same cobblestone streets, how many buildings Eve might’ve walked into. She’d have to plan a full day just to explore to take everything in.

No true Romans seemed to be paying attention to the history around them, but the notable tourists were looking up at the columns in the same fervor as Aida. She wanted to take a tour of every ancient building. She would’ve even dipped into the depths of the infamous Catacombs that lay underneath her feet, but she couldn’t make a spectacle of herself. She saw Visatorre roaming the streets, those with the circles over their forehead and those who were quite obviously hiding them in head wrappings. Most looked unfortunate, dirty. Some were begging for a bronze lyria. Aida gave them what she could, knowing she should’ve kept all of it for herself, being that she was, in a sense, homeless as well.

As she toured the shops and eyed the delectables of frosted cookies and her favorite, sugar bread, she came across an abandoned shop with its windows boarded and door signs stripped away. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, so she rested against its walls to catch her breath. How far had she made it, two kilometers? It was another three to the nearest taverns. Should she’ve called for another carriage? Would they stop for her? She needed to read up more about the unspoken rules in Roma, not ones from a millennia ago. Should she have hidden her marking? She would’ve rather died.

She went to clean off her glasses when a figure in white caught her eye. It—she—sat on the steps, a poor woman wrapped in rags. At first glance, she resembled more of a pile of laundry than a woman in need, she was so knelt over. She was tall, though, even when crouched down, and barefoot. Aida had no choice but to help her, she was drawn to her. How tall was she, two meters? Her sitting state was almost Aida’s full height.

 Aida walked closer, eager to help yet keeping back in fear of the unknown. “Excuse me.”

The woman’s eyes were completely bound by bandages. She wasn’t injured—they weren’t bloody or stained—they just looked like a reminder to show the public that she simply did not have eyes.

Aida pulled back. Most Visatorre, when the time travelled, only travelled back a few decades. The farther back you went, the more messed up you came back. Five years back would get you a bad cough or a throbbing joint. Fifty years and you’d end up with a permanent injury, like her shitty leg or a fucked up eye. 200 years back and who knew. You could lose your leg, your head might fall off. Aida had known one girl from her village that travelled back 150 years, give or take a decade. She had regular bleeding from the brain. It lasted two months before she died an agonizing death.

People had theories as to why a time traveller jumped, and scholars and medics have tried their damnedest to find a solution to why travelling hurt the traveller once they returned, but all signs pointed to the Heavens above. Those who still believed in the Gods—very few in her generation—believed that these things happened simply because the Gods willed them to happen. Why did it happen? Why did the Gods take away children right when they were born? Why couldn’t humans live as long as trees or Aldaían turtles? It was simply nature, a nature human beings had yet to understand.

Taking in the woman’s differences, Aida closed her hand around the coins. “Here,” she said, “it’s ten bronze lyria.”

The woman slowly lifted her head, showing Aida a wide, unnerving smile that seemed otherworldly. Wildly, wickedly, reaching from ear to ear. Despite being homeless, her teeth were perfectly white. They were almost blue.

Aida slowly retracted her offered hand, but still dropped the ten lyria next to her hip. Roma was incredibly different from Bělico. It was grand as well as poor. Beautiful as well as filthy.

Interesting as well as confusing.

She couldn’t imagine what she’d see near the Palace, and the Colosseum.

Where Siina once lay.

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

Students were given access to Durante Academy a day before classes officially started. This was mostly for students and their families to tour the campus, to admire the plaques of royal statues and feast in the dining hall together. Aida had no family to see her off and she’d already known everything that was written on the plaques, so she’d taken to just moving in without any spectacle. Alone. Up four flights of stairs. Without anyone to help her.

It was fine. She was fine. It didn’t matter that nobody helped her or that her mother hadn’t come looking for her. It’d been three weeks, sure, and maybe communication between Bělico and Roma would take that long. And it could’ve snowed, so the post might’ve been halted or stopped temporarily.

Maybe her mother had never come searching for her, and who cared? Finally, Aida had become unburdened by the weight of family life. It was all she’d ever wanted.

She just wished, against her better judgement, that she had somebody to pay and help her. She’d spent most of her savings on lodging at a nearby inn before the Academy opened. She would’ve paid for the help with what little money she had left, but she was carrying the weight of every Visatorre in Roma City. Out of the 2,500 people attending this Academy, she’d sniffed out that only six of those 2,500 students were Visatorre. .2 percent. Ten years ago and no Visatorre had the rights to attend higher education. She couldn’t let this opportunity be tainted by her own missteps and selfishness.

Stepping onto the soil of the Durante Academy didn’t feel real, like she was stepping into a painting. It was built up like the Roman Palace, with arches and red brick holding centuries worth of knowledge. It’d been built at the turn of the Neoclassical Era—the Era they were in now—but it was still more than 200 years old. It’d been named Scoppio Erutus Academy in honor of the first king of Roma, but then King Durante had been so arrogant, he forced his wife to rename a historic foundation after himself. What she would’ve done if she meant the man himself. Gouge out his eyes, she would.

She touched the iron-clad gates, then where her acceptance letter was in her bag. She’d done it. All without her family’s help.

She’d taken all but four steps through the Academy gates when she felt her body tense. She’d familiarized herself with her normal bodily aches apart from these ones. When she felt like this, when the world shifted around her like someone was tilting it with both hands, that’s when she knew. That’s when she knew a jump was about to occur.

The first thing she did was take off her glasses. Nothing came with you when you teleported into the past, not even your clothes, so it did right by you to make sure you secured any loose valuables or breakables on your person before you left. Stumbling across piles of clothes was commonplace, and it was a jackpot for thieves or terrible people to loot a defenseless, temporarily lost person of their money.

When she travelled backwards into time, her only concern was someone stealing her books and throwing them into a fountain.

A loud zap of energy stole her from the present. The travelling itself didn’t hurt, not at first, but it left her feeling floaty. That’s the only way she could describe it. You left the Earth that grounded you and was brought somewhere, somehow, against your will and into Circa’s hands. It was magic, Aida knew that, but everything magical about going into the past was stripped from her when she knew it’d leave her with a bloody nose or worse.

She dropped into a forest. Nothing spectacular, just an endless sea of untamed land and pine cones. She would’ve preferred something a little more interesting like a town or even a house. When you went back in time, you couldn’t interact with anything around you, so if you jumped into someone’s room, there you were, and you were stuck there until someone from that time period happened to open a door or window big enough for you to squeeze through. Open spaces like this, while bereft of anything eye-catching, made Aida thankful that she hadn’t jumped anywhere too stifling.

She wandered. It was all you could do for one, two hours in this pause in your life. She heard the birds chirping to each other, she heard the skittering of squirrels and rabbits who didn’t know a traveller was meters away from them. And she felt the wind, heard it flutter through the leaves and branches. But it was strange, distant. And smell, that was something you had trouble with. It was like walking through a moving painting. You were there, you were exploring, but you couldn’t interact with this painted scene before you. It was better, in that sense, if you came across something important. A meeting between generals, an unsolved murder with a new key witness. You could learn about the world in a way most people couldn’t.

And all she got was a forest. Just. Her. Luck.

After maneuvering around a fallen tree, she did come across something prominent: a crystal lake that sparkled with the bright blue sky. It perfectly reflected the white clouds and the treetops around them. Bugs danced across the water and frogs leapt atop their lilypads. And curled within the lake’s natural perimeter lived a cabin that honestly looked like it’d seen better days. It was modern, giving Aida context as to how far she’d jumped back, but some of the windows had cracks in it, and a natural ecosystem grew where its cut lawn should’ve been. It looked cozy, if not a little worn.

The sound of hammering skipped across the lake. Without her glasses, Aida guessed that there were two people sitting on the roof, patching up a hole.

She circled the lake. She heard them speaking, but she couldn’t make out their words or accents, leaving her lost as to who they were and where she was. She almost called out to them before remembering neither of them would hear, see, or acknowledge her.

She tried anyway. “Hey,” she called out. “Where are you in the world?”

Just when she was able to make out their faces, she felt her body being pulled back into the present. She tried to step out of the pull, to find out more about this abandoned cabin, but no Visatorre could do that. They could only go where Circa desired them to go and left when Circa wanted them gone.

When she fell back to the present, reality slammed down with her. Her aches, her bodily pain, the weight of being alive. She was a mass that affected the world, and it sucked and hurt. She was dizzy and it was hard to keep her eyes from spinning, but all in all, she was fine, meaning that she’d only travelled a short way for an even shorter time.

Then she tried to sit up and immediately crashed back down, her legs too tired to hold herself up. Yeah, she wasn’t dead, but check back in two hours when she had a bag of ice on her lower back and a migraine beginning to form.

The Sun had long since set. Night bugs chirped from the bushes around her and most of the lanterns were out. With the Moon’s help, she patted the ground for her glasses, and found them and her bags, shoes. They were all still there, but she’d have to double-check just to make sure. She’d needed to know her books were still with her, otherwise, what was the point of all of this? If she lost her journals…

“Miss, are you alright?”

She lunged for her dress. One-pieces were the easiest clothing for Visatorre to wear to regain their modesty, or what they had left of it, but someone had already seen her, and they sounded like her age. What a great first impression to make at the Academy.

The person coming up to her was a blur without her glasses, but she saw that they were tall—everyone was tall to her, being that she was only 144 centimeters tall—and they had blond hair and fair skin, wearing…

An officer uniform.

Just. Her. Fucking. Luck.

“Here, let me assist you,” they said, this time with a noticeable lisp.

“I can assist myself, thank you. Sir,” she added, hoping she wouldn’t get written up for being too crass with an officer, and got dressed in front of him. She didn’t worry about her undergarments or socks, she just needed to cover her body in front of this person.

A piece of fabric draped over her shoulders: his jacket.

“Please, allow me,” he said, and now, he was way too close. She had a thing about that, about people touching her, getting into her personal space without her consent.

“Not really helping,” she said, and shrugged it off to button up her dress. When she still felt his presence behind her, she said, “Give a woman some privacy?”

“Oh, of course.” He turned on his heel with his hands behind his back. “My apologies. I was keeping watch over your things in case you came back. I heard a loud snap, then saw all these clothes on the ground. I thought it’d be best to help you once you returned.”

“Were you expecting me to disappear?” She flicked out her glasses and put them back on.

“No, I just didn’t want you to be frightened once you returned.”

He was indeed an officer, wearing that gaudy fit the crown made all officers wear—a red jacket studded with gold buttons, black boots that reached their knees—but he was an officer-in-training: no medals or aiguillettes to signify rank, a short rapier attached to his belt as opposed to the long ones real officers used. He was another young fool pulled into the system meant to serve a monarchy who couldn’t be bothered about you.

His green eyes shot down at her naked legs. A hint of red was scratched across his long face. “Forgive me, Miss. I’ve never seen someone jump into the past before. It’s like you were there, then in a flash, you were taken away.”

Ah, so he was pampered. Aida saw his whole life: sheltered, kept away from real life. Most Visatorre weren’t rich, so you either saw them on the streets, working in the fields, or doing manual work to get by. Given that, and by how clean and posh this boy sounded, he’d probably never fought a day in his life.

He stepped back, taking her in from a different angle, then gasped and knelt down to collect her things. “It must be hard,” he said, “disappearing like that and all.” He handed her her shoes, taking note of her right one that weighed heavier than the other. He checked inside for any rocks.

“It’s fine,” she said, and put them on. If the cane didn’t give away her ailments from being a Visatorre, her mismatched shoes would’ve. “The right one has a larger heel due to my limp. Keeps me balanced.”

“Oh.” If he had anything else to say on that, he didn’t.

She sighed. She didn’t need this kid’s pity tonight. She moved to gather her own shit and strained something down her leg. Her right one was worse, the dead weight that made her limp so bad. Sometimes it radiated its anger up her spine and left her toes numb and body with feverish aches for the whole day. This boy didn’t need to know that, he didn’t need to know anything about her. Lucky for her that he’d just seen a part of her that she hadn’t meant neither a man nor woman to ever see. She picked up her bags, her upper lip curled.

“Please, Miss, it’s no problem at all,” he said. “I can help you take them to your dorm if you’d like. Which house is it?”

“…Willows,” she said, though she was unsure if she should’ve been telling this boy where she’d now live.

“That’s across the campus. Here.” He picked up all three of her bags with one arm, as well as her books and uniforms she’d received earlier that week. The Academy almost sent them to her stepmother’s house before she’d intervened.

Aida stepped away from him. “Why’re you helping me?”

“Because I’m an officer.”

“But…” She sighed again. It was too late and she was too tired to argue. “If you do anything insidious, I’ll scream so loud, I’ll make you deaf.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Please don’t think so ill of me, Miss…”

“Aida. Mirko,” she added, and curtsied shortly, shoeless with her braids coming undone. “What a first impression to make, ’ey?”

The boy chuckled shortly, then bowed, a hand over his stomach. “Lorian Ashwell. A pleasure to meet you.”

Aida scoffed and started walking towards her dorm, her bloomers tucked over her arm. “Not so much from my end. What a bastard of a way to see your first jump.” 

“I’ve heard many different tales of it, no doubt. My father is rather…orthodox when it comes to the views of Visatorre.”

“So he’s a cock.”

Lorian choked on his own spit, then burst into a laugh that Aida couldn’t help but smile at. “How bold of you! I’ve never heard a woman speak so crassly as you do.”

“You must not meet many girls.”

He turned away, still chuckling. “That is true, yes.”

Her forced confidence shrunk. Wasn’t she supposed to make a good impression on this school? This kid must’ve been a hired officer to patrol the grounds at night. He’d report her behavior back to the dean. She needed to watch her mouth.

“So, where are you from?” Lorian asked. “No one from Roma would speak as confidently as you do, and your accent is quite unique.”

Aida arched a brow at him. “And you call me bold, asking for my name first, then asking where I’m from based off of my accent? What about your accent? Wouldn’t that be invasive if I asked you about that?”

He lost a step beside her and touched his lips. “My lisp isn’t something I can control, Miss Mirko, though I have been taking therapy lessons to correct it. I’m sorry it offends you in some way.”

Aida cocked her head at the sudden dip into aggressiveness. “When did I say anything about your lisp? I ain’t that rude despite what everything thinks of me. I said ‘accent’. You speak properly, so one can assume you came from wealth, but I wasn’t gonna say that out loud.”

“Oh.” Lorian shot her a look she couldn’t read, then he smirked and dropped his hand. “You are quite something, Miss Mirko.”

“You just met me, Lorian Ashwell, so cool it with the conclusions.”

“Please do forgive me. I haven’t met many people my age. I’m still getting used to the acclimation.”

“Were you living under a rock up until now?”

“You could say that, yes.”

Aida harrumphed. Rich and ignorant. She didn’t know a worse combination.

But she couldn’t knock him. He was kind, doing all of this for her. Her hands almost relaxed out of their fists, but she kept her guard up. She still had her cane to dig into his eye sockets if he fucked up.

He helped her all the way up the spiral staircase, stopping whenever she needed to. He never mentioned her cane or how she sometimes walked into him due to her balance problem. For a boy who hadn’t properly met a Visatorre before, he was taking it better than most. Most threw questions, insults. Rocks, if they were truly cowards.

Her dorm room was small yet curved along with the edge of the building, giving her an extra window. She also had a writing desk, a small poster bed, a wardrobe, and a sofa. Her radiator had been polished and her bedsheets smelled of freshly cleaned linen. It didn’t yet smell like her, but it would, in time.

She took it in in a circle. No longer would she shiver upstairs in a house she didn’t feel like she belonged in, waiting for a better tomorrow she thought would never come. She’d gotten it.

She turned to Lorian, who’d invited himself in and was placing her things on her bed.

“You can go,” she told him. “Don’t need you sniffing my clothes and seeing my journals.”

“Journals?” He dropped her bags. One of her thickest journals dropped on his boot.

“Hey, careful.”

“My apologies.” He picked it up and scanned the cover, noticing the tiny drawings and carvings she’d etched into the old binding. 

She’d gotten that journal from school in which to write assignments, but she’d used it to write down her actual thoughts instead. After a few weeks, she’d torn out the older pages and spliced in new ones about her interests in history. Timelines, character sheets, her own theories about what she thought might’ve happened in Siina. By now, the journal was near bursting, the original pages yellowed and loose, with thousands of furious writings smudged around her crude drawings.

Lorian smiled at the dried flowers kept between the pages. “What a beautiful piece.”

She grimaced. He didn’t even know what it was.

He didn’t know, yet he still called it beautiful, this handmade book that meant so much to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s what I do when my brain isn’t broken.”

“Is it for school?”

“No. It’s my thoughts on history.”

“Which part of history?”

“All of Lyrica.”

He weighed the book between both hands. “May I?” he asked, and went to open the first page but stopped for Aida’s consent.

She didn’t know. Back home, her sisters had never cared for it, and her mother hated that she wasted her time writing when she could’ve been tending to the farm.

No, she had to stop thinking that way. That place was no longer a home, it was a place, a memory.

“If you can read my handwriting,” she said.

He crossed his ankles as he flipped through the first few pages, skipping over a few centuries worth of notes about the founding of Lyrica, then Roma, then Roma City. He focused on her doodles of all things, the clothing styles and landscapes she thought Siina would’ve had throughout the eras. Not that she was embarrassed because she wasn’t, she just thought the word told a better picture than the, well, pictures.

When he didn’t say anything, Aida, feeling restless by silence, took to decorating her space to fit her needs. She threw her clothes off to one side and organized a few of her books onto the shelves. She stacked her playbooks one the table and centered a figure of a glass ballerina on the windowsill. After getting everything out of her bags and Lorian still standing there, Aida caved to her desires and lit a blunt she’d pre-rolled for the trip.

When she struck her lighter and realized that there was, shockingly, an officer still in her room, Lorian looked up at her.

She took the blunt out of her mouth. “Oops.”

Lorian checked that it was indeed a blunt and not a cigarette that might’ve gotten her off easier. Then he chuckled that damn chuckle of his. Was it irritating? She couldn’t tell. “Oops, indeed.”

“Don’t nark on me. I thought you were cool.”

“And what if I do? It’s in my job description to relate all illegal activity to Dean Falco, and I recently got this job on a whim. I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“Nor would I. I have a reputation to uphold. So.” She crossed her arms, joint in-between two fingers. “Whatcha gonna do, officer?”

Lorian’s smile widened, something Aida noticed about him more than anything, and he held out his hand.

Aida smiled back and handed him her joint.

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

The hours kind of…passed, which was something Aida wasn’t used to. She usually had her daily chores to grind the day to a halt. Wake up, feed the animals, make breakfast, do dishes. Work, clean, attend. Only at night could she waste her sleeping hours doing what she wanted to do, and that was to get high and study her craft.

Things were different with Lorian, this shit stain of a dude. He wasn’t an officer. She didn’t believe it. Officers were prissy rich boys who wanted to fight because of their terrible childhoods. This kid was, in every way, normal. He didn’t react volatile to the blunt. He was interested in her take on history. She ended up rambling about her life, her mother, her sisters, her desire to become a historian, and she didn’t fear that she was speaking too loudly or too much. What was this, a set-up? Good things rarely came her way, especially in the form of people. Maybe it was a dream.

“So, you’ve tried Nectar before, I reckon?” she asked. They were both on her bed, but for some reason, she didn’t feel embarrassed by it. Lorian didn’t seem so either. His cheeks had returned to their normal shade.

“I have dabbled in it, yes, though I’m more used to drinking it rather than smoking it.”

“Isn’t there less of a high when you drink it?” she asked. Nectar was the golden honey from Aldaí. When mixed with the Aldaían poppy flower that often grew near the beehives, it left you with an incredible high that could last for hours.

“Yes, but I lived in a household where it was frowned upon to smoke,” Lorian said, “so I snuck it in with luncheons and dinners. I feel like my mother knew about it, but as long as my father wasn’t aware, I was fine.”

“And the raw shit is more expensive,” she noted.

He just shrugged and motioned for her joint, which she gladly passed to him. “My household was…it was fine, you know? Once you strip away its policies and protocols, we were normal. But sometime’s life’s just, like, you know, shit? Like it’s all shit, like you can’t get out of it, no matter what you do.”

“I absolutely hear you,” Aida said. “My mo’mma’s the same way. When I become queen, all this shit? Changing immediately. Effective immediately. Life’s not gonna be what we thought it was.”

“You’re going to be queen?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Then you can take my pl…” He paused. “You can’t become a queen. You must be born into it, unless you marry someone who’s high enough in rank, but why would you?” He kept using air quotes as he talked, like it wasn’t obvious that that’s how you became an official royal person. “Royal life sucks.”

“I can take care of it. Those two princesses or whatever ain’t gonna be it like I am. One’s off in Bělico, the other’s…somewhere. Did you hear she died?”

Lorian took another drag, his eyes half-closed. “That’s what they’re saying now, huh?”

“That’s what I hear from the latest paper. Hey, you know what? You don’t seem like an officer to me.”

Lorian dropped his hand. “I am.”

“How?”

“I received a recommendation from His Majesty the king that the dean stupidly took. It was very generous, and I’m not letting the opportunity of a lifetime go to waste.”

“But—”

“I’m an officer.”

Aida glanced over to him, curious that that got a reaction out of him. Here she thought he was a prissy officer, but now, not only was he a stoner, he had a mouth.

He was looking over at her, his cheek pressed against the ruffled covers. “I’m an officer now,” he said, adding on the needed adverb. “I know I may not be as refined or as skilled as the others, but I’m trying my best, and I want nothing more than to show what I can do.”

Aida’s lips parted. Finally, something that clicked. Finally, something she understood. “Good,” she told him. “Maybe you’ll be the officer to finally fuck over the king and make Roma a better place, because I know I’m going to be the historian to rewrite this country’s history.”

“Rewrite history?”

“Yeah. I know so much more than any historian’s in Roma, and I’m going to change the world with what I know.”

“What do you know, Miss Mirko?”

She got up and started pacing. “Well, I know that Queen Eve’s full name is Eve Hyuang Costa, ‘Costa’ coming from her Siinan heritage, and ‘Hyuang’ comes from a province in Aldaí, specifically from the eastern provinces, meaning that she was multi-racial. Not many historians bring that up, but I’ve cross-referenced diary entries from King Julius II and his wife where they both mention her middle name in passing, and how she truly was ‘a blossoming flower’, which is what ‘Hyuang’ translates to. Her full name means ‘a blossoming flower in the river of life’. Isn’t that pretty? They also wash her mother’s heritage from the history texts, you know. I’ve even read texts where they change her surname from Zhao to Zangari. Isn’t that messed up?”

Lorian nodded along to everything in confusion. “It is, but, pray tell, who’s Eve?”

Aida’s jaw dropped, a hand to her heart.

“Did I offend—”

“Yes!” She swiped back her joint. “How dare you say that in my presence? All of my work rests on that woman’s shoulders. She’s the reason I want to be a historian because the history books have her history wrong—No, sit down,” she said as he began to stand. He plopped back down. “Unless you have somewhere to be at—” She checked the watch that wasn’t on her wrist. “God knows what time it is, you’re sitting your ass down and listening to me.”

People her age didn’t look at her like an equal, or someone of much worth, so the way Lorian kept doing that with Aida, it terrified her. She’d built herself up with barriers and outcast people before she got to know them. She didn’t know how this boy had gotten past her, this Lorian Ashwell. Maybe he’d be the one officer Roma City needed, just like she was the best person to fix the country.

“Please, continue,” Lorian said, and she did.

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

She spent the next two hours talking to him about Queen Eve and how much this dead queen meant to her. She talked about the queen’s upbringing, her beliefs, how her older sister was supposed to have married King Meyeso but Eve had persuaded him to marry her instead. She was passionate, outspoken, energetic, youthful, and she never let any ruling stop her from achieving what she craved. And she’d done it all as a Visatorre, before the Roman king had murdered her for allegedly murdering his wife.

“Isn’t that fucked?” Aida asked, needing some sort of validation from this boy.

Lorian just kept staring at her. His hand never left his lips.

“Well? Isn’t it?”

He kept staring at her.

“What?”

“I like the way you speak,” he told her.

She faltered. Scratch anyone listening to her rambles, nobody had ever told her they liked the way she spoke, or thought, valuing her thoughts and brain as something to be admired. She pulled down on her dress cuffs, feeling exposed. “Okay.”

“You know so much.”

“It’s one of the things I pride myself in.”

“Do you pride yourself in many things?”

“Of sorts.”

He rolled around. “What about this?” He pointed his boot at her playbooks. “En Tempore Rose. What a collection of playbooks.”

“Woah, wait.” She leaned over Lorian’s figure, the ends of her newly done braids tickling his nose. “You know about Pinnacle Isle?

Lorian pressed himself deeper into her bed. He held his lips in a tight line. “Not the, uhm, book series, no. But I do enjoy the opera—”

“I love the book series!” Aida interrupted. “I have a first edition of the first book in my bag. What’s your favorite chapter? Who’s your favorite character? Mine’s the Goddess, but Pinnacle is always a close second, as is with the Red Dragon, of course.”

Lorian looked down at Aida’s lips. “Sorry, I’ve only known the opera. My parents always took me to see it when—”

“Oh!” Aida moaned. “Oh, for shame! For shame that Roman sensibilities have negated you from indulging in the purest form of art that is Pinnacle Isle and the utter perfection of the hero’s journey.”

She stepped back, a drunken high making her unstable. “Pinnacle, our orphan boy dropped on a forgotten, desolate island. He thinks he’s alone and so unbelievably screwed, but at the end of chapter three, he finds that a feral dragon is being kept at the top of the island’s tower, and it’s up to him, his guardian/Goddess, Sempre, and the dragon’s own two scaly children to find a way off the island before the storm comes. How could you only indulge in the opera, a mere fanfare of what the books truly means to us readers? Have you no shame, good sir?”

Lorian looked Aida up and down. He sucked in his lips as he gave her a simple shrug. “Not really, no.”

She pointed down at him. “You, Lorian Ashwell, are a fake fan, just watching the enormously inaccurate opera instead of enjoying the pages and pages of Pinnacle’s and the Goddess’ story. I need you to stay with me tonight so I can tell you the greatest story told on Roman soil. Do you hear me? You’re staying with me.”

Lorian bit his soft lips. “I wouldn’t mind that in the slightest, Miss Mirko.”

“It’s Aida,” she reminded him.

“Aida, then,” he said, and she didn’t know why, but she liked the way that sounded in his mouth.