#no freaky editing tricks involved

[zytes]

nearshore

[cutest-bug]

Interview with Adrien Agreste! Subject: The Oxygen Project.

Conducted by Alya Cesaire

Ok so I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this addition to a post I made on my main blog about Adrien low key trashing the Agreste brand the way Robert Pattinson does Twilight. I know it was meant to be more of a goofy idea but my head is full of angst and this is what I came up with at 4 a.m. lol.

Alya smiles warmly as Adrien settles into the seat across from her.

��Are you ready?” She asks. He gives her a slightly nervous smile but nods. She nods to Nino who hits record and Adriens face immediately smoothes over into a pleasant and unreadable mask. It’s actually a little freaky to watch.

It’s a Monday afternoon and they’re set up in the art room during their lunch period. Adrien looks as perfectly neutral as always. Non flashy designer labels and tousled hair that probably took 20 minutes to style. For once though, his actions will be a little less perfect and easy to swallow.

“Hi Adrien, thanks for agreeing to an interview on the Ladyblog, I’m glad we could finally do this.”

He smiles and considers for a moment before answering, tiling his head a degree, “The pleasure is mine Alya, especially since I’m the one who approached you about doing this.”

That’s true. Right after the class joined Mylene and Ivan for their protest of the Oxygen Project Adrien asked to speak with her. He was upset that he had been tricked into modeling for the project without knowing what it was for. While most of his die hard fans had gotten wind he didn’t support it, he wanted to farther remedy the situation and use his position to reach a wider audience. Of course there weren’t many platforms he could do that on behind his fathers back, hence asking for Alya’s help.

“Still, I know interviews aren’t your favorite. Otherwise I probably would have asked you a while ago.”

Adrien smiled again, a little more genuinely (the one she knew Marinette was so fond of), “I don’t really like probing questions from journalists about my personal life. The fact that you’ve never asked or taken advantage of knowing me means a lot. I trust you.”

“Personally I think it’s a little crazy you have to do all of those interviews at all. You’re only 15, your life shouldn’t be so public.”

Adrien lets the smile fall several degrees. It’s deliberate, he’s letting people see his discomfort, “Well, it kind of goes hand and hand with all of the modeling. I’m the face of the Agreste brand.”

Alya nods and looks down at the papers in her lap, “Which is the point of our interview today, really.” They had agreed on what was and wasn’t to be talked about before hand, however they don’t have a planned out dialogue. They agreed that they both do well with more organic conversation, and it’s important the interview comes off as very genuine.

Adrien nods in agreement and Alya continues, “Now that the plan for the Oxygen Project is officially canceled, it’s time to clear up what your involvement with the promotion of it was. Nearly everyone in Paris saw the ads that ran.” Unfortunately it had been to late for Mayor Bourgeois to cancel the first few days of ads. For nearly a week Adriens face played on every television in the city, telling everyone about what a great breath of fresh air the project would be.

Alya hands him the first photo in her lap. It’s of him with the class after they first arrived at the protest, looking interested but not particularly emotional yet. It’s from the video that she filmed, but there was a pretty low view rate on the protest coverage. The interview with Adrien will probably get anywhere from 3 to 5 times as many.

“What not everyone realizes is that you were present during the planned tree cutting ceremony and following protest. So what was going on for you at this point in the day Adrien?”

“Our whole class had just gone to the park to support Mylene and Ivan, our friends who lead the protest. Right after we arrived Mylene started arguing with the Mayor about whether the project was good for the environment or not.”

“That girl has a hidden fire!” Alya adds, “I have a section dedicated to activism on the blog now. The video from the whole day is there but I also posted some smaller segments explaining the conflict and a few more that Mylene recommended on how to get involved.”

Adrien gave his most genuine smile yet, “I watched those! I hope your viewers take the time to check them out. I know the super hero fights are exciting, I mean I’ve been glued to your blog from the start, but I’m glad people like Mylene and Ivan are reminding us to keep our eyes on the big picture too.”

Alya nods, “So am I. Ok, it was during this argument that the ad was first shown correct?”

Adrien lets the smile fall completely this time, “Yes. Apparently the plan was always to air it for the first time during the tree cutting ceremony. It was also the first time I’d seen it.”

“I’m sure most of our viewers have seen it already, so I’m not going to play it now,” Adrien shoots her a grateful look, “Adrien, she says kindly, “I remember how surprised you were when the ad played. Do you want to tell everyone why?”

Adrien looks down at his hands, “I hadn’t known what the ad was for when I filmed it. I thought it was another one of those silly perfume commercials.” Alya isn’t sure if him saying “silly” was a slip up or on purpose but she struggles not to laugh.

“Did someone tell you it was a perfume commercial or did you just assume when you were given the script?”

“I was told it was for perfume.”

“Can I ask who by?”

She thinks the discomfort is genuine this time. Everything else is the video isn’t that bad, but this line could bring hell for him.

“My father told me it was.”

This isn’t news for Nino or Alya but she pauses for a long moment to let viewers digest that before asking her next question, “Do you know why he lied to you?”

“I suppose he thought I wouldn’t be ok with doing it otherwise.”

Alya smiles, a little proud, before handing him another picture. She’ll edit them into the screen for viewers to see later, “Well he thought correctly. Here’s a picture of you standing with Mylene and our friend Marinette, forming a physical barrier so the trees wouldn’t be cut down,” she pauses for a moment while Adrien examines the picture, “I gotta say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so angry.”

“I had just found out my image was going to be used to promote an anti-ecological plan that would harm our city. My friends had spent months trying to prevent it. I was furious.”

And Bam! As soon as she posts this video Adrien’s empty head, pretty face, good boy persona is shattered. He just admitted to having feelings. Angry ones. Directed at his father. Not to mention opinions on political matters. That is not the pretty face most of Paris is familiar with and fawns over.

“I’d be angry too,” Alya sympathizes.

Adrien puts the photo down and looks at her with a serious expression, “That’s the main reason I wanted to do this interview. For better or worse I have a lot of sway with my fans and public opinion. There’s still some controversy about the Oxygen Project being canceled so I want to be very clear that I do not stand with it,” he looks directly into the camera, “The oxygen project would have only helped the people profiting from it. The only ethical solutions for our city, and the whole world, are complicated, long term, sustainable options that will protect and rejuvenate our planet. No one has said it better than Mylene and Ivan so please go check out those videos under the activism section. Help if you can, and spread the word about the truth. It’s important that people know when they’re being lied to by a corporate campaign.”

Alya realized she stopped breathing for a moment because oh my god that was so good. She manages to quietly clear her throat and thank Adrien for the interview again. He plasters back on his polite smile and they give a brief hug before she gestures to Nino to stop filming.

“OH MAN! That was awesome!” Nino pulls Adrien into a one armed hug and doesn’t let go.

Adrien smiles a little bashfully, “You think? It wasn’t to much?”

“No way Adrien,” Alya cuts in, “the whole thing was great but that bit at the end? Amazing. Mylene will be thrilled.”

Nino pulls away from their friend a bit and clasps his shoulder, “Are you going to be ok though? Your old man is not going to be cool with like, any of that, is he?”

Adrien purses his lips and shrugs, “Don’t worry about my dad, I can handle him.”

Alya can see the fake nonchalance a mile away. Marinette is the queen of it after all, so she tells him, “Adrien this is really brave of you but I just want to make sure you know you’re in charge of this narrative. I probably won’t finish editing everything until tomorrow because I have a project to finish tonight. If you change your mind there’s no hard feelings. Or if there’s something you decide you want left out I’ll work some editing magic.”

Adrien smiles but her words don’t seem to relieve any tension, “Thanks Alya, it means a lot. By the way, where’s Marinette? I thought she was coming?”

“She’s probably just got caught up with something but I’ll see if she messaged me.” Alya checks her phone and realizes she left it on silent after the test last period. No texts from Marinette, but there is an akuma alert which explains her absence. She tries to ignore the immediate twinge of worry.

Adrien suddenly looks up from his own phone and rushes to grab his bag, “I actually got to go, my dad wants me home until the akuma attack is over. Best keep my head down until the bomb drops tomorrow right?” He rushes out before Alya or Nino can respond.

Nino sighs after his best friend runs out, “It’s so unfair he’s having to rectify his dad’s bad choices.”

Alya takes his hand, “I know. Something tells me this won’t be the last time he does so either. We’ll be there to support him though.” Her boyfriend gives her a soft smile and she kisses him on the cheek, “Come on, I want footage of that akuma fight.”

Nino glances down at his phone, “Actually it looks like the fight just ended a minute ago.”

“Wow that was short. It couldn’t have gone longer than the ten minutes we did the interview with Adrien for.”

“You’ll catch the next one,” he grins at her, “one way or another.”

She laughs, “okay turtle boy, let’s go get some lunch before we have to head back to class.”

They run into a slightly dejected Adrien on the way. He gives them an interview smile. They all find Marinette and get lunch. They keep the conversation light and avoid talking about the bomb Alya’s going to post tomorrow.

This is self indulgent. I really need Adrien taking some control of his life and standing up to his dad. Yes it’s painful but it’s so important that Adrien puts some distance between them in the public eye before Gabriel is revealed as Hawkmoth. I’m just hoping that can actually happen in canon but I have many fears this season.

[rhodesmystery]

natasha Facts™:

has subscriptions magazines, like trashy celebrity and fashion ones (witch weekly, spella weekly, the american charmer, the witch’s friend, spellbound, etc). has since she was in her early teens, keeps old editions.

endorses wonderwitch products hard. literally drops money backing it when she’s introduced to fred & george’s line. has three pygmy puffs, two pink, one purple, named kronos, atlas, and periwinkle.

her great-aunt vela urquhart played keeper for the holyhead harpies, and her uncle aquila plays chaser for the ballycastle bats. lots of her great-aunts/uncles and cousins are aurors, magical law enforcement or mediwizards, especially due to the war, having left previous careers that were also either to do with quidditch or breeding of magical creatures (notably for the urquhart family). there’s only one curse breaker in her family (great-uncle antares urquhart), one magizoologist (oriane selwyn (nee amell)) and one actress (phillipa graves (nee black)).

takes divination because she made a promise to her great-great grandmother, but she also gets a kick out of scaring trelawney with really great fake prophecies (especially when it means that class has to end early)

madam puddifoots tea shop is honestly one of the places she spends free weekends in hogsmeade at. you know when she’s in there because not many other dare to enter to find her.

may or may not have been involved in an incident where the previous slytherin captain fell off his broom at an early training, and natasha scooted on in as captain in her sixth year.

lyra, natasha’s mum and a number of her aunts and uncles and cousins were a part of the slug club, as was jacob. aquila, her mother’s brother thereby natasha’s uncle, didn’t quite get the ‘honour’

she’s a lot like her father, deep down. looks like him too, in the eyes.

her great uncle or cousin something removed or whatever, haytham black, married the infamous madame zabini. he died in ‘94 due to ‘natural causes’, which is considerably young for a wizard of his potential. no one could prove foul play. they had no children together, but the black family name in their line died with him. 

she’s a stupid dumbass, who climbed the astronomy tower from the outside on a dare. you could dare her to swim the length of the black lake probably, if weighed in enough, despite her fear of water and drowning.

this also means she plays guinea pig for penny a lot, because the girl would be like ‘hey look i made a perfect draught of living death but i need to test it’ and natasha would be like ‘oh that’s my job right’ and rowan would be like ‘NO’. also she plays guinea pig because she’s quite frankly a little terrified of penny

one time her and barnaby tried to find out if they cast aguamenti ‘hard’ enough, if they could propel themselves into the air with water. yep.

very good at carrying a haughty air of indifference and smarts, but the reality is that she’s a thrill seeker, and really doesn’t have a look before you leap sense. like preparation sessions for anything is more her being held by the collar of her shirt and being forced to listen. why people follow her leadership is beyond her.

was supposed to be a ravenclaw. like knows it. and sometimes (a lot of the time) catches herself staring at the towers, knowing she should be up there. choosing slytherin to follow jacob’s footsteps was not her brightest decision, and it kind of haunts her a bit.

in saying that, jacob was the pretty boy jock who was great friends with everyone and popular and smart and everything people aspired to be. until he wasn’t. natasha isn't sure if her memories are just trying to remind her of good times, or just messing up what she hears as gossip with the reality, but the whiplash of jacob before and after hurts her. especially since she was barely ten or eleven (math bad) when it all happened. gets to a point where she isn't sure if she wants him back.

lyra seals jacob’s room in the manor. magically very very locked. when natasha finishes at hogwarts, she finally manages to tear the door down.

gets very very good at sneaking around the castle. she can’t help it, gets like manic energy late, yknow? and what better to shake it off than a walk around a creepy old castle. means that she’s found a lot of places to hide, however.

like she’s honestly not That Bad at spell creation, but she’s pretty blasé about it. the only spells she's created, or helped create, were really just to make sure charlie didnt die in the forest lmfao (like ad meridiem is a lighting/waypoint spell, generally utilised on carvings, so he doesnt lose his way). has made up a few hexes here and there though. flitwick is disappointed in her for the attitude though, and she doesnt like disappointing flitwick. that said, she COULD tell him about her charms, but that would mean admitting she knows charlie goes into the forest still and no one wants that conversation

she botched up dying her hair one time but keeps it that really bad not quite a dip dye just to annoy her mother

can’t tell if she actually went into the room of requirement or just a very quiet classroom. and will probably never know.

lets out a low whistle when entering a room she hasn’t been in before

sleeps with the curtain pulled on the right side of her room, which is her right if she was laying on her back, and mimics it with the beds at hogwarts, because that’s how she used to sleep back home in america

picks up random objects with not always the intention of keeping them, but the few she has she keeps on her person (currently: two smooth rocks, worn down by her running her thumb over them in times of stress, a locket missing its chain, a tarnished ring, several pressed flowers and a collection of shells)

while she’s half blooded, through marriage, a number of her extended families are related to other muggle families, pureblood families, or half blooded families.

religiously tells her father’s muggle family she’s a wizard, and proves it by balancing spoons on her forehead, pulling birds out of thin air, or ‘reading their palms/minds’. they think it’s great party tricks with the polite laughter of high society, but really it freaks them out a bit when she stops playing dumb and says something legit. (but then lyra says ‘natasha helene rhodes!’ in that voice and the game is up)

she’s fucking awful at potions. like hands down terrible. penny is literally carrying her through the most part of her education.

her owl is called fox because she thinks she’s funny, and she has a snake called marquis de sade, the third. it ate the second. she rescues it from a shelter, simply on the basis that it was taken from the apartment of some old lady. no one had seen the woman in weeks, the apartment was empty, and only the snake remained. freaky™

legend has it that her great great grandfather, before being burnt of the family tree, raided the family vault at gringotts. while his family claimed he stole, he was still technically a legal part of the family at the time, so nothing could be done. that said, no one quite knows where he put the money. the manor natasha grew up on, named urquhart manor, is actually very far away from where the urquhart family put down roots, and is where a majority of her family lives, or had lived, in their lives. it apparently just appeared one day on the cliff, and that’s the end of that story.

before the legilimency thing was a thing in game, i actually wrote something regarding it. lyra had a knee-jerk reaction to the letters sent home about natasha’s adventures, and spent the summer before her fifth year training her in legilimency and occlumency, alongside other family members. natasha’s ‘natural legilimens’ status is a stretch, as with eye contract, she can get a general read on emotion, plus bits and pieces on a general population of wizard kind. a stronger read on those younger and unawares of the art of occlumency, of course. and then an even stronger cast, provided she uses her wand, that actually gives her the ability to read memories.

[callaeidae3]

What You Prefer - Tag Meme!

I was tagged by @kaiobeast! Thanks! :)

Rules: Bold what you prefer and then tag 10 people to do the same.

Coffee or Tea - Both! I love black coffee and drinking all kinds of different tea from all over the world! My favourite kind of tea is Pu Erh, an aged tea grown in old forests! :)

Chocolate or Vanilla - Err, neither? Yeah, I don’t handle sweet things very well. If it’s chocolate then it needs to be 90% or above (or cocoa powder) and if it’s vanilla, then only subtle.

Spring or Autumn - Spring in New Zealand is such a refreshing time of year. The weather starts warming approaching the end of the year and approaching Christmas, so spring brings a lot of good vibes with it and fills the air with the scent of new growth!

Silver or Gold - It reminds me of starlight! I don’t wear jewelry, but if I did I’d chose silver.

Pop or Alternative - My favourite kind of music is soundtrack/instrumental, with my favourites being How to Train Your Dragon Soundtrack and Voltron: Legendary Defender Soundtrack(s). Since Voltron is pretty much alternative, I picked that :)

Freckles or Dimples - Fun fact: I have a chin dimple :P

Snakes or Sharks - Uhh, from a biosecurity point of view, I’m gonna say sharks. We have sharks in New Zealand. We don’t have snakes. We don’t want snakes. Australia can have the snakes. Not here. No thanks.

Mountains or Fields - New Zealand had pretty rugged terrain and beautiful mountains. I love how wild mountain weather is, the way it has a fierce climate of it’s own that puts you at its mercy if you’re up in that terrain (like, mountain weather can be pretty freaky, but it’s exhilarating.) 

Thunderstorms or Lightning - Lightning’s cool, too, but I love imagining the wind rolling about in clouds like a rumbling purr.

Egyptian Mythology or Greek Mythology - I’m not all that keen on mythology, to be honest, so I’m not really that familiar with either. If I had to study one of the two though, I’d pick Greek as it seems to involve many creative stories.

Ivory or Scarlet - Yeah, scarlet I guess. Mainly ‘cause, you know, Keith :)

Flute or Lyre - Both! Flute and harp sounds are beautiful! I play a traditional Japanese flute and guitar (I pick more often than I do strum) and I love the stillness their tones bring to the air and the soul (okay, that’s deep.)

Eyes or Lips - They say that eyes are the window to the soul :) 

Witch or Fairy - I prefer the idea of creative magic over dark/black magic.

Opal or Diamond - Opal = Libra, my star sign.

Butterflies or Honeybees - ‘Cause honeybees are so critical to the ecosystem!! And I love watching and listening to them humming away as they bob about the flowers in spring. 

Macarons or Éclairs - I can’t handle...that much...sweetness...

Typewritten or Handwritten - While I prefer type-writing when it comes to stuff you need to edit and change quickly to keep up with your thoughts (report writing, creative writing), I prefer handwriting as it is a more contemplative process and I have photographic memory, so that’s how I learn best (by handwriting lecture notes).

Secret Garden or Secret Library - I love fresh air. I love plants (that aren’t poisonous or invasive). I love the quiet. I’m assuming that this secret garden is located somewhere away from noise, or if it isn’t, that it provides a refuge from whatever business surrounds it (I’m getting really deep here, aren’t I?)

Rooftop or Balcony - You can go out and enjoy stargazing and fresh air easily on a balcony, even take some nice naps in the sun. Not so much on a rooftop.

Spicy or Mild - I like spicy, but I don’t like my mouth being on fire and my nose running and my gut aching and my eyes tearing up. A tutor managed to trick me into trying a particularly hot piece of chilli once. It was awfully hot. I cried so much it was that hot. Never again, dear chilli. Still...I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for that (laughs).

Opera or Ballet - I enjoy contemporary opera, but not so much traditional/theatrical opera. I’ve danced my whole life (not in ballet, though), and so I love watching flowing, expressive dances.

London or Paris - I can’t handle crowds and I can’t handle tight, unfamiliar streets and cities. 

Van Gogh or Monet - I’m more familiar with Van Gogh’s works.

Denim or Leather (not real leather) - Yeah, denim works with me.

Potions or Spells - It requires your own energy as opposed to requiring other resources which may not be readily available.

Ocean or Desert - I live in New Zealand. We’re surrounded by ocean. I’ve grown up in a town/city where the ocean is only 15mins drive away. So yeah, ocean. I can’t handle the heat :d

Mermaids or Sirens - They seem a little more peaceful...

Masquerade Ball or Cocktail Party - I can hide behind a mask and dance ballroom dancing as I do in real life. Maybe find a partner for once. Someone who can dance with me... else I guess I’ll just go find a quiet corner and dance by myself with Casper the friendly ghost.

Hmm...who shall I tag? @arwenride, @miyura-sarkana, @benny-isa-dog and @koganewest (as well as anyone who reads this and wants to do tag meme - I tag you as well!)

[thysparrowsdrew]

full draft of chapter 3! (albeit in need of major line edits)

In a room at the nearest Motel Six, freshly-painted warding sigils drying on the walls, Margarita sits on one of the two beds and bows her head in prayer. “Holy Ishim the Angel, Holy Kadmiel the Angel, Holy Jehoel the Angel, hear this prayer. Benjamin and Castiel need to speak with you about a danger to the flight. Starting frequency is 428.934KHz; hopping algorithm is Roadhouse three-point-one; seed is five-nine-gimel-zayin. Amen.”

Even for practiced angels, frequency hopping requires concentration: In the back of her mind, Benjamin goes quiet with focus, and Castiel, seated at the room’s table with Sam and Dean, stares unblinking into the middle distance. (The table’s fourth chair sits empty.)

“Did she say Roadhouse?” Dean asks Castiel, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Castiel doesn’t acknowledge the question.

“He can’t really hear you right now,” says Margarita. “Neither can Benjamin. We humans are alone for a little while.” She remembers the twenty-first book of the Winchester Gospels, and she offers a gentle, sympathetic smile. “Yes, I did say Roadhouse. Angel radio, as you call it, wasn’t built for privacy. Your friend Ash Miles invented the first frequency hopping algorithms-- a way for Raphael’s enemies to speak without him listening.” Of course, Raphael’s army adopted use of their own algorithms not long after his opponents-- but it was a war of unequal strength, and secrecy advantaged the weak more than the strong.

Sam blinks in surprise. “I never knew he was involved in that.”

“Oh, he was more than involved. He was a key part of the war effort. Without his help, we’d have lost in the first month.”

“So you were one of Cas’s soldiers?”

Margarita’s expression shutters. “Vessels aren’t soldiers. We’re wielded by them.”

“Now that’s some bullcrap,” says Dean. “It’s your body on the line, ain’t it? If you’re in the war, you’re in the war.”

Margarita’s breath catches. She reminds herself that this is Dean Winchester she’s speaking to; she can’t be surprised he blindly stumbled into a minefield and detonated half the charges. “Dean, I know you mean well, but you really don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I was the freaking Michael Sword; I think I--”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying,” Margarita repeats, in a tone that brooks no argument. Castiel was Benjamin’s general, not hers. Benjamin’s friend, not hers. Benjamin’s betrayer, not hers. Soldiers bled and died under Castiel’s banner of free will, and in victory, he spat on all of them: I thought the answer was free will, but I understand now. You need a firm hand.

After Castiel proclaimed a new day on Earth and in Heaven, Benjamin returned to Margarita in a panic, his thoughts nothing but bone-deep terror and a clamor of need to hide need to hide. For three days, he was unable to speak. All he could do was show fragments of memories: the killing fields, the blackened grass, the speech. Benjamin remembers the speech as it happened, but Margarita remembers it like a broken phonograph, jumbled and skipping and repeating. Every word is seared into her.

She wasn’t Castiel’s soldier. She can’t have been.

And the part she hates most of all: She’s right. Vessels bled alongside soldiers, died alongside soldiers, but soldiers were soldiers, and vessels were vessels. She went into every battle knowing a simple fact: If she died at the hands of the enemy, only one name would be spoken of, and the name would not be hers.

After a minute of no one speaking, Dean tries to crack the tension. “You do a great scary nun voice,” he says. “You ever teach at a Catholic school?”

Sam smacks his brother’s arm.

Another minute, and Benjamin and Castiel break from the trance. /Ishim is alive,/ Benjamin tells her, while Castiel relays the same information out loud to the Winchesters. /He’ll meet us here in four hours. Jehoel was killed this April, Kadmiel last September./

Two years ago, unable to stomach any more news of his siblings using their vessels to murder each other, Benjamin started blocking every frequency except Heaven’s emergency frequency and the flight’s distress signal frequency. It doesn’t surprise Margarita that this is the first they’ve heard about the deaths, but-- /April was six months ago. Why didn’t Castiel already know?/

/He asked Ishim that same question. Ishim said he thought Castiel wouldn’t care./

/Wouldn’t care? That’s what Ishim came up with?/

/I know. Ishim managed to find the one thing in the universe Castiel is innocent of./

/It’s a miracle. You could write crimes on a dartboard and throw with your eyes closed, and nine times out of ten, you’d hit a true accusation. But Ishim went with wouldn’t care./

Margarita tunes back into the Winchesters’ conversation. “--Jehoel,” Sam is saying. “Do we give their vessels a call?”

“Benjamin and I don’t know their names,” says Margarita. “All we know is that they both took new vessels after the Fall. Castiel?”

“I don’t either.”

“Did Ishim say where they were killed?” asks Sam. “The police reports might have the vessels’ names.”

“Kadmiel was in Porto Alegre,” answers Castiel. “Jehoel was in London.”

Sam pulls a laptop from his bag. “We’ll start with Jehoel.” He sets the laptop on the table -- at an angle where Margarita can see the screen, if she leans to the left -- and gets to work. In just a handful of minutes, he has full access to Scotland Yard’s databases. Margarita wonders if this is a new skill, or if the prophet Chuck Shurley neglected to mention it. Sam types, pauses, types again, and announces, “I got three homicide cases from April where the police report mentions wings.”

“How do we know which one is Jehoel?” asks Dean.

“You won’t,” says Castiel, “but I can identify her from her wings.”

“Like fingerprints?” asks Sam.

“Like a nametag.” 

Sam pulls up a picture from the crime scene. “Is this her?”

Margarita leans to the left. She doesn’t recognize the vessel -- a stocky white man, middle-aged, light-haired -- but Benjamin can read the wings. /Gamliel,/ he says. 

“No,” says Castiel. “That’s-- This doesn't make sense. Those are Gamliel’s wings, but he died in Sirjan eight years ago, trying to save the forty-sixth seal.”

“He survived,” says Margarita. “We saw him three years ago.”

Gamliel was a widely-respected commander known for his exceptional dedication to his troops. For a moment, Castiel looks like he might argue against the idea that Gamliel could be a deserter, but then he turns to Sam and says, in a rougher voice than before, “The next one.”

“Wait,” says Margarita. “What was his name? The vessel.”

“Do you think he’s part of this?” asks Sam.

“No, but his name should be spoken. He’s owed that.”

“This says it was, uh, Blake Harris.”

“Thank you.”

In the year after the Fall, Margarita and Benjamin spent hours every day searching the Internet for new vessel killings. Benjamin said that he needed to see them, needed to know that at least one angel would remember the human toll. He says the same thing now that he used to say after each news article: /I will remember him./

Sam loads a picture of the next case’s crime scene. “Jehoel,” Castiel says, at the same time Benjamin says, /That’s her./

“Says her name was Abigail Dupont,” Sam reads.

“Here’s hoping she has some answers,” says Dean.

Again, they prepare the spell; again, Castiel gives his blood before Benjamin can offer; again, Castiel speaks the incantation. “Hello, Abigail,” he says to the bubbling bowl. 

“Hey, Mysterious Voice From The Ceiling. I don’t think you’ve been in this dream before. This was a fucking awesome concert, and they’re gonna do Misery Business soon, so if this is about to turn into a nightmare, can you just wait a little? Like ten minutes? I really love that song.”

“You aren’t dreaming.”

“No offense, but I’m pretty sure I am.”

“Do you remember what happened on the night of April third?”

“What are you, a cop?”

“I’m an angel.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry, dude, but I already said the big Y-E-S to somebody else, and I don’t wanna kick off some game of angelic musical chairs by switching. You’re gonna have to keep looking. Uh, I guess you can stick around for the rest of the concert, though, if you want? I bet listening to hymns all the time gets pretty boring.”

“I’m not interested in taking you as a vessel. Even if I were, you wouldn’t be able to serve as one in your current state.”

“Jesus Christ. Whoever taught you guys reverse psychology needs to be shot. My current state? Is that supposed to make me want to prove you wrong? Oh no, Mr. Random Holy Jackass says I’m not good enough, how will I--”

“Your current state is dead, Abigail.”

A long silence, and then, “Fuck.”

“My condolences.”

“Yeah, well, eternal Paramore concert. Can’t complain too much, I guess. What’s your name, Mystery Angel?”

“Castiel.”

“Double fuck. Is this an end-of-the-world thing?”

“No.”

“It’s just, from what I’ve heard, when you’re involved, it’s usually an end-of-the-world thing. Or it turns into an end-of-the-world thing.”

“It isn’t an ‘end-of-the-world thing’. I’m trying to find the angel who killed you and Jehoel.”

“You mean psycho eyepatch lady? Jehoel said she wasn’t an angel.”

“She wasn’t? What was she?”

“A human. That’s what Jehoel said, anyway.”

Castiel draws a sharp breath. “How did a human kill Jehoel?”

“Oh, it was super freaky. It was like eyepatch lady was carrying angel kryptonite. Jehoel tried to throw eyepatch lady back with her mind -- it’s super cool that angels can do that, by the way? -- but anyway, this time, it did jack shit. Eyepatch lady didn’t budge. She was all, ‘Your little angel tricks won’t work on me, Jehoel.’ And then we got stabbed. Y’know, I always thought if I got stabbed, it’d be from mouthing off to the wrong person? That’s what my brother used to say. But it was just ‘cause somebody wanted to murder the angel living in my head.

“Hurt like a bitch when it happened. It was funny, some dude tried to stop her, and eyepatch lady was all, ‘I don’t want to hurt humans.’ Guess I didn’t count, huh?”

“You did count,” says Benjamin, firmly. “You were still human. What was done to you was wrong.”

“Oh, hey, Mystery Angel Number Two. I like the way you think. What’s your name? Any other angels on the line, or is it just you two?”

“My name is Benjamin. Castiel and I are the only angels here.”

“Cool. Anything else you wanna know?”

“Can you describe her?” asks Castiel.

“White, thin, long red hair. Uh... Five foot six. Early forties, maybe? The eyepatch was black. Over her right eye. Right when you’re looking at her, not her right.”

“When she attacked you, did she use any incantations?”

“Nope. Not one. I asked Jehoel if she was a witch, and Jehoel said she wasn’t.”

“Did she have any inhuman abilities other than immunity to Enochian magic?”

“If she did, she didn’t use ‘em on us. Oh, wait! Shit. I remember now. She has a husband. I guess he’s a demon or something? Jehoel called eyepatch lady ‘Akobel’s human wife.’”

Castiel and Benjamin both straighten in alarm. “You’re certain Jehoel said Akobel?” asks Castiel.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

“And the woman,” says Benjamin. “You’re certain she had red hair?”

“I mean, not red red. Not like a firetruck. Natural red, like, uh, what’s her-- Amy Adams. Is that helpful?”

Akobel’s red-haired human wife. Margarita saw Lily Sunder only once: standing with Akobel on the porch of their home in Orono, Maine, looking down with fear at the flight of angels on her doorstep. Go back inside, Akobel had told her, as though human-built walls could delay Heaven’s justice. /Ishim’s report of her death seems to have been greatly exaggerated,/ says Benjamin, with little humor. Out loud, he says, “Very much so.”

“Thank you for your help, Abigail,” says Castiel.

“No problem. Hey, when you find the psycho, kick her ass for me, okay?”

The blood stops bubbling.

“Who’s Akobel?” asks Sam. “The way you two reacted, it seemed like you know him.”

Castiel doesn’t answer. Inside Margarita’s head, Benjamin is similarly silent.

“Uh, guys?”

“They’re talking to Ishim,” says Margarita. “They want to know how Lily Sunder is alive when Ishim killed her over a century ago.”

“That’s the woman’s name? Lily Sunder?”

Margarita nods, mentally thumbing through the metaphorical pages of the mission briefing. To most angels, especially before the Fall, vessels were simply weapons to be wielded. Sharing mission details with one was like talking to your blade: not forbidden, exactly, but odd and likely indicative of a deeper problem. Benjamin was different. Before each mission, he always shared the briefing in full, and he always offered a choice.

“Lily Sunder was a professor of apocalyptic literature who learned how to summon angels,” says Margarita. “She summoned Akobel, married him, and knowingly birthed a nephilim. Akobel successfully concealed his crime for five years. After Heaven became aware, the flight was sent to kill the nephilim and render justice unto its parents. Mirabel executed Akobel, with--” she falters, remembering her hand’s inhumanly strong grip on Ephram Sunder’s arm, only letting go when his body went limp “-- with Benjamin and Castiel’s assistance. Ishim executed, or claimed to execute, Lily and the nephilim.”

“He took mercy on Lily,” says Castiel, rejoining the conversation. “Only Lily.”

/Mercy on a human?/ asks Margarita. /That doesn’t sound like the Ishim we knew./

/He believed Akobel corrupted her into mothering the nephilim. After recent events, he now believes the opposite./

“Cas,” says Sam, “you guys, uh...”

Dean’s eyes are hard. “You killed a five-year-old, and now the mom’s gunning for revenge. Can’t say I blame her.”

“We completed a mission,” says Castiel.

“Some mission.”

“When nephilim come into their power, entire worlds die. It was horrific, but it was necessary. It was right.”

“Well, if you say so.”

“Wait,” says Sam. “Sister Margarita, you said a century ago? Even if Ishim let her live back then, how is she alive now?”

“Rowena’s older than that,” says Dean.

“Rowena’s a witch. Lily’s human.”

“Ishim believes she made a pact with a demon,” says Castiel. “A deal to grant her youth and immunity from our powers.”

/Castiel would know about working with demons, wouldn’t he,/ says Benjamin, unable not to.

“What, like a crossroads deal?” asks Dean. “That’s a hell of a long time for a demon to wait to collect.”

“Yeah,” says Sam. “And Lily’s waited a long time, too. This all happened a century ago, right? But the first death was in 2015. Why not sooner?”

The answer is obvious. Benjamin tries not to make it sound like an accusation: he keeps his tone neutral and his eyes on Sam as he says, “Our wings.” Before Castiel can respond, he continues briskly, “Akobel’s vessel, Ephram Sunder, might know something about this demon pact. We should speak to him.”

Dean looks skeptical. “You think he’ll want to help us stop his wife from getting revenge for their kid?”

“The spawn was Akobel’s, not Ephram’s. To knowingly sire a nephilim is one of the few crimes against Heaven that outweighs serving as a vessel. Ephram’s soul ascended after Akobel’s execution. Had he consented to the union, his soul would have gone elsewhere.”

Dean and Sam blanch at the implications. “Shit,” says Dean. “So for six years, this guy was...”

“And Lily was aware of her husband’s true nature throughout their marriage. Do you still doubt Ephram will want to help us?”

Sam shakes his head.

For the third time, they prepare the spell: glyphs, blood, holy oil, sage, myrrh. Benjamin speaks the incantation.

Nothing happens.

They wait.

Nothing continues to happen.

“Maybe you got the wrong name?” asks Sam.

Castiel shakes his head. “That was the name we received in our briefing.”

“Well, maybe they got the wrong name.”

“I doubt it,” says Benjamin. “The ancien régime made many mistakes, but not this type of mistake.”

Knowing what he needs to do next, Margarita says, /It’s okay. I’ll be fine./

/I hate it, but it’s our best option here. If we were closer to the portal--/

/You would take me with you. I know. But you’re right; with the cards we have, this is the best play we can make. You’ll be safe from Lily there, and I’ll be safer here./

“You think someone’s trying to keep Ephram from talking?” asks Sam.

“I think something is very wrong here,” says Benjamin. “Ishim and I will investigate in Heaven. We’ll leave the Earthly investigation to you.”

“Hold on,” says Dean. “You’re just gonna run off to Heaven and leave Cas here?”

“My presence on this plane makes Margarita a target, and until we know how to counteract Lily’s powers, I’m unable to defend her. I will not allow her to come to harm because of me.”

“I understand,” says Castiel, with a glance at Dean.

“Maybe she doesn’t want you to leave,” says Dean, not really speaking to Benjamin. “Maybe she wants you to stick around even though it’s dangerous. Did you think about that?”

/Oh, for God’s sake,/ says Margarita.

/Oh, for Father’s sake,/ says Benjamin. “Margarita agrees with me that this is our best course of action. We discussed it using these fascinating little things called ‘words.’ They’re a new invention; you might not have heard of them.”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it with an audible click. Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Sam’s expression is a long-suffering plea: See what I have to deal with?

Warmth floods Margarita’s veins as Benjamin fills them with enough extra grace to heal nearly any injury. /One Phoenix Down./

/I’ll try not to get impaled by any one-winged angels while you’re gone./

The joke falls flatter than the Tower of Babel. /Please. Please, stay safe. If anything happened to you because of this, I... I couldn’t.../

/I’ll be safe. Go. Te esperaré./

/Volveré a ti./ Benjamin tilts back her head, pours out of her open mouth in a radiant cloud of shimmering blue-white, and disappears into a vent.

[aion-rsa]

The Third Day Review (Spoiler-Free): Weirdness Reigns in Creepy Island Miniseries

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This spoiler-free review is based on the first two episodes.

There’s a Woody the Woodpecker cartoon where Woody starts to fall from a height, then double takes, flaps his wings and soars into the sky saying, ‘Hey! I forgot I was a bird!’

Every so often, TV pulls the same trick. It goes along, airing detective shows and cooking shows and superhero shows and property programmes, falling, falling, falling… and then it suddenly remembers, ‘Hey! I forgot I was Television! I’m a box of mad, uncontainable dream magic conjured by imagination wizards who send stories through the air! Hop it, Gregg Wallace. I’ve got flying to do.’ 

And then it airs something like The Third Day, which is untethered by genre or tradition or a trackable plot, and unlike anything you’ve seen on television for a long, long time. (After that, TV usually reverts to the rules, and those viewers whose brains are tickled by Weird Shit are forced back into the world of books or experimental theatre or watching Countdown on mute while drinking Benylin and playing a badly scratched Carmina Burana LP.)

The Third Day: Summer is a trip. It’s a three-episode TV story which will be followed by 12-hour immersive live-streamed theatre event, Autumn, and then concluded by Winter, another three-episode continuation with a different lead, writers and director. The idea was conceived by playwright and screenwriter Dennis Kelly, and Felix Barrett, the artistic director of Punchdrunk, the UK theatre company that does exactly this kind of thing – formal experimentation embrined in newness and adventure.

Jude Law leads the first three episodes as Sam, a mainlander who becomes trapped on the remote British island of Osea when he stumbles upon a situation involving an island girl. Despite some extremely pressing reasons to return home, Sam is forced to remain on Osea (a real, privately owned island in an Essex estuary where the series was filmed) and finds himself drawn to its strange power. 

When Sam arrives, Osea is preparing to hold a festival involving some unusual traditions, and he soon gets the sense that the islanders are keeping things from him. His own past becomes tangled with the present, and the result is unpredictable and expressive and difficult to pin down. Is the island as sinister as it seems, or is Sam’s personal history distorting his perception? What is putting him in more danger – the island, or his own mind? 

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That’s just the hand-wavy plot and premise. The Third Day is more focused on Law’s compelling performance, which bends willow-like from everyman to grief-stricken to horror victim and back again. As our eyes and ears on Osea, the island and its strange rites are filtered through his perspective, keeping us tantalisingly – and sometimes frustratingly – bound to what appears to be an increasingly unreliable narrator. “Don’t you find this all a bit fucking weird?” he asks a character in episode two. Just a bit, Sam, yeah, but surely that’s the point.

Joining Law in the cast is Katherine Waterston as fellow tourist Jess, the closest Sam comes to an ally. Paddy Considine and Emily Watson play the Martins, landlords of The Oyster pub. They’re a couple of grotesques played with a combination of unsettling comedy and sinister mystery. What explains the circle of salt on the carpet of their guest bathroom? What lies beneath Considine’s matey smiles and desperate friendliness? The performances are heightened and as unnatural as everything else on the island. 

The Third Day is weird-fic that evokes memories of other strange stories about freaky communities in isolated locations with unsettling traditions and sinister secrets. Unusual as it might be in today’s TV schedules, it does have a niche among ‘outsider trapped in foreign nightmare’ films like Wake in Fright or The Wicker Man, Don’t Look Now, or more recently, Midsommar.

Atmosphere-wise, if you were around for Utopia, the previous TV collaboration between writer Dennis Kelly, director Marc Munden and composer Cristobal Tapia de Veer, you’ll recognise the territory: a paranoiac mystery told with unnaturally intense colour, startling landscapes and a drone-buzz score haunted by human voices. Utopia was a conspiracy thriller that examined the ‘greater good’ problem of utilitarianism as applied to the existential crisis of global overpopulation. The Third Day is…? 

After two of the three Summer episodes, it’s still not quite clear. It starts as a contemporary thriller but that carapace quickly slides off to expose a sticky, pulsating heart. It’s a mystery that lurches towards folk horror imagery, but is it a horror? An allegory? Satire? A dreamscape? It’s about grief, certainly, but is it a psychological drama? 

All of the above, is the best assessment, and captivating with it. If you find that answer irksome and have low mileage for trippy genre-bending edited with the space-jumping logic of dreams, then The Third Day may not be for you. Give in to where it wants to take you though, turn off your mind, relax and float downstream, and whatever else happens, it’ll be a distinctive and memorable flight.

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The Third Day: Summer continues on HBO on Monday the 21st of September and on Sky Atlantic and NOW TV on Tuesday the 22nd of September. 

The post The Third Day Review (Spoiler-Free): Weirdness Reigns in Creepy Island Miniseries appeared first on Den of Geek.

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Postnatal Care: Tips To Take Care Of Your Kid & Yourself

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Postnatal Care: Tips To Take Care Of Your Kid & Yourself

Written By: Simran | Edited by: Prachi Gautam

Pregnancy sure is the most beautiful phase a woman could go through. Things change to a 360 degree right after you give birth. And believe you me, it is not always a bed of roses to do postnatal care.

My heart was pouring with a concoction of excitement and nervousness to be a first-time mama. I had no idea what motherhood could turn out to be until I hold her.

Little did I know it was not just going to be demanding on me physically but way more emotionally and mentally. In these challenging times of introduction to mommyhood, it is so important to keep sane and find your peace while taking postnatal care of your new love.

You need not take stress to become a  perfect mom because parenting and motherhood are very personal to each one. Never compare yourself to one another because each one of you is doing great.

   Try and involve yourself in bonding activities like massaging the baby, singling lullabies as it is naturally beautiful to give your new relationship the time it needs.

  Take turns with your partner. First few weeks after birth can take a toll on you. Try and take turns with your partner and take the rest you deserve.

  Ask for extended help if need be. Rightly said that it takes a village to raise a child. Ask your mom, mom-in-law of whoever could be a helping hand in postnatal care.

The more the merrier.

Sleep when the baby sleeps. The most missed and often underrated new mom concern is sleep deprivation as it is best to sleep when the baby sleeps so you get your naps on time and can keep up when the baby needs that extra playtime.

  No matter how busy you are, take time out to do something you love. Those ten minutes of walk in the park can be a drastic mood enhancer and take away from any despair.

Take it easy. It’s all about patience and consistency. Never challenge or judge yourself as a mother. Take one step at a time and learn from your fallbacks.

   Reach out to people you look up to since it’s great to get in touch with people who you think as an inspiration and ask them for tips and tricks on postnatal care that come with experience.

   Do not google everything. Freaky as it sounds. As much as it a blessing in disguise, it may also take your breath away seeking out too much information. It best to seek professional help if need be.

  Never compare siblings or parenting styles. Each one to themselves and each one is special.

  Postpartum rightly called as the fourth trimester can be the most magical time ever if taken in the right spirit and mindset. 

So Breath and Good Luck with your journey!

This Story is by Simran – 

A Mommy blogger having beautiful 2-year-old daughter. She made a strong team with her kids and sharing amazing hacks on postnatal care and parenting.

Check out her candid and fun parenting stories on Instagram