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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 05 (first part)

(Masterpost) (previous episode) (this episode, second part)

Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes of the Untamed

The Pride of Yunmeng

Waterfall Date

Lan Wangji gets to experience the two extremes of Wei Wuxian’s interpersonal skills within the span of a few seconds. This is even better than his rooftop date with this horrible annoying terribly, terribly attractive boy.

Lan Wangji has come here on a mission to make Wei Wuxian do his homework, which is why he immediately tells him “let’s go to the library” gazes at him silently for several seconds...

...and then lets him adjust his sleeve for him and step allll the way into his personal space.

Unfortunately Wei Wuxian is about to guess a Lan Clan secret, so Lan Wangji ends the conversation by saying “let’s go to the library” grabbing him by his sexy arm muscle and dragging him off. Did he hold his arm all the way to the library? Even if he didn’t, his “I don’t touch other people” later at the lake is clearly horseshit. I don’t touch other people unless they are named Wei Wuxian and our brothers aren’t watching.

(more after the cut!)

Apology in the Library

Wei Wuxian splits his library time between actually doing his homework and trying to make friends with Lan Wangji. And he tries really, really hard, starting by sincerely complimenting LWJ’s calligraphy and offering a pretty okay apology for his prior rooftop antics. Lan Wangji tells him to put his leg down but doesn’t tell him to go sit at his own desk.

Lan Wangji exhibits steely self-control as he resists this look, which would cause anyone else’s robes to spontaneously un-weave themselves into a pile of threads.

When Lan Wangji won’t look at him because he feels his apology was not sincere, Wei Wuxian becomes much more formally apologetic. First he says “sorry” two more times, and he starts prepping Lan Wangji’s ink. This involves grinding an ink stick against an ink stone with water, to make a pool of ink for the calligrapher to dip their brush into.

This is not Wei Wuxian being annoying and messing with stuff on Lan Wangji’s desk, a la Zhou Yunlan (Guardian). This is an act of service; a genuinely helpful thing to do if you know how to do it properly --which all of these young scholars definitely do--and an action that casts Wei Wuxian in the role of a servant or junior.

Then Wei Wuxian offers to kneel down (to offer a major formal apology), while giggling like an adorable dumbass. It's unclear if this is sexual innuendo, just being ridiculously unconcerned about dignity, being slightly into abasing himself for this beautiful person, or all of the above.

After taking a long moment to consider all this, Lan Wangji slowly and deliberately gives Wei Wuxian three seconds of the eye contact he’s been begging for.

Then Lan Wangji spoils the moment by dropping a silence spell on him.

Wen Can I Have Some Fun?

The Wen siblings hang out and talk about their secret villainy and then fret about how much it sucks to have a chronic health condition, which is pretty relatable TBH.

I know life seems boring now but just wait until you’re an itinerant zombie with nails in your head.

Wen Qing is a devoted older sister just like Jiang Yanli, although with less fainting and more scheming.

Good kitty.

Porno in the Library

Now, since this next scene ends with Wei Wuxian being a boundary-crossing jerk, let's start by remembering that Lan Wangji has magically gagged Wei Wuxian against his will three times now, as well as hiding his vulnerable family member behind a ward while lying in wait in order to attack him. So, you know. Teenagers in lust. They are both learning what is and isn't okay.

Lan Wangji steals a long glance at Wei Wuxian while Wei Wuxian is drawing.

Wei Wuxian is putting the finishing touches on a gift for Lan Wangji. The gift is a portrait of Lan Wangji with flowers in his hair. This boy is SMITTEN. I think he knows it, too; he just doesn’t think it’s a big deal yet.

Wei Wuxian, who is good at everything, is really fucking good at drawing.

When Wei Wuxian presents the drawing to Lan Wangji he says “this is my gift for you.” This is very good-mannered of Wei Wuxian; Lan Wangji had to supervise him for three days, so he is presenting him with a gift to thank him and say farewell.

Lan Wangji completely ignores him, which is really breathtaking, next-level rudeness.

Wei Wuxian isn’t bothered by this, however, and just embellishes the picture with an extra flower or something before offering it again. This time Lan Wangji takes in and is very very very pleased with it, as evidenced by his slightly widening his eyes and how carefully he places the drawing on the far side of his desk.

Also he gives Wei Wuxian some prolonged eye contact, and engages in what, for him, is playful banter, calling the gift “extremely boring” when Wei Wuxian prompts him to use more words than usual.

Then Wei Wuxian spoils the moment by pranking him.

Now - let’s look at this erotic-book situation. This is a boundary-crossing prank, yes, but it’s also an invitation to engage in some form of intimacy. For teens who have access to erotic images, looking at them together can be simple naughty fun. Or it can be a way of discovering and bonding over shared sexual identities and interest. Or it can prompt more direct engagement, up to and including having sex with each other.

Lan Wangji’s horrified reaction means that Wei Wuxian has to characterize this as a prank after the fact, but he might very well have intended it as an invitation to get horny together.

Either way, his response to Lan Wangji’s “shameless” comment is bound to make an impression.

Wei Wuxian is from the clan of "be free" and he just doesn't see why this is a big deal. And now he’s told Lan Wangji it doesn’t have to be a big deal. And through him, the producers are breaking the fourth wall and telling every viewer that this doesn’t have to be a big deal and that they shouldn’t feel ashamed.

Threats and rudeness and book destruction ensue, and Lan Wangji is left alone in all kinds of emotional disarray, with a bunch of torn up erotica to tape back together throw away.

Boys on the Rocks

Wei Wuxian brags about his prank to Jiang Cheng and bestie Nie Huaisang, telling them that he got Lan Wangji to cuss at him. He’s going to put a notch on his sword handle for this achievement.

Jiang Cheng is pissed at Wei Wuxian about this, like he’s pissed at him about everything all the time. Possibly he has already started the seedlings of his lifelong jealousy of Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t realize that he’s essentially prepared Wei Wuxian to court Lan Wangji by constantly criticizing, hitting, and threatening him. After a decade of Jiang Cheng’s rough style of brotherhood, Lan Wangji’s elegant and refined hostility rolls off of Wei Wuxian like water off a duck’s back.

Nie Huaisang wants to make sure Wei Wuxian didn't rat him out, but isn't worried about the destroyed book because he has a whole external drive full of porn.

Several Brain Cells Trio

These guys do make some questionable choices together, but actually they are all really bright and effective in complimentary ways.

Jiang Cheng is growing into a strong future leader - authoritarian and dickish, yes, but also decisive and unflinching. Wei Wuxian is observant of things around him, always ready for combat, and thinks deeply and strategically about events. Nie Huaisang is a bottomless font of knowledge, sourced from books and from his own observations.

So when the Wen spy bird shows up, they spot it, drive it away, identify what it is, and understand that it’s a threat and that its presence has political implications.

They are all goofballs at times, but highly gifted ones.

Doo Doo Doo Lookin Out My Back Ward

Lan Xichen asks Lan Wangji if he’s found out who was sneaking around his the back ward and Lan Wangji hesitates before reluctantly saying “Wei Ying.”

Ok seriously - nobody calls him Wei Ying. Nobody refers to him in the third person as as Wei Ying. Calling him Wei Gongzi or Wei Wuxian would be totally normal. His own brother calls him Wei Wuxian. And Lan Wangji has only called him Wei Ying to his face when he was angry.

But now--immediately after the erotica debacle in the library--he is Wei Ying when Lan Wangji is speaking of him privately with his brother.

By the way, Lan Wangji's shoulders seem super wide in these robes, don't they? I'm not complaining.

Forgettable Disciple #1

Now we meet apparent nobody Su She, who sucks. He wants to take care of the water ghosts himself.

He is a no-headband disciple which is like - none of the juniors in the later timeframe go without a headband. The guys who got set on fire at the gate had headbands. One of the Lan Rules is “wear a headband.” Is there anyone else who doesn't rate a headband? This is a plot point later when it comes to the ice cave but for now it just seems that he's that one perpetual intern who never gets promoted and never learned embroidery.

Doctor Qing, Medicine Woman

[OP laughed way too hard at her own joke just now.] Wen Qing is helping Jiang Yanli, and Jiang Cheng is super happy to see her. When did he develop this crush? Because it's already in full swing.

Did Wei Wuxian just sneer when he noticed Jiang Cheng’s crush? Like macking on Lan Wangji is more appropriate than this?

I love you and I’m going to advocate killing everyone who matters to you

I’m a nosy jerk and I’m going to be your best friend for life, quite literally

Wei Wuxian complains about Wen Qing ignoring him and she gives him the prettiest, loveliest *sigh* death glare ever.

However when she sees that he's a little brother whose sister utterly dotes on him, she starts thinking maybe he's all right.

For the Yanli-Qing shippers, there is a tiny breadcrumb here, where Yanli says they met by the river bank. I don't personally ship my personal girlfriend Wen Qing with Jiang Yanli, but I support your ships wherever they may sail.

Continued in Part 2, right here

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed memes #wangxian #the untamed stills #the untamed spoilers #restless rewatch #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wen qing #jiang cheng #nie huaisang

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 3 years

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The Critique of Manners: Part III

~Or~

A Somewhat Indecisive Review of “Emma” (Miramax, 1996)

I have a feeling this review is gonna be a little harder for me to write. Everyone knows that recaps and reviews are most entertaining when the writer has an intense dislike (or intense feeling of any kind) for the drama they’re reviewing. It falls to other writers to pan or praise this film as they will, but I simply don’t have many particularly strong feelings about it at all. I have neither that repulsed dislike for this movie such as I did for Emma 1997, nor that disappointed frustration as for certain aspects of Emma. 2020, but neither do I have a deep, profound love and appreciation for it as I do for Emma 2009.

Written and Directed by American Screenwriter, director and actor, Douglas McGrath, Emma (1996) is rather what one expects it to be: a 90’s romance film. Perhaps it’s because I had expectations due to the era in which it was made, but I think I have a tendency to excuse some of the problems with this film. There are many unnecessary additions (for comedy’s sake usually and often quite cringe-y) and one definitely can’t claim that the dialogue hasn’t been tampered with. I don’t normally side with the “I do so miss Austen’s biting wit” crowd but, by ‘eck I felt it this time. That’s because Austen’s Biting Wit™ just doesn’t suit a fluffy 90’s chick flick (which this film is in a way that other big screen Austen adaptations of the time just aren’t – and I think approaching this film from the 90’s chick flick perspective is probably the best way to digest it.) This version, more than any other (except perhaps 2009) brings the concept of Emma-as-Matchmaker to the fore with a particular emphasis precisely because it’s a concept that fits well with the rom-com style of filmmaking used here.

The bones of this review, like my review for the ITV version, were written six years ago following my initial viewing only a select number of portions survive from that review (which is still on IMDb).

As with all my reviews I'll be comparing the script, characterizations and plot to the book and commenting on the authenticity and attractiveness of the costumes, and suitability of the houses and sets.

Let’s dive in.

Cast & Characterization

Emma is arguably the easiest of Austen’s works to read because of Emma’s generally good (if condescending and overly self-confident) character, and Mr. Knightley’s sober, mature but exceedingly pleasant manner. I had my doubts about Gwyneth Paltrow playing an Austen heroine, but I at least had faith in Jeremy Northam’s ability to portray the mature Mr. Knightly. My expectations were not entirely disappointed in either case.

My prevailing feeling about this film is that it’s not so much set in Jane Austen’s Regency England, but in an American fantasy of what Regency England was like. Perhaps the biggest factor that reinforces this impression is (of course) the casting choice for our leading lady, Gwyneth Paltrow.

Freckled, ruddy and thin as a twig, Gwyenth didn’t quite, to my mind, fit the physical description of Emma, who is supposed to be “The picture of health” according to Mrs. Weston. Add to this the Regency beauty ideal of a soft and shapely figure with regular features. Fair hair was generally preferred (and I have always imagined Emma as blond, although I’m given to understand that Austen’s idea of pretty generally favored dark hair), so I can’t fault Gwynnie there. What I can fault though is her so-so British accent.

I recently learned that the reason McGrath thought Paltrow would be a good choice was because she’s the only Texan he’d ever met who’d managed to entirely throw off her native accent; I guess he decided that if she could do that she could do any accent work? I guess? Seems questionable to me.

You know Joely Richardson was considered for this part? Gorgeous, refined (British) GODDESS Joely Richardson was passed over because Gwyenth managed to shake an embarrassing accent.

I hate American directors.

I’m not sure if it’s just part of the accent, or her attempt to sound upper class, but on this most recent re-watch it hit me for the first time how very nasal many of her line deliveries are. She also has this problem with looking (and sounding) sort of vapid and… just what is happening here?

Is she having a stroke at the end there?

A bigger problem than Emma’s casting, however, is her characterization.

Part of the above mentioned script tampering is in lockstep with some of the issues with Emma’s characterization here. Her very teenager-esque swings from vowing to never make another match again to immediately trying to think of another guy to set Harriet up with, and her getting carried away in potential scenarios “But if he seems sad I shall know that John has advised him not to marry Harriet! I love John! Or he may seem sad because he fears telling me he will marry my friend. How could John let him do that? I hate John!” (Especially when you never even really get to meet John Knightley in this version? Ugh, pass me with this shit) is so bizarrely childish it’s a little hard to stomach. She spends the movie going back and forth between mature and manipulative to childish and naïve and it just… doesn’t work for me. Emma can be all of these things but the transition from one extreme to another here seems a bit disjointed to me.

Knightley was a bit of a disappointment to me in this version. That’s not Jeremy Northam’s fault because I can’t think of a better choice they could have made. McGrath showed much better judgment with his choice for Mr. Knightley than he did with Emma.

My biggest problem with this interpretation was how laid back he was when he was supposed to chastising Emma. Their quarrels became more like mere disagreements so the proposal line of lecturing her and her bearing it as no other woman would have isn’t entirely earned. Even in the big scene at Box Hill where Knightley is really supposed to lay into Emma, he starts off pretty solidly, but by the end so doe-eyed and apologetic it fails to deliver the sting of rebuke that is Emma’s biggest learning moment in the story. Perhaps they were trying to go for a more disappointed feel (the kind that makes you feel worse than being shouted at because you really respect the person you let down) but it just didn’t come through for me.

Also of note is the fact that, (I assume) because John Knightley isn’t really allowed time to be a character in this film, McGrath took some of John’s introverted tendencies and transplanted them into his more convivial older brother (“I just want to stay home, where it’s cozy.” – I mean I feel that, but this isn’t something George Knightley would say.)

Onto the less central characters

I question also the choice of Toni Colette for Harriet Smith. I mean I actually liked her performance more on this watch than previously but I just don’t think she’s pretty enough for Harriet, and she looks a bit clumsy (though that might have more to do with her costumes.)

I also noted that McGrath bumps Harriet’s comprehension skills up just a scooch. Emma never has to explain the “Courtship” riddle to her, Harriet figures it out on her own after a while, while she never manages to in the book.

Now we come to the crux of Jane Fairfax, played by Polly Walker. I don’t care for this choice. My issue is the simple fact that she just isn’t believable to me as a demure, wronged character like Jane Fairfax. Seriously she looks like she would sooner throw Frank across the room than take his cruel teasing, and not in the subtle way that Olivia Williams managed to. They never even utilized her by including some of Jane’s more pointed returns to Frank’s jabs, which they even managed to squeeze into the massively cut down TV movie.

Speaking of Frank; Ewan McGregor, though generally delightful, was so under-used. Frank and Jane’s plotline always kind of gets shafted in Theatrical release adaptations of this story. It’s not as bad here as it is in say, the 2020 adaptation (they were in that version so little I actually forgot what their actors looked like), but it’s still pretty stunted.

I find it interesting that Ewan McGregor himself thinks his performance in this movie isn’t good; and I’ll agree it’s not his best (certainly it’s no Obi-wan Kenobi) but I thought he did a pretty good job with obviously unfamiliar material

Also if the Davies screenplay of ’97 made Frank’s character too caddish, I think this version didn’t make him caddish enough. I mean he’s hardly around enough to really develop his flirtation with Emma, and they merged Strawberry Picking and Box Hill into one sequence so we never see Frank’s ill humors. I can perhaps excuse this, since it seems like a nuanced story really wasn’t what McGrath was going for here, I think. This is a lite version of the story; schmaltzy fluff for teenage girls’ movie nights. Frank’s ill humors wouldn’t really have fit the tone of this version at all.

Interestingly enough, though it’s taken me a long time to make this decision, I think Alan Cumming might be the definitive Elton? He’s the only one who doesn’t immediately read as a slime ball from the get go. I mean he’s got all the warning signs that Austen wrote into him, but no more than that. He’s not slinking about greasily or obviously pandering (at first), so Emma’s uneasy realization of what’s really happening here isn’t a hundred miles behind the viewer’s (maybe just fifty).

There are as many Mrs. Eltons out there as there are adaptations of this story, and they’re all pretty great (funky accents aside), but other than the 1997 take, this one might be the least great to me. She’s not nearly pushy enough, because Mrs. Elton would never let Emma prompt the conversation when she could do it herself.

Also, I think McGrath misunderstands Mrs. Elton’s brand of New Money vulgarity. He has her talking with her mouthful, clanking her utensils on her plate as she eats, putting biscuits which she’s bitten into back onto communal plates, which I think even Mrs. Elton would know not to do. Table manners are pretty basic; the couth that Mrs. Elton lacks is of a more nuanced social kind – for instance, what is and isn’t considered gauche to talk about (like how big one’s brother in law’s house is or how many horses he keeps.)

(A sudden thought has just occurred to me: is Mrs. Elton just a more mean-spirited Hyacinth Bucket from Keeping Up Appearances? “It’s meh sister, Mrs. Suckling! That’s right, the one with an estate in Warwickshire and the two barouche landaus!”)

Sophie Thompson’s Miss Bates is chatty and one of better takes on the character, but lack of necessary background hinders her impact on Emma’s story. The comedy in her scenes is some of the best and actually made me laugh, although I think she was just way too giggly.

Miss Bates’s mother, Mrs. Bates, is played by Sophie Thompson’s real-life mother Phyllida Law in a completely coincidental quirk of casting. (I noted in this film how very much Emma Thompson, Sophie’s older sister looks like their mother.)

My only other serious issue with characterization in this adaptation is the representation of Mr. Woodhouse. He is somehow simultaneously more cheery and more disagreeable than he is in the book. His chiding about the cake at the Weston’s wedding seems more like a scolding rather than an anxious admonishment. In one of the first scenes, during Mr. Woodhouse’s “Poor Miss Taylor” speech, he says he cannot understand why she would want to give up her comfortable life with himself and Emma, to have “mewling children who bring the threat of disease every time they enter or leave the house,” and he says this IN FRONT OF ONE OF HIS TWO DAUGHTERS.

Of course in the book, Mr. Woodhouse does lament Miss Taylor marrying, leaving and even having children – but this is all in the context of the danger childbirth presents to Miss Taylor (And the fact that he can’t stand losing a companion). These are his complaints – not the children themselves. In addition, his elder daughter has quite a fine number of children, all of them very young, of whom Mr. Woodhouse is very fond. He’s a character that needs to be carefully handled because, much like his daughter, it’s very easy for him to become unlikeable.

For the rest of the time, though, he just sort of cheerily laughs and is very at ease, when Mr. Woodhouse, as a chronic hypochondriac should be made anxious by just about everything.

Sets & Surroundings

One thing I find interesting about this adaptation is that the houses they chose to use are all of a very neo-classical Palladian style, which I believe (given her disdain for the contemporary trend of knocking down England’s great houses just to rebuild them in a more fashionable style) Austen may have disliked to some degree.

One such house is Came House in Dorset, which was used as the Woodhouse’s estate, Hartfield. Now Hartfield is, I think, described as a well-built modern house so this could be pretty accurate (although Modern could refer to the red bring, boxy style of Georgian architecture, such as the houses used in the 1997, 2009 and 1972 versions.)

Another, Claydon House in Buckinghamshire played the role of Donwell Abbey. I think this might be the worst exterior ever used for Donwell, from a book accuracy perspective. Utterly Georgian, with its’ square façade, Claydon house sort of directly contradicts Austen description of being “Larger than Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good deal of ground, rambling and irregular…” not only is the architecture totally wrong, so is its’ situation, in Georgian fashion, perched on a hill, when Donwell (a very old building) is supposed to be “Low and sheltered”.

Mapperton House is maybe the grandest house yet used for Mr. Weston’s Randalls (I’ve already covered in my review of Emma (2020) why this is a problem – although in this version, as in the 1997 adaptation, there’s no full panic over the snow, so this is less of a problem, but a house like this is still too grand for the reasonably sized Randalls of the book), but it fits the usual 15th-16th century house type that always seems to be used for Randalls.

A myriad of other great houses were used for interiors, however other than Crichel House (Dorset), which was used for Donwell’s interiors, I can’t find information on which ones where used for what. They include Breakspear House (Harefield), Coker Court (Somerset), Stafford House (Staffordshire) and Syon House & Park (Middlesex).

I really appreciate the interiors which were all very colorful and even included doors and molding painted the same color as the walls which is a very Georgian decorating convention, although it looks odd to the modern viewer.

Costumes & Hair

As a rule, the costumes (Created by Ruth Myers) in this movie are pretty damn good, composition wise, but the arrangement leaves a lot to be desired. Myers talked extensively of wanting the costumes to be colorful and bright like the water colors of the time, which she achieved brilliantly. What I find funny is that she talked about using color as if it would be controversial from a historical accuracy point of view, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

The evening wear is generally excellent

My only question around evening wear here is… what’s up with the waistline on Harriet’s ball gown? Why is it going up in the middle? Toni Collette (who actually gained weight for the role, since Harriet was described as “Reubenesque”) verged on looking a little dumpy throughout the film and awkwardly bumping up her waistline in the middle really didn’t help.

I’m pleased to report that is is the one version where Miss Bates’s evening-wear is allowed to look like evening wear. Even Maiden Aunts wore shorter sleeves and lower necklines at dinner or balls. They fussed her up with some lace gloves and frilly fichus but it follows the conventions of the time. I appreciate that immensely, though I have the sneaking suspicion that it’s because of Sophie Thompson’s age.

At 37 Thompson was an unconventionally young choice for Miss Bates, a character who previously had only been cast as older than 50 (Prunella Scales, who would play the role later in 1996, was 64). Indeed, Douglas McGrath almost passed Thompson over for the role on account of her age, but reconsidered after seeing her in spectacles. It seems possible to me that since Thompson was considered young they dressed her “young” as well.

The daywear is where the costumes start to really fall apart. There are a lot of looks here worn in the day that are VERY not day/outerwear appropriate, especially on Emma, most especially the yellow dress she’s wearing while driving that carriage (which, btw is inappropriate on a whole OTHER level). Can we just talk aboutt he cognative dissonance of bothering to put a bonnet on her when her arms and boobs are just hanging out like that? Like, it would almost have been less egregious to just leave the bonnet where it was.

But then there are a lot of Emma’s day-wear looks that are perfectly suitable and appropriate. What I find ironic about that is that most of the short-sleeved, low-necked “Evening-gowns as day-wear” looks are worn OUTSIDE in the sun and most of the long-sleeved, sun protecting, day-wear appropriate looks are worn INSIDE. She’s also got a profusion of dangling curls in day-time settings that are also more evening-wear appropriate (to match the dresses, perhaps?)

I’m also pleased to report that even in day-wear Miss Bates gets a break from brown in this version. Her clothes are nice, but not fancy like Miranda Hart’s in Emma. 2020, and I like to think that nice thick shawl with lace overlay is the one mentioned in the book that Jane’s friend Mrs. Dixon sent along home with her for her aunt.

My only problem with Mrs. Elton’s kit is that it’s all perfectly nice, but none of it is overly-nice. There’s no extra trim, no unnecessary lace, not even any bold colors. I hope Myers and McGrath didn’t take Mrs. Elton’s line in the book about her fear of being over-trimmed seriously.

Let’s talk outerwear. There’s a lot of going into town with JUST a shawl on in this movie (usually over short sleeves), and I’m sorry but I don’t think that’s how outer-wear worked in this time period. A shawl is good enough when you’re taking a turn in the garden but not for going out in public into town, unless maybe you’re wearing long sleeves, or perhaps paired with a SPENCER.

Never mind Mrs. Elton’s line about a shocking lack of satin at the end of the movie, I’m more concerned about the shocking lack of spencers. There are precisely three in this film. I counted (and the sleeves on Emma’s look like maybe they’re too long for her?) Mrs. Elton sports the only redingote in the film.

Jane Fairfax is, as always, in her classic Jane Fairfax Blue™,

although she has some nice white gowns at some points too.

Now, onto

Definitely a bit more colorful than the 97 adaptation. Mr. Knightley benefits most from the addition of colors other than green. He’s even got some smashing waistcoats and a very nice blue evening coat (I couldn’t get very good shots of them though). The problem is; those trousers? NOT. TIGHT. ENOUGH.

Also… you all see it, right? I circled it in red so you should. Yeah. Knightley is dancing in boots. WTF RUTH? Please! You’re better than this! Who dances in Prussians like that? I ask you! (Frank also wears boots to the Cole’s dinner party so that’s two strikes.)

I’m not sold on Frank’s looks. His day-wear is a bit sedate for such a confirmed dandy (I believe he’s called a “coxcombe” in the book?) and his evening wear… well he apparently only has the one look.

And speaking of Frank’s look in this film, I’d like to know at whose doorstep I should lay the blame for what Ewan McGregor himself has called “The Worst Wig Ever”; and why the hair designer in charge decided to model Frank’s aesthetic on a theme of “Chucky meets the Mad Hatter”.

This hairstyle not only looks dreadful, it’s not at all fashionable or authentic to this time period! Fashionable mens’ hair styles at this point were all relatively short. A Beau Brummel coiffeur, or a short Roman style, or a fashionable head of curls like Mr. Elton’s! Not this farmer chic. Robert Martin’s hair is more fashionable than Frank’s!

The tune they chose for Emma and Knightley’s dance is a baroque melody (so a hundred or so years out of fashion) called “Mr. Beveridge’s Maggot” and as is pointed out in the video linked above, and is the same tune and dance used for Lizzie and Darcy’s big dance in Pride and Prejudice (1995).

I get why it was used in P&P because, slow, stately baroque tunes are often used as on-screen short hand for snobbish character like Mr. Darcy. It’s not super intense either, like the baroque tune used in P&P 05, which was chosen for more romantic effect. So why use this kind of “stuck up” tune for what should be a romantic dance? Maybe because it was used in the 95 P&P which became, almost instantly, one of the most popular Austen adaptations?

Quick note on the dancing and music in this movie. I’m not an expert on English Country dance (I’ll outsource that by giving you the usual link to Tea with Cassiane’s analysis on YouTube) but I’ll add my two cents - I know Cassiane gave this a pretty favorable three full dance slippers but I think the way all of the actors and dancers move looks very poorly rehearsed and kind of sloppy. I think everyone just spread out way too much.

Douglas McGrath’s Script

I have to say one of the things this film did very well and brought to the forefront is how insular Emma’s life is. The opening credit sequence brings this to our attention right away by showing a spinning globe which, once it slows down is shown to be, literally, Emma’s whole tiny world. Hartfield, Donwell, Randalls and Highbury. That’s it. It’s perhaps not a very subtle device, but it does get the job done and very succinctly too.

I would now like to talk about my issues with the script of this movie; I have some problems with it. Very different problems than it’s 1996 counterpart though.

First let’s go over the comedic device that jumped out to me most in this movie: the awkward pause.

I think it’s only used twice but they both bothered me.

First there’s the pauses while Emma and Mrs. Weston grill Knightley on whether he considers Jane Fairfax romantically. It’s all written as very “OoOoOooo” with Knightley answering their interrogations and then sitting between them awkwardly as they stare him down as, none of his answers giving either Emma or Mrs. Weston satisfaction. This is one of the most teen rom-com moments of the film to me.

Next there’s all the quiet stretches while Emma and Mrs. Elton have tea at Hartfield. I don’t like the use of awkward pauses in this case because (as I mentioned in Mrs. Elton’s characterization section) it’s so ludicrous to me that there are pauses in this conversation at all. Surely the point of Mrs. Elton is that she loves to hear herself talk and her conceited obsession with the idea that everyone around her must only benefit from hearing her opinions. There should be no conceivable reason why Emma should have to prompt conversation like she does in McGrath’s version of this scene, except to derail Mrs. Elton’s constant self-important yammering.

Watching it this time around I found myself wondering exactly what McGrath wanted to do with this film. I mean I’ve been attempting to decipher exactly whether the changes made were conscious and based on artistic vision, or whether they were changed because the source material just flew over McGrath’s Hollywood Director head.

I mean he gets the important plot points across, but there were other scenes that I had issues with: namely, the Archery scene. This is a pretty intense part of the book because Mr. Knightly goes from astonished, to indignant, to truly vexed with Emma in a short period of time. But this scene in the movie is very casual. The part where Emma’s arrow goes wide and into the general direction of Knightley’s dogs, and he takes an opportunity to make a quip and says “try not to kill my dogs” particularly annoyed me. My issue is that this totally ruins the tension of the scene; and why are Knightley’s dogs sitting BEHIND THE TARGETS ANYWAY? Knightley is a sensible man, and one who knows better than to let his dogs rest in a place where stray arrows could hit them!

The dialouge is very jarring because it flips back and forth beetween being alright, and period appropriate and then it will just spring a very modern turn of phrase and pull you completely out of the setting. I know this is something that’s been brought up with the 2009 version as well but maybe it’s because the actors in that version have (in my opinion) better chemistry that it simply doesn't stick out to me as much.

The comedy in general in this movie just makes me cringe a lot of the time (Sophie Thompson’s “oh sorry, napkin” bit notwithstanding). Like the soup thing when Emma and Harriet meet Mr. Elton after visiting the poor, and the random kid that gets tossed into this scene with Emma… just doesn’t work for me.

Wikipedia describes McGrath’s tweaks on Emma and Knightley’s banter (which really weren’t changed that much, textually) as “Enlivened” to make the basis of their attraction more apparent, which… I’m sorry but nothing about the exisiting banter isn’t lively if delivered in a lively manner. And I wouldn’t exactly call Gywneth’s performance lively, because she has to concentrate to keep that accent up.

I mentioned already that what McGrath essentially did with Emma was take Austen’s story, and remove the nuance (Such as lightening Frank’s infractions in his relationship with Jane and, while not totally contradicting, but also not highlighting the economic commentary of the story that is thematic in Austen’s novel) in order to make a straight up 90’s comedic romance film (Which, if you doubt this, look no further than Rachel Portman’s Oscar Winning but very dated score).

My Question is why? Why bother when the SAME STORY had been adapted into a HIGHLY SUCCESSFUL, modernized rom-com THE PREVIOUS YEAR, which actually, even while being set in the 90’s, did the story greater justice, with far more insight and quality?

Emma (1996) was always going to be over-shadowed by Clueless. At the end of the day this whole movie was kind of a futile effort because despite excellent production quality, the actual contents are watered down and, in my own opinion, pretty roundly mediocre.

Final Thoughts

When I first watched both of these versions I came at it from a very one-or-the-other perspective. I forgave McGrath’s film because it was light and colorful and I’d heard Davies’ version praised so highly at that time as the only faithful, definitive version (only to be let down by it in almost every possible way). But coming right down to it now, it’s hard for me to really excuse McGrath’s effort because a version of Emma that doesn’t take itself seriously enough is almost as bad as a version that takes itself too seriously.

It never fails to jump out at me how diametrically opposed these interpretations are, from the characterization right down to the tone and lighting.

McGrath’s Emma is light in every sense of the word, where Davies’ is dark and ponderous. McGrath’s Knightley is laid back where Davies’ is aggressive and ferocious. Frank, in McGrath’s version, is let off easy by the narrative playing down his moodiness, while in Davies there’s an overshadowing dark-cloud of off-putting caddishness.

Ribbon Rating: Tolerable (58 Ribbons)

The more I watch the 1996 adaptations of Emma (invariably back-to-back) the more firmly I am convinced that Andrew Davies’ made for TV film was (in some ways) a direct response to McGrath’s motion picture.

Tone: 7

Casting: 7

Acting: 5

Scripting: 5

Pacing: 4

Cinematography: 4

Setting: 5

Costumes: 6

Music: 5

Book Accuracy: 6

#jane austen #jane austen emma #regency #period drama #costume drama #classic literature #emma 1996

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kyuublu · 4 years

Text

Red satin | Pt.1

Song Inspiration: Mayonaka no Door/Stay with me - Miki Matsubara

There were only two things in my life that were constant from the beginning.

Dancing & Atsumu.

Since I was little my life revolved around music and the way it made me feel. A person is able to convey every emotion through a few steps or a wave of their hand.

And two people, united as one? That was what sparked my interest the most.

Tsumu never saw dancing as meaningful as me. He enjoyed the temporary rush it gave him, the attention and most importantly; he loved winning. Seeing everyone clap for him and gaining recognition by all the people involved was what made him stay.

Before that though, me and him were assigned to be partners at the age of 10. Well more specifically, he was a year older.

Back then he wasn’t as cocky. Atsumu was just an 11 year old boy that wasn’t too sure about what he was doing. The two of us actually got along well the first couple of years.

But it went downhill after we became teenagers. The boy constantly bickered about my incompetence when I couldn’t follow his movements, he called out more things about my physical appearance than my dancing at times and he just became an overall asshole.

I let him though. I’d rather let him say all of those things and detach myself from these moments than having a new dance partner. He was the only one who could pull everything out of me, Tsumu made me push my limits. And he knew that.

Since we’ve been partners for over 7 years, our families became very close. Our parents practically became friends at this point and we stayed over at each others places more than I’d like to admit. Despite our differences, we would somehow survive these sleepovers because we mostly just continued training rather than chatting or watching movies.

____

As I turned around the corner, my eyes catched the all too familiar building at the end of the street. The leaves were turning yellow and orange, some of them slowly turning in the wind.

Today was the day of finally getting my new attire for the next ballroom competition. I dreamed of this dress for a long time, I was never able to wear something as risky before since I was too young. But now at 17/almost 18 years, Ms.Miya was finally on board with my ideas. The mother of the twins made all of our clothing for the competitions.

She usually went with the ideas our trainer had in mind but this time they let me design it; and I went all out.

I knocked at the door and shuffled around for a bit. When Tsumu knew I came over he would usually take hours to open the door. He wasn’t the type to have good manners anyway.

This time I was suprised when his twin opened the door. After their bold hair dye situation, I became even quicker at differentiating the two.

“Huh? Where’s your brother?”

The grey haired boy let out a dry chuckle, opening the door wider.

“Didn’t he tell you? That Idiot is still out.”

He mentioned me to come in. I let out a frustrated huff but walked inside. Somehow I knew Tsumu was going to ditch me again. After discovering the “fun” of messing around with different girls, he has been even harder to deal with than usual.

My thoughts soon got interrupted by a sweet smile from their mother. “Hey honey, are you ready to see your dress? You’ve been waiting long enough haven’t you?”

I broke into a soft smile and nodded at the lady. “Yes, I can’t wait.”

“I’m glad.” Ms.Miya than flicked her eyes to Osamu. “Is Atsumu still out?”

The twin was leaning against the kitchen counter, an apple in hand as he shrugged.

“I guess so.”

The mother rolled her eyes in annoyance. “This kid is going to be the death of me.”

She smoothly put a hand on my shoulder and walked me towards the stairs.

“His partner comes all this way to finally put the dress on and he isn’t even present. You know what-“

The woman suddenly swung around, pointing at her next victim.

“Osamu, you’ll have to step in.”

The boys’ eyes went wide, well he looked a little more shocked than his usual stoic face at least. “What?”

“Come on, if your brother can’t see this beautiful girl in the dress than you can. We need some male feedback.”

His mother grinned sneakily and ushered me up the stairs again before anyone of us could say anything.

The dress fit perfectly. I couldn’t imagine what it would look like on me but from what I could gather, it will probably be the best attire I had worn to any competition yet.

After opening the door of the bathroom I slowly walked inside Osamus bedroom. As soon as I opened the door both of the Miyas eyes were glued to my figure, a gasp leaving Ms.Miyas lips.

“Oh sweetheart you’re looking gorgeous! I didn’t think it would fit so well immediately. I may have to...”

As she kept on rambling and touching parts of the fabric that adorned my body, my gaze fell towards the only brother that sat on the bed.

He was still focused on the satin and the deep red of the dress.

“What do you think? You’re awfully quiet.” His mother looked back at her son, one hand on her hip.

“It suits you.” Was the only thing he could muster up to say at the moment.

But it sounded kind of sweet.

Sweeter than anything his brother would ever say.

Involuntarily my cheeks began turning slightly red and I began fidgeting.

“Thanks.”

Ms.Miya let go of the dress and frantically moved towards the door.

“I’ll get some pins to adjust some parts we might want to change-“

Then she was out the door quicker than we could follow.

I chuckled at her antics and trudged towards the empty spot next to Samu to sit down. She was always a very driven person, which reflected both of her sons very well.

The mattress dipped at the weight of my body and I was suddenly met with the twins’ gaze.

“Why do you never get mad at him?”

My eyes travelled to the boys face, his brows were furrowed as he kept looking down at his hands.

“I do get mad at him at times.”

Samu let out another dry chuckle, continuing to avoid my eyes.

“You never say it though. Always burying it won’t help you, you know?”

My head turned away from him and I also began looking somewhere else to distract myself. He was right.

My thoughts got interrupted as Ms.Miya returned in her cheerful manner.

“How about you stay here until I’m done with the dress, mh? If you stay the night I might be able to arrange some pancakes for you in the morning.”

I nodded a little absent but answered. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

____

After Samus comment I wasn’t actually that eager to stay at their home. Of course he didn’t mean anything mean by it but I was still kind of irritated.

His mother kept on working on the dress after we discussed what needed improvement. In the time she kept refining the it, I decided to watch some tv.

I knew their home as if it were my own by now and their family told me multiple times to make myself at home, so I did.

After grabbing a coke I walked towards the couch until I realized that a figure was already seated at the end of it.

Samu was watching some random show until he heard my footsteps. His head quickly turned to me and back to the screen again.

He didn’t utter a word.

Somehow his comment was pissing me of more than I thought it would. I took all of my confidence that was left in me and sat down next to him, my eyes glued to his face.

“I get mad whenever Tsumu begins correcting me for the smallest things. I get mad whenever he ditches a class a for his little girlfriends and I got furious when I saw you opening the door today.”

Suddenly his gaze was averted from the tv towards my form that sat across from him.

I sighed as he continued looking at me without a word.

“I don’t say anything because I’m scared I could loose him as my dance partner.”

His brows were furrowed again, as if he was deep in thought. I threw my hands over my face in defeat.

Yup, I just made it hella awkward.

“My brother wouldn’t leave you because of that.”

I cautiously peeked through my fingers as the boy continued talking.

“I think he would rather leave because you just do whatever he tells you to do. Tsumu gets bored of things pretty quickly-“

A small smile began spreading on his lips until his eyes finally met mine.

“but even then he’s been with you for such a long time. Maybe I was just overthinking, sorry if I made you feel bad.”

I shook my head, shuffling a little closer to the twin. “No! i mean...”

Looking back down at my hands I began thinking.

The one who knew me and Tsumus relationship the most was Samu. He was the closest to his brother and I have always felt pretty comfortable around him. I just didn’t think he would advice me to become harsher towards his family member.

Scratching my head akwardly I pulled myself together again. “I understand what you mean. ‘Guess it wouldn’t hurt to stand up for myself a little sometimes.”

This time Samu let out a genuine chuckle; I turned to him perplexed.

“A little would help you, sure.”

I pouted, crossing my arms jokingly.

“Oi, I’m not as confident as you are with these type of things, alright?”

His eyes met mine again, he still had a small smirk plastered across his face.

“It’s just Tsumu though. It isn’t that hard to make him listen. You just have to get up all in his face and show him who’s boss.”

Raising my brows at his comment I stared at him in disbelief.

Suddenly some weird power took over me and I came closer to him with a hint of playfulness in my eyes.

“Just like this?”

Samus face was quickly tinted in a sublte red. The close proximity wasn’t akward though, it was rather inviting. For a second I caught his gaze travelling to my lips.

I never really thought about him that way. Right?

“What are ya still doing here this late?”

Both of us were quickly seated further away from each other again before we could even turn towards the figure at the door. Did he see us?

“Thought ya were just here to pick something up.”

‘something’.

Everything broke inside of me when I heard that word. The pisshead knew I was coming over for the dress I had been imagining for a months and his mother had worked so hard on.

For a moment the “almost” kiss completely slipped my mind and I stood up, strutting towards my dance partner.

“Yeah and I’ll wear that ‘something’ to our next competition. But I guess that doesn’t peek your interest that much since you don’t seem to take our dancing careers that seriously.”

Crossing my arms I let out a loud huff before looking in his eyes.

Tsumu then had the guts to give me one of his infamous smirk. “What got ya so hot and bothered sweetheart?”

For a moment I could only stare at him in disbelief, but soon decided I couldn’t get to him any further tonight.

“You. Goddamn it it’s always you.”

With that I decided to head to the stairs and towards the guest room they usually let me sleep in.

I didn’t want to hear another word from him again.

Atsumu POV

I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard her last words.

My thoughts were still at the scene I walked into a minute ago and then- this.

“Why the hell do you always have to mess with her like that.” My brother gave me an unamused look but soon turned back to the tv screen.

I trudged forward, then leaning against the couch. Without letting any emotion show that was building inside of me I began investigating further.

“From what I could gather; I’d say you messed with her more tonight than I’ve ever did.”

The grey haired boy gave me a quick side glance but focused more on the lit up screen again. “Just shut up.”

My eyes were glued to his side. Why the fuck did he get so close to her, does he think getting it on with my partner is a good idea?

“So ya like her? Is that what it is?”

A frustrated sigh escaped Samus lips. “What does it mean to you? You don’t care about her personal life anyways.”

Letting out a forced laugh I also turned my head towards the tv.

“So ya in her personal life now, huh?”

“I mean you wouldn’t know, even if I did.”

This dude acts all high and mighty again. After being all over my dance partner, he thinks I’m being the asshole for some goddamn reason.

“I know you won’t admit it but I can tell you have a soft spot for her. If you get your shit together and actually tell her what you want, she might want to get closer to you.”

Slowly getting away from the couch I began taking a step towards the staircase.

“She already thinks I’m an ass, so who the fuck cares.”

My form stood infront of the steps before I came to a halt due to my twin speaking again. “Maybe. But she cares more than you think.”

____

Y/N ’s POV

Atsumu and I haven’t talked again since that day. We have avoided each other for a month now, both not attending our dance practices. Usually we would somehow work it out but this time it felt different.

Tonight would be another practice that I probably won’t attend again.

As I walked through the supermarket, I began stopping myself from thinking about my him. We needed to sort it out or I’ll have find a new partner as soon as possible.

I know it sounds cruel but; what if Atsumu isn’t the right fit for me?

“Not coming again today, huh?” A female voice suddenly called out from behind me.

I cringed visibly as my head moved towards the woman I dreaded to see. My dance teacher.

“I’m sorry I just- I still feel pretty sick.” I mumbled, trying to fake a little cough.

Saeko stood confidently, arms crossed and ready to yell at me. My demeanor faltered when I began thinking about the real reason I didn’t go. All this time I was only thinking about myself and not the competition that was ahead of us.

Saeko watched me carefully until she decided to speak up again.

“Y/N, I know there’s something going on between the two of you but you’ll have to put it aside for now.” She came closer, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“You’ve both been working hard for this. You can’t just throw it all away. Besides, when your competition is over you guys can talk it out and see for yourselves what you want your futures to be.”

She was right. Do it for the competition at least.

I nodded slowly, still avoiding her gaze. “I’ll try to come to our training tonight. Thank you for worrying though.”

Turning away from her I just gave her one last wave and we said our goodbyes.

____

Atsumu’s POV

When Saeko called today and told me Y/N was going to come tonight my heart made a jump.

I know I should be mad at her but I somewhat understand what she’s been through because of me.

Waiting fucking sucks.

This time I thought I’ll be nicer at least. I can’t explain it but I got a bit excited when Saeko gave me the news. I even went and bought flowers- just in case she’s still pissed at me of course.

As I entered the dance studio I gave Saeko a quick smile. “Good evening miss.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and pointed towards the changing rooms.

“You better get changed, Y/N usually has her training clothes on already. Don’t want her to get mad as soon as she sees you.”

I smiled even brighter at her mentioning my partners name. My excitement was over the roof today.

A mans voice interrupted our banter as he trudged around the corner with a cigarette in his mouth. “Y/N is coming back? Thought she left for good.”

Saeko suddenly took Ukais cigarette out of his mouth and put it in a bin. “I told you, no smoking near my students. This is your studio anyways, you know smoking here aint allowed.”

Ukai wasn’t suprised at the action but still grunted annoyed at the dance teacher.

We all knew Ukai only got the place from his grandfather and wasn’t really interested in dancing; but he still cared for the students that came in.

“Yep. Y/N wouldn’t leave me like that, we all know she woulda missed this handsome face too much.” I pointed at my face teasingly until I earned a slap on my shoulder from my trainer.

“Oi! Stop being a little shit and get dressed properly.”

When I turned towards the changing room I heard a little gasp from the blonde again.

“Are those for her?”

She expectantly looked at the bouquet I had previously hid behind my back. Of course she had to make a scene about it.

I tried to stay casual as I continued to walk. “Maybe.”

A squeal escaped her lips and Ukai commented, also seemingly impressed by my action. “Wow this boy is going all out today.”

It’s been half an hour and my partner was nowhere in sight. Usually she would notify one of us if she came late or actually-

She never came late in the first place.

The last couple of years I would see her annoyed side glances when I came 20 minutes late.

Then suddenly her figure appeared in the studio hallway, her back was turned to me and I could see her through the glass door. The girl seemed calm as she removed her shoes and then walked towards the glass. Y/N opened the door without giving me a glance, put her bag down and put on her dancing shoes.

As expected, she already wore her training clothes. I faint smile spread across my face.

Y/N’s POV

I began putting on one of my shoes in silence. I didnt know what to say to him really. Missing the train and walking here wasn’t really planned for today, or coming here at all actually.

“You’re here.”

I stopped for a second before putting on my other shoe. Atsumu didn’t seem mad at all, he sounded rather timid.

I just nodded as an aswer and stood up. Stretching my arms I finally got the courage to look up at him. He actually smiled at me.

“I know it’s been kinda weird for the last month but I-“

“Atsumu let’s just let it go for now. I just wanna win this competition and then we’ll see what we’ll do.” Sighing I intervened his rant, I didn’t want my emotions to get the best of me again.

He stared at me perplexed but didn’t speak any further.

The whole practice was pretty quiet, both of us only talked when necessary. Saeko seemed a bit concerned at first but soon acted professional again when she saw the glances I gave her.

I just wanted to get it over with.

After practice had ended, Atsumu didn’t change back into his casual clothes. He immediately packed his stuff and got out. There was something he had in his hands but I didn’t really see what it was since he practically ran out as soon as the training was over.

I said goodbye to Saeko and walked into the hallway that led to the exit. My body came to a halt when I heard two familiar voices talking.

“Didn’t give her the flowers?” Ukai puffed out the smoke he had inhaled before.

Giving him a quick look, Atsumu shrugged and walked to the wall next to the man.

“She didn’t seem to be in the mood for flowers today.” I could hear the boy slowly sliding down the wall of the building.

Why did he have flowers?

“Yeah I could tell.” The blonde paused for a second until his deep voice could be heard again.

“Look, I don’t know what happened. I just think you should apologize this time. She usually always compromises for you and this time it’s your turn. If you don’t want to lose her as a partner, as a friend... then put your ego aside for once.”

My breathe hitched as my eyes began watering. The people here really cared more about us than I thought.

But I didn’t know if that was enough to make Atsumu understand.

Suddenly steps could be heard, nearing the exit I was standing in front of. I just walked straight towards the door, into the outdoors. Ukai halted, locked eyes with me with a reassuring smile and then began walking towards the studio again.

My gaze slowly shifted towards the body that was crouching down on the floor.

The blonde twin had the most beautiful bouquet in hand, his face was buried in his arms.

“Are those for me?”

My mind completely shut off, my tears were threatening to spill at any moment.

Atsumu perked up. The boy stared at me, with that same unsure and shy demeanor as before. Then he began scratching his head as he looked at the different colors adorning the plants.

“I didn’t know which ones you’d like but the employee said most girls like these, so...”

My heart was aching at this point. This wasn’t like the dancing partner I knew for years.

“Why?”

Atsumu let out a dry huff, still avoiding eye contact. “Why do you think?”

My gaze fell on the horizon. I tried as hard as I could to keep my tears from falling until I notice someone else sniffling.

“I was supposed to leave ya, yanno. Some judges in the competitions adviced me to change partners.”

My head snapped back to his figure that was still crouching down. “Then why didn’t you? God Atsumu, I wish we wouldn’t have been teamed up in the first place.”

The blonde suddenly stood up, his head still facing the ground.

“That’s not true.”

And here he was again, the Atsumu that always acted like he knew everything. The one that all the dancers would fawn over. The one that would bicker the whole day at training, but would perform with the most adoring smile.

“Please tell me that you’re joking.” He sniffled again.

What?

“Y/N I don’t want to lose you.”

My eyes went wide as I stared at his disheveled form. His eyes were red.

“Tsumu-“

“I’m scared alright. This is bigger than dancing. This is bigger than any other thing in my life.”

“Tsumu I don’t think I can follow.”

I was still so perplexed by the sudden turn of our conversation, I could barely understand Atsumus rambling.

“I think I wanna be more than your partner. More than a friend even I-„ The boys’ voice cracked as he looked at me pleadingly.

I stared at him for what felt like an eternity. My mouth was slightly open, eyes locked on his. Then, he turned around and left.

I couldn’t even say a word.

#hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu angst #haikyuu au #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader

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neko-shinigxmi · 4 years

Text

So!! @sosoftandsweet asked me about my boi, Yoshirou... He’s an Okami OC I’ve made that I ship myself with and because he’s an OC, you all can’t ship us if you don’t know about him!

So, take this at last! A post about my kitsune boyfriend, Yoshirou~!

Faceclaim is Yuuzan Yoshida from Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun! ...Well, for his human disguise. His kitsune disguise is represented by arctic fox icons and in-between form is Keaton (Fire Emblem).

He comes from a clan of ice-white kitsunes that live in Kamui. Their clan tradition is, after a certain amount of years (about 200), they expel the young foxes from home to travel the world, and learn things on their own. It’s believed this allows kitsunes to gain their tails faster and live longer.

Both are connected, so. No wonder...

Another clan within Nippon follows this idea as well...and that’s how Yoshirou eventually meets the red kitsune, Akemi. They quickly forge a bond and, as far as they’re concerned, are basically siblings.

Akemi is younger than Yoshirou by a few hundred years. (Akemi is three tails; Yoshirou is at four.)

They’re also opposites in elements! Yoshirou is more lively in the winter (his native element), where Akemi thrives in the summer.

However, Yoshirou... Well, he’s a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. Poker face for days, snappish to new people/anyone he doesn’t trust. He even speaks in monotone to strangers!! Befriending him feels like a daunting task when one on one, but that’s why Akemi’s good to keep around; she’s the reminder that he’s a softie at heart, he just needs to see that in new people before they can see that side of him.

Once he softens up, it’s easy to see why he latched onto Akemi like a sister; he’s naturally protective, but just the right kind of playful. The ideal older brother figure anyone would want in their lives. If he was in the modern day, he’d be the type to listen to Akemi’s venting, drive her anywhere she wanted, and sometimes even buy That Thing She Couldn’t Afford.

You can see why he’s Ideal Man material.

Also, his kitsune abilities make him the ideal protector, so like. Again, you wouldn’t date him WHY??

The only downside is that he and Akemi do worship Ninetails (aka the motherfucker who took over Ryoshima Coast with a friend) as some kind of idol (think the celebrity of kitsune-kind), but this is largely only due to nine tailed kitsune being so uncommon and their might being....mistranslated over time. From a violent beast who killed many (and nearly killed many more) and held false power to a mighty kitsune who obtained all his tails naturally.

Yoshirou probably wouldn’t be surprised about the truth (very “don’t meet your idols” about it), but Akemi would be so sad.

Well, with this much known about Yoshirou... What’s he like in a relationship, right? Let’s get into that.

Yoshirou in a Relationship: While he keeps his head held high, looking so refined and elegant any other time... Softened by love, he’s a flustered mess more often than not. Sleeping? He swoons quietly, heart squeezing at how peaceful and gentle a sleeping face can be... Pouting? Oh, he’ll tease about it, but there’s that soft look again...

Akemi would joke her big bro is gonna make everyone sick and Yoshirou wouldn’t hesitate to say he doesn’t care. He’ll feel bad if Akemi doesn’t like him being too mushy, but he adapts; he’ll save mushier moments for alone time, then. Anyone else, however? Deal with it. He’s in love and proud of it.

Protectiveness amplifies. Now, I personally don’t mind it, as his protectiveness lulls my anxiety, but... If his S/O was more of the “free bird who can protect themselves” type, there’d probably be a few fights about it. His heart is in the right place and he’s not obsessive, per say, he’s just paranoid about losing them or them getting hurt.

...Not to say kitsune aren’t possessive, on occasion. There’s a lot of fighting between groups over things/places/etc., so it does run in their blood to a certain degree. Yoshirou has learned from humanity how to temper it and thus, teaches Akemi how to do the same, so they hurt as little people as possible.

He’s one of the lucky ones, to have learned of kindness and violence...or so he sees it as, since Akemi can learn from him without experiencing as much pain.

His body is littered with scars due to his past. People trying to kill a fox, usually, not realizing he is a kitsune in disguise. He’s a little embarrassed about them, as he recognizes he has a handsome build (he’s TONED), but thinks of his scars as a detriment from being as attractive as he could be. (Which is BULLSHIT, but. We’re working on that.)

His energy boosts in winter, so expect him to be a bit more like Akemi during this time. (While his poor summer-sister whines like she’s perma-sick.) Lots of energy to spare, will throw snowballs... Might change to his kitsune form and rush about, snow seeming to be brighter and sparkling when he runs through it, tails streaming behind him......

Loves cuddling in his kitsune form. His outer coat has a chill to it, like frost, but the longer you stay among it/sink into his fur, the warmer he gets. For a winter fox, he is a HEATER.

But this is also why he hates summer; it makes his coat thin and STILL the heat is unkind to him... Pouts so much and doesn’t want to do much of anything that isn’t laying around in ice while in fox form or swimming. Whatever feels better in hot weather.

“Does he purr?” Me, a bitch who loves purring HCs: Not specifically; it’s more like a rumble-purr... Close, but no dice, but nobody’s complaining. I’M not complaining. This is what I’m about.

So clingy when he sleeps. Struggles to fall asleep while cuddling, but you wake up in the morning with him half-over you and legs tangled together. It’s bliss.....until you need to get up to use the bathroom. Then good luck wiggling free from the clingy bastard-

My Okami SI has their own animal form- a three-tailed cat- and Yoshirou loves messing around with it. Kitsune form? We’re either playing tag or I’m riding on his head. Fox? He attempts to playfully bite me many, many times. Sometimes, I’ve been the cat and he’s gone walking around with me purring like a motor in his arms. It’s.....adorable.

Local man with Resting Bitch Face walks around Sei-an City with his happy cat. Nobody understands why this cat is so happy, but certainly a pet must bring good luck.

Only children are allowed to hold my cat form. I am terrified of everyone else, Yoshirou knows this, and if someone tried to take me from him, he’d get pissed and on the defensive immediately.

I am the Autumn to this seasonal merry-go-round. (We’re just missing Spring...) Akemi jokes a lot that this is how we ended up together; Autumn always is paired together with Winter, isn’t it?

Naps in animal form help him sleep faster...but it’s largely bc I always purr happily when around Yoshirou.

Akemi claims he cried once, when he went out on a patrol to find me and Akemi cuddled up together, sleeping. Yoshirou fervently denies it. I don’t quite know who to believe...but leaning towards Akemi.

It’s so easy to make him blush, but he makes me blush so much easier and it’s like...... Wow, rude. Of course you have the advantage with your handsome face... Yeesh. (To which he probably says something like, “Oh? Like I don’t get distracted by how beautiful you look?” Which....kills me in one hit...)

I gave a few headcanons about us in this ask, as well! [HERE]

Anything else just ask, heyoo.

#self insert #self insert community #self ship #self ship community #Aki speaks #I'm wuv......Yoshirou...#I seriously need to talk abt him more kghfjdks #I'M A FOOLE THO and keep forgetting to #maybe......I can more #what with all this Okami talk recently so???#potential mayhaps??

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tacitwhisky · 5 years

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Jon / Sansa Reread - Jon I, AGOT

< Previous Chapter (Bran I) | Next Chapter (Arya I) >

In which Jon gets drunk at a feast, embarrases himself, and talks to Tyrion.

After his introduction in Bran I, this is our first glimpse into Jon’s head, and boy is it a thorough one. Despite being a somewhat simple chapter from a plot perspective, in just a few short interactions Martin packs in a huge amount of material to show how Jon sees himself, his bastard identity, and how he engages with the world and his place in it, threads that will continue throughout the entirety of the series.

(I’ll be linking to several in depth metas about each thread throughout the reread, but also gathering them together in a further reading section at the end of the post for convenience.)

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon’s brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen.

Jon starts the chapter exiled to a literal lower tier of society. Later in the chapter he’ll tell his uncle Benjen it’s because Catelyn doesn’t want him sullying the main table as a bastard because of the presence of the royal family. This brings up an interesting aspect of Jon’s position within the Stark household; not only does he exist in a sort of liminal space between two different classes, noble and not, but where exactly he exists on that spectrum is fluid and fickle.

Once he goes to the wall Donal Noye will rightly point out all the privilege Jon grew up with, but something not really discussed is just how fragile that privilege is; at the drop of a pin Jon can go from son to bastard, from sitting at the high table to sitting at the low. Stability is hugely important for children, and not having any growing up is nearly as damaging as simply not having privilege to begin with. From a young age Jon would’ve internalized that the world was an unstable and untrustworthy place and on some level instinctively understood he had only himself to rely on. As maester Luwin says, “bastards grow faster than other children.”

This actually helps explain why Jon is so proactive any time he enters a new environment. Time after time in the series Jon will be thrust into a new environment and immediately start gathering allies and taking decisive action. At Castle Black he quickly forms a clique (Sam, Grenn, Pyp) and confronts Alliser Thorne. Once he’s Lord Commander he gets the wildlings on his side and immediately starts rebuilding and manning the Wall.

This is an interesting meta on how Jon tends to gather up the downtrodden as his allies, and the ways that while Jon may not realize it, it’s not completely altruistic because by taking them in he’s also making them loyal and beholden to him, and is really just a good rundown of the practicality and moral greyness lurking in Jon. To quote from it for a minute:

“Jon’s advocacy for Sam looked like a thing he did because he’s a good person, and I ultimately do think that’s the case. Still, he did something which required absolutely no effort on his part, and look what he got out of it. Sam isn’t just the best friend Jon will ever have, he’s a powerful asset to the Watch and he’s Jon’s most loyal supporter.”

Though never explicitly thought on by Jon, the very physical illustration here in the first chapter of having to sit at a lower table than his brothers and sisters because of simply who’s visiting must’ve crystalized for him how tenuous his place in the Stark household really is, and probably helps drive him to ask Benjen to join the Night’s Watch later in the chapter.

In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for.

And he was finding that he had a man’s thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company, and Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king’s offspring. He had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance. The procession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon had gotten a good long look at them all.

Methinks the bastard doth protest too much...

On a more serious note, throughout the series Jon will have to navigate through different levels of society, interacting with thieves, lords, wildlings, and two different kings, and this chapter lays out the foundation for just how naturally it comes to him. He’s perfectly comfortable with the other squires and youths (besides his resentment at being banished).

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

This is a narrative trick Martin uses a lot throughout the series: he’ll start the chapter in the present (the feast), have the character think back to what’s happened in the past (the entrance of the royal party) and then back to the present (feast again). It’s a good way of filling in what happened between chapters for a character (gaps that can be upwards of seven or eight chapters later in the series) without boring the reader or wasting their time.

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm.

Having the Starks escort in one by one the royal family is a nice way of both introducing them, their relationship to Jon, and also emphasize Jon’s isolation: they are literally closer to the royal family than him at the moment.

She [Myrcella] was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

There’s two things going on here. The first is Jon is feeling left out and so he’s transferring his anger onto Myrcella by calling her insipid in his head. But part of his distaste comes from something more complicated, and is the first indication of Jon’s low key dislike for traditionally feminine women throughout the series.

I read a really great meta about this once (which is unfortunately lost to time no matter how many times I look for it), that outlines how while Jon values women as a whole and has no problem respecting non-traditional women (Arya, Ygritte, Alys, Val) he has issues with traditionally feminine women (Myrcella, Catelyn, Selyse, Gilly), and that it almost for sure originates with Catelyn; she’s the head of the female half of Winterfell and symbolized all refined westerosi femininity for Jon growing up. And considering how openly hostile she was to him it’s really not surprising he’d be uncomfortable with the femininity she embodied.

This idea is actually the origin of my Jon of the Kingsguard fic: the idea that both Jon and Sansa start in a place where they don’t respect each other (he for her perceived feminine weakness, she for his bastard status) and by the end have grown and learned to appreciate what they once didn’t. Overall I wish it was a side of Jon’s character that was explored a little more in fic, especially fic that has him interacting with Sansa (though this is an aspect completely missing from show!Jon so that may be why it doesn’t much come up).

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

This entire paragraph is very clearly about Joffrey, with Sansa as a kind of afterthought. It’s one of the frustrating things about how Martin writes Sansa, but outside of Arya (and Robb a little) we really don’t get any idea of what her relationship on a day to day basis was like with the other starklings, especially Jon.

Even just a sentence here, like how Rickon came to say hi to Jon and had to be shooed back into line, could’ve done a lot to characterize Jon and Sansa’s relationship. Did she purposefully not look at him? Or did she look at him pityingly? Offer an encouraging smile? We don’t know.

In the show Sansa says she was awful to Jon, but there’s no actual indication that’s the case in the books from what I remember, and just that one line in the show. There really is just a black hole where their relationship should be. It’s one of the things that I think make them so shippable to people: they don’t ever think of each other as siblings so the incest vibe can be as high or low as you want, and that blank space can be filled with whatever headcanon you find interesting or appealing.

I’ll get into this more in Sansa’s chapters, but a lot of this I think is the legacy of Sansa being a late add on to the Starks and one primarily created to contrast with Arya. While there’s no doubt that Martin likes Sansa, there’s a lot of ways that here in AGOT she’s an underserved and under developed character. This early in the writing process I think Martin just hadn’t really thought through her relationships with the other starklings.

The last of the high lords to enter were his uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night’s Watch, and his father’s ward, young Theon Greyjoy. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by. Theon ignored him utterly, but there was nothing new in that.

This is more fuel for my theory from last chapter that Theon ignored Jon because he wanted to stay close to privilege.

Back in the present, Jon sulks, tries to convince himself he’s having a good time, feeds Ghost, and then Benjen comes to sit with him.

Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. “Don’t you usually eat at table with your brothers?”

“Most times,” Jon answered in a flat voice. “But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them.”

“I see.” His uncle glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall. “My brother does not seem very festive tonight.”

Jon had noticed that too. A bastard had to learn to notice things, to read the truth that people hid behind their eyes.

I’ve heard the last part referred to as early installment weirdness, and I think that’s partially true. Jon doesn’t really mention it again, but he is remarkably perceptive and willing to learn and listen to others later in the series. I’d also argue he has a low key reactive paranoia to almost everyone he meets that he doesn’t immediately like, which can appear like him being perceptive, but is more just suspicion.

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. “You don’t miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall.”

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

“Notable achievements.”

“Take me with you when you go back to the Wall,” Jon said in a sudden rush. “Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will.”

Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.”

“I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.”

Notice how Benjen first says Jon would be good at the Wall, then when Jon shows interest tells him it’s too tough and manly and adult for him like he didn’t just suggest it himself. He offers something, then when Jon reaches for it he slaps his hand.

“Daeren Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

“A conquest that lasted a summer,” his uncle pointed out. “Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn’t a game.” He took another sip of wine. “Also,” he said, wiping his mouth, “Daeren Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?”

More negging on Benjen’s part implying that Jon is a child who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. More importantly though, this is one of the first indications of just how idealistic Jon fundamentally is. There’s a lot of meta that goes into the parallels between that idealism and belief in stories and Sansa’s love of songs of knights and ladies and how that shapes her worldview.

And much like Sansa, throughout his character arc Jon has to grow past that initial faith in stories and grapple with the reality of war and loss and ruling. It’s easy to picture the Young Dragon as one of the heroes of AGOT’s Jon, but much harder to picture the Jon of ADWD thinking so favorably of a bold and brash king that went to conquer another country; not after his experiences with loss and the wildlings.

“I forget nothing,” Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. “I want to serve in the Night’s Watch, Uncle.”

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb’s bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

The sad part of this is Jon’s thoughts here about his future are completely rational. One of Ned’s major failures as a parent is how unclear he’s been with Jon about his future. This meta goes into it more in depth, but there are a lot of futures Ned could’ve set up for Jon (giving him a holdfast in the gift or becoming Winterfell’s Castellan, for example), but he never communicates them to Jon or really seems to have thought about them. A lot of this springs from Ned’s own trauma; because of just how brutally his family was halved he seems to want to keep his children young for as long as possible. This was more or less ok for the rest of the starklings, but for Jon whose position is already tenuous, it would only make him more insecure.

Ned should’ve sat Jon down at a much younger age and explained what the shape of his life could look like. Because he didn’t, Jon takes matters into his own hands (going back to the proactive thing) and decides that the best option for him is to join a lifelong half penal colony institution at fourteen.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, Jon. The Night’s Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.”

“A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. “I am ready to swear your oath.”

“You are a boy of fourteen,” Benjen said. “Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up.”

“I don’t care about that!” Jon said hotly.

“You might, if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said. “If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.”

Jon felt anger rise inside him. “I’m not your son!”

Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Come back to me after you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own, and we’ll see how you feel.”

Some people have said that the scene with Catelyn and Jon at Bran’s bedside is what permanently put them off Catelyn as a character; I get that, because this scene does the same to Benjen for me. It is such an utter dick move on Benjen’s part to put down Jon because he hasn’t gotten laid yet, to equate sex with maturity, and to taunt Jon with the fathering bastards thing which he has to know is a sore subject for Jon. Jon at this point is drunk and at the height of his insecurity about his place in Winterfell, and instead of comforting him or talking him through it, Benjen preys on his insecurity and dismisses him.

This meta makes a convincing case that Jon joining the Night’s Watch at such a young age is a comprehensive failure of all the adults in his life, and it’s hard to argue against. To quote from it:

“Both Starks completely and utterly failed to provide Jon with the necessary information he needed to make a conscious and informed decision to commit to that institution. They let him, a teenager who feels he has no place in the world to call his, make a decision based on incomplete information then held him to it, and allowed him to walk into binding lifelong commitment completely unprepared.”

Jon trembled. “I will never father a bastard,” he said carefully. “Never!” He spat it out like venom.

What’s interesting about this line is not just that it gives us insight into Jon’s views on his sexuality, but it shows just how much Jon internalizes his bastard status. It’s not just that he’s dispirited that other people view him with prejudice and treat him as lesser, but he also internalizes that into his view of himself and how he thinks he should act. Everything is internalized because of the ideas of personal responsibility that Ned instilled in him.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet.

“I must be excused,” he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry. He must have drunk more wine than he had realized. His feet got tangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor. Laughter boomed all around him, and Jon felt hot tears on his cheeks. Someone tried to steady him. He wrenched free of their grip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night.

As a writing technique this is a good way for Martin to have us identify and sympathize with Jon. We’ve all been in embarrassing situations, and kicking your character in the gut is always a good way to get the audience on their side (up to a certain point; after that it just alienates us from them). It’s also a good way of emphasizing Jon’s youth and reminding us that the kid is barely fourteen.

(And where is Benjen for this? Such a dick.)

Once he makes his way outside Jon runs into Tyrion who’s perched high on a ledge. We then have the most blatant example of early installment weirdness in the whole series when Tyrion backflips off the ledge (gymnastic prowess that will never get mentioned again until ADWD). Tyrion then tries to pet Ghost.

The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon’s face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl.

“Shy, isn’t he?” Lannister observed.

“Sit, Ghost,” Jon commanded. “That’s it. Keep still.” He looked up at the dwarf. “You can touch him now. He won’t move until I tell him to. I’ve been training him.”

“I see,” Lannister said. He ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost’s ears and said, “Nice wolf.”

“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it would be.

This is such a hilariously teenager thing to exaggerate and boast about. It’s also a subtle hint of how comfortable Jon is with violence, a theme we’ll come back to in later chapters. He’s drunk here though, so we should cut him some slack anyway.

“You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”

Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Did I offend you?” Lannister said. “Sorry. Dwarfs don’t have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head.” He grinned. “You are the bastard, though.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father,” Jon admitted stiffly.

While Tyrion’s dwarfism and Jon’s bastardy both marginalize them, the stereotypes between the two aren’t the same, and because he’s older, Tyrion has found a way to perform his when it’s useful (even as he hates the stereotype itself). In this case it’s the Wise Fool. It’s an interesting contrast with Jon, who will never quite pick up this skill outside of his time with the wildlings where the stereotype of the bitter and treacherous bastard is useful for getting Mance to think he’s switched sides.

Largely I think it comes down to a difference in their comfort with deception: Tyrion is very good at lying (especially in ACOK when he’s in a constant game of cat and mouse with Cersei), where Jon as the son of a Stark believes in personal responsibility in a way that has him chafe any time he has to.

Lannister studied his face. “Yes,” he said. “I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.”

“Half brothers,” Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf’s comment, but he tried not to let it show.

From a prose perspective, Martin bluntly stating that Jon “was pleased by the dwarf’s comment” is interesting because it should be an example of bad writing: it’s telling, not showing, right? But bluntly stating character’s reactions and emotions is something Martin actually does a lot. I think he gets away with it for two primary reasons. The first is that his prose can be so laconic and sparse at times that it just feel natural to state things straightforwardly. And the second is that Martin can pull out more complex descriptions for emotions when he needs to, which helps the reader’s imagination fill in the blanks when he doesn’t.

(Doing this may also just be a leftover of having written scripts for most of his life. In a script it’s fine to just state what emotion the character has because it’ll be filtered and communicated through the actor and dialogue. And Martin does write really naturalistic dialogue.)

“Let me give you some counsel, bastard,” Lannister said. “Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.”

Jon was in no mood for anyone’s counsel. “What do you know about being a bastard?”

“All dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes.”

“You are your mother’s trueborn son of Lannister.”

“Am I?” the dwarf replied, sardonic. “Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he’s never been sure.”

“I don’t even know who my mother was,” Jon said.

“Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are.” He favored Jon with a rueful grin. “Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.”

This is a key, key scene and concept for Jon’s entire series arc; that the best way to deal with prejudice is to face it head on and reappropriate it. That ethos will form the care of his Lord Snow persona thought it’ll take him a few chapters at Castle Black to really internalize the lesson and start making use of it.

This conversation with Tyrion is also the first of the many peeling aways of Jon’s blinkers when it comes to his privileges. It’s the starting point of his ability to empathize with other marginal groups: first Tyrion, then the Castle Black recruits, then the wildlings. That ability to grow and learn (despite the constant mantra of knowing nothing) and empathize with others is what separates Jon from just any other run of the mill peasant boy to high king fantasy protagonist.

And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.

And with that this insanely long chapter comes to an end. Next up will by Arya I, in which we finally get to properly meet Sansa. Until then below are the metas I linked to (and a few more) to keep you occupied.

Also check out my meta tag, or my fanfic. And feel free to ask me a question about this chapter or anything else here on tumblr. I love interacting with my ASOIAF fam.

Linked Metas:

--The practicality of Jon’s relationships

--How Jon joining the Night’s Watch is a story of the adults in his life failing him

--How Ned failed to prepare his kids (especially Jon) for their adult lives

--Why Ned didn’t foster Jon at another northern house

--What Ned should have told Jon about his parentage

< Previous Chapter (Bran I) | Next Chapter (Arya I) >

Photo Credit: Kali Ciesemier

#reread #jon snow #tyrion lannister #jonsa #agot #a game of thrones #got #game of thrones #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #meta

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my-yuujin · 5 years

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Ryusoulger Solo Interview from Mynavi: Obara Yuito

――Five months has passed since the production announcement meeting of Ryusoulger in February 2019. It means, it has been about half a year since the start of filming. I would like to ask Obara-san who, while young, has changed by absorbing various things in such short period of time. What change exactly do you feel in this last half year?

I think it’s how I feel about the role I play. I start to be able to understand, what Towa would do in every situation. At first, the way I acted, was more like grooming myself to be “similar” to the character named Towa. But now, I kind of know in advance, what action that Towa would take. I can feel, the character I play has dyed me with his color. Also, everyone told me, that my face has changed. Though, I myself don’t know which part that has changed (laughs).

–Isn’t that mean, you gradually get stronger while working on Ryusoulger’s filming?

It may be so. Because they said that I now have refined expression.

–Kishida Tatsuya-san who portrays Towa’s older brother, Banba, did say that Obara-san’s current age right now was indeed the moment when people learn various things to change.

I see my face in the mirror every day, so I can’t objectively see how it has changed. As I don’t feel any big changes…, to my eating pattern, for example. I have to be careful so any changes that happened won’t change my daily life rhythm.

――You already have acting experience, as you also have appeared in some TV drama before. But, being your first time to portray a Tokusatsu hero, do you have any role model that you look up to as a hero?

For me, my “hero” is my older brother.

-So, just like Towa who admires Banba, Obara-san also in reality has an older brother of his own.

Yes. I’ve grown up admiring my older brother who is 2 years older than me. Since I was little, I think of my older brother as someone who is always loved by anyone. Or rather, his personality makes people naturally come close to him. His charm that always attracts people around, makes me think that it really is different from anything I possess. Now, as I get chance to play a hero, I want to be someone like my brother, who is loved by a lot of people. So I’ll keep trying hard.

–Towa’s brother, Banba, also deeply cares for his younger brother, as they have always been together for a long time. And Towa is an honest boy who respects his big brother. Towa’s characterization as “a little brother”, feels like Obara-san’s own personality being reflected as it is, doesn’t it?

It’s because my brothers are both refined men, even though one of them is being my brother because of his role (laughs). Kishida-san is also a really dependable person, and treats me like his little brother. I think that’s why we both can naturally bring out the “brotherly feel” of Towa and Banba pretty well. The brothers almost always take actions together, so we often have more dialogue just between us. “Let’s perform this act like real brothers would do!” That’s how Kishida-san and I feel when we head towards the shooting site.

-Towa and Banba made first appearance as Ryusoul Black and Ryusoul Green in “4 Weeks Special Super Sentai Strongest Battle!!” before Ryusoulger’s first episode broadcast. They only began to play active role in episode 3. They basically always took different way from the trio childhood friends; Kou, Melto, and Asuna; to find any clues about Druidon.

Yes. In those episodes when we just appeared, Kou and Towa always competed with each other, but there weren’t many scenes when Towa interacted with Melto or Asuna. Still, as fellow Ryusoulgers, I think there will be some episodes involving his interactions with other than Nii-san (Banba) or Kou. The sixth ranger, Ryusoul Gold/Kanaro also has made his appearance, so I want to get involved with everyone on the team. Because Towa had completely become friends with Kou, when I look at the pictures of our rivalry in the episode 3 and 4, I feel somewhat nostalgic (laughs).

–In episode 8, “Singing Voice of Miracle”, after Kou and Melto successfully deceived Wyzul, there was a scene when Towa smiled as he did a high five with Kou. It surely left the audiences with a strong impression.

That scene was “full of passion”, even for me. The high five happened after Kou and Towa’s sparking rivalry, after all. When shooting, I wasn’t directed to act friendly, or something like that, towards Kou. My body just naturally moved, following the story’s flow. I think it was a good scene that expressed how Towa has completely opened his heart to Kou, Melto, and Asuna.

――What is the most important part from Towa that can’t be removed when you’re playing him?

It’s his confidence thinking that he’s stronger than everyone, except Banba. He thinks that he already has more experience by fighting alongside Banba. I’m always aware to be careful at playing that part of Towa that sees everyone as below him. Specifically, it’s about showing enough cheekiness, instead of being too quiet.

――I heard that the five Ryusoulger all have different personalities compared to their actors. Do you also feel the same?

Yes! I was surprised when I first heard about Towa. Since I’m more a quiet type, I thought that there were no parts in me that were similar to Towa. Like being confident, cheeky…, I’m nothing like that. “Ahh, so he’s this kind of character?” so I thought. But that’s why it is fun to act as him. I’m also grateful that his position among his friends, makes him a good character.

-Even though the brothers, Towa and Banba, always moved separatedly from Kou, Melt, and Asuna at first, you seem to have already become friends with the other actors.

Because I am the youngest one, it made me worried when I first entered the circle, but I was glad that we got along very quickly.

–Is it the “Prohibition of using Keigo (polite speech)” that you have told us about at the production press conference, which gave you better opportunities to be closer to everyone?

I basically tend to speak in Keigo, both to older and younger people. When I entered Ryusoulger circle, I ended up doing the same, and a staff told me to quit using Keigo. After all, we’re all going to be companions in works for at least one year. Keigo is prohibited, in order to avoid being stiff and to make everything more understandable. Still, I was not certain whether “—kun” is part of Keigo or not. So when I talked to Tsuna-kun, I called him “Tsuna” without honorifics. Everyone was surprised and went “EEEEHHHH??”. They told me, “You could just call him ‘Tsuna-kun’ there. It’s okay.” (laughs)

――Because you are more settled when speaking politely, it’s difficult to suddenly talk with such straight-forwardness. I guess it is the reason why the older people regard Obara-san as “responsible”. For Obara-san who is thought that way, which one among these older actors, is the most different in term of personality compared to their role?

Maybe, it’s Ichinose (Hayate)-kun. He’s usually very cautious about everything, very serious, and thinks about lots of things in advance. But Kou is a character who makes decisions on the spot and acts immediately. I think that’s a very wide gap between them. And because of that, he seemed to be struggling playing as Kou at first, but he soon was able to catch the role and make it as his own.

-Do you sometimes call each other by nicknames?

We did decide beforehand, who to be called what. Kishida-san has always been “Tatsu-nii”, so we naturally go with that. For Ichinose-kun I call him “Haya-chan”. And then, Tsuna (Keito)-kun was like “Call me Kei-chan too!”. For Osaki (Ichika)-san, I always went with “Osaki-san” as it is. But she protested, “Too stiff!”. So I decided to go with “Icchan” lately. Calling everyone with nicknames sure can erase spaces between us, or rather, it makes easier to have talks with them.

――Ryusoulger has knighthood as its theme, so it shows great features such as beautiful swordplay performed by the actors. Do you do daily practice for each action scene? In some episodes under Director Sakamoto Koichi, who specializes in dynamic action, everyone has to perform some intense movements. What do you think about doing action scenes?

I only had practice once before shooting. Just doing some “rolling” or basic sword movement. In episode 7 and 8 under Director Sakamoto Kouichi, the suit actor came to the shooting site, and taught me action moves needed for that day’s shooting. It’s pretty much like: the Drunn Soldiers came attacking, and then I faced them and went “Ryusoul Change!”. I would try to do those movements I was just taught, right on the spot. Because the theme was “Knight”, and I also get chance to hold a sword, I want to show the coolness of swordplay. So I pretty much love doing those intense actions. Stlll, it’s very difficult to remember some complicated movements, and try them on the spot. When performing them myself, I realized again the greatness of those suit actors. They really are professionals.

–After episode 7 and 8 under Director Sakamoto, it seems that action scenes before transforming are increasing, doesn’t it?

It sure does. I heard there would be a lot of bare action scenes in the future. Even Kishida-san had to perform back flip using trampoline. I’m also having fun doing more actions that I’ve never done before, such as jumping over tables and chairs. Among Ryusoulger members, Towa moves the most and always flies around, so I would like to continue to learn and perform bare actions more.

―“Kishiryu Sentai Ryusoulger THE MOVIE: Time Slip! Dinosaur Panic!!” surely will show us how much Obara-san has grown up. Please tell us some highlights regarding Towa in this movie.

At the climax scene, there would be a part where Towa shows “emotions” that he doesn’t usually show. Red was separated from the other, so Ryusoul Blue, Pink, Black, and Green have to move on theirselves. As his friends begin to lose spirits, Towa gives a “push” to them. Towa has to bare emotions he has never shown in TV series. Director Kamihoriuchi (Kazuya) even told me, “Towa, just lose control of yourself!”. I think the highlight is how Towa’s “passionate side” being expressed in this movie. When I arrived at the shooting site, my resolution was “The way I convey my lines must be able to move my friends’ hearts!” So I want everyone to give attention to these lines.

The movie has a lot of contents. When I read the script, I was so surprised that there were so many elements even though the running time was only 30 minutes. The story itself is very touching, so I hope everyone can watch it as well.

-With the movie release, the story development of the TV series has also become something to look forward to. What kind of thing would Obara-san want to do as Towa in the future?

Because a strong new comrade, Ryusoul Gold/Kanaro (Hyoudou Katsumi) has appeared, I want Towa to show that he too, doesn’t want to be defeated by him.

Up until now, Towa always trusts his brother. They fight together against Druidon, with a strong bond that has formed between them. But what will happen if that once strong bond is strained…? I think, if there is a story like that, the relationship between these two could get even deeper than before. Also, I would be happy if Towa, as the youngest one, gets to pull everyone together. To show that part of him which can be dependable, even when he’s alone. I want to show Towa’s figure that still has lots to grow up. I want to earnestly keep playing as Towa, hoping he’d really be involved in such stories.

source: news.mynavi.jp/article/20190803-ryusoul/

#kishiryu sentai ryusoulger #ryusoulger #obara yuito #towa #ryusoulger interview #my translation

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qhostqizmo · 4 years

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Wanting at my Fingertips

LISTEN.... listen.... I’m a soft romantic... It's who I am. I cannot change this.

- - - - - - - - - -

Absorbed in deep conversation, the Hand of Jubata hardly paid any mind to the bussinessof others moving around them. The staff was, respectfully, quiet on their toes; removing mostly the Montebank family’s plates and few others. Hardly anyone else at the table managed to touch their food; so engrossed in topics changing like the tide and wax of candles burning lower and lower, their flames flickering to dim and brighten in increments. The day turned to dark as the sun began to fade away.

A dreaded sense of discomfort fell upon Essätha, offering her plate to be taken with what remained of her unfinished meal. In small moments, she could feel the weight of a gaze upon her. Most of the time she caught no one looking, but the last few times, she caught the intensity of Lady Josephine’s gaze upon her. She met Essie’s eyes with confidence, and intensity, and it made the Yuan-Ti woman wither uncomfortably.

A chuckle; soft and withheld mostly in the chest, lightened her burden. She watched more then listened to the nobleman as he spoke to the paladin at his other side with warm regard. Such a difference time had given him; to learn and to exist with fond friends surrounding him and a patient, non-judgmental hands to guide him out of the coffin he’d buried himself in years ago.

The smile on her face she hadn’t realized had been there faded away slowly as that same tingling awareness of being watched came over her.

A few minutes later, and the two siblings were politely excused from the table; the young Amelie passing to give her uncle a squeeze around the neck. Having disengaged from the gossip some time ago, Essie awkwardly raised her hand moments after.

“May I too be excused, Lord and Lady Montebank?”

The two appeared colored with surprise.

With a nod from her husband Eddie, Josephine extended a nod. “… Certainly, Miss Meduza. You are free to explore the lower level of the estate. Strün, would you mind accompanying the young lady, please.”

The gentleman offered a polite bow in acknowledge, his armor clanking softly. He was more statuesque then human; having been poised with his hand stretched across his body to hold the hilt of his sword during much of the meal.

With some mild unease, and few quizzical but courteous comments from those still at the table, she accepted the open door from the guard and moved out into the corridor. A softly murmured ‘thank you’ to the older man, who nodded in return, and she began her investigation of the White Moor’s most essential manor.

The guard, although civil, offered little conversation. Focused on his job, he commented briefly on inquiries here and there, and little more. It made time crawl like a snail’s pace, but it was better then feeling watched, and having no input into the topics at play in the dining room.

She had plenty of time to think, and to enjoy the architecture while musing about the building. She wondered where some of the artifacts she spotted were from, and fondly tried to copy the appearance of some to memory. That glass-blown trinket would look quite fetching in Amon’s upstairs seating area catching the light, why had he not thought of that? Or the textile rug pattern, which was the centerpiece of this particular room and added just the right flavor of class and color to the otherwise lack of décor.

The guard stood a few feet from, both silent in the solace of the library. The door opened with a soft swinging of its hinges, just enough to capture the sorceress’ attention.

Josephine’s smile was kind, but small as she stepped inside. The guard offered an immediate bow to her.

“You may leave us, Strün.”

The gentlewoman waved her hand. The guard nodded, remaining in his humble bow before the rattle of his armor quietly clanked towards her, and slipped out the door.

Essätha offered an anxious smile to the woman. She was the pinnacle of sophistication; a perfectly poised posture, her hands clasped delicately before her, radiant dark hair pulled neatly back over her shoulders lined with fair highlights of white. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, but she kept the same reserved but gentle smile in place as she drifted across the floor.

Her head tilted, indicating towards the sofa. “Would you join me for a moment, Miss Meduza? I would like to have a word with you.”

Oh fuck. She hadn’t touched anything, she could swear by it!

Feeling too-tongue-tied to speak, Essie mutely nodded out of respect. She met Lady Josephine, from one end of the room to the other, at the clean white fabric of the seats. She prayed she had no dirt or dust on her to somehow filthy her good furniture.

Taking a seat close, as indicated by the patting of the woman beside her, she tried to sit just as straight, and proper, and lady-like as Amon’s sister.

“You can relax,” Josie warmly responded. “I did not come to scold you.”

Essätha’s smile grew more tense. She forced her shoulders back, but it did not take the rigidness out of her spine as she respectfully dipped her head, and lowered her eyes.

There was a sense of pity in the older woman’s gaze as she murmured, “I… wanted to thank you, for what you did for Amon. I was, and still am, shocked and conflicted with his involvement in what became of our step-brother Fontane, but because of you and your friends statements, he was given an amicable trial. I’m glad to see that Her Majesty has given him the opportunity to work hard and restore his name and the faith the Crown has in him, but I’m even more glad to see that some never seemed to have lost that faith in the first place.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Essie shrugged. “He gave me no reason not to trust him,” she remarked, loathing how small and squeaky her voice was. “M’lord had plenty of opportunity to stab us in the back; to rid of us, to run away, to do anything to avoid the truth of the tale to come out. In the end, he told m- us, willingly. And then… told you just the same.”

“I could feel his regret like a knife still lodged in his back,” she explained. “He… needed to have it pulled out, and be allowed to try to explain himself. Given a chance to heal, and make amends.”

The low-light of the lanterns glittered in the noblewoman’s eyes. She nodded. Her expression was still unreadable.

“I’ve thought on the things you said, the day all of you came here to clarify what you had discovered about this dark cult. You had a lot to say.”

A tinted rosy color began to rise beneath Essätha’s face. She breathed out deeply, reaching up to tuck back the curls of ebony fanned by her breath.

“I still do,” she admitted, offering a nervous high-pitched laugh. When Josie did not respond; studying her, Essie felt compelled to continue, her blush growing deeper, “I care for your brother very much. I’ve never met anyone quite like him. He’s a good man, with a beautiful and wonderful heart. He means a lot to me; his safety, his happiness, and his well-being.”

“I only want what’s best for him,” she rasped, aware of the wavering in her voice and the strange yet familiar fluttering feeling in her chest. “M’lord Amon has a second chance. I just want him to make the most of it, and I support the choices he’s made along the way. Seeing him allow himself to be the man he truly is inside, and to open up has been inspiring, and an experience I’ve been blessed to witness and be a part of.”

“… I appreciate your insight, Miss Meduza, thank you,” Josephine murmured. Her gaze was analytic and calm as she studied Essie. Again, it made the sorceress’ want to squirm.

“Is… that all you wanted from me?” she dared to ask; cautious. “To- thank me?”

The woman nodded. “I’ve heard what I needed to hear. You are free to leave. You appear uncomfortable; I’m sorry to have caused you this.”

The rush of heat in her face was almost dizzying now. “No I-” she sputtered, sighing. “I’m sorry. It’s still intimidating to speak to Lords and Lady’s. Almost all of those I’ve met are far more educated, and proper, then I could ever hope to be.”

Josephine gave an amused noise in the back of her throat. She reached out, tentatively patting Essie on her hand. She flinched with surprise from the first contact, but remained still.

“Education and etiquette does not make us any better, or worth any more then anyone else,” Josephine wisely divulged. “You are doing just fine, Miss Meduza. You are as just, compassionate, and as strong a woman as any nobility I have met. Perhaps even more. Do not let anyone convince you otherwise.”

Struck dumb with shock, Essätha could only nod respectfully in return. That was quite the compliment, coming from a woman of such refined elegance and intelligent form.

Josephine inclined her head to the door, her smile a bit wider now. “You may be excused, Miss Meduza.”

“Oh- right,” she rasped, flustered as she dipped her head. “Thank you, Lady Josephine.”

“And thank you, dear. Go; I will join all of you shortly, it appears your friends were getting ready to leave.”

Returning the smile, Essie nodded. She felt too insecure to offer the lady of the manor anything in return; a hand squeeze, a hug? A thank you seemed all she was capable of doing, still too weary and insecure, but it would have to be enough.

Slipping through the door, she closed it softly behind herself, never looking back. She released a heavy sigh, closing her eyes. Admittedly she was a little grateful to be out from under the strength of Josephine’s regard, which had been rather acute. Exactly what had she been looking for? What had she been convinced of, or gathered that was not already the obvious?

The chatter from the dining room seemed to be hovering close. Essie pried her eyes open, and shuffled in that direction.

Maybe a bit of light-hearted chatter and joking would put her at ease.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I would like a word with my brother. I will make sure my guards escort him safely to your inn residency when we’re done speaking.”

The words rang in Amon’s head in an endless loop as he waited, sitting nervously and alone on the couch. He fidgeted and scuffed his boots like a restless child, unsure on what Josephine could possibly have to say to him. She had spoken very little to him directly since he’d entered the estate, and he’d only relaxed part of the way through dinner to engage in topics.

Josephine had left him alone, waiting in doubt in the library while she went to speak to some of her staff and finished her farewells with the rest of his comrades. He’d caught the last, lingering looks of concern on their faces as he’d dragged himself away from the foyer and back in towards the room his sister had directed him. They all looked a bit anxious to leave him, but he’d stared a moment or two too long at Essätha’s particularly tense disposition and how she worried her lower lip.

Did she know something he did not? She had disappeared from the dinner table an hour before the rest of them, and Josie had gotten up to excuse herself a few minutes earlier then the rest of them…

The house grew quieter, and quieter. He looked to the door expectedly as the soft pattering of feet approached.

Josephine stepped inside, carrying a candle. She glided into the room, quiet as a mouse, and sat the bright candle on the table before them as she smoothed out her dress, and took a seat.

“You look well,” she observed, not looking at him yet.

“… Thank you,” he muttered, unsure how to reply. “I’m glad to see you are all safe.”

She nodded, scooting slightly to turn and look to him now. “We’ve had a few strange incidents since you left,” she admitted. “Nothing that could be proved, anyway.”

Again, he nodded, swallowing against the constricted feeling in his throat.

Slowly, her dignified position disappeared. Josie smiled, but it still had a tinge of sorrow in her eyes as she looked at him.

“I was relieved to receive word from Her Majesty that you were not imprisoned,” she whispered, reaching for his hands.

He allowed her to take them; keeping his fingers limp. The ex-nobleman offered a thin smile in return.

When he did not respond, she sighed heavily. “You know that I love you Amon, right?”

“Of course, Josie.”

“You know I do not condemn you for what you did, but I believe entirely that what you did was wrong, and that it was not our right; mine or yours, to be your judge and jury, correct?”

He winced. “… Yes.”

She nodded. “I am working on learning forgiveness, as your friends have,” she observed. “I believe you’ve meant no harm. But what you allowed to happen to Fontane was an atrocity.”

“I know,” Amon wheezed, his voice small, and broken.

With great sympathy, Josephine let go of his hands, and opened her arms wide.

He willingly accepted her offering, leaning in to the hug and returning it with a careful squeeze.

“I am so glad to see you,” she whispered softly. “I’ve been worried sick. But it seems like your new accomplices have been taking very good care of you.”

Despite the previous tense words, he found himself actually smiling. It wasn’t very big, but it was genuine.

“We all take care of each other.”

“So I’ve heard. Your friends have some… intricate stories. I do hope some of them are exaggerated.”

“Greatly,” Amon wheezed, knowing some of them most certainly were not.

Josie released her hold on him, and leaned back. It left his eyes to wander, briefly around the room. It had not changed since he was last here, but he felt like he had. He took in the shelves, and the mounted stag head, and slowly made his way back to looking at Josephine’s calm awaiting gaze.

She looked somewhat hurt. The weight of guilt that he felt in intervals flared up, making his shoulders sag.

“Amon… why didn’t you tell me the young woman you’re traveling with is in love with you?”

He cleared his throat; ears ringing. The heat of the sun felt like it had burned his cheeks, but it was most certainly not a sunburn.

“I- I can’t tell her-” he stammered. The words didn’t register for a moment, and he stalled part of the way through, mouth gaping. The ex-nobleman choked; the whites of his eyes visible as he widened his gaze more and more.

“W-Wait you… you think she’s in love with me?” he asked; voice shrill and shaking.

Josephine knit her brow. “You’re telling me you didn’t know?”

“N-no that’s- that’s crazy that’s outlandish, whatever would make you think-”

Sighing, the noblewoman pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you really so blind? She talked to me, about you. She spoke as if you drag the sun into the sky at the dawn of every day. During dinner she smiled at you every time you laughed or smiled. When you placed your hand on the table; which may I remind you is bad form, she would place hers on top of yours.”

“You walked into my house with her holding your hand,” Josie reminded him, nearly exasperated. “She looks to no one else when she’s not directly speaking to any other.”

He could hardly breathe. His chest felt tight. The Briarton Protector stared at his sister, and yet did not see her. He felt disconnected. Surely this was a trick. Surely this moment was not real.

Essätha did not love him. She couldn’t possibly. There was no way. These were all mistakes; misinterpreted moments. She didn’t…

Painstakingly, Josephine spoke his name, but he did not hear her. She squeezed his hand, and spoke louder, but he was staring off still, at a loss. Nearly a minute had ticked by when he centered himself to focus, and his sister was wearing a firm and slightly annoyed expression until it became apparent his attention had refocused.

Josephine’s eyes danced over him. She breathed out slowly; whispering, “How long have you held your heart from her?”

Amon fidgeted, unable to meet her gaze.

“So you do love her?”

Again, he said nothing. His stomach rolled itself up into knots. All he could think about was her soft smile, and her warm golden eyes, and his insides felt of putty and tied into a pretzel. He was frightened beyond reason, but his soul felt light and tingly. How was he supposed to explain himself? What did Josie want him to say? That every time he saw her, his heart began to race? How when she said his name, he was put under a spell and would do anything for her?

And what’s more, what did she even think of all this?

Josephine let out a loud, frustrated breath. “Amon Thomas Illiad, have you learned nothing? Has your past taught you nothing? Has keeping the truth bottled up inside really brought you happiness, regarding anything? You keep your secrets, and what good has it done you? You’ve driven anyone who ever cared for you away. You kept yourself in a dangerous situation withholding what actually happened to Fontane for so long, you forgot how to even act like yourself!”

“The only person you ever allowed close enough to love you unconditionally was Marie,” Josie whispered, squeezing his hands for support as he flinched. “She was an amazing young lady, and we’re all remorseful of her untimely loss. No one will ever replace the loving relationship you had with her; like a father to his daughter, but there is a woman standing at your side now, who loves you just as unconditionally, in an entirely different way. In the way I have never witnessed you allowing another woman to grow as close to you. You trust her, I can see that as plain as day. And you’ve allowed yourself to trust her with your heart, too.”

“If you let her go, you are going to regret not saying a word the rest of your life as you watch her walk away,” she pleaded, clutching his hands now. “I do not want to see you heartbroken again, Amon. The only one standing in your way right now is you. What have you to fear that woman, who has given you so much support knowing you and your past, and still is steadfast to your defense?”

“I’m scared for her!” the nobleman finally cried out in a shaky voice. Alarmed at his own volume, he jerked back just as Josephine did.

In an unexpected wash of emotion, tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he heaved for air, speaking rapidly, “Yes Josie yes, of course I love her! Essätha is… beautiful, in so many ways, inside and out. She’s been nothing but generous to me all this time, even when when I was foul and did nothing to deserve it. She’s gracious and caring and thoughtful and loyal; incredibly gentle and funny and strange but in the most splendid and surprising ways, I can’t help but to love her.”

“But I’ve hurt so many being who I am. I’ve driven people away. Friends, allies, loves; I gave them reason to question me, and where they stood with me. I’ve made others doubt my affections. I’m the reason that Marie is gone in the first place.”

He sank into himself, pulling his hands roughly free to hide his remorseful face in. Swallowing thickly; trying to bury the rising agony threatening to devour him, he choked, “I can’t condemn her like that. I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t bare the thought of losing her, too.”

Josephine reached out, holding him gently. “… Clinging to the past isn’t going to right those wrongs,” she soothed. “She has faith in you. If you love her as much as you say, I would think you would put every effort into keeping your every word to her; into loving her, and keeping her safe.”

“You are not the reason that Marie is gone,” she murmured. “It was an unfortunate accident. She would want you to move forward, and to be happy, just as much as I do.”

Josephine lifted his head, looking him in the eye sternly as he blinked through red puffy eyes and tears. “Essätha loves you, Amon,” his sister repeated. “Are you willing to turn her away for your life of loneliness and punishment? Despite the evidence that she has given you unwavering commitment and mercy, even given your greatest sins? Or are you going to continue allowing fear to rule you, and keep her at an arm’s length for the remainder of your days, never knowing what joys you two could have experienced together?”

“I… I don’t know,” he lamented, breath hitching. “I don’t know, Josie. What if it all falls apart? What if she ends up hating me, or leaving, and we can’t look each other in the eye anymore?”

“That is the leap we all must take. You could always ask yourself, what if it turns out right? What if she stays? What if this the person I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with?” She let go of his face, patting his hands instead. “But I’m not the one you need to be having these discussions with. That is your decision, and hers.”

“You really think she loves me?”

He saw the smile in his sister’s eyes as she replied, “I know she does.”

It sent his heart soaring with hope. With Abernathy’s words from months past radiating through his head and now his sister’s; echoing through the chambers of his mind, something in these encounters had to be more then coincidence. If it was obvious to the both of them, who else was seeing through his disguise? And was anyone else able to see through Essätha’s, too?

With the ever-present ache of longing in Amon’s chest to see that Yuan-Ti woman so dear to him growing stronger, he bowed his head. He allowed Josephine to continue holding his hands in hers with support, though he felt almost numb and detached from reality.

He couldn’t wait to return to The Thornless Rose just to see her. Even if he didn’t say anything at all tonight, or the next, or for months yet; trying to find his courage, he couldn’t wait to be close to her again. A moment to breathe in the jasmine on her skin and the lilacs in her hair, and to hold her close; warm and soft, and see the sun rise in her eyes when she opened them, and hear the lilt in her voice when she spoke to him with eager fondness on how much she missed him just blinking her eyes. Or heavens, how she laughed, all bright and breathless and whimsy when he found just the right joke to catch her off guard with.

The Illiad clung to that vision with hope. If she loved him; and he prayed this to be true, Josephine had one thing right.

He would put every effort he had into making her world as beautiful, and soft, and safe as she made his. He would keep every promise he ever whispered to her, waking or sleeping. She would be the last love he would ever have; the rest of his life it would be her and her alone.

He would be hers, and she would be his Essätha Meduza, the most enchanting, unique, and stunning woman he’d ever known.

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #ft: Josephine Montebank #softly written

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sparklingdali · 6 years

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Ogniem i mieczem: PAS DE TROIS BALLET AU

READ ON AO3

Due the popular demand I present a short prologue for the two people who showed interest @bachaboska and @meadowlarkx.

This is something me and @thecrystalmadness have been working on. I blame her for making me write this as I would never in my life consider writing modern day AU and ballet. Thanks for ruining my summer.

It took a while till they arrived at the house of the Kurcewiczs because Wasyl was slowing them down, stopping to point out various crosses atop church rooftops with an excitement that went beyond understanding. His brothers were, however, completely accustomed to it by now.

“He always does this,” said Symeon a little defensively but neither him or Mikołaj complained, they just looked deadly bored. Bohun didn’t understand half of what Wasyl was talking about because his appreciation of churches began and ended with a hazy memory of one with round domes coated in gold that he must have seen in Kiev as a child. When looking at them now he mostly only felt relief he was no longer forced to go to masses like in the children’s home.

“We will just have to wait for him,” continued Symeon with a side look that spoke volumes. Bohun felt almost offended, as he was never rude towards Wasyl and actually helped Mikołaj beat a few guys at school for making fun of him. But Symeon was fourteen, two years older than them, tasked with the thankless job of trying to pull his brother through basic education. Being in the same class with him and having to listen to snarky remarks on his brother’s intelligence only increased his protectiveness. Bohun knew Wasyl should have been going to high school by now, though he couldn’t really determine his age.

Wasyl finally stopped blabbering about the difference between the rib vault and the fan vault so they resumed walking. After a long time they finally reached the Rozłogi Street, which gave the whole neighborhood a name. Bohun could see this was a much better looking place than the one he was living in with his foster parents. They passed small villas with neatly mowed lawns, surrounded by tall white gates and expensive looking cars, that gleamed in the afternoon sun, although none of them could rival Burłaj’s proudly displayed old broken polonez in the backyard. Bohun never realized that the Kurcewiczs were kind of rich and suddenly felt out of place in his hand-me-down clothes and shoes, of which he was already the third owner.

“Byahvyou to our royal estate,” said Mikołaj in bad imitation of French when they reached a cube-like modern house with a huge steel gate that one could almost admire for its unapologetic ugliness. “Jean, don’t just stand there, open the door for our most esteemed guest.”

Bohun laughed while Symeon rolled his eyes and pressed a chip on his key-chain to a blinking box on the wall. The gate suddenly opened. Despite Mikołaj’s jokes the camera at the top of the gate still made him feel like he was infiltrating the place. He wondered why they had such big security here. Bohun followed them along the stepping-stone path with a wide grin, admiring the trees lining it, branches bent under the weight of the cherries.

They played with a ball for a while in the playground behind the house, enjoying the warm weather. Wasyl was clearly dominating the game, being the fastest and biggest of them. Despite Bohun’s many attempts to catch up to him and retake the ball for his team, he didn’t succeed even once.

He barely remembered the last time he felt so carefree and normal. He liked Burłaj but there were too many children in his house. The older kids rarely did anything else in their free time beside trying to sneak out for a smoke and a few drinks, which Bohun found quite boring. The only one with whom he formed a fragile bond was Horpyna and she was a huge weirdo.

He recalled the first time he met her, being bored out of his mind and lying atop Burłaj’s car. A scraping sound woke him from brooding. He cracked one eye open and saw a shadow of a gangly girl with messy hair.

There was something unsettling about her and the dark glint in her eyes only added to the menacing impression. Years spent in the children’s home honed his fight or flight reflex (being no coward he mostly went with fight) and his senses were telling him this older girl was not to be messed with.

“Looks like old Burłaj went looking for stray cats again, huh? Aren’t you adorable,” she cooed.

“Who the fuck are you?” Annoying right from the start, Bohun thought.

“Haven’t learned how to say hello?”

“Hello, bitch.”

She laughed. “My, my, such refined manners. Pray tell, were your parents junkies or filthy pedos?”, she asked as if this was a perfectly normal thing to talk about. Bohun, thought he had seen a lot in his life, couldn’t find any response to that.

“Have you met Big Foot already?”

“Yeah… I did. I don’t like him.”

“Perfect. You have a nose for sniffing out the bastards. Wanna put spiders in his bed?”

Bohun looked up with interest, but cautiously stopped himself and asked.

“Why do you need me for this? Afraid of spiders?”

“Excuse you, I love them”, she said mock offended. “But I can’t actually put them there, he would immediately know it was me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“No. I will do it. But I want something in return.”

“And that would be?”

“Never call me adorable again.”

Horpyna cackled.

“Deal.”

Big Foot’s shrieking was to this present day still a fond memory.

“Let’s go inside and change. Dinner is in about an hour and Mother will be displeased if we’re not prepared,” Mikołaj said dramatically.

They lead him inside the house. Bohun didn’t have much time to look around, as they quickly dragged him upstairs in front of the bathroom.

“You go shower first, Stinklord, we have to settle something.”

Mikołaj ignored Bohun’s indignant huff and laughed. Just before he shut the door, Bohun caught a glimpse of him clenching his fist into a ball hovering above a flat palm.

“And don’t you dare to cheat again, Wasyl,” was the last thing he heard until he stopped paying attention.

Bohun showered quickly since he didn’t want to get yelled at for wasting water. He dried himself with his dirty clothes, unsure of which towel to use, and put on the shorts and the t-shirt in which he went to Hopak after school. He passed Symeon on his way out who had obviously won their little game.

“You can watch TV in the kitchen if you want. Mikołaj and Wasyl were blathering on about some stupid reality show,” Symeon said with disgust and closed the door behind him.

Having no idea where the kitchen was in this big maze of a house, Bohun only knew he had to take the stairs to get where they came from, but the moment he ended up on the ground floor he saw that all doors looked the same. A single door was open so he decided that one was his best bet, although Bohun wouldn’t peg the soothing music coming out of it as typical for ‘stupid reality shows’.

His suspicions turned right when Bohun found himself in a mirror-clad room with a high ceiling. In the middle was a girl that couldn’t have been much younger than him holding her leg up straight.

She didn’t stay there for long. As if on command, she spun around and made an elaborate jump. Bohun immediately noticed that despite leaping so high her landing was smooth and her legs didn’t buckle at all. She started spinning again and then made several deliberate steps on her toes towards the handrail where she went on to do some routine that looked complicated at first but the more he watched her the more he saw the individual moves flowing after each other in perfect synchronization. It was captivating and while he didn’t think about it in those words, the elegance and beauty of what he saw completely enchanted him. It reminded him, out of all things, of his mother, walking on an upturned bench and swinging her leg, jumping and landing and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

When the music faded softly away, he shouted: “That was really good!”

The girl turned her head towards him abruptly, dark eyes wide. He was already walking towards her however, seeing fear on her face replaced by caution. What was she afraid of, Bohun thought with amusement.

“How did you do it? Like this?” He executed the standing split with a grunt, showing off a little. Most people couldn’t do what he did, even if he got a lot worse at it since he had stopped training with mom. Stretching while brushing his teeth in the morning or doing headstands and flips to freak out his roommates really didn’t cut it. As he watched himself in the mirror, he was far from the easy elegance in which the girl did what he was trying to do.

He finally let his leg down and turned back to her. “I haven’t even told you my name! I’m Jurko. You’re the cousin, right? “

She did look nothing like the Kurcewicz brothers who all had dirty blond hair and were pretty fair skinned in comparison to her.

“I’m Helena,” she said a little defensively, as if she was disappointed that he didn’t know her name. She turned away and resumed practicing.

He began to imitate her slowly and while Helena was watching him with squinted eyes, as if she couldn't decide if he was mocking her or seriously attempting to follow her dancing. Soon a small smile appeared on her face and only grew wider when she saw his reflection in the mirror as he tried to do a pirouette and ended up feeling dizzy.

Helena looked like she wanted to say something a few times and now she finally gathered the courage.

“Alright then. First position, put your feet apart like this.” Her voice quivered at first, but as she continued talking, obviously knowing a lot about ballet, it changed and Helena recited the positions in a decisive, loud voice, actually reminding him of one of his despotic teacher’s at school. It would probably annoy him if she weren’t like ten, making the whole affair amusing instead, especially since she liked to use weird french words.

“Now second position, third position. Put your arm a little higher, yes, you’re doing great,” she said enthusiastically. “Fourth position aaand...fifth position!”

He thought that he more or less managed to do everything she told him to. They went through the basic positions for a while but it started to bore him a little. So he asked her if she would show him how to do the pirouette again.

“Also what about this?” He furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to stand on his toes. His ankles gave out immediately at first, not used to balancing his center like that, and he fell down rather spectacularly. Helena snickered. Grinning, he immediately stood up to try again. This time he persisted for all of three seconds. Helena’s snickers turned into a full-belly laughter. Bohun was positively radiating with glee, her giggling only making him want to try harder.

“We should try the pirouettes. You need special shoes for pointe, they have hard soles to help you stand on your toes. Also it’s mostly for girls.”

“How come you don’t have shoes like that then?”

“You aren’t allowed to start too early because it damages your feet,” Helena explained seriously. “But I will be getting them in a year and half!” She turned on place, excited. “Now the pirouette!” The tone of her voice changed again into a command. She ran towards him, showing him what to do with his feet.

“You put you foot here,” her fingertip went into the notch at the top of her knee. “And stand really straight. Like somebody just jabbed you into ribs.”

“Please don’t do that,” Bohun was standing upright on one of his legs, perfectly balanced but obviously concentrating very hard to be so.

“Like when I showed you how to do plies, you need to keep balance there,” she said while putting hands on her hips. “And then you turn into the fourth position.”

Helena watched him with wide eyes as he imitated her. She then continued to show him how to position his arms and demonstrated the pirouette several times while he watched.

“Also remember you are not trying to go around but up,” she said but Bohun was no longer listening, spinning at the spot at first in disjointed fashion and stopping a few times, but gradually imitating pirouette.

It was harder than it looked like. He stopped the attempts after a while, feeling sick.

“Oh, I forgot!” Helena covered her mouth. “You need to keep your eyes on the spot otherwise you will get sick.”

Bohun had hands over his face, thinking for a second he might really be, but then he only ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. “I think I will do it with closed eyes for a bit.”

When he lifted his leg and started spinning, Bohun finally felt like he got it. Somehow, it seemed easier with closed eyes.

“You are really good,” the awe in her voice prominent. “I can’t believe you are picking this up so fast. Did you ever do ballet before? Maybe when you were little? I started at four!”

Bohun, terribly proud that he managed to learn the pirouette, made a few more attempts. This was exactly just as much fun as it looked, he thought. When he finally stood with both legs on the ground, tired, there was a small smile on his face.

“No. But I will show you what I did.”

Bohun went still and sized the amount of space in front of him. He jumped on his hands, did a handspring, then immediately pushed himself off with his legs again in the air, stopping at a head stand. There he turned his eyes toward Helena who was clapping her hands excitedly and smiling.

“You are a gymnast!”

Bohun put his feet back to the ground, wiping his hands. “Not anymore, but I used to be. I just do hopak now with-”

He suddenly stopped. In the door stood an older woman with a stern face and long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail. Seeing him freeze, Helena turned to face the woman, who in return gave Helena a reproaching look. Bohun decided this must be her aunt.

“Is this what you call practice, young lady?” she scolded her. Then turned her icy gaze towards Bohun.

“I’m sorry, madame,” Helena said without looking up, sounding dejected.

----

Kurcewiczóvna was a witness to a scene which she didn’t prepare herself for. Helena had terrible tendency to just dance whatever she wanted to when left alone which she could at least forgive but there were times when she found her still stretching over some book half an hour after she should be already dancing. And now apparently forsaking ballet altogether over playing gymnastics with some friend her boys brought from school.

“And who are you?” she turned towards the boy who was staring at her with almost open mouth. But he quickly recovered:

“It’s Bo-hun. Hello, madame,” he for some reason bowed and gave her a cheeky grin. “I came with Mikołaj.”

After a long pause Kurcewiczóvna said slowly in an absolutely unimpressed voice: “Hello.” She was wondering where her sons picked up this insolent brat. “Would you excuse us for a moment? Why don’t you go play with Mikołaj?” she asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Helena, who was until now biting her lip to not laugh at her, became very somber, suddenly trying to act like the perfect image of an obedient and respectful pupil.

“But we were practicing ballet before. I was teaching him basic positions and how to do a pirouette. Here, please show her!” she turned with pleading eyes to Bohun. “He’s really good.” she whispered.

Bohun got into first position with an inner grace not possessed by many in his age, eyeing her expectantly, almost challenging. Kurcewiczóvna saw the determination on his face and while she was this close to telling the boy to get lost, something in that look made her change her mind.

“Very well. If you want to show me something, lets put on some music first,” she said with a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Helena was already scrambling towards the CD player.

“Put on the little swans we did yesterday.” Kurcewiczóvna had to halt Helena’s another attempt at having her listen to Giselle. That girl sure was obsessed, even though she should be preparing for the upcoming performance and not wheedling out of her a new costume for ballet she at this point had no chance of dancing in.

Bohun was just standing there awkwardly in the meanwhile, scratching his ankle with the other leg. Kurcewiczóvna thought she will at least get some low entertainment out of this if nothing else.

She was proven wrong. He didn’t even wait for instructions when the music started playing and just went straight to the basic ballet positions. Bohun’s moves were unpolished for sure, but what he lacked in precision he made up for with enthusiasm. It was quite a joy to watch him because even when he made a mistake his relaxed expression didn’t change. This was a complete opposite of Helena who after any misstep bit her lip painfully no matter how many times she reprimanded her for it.

Even more striking was the way his movements connected with music. Musicality was a huge part of being a ballet dancer and while technique could be learned, hearing well and reacting appropriately to what your ears processed was the core. Helena was good at this too but she thought too much during dancing and could be easily distracted from concentration.

When the boy started doing pirouettes, it was obvious he only just began to learn them so she stopped him after a while.

Overall she was impressed. He even danced with a certain dramatic flair, Kurcewiczóvna thought with a hidden smile and asked Bohun, who was trying to catch his breath at the moment:

“You said you were Bohun. And your last name?”

“That’s my last name. I’m Jurko Bohun.” He sounded almost defensive.

“Which school are you going to?”

“Copernicus Middle School.”

Kurcewiczóvna rolled her eyes. “What dancing school do you belong to? Who is teaching you ballet?”

“I’m not doing ballet. I only do traditional.”

“And you never did it before?”

“No.”

She stayed silent for a while and then, as if she suddenly remembered something, ordered sharply: “Let’s go eat dinner. Practice is over.”

---

Later that night while on her way to the bathroom, Helena heard her aunt talking on the phone with someone. She stopped abruptly and listened, thinking she heard something about a great talent. A small hope rose in her heart. Maybe aunt was talking about her?

“I understand you’re skeptical, but wait until you see him. He has a certain... je ne sais quoi. No experience at all, my sons brought him home from Hopak.”

Silence. Saddened, Helena realized they must be talking about Jurko.

“Alright, but I can guarantee you’ll regret this. I wouldn’t be surprised if Chmielnicki got his claws in him eventually. You know how he likes to take an interest in street rats.”

The silence went for a little longer now.

“Okay, I will send him to you next week.” Helena couldn’t see her face but she knew her aunt was smiling. She remembered that victorious smile from the many pictures of her holding golden medals and flower bouquets. Just as Helena was quietly scuttling away, she heard:

“You too. And please do try to be nice to him, would you, Jarema?”

_____

Not a kid fic. For the rest of the story they are adults though they don’t always act like it. It’s also Jan/Helena/Bohun, with Jan just conveniently absent before the first chapter.

#ogniem i mieczem #bohun #helena kurcewiczówna #jan skrzetuski #with fire and sword #oim #pdt

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king-and-vixen-blog · 7 years

Text

#Love & Chaos ~ Part 1

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Original Characters Face Claims:

Sal Angelino - Russell Crowe

Angel Angelino - Alysha Nett

Angela Angelino - Blake Lively

New York 1968

He sat emotionless as the voices became monotone and eventually blended with one another in such a way there it was inaudible muffled sounds that filled the multimillion dollar board room. His well-manicured hand tugged at the necktie that strangulated him like a noose. Sal Angelino was aware most men would give their soul to the devil to sit where he was right now, and all he wanted to do was run from it. His eyes narrowed in on the lawyer as he unfolded the last will and testament of his father, Frank Angelino. The cock sucker had never been a man to leave one detail unchecked in life, and Sal damned well knew in death he would spell it all out as well. The empire his father had built in a country where he had sought refuge as an immigrant so many years ago, he didn’t want it. The truth of the fucking matter was Sal didn’t know what in the hell he wanted, he just knew it wasn’t what awaited him in the last written words of his father.

“Mr. Angelino, did you hear what I just said?” The balding man that had been his father’s advisor peered over the rim of his glasses as he awaited an answer.

“My father was Mr. Angelino, I’m Sal.” He replied flatly his look of defiance growing.

“Very well, Sal.” The man paused for a moment after putting great emphasis on the shortened name, only continuing after laying the legal document upon the table. “You have inherited a very large responsibility as your fathers only son.”

“I don’t want it.” Sal replied as his hands moved upwards tugging the necktie free. “None of it.”

“You have no options here Mister, forgive me Sal.” The aged man shot back knowing his ability to intimidate Sal was zero to none. The only man that had ever accomplished that successfully has been his father Mr. Frank Angelino. He was sure the dead man was currently making Lucifer his bitch.

His balled-up fist hand hit the table as if it were a sledge hammer. “I have every option.” He spits the venomous words back at the old man as his 5’10” frame rose from the seat.

“Who will lead this family if you don’t Salvatore?” The lawyer’s eyes grew big as Sal’s body rose, while he wasn’t as large as his cousins or even his father, Sal was not a person he wanted to piss off. His nature had been cold, in many ways colder than his father Frank Angelino.

“Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck.” He ended his words with freed neck tie thrown onto the table as he left the conference room never looking back.

Biker Rally, Midwest, 1970

The dust rose as he walked through the bikes that were from the various charters of Angels of Death that had sprung up over the years. When Sal Angelino had walked out of the board room two years earlier at the age of 20 he had never anticipated that he would be leading the life he now found himself in. He hadn’t founded of the Angels of Death, but he had built the once dying biker club into the powerhouse it was, in just five short years. When Red, the current president of the club stepped down, it would all be his and this inheritance, unlike the one he was born into he wouldn’t deny.

“Fuckin’ tits and ass man it’s what keeps a man like me young and healthy.” The older man nicknamed Red for his once fire engine head of hair coughed out the words as he pushed his lanky fingers through his thinning gray strands.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Sal grumbled under his breath as he walked through the crowd that parted for them like the sea of fuckin’ Jordan.

The old man eyed the younger stout man beside him, he and Sal had met by accident years earlier when his father Frank was still alive. The club had done handy work for his old man back in the day, the kind of meet and greet shit that a classy, well refined business man like Frank Angelino didn’t participate in. Sal had bucked the silver spoon future that was planned for him, and traveled a route that no one could have foreseen.

‘Course Red supposed inevitably his future would have be resulted in the same role, that of a leader, just in a different manner than the one he had walked out on. He shook his head. Kid was full of rage and anger though, and no one seemed to know the origin, not even Red, but it served its purpose well where AOD was concerned. Sal was a heartless savage when it came to taking care of business.

“Sal why don’t you find one of these fuckin’ sweet butts and get your dick wet, ya been a real motherfuckin’ bear lately, give the brothers a break why dontcha.” Red's eyes immediately caught sight of the swaying asses in front of him, distracted like a kid in the candy shop he followed them without hesitation.

“Horny ol’ fucker.” Sal grumbled as he watched the distance grow between him and the old man he respected more than his own father.

He shook his head, fuckin’ old coot was gonna end up in the ground 10 feet under if he didn’t slow the fuck down on the pussy, bastard had already been treated twice in twelve months for dripping dick he caught not wrapping up. Veering off to the right Sal stopped to look at some biker paraphernalia strewn on a table. The silver angel caught his eye immediately, true enough he hadn’t named the club, but the name had struck a chord in him from the beginning. Stretching his forward his finger fished through the other insignias to reach what he sought, but what his fingers touched however was something he hadn’t expected. Lifting his brooding blue eyes he blinked rapidly to make sure he wasn’t seeing an aspiration. Standing before him was the perfect angel.

“Seems we have similar taste.” Her feminine voice drifted toward him, and like the fuckin’ Grinch that stole Christmas he felt his ice-cold heart begin to thaw.

“Seems we do.” He held tight to the delicate fingers she was trying to retract. “Seems we do.”

[Seven years later, AOD Montana compound, 1977]

“SAL!” She burst into the round table room with no regard for the business that was taking place.

Everyone knew when it came to Angela Angelino everything else could just fuckin’ pause, so the abrupt appearance of the angelic looking blonde, during some trying negotiations with a west coast charter didn’t seem irregular to those wearing the AOD patch. The grimace that adorned Sal’s face turned instantly to that of a man more love-sick than angered, he laid his cigar in the ashtray turning his full attention to his wife. She was just as beautiful seven years later as she had been when he set eyes on her at the biker rally. Sal had always heard soulmate true love bullshit from others, stupid ass babble about knowing when you met the one. Hearts, roses, poetry all that bullshit wasn’t him, he didn’t make love, he fucked, until Angela. She had turned his world upside down, when he looked into her eyes he felt like he was the man she saw, not some piece of shit murder.

Her innocence, had captured him, made him want to protect something for the first time in his life, and he found it no coincidence that her name was almost a mirror of his now dynasty. Marrying her just a few short months later hadn’t been the only changes over the last many years. The ink was barely dry on the wedding papers, and honeymoon still ongoing when Red had stepped down as president of the mother charter to spend his retirement years with his cock in a sweet butt’s mouth, pussy, or ass whichever he could get. It had all fallen to Sal. Some said the quick retirement came because Red had seen a change in Sal he felt was needed to be a true leader. Angela balanced him. The club had grown thrived even more than it had in the first years when he and Red had joined up. They had strong charters from the East Coast to Midwest, and if Sal had anything to say about it he would take over the West Coast one day in the very near future.

“You all know my wife, Angela.” He nodded turning his face back towards the five men he wished he could just shoot between the eyes and put to ground, but fuck the time just wasn’t right yet.

Above all thing he had learned over the last many years timing was by far one of the most important. Sal had thought the time was right to take over, war or not, but the West Coast president had made him rethink his original plan. Not because he was some great negotiator, but because the fucker was weak, even though he didn’t realize this trait in himself. Sal had seen disillusioned pricks like him for years, given time he would destroy everything he was working to build and AOD would step in. The club he sought would be clean pickings, no war, no bankroll lost, and more important no risk for Angela. Sal knew he thought shit out more carefully now that she was in tow. Her safety was more important to him than just about anything. It had made him more cautious in ways that had probably saved many lives, including his own.

“Ma’am, pleasure, think we met while back.” The leader spoke up as his other soldiers nodded in respect to the first ol’ lady of AOD.

Sal’s eyes turned back to the leader, narrowing momentarily, fucker was a pussy. His wife on the other hand a ball breaker, how that combo worked he wasn’t sure. He figured she was the true backbone of the charter, and her husband was just a puppet she pulled the strings too. One had to admire such manipulation from a woman as young as she was, made him wonder what she would be like in the years to come. He made a mental note she might eventually need to be snuffed out along with her old man. Sal knew some would frown on him for killing a woman, but he didn’t give two fucks, business was business and it had to be dealt with pussy or cock.

His attention turned back to his wife, in all the years he had never allowed anyone to refer to her as an ol’ lady. She was so much more than that to him. He found himself almost smiling, as he her small hand brushed her long blonde hair over her shoulders. She had always worn her hair long at his request, one of the few request he had ever made of her. As many times as he looked at Angela he couldn’t believe she was his wife. Sure, he had sweet butts constantly flinging themselves at him, but they weren't worth losing her over. Angela was different, special in a way no other woman could touch. He hadn’t been unfaithful to her since the day they had met. He nodded his head, a smirk growing on his face, as he looked down at her simple converse shoes, she looked nothing like the typical ol’ lady either. Her style was quirky and oddly enough suited her. Angela was sweet, too sweet for the likes of him, and Sal thanked whatever fucker was hovering over them in heaven every day that she didn’t realize just how below her pay grade she had married. He wasn’t good enough for her, and in his heart he knew he never would be, but she was his and he would cherish, and protect her for the rest of his life.

“Everything ok babe?” He tried not to sound too much like a school boy with his first hard on, but fuck she made it difficult.

“I’m pregnant.” She burst out the news her gleeful giggle filling the room as she estatically pressed her palms to both sides of her face.

“What?” Sal looked at her puzzled as if he didn’t know they had been trying to have a kid.

He had given Angela the sun, moon and fuckin’ stars but still she had wanted something he really wasn’t willing to give her, a kid. Every time he thought of bringing a kid into the picture a sense of doom took him over. It was stupid as fuck, most of the brothers had started families, but he had put her off all this time. The last two years though, she had been badgering him for a kid every damned day. Many had been surprised she just hadn’t let it happen, but unlike the other whores of the club she was too respectful, didn’t have a manipulative bone in her body. She wanted it to be something Sal was ok with. Finally, he had relented to her begging a couple of months back, still he hadn’t expected immediate results like this. Fuck, hadn’t one of his brothers tried to knock his ol’ lady up for months on end, a damned year for another. The ringing sounds of cheers and pounding fist on the round table where they sat was deafening. He felt disorientated as if the room was spinning around uncontrollably, spreading his palms out on the table for leverage he attempted the best smile he could.

“No shit.” That was all he could manage.

“Sal, fuck sake man you’re gonna be a father, this calls for a fuckin’ celebration tonight. This shit can wait until later.” Red announced from the opposite end of the table as he rose from his chair. “This is good news babe.” The old man hugged Angela to his old creaking boney chest.

Red eyed Sal’s reaction curiously, before turning back to Angela. She had been a god send for Sal, changed him in ways he needed changing. Angela had swept in and given him a conscious where he needed one, turned some of his cold demeanor into something else, gave him a little patience and caution where there had been none. The club had thrived, and Sal hadn’t lost his soul to the unknown demons that haunted him on a regular basis. She was his guardian angel, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Congratulations man, my ol’ lady is knocked up too.” John Teller offered the friendly words hoping the news would ease some of the crackling tension between the two rival charters.

He glanced to his side to see Otto his new sergeant of arms relaxing his crossed arms. His eyes peered to his best friend and VP Piney whose tense shoulders were now falling. His kid Opie wasn’t even old enough to be walking yet. They all had shit to lose if this meeting went south. John looked back over at the blonde before him, she was a fuckin’ god send, a damned angel in disguise. For the first time in hours he breathed a sigh of relief, before she had burst into the room he really didn’t know how the meeting was gonna land. Sal was known to not take bullshit, and John realized they could very well disappear if the man before him felt things weren’t progressing in the manner he wanted them too. John didn’t want war, fuck he didn’t want half the shit they had gotten themselves into with the club they had named The Sons of Anarchy. They weren’t even but a few years into shit officially and already stuff was just spiraling outta control. He and Piney had, had a different vision for the band of misfit brothers, but for now though they were up to their ears in debt getting shit off the ground, and with Gemma his new bride knocked up what choice did they all have. They had made a name for themselves, otherwise they wouldn’t have been summoned by the great Sal Angelino, and with the Irish connections they had, gun running had fallen into their laps. A lot of charters had wanted the Irish trade, and a lot of men had died trying to obtain it. The man before John was different than all the rest, he truly was a heartless, greedy fucker. JT as he had been nicknamed by those close to him, could feel Sal’s demons, and until the blonde had entered the room he had even doubted the man had a heart. He did though, a weak spot, and it was the woman before him.

“No shit.” Sal turned his gaze towards the weak excuse for a charter president, cursing himself silently that he couldn’t say more than two words since Angela has made her announcement.

He reached up combing his fingers through his shaggy hair. FUCK! The word screamed in his mind, what was he going to do now? Having her in tow was risky enough, and now a fuckin’ kid too. Teller had gotten lucky not just because of his weak stupidity, but because of the kid Angela had inside her. He would do nothing now that being the chance of a war.

“Yeah man, we both got things bigger than us now, legacies about to be born. Maybe we can work some shit out, keep the peace.” John looked him in the eyes holding a steady gaze. “Keep the peace for the things that mean something more to us then this shit man.”

“We’ll see.” Sal’s upper lip snarled as he responded, pushing the chair backwards the raking sound of the legs silenced the room as he rose. He was aware all eyes were on him as he made his way towards Angela pulling her into a hug, a display of affection he normally didn’t show in front of guests. The need to protect her ten times of what had been just minutes before. “You happy babe?” He whispered in her ear.

“Happier than I have ever been.” She cooed back where no could hear but him.

“Then so am I.” His grip tightened around her, and he pushed back the fears that kept rolling towards him like a wave, fears of what he had no clue, but for now what made her happy, made him happy.

1981 Location Unknown

She pushed the stroller down the hallway until she arrived at the door that belonged to them, fumbling for the keys she slowly opened the unlocked the knob.

“Hungreyy.” The little blonde headed girl waved her arms as she said the single word.

“I know baby, let’s get you inside and see what we can fix.” She put the keys back in her bag and stepped back behind the stroller to push it inside.

Rolling into the dimly light living room she had furnished as cozy as possible she stooped down brushing her hair back. Wind-blown hair tamed, her fingers worked to release the young girl, despite being at the park for hours she was still full of uncontrollable energy. She was only glad her daughter wasn’t at the age she could ask a lot of questions, although she tell by looking in her daughters eyes she was confused at times. Springing free once the strap was released the little girl bounced through the living room towards the kitchen with more balance than most three years’ old’s her age.

“DADDY!” The tiny voice rang loudly into the living room.

Angela swallowed hard as she heard her daughter Angels voice call out the name of the one person she loved more than anyone. From birth, it had been that way from the moment he had held the swaddled bundle in his arms, Angel had been Sal’s, always a shadow, on his heels and before that by his side in a stroller, car seat or on the floor rolling on a blanket. Sal had even taken Angel into round table meetings with him, talking business that no one should hear while he bounced her on his lap. She was without doubt the princess of the club whose name she bore. Angela made the slow steps towards the door to greet her husband. Sal was a good man, she refused to believe otherwise, but he was a man that didn’t have the capacity to love more than one person unconditionally. Angela knew he loved her, would die for her, but their relationship had shifted since she given birth to their only child, so much so they had gone from being inseparable to separate rooms. Angela had become resentful, done regrettable things. The rift only grew until she couldn’t reach him any longer, couldn’t balance or steady him like she once had. Only Angel had that power now and she was just a mere child. The age of innocence was lost, Angela now more mature than her 17 years of age when they had met, realized all that Sal truly did to keep the club on top. The veil of innocence had fallen from her eyes, he had fallen from his pedestal, and she wished to God every day she could go back, but she couldn’t. She had learned too much, knew too much. The man she had once loved she now feared, she didn’t know who or what he was anymore.

“Sal.” She stepped into the kitchen area, Angel already bundled in his arms, the warmth of the men stepping behind her already being felt on her exposed flesh.

He had come with men in tow, of course he had, had she hadn’t expected any less when she fled from the walls of their compound with Angel in tow five months prior. She had hoped as the weeks went on that he had become too distracted with club business to continue the hunt. Of course, in hindsight as she glared into his once again cold eyes, Angela realized her mistake was settling in one place for too long. She had been so careful in the beginning, but as the money had dwindled the mistakes became careless, with no family to turn to what choices did she really have.

“Angel, go on over to your Uncle Troy.” Sal lowered his daughter to the ground not releasing her until her feet were steady on the ground.

His eyes lifted to his wife, Angela, the woman that had once been his salvation, his saving grace, his guardian angel. He knew she had been responsible for saving his life many times over. Now though, no none of that mattered. She had betrayed him, turned evidence to the feds for money, and fled with his kid. Her sins were unforgivable. She had fallen to the ground from the heavens, and she had taken him with her. The shred of decency that had existed within him for the last few years was gone. Now all he cared about was his daughter, fuck everything else. The bitch has been sly, he would give her that, barely missing her on several occasions, but ultimately, he had found her.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you, you stupid bitch.” His voice remained calm and steady even though his words were cutting and venomous.

“Sal… please.” The tears welled up in her eyes. “If you ever loved me.”

“Loved you?” His head whipped around to the soldiers that had appeared behind her. “You take the kid to the van and you wait by the front door... NOW!” His voice rattled the windows with its volume.

The men scurried from the kitchen to the front door, Sal waited until he heard his daughter’s voice drift in the distance before continuing.

“Loved you? You fucking bitch, I exposed a side of me that no one, NO ONE ever got to see, and what did you do? You betrayed me.” He hissed the words at her feeling the rage build in him.

“You checked out on me Sal, Angel…” She lowered her head, the blonde locks falling around her, as the tears began to fall plopping on the linoleum. His warm hand, once gentle, touched her chin jerking it up so her eyes were once again on his.

“My kid didn’t cause this, you caused this shit, not believing in me, sticking by me.” He inhaled deeply pushing his hair back with his fingers.

“I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll go back …” Her frail voice stopped mid-sentence as her eyes drifted down once more.

“There’s no going back.” Sal could barely hear the words spoken, his heart pounded in his chest, so loudly. Then he felt it, the twinge of emotion that always welled up in him where she was concerned. He knew she was right, he had turned his attentions to Angel, but fuck, he had told her straight up he couldn’t balance it all. Still he had given her what she wanted, a kid, and it had destroyed them. He pushed the emotions back down, he couldn’t forgive her.

He couldn’t take the chance of her betraying him again, even though a part of him knew he never should have involved her in his life to begin with, been so open. The fact was angels belonged above him, not beside him. Now, now she was just nothing, and regardless of where the fault lay, he couldn’t allow his emotions for her to overtake him again, never would he be vulnerable to a woman again in his life. He was an outlaw, and love and all that shit just didn’t work with who he really was. The true Sal. They had lived a fool’s dream and now that dream was over, as the thought left him, the last small flicker of light in his eyes that seeing her had created extinguished.

“Sal.” Her voice cracked as she looked at the man that she had loved, she knew him well enough to know there was no persuading, no forgiveness once his mind was set. Angela realized as she peered at him the man she had loved wasn’t there anymore. The pain in her chest overtook her as she reached up and placed her hand over her heart. It was broken. This was it and somehow, she didn’t care. “Take care of our daughter.”

With no words, he walked past her making his way towards the front door. “Get rid of her.” He mumbled to his brother. “Be merciful and quick.”

November 13, 1993, Charming California, St. Thomas Hospital

Her long dark almost jet black hair hung past her shoulders fashionably straight, her face devoid of any emotions that would be considered weakness, the tears and sniffles in the distance were enough. She had to hold strong, how this affected her determined how it affected her son. She would not have her son become a sea of confliction like his father. Her dark eyes glanced over to the seat where Jackson sat his shoulders slumped and arms resting on his legs. His head was bowed, only being held up by his palms and Opie who had a strong brotherly arm around his best friend’s shoulder.

She and Mary, Opie’s mother, had never been close the way JT and Piney had; Gemma had considered Mary a pathetic excuse for an Ol’ lady, and part of the reason for Piney’s failures where the club was concerned. Gemma, the Queen of Samcro, had been more than willing to take Opie under her maternal wing and nurture him as if he was her own when Mary cut out. He was the future of the Sons just as Jackson was, even if his father was a drunk and mother a dumb cunt. The boys had been inseparable since childhood, and it gave her comfort Jackson had a brother even if he was not blood related, since she had been unable able emotionally to give him another. Enduring the loss of another child was not something that Gemma knew she would pull through.

“How you are doing?” Luann sat down next to her best friend as her ol’ man Otto continued on towards the group gathered by the coffee machine.

“Fine.” Gemma answered with no emotion.

“C’mon Gem, this is Lu you are talking to, cry, scream, do whatever you need too.” Luann slipped her arm around her best friend.

Gemma pulled away from her friend’s attempted hug. Normally she was more compassionate, and a better friend to the woman next to her, even enjoy the lightness the relationship offered. Today no, the circumstances were too big for Gemma to just be herself, even with her best friend, and christ only knew they had been through their fair share.

“That shit ain’t gonna help nothin’ sweetheart.” Gemma responded flatly.

There was no mourning process she needed to go through. John had made his choice, he had been weak and undermined all that the club had painstakingly built over the years. Gemma had tried to persuade him to see the correct vision and path for SAMCRO, until she no longer cared and pulled away from him entirely. Truth be told, shit hadn’t been right since Thomas died, while grief made some stronger it crippled others. John had been crippled. Gemma had been made stronger. He lost his way. Gemma had found her way. When he began writing until all hours of the day and night he had checked out completely.

She knew there were hushed mumbles that his bike brakes had been tampered with, and other mumbles that he had committed suicide. Gemma knew the truth however, she had murdered him. Not with her own hands, but with her coldness, and by just letting him walk out the door two mornings prior. She had known when John made love to her the night before it was goodbye, a woman could feel that shit, but she had chosen not to stop him. Instead she had allowed him to kiss her good bye feebly and wonder out to his bike and disappear into the distance. The call had come two hours later, and Gemma had been relieved until she arrived at the hospital and found he was still alive, and the rumors had begun to surface. She snuffed everything out but the possibility tampering of his Harley. The last thing they needed was the biker world knowing the King of Charming had checked out like a pussy. Better to have a little hatred towards the mexicans or blacks surface, or a little blood shed like war for retaliation sake than everyone to know what a pussy John really was. She wouldn’t let Jackson go through that shit, carry that legacy with him for the rest of his life.’Course John could have done it right, quick and easy, but instead he had to place his bike right in front of an 18 wheeler. Now it was a waiting game, would his will to live overcome and triumph or would he succumb to the grim reaper hovering above him. Gemma hope to hell he just fucking died ‘cause she sure in the fuck didn’t need a vegetable to take care of for the rest of her life. A man needed to die a good death and be done with it. John hadn't even been able to that right.

“Mrs. Teller?” The white coat called her name as he pushed through the double doors of the intensive care department.

“Yes.” Gemma inhaled deeply rising slow and steady, no weakness she chanted silently to herself. John had made his own choice, and so had she.

“Mrs. Teller if you will step over here.” The doctor motioned to a more private area out of earshot.

“No.” She stood firmly. “You can say whatever it is you need to say right here.”

“Mr. Teller didn’t make it through our last efforts to save him. I am very sorry for your loss ma’am.” He dipped his head in a show of respect.

“Thank you.” She responded moving as if she were robotic over towards her son Jackson. The look in his blue eyes wrenched her heart as she stooped down and hugged the Legacy she had born. “We are going to be ok sweetheart.” She whispered the words into her son’s ear as he began to sob.

The wailing sounds of the women gathered around began, along with the muffled sounds of the men attempting to not give way to their feelings. She rose from Jackson walking back over towards Luann who looked at her wide eyed with tears welling. Grabbing her purse slung it over her shoulder, heading in the direction of the hospital exit. She stopped as she came to Piney who was openly weeping. He was the current Vice President, the one everyone had expected would take over. She spoke no words only placed her hand on his shoulder before continuing on; he would not hold the President’s seat. The arrangement had already been made under the table shortly after John had arrived St. Thomas. Piney was too drunk and to distraught to run a group of boy scouts much less the Sons of Anarchy. He would remain in the VP seat, for a few more years anyway. Sure, the official vote had to take place but a new King would be placed at the head of the table before sun down.

“Sweetheart what can I do.” Unser looked her in the eyes as he spoke, he had been a lifelong friend, his hopeless love for her kept him loyal.

“Nothing.” She retracted her hand from Piney and continued the long walk towards the double doors. The sound of biker boots following behind her echoed faintly off the walls.

Pushing open the glass doors Gemma stepped from St. Thomas hospital, and for the first time in 2 days felt as if a heavy burden had been removed from her shoulders. She looked towards the heavens, allowing the sun to penetrate her core. It was over, the conflict, turmoil, push to move the club in a legit direction finally over. Now the Sons could move forward with no bullshit and no reservations. Her son would inherit an MC of power house, not a group poetry filled idiots. She knew they were gathered at the top of the stairs, all eyes were upon her as the rumbling Harley pulled to the curb. Just as she had done at the age of 17, Gemma was about to take another ride that would change the course of future.

“He gone?” The deep voice asked as he handed her a helmet.

“Yes.” She placed the black piece on her head before rummaging through the bag slung over her shoulder for her sunglasses.

Slipping her leg over the leather seat she settled in behind the large frame wrapping her arms around his waist tightly. He would protect her, and her son, and more importantly push SAMCRO towards the future it should have. Keep her Son’s legacy intact until the time came he could run it himself. Looking back towards the hospital doors she saw the Sons of Anarchy family gathered at the top of the steps watching their Queen. She knew her actions at that very moment would send the message of what she expected.

“Let’s go Clay, your seat waits.” She whispered in his ear.

1996, Montana The sweet scented smoke of his cigar, created an eerie fog that surrounded him. Years had passed, but Sal was still the king of the castle or in his case compound. The once smaller building that had resided in the middle of an ungodly amount of land was now a large building that housed several club members from the mother charter. Those that didn't live in the main building often had smaller homes scattered on the land. AOD's Montana head quarters was small village surrounded by solid walls. The only thing harder to penetrate than the great walls that surrounded the Angels was Sals heart. Losing his guardian angel had changed him, and the general consensus was not for the better. Words were never uttered about what had really happened to Angela, but everyone knew. Red had been furious with Sal. The rumbles of the two men's voices had shaken the walls of their sacred meeting room. No one had expected either man to emerge from the room, not alive anyway, but both men walked from the doorway of the round table room. Red not only walked from the room, but kept walking straight out the front door never looking back. Some of the older member followed suit, but most stayed loyal to their King. Sal never spoke again to the man who has in many ways been a father to him. When the founder of Angels of Death died in his sleep mysteriously about a year later no one was surprised, and once again everyone knew. Even in a band of outlaws there were certain lines, boundaries one didn't cross. Sal erased all boundaries, and those that walked with him either remained loyal or went to ground. His eyes roamed the room eyeing the scene before him. The men had earned the celebration they were receiving. The push past the Midwest had been made, and with the untimely death of the founder of the Sons of Anarchy a few years earlier, the promises made so long ago were no longer valid. Sal had no intentions of stopping until his reign spread from east coast to west coast. His eyes continue to search through the sea of bodies; A wry smile overtaking his features as he watched his VP bicker with his ol' lady, the scene a cross between funny and pathetic. Same old shit, different day, they had been fighting since the day they had met. Sal grabbed up the brown long neck bottle on the table before him, he washed down the hops taste as his eyes zeroed in on the only woman that he loved. Angel Angelino, his only kid, she was the only female that would ever own his heart. He refused to very be the vulnerable disillusioned sap he had been over Angela. Angel was his everything, and combined the the club it was all he needed. His eyes shifted as he watched his daughter play pull with his VPs kid. Fucker was about the same age as Angela, and proudly wearing the AOD prospect Kutte. They had grown up together, fuck all the kids had. Not only was the compound a village, but they were a family. When Sal had returned home with Angel, they ol' ladies had each become a mother to her. He nodded at John as he looked his way, kid would make a fine solider one day as long as his cock steered clear of his daughter. His face softened as he watched Angel take her shot, growing up as the only child of the President of Angels of Death she was the Princess to every man that wore the patch. They like Sal would die for her without hesitation. Many had suggested to Sal he needed a son, but he had no desire. Angel was his sole heir, and just to make sure of the fact she would remain the one and only, Sal had gotten his nuts snipped before Angela's slaughtered corpse was even cold. He lifted the beer to his lips once more, swishing the beer around before swallowing. The sounds of a woman's voice coming from the jukebox caught his attention. His brooding eyes came to rest on a honey blonde who was tossing her waving locks over her shoulder. He watched her intently as she spoke in an animated fashion with her hands, moving in all the right ways, laughing at the right time. She intrigued him, stirred him, not because of an angelic innocence, but something more, she was hurting. He figured to those that surrounded her, she was a girl looking for a good time, but the hurt hidden in her eyes, underneath the surface, was undeniable to him. She was a survivor of a cruel fate, broken in many ways, let down by love even though she appeared so young; a kindred spirit in a way. As he continued to watch her something happened that hadn’t since 1981, he moved across the room to speak to a woman first.

[Case residence, 1987]

The high pitched laughter that escaped the joyful little girl was music to her mother’s ears. The sound of her only daughter warmed her heart in more ways that she could even attempt to describe. Wendy Jane Case was the apple of her mother’s eye and her daddy’s pride and joy. With her legs curled up under her and an afghan from her very own mother covering her lower body, Jolene watched on as her nine year old laid alone in the centre of the living room floor, her eyes focused on the cartoons that flashed bright colors on the television screen. The aged carpet caught her attention as Wendy laid belly down on the floor, her knees bent allowing her little feet to kick in the air as she scribbled different shades of color on the newsprint of her coloring book. It reminded Jolene of their time spent in the two bedroom bungalow they built their family around. A small, intimate family, but family nonetheless. The midday sun showered the little girl with warmth as she laid there completely unaware of the world around her. Unaware of how her world was about to change with the recent news her mother had only days ago received. Cancer had invaded their perfect lives and as hard as the realization was, someday Jolene would leave behind the little girl she loved so much, her and her daddy. Jolene was still as madly in love with Wendy’s father, John, just as if it were the first day they had met way back in ‘64. Their lives in many ways were perfect; a marriage that was full of trust and respect, loyalty and laughter. A daughter that was conceived at the perfect time in their seemingly perfect relationship. They were financially stable, not overwhelmingly made of money, but they were comfortable. Their daughter did not want for anything. Jolene made sure of that after her own upbringing. Her father a drunk, her mother a dirty whore that worried more about her next high than the well being of her own flesh and blood. Jolene swore to herself when she was young that she would never bring a child into a world like the one she was raised in. Meeting John, a well known entrepreneur; handsome, kind and most of all loving, which was something Jolene longed for from her parents and never received. John gave her all the important things in life she wanted and needed, even a baby girl they named after her grandmother.

[4 weeks later]

Wendy sat on the one end of the sofa, the warm salty tears trickling down her cheeks as her parents explained her mother’s illness, one she didn’t even understand let alone want to process and accept. The single word was a death sentence in her mind. Just a single thought of being without her mother caused Wendy to collapse into a flow of tears and emotions, her small hands clapping over her face to shield the overwhelming emotions that ran out of her. Sadness turning to anger. How could this happen her her mother? To her? To their family? Her mother was the glue that held them together. There was no way possible way Wendy could grow up in a world that her mother had no longer existed in. As much as she didn’t want the thoughts floating around in her mind to go to death it was the only thing she could concentrate on but the one thing she wasn’t willing to accept. At such a young, tender age Wendy didn’t know exactly what it all meant, what it would mean for her mother, father and even herself. But she knew one thing; it was a disease not many survived from and that scared her more than anything. She didn’t want to lose her mother, she couldn’t. The brief thoughts of her and her father in a world where Jolene no longer existed caused an uncontrollable rush of pain to soar through her heart, her sobs wetting the silk blouse her mother wore as she held her only daughter tight in her embrace. It was the security of those arms Wendy refused to believe would someday not be there when she needed her most. Wendy needed her mother for all the important aspects of her life; her first date, her wedding, her first child. She was only young but every little girl dreams of those things in which her mother is supposed to be present for. Jolene, if anyone could, would beat the disease they were now presented with and live a long, happy life with her father by her side. At least that was the version Wendy so very much needed to believe in.

[October 1991]

Staring straight ahead Wendy felt her emotionless body being pulled into her father’s side as the song ‘Amazing Grace’ filled the church where mourners lined the mahogany pews. Her eyes focused on the varnished oak box that rested only feet from where her and her father stood. The sniffles and sobs were noticeable despite the sorrowful sound the words of the song created. Even with the many people that had attended the service for her late mother, Wendy saw no one, only the vision of her mother on her deathbed days prior. Her mother’s dying wish was to spend her last days in the home she loved with the people that meant the most to her. Wendy, now thirteen, almost resented her mother for that choice, leaving her with a daily constant reminder of how they were all robbed of a woman that meant so much. A woman that loved life and her family more than anything that was dealt a hand so horrible. Watching the strong woman fade into such a frail shell of the person she once had been Wendy knew would haunt her memories for the rest of her living life. As she stood there staring at that silk lined casket, that was now her mother’s final resting place, she swore she could feel the touch of Jolene’s warm palm on her now flushed cheek. The mirage of it all caused a single tear to finally fall from the wetness that had been lingering in her eyes, the ones Wendy had fought so hard to keep hidden. Even in death she wanted to be the strong one, the piece that was now going to hold her family together, even if that now only consisted of herself and the man standing next to her, holding onto her for his own need for comfort in their time of grieving.

[April 1994]

“Wendy!” The sound of her father’s drunken, slurred words bounced off the walls of the small room he now barricaded himself in. She hated his voice, just the sound of it made her skin crawl. But not answering him would cause more grief than it was worth. The pencil dropped to the notebook where unsolved math problems laid in waiting, a heavy, frustrated sigh escaping her while she tended to the man she wished sometimes would have been the one laying in that casket three years ago. How their lives had so drastically changed the day her mother took her final breath. Once having the perfect life, Wendy now existed only as a slave to her alcoholic father who could not cope with the passing of the one woman that was the solid piece to their little family puzzle. Not only had they lost Jolene but they had lost everything that reminded Wendy of her. Once a child that had every wonderful thing her heart could desire, now a teen that wanted nothing more than to escape the daily grueling life that now made up her existence.

“Here,” Wendy tossed the cold, brown bottle towards her father as he slouched back in the torn, ragged lazyboy chair, the sound of football on the television in the background. It wasn’t as if he was watching it; Christ she was sure his eyes were so glossed over he couldn’t so much as see a foot in front of him. She had never imagined life to get as bad as it now had. She asked for help, but help never came. People had their own lives to get on with, not worry about the loss she and her father had suffered. Everyone lost someone of significance as some point in their life, you picked up and moved on. But in Wendy’s case the image of her passed out father day after day made her begin to realize at some point things needed to change or she would get dragged down a dark path, one that she had no intention of following.

[June 2, 1996 - Wendy’s 18th Birthday]

“The boots. Definitely the boots!” Nora exclaimed as she tugged the skimpy black dress up over her unshapely hips and flat chest while giving her best friend some fashion advice. Wendy stood in front of the full length mirror, one knee high black suede boot, one silver glimmering high heel shoe. One by one Wendy stepped a foot forward, checking out how each piece of footwear looked with the mini skirt and halter she already had on. Nora was right, definitely the boots.

“You sure about this Nora?” Wendy questioned with slight concern mixed with excitement as she fussed with her hair, attempting to get it to look just right. She had never been to a biker party before; to say she was nervous was putting it a bit mild. She heard the stories that floated around town about the Angels of Death motorcycle club. Every girl in Montana wanted to ride bitch on one of their Harleys, her included. And with her eighteenth birthday finally arriving, her and her best friend were setting out to do just that.

“Would you stop worrying, Wendy? Just have some fun for a change!” Nora squealed as she rushed towards her friend, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she turned, needing help with the zipper of her dress.

“I will, just��.you’re sure Angel Angelino told /us/ to come? I mean, she’s not really what you call trustworthy.” Giving the zipper a pull up, Wendy closed the back of Nora’s form fitting dress.

“Yes, I told you. They always welcome girls like us. Don’t you want to get on the back of one of those Harleys?” One wouldn’t believe Nora was a year and a half older than Wendy; her best friend was not developed quite the same as herself. To look at the eighteen year old Miss Case, one would guess she was at least in her early twenties. She was used to the attention she received from boys and men alike. Her 36C’s were most definitely a positive attribute in Wendy’s mind.

“Girls like us?” Wendy’s eyes rolled dramatically as she processed the words Nora had just spoken. “You mean ‘easy’ girls huh?”

The audible sigh the brunette released caused Wendy to turn to look at her. She had never imagined in her eighteen years of life /that/ would be what she would be referred to as. Since her mother had died though, Wendy became a mere fraction of the girl she could have and should have become. Her life had not turned out the way she would have expected and heaven forbid, she was sure her mother was rolling over in her grave as Wendy pushed her tits up in her halter to be sure she would get the attention she was looking for. The whole reason she agreed to attend the party they were getting ready for, not to end up on the back of a Harley. Even if it meant showing a bit of skin and a little tits and ass, it was attention. Maybe not the good kind, but it was still what it was. She longed to be seen as more than a slave to her drunken father. Day after day, night after night cleaning up after him, being at his every beck and call because he chose not to accept her mother’s death. Her life had been consumed by his alcoholism. But this was the day she put that all behind her.

“Just grab your damn purse and let’s go!” For the last time, Nora and Wendy alike checked their hair in the mirror, giving their lipstick a quick reapply and in a mad dash headed for the Angels of Death clubhouse where the bikers, and the attention Wendy sought, would be waiting.

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