EAH FANON - NEW SAGA

Ever since the Ever After High canon, this springtime, released canonical descendants of Alice Liddell and the White Rabbit, I was planning on how to make them fit into my EAH fanon.

Alistair Wonderland

• Parent's Story: Alice in Wonderland
• Roomate: Unknown (in my fanon, Charles Liddell himself!)
• Secret Heart's Desire: I want to explore the entire fairytale world, Wonderland and beyond!
• My "Magic" Touch: With just a little observation, I can solve any puzzle and unravel any riddle.
• Storybook Romance Status: I have a crush on Bunny Blanc, but I think she only sees me as a friend.
• "Oh Curses!" Moment: My curiosity can get the best of me.
• Favorite Subject: Geografairy. I learn how the world is mapped out, and also which areas have yet to be discovered.
• Least Favorite Subject: Cooking Class-ic. How do I know when I eat something it won't make me shrink or grow?
• Best Friends Forever After: All of my Wonderland friends, from Madeline Hatter to Bunny Blanc.

Bunny Blanc

• Parent's Story: Alice in Wonderland
• Roommate: Faybelle Thorn
• Secret Heart's Desire: To be Wonderland's official tour guide. Everyone should know how hare-raisingly awesome it is.
• My "Magic" Touch: I can change from a human to a rabbit and back again whenever I want!
• Storybook Romance Status: I only have eyes for Alistair Wonderland. It's heartbreaking that he sees me as just a friend.
• "Oh Curses!" Moment: Actually, I have no sense of direction. But I always arrive at my destination on time, so it's all good!
• Favorite Subject: Muse-ic. As royal herald, I love playing jazzy melodies on my horn.
• Least Favorite Subject: Geografairy. Who needs maps? Eventually you'll wind up exactly where you're supposed to be.
• Best Friends Forever After: All of us Wonderlandians stick together, but I'm closest to Alistair Wonderland and Lizzie Hearts.

The Charles/Alistair case would be the most contested one, since it could abide by the Law of Descendants (one descendant per character) by making Alistair the next Alice and Charles the next Clever Prince, without any forbidden story mess-up, yet a bit uncomfortable for Charles to relinquish this Alice role he at first doubted of but now is completely at ease with... to a more masculine upstart out of the blue. Add Sophia herself feeling attracted to Alistair, even a duel (a duel, think of that!), Bunny getting jealous of Alistair's flirtation with Sophia... it all grows like a beanstalk as tangled as Othello or Much Ado!
Bunny and Ruby get good chemythstry quicker than you can say "tick-tock", Bunny getting Ruby for a younger and more insecure/reserved kohai (underclassbunny/disciple) and Ruby seeing the older and more poised Bunny as a mentor. Since Bunny knows Lizzie from before... they quickly bond and the former becomes the latter's aide de camp of sorts. And beware, Sir, of the green-eyed killer rabbit, for the Underworld has no fury like hers if she's friendzoned or (worse) betrayed...

There's also Faybelle, Maleficent's daughter, extremely cheerful and competitive, sarcastic and proud of being a prospective villainess, who becomes a POV character in this whole arc (beware of offending her!)... Since the whole arc will be a more or less zigzagged version of Othello, only she can fill the Iago slot:

Faybelle Thorn

• Parent's Story: Sleeping Beauty
• Roommate: Bunny Blanc
• Secret Heart's Desire: To be the Queen of Fairies and the Queen of Villains! Why? Because I rule!
• My "Magic" Touch: When I cheer a spell, I can make any curse more powerful!
• Storybook Romance Status: There are some wicked cute guys at school, but a relationship would just clip my wings.
• "Oh Curses!" Moment: People always forget to invite me to parties. Good thing it's my destiny to arrive unannounced.
• Favorite Subject: General Villainy. Even when I'm winging it, I'm crown of the class.
• Least Favorite Subject: Home Evilnomics. The person in front of me gets the last ingredients every time. Every time!
• Best Friends Forever After: Briar Beauty is my best frenemy forever after, and Duchess Swan is wicked cool.

There's also another OC of mine, introduced at the end of the arc and delved upon in the subsequent one, who claims (to everyone's surprise) to be the son of the real Snow Queen, and, unlike Kyllikki's or Bianca's, he wears not the crest of a cadet branch of House Talvikunta, but the one of the lead branch... His name: Johan III Erik Fredrik Frost of Talvikunta. Or Johan III Frost for short... The cold and silent, tall and platinum blond heartthrob with icy blue eyes is revealed to be Lizzie Hearts's betrothed for a marriage of state, and she, though at first scared stiff of the thought, quickly tries to win him but to no avail... What if Lizzie ever discovers Johan's secret...? (He's a son of Poseidon, and thus, part mer! Pleased? No, the other secret: he's gay and in love with Rainer, Laurent, Charles, but especially Hopper and Alistair...) Will her reaction shake the grounds of Ever After High? Will Johan accept Lizzie as a beard? How will Sophia react? And Bunny? What if Johan leans more on Hopper?


Plus, here's some more EAH art:

Maddie Hatter prepping for True Hearts' Day:

Unbirthday Party Maddie:

Legacy Day Maddie:

Outrageous Maddie:

Thronecoming Maddie:

Waitress Maddie:

Springtime Lizzie:

Outrageous Lizzie:

Unbirthday Party Lizzie:

Thronecoming Lizzie:

Springtime Kitty:

Outrageous Kitty:

Legacy Day Kitty:

Thronecoming Kitty:

True Hearts' Day Kitty:

Unbirthday Kitty:

Darling Charming (sister to the Charmings, destined to be a damsel in distress yet all passionate to become an action heroine. Look at the breastplate over the gown):

(What's more, her awkward brother Dexter is destined to become the next Beast... as, conveniently, Rosabella --the next Belle-- appears)

GAME OF CHAIRS (GOT PARODY)

Cue GoT opening music...

THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER

THE RIME... RYME... RHYME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
OR,
HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE WATER SNAKES:
LONG STORY SHORT

Written for Uttam Paudel on the 4th of June 2015

(At the church door of a coastal village during a wedding, an old salt stops a young Uttam-like yet Britishly fair-skinned guest)
Wedding Guest: Let me pass! I'm the childhood friend of the bride!
Mariner: Uh-uh... Guess I have to tell you my story first, young chap!
Wedding Guest: As long as it's a short one...
Mariner: -no reply save throat-clearing-
(Kaboodles of verses later)
Wedding Guest (waking up after a tiresome, monotone recitation): Could you anyway give me a quick recap?
Mariner: All right... I was the captain of this ship, not long ago. We were in Antarctica, trapped among icebergs, and, with this crossbow of mine, guns are oh so mundane, I accidentally shot an albatross dead, which brings bad luck. (Gasps and pauses for air) Then this frigging storm brings us all the way to the doldrums. Guess we had just been jinxed. Not even a breeze. And the waters... After a fortnight, we ran out of drink. Worst thing that can happen to us sailors. We were thirsting to death, and no land could be seen. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. So hot and so thirsty that we were forced to drink our own blood to survive...
Wedding Guest: Makes sense, since you were in the middle of the ocean.
Mariner: So we were all stuck in the doldrums, dying of thirst, and driven insane by dehydration and sunstroke and prolonged seclusion. And thus, the crew started a mutiny. And they forced me to wear the frigging dead and maggot-eaten and weather-beaten albatross like a locket, hanging on my chest by a rope around my neck.
Wedding Guest (ready to throw up): Ewwwww... (Vomit discretion shot)
Mariner: My crew was against me, furious, raving, and I was ninety percent sure that they would, sooner or later, make me walk the plank. But then... unexpectedly... a ship came in sight... A strange, glowing ship on which there seemed to be no one.
Wedding Guest (pale, shuddering): A g-g-g-g-g-GHOST SHIP???
Mariner: A ghost ship indeed. And on board was the Grim Reaper himself, playing a game of dice with a strangely pale lady on deck.
Wedding Guest (curious): And how did the game turn out?
Mariner: The Reaper won by a landslide, all the souls of my crew, while the strangely pale lady won only my poor soul. Mind that I was the captain, yet the most unpopular one on board. And, in her eyes, I saw who she was...
Wedding Guest: Who was the pale lady?
Mariner: A Fate Worse Than Death.
Wedding Guest (pale, shuddering): And what happened next? Did you suffer in any way?
Mariner: The ghost ship sailed off into the-Gods-know-where, and then, for the next seven days of that freaking stay in the doldrums, all my crewmates died of thirst and heatstroke. One by one by one by one by one by one by one. I was to throw them overboard, into the ocean... but then, I had an epiphany.
Wedding Guest: When you were all alone on board?
Mariner: When I was all alone on board, with no one to talk to but the underwater fauna. Green turtles, leatherbacks, bottlenose dolphins, blue whales, schools of shocking pink jellyfish... Especially the water snakes. A spring of love gushed from my heart, and I loved them unaware. And then, the half-decomposed albatross fell off my neck and overboard. And all of my crew resurrected. So they steered us out of the doldrums.
Wedding Guest: (stands agape, breathing in, not saying anything in response)
Mariner: Then I came back home, here to the British Isles. Though I was at first a little skeptical of whether my experiences were real: "Is this the hill? Is this the church? Is this my own country?" And it was. For I was stone cold sober, and wide awake, and fully hydrated, I guess, by the power of love.
Wedding Guest: How wonderful is the power of love!
Mariner (wincing): The story is not over yet. You see, my chap, a whirlpool swallowed up our good ship and all of my recently resurrected crew, leaving only yours truly. But luckily, a hermit ex machina and a pair of good lads pulled me on board their rowboat to take me back to terra firma, and they gave me a pair of oars. So I rowed with all my strength.

Wedding Guest: That rescue was quite unexpected.
Mariner: So the youngest boy on the boat called me a devil. Indirectly, but yes. Laughed like a manic hyena, and shouted: "The devil knows how to row!"
Wedding Guest: Now I can see you look a little red to me, and are those horns under your tricorn hat?
Mariner: Excuse me, I have an Earth to walk and countless other mortals to pester. (He disappears into the fog.)
(The church bells peal merrily, the doors open, and out walk the bride and groom with their whole entourage. The Wedding Guest hastens to join them.)

MY BIFAUXNEN COLLAGE

"True Worth Beyond Gender", 2nd of June 2015

Some of my favourite female characters from anime and fantasy fiction, alongside a real-life person.

The characters in this collage are the following strong female characters:

• Haruka Tenoh (Sailor Uranus), university student and motor racer, Sailor Moon, 1992
• Oscar-François de Jarjayes, general's daughter and military officer, La Rose de Versailles, 1972
• Maria Tachibana, war veteran and actress specialized in playing breeches roles, Sakura Taisen, 1996
• Falsetto, freedom fighter, Eternal Sonata, 2007
• Naoto Shirogane, detective and teenaged student, Persona 4, 2008
• Seira Azuma, class vice-president and teenaged student, Go! Princess Pretty Cure, 2015 (present)
• Arya Stark, assassin-in-training, A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones, 1996/present
• Brienne of Tarth, knight, A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones, 1998/present
• Astrid Kolfinnsdottir, dictator's daughter and military officer, Waterfire Saga, 2014/present
• Marija Serifovic, Serbian singer, winner of Eurovision Song Contest 2007

LYDÉ - ANDRÉ CHÉNIER

The following poem, retelling the Hermaphroditus and Salmacis legend, was sadly left unfinished, due to the author (André Chénier) falling victim to the Reign of Terror in revolutionary France (he was guillotined).

Lydé

Pour André Chénier

" Mon visage est flétri des regards du soleil. 
Mon pied blanc sous la ronce est devenu vermeil. 
J'ai suivi tout le jour le fond de la vallée ; 
Des bêlements lointains partout m'ont appelée. 
J'ai couru ; tu fuyais sans doute loin de moi :
C'était d'autres pasteurs. Où te chercher, ô toi 
Le plus beau des humains ? Dis-moi, fais-moi connaître 
Où sont donc tes troupeaux, où tu les mènes paître.

Ô jeune adolescent ! tu rougis devant moi. 
Vois mes traits sans couleur ; ils pâlissent pour toi :
C'est ton front virginal, ta grâce, ta décence. 
Viens ; il est d'autres jeux que les jeux de l'enfance. 
Ô jeune adolescent, viens savoir que mon coeur 
N'a pu de ton visage oublier la douceur. 
Bel enfant, sur ton front la volupté réside ; 
Ton regard est celui d'une vierge timide. 
Ton sein blanc, que ta robe ose cacher au jour,
Semble encore ignorer qu'on soupire d'amour ; 
Viens le savoir de moi ; viens, je veux te l'apprendre. 
Viens remettre en mes mains ton âme vierge et tendre, 
Afin que mes leçons, moins timides que toi, 
Te fassent soupirer et languir comme moi ; 
Et qu'enfin rassuré, cette joue enfantine 
Doive à mes seuls baisers cette rougeur divine. 
Oh ! je voudrais qu'ici tu vinsses un matin 
Reposer mollement ta tête sur mon sein ! 
Je te verrais dormir, retenant mon haleine, 
De peur de t'éveiller, ne respirant qu'à peine. 
Mon écharpe de lin que je ferais flotter, 
Loin de ton beau visage aurait soin d'écarter 
Les insectes volants et la jalouse abeille... "

La nymphe l'aperçoit, et l'arrête, et soupire. 
Vers un banc de gazon, tremblante, elle l'attire ; 
Elle s'assied. Il vient, timide avec candeur, 
Ému d'un peu d'orgueil, de joie et de pudeur. 
Les deux mains de la nymphe errent à l'aventure. 
L'une, de son front blanc, va de sa chevelure 
Former les blonds anneaux. L'autre de son menton
Caresse lentement le mol et doux coton. 
" Approche, bel enfant, approche, lui dit-elle, 
Toi si jeune et si beau, près de moi jeune et belle. 
Viens, ô mon bel ami, viens, assieds-toi sur moi. 
Dis, quel âge, mon fils, s'est écoulé pour toi ? 
Aux combats du gymnase as-tu quelque victoire ? 
Aujourd'hui, m'a-t-on dit, tes compagnons de gloire, 
Trop heureux ! te pressaient entre leurs bras glissants, 
Et l'olive a coulé sur tes membres luisants. 
Tu baisses tes yeux noirs ? Bienheureuse la mère 
Qui t'a formé si beau, qui t'a nourri pour plaire ! 
Sans doute elle est déesse. Eh quoi ! ton jeune sein 
Tremble et s'élève ? Enfant, tiens, porte ici ta main. 
Le mien plus arrondi s'élève davantage. 
Ce n'est pas (le sais-tu ? déjà dans le bocage 
Quelque voile de nymphe est-il tombé pour toi ?),
Ce n'est pas cela seul qui diffère chez moi. 
Tu souris ? tu rougis ? Que ta joue est brillante ! 
Que ta bouche est vermeille et ta peau transparente ! 
N'es-tu pas Hyacinthe au blond Phoebus si cher ?
Ou ce jeune Troyen ami de Jupiter ? 
Ou celui qui, naissant pour plus d'une immortelle, 
Entr'ouvrit de Myrrha l'écorce maternelle ? 
Enfant, qui que tu sois, oh ! tes yeux sont charmants, 
Bel enfant, baise-moi. Mon coeur de mille amants 
Rejeta mille fois la poursuite enflammée ; 
Mais toi seul, aime-moi, j'ai besoin d'être aimée.
.................................................

La pierre de ma tombe à la race future
Dira qu'un seul hymen délia ma ceinture.
.................................................

Viens : là sur des joncs frais ta place est toute prête.
Viens, viens, sur mes genoux, viens reposer ta tête. 
Les yeux levés sur moi, tu resteras muet, 
Et je te chanterai la chanson qui te plaît. 
Comme on voit, au moment où Phoebus va renaître, 
La nuit prête à s'enfuir, le jour prêt à paraître, 
Je verrai tes beaux yeux, les yeux de mon ami, 
En un léger sommeil se fermer à demi. 
Tu me diras : " Adieu ! je dors ; adieu ! ma belle. " 
Adieu ! dirai-je, adieu ! dors, mon ami fidèle, 
Car le . . . aussi dort, le front vers les cieux, 
Et j'irai te baiser et le front et les yeux.
.................................................

Ne me regarde point ; cache, cache tes yeux ; 
Mon sang en est brûlé ; tes regards sont des feux.
Viens, viens. Quoique vivant, et dans ta fleur première, 
Je veux avec mes mains te fermer la paupière, 
Ou malgré tes efforts je prendrai ces cheveux 
Pour en faire un bandeau qui te cache les yeux.
.................................................

(inachevé)

ANOTHER RALPH CREWE WW1 FIC

He stayed up long into night, simply watching them sleep. Nursing a tall glass of brandy as the hours counted down. Fatigue pulled at him, but he would not be swayed. He'd slept long enough. Lost enough. Ram Dass and his host seemed to understand as much because after the girls had been bathed and whisked into warm robes by the housekeeper, they left them to his charge. And like a sentry on watch at the front lines, he remained vigilant and unrelenting.

The storm had passed, giving way to that fleeting freshness that so often follows a brisk American rain. Smelling of clay and living things – rich with possibility – teeming and quietly busy. He couldn't deny that he breathed it in with relish. Savoring it. Thankful. Blessed. All too aware of the second chance he'd been given while so many young lives had been cut short.

Magic has to be believed, that is the only way it is real.

The candlelight flickered, making his sensitive eyes water. But he kept them firm on the form of his daughter regardless – like a bayonet to a rifle – stuck fast and unapologetically sharp. She and Becky slept soundly now, peacefully, small fingers entwined over the coverlet. As if at loathe to be parted for even an instant. Like the brothers in arms he made on the battlefield, they too had bonded through adversity.

It was a feeling he understood well. Admittedly, he had little wish to look away, even for an instant. After everything that had happened, he was convinced that a singular second would be too long. Rational mind refusing to give up the notion that the moment he closed his eyes, the moment he even blinked, he would somehow forget. That he would wake up in his bedroom upstairs, Ram Dass singing softly by the window, only to find it all a dream. Or worse, find himself back on the coarse grit of the battlefield, ankle deep in gore and fetid mud. Struggling to remember the sound of her laugh or the softness of her hair as enemy planes roared overhead, misting the trenches with thick yellow poison.

He believed that even when age and infirmity took the remembrance of the unearthly screams and sirens from him, he would always remember the gas. The way it had choked him. Coating his tongue, his lungs, his heart. Drowning him from the inside out. Suffocating and-

He closed his eyes. Hating himself for it immediately as his reached out blindly, hand curling gently around the shape of his daughter's foot under the blanket. Crushing it gently, like an anchor. The relief was not immediate, but it came quicker than it had in the hospital and later with Ram Dass in the lighted depths of the Randall home. He breathed deeply, hesitant, like one gasp too far might bring back the acidic burn of the gas. The smell of petrol, vomit and rot.

She was his living heart.

His soul walking.

The closest thing to heaven on earth.

And he'd almost lost her.

Anger - trapped in its rawest, most primordial form - rippled through him still. For what his daughter had not told him, Becky filled in without embellishment. Giving a solid, if not admittedly biased, account of the months that had passed since he'd mistakenly been declared dead and the government had seized his assets. For unlike his own flesh and blood, who didn't understand why one person would willingly harm another merely out of spite and jealousy, Becky had suffered the same first hand - likely since she'd been able to walk. He listened to her silently, coaxing her favor gradually through the night until she trusted him enough to curl up at his side. Touch-starved and quivering. He didn't know how many times he would have to say it for her to believe it, but he had already summoned his lawyer. Her trials were over now. He would see the girl warded into his care. Promising to do his best to make up for the childhood she was denied. A second daughter, in every way that mattered.

Was there no mercy in this world? And if there was, why was it that the innocents were the ones that always suffered? Surely God did not intend for such madness? He had seen enough of mankind's cruelty. Enough of its efferent desire to fight one another. More than he cared to remember. And growingly less of any sign of an all knowing, all loving deity. After all, how could a God that called itself their father let their children go so far astray?

His lips firmed over the hard line of his teeth when Miss. Minchin's face flashed in his mind's eye. She had recognized him. He was sure of that. After all, how could she not? In that moment in the office, before she'd proclaimed Sara parentless and alone. She had willingly condemned her to prison, the streets, or – god forbid – worse. And for what? Ignorance and petty hate? Whose origins he knew not.

She had almost cost him everything!

He did not think himself a cruel man. But for the injustice his daughter had suffered, for what she had tried to do to them both, he would not be swayed. He would pursue every recourse to ensure such a villainous soul could not harm another.

Certainly she had no business being around children!

But then, who else would run the school? Becky and Sara had relished the story when they'd giggled over a plate of sugared pears. Telling him how the Headmistress's own sister had escaped through one of the windows in the dead of night. Dashing way to embark on a passionate affair with the milkman of all people.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass thoughtfully before a remarkably boyish grin lit up the corners of his tired eyes - a precocious idea taking shape. His smile only grew wider as the emotion settled into stay. Recalling all the times he had seen the man observing the antics of the children from his parlor window. Taking comfort in their happy laughter and constant chatter. Even on his worst days, when he missed his son the sharpest, their antics never failed to draw his interest.

Perhaps he would talk to Randall in the morning, see what the old coot had to say about it.

Reference:

*"Wind up" was World War I slang for a comrade that was frightened or on the verge of a breakdown

A LOVE LETTER TO GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS

Löwe aus Mitternacht!

So nennt Euch der Volksmund. Ich bete allabendlich für Euch, ich habe Euch, den blauäugigen König gesehen und geliebt! Und dann sahet Ihr mich, und ich durfte Euch sprechen und Eure blonden Haare liebkosen. Und ihr küßtet mich. Mein König, ich bin nur eine einfache Magd, aber nun reicher als die Herrin auf dem Gutshof und wohl selbst als die Königin. Nie wird mich wieder ein anderer küssen, und sterbt Ihr, sterbe auch ich. Es ist gewiß eine Sünde, einen König zu lieben und mit ihm sterben zu wollen, aber es ist ja Krieg und überall der Tod. Da, so denke ich mir, muß rasch gesagt werden, was mich so glücklich macht, denn vielleicht morgen schon hört Ihr es nicht mehr, und ich kann es nicht mehr sagen, weil der Tod dazwischentrat. Und dann meint auch der Herr Pfarrer: Wenn gekämpft wird, ist manches Krumme gerade. So ist es wohl gar keine Sünde, Euch zu lieben und Euch dies zu sagen in diesem Briefe, bei dem mir die Alte im Dorf, die klug und weise ist wie keine andere, geholfen hat.

Ein Brief an Gustaf Adolf von Schweden, etwa 1631

(My translation from the German)

Lion of the Midnight Sun!

Thus does the smallfolk call you. I pray every evening for you, since I have seen you, the blue-eyed King, and loved you! And then you saw me, and I was allowed to speak to you and caress your fair hair. And you kissed me. My Liege, I am but a modest maid, yet now wealthier than the lady of the estate, even wealthier than the Queen herself. I will never kiss another man again, and, should you die, I will die as well. It is certainly a sin to love a king and wish to die with him, yet these are times of war and death is everywhere. Thus, so I think, I must quickly say what makes me so happy, since maybe tomorrow you won't hear it anymore, and I will not be able to say it anymore, because death has parted us. And thus, the Reverend says as well: "When there is fighting, many wrongs are set right." So it is no sin at all to love you and to tell it to you in this letter, with which the wise crone of the village, who is clever like no other, has helped me.

Letter to Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, around 1631