#and yes I quoted Florence in the title

[greypetrel]

Ok because I'm falling down the Aisling x Fenris hole with you - could I ask for affection meme #29 - Meeting eyes across a distance and knowing what the other is thinking?

You are all enabler!

(and I want to thank you. x°D Really I was so anxious at posting that fic, I’m so glad it got some appreciation)

(reminding you all that this is much an AU, don’t worry, we’re staying in Cullen territory in Canon. … She has a kink for Templars and bisexual disasters tho. You can mock her.)

Also it’s coming in more parts! Because why suffering twice when we can all suffer more.

Soundtrack!

And Part 1 if you missed it

If I Make it to the Morning

( Meeting eyes across a distance and knowing what the other is thinking )

*Between Hasmal and the Tevinter border, 9:41, Firstfall.*

At first, the voices and tales of the Herald of Andraste didn’t caught Fenris’ attention. He just shrugged them off, not paying attention to the latest imposed saint and saviour there to solve everyone’s problems. He had spent his time in Kirkwall with the Hawkes, not enough to have him stay, but enough to learn that one person was but one person, and couldn’t be held responsible to solve the World.

He learnt about the Conclave, learnt that the Herald was an elf, and a Dalish one. But after a fleeting thought, wondering if he crossed their eyes at the Arlathven, all that time ago, he took his sword and was on the road again, after the next slavers.

He had no interest in joining the Inquisition, and if Varric needed him, he knew how to find him and contact him. It was none of his business, after all, three years with a clan and two days at an Arlathven didn’t make him a Dalish.

There were weird groups of mages, lately, crossing the border in the middle of the night and with no cages. It was clear, tho, that they weren’t exactly up to much good. The first group that Fenris ambushed didn’t look that assuming. He admittedly just saw Tevinters acting suspicious, followed them and attacked when it was clear that they were up to no good, interrogating their chief.

Venatori, he called their group. At the service of the Ancient One to restore Tevinter’s glory. Add the usual slurs and empty threats, Fenris just ended him and got on with his work, gathering documents and the informations he could. He didn’t fully understand what was going on, there definitely were some pieces of the puzzle he missed -first and foremost who this Ancient One was-, but the mentions to Red Lyrium were enough for him to catch on that Venatori meant, too, kill on sight. He sent word to Varric as soon as he got back to Hasmal and his informators, attached the document he found, and got on with his life.

*Close to the Tevinter border, 9:42, Wintermarch.*

It passed a month before another attack to another group of Venatori almost ended in disaster. He thought he had counted them all, tracking them down as they crossed the border and made their way out of the beaten path, hiding the way hahren Oshyn taught him, minding his steps not to make noise, blend in the environment. It was useful for spying as well, observing the enemy without being seen, and he was grateful for the effort the Lavellans put up with him. Except, this time he miscalculated.

He didn’t see that there was a second group, bigger, further back on the path, that descended on him as he was almost finishing the first. He cursed, thought back on his strategy. They were too many, and he was getting tired: his chance was falling back -dodge a fireball, parry another, jump back when there’s the crack of lightning, plant your sword in the ground and your hands away, shut your eyes and close your ears, the way she told him to- and retreating back in the trees, hoping he still remembered Oshyn’s teaching enough to lose them in the woods.

And then, an arrow struck a soldier. Another felled the next. Barriers were casted as a contingent of soldiers and scouts came out all around him, telling him brashly to just move.

They sported Inquisition insignia, a flaming black eye in white field, cut in half by a sword. He stared, not understanding what they did so far north. Far beyond the reaching of the Chantry. If they crossed the border and entered in arms in the Imperium, it would have caused a diplomatic disaster, and for what he knew, the Inquisition wasn’t so politically sound to withstand offending Tevinter, Herald of Andraste or not.

When the battle was over, he approached what looked like the Officer in command, and asked. They were kind, and treated him as equal. Mistook him for a Dalish, but it wasn’t the first time it happened, and he often took it as covering, not bothering to correct the mistake of seeing a tattooed elf and going for Dalish.

“We’re here on the Inquisitor’s personal orders, hunting slavers and Venatori. You shouldn’t engage neither on your own, particularly the Venatori: they’re dangerous and the prisoners are taken for experiments.”

“So close to Tevinter?”

“Yes, it’s a conjunct operation. The Inquisitor’s Tevinter advisor has contact in Minrathous. Magister Tilani joined forces with us for this operation.”

He frowned. A Tevinter advisor in contact with a Magister? He heard of Tilani, she wasn’t high on his list of targets, but still… Maybe he should have paid more attention to the Inquisition, after all, if its hand reached so far north and its leader had… Such sympathies. Weird.

“Can you tell me more about the Inquisitor? With a Tevinter advisor?”

The scout laughed, shaking her head. He followed her around, helping how he could in searching bodies and retrieving documents, orders and everything useful.

“Forgive me the laughter… You’re not the first to have doubts. The Lady Inquisitor was the Herald of Andraste, and much like her patroness, she doesn’t look at provenience, if the intentions are good. Whoever wants to help defeating Corypheus has a place.”

A Dalish elf with sympathies for Tevinter. It could… No. No, it couldn’t be. She was one of many, and she wanted to stay in the clan. He shooed that thought from his head and made another question.

“Who’s this Corypheus?”

“The Ancient One, yes, the one that the Venatori follows.”

“So, a Magister.”

“So they say. Some rumours say he’s darkspawn too, tho… But he was the one who opened the Rifts and the sky, and destroyed Haven, Lady Lavellan tho closed the Breach and dueled him in Haven… She’s the best bet against him.”

“… Lavellan, you said?”

“Yes, didn’t you know her name? I thought the Dalish knew. Do you know her?”

“… she’s a mage.”

“Yes, but-”

He thanked the Scout, a little too brashly for politeness, and was out of the clearing before she could ask him who he was exactly. And thinking back, really, how many weird elves could he think of that would have welcomed a Tevinter noble as advisor? How many elves were so prone in getting caught always in the weirdest shit so gloriously?

He needed to get South.

*Exalted Plains, 9:42, Guardian.*

It took him way longer than he would have liked to reach her.

He had considered tracking the Lavellan, just to ask… Anything, really. Because the idea of facing the Keeper and the whole clan, after almost 8 years since he left without even a goodbye was still more appealing than facing her, after leaving with yes, a goodbye, and also a conversation that left her in pieces and took the light away from her eyes.

But he owed it to her, at least. He owed it to come personally, not go looking for voices and rumours from people who knew her, not write and ask Varric how she was faring and if he believed she needed help.

He hadn’t been thinking straight, but he felt his heart in his throat and a sense of dread. He had to go and check. Even if it meant having her tell him in his face that he went way past her stupidly wide boundaries and she hated him. Just a quick detour. Check if she was fine. Offer his sword if she needed it. He owed it to her. She has just saved his life. Yet again. He was free, now, and he was done running.

But, by the time he reached Skyhold, not difficult to find once he crossed to Ferelden and found forward camps and bases flying the flaming eye all around the Storm Coast and Crestwood, drinking anecdotes and informations he could find and hear, she wasn’t there.

It was, honestly, impressive to see what she had accomplished: the tall, imposing fortress bustling with life and activities, the camp in the valley. Oh, he knew she was highly intelligent, and would have been a good leader, once her time would have come… He never expected this. As he never expected to find back from Kirkwall Knight-Captain Rutherford – now Commander, and underlining heavily how he was no more Knight-Captain- to burst his cover of “Former Lavellan member”.

It took him too many explanations to let him, Sister Nightingale and Lady Montilyet to agree and tell him where the Inquisitor was. Varric barged in, fighting guards, to vouch for him, and yet fell surprised when Leliana asked him if it was true that he knew the Inquisitor. He couldn’t answer, because he never told him which clan he knew, never told them all more than “I hid three years among the Dalish”, when Merrill noticed some idiosyncrasies he picked up and she instantly recognised. Luckily, Cullen didn’t forget he was in the Gallows too, fighting against Meredith, and it was him, in the end, who convinced his colleagues. It calmed him to see she had people around that were protective of her. The actual her, not the Inquisitor mask.

He tagged along in the next supply caravan, headed to the Exalted Plains. It wasn’t a long trip, at least.

He was welcomed by destruction. Trenches in shambles, a countryside on fire, soldiers from both parties of the civil war gathering to burn corpses, Inquisition forces working hard to keep everyone supplied, the roads safe from bandits, clean up what they could.

They pointed him North, saying the Inquisitor hadn’t been back from a couple of days. That was busy, as the Inquisition’s forces repaired the bridge to Citadelle du Courbeau, helping a Dalish Clan that was camped in Halin’Sulahn. She was bound, tho, to be at Fort Revasan in three days time, to cross the river and go check the situation in the Citadelle. Voices ran of more zombies and demons.

He sighed, not surprised that they kept having such a bad timing amongst the civil war and her fulfilling her duties to the People. As the great First that she was. He headed north, leaving the beaten path, spotting traces he didn’t really like and felt familiar from the last three, aimless years.

He climbed to the top of a low hill, facing down to a flatter strip of land where a tall, dilapidated elven building still stood and he saw it: a small camp, lit by a couple of fires and tents with the Tevinter snakes painted on top. Very unwise, to make themselves so visible and recognisable. Particularly because they were so few, all but five people, two of whom lying asleep.

He unsheathed his greatsword and slowly walked down, laying low and hiding behind fallen rocks. The position wasn’t the best, just a turn of a head and he’d be spotted. Nonetheless, he trudged on hiding until he couldn’t anymore. He was spotted and then he ran. He faded through a tent, stabbing down to the sleeping mage there, right in the middle of his chest. One less.

He faded again through a fireball, charging one of the mages, the one that alarmed the others. It wasn’t difficult, he just had to pay attention and care for his surroundings, ducking and dodging and taking his time. He had energies to spare, the long journey left him eager of getting back to work. One Venatori less, throat sliced neatly.

The third had him retreat, casting a rain of icicles he had to jump back to dodge. Not a problem, he could circle him, maybe drag the assassin they had with them in the fire, or over one of the ice mines that were casted -as if he didn’t know what they were, the idiot didn’t even put some effort in making them inconspicuous to the warrior elf glowing blue with lyrium. Amateurs.

A snap of wood behind him signalled one of the rogues, he girated around, swinging his sword –

Swiiish.

The assassin screamed in pain, as an arrow struck him right in his eye. He heard a feminine laughter, very nasal, from behind him, but didn’t stop to look, slicing through the soft belly of the assassin and leaving her on the ground to die, turning again to parry another fireball thrown at him with the flat of his weapon.

“See? I got the bull’s eye, Bull! Got it? Ah ah!”

The same voice of the laughter cheered, followed by a booming one, a laughter hidden behind every syllable, from right on his left.

“Great job, Sera-baas! Move, broomstick!”

The ground trembled, as a Qunari run after him and sliced the mage he was aiming at as if it was butter. The mage jumped behind, wounded badly but apparently not down, more resistant than one would think, or with a better armour hidden in flowy robes. The Qunari yelled. “Crap!” as he jumped back, too close to fully avoid the fire that was thrown at him. He hissed, swinging his axe to get distance, ignoring the pain and the burn. Fenris didn’t lose time, jumping right at him, zig-zaging to avoid being targeted too easily. He killed that mage by stabbing him in his chest, deep, but it left him open to the last warrior, his sword stuck in the leather brigandine the mage was clad in.

“Boss!”

He heard the Qunari yell again, as he struggled -damn Tevinter clothes with their too many straps- to free his sword and himself.

He felt it, then.

The air crackling in static all around, buzzing with energy and the distinct smell of ozone. Noise of hoofs, a horse neighing. And then-

It thundered, loud and strong. It had been eight years, but Fenris’ body, apparently, remembered, closing his eyes and letting go of the hilt, staying impossibly still where he was as the air filled with light and thunder, the woosh of flames adding up and warming the air on his face was new, and then everything quieted again. He opened his eyes and the last Vint was lying on the ground, unconscious and burnt from the lightning that just hit him, twitching jerkily as the electricity ran through his nerves, his clothes on fire in more than one part, hair completely burnt down.

They were younger, in a carefree day, years ago. It was spring, the air was full of the smell of fresh grass and flowers. He was sitting against a tree with a book she had lent him to exercise, as she slowly padded her way in the underbush, staff held tight in her hand and steps overly measured, toes checking the ground for twigs before placing her weight on it. She wasn’t a hunter: she may be not so bad when she asked him to teach her to wield a sword, but… The tongue out of her lips, the overly concentrated expression betrayed her uneasiness, long hair splaying all around, leaves stuck in the locks. She launched a rock in the undergrowth, quickly falling into position and calling on her mana as three rabbits ran away, scared. He closed his eyes and averted his eyes, not moving one bit as she told him, as thunder fell from the sky, precise as an arrow, and shocked one of the running rodents dead. She turned with a big smile on her face, expression lit up by more than the speckles of the sun that filtered through the canopy, proud of herself and looking at him for recognition.

“What for?” He had asked, barely containing a smile. He was there from a couple of years, they were unlikely friends, and he found it was difficult to stay grumpy and angry when Aisling was looking at you with that level of enthusiasm.

“Dinner, silly!” She laughed.

She wasn’t catching dinner anymore, but the precision, dead-set and carefully gained through a lot of methodical exercise, was still unmistakably hers. And yet, she wasn’t laughing anymore. She wasn’t alight with enthusiasm, and her hair weren’t long and with leaves or flowers decorating them.

She sat on a pinto horse, staff in her hand, looking straight at him with a hard expression on her face he didn’t think she even had in her. Her hair was shorter, brushing her shoulders and left loose, parted on top of her head so some stray locks covered her brow and her Vallaslin. Which was weird per se. She was very proud of her tattoos, always had been, and most often she braided her hair back to show them. Her face had lost the last roundness of childhood, her mouth had a harsh turn to it. She still wore leg wraps even with clothes and a leather cloak that were unmistakably human in cuts and materials, toes free on the stirrups.

Their eyes met, they kept looking for a long time. He notice briefly the other elf on the saddle with her, an archer taller than her that was glaring suspiciously at him, the second Mage in flowy white robes and moustaches that Fenris remembered from another life, or the Qunari of before asking questions he didn’t hear.

There she was. Aisling Lavellan, looking at him in the eyes.

Eight years had passed, but it was just like it was yesterday that they spoke for the last time. There was something he couldn’t recognise, but he still believe he knew, roughly, how to read her. He had spent a lot of time learning it, after all, and put his effort into it. With suspect at first, because she was a mage and she was eager, striving to get better, curiosity later, because she was careful and loved what she was doing, and a youthly, foolish and thought unrequited first love, lastly. They were both older, now… But she was still her, and he was still him.

He stepped forward, not breaking eye contact, until the archer rose her bow, the Altus got his staff in position and he had the Qunari’s axe at his throat, forcing him to held his chin high.

“Bull.” She just said, assertive. Her Keeper’s tone.

“Are you sure, Boss? We don’t know-”

“I knew him.”

He didn’t lose how she clicked her tongue on her palate, making the horse move without any other movement, stopping him in front of the Tevinter. Protectively.

She didn’t have to ask him, he didn’t have to answer, they still communicated silently as well as the day he left, after all. There was old hurt, distrust, and incomprehension. And yet, something steely in her eyes, that was maybe not her, but the Lady Inquisitor. He contracted his eyebrows, knowing she was reading him as well.

She lowered her eyes, nodded.

And then he spoke, for the others more than for her.

“I came to offer my sword to the Inquisitor.”

And then, someone punched him, hard, right on his right cheekbone. He fell to the ground, hissing in pain and scrambling to the side, to face-

A very angry, seething with rage, Radha Lavellan. Sharper to the corners, hair considerably shorter, daggers sheathed and hands still clenched in punches. If looks could kill, he would be dead and buried right there and then.

“Radha.” Aisling called, a note of tiredness in her voice.

The Rogue stepped back, without saying a word, still casting angry glances at him. 

“Who is our new guest, darling?” A soft, low voice came, still from behind the horse.

“A person we once knew. He won’t hurt anyone, let him come.”

There was that, at least.

*Skyhold, 9:42, Spring and Summer.*

She wasn’t angry with him. She didn’t seem so. But, she wasn’t the bubbly, friendly person of before.

She accepted him in the Inquisition, leaving to Leliana and Cullen to decide how better to take advantage of his abilities after he explained that he had spent the last 4 years after Kirkwall to hunt slavers down, on his own.

He didn’t expect to find both Raina and Garrett Hawke there, greeting him with Varric as one would an old friend. Even if he was the one of their rag-tag group that fought alongside them for the shortest time. But, they at least were welcoming.

Aisling avoided him, polite when they needed to interact, with a coldness she never had, not getting closer. He tried to speak to her, but she wasn’t reachable anymore. She didn’t want his apologies, she told him that he could be free, she didn’t need his help and didn’t want for him to stay if he didn’t want to, or if he just felt like it was his duty. He professed his wish to… Make amend, somehow. She just refused him, saying there was no need, nothing to amend for. Things happened.

He disagreed, and he stayed. Not that she seemed to mind much in good or bad.

But, she assigned him to missions, never ordering but always asking, mindful even after all that time of not making him feel trapped or forced. Radha slowly stopped looking at him as she would have stabbed him in his back, if it wasn’t for Aisling. It was something.

They danced around the other, gravitating, as they had done when the Lavellan brought him in. He knew she was observing him, he could see her looking at him from time to time. He was doing the same, both looking and not approaching. Space was what they had, space was familiar and a good compromise, as Fenris did his best to show her he was there, and he was not running, not leaving her to face a weird darskpawn-Magister alone. He could do that for her, and it wasn’t all that unpleasant.

The company was good, he got along with the Chargers -he knew the Iron Bull was familiar, after he named Seheron he knew. They never spoke about it, but they both knew. Varric… Was Varric, a knack for making you feel welcomed everywhere. He called her Lucky. It was, indeed, still Aisling Lavellan, the weirdo who thought people were good. She collected quite the rag-tag group, still making friends first and foremost with the most unlikely people around. Magisters and Altus -those were hard to accept, he stuck around as she and Dorian experimented, as Alexius joined them sometimes. He stuck around, a dagger at the ready, refusing to leave when she asked him, once, and even after she told him that Dorian had her utmost trust. Little by little, at least, he saw she was right, that the Altus really seemed to care, and the old Magister had no more bite to him. The Spirit, Cole, was the second on his list of curiosities that unsettled him: because of course she would have made friend with a Spirit in human form that read minds. And then Sera, whomever she was -he quite liked her, tho-. A Ben-Hassrath agent, and a good one, that acted like a mother cat and corrected her form with her spirit-blade. The ex Knight-Captain of Kirkwall lent her books, and they laughed together -he didn’t know Cullen was able to laugh. Apostates and Templars and Orlesian nobles charmed by her. She made it work, and he was admired.

Admired, and sad, because he knew her when she was young, and she never was that demure, and calm. Maybe it was just him and Radha that could see it, but he saw it: she was keeping her distances, keeping always three steps away from all her inner circle, save from Dorian.

She smiled more with him, as they spoke Tevene between them and experimented on magic. On that, she was still brilliant, as much as he was, and he had to admit, as much as she didn’t trust the man, they worked well together, filling each other gaps and spurring each other on. She has always been talented and elegant, thinking outside the box and, at the same time, controlled. But with him?

They made rain on the Keep. A real, true rain that filled the reserves of drinking water and saved people a long and hard trip to fetch it. And, as they travelled across Thedas, helped people as well.

As the months passed, as they found a comfortable rhythm around each other, they crossed eyes again, from time to time. Aisling started speaking to him again, unsurely and tentatively. She never touched anything much personal, always kept her distance. But, she asked about how he was. Asked him for his opinion on matters that weren’t work. Suggested him a book she thought he may like. He made a detour from the kitchen, when he passed and saw they had just taken out of the oven a tray of lemon cookies, and brought them straight to her in the library as a thank you, because he remembered she liked lemon sweets best.

One day, she told him she read about Danarius in the Tale of the Champion. That she was happy for him. And for once, her smile was sincere. As many, many times before, she tugged back the small, shy smile she had just for him. He smiled back, for old time’s sake. He hoped she saw that, in spite of everything, he was proud of her. And he regretted every single day he didn’t get back after Danarius found him and he put an end on the story, winning his freedom.

There was distance, still, a huge, gaping hole of eight year of absence, with not a word. They could work around it, falling into the most innocent of their old habits -like, he would sit in the library, reading, as Dorian taught her maths and to put magic in theory and they bickered, ten miles per hours in a mix of Tevene and Common following some weird line of thought.

He wanted more, he regretted many things. But if that was all that there could be, all that she had left to give him, he would have taken it. Work. Fixing problems together, on different sides of the same room. Exchanging glances and knowing, still, what the other was thinking. Avoiding to speak about the regret, the longing, that at least he started to feel again, after some months. That was left for sideway glances. She could concentrate on finding another person. One that wouldn’t have left.

*Adamant Fortress, 9:42, Kingsway.*

She didn’t want him in his party. It was predictable. She invented an excuse, but he really didn’t need one. He followed Raina, as he had done in Kirkwall, up the battlements.

They fought, they crossed path with Aisling, in her Keeper armour, making thunder rain from above in that way she and Dorian had to weave spells together, drawing together from the Fade to enhance each other’s power. She had Dorian and Solas with her, with the addition of the Iron Bull. As the Battlements were freed, she stopped them to assess the situation and instruct them further.

“We need to get to the inner courtyard and stop Erimond. We’ll head there, Raina and Stroud with us.” She instructed them, turning to him, Radha, Sera, Garrett and Varric. “You stay here, keep the battlements free for our soldiers, cover them as they climb. Garrett, you know what to do to call me if another Rift opens up here. Ok?”

No, it wasn’t ok. He frowned at her, and for the first time since he arrived, he spoke up to her.

“Let me come with you.”

He told her, looking at her in the eyes. He didn’t need to say why or explain, he knew she knew. He had experience with Magisters. He had known Erimond. He was the best suited, had personal grudge against the man and the category. She knew. She steeled her gaze, tho, furrowing and not budging. A challenge.

“No.”

She stepped back: Fenris didn’t realise he had stepped so close to her.

He sighed, nodding, understanding it was not a matter of ability. It was clear as day on her face.

She didn’t trust him at his side, after all.

He let her go, did what she asked. He wondered if she knew his heart went with her nevertheless.

---

When the dragon came flying, tho, he said fuck it to the plan.

“Broody!”

He heard Varric shouting behind him, as he left his flank open – but he saw Radha running his way, and he trusted that the elf would have covered for the dwarf. She was good and protective, the person you’d want covering your back. And yet, she had no experience with Magisters either, and he did. And Aisling was against a crazy Magister -he saw him, buzzing with power- on his pet Archdemon, and his feet took flight. He ignored Radha yelling at him to stop.

He opened his way, one demon after the other, heart in his throat, as the dragon destroyed old walls with his tails, his roars almost covering the thunder that rained on the Keep.

He turned and ran, ignored his lungs begging for air, muscles twitching.

A flash of green, and the Archdemon in front of him retreated, hissing in pain. Whatever the Anchor was on her hand, it was, apparently useful. Except that it made the dragon even angrier. He jumped, stabbed the reptile’s hind leg deep in the muscle. The dragon kicked, and he was too tired to duck in time. He rolled, coming to a stop against a wall, cursing how the sword was tossed in another direction.

He was about to run after his weapon, when the dragon stomped, hard, making the bridge they were standing on tremble. A loud crack, and the stones began to fall.

As the dragon flew away, Fenris was left with a choice. His weapon, on the right. Aisling, on the left, running on falling debris. She was quick on her feet, but not enough. It wasn’t really a choice.

He didn’t think and jump after her, grabbing her tight and rolling them around, not caring for much else than giving her a chance more. He heard her cursing, arm circling his chest and holding tight, instinctively.

Another flash of green, brighter than any of her lightnings. Brighter than her smile right after he kissed her back. He didn’t think it was even possible.

---

She brought them in the Fade and she got them out.

She had to leave Stroud there. Fenris offered to stay, because that’s what he could do. It wasn’t enough, not after reading on her gravestone, in the realm of the demon, that her deepest fear was Abandonment. He knew he hurt her, deeply. He had hoped he hadn’t fully break her. And then, seeing it written, a full certainty…

She refused, her quiet, mistrusting distances instantly ablaze with anger. She yelled at him not to say anything of the sort to her ever, ever again. He never saw her angry before. Once, she would have cried. Now, she didn’t. She said to Stroud to get out, she would have stayed. She couldn’t ask him to do something she wasn’t ready to do.

In the end, the last one to get out from the Fade Rift was, indeed, Aisling, stumbling on her feet and almost losing balance. Fenris didn’t know if the Warden pushed her or managed to convince her. What he did know was that in her eyes, as she rose up and crossed his eyes, looked for him, and especially him, there was anger. Hate. The same hate he felt and told her about, that night at the Arlathven. Hate masking desperation.

It wasn’t him who did this to her. But he understood.

He nodded to her, gravely.

She turned against Erimond and extended her fingers, casting lightning without her staff. Hit the Magister right on the mouth of his stomach, snaking in the tightening nets of his barrier right before he closed it. The man fell on his back, three meters away, unconscious, body twitching.

The battle was over.

And yet, it was not.

---

He found her again early in the morning, as the battlefield was cleared and soldiers moved to the infirmary. Radha thanked him for helping her sister, which was as much as a peace offering he would have gotten from her.

He found Aisling outside the infirmary, bent on herself, hands stained green, trembling like a leaf even if the sun was quickly fending the chill of the night away.

His heart broke.

“You can go, if you need to. I’ll remember you, tho. I remember everyone that leaves.”

She told him, bent on her thighs, hugging her legs with her face hidden between both knees. She was trembling like a leaf, as the night slowly left place to the dawn, vulnerable as ever and still naked under what had been his sheets, the sinewy lines of her Vallaslin he had traced with kisses and caresses few hours prior in full view, hair still tousled from their activities spraying all around.

He had no words to give her, except that it was too much for him to bear. The memories, the intimacy… No. He had been stupid, he hadn’t been as scared in his own life as he was in that moment, terror crippling him. It was too much. He couldn’t stay. He told her all the wrong words, with anger she didn’t deserve and that wasn’t even directed at her. Not really.

She hadn’t cried, she hadn’t said a word more, or even looked at him.

He had been stupid, he had been a coward, and he had gone.

She wasn’t crying, she was still clothed and her hair still neatly plaited behind her head from the battle. And yet, as stoney and sure-footed she had proved to be as the Inquisitor in the last six months, she was crumbling on herself, façade cracking, closed in a protective bubble, hugging her thighs.

Fenris shouldn’t be the one to do that. He knew she didn’t trust him anymore and she had all the reasons. But, he had come full circle now, and as many flaws as he had… He liked to think he could learn.

He knew she hated to crumble before others. She knew she spoke her affection in touches. Or at least, with others. She never touched him without his consent ever since he told her he didn’t like it, and she hadn’t even asked him why. Just accepted the thing, acted accordingly.

This time, he wasn’t a coward, and he didn’t turn his back at her. Instead, he got closer, slipped his hands under her knees and held her back as he hauled her up, holding her close. She started to wiggle immediately, trying to push him away. Hissing and pushing and making the hair crackle with static. It was like holding a wild cat, but he didn’t let go, knowing perfectly she wouldn’t have hurt him. He brought her to a small passage between two buildings, narrow and hidden and left free of rubble, miraculously. They would have been alone there.

He let her go, letting her scrumble away on the ground, heaving and panting. She looked around her, eyes spirited, full of panic, ending up on his. He nodded, knowing what she was thinking, and turned his back, sitting close but not looking at her, shielding from the outside. After a minute, she started to cry, breath ragged, sobbing out like a wounded animal.

He knew her, tho, and knew that… Maybe…

He turned to look at her, legs crossed below her, arms hugging her and swinging back and forth as she cried, breathing heavily through her mouth, still trembling.

She hadn’t moved back, tho, hadn’t sought more distance. So, he tentatively turned back to her and moved closer. Closer. She let him approach. She let him circle her shoulder with both his arms and drag her on his lap, close to his chest, holding her as she cried. She smelled of ash, and of elfroot. She always smelled of elfroot.

“G-go now if you don’t mean to stay. Please, I- I could’t take it one more time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He told her, squeezing her tighter. “I should have got back years ago. I’m here, now.”

He didn’t move, waiting for her to stop crying. She didn’t, slowly and tentatively shifting her head to slip in the crook of his neck. She didn’t seem to care much if he still had his armour on, and clutched to the border of his breastplate with a hand, holding close.

“Why did you get back?”

“What do you mean?”

“I… You were right. You were right all along.” She sobbed. “About magic. About… About me. I left a person in the- I- I wanted to make Erimond suffer. Slowly. I still do. I… I did blood magic.”

It made her cry more, and he didn’t lie. It was a stab.

“What happened?”

“Vyrina. Two months after you left. The baby… The baby was with his feet down. She would have died, they both would... I- I moved him. It was…”

He had found it weird that she didn’t heal with magic anymore in these months, and all that praising the 1000 qualities of Elfroot. She never did it before, she was learning Spirit Healing, and the Keeper said she was good at it. With those reasons, tho, he really couldn’t say much. It was her and she still didn’t have one bad bones in her body. She wasn’t possessed, that much was clear.

“I was wrong. About magic. It wasn’t about you, it never was… I was a fool, and I was scared. I thought it better if you hated me, I deserved no less. I projected things you didn’t deserve. I didn’t mean you. I never meant you. When you fell, this night, I…”

“I am a killer.”

“Aren’t we all.” He snorted, mirthlessly.

“Then, why…” She sobbed, folding again onto herself, voice pitching. “… Why did you leave, Fenris?”

He sighed, heavily. Six months it took her to ask. He owed her an answer. Particularly because she still, somehow, cared.

“… I thought about the answer a thousand times.”. He started, tentatively. He felt her moving, but it was his turn to just… hold her a little closer, placing a hand on her head. His gauntlet caught on her hair, he untangled it as delicately as he could. But she got the message that he didn’t want her to look, and stayed where she was. “The pain, the memories it brought up… It was too much. I was a coward. And I hurt you, more deeply than you would admit.”

She sniffed, shifted a little to get more comfortable against his armour. He settled them better as she took her time to reply. She had stopped trembling, at least, as well as sobbing. He turned his head to look at her, and what was left of the messy braid she tied her hair before the battle, locks spreading all over.

“Why returning now? After all these years?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I was hoping you could forgive me. And to tell you…” He swallowed. “… And to tell you that if you could, and you somehow felt as before, that if I have to be a future nothing could be worse than the thought of living it without you.”

It was as close as he could trudge. She stopped, perfectly still. It was out, he was on the clear.

“Why are you telling me this, now?”

“Because I thought you would have died, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing. You still have battles to fight. You need to know that it wasn’t your fault.”

“I understand.”

She was back to cold mode. He slumped, fear rising back again, as well as regret. Gone was the giggling, gone were the embarrassment. She didn’t move from where she was, tho, hot breath fanning over his neck. He didn’t want her to go, ever, but… He felt her move, and let her slip away. He knew better.

“Thank you. For coming back. And for jumping after me. But…”

“It is too late.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew her. He didn’t need to even look at her to guess. She closed her fingers, slowly, over his, squeezing.

“I am sorry, Fen. But…” She was, tone of voice sweet, under hurt, old pain resurfacing. “… I don’t know. I think… I think it is.”

She kept her hand on his, not letting go. He moved and held her hand back, not saying anything else. He understood. He had stayed away so long convincing himself that she hated him and didn’t want to see him. He didn’t expect her to swallow everything or forget. They stayed there, silently mourning what was lost to bad timing, and trauma clashing badly together.

“I’d… I’d be glad if you stayed. If you want to. I… I am glad to have you around, even if…”

“You don’t trust me.”

She sighed, deeply, shaking her head in denial.

“I trust you with my life, Fen. I wouldn’t want to have anyone beside me in battle but you, Radha and Dorian, Bull and Sera.”

That much was true, she didn’t hesitate.

“I can’t trust you with my heart, tho.”

She moved forward, tentatively as she already did, but less nervous. She asked him to look at her, when she was close enough.

“One for the road?” She asked, smiling. She was crying.

“One for the road.” He smiled back, nodding.

She pecked a last kiss on his lips, no teeth this time. It was bittersweet, and she tasted like salt and ashes, and some lingering elfroot from the last healing potion she dranked. She dragged it on, and then interrupted it, moving back and letting go of his hand.

“Thank you.”

She said. It encompassed everything. Fond memories they had, young people learning to find common ground, growing together, him learning about peace and quiet, she peeking her nose in a bigger, wider world. A bigger, wider world that suited her and she was shaping.

“No. Thank you, weirdo.”

It could have been.

But, the timing was wrong.

[kaialone]

All Fanny Win & Lose Quotes Translated (Guilty Gear Petit)

As the title says, this will be a translation of all* Win & Lose quotes involving Fanny from Guilty Petit and Guilty Gear Petit 2.

(*Except for the mirror match quote, if one exists, because it looks like you can’t get a proper mirror match in single player.)

I thought these would be interesting to know about, since they’re pretty much the only characterization Fanny gets outside of the Petit 1 & 2 story modes, plus getting to see a bit of how the other characters react to her.

EDIT: I have since also translated all of the Petit 1 & 2 story modes (yes, all of them)- check those out here.

--

Some more things to note before we get started:

Characters who appear in both Petit 1 and 2 have identical Win and Loss quotes in both games.

The final roster also includes four “GG” characters: GG Sol Badguy, GG May, GG Millia Rage, and GG Ky Kiske.

These four characters are essentially their base form counterparts, but with an alternate moveset inspired by the first Guilty Gear game. They are given different color schemes to differentiate them in gameplay, but they are effectively treated like they are the same characters, even though they have separate quotes and story modes.

The only exception is GG Ky Kiske, who is actually Robo-Ky!

Finally, in terms of status-quo, the characters are roughly plucked from around the Guilty Gear X era - for example Dizzy is part of the Jellyfish Pirates, but Zato-1 hasn’t fully passed away yet (but is still controlled by Eddie.)

Though the stories of these games are really more on the humorous side.

Now, onto the actual translations!

--

Fanny Win Quotes

(These are the quotes Fanny herself says when defeating these characters.)

Sol Badguy: せんせいは、かんじゃさんに リラックス してもらおうと おもっているからこそ あんなにユーモアにあふれているのです。 The doctor wants to help his patients relax, that's why he's so full of humor.

Ky Kiske: すみません、せのたかくてスマートで ウィットにとんだせかいさいこうのめいい、 ごぞんじないですか？ Excuse me? Do you happen to know about the tall, suave, witty, and overall greatest doctor in the entire world?

May: せんせいはえいせいてきにかんがえて、 あたまをそっていらっしゃるのです。 …たぶん。 The doctor shaves his head for hygienic purposes. …I think.

Millia Rage: ねんのため くすり だしておきますね。 I'm giving you some medicine, just in case.

Potemkin: わたしのオデコのほうが かたかったみたいです。 Looks like my forehead is harder.

Kuradoberi Jam: せんせいのようしですか？ あしがながくて くびもながい ひかりかがやいているかたですわ。 What does the doctor look like? He has long legs, and a long neck, and he's just a positively radiant person.

Mito Anji: せんせいもあなたのように ステキなめがねをしてらしたのよ。 The doctor was also wearing lovely glasses, just like you.

Johnny: ステキなけんさばきでしたわ、 でも せんせいにはかないませんわね。 That was some fine swordplay, but you still can't hold a candle to the doctor.

Faust: ああっ、せんせい… どこにいってしまわれたのでしょうか？ Oh, Doctor… Where could you have gone?

Chipp Zanuff: ぜひ けんけつをおねがいします。 きっと ちが おおすぎるのですわ。 Please consider donating blood. I'm sure you have too much of it.

Axl Low: ごめんなさい、わたしは「はくいのてんし」 わたしのあいは みなさんびょうどうですの。 I'm sorry, but I'm a "white angel"- I love everyone equally.

(Translator's Note: “はくいのてんし/hakui no tenshi”, meaning “white angel” is a non-official term sometimes used for nurses in Japanese, as far as I can tell. As far as I’ve heard, this term might’ve come from the legacy of Florence Nightingale, particularly the 1937 movie based around her life called “The White Angel”. Obviously likening nurses to angels is a thing in English too, but I still wanted to explain the details here.)

Zato-1 (Eddie): あなたぜひ せんせいのオペを うけるべきですわ！ You should absolutely get surgery from the doctor!

Testament: せいしんあんていざいを うっておきました。 もうだいじょうぶ！ I have given you sedatives. Everything will be fine now!

GG Sol Badguy: せんせいのすばらしさがわからないんですか？ おきのどくに。 Don't you know just how wonderful the doctor is? How unfortunate.

GG May: せんせいは「ハゲ」ではありません！ 「ボウズ」ですわ！！ The doctor is NOT bald! He just shaves!!

GG Millia Rage: あなたのこころのキズ、はやく せんせいに みてもらったほうがいいと おもいますわ。 I think you'd better let the doctor take a look at your broken heart as soon as possible.

GG Ky Kiske (Robo-Ky): あなた すぐにせんせいに みていただいたほうがいいわ！ せんせい！！きゅうかんです！！ You should go see the doctor right away! Doctor!! It's an emergency!!

--

Fanny Defeated Quotes

(These are the quotes these characters say to Fanny when they defeat her.)

Sol Badguy: かんごふってのは、みな、こうだったか？ Are all nurses like this?

Ky Kiske: かんごふ というのもまた からだをはる しごとなのですね。 I suppose being a nurse, too, is quite the physically demanding line of work.

May: ボクもずっと すきなひと さがしてたからわかるよ。そのきもち。 I'm always chasing after someone I like, too. So I get how you feel.

Millia Rage: さいきん えだげが ひどいのよね。 いいくすりしらない？ I've been having awful split ends lately. Do you know any remedy for that?

Potemkin: ずいぶん かわった たたかいだったな… That sure was a strange battle…

Kuradoberi Jam: ちょっと、やりすぎたアル…って ねてるアルか？ Whoops, I think I overdid it… Wait- Are you asleep?

Mito Anji: 「まてば かいろのひよりあり」ってね がんばって さがしな "Good things come to those who wait", you know. So hang in there and keep on searching, alright?

(Translator's Note: What Anji says in the first line is a Japanese idiom that would literally translate to “waiting for fair weather at a sea route”, in case you’re curious. But it does essentially mean “Good things come to those who can wait.”)

Johnny: とう「ジェリーフィッシュかいぞくだん」では チャーミングなナース ぼしゅうちゅうだ むかしのおとこ わすれさせてやるぜ？ The Jellyfish Pirates are looking to hire a charming nurse right now, so what d'ya say? I'll make you forget all about that other guy.

Faust: 「いり���うのみちは いちにちしてならず。」 かんじゃへの あいのみに いきるべきです。 "The path of medicine isn't forged in a day." You should live only for your love towards your patients.

Chipp Zanuff: へんなねーちゃんだな？ おれはどこもけがしちゃいねーけどな。 What's with this chick? I wasn't even hurt anywhere.

Axl Low: 「はくいのてんし」はすきだけど もうちょっと おとなしいほうがすきだぜ？ I do like "white angels", but… I'd like it even better if you were a bit more gentle, eh?

Zato-1 (Eddie): モウオソイワ コイツトオレハキリハナセンヨ。 YOU ARE TOO LATE. HE AND I CANNOT BE SEPERATED.

Testament: わたしに いりょうなど ひつようない。 I have no need for medical care.

GG Sol Badguy: かんごふがくるとこじゃねぇぜ、ここは。 This is no place for a nurse.

GG May: さいきんのかんごふって ずいぶん つよいのね？ Nurses are pretty tough these days, huh?

GG Millia Rage: ボーっとしてるから…。 That's what you get for spacing out…

GG Ky Kiske (Robo-Ky): カカカンゴフ トトトトイウノモモモマタ カカカラダヲハル ㇱ、シゴトナノデスネネ。 I- I- I SUPPOSE BEING A- A- A- A- A NURSE, T-T-TOO, IS QUITE T-T-T-THE PHYSICALLY D-DEMANDING LINE OF WORK-K.

--

[justaboutsnapped]

Just another day of losing it over brocedes... Thinking about their dynamic in terms of winning/losing.

Warning: long ass (900-word) post ahead. Lowkey just over-the-top wailing but I!!! *said like a madman* have connected the dots!!! This is definitely subjective–hopefully not unbearably so because I did reference Actual Lore™ and shit.

In another unnecessarily lengthy post I listed some instances of Lewis and Nico being unbelievably competitive over every little thing, including Lewis stating on two occasions that his favourite and least favourite thing about racing were winning and losing. Therein lies the tragedy of it all...

I was digging around trying to soak up more Lore™ and I came across this Lewis quote:

“I think for me, my whole life has been about winning. I have been racing for 29 years, so I think having that mentality of always knowing you can be better... but I think during this time, realising that winning is not everything. Sometimes, when you lose, you actually win and grow.”

This is great!! It demonstrates how Lewis' mentality has matured. What's there to be sad about? Unfortunately for me (it would've been so nice for my sanity if I didn't make the connection), the phrasing in the first bolded part immediately reminded me of this Nico moment @box-box-blorbos had brought up in the tags of my aforementioned brocedes brainrot rant post:

"The fact it was Lewis I took the title from is extra sweet as well because to me it feels that I've been racing him all my life and all my life he's just edged me out for the titles," added Rosberg.

"I've been racing him all my life" "my whole life as been about winning" I'm going to start fucking crying. Not because of the flimsy connection I just made based on the quotes having a couple of words in common, but because of the brothers-cedes’ difference in mentality.

People always talk about how hung up Nico is about Lewis, which is sometimes overblown, but in this case it's absolutely true that Lewis had an indelible presence in Nico's mind. For a large part of his career, his winning/losing was defined not only by his own performance, but by the success of his friend slash rival slash a lot of other things. The opposite is of course true, but I think Lewis generally was better at dealing with that–taking that coveted title in 2008 and "edging" Nico "out for the titles" later on at Mercedes probably helped. Lewis has had significant championship battles with other drivers, whereas for Nico, Lewis was proclaimed by everyone (including himself) as his One True Rival of sorts. Not "I've been racing to win all my life", but "I've been racing him all my life". Winning wasn't just about getting to the top anymore, it was equally about surpassing Lewis.

Here have a Florence And The Machine line appropriate for the topic at hand:

And everything I ever did Was just another way to scream your name

It was such a terrible way for Nico to look at things. He took the pressure intrinsic to the sport and increased that shit tenfold by developing a devastating mindset which zip-tied together winning/losing and his relationship with Lewis. Really, the deterioration of the worsties' relationship was inevitable.

As a freshly minted Nico Rosberg Apologist™ I of course occasionally bemoan that it seems impossible for people to talk about Nico without bringing up Lewis (yes I'm aware of my hypocrisy here). However, Nico just proves it again and again that Lewis occupies a special place in his heart deranged little brain. Here's another quote from Nico after winning the WDC:

“And I took the World Championship away from him which is a phenomenal feeling.”

Truly, this is a mind-blowing insight into his psyche. Insert screeching and sobbing. Of fucking course he didn't see the WDC as something that started anew each season! Of course he saw it as something belonging to Lewis that he had to earn the right to take away!! Nico Rosberg you were a sick, sick man–not that he isn't now, but he's decidedly less maladjusted (being, as the joke goes, the most therapised man on the planet does wonders for one's mental health).

Of course, Nico's decision to retire was motivated by multiple reasons, and it's disrespectful to say he did it solely because of some twisted desire to deprive Lewis of the chance to get back at him, but it's not a reach to say that having beaten Lewis, to some extent, enabled him to say goodbye so early. Nico has said that he gave up a core piece of his "identity" by deciding not to race anymore. Racing meant trying his damndest to win; winning meant having Lewis Hamilton, the subject of his love and hate right there on the podium with him. Borrowing some of @box-box-blorbos 's tags here, as it was the brilliant words she left under my piece that inspired me to write another one:

#But something something it seems like everything came easy to Lewis but it didn't but that doesn't stop Nico from resenting it #I've loved you my whole life #I've been racing you my whole life #I cannot separate the two

To end it on a less depressing note, at least we can rejoice over the fact that while Nico has gotten over f1 racing he clearly hasn't gotten over Lewis... Taking a step back and adopting a more detached grid role has helped him make the distinction between the Lewis that was his rival–who won and won and won against him why couldn’t he just lose for once–and the Lewis who he once promised to, under Greece's night sky, that one day they would conquer the world grid together. In his heart, Lewis is still his best friend–this was of course a joke, but don't jokes always have an element of truth to them?

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"Batman's aff his nut / Have you seen the way he cuts aboot / Dressed up as a mad fuckin bat / Batterin guys..."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[shiningstarr15]

Guys I came across something today and it had me almost throwing a fit in public

So I went to Walmart with my folks for our weekly grocery haul and, as per usual, I snuck off to listen to my tunes, pace around, and look for any marvel stuff I could find 😂

Well I found myself in the children’s books section where I know they always have those little 5minute stories to read to kids and I came across this beauty

First of all, the art is BEAUTIFUL. Some of the characters are the comic versions, but some ALSO have traits of their cinematic counterparts (ex being Natasha’s green eyes)

So of course seeing Black Widow on the cover I had to take a peak and see what her story was.

I was not expecting nor prepared for what it was..

That..that can literally only mean one thing, right? There’s only ONE other character that holds the title of black widow in the marvel comics. And of course the character they’re showing is BLONDE.

So I had to read it. Yes I stood there in the middle of the Walmart children’s books section and read a marvel kids book. I was too excited at the prospect that maybe just maybe my favorite marvel character was in this book. Which would be the FIRST time I’ve EVER seen her illustrated in a kids book!

But then as I kept reading, and they revealed the blonde character having been “impersonating black widow,” a particular sentence caught my eye.

“She had a strange sense she knew this person”

Now I don’t know EVERYTHING about comic Yelena but I DO know that Natasha’s first encounter with her is the first time she’s seen her. They weren’t even in the red room together at the same time.

So part of me started thinking maybe it wasn’t her. These stories sometimes stray a bit to be more “kid-friendly” and Yelena is such an underused and unpopular character in the comics that they probably wouldn’t put her in one of the marvel books.

So I decided to keep reading and Natasha goes on about how ‘this woman knows all her moves’ ‘maybe she’s finally met her match’ and I’m like “no, it has to be her. That is literally her description in the comics!”

So it finally gets to where she removes the mask and..

When I tell you I gasped out loud

It’s HER!! she’s here in a children’s book!

But guys, it doesn’t end there. Look at how Natasha looks at her with a knowing look, SHE KNOWS HER

So at this point I knew they had to have strayed a bit from the comic. But when I tell you the next page literally had me almost throwing the book…

Because it’s not just a version of comic Yelena..

ITS OUR YELENA!!!!!!!

Obviously the book took a few liberties with their story bc it’s not exactly like the one told in Black Widow. But it’s also not even CLOSE to the comic version. Yes Natasha has a soft spot for Yelena that later on does bring them closer and work together and even have funny banter, in which I have no doubt was the influence behind making them sisters in the movies. But they aren’t ever described as having a sisterly relationship in the comics.

So then this version has to be a version of MCU Yelena! Yes it is slightly different but she’s still the younger sister figure to Natasha 😭😭🥺🥺 that’s mcu exclusive as of right now.

Also, LOOK AT THE WAY SHE’S ILLUSTRATED. The hair has never looked exactly like that in the comics with the pieces and the fly-aways. But the thing that really did it for me was the eyes

THAT IS FLORENCE PUGH’S EYES

You cannot TELL me that’s a coincidence. That eye color is WAY TOO DISTINCT of having that golden green-ish look that is so exclusive to her!

So yea, it’s her.

I am at a literal loss for words at this point. It’s like a version of her that mixes some of the comic origin and the cinematic origin. Especially this page here.

First of all, Natasha saying she wasn’t leaving until she brought Yelena “home” had me almost in TEARS in the middle of Walmart 😭 in this story, Natasha defects and Yelena chooses not to. But she still feels left behind, you can tell by it describing her as having an “almost sad look” in her eyes. And then she quotes the motto, like it’s just been engrained into her. And then the stolen tech “falls out” of the pocket. So it is heavily implied she doesn’t really wanna be doing this but feels like she needs to to prove her loyalty.

It’s sad that it ends with her just escaping and leaving. But she actually does end up showing up in like a foggy mist when Nat and Fury reboard the quinjet. Like she’s just really wanting to go. But she doesn’t.

But it ends like this.

“Perhaps her little sister wasn’t so lost to her after all” SCREAMING CRYING HYPERVENTILATING 😭😭😭

And then “she knew this wasn’t the last she had seen of Yelena Belova” implying the possibility of her returning in later stories 😭😭

And that is the first time I see Yelena illustrated.

Guys… kids are gonna read this. They’re gonna read it and not only know who Yelena is, but associate her with being “black widow’s sister” or “Natasha’s little sister.” The character has forever been changed thanks to the MCU and Florence Pugh. They single-handedly put that character on the map, and marvel kids books are starting to reflect it. I’ve already seen it within the fandom. They only know her as being her sister. This was the most beautiful thing I could’ve ever come across. And I have a feeling the character’s future is so bright and this is only just the beginning for “black widow’s sister” 😭😭😭💞💞💞🥹🥹🥹🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖

And also if I ever see her illustrated in that iconic double ponytail and vest I may actually shit myself…

[jiminsproof]

tag game ✨️

gosh so many lovelies tagged me in this one!! you GUYYS!!!! thank you @singingtillthemorn, @seoksao, @blueside-hobi, @joon-rkive, @minieggukie, @wistfulocean, @everysongends !! Sonja, Salma, Kaili, Elle, Kris, Heather, Amal, i hope each and every single one of you is having a lovely day, and i'm sending you a big hug!! loved getting to know more about you from your posts, too!! and i hope i haven't missed anyone's tag shhjgjkldlk

name: Natalia

sign: 🌞 Sagittarius,🌙 Taurus, ⬆️ Virgo

height: 169 cm/ 5'6'' (but listen i used the converter for the second one don't quote me on this)

time: 20:10

birthday: 11th Dec

favorite band/artist: idk how to even make this relatively succinct.......... ok so for kpop it's bangtan, ateez, stray kids, gidle, taemin...... otherwise i also love chelsea wolfe a lot.... dream theater the metal band of my life? royal blood, white lies, muse but also nothing but thieves and des rocs a lot lately...... romantic feelings for meg myers', emma ruth rundle's and agnes obel's music?? but also banks and florence + the machine and aurora and hey i also love men. post malone, hozier, hurts and even crazy stuff like hatari?? and i also have been to 7 riverside concerts and FFSSSSSSSS no

last movie: not a movie but i watched foals concert yesterday oh right i also love foals k word me

last show: does wanteez count?? also planning to start bad buddy tonight i'm so excited!!!!!

when i created this blog: february/march 2022?

what i post: mostly bangtan, but also other k-pop stuff and dramas i'm currently watching. random text posts. i talk

other blogs: @sector1 - my ateez sideblog, @liquidsun-sets - my lit/art blog

do i get asks: yess!! thank you guys!!

followers: 106, ily all <3 (also that's a side note, but i'm really grateful that you guys are always so ready to strike a conversation with me, and i feel like i have spoken with so many of my moots it's crazy!! this blog is really an amazing space for me, and it's all thanks to you - THANK YOUUU BABIES!!!)

average hours of sleep: you never know. workdays it's usually around 6-7 (but also much less to 0 if things to do), my body always wants 10+, my personal record is 15 hours. yes, non-stop. no, i didn't feel bad afterwards. it felt amazing.

instruments: in Polish we say that you can play on sb's nerves, and that's all i got

what i'm wearing: black tank top and black sweatpants

dream job: ?????????????????????? happy

dream trip: florence, italy!! primarily for the uffizi. also need to get to the uk at some point and stay there like a month to see everything i want to see

favourite songs: let's talk ABOUT MY FAVOURITE SONGS RIGHT NOW. so i'm really into ateez comeback. guerrilla, sector 1, and cyberpunk are my faves. phase me by woosung finally got me! trying not to stan the rose now! svt's most recent album is great too, i've been blasting _world and cheers the most as title songs i think. currently on amsterdam by nothing but thieves kick too. and kard's most recent album. wait why there's so many again

anyways. tagging some of my lovely moots, please feel free to ignore, many of you might have already done it too!! wishing you a lovely week ily 💗: @minyoongislaysme, @kirbwoo, @ki-limepie, @shrimpmsg, @starlostjimin, @usertae, @rosegaming117, @hopeonthestreets, @kimchokejin, @sugaggukkie, @feeling-woozi, @jiminieology27, @platypusplayhere. 🌸

[kuekyuuq]

Gloria, Jet-lags and Imps [6x11]

Let’s jump right in:

Kinda love how Kara lamp-shaded addressed the fact she didn't tell the gang about her adventures in the PZ. She’s not wrong, tho.

...what do I want to say about Mxy using what's basically a well-known gay-anthem to tell his tale? I mean, it didn’t lead anywhere. The original song is about freeing oneself, liberation, stepping out of a (gone bad) relationship and moving on, stronger for it - empowerment. The only connection I could make, is that originally it was Nyxly’s aim to just do that (freeing herself and her kind from an oppressor), but in the way Mxy performed it, that part of the parallel was long over before he even reached the chorus. It’s also a popular Karaoke song, tho, so... he chose it because it’s catchy? I’ll try not to overthink it for now. At least, the Superfriend’s reactions were fun.

Nia exiting the elevator, "And what's this Old Stone?" I love it when ppl enter a room / situation and pick up on words that they couldn't have possibly heard. I think cinema sins ding such... Are we to assume, she dreamed Mxy's rendition of ‘I will survive’? Or is the elevator not sound-proof at all? (If it’s the latter, Nia later apparently telling Brainy “in private” between scenes / during the elevator ride about her Nyxly adventures, was a silly thing to do.)

So, "Jared" created the ring Old Stone to rule them all, it got shattered into the Paragons totems? Nyxly needs the totems and to get them she needs a crystal which also belonged to "Jared" - who happens to be Mxy's ancestor, which is why she needs Mxy / his blood, too.

I have one important and incredibly relevant question here, tho... 

With the introduced imps and their names... Why’s dude named Jared of all things?!

Really, did I mishear that? If so, I’ll leave it as is and never edit, bc that would be hilarious in its own right 😋

...

Not sure what to make about Supergirl paraphrasing a Dirty Dancing quote.  "Nobody puts Mxy into a power crystal on my watch."  ...is he Baby now? (Seriously, though: Which of the writers thought that was a fitting quote to use in that particular context?)

...now, is the exposition section of the episode over yet?

Sensitive Brainy sensed something was up with Nia. He can relate... Nia doubting Kara would understand, too, is ridiculous. But I get it... insecurities and all. But, I mean, just 5 minutes later Kara announces she wants to save Nyxly despite her wrongdoings. And yet Nia still remains convinced, Kara wouldn’t forgive her own personal mini-me... After having witnessed Kara forgiving Lena for a whole season of the writers being stupid messing up to the nth degree. But I digress, Lena’s Lena.

...how old is Nia meant to be again? Just asking out of completely unrelated curiosity.

F*ck. They really went with NewFoundland...

Imma assume it was an executive choice after realizing they couldn’t find enough actors and actresses with a convincing Irish accent... maybe. Again, no offense to Newfoundland! Just... we got the insinuations of Ireland, not Newfoundland... And truthfully, when I think of magic, Ireland is an easy association. Whereas I only due to this whole debacle learned Newfoundland has Irish ancestry. So, okay, the show forced me to learn something new... I give ‘em that.

An easy journey, she said.

Lena's been off-screen for two whole episodes, Kara announcing at the beginning of ‘Dreamweaver’ [6x09] Lena being “back east” (at least insinuating Lena’s left the west-coast already), which span over at least one full day (feat. a scene at night), and ‘I still rise’ [6x10] at least another a whole day (the whole Nia’s mom back for a day deal). And, now, after at least 48 hours she barely just arrived.

Lemme check how long a regular plane would need to fly from California to NFL......... ... .. .. So... approx. 10 hours with at least one layover. 

Yeah, using a private jet made it easier, but apparently also much, much slower...

Or, Lena randomly went some other places / did some sight-seeing in NFL before she decided to finally visit her mother’s hometown...  [Either that or the timelines don’t match up and Lena’s scenes are flashbacks of sorts.]

Optimistic and relaxed Lena is a sight to behold. I rewound 3 times, just to enjoy it for as long as possible. We all knew it was going to be short-lived... 

Let’s check off a few more items...

OMG, Kara hiding behind Alex at the mere sight of the PZ-projector broke my heart!  😢

"Elisabeth Walsh" is the new 'the one you shall not name'. ...poor Lena. 😭

Oh, so Mxy wants to be Patrick Swayze instead of Baby... gotcha.

...is this going anywhere?

KITTY!!! Okay, this must be the best opponent in the history of CWSG. 

Despite the horrible CGI, SG using her heat-vision to project a laser-beam to distract the cat had me in (happy-) tears! 🤣

Gotta love the civilians of National City quickly returning to business as usual once the giant cat is gone. Even the police officers looked rather chill...

Nyxly did look fabulous this episode ^^ 

Andrea being Lena's rock is both great and annoying. I can't fault Andrea. It's just, that we still have to see an on-screen interaction between Lena and Kara and that bugs the heck out of me. I can’t help it. I’m sorry, Andrea.

Nia: "...is my fault." Kara: "Nu, is MY fault!" J'onn: "Stop fighting, kids!" Space-dad has spoken.

Mxy used an LuthorCorp copy machine... and of cos it's faulty. It's not an L-Corp product.

Kara forgiving Nia came as a surprise to her... Oooookay. I mean, the show has been writing Kara a bit inconsistently the past two seasons... so, yeah, maybe being unsure which of her traits apply this week was not such a far stretch...

Maybe it's the hair, but I wished, Florence was played by Alex Kingston.

So, not-Alex-Kingston shows Lena herself with a funny wig and tells her how her mother was still watching her...

If it wasn't for Katie's acting skills (I love her.) I would have already hit my head against the wall repeatedly. Something about these scenes had me constantly cringe and I made it through 5.5 seasons of this show already... Can’t quite put my finger on it, but it was highly distracting from the story that explained Lena’s mom was special even to another witch, where there was domestic abuse, and an accidental murder. Y’know, important stuff, deep-cutting stuff! 

At least, poor widddle Lena got some closure there. Elisabeth was a good cookie. And filled with magic. And Lena’s gotta have that ‘spark’, too... 

....so... Lena’s gonna stay in NFL for how much longer, to train becoming a witch?  Please, just hand her a how-to manual and send her back home, to figure it out on her own, please... (Yes, that would be horrible decision-making, but I need her back with the team!)

On to the finish line: 

So... Mxy IS Nyxly's brother? Wait, that doesn’t sound right... then Nyxly would have the same blood... Did I miss something? Can someone explain, please? Or is he her ex, and that’s where his rendition of “I will survive” makes sense?

Hnn... I can't help, but think Kara's speech for Nyxly was 85% based on her experiences with Lena in s05.

Awww... he said "stronger together"... Mxy... I hope, you'll be okay!

Lena believes in magic now. And I absolutely love how Lena wants to science magic XD

...but apparently magic isn’t science that hasn’t been explained yet, but parallel... powers? concepts? ether strings?

Nyxly has a loyal henchman now. Which was a bit heavy-handed. Took way too much of screen-time, so it better leads to something interesting.

And Kara is on a warpath now. Wooooot! Girl’s got enough.

...what else? 

Did I miss a third Patrick Swayze hint / quote / mention?  I learned, these things come in threes... Y’know, basic writing rules... 

I guess, for once the episode title was meant to be taken literally, Mxy popping up between characters, to try and help. (I need in-show footage, of Mxy sneaking up on ppl, without his powers, on all fours / crouched, just to get the desired effect.) I mean, I’ve never really watched Malcom, but wasn’t he like what Mxy usually is? A bit of a trouble-maker, prankster, chaos-ensuing wherever he goes? ...well, in that case, the episode title didn’t hold up, as Mxy’s scenes were not fun or really goofy. Yes, there was some superficial humor, but just to serve Mxy dealing with not being able to use his powers, which in turn was only barely scratched at (although it turned out to be his final character development crisis, appreciating not having powers and - in turn - facing consequences for once). Again, a whole lot going on in the episode, so a lot of that may have ended up on the cutting-room floor.

...where’s Kelly? Secretly adopting a kid, maybe?

...Kara’s still a reporter, right? I mean, whenever it serves the immediate plot, yes? ...Not even a throw-away line, that she has to pop up at CatCo for appearances sake? Since Andrea is already upset with her AND looking into her friends’ identities? At least, Kara should take a peek to make sure Andrea hasn’t uncovered anything yet... No?

Well, that’s all I’ve got for now. Kue out.

[hi-random-pipol]

Vicariously Digging in  “Afraid” by Jeffery Deaver: A Literary Analysis of Grade 11 Students

  The title of this book is Afraid, and Jeffery Deaver wrote it. The main characters of this book are Antonio, who made a fortune in computers, and Marissa Carrefiglio, who is one year older than Antonio. Marissa was a fashion designer, but she was forced to manage the arts and antique operation because of a family business. Antonio and Marissa met a month ago. Antonio brings Marissa to an old mill. Marissa wants to see Antonio's cellar, but he refuses. Marissa walked into the kitchen and noticed that Antonio left the wine cellar door open. She walked in and found something that made her fear and scared. At the end of the story, Antonio went back to Florence. He left a note to Marissa to explain what happened and left three phone numbers to let Marissa choose whom she wants to call. The writer expresses the emotions of Marissa through particular sections of the story and expresses how feeling scared can make her feel exquisitely alive. Marissa's emotions initiated from uncertainty and uneasiness then transitioned into the sense of terror and fright but, after escaping from her fears, she attained the feeling of freedom and relief.

  In the present section, we will talk about how Marissa was confused by what the older woman told her about Lucia and the curiosity of Marissa to Lucia. Marissa was left in the car, and the older woman came up to talk with her. The older woman thought that Marissa was the sister of Lucia.

“Do you know Antonio?” Marissa asked, calming. “I’m Olga, I’m the queen of the Via Magdelena, I know everyone…” A frown. “I have come to offer you my sympathies.” “About what?” “Why, the death of your sister of course.” “My sister? I don’t have a sister.” “You’re not Lucia’s sister?” “I don’t know Lucia.” The woman shook her head. “But you so resemble her.”

  For most of the conversation, Marissa has many question marks about what the older woman told her. In the conversation we can see that Marissa was confused about what the older woman said. She has no idea who Lucia is and what the older woman is saying about it. Moreover, in the conversation, we can see that Marissa became curious about Lucia.

  In this paragraph, we will discuss the thoughts and feelings of Marissa when she heard what the old woman said. Marissa began to doubt what happened to Antonio before. Antonio, who was driving with Marissa, suddenly said that something happened and got out of the car. At this time, an old grandmother saw Marissa, “thinking” it was Lucia who had passed away, so she shouted: Lucia, Lucia. Marissa is somehow scared by the old woman when she says it.

“He hesitated then gave a laugh. ‘Olga ... she's crazy. Not right in the head.’ ‘Do you know Lucia?’ Antonio shook his head. ‘Did she say I did?’ ‘No. But ... it seemed she was telling me about her because she recognized your car’ ‘Well, as I say, she's crazy.’”

  In this quote, Marissa got curious about what happened before when she met Antonio. She thinks that the reason why the old woman thought she was Lucia is because of the car. This paragraph mainly tells that Marissa started to come into contact with some “truths” and also began to have doubts about Antonio.

  In the present section, we will discuss how Marissa felt when she discovered Antonio’s secret. Marissa heard footsteps above her and she started to panic. Marissa stopped and gasped trying to process what she saw. On a stone wall was a picture of Antonio and a woman who looked very similar to Marissa. She starts to feel confused

“Fear began to grow deep inside her. She heard the creak of his footsteps above her. She put the ball back and turned to the stairs. But then she stopped and gasped. On a stone wall to the right of the steps was a photograph. It was of Antonio and a woman who looked very much like Marissa, her hair dangling to her shoulders. They were both wearing wedding rings--- even though he said he’d never been married.” “And the woman was wearing the same robe Marissa now wore.” “She was, of course, Lucia.” “Who’d died last year.”

  Marissa started feeling safe with Antonio. She felt that there was nothing to worry about and that she can fully trust Antonio to keep her safe. But after what she has seen, all of that emotion and feelings quickly fades away. Now she starts to feel panic inside of her. She fears that something will happen to her. She fears that what happened to Lucia will happen to her as well.

     Marissa’s mood transitions from being furious, tearful, and quivering to a feeling of relief as she had just escaped from terror. She has a sophisticated mixture of emotions revolving around her. As she walked out of Antonio’s house, she gazed through the stars. She saw a bat that flew by. She stared at it intently until it started to fade away from her eyes.

“Furious, tearful, quivering, Marissa walked to a stone bench at the edge of the water. She sat and breathed deeply, clutching the note in one hand, the phone in the other. Her eyes rose, gazing at the stars. Suddenly she blinked, startled. A large bat.. Dark shape in the darker sky, zigzagged overheard in a complex yet elegant pattern. Marissa stared at it intently until the creature vanished over the trees.”

  Marissa breathes deeply to calm her nerves after encountering such drama. She gazes through the stars and feels a sense of calmness. The author uses symbolism in this part. Bat lives in dark areas such as caves and only would come out in the evening. Which resembled our protagonist, Marissa, is going through a dark period in her life. The bat flies in a zigzagged overheard in a complex yet elegant pattern resembling her sophisticated response. She is furious but not so enraged anymore because she released her emotions. Furthermore, after what happened to her, she feels a sense of relief and release of feelings. It made her feel alive again, which made her ready to embrace freedom. It also stated that the creature vanished over the trees which resemble that her future is unknown.

 In drawing to a close, which of the three mobile phone numbers to call will Marissa call? It depends on Marissa's choice. Yes, Marissa was originally a desperate person for life. She was an observant person, wary of her environment, easily thought a lot, and lived out life very tired. Until she went through a series of events, and this little note was actually very important to her, It doesn’t really matter whether she will go back to Antonio or not. Marissa is clutching the note because it implied that she had regained her opportunity to choose. Putting aside people who influenced her, she wants to control herself. Having survived the darkest moments in our lives, we will see new light again. Every fall is to get up better. Not just our protagonist Marissa, but also us. Don't be afraid of and care about the length of time, no matter how miserable life is, don't forget to work hard and move forward, there will be a better life and dawn waiting for us ahead.

[ryttu3k]

We have a title! It’s a Florence + the Machine lyric, yes. We have a title for the third part! It’s another Florence + the Machine lyric. And we have an overall series title! You’re not gonna believe this, but... it’s a Florence + the Machine lyric.

Was hoping to finish tonight, but it’s going to need one more scene to properly wrap stuff up. Still, soon. 1,164 for tonight (although in fairness 49 of those words were adding in lyrics as a pretentious sort of epigraph), 29,218 total.

Session quote, Talley is a hell of an ex edition:

"This was... a civil enough interaction," Talley finally grumbles and glowers. "But rest assured that if you ever show up in DC again, I'll kill you."

"Bold of you to assume I ever want to return to DC," Sascha points out, eyebrows raised. "I wasn't joking when I said I was no longer involved. I never wanted the Archdiocese in the first place, I'm perfectly content as Priscus."

The freedom to wander, but the influence to be able to shape the Sword of Caine into a true weapon against the elders that would cause them pain. Sascha thinks of the Eldest, gone to confront Michael, and feels a grim sense of satisfaction.

"Fine," Talley nods, and Sascha can't help but notice the way their gaze wanders over the lines of their body, the physicality of the situation so reminiscent of the time Sascha had trusted Talley with their life and had been rewarded with companionship and pleasure. "And the rest of the Sabbat in DC?"

"To borrow a phrase from Beckett - not my monkeys, not my circus."

Beckett has been watching, keeping a ready eye on the situation, perhaps remembering the arguments from their last encounter. Now, at the sound of his name, he nods in acknowledgement; Talley straightens up and returns it.

"Beckett," he says, and jerks a thumb in Sascha's direction. "Good luck with this one. They bite."

"I know," Beckett says, and gives Sascha a grin they can practically feel.

Session quote, Sascha the word nerd finally gets polyamory:

They hadn't thought they would have this. Not the both of them, not like this; not just acceptance, but joy in each other's presence. Three parts, fitting together like disparate words coming together to form beautiful sentences.

And it's not just an exclusive phrase of three, Sascha thinks as Beckett guides them down to lie amongst the blankets, trailing kisses along their jaw like punctuation marks. Beckett has his own sentences, with Anatole and Lucita, with his lost Emma. Words and phrases that don't diminish the ones the three of them hold now, ones that can happily coexist and even thrive together and tell a story of their own creation.

[codenamewitcher]

Mistress of Death Part Four || Geralt of Rivia

Title: I Never Thought I'd Be A Killer

Pairing: Geralt x assassin!reader / Geralt x half-elf!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Song: Make Up Your Mind - Florence & The Machine

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

— ‡ — 

"Why is he going with you to Belhaven?" Flavus said from my bedroom, I wasn't able to see his exact whereabouts because I sat in the bath in my bathing chambers.

"He wants to, and I quote, 'to keep an eye on what's rightfully mine.'" I grabbed a soapy rag and started scrubbing at my skin.

"I heard that, but why?" I heard the clatter of blades then the scrape of them on whetstone, he was sharpening blades.

I paused, starring into the cloudy bath water, and drummed my fingers on the side of the tub. "He smelt who I'd been seeing on me and lost his shit."

The scrape of a blade stopped for a moment and then resumed. I draped the clothe on the tubs edge and lifted myself out of the water. I dried myself off, slipped a nightgown on, and walked into my bedroom. Flavus sat on the edge of my bed, sharpening one of my blades.

"You don't have to do that for me."

"I needed something to do with my hands, so I didn't go and strangle the bastard." I snort at his remark.

"Stop being so dramatic." He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me. His skin was golden brown with hazel eyes to match, and his long dark hair was pulled back away from his face.

A smirk found its way on his lips, "Says the girl that was cutting and stabbing at her food tonight like it was the man himself."

I shrugged and made my way toward my bed. "Was it that noticeable?"

"Honey, if they didn't notice why you were cutting your food like that, they sure as hell thought you were insane, if not both."

"Maybe I am." I said as I got under the covers. "Now, I want to get some sleep, so are you going to stay here or leave?"

He turned to look back at me, blade and whetstone still in his hands. "I do something nice for you and this is the thanks I get?"

I raised an eyebrow as if I was saying 'and?' He shook his head and got up, picking up the blades that sat beside him and placed them on top of my dresser, next to the rest of my blades. He blew out the candle on said dresser and then got in bed next to me.

"What are you going to do about you-know-who?" Flavus asked breaking the short-lived silence between us while referring to Geralt.

"I don't know." I scooted closer to him in the cold sheets, letting him wrap his arms around me, enveloping me in warmth as he pulled me towards his body.

"I hate that I can't go with you."

"I do too." I reach my hand out for his, he took it, and gave it a squeeze.

"Goodnight Y/N."

"Goodnight." I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep filled with old memories.

— ‡ —

We had been on the road for two weeks and had another two weeks left of travel before we reached Belhaven. We stopped in Aldersberg even though there was plenty of daylight left to reach the next town. He had gotten two rooms at a more high-end inn in town and requested that I find a dress in the market that hid my weapons but still gave me ease of access to them, apparently there was some sort of big dinner that we were attending tonight. I wasn't looking for anything extravagant like I normally would because one it was Aldersberg and two I had to travel with it - if I had known I needed to dress up for this trip, I would've packed one of my dresses that I owned along with some cosmetics because yes, I was that bitch.

After a long search I finally found a dress, it was a long black dress with bell sleeves and a hood to cover up my ears it also had intricate blue stitching to it that while moving in the light looked like the night sky. I was surprised to find such a beautiful dress in this shit hole, but I tipped the older woman a few more guldens than what was owed just for the beautiful stitching.

I now waited for Ramerd to get done getting ready, I had multiple knives strapped to me and hidden in little folds of fabric. He stepped out of his room, he eyes racking up and down my body, my skin crawled in disgust, but I played it off.

"You look ravishing my dear." He pulled the dresses hood closer, so it not only covered my ears, but my face altogether, then held his arm out, I forced a smile on my face. "You'll want to stay in the shadows tonight."

"Thank you," I place my hand in the crock of his arm, I could do this. He patted my hand, a smile settling itself on his face.

Instead of taking a carriage like I thought we would - we walked, which the place we were going was just up the street.

It was a larger and grander town house compared to the others in the city besides the Duke and Duchess of Aldersberg's manor which stood at the top of a hill, overlooking the city.

Ramerd stopped before the front doors of the house and looked down at me, trying to make me feel small.

"I want you to remember dear," He patted my hand, wickedness adding a sparkle to his blue eyes. "That if you don't do as I say, I will make you watch as I skin the man you've been sleeping with alive and make you watch."

I didn't let a drop of fear show in my eyes or body, I was not going to give him that kind of satisfaction. I only nodded in response, wanting to get the night over with as quickly as possible.

He turned his head back towards the door and knocked, a smirk on his lips.

A butler opened the doors, he started to speak but Ramerd cut him off. "I'm here for an appointment with Rebrild Pard over some trading plans."

The butler nodded and stepped aside, letting us in. He was trying to peak under my hood as sly as possible to see what the mystery girl's face looked like, but I kept my head down. Thoughts were racing through my head about what this meeting could possibly be about. 

Rebrild Pard was a large weapons merchant in Rivia, he specialized in both silver and steel blades. I knew him and Ramerd were trade partners, but it was concerning for me because he never took anyone but Yrnar with him on meetings like this

We were led into an office towards the back of the house, a desk sat in the middle of the room, the man that sat behind it had pale skin, empty grey eyes, and lifeless, short blond hair. He was on the skinnier side, but still had muscle, and he was dressed in slacks and a light blue silk tunic, showing off his wealth - this must be Rebrild Pard. He motioned towards the two chairs that sat in front of his dress, the door shut behind us, the butler left after Pard told him to leave us in privacy. We sat in the two armchairs, Ramerd leaned back into it, making himself comfortable, but I kept straight up, not wanting to make it easier for the man to see my face. 

"May I know who's under the hood?"

"No." 

The man let out a sigh through his nose and drummed his fingers on his desk. "I'm assuming since you brought her here with you, she's allowed to hear what we're to discuss?"

"Are you doubting my judgment Pard?" From the way his fingers froze, and his eyes widen, I know the look on Ramerd's face was to kill.

"No... No."

"Good." I didn't have to look at Ramerd to know he was smiling just by the tone of his voice. "Do you have my weapons?"

The man pulled out a trade book from a drawer in his desk, flipped a few pages, cleared his throat, and started to read from the pages. "Three hundred steel daggers, one hundred fifty steel long swords, one hundred silver swords, and eighty axes."

Ramerd hummed, "Are they ready to travel to the Keep?"

"Yes, for one hundred thousand guldens."

It felt like all of the blood had drained from my body, I knew Ramerd was regularly buying weapons, but at this extent... This wasn't right.

Ramerd chucked, "I only brought ten thousand."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that this wasn't a payment plan he paid off with time, I knew and from the reddening of Pard's face - he knew too.

"We agreed on one hundred thousand six months ago." He seethed, I couldn't tell if it was stupidity or bravery for the way he was speaking to Ramerd.

"And now I'm telling you ten thousand." Due to the tension in the air, I kept my back straight, body still - not daring to make the wrong move in fear of Ramerd.

Pard scoffed and shut the boom. "Then it all goes to Nilfgaard, seeing as they're willing to pay the right price."

"Kill him." Ramerd ordered, not missing a beat. The air was now filled with the man's fear as his eyes widened and turned to me.

"No, no, no, no. Please." The man bagged, I looked over to Ramerd and when I met his icy blue eyes, I seen that he would not hesitate to kill Geralt if I didn't follow through.

I turned to face the whimpering man again, hating the drowning feeling I felt. I kept my face stoic and grabbed a throwing knife from one of the folds of fabric. The man shot up from his chair, knocking it to the floor and turned to run for the door that was behind his desk. But before he could even get two steps away from his chair, I was on my feet and my knife lodged itself in between his skull and cervical.

And with a drop of a body, Rebrild Pard was dead.

I never cared to remember anyone's name that I killed because in my opinion they didn't deserve it - besides my first kill, and now I wouldn't forget Rebrild Pard because he didn't deserve it. I knew I killed people, but this was different.

I never truly felt like a killer until now. 

I wield numbness throughout my body as I stared at his body, I was not going to show Ramerd any type of weakness - of regret. I heard a sigh escape Ramerd's lips as he stood up.

"It’s a shame, he was a damn good arms dealer." I slowly dragged my eyes over the assassin master, he was straightening his sleeves, completely unaffected by the fact that I just broke his code. "Get your dagger and keep it out."

He moved over to the door we entered through and I stepped over to Pard's body, bent down and yanked the blade out. I stood to find Ramerd opening the door.

"Ladies first." A devil of a grin found itself upon his lips, he hand gesturing towards the hall.

When I stepped out into the hall it was empty and silent, as if everyone in the house knew someone was dead and wasn't going to dare to show themselves in fear of facing the same fate.

After shutting the office door, Ramerd started walking deeper into the house, and stopped in front of a single, dark wooden door. His large hand wrapped around the knob and opened it. It was another office, but smaller. A man that looked like Rebrild in the face but younger sat at a desk, a servant was placing a goblet of wine on the surface when we walked in. The servant girl looked up to see who had walked into the office. She took one look at the bloodied blade in my hand and disappeared through the servant’s door - smart. The man that sat at the desk didn't look affected by mine and Ramerd's appearance, it was Ramerd who spoke first."

"My deepest condolences Adrik Pard, I regret to inform you of your uncle's passing." I wicked smile was on both of the man's and Ramerd's faces - Rebrild's death was planned. "But despite his untimely death, a congratulations are in order seeing as you now control his empire."

Adrik stood from his seat, "Thank you for taking the time out of your travels to bring me the news Ramerd, I shall reward you with whatever weapons my uncle was in the process of delivering to you at no cost out of a token of gratitude."

A sticky smile was still on his face despite the news of his uncle's death. I knew the conversation between them was for any prying ears - all of this made me sick.

"It is greatly appreciated, again I send my deepest condolences." Adrik and Ramerd titled their heads in a farewell, he grabbed my wrist and lead me out of the room, closing the office door behind him. He turned to me, "Put your knife away."

I did as I was told, hating the blood was getting on this dress, but I didn't show him any disgust; I still didn't when I slipped my arm in his waiting one. He didn't say anything else as he led us out and I couldn't decide if his silence was good or bad.

— ‡ —

That night, when the two assassins got back to their inn, the girl's master had followed her into her room and grabbed her by the throat, shoving the door close as he slammed her body into it. The master's lips were pulled back into a snarl, but the girl showed no fear despite the man cutting off all of her air. She didn't show a fear until he brushed his teeth and lips against her ear giving a new promise.

"Seeing as the threat of killing your lover wasn't enough, I'll add Flavus' death to the table too. This is my very last warning girl."

He applied more pressure to her throat before throwing her to the side. Without so much as an ounce of regret, the man opened her door and slipped out, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Alarm bells went off in the girl's head, terror shot down her spine, and dread filled her veins with his words. He'd never threatened Flavus' life because like her, Flavus brought him in the majority of his money.

Y/N realized two things as she laid in the floor that night, the first being that if she were to win this war, she'd have to hand away her humanity. The second thing she realized that night was the reason why death was always following her, and it was because Ramerd Gamward was death and he was always following her every movement.

The girl slowly picked herself off the ground and lit a fire in the fireplace. She watched the flames build up as she stripped the mainly knives off her body - letting them clatter to the floor - and then her dress was off too. She balled it up and throw it into the flames, thinking that maybe she did deserve this emptiness and pain.

— ‡ —

"When do you think we'll run into Y/N again, it's been, almost two months... Normally we run into her by now." The bard wondered while he walked besides the witcher into Aldersberg.

The witcher said nothing as he inspected the normally loud town that was now quiet, even Jaskier had picked up on the odd air that covered the town. 'Something had happened,' Geralt thought to himself.

He tried Roach to a hitching post and followed Jaskier into a tavern. Whispers filled the bar, all that Geralt heard was about the assassination of Rebrild Pard from two days ago, about how the women and children were too scared to go outside in fear of the death that had visited the town two days ago would come back. 

Jaskier sat by a round, lone man whose face was just as red as his hair, Geralt reluctantly sat next to Jaskier who had begun talking to the man next to him.

"May I ask if you know what has happened here?"

The man grunted and took a sip of his ale, he didn't say anything for the longest time Jaskier thinking he wasn't going to get an answer from the man until, "My wife works at the Rosebud inn which is a block away from Rebrild Pard's house." The man paused and took another sip as Jaskier started to lean in towards the man. "Two nights ago, one of the maids that works my wife was working that night and the following day, Nele is her name. She said that Ramerd Gamward checked and a woman was along with him."

The witcher's hand froze midair, ale sloshed on the sides of the mug due to the sudden stop, the man paid no mind and kept on with his story.

"She said that while she didn't know where to two disappeared that night, is was long enough to go to Pard's house and murder him. She said that they came back in the clothes they left in, not a speck of blood on neither, but she said that when they came back anger, disgust, and death surrounded the air around the two. When they checked in, Nele seen the girls face, said she was the most beautiful woman she'd seen walk through the inn, but before dawn the next day Nele was doing laundry and accidentally ran into the woman, she caught a glimpse of her face and said she looked dead. Y/E/C eyes that were sparkling with anger were now red and held no emotion, she even seen a light bruising around the woman's neck."

Jaskier swore under his breath and Geralt's blood boiled, but the man continued anyways.

"It was before dawn when they left, prior to when news broke of Rebrild Pard's death. Nele feared for the girl's life and even though I never seen her, I have to say the same."

Before anymore was said, Geralt slammed the tankard of ale down on the counter and got up, nearly tipping the stool over in the process. The tavern was quiet as the witcher stormed out, Jaskier giving the man a quick thank you and followed after him.

Jaskier came out just in time to see Geralt untying Roach from the post.

"Where are you going?" Jaskier asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"After Y/N." Geralt turned to start leading Roach down the street.

"Woah, woah, woah." Jaskier stopped in front of Geralt, hands held up in the air. "How do you know that it was Y/N that was with him and not some other woman."

"Because Y/N is the only woman in Ramerd's guild."

"Okay, but you don’t know where they're headed, that man in there didn't say where they were going."

The witcher paused and studied the bard's face while he thought about what he'd just said. Geralt opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a hooded man and his horse storming down the street. Him and his horse stopped before Geralt, Jaskier, and Roach and sniffed the air - Geralt's hand started inching toward a blade while Jaskier took a step away from the man.

"Are you Geralt of Rivia?"

"Who's asking?" The witcher grunted, hand falling upon the hilt of a dagger. The man smiled, white teeth glowing from the darkness the hood gave him, which he then pulled back revealing pointed ears, golden eyes, and dark skin.

"Y/N said you were brash," He pulled on his horse reins who wanted to continue running. "I'm Flavus, I'm sure my sister has told you about me like she has told me of you."

"How is Y/N your sister?" Jaskier asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"They grew up together." Geralt answered, not daring to break eye contact with the assassin. "Why are you here?"

Flavus' smile dropped, a solemn but deadly expression was now on his face. "I was told Ramerd brought her along with him to kill anyone who gets in his way of his plans, but I also feel he's doing it to break her in the process."

Jaskier's defensive stance faltered while the gears in Geralt's head started turning.

"Where is he taking her?"

"Belhaven."

— ‡ —

Masterlist

There will be a part five!

Geralt Tag: @alwayshave-faith​ @boiled-onionrings​

Tags: @pippin248 @american-duchess @agentdedf1sh @didi0666 @ayamenimthiriel @a-dorky-book-keeper @boiblunder @stretchkingblog97 @newtdisneywho @toribentleyva 

If I missed you in the tags, please let me know!

[paulinedorchester]

Hodgson, Vere. Few Eggs and No Oranges: A Diary Showing How Unimportant People in London and Birmingham Lived Through the War Years 1940-1945, Written in the Notting Hill Area of London. London: Dennis Dobson, 1976. Reprint (as Few Eggs and No Oranges: The Diaries of Vere Hodgson 1940-45), with a new preface by Jenny Hartley, London: Persephone Books, 1999.

Winifred Vere Hodgson (1901-1979) was born in Edgbaston, Birmingham, into what seem to have been shabby-genteel circumstances. On the one hand, after her father’s death in 1907 her mother was obliged to run the family home as a boarding house in order to make ends meet; on the other, she was educated at King Edward VI High School for Girls before reading history at the University of Birmingham. She was a niece of Thomas Vere Hodgson, the marine biologist on the H.M.S. Discovery during its voyage of 1904-6.

After graduating, she taught for several years at – wait for it – L’Istituto Statale della Ss. Annunziata, Florence, Italy, where – wait for it again – Edda Mussolini was among her pupils, and then for several more years at schools in (apparently – I’m a bit confused about this) Folkestone and Wimbledon. Deciding on a complete change, in 1935 she answered a “positions available” advertisement placed by a philanthropic body. Thus began her career as a social welfare worker, which seems to have been deemed important enough to have kept her from conscription during the war.

The organization for which Hodgson worked, the Greater World Christian Spiritualist Association, was located at 3 Lansdowne Road – still standing, this building was referred to at that time as The Sanctuary – and served primarily the Notting Hill and Holland Park areas, both of which seem to have been pretty down-at-heel at the time. They operated a night shelter for homeless women and gave grants of money and needed goods to the poor. (The Greater World, as its staff called it, doesn’t seem to me to fit the definition of a cult, so I’ll refrain from making any value judgements; you can read more about it here and here. It is still active.)

Hodgson’s job involved a good deal of secretarial and clerical work, but she also worked directly with the association’s beneficiaries as well as making nice with its benefactors. She often spent nights at The Sanctuary, either to be present for the women sheltering there or, once the war began, to take her turn as a fire-watcher. Although in her diary she always expresses gratitude for any free time she had, the job clearly brought her a great deal of satisfaction:

Went to see one of my poor old souls today. She has been getting a bit of chair-mending to do, and was better. She dreads the winter – as last year she was compelled to beg in the streets; but now we shall help her. The dread of complete destitution is terrible.

Like Clara Milburn, another wartime diarist whose output was published in the 1970s, Hodgson wasn’t writing primarily for her own benefit. Mrs. Milburn kept her diary with an eye to creating a record of the home front for her son, Alan, an officer in the British Expeditionary Force who was taken prisoner in Belgium in 1940. Miss Hodgson initially wrote for a cousin, Lucy Hodgson, who when the war began was in England on sabbatical from her job as an education officer in what was then known – to some people, at least – as Northern Rhodesia, and returned there in the Spring of 1940 “with grave misgivings,” according to Vere Hodgson’s introduction to the book.

Hodgson began sending installments of the diary to Lucy, who returned them to her and also sent parcels of cheese, tea, and other rationed foods. At some point Vere began mailing the pages to a round-robin of friends and relations, the last of whom would then send them on to Africa. (Amazingly, only one installment went missing.) Another thing that Hodgson’s diary has in common with Milburn’s is that she didn’t actually use printed diaries, allowing her to write very long entries at times.

The diary first came to public attention when Hodgson answered another advertisement, this one from the journalist Leonard Mosely, who was looking for first-hand accounts of life in wartime London as source material for his 1971 book Backs to the Wall (which is clearly something that I need to read). He quoted her entries for September 3rd, 1939, and May 7th, 1940. This resulted in a request from the publisher Dennis Dobson that Hodgson prepare an edition of her wartime diary as a whole. According to a publisher’s note in the Persephone reprint, “This she did, cutting by about three-quarters and editing substantially.” Since the reprint runs to 590 pages, one has to wonder what the original was like!

Few Eggs and No Oranges begins on June 25th, 1940, with the announcement that “Last night at about 1 a.m. we had the first raid of the war on London.” Air raids were at the very center of Hodgson’s war. She details, blow by blow, each and every raid and alert that she experienced. Indeed, she offers so much granular information on raids – where bombs fell, how many people were killed, etc. – and other topics that British newspapers weren’t permitted to discuss in any detail that it’s a wonder that the diary was never censored on its way out of the country. (At one point she reports that the censor returned to her a letter that she’d sent to a friend in Canada, so clearly this was something that really did happen! At the same time, she records many major events of the war all over the globe, seeming to assume that Lucy won’t have heard or read about them and leaving me wondering whether Northern Rhodesia can really have been that isolated by 1939.) Her preoccupation may have had something to do with the fact that she always found herself living on a building’s topmost floor: when the war began she was renting a room in a boarding house at 56 Ladbroke Road; in October, 1941 to her great delight, she moved to a “flatlet” across the street at 79 Ladbroke Road, the process of furnishing which she recounts with relish. Among other advantages, this allowed her to shelter friends who needed it: one of her friends was bombed out three times over the course of the war. To be sure, Hodgson did develop a good deal of sang-froid: “Very blitzy indeed last night,” she remarks off-handedly on January 10th, 1941.

When bombs weren’t falling, Hodgson simply recorded everyday life, often hilariously:

Spoke my mind to the cat. It is disgraceful that all the Cats have joined some sort of Pacifist Organization. To keep a cat in these awful days of food scarcity, and then have to catch the mice yourself, is a bit thick. I explained this to our animal.

As you might guess from the book’s title, food was another of Hodgson’s central preoccupations. There seem to be two conflicting narratives about food rationing in the U.K. during and after World War II. One is that pre-war Britons were overfed on a fatty, starchy diet, and that the nation’s overall health improved as a result of rationing. The other is that rationing was not only damaging to the nation’s morale, but led to widespread borderline malnutrition. Hodgson was inclined to the latter view. She repeatedly details all of the edibles she’s having to do without (fresh fruit was a major lack), either because they’re simply unavailable or, in the case of unrationed goods, because their prices have skyrocketed. On the other hand, she takes great joy in her own and other people’s ability to make whatever food could be had go further. (She writes about her Auntie Nell’s jam-making activities with obvious pride.) And whenever she had a windfall she was happy to share it.

And about those windfalls: Hodgson gleefully records each of the “gifts” of extra food she received from retailers – which included oranges that only children were supposed to get – and items bought from roadside vendors on trips out of London. It’s really quite shocking how common fiddling the system seems to have been, and how unrepentant people were about doing it:

Went for my bacon ration and while he was cutting it had a word with the man about the Cubic Inch of Cheese. He got rid of the other customers and then whispered, ‘Wait a mo’.’ I found half a pound of cheese being thrust into my bag with great secrecy and speed!

Then going to the Dairy for my butter ration I was given four eggs and a quarter of cheese!

Despite the housing and food problems she and her friends and neighbors had, Hodgson seems to have enjoyed a lively social life throughout the war, with neighbors, co-workers, former pupils, visiting relatives, and complete strangers she encountered over lunch at the Mercury Café. She saw plays at the Mercury Theatre and wrote about them as well as the films she saw. (She seems to have had no objection to American adaptations of British literature – How Green Was My Valley was a favorite – but did complain that American films were too fast-paced for her liking.)

Hodgson’s answer to the iconic question “Is Your Journey Really Necessary?” was nearly always an emphatic “Yes!” Throughout the war she made frequent trips to Birmingham to see her mother and sister (there, too, she recounted air raids and the damage they caused); to Brede, Sussex, where two more aunts lived; and occasionally to other places in search of fresh air, quiet, and a change of pace. Although she makes note of the bad travelling conditions that she often endured, she almost always persevered.

Her politics are difficult to pin down. She idolized Winston Churchill (“The bravest of us all!”), even though his policies led to the internment of a close friend, and on weekdays she read The Daily Telegraph. But on Sundays she read The Observer and The People, and once Germany invaded the Soviet Union she became a great fan of the Russians. Hodgson was also enthusiastic about Americans: she expresses equal admiration for Roosevelt and his 1940 opponent, Wendell Wilkie, and remarked that “Really the Americans seem to give the best Postscripts,” after hearing one from Dorothy Thompson in August 1941. (She seems never to have actually met any Americans, however.)

On religion, too, she is very vague. She greatly admired the altruism and sheer energy of Winifred Moyes, the founder of the Greater World Christian Spiritualist Association, and at least in the published version of her diary she never criticizes Moyes’s Spiritualist “meetings,” but neither does she ever seem to have attended one. She appears to have been only an occasional church-goer, more often listening to broadcast services. However, she did regularly read her horoscope, as well as Edward Lyndoe’s predictions in The People, and was irritated by a Mass-Observation report that disapproved of the finding that 40% of the British public had some degree of interest in astrology.  

A couple of aspects of Few Eggs and No Oranges did make me uncomfortable. One is Hodgson’s enthusiasm for what could be called “air-raid tourism”: as soon as possible after learning where bombs had fallen during a recent raid she went to have a look at the damage, telling her readers about what she saw. This seems to have been a popular pastime, as she rarely seems to have been alone in her rubbernecking. People probably wanted to be reassured that others were worse off than they were, which is understandable but doesn’t make the behavior any less creepy.

And then there are the bits that brought me right up against the limits of my Anglophilia. On several occasions Hodgson mentions off-handedly, and for no apparent reason, that someone she encounters is Jewish: “Met Ivy [Croucher, an actress and elocution teacher; she’s the one who was made homeless three times] coming back from her lunch at the Grosvenor with her Jewish pupil.” Later, during a visit to Birmingham, she notes that she “got four [oranges] from a Jewish trader by spinning him a yarn.”

What exactly is the point? Did she enjoy inducing the produce vendor into actions that could easily have landed him in court? How did she even know that either of these people were Jewish? The distinctive dress of those now known in the U.K. as the strictly Orthodox would have been a rare sight at the time, especially away from London; and if Crompton’s pupil was eating at the Grosvenor Hotel, as is implied, then he or she can hardly have been Orthodox at all. And then there’s this:

Went to see The [Great] Dictator today. How I enjoyed it! Superb satire! For all its tomfoolery written with a profundity of serious purpose. The speeches of Hynkel, half-German, half-English, are there. People who understood German were even more convulsed than I was. ... The palace scenes, where Hynkel did not waste a moment, were all in the spirit of German thoroughness. But Mussolini in real life does not smile so much. All done by an East End Jew! [emphasis added]

One hardly knows what to say — other than “Wrong on both counts, sweetheart.”

When Persephone republishes a book, they don’t simply reprint it from the original, but set it into type anew. (Their reprint of Mollie Panter-Downes’s London War Notes 1939-1945 features a row of tiny U.S. flags at the top of each even-numbered page and a corresponding row of British flags on each odd-numbered one.) The original Few Eggs apparently included illustrations that aren’t in the reprint. All we get is a hand-drawn map of Notting Hill and Holland Park; while beautiful to look at, it’s reproduced here on such a small scale as to make it essentially useless. I’m slightly sorry that I didn’t try to find a used copy of the original publication.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed reading Few Eggs and No Oranges, and recommend it to anyone who’s looking for a (very long) first-hand account of the British home front.

[amphtaminedreams]

Filling the Met Shaped Hole (No, Not Like That): The Best Red Carpet Looks of Awards Season 2020

Hi to anyone reading,

I want to jump straight into things and ask a question. Which is the best Met Gala theme of the last 5 years and why is it Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination?

Seriously though, despite the fact that I’m not sure anything will top Heavenly Bodies with the preceding and succeeding Met Galas being relatively disappointing (the camp theme definitely could have been taken further and lets not even talk about the Comme Des Garcons disaster), I still get excited for the gala every year, staying up til whatever hour of the morning so I can see all the fashion live. Of course, it makes complete sense that this year’s event has been postponed until October given the circumstances but the chosen theme of Fashion and Duration had the potential to be quite interesting, so I hope we do eventually get to see it; whilst I don’t miss endlessly scrolling through photos of every white male celebrity wearing the exact same suit and tie to the point where fangirls claim Harry Styles to be a pioneer of breaking gender norms because he wore a pink top, I long for the days where we could all temporarily coexist in peace and harmony thanks to the internet’s collective dragging of the Kardashians for paying no attention to the theme whatsoever. We should’ve guessed life as we know it was about to be flipped on its head when they actually turned up in something interesting last year.

What I’m trying to say is that I would love nothing more than to jump back in time to when tomorrow morning’s top Google search would be best Met Gala looks, and not how many lives did Boris Johnson’s fuckery cost us today. So in honour of the lack of trivial content, I thought I’d fill the Met shaped hole in our lives (amongst many other unfilled holes; today the freezer door at work hit me on the ass whilst I was putting ice cubes out and I think for a split second I got all flushed) by putting together a collection of my personal favourite red carpet looks from this year’s awards season and their respective afterparties: the BAFTAs, Brits, Critic’s Choice Awards, Golden Globes, Oscars, SAG Awards, and the Grammys to finish with.

Enjoy!

British Academy of Film and Television Arts Award (yes, that’s the BAFTAs but I needed a longer title)

(L-R: Zoe Kravitz in Dior, Rooney Mara in Givenchy, and Scarlett Johansson in Versace)

I am a British fan of television and arts but I will gladly say it: of all the awards ceremonies, the BAFTAs is hardly the most exciting, and the red carpet even less so. As I said, lots of boring men in boring suits and middle aged women being dressed by stylists who seem to think we’re dead from the neck down by the time we hit 40 and dress us accordingly so. Any hint of a décolletage explicitly forbidden.

There were a few good looks, however. From left to right, above we have Zoe Kravitz in Dior, Rooney Mara in Givenchy and Scarlett Johansson in Versace, who looks so amazing I almost forget that 1). Versace is going down the drain and 2). Scarlett Johansson would stand in front of a forest and take the role of a tree if she could. Which, along with her whole defence of Woody Allen, is really shit-she’s genuinely great in Marriage Story and an otherwise talented actress. As for Zoe Kravitz, she is up there with Robert Pattison as one of my biggest crushes right now and looks amazing in literally everything she wears, and Rooney Mara is consistently low-key yet elegantly dressed. 

(L-R: Greta Gerwig in Gucci, Florence Pugh in Dries Van Noten, Renee Zellweger in Prada)

Renee Zellweger proved an exception to the rule when it came to women over the age of 40 generally having clueless stylists-her dress is beautiful, very reminiscent of the delicate, demure beauty of 50s icons such as Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn. Florence’s dress, I actually really loved. It didn’t seem to go down all too well with actual Florence Pugh fans but red and pink together is an elite combo; I’m still firmly on the “surprised that it works but I’m into it” train. I mainly included Greta’s dress for the green velvet, to be honest; it’s disappointingly low-key for Gucci but nice enough all the same.

(L-R: Andrew Scott in Paul Smith, Charlize Theron in Dior, Daisy Ridley in Oscar de la Renta, and Emilia Clarke in Schiaparelli)

I was particularly excited to see Emilia Clarke in Schiaparelli-yes, I adore her because she played Daenerys Targaryen and I was ride or die for that bitch but also whenever I see her interviewed she has the most exuberant energy and honestly I want to be best friends. It’s not the most interesting dress Schiaparelli has ever put out there, but I like the fact that she went for something unique all the same.

Forest green is a colour I find hard to resist which is why I included Andrew Scott’s otherwise kinda basic suit (points for it being velvet) and Daisy Ridley in Oscar de la Renta. As elegant as the dress is, I would love for her stylist to have really leaned into the forest nymph vibes I’m getting and do something a bit less uptight with the hair and makeup; like imagine loose curls with tiny braids and hair rings and a dark lip and a slight smoke around the eye and...yes, I have very specific visions, I know. As for Charlize Theron, her work with Dior is the only reason I care about the brand; there’s definitely a case to be made here for giving Maria Grazia the benefit of the doubt, assuming that she tries all the prototypes on women who look like Charlize and that that’s why she’s happy to send dresses that are otherwise relatively underwhelming down the runway. 

The Brit Awards

(L-R: Charli XCX in Fendi, Ellie Goulding in Koche, Hailee Steinfeld in Fendi, and Harry Styles in Gucci)

In my opinion a much better reflection of quintessential British style than the BAFTAs, I originally ruled out including any music award ceremony red carpets in this post until I saw Maya Jama and Charli XCX’s looks. Consider me pleasantly surprised by Hailee Steinfeld’s cobalt blue burnout dress, a classic incarnation of the regal bohemian aesthetic Fendi channelled in their 2019 haute couture show. Plus Charli’s emo take on Glinda the Good Witch is also Fendi, driving home for me just how much I love their collections. I don’t know if I’d be sure about Ellie Goulding’s dress on the rack but the simple styling makes it work and she looks gorgeous, and Harry Styles looks just as pretty in a Gucci look that is MADE for him.

(L-R: Adwoah Aboah in Vivienne Westwood, Celeste in Gucci on the far right! I’m not sure who the guy in the middle is, I’m sorry and if anybody knows drop me a message and I will correct this immediately!)

Unfortunately, Harry Styles and Celeste didn’t get to pose together because this is really a perfect his and hers Gucci look; I feel like seeing one outfit next to the other would really highlight the quirky elegance of each. That being said, it feels criminal to talk about elegance without including Adwoah Aboah in Vivienne Westwood in the sentence; the dress is obviously stunning quality on its own merit, but Adwoah is what elevates it from unremarkable to ethereal. Fuck the weird ass knight figure that’s currently on top of the Brit Award, this woman is the definition of statuesque! Put her on top of the trophy you cowards!

And just to get it out of the way, when it comes to the guy in the middle, to quote Keke Palmer:

Sorry to this man.

Honestly, I saved all the red carpet photos from a Nylon (I think it was Nylon?) article back when the awards aired and towards the end of the photos they stopped including names-this happened a few times when I was looking through red carpet galleries. I reverse image searched where I could but not every photo turned anything up. If anyone does know who this man is, message me so I can include his name. He looks sick, and as far as suits go, this one is built upon and accessorised enough that it’s actually a look rather than the same old variation of a suit we’ve seen a million times before that may as well be the straight man’s designated red carpet uniform. 

(L-R: Maya Jama, Neh Neh Cherry in Bottega Veneta, Laura Whitmore)

And now the woman that forced me to include the Brits red carpet in this post in the first place: Maya Jama. Don’t get me wrong, my mind isn’t blown by this dress on its own, I probably prefer Laura Whitmore’s (Jaded do a similar newspaper dress and I’ve resisted adding it to my basket for 6 months now, this is the ultimate test of whether or not I finally cave), but Maya looks fucking MAGNIFICENT. The fit, the gloves, the confidence with which she carries it, it’s all SO good. Considering the timing, this is basically her Princess Diana revenge dress levelled up, 2020′s Jessica Rabbit moment. 

(L-R: Maya Jama, Ellie Goulding, Kendall Jenner)

Obviously anything is gonna be a step down from the red carpet look but Maya’s Brits afterparty outfit was cute too, if a tad Pretty Little Thing. 

Don’t ask me what Kendall Jenner was doing at the Brits afterparty btw, because I have no idea. We live in a world where the Kardashian-Jenners just seem to occupy every public space possible and I’ve begrudgingly accepted it at this point. I don’t have the energy to question it-and it helps that green catsuit is actually Very Cool™. 

For the last of my favourite Brit Awards looks, we have a few more afterparty photos-from left to right we have Charli XCX again, Lizzo, and Anne Marie. It was Charli posting her dress on Instagram that sent me searching for afterparty looks in the first place; apparently wearing nothing but feathers and crystals is something that appeals to me, and the more I read that statement, the more it sounds spot-on. I’d categorise it as gothic glamour hoe, and slot it in with the rest of the night-out clothes in my wardrobe that I think I’ll finally have the balls to wear out of sheer desperation once this lockdown is over. The Blossom to Charli XCX’s Buttercup here, we’ve also got Anne Marie looking extra AF and I loveeeee it; it’s an ensemble somewhere between a high-end version of Alaska Thunderfuck’s candyfloss Sugar Ball dress from season 5 of Drag Race (Alaska DID deserve to win AS2 nation, rise up) and a low-key version of a Katy Perry California Dreams Tour costume. I don’t call it low-key as a drag, just a regretful admission of the fact that maybe wearing a cupcake bra which squirts whipped cream out of the boobs is a bit too much for most of us. 

Critic’s Choice Awards

(L-R: Alison Brie in Brandon Maxwell, Chloe Bridges in Azeeza, Cynthia Erivo in Fendi, Florence Pugh in Prada)

I was going to say the Critic’s Choice Awards is kind of America’s version of the BAFTAs but then I remembered that the BAFTAs is really the only big TV and film awards ceremony we have here in the UK and that it’s kind of sad that I have to compare our most high-profile red carpet of the year to L.A’s most low-key one. Getting Cynthia Erivo and Florence Pugh to infiltrate is the best we can do. 

THAT BEING SAID! 

They both look amazing. This is Florence’s best red carpet look of this year, imo (she the prettiest icicle I’ve ever seen), and Cynthia Erivo’s arm must ache from serving the entire awards season. And in Fendi! Taste!

Side note before we move onto the next set of looks: has anybody else watched Alison Brie in Mad Men and Community simultaneously and experienced the extreme cognitive dissonance that comes from watching her play a tragically nerdy (relatable tbh) 18 year old and an overly-sophisticated 30 something married to an ad man in the 60s at the same time? Weird, but anyway! The orange dress with the red lipstick is channelling Marina Diamandis’ Froot era style subtle sex appeal and is a timeless, playful combo. Put the hair up into a beehive and it’s Megan Draper on a date in Cabo-don’t know much about the place but I know the sea is aqua and the sun seekers are blindingly white and the cocktails are plentiful (and whatever colour you want them to be), and all that together is a juicy palette if we’re talking cinematography. The Mad Men directors are out there somewhere shaking their fists at the sky that they never got to consult me on that, I’m sure. 

(L-R: Phoebe Waller-Bridge in Dior, Saoirse Ronan in Erdem and Zendaya in Tom Ford)

Zendaya’s red carpet look was the stand out of the Critic’s Choice Awards for sure; the skirt I can do without but I hope that hot pink metal breastplate ends up on display somewhere because that is ART, and she is the perfect person to wear it. The Tiffany Pollard “she's so powerful” meme was made for this moment. 

Also, can we talk about Phoebe Waller-Bridge backing up my Dior 2019 Haute Couture wasn’t *that* bad hypothesis? Because unless I’m mistaken this is one of the dresses from that collection and it is quite beautiful. Yeah, black mesh isn’t going to start a revolution or anything but it’s so delicate looking it almost seems out of place on a red carpet-I don’t know if it’s the structure of the bodice or the tulle but I can totally see this in a gothic ballet, whether that’s sensible in theory or not. Probably not. But then again I did quit ballet when I was 10 after months of getting people to near poke me in the eye on the way out of class so it would look like I’d been crying and I didn’t have to go to my lessons after school. So what do I know? Fuck all, in case that wasn’t clear. I also feel a little vindicated by Saoirse wearing one of the Erdem dresses I loved from last year’s collection-if multi-award winning actress Saoirse Ronan’s probably ridiculously well-paid stylist liked it enough to pick it out for her then I guess I’m doing okay in terms of taste levels.

(L-R: Olivia Wilde in Valentino, Lucy Hale in Miu Miu, Mandy Moore in Elie Saab, and Margaret Qualley in Chanel)

The last few Critics Choice Awards looks I picked out above aren’t thrilling or anything but they’re cute enough to include-from left to right we have Olivia Wilde in Valentino, Lucy Hale in Miu Miu, Mandy Moore in Elie Saab and Margaret Qualley in Chanel. It’s kind of besides the point, but Margaret worked with Chanel throughout awards season and I just wanted to add my two cents in here and say that I think she’s the perfect person to collaborate with (also think Laura Harrier would be a good match, anyone agree?) and that in a similar vein, I urge Miu Miu, the creative directors of which I’m sure are eagerly awaiting the opinion of irrelevant Tumblr user amphtaminedreams, to work with Lucy Hale more often. I feel like if girl stopped starring in those shitty Blumhouse horrors and did something a bit more sophisticated she’d fit the brand right down to a T.

The Golden Globes

(L-R: Cynthia Erivo in Thom Browne, Dakota Fanning in Dior, Jane Levy in Steven Khalil, and Janina Gavankar in Georges Chakra)

Finally! I hear you cry! A more exciting red carpet! It’s not the Oscars, but celebrity stylists still pulled the big guns for this one, the Golden Globes probably being considered the second most prestigious American awards ceremony of the year. Plus Dakota Fanning was there! Big yay for me! She and Elle can practically do no wrong in my eyes and are probably the only 2 women that could take on Dakota Johnson and Jennifer Lawrence when it comes to established red carpet style. 

Cynthia Erivo did it again, of course, as slick, as dignified and as regal as she was at the Critic’s Choice. The woman really has got this power stance thing locked down; she always seems so cool and confident in everything she wears that the whole getting dressed up to go out out out (we call going to the club going “out out”, but I’d say a red carpet is a slightly bigger deal than my local club with the sticky floors hence the 3rd out) thing looks like second nature.

(L-R: Zoey Deutch in Fendi, Karamo Brown in Grayscale, Lucy Boynton in Louis Vuitton and Kat Graham in Georges Hobeika)

Lucy Boynton was another of my Golden Globes stand outs, and in general is someone who I really look forward to seeing at red carpet events. She (or her stylist, I don’t know how much of a role she plays!) always seems to commit fully to an outfit and sees it as part of a whole concept where the makeup, hair and accessories are equally as important and that is a girl after my own heart. 60s space age empress is the theme here and I’m all about it-well, either that or a feminine editorial take on the tinman from the Wizard of Oz but the former sounds a bit cooler and does way more justice to how good she looks so we’ll go with that. Quick shoutout to Kat Graham too because she looked absolutely radiant. 

(L-R: Shailene Woodley in Balmain, Winnie Harlow in Laquan Smith, and Zoe Kravitz in Saint Laurent)

The trio above I really couldn’t skim over, Winnie Harlow especially; my America’s Next Top Model grudges aside, she consistently turns it out at every event she’s invited to. She’s another woman that wears pieces with such confidence that they look like they were actually made on her body-even if the garment itself isn’t the most breathtaking in the room, she’s the one that draws my attention. Though she’s got these dainty, other-worldly qualities about her, what you’d expect to be a gentle presence is firm and commanding and whilst the sharp drama and glitz of the dress probably helps, that’s just the way Winnie Harlow is naturally, based on her other red carpet appearances. 

Zoe Kravitz is an interesting one because, on the one hand, her looking amazing with that bone structure (I would trade a vital organ to look like that any day) is a given, but it does also seem like she went out of her way to do something a bit different this past awards season. I have always loved her street style for its trademark edge and the androgynous, oversized silhouettes that she leans towards, and the overt femininity of her red carpet dresses is that grungy, skater girl aesthetic completely flipped on its head. It’s cute, and if anyone can pull a dress as kitschy as this off, it’s Zoe. She’s got that just rolled out of bed look we all dream of that screams “I’m over this shit” whereas the rest of us have to rely on dark circles to get the message across. It’s very weird to think that she and Shailene Woodley were in Divergent together, especially since Zoe in particular has changed so much since. 

My main note with Shailene was just that I got excited to see that Balmain dress off the runway-it was one of my favourites from the S/S 2020 collection (IIRC, mostly on the basis that I’m pretty sure it wan’t haute couture), and it looks good! Not wildly good because I’m not sure the fit of the dress is inherently all that flattering, but still good-she makes it work.

(L-R: Taylor Swift in Etro, Sofia Carson in Giambattista Valli and Scarlett Johansson in Vera Wang)

I know a lot of people online didn’t seem to like Taylor Swift’s dress, but she looks cute, imo. I will say that I’m surprised it’s Etro! At first glance I would’ve thought Carolina Herrera or Oscar de la Renta or something along those lines. And predictably, I think Sofia Carson looks flawless. If you’ve read any of my other posts you’re probably sick of hearing it but I really can’t resist anything that is this modern Disney princess, like powder pink layered tulle? Feathers? What did you expect me to say, ew? I think deep down my clothing preferences will always be that of a 9 year old girl and you know what, that’s okay. Sometimes. Well, when it comes to red carpets. That’s when you can kinda get away with it.

(L-R: Bell Powley in Miu Miu, Billy Porter in Alex Vinash, and Charlize Theron in Dior)

There’s a few things worth mentioning when it comes to the above outfits. Firstly, and most importantly, I need to proclaim my love for Billy Porter. No man is doing it like him, honestly. To compare Harry Styles in his pink suits is unfair. The drama and the beauty and the flair that Billy brings every awards ceremony is on another level and that’s all I have to say about that. If you disagree, I’m gonna need a bullet pointed essay-I am that firm in my opinion.

Second, Bell Powley in Miu Miu semi confirms the direction their PR team tend to head in when choosing women to work with. I might be totally alone here but I feel like she and Lucy Hale both have one of those porcelain doll faces which work really well with Miu Miu’s signature girlish silhouettes and overly-ornate details. 

And thirdly, just to restate my earlier point: someone give Charlize Theron a pat on the back for bringing some life to a Dior design. That is all.

(L-R: Jodie Comer in Mary Katrantzou, Joey King in Schiaparelli and Kaitlyn Dever in Valentino)

All the newcomers really turned it out too, which is a sentence I type through gritted teeth; to call Jodie Comer of My Mad Fat Diary origins a newcomer pains the former depressing 2013 black and white Tumblr user in me, though I suppose to the US audiences uncultured in the ways of British teenage angst Vilanelle is her breakthrough role. And how Vilanelle is this dress too!? It’s bold and it’s attention-grabbing and it’s fun and it is definitely very theatrical female fictional villain that you were inexplicably drawn to as a child before you realised why as an adult-”oh, it’s because she was hot”. 

Joey King in Iris van Herpen was a pleasant surprise too considering that when I first looked through the red carpet photos I only knew her as the girl who was in that shitty Netflix original-having watched her in The Act, I apologise for the dismissal! And I admire the sartorial choice! I adore Iris van Herpen designs but as a short girl, wearing one of her dresses to a red carpet event is a risky decision-I hate to admit it because casting a diverse range of people for shows is something I have come to expect of my favourite brands, but the appeal of a lot of IvH pieces comes from the movement of the garments on standard willowy runway models. Fortunately, the styling is really complementary here, and whilst it can’t be denied that the dress itself does swamp her a bit, I liked that she and her stylist stepped out of the box. 

Kaitlyn Dever’s red carpet look is obviously a lot more typical, but you can't go wrong with a Valentino dress, and this one in particular is so suited to the aura she gives off-it’s young and it’s fun and it’s fresh and the intricate floral print, otherwise muted if not for the spring influenced pops of pink and red, is timelessly pretty.

(L-R: Akwafina in Dior, Saoirse Ronan in Celine, Beanie Feldstein in Oscar de la Renta, and Renee Zellweger in Armani)

Lastly, there was Saoirse Ronan in Celine-one of my highlights of the night; she looked phenomenal, a glacial toned dream, and it was pretty different to what I generally expect to see her in. I might be way off base and in need of a bit of a review of her red carpet style, but I feel like she usually leans more towards pretty than edgy with regards to her styling at these kinds of events and a loose fitting, gun metal glittered slip dress is, imo, the perfect way to hit that previously uncharted midway point between the two.

(L-R: Kate Bosworth in Prabal Gurung, Kathryn Newton in Valentino and Sarah Hyland)

Now onto the afterparty looks, and I’m not gonna lie, they’re usually the highlight of the ceremonies for me; I feel like the initial ceremony is all about looking respectful and maintaining that whole dedicated actor image, whereas it seems the literal point of these showbiz parties is a competition to be the best dressed person in the room. Competition really makes people step their game up, and we always get to see more young talent whose style tends to be more current than that of the people we see on the red carpet. 

I’ve got to say, as annoying as I found her character in The Society, I have to overlook that gut instinct of irritation when I see Kathryn Newton and accept how stunning everything going on here is; honestly, she looks like an angel, and I feel like the team at Valentino must reeeeally like her to put her in that dress.

(L-R: Alexa Demie, Ashley Benson in Georges Hobeika, Maude Apatow and Barbie Ferreira)

Obviously I was super excited to see the Euphoria girls on the red carpet, especially Alexa Demie-she does 90s/early noughties inspired glamour better than anyone else on the young actor scene right now and her personal style and the sass she does so well as Maddy Perez shines through every time. Whilst Barbie Ferreira’s look is more casual and achievable for the rest of us in terms of wearability, it’s just as interesting a take on the same period; the delicate pink makeup, hair and jewellery with the 90s inspired slip dress in light teal is a red carpet take on soft grunge for the ages. As for Ashley Benson, she always looks gorgeous and that’s all I’m gonna say before I get emotional and start going into a rant about how her and Cara Delevigne’s relationship was one of the only good things about this shitshow of a year and how now that they’ve broken up the single flame of hope inside me has been extinguished and how their sex swing is gonna get so lonely with them caught in the middle of an ugly custody battle and-

You get the idea.

(L-R: Storm Reid, Sophia Bush in John Paul Ataker, and Sydney Sweeney)

(L-R: Billie Lourd, Paris Hilton, and Camila Morrone)

The Oscars

(L-R: Charlize Theron in Dior, Cynthia Erivo, and Florence Pugh in Louis Vuitton)

Ah, the Oscars. This is where the big money is really spent, and bad decisions are made-in fairness, this year’s winners were a lot more satisfying than usual and I think all of us felt that Parasite was a well-deserved win. I really thought it was gonna be Once Upon a Time in Hollywood just as a bit of a token gesture to Tarantino considering it’s his 9th film, though undoubtedly his worst of the ones I’ve seen, so I was relieved that this wasn’t the case. That being said, it still pains me to see the horror genre being ignored by the academy-in my mind, Florence is here for her performance in Midsommar just as much as Little Women. 

At the risk of getting repetitive, just assume my opinions on Charlize Theron in Dior here are the same again, that Cynthia Erivo is still bringing goddess energy (this is probably my favourite of her looks), and that against the opinion of the masses, Florence looks divine in this colour. I mean, when I say the masses I just mean the people I follow on Twitter, but still, I just wanted be an excuse to be dramatic so that I could insert a meme.

(L-R: Natalie Portman in Dior, Regina King in Versace, Scarlett Johansson in Oscar de la Renta, and Sandra Oh in Elie Saab)

Once again, Scarlett Johansson’s stylist is doing God’s work; this outfit is everythingggg-the Oscar de la Renta dress is probably my favourite thus far. Like we’re talking angel, but make it fitted and sexy, and I hope you read that in the Tyra Banks voice I intended because 2 memes in a row would rob me of any credibility I’m building as a fashion account and I’m not ready to trash that for bad memes just yet; give it a couple of mental breakdowns and I’ll be there. Natalie Portman’s look was a favourite of mine too, with the cape over the top adding a sophisticated touch to the celestial, slightly bohemian feel of the dress. I initially found the detail of the names embroidered into said cape to be quite moving-in a dream world, directing would be my career of choice and so I really admired the statement-but finding out that Portman herself is the only director hired by her own production company ruined that for me a little bit. Then again, multi-millionaire celebrities making performative gestures for good publicity and not doing all that much to make any real change? Colour me shocked.

(L-R: Beanie Feldstein in Miu Miu, Brie Larson in Celine and Billie Eilish in Chanel)

Now, of all the Miu Miu looks so far, I think Beanie Feldstein definitely got the best one. The intricacy of the embroidery, the silhouette, the old Hollywood stye curls-it’s all so graceful. I’d say this is probably her best look of awards season and she and her stylist did a really great job.

And as for Billie Eilish...Guys...do you think she might be wearing...Chanel...by any chance? I’m not sure.

Seriously though, as far as an oversized tweed suit with the brand’s logo emblazoned all over it goes, I like this look. The acid green roots and the jewellery are what make it for me, adding to the grunginess of the outfit which is interesting against Chanel’s prim and proper aesthetic of the last few years. I know she has good reason for the way she dresses, but I’ve never quite been able to appreciate it-this outfit proves to me that her style doesn't automatically equal ugly and occasionally, she can make it work.

(L-R: Leona Lewis, Colton Haynes, Dita von Teese)

Elton John’s Oscars afterparty being the less exciting of the two big ones in terms of fashion-the other being the Vanity Fair afterparty which I’ll cover in a moment-I thought I’d whizz through it (posturing aside though, I bet Sir Elton’s party was a lot more fun).

(L-R: Chiara Ferragni, Donatella Versace, Bella Thorne)

This is a big statement considering Alexa Demie attended, but I think Chiara’s outfit and overall styling might be my favourite of the partygoers; if they decided to do a live action Barbie film in 2020 minus the PG ratio-because lets be real, she’d be a noughties Paris Hilton type and get up to some SHENANIGANS-this is the look that would become iconic. 

(L-R: Ashley Greene in Off-White, Alexa Demie, Sydney Sweeney, Annalynne McCord)

It was a hard decision to make though: I’m just as into Sydney Sweeney’s interpretation of burlesque come 1950s red carpet Barbie, Ashley Greene’s surprisingly delicate Off-White number, and Alexa’s dress and (as always) impeccable styling. That being said, Chiara’s clearest contender here for the best dressed of the night is Annalynne McCord. I know I'm one to throw similes around but she looks like an ACTUAL Disney princess-the dress is magical and an absolutely flawless fit. She carries it with such grace. I'm truly in love.

(L-R: Tessa Thompson in Versace, Vanessa Hudgens in Vera Wang, SZA)

As for the Vanity Fair Oscars afterparty, there were SO many iconic moments this year. SZA was the definition of the fire emoji, Tessa Thompson’s throwback Versace was the mermaid’s take on BDSM fashion I never knew I need to see, and I’d die to turn up to my graduation ceremony (here’s hoping for a successful attempt at the old uni shebang this time, lol) looking as elegant and simultaneously extra as Vanessa Hudgens did in Vera Wang. I mean, this was before Vanessa went on her dumb Instagram live corona rant because she was upset she couldn’t go to Coachella and I still kinda lived for her, mostly because of moments like this. She’s always been the queen of channelling a more hedonistic, carefree era and this dress is the most refined example of that boho decadence yet. It sounds dramatic to say but the rich purple is such a bold choice considering it’s a a colour we rarely see on the red carpet but now I’ve seen eggplant coloured silk I need it, lol. 

(L-R: Suki Waterhouse in Fendi, Lili Reinhart in Marc Jacobs, Lucy Boynton and Margaret Qualley in Chanel)

Then there was Suki, Lilly, Lucy and Margaret as well who all went full angel mode in some of my favourite runway looks of last summer’s haute couture week; Suki’s Fendi dress and Lili’s Marc Jacobs number were highlights of both their shows and there’s something even more magical about them both when the uniformity of the runway is removed. I also would go on about how much I love Lucy Boynton’s style for the millionth time but I think you get my point.

(L-R: Nicole Richie, Cynthia Erivo, Hunter Schafer, Billie Porter)

The more I look at the photos I saved from the Vanity Fair “red” carpet, the more I come to the firm conclusion that these looks are my favourite as a collective. Along with the elegance and sex appeal of the outfits above, we’ve got all these looks too which are so VIBRANT and fun and experimental. Billie Porter is absolutely majestic and continues his reign as the king of in-your-face, theatrical red carpet style, and Hunter and Cynthia look so radiant. Whilst Nicole’s look isn’t as colourful, she still brought drama with the satin gloves and the smoke lined eyes, and she is definitely ready to step on someone’s neck here.

(L-R: Halima Aden, Ella Balinska in Schiaparelli, Emma Roberts, Ciara)

(L-R: Kiki Layne in Michael Kors, Kim Kardashian in Alexander McQueen, Kylie Jenner in Ralph and Russo, Lashana Lynch in Michael Kors)

(L-R: Rowan Blanchard in Iris van Herpen, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Stella Maxwell, and Sarah Paulson with Holland Taylor)

I’ve got to say, it’s really cool to see Rowan Blanchard in Iris van Herpen too; it’s interesting that as far as I know, she and Joey King were the only ones to wear her this awards season, both being up and coming actresses. It would be a good choice for the brand, probably best known for its futuristic, conceptual aesthetic, to also focus its PR efforts on the young potential inheriting that future. Orrrr it could just be that Rowan, Joey and I have the same (good, lol) taste-not gonna lie, from my experience of stalking her instagram Rowan Blanchard does make some unique fashion choices and her feed is full of bold outfit inspiration.

(L-R: Adriana Lima in Ralph and Russo, Alessandra Ambrosio in Armani, Billie Eilish in Gucci, and Donatella Versace in Versace)

Then there’s Billie Eilish, who is really on another level. This is her second custom made baggy suit of the night, this time Gucci. IMAGINE. Chanel and Gucci making custom pieces to suit your very specific style. Again, though, I really like this; whilst it’s very clearly a Billie outfit, it’s got a level of sophistication, cohesiveness and glamour to it that takes it to that I can admire. 

(L-R: Camila Mendes in Moschino, Barbara Palvin and Dylan Sprouse, and Chiara Ferragni)

Honestly, the Vanity Fair red carpet really belonged to young talent this year, and Camila Mendes in one of my favourite Moschino looks from the Picasso collection really seals it. She could’ve just gone for a basic pretty dress-this isn’t a natural choice-but she really does have the proud, regal look of a woman who knows some man is gonna paint her a portrait that will end up in a famous gallery one day. 

One last thing before I move on, though. How the fuck does Chiara Ferragni get everywhere?! And by that I don’t mean how does she get invited, I had the shock of finding out this woman I followed on Instagram because I liked her outfits and thought she was pretty is a hugely successful businesswoman in Italy long ago. Power to her. She’s a big deal! I get it! I just mean, physically HOW? How do you hit Elton John’s party AND the Vanity Fair party in one night and look this good? God really does have favourites, huh. Well, I guess in this hypothetical scenario where I believe in him anyway. 

The SAG Awards

(L-R: Dakota Fanning in Valentino, Kaitlyn Dever in Ralph Lauren, Scarlett Johansson in Armani, and Zoe Kravitz in Oscar de la Renta)

So, I kinda forgot the SAG awards existed and thought that my post was basically finished before I looked in my folder and saw the one dedicated to this ceremony. My initial reaction was like “oh, this is the shitty Oscars, right?” and I assumed the red carpet would be shit and that I could call it a night-it’s 3:30am, I wish I was calling it a night-but then I looked and saw that I had even more outfit photos saved in that folder than I did for my Oscar dedicated one. Because fuck, I want to to sleep, but the SAG awards had a surprisingly good turn out?! So maybe not as irrelevant a ceremony as I thought? Because Dakota Fanning turned up looking like some divine mythical being again, Scarlett Johansson pulled another incredible look out the bag, Zoe Kravitz was a modernised Audrey Hepburn, and Kaitlyn Dever read my comments about her dress being “timelessly pretty” and said “bitch, you really thought” before showing up looking hot as fuck. Truth be told, I think the SAG awards were first but in this universe where Kaitlyn Dever would pay any attention to my opinion of her outfit do we really care? 

(L-R: America Ferrera, Andrew Scott in Azzaro Couture, Camila Mendes in Ralph and Russo, Caleb McLaughlin )

(L-R: Lupita Nyongo in Louis Vuitton, Lily Allen, Nathalie Emmanuel in Miu Miu, Cynthia Erivo in Schiaparelli)

See, I was going to make a comment above how I took back what I said about Camila Mendes not just going for pretty dresses (which I guess I just did here instead-JUST TO BE CLEAR SHE STILL LOOKS STUNNING) and then I uploaded the next photo set and got distracted by 2 things:

1. How weird it is that British legend Lily Allen, who does not get NEAR enough credit for her smart her songs were might I add, is dating David Harbour AKA. Hopper off Stranger Things!?

2. How mad I still am about Game of Thrones and how dirty the writers did Nathalie Emmanuel (and Emilia Clarke and Lena Heady and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau and basically everyone else on that show but that’s another story).

In this same universe where Kaitlyn Dever cares about my opinion can we make the issues I have in the last bullet point not exist? Please?

(L-R: Sophie Turner in Louis Vuitton, Renee Zellweger in Maison Margiela, Phoebe Waller-Bridge in Armani, and Renee Bargh)

(L-R: Gwendoline Christie in Rick Owens, Madeline Brewer in Monique Lhuillier, Kathryn Newton in Valentino, and Lili Reinhart in Miu Miu)

Finishing off the SAG looks, we’ve got the four above. 

Once again, Kathryn Newton was Valentino’s blushing crown jewell; Allie Pressman hate aside, she really is the perfect dressing up doll for the brand. Fresh faced and poised, she has all the elegance and gentle femininity necessary to make floating down the runway as Valentino models do look natural, and Lili Reinhart did an equally good job being a Miu Miu girl. She makes that idiosyncratic cutesy-ness work, all the frills and fragility of a china tea set look easy where I’d just look like I’d been consumed by a charity shop doily. Madeline Brewer did a good job too, helping a Monique Lhuillier design pop in a way that it doesn’t usually. When your hair is bright red and your dress cerulean blue, coral tinted lipstick is a *ahem* choice, buuut in this case it paid off because the result is a look which demanded my attention-ML dresses are reliably pretty, however, they tend to be predictable. Madeline and her styling did a good job subverting that formula. To end the section, though, I feel it’s only fair to save my fave woman til last-probably one of the few people in the world that isn’t a Rick Owens model that can pull off his designs. Ofc, I’m talking about the queen that is Gwendoline Christie. If we’re talking embodying brands, she did justice like nobody else could to the spectacle of Owens’ formidable, out-of-this-world aesthetic. This is her version of the princess moment, and when you’re as striking as she is, nothing less would do. 

At least my girl Brienne of Tarth is thriving<3

The Grammys

(L-R: Ariana Grande in Giambattista Valli, Cardi B in Mugler, and Pia Mia in Julien Macdonald)

TBH, like I said with the Brits, I never planned to do any music award ceremony red carpets, just because I feel like the fashion tends to be more geared towards a younger audience buuuut I’m kinda glad I changed because Ariana looks INCREDIBLE. MESMERISING. TRANSCENDENT. JFC. There’s a reason the photo of her on her Wiki page has been changed to one from this night and it’s because she looks absolutely exquisite, like some kind of moon goddess with an R&B touch which I suppose is kind of her brand? Sometimes I go kind of lukewarm on Giambattista Valli and forget how mystical but at the same time frothy and indulgent and all around luxurious the pieces can be. This is a cupcake of a dress and I want to eat it. Cardi B has become a bit of an unexpected fashion icon and Pia Mia looks as hot-party-girl as ever but I feel to put anyone next to Ariana in this dress seems harsh because she just completely stole the show and I don’t even know if she won any Grammys.

(L-R: Josephine Relli, Gwen Stefani, Jameela Jamil in Georges Chakra, and Chrissy Teigen in Yanina Couture)

Other than Ariana, I’m not gonna lie, there was nothing wildly exciting, BUT I did think there were some beautiful colours out on the runway-plus for all her occasionally bad takes I really like what Jameela Jamil stands for and her style has always been very quirky cool. The electric blue tiled effect with the black mesh underneath kinda reminds me of a peacock, and contrasts wonderfully with the carpet-it’s very reminiscent of her T4 days. She’s one of those people that seems to get aggression directed at her that’s completely disproportionate to whatever it is she’s supposed to have done; sometimes the way she goes about saying things is wrong but the intention behind what she’s saying is usually good. Then again, the internet still despises Chrissy Teigen (in a way that’s kind of excessive considering what we seem to collectively let some people get away with) for a dumb AirPods tweet and I’ve included her too. THIS IS NOT A POLITICAL STATEMENT, this time anyway. I just think she looks good!

If I’m going to get controversial about anything, it’ll be Gwen Stefani. She looks stunning, the dress is stunning, and the boots are stunning. The outfit is not my problem! My problem is how she seems not to have aged at all. This woman is 50 years old! That she drank the blood of her Harajuku girls is the only explanation here. Can you imagine if she tried to pull that shit today? She’d get rightly accused of being a culturally appropriating weeb in about 10 seconds flat and we’d have to pretend to stop liking Cool and Hollaback Girl. 

(L-R: Finneas O’Connell in Gucci, Lucky Daye, and Shaun Ross)

(L-R: Tess Holliday, Dua Lipa in Alexander Wang, Tyler the Creator, and Grace Elizabeth in Giuseppe di Morabito)

Back to what I’m supposed to be talking about in this blog post: the fashion. And here, most importantly, Tyler the Creator looking like a cast member of the Grand Budapest Hotel. IDK why. But I love this man.

(L-R: Lil Nas X in Versace, Lizzo in Versace, and Shawn Mendes in Louis Vuitton)

(L-R: Billie Porter, FKA Twigs in Ed Marler, and Swae Lee in Giuseppe Zanotti)

See in general, the men were a lot more interesting on the Grammys red carpet. With the exception of Twigs, Dua and obviously Ariana, the men’s outfits are a lot more memorable; Billie Porter became the most fashionable meme on the internet, for god’s sake. And even when their outfits weren’t extravagant, they were just more interesting, imo, which is a rare occurrence. I didn’t expect Finneas O’Connell to be the writing half of Billie Eilish (the other half being Billie herself) I cared about and yet, in that Gucci blazer, here we are. 

(L-R: Jessie J, Hailee Steinfeld, and Madison Beer)

(L-R: H.E.R, Usher, FKA Twigs, and Matt Shultz)

Of the afterparty looks, my favourites are what we can see of these more casual outfits-I love what F.K.A Twigs and H.E.R are wearing, the headscarf with the leatherjacket on top is in particular very throwback rockabilly, and I’m even into whatever it is Usher’s got on.

(L-R: Olivia O’Brien, Amine, and Alrissa)

(L-R: Salem Mitchell, Machine Gun Kelly, and Sydney Sweeney)

Now, how to round this all up!? How to relate the confusingly persistent but very welcome presence of Sydney Sweeney on, like, ALL these red carpets back to the MET!?

IDEK. It’s been a long year. 

The Met Gala has usually come and gone before we know it, but with everything going on, it’s been the longest January-May I think most of us have ever known. I keep going on about COVID-19 in all my posts now but I have almost forgotten how to write an intro and outro because the pandemic is pretty much consistently on the brain and unless I have something right in front of me to use as a distraction, my mind tends to wander off into a very anxious place. I think, like many others, I feel frustrated and disappointed and angry with the way the situation is being handled by the people who are supposed to protect their citizens, and by how much of a fight some are putting up against measures that are in place to try and save lives. The point of this ramble, I guess, is that whilst we should never forget what’s going on and do the best we can to help prevent the spread of the virus, it’s okay to still care about mundane shit. Was this post one big long distraction for me? Probably. But if there’s something harmless you can do to keep your anxiety at bay, don’t feel bad for doing it. Contrary to popular belief, you can care about more than one thing at once. You can be sad that something you were looking forward to has been cancelled whilst still being sad for the people who are suffering because they’ve lost love ones or who have been forced into precarious living conditions. If talking about clothes on the internet is going to help you get through this pandemic, power to you.

If anyone has read til the end, thank you! I hope you are well! As always, feel free to reply to the post or inbox me with your thoughts! It doesn’t even have to be related to this post. If you’re struggling with everything going on, feel free to reach out too. I spend too much time on the internet anyway, lol! My plans are to finish my fashion week reviews and then I have a Lana Del Rey albums inspired lookbook which I pinched off the stans on Twitter (who I will of course credit when I write it!). For the time being, look after yourselves!

Lauren x

[spaceorphan18]

1-15 for the writers meme for ‘With Every Broken Bone.’ (I’m in a rereading mood for fanfic and I’m thinking about rereading this). Also you know I love this one!!

Aww thank you dear <3 Now I won’t shut up about process and the ins and outs of writing, lol... 

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

When season 6 came along, admittedly, I had a really hard time reconciling going from a happy ending in season 5 to broken in season 6.  And writing about it kind of was an interesting cross-section of therapy and analysis.   While I was figuring out the timeline of events -- I noticed that there were some interesting parallels/juxtapositions going on, and because I thought I may not be writing more Klaine fic after this one (ha) I might as well take my own spin on a few famous portions of Klaine’s story.  

2: What scene did you first put down?

I tend to write chronologically, so the opening flashback scene was probably first.  I can’t fully remember.  I did have a whole outline, though, before writing. 

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

Hmmm, I’m not entirely sure, since a lot of the specific narration I don’t remember as much anymore.  I do love the entire month of June chapter, though, which is mostly narration.  I love that it’s Kurt finally getting what he thought he wanted -- to be alone -- and finding himself through that, but also that even he can experience loneliness when having too much distance from everyone else.  

Also early in the story when Kurt goes dancing with a guy and he starts to connect to him -- feeling Blaine through him -- only to realize the dude isn’t Blaine and basically has a panic attack.  That moment was always really clear in my head, and I liked writing that one.  

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Oh, ha, it’s, like, my favorite line of dialogue ever, cause it’s a delightful metaphor for Klaine’s story at the time (And I’m sure people aren’t really that impressed with what I find clever, and are sick of me quoting myself, but I’m still amused by it) 

“You know what it’s like?  It’s like I stubbed my toe.  And my toe hurt. A lot.  And I tried to ignore the pain in my toe, but after a while it got so bad that something had to be done.  So, instead of taking care of my toe, I chopped off my foot.  Do you know how much worse chopping off your foot feels? Of course it took me four months to figure out how much it fucking hurts.  And now I don’t have a foot.  Just a bloody stump.  I shouldn’t have cut it off.  I could have fixed the toe.”

In addition, I also really enjoy some of the convos with Mercedes -- the one where she’s discussing her break up with Sam, and how, in a way, the two break ups are similar.  I also love the July flashback with Mercedes -- because it foreshadows a lot of the story, and I thought it was rather clever.  

5: What part was hardest to write?

The July chapter! Oh god, I think I had most of the rest of the fic done and kept having to put that on pause.  I wanted Kurt to have another romantic interest during the summer - and get a sense of what casual relationships are like, and discover what he’s like in relationships that aren’t with Blaine.  And to have to do that, set it up, pay it off, go through the whole thing and have it be meaningful was really hard.  It took a long time to figure it out.  

Not as difficult, but still I found challenge with, the flash back to the first break up.  Trying to figure out how Kurt felt differently, and exploring how it was a different thing in a short amount of time was difficult. 

The September flashback was difficult, too, because I needed Blaine to be frustrated without being too needy, or too much a bad guy.  I know betas and talking it out helped a lot on that one. 

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

This was my first big fic for Glee, and the first one where I felt like I was a decent writer.  It also helped me figure out Kurt and the show in a way that I hadn’t before, and I love the character more from writing it.  

7: Where did the title come from?

The lyrics of ‘I Lived’ -- I thought it was a nice touch that it was the last song on the show, and it fit with story I was trying to tell.  

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

Yes! A lot of my experiences of New York I wrote into it here and there.  

Also the story about thunder being god bowling.  I had a cousin who used to tell me that so it didn’t seem so scary. 

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Not really? The only big thing I cut out was an extension of the stuff with June Dalloway in chp 3 (?) -- my betas talked me into cutting that way down, and they were right to do so.  

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

I mean, well, they’re who I write. The pairing picked the story. 

11: What do you like best about this fic?

I really love the story it explores with Kurt in it.  I’m proud of how Kurt grows in it, and how I feel it does bridge the two seasons nicely.  I really love how it gets deep into Kurt’s psyche -- drawing on canon as much as I could to paint a full picture of who he is.  I think he’s a fleshed out and flawed character, and he feels real to me in this one.  

I also really love that I was restrained in my use of Blaine -- he’s a ghost that haunts this story, and I was fascinated with the idea.  I think it really comes through.  Blaine is always there, even when he’s not, even when Kurt’s trying hard to move on.  You miss Blaine in the story, but that’s intentional -- because Kurt deeply misses Blaine.  

12: What do you like least about this fic?

There are still some parts that feel a little clunky to me.  Certain sections that maybe go on too long, or not long enough.  I can tell it’s an earlier fic of mine -- I could have worked on better and more concise sentence structure in a lot of places.  I could have fleshed a few ideas out.  And the October chapter, which is all of season 6, goes on a little too long -- and it feels slightly out of place, but I knew it did even when writing it -- I’m not sure how I’d re do it, but it feels slightly different than the rest of the fic.  

I give myself a lot of leeway because it was my first time writing one, but the sex scene was a bit on the simple side.  It felt more like an obligation - and I was super scared to write it, and basically my betas had to help me construct it cause I had no idea what I was doing and felt funny writing it.  

I also think the Nov. flashback is a little too cheesy, but I was trying to get in all the last minute canon references, so I left it in there.  

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

Yeah, I had a whole playlist for this one!! 

Chapter 1 (March): Teenage Dream - Darren Criss

Chapter 2 (April): Shake it Out (Acoustic) - Florence and the Machine

Chapter 3 (May): Rockstar - A Great Big World

Chapter 4 (June): I Shall Believe - Sheryl Crow

Chapter 5 (July): Daydream Believer - Mary Beth Maziarz

Chapter 6 (August): Dream City - Free Energy

Chapter 7 (September): Head Over Feet (Acoustic) - Alanis Morissette

Chapter 8 (October): Halo - Beyonce

Chapter 9 (November): I Live - Fate Under Fire

Each of the chapters kind of had a musical aesthetic going on with it! Also intentional were the use of Kurt solos as chapter titles -- those paired along with each chapter purposely.  

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

I have no idea - that’s up to them to get anything out of it.  

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

I did! I learned a lot about writing (which having a few fantastic betas really be strict with my writing helped a lot).  I got myself out of some bad habits, and tried to be more introspective than I had been with previous writings.  And I just felt like I stepped up when it came to writing.  I think this is far from a perfect piece of writing, but I’m proud of how it turned out. 

I also learned a lot about Kurt, he became a part of me writing this, and now his story is much more special to me than it had been before.  And I learned a lot about Glee -- how it is as a show, and how it works, cause I looked at the structure of canon, and how it was written.  

[inspector-montoya-fox]

#8 - A Starry Eyed Encounter

Setting: this is our second outing in Asia but it’s extremely different. whereas Fire in the Sky was set in rural China and had sprinkles of Chinese culture on top, A Starry Eyed Encounter basks in prestige and elegance. i might as well start by saying that this is my favourite episode in the game. i love everything about this episode, its subtle orientalism and its storyline. the missions are fun, the sky is beautiful, there are enough twists, turns, balconies and tunnels to get lost in. everything feels authentic and charming, and there’s excitement because it’s a ball and everything coincides with it (meaning, everything has to be perfect and we destroy every last bit). also, there’s a nice balance and blend of nature and “man”-made structure. unlike the Canada levels where nature dominates the landscapes, here there’s a mixture. and i know this type of analysis belongs in the Themes section, but sweetie, lemme just lay this down right here, right quick for y’all: the walls keeping the jungle outside represent Rajan and his mental state, his need to present himself in a certain way. the lush palace is Rajan’s friendly image he projects, one of a great host, but his low temper and roots keep growing like the jungle outside. he’s made a fortune and built this amazing palace as a global entrepreneur and social elitist, but he can’t shed his past, how said fortune came from filth, growing up on the streets, how he belongs in the wild. this theory is further proven by the fact that the next level is full-on jungle and vines and rain and mud, etc. which represents Rajan when all hell breaks loose and he reaches his boiling point. this squeaky clean, pristine state of both Rajan and the palace mask his true nature, and set up the stage for his second level. in many ways, A Starry Eyed Encounter is a prequel because it plays out as too easy, and that kind of optimism is put into perspective as the narrative progresses forward.

Characters: basically a clusterfuck because it’s a party and literally everyone shows up. i’ve mentioned before how introducing every single character in the very first part of the game’s second level was a brilliant idea. SP managed to subvert expectations by supposedly revealing all the villains during the ball, just to then keep pulling off reveal after reveal. Neyla as the alternative romantic interest, the Contessa as an Interpol connection, Arpeggio as the petite bird that would 100% be the final boss. but let’s focus on Rajan. as i’ve already said, the palace is a mere illusion, its grandeur and glory representing what the tiger wants to be seen as. i love how A Starry Eyed Encounter and The Predator Awakes both pose as a test to see how angry Rajan can get - and he can get pretty mad (to the point where he summons lightning). but for now, Rajan isn’t shown. there’s the recon mission, and then some cutscenes of him talking with Bison but that’s just it, we don’t get any Rajan in this episode. no, this episode is dedicated to Carmelita, i think. i’ll go into detail in the Themes section but the dominant theme in this episode is romance. there are two dance sequences in A Starry Eyed Encounter and they both focus on getting with Carmelita, the theme of romance also giving this episode a softer edge. the game’s first two episodes are actually very vanilla: a quiet Paris night, and a prestigious ball in India. sure there’s climax within those episodes, but there’s no aggression or character development (brought on by high stakes). it’s like a honeymoon period before shit hits the fan. A Starry Eyed Encounter and The Predator Awakes might be a pair because of Rajan, but it’s actually the latter in combination with the two Contessa levels that are the game’s best. you’ll notice a fluctuation in narrative: everything goes as planned in the first two episodes (good) but Neyla’s betrayal throws the gang off their game in the next three episodes (bad) until Canada during which the gang manages to gather all Clockwerk parts (good) just to face complete chaos by the end (bad). and surprisingly (and to SP’s credit) the game doesn’t end on a good note. they actually had the balls to cripple Bentley and leave it at that, but also manage to not make it seem like they were just setting up the sequel. Sly 2 is very well a game on its own, even though it ends on a cliffhanger. amazing, but i digress. every character in the game minus Dimitri is in this episode but actually there’s not a lot of character development as seen by the analysis above.

Themes: uh, romance theme !!!!!!! outstandingly so, considering we’re on the brink of losing everything as 2/3 of the gang is about to get arrested in the next episode. but a first-time player isn’t aware so it’s all fun and games as far as they’re concerned. yes, this is pretty much a romance episode, complete with an erotic episode title card of Sly and Carmelita dancing intimately. even the fact that they’re drenched in soft blue and their characteristics/outline don’t have a 100% opacity shows how it’s a good time, time to forget about the spice shipments, the Clockwerk parts, let’s have fun whilst on the job, no need to worry, things certainly won’t go to shit, right? the narration hits its absolute rock-bottom in terms of love triangle storytelling by steeping to the most basic of tropes, having Sly use Neyla to get to Carmelita (something that will later come to bite him in the ass, when Neyla uses Sly to get Carmelita arrested). other than that, the romance theme doesn’t necessarily mean kissy-kissy, but can also mean romantic backdrops, items, etc. for example, the sky being violet and lilac, a mission to acquire a tuxedo, the ball, y’know what i’m talking about. it’s all very humble, pure and simple, but enhanced by Rajan’s wealth and the palace’s elegance. let’s talk about the masks theme (i call it that instead of deception or appearance v reality, because those themes are predominantly connected to Flight of Fancy in my head and i don’t want to do that theme-heavy episode dirty because its themes are its strongest asset). lots and lots of “masks” here. we have Sly dressing up as a tuxedoed cavalier in disguise, we have Rajan acting as a gentlemanly host, Contessa as a proper prison warden and Interpol agent, Neyla as the cryptic connection - nothing i haven’t already mentioned. what truly enhances the deception and the “masks” is the ball. a fancy dance, the opulence making it all fuzzy and blurry, very Florence + the Machine circa Ceremonials sans the gothic aspects, if you catch my drift. basically, it’s called the masks theme because it also includes the party aspect, this aura of pleasure and leisure which is also seen in The Black Chateau. there’s also the class theme, or class distinction. we often overlook the fact that the guards represent a hoard of employees, working mercilessly under the big bad. there’s something to be said about when one dies a replacement is easily found, but it’s just a game. well, in A Starry Eyed Encounter, this distinction is a bit more noticeable. there’s a ball going on, where all the elites and socialites are gathered, protected by the palace walls and the palace itself, surrounded by pleasures and artifice. at the same time, there are guards stationed within the guests’ rooms, patrolling rooftops and making sure everything is perfect for the ball. in other levels, they ensure the security of their employer’s operation, but here they’re responsible for the party, something way less important and dire. what really made me notice it is the moment you complete Elephant Rampage and a flashlight rhino guard escorts the prized elephants back into their room, it seemed like such a downgrading job, moving elephants, probably stepping into their shit as well because Sly frightened them, in comparison to Rajan and his guests drinking and dancing inside. i don’t know, maybe i’m exaggerating, but it definitely reminds me of that Rick and Morty episode where they spoof The Purge, when the villagers fight each other and the elitists are dining inside, maybe it’s just me.

What I Like: this is my favorite episode as an overall entity, so i’ll mention what i like most about it. the sky’s colour, the rapid tanpura music when you get spotted by guards, dancing with Carmelita, that turquoise 3D globe projection in the boardroom, the goofy voice of that guy that doesn’t allow you to enter the ball with the bulged-out eyes, the destroyed bridge next to the safehouse that leads you to a clue bottle and a treasure, and most importantly Steal A Tuxedo. i think Steal A Tuxedo and Spice in the Sky are my favorite missions from the entire game. ugh, idk, this episode is just so perfect. i sent a confession to @slycooperconfessions​ a while back saying how when i was a kid i always wanted to be invited to the ball, and that still stands today. i wish i was there...

What I Don’t Like: nothing. maybe Battle the Chopper, but other than that, nothing.

Quote: when Carmelita says You look familiar to me, are you in law enforcement? and Sly answers I often deal with police while on the job.

[theputterer]

tagged by my dear friend @leaiorganas

Rules: Look at the most recent 20 (or however many) fanwork titles on your AO3 account and answer the questions below. 

I have 22 stories so I can do this RIP ME

to meet beyond shadows

that looking-glass ache

and the world will be better for this

Interludes

The Follower

Yours Is No Disgrace

anecdotes (miracles)

a ghost story

even as a shadow, even as a dream

Binary Star

hope is the hardest love we carry

Parallax

something you don’t even have a name for

uncurling lifelines

Some Like It Hoth

Sail To The Moon

share with me the sun

amor fati

For Future Reference

You Must Remember This

1. How many titles are you happy with?

All of them?? But I am less fonder of some than others.

2. How many are you not happy with?

THE FOLLOWER was hard to write, and I’m not very fond of it, which sucks because a reader actually asked for that story! Also I didn’t have a title for AND THE WORLD WILL BE BETTER FOR THIS until, like, ten minutes before I started posting. I don’t think that’s the ~right~ title for the story either but it was the best I could come up with. (It’s a lyric...)

3. How many did you scramble for at the last minute?

Uhh most of them. I either know the title immediately or never do. Ones I knew immediately: YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS, SHARE WITH ME THE SUN, SOME LIKE IT HOTH, A GHOST STORY, YOURS IS NO DISGRACE, INTERLUDES. Everything else came late in the writing process.

4. How many did you know before you started writing/creating, or near the beginning?

Please see the list above.

5. How many are quotes from songs or poems?

Ugh... 9 out of 20? Portugal. The Man, Radiohead, Florence and the Machine, Richard Siken, Jane Hirshfield, Euripides, Ross Gay, Yes, and “The Impossible Dream” which has been covered by a lot of people.

6. How many are other quotes?

SOME LIKE IT HOTH was a title of an episode of “Lost”, YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS is a podcast I really enjoy, there is a poem called “Amor Fati” by Jane Hirshfield but I wasn’t familiar with it before I wrote that story.

7. Which best reflects the plot of the story/content of the fanwork?

LOL well FOR FUTURE REFERENCE is super helpful for anyone who jumps into AMOR FATI and doesn’t know anything else about the Nonsense... HOPE IS THE HARDEST LOVE WE CARRY is the *perfect* title for a fic about Leia and Ben/Kylo. A GHOST STORY is exactly what it says on the tin. it’s a ghost story.

8. Which best reflects the theme of the story?

AMOR FATI probably, ha. But also YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS (me in the later stories of the Nonsense: hey remember when--). And then SOMETHING YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A NAME FOR is good for the reckoning Ethan gets about Cassian.

9. Which best reflects the character voice of the story/pov of the framework?

THAT LOOKING-GLASS ACHE taps into how all the characters are forced to face their inner selves. BINARY STAR is good because it’s how Fima and Ersa are around each other.

10. Which is your favorite title?

ALL OF THEM. But gun to my head... I think YOURS IS NO DISGRACE is a really lovely sentiment and I’m so upset I can’t claim it.

tagging: @cassianserso, @callioope, @fortysevenswrites, @vaderkat, @alecjmarsh and anyone else who writes fic and wants to critically examine their titles.

[bazzybelle]

Carry On Countdown - Day Twenty-Seven

Notes: So I am giddy with excitement about writing this fic! It’s a snippet for an AU historical fiction (my personal favourite literary genre) that I’ve started working on. I have a basic outline drawn up, I have plots and tropes and quotes I want to use (I’ve even started making a playlist for it… because I’m THAT much of a dork), and those who I talk to on the regular know that I have not shut up about it. I’ve always loved The Renaissance in Florence, especially during the time of Lorenzo The Magnificent. My first university degree was History and Italian Culture, and the BULK of my classes involved the Florentine Renaissance (Neeeeeeeeerd). Ok! I won’t bore you all with details now, wait for my AU fic! Title and beginning quote are taken from the Neo-Platonist philosopher Marsilio Ficino.

Thank you to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for your beta-work, and for sharing/encouraging my nerdiness for this topic, I look forward to discussing this story with you, as well as Plato’s philosophy! xD

Gonna tag also @fight-surrender, @f-ing-ruthless-baz and @giishu for being my never ending support board and for putting up with my non-stop photos of notes from my tiny tiny notebook. 

Finally tagging @sbazzing... You wanted to be tagged in this.. here ya go! :) 

Day 27 Prompt: Time Travel

Title: Love is a Dream of Beauty

________________________________________________________________

Artists in each of the Arts seek after and care for nothing but Love.

February 20th, 1490

BAZ

“Signore Pitch!”

I look up from the text I’m analyzing to see one of Lorenzo’s (yes, Lorenzo de’ Medici… Il Magnifico to most, but to me, he’s always been Lorenzo) assistants rushing towards me. He is one of the younger ones, I believe. What was his name?

Paolo?

Francesco?

Marco!

I put down the book I have been reading (Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita Libri - History of Rome - I’m working on translations for Book 9) and look at the nervous young man. I do not understand why the servants and assistants fear me. I suppose it is my dark and broody nature that unsettles them. Or maybe the fact that I have little to no patience for the courtly life and the politics that go along with it.

“Yes, Marco? How can I help you?” I gaze down at the young man. Maybe it’s my cold eyes that are constantly glaring and the way I always sneer when I’m annoyed that frightens the younger workers.

“Gran… Gran Maestro de’ Medici would like a word with you.” I take in a sharp breath and nod at the young man. If Lorenzo wants to speak with me, it is for one of two reasons; either I have done something that displeases him (unlikely), or he wants something of me. A request from Lorenzo de’ Medici is not a request one simply ignores (though, Lorenzo has a soft spot for me, so I can get away with more than others).

“Is it urgent?” I raise an eyebrow at Marco, which only increases his nervousness. Honestly! Why does he have to be so apprehensive? It’s not like I am going to bite him or anything! Marco looks to the floor, not wanting to meet my eyes.

“He said to call for you immediately, Signore Pitch.”

I sigh deeply and offer him a curt nod. “Very well. I shall be with him shortly.” I turn back to my book. I want to finish this last page before going to meet Lorenzo. I look up briefly to notice that Marco is still standing nervously in front of me. I roll my eyes at him and point to the door. “You may leave.”

Marco stumbles out of my room. I shake my head and continue with my translations. It is my unofficial job at the Academy, to translate these texts from Greek to Latin as well as the local vernacular. I am not fond of the vernacular, but there are still groups within the city that hold onto the linguistic belief set forth by the great poet, Dante. My peers may look down on those who choose to practice the vernacular, but Angelo Poliziano (my teacher, mentor, dearest friend) insists that I keep an open mind to the shifts and changes that come with learning the language.

Satisfied with the quality of my translations, I close the books and stretch my back. I do not know how long I had been sitting at that table before Marco came to fetch me. Maybe I will go for a brief ride through the countryside to clear my head, once my meeting with Lorenzo is through.

As I make my way through the corridors and halls of the villa, my mind begins to wander (this often happens, Marsilio Ficino calls it the philosopher’s curse) and I think about the young assistant. I should have expected the uncomfortable interaction based on how he addressed me alone.

I am known by many names in this court. Signore Pitch is one, but I find that to be dreadfully formal. I am not a master, nor am I nobility (well… not anymore). Amongst my peers and the scholars at the Academy, as well as the members of Lorenzo’s court, I am referred to as Tyrannus (which is probably worse than Signore Pitch, but these Florentines do love their classical history). My closest friends (of which I can count on one hand) refer to me as Basil or Baz, which is frankly what I prefer. It was what my mother and father called me before they died.

There is also what enemies of the Medici like to refer to me as: The Displaced Prince. I would find it rather insulting, if I wasn’t so amused by it. They are not wrong in calling me that, except I was never really a prince. My family was a noble one, but we fell from grace many years ago. Actually, I may be the last member of my family remaining. I suppose that’s why Lorenzo has kept me around all these years. I have been around the court of Lorenzo de’ Medici long enough to understand how the politics work around here. I am of noble blood and eligible for a political match that could work in Lorenzo’s favour, and continue on for his son, Piero. It’s truly a shame that I have no interest in political matches.

Or marriage for that matter.

I reach Lorenzo’s quarters. I knock on the door and wait patiently to be received. Lorenzo doesn’t typically spend much time here at his villa in Careggi. Most of his time is spent in the city itself, at his central palazzo. He has been here for a couple of days, and I wonder if he had come all this way in order to speak to me in person. Lorenzo de’ Medici never does anything without an ulterior motive.

The door opens and I am ushered inside, where I find Lorenzo sitting at his desk, pen in hand, and a focused look on his face. He looks up to see me and his face brightens.

“Tyrannus! How are you, my dear boy!”

I enter the room and lightly bow my head. Lorenzo isn’t an official ruler of Florence, but as the head of the Medici family, it is a simple gesture of courtesy. “Good afternoon, Gran Maestro de’ Medici.” I address him by his official title, again as a sign of respect. I am many things, ill-mannered is not one of them. Lorenzo raises an eyebrow at me and shakes his head.

“Tyrannus, you have been a member of my household for nearly 15 years, I think at this point, you may call me Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo stares knowingly at me. I return the gaze with a raised eyebrow of my own before we both begin to laugh. Lorenzo rises from his seat and comes to greet me. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me into a hug and kisses me on both cheeks. He pulls back to get a good look at me and smiles brightly.

“Ahhhh… It’s good to see you! We do not see you very often anymore. I imagine Angelo has been working you to near death!” I laugh light-heartedly and shake my head.

“Not at all, Lorenzo. I rather enjoy the work, to be honest. It does me good to leaf through the books that once belonged to my family. To hold the pieces that are left of their legacy.”

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to spend time amongst my family’s books. I was a very precocious child, always asking questions and wanting to absorb as much knowledge as I could. When I first arrived in Florence, all I wanted to do was spend time in the library. When Giuliano was still around, he would remind me to have fun and to allow myself to have a childhood… Despite that, most of my life was spent amidst the company of older, learned men.

Lorenzo claps my shoulder and gives it a tiny shake. “Always so somber aren’t you? Your family’s legacy is not dead. You are still around.” He looks into my eyes. Brown eyes, contrasting to my grey.

I sigh at him and start to step away from his grasp. “Only because the Divine has willed it so.”

“You truly have been spending far too much time with the philosophers!” Lorenzo gives me another hearty laugh. “I do need to take a visit to The Academy. It has been far too long since I’ve taken part in one of Marsilio’s symposia.” I detect a hint of melancholic nostalgia in Lorenzo’s voice. Ficino would tell me of the time where Lorenzo was more carefree and would spend days within the Academy, debating the nature of Plato and his ideas on Love. Those were the days before his duties to his family and Florence began to weigh heavily on him.  

A small laugh escapes through my nose.“They do become rather heated. I could hear them shouting from my study the last time.”

“As every great debate ought to be!” Lorenzo leads me towards his desk, but does not sit down just yet.  “Now, Tyrannus. There was a reason I asked to see you.” I nod knowingly and smirk at him.

“You would not be Il Magnifico if there wasn’t an ulterior motive to everything you do.”

Lorenzo laughs heartily. Few people are allowed to see him like this. I am one of the lucky few, for he has known me since I was a child.

And, I remind him of his brother… Giuliano. If circumstances were different, it would be Giuliano giving me this talk, as opposed to Lorenzo. He picks up a small weight from his desk and begins to run it through his hands.

“Tyrannus, you will be celebrating your birthday soon, will you not?” He points to me as he asks me the question. I nod my head in response.

“Yes, Lorenzo. On the 24th, I shall be turning 20 years old.”

Lorenzo stares off wistfully. “Ahh… To be young with a future full of promise. Do not take these days for granted. Soon enough, you will be cursing the ways your body fails you.” He frowns towards his legs. Lorenzo’s family is plagued with gout. His father died as a result of his gout, and he started showing signs much later in his life. Lorenzo has not been as lucky. He clears his throat and continues.

“But I digress. Now, when I decided to take you in as a ward of the Medici family, I told myself I would treat you as if you were one of my own children. I believe I have done a decent job of that.”

I nod and smile at him. “You have. I would have never had the opportunities to read from my family’s ancient texts had your family not taken me in.”

“Correct. Now, it is my duty as your guardian to ensure that a beneficial match is made for you.”

I frown and take a step back. “A… match?” I decide to try and play ignorant. I had a feeling that this discussion was coming. Still, it was not something I was interested in. Besides, I may be Lorenzo’s ward, but I am hardly a member of the Medici family.

“Of course! It is only proper that we find a suitable match for you!” Lorenzo places the weight back down on the desk and begins to shuffle a few of the papers lying about.

“Lorenzo… I do not think anyone would want to be wedded to a Displaced Prince.” I purposely use the slanderous name against me in order to make a point. It may be a name given to insult me, and it does not really bother me. But it is a name based in small truths. I have no lands, no titles, no stability. Lorenzo’s face darkens and addresses me in an aggrieved voice.

“Let me tell you something Tyrannus. Do not allow the words of bitter men to leave a lasting impact on your soul. Now I will make it my duty to see that a proper marriage alliance is secured for you.”

I appreciate the concern, I truly do. But marriage is not a future I see for myself. “Lorenzo. What if I did not want that? I am perfectly content to remain amongst my family’s books in the Academy,” I respond solemnly. My wish is that he drop the subject, but Lorenzo de’ Medici does not work that way.

“Nonsense Tyrannus. You are the sole remaining member of a family that has been around since the time of Constantine the Great! It is your duty to ensure your line does not die.” He waves his arms extravagantly. It is very difficult work not to roll my eyes at him. Men like Lorenzo put far too much emphasis on the past. Yes, it is important to know our past, but too much focus on it causes one to lose sense of the future. I come from an ancient family, it is true, but that family is gone now.

“Lorenzo, I have made peace with my family line dying with me since I was a child. I have my family’s books; I have their legacy and I intend on keeping it alive through their words.” I speak in a soft, somber voice. I almost plead with him to understand my position on the matter.

Lorenzo grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eyes once more. “Will you at least let me try? For your parents…”

My back stiffens and I very nearly glare at him. He knows I cannot say no when my parents are concerned. I sigh in resignation and furrow my brows. I see that I will not win this argument with him, so I offer a compromise; a deal with him.

“What if I gave you until the end of this year? Until the Epiphany celebration; to find me a suitable match? One that I approve of as well.” I emphasize that I shall have the final say (if there is any say at all).

Lorenzo regards me with an astounded look. “You truly have become a part of this family, Tyrannus! Only a Medici would offer up a deal like that.”

I nod towards him and shrug my shoulders. “I did learn from the best. Shall we shake on it?” I offer my hand and Lorenzo takes it willingly.

“Until the Epiphany celebration I shall do whatever it takes to get you married.”

“I don’t doubt that. Would that be all, Lorenzo?” I am ready to get out of this meeting. I really do need some time outside of this building in order to process everything that has just occured. Maybe a ride to one of the neighbouring villages will do me some good.

Lorenzo puts a halt to my plans almost immediately. “Not quite. I had a feeling I would win you over today, so I requested that Signore Botticelli paint a miniature portrait of you. He is already expecting you.”

I try to not groan out loud. Sandro Botticelli is one of the city’s finest painters. At the same time, he is one of the most arrogant men in existence. He has painted every member of Lorenzo’s family, and has never once done so without a complaint. He had been gone from the city for quite some time (The Vatican requested his talents for their holy Basilica). I suppose now that he’s back, Lorenzo has already begun with the commissions. I shake my head at him; the impossible man.

“You truly are one of a kind, Lorenzo.”

“That’s why they call me Il Magnifico. Now go on. You may take one of the horses into town.” Lorenzo walks back to his chair. He settles in and waves me away. I bow my head at him and exit the room.

“Thank you, gran Maestro.”

I make my way to the stables, stopping by my rooms to put on some warm outer clothes. I could walk to the city, but it really is much faster to go by horse and with the sun making its way into midday, I should make my way to Botticelli’s workshop as quickly as possible, before the day begins to darken.

I mount my favourite horse, a chocolate mare I’ve called Minerva, and start to ride towards Florence. As I pass the hills and small houses that dot the trail, I think about how the events of my life have brought me here to this moment.

I come from a long line of nobility from the lost empire of Byzantium, on my mother’s side. She, as well as her family were forced to flee the city of Constantinople when she was a young girl. My grandfather, having impeccable foresight, knew the war against the Ottoman Turks was lost. So he had arranged for all of the ancient books and texts from my family’s libraries to be moved to Florence, to the libraries of Cosimo de’ Medici (Lorenzo’s grandfather). My family was offered sanctuary within the court, but my grandfather had other obligations to attend to. My mother was betrothed to my father, a nobleman from England, so my family settled there. It was where I was born and where I spent the first five years of my life.

But because turbulence and bad luck seem to follow my family like a dark cloud, it wasn’t long before we were destroyed once again. England, at the time, was in the middle of a dynastic war between two royal families; The Yorks and the Lancasters. My father was a Lancastrian and while that worked to his benefit for the longest time, my mother, sharing the same aptitude for forethought as her father, knew that our time in the sun would not last. She had written to several powerful houses in Italy (The Sforza, the Argonese, the de’ Medici, and the Este), and offered them everything we had left if they would take me in, should it be necessary. Out of those families, only Giuliano de’ Medici responded.

I remember the last night I saw my mother and father as if it were yesterday. I still have dreams about it. I remember being asleep in my chambers, when my mother swept inside, bright ruby-red dress flowing around her. She roused me from my sleep and scooped me up into her arms. I could not understand what was happening at the time. She rushed me through the kitchens, where a small band of trusted servants were waiting for us. With tears in her eyes, she held onto me, running her fingers through my dark hair. I remember her smoothing the strands from my face as she reminded me to remain strong and to never forget the lineage I was born into, even in the darkest of nights. The last thing she told me was that I was the very best of both her and my father and that she would always be with me. With a final kiss on my head and a caress of my cheek, she was gone, ruby skirts flowing behind her. I remember crying out to her, begging her to come back. None of it mattered, for we were soon off, galloping on horses as we rode into the night.

My mother had managed to obtain passage for myself and my governess aboard a ship headed to one of the ports controlled by the Florentines. I don’t remember much of the journey to Florence. I think my mind has decided to block those memories from me. All the better, for I wish to never think of them. I do remember docking at one of the ports and my governess quietly ushering me into a small inn, where a tall, handsome man with flowing dark hair and kind brown eyes was waiting for us: Giuliano de’ Medici.

Giuliano was the younger, more care-free brother of Lorenzo. He was, by all accounts, the heart and soul of the Medici family, and it was because of his gentle heart that I found my way into the Palazzo Medici. That day, he took me aside and explained to me that he would be taking care of me from now on. When I asked about my parents, he was kind, yet truthful. He explained that it was almost certain that my parents did not survive the attack. I remember being determined not to cry in front of this stranger, but the thought of my mother was too much for me. A strong, reassuring hand on my shoulder was all it took to let loose the floodgates. As he continued to pat my back, Giuliano explained that we would wait for word from England in case he was wrong, but that I should prepare myself for the worst. He did not sugar-coat the reality of my situation, and I suppose it was because of his honesty that I learned to quickly trust him.

For the next three years, Giuliano looked after me, and treated me as if I was his own son. It took some time for my walls to come down, but eventually I saw him as a father figure in my life. I was beginning to get a true sense of having a family again… when…

But I don’t think about that… About the blood and the knives. I don’t think about the Easter mass that would once again break apart any family and hope I dared to have.

I don’t think about any of that. Instead I make my way to Botticelli’s studio, where the impatient maestro is already waiting for me. I tie up my horse and proceed to knock on the door. The door opens in a rush. Before me stands Sandro Botticelli, all impertinence and self-importance.

“Tyrannus! Glad you could make it!” Botticelli gently grabs my sleeve and pulls me into the workshop. I stand tall and watch him with a disinterested look on my face.

“Signore Botticelli. Always a pleasure.” Botticelli rolls his eyes at my formal address and already begins to scurry about around the workshop. He calls out to me over his shoulder.

“Tyrannus, while I do appreciate the formal greeting, please call me Sandro.”

I shake my head and raise my hands in consternation. “Does no one around here appreciate formality? Fine… Sandro.”

Sandro places a stool in front of a window, where a little soft light has managed to come through. “I see you have finally given in to Lorenzo’s demands.”

“You know how it is. Whatever Lorenzo de’ Medici wants, Lorenzo de’ Medici gets. I would like to get this sitting done as soon as possible.” My continued icy tone is really unnecessary, but I have already had a long day and I find it difficult to mask my disdain.  

“Yes yes, Tyrannus! We all know you have important work to do at the Academy! Tell Signore Poliziano that if he’s got a problem, he can take it up with Il Magnifico!” Sandro waves a hand dismissively towards me and then roughly points to the small stool. I roll my eyes and settle into place. Sandro starts to walk away and yells out towards the back rooms.

“Simon! Where are you, boy?! We are waiting for you!”

I straighten up and roll my shoulders back in surprise. I was not expecting this. I start to get up from the chair when Sandro places his hand on my shoulder, settling me back down. “Wait. I was under the impression that you-”

Sandro casts a dark glare at me and I settle back down. It is clear that he is beyond fed up with my attitude. “Please, I do not have the patience nor the time to paint yet another member of the gran maestro’s household. No, your miniature portrait will be handled by my young assistant. Simon!” He barks out once more, abrasively.

I adjust a crease in my shirt and tuck some of my raven-black hair behind my ear. I look up and my breath becomes caught in my throat.

A broad-shouldered, tawny-skinned young man rushes from the back rooms, carrying what seems to be half of Sandro’s art supplies in his hands. Canvases, boards, charcoal, and paints (why would he need paints right away). I quickly turn my head from him so as to conceal the blush creeping onto my cheeks (clearly I am embarrassed for this young man… nothing more…).

A loud crash makes me turn my head back. I notice a head full of long bronze curls before me, surrounded by scattered charcoal, paints, and brushes on the floor. He looks up at me, blue eyes sparkling and a deep red blush creeping across his face.

Damn it all…

“Apologies… Signore…” He starts to stammer at me. I lift a hand at him and narrow my eyes. I can feel my heart quicken as I begin to think about the many ways I can continue to make him blush. I shake the impure thoughts from my mind and conceal myself behind the mask of indifference I wear around court.

My impervious, cold mask. I need it now than ever. Because a blue-eyed, bronze-haired disaster has just crashed into me and I do not need disasters in my already unstable life.

So, time to scare away another rosy-cheeked young man.

“Pitch.” I reply, with acid in my voice. I turn to Sandro, who looks as if he is just about ready to murder the boy, and drawl out sarcastically, “I must say Sandro, you certainly know how to pick them. I was wondering why I had never seen this apprentice before. I suppose I have my answer.”

I look back to the young man, Simon, who has collected himself and is now wearing a look that could strike me dead. I laugh scornfully at him, which only angers him further.

Perfect.

“I think this one will prove to be more of a handful than you can handle. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back to the Academy.” I lift myself from the stool and stroll towards the door. It takes every fibre of my being not to run out of that building as fast as I can. But I have been practiced in the art of nonchalance, so I make it to the door, when Sandro calls out to me.

“Tyrannus!”

I look back to Sandro and his unfortunate assistant. I give them both a mocking sneer and a graceful wave of my hand. “Apologies, Signore Botticelli. I know you are a very busy man. We can try again tomorrow, perhaps.”

I exit the workshop and take a minute to gather my thoughts. The poor boy will probably be getting a tongue lashing from Botticelli. I want to feel sorry for him, but I cannot allow myself to feel anything for him. I untie Minerva and begin to ride out of the city.

As I gallop away from the city, my thoughts start to become more and more cloudy. I try to focus on the translations I need to finish, or on the discussion that Lorenzo and I had earlier today. I even try to think about the many arguments between my Academy peers. But no matter how I try, I keep coming back to one thought and one image.

Of a boy with blue eyes, bronze curls, and a brightly flushed face.

Misfortune and misery seem to follow me around like a dark cloud. And the Divine seems to have played a cruel joke on me. Because after one look into those ordinary blue eyes and I now think I understand the inspiration behind Dante and Petrach’s poetry. I want to read Plato once more and determine if these feelings inside of me count as his version of Love.

How can it be? It is not possible. I pull on Minerva’s reins and hop off. I bend down and start to gasp for air.

It is not allowed…

I take several deep breaths and push my budding feelings down. As deep as they can go. I push them further than the pain of losing my mother, of losing my name. Of losing Giuliano. I shall not permit these feelings to ever come out again. I cannot go back to see Signore Botticelli and that boy!

Simon…

I hope that my cold, intimidating personality is enough to keep him as far away from me as possible. I hope that I have sufficiently scared him away. I hope I never have to look at those ordinary blue eyes again.

Any other path is not an option.