#garden of assemblage

[nebuvoid]

sooooo like. whats up with the garden of assemblage in radiant garden. im sure no one has brought this up at all since 2007. but yeah why is there just like a whole subsection of castle oblivion hallway in RG, when castle oblivion is a disguised castle of the realm of departure. which mind you nomura already had in mind by then this is not a retcon case.

also ive always wondered about the whole mining crystal subsection too. RG being surrounded by crystal is extra interesting considering fragmentary passage shows us that collapsed worlds either turn into crystal or were always crystal and break apart in the ROD. i highly doubt its just an aesthetic thing.

[karla-the-elemental-dreamer]

It's been a while since I've had an enjoyable Kingdom Hearts based dream. But this morning, Terra (KH3 appearance) took me to a HD version of Hollow Bastion as it appears in KH1/KH-CoM. I wondered why he would touch that place, and I got the energy that it was to help maintain/revive my connection with Riku. I got the message that Hollow Bastion was 'Riku's old stomping grounds'. It also gave an ode to Terra's past period of darkness as well. Like this was a place of high importance to both my KH dream guides.

The scene occurred in the chamber where you fight Dragon Maleficent, and I must have entered the dream at a point after she was defeated. Terra said to me "We're looking for Riku. And Sora too. Aaaaand Kairi" as he escorted me out of that room.

Terra feeling that I had something to do in waking life then actually led me to the Garden of Assemblage, and that's where I woke up from.

Pretty cool dream even though it was short. If I can get it done by Thursday, I might actually draw Terra facing Dragon Maleficent and make it a third submission/piece for Absentee-Terra-Week. This is a perfect reflection again of the corners Terra was backed into, in KH-BBS, and he did have a significant encounter with Maleficent back then in Enchanted Dominion.

[hollowwhisperings]

The Secrets of The Secret Room: KH2's Hidden Boss Arena as a Future Plot Point.

Anyone remember that Secret Room in KH2? The FRUSTRATINGLY difficult-to-reach one within the basement caves of Ansem's Castle? The one that lets you fight Data copies of the Organization XIII members? THAT Secret Room?

KH2's "Garden of Assemblage", GIF by superbia (nokuto.tumblr)

Well, what if we look at KH as a series and its LOVE for hiding plot within gameplay mechanics... and look at that Secret Room again after the Lore Bombs from KHUX & KH3?

The KH series LOVES to "hide" lore & plot foreshadowing within game mechanics: the different/same coloured dream portals in DDD & KH3, the "reset" levels in each game, Anti-Sora and Rage Form...

i wonder who, exactly, set up that Data Combat Record of Organization XIII members?

the easiest candidate is DiZ: he has the means, motive & opportunity to have set something like that up (know your enemy).

it's also plausible that Saïx set it up for Axel, a means of preparing him for assassinations but it doesn't make much sense given that Axel would need that combat data BEFORE he fought his targets while the Data Room only has those 'records' AFTER targets are defeated.

Xehanort is another candidate, perhaps setting the system up in order to have Data Copies of the Organization to fall back on for Future Use (no time travel required!). it WOULD be easier to put a Data Copy into a Replika than trying to locate, say, Lauriam or Arlene (who he only seemed to meet through Xigbar) upon their recompletion.

There's also That Looming Option of Darkness.

Darkness, getting one (or more) of the above characters to set this room up, ultimately for ITS use: Darkness seemingly needs 13 Vessels in its Game with MoM and, going with Sleeping Realm Theory, KH3 DID seem to imply that Data Riku & Young Master Xehanort were not only working for (or with) Darkness but were investigating how Hearts & darkness interacted with DATA.

KH's Primordial Darkness IS canonically tech-savvy: the Secret Room of Data Organization XIII fits EXACTLY within its modus operandi.

it's not JUST Darkness who knows of/discovered this Secret Room, however: Sora & Team Guardians of Light did too.

KH3 somewhat implies that Ienzo and Even learned of the Secret Room after being recompleted: it's probably what they were referencing when trying to set Xion & Roxas up in Replika bodies.

If Roxas is now made up of himself AND his Data Copies (from Data Twilight Down & the Secret Room)... it solves the issue of his dual-wielding keyblades despite no longer having 2 "real" Hearts to source them from.

I don't think that either of these Data Roxases would feel a need to have their own Replika bodies: Axel's Nobody formed a Heart but it integrated with his "recompleted" self without issue, just as all these Roxases would. These Hearts can merge or otherwise exist alongside each other without any issue because they share the same "Soul" (or, at least, there are no conflicting memories within their Timelines).

Xehanort did not seem much affected by Xemnas seemingly forming a Heart either: the "lived time" of Xemnas simply went back to Xehanort (& if the transistion WASN'T so seamless... it's not like he would care & he ended up Time Travelling Xemnas before any conflicts of heart could arise anyway).

Terra, on the other hand... well, Xemnas got the Fixation with Aqua's Armour from SOMEONE.

Back to That Secret Room...

my munny's on Darkness bringing that Data Organization XIII back into play at some point, if only to allow more Hidden Boss Gameplay post-KH3 for the purposes of "strengthening" the Darkness within its vessels.

It makes me wonder if the "Demyx" met during KH3 was actually a "Data Demyx": he and Luxord do not seem native to [this side of] "Reality" but to the home of Nameless Star, going by the Verum Rex trailer in Toy Box & the Secret Ending(s) of KH3.

the premise where DiZ or Xehanort sets up the Data Organization for further study, only for it to get used by Darkness could just as easily apply to XIGBAR/Luxu for MoM but... Darkness is the entity with the greater connection to Data Hearts so, regardless of WHO this Secret Room was set up by, it's probably Darkness who'll bring that game mechanic into the future of KH's Story.

[bazzys]

[winjimir]

The Gardener's Shed. New Assemblage & Available. . #winjimir #wrosson #artstudio #garden #bees #butterfly #flowers #gardening #gardener #assemblage #originalart #mixedmediaart #womenartists #recycled #upcycle #oneofakind #vintagejewelry https://www.instagram.com/p/CpAwv8gOMjX/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ruthbancroftgarden]

Stapelia gigantea

Stapelia is the genus that gives its name to the large assemblage of plants known as the stapeliads. Its succulent stems are pliable rather than rigid, and they look much like those found in related genera, except that they have a felted texture rather than being smooth. The flowers are very large (up to 10 inches across, or 25 cm), and the textured ridges on them, as well as the hairs and the foul smell, are features often seen in this group. The reason for the foul smell is to attract the flies that pollinate them. It is a very successful strategy, and this species often spreads spontaneously in gardens. It occurs naturally over a wide area in southern and eastern Africa.

-Brian

[tpwrtrmnky]

pills that give you wheels.

(we are sure you know we think this but it's so cool to read ptmyg for the trans stuff, humor and the lore and worldbuilding you're putting in it's very moving and feels so good to read)

text for accessibility:

first panel:

grayscale stick figure person: "I thought you said you were lime. How can you- how can you be all that at the same time? You're not chromefluid or shapefluid? Why does a sword or wheels matter to you as a chrome thing?"

polychrome (mostly green, lime, and orange, with a building block head of rectangles, triangles and circles, and a pink arm with a cyan sword facing on one side of the head. the arms are broadly squarish, and they have wheels for feet) stick figure system's pink arm, looking at a purple saber, thinking: oooo sword

polychrome stick figure system: "For starters, I'm polychrome. Second, here's an analogy, chrome is actually assemblage, like building blocks or LEGOs. You literally put together how you want from contexts generated from the world and yourself."

grayscale stick figure person: "Okay… I guess for chrome expansive people that makes sense…"

second panel:

polychrome stick figure system's shapes in the head change, with colors and shapes changing slightly, some rhombuses and an infinity sign among them, and even some tiny grayscale shapes. the rightward lime rhombus thinks: thank you! as a second pink arm passes them the purple saber. the system's feat are now a tank tread and a shape somewhere between a rocket ship and a grasper claw.

meanwhile the orange shape headmates reply to the person: "Actually I was talking about everybody. Consider your own life-sure you were assigned grayscale but you've picked up ideas and experiences along the way, and even if you don't consciously question what grayscale means to you, you have your own assemblage of that that is unique, that you can navigate more deliberately if you want without being green."

the grayscale stick figure person now has a gardening fork in one hand and a videogame controller in the other: "Well I like gardening, and videogames... they're what I do usually when I have spare time. I was being raised to be a corporate vulture as a kid and it wasn't for me, it always felt- I don't know, not what grayscale is supposed to be about. It wasn't, even, before capitalism. I want to be myself. But, green is new right? chromatiness is just around 150 years old..."

the orange arms of the polychrome system reply: "See! You get it, that's really nice it's hit or miss when I say we all have that. Regarding green, you can find older words all over the world like arqūtu, ghelwos, harā, verde, and so on. Green is just a new variation for something that is part of the sapient condition, that has always been with us. And the same goes for square, triangle, rhombus, stars, and so on. And sometimes new technology, other forms of life, and stories helps us know a part of ourselves that we couldn't quite explain before."

the third panel is a closeup on the singleton and system's heads, the green-orange-lime-pink polychrome system shapes continue to change, the top of the head is now a partial wheel, and a plane flies over a boat town near a tree and lime square, whose arm has the saber close to the pink arm with the sword.

grayscale stick figure person: "So you see rolling on wheels and flying as lime, green, and orange to you?"

g-o-l polychrome system orange boat with lime buildings headmate(?s?) replies: "For me personally as part of my body yeah. I know primary moss folks who do too and same for the whole spectrum. Even some grayscale folks, but that's less common proportionally."

grayscale stick figure person: "How do you feel all that at the same time? I see a tree and a boat town now."

g-o-l polychrome system: "Some persons do and it's a beautiful fusion of feelings, and we do that individually too, in our case we're also plural, also a new understanding for something primordial which there aren't enough comic panels for here."

grayscale stick figure person: "It would be bad if I insisted that multiple people can't be in one brain or treated you as disposable or a bad green right?"

g-o-l polychrome system's pink arm headmate replies: "YES IT WOULD."

woa

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 17

The Valeyard told the Sixth Doctor that his Seventh incarnation was full of schemes in order to play a game that was never his to win and that his Eighth would never shake the shadow of death.

When separated from the TARDIS, the Doctor's memory usually begins to fail him.

Agatha Christie was a companion of the Eighth Doctor.

Tania Bell was placed in 107 Baker Street by Torchwood, her employer, to keep an eye out for the Doctor.

Rose was once turned into a vampire. She attacked the Ninth Doctor.

When the Eighth Doctor lies to his friends, it's obvious he's doing so because he gets a "terrified and guilty" expression on his face.

Handrel once said a single incarnation of a Time Lord can live for 10,000 years.

The Eighth Doctor once appeared on and won a television show called You Either Know It or You Don't.

The Curator likes pigeons.

The Seventh Doctor is sometimes terrified of the Third Doctor, particularly by the realization that the Leader of the British Republic in the Inferno universe is his counterpart.

In the Seventh Doctor’s mind, the First Doctor plays the role of the librarian and the keeper of the gardens. The Fourth Doctor is the ferryman. The Fifth Doctor represents the Doctor's conscience, but he is enchained in a pit in their mind. Ace eventually frees him though. He thoroughly locked the Sixth Doctor away due to Valeyard-related drama.

The Seventh Doctor manipulated Mel into leaving. This would allow him to go on as Time's Champion without her morality interfering.

Before Logopolis, the Fourth Doctor passed through a period of dense time, causing him to age rapidly. Even after restored, he remained greatly weakened and was unsure of if he would be able to regenerate. Because of this, Milady put in a request to the Department of Watchers to help him prepare for that regeneration. This weakness could potentially also explain why the Fourth Doctor regenerated after falling a shorter distance than the Tenth Doctor did when he jumped out of a spaceship.

The Fifth Doctor could "swim" through the time vortex.

K9 Mark I could not climb stairs, but K9 Mark II could.

The First Doctor helped design the Privy Gardens.

The Doctor speaks fluent dolphin.

The Master has been recorded to have 470 known incarnations in total.

The Master's personality has always been influenced by the Assemblage, an organic computer made by all those incarnations.

The First Doctor likely made Susan's wedding ring, having planned to get gold for it from Aristea.

The Fifth Doctor eventually realized he had mistreated Adric because the boy reminded him of his own self as a child, but this realization came after Adric was already gone.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

[xxdemonicheartxx]

Flight Rising flights but as art mediums:

There are some overlaps in mediums since dragons are so tight knit and far spread

Earth: tile work/mosaics, jewelry work, ceramics, stone sculpture, chalk, clay work, plaster, leather work, rain chains

Water: plaster work, woven tapestries, shell jewelry and chimes, pearl inlays, decorative sails and flags, basket weaving, sandstone carving, watercolors, mirrors and glass sculptures

Shadow: optical illusions, black and white photography, puzzle boxes, uranium glass work, maybe iron work, mycology arrangements, shadow boxes, gouache, anything that involves glowing in the dark

Light: stone carving and gold foiled painting, sometimes tapestry weaving to depict an image or scene, impressionism, oil paint, tempera, portraiture, clothing and attire, mirrors, pigment making

Plague: hyper realism, and taxidermy, ceramics, bone carvings, tattoos, ink block prints, collage art, murals, leather work, totems and large outdoor installations

Nature: floral arrangements, dye work, wood work, candle making, hot wax painting, landscaping, rain chains, wind chimes, tapestries, needle felting, carpentry, animal cosmetics (haircuts, animal safe dye, nail and claw painting, etc), apparel/clothing, pigment making

Ice: needle felting, wood carving, quilting, ice carving and sculpture, snow sculptures, knitting, the art of tea blends, dried plant arrangements, carpentry, fabric weaving, tapestries, crochet, wood burning, blanket weaving, candle making, dye work, wood turning

Fire: welding, decorative weapon smithing, glass blowing, wood burning, wrought iron, stained glass, latticed metal, terracotta, ceramics, obsidian and basalt carving, graphite, slate, charcoal

Wind: paper mache, ribbon mediums, basket weaving, sonorous sculptures, wind chimes, feathered attire, really tall and thin structures/sculptures, jade carving, blanket weaving

Arcane: resin, stained glass, welding, intricate silver work, collaborative neon work with shadow (they need that special eye for glow in the dark), crystal carving, zen gardens, bonsai art, screen printing, photography, illuminated manuscripts, clothing and apparel, gold foil work, abstract art

Lightning: bronze cast sculptures, sand sculptures (when lightning strikes the sand and turns it to stone) aluminum casts poured into ant colonies/hills, pop art, up-cycled art, photography, art that is still capable of being utilized and interacted with because people and dragons are part of the medium, assemblage art, banners and flags

[kidstemplatte]

daisy chains

pairing: terzo/fem! reader | word count: 8.6k

summary: the story of how you and your childhood best friend, terzo, repaired a broken bond.

warnings: very very very vague and brief description of sex.

playlist if you're interested! message at the end as usual <3

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

Terzo Emeritus: Your best friend, first lover, and soon, worst enemy.

You and Terzo were both raised in the Clergy and as you frequently spent time together, you couldn’t help but be drawn to his personality. It was hard to ignore the goofy faces he’d flash at you during service, the outlandishly hilarious questions he had no hesitation to ask Papa Nihil no matter how many people were watching, the crumpled pieces of paper he’d toss at you with amateurish comments about the subject matter being preached at you, to which you’d add unflattering doodles of his father blabbering and toss it right back.

One day after mass, as you exited the large chamber, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Reacting to the sudden touch, you stopped in your tracks and turned around. There he stood, the funny boy who made your days a little more lively. He had messy jet-black hair, glowing olive skin, a cheeky smile, and most notably, a piercing left eye, its pitch-black center contrasting beautifully against his soft white pupils as well as his other green eye.

 “I’m Terzo.” He greeted you, a thick Italian accent adorning his voice as he held out his hand.

“I like your name.” You replied.

“I like yours too! Eh, what is it?” He asked.

You giggled, shaking his hand. “Y/N.”

“Y/N! Bellisima!” He beamed, blowing a kiss into the air. “I like your drawings, Y/N.”

“Thanks. I like your eyes.” You replied.

“Grazie! Hey, Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Can I show you something cool?” he asked, eagerly.

“Sure!” you chirped.

The boy bolted past the door and began sprinting down the hallway in the opposite direction of the crowd’s movement.

“Hey- wait for me!” You cried out, chasing after him, but struggling to keep up. As you ran further away from the clamor of the crowd, the sound of your rapid panting and footsteps echoed through the corridor. Finally reaching the end of the hallway, you continued following Terzo, who had just bolted out a pair of glass double doors.

“Terzo! Wait up-”

Woah.

You had never been out here before. It was breathtaking.

In front of you was a decadent garden. Rows of perfectly trimmed hedges and beautiful flowerbeds sprawled across the terrain, with ivy-covered arches overlooking them. The pathway carved into the ground was similar to that of an enchanted labyrinth, except exuding a sense of safety rather than fear. There was no getting lost in this garden, no matter how winding, the path always led you right back to where you started.

“This is Primo’s garden. Pretty, si?” flaunted Terzo. “Secondo says flowers are for girls. I don’t think that’s true.”

“I don’t think so either.” You agreed. “Who’s Secondo?”

“Mio fratello.”

“Your brother? Frowny-face?” You inquired, molding your facial expression into a bitter scowl.

“Ha! Si, Frowny-face.” He imitated your expression and then grinned. “Seguimi!” He gestured to you, waving his hand for you to follow him under the grand arch and into the garden.

“Your brother did all this?” You asked, astonished by the utopia in front of you.

“Si!”

“Oh, look at the roses!” you exclaimed, pointing at the bed of beautiful red flowers.

“Oh? You want?” He asked, stopping in his tracks and looking towards the roses.

“Is that allowed?” You cautioned.

“Eh, he doesn’t have to know…” He suggested impishly, tiptoeing towards the bed of roses.

Suddenly, like magic, the oldest Emeritus son appeared beside you.

“No no no no no no no, get out at once, mess with le margherite, not my fiore prezioso! Shoo!” he scolded, waving his hands so you would scatter.

You two dejectedly abided, following the perfectly paved path out of the garden. Pacing through the soft grass, you headed towards a patch of grass with an assemblage of daisies sprouting from it.

Primo was always complaining about those things; the daisies that never seemed to go away. He didn’t plant them there, they just appeared seemingly out of the blue. If he cut them down, they grew once more, with ten times the amount.  They would never die.

Terzo let out a “huff” as he plopped himself on the ground beside the flowers, muttering to himself what you presumed to be violent threats in Italian.

With care, you plucked one of the many flowers off the ground , holding it up and examining it closely. It was beautiful, the vibrant yellow center contrasting beautifully against the soft white petals as well as the soft green of the grass. You began collecting more from the ground, threading the stems together, to create a daisy chain. Some of the daisies were a little withered, missing a few petals. But you didn’t mind. It was a daisy chain, nonetheless.

Your daisy chain had soon become a daisy crown, as you pieced your first and last flower together.

“Pretty!” you announced, placing the crown atop his raven hair. 

“Me?” He asked.

“Yeah! Boys can like flowers and be pretty.”

“I guess that’s true.” He reckoned. “Can you teach me?”

“Yeah!”  You both sat in the grass, chatting and making daisy chains for what felt like hours until the sky turned a hazy orange and you were being called back inside by Primo.

“Terzo! Margherita! Cosa fai? È tardi! Come inside, I make brasato al barolo.” His voice bellowed through the air.

“Brasato al barolo?! Arrivo, Primo!” Terzo shouted in response.

“Bruhza- brasato?” You awkwardly pronounced.

“You’ve never had Brasato al Barolo?!” He gasped, mouth agape as if you had just revealed the world’s most profound secret.

“No.” You confessed.

“You’re eating with us tonight, Margherita!” Terzo declared, grabbing you by the hand and taking off towards the building.

Soon enough, you two had a tradition: sneaking off to make daisy chains in the outskirts of the garden. Those were simpler times you would soon yearn for. You two grew up with the daisies, sharing secrets, laughter, and precious memories, including your first kiss.

One day, you sat by the daisy patch, waiting for Terzo’s arrival. You sat in solitude, twirling the strands of grass in your fingers, wondering what was taking him so long. Your contemplation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of screaming and quick footsteps growing closer and closer. Terzo was sprinting towards you at full speed, then collapsed into the grass, breathing heavily.

“Y/N!” He shouted, despite being right next to you,

“What happened?! Are you okay?” You fretted, crouching on the ground beside him.

“I saw something disgusting!” He said, sitting up and now facing you.

“What?!”

“I saw Secondo kissing a girl!” He said, pointing to his mouth and letting out an exaggerated vomiting noise. “Bleaugh!”

“Ewww!” You shuddered. “Gross!”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

 “I have an idea.” Terzo prompted, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“What is it?” You responded.

 “Let’s try it,” he suggested, grinning wickedly.

“Kissing?” 

“Yeah! We’re nine now! Basically grown-ups.” Terzo reasoned.

“I thought it was gross?” You questioned, tilting your head to the side.

 “It’s gross because it’s Secondo. Wanna do it?”

“Sure.” you agreed.

“Ready?”

“Okay.” You agreed, squealing and shaking your hands to let all your nervous energy out.

“Three…” He started.

“Two…” You continued.

“One.” You chorused.

Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you two leaned in and pressed your lips together for about a millisecond.

Peck.

You two erupted into a storm of laughter, flailing about and rolling in the grass.  “Ew!!! Ew!!! Ew!!! Ew!!!” The both of you shrieked repeatedly through exuberant giggles, tears rolling down your cheeks. Recovering from your fit of laughter, you two opened your eyes and were faced with none other than Terzo’s brother, Secondo, hovering above you, his scowl as frightening as ever. He loomed over you, carrying a sense of impending doom with him, akin to the Grim Reaper.

“Terzo. Partire.” he commanded his brother. Ah, Secondo. Bearer of bad news, as always.

“Why?” Terzo retaliated, propping himself up so he was now sitting up straight.

“Hai il cotillion.” Secondo replied.

“Non mi interessa.” 

“Io dirò Papa.” He threatened.

Terzo threw himself back on the grass, shut his eyes, and let out a cartoonish snoring noise. You stifled a giggle.

“Io dirò Primo.” 

Terzo sighed, reluctantly standing up from his spot on the grass as you also stood up beside him. Secondo’s gaze shifted from his brother to you, eyeing you for a moment before snickering.

“Ha. Looks like she’s taller than you now. Good luck getting a girlfriend, fratellino.” He snorted.

Really, Secondo? He had to say that in English?

“I am?” You asked, looking to your side and finding out you were indeed taller than your best friend, the top of his head barely under your eye level. You initially wanted to jump for joy, tease, “Take that, Terzo!” But seeing the hurt look on his face immediately eliminated that desire.

“Secondo, that’s mean.” You scolded him.

“The truth hurts.” He quipped, turning around and storming off back towards the church.

“It’s okay Terzo, girls just mature faster than guys. Soon you’ll be the tallest one in the whole Clergy.” You reassured him.

“Whatever…  I have to go. See you, Margherita.” He waved, making a kissy face at you before letting out a hearty laugh.

You stuck your tongue out in return, then laughed as you waved goodbye to Terzo trampling through the grass, off to another boring cotillion lesson. The thought of someone as wild as Terzo participating in such formal activities humored you greatly. Doesn’t matter how old he got, he would never grow up.

°❀°

From then on out, the two of you spent your time with the daisies. You grew with them.

You got older and watched each other change as the years flew by. Terzo got taller. Maybe not as tall as he’d like to be, but still, taller. And very handsome. Everyone practically clawed at him, debilitatingly envious of the attention you received from him, although it was strictly platonic. One may think that all the mornings you were spotted leaving his room were due to some frisky activity the night before, but that was far from the truth. Unless frisky activity was watching horror movies, painting each other’s nails, and gossiping until you could hear the birds chirping, indicating it was probably time to go to bed.

The bond you two had was sacred. Your deepest darkest secrets were kept safe with each other, the things you wouldn’t dare to utter to anybody else. Together, you were wild and free, sneaking out into the latest hours of the night, coming back home drunken and dizzy, and soon having to hold each other’s hair back. You liked Terzo’s hair a little long, but you wouldn’t tell him that. You two fought each other’s battles, took each other’s stabs, cleaned each other’s wounds. You were a shoulder to cry on when Terzo displayed rare moments of vulnerability, and in return, he offered the same security to you, holding you while you cried over some stupid boy, or something much more serious. Nobody dared to mess with you, because that meant they were messing with Terzo. And that was a death wish.

You were best friends, and that’s all. From adolescence to adulthood.

The morning of your 18th birthday, you woke up to a firm knock on your door and a voice echoing through the hallway.

“Margherita!” You heard Terzo sing joyously.

“One- One second.” You grumbled, voice cracking as you awakened from your slumber. You groaned as you forced the soft duvet off your body, crawling out of the warm embrace of your bed. Not wanting Terzo to see you looking rusty, even though he had countless times before, you barely opened the door, peeking outside. He was already gone. What a weird boy. As you stepped aside, your foot brushed something on the floor.  Looking down, you caught sight of a piece of paper that was slipped under your door, one that was haphazardly torn out of a journal probably supposed to be used for taking notes. You chuckled to yourself.

Forgive me, I have some duties to attend to today. I’ll be back here at 7:00 to come pick you up for your birthday celebration. See you soon, Margherita.

-Terzo

Birthday celebration? You smiled, pondering what he would do for you. Terzo was many things, but predictable was not one of them.

You decided to get a little dressed up. It was your special day, after all. Rummaging through your closet, you settled on a nice floral sundress with a lace trim, as well as your favorite pair of shoes, which happened to match quite nicely. You spruced up your hair, tying a bow in the back with a pastel ribbon you were lucky enough to have found sitting in your drawer.

The day was pleasant. Your friends and siblings of sin showered you with love and attention, some even presenting you with gifts that made your heart beam with graciousness.

Just before Terzo was scheduled to arrive, you touched yourself up a bit, fixing your makeup and hair. You gave yourself a final look in the mirror before hearing a knock on the door at promptly 7:00 p.m.

Terzo looked very handsome, you must say. His raven hair was slicked back, a few strands falling out in just the right places. He was wearing a white dress shirt and black pants, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, which were placed behind his back.

“Wow, bellisima!” He beamed, pulling out a red rose from behind his back.

“Aw, thanks, Terzo.” You smiled, taking the rose and holding it to your chest.

“My beautiful best friend all dolled up. Give me a twirl!” He exclaimed, taking you by the hand and spinning you around before you even had the chance to agree.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.” He said, just as he caught you at the end of your twirl.

“Thanks, Terzo.” You replied, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks. “You look nice too.”

“Grazie! Shall we go?” He asked, holding out his hand.

“Where?” You questioned while taking his hand in yours.

“You’ll find out!” announced Terzo, before taking off.

You two embarked on your typical route to your daisy bush. But after passing through the glass doors, to your surprise, he turned in the opposite direction of the daisies. He dragged you towards the garden you were still forbidden from entering after all these years, Primo still wary of his brother’s antics.

“Wait- are we allowed to be in here?” you asked. “Si. We aren’t kids anymore. I was granted permission. Look how mature I am now!”

 “Sure.” You laughed.

 It was just as beautiful as you remembered, maybe even more beautiful. Not quite as big, but that’s what happens when you grow up, you presumed.

He led you to an area beside a large oak tree, its leaves providing the perfect amount of shade. A large blanket was spread across the grass, and placed in the middle was a basket containing some desserts, drinks, and a few small gifts.

“Aw, Terzo, this is so sweet.” You expressed, placing a hand over your heart at his thoughtful gesture.

“It’s what you deserve.” He replied. “A beautiful setup for a beautiful girl, no?”

“Stop it.” You blushed.

You two took a seat on the quilt, taking a moment of silence to soak in the scenery.

“It’s so weird finally being back in here.” You said fondly. You know, I’m still a little bit upset Primo banned me from coming inside too. I didn’t even take anything!”

“Si, but Primo had a hunch.”

“Huh?”

“That wherever you go I would follow.”

“Did he really say that?”

“Si.” He nodded.

As the night grew darker, a soft breeze began to pick up, and goosebumps began to graze the surface of your skin.

Terzo noticed you tucking your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them to warm yourself up.

“Are you cold?” asked Terzo, a concerned tone in his voice.

“Kind of, but I’m fine.” You reassured him, although your body language screamed otherwise. In response, Terzo wrapped his arms around you as you rested your head against him, snuggling into his warmth. You loved this. You loved his scent, his touch, his presence; it kept you grounded, kept you human.

“Terzo?” You uttered, your head still leaning against him.

“Si?”

“You’re my favorite person in the world.”

“And you are mine.”

You don’t know how it happened. Terzo pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, something he had done before. Looking up from where you had nestled your head, you two met eyes, but it was different this time; your heartbeat came to a sudden halt. The twinkle in his white eye was brighter than it ever had been, and you longed to get closer to it. Closer to him. You were completely engulfed in your entrancement with your best friend. The spark in his eyes had become a newly born flame, and you felt your heart’s wings flutter like a moth fleeting towards light.

“Pretty.” he uttered, voice barely audible.

“Pretty?”

“You. You are pretty.” He reiterated, not breaking eye contact.

Nothing was to be heard except the soft hum of the cicadas and the stream rustling in the distance.

“I don’t know,” you responded, looking away shyly.

“I do.” He said, placing his hand on the side of your face, as he began grazing his thumb across your cheek.

His gaze moved from your eyes to your lips, and back up once again. The arm that was still wrapped around you was drawing you in closer, as an unspoken heat began to arise between the two of you.

Terzo placed his lips on yours in a gentle kiss, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

This felt right. This felt good.

You looked Terzo in the eyes, face flushed, before you eagerly dove back in, lips crashing against each other as you explored each other’s mouths, establishing a steady rhythm. Your hands traveled around his body, pulling him closer as you two kissed in the moonlight, giving you an ethereal glow.

One thing led to another, and things became more heated; hands tugging at hair, teeth nipping at necks, bodies melting into each other’s touch.

“I want you.” Terzo whispered against your neck in between kisses and bites.

“I want you too.” You mouthed. “Please.”

He showed you everything that night, feelings you didn’t even know were possible, and explored parts of you that nobody else had before.

You remember the rhythm of him so vividly you could make music out of it, each breath, moan, whisper, and word that escaped his mouth. He made you feel beautiful for the first time in your entire life, even when you were in your most vulnerable state, lying exposed under him.

“You’re beautiful.” He reassured you when you felt the urge to hide yourself from him. “So beautiful.”

Fear became arousal, any minimal pain becoming pleasure, as a friendship became something more. You fit together perfectly. You were made for each other. And after you two both reached the heights of pleasure, Terzo collapsed beside you, rolling over so you were face-to-face.

“I love you, Terzo,” You panted, hazy in your state of afterglow.

“I love you too.” He replied, pulling you into his chest and pressing a kiss on your forehead. “La mia Margherita.”

You woke up in your own bed the next morning, eyes darting around the room after noticing Terzo’s absence. It wasn’t too odd for him to have left bed before you, he typically had to leave your sleepovers early in the morning to fulfill his tasks. You decided after getting ready to check if he was in the office he was newly granted. Yesterday was a big night, after all.

You knocked on his office door before inviting yourself inside.

“Terzo!” you grabbed his attention, shutting the large door behind you. What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping towards his desk.

He looked upset, his posture tense as he sat in his desk chair, hand resting on his forehead as his brow furrowed deeply.

“Hi, Y/N. Take a seat.” He addressed you, gesturing to the seat on the other side of the ornate desk.

“Are we in a meeting?” You asked, laughing as you took a seat in the chair.

“Y/N.” he started, his voice cold as he looked up at you.

“Yes?” you replied, anxious regarding his suddenly harsh tone.

“I apologize about last night.”

“How come?”

 “I let my impulses take over.”

“No, Terzo, it was good! You didn’t hurt me at all! It’s okay.” You sweetly reassured him.

“It’s not that. It’s just… I shouldn’t have given in.”

You recoiled at his statement. Why was he speaking of you as if you were a sin? What were you, some temptation? Had he forgotten what church we were in?

“Given in?” You questioned, voice weakening. “What does that mean?” 

“It was unprofessional.”

 “Unprofessional? I’m not your colleague, Terzo, what are you talking about?’

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I need some distance moving forward.

“Distance? What do you mean? Why aren’t you answering my questions?”

 “Y/N, I said, it is just… not a good time.”

“We have all the time in the world. We can make time, Terzo! Please!” You pathetically pleaded, a familiar ache welling up in your throat and chest. “Did… did last night mean nothing to you?” Tears began pouring down your face. “Have the last 11 years meant nothing too?”

“I never said that.”

 “So what you’re telling me is that you were just horny and thought it would be hot to 'rid me of my innocence’ or some shit like that? Whatever perverted fantasy guys like you have? Well, congrats, Terzo. You did it. You’re a real savior.”

“I just, I cannot have you as my lover.” He stated.

“Why not? We did something… I did something I was so afraid of because I trusted you. Do you know how hard that was for me? Do you want me, or do you not?” You cried, voice breaking.

“It is not a good idea for me to have a lover.” repeated Terzo, his voice monotonous, like he was programmed to say so.

“What are you even saying? Was I not… good?” You cried out in desperation, cringing at your own words.

“I have a role to fulfill. I need to focus on my future.” 

“Am I not a part of your future, Terzo?” You wept.

Terzo did not reply. He looked away from you, his expression cold and empty. Like a moth to a flame, he burned you. Plucked the petals off of you and watched them float into a roaring, relentless fire, the smooth white edges withering into a lifeless dust.

“What the fuck happened to you?” You cried, desperate for some sort of reaction from him, good or bad.

Stabbed by his betrayal and sudden distance, you stood up and slammed the chair into the desk, resulting in a shrill creaking noise and a rough slam that made your ears hurt.

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Terzo. Fuck you. I hope you fail just like Nihil told you you would. I can’t wait to see it happen. Fuck you.” 

You stormed out of the room, shutting the door with such force that you could hear the contents of the room rattle as you sped down the hall.

Slamming the door to your room, you threw yourself onto your bed, putting your face into your pillow as a gut-wrenching wail left your throat. For hours, you bawled, letting out broken sobs so deep from within your body someone nearby might think you were dying. Your face was drenched in your snot and tears, the pillow stifling your breathing, making your gasps heavier and more painful. You clenched your hands into fists so tight they trembled, punching the mattress over and over again, wishing it was a person who could cry back, who could feel even a glimpse of the pain you were experiencing. You were furious. Filled with pure, seething rage. Not only with Terzo, but yourself. How could you give up your body to someone like that? So foolishly? How idiotic could you be to think a playboy like Terzo would view you any differently than anyone else? You would never get your body back. It was Terzo’s now. His last memories of you were ones you wish you could erase from his mind, ones of you writhing in pleasure, and ones of you bursting with anger. You wanted to break everything in sight. You wanted revenge, and you would get it. You knew just how.

The process of becoming a preacher in the clergy was notorious for being tedious and lengthy, even for an Emeritus son. A series of tests as well as several essays, presentations, and duties were required. The final obligation to achieve promotion was to present a journal assembled over time, documenting the studies and embarkments accomplished over the past few years.

His examination day was tomorrow.

It was a good thing you knew where Terzo kept his things.

You remember walking past Nihil’s office the next day, stopping in your tracks when you were bombarded by the sound of furious yelling so loud it might shatter glass.

“You are worthless. Worthless. Is this what you have to bring to the Emeritus name? Nothing? How foolish I was to think you would ever live up to the task. To any task. You are an embarrassment.”    

Oh, no.

You wanted to take it back. Dive into the lake where you had thrown the locked leather journal and give it back. Maybe drown in the process.

You placed your trembling hand over your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes as you began to comprehend what you had just done to your best friend, who no doubt knew you were behind its disappearance.

Soon, the door swung open, startling you nearly as much as your presence startled Terzo.

“Terzo, I… I’m sorry-“

He paid no mind to your apology, striding right past you, your shoulders brushing as he flew by.

He had ruined your chances at love, and you, his chances of success. Now, both of your chances at friendship were ruined as well.

How could he forgive you?

°❀°

The daisies were far overgrown.

It had been 5 years. 5 years since his betrayal and yours. 5 years of watching him prance around the abbey with people he probably didn’t even know the names of, with wit and character not even measuring up to half of yours. He had changed since your separation; sure, he had always had flings, but now he was just a full-on fuckboy.

Nobody in the Clergy dared to mention your falling out, surely it had to be a sensitive topic; you two were practically glued to each other’s sides, and suddenly couldn’t stand to be in the same room as each other.

Whispers spread about the church like wildfire, rumors which concocted possible explanations for your separation:

“I heard she cheated on him.”

“Apparently she was bad in bed.”

“I heard she was a psycho bitch.”

“He deserves better.”

Each time you ran into each other led to a sense of unpleasantness in the air and painfully awkward, sometimes heated exchanges; a notable example being when he dared to show up to your 21st birthday party.

The lights were dimmed, casting everyone in a shadowy glow, your intoxication causing the figures in the room to blur together. However, through the disorientation, you could still make out Terzo’s face in the crowd.

The alcohol had ignited a newfound courage inside of you, as you pushed your way through the swarm of people and stood face to face with him.

“Why are you here?” you growled.

“I was minding my own business.”

“Minding your own business at my party? If you’re here to be a whore, do it some other night. I know it’s all you’re good for, so it may be a little difficult, but fuck off, please.” You fumed.

“Whore?” He scoffed. “Should I repeat the things you were saying to me exactly three years ago on this very day?”

“Wow, Terzo, I’m impressed. I didn’t know someone as stupid as you would be able to do the math.” You snarked bitterly.

“Stupid? I taught you everything, Y/N. So some other poor man wouldn’t have to struggle to get it up while he did all the work.” He quipped.

“You sure didn’t struggle.” You retorted, the grip on your glass tightening.

“Then again, when have you ever had any respect for people’s work?” His stare suddenly darkened, sending a shiver down your spine, even in the heat of the crowd. “Oh, it’s okay, dolcezza. One day someone will give you the fairytale you desire, you’ll be a sad little housewife who will never lift a finger unless it’s for her own pleasure since her husband can’t get the job done.”

It was like someone took over your body. You were a puppet, your intoxicated rage pulling you by the strings, launching your arm forward, and drenching the man in front of you in red wine.

He didn’t even flinch. Not even did he blink. Instead, he stared down at you with a wicked smirk, licking the splattered wine off of his lips, before flashing his teeth in a smug grin. That evil, sexy bastard.

Now you were the crazy one. You were the one who attacked first, while Terzo stood as comfortably as ever. You wished he fought back, taking the empty glass in your hand and smashing it against your head, drenching yourself in the same dark red he was tainted with. You didn’t even bother to say goodbye to anyone, wiping tears from your eyes as you left the masses of the party to celebrate your existence without you.

°❀°

Nearly a year had passed after your confrontation with Terzo, and you two had not spoken since then.

It was a typical Saturday sermon, you and your siblings sitting in neat rows, awaiting the arrival of Papa Nihil. As time passed by, chatter began to arise; where was Papa?   

The noise came to a sudden halt whenever the chamber doors swung open as Papa Nihil entered, followed by his third son. Stepping behind the pulpit, Papa cleared his throat.

“Today is a blessed day.” He began, capturing the attention of the room. “Today is a blessed day because it is proof that our devotion to the Dark Lord can overcome any obstacles. That his darkness can push us to new heights that far surpass the heavens.” His voice echoed through the silence of the room. “I am pleased to announce that today’s sermon will be delivered by our newest preacher, my son, Terzo.” the man announced.

He did it. 

He started all over again, from scratch, and managed to get it done. You were shocked, even though you shouldn’t have been- you knew he had it in him. He was going to be Papa one day, you knew, so why was his sudden shift in power hurting you so much? Why were you still angry over something that happened four years ago? It felt like he had won a game you didn’t even know you were playing. You had been tearing yourself apart from the inside out over what you had done, spoiling his first chance at success, telling yourself you wanted him to succeed even without you, but deep down, you were still bitter. Bitter seeing him so high and mighty after what he did to you.

Or was it because as he elevated higher and higher, he was still drifting further from you?

Terzo stood before the pulpit, head held high as he recited a prayer. “Ad impiam Dominum, Salvatorem nostrum, oro, tenebrae tuae valeant tangere corda eorum qui in hoc conclavi hoc serviunt. Ut nos ad studium libertatis, cognitionis ac voluptatis, dirigas. Nema.”

“Nema.” You whispered as the rest of the clergy echoed his prayer.

“I will leave this to you. I trust the Clergy is in good hands.” Nihil stated, exiting the room at a senile pace.

“Ciao, my Siblings of Sin. I figured today I would start with something fresh, something a little more… youthful.” He began, evoking laughter from his audience. Already off to a good start. “Today I would like to- actually- love to examine something found in every one of you … lust. Now in this church, we are no strangers to sin of any kind, but this one… We relish it. We are not ashamed of it. It is the reason we are all here, to begin with. What creates life. But what if I told you that lust is not only what brings us into this world… but what keeps us here as well? It is not only heated nights and bodies intertwined, it is something… greater.”

You couldn’t listen to this. You couldn’t. It was too much, even after all these years. As you slowly felt yourself begin to disconnect from reality in a state of dissociation, a ringing began to build in your ears, like your body was trying to protect you from whatever he was saying. You mindlessly stared at the floor as he continued preaching, and in the blink of an eye, an hour had passed, as Terzo made his final statement.

“It is lust that keeps us alive. Thank you, siblings.”

The church burst into applause, clearly moved by his words. But it made you angry. This wasn’t a performance act, this was service, but he had the Clergy wrapped around his finger with his captivating presence. But, at the same time, could you be mad at him for a job well done? You were the bitter one, holding onto your past as you desperately pumped air into its cold, dead lungs, trying to bring it back to life and rekindle a flame that was long gone.

As you were about to exit the room with your siblings of sin, you had the urge to say something on your way out. You reached the front of the room, Terzo standing just feet away at the pedestal, your mind rapidly firing through things you could say to him.  Say sorry. Tell him he did well. Flip him off. Grab him by the hair and throw him into the wall. Or… grab him by the hair, pull him in close, and- Ugh. And just as you passed him, you built up the courage to give him one brief message.

“Congratulations.” You quietly uttered, not even making eye contact, before following your siblings of sin out of the room.

Terzo continued to exhibit talent and passion through his sermons over the next year. He was a gifted speaker; he had no trouble capturing the attention of the crowd. You actively fought against his charm, attempting to train yourself to tune out Terzo’s preaching. It was hard to pay attention to the subject matter at hand whenever his voice brought back memories of the laughter, whispers, and conversations you shared throughout your childhood. Unfortunately, due to the overwhelmingly positive reactions he received from the siblings, he was preaching quite a lot, every Saturday at that. You stayed in the shadows during group discussions, your voice silent, your passion for the Dark Lord not alive as it once was. Eventually, you started skipping sermons on Saturdays altogether. Missing your own God hurt less than missing your best friend.

You knew you should be over it, it was foolish and immature to hold onto your past conflicts, which happened years ago at this point. But you hated him. Or, at least, you hated seeing him. The power had gotten to his head, there was no doubt. His ego had never been higher.  You couldn’t stand seeing him stride around the Abbey looking so satisfied with himself, arm wrapped around the nearest person as he ushered them to his bedroom.

And no matter how hard you tried to drown it out, his words still echoed in your mind.

“It is lust that keeps us alive.”

°❀°

One Saturday, when you had planned to study in the library, word spread that everyone was to attend service that day. You would rather do anything but go, but you couldn’t disobey the direct orders given to you. You took a seat in the back of the room as usual, bracing yourself to hear Terzo’s voice. As the siblings waited for the arrival of their speaker, you fidgeted with your habit, staring at the ground as you anxiously pondered what message was so important for everybody to be summoned. You heard footsteps pacing towards the pulpit, a sigh, and then a voice addressing the Clergy. But to your surprise, it was not Terzo’s voice, rather than that belonging to his brother, Primo. Primo stood at the head of the room, his facial expression solemn, and cleared his throat.

“Siblings of Sin,” He began. Something was wrong.

“We are a family here. We have come together as a group of outcasts, free thinkers, and rebellious souls. We have found comfort and safety in each other, and will continue to do so throughout all phases of life.” He stated, his grim tone leaving the siblings on the edge of their seats.

“And death.”

Your heart dropped. No, there was no way.

If you’re here to be a whore, do it some other night. I know it’s all you’re good for-

Someone as stupid as you-

Fuck you. Fuck you, Terzo. Fuck you. I hope you fail just like Nihil told you you would. I can’t wait to see it happen. Fuck you.

Every hateful thing you had ever said to Terzo began replaying in your mind at a debilitating pace. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way. You sat in the back of the chamber, trying not to hyperventilate as the world caved in around you. It felt as if your heart had sunken into the ground beneath you, and you wished you would sink with it. That it was you instead of Terzo. You began to spiral so deeply you swore the room began to as well, your surroundings blurring together as the walls began to spin, and-

“We will never forget Papa Nihil and his impact.”

The spinning stopped. You could finally breathe. The tears streaming down your face became tears of joy as you experienced a relief so enlightening you felt like you could float. It was horrible, that the news of someone’s death brought you relief, but you were infinitely grateful that the someone wasn’t Terzo. But why wasn’t Terzo here?

It didn’t matter. He was somewhere. And you had to find him.

You stood up, excusing yourself from the service as you burst out the door and sprinted down the hallway. The adrenaline you faced was still coursing through your veins and fueled your every step. Your body, driven by autopilot, knew where it was taking you before your mind even did. You ran down the hall and out of the two glass doors, nearly tripping down the staircase as you entered the large field. A patch of daisies stood in the distance, and beside it, a figure hunched over, sitting on the ground. Terzo.

You ran faster than you ever had in your entire life, nearly crashing into the grass as you knelt beside him.

“Terzo!” you panted. He did not respond, focusing on something in his hands. You looked down and noticed a few daisies were set before him, two in his hands as he tied them together. “I’m not here to start a fight, Terzo.” His silence combined with your shrill voice made you feel like the preacher here. “Terzo, please just talk to me, I- I thought you died, Terzo.” you expressed, voice cracking.

“What?” He responded, his head snapping up.

“I thought you died.” You hysterically repeated. “I thought you were gone. When they, they told us about Nihil—before they said who it was- I- I thought it was you.” You wept. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him so tightly he might burst, his body initially stiffening up, but soon melting into your embrace. You had seen him and heard him throughout the past five years, but you hadn’t felt him in far too long. How you missed him. His scent, his warm body pressed against yours. The soft rise and fall of his chest. You pulled away, soaking in the eye contact you had craved for so long. “I was so scared. I was so scared. It was like… The world stopped. And I just… I regretted everything. I felt what it was like to lose you. Again. For those few seconds. I wanted nothing else more than to have you back. And I do. I want you back. I’m… Why am I always the one crying? I just, I want you back.” You wept violently. “I miss you, I miss you so bad. I want my best friend back. I know you’ve moved on but it hurts to hold this in. I miss you so bad, I masked it behind hate, but I want you back so badly.”

“… I miss you too, Y/N.” replied Terzo, quietly.

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t even share my condolences- I’m sorry about Nihil. Is that why you skipped service today?” you asked, momentarily hesitating before resting a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s fine. He’ll come back to haunt me, if not literally, figuratively. And no, I am not the one skipping service. I haven’t had my Saturday spot in months now, I switched to the late-night sessions on Fridays.”

“Why did they move you?”

“They didn’t. I chose it. I thought maybe you would come to that one.” He confessed.

“You… you  noticed I was gone?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then… why didn’t you just come talk to me?” you asked.

“I thought, why would you want to talk to me after what I did to you?”

“If you know it was so wrong, then why did you do it, Terzo?” you snapped.

Terzo did not respond, and instead, stared at the flowers in his hands.

“Don’t go silent on me again. Please. I remember exactly what you said five years ago, Terzo. You told me, ‘It is not a good idea for me to have a lover.’ And then you go off to fuck however many siblings of sin, and won’t even look me in the eyes? I don’t care how long ago it was, Terzo, it still hurts just as bad as it did the day you told me to take a seat across from you. Every time I think of what happened in the garden, I… It hurts. I felt disgusting, Terzo. I felt so guilty. I still do. I wanted to scrub my body clean of you after you left me, I wanted you out of my body and mind.  But you never left. I wanted so badly not to want you after what happened. But I still did. You broke my trust, Terzo. You broke my heart. And seeing you walk around the Abbey all high and mighty, so happy, at your peak, without me, it’s destroying me. ”

“Y/N. I haven’t had a single lover since the day I left you. All those quick fucks- they weren’t lovers. Those people were the impulses I let take over. Not you. You were more than that. I am far from my peak. I am at my lowest. The only thing that kept me alive was you, Y/N. Lust was the second-best thing. I’m sorry, Y/N. I am so sorry.” He apologized, looking up at you, his eyes full of remorse.

“Then why did you ghost me? Why, Terzo, if it was so hard, why did you-”

“It wasn’t my choice, Y/N,” He interjected.

“What do you mean, it wasn’t your choice?” You sniffled, rubbing tears from your eyes.

“It was my father, Y/N. My father- Nihil told me I couldn’t be around you anymore. He knew we were more than a stupid fling, that’s why he stopped it. He considered a relationship that was as committed as ours, platonic or romantic,  more of a distraction from my duties than worthless hookups would be. And then, after I had nothing to present to him, he thought it proved his point. That you weren’t good for me, you distracted me from my goals. It only worsened his disapproval. I should’ve stood up to him. I should have explained otherwise. But I was afraid.”

“Terzo, I… It did prove his point. I ruined your chance. I’m the reason you had to wait to become a preacher.” You lamented, guilt riddling your heart.

“It is true, you took the journal. It hurt. That you intended to do such a thing, soil my progress. But you didn’t ruin anything for me. I ruined it for myself.  I wasn’t ready for that responsibility at all. There was nothing in the journal to begin with, Y/N.” He revealed.

“What?”

“I did nothing. I had nothing to present.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, Y/N. There was nothing.” he restated.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew I hurt you so deeply. I didn’t want to hurt you again.I thought you wouldn’t want to be around me ever again. I was afraid of my father’s reaction. And now, I don’t have to be afraid.”

Both of you were so blinded by your stubbornness, unwillingness to communicate, and fear of rekindling a flame you thought was long gone, that you did not realize you both longed for the same thing: each other.

“I can’t pretend this is just a friendship, Terzo. Or that it ever was. I know it was one night, but I… it’s not just that.”

“It was never just one night,” he responded.  

“Could we… would you ever want to try again, Terzo?” you asked, fearfully preparing yourself for rejection.

“I want that more than anything.” Silence spread through the air once again. But this one was a comfortable silence, one that allowed you to bathe in each other’s presence. One that allowed you to be grateful for the each other and nothing else. You looked down at the flowers placed in front of him.

“Sometimes when I am stressed, I do what you taught me. Make daisy chains.” He explained. “It feels like you’re with me.”

Your heart melted at the sentiment of the action, as he tied the final two flowers together.

“Well, I’m with you now. And I’m not going anywhere.” you professed.

Terzo tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and placed the crown on top of your head.

“And neither am I.” He said, kissing the top of your head before pulling you into another hug, one less frantic than the one before, but still just as needed. The feeling of his heart beating against yours breathed new air into your lungs, brought you back to life, his arms wrapped around you providing you a familiar sense of safety you had been deprived of for years now.

“My best friend. My soulmate. La mia Margherita.”

°❀°

As you rolled over in bed, you found yourself face to face with your lover, his appearance still blissfully remnant of his slumber; heavy eyes and perfectly messy hair.

“Happy birthday, Margherita.” he rasped, a soft smile grazing his lips.

You two began getting ready for the day, side-by-side in the bathroom mirror, as you always did.

“Shit. I’m out of paint.” He cursed, after opening the container and seeing the contents were empty.

You rummaged through your makeup bag and handed him a tube of eyeliner, saving the day.

“Ah, grazie. What would I do without you?” He asked, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“I’m not sure.” You teased. For a moment, you just stared at him in the mirror, admiring his features as he applied his eye makeup. “Hard to believe you’re a Cardinal.” You broke the silence.

“You thought I couldn’t do it?” He played with you, gently jabbing you in the side with his elbow.

“Oh, no, it's just- it feels like yesterday you were giving your first sermon as a preacher.” You recalled. “It is lust that keeps us alive.”

“You still remember?” He asked, smiling fondly.

“Of course I do.”

“I won’t let you forget, my lust may continue into my afterlife as well.”

“You’re gonna be a horny ghost?” You laughed.

“Si.” He confirmed, evoking more laughter out of you. “Merda. I have a meeting at 12. What time is it?” He asked, frantically looking around for a clock.

“You’re a mess. Good thing that’s why I love you.” You chuckled, entering your bedroom to check the time. “It’s 11:55.”

“Merda! Okay, I have to go now. I’ll be back here at around 12. Have fun with your sisters.”

“See you, Terzo.” You said, kissing him on the cheek before he bolted out of the room.

Later that day, after a nice brunch with your sisters, you and Terzo sat on a stone bench in the garden, admiring the surrounding scenery. You discovered something new about it each time you visited- Primo’s attention to detail never ceased to impress you.

“So, about what I said earlier…” He began.

“About being a horny ghost? Terzo, we aren’t doing anything in here.” You bantered.

“You’re right. It is too bright outside. Unless you suggest otherwise. Ah, I joke. But what I was going to say is…” He took a deep breath in. “How much of my first sermon do you remember?”

“Um, honestly, not a lot… My head wasn’t in the right place,” you admitted.

“I assumed. But there is something I said that day that I would like to tell you now if that’s okay.”

You nodded.

“I have learned a lot about lust. And, while a lot of it is, well, a hands-on experience, I could say- the most important thing I have learned about it is something I learned in contemplation, by myself.”

“What is it?”

“That lust is not only heated nights and bodies intertwined, it is something… greater. But what I did not say was that- that something greater is you, Y/N. We are taught lust is longing, a desire so deep that we cannot live without it… Something innate inside of us… You are the only thing that ignites that inside of me. The only thing that has ever been innate to me, ever. There is nothing else I long for more than you.” confessed Terzo, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. Your jaw dropped when he opened it, revealing a dazzling gold ring that glimmered in the sunlight, the band embedded with gems, and in the center, a sparkling diamond surrounded by engravements resembling petals.

A daisy ring.

“Y/N… Will you marry me?”

The winding path had led you right back to where you began, a love so pure and treasured it could never fade.

 Terzo Emeritus, your best friend, former enemy, your first and last lover.

 The tears forming in your eyes made them glimmer as brightly as the ring itself, as you replied,

“Yes.”

Terzo slipped the ring onto your finger, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before wrapping you in his embrace. And as you were mid-embrace with your fiancée, you opened your eyes, and in the distance, spotted a few daisies daring to sprout beside the garden gates.

Primo was right. Those things would never die.

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

o m g.

please forgive me, i always get all sappy at the end of my posts even though it's stupid haha. this is the longest i've ever consistently worked on a fic, and the longest one i've written. this was a wild wild ride let me tell you. i actually had to shut my laptop at one point cause i started tearing up, i know the story is nothing revolutionary, but i’m emotional haha. also… i HIGHLY recommend the playlist. i’m biased but i am in love with this playlist haha. there are a lot of hidden details and concepts in this fic i kind of geek out over. if you’re interested in an analysis post, lmk! or if you’re not, well i might make one anyway haha i’m annoying lmao

thank you endlessly for reading, as always.

/) /) ( . . ) ♡i love you! ( づ🌷

-alice

📎 check out my masterlist!

✉️ requests are always open!

[gatheringbones]

[“The reason I have begun to shy away from the Divine Feminine and the Sacred Masculine is their unfortunate identification with gender and, more importantly, their overidentification with humans and their myopic classifications generally.

Animacy is plushier. Springier. More mosslike. It seems a soft spot to rest on while I try to understand and explain how very sentient the world is to me these days. I am attracted to the constellations of meaning that sparkle like distant stars inside the word anima: breath, spirit, soul. And animate: to give vigor or life, to ensoul. I enjoy the animal itself, furred, horned, hoofed, clawed, scaled, and indeterminate, that bucks and bays and howls inside the word. I enjoy how philosophers try to clip it grammatically, like a twitchy nerve, and it keeps flinching away. It is a term I think most closely related to the original meaning of the word spell: the performative utterance. To summon magic. To myth. To story. To make happen.

Animacy is the degree to which the referent of a noun is sentient. It is the “soul” that invigorates syntax with something very much beyond language. Ultimately, I am a poet, and my choices often originate from a darker soil than common sense. Animacy, to my poet self, seems the “everything” of my actual lived ecosystem. The bright-blue darning needles weaving through thimbleweed and clover. The vultures wheeling through a hazy sky. The microbes in my gut, keeping me alive and nourished. The mycelium below my feet, holding the soil together.

The opposite of anthropocentrism is not any Divine Gender. The opposite of anthropocentrism is Everything. And what a tender beautiful thing it is to walk outside on a bright spring morning. Swathes of clementine light wash the pollen from the bricks of a nearby building. The robin’s song is like the key turning in a lock. A handful of doves float down from the red-green cloud of a newly foliated maple tree. What a relief to realize that, unlike Adam and Eve, we haven’t been severed from the Garden. The Everything still includes us. The Everything is us, but it needs something in return. It needs us to melt our ideas of sentience as a purely human property. Or as a purely animal property. Or as a purely individual property. Relationships are sentient. Anima is the inhalation, carrying molecules and spores and pheromones into our bodies from the landscape. And then we exhale, sharing cells that have clung to our deepest cells, slept inside the pith of our blood. With every exhalation we decant ourselves back into the world.

How could we be one, or two, or three? We are more gerund than cold, hard noun. More animacy than strictly animal. We ensoul the world and are ensouled in return. Our myths about individuation and linearity no longer hold all the trouble. And all the love. We need to stop sticking out our two hands like it proves everything comes in oppositional dualisms. How many hands does the tree have? The peony? The pileated woodpecker? How many hands is the mycelium using to crochet intimacy from plant to tree to plant through the soil?

Divine Feminine just isn’t big enough for all the relationships holding and constituting me these days. She thins my language into a one-toone relationship. Even if she includes saints and “mother earth” and all women, it’s easy to slip into the language of the singular. One mother. One relationship. One sacred gender expression. One temporality. One thinking animal. One species. I’m not throwing her out, the Divine Feminine. I’m throwing her in. Melting her down. Mixing her into the messier, polytemporal animacy of everything I touch, change, and become.

The animate earth is a verb. An assemblage of verbs. A mycorrhizal system sewing together a whole forest. A shared breath. A midsummer celebration where everyone is invited.”]

Sophie Strand, from The Flowering Wand: Rewilding the Sacred Masculine

[monikahmakes]

Recent WIP photo dump, part one of several.

May was for gardening, June was for family and events, but July is for me, and I'm already starting strong. Working on assemblage and 3d forms, thinking about shrines and precious objects and the forest floor and the cycle of disintegration and reconstruction and metamorphosis by which the past builds the future. Building platforms and supports and altars to uphold and combine and revere tiny, precious, fascinating things.

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

"You must learn to tease apart the hues of your own heart." —Parables of the Allspring.

Hey all! I'm a Warlock main named Matt and I've been posting my scattershot Destiny musings, ramblings, and theories since Lightfall's release. In that time, I've really enjoyed exploring the mysteries of the lore and honing my thoughts on Destiny's story through various posting styles. Particularly, I've loved exploring topics like the nature of the Darkness and the Veil, and their place in the story, as well as the generally rhyming, looping, spiraling structure of the game's narrative. I also love Eris, Drifter, Savathûn, and Osiris!

Sometimes I get a little all over, especially in those early posts, with big leaps and a lot of my own writing connecting the dots in an attempt to see a bit into the future. You'll have to pardon some of them, as I'm sure a few have aged pretty poorly or are just straight up bad. But as we've gone through the seasons and learned more, I've tried a sort of variation on web-weaving and assemblage by using lore entries, images, video, and sometimes song lyrics and poetry in a particular order and context to evoke specific moods or convey big, hard to articulate ideas and speculation. Sometimes, I just explore a theme or specific lore nook that fascinates me. It's a weird little practice in meaning-making I really like and the process has helped me unearth possible connections between things I've never considered in my many years following the lore.

As we move through The Final Shape, I wanted to finally compile a list of links to all my posts. Pardon the amount of repetition and, probably, off-the-wall speculation, but I hope you find something interesting if you decide to check them out! Also, keep an eye out for links. Sometimes it's simply the source text on Ishtar, other times.... something more. Please keep in mind that all these are products of the moment in time they were posted in, so topics I explored in early ones may have questions answered in the seasons since, or theories may have been proven unequivocally wrong. The list will largely go from earliest to most recent, and I'll put a * next to my favorites!

The Veil, Nezarec, and Jakob Bohme

Seeing the murals above the Veil enclosure

EMBRACE THE DARKNESS

Thank You, Verse 154i:4 - Call the Thrall

MCXLLII-I, forthcoming.

The EDZ saw paracausal conflict long before the Collapse

Pattern is system and system is sequence, but what is sequence?

Forsaken Lightfall

Deterministic Chaos

Eight

SALVAGE THE TRUTH

Aren't they beautiful?

"What is this feeling? I do not want it."

"They desired meaning. A Winnower to shape the garden."*

"How many legends of katabasis do we have, Ikora?"*

The Sundial

The Dreaming Cities

Not Light, not Dark: Power.*

Chiasmus*

Conspiracy Theory-D

The Truth in the Darkness...

Have you ever been afraid of your own Shadow?*

[I could be wrong. Is it possible the Black Heart will beat again?]*

©0RrUptIôN.*

Prismatic Hearts*

"We are unique emanations of the same shared Light."

Kugelblitz

Final attempts to understand before the Shape is unveiled*

[The following posts contain entries, imagery, and spoilers for the Final Shape and Echoes]

Paradrome

Speaker's Sight — Study the voice. Gaze into the heart.

"Focus. The Pyramid distracts. Nothing more."

It all means one thing

DECRYPTION KEY: 3136664202-777

Ruinous Effigy

There is only SUFFERING

SPOILER ALERT

Hope for the Future

It's not over

Echoing

Echoes of Deep Hidden Truth

Solipsism

Anima Mundi

Caught up in a web

II. Theory**

Gardener|ɿɘwonniW**

Cipher**

Eclipse**

"What is 'OXA,' and who was 'MSund12'?"

I know you're not afraid of a little dark...

How do I live?

Half-Truths**

!lettinggo*

Abyssus abyssum invocat***

THE POINT***

Eyes up, Guardian

"The road ahead is unknown, but time tells us many things. The moments that become past in turn become blueprints for the future. In this space, there is no right or wrong. "We find a contemporaneous merging of what is known and what is unknown here. Somewhere between the knowns and unknowns lies the real. The tangible. "There is a weight to it; a feeling that tells you what you hold is true. "But what if the truth hasn't been told? What if the truth is a lie? "New paths present themselves. Blueprints change. We walk the line of truth every day. "But now, the line that holds the gentle balance has been crossed. "The truth is, this won't be the last time."

—Excerpt from the Symmetry pamphlet, "A Place Between"

Reading for world-building is a skill. I have seen brilliant people, laureates, inventors, Ph.D.s, try to read fiction with deep world-building and fail completely, looping back, rereading, never following events, trapped in a sense of muddled wandering. Reading for world-building requires retaining information without context: a term, a place, a coin, a category comes up once and we know what that is—a puzzle piece—and that our task is to gather up these pieces as the author drops them, and to slowly assemble the whole. This is not easy. Human memory needs hooks for facts: a mnemonic, a story, context, something; grueling textbook rote-learning fades quickly, but a story of the statesman or the king, that's what makes knowledge stay. To retain puzzle pieces that don't connect, dropped without context, is a skill that not all have. All had it once: it is how children read, every book, poster, and headline a stream of unknown terms, far too many to ask about them all, but the child retains them, trusting that they will connect to something someday. Kids collect Earth's puzzle pieces every time they read, but as we move to grown-up books they all use the same picture, and define immediately those terms they fear a reader may not know. Thus the skill of keeping puzzle pieces fades, unless we read books set in other worlds, new puzzle pictures which make us retain the skill, as frogs sometimes retain their tadpole tails into adulthood. This—many have observed—is why most F&SF readers come to the genre young, it's hard to start in adulthood when one's puzzle memory skill has sat atrophied. We find dozens of other puzzle pieces—creatures, buried engines, monstrous plants—but they don't connect either, no explanations, no recurrences. We trust. We ponder. We wade through the clutter of clashing technologies, tales of degeneration, glories lost, but there's no fall-of-space-Rome story to connect it up. We can guess at one, as we can guess the missing end of the story of the strange plants, as we can guess at several ways rats could gain language if time passed and—click—we see it. These puzzle pieces do not fit together—rather this puzzle-maker trusts that we are puzzle-masters and know the archetypes that must fill in between (a rise, an age, a destined king.) So we spread our disconnected puzzle pieces out, not assuming that the strange creatures come from one origin, the ruins from one era, and as we spread out, looking not for direct connections but for fragments of arcs and colors, our 100 puzzle pieces let us glimpse an image so vast it would take 100,000—an image large enough to capture true Deep Future, years numbered in millions, where contours that do connect do so at scales which make the layers of Freud's Rome appear shallow as coats of paint.

—Excerpts from The Path of the New Sun by Ada Palmer, introduction to The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe

[fatehbaz]

Kurdish ecology. Indigenous seeds and food heritage. Palestinian edible plant archive. Ezidi foods and reverence for landscapes. The narratives of “exiled foods.” Suryani, Zaza, Kurdish, and Armenian displacement. Okra and mustard greens. Dispossession and native plants in  Anatolia and the Mediterranean. Imagining alternative worlds and affirmative care structures. Landscapes breathing in slow, deep time. Seed exchanges and “entanglement of solidarity” across regions in defiance of military surveillance, industrial monoculture, and extraction. “Homeland is not where you were born, it is where you are fed.”

---

Okra is strong and can survive the precarity of exile and migration: it can be found in a Bangladeshi vegetable stand in Rome, an Ezidi camp in Diyarbakır, or a guerilla garden along the highway in Kowloon. Okra is one of the world’s oldest cultivated crops, spread by the processes of colonization and the slave trade from Africa and India to the Mediterranean and westward to the new world. Its versatility makes it well suited for states of dispossession and survival. [...] The colonization and standardization of landscapes is always rooted in controlling the cultivation and erasure of localities. [...] Today, the same region [Anatolia and the Mediterranean] is inundated with wars and oppressions that destroy not only biodiversity but also the intangible heritage of ingredients and their narratives across our earth.

“Survival-with” and “through” is something of an entangled kinship that can be described as migrating ingredients, refugee seeds, and exiled foods. Works by artists Seçkin Aydın and Gülsün Karamustafa deal with forced eviction and exile from their homelands in different historical periods in the last century in Anatolia. Aydın is a Zaza minority from an evicted Kurdish town called Kulp (Diyarbakır Province). His work I can’t carry my grandma, i can also not eat her or wear her (2015) uses the metaphor of Aydın’s grandma keeping small fruits in his pocket during their journey of exile when he was a child. [...]

Karamustafa’s work Heimat Ist Wo Mann Isst (1994) depicts three spoons wrapped in an old cloth. The title means “Homeland is not where you were born, it is where you are fed,” which refers to cross-Balkan and Anatolian transnational migration.

---

Practices of collecting and archiving heirloom seeds are a form of solidarity and resistance against extractive capitalism and industrialized agriculture. Such projects protect and aim to restore natural habitats and biodiversity. They are critical of dominant monocultural approaches [...]. How can we consider a more-than-human ethics around seed and seed heritage? How can we collect cross-narrative assemblages of seed heritage? [...]

Indigenous phenomenologies are essential for tracing food heritage and the ingredients that are tightly connected to local communities of Zazas, Ezidis, Armenians, Suryanis, Kurds, and others who are continuously exiled by force in the ongoing extracted landscapes of the Tigris. Often with colleagues we find ourselves discussing, for example, the giyayê xerdelê (mustard greens) that can be easily foraged in the hills of Heskîf, a millennia-old archeological heritage site that has almost been destroyed by the nearby Ilisu Dam, which justifies the expropriation of lands from Kurdish villages and from many nomadic shepherds who were forced to leave. Military surveillance of farmers and of the common grazing grounds of Ezidi, Suryani, and Kurdish villages leads to a loss of the network [...].

Kurdish ecology activists Bişar İçli and Zeki Kanay, who were banned from their municipality and their university positions by the Turkish government in 2017, started an agro-ecological solidarity commune in Diyarbakır. They archive, exchange, and create networks of seeds around the Tigris River basin, producing an entanglement of solidarity infrastructure among Kurdish communities against military surveillance and capitalism-led extraction in this region.

---

Cineria, an Ezidi village near Batman, Turkey, was nearly emptied out in the 1980s due to conflict in the region between the Kurdish movement and the Turkish state. [...] Soil, stone, rocks, caves, and water are fundamental cosmological elements of Ezidi cultural practice connecting the past, present, and future. Each year the village hosts semi-nomadic Zaza shepherds who migrate from another southeastern Turkish city, Bitlis [...]. The Ezidis accommodate the shepherds for six to seven months in Cineria; both communities communicate using the Kurmanji language. [...]

Long walks through landscapes are a basic practice of Ezidi women, where they learn about the land and the cultivation cycle connected to Ezidi cosmology, which is about keeping and protecting ingredients, seeds, and healthy soil. Honouring nonhuman elements is fundamental to Ezidi cosmology. As Ezidi women walk through the landscape, they tell stories of dispossession, mourn for lost soil and seeds, and whisper continously: “av, agîr, erd, ba, roj.” [...]

---

Palestinian geographer Omar Tesdell, who created the Palestinian edible plants archive, tells us that landscapes move in slow, deep time, and that all wild plants, seeds, and healthy soil are our heritages. These heritages will not only support our precarious societies but may create an ethical, responsible entanglement of resilient coexistences for our collective future. [...]

Following an okra plant through narratives, infrastructures, forgotten languages, and entangled exiles is not a metaphor. As artist Jumana Manna writes, we strive toward “imagining alternative/affirmative care structures that remain, within and beyond the current reality, aligned towards plant and human life alike.” Navigating through migrating ingredients, refugee seeds, and exiled foods, we witness and learn about extractive strategies, state-making, and slow violence.

---

Text by: Pelin Tan. “Entangled Exiles.” e-flux (journal). Issue 131. November 2022. [Italicized first paragraph/heading added by me.]

[thebrickinbrick]

From the Rue Plumet to the Quarter Saint-Denis

“THE Voice which had summoned Marius through the twilight to the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, had produced on him the effect of the voice of destiny. He wished to die; the opportunity presented itself; he knocked at the door of the tomb, a hand in the darkness offered him the key. These melancholy openings which take place in the gloom before despair, are tempting. Marius thrust aside the bar which had so often allowed him to pass, emerged from the garden, and said: “I will go."

Mad with grief, no longer conscious of anything fixed or solid in his brain, incapable of accepting anything thenceforth of fate after those two months passed in the intoxication of youth and love, overwhelmed at once by all the reveries of despair, he had but one desire remaining, to make a speedy end of all.

He set out at rapid pace. He found himself most opportunely armed, as he had Javert's pistols with him.

The young man of whom he thought that he had caught a glimpse, had vanished from his sight in the street.

Marius, who had emerged from the Rue Plumet by the boulevard, traversed the Esplanade and the bridge of the Invalides, the Champs Élysées, the Place Louis XV., and reached the Rue de Rivoli. The shops were open there, the gas was burning under the arcades, women were making their purchases in the stalls, people were eating ices in the Café Laiter, and nibbling small cakes at the English pastry-cook's shop.

Only a few posting-chaises were setting out at a gallop from the Hôtel des Princes and the Hôtel Meurice.

Marius entered the Rue Saint-Honoré through the Passage Delorme. There the shops were closed, the merchants were chatting in front of their half-open doors, people were walking about, the street lanterns were lighted, beginning with the first floor, all the windows were lighted as usual. There was cavalry on the Place du Palais-Royal.

Marius followed the Rue Saint-Honoré. In proportion as he left the Palais-Royal behind him, there were fewer lighted windows, the shops were fast shut, no one was chatting on the thresholds, the street grew sombre, and, at the same time, the crowd increased in density. For the passers-by now amounted to a crowd. No one could be seen to speak in this throng, and yet there arose from it a dull, deep murmur.

Near the fountain of the Arbre-Sec, there were "assemblages," motionless and gloomy groups which were to those who went and came as stones in the midst of running water.

At the entrance to the Rue des Prouvaires, the crowd no longer walked. It formed a resisting, massive, solid, compact, almost impenetrable block of people who were huddled together, and conversing in low tones. There were hardly any black coats or round hats now, but smock frocks, blouses, caps, and bristling and cadaverous heads.

This multitude undulated confusedly in the nocturnal gloom. Its whisperings had the hoarse accent of a vibration. Although not one of them was walking, a dull trampling was audible in the mire. Beyond this dense portion of the throng, in the Rue du Roule, in the Rue des Prouvaires, and in the extension of the Rue Saint-Honoré, there was no longer a single window in which a candle was burning. Only the solitary and diminishing rows of lanterns could be seen vanishing into the street in the distance. The lanterns of that date resembled large red stars, hanging to ropes, and shed upon the pavement a shadow which had the form of a huge spider. These streets were not deserted. There could be descried piles of guns, moving bayonets, and troops bivouacking. No curious observer passed that limit. There circulation ceased. There the rabble ended and the army began.

Marius willed with the will of a man who hopes no more. He had been summoned, he must go. He found a means to traverse the throng and to pass the bivouac of the troops, he shunned the patrols, he avoided the sentinels. He made a circuit, reached the Rue de Béthisy, and directed his course towards the Halles. At the corner of the Rue des Bourdonnais, there were no longer any lanterns.

After having passed the zone of the crowd, he had passed the limits of the troops; he found himself in something startling.

There was no longer a passer-by, no longer a soldier, no longer a light, there was no one; solitude, silence, night, I know not what chill which seized hold upon one. Entering a street was like entering a cellar.

He continued to advance.

He took a few steps. Some one passed close to him at a run. Was it a man? Or a woman? Were there many of them? he could not have told. It had passed and vanished.

Proceeding from circuit to circuit, he reached a lane which he judged to be the Rue de la Poterie; near the middle of this street, he came in contact with an obstacle. He extended his hands. It was an overturned wagon; his foot recognized pools of water, gullies, and paving-stones scattered and piled up. A barricade had been begun there and abandoned. He climbed over the stones and found himself on the other side of the barrier. He walked very near the street-posts, and guided himself along the walls of the houses. A little beyond the barricade, it seemed to him that he could make out something white in front of him.

He approached, it took on a form. It was two white horses; the horses of the omnibus harnessed by Bossuet in the morning, who had been straying at random all day from street to street, and had finally halted there, with the weary patience of brutes who no more understand the actions of men, than man understands the actions of Providence.

Marius left the horses behind him. As he was approaching a street which seemed to him to be the Rue du Contrat-Social, a shot coming no one knows whence, and traversing the darkness at random, whistled close by him, and the bullet pierced a brass shaving-dish suspended above his head over a hair-dresser's shop. This pierced shaving-dish was still to be seen in 1848, in the Rue du Contrat-Social, at the corner of the pillars of the market This shot still betokened life. From that instant forth he encountered nothing more.

The whole of this itinerary resembled a descent of black steps.

Nevertheless, Marius pressed forwards.

[bomberqueen17]

Lotfus Bralette Sewalong: Construction 1

ok things I've learned: it'd be easier if I used a different fabric for main and lining, and it would be easy if that fabric had an obvious right and wrong side. Despite all my labeling and stickering and everything I *still* sewed a panel in wrong, and it was a nightmare making sure everything was mirror-imaged correctly.

All that said, I had to unpick a total of one seam (but unpicked two by accident, argh), and there's a sudden point where you have everything assembled and you're like..... none of this needs labels any more, and you have to peel them all off before you can continue. And it comes suddenly. So.

I'm not finished but I'm really near the end. It's a lot of fussy little sewing, but the seams are like ten inches long max, it really doesn't take very long.

This being my muslin, I have focused on getting everything put together and have not paid attention to seam finishing, trimming, grading, pressing etc. My next version, I will do those things, but I've omitted them from this version because I still don't know if the thing is going to fucking fit, I'm not topstitching something if I might have to tear it all back out, though let's be realistic I'm not going to disassemble this thing, if it turns out unwearable I'm just going to cut the notions off and start over. It's not that much fabric. I will make minor tweaks probably, but generally it is not going to be worth it to pull this apart. (Exception: if it's too large I would cut seams off and sew it smaller. But it will not be too large, I already know that from the approximate shove-my-boob-meat-into-a-half-of-it not-exactly-try-on-- it is certainly not too big, but I can't tell if it's too small because without the elastic and fasteners it's not pulled closely enough to me to be sure. It feels like there's not enough fabric to go around, but I know the wide band elastic covers a lot of territory, so I'm reserving judgement.)

So. How far did I get? Well.

[img description: this is the cluttered basement setup. Image shows a blue rubbermaid tote lid with a tall rim leaning on a pile of stuff on a cluttered desk, and on the lid is a Kindle with the sewing instructions loaded up, one half of the bra cup assembled, several pattern pieces, and next to the rim is a large box of yellow-headed quilting pins.]

I sent this setup photo to my family groupchat when we were discussing what we're doing with our weekends. (One younger sister is camping in Vermont with husband and kid, the other was gardening and found a big shed snakeskin which was cool, Mom was visiting a brew pub in fort edward and sent a photo of what looked like a pole to me and said "there's edward" and i don't get the joke, and the oldest sister had just taken her daughter to get her ears pierced, which among our people is a sign of young adulthood. Not that it's relevant to the sewalong but this is my blog after all, LOL.)

I had to unpick a seam but progress was quick after that.

[image description: an assemblage of fabric, with a pin in it, going through the throat plate of a sewing machine. The lower fabric is pink, the top fabric white. Both are decorated with Sharpie marks around the edge. The pink is nonstretch nylon tricot, the white is heavy duty powermesh.]

When it came time to attach the powerbar to the cup lining, I felt that the video sewalong had said to have the powermesh side up. The issue here is that the bra cup and lining are non-stretch fabric, as the pattern is written, and the powerbar and back band are stretch fabric, specifically powermesh (which has superior recovery to other stretch fabrics and so is indispensible in bras and compression garments). And attaching stretch to nonstretch is always a little bit of a nightmare, and generally is inadvisable, but bras break the rules in many ways and that's why so many of us are intimidated about bras.

I discovered immediately that sewing with the nonstretch side against the feed dogs and the stretch side against the presser foot was a NO GO. The stretch fabric would get pulled by the presser foot wildly out of shape, and I kept having to raise the presser foot and shove at the fabric to keep it aligned, and I kept wobbling my seam all over the place and it was awful. So I flipped it over and put the stretch fabric against the feed dogs instead, and then had zero further issues. I have not re-checked the sewalong, and the pattern instructions do not specify, but for my own reference, always put the stretch fabric against the feed dogs, that is unambiguously what worked here.

I also broke my anti-topstitching-on-muslins stance here and did topstitch the seam after I attached the back band to the cups. I wasn't doing it anywhere else, but I think it's necessary there, to hold everything down. There's gonna be SO much strain on that seam.

[image description: a pale pink, quite substantial bra, though it only looks fully assembled, lying on the talbe in front of a sewing machine. There's no center gore so it's only arranged as if assembled. But the cups are visibly partly self-supporting, because they're now three layers of fabric, so they're approximately boob-shaped, and hilariously fleshtoned in this light, I did not think this through.]

I got this far, both cups and linings assembled, with the powermesh in the middle. And then I had to make the center gore, which didn't go together the way I expected at all. You sew it in two halves, and then sew the halves together, which I had not expected and could not make myself understand. I did it, and then re-watched the sewalong afterward, and i'm still not sure I did it right, but mine did go on and looks right so I guess even if I did do something not the way the sewalong suggests I did it right enough that it works.

The frustrating thing is that you make the center gore and then set it aside, though, LOL. So I had to make it, then put the neck elastic on, and then check again.

I was SO confused by the elastic. You sew it on right sides together, and then flip it to the inside of the bra and topstitch it from the outside. So you want to sew it in such a way that just a little edge of it, which may or may not have decorative picots because it depends what you bought, will overhang when you flip it. So you want to sew it down along the MARKED SEW LINE on your strap, and if there's a bunch of extra wobbly edges and shit, sew to the inside of that, and you can trim them off after. This is where you compensate for wobbly cutting and wobbly sewing and wobbly putting-layers-together, and it's brilliant.

I didn't do it right but I will next time now that I understand that. And Jenn from Porcelynne *does* explain that, explicitly, in the sewalong, but I watched the sewalong ahead of time and couldn't remember in the moment. So this is me reinforcing it: your whole neckline edge, sew that elastic just so and once you flip it, it will look like you lined everything up perfectly. And you don't have to stretch as you sew for the whole strap bit, and there's only a tiny bit of stretching as you sew down around the cup, and it ends right where your powerbar came in, so it's a nice continuous band of stretch all the way around your boob.

And THEN you stick the center gore in, sandwiched, before you flip the elastic, and it looks weird as hell and no way could this be right. But then once you flip the thing, sure enough, there's just a cute decorative bit of elastic between the cup and center gore, and it looks good as hell.

(I mean, it doesn't on my muslin, but it will when I make a nice version. My muslin is hideous LOL, and I'm not worried in the slightest.)

[image description: an expanse of pale pink fabric with disconcertingly peach-colored elastic running down the middle of it.]

That's what the elastic looks like topstitched down, and there's the center gore with a big sharpie mark down the middle because i meant to turn that bit to the inside but put it in backwards. Oh well.

and this is the back, where the elastic's sewn down: if I was doing a finished one, I could trim off all those odd little bits sticking out where the three layers of fabric didn't quiiiiite go together evenly, and it would look finished and polished and lovely.

[image description: a bit of pale pink fabric flipped to the back. The peach elastic at the top has a couple wobbly lines of stitching on it, and some sharpie-bordered white fabric is sticking out and looks wobbly and terrible, and there are unclipped loose gray threads from construction everywhere.]

I'm not even saving that much time by making the muslin shitty, LOL. I'm just figuring, I need to see how it goes together before I get hung up on the cute details. I have enough of this exact fabric to use it again, but I also have a cute kit, a bunch of salvaged notions, and an intense desire to use a whole variety of other nontraditional bra fabrics, so I'm not that worried.

I should buy cuter elastic though. Elastic can't really be salvaged, not nicely. I'll have to pick up some cute stuff with decorative picots and whatnot. The supply list doesn't specify that you need picots, but then the instructions assume you have them, which confused me. The point is, you should sew the elastic at a point where some of it will protrude past the turned edge, because that's the correct look and function, and you should buy elastic that's not too scratchy.

I know a lot of people are concerned with bras being scratchy. I personally have never been irritated by the seams or fabric of a bra, but I HAVE been wildly irritated by the edge of the hook-and-eye band, the tips of side boning if there is any, and the STRAP elastic being shitty. So I will be focusing my energies on those.

I'm also thinking about making a bra in one layer, with binding over the seams and the powerbar made of stretch lace with a decorative edge, and put on the exterior of the single layer. That would be possible. The two-layer construction of this is kind of bulky and I get why it's like that, but my heavy-duty chestmeats aren't necessarily that heavy-duty.

I'm also going to make this in knit fabric, and am perusing all the Cashmerette Club discussion boards (where much of the pattern design team does lurk) for pointers on alternate materials and such, and I'll compile what I learn and post it here don't worry. (The number one thing is that if you make it in knits, size down one cup size. The number two thing is that if you make it with a fabric that stretches, match the stretch between the outer and lining fabric, it HAS to be the same. And example one is a fellow-commenter told me she made the whole thing in powermesh, sized down one cup size as per recommendation, and it worked perfectly. So we have that as a datapoint.)

(I don't love powermesh for its own merits but I cannot deny, it recovers perfectly, until it doesn't and you throw the bra out, so from a functional standpoint, it's The Thing to use. I'm taking apart old bras for notions and that's the thing I see-- when the powermesh went, I had to stop wearing that bra. But most of them, I busted the underwire channeling or the hooks first. Because they were DDs and I was a J, mostly, but. Hey. Yeah some other time I'll write a post about my horrible struggles with bras and how long I spent with everyone telling me it wasn't possible to be more than a DD and i must be having a body wrong somehow.)

ANYhoo.

I had to stop to make dinner after attaching the neckband elastic and center gore. So at some point today I will venture back down and keep working. The next step is the underarm elastic, and then the straps, and then the hook and eye closure, and then it's done. So I'm pretty close really, but my cat just got into my lap so I won't be headed down there imminently, LOL.

cat tax:

[image description: a white lady in a chair heavily overshadowed by a small gray cat with a white chest patch in the foreground looking extremely smug]

She's helping me post.