#the headwear alone in these is just exceptional

[allinsideyourhead]

The gang out on the town, February ‘82

Paul third-wheeling

Paul done with third-wheeling

Paul just done.

[rwbyazre]

Are we able to see the adult designs of Team AZRE or is that spoiler territory?

For the most part, no the designs really don't give away anything super spoilery with the exception of Adam. I'll still post them but there's a big warning for AZRE when talking about Adam, who'll go last in this post.

Zanthus' adult look really does take more after Sable with more Greek patterns on his tunic and skirt. It's also far less armour since Zanthus finally can just chill out in his later years, while trying to keep his yellow in combination of his black and reds. He's also chunkier since he's in a permanent safe space in Asíle.

Ruri very much returns to Tsubaki and is the mayor in her adult years, working hard to make her city a place that stands on its own, providing oppotunities to anyone who lives there. She keeps her very traditional sense of style, but more mature with her long hair now tied up like her mother's.

Eirian lost her signature headband, call the police.

Eirian's new headwear was something I always envisioned her wearing from the beginning, so I'm glad she got to keep that bit of her. Everything else is more Zulu style wear with her modern twist, changing the shorts and crop top for the full length pants, boots, and black tank top with her sash. She still has her glove and bracelets, but she's missing one because Yang has it.

And since Eirian is in the most active Huntsman role even as an adult, she still has the most combat ready outfit sans the belt. I frogot to draw that in, but she just takes it off a lot of the time lmfao.

Finally we have Adam:

Adam as an adult is working with Hajimu, who's the Chieftan after Ghira's death, as well as the new High Leader of the White Fang. The HQ was moved to Asíle, so he lives there permanently with his family.

He pretty much takes after Hajimu without shame, but the earring is direct reference for his biological father, Alon. He started wearing it after the Atlas arc in AZRE where he learns more about his parents, and finally decides not to wear the bandage anymore.

Now the biggest thing left is slightly hidden by his pants, but is more visible in his previous outfit:

He loses his left leg in AZRE. Since his right leg was injured by Iya, and then he loses his left leg, he struggles to walk for long and it impacts his fighting ability seriously, which is why he takes more of a backseat in his later years.

[arledrone]

“all our gods are white skinned (except krishna)” that’s not even true,, goddesses like kali exist, and even ram is described as dark skinned… and historically, india has kept on whitewashing their *own* gods so it’s not even accurate in a religious scale.

and even if there’s only like one god that’s blue (which is supposed to represent dark skin mind you, as he’s described as that in many religious texts and epics) that’s no excuse to not have any representation? to not have sumeru, the region based off of south asia, north africa, and southwest asia, where tons of skin tones and different variety exist… to be mainly pale? that’s not an accurate representation of those regions. and if mihoyo wants to confuse all three regions together then they at least should give us the variety in skin tone. at the VERY least . but they can’t even do that :/

I strongly agree. Colourism in India's always been an issue. I mean, fuck, I've had a cousin suggest I use lightening cream once back when I was single and that's always been something that still stings. The fact it's so pervasive and invasive into religion is nothing surprising (especially for North Indian flavoured Hinduism oops did I say that aloud).

I do, however, have a preface about Sumeru.

Apart from Chapter Three's title "Truth Amongst the Pages of Purana", majority of Sumeru's names and vernacular largely tie into Iranic themes. Don't get me wrong, it can be hard to keep track of the Indo-Iranian influences.. Anahita refers to an Iranian (Persian) goddess, and her Farsi title Nahid. So that right there strongly ties the Dendro Archon to Zoroastrianism fairly directly in my opinion.

So, while there are similarities between Hinduism and Zoroastrianism, I think it's important to acknowledge a vast amount of Sumeru's influences APPEAR to be predominantly Iranian in nature, with Egyptian influences somehow weaved in (so far our only explicit indications of that are Cyno's Anubis motif and Kandake). Plus Dihya's namesake being an Amazigh leader leading to some type of North African influence (assuming it's not JUST for a single character's empty aesthetic motif).

Like, I am Indian, but I find it kiiiiiind of off-putting how India's being put on a pedestal compared to Sumeru's more blatant and intentional influences.

That said, everyone's seen my bitching about how Sumeru's being handled. I don't see the point in the majority of Sumeru's cast being light-skinned thus far, and Dhiya is BARELY passable for tan, let alone dark-skinned. And I don't have to repeat myself on the attire, that's for damn sure.

Note: Nilou's attire is like. Strong generic fantasy vibes that KIND of remind me of lehenga-choli attire, but her horns are reminiscent of Sasanian headwear, and her hairpiece reminds me of Iranian dance attire.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 23

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: Drinking, slight internalized homophobia A/N: The first part dives into Lily's sexuality. It’s pretty innocent but may make readers uncomfortable. If you want to skip, go past the line break and I bolded the words ‘Round round get around’ for when it’s ‘safe’ to continue!

Chap 23 Playlist

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 23: The Daily Quarrel

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Lily always considered herself to be calm, rational and level-headed, that’s what made her a great prefect and student. But over the last five months, Lily felt herself becoming everything but that.

Lily never concerned herself with dating. Of course, she’d entertained the thought. She had crushes before, many crushes, and dabbled in the idea of romance, love, dates and commitment. Especially now as it seemed like the older she got, those around her fell into relationships and quick snogs in the broom closet that she was forced to break up one too many times. If she were to date, she didn’t want to force it. Lily wanted it to come naturally. It was never that important. If it happened, it happened, and she would welcome it with open arms.

But recently, it was all she could think about.

At first, it was a passing thought. Boys — dating — and then other things she thought she buried deep down began to resurface.

Girls, by every definition, were beautiful. Lily would admire the way they style their hair or religious headwear, how they carried themselves with such effortless grace that they never seemed to notice themselves. Girls, women; Lily thought they were thoughtful, kind and more respectful than men. She felt loads more comfortable around them before her thoughts began to turn more obscure — until her mind quickly shut it down and interjected that she just wanted to be close friends.

That was an utter lie.

It’s not like Lily didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards boys. She did, very much and had feelings both romantic and well… er — unleashed a plethora of other feelings. Lily was not opposed to holding hands, kissing or cuddling them, she really liked the idea and felt herself grow warm. She would do all sorts of things with the right boy. But there was something so exciting, yet frightening when the idea of hand-holding, kissing and cuddling with Y/N. That certainly left Lily with sweaty palms, heart racing and a flustered mess.

Whenever she held her hands, went around holding her arm in the halls, or crept into each other’s beds at night, Lily felt like a puddle of nerves.

She’s managed to force a smile most of the time whenever improper thoughts surfaced. She could be alone, walking the hallways for her prefect duties and something would pop up: when her fingers ran through Lily’s scalp when she brushed her hair. Her smile. Her eyes… her damn eyes… All she thought about these days was her. How was Y/N doing? She’s so funny! Would she like the way she styled her robes today? How would she look on top of — ARGH! Lily was mortified half the time.

Let’s just say that it was a gradual realization.

Lily wasn’t stupid, far from it and knew what was happening and it left her on complete edge, especially around Y/N. It left her face scarlet red and felt as if her chest was about to burst into a bloody mess. She couldn’t even look or be anywhere near her sometimes because it was too overwhelming.

But her feelings… Lily grew up being taught that she wasn’t supposed to feel this way for another girl, let alone both boys and girls...

Her heart, mind, morals, feelings, everything she believed in was at war. Lily felt herself change inside and out. It’s always been there, those… emotions — and suddenly it just ripped at the seams. Y/N was just the tipping point.

But why did it feel like such a crime for something so innocent? Something that is supposed to be beautiful?

And Y/N… out of all people!

It had been a very tiring and stressful school year so far.

Potter’s birthday had coincided with Gryffindor’s win against Hufflepuff and thus, a joint party was thrown. Lily watched from the sidelines as Y/N’s back faced her. The glowing of lights, all charmed red, immersed her as she snapped an abundance of photos of a very plastered Potter having the time of his life. He stood on a table, drunkenly singing.

Another bright flash went off and she brought the camera down, took the photo and shook it. A wide smile plastered on her face as she watched the photo develop and her body shook with laughter. But as if Y/N knew Lily was staring, her head swivelled around with a smile so blinding that it hurt Lily’s heart; now filled with hot shame again.

She shouted over the loud music. “Petals! C’mon, let loose for once!” She pointed to the cup in hand.

Lily looked down, looking at the amber liquid filled to the brim of her cup, untouched. Her gaze looked back, giving her a shy thumbs-up and brought the cup to her lips. The bitter taste of Firewhiskey burned before spreading warmly through her. But, Y/N’s reaction was worth it.

Lily tried to still her heart as she ripped her gaze away. Y/N made her feel everything but calm, rational and level-headed. It was terrifying. 

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‘Round round get around, I get around, yeah

(Get around round round I get around, ooh-ooh) I get around’

“Hip-hip —” James bellowed, raising a glass filled with Firewhiskey in the air.

“HOORAY!” The Gryffindors roared back.

“Hip-hip —”

Throughout the night, Sirius danced with probably every girl there before he went to turn the record player louder, re-filling his glass. He watched as James hopped off the table and made his way to Emmeline, peppering her skin with sloppy kisses that made her laugh and eyes crinkle.

They all officially met her that night. She’s sweet, kind and they found out she’s just as crazy as James in the love department and they seemed beyond happy.

Peter was there, who looked at the two, almost enviously, faced stained red before solemnly bobbing his head to the music. Sirius didn’t think much of it, instead just passed it off as a sad drunk.

‘I'm gettin' bugged driving up and down the same old strip

I gotta find a new place where the kids are hip’

Sirius cringed; he was never a fan of the Beach Boys but Wormtail and Prongs loved it…

Students jumped, rocking to the blasting music. Some talked, some were snogging, others tipsy or drunk. Sirius grinned from ear to ears as he looked around the room, searching for Remus. He was already a pole light, he would stick out like a sore thumb. But instead of Remus, Sirius’ eyes settled on L/N; film in hand, talking to another student. He was blond, a year above them, large in stature and Sirius recognized him from the Gryffindor tryouts back in September. Aldrich McLaggen.

His face was beat red as he chatted with L/N, his hand toying with the sleeves as he looked her up and down, wearing a flirtatious yet apprehensive grin. The bastard was flirting with her.

Sirius felt himself grip his glass tighter than normal, his free hand bunched into a tight ball while pressing firmly to his side. Neither she nor Sirius spoke, aside from their Puffskein assignment and it was killing him. From the discomfort or wishing they had kissed that night — he didn’t know. But it was tortuously awkward.

“Padfoot,” came a voice. Remus leant against a nearby table as he sipped his drink. No matter how much he seemed to drink, Remus was able to knock back drinks after drinks without it affecting him. Sirius envied that but then the thought passed, eyes settling on L/N.

“Moomy.”

Remus followed Sirius’ eyes, scrutinizing the situation.

“She’s so annoying,” said Sirius. He didn’t even mean to speak, it just slipped out.

Remus’ brow rose. “Talking about this, again? She’s not. L/N’s my friend and I like her.”

Sirius shook his head. “She’s insufferable. Who does she think she is?!”

“... Who?”

“Just look at her!” Sirius exclaimed, using large hand movements. “She acts like she owns the place. Just because she’s new she assumes she’s better than everyone else! And —” Sirius continued to rant but Remus blocked him out, head shaking.

Fucking idoit, Remus thinks. He wants to slap Sirius silly. When will he stop talking about her?

“— taking all of my friends: Prongs, Lily, Marlene, Wormy, you! I was —”

“You sound like a child.”

“— so smart. The Slugclub? All filled with stuffy pricks — except you and Lily — the kicker, I’ve seen her with Regulus! A Slytherin! Come on. That’s just asking for —”

“Padfoot —”

“— don’t understand how —”

“Crikey! Sirius!” Remus scolded. Sirius went quiet, intimidated by him. Remus took a deep inhale, his eyes fluttering shut but asked, “Why do you hate her? Is it because of that fucking rejection because —”

“What?!” Sirius’s voice cuts, loud and booming to the point where several heads swirled to look at him.

Remus looked at them, making hand movements to shoo them off. “Mind your business.”

“Moony, you know me! Come on! Sure, I’m a dick, but I’m not that much of a dick!”

“Then what is it? It can’t just be that she’s annoying.” Of course, Remus was right again. Always so blunt and never failed to be clear-cut.

Remus then tipped back his drink in one go without a flinch and left Sirius’ side. He’d much rather do his prefect duties than listen to him go on about the same conversation for what seemed like the eighth time that week. With Sirius left to sulk, he sighed and looked back to the scene, feeling irrational jealousy bubble up.

L/N laughed at whatever McLaggen said, who leant into her ear. What an obvious bloke.

Maybe it was because of the mix of alcohol that made Sirius place his cup down and stride up to them, but even he knew it wasn’t just the Firewhiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to visit. How was it like living —”

“McLaggen.” Sirius’ voice came out gruff and cold.

Both their heads turned towards him and she sent him a look, telling him to go. But too stubborn, he stayed put.

“Um… Black. Hello,” McLaggen responded. Sirius continued to stand tall, body language closed off, telling him silently to leave.

Tosser. Pillock. Daft bimbo lookin’ arse —

The boy coughed awkwardly and threw L/N a tight-lipped smile. “See you!” She nodded her head, giving a small, friendly wave. “Bye!”

Sirius took his place instantly. “Finally, you said something right for once. He’s a git.”

L/N’s face scrunched up in confusion. She sent daggers his way and he had to stop himself from smirking. “Surprise,” he drawled, hands going up to shake in jazz hands. “You seem happy to see me.”

“Why are you talking to me? People might think we’re friends.”

“Like we were ever just friends.”

Her mouth hung open after registering what he said and Sirius felt like using an unforgivable curse on himself. Did he have to bring it up like that?

Sirius was all over the place with his thoughts. Point blank, he didn’t know what the fuck was happening. He so badly wanted to draw near, to touch her and hear that damn laughter, but did he?

His… very unwelcomed feelings — whatever they were, were beginning to get in the way of his already messy life. Was it the chase that made him feel so electric, the need to dive into someone else to cover up his own problems? Was this him dabbling in his unhealthy behaviours and would this just set him back? Sirius wasn’t sure and he walked a fine line.

Humans, especially those like Sirius, are social beings. Like most people, they craved recognition, approval and constant reassurance from those around them. People want to fit in that desired image but struggle to find happiness — lost in that perceived image they chase. Desired reality… it’s like a mirage. The constant back and forth only drained him and it had been more apparent than ever since the break. That pretty packaged Sirius — was that him subconsciously crawling its way out, making him lose the little progress he’s made by continuing whatever this was? A game, his true feelings or a way to be social, to fill that void settled deep within his chest?

But he doesn’t think so, and that freaked him out even more. What scared him was that he wanted to get to know all the little parts of her, no matter how much he tried to deny it. It felt like a mantra playing in his head, questions about her he wanted answered. But he could never be sure.

L/N remained silent and he cut in, trying to cover up his internal dilemma.

“Now look who’s the quiet one.”

“Be more conceited, will you?”

“Insolent brat.”

She grinds her jaw aggressively, to the point where he swears he can hear bones crunching but she holds back from a snarky comment. His mouth opens, ready to add on before L/N turns around to survey the room. He watches as she looks up to James and back to him and then a small, separate room that’s cut off from the main room. The last thing either wanted was to ruin James’ night or cause a scene. “Follow me.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, teasingly staying back a beat before another Gryffindor girl comes up to him. He’d danced with her earlier. “Pretty boy,” she greets, “Fancy another dance?”

Sirius’ eyes travel to L/N who’s eyes hardened as she stomped back up to him. “Sorry, but pretty boy” her voice dripping in obvious sarcasm, “Has somewhere to be.” Then, she tugged on the hem of his sweater and the action had Sirius’s heart flutter. He let her lead him through the crowd, nearing the room.

“Pretty boy? So you do think I’m pretty?” He smirked, watching her duck her head to prevent him from seeing her reaction.

Out of the entire student body he could’ve had feelings for — feelings he’s never felt before that caused him to go speechless, heart speeding and the urge to inch closer — it had to be her? She never knew how to take a joke either! How James and Remus were so fond of her, he didn’t know.

She shoved him into the small room, casting Muffliato. It was ill-lit, the only source of luminosity were the red lights seeping in the cracks of the door and the small window; twinkling stars shining just enough. The mixture of lights made her look alluring.

“What do you want?” Her voice is passive-aggressive.

You, he reckons. Or maybe a permanent silencing charm to never have to hear her speak again. Either seemed great.

Her eyes rolled, impatient as he remained silent. “Could you be anymore… confusing? You’re hot and cold! First, you’re nice to me, then mean. Then come up to me, ruin my conversation with Aldrich and now you’re silent.”

“Fine. I don’t want to be here with you, happy?”

“Like you didn’t start this.”

“It’s not my fault you’re infuriating, constantly running your mouth.”

She takes a deep breath, her hands rubbing her face and let’s out a frustrated groan. Her eyes snap back open, “I hate you.” The silence was loud.

Sirius felt himself freeze, eyes turning half-lidded as he took a few steps towards her. She backed up, sliver of a smile there. His chest rose, breathing deeply, “Say that again.”

L/N looked up at him with those eyes he swore looked right through him. Simply being that close made him feel as if he ran a marathon. Then, a wicked, yet timid grin worms its way on her face. Their soft breaths were tense, like if either were too loud, everything would come crashing down.

She repeats. “I hate —”

She doesn’t finish her statement as Sirius pressed himself against her, pushing her back but snakes a hand to prevent her head from hitting the jagged wall.

His voice was low. “Are you sure you want to say that again?”

Her breath hitches. He grins. She swallows. “I. Hate. Y—”

Each syllable was hushed as Sirius pressed his lips onto hers, gentle, sweet and hesitant, contradicting compared to their banter.

When the initial shock wore off, he felt Y/N respond to the kiss, deepening it. Her lips parted and Sirius slid his tongue inside. She was a bit clumsy, hesitant but eager. Sirius smirked at her. Everything felt startling, incredible and better than what Sirius imagined it to ever be like. He felt like a firecracker, a warm feeling spreading through his veins like fire.

She’s soft, incredibly so. His free hand went to roam around before settling on the base of her back, stroking the soft skin up and down. Her hand is threaded through his hair just hard enough that he has to bite back a groan. Her other hand is pressed firmly onto his chest and god — she feels so good.

To Y/N, Sirius tastes like what you think he would taste like. He tastes expensive, smells really good and his kisses are a lot softer than she expected — the very opposite of him: energetic, rough, messy and wild. Instead it’s delicate, sweet and velvety.

She’s the first to pull back and Sirius can’t help but move his head to try and catch her lips but settles on pressing his forehead against hers.

Their soft pants fill the air and Sirius feels like screaming. His skin is boiling and she looks beyond enthralling. Their eyes locked and her eyes washed over him with such an intensity that it could rival any ocean wave.

Neither spoke, just trying to process what happened, letting their eyes run wild before she tucks a fallen strand of hair behind Sirius’ ear. The action, so small and fairly insignificant, made something so bubbly flare in his chest.

Both of their pupils are blown wide and this time, she’s the one to lean in first; with a series of soft peaks before Sirius prolongs it. Both his hands are now on her face, tilting her head up before one goes to graze her neck.

There wasn’t a sinking or horrible feeling in his chest that made him feel used or worthless and he took that as a good sign to continue.

This time, it’s faster, rough and passionate and Sirius leads, his hips pressed against her, caging her against the wall. Her hand then went to embrace Sirius, her nails scratching down his back and he involuntarily slipped out a soft groan into her lips.

Merlin… she’s more intoxicating than any brand of alcohol he’s ever drunk.

Eventually, they simultaneously pulled away, using whatever sense they had left and Sirius was left feeling high and shaky. Y/N looked away first, Sirius continuing to stare wide-eyed.

“Um — w-we should — ugh — get going —”

“— Right, I was just about to…”

Sirius backed up, letting Y/N free as she went to sit on a nearby chair. Sirius ran a hand through his hair and stumbled back into the party. He exhaled deeply, fingers outlining his lips in shock.

He must be mad — blood fucking mad! They’re both equally mad!

God, he must be blushing like a damn fool and certainly, he’s not going to be able to sleep tonight. Blimey…

Once James saw him, he pointed and made a B-line, strutting over, his hips exaggerating until he swung an arm around him.

“Siriusss! You’re my best friend!” James ruffled his hair, “Did you know that? Merlin — you light up my world.”

Sirius felt himself smile, but he’s still not fully there. His mind thinks back to her touch: soft and fleeting and god does he crave more and — what is she thinking?

“In love with me? You’re going to have to get in line.”

“Love with all m’friends… Moony… Wormtail — Whiskersss.” James slurred his words slightly and went on a tangent but Sirius’ eye remained on the door, waiting for her to come back.

She’s taking an awfully long time. Fuck, did he push it?

“Mate — earth to Padfoot?” James says, this time knocking his fist on his head like a door. “SIRIUS! Yoo-hoo! In there?”

“Yeah — sorry. A lot’s on my mind.”

James studied him, looking a lot more sober than he did just seconds ago as he went to fix his glasses and said seriously, “Is it… the nightmares again? We can go and talk about it?”

This caught his attention. Ever since Valentine's, he’s been talking to James about them — or at least mentioning bits and pieces which helped a lot more than he expected. “What? No, no it’s not that.”

“But if it is, you’ll tell me, right?”

Sirius has to stop himself from snorting, but it’s all too endearing. “Of course — I’ve only gotten them two times this week.”

Prongs grins like a mad man, throwing his fist in the air. “That’s one down! Amazing! You are amazing.”

And then he hears the door click open and it’s her. She sent him a small smile, barely there but Sirius felt his heart swell. Marlene bounced up to her, pulling her into a dance along with Mary. He watched as her head tipped back with a smile so dazzling and he felt his skin turn fuzzy again.

She got under his skin like nobody else and he’s starting to love it.

[sofwrites]

He laughed, she shrieked; She yearned, he loved

Polin Week Day 2: Polin Songs

Type: Songfic that goes through Colin and Penelope's POVs from their first meeting to the end of RMB

Length: 4.7k

Read on ao3 or continue under the cut

“But something happened, I heard him laughing

I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent” - London Boy, Taylor Swift

Penelope Featherington’s life split into a new half on the sixth day of the fourth month of the year 1812.

It began like any other day when rare sunshine followed a week of springtime rain- the Featherington had been enjoying a walk in the park, and the matriarch had become too preoccupied to notice the exact whereabouts of her third daughter.

Which was why when Penelope felt the rumbling underneath her feet and heard the nearby stampeding, she had no trouble walking off to inspect for its source.

Was it possible that there were bandits in Hyde Park, she wondered. That scouring marauders had come to their little corner of the world?

Though equally horrifying, the idea filled young Penelope with giddy excitement as she ducked behind a large tree.

But when she peeked around the trunk, there were no bandits, no marauders, no ravagers, scoundrels, or miscreants.

No, there was none of that. Instead, there were two young men galloping on horses.

Until there was only one.

It seemed that the breeze had picked up and along with it, the girl’s bonnet (she’d secretly unsecured it while her mother wasn’t watching- a habit she would very soon retire). And before she realized what had happened, one of the gentlemen had fallen directly into a patch of mud.

And as Penelope watched, her heart leaped, then dropped, and then froze in her chest- because it was her fault that he had fallen in. And with wide, terrified eyes, she rushed forward to help.

“OhmyHeavens! Are you alright? Do you need me to get someone for you?” She was speaking far too quickly, she was sure of that, and her voice was definitely quite a few octaves too high for ordinary human communication. But she didn’t care about any of it in the current moment.

Though he was certainly awake, the man didn’t reply immediately, and Penelope felt her panic grow as her hands began to shake. There was no doubt that this stranger would grant her with anything less than contempt. And as he rose, she prepared herself, promising that she would not cry even if he roared the greatest criticism.

But she need not have worried herself - for Penelope had met a man who was exceptional to all the rest. One who would make sure that no other man could ever compare.

All her perfect gentleman did was laugh, and it was the loveliest sound that she had ever heard. And then he looked at her, and his eyes, the most vivid shade of green she had ever bore witness to, were filled with nothing but good humor.

And then he smiled at her. And nothing would ever be the same for Penelope Featherington, for she had fallen in love.

“Be young, be foolish, but be happy

Don’t let the rain get you down, it’s a waste of time” - Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy, The Tams

It all happened in a blur really. One minute, Colin was riding horseback alongside a friend, enjoying a cheerful sunny afternoon.

And the next, some flying object attacked him and caused him to tumble over and land squarely into a puddle of mud.

Then there was shrieking. Some high-pitched, panicky shrieking that quickly became more painful than the tender spot on his bum.

Pulling away his assailant (which appeared to be a bonnet), Colin was met with a girl whose expression matched the hysteria of her voice. She looked young- a bit less than him- likely around Eloise or Francesca’s age. And she looked…

Well, frankly, she looked bloody terrified.

Terrified. Terrified that he was going to scream or curse or do something even more unpleasant to her.

But even if it was her bonnet that was to blame, it hardly mattered. She couldn’t have possibly planned for her headwear to get whisked off of her head and directly onto his face. And judging by the giant brown eyes and quivering lip turned towards him, she surely felt guilty about it now.

And besides that, the whole situation was rather funny. Even if he was covered in mud, Colin Bridgerton always appreciated an amusing turn of events. There was no use fretting over such little things, not when one could find the humor in it.

So, he did the one thing he knew how to do: he laughed, just in the way his father used to do. His father, who told him that laughter could solve most anything. Colin had found that although it might not have solved everything, it was quite a useful little trick.

But he was proven correct that day when the girl’s horrified expression melted into one of pure relief.

Until she began hurriedly apologizing to him, and her widened eyes went from concerning to amusing. So amusing, in fact, that he smiled at her.

And Colin Bridgerton had no idea what he’d just done.

“I wonder if he knows he’s all I think about at night

He’s the reason for the teardrops on my guitar” - Teardrops On My Guitar, Taylor Swift

If what Penelope felt when she first met Colin was love, then the year following had to embody some form of deep, deep admiration. He was more than just a fine sport and a good first impression- he was simply the nicest man she had ever met. And he grew lovelier with each passing meeting.

He looked at her and smiled, he spoke to her and listened - he was simply kind to her in a way that few people ever were. And her heart fluttered every time she gazed into those dazzling green eyes.

It made her first season, just a little over a year after their ill-fated meeting, rather unbearable. Not only had Penelope’s mother pushed her into coming out in society earlier than she would have liked, but everything seemed to be wrong. In an unfortunate circumstance, she hadn’t yet entered the realm of womanhood, and the reaction of the ton directly reflected such.

But although no bachelors had eyes for Penelope (not to her great surprise), she only truly cared about one.

And that was the reason that over the course of the season, Penelope’s heart broke more times than she would have ever cared to admit.

She knew whenever he was in the room, could feel his presence in the air. She could hear his voice even when it didn’t carry, simply because she had spent so much time engraining it into her memory.

And she often watched him as he accompanied other, more eligible ladies to the dance floor- watched how he laughed and smiled at them just as he did to her. The same way he did to her.

And even though he usually made sure to save her a dance as well, and they were often the greatest highlight of the evening for Penelope, the sting lasted well into the night. She pictured him with the other girls, the ones who were prettier and more popular and less shy than she was. Than she ever could be.

And sometimes, when she was alone and the day had been more difficult than usual, Penelope cried more tears than she could have ever counted.

“I just want to live while I’m alive

(It’s my life)

My heart is like an open highway” - It’s My Life, Bon Jovi

Colin didn’t enjoy balls.

The conversations were dull, the entertainment was lacking, and every dance he offered was met with some maddening assumption that he had plans to marry.

He was still so young for God’s sake, still had so much life to live before surrendering to the shackles of the marriage mart. He knew that it was just a matter of time before he was the oldest unattached Bridgerton, but he had no plans of hurrying. He simply wasn’t ready yet, and he didn’t see any problem with that.

His family, however, certainly did.

“Please, do remember to dance with Miss Merriweather.”

“Yes, mother.”

“And Miss Kensington.”

“Of course.”

“And Miss Jones.”

“ Right .”

“And best not to forget Miss Featherington as well.”

He looked at his mother, his signature half-smile plastered to his face. “Would that even be possible? I’m quite sure that you’ve stuffed the list into my pocket.”

Violet gave him an indulgent look, one that was more familiar than he would have liked. “It’s possible that I left it in your morning coat.” She smiled before her face grew a bit more serious and her voice softened. “Please, Colin, don’t forget. Especially not Miss Featherington.”

And Colin nodded, immediately making his way to the girl standing by the refreshments table because that was what he did.

He appeased his mother, wore a happy face, and left as soon as he was able.

“Mr. Never had to see me cry

Mr. Insincere apology so he doesn’t look like the bad guy” - Mr. Perfectly Fine, Taylor Swift

The worst moment of Penelope’s life happened in the middle of the sixth month of the year 1817.

He hadn’t meant to her to hear him, she knew that. And she knew that she didn’t deserve to feel angry with him, didn’t deserve to feel like he had purposefully trampled over her heart with no regard for her or her feelings.

But Penelope was just a human, and humans didn’t always react to situations with rationality.

So when Colin apologized for the second time (since the first was really more for shock than regret), Penelope wasn’t quite as forgiving inside as she was on the surface.

She didn’t blame him, per se, but the cut was just still too fresh to let go of the hurt. And when Colin approached her at the next ball, she wasn’t quite as... friendly as usual.

It was when she was staring at his hand, outstretched and waiting like everything was absolutely normal. Like there was nothing, simply nothing wrong between them. And then he gave her that same smile he always did, the one that she normally loved, but felt much more smug than charming that evening.

“Of course, Mr. Bridgerton ,” she answered, making a failed attempt to sound pleasant.

He was doing it to appease his mother, she was more than aware of the fact. Or just to absolve himself of his guilt. Perhaps that was why it hurt so much.

Or perhaps it was the simple fact that she’d loved and dreamed about him for years, meanwhile, he’d been announcing to the world that he was certainly not going to marry her.

And though it might not have been fair, Penelope’s heart wouldn’t allow herself to move forward quite yet.

“And I don't even need your love

But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough.” - Somebody that I used to know, Gotye

It had been a mistake. A stupid mistake that Colin hadn’t even known he was making until it had already been too late.

His brothers had been at him, knowing exactly what to say to push him to the edge. He didn’t want to discuss marriage or settling down, he just wanted to go away. Find something that was his and only his.

How could he have known that she’d been standing right there? How could he have known that the cruelest thing he’d ever said would blow up so magnificently in his face?

It wasn’t fair, not to him and certainly- definitely not to her.

Colin wasn’t in the business of hurting other people, especially not ones who were as kind and decent as Penelope Featherington.

He knew that laughter wouldn’t work this time. So, instead, he apologized. A true, sincere apology that Penelope accepted.

Or so she pretended to accept. Because although she claimed that she was fine and that there was nothing wrong, there was definitely something off. And it was bloody irritating.

Colin didn’t need Penelope’s friendship, if that’s what one would call their dynamic, but he didn’t want the girl to hate him or possibly worse- like a stranger.

He was Colin, and he just wanted to be as well-liked as he usually was. So, he did what he could to force pleasantries, to make sure that they got back to where they’d always been.

Until it ended up working a bit too well.

“You’re so gorgeous,

I can’t say anything to your face

‘Cause look at your face” - Gorgeous, Taylor Swift

It had taken Penelope Featherington just about a year to fully forgive Colin Bridgerton. He was the same Colin he always was- funny and charismatic, easily the kindest man she had ever known. And it was easy to fall back into old habits- easy to fall back under his spell.

How could she not? When he smiled at her with that same smile, when he looked at her with those same hypnotic eyes and gorgeous face? Her heart had no chance against him.

Falling in love with Colin was easy- too easy- almost like breathing.

It was the being in love with Colin that tore her apart.

“Ooh, and I wished that you would hurt me harder than I hurt you

Ooh, and I wish you wouldn't wait for me, but you always do” - Let Me Go, Alesso & Hailee Steinfield

It had taken Colin Bridgerton years to admit that Penelope Featherington viewed him as more than just a friendly acquaintance. As more than a friend. As more than anything he felt comfortable with.

And then he thought that it would go away. That it was a young girl’s infatuation that would dissolve with time. He especially never saw it coming after how much he’d hurt her.

But after he’d noticed, he’d really noticed.

Penelope’s eyes had hearts in them. Huge hearts that lit up her entire face and made him feel like the biggest ass on the planet.

He kept leaving, sometimes for entire years. And every time he returned and saw her, he thought that it might be over. That she might have found someone new to set her sights on. That a different man would swoop in and take her affections.

No one ever did, however. And Colin began to worry that he was at fault for it. That Penelope had spent so long waiting for him that she simply refused to allow herself to be carried away by anyone else.

But he pushed that worry away.

Perhaps he’d imagined it- the way she looked at him. He’d known her since before she was even of age and he’d never seen anything different in her. Perhaps that was just how Penelope was to everyone.

(It wasn’t, and deep inside he knew that.)

“I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You’re a cowboy like me” - Cowboy Like Me, Taylor Swift

She had no idea. Penelope had no idea that she could have possibly ever had something in common with Colin.

Colin. Colin. The one who was popular, and gorgeous, and had a way of easing everyone around him. The one who was very much the complete opposite of her.

Except that he wasn’t. Because he was a writer, just like she was. And he had his secrets, and his insecurities, just like she did.

She almost told him. Truly and really considered it as she sat across him in the drawing room of Number Five. She saw how his eyes lit up when she spoke of his writing- saw the secret passion in his work that he tried to hide. It was the same passion she felt, something of herself that she recognized in Colin of all people. It was absurd to see someone else understand what she felt. Absurd and shocking and thrilling.

So, she almost told him, almost let herself join them together in their secrets.

Almost.

Something stopped her. Whether it was the decade-long practice of hiding or a fear of rejection, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she and Colin were more in the same than she could have ever realized, and he had no idea.

“I might get to too much talking

I might have to tell you something

Damn, I like me better when I'm with you” - I Like Me Better, Lauv

He didn’t know when it had happened. Exactly what change in him (or her) had led to it. But there just came a point when Colin realized that Penelope was the one who he wanted in life- the one who he wanted by his side.

Maybe it was that very first night at his mother’s party- right when half of her pastry cream splattered onto the floor. Maybe it was when he caught her reading his journals and then she lectured him on the privilege in his life. Maybe it was when she had asked him to kiss her- and he realized that he never wanted to taste anyone else’s lips ever again.

Colin didn’t know when, or what, or how. But he knew that he never wanted to stop talking to her. That he never felt more like himself than when he was with Penelope. That he had never felt the need to mask himself from her, and that she accepted him as he was each time.

He liked Penelope. Cared for her in a way he’d never cared for anyone before. And he liked himself when he was with her, even the parts that were whinging and temperamental and insecure.

And he finally knew what he needed in his life. Who he needed.

He needed Penelope.

“My reputation’s never been worse, so

You must like me for me” - Delicate, Taylor Swift

Are you going to marry me or not?

The words were still running in her mind well into the night. The same question, over and over and over again.

The morning had been ludicrous.

Colin had followed her into the church.

Colin had found out that she was Lady Whistledown.

Colin had been furious with her.

Colin had kissed her in the carriage.

Penelope had kissed him back.

Colin had asked her to marry him (in a matter of words).

Penelope had said yes (in a matter of words).

Colin and Penelope had gotten engaged to be married.

And to be quite honest, she didn’t know what exactly had changed. She had no idea why or when he had become so adamant about being with her. He had followed her, and in that had found out her great big secret- the one that was both the very best and the very worst of her.

He hadn’t been happy about it, she knew that, but something had switched in him.

And even though he didn’t like her secret, he still liked her, still cherished her in the way that she’d always yearned for.

So, she said yes.

“Please, don't look at me with those eyes

Please, don't hint that you’re capable of lies” - First Date, Blink-182

It hurt. It hurt Colin so very much.

At some point, Penelope had become Colin’s world. And at the same time, she’d been given the power to break him in a way that no one else could.

If finding out that Penelope held secrets the first time was a betrayal, then finding out that she held secrets from him after they’d become betrothed was like a stab to the heart.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen at their engagement ball, of course not. But it still had. And she hadn’t warned him, hadn’t discussed it with him.

He wasn’t sure what he was the angriest about- her hidden truths, her carelessness, her stubbornness to be right, damn it all.

The way she didn’t trust him as much as he seemed to trust her.

He was furious. And hurt. And deceived.

And yet-

“I, I loved you in spite of

Deep fears that the world would divide us” - Dancing with Our Hands Tied, Taylor Swift

He loved her. He loved her for all of her faults and all of her virtues. He loved her even despite how much he couldn’t stand her at that present moment.

He was scared to death for what could happen to her- what would happen to her. He realized that Penelope- that love was more important than the rest of it all. Than the rest of the world.

And he didn’t hesitate to tell her- not even for a moment.

Penelope loved him in return. She’d loved him for years- or so she thought. She didn’t know what had truly been love and what had been infatuation- a dream about the man she’d built up in her head. But it was certainly real love now.

The man in front of her was not perfect, was not without his gripes and flaws. And that was somehow better than perfect.

Because he was real. Because he loved her just as much as she loved him.

Because it was them. Together. Standing side-by-side against the world.

“When I was down

I was your clown

“Right from the start

I gave you my heart” - Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, Elton John & Kiki Dee

Thirty seconds it had taken for Colin Bridgerton to take Penelope Featherington’s heart.

Five years it had taken for Colin Bridgerton to break Penelope Featherington’s heart.

A handful of days it had taken for Colin Bridgerton to give Penelope Featherington his heart.

And twelve years it had taken for Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington to truly see the other for who they were.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bonus rap song section!! (Explicit)

“Go, go, go, go, go, go

Go Shorty, it’s your birthday” - In da Club , 50 Cent

Colin paced across the length of his drawing room, absentmindedly flicking his fingers as he did so.

She was meant to be down here.

He needed her down here.

Right at that very instant.

He simply couldn’t wait any longer.

Penelope needed to sweep down those steps wearing some gorgeous little number, race into the room, and-

“Colin, stop doing that. It’s incredibly irritating.”

He didn’t stop, but he did turn his head to send a scowl to his sister. “Pardon me, but I’m quite sure that you were meant to get her out of the house by four o’clock.” And with a pointed look to the clock, he added, “And it’s already a quarter past.”

Eloise crossed her arms as her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, but I can’t fathom how it has somehow become my fault that she’s late. Weren’t you meant to make sure that she’d be ready by now?”

At this, Colin didn’t meet her eye, instead sending a quick not-so-guilty glance to the sofa. He certainly had meant to make sure that she was dressed and proper in time for Eloise’s arrival, but he’d gotten… Side-tracked.

It wasn’t his fault that she’d decided to wear his favorite shade of pink that afternoon. He was just a man, and how could any man not charge her, grab her by the shoulders, and-

“Oh, ew!” Eloise exclaimed, jumping from her seat on the sofa. It seemed that she hadn’t missed Colin’s glance. “Honestly, one would think that you’re still newlyweds.”

Colin finally did stop his pacing to send his sister a half-smile that was far more cheeky and apologetic. With a small shrug, he leaned against the wall.

“Well, you know, sister, we-”

“We what?” Penelope interrupted as she strode into the room, sending him a teasingly accusing face. But before he could even consider answering, she went straight to Eloise and gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Maria insisted on this intricate hairstyle.” She motioned to the chignon sitting atop her head, which Colin thought was rather lovely on her.

“And you were tied up before then?” Eloise asked innocently, barely batting an eye when Penelope suddenly flushed.

There was a pause of silence, but Colin (who had been appreciating the sight of his wife from across the room), rushed towards them. “Alright, I think you’re late enough as is. Don’t want to make the Modiste angry, do we?”

Penelope frowned as she turned to him, her eyebrows furrowing in that magnificent way they always did. “I really think it will be-”

But he had already taken her by the arm and begun dragging her into the hallway, Eloise following closely in tow. “Darling, go, go, go, go, go, go. You mustn't be late.”

Her mouth hung open as he strode her towards the front door, helping her with the coat Dunwoody had handed him.

“Colin, what are you-”

“Go, Darling. It’s your birthday. Go have fun.”

And as if by magic, Penelope and Eloise were standing outside on the steps and Colin was shutting the door.

Penelope blinked several times, staring at the knocker on the door before she turned to her best friend. “What in the world was that about?”

Eloise snorted, tucking an arm through hers. “I do believe that when we get back later today, we might party like it’s your birthday.”

“I’m hooked and I can’t stop staring

Oh baby, I wanna get wit’cha” - Baby’s Got Back , Sir Mix-a-Lot

Penelope let out a sigh as her eyes trailed the ballroom of Bridgerton House, resting upon the back of her husband. And then her eyes trailed downwards, and she let out another sigh as her eyes traveled downwards, downwards, downwards…

“Penelope?”

He looked good.

Too good.

“Penelope? ”

So very, very goo-

A pair of fingers snapped a few inches from her face. “Penelope!”

She blinked, her head jerking to face Kate. “Oh, I’m sorry. What were we talking about?”

Kate and Sophie shared a glance before turning back to her, both looking equally suspicious. “We were discussing whether or not Lucy’s pregnant again,” Sophie answered after a moment, peeking at Penelope as she took a slow sip of champagne.

“Oh,” Penelope said, her eyes somehow again landing on her husband. “She is.”

“And what makes you so sure?” Kate asked. Or perhaps it was Sophie. Er- quite honestly, Penelope’s focus was far too drawn away to discern the difference.

“Oh, I just…” She swallowed, not taking any notice of the fact that her voice had trailed off.

One of her sisters-in-law giggled. “She can’t stop staring.”

“Hmm?” Penelope finally tore her gaze away to look at them, eyes widened in absolute innocence.

Kate bit back a smirk as she lifted her glass. “I do believe Colin’s old bedroom has been kept.”

Penelope didn’t even have the decency to blush as she nodded, sparing just a rather feeble wave as she navigated through the room, eyes glued to Colin’s form.

Although he was mid-way through a conversion with his brother-in-law, Geoffrey, Colin’s arm slithered around his wife’s waist the very moment her fingertips reached him. And when he glanced down, he recognized a very… Strange look in her eyes.

It seemed Geoffrey too had noticed, for he mumbled, “I think Felicity’s looking for me…” before disappearing into the crowd.

Colin grinned as he leaned down to give Penelope’s lips better access to his ear.

“I want to be with you,” she whispered, her hot breath leaving shivers down his back.

His eyebrow quirked upwards as he looked down at her. “Now?”

She grinned and nodded. “Now.”

“Wet-ass pussy

Make that pull-out game weak, woo (ah)” - WAP, Cardi B & Megan Thee Stallion

There was screaming.

And growling.

And purring.

And scratching.

“Oh, my God!”

“Colin!”

“Penelope!”

She looked down at him, eyes wide and almost… frightened. “What happened?” There was water all over the floor, buckets knocked down, drops of blood…

And one very wet pussy cat hissing in her husband’s direction.

“Our dear ass-” ("Colin!” ) “Benjamin got it into his head to jump into my bath,” he muttered, grabbing a nearby robe. “And I think you can conclude how that ended.”

Penelope cringed, gingerly stepping over a puddle to soothe the cat. “And your valet?”

Colin glared at her as he tugged at the belt of his robe. “Had some difficulty pulling the cat out and had to go get some bandages.”

Benjamin purred as Penelope scratched behind his ear, doing her best not to laugh. “I hope you at least got to finish your washing.”

She could feel Colin’s glower in the quiet, the only sounds coming from their reasonably calmed (but still rather wet) pussy cat.

“Next time, I want a dog instead.”

[fang-wolfsbane]

Transformers Generation One: A Seeker's Triangle: Chapter 03: Discovery

“Hey Zett, haul your ass up here and get this job done!”

“Yessir! Be right there!” Zett Oakwell called up to his superior, or at least that’s what the man seemed to believe himself to be. Waiting until the big, burly man moved out of sight, Zett kept his lips pressed into an all too friendly smile he had years to practice into perfection. The moment he lost sight of the man, so did his lips lose their form.

A sigh rattled through Zett’s ribs, his hand reaching up to rub his palm against his diaphragm, trying to quell his true thoughts on the man who barely paid him the minimum wage for working on the construction site their company had been asked to clear. It didn’t help that they were the only two on site either. Everyone else had claimed that they were all ‘too busy’ to help with the clearing. He hoped they all got some form of pain in their backsides as karma for leaving him as the boss’s sole lapdog.

Looking around the site, Zett took a moment in to get a good look at the small beach that had been used as a dump by the locals. He could feel his hand curling into a fist as his anger swelled up once more. There were plenty of trashcans around the city, yet people still chose to walk along this very beach and just let their refuge flitter to the ground without a second thought.

Zett wasn’t an eco-warrior, or any kind of activist, but it still pained him to see how little humans thought of the only inhabitable planet they had. Talks about travelling to distant planets to live on them instead had crossed over the radio a couple of times when he walked past the boss’s office, overhearing all the excited chatter about the possibilities. Sure, send humans to another planet so that they can destroy that one as well. Those had been his thoughts. No one had asked his opinion on the matter, so he never gave it, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have an opinion either.

Personally, he felt like no one ever really bothered to talk to him unless they needed something. That’s the way it always was. At home, at school, and even at work, so he simply chose to keep his mouth shut and pick up whatever he passed, throwing away the trash the cause of the problem chose to ignore.

The sunlight bounced off the slow approaching waves, lapping ever so gently at the shore as if tentatively testing its safety. The sight of a small crab scuttling in the distance was at least something that brought a smile to his lips. It almost looked like the crab was trying to play a game of tag. Nature’s refuge workers his teacher had said during a field trip when he was in the seventh grade. Zett took his hardhat off in respect for the crustacean, the same sunlight bouncing off his neck-length black hair, before turning on his heel and heading towards the boss’s temporary base of operations for the hotel they were tasked to build. Another refuge for the litterbugs too lazy to walk a couple of steps to the nearest bin.

“You wanted to see me, boss?” Zett asked upon entering the office, his brown eyes scanning the room. There wasn’t really much to look at. A wooden desk painted blue in the corner with a heap of bills for equipment, a cold cup of coffee and a pen verging on the edge of toppling off the side. The chair that was supposed to be nearby stood off to the side, acting as something for his boss to lean against as he studied one of the blueprints plastered against the wall. A quick once over told Zett that it was for the seventh floor. He hadn’t bothered to ask how tall the hotel was going to be. He only cared about how much they would get paid by the end of it.

If the pay-out were as good as he was hoping, he’d have saved up enough to put in a deposit for his own place once he graduated from high school in a couple of months, possibly scraping by with his sloppy grades. As long as he passed and could move out, then he was happy. Everything else could wait.

“Yeah. You don’t mind working extra shifts, right?” his boss asked, not even having the decency to try and look at him as he asked. Coming from the man before him, Zett knew it wasn’t a request as much as an order. If he refused, it would simply be cut from his check, not that he’d receive any extra payment for saying yes in the first place. Zett made sure to hide his curling fist on the inside of his hat, flashing a crude gesture to the otherwise rude man.

“No sir,” Zett hummed, forcing his lips into that same, earlier, all too eager to please smile that he hated so much that he felt like he could hurl at the mere thought of doing it.

“Good. I need you to work overtime tonight. Get this area clear by tomorrow morning so that the boys can get started. We’re behind schedule as it is.”

‘We wouldn’t have fallen behind in the first place if ‘the boys’ had bothered to show up in the first place,’ Zett snapped back, mentally of course. No way in hell was he going to keep his employment if he dared point out the reason for their falling behind. At least this way, he wouldn’t have to worry about going home and getting chewed out by his poor biology class test results – if his school bag had been left undisturbed where he had taken to hiding it beneath his bed.

“Sure thing.”

“Good. Remember to lock up when you’re done.” And just like that, the boss dismissed him, already grabbing his own jacket as he hurried out the door towards his waiting car. Watching the rear lights of the old clunker turning the corner, Zett waited a couple of seconds before slamming the protective headwear into the sandy floor beneath himself as hard as he could, sliding his hands through his hair shortly after as he screamed his frustration to the distant sky, his seemingly only companion as of late. A million stars, none of which probably even knew his name, much less about his existence. It made him wonder if anyone – any thing – knew that he too, had a life. At this point, there was no chance in hell.

***

Hours of hauling trash from one end to another had Zett sweaty, moody, and frankly, tired. A church bell in the distance told him that it was three in the morning. By this time, the headlight he’d wrapped around his forehead had lost its life, and of course his boss hadn’t bothered to leave a spare behind, so Zett continued working in the dark, knowing fully well that in a couple of hours he’d be forced to work alongside the same men who left the grunt work to him. The only comfort he gave himself was that he’d probably earn a couple of muscles from all the heavy lifting. The small bulges in his arms acted as reassurance.

He had been warned, multiple times before, about paying attention to where he was walking when doing his work, so the moment his foot hit something hard, Zett only had enough time to yelp out his surprise before crashing face-first into something solid.

A crunch of bone informed him that he’d officially broken his nose, his salt-stained hands flying up to try and cover it before the bloodbath begun. He knew it was an overexaggerating on his part, but it still hurt. For the first time in eighteen years, he’d broken something that most guys his age hurt during physical fights. He nearly laughed at how lame his excuse would be if someone cared enough in the hallway to ask why his skin had turned purple and blue. If he were lucky, he could convince them that he’s gotten it the same way as most guys his age tended to break their bones. Maybe he’d even be lucky to impress Miss Perfect, Carly.

He didn’t quite know why she was the one he wanted to impress, chalking it up to his DNA telling him to be the typical kid falling for the most popular girl at school only to be ignored like a poster from the drama club requesting new members. He nearly felt giddy at the thought of finally, possibly one-upping that other guy that always hung out with her. Spike… something. He didn’t know much about him, except that he had some association with robotic aliens from some other planet. Maybe those aspiring astronauts had some point to their Earth-eviction plan.

The first couple of months after the robots – Autobots, if he remembered right – no one could stop talking about them, until everyone got used to their existence. Sometimes when walking past a car parked off on its own, even he attempted to strike up a conversation with it in the hopes that it would respond. It never did.

Groaning, Zett pushed himself out of the salty water, keeping his hand pressed to his nose, trying to ignore how sensitive it was. Looking down, Zett leaned in for a closer look to see what he had tripped over. It was definitely something big, painted black with green streaks and purple markings. He frowned, leaning in for a closer look. From what he could see, it looked like one of those giant Autobot robots. Although this one seemed to be, well, dead.

How long had it been laying here? From the gleam of the armouring or whatever it was that they called their… skin, it seemed the robot had been abandoned. Sliding his hand up the side, he felt a couple of bumps and dents. Whoever this robot was, they sure had seen better days. From what he could feel, it felt like a female version. That alone was enough to cause his cheeks to heat. The closest he’d ever gotten to the females of his own species was talking to one of them with an occasional glance at their cleavage or other… assets when passing them by. Who knew that his first time touching any kind of female would be a robot? Not that he would tell anyone about that.

“What happened to you girl?” Zett asked, as if expecting a response. The head seemed to hold some kind of helmet that flowed into cables that he supposed was their version of hair. A visor like the ones that firefighters wore on their helmets covered where he figured her eyes were. Did Autobots also have eye problems? A pair of wings jutted out on either side, making him think that she had probably transformed into a plane or something similar. Judging from her slim figure, probably a jet. From what he could see, there wasn’t any rust, luckily.

The best course of action was to probably to talk to Spike at school and tell him about his discovery. Even better, he could go to Carly’s house and tell her personally. The grin that had appeared on his face at the thought fell. Not only was it way too early in the morning to drop by for a ‘casual visit’, he didn’t even know where she lived in the first place. He sighed once more, turning himself around as he sat down on her leg, running his free hand through his hair.

“Just can’t get a break, can you, Zett?” he asked himself, staring at his reflection in the water that wasn’t even visible. He frowned, kicking the back of his heel against the leg. So much for finding a giant robot that he couldn’t even use to impress the girl he liked.

A soft whirring sound buzzed through his ears, causing him to sit up. The robot wasn’t radioactive, was it? His head slowly turned towards the robot’s face, her visor lighting up into a soft red glow as a pair of even redder eyes locked onto him in what he instinctively knew was a warning.

“Oh boy.”

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

The “Rescue”

Slade Wilson x reader

Summary: Arkham Knight era, the boy needs a hand after he gets caught

Word Count: 1830

If someone had asked that morning how he thought this whole “attack Gotham on Halloween” thing was going to go, Slade probably would have said literally anything other than the way it actually had gone. Months of careful planning somehow ended with him sitting in a cell at the police station with every crazed idiot that plagued the cesspool they called a city. The man poorly singing opera in the middle of said cell especially grated on his already frayed nerves.

It hadn’t helped that all of those irritating criminals had gotten especially antsy about ten minutes prior when damn near every cop in the precinct rushed out with whispers of something happening at Wayne Manor on their lips. Slade could only hope the Knight made it out okay. But it didn’t matter, not much he could do to help the kid until after he got himself out of here. An annoying task in and of itself considering that his gear had been confiscated upon arrival; he was lucky no one had had the balls to try and take his mask. So he chose to bide his time, head leaned back against the bars as he sat on the ground and tried to ignore the other prisoners around him.

The phrase ‘Time is an illusion’ came to mind while Slade sat waiting for something to happen, something that would give him the chance to escape. Cops weren’t back yet, so it hadn’t been too long. Still, he was getting antsy, eager to leave the company of Gotham’s Craziest. Though, he wasn’t so eager that he was happy when the power suddenly cut out. Predictably, there was a sudden hush among the prisoners before the chatter returned twofold.

This can’t be good.

“You look like shit, Wilson.”

His eyes slid closed and he sighed, automatically recognizing that voice. He’d better after all the times and contexts in which he’d heard it.

“He’s wearing a mask!” Cobblepot argued. “How the hell can she know that?”

“Shut up!” Dent snarled. “You fucking idiot. Do you not recognize her mask? She’s almost as bad as him!”

Ignoring them, Slade turned to look at her. Sure enough, her mask (one much like the Knight’s) was blocking whatever facial expression she had, but her body language spoke volumes about her attitude. The outfit she was wearing fit poorly; something she’d stolen from a militia member to blend in most likely. “Why are you here?”

You crossed your arms, weight falling to one hip. There was a little time to spare before the skeleton police crew came to check on this particular group of criminals. “A mutual friend of ours asked me to make sure you made it out of town.”

“I don’t need your help, Y/N.”

“Like it or not, you’ve got it. The Bat’s dead; his manor blew sky high with him in it.”

That sent a wave of murmurs through everyone that was openly listening to the two of them argue.

The crowd was loud enough to cover the quiet, “Allegedly,” that was for Slade’s ears only. “So, do you want out of here or not?”

“Suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” he grumbled, rising to his feet slowly.

“Who are you callin’ a horse, Wilson?” you challenged even as you pried the door open.

None of his cellmates were stupid enough to challenge Deathstroke as he exited the cell and closed the door behind him. “The woman that felt the need to break her ex-husband out of jail without even getting paid for it, Ms. Wilson.” It was always amusing to him, the fact that you never bothered to change your name back to what it was before. Well, it amused him about as much as it hurt him.

“Well, everybody always says I have shit judgement, so I figured I’d say ‘fuck it’ and lean into it this time.”

It was only once both of them were in one of the militia’s armored transports that Slade started to relax the slightest bit, and even then it was in no small part due to the fact that you’d handed him a duffel full of his gear. Apparently you’d made a pit-stop by the evidence lockup before grabbing him.

“So the Knight sent you?” he asked as she drove, the vehicle headed out of the city. He wasn’t leaving your presence anytime soon as far as he could tell, so he might as well make nice in the meantime.

You nodded, eyes remaining carefully trained on the road. Looking at him . . . well, it was never a good idea for you. “He messaged me as soon as things went sideways with the Bat. Took me a few hours to get here.”

“Little shit had no faith that I’d get the job done?”

A smirk tugged at your lips. “You don’t exactly have a winning track record going against Batman alone, and your thugs--trained or not--stood no chance. Don’t get mad at him though; he was worried about you.”

“And you’d do anything for him.”

You nodded, and out of the corner of your eye you saw him echo the gesture. It was against your better judgement, but you couldn’t stop the admission from sliding from your lips as easily as curses normally did. “And for you.”

Every muscle in Slade’s body froze at that; for once he had no idea what to say. “Y/N. . .” 

You just sighed.

There was a reason for your relationship in the first place, after all, as well as your divorce. The love you two had was a dangerous one; there were no lengths one of you wouldn’t go to if it meant saving the other. The only people that could claim something similar from Slade were his children, and that was only after you helped them reconcile. And the love you shared had never faded. In fact, the problem was the exact opposite. You two had hated to be apart, hated that your separate contracts often made you go weeks without seeing the other, and more importantly each of your enemies started going after the other in an endless search for weaknesses. For Slade it was no problem. For you . . . Let’s just say it was a shame that you didn’t have his enhancements.

So the two of you staged a massive fight and ended it between you. That was ten years ago, and not a day went by that you didn’t wish things were different.

When you glanced over, you saw that he’d removed his mask, and yeah looking at him was never a great idea for you. Confirmed. It only reminded you how much you loved him. And the fact that he was still handsome even years after all the years since he was the young brunet mercenary you met so long ago.

Slade found himself in a similar situation over in the passenger seat. As much as his first wife taught him he was bad at the whole feelings thing, you taught him that he could be more than that. His cold heart gave a solid thud at the sight of you removing your own mask with the smooth familiarity of someone who’d done it a thousand times and carelessly tossing the marvel of mechanical headwear into the back seat. You’d gained some wrinkles over the years you’d spent away from him as well as some grey hairs, but you were still stunning. Maybe it was a good thing you never took it off around him while the two of you were working with the militia down in Venezuela . . . 

“I thought we agreed . . .” he muttered, normal confidence put aside for honesty just like it always was when talking to you.

“Do you remember what it was like back then?”

“When?”

“That trip when we stayed in that backwater beach house in South America.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Second honeymoon. Rose wanted to kill us for getting her to dogsit.”

You nodded, fingers flexing on the steering wheel as you fought the urge to reach over and touch him. “She agreed, and I paid her.”

“It was a wolfhound you trained to help you on jobs; it was a beast.”

“Rover was a good boy, and you loved him.”

“You knew she couldn’t say no to you.”

“Okay, that I can’t argue.”

There was a moment of amused silence where Slade simply enjoyed your company for a moment. But all good things in his life had to end, so, “Why do you bring it up?”

You hesitated, face nervous, a rare thing when you were talking to him even after the divorce. “I miss it.” Even someone as emotionally stunted as Slade Wilson could hear the unsaid, “I miss you,” in your tone.

“Did something happen?”

You shook your head. “Been thinking about it for a while, actually. Ever since we started helping the Knight.”

It really had been a while, then, since Jason Todd hired both of you over a year ago to help gather and train his army. You buying and programming the drones and equipment as well as building the Knight’s mask in a style similar to your own, Slade training the people how to actually fight. Crossing paths had been both inevitable and painful.

“What you’re thinking . . . Y/N, it isn’t a good idea.”

Abruptly, you slammed on the brakes. Slade absolutely would have hit the windshield if his reflexes had been any slower and he hadn’t been able to brace himself in time. Your eyes were practically blazing when you turned to glare at him. “Slade Wilson, if you can look me in the eye right now and convince me that you don’t want the same thing, I’ll drop it and you’ll never see me again.”

The thing was he couldn’t do that. You knew how to hit him where it mattered, that was sure. Mentioning his kids (both of which still loved and looked up to you), that trip . . . Yeah . . . He wanted you around just as much as you wanted him around. God only knows why she wants me.

He sighed heavily. “If we do this, we’ll have to be partners. None of that working separately shit that got us in trouble before.”

“Lucky for us, we already know how each other works.”

Slade rolled his eyes, relaxing into his seat once more as you started driving again. “Why do I feel like the kid set this up?”

“Because he’s a manipulative little shit just like the rest of our kids except he has the Bat’s subtlety?” you offered ‘helpfully.’

Meaning that he has none? Slade chose to focus on that instead of the way a little thrum of pleasure passed through him at the way you talked about his children like they were your own; though, he supposed you were right to address Jason as one of them. Despite himself, he’d grown pretty damn fond of the little bird. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

[mwolf0epsilon]

Shawn x Jack, hatshipp. They both lost their hats then they accuse each other for having stolen the other's hat. In the end Boris had taken them without permission to sew them, they feel like fools and ask each other for forgiveness, ayyyyyy it seemed cute to me ;;-;;

Summary: Two fragmented souls find mutual understanding through a slight misunderstanding.

My Jack is married and my Shawn was dating Grant, so it's a BROTP instead!

---

[[MORE]]

In the desolate and decrepit halls of the lonesome studio, there was nothing more precious to those who crept through the shadows and ink than an identifiable trait. A little smidge of an identity that prevailed despite all adversities and perils.

Be it something as simple as an extra finger, a missing eye, a strange patch of lumps on one's head or back, or even something as tangible as an article of clothing.

Lost Ones rarely formed in a diverse manner, with most looking so similar they couldn't be sure if they were ever truly alone, or looking in a mirror. Those who were not bereaved by their hopelessness often sought to distinguish themselves.

A few Searchers too sought to do the same, despite their more limited forms being too unstable for clothing to last very long.

One such Searcher was a unique swollen one. A fearful heap of thick ink that hid away in the sewers adjacent to the music department. The Prophet's most favourite sheep and the provider of resources for the flock, if just because he donated so frequently and generously.

Yes, everyone knew Swollen Jack and his very nice hat. Except today no one could recognize him at all.

No one could possibly understand dismay in the same manner the poor thing did that day. Woken up he had, from a lovely nap after Sammy had visited him, only to find his beloved hat gone! He'd looked everywhere for it and yet nowhere he looked turned up anything but ink, filth and disappointment. Then, when he'd gone to ask Sammy for help, he'd found the Prophet gone! Off to visit the rest of the flock, unaware that his dear friend was in great distress.

Oh where or where could have his hat gone, if he hadn't dropped it somewhere in his own domain? Had someone perhaps taken it?

Surely not... Or, perhaps, surely yes? He knew other Searchers clung to their own headwear just as fiercely as he did... So, had another without an idea of their own identity, gone and snatched his own?

If so... There would be hell to pay. He might be a docile creature by nature, but even Jack had his limits. He had to draw the line somewhere, and identity theft was a very good place for that line.

-

Searchers were notoriously good at searching, as silly as that may sound. If one knew where to go, they often could get quite far deeper into the studio. But Jack? Jack wasn't shy about using... Unconventional methods. The toilets were his choice of a transportation, just as the fine holes in the walls were Sammy's playground. They took him where no other Searchers dared to go!

The Swollen Searcher had even memorized the layout of the pipework long ago, and knew which "track" would lead him to the best gossip spots. Many of his kind were, after all, great sources of information. There was bound to be someone who'd seen his very nice hat.

And, lo and behold, someone did! There was apparently a great big bully of a Searcher in the Angel's domain that had been seen wearing a hat very recently. He'd gone there to see for himself and found that the vagueness of "great big bully" didn't come close to what he encountered.

Gigantic was a much more fitting term.

Both Jack and the one most called the Boss were locked in a battle of wills, screeching furiously at one another as they circled. Both hatless, both very upset, both wanting the very same thing. And they weren't about to back off without teaching the other a lesson.

Until the clatter of an empty can caught their attention...

High above in one of the onlooking balconies, stood a cartoon wolf holding two very fancy looking hats. The lupine toon barely able to react once both fragmented creatures rushed up to meet him and snatch away their beloved possessions.

In the end, once all had been explained, it had all been a great big misunderstanding it seemed...

Jack had ripped the rim of his hat prior to it going missing. A most saddening thing. Yet now here it was, nicely patched with care. The Boss's own magnificent top hat had been open at the top, looking much like a discarded can of bacon soup prior to the thoughtful wolf coming to take it away. Now it was restored to its former glory, ready to make such a tremendous creature dressed to impress.

They both thanked the toon as best they could, the Boss offering him a doll while Jack ripped a chunk of thick ink for him to use in one of the many fabrication machines. Boris looked bashful while accepting these tokens of gratitude before scampering off to escape the cruel Angel's notice.

Both Searchers profusely apologized to one another before tipping their hats and returning to their rightful place.

Days later Jack found a doll with a very nice hat shaped like his own, waiting for him on top of his favourite crate. He repaid his much larger brother-in-arms with a large bowtie he'd made with Sammy's help, out of what little fabric he could find.

This, he thought, was the beginning of a very beautiful friendship indeed.

[small-leviathan]

The themes of the Splatoon series

(Heads up, this essay analysing Splatoon is literally 2300 words long. You’re gonna be for a while if you decide to stick around.)

In case you've missed it until now, Splatoon has taken the world by storm. Nintendo's cephalopod-based multiplayer shooter series has sold almost 12 million copies across two games in just about three years, and as a result of this still young franchise has cemented itself as one of the legendary Japanese game developer's new hallmark series. Nintendo seems inclined to agree, as Splatoon's central Inkling characters have been featured prominently in the marketing for their latest game in the prestigious crossover series, Super Smash Brothers Ultimate, with the Inkling girl even earning a prominent spot on the game's cover art alongside titans like Mario, Donkey Kong and Link.

So perhaps some of you would scoff at the idea that Splatoon has a deeper message behind it than it first appears. Nintendo isn't really known for baking thought-provoking stuff into their games, and this seems like it'd be doubly true for a game that is first-and-foremost a competitive multiplayer shooter. I don't know if I'll be able to convince you otherwise, honestly, but I do sincerely believe that Splatoon has something to say and in this essay, I will explain why I believe that to be the case, and just what that thing is.

Let's start by describing the most important elements of Splatoon's narrative, and just as a heads up, I think it goes without saying that I will be spoiling pretty much every major reveal across all of Splatoon 1, Splatoon 2, and its DLC, Octo Expansion. Splatoon is set twelve thousand years after global warming and environmental pollution has wiped out mankind as well as most mammals. Having taken our place is a large assortment of evolved sea critters, including crabs, jellyfish and most prominently, cephalopods. Squids and octopi alike have evolved the ability to shift into humanoid forms, becoming known as inklings and octarians, respectively. Unfortunately, our squishy successors didn't get along very well, as rising sea levels forced them into a violent conflict known as the Great Turf Wars. This conflict was eventually won by the Inklings, letting them claim the surface while the octarians were forced into hiding in great underground cities.

Splatoon proper takes place a hundred years later, and the Octarians have been reduced to just a distant memory in the mind of Inkling society. Trouble is brewing under the surface, however, as the leader of the Octarians, DJ Octavio, is planning an attack on the hub city of Inklingkind, Inkopolis. The player takes control of a customizable inkling who is recruited by the military veteran Cap'n Cuttlefish to help take down the Octarian menace before they can start their campaign. Along the way the player, now dubbed as "Agent 3", is helped not only by Cap'n Cuttlefish, but by his granddaughters Agent 1 and Agent 2, who are eventually revealed to be the two members of the pop idol duo The Squid Sisters, Callie and Marie (to no one's surprise, the game does not try very hard to conceal their identities). Long story short, Agent 3 defeats the Octarians, ending in a grand battle against DJ Octavio. The Octarian threat is defeated and DJ Octavio is captured, with inkling society none the wiser.

Splatoon 2 unfolds two years after the events of the first game, and a lot has changed. Callie and Marie have drifted apart, following a popularity contest ending in Marie's favour, and taking their place as the number one musical act is a new duo known as Off the Hook, consisting of the rapper Pearl and the DJ Marina (who looks suspiciously like an Octarian, but more on that later). Marie discovers that DJ Octavio has escaped his containment, and now alone due to Cap'n Cuttlefish and Agent 3 having gone on a new mission and Callie suddenly disappearing in the midst of a trip, she is forced to follow her grandfather's footsteps and recruit a new Agent, this one being our new playable character, Agent 4. Not much is different from that point onward, except for the eventual reveal that DJ Octavio is responsible for Callie's disappearance, having kidnapped her after he escaped and is now brainwashing her with a pair of hypnotic sunglasses. Nonetheless, Callie is saved and DJ Octavio is defeated once again.

You might be wondering why I bothered to explain all of the plot of Splatoon's singleplayer content, and the reason for that is that I believe that understanding all of this is necessary to explain the first and most important of Splatoon's themes: The positive power of pop culture and self-expression.

Splatoon heavily encourages that the player uses its system to express themselves. Aside from having character creation, there is an emphasis on fashion, both in the culture of the inklings themselves and in the gameplay proper, with the player having access to a wide variety of clothes, headwear and shoes with which to accessorize their characters. It might be easy, perhaps even tempting, to read this in a cynical manner and characterize inklings as a bunch of shallow trend-chasers, slaves to consumerist fads built to wring as much cash out of them as possible. And this interpretation is, in all honesty, valid, but it's certainly not a philosophical standpoint that Splatoon itself agrees with. The game encourages mixing and experimenting with its fashions, but all of that fashion is bought with a currency that you earn by playing the multiplayer game, which in-universe is explained to be a kind of competitive shooting sport, not unlike paintball, that seems to be the hyperfixation of every single inkling teen like the player character. It's a bit hard to read the game's take on fashion as cynical when you literally earn money by doing something you were not only going to do anyway but were also actively seeking out and enjoying. The multiplayer mode itself is also encouraging self-expression, in a way, due to there being a wide variety of weapons available, all of which feel distinct and unique, allowing the player find the ones they like the most and use only those. This isn't "do tireless work to keep spending money", it's "do the things you like to get the things you like." And I feel like that is a very clear subversion of consumerist culture, unless you feel like pointing out that Splatoon itself is something you have to spend money on to play and therefore it is inherently a part of consumerist culture, in which case, alright then, Holden Caulfield, don't you have anything better to do?

Moving on, there is also a massive focus on music in the setting, with a lot of different fictional bands, all of which sound completely unlike each other. Crucially, the "pop music" in Splatoon is not as heavily standardized as our own pop music is, in Inkopolis everything from the Bottom Feeders' Celtic rock to Chirpy Chips' chiptune to Diss-Pair's... whatever they are, can find mainstream success and popularity. Perhaps the most telling sign that Splatoon thinks music is important is that all of the most important characters are artists, from Callie and Marie to Pearl and Marina and even the antagonist himself, DJ Octavio.

That said, there is a very important distinction to be made here. In an interview with Famitsu from 2015, series art director Seita Inoue stated that the music that plays during the singleplayer levels is composed by DJ Octavio and his subordinates, and that "it’s like the Octo side broadcasts their music in order to control the many Octarians.” When this is combined with the fact that DJ Octavio uses a pair of sunglasses to brainwash Callie, I think it's clear that the true face of his villainy is shown. DJ Octavio isn't just the antagonist because he's the final boss, but because he takes music and fashion, which the game has established as ways in which to express personal freedom, and repurposes them as tools of control and oppression. DJ Octavio is literally the antithesis of Inkling society and Inkling values.

There is one final point I want to make, but it requires delving into Octo Expansion a bit to explore, so we'll start that now. Octo Expansion is the paid singleplayer DLC for Splatoon 2, adding a pretty sizable new story campaign. In this new story, the player takes the role of an Octoling (the Octarian equivalent of an Inkling, though I will be using two terms rather interchangeably in the rest of the essay) who wakes up in an underground subway with no memories. Here, they meet Cap'n Cuttlefish, who explains that they had been in a fight with him and Agent 3 before all three of them got swept away to the locale they are now in. As Agent 3 has gone missing, Cap'n Cuttlefish teams up with our amnesiac player character to find a way out of the subway, giving them the nickname Agent 8 in the process. Along the way, the two of them end up coming into contact with Pearl and Marina, the previously mentioned music duo, who resolve to help Agent 8 and Cap'n Cuttlefish escape. A lot of things happen between the start and beginning of the story, but I want to focus on the most important revelation: Marina is revealed to have been a high-ranking member of the Octarian military who deserted after the final battle between Agent 3 and DJ Octavio in Splatoon 1, and was inspired to become an artist after hearing the Squid Sisters perform their iconic hit song Calamari Inkantation, the very same song that was stated to have inspired Agent 8's desertion as well. Calamari Inkantation was always played up as being a very special song, as said by Marina herself: "Once our souls have been freed, there's no way we can continue to live under the oppression of Octarian society."

So at this point, it's not even subtextual but literally textual, Splatoon sincerely believes that music has liberating properties, able to make people realize that they're being held back by societal structures and also gain the willpower to break free of those shackles. The lines are very clearly drawn here: In Inkopolis music and fashion are ways in which people express themselves and therefore it is an idyllic and diverse place, but Octarian society is an oppressive dystopia where these things are used to control the populace. To really hammer the point home, in the final battle of Octo Expansion, in which the very fate of the world hangs in the balance, the day is saved by Pearl and Marina (and Agent 8) working together and combining their talents and technology to destroy the giant superweapon threatening their home. The world is literally saved by a pair of musicians. It doesn't get more explicit than that.

There are two more themes I think Splatoon play with, but to a much lesser extent than the one previously mentioned. The first of these is the importance of moving on and not being stuck in the past. This is an explicit character trait in both of the central antagonists. DJ Octavio, who was the leader of the Octarians in the Great Turf Wars a hundred years ago, has been holding a grudge against the inklings for all this time when he could have been focusing on trying to improve his people’s living conditions, or even broker peace with the Inklings, who clearly don't have an issue with a bunch of Octolings running around following the events of Octo Expansion. The second case study is the antagonist from Octo Expansion, Commander Tartar. An ancient AI built by a human scientist before their extinction to pass on their knowledge to whatever species inherited the world to come, Commander Tartar fails this mission because it holds humans on such a high pedestal that it sees the flaws of the Inklings and Octarians as proof they aren't worthy to pass the torch to, and resolves to wipe them both out and create its own "perfect species" instead. Additionally, I think it's worth mentioning that the weapon it plans do this is with is a repurposed statue resembling a Greek marble bust, a relic of the past that becomes a literal metaphor for how Commander Tartar's mindset is destructive.

The second of these themes is the recurring motif that despite all of their differences and their conflicts Inklings and Octarians become complete when working together. The first sign of this is their opposite traits as species, Inklings are energetic, flighty and have a short attention span while Octarians are more serious, work-focused and obedient. It's pretty clear that both could stand to learn from each other's positive traits, and a bit of dialogue from Marina in Octo Expansion implies that she hopes as much. Off the Hook themselves are also an example of this theme in action, Pearl had trouble finding herself as an artist and was not doing very well before meeting Marina, and it's through Pearl that Marina gains the chance to follow her dream, and their cooperation makes them so successful that they become Inkopolis' number one artists. This theme is also a part of the final battle of Octo Expansion, as mentioned earlier, as it is the cooperation of Inklings and Octarians that saves the day.

If there's anything to take away from this overly wordy essay, it's this: Splatoon wants you to know that there is no shame in enjoying "shallow" pop culture, that there is meaning even in things not deemed "high culture". Splatoon wants you to know that the value of something lies not in the value of its production, but in what it expresses and the joy it brings to the people observing it, and the people making it.

Because to Splatoon, these simple things have the power to unite, to free us, and ultimately to save the world.

And personally? I think that's a pretty worthwhile message.

[sevi007]

A hat makes (no) cowboy

So some of you might remember how a comment a la “Dante sure wanted to be a cowboy as a kid, look at his newest weapon” by myself turned into @rex101111 and me writin half a story about Dante, his hat, one god-awful cowboy accent and mostly Lady suffering from it. 

Well, that half-story is now a full story, and it took some... interesting turns ;)

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Rating: Teen and up Audiences / Gen

Summary: One hat, a joking comment and Dante being, well, Dante, that’s all it takes to turn one quiet afternoon at the Devil May Cry shop into a war. In the end, nobody can say they are really surprised by the situation itself... just by what they might discover because of it.

Read it on AO3

"GOTCHA!" 

With one final swing, Dante sent the last of the demons flying into a wall. Their forms quickly fell apart at the seams and turned to dust, leaving behind only the impression on the concrete. Dante reached out a hand, making a beckoning motion, before a red streak flew from the broken wall and into his palm with a quite buzz.

"That thing is pretty impressive." Lady commented dryly as she yanked her bayonet from a pron Frost, looking at Dante from the corner of her eye. "You know...for a hat."

Dante placed the hat on his head with a quick flick of his finger and a light smirk. "I like it! It's got a load of style to it."

Lady scoffed, "style wouldn't be the word I'd use but-"

"Yeah!" Nico interrupted suddenly, peaking her head out from a pile of grey, twitching limbs with a giddy smirk. "It kinda makes ya look like a cowboy!"

Dante freezes, and whips his head to face the direction of Nico's voice. "Really?"

"Yeah really! Straight out of an Eastwood film, dude!"

Dante blinked his eyes numbly for a few seconds, the idea slowly rolling around in his head, before his face lit up like a blinking land mine and a manic smirk dominated his features. "Well, ain't that a hoot n' a half..."

Lady groaned, already knowing what was to come. "Now look what you did!"

"Did what?"

"It seems that our work here is finished." Dante said of a sudden, his voice starting out normal before slowly shifting, inching towards what can only be called a drawl. "But, we can't rest our head yet, pardners. There are always more outlaws for us to corral before they get up to no good." 

Lady rubbed her temples and took in a very quick, sharp breath. "Okay, I can see where this is going." She claps twice in mock praise as a scowl grows on her face. "Hardy-har Dante, you got a hat and you're a cowboy good for you." She pointed behind her to the pile of dead demons. "Now let's pack up and get to the client so we get payed."

"Now hold on there Missy!" Dante pointed dramatically at her, the other hand placed on the top of his hat as if to hold in place against some nonexistent wind. "You wouldn't happen to be questioning my authority on this matter now?" He made a gun motion with his outstretched hand in mock threat that made Lady want to roll her eyes right out of her head. "Because if you are...there might be some consequences to it."

"Dante for the love of God you can't be serious-"

It was too late, Dante had fully committed to his newly adopted western inspired persona, fanning out the end of his coat in a manner meant to be impressive (which failed miserably) before once more pointing at her, this time with even more dramatic gravitas. "Them's fighting words! You leave me no choice pardner..." He lifts the brim of his hat with his second hand and grins with all of his teeth at her, “Pistols at noon! You and me cowpoke!”

 Lady stared at him without a word for a whole two minutes.

And then she shot him in the head. 

And then she walked over to him, where he was still grumbling about how much that stung, and yanked the damn hat off of his head and started stomping on it despite his protests.

She shot it a couple of times too for good measure.

Dante picked up the remains of his poor, abused, hat, cut down in the prime of its life, “Why?”

Lady stared him dead in the face, expression stone still, “I made a vow to destroy evil.” 

Silence.

“Also, you’re annoying enough without having an excuse to talk with that godawful western accent.”

He waited, (clearly not pouting, he was a grown man, he did not pout, thank you very much) until Lady seemed to be out of earshot, before he leaned over to Nico. The girl had witnessed the whole spectacle from where she had been digging through the rubble left by Lady’s latest hunt, looking for scraps of demons the older woman had torn apart with her attacks that she could use in her newest weapon creation.

Now the young woman was barely holding in the loud laughter threatening to spill, but managed an inquiring noise as she caught his gaze.

“Do you think you can fix this up?”

A smothered sound, a giggle, and then a cleared throat before she became stern again. “Count on me, cowboy!”

Dante’s grin went from ear to ear as he put on his best (worst) drawl. “Don’t know what I would do without ya, lassie!”

Nico snorted, a loud, delighted noise. “Oh my god, you’re worse than grandma told me.”

“That a good thing?”

“The best. Now give me that mistreated thingy, I’m gonna make it better than it ever was.”

“Off you go,” Dante paused, considered, “Make it more durable, perhaps?”

“Demon-durable or Lady-durable?”

“Both. Mostly the later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lady had never felt such utter and complete betrayal in her entire life from another human being (except the obvious, of course) as she stared at the offending headwear, patched up and reinforced with carbon fiber of all things.

Dante sauntered over, thumbs in the waist of his pants and a tooth pick in his mouth - oh for the love of god were those spurs on his shoes - and grinned so smugly she was tempted to shoot him in the teeth on principal alone.

“Well howdy there pardner.” His grin grew when one of Lady’s eyes twitched. “Fancy seeing you around these parts.” He pointed up to his hat. “I see you eyeballin’ my hat, purdy ain’t it?”

“Dante for the love of God that’s a fucking trucker accent-”

“Now I know you must be hankerin’ to bust it up like before,” He continued, ignoring her, “but you should know-”

Lady whipped out one of her machine guns, and unloaded the entire magazine directly into that vile piece of leather and demonic metal.

Damn thing didn’t even flinch.

“-My associate here gave it an upgrade.” He pointed to Nico, who was standing by his side this whole time, nearly bent over in held back laughter.

“Bullet proof hat!” She exclaimed at Lady, eyes shining with excitement, “I love working with you guys I never would have thought of this one.”

“You,” Lady started, eyes digging through Nico as well as any bullet, “are a traitor to the whole of humanity.”

“Oh relax.” Nico waved her off with little care. “Just let the man have his dumb fun, besides I made this thing 100% Lady-proof, there ain’t a damn thing you can do to it to damage or destroy it.”

Lady raised an eyebrow, holstered her machine gun, and reached back to put a hand on Kalina Ann.

“…Except that maybe.”

Dante whipped his head to Nico, “You forgot about the damn rocket launcher!?”

“She has like twenty different guns!” Nico protested, panic seeping into her voice. “How do you expect me to keep track!?”

“Nico.” Lady intoned mildly, aiming the large barrel of her prized weapon directly at Dante’s face. “Take ten steps back.”

Nico took one look at the bazooka, than another look at Dante, switching between the two a few more times before turning on her heel and legging it.

“Later partner!”

“Lady was right! You ARE a traitor!”

A soft click of a trigger reached Dante’s sensitive ears.

“Oh dagnabbit.”

A massive explosion rocked the immediate area, sending plumes of smoke and fire into the air along with a few chunks of concrete, charred black from the blast.

Lady put Kalina Ann back on the strap on her back, crossed her arms, and nodded her head in satisfaction, “The evil is defeated.” She yelled into the smoke cloud where Dante was standing, probably grumbling about his lost hat. “Let that be a lesson to you! You should always know when to let a joke die.”

She turned away to get to the nearest bar in order to drink the memory of this nonsense out of her head as soon as possible…when she heard a few surprised peals of laughter.

“Well, waddya know!” Dante stepped out of the smoke cloud, outfit scorched and ruined, with more than a few wounds rapidly healing on his skin…

 And the hat in his hand, utterly unscathed.

 “She really did make it Lady-proof!" 

Lady’s eye twitched again as she gaped at the utter ridiculousness of what she was looking at, before she growled and walked away with an angry stomp.

“Aww, what’s the matter? Giving up?”

“I’m getting Trish!”

“Woah nelly….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“… so I might have pissed her off a little bit with that and what do you reckon are the chances that she’s going to shoot me if the hat doesn’t get destroyed in that one?”

“Girl,” Trish offered, raising one hand to quell the flood of words that had tumbled out of Nico’s mouth in too little time and what seemed to be a single breath. “Lady might shoot a lot of things in a day, and shoot Dante a whole lot more on top of that, but she’s not going to shoot you. No matter what she said.”

Nico lifted an eyebrow at her, looking somewhere between insecure, relieved and amused at Trish’s nonchalance. “You, ah, sure? She seemed a bit in a bad mood right there….”

“Quite,” Trish’s smile widened as she took a sip of the wine Morrison had brought with him from a quick shopping trip. Her fine senses picked up the heady flavor (bless the man for knowing something about drinks) and the nearing sound of footsteps and arguing all in one second. “Now you might want to step back and enjoy the show.”

Nico’s eyes widened, a grin twitched around her lips, and she dived behind Trish and the desk just as the door to the shop basically flew open.

“TRISH!”

“Trish don’t let her destroy it again!”

In a flurry of motions and colors, Lady, fuming and flushed, burst into the room, Dante hot on her heels – the latter’s clothes smoking and torn, together with the last hints of paling scars telling stories about the explosion he had taken point-blank.

And there, on top of his head, Trish spotted the offending hat that had apparently started a little war between friends.

Not what she would have gone for when it came to fashion, she noted, but looking far too innocently for it to be the source of all this.

Then again, she knew her friends well enough that that was an actual possibility.

With a blink, she observed with some amusement that the two fractions hadn’t even waited until they had her attention until they started squabbling.

“… and no offence, if this hat doesn’t go immediately, I swear I will find the nearest Hellgate and throw this idiot in there myself…”

“Now you’re really hurting my feelings here, Lady!”

“Your feelings? You’re hurting my everything with this, from my sensibilities to my ears up to my brain cells, every time you open your mouth ever since you put that thing on!”

“It’s hilarious, you just don’t understand good humor.”

“You wouldn’t even know good humor if it bit you in the…”

“Children,” Trish drawled, interrupting them even though this was getting really fun right there. She could hear Nico’s choked off laughter behind her, but didn’t turn to look at it. “What did we say about dragging me into your arguments?”

There was a beat of silence, before Lady pointed at the cowboy hat. “Destroy it please.”

“Hey!” Dante protested, putting one hand protectively over the beloved accessory.

“Destroy it now. Banish the evil.”

“You destroying my dreams is evil!”

“Which dreams, being an annoying ass?!”

“Being a cowboy- every man’s dream!”

“Ha fucking ha, don’t make me laugh-“

There was affection bubbling up in Trish, alongside the amusement. If the two of them hadn’t been so wrapped up in their argument – Lady had taken to poking Dante’s chest with every word while Dante downright pouted down at her, no matter how he would protest the mere idea – they would have caught her smiling at them with the softest smile she was capable off, utterly open and true.

Sibling squabbles, someone had told her once, while observing a scene very much like this. She couldn’t remember who had told her that piece of wisdom, but she couldn’t help but agree with it –

She had never had any home or family to begin with, had been created instead of born, used instead of raised, but she couldn’t help but associate moments like this with right, warm, home.

Family.

 (How utterly, terribly, wonderfully ironic, she thought, a sadistic part of her wishing that whatever left of Mundus would turn over in his non-existent grave at the notion of it, how wonderful and miraculous that she would come to love a group of demonhunters, enemies, so fiercely and utterly as if they were the same flesh and blood as her, even more so.)

 She had missed this while Dante was gone, she had. But as delighting as this was… 

“Nico,” she called, her voice sadly interrupting the argument, leading to two pairs of eyes focusing on her in surprise.

“Uh, yeah?” The human girl popped up behind the desk where she had been hiding, face flushed from suppressed laughter, and waved awkwardly in Lady’s direction. Lady glowered at her, but did not draw any guns, so Nico seemed to loosen up a bit.

“You said you improved the hat. Did you also make it withstand higher level of voltage?”

Lady’s mouth dropped open, and a cheeky, absolutely silly grin spread on Dante’s face.

Nico hesitated, her eyes going wide. “Actually, I did! Thought the baby could use some protection against those electric demons, the, uh, Blitz? So, yeah, I… oh.”

“Ha,” Dante said, slowly, standing a little straighter.

Lady’s glower got even more murderous. “Don’t tell me…”

“I did say I would make it demon proof!” Obviously deciding that it wasn’t save out there any longer and more explosions were a real possibility, Nico dived behind the desk again.

“Ha!” Dante said, again, louder and happier than before. Lady’s sour expression could have curdled milk, at this point.

“There you have it,” Trish spread her hands as if in surrender, wine glass dancing daintily on her fingertips. “It’s basically me-proof.”

“Do not,” Lady spoke slowly, darkly, rounding on her now instead of the young engineer, “dare to tell me to my face that you are not much, much stronger than a simple Blitz demon. Heck, you probably wouldn’t even need electricity to get rid of it!”

“But that certain spark is what I’m known for,” Trish reminded with only slight amusement in her voice, winking at the other woman. “Where would we be if I distanced myself from that?”

“Howdy, mah dear, she so one upped you on this one,” Dante’s voice held no little respect, and he was cheeky enough to tip his (awful, terrible, war-inducing) hat at the blonde to show it.

The motion drew Lady’s gaze to the offending thing, and after glowering at it for a heartbeat (her look promising a painful death like no hat had ever seen before) she snatched it off Dante’s silvery hair and turned on her heels, storming to the door again.

“Lady - wait where are you going?”

“To destroy the evil in this world! NERO! KID GET YOUR ASS HERE AND MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL!”

“You’re pulling the kid into this?! Now you’re just going too far…!”

 And gone they were, much like they had appeared, a storm passing through too fast to comprehend it.

 “Well,” Nico said after a moment, glancing over the top of the desk carefully. “That was… something.”

“It’s not over yet, if you want to watch the rest,” taking a sip of her wine, Trish counted in her head how long it would take for Lady to find Nero hidden behind something to engineer and improve again, plus the time they needed to explain the situation to him, plus the time to get him to even listen to their “bullshit” – well, in any case, enough time to finish her drink and wait for Morrison to fill him in. “If you hurry, you might catch the boy rolling his eyes at them and wishing he never met them.”

Nico laughed, not even questioning if that was true – they both knew – and scrambled to get out of her hiding spot. “I need to see that. You coming?”

“Right behind you, in a second.” 

Nico grinned, saluted, and bounced after the (still clearly audible) bickering duo.

Upbeat, lively, and knowing when to be crazy, Trish noted with some pride, a good, good addition to what she considered “her group”, that girl – just like the young demon and his woman had been. 

The backdoor clicked quietly, too quietly for a human to catch it, but Trish smiled over her shoulder at Morrison. “You almost missed the best part of today.”

Morrison sighed fondly, clapping off his clothes even though he know he wouldn’t get out the offending bite of cigar smoke from his quick smoking break, not with her inhuman senses, at least. “Now, what did the kid do this time?”

“Thinks he makes a good cowboy, annoying Lady… you know, almost the usual.”

“A cowboy?” Morrison’s grey eyebrow rose up high. “Of all the things that he ever came up with… you know what, that might come close to being the craziest thing of all.”

Trish’s laughter run out, startlingly loud now that their crazy friends had left them in silence. “Oh, you know, he got the looks down and everything. Despite being blown up already.”

“I shouldn’t even be surprised.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Join me for the next part?” She shot him a smile that would have made men and women alike swoon, but with Morrison, it only got an amused huff out of him as he offered her his arm like the gentleman he was. She took it while raising gracefully, interlinking their arms with an ease that spoke of practice.

“I’m going to regret this, and somebody is going to get hurt for real over nothing,” he prophesized, aiming for gloom but unable to hold back his smile.

“Now,” Trish patted his arm with no little amusement as she led him after their very own circus. “It actually might go well.”

“When does it ever with them?”

“Hmhm, good point.”

“At least we might get a laugh out of it.”

“That’s the spirit.”

 (Oh, how utterly, terribly, wonderfully crazy her family was)

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Nero had long since come to the perfectly reasonable conclusion that the crew of Devil May Cry were completely out of their minds.

From Dante’s constant disregard of his safety, Lady’s overly sensitive trigger finger (which was especially dangerous when she brought out the damn canon strapped to her back), and Trish…well, being Trish, there was no shortage of reasons to think the gang were long overdue for a few appointments with a shrink.

This…was something else though. He stared down at the hat in his hands. A hat that was given-alright less given and more slammed into his hand with little warning  while he was working, by an especially angry looking Lady.

It seemed…well, it was a cowboy hat, with a long brim that curved upwards near the end, a leather band surrounding the center along with a few red gemstones that glowed with demonic power.

So, not the strangest thing Nero had ever held in his hand, but the way Lady was glaring down at it you’d think it was the spawn of the deepest pit of hell.

“…hello-?”

“Destroy it.”

“Huh?”

Just then Dante burst into the workshop (scattering the tools Nero had spent an entire hour cleaning up goddamnit old man!) with a look of unrestrained panic, “Kid! Don’t let her lies drag you to cruelty!”

“…what.”

“Quiet Dante!” Lady whirled on the older half demon, jabbing a finger in his chest, “This has gone on long enough!” She pointed at the hat still sitting serenely in Nero’s metal hand, “This thing has got to go!”

….were they seriously having an argument over a damn hat.

“Just because you can’t appreciate the style-”

“I saw cockroaches with more style than that tourist trap reject!”

This is why his work was interrupted so rudely? He was being subjected to all this drama because of a damn hat?

“You kidding!? That’s rich coming from a chick who rode a motorcycle in a tartan skirt and thigh high boots!”

“That thing is bad enough sitting on a coat hanger! But you put it on and, impossible as it may sound, you turn into an even bigger pain in the ass!”

“GUYS!” Nero yelled out, rubbing his temple with his free hand to try and stop the headache that rose into his head, “Are you serious?” He waved the hat around in exasperation, “What’s all this for?”

The two looked at each other for a moment, Lady with an impatient scowl and Dante with a challenging raise of an eyebrow, before turning to the younger man and absolutely unloading on him with silly complaint after ridiculous justification.

By the time they were done Nero was ready to grab the heavy piece of weaponry he was working on and using it to get them to calm the hell down but tried to control himself.

“Okay…” He said, through his teeth, hand still rubbing his forehead, “So, let me get this straight, Dante got a cowboy hat and got it into his head he has to use a really lame accent with it-”

“I think you mean authentic accent-”

“-Lady shot it to hell so Dante somehow convinced Nico to patch it up and make it stronger-”

“-a traitor, a traitor and a fool-”

“-making it strong enough to withstand bullets and a blast from a freaking rocket launcher-”

“-that there spooked me right good it did let me tell ya-”

“You’re not even wearing the damn thing what is wrong with you-!?”

“And Trish, for some reason, doesn’t think she can destroy it either.” Nero finished, his eye twitching with ever interruption from the other two, looking at the hat that started all this with disdain and general annoyance, “And now you want me to destroy this ugly thing, right?”

“It ain’t ugly-”

“Yes it is! C’mon Nero you gotta be on my side on this one!” She pointed at Dante, “Doesn’t this guy annoy us enough without this extra ammo!?”

 “Don’t appeal to his emotions!” Dante made a motion towards Nero with a hand, “The kid’s smart, I’m sure he can see proper solution to all this,” He sent a charming smile to Nero, complete with gleaming teeth (all it accomplished was make Nero’s headache worse), “Right kid? What do you think about all this?”

Nero looked at Dante, gleaming smile still stretching his face, and then at Lady, her face sending off an endless amount of threats of horrible and slow death (both towards the demon hunter and his hat), and sighed.

 “I think that the both of you are crazy and that this is, bar none, the most idiotic situation I have ever found myself in.”

 Behind the door, Morrison, Trish and Nico had to try their hardest not to burst out laughing.

“…is everything okay in there?” 

The trio near the door looked behind them to see Kyrie, dressed comfortably and carrying a few bags of groceries in her hands, and a rather worried expression on her face.

“Let me get those for you.” Morrison offered quickly, stepping up to her to take the heavy overfilled bags out of her hands and onto a nearby table, when he turned back and saw her still a bit anxious and looking at the workshop door. “Oh that? Don’t worry little lady, just another silly little argument between Dante and our resident Gunslinger.”

Kyrie sighed and put a hand to her cheek, “Oh, what did he do this time?”

Morrison tried not to grin at the sound of exasperated affection in her voice, it still surprised him how such a seemingly delicate looking girl got so used to the madness of the half devil so easily

(Though he supposed she had practice with that boyfriend of hers.)

“Nothing too drastic, Dante just got a new hat.” 

The sound of crashing metal and gunfire, followed by loud yelling and cursing, erupted from behind the doors, Nico flinching back a couple steps away while Trish just shook her head with a chuckle.  

Kyrie blinked twice at the door, then looked back at Morrison. “A hat is causing that?”

The old man laughed. “Well, the hat and Dante having a little too much fun with it, Lady in particular seems to disapprove.”

“I WILL DESTROY THAT LOATHSOME PIECE OF LEATHER IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO!”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

“THAT CAN BE ARRANGED!”

A few explosions rocked the building, followed by the unmistakable sounds of Dante whooping and hollering as he dodged gunfire from an increasingly angry Lady.

“…I’ve guessed…” She looked over at Trish, who was still sitting near the door with a sly grin and enjoying the fireworks. “You’re not going to stop them?”

“Better to let them get it out of their system.” Trish waved off her concern easily. “As soon as Dante gets bored of this joke he’ll drop the damn hat and we can all move on.”

Nico side-eyed the door as more noise filtered through the wood. “Assuming there’s anything left by the time they’re done.”

Kyrie narrowed her eyes at the door…before she recognized it as the door to Nero’s workshop.

 “Guys come on I just finished cleaning up! Would you two relax!?”

 Kyrie’s heels made a very distinct sound on the wooden floor as she stepped her way to the door and grabbed the handle to open it.

Trish grabbed her wrist gently to stop her. “Hold on now,” She said calmly, “no need for you to get in the middle of this, they’ll burn themselves out soon enou-”

Kyrie looked Trish dead in the eye, raised a single eyebrow, and waited.

Trish blinked in surprise before letting go of Kyrie and putting her hands up in mock surrender. “Alright then, go save your boyfriend.”

Kyrie nodded and opened the door, stepping briskly passed the threshold.

 (She didn’t catch Nico whispering, “I keep forgetting how scary she can be.” as she walked away. She didn’t catch Morrison chuckling or Trish shrugging either.)

 The first thing she saw as she walked in was the burning wreckage of the motorcycle Nero had been tinkering with for the past six weeks embedded in a nearby wall. The second thing she saw was her boyfriend grabbing Lady from behind to hold her back from trying to wring Dante’s neck, who was standing a few feet away and sticking his tongue out at the raging hunter.

“White haired pain in the neck!”

“Why don’t you admit you’re just jealous of my fashion sense?”

“Why don’t you shut it before she shoots you with the rocket launcher again!?"

She cupped her hands over her mouth and took a deep breath. “HEY!”

The trio froze in place and whipped their heads to look at her, expressions suddenly sheepish.

“I heard there was an argument about a hat?”

Dante blinked, before a mad grin bloomed on his features, “Indeed there is.”

Nero’s eyes bugged out and he glared at Dante, still holding Lady back. “Oh no don’t you drag here into this nonsense!”

“She is the perfect person to settle this once and for all!” Dante shot back, walking calmly towards Kyrie, who was crossing her arms and looking a little tired already. “She’s a neutral party, plus the only person here with a sense of style.”

Kyrie shook her head, though a little smile was pulling at the sides of her mouth, since the whole incident at Fortuna, the veteran devil hunter had never ceased to surprise her with his antics, but this was on another level all together.

“Well howdy there little lady.”

A groan of supreme displeasure rose from Lady, “oh God it just keeps getting worse.”

“Me and my companion over yonder are havin’ a dispute over fashion and style.” He continued, his drawl ever present and even posing like a cowboy, one hand on the brim of his hat and the other on his hip. “I think this here hat makes me look mighty stylin’, while Lady over there-”

“Thinks that hat and the accent you put on with it is a raging garbage fire.”

“-Well yeah, and we’ve been tryin’ to settle this for a while now, and all our other friends are refusing to comment.”

“They like watching us squabble you mean.”

“Well yeah obviously.” Dante said easily, losing the accent for a moment, “I know that, why do think they’ve been outside that door listening in on us this whole time?”

The sounds of people scrambling came from behind said door, along with a muffled curse.

 “Assholes!”

“Like you wouldn’t do the same.” Dante laughed, before turning back to Kyrie, who has been holding back her own laughter, and turning the drawl back on, “So, I reckon that you, being the most honest and straightforward of our bunch, you’d be able to settle this once and for all.”

“Dante…” Lady started again, this time sounding more than a little tired, “please don’t drag her into this, this is just a stupid joke-”

“Look,” Dante intoned diplomatically, “if Kyrie says something she means it. If she says the hat doesn’t suit me, I drop it and the accent, fair?”

Lady grumbled for a moment before throwing her hands up in surrender, “Fine, so long as this idiocy stops already.” She then looked down at Nero, who was still holding her back by the waist, “…and kid?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t want to see how bulletproof you are compared to Dante, you will put me down.”

He quickly put her on her feet and took a good 5 five steps back with his hands up.

“So, in your honest opinion Kyrie, how do I look?”

Kyrie looked at Dante, very closely, taking in his smug grin, confident posture, and the laughter in his eyes as he tried to hold back from showing how much he was enjoying himself in this farce.

She peered behind him to look at Nero a bit helplessly, and he could only offer a shrug in reply as he mouthed a ‘sorry’. She looked back at Dante with a curious expression, at a loss.

Suddenly his expression softened, “you don’t have to get involved if you don’t want to.” He grinned easily and took a step back, “no pressure, it’s just a little joke.”

Kyrie caught something as he stepped back, a look in his eye that she recognized.

“Dante…why do you want to be a cowboy anyway?”

Dante looked incredulous for a moment, before scoffing. “Oh come on, I can’t be the only one who wanted to be a cowboy when they were a kid.”

Lady raised an eyebrow at him, “Seriously Dante?”

 “Yeah seriously,” Dante said with a laugh tinged with nostalgia, “when I was a kid I used to watch all these movies about desperadoes riding into the sunset, firing six shooters, and leaning on bar stools, looking cool without even trying.” He laughed again, “hell, especially Clint Eastwood, I must have watched The Good The Bad and The Ugly like a dozen times with my-”

He stopped dead, voice catching in his throat as something dark passed in his eyes. Lady and Nero gaped at him, Lady in particular looking at a loss for words as what he didn’t say started to sink in.

Kyrie felt something clench in her chest, but said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

Instead he sighed and took the hat off with a dismissive chuckle, “nah, nevermind, like I said.” He put the hat on Kyrie’s head, “just a dumb joke that I took a bit too far.”

“Dante…”

“Could you put that in the weapon storage?” Dante called out easily as he stepped away from her, “if I need it I’ll know where to find it.” He looked at the mess he and Lady made of the workshop and sucked in a breath through his teeth, “yikes, we really did a number on this place huh?” He looked at Nero with a small grin, “sorry ‘bout that kid.”

Nero shook his head and scowled lightly, “if you’re so sorry you can help clean up.” He pointed at Lady, “and you too!”

“Gotcha.”

Kyrie felt her heart sink at the look of Dante, grinning and joking but in a subdued way, like he was hiding something. 

She knew what he was hiding of course, they all knew, but discussing such things in Devil May Cry simply Did Not Happen. If she left it be he would back to his old self in a few days and never bring it up again, never put the hat on again either, no matter how happy it made him.

She grabbed the hat off her head and started stepping towards him with purpose, tugging on his coat so he would look at her. 

Before he could even ask her what she wanted, she put the hat back on his head.

“Huh?”

“I think this makes you look very handsome, Dante.”

She smiled warmly at him as he blinked down in surprise, reaching a hand up to rub the brim of the hat, “R-really?”

She nodded easily, smile still lighting up her features.

Dante blinked a few more times before his usual grin lit up, “Well I’ll be darned-”

“Although,” Kyrie said again, grabbing the hat off his head before he could react and put it back on her head, “the accent is a bit much.”

Dante blinked again at her, before he bent over in laughter and looked at Lady, “See? At least someone has some fashion sense around here.”

Lady rolled her eyes and shook her head, “yeah, but she also has some common sense.”

Dante laughed again and shook his head, grinning at her, “Sorry about busting your chops all day, couldn’t help myself.”

Lady punched him on the shoulder, “yeah yeah, and I’m sorry for shooting you with a rocket.”

“Twice.”

“Alright twice ya big baby.”

 Nero walked over to Kyrie and hugged her while the other two bickered lightly as they cleaned up, kissing her softly, “You are a blessing, you know that right?”

Kyrie laughed as she blushed from her boyfriend’s attention, “Just keeping the peace.”

—-

Kyrie walked into the weapon storage with the hat in hand (she was still having trouble wrapping her head around the idea that a hat could be a weapon), and closed the door behind her, looking for a place to put it where it wouldn’t be too out of the way to be hidden.

 She walked a few steps in, admiring a few of the pieces already on shelves and hanging off hooks on the walls, eventually finding a free space on a shelf where she could put the hat.

Along with a mirror. 

 Kyrie looked at it for a moment, seeing it was just an ordinary mirror (Dante probably kept it in there to check out his looks), and looked at the hat in her hands.

She looked left.

Right.

Back at the hat.

Slowly, she faced the mirror, and put the hat on, admiring the visage in her reflection.

 Making a finger gun gesture, she pointed at the glass with a self indulgent grin. “Bang.” After a moment, she used both hands and affected a slight southern drawl, “Reach for the sky.”

With a giggle she took the hat off and put it on the shelf and made for the exit with a happy spring in her step. 

As soon as she closed the door behind her, she noticed the whole of Devil May Cry looking at her with very amused smiles.

Kyrie blushed and chuckled nervously.

“Oh sure,” Dante grumbled from somewhere in the back, “it’s cute when she does it.”

“Of course it’s cute when she does it,” Lady shot back, rolling her eyes to the heavens. “She’s not doing it purposely to annoy people, if you catch my drift.”

Dante tipped his head at her, smirk curling his lips. “Already apologized, your honor.”

An amused snort followed. “Doesn’t mean I can’t needle you about it.”

Pocketing her phone – making sure she had the video of Kyrie with the hat saved – Nico chanced a glance in Lady’s direction. “Sooo, that mean you’re not going to blow up, say, an engineer who helped him being annoying?”

Lady shot her an incredulous look before laughing, “Alright, to make this clear: I’m not blowing up innocent people who can’t immediately regenerate from it. With a rocket launcher! Honestly, do you think I’m some kind of madwoman?! No, you don’t answer that,” she added to Dante, narrowing her eyes as she noticed that he had already opened his mouth to do just that.

He clamped it shut obediently, raising his hands in silent surrender while trying to look inncent and surprised. It didn’t work very well.

“See, Nico” Trish’s melodic voice dissipated the momentary tension again, “I told you she wouldn’t do it.”

“Well, I just think you can’t be too careful about that!” Nico defended herself, grinning embarrassedly.

“Nah, you’re safe,” Lady assured her, before holding up one finger. “That is…”

Nico froze in the middle of moving to take a seat, eyes wide in surprise and just the tiniest bit of worry. “Uh, yes?”

“… if you tell me how the heck you managed to make that damn hat so unbreakable.”

Kyrie had to hold back fond laughter as she watched Nico blink, gape, and then starting to beam, the engineer looking as if her birthday and a holiday had just fallen on the same day. “Really? You want to hear me talk about my work?!”

“Uh-oh,” Nero mumbled, flashing Kyrie a quick smile from across the room, only strengthening her urge to laugh. They both knew how excited Nico could get when someone showed interest in her ideas and working processes.

If Lady had any worries about what monster she had just unleashed, she didn’t show it, waving Nico closer with a chuckle. “Hear about it? I want to know all about it. If you can do that with a hat, I want to know if you can do that with some of my clothes – would be great if they were a bit more resistant and I didn’t need to buy new clothes after a single job.”

Nico’s grin widened to a worrisome degree as she dove for her notebooks and then hurried over to the older woman, plopping down next to her.

“If that’s the case,” Trish stretched on her spot on the couch before getting up in one fluid movement, “I would be quite interested in that, too.”

Morrison chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen you get a single hole in your clothes, Trish.”

She shot him a wink over her shoulder, smirking. “Perhaps you’re too gentlemanly to look too closely.”

“That must be it, sure.”

The excitement of the day – and any talk about cowboys or talking like cowboys – seemed to be forgotten for the moment as they went on with their day, a sort of peace coming over them.

And yet, as she stood and watched her friends go on about their day, when she had should have just joined them… Kyrie couldn’t shake off the thought that there was something still left unattended, unsaid.

The oh-so recent memory back from Nero’s workshop came clawing back up her chest, making it ache and burn – the way Dante’s eyes had gleamed with almost childish excitement as he told them about his love for cowboys, before the shadows had snuffed out that light.

It wasn’t the first time she had witnessed it, and she had been part of this group for much less time than some of the others. But it was there, if you knew where to look for, if you listened close enough: Those moments when Dante’s whole persona just seemed to crack, seams loosening and falling apart, and laughter and booming voice made way for silence and something glaringly deep and dark, swallowing him up whole.

It made Kyrie want to cry for him, for what had been lost. Manchild, they might call Dante sometimes, in annoyance, in tease, in warm laughter – but sometimes, perhaps, all of them, even herself, forgot that said child had been forced to grow into a man much too quickly, and in horror whose lasting damage they could only fathom.

The thought alone made her feel sick. She wanted to hug him, to tell him it was all going to be okay. But again… in Devil May Cry, things weren’t discussed. They were ignored, swept under the carpet, downplayed with noise and jokes and explosions until they could no longer be heard. It was Rule Number One. Everybody knew it. Etched into stone it had been, even long before she had come along.

By now, Kyrie was gnawing at her bottom lip in thought, wringing her hands. An idea was starting to form, and perhaps it might even be a good idea, but she wasn’t sure if it was her place to orchestrate something like this. Too personal. She was still mostly a stranger. Her idea could be appreciated, yes, but it could also very much backfire and do more bad than good…

“Hey,”

Warm hands reached for her, the metal one wrapping gently around her fingers to stop the fiddling, the human one carefully stroking its thump over her bottom lip so she had to stop biting it.

As Kyrie looked up, Nero smiled down at her, eyes soft even though there was gentle tease in his smirk. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that.”

That got a laugh out of her. His smirk widened into a smile, as if the sound had just brightened his entire day. “My hero, saving me again.”

“Always. But seriously,” a quick peck was pressed to the tip of her nose, making her giggle again because it tickled, before he became more serious. Hand coming to cup her cheek, he directed her to look at him. “What got you all frowning?”

Kyrie hummed, lost in thought while she straightened his collar and smoothed non-existent wrinkles out, all the while wondering how she should start this, if she should ask for help or not. Nero’s fingers moved, playing with her hair like he so often did, the touch familiar and grounding and calming all in once.

You’re not alone. I’m right here.

It was this silent reassurance that made her wish she could give others – could give Dante the same, even if it was just a tiny bit.

“Did you ever see something,” she began, looking up to meet Nero’s soft, inquiring gaze, “something that just didn’t seem right, and you felt like you wanted to…help fix it? Even if it’s perhaps none of your business?”

He raised one eyebrow at her, lips quirking up. “You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”

“Quite,” she assured, answering laughter rising in her. “But I mean…even if you would kind of break an unspoken rule with it?”

The second eyebrow joined the first, mirth gleaming in his eyes. “Again, you do realize who you’re….?”

“Oh, okay, okay, shush,” she had to laugh, honest and loud, but she still managed to aim a playful smack at his shoulder throughout it, just for railing her up. It was not like he would even feel it.

Nero’s glee only seemed to increase, as if she had done something particularly endearing. Still, he caught her raised hand in his, pressing a quick kiss to the palm to sooth whatever sting there was, before drawing her back into an embrace. “Alright, but seriously, if I were in your stead, I would probably just go through with it, whatever it is.”

“Don’t I know it, you would jump right in,” Kyrie mumbled into his chest, smiling when he chuckled without an ounce of shame. “I might have to take a page from your book then, this time.”

“What an honor,” she could hear the tease in his voice, but the kiss he dropped to the top of her head was full of honest reassurance. “You’re gonna do great.”

“You don’t even know what I‘m going to do.”

“No clue. But I just saw you manage both Dante and Lady at the same time. I doubt there’s anything that can stop you after that.”

Again, laughter burst out of her, and she stood to her tiptoes as he released her and stepped back, rocking forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” his grin was wide and boyish, so different from his usual smirk and just for her, it made another surge of affection go through her.

Kyrie was just about to add another kiss to the first, when they got joined by a third party.

“I really hate to interrupt you two lovebirds,” Nico peeked over Nero’s shoulder, flush high in her cheeks from excitement. “But Kyrie, can I kidnap your boyfriend for a sec? I want to show off the Devil Breaker to the interested ladies over there.”

“Go ahead,” Kyrie agreed, waving them off.

Nero’s eyebrows rose yet again. “I don’t even get asked?”

“You don’t get asked,” Nico confirmed, already attempting to drag him off. “Move it, lover boy.”

Nero rolled his eyes at the attempt, not even giving an inch, before he bent down and pressed one last parting kiss to Kyrie’s forehead. “You go rock whatever it is.”

“Will do.”

“What, what is she gonna do?”

“None of your business, Nico.”

“Aww, you guys never let me join the fun.”

“Really? You complain while dragging me around like a puppet?”

“Excuse me, at least twenty percent of you is made by me, I can drag all I want, honey.”

Kyrie smiled after the two of them as they went, bickering all the way. Really now…

Taking one deep breath, stealing herself for whatever outcome this was going to achieve, she turned, located whom she needed, and purposefully strode over.

Morrison seemed surprised when he looked up and saw her standing next to him, but it quickly made way for a welcoming smile as he made a gesture towards the empty space on the couch next to him. “Yes, Kyrie? What is it?”

She huffed out a chuckle at that, gratefully taking a seat. “I didn’t say anything and you already know I need something?”

“Easy to see, with that determined gleam in your eyes,” he observed, reaching for his jacket before stopping, shaking his head at his own habit before looking up again. “So, how may I help?”

His smile was friendly still, and no accusations in his words, so Kyrie relaxed instantly. Clearly, her feeling that he would be the right person to ask had been right. “You see, I wondered if there’s a place where I could buy old movies. As in, old western movies?”

Morrison’s expression faltered for half a second, eyebrows shooting up, and he only just so seemed to stop himself from gaping at her. “You…”

His reaction had been much stronger than Kyrie had anticipated, and once again she wondered – worried – if she was overstepping her boundaries here. In an attempt to explain, she added, “It’s just that we don’t have any shops in Fortuna that sell older things like that, or movies in general, and I don’t know a lot of places here in…”

“They wouldn’t be for you, I take it?”

She interrupted herself, blushing ever so slightly. Was she so easy to read?

Then she remembered how Morrison had put emphasis on just how long he had known Dante, and she thought that, perhaps, if anyone knew best what went on in the demon hunter’s head…if anyone understood, it would probably be…

Morrison hadn’t reacted badly to it, not really. Simply surprised.

Kyrie raised her chin, mind made up. She was sure this was the right thing to do, now. “No, they would be a present.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say. The inquiring look melted from Morrison’s face, replaced by the most brilliant smile she had ever seen from him. “I actually might know where to get you that present.”

It took her a second, but then Kyrie understood, and she beamed. “Really? Where?”

She had half a mind to go there immediately, on the height of her enthusiasm, and gather up every last Wild Western movie she could get a hand on.

It must have shown, because the man chuckled, resting a hand on her wrist to get her to stay seated. “Slow down, now. I’m going to head over there, see what I can scrounge up for you.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to-…“

“Kyrie,” his voice was kind, but firm. “It’s a great idea you had there, and I would be happy to offer some help.”

She relaxed, releasing a relieved breath. “You think it will be…well received, then.”

“More than you probably can imagine right now. But you might find out for yourself.”

Before she could wonder what that meant, much less ask, a hand landed on her shoulder, warm and gentle.

“As if someone doesn’t like presents,” Dante rumbled, arm coming to rest around Kyrie’s shoulder as he leaned over the back of the couch to steal Morrison’s beer bottle from next to him. The older man let him, smile curling around his lips even as he muttered a half-hearted protest over it.

Kyrie had jumped at the first touch, sudden as it was, but relaxed now. She had become quite used to the ease with which Dante approached her, even when she had been perplexed by it at first. She peered up at the older half-demon, catching his gaze which was… far too amused, for the situation, she noted. Far too fond and directed at her and…

Oh.

Oh right, she thought with a rush of embarrassment and amusement at the same time, heightened senses, and better hearing.

Sometimes she forgot just who she was dealing with.

Huffing, hoping that she didn’t blush too badly at her own oversight and being caught, Kyrie smiled up at Dante, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Is it still a present if you’re not even going to be surprised by it?”

The smirk on Dante’s face widened into a grin and he shrugged one shoulder. “I like presents. Never said a thing about surprises.”

The hand still wrapped around her shoulder squeezed, gently, taking the blow out of his teasing, and she smiled widely at it.

“I can pretend to be surprised by it, if you like,” he offered still, raising an inquiring eyebrow at her.

She sighed fondly, shaking her head. “Please, no. After that cowboy show all day? I don’t want to think how far you would go to pretend to be surprised.”

“Well said,” Morrison laughed out loud at that, throwing his head back, and the grin on Dante’s face couldn’t be any bigger.

“What are you guys getting up to over here?” Nero sidled over to them, obviously having been released from his duty to show off. He pushed, none too roughly, past Dante, who easily gave up his spot at Kyrie’s side to let Nero take over.

“Failing to surprise Dante,” Kyrie explained, chuckling as she saw confusion flash over her boyfriend’s face at that before it settled again.

“Still ready to pretend,” Dante disagreed, waggling his eyebrows at her before he took a swig of his drink. “But, to answer your question kid – Kyrie here did surprise us all with planning a movie night.”

“I-.. what?”

That, she hadn’t anticipated. Hadn’t even thought of.

But clearly, Dante had. He twirled the bottle in his fingers, humming, not really meeting their perplexed gazes. “Sure. Movies are there to be watched, aren’t they? And I was thinking pizza. Movies with pizza, and you guys can stay if you like, since it was your idea in the first place.”

It sounded casual enough, the way he said it. It didn’t seem casual at all, the way melancholy was etched into his lopsided smile, and he was still not looking over to gauge their reactions.

Kyrie’s mind was made up immediately, and she reached for Nero’s hand on her shoulder even as she searched for his gaze.

He was already looking back, tipping his head at her in a short, almost invisible nod that made her heart swell with love once again.

(He could pretend not to care all he wanted, she knew better. They knew better.)

“If you talk with that shitty accent throughout the whole movie,” Nero warned, no real threat in his voice. “I will join Lady in shooting you.”

Dante’s smile sharpened into a smirk and he rolled his eyes. “Kid, that threat stopped working after you greeted me with bullets the first time around.”

“That just means he saw right through you,” Lady called from the other side of the room. Kyrie looked over just in time to see Trish hide a smile behind her hand and Nico snort, Lady lounging in her chair with mirth in her eyes that belied her harsh words. “Noticed right away that it’s the best way to go when it comes to you.”

“Cheers, I'll drink to that!” Dante threw back, raising his empty bottle at her even as she made a crude gesture in his direction.

“Prick.”

“Mh-hm,” the half-demon seemed more amused than faced by it. “Will the ladies be joining movie night?”

“Sure, why not,” Trish answered easily. “Could be fun.”

“Movies and pizza?” Nico brightened up, grinning. “Count me in.”

“Wait, wait,” Lady straightened up again, throwing her hands up in a Stop gesture. “Wild Western movies with Dante? After this day? You’re just going to use that to torment us with that terrifying, horrible accent again.”

“I already apologized…”

“Aha, I don’t hear you saying No to that statement.”

There was a beat of apprehensive silence as the duo looked at each other, everyone else in the room shifting more or less uneasily at the sudden tension.

Then, Dante smiled, slowly and bright, and Lady let out the deepest sigh in the history of humanity.

“Once,” she said in the tone of someone who just had to make a great sacrifice. “You can use it once.”

“I can live with that.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Lady mumbled, scrunching her nose while Trish next to her chuckled. “I see it coming already.”

“Well,” Morrison declared, pushing himself to his feet. “Sounds like my cue to go get those movies.”

“Get the good ones.” Dante called advice after him. “The real good ones.”

“Dante, I have no idea what you consider good ones, you get your ass in the car and accompany me if you want to have a say in this.”

“Sheesh, you all have no idea about good movies…”

“Well,” Nero mumbled into Kyrie’s ear, aiming to be heard as everyone around them started talking at the same time, arguing over movies to watch and what pizza to order. “Whatever you did, it worked pretty well it seems.”

“Don’t you say I told you so, now,” Kyrie warned, laughing even as she felt him grin against her temple.

“Don’t even have to,” he basically sing-songed. Then pressed a quick kiss to her temple, humming. “You are a blessing, Kyrie. Really.”

Behind them, Dante and Morrison laughed over something as the older man chucked a coat at the half-demon, making him splutter. Lady tried to pout around her smile and failed miserably, grin taking over her features as she rolled her eyes. Nico pulled out the well-used flyer from the nearest pizza parlor from a drawer. Trish threw her head back in laughter, baring the length of her throat, as she watched the engineer notice that the only phone in the shop had been unplugged once again.

It was messy, and loud, and far from perfect.

It was their perfect, Kyrie thought, affection rose in her throat, slow and bright and warm. And if she could do anything, something, however little, to preserve it, she would do it.

“This,” she said, clearing her throat against the sudden feelings, trying again. “This is a blessing.”

 And if the way Nero smiled at her then was any indication, she thought, he just might think so, too.

[sparkledeerfr]

Other people: Work for years to gain power, notoriety, and a title.

Adeline: WHY GUYS

(Yup, it’s the slight continuation of this. No warnings.)

“OKAY,” Adeline said, putting both hands on the podium and gripping it, trying not to let her frustration boil over as she stared down at the papers in front of her. They had gathered in the city square to hear the results of the vote, a thing that rarely happened, and there had never been this many people that had decided to show up.

That they had set out folding chairs and a drink and snack table and were now all looking up at her, trying not to giggle, told her they knew exactly what they’d done, and if one person wasn’t directly involved they still wanted to watch this. Even August and Jesse were hanging out at the back, clearly entertained.

“First of all I’d like to remind everyone what happened with the last two votes,” Adeline started. “‘What Should Our Emblem Be’ had the top three picks of, and I quote: ‘One) A Bagel. Two) A Butt, and Three) A Nice Butt.’” There were scattered giggles across those gathered, maybe from what she said and maybe because they knew she was mad at them and thought it was hilarious. Probably that one. “Our last attempt to name the overall city ended up with five people voting, and the top result was ‘Robot Moron Empire’.”

She paused to lean on the podium and look out over the gathered crowd, most looking back up at her with a smile, waiting. Might as well get this over with. “So how in the hell,” she paused again when she heard an ‘oooo’ from someone at the swear. “With sixty-seven percent participation-”

“Missed it by two!” Sparks called out.

“Did this get voted in?” Adeline continued. She glanced to West who was casually leaning back with his arm slung over the back of the chair, flanked by Sparks, Viltri and Sefka. “Granted there were two votes for ‘No’,” she said in a lower voice, knowing those two came from Katsu and Walter respectively. “And three for ‘water slide’ but…”

“That was us,” August said, leaning over to talk to Jesse in a lower voice. She nodded and patted his shoulder. “Woulda been neat, is all I’m saying.”

“Stop stalling and read it!” West said in a rare moment of him raising his voice.

“Fine, fine,” Adeline muttered, staring down at the paragraph in front of her. “‘In regards to what should be done about The Castle, it shall be put in place that from the moment of this being voted in and read, that it will serve as Adeline’s new office space. Adeline will live in The Castle and will henceforth be granted the title of….Queen,” she faltered at the word and looked up with a sigh, everyone attempting to sit still and waiting for her to finish. “Failure to do so on the part of Adeline will result in new titles and honorifics being added on a once per week basis until this law is complied with. Examples include ‘Empress’, ‘Pope’ and ‘Blessed Holy Wanderer.’ More elaborate items of clothing and headwear will also be purchased in accordance said timeline, the money coming from the account listed in...you know what I’m skipping that part.”

“Time starts now by the way!”

“‘The Castle will be used as Adeline sees fit, including continuing the allowance of those already in said castle and office to reside there or move. PS- We voted this in so you either have to do it or you can ignore us and admit laws are bullshit. Ha ha got you now, sucker’,” she finished, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a finger. “Who the hell wrote this?”

West raised a hand. “Viltri helped,” he said when Ade’s eyes landed on him.

“I- I just added a few things,” Viltri replied, trying not to stammer at being singled out. “To make it more clear, you understand.”

“Yep...yep I do,” Adeline said, nodding. “Well, I’m going to take a few minutes to think about this. Thank you all for coming and participating, I hate all of you except apparently like twelve of you. You’re welcome to stay and chat or drink.”

“Oh man, we get to do a castlewarming and coronation party!” Sparks said, raising both her hands as Adeline walked away and into the winding streets of the city, intent on finding Walter. She didn’t notice that one figure raised from his seat and followed.

----

“Addeeeee,” Grenfell said, watching her eye a building that she was about to climb up. She paused and turned around.

“Yeah, Gren?” she said, sighing and reaching out for Pietro, who climbed from his father’s shoulders and into her arms. It was kind of weird holding him, as he felt somewhat...soft, like a hairless animal covered in strange adornments, but he liked being petted. “He’s still kinda skinny. Has he been eating?” Adeline asked, looking down and scratching gently on his neck.

“Yes, he eats quite a bit,” Grenfell said. “Remember I had to apologise for it.”

“He ate someone’s pet,” Adeline replied, continuing to scratch as Pietro’s odd sickly purr started up. He was directly in between ‘kind of sweet’ and ‘something that might burrow directly into your midsection’, but thus far giving him affection when he wanted had worked. “He might have a blockage. That happens with animals sometimes.”

“Look he’s fine, and that person should maybe have thought about teaching their stupid fangar to run faster,” Grenfell said, snarling and showing those long fangs he had. “You’re distracting me. Shut up a second and let me think of what I was going to say.” She waited, knowing him snapping was irritation at having lost his train of thought, not any actual anger directed at her. “Ah! Yes! I wanted to tell you that I’d be very happy to formally give ownership of the city over to you, since I technically built it. That combined with Nimue releasing the castle will make everything official. A short line but a long history here, one might say.”

“That’s...” she said, crossing her arms under Pietro and holding him like a baby. He noticed that she seemed drained and tired as she looked up and closed her eyes. “My problem isn’t the legality or lineage or whatever.”

“Then,” he said, tilting his head, not understanding. “What is? Most people would be very happy to be royalty, and it could be fun.”

“Gren,” she said, taking out a hand and clutching her fingers slightly in irritation as her voice changed to a sort of raised whisper, the tone people used when they wanted to yell but didn’t want anyone else to actually hear them. “I have no idea how to run a damn kingdom! None! I have no training! I don’t know how any of that works! And neither does anyone else aside from West, who won’t tell me because he thinks it’s funny! Everyone’s lucky I know how to goddamn read considering my background, and now I’ve just gotta stumble through figuring out how to be royalty? It's not some joke- everyone expects things from a Queen and I’m not it.” Grenfell pulled his head back slightly, assessing what she said for a moment as Adeline touched the hand to her forehead. “Look, you didn’t-” she started when he began laughing.

The laughter continued for longer than probably necessary, him bending over and putting a hand on a knee. “That’s it? That’s the problem?” he said in between gasps as though he had to get his breath back. Pietro’s stolen dog ears perked as he watched this play out.

“Yeah, I mean,” she said, tucking the hand back under Piet. “There’s a huge difference between being some resort town and being a kingdom. It's a whole different game and ...I don’t know if I can play it. I don’t want to put everyone in danger.”

“My, I forget how limited people’s thinking is,” Gren said, straightening himself. “Don’t you get it, Adeline? It's all made up! Rules, laws, formality, it's all a game like you said. Do you think the gods descended and declared what the proper fork to use is?”

“I...” Adeline paused, bouncing Pietro nervously. “I guess not?”

“Everyone’s stuck in a little box, hoping that the other person won’t figure out that they’re not holding all the right cards. They say things like ‘When I rule’, never thinking that they should destroy the rules, keeping that power structure that they hate intact and thinking themselves better than the last fool in the slot. Even I gained the title of King, through no effort and with no one to rule, because people want to quantify things. It's all fake, Adeline,” he reached out and touched her on the shoulder. “Do you know why I am so very proud of my son? He was born knowing this. There are no rules to being a person, or a people, and there are no rules that will save you in the end. You make up your own game and then everyone else has to play it if you tell them to. The more you put them off balance the more you reveal their flaws instead of your own.”

“That’s...weirdly inspiring. Thanks,” Adeline said, looking down to Pietro. Yeah, she could definitely see what he was talking about. “I guess I just don’t want to disappoint people, or offend someone.”

“Please,” he said, waving a hand. “There are tyrants of all stripes all across the globe, and they don’t often stay up at night worrying about such things. I think your particular brand of leadership would be refreshing rather than irritating. No matter how hard you push your morality would stop you far before someone else would.”

“Even if Etzel sometimes gets mad that I eat with my hands when I’m not supposed to?”

“See? That’s fun. I want to see what game you come up with.”

---

She walked back to the office, intent on taking at least the night to mull things over.

She hated that stupid castle. It was a huge nightmare of a building, one Grenfell couldn’t keep and one that each time she looked up at it reminded her of what would happen if she failed. She’d probably end up like Nimue had- angry, holing herself up and blaming herself for what had happened to her friends and charges. There was nothing good about the place, really, and now she was expected to live in it? Maybe she could talk them out of that after a week or so.

Adeline paused in her thoughts when she saw March walking up to her. Alone, which was unusual, aside from the times when he’d get bored and want to spar for fun. It had never been particularly fun on her end, but he was definitely teaching her how to take a punch, and maybe one day she’d actually win.

Well. Probably not, but it was good practice. He wasn’t doing his normal fast paced walk towards her if that’s what he wanted. “Yeah bud, what’s up?” she asked him. March stopped about a foot away from her, crossing his arms and tilting his head.

Usually that meant he wanted to know something. He raised a hand and slowly signed out: “Queen now?”

She let out another irritated and defeated sigh. It seemed that’s all she was doing tonight. “I...I don’t know. I guess?” He was just standing there, head tilted at the slightest angle. “Look if I do become a Queen, I promise that if I ever get out of hand I fully expect you to break my arms. In fact I’d want you to.”

Still standing there, arms crossed. “Arms and legs?” she tried. Nope, no change. “Okay...everything except my skull and neck?”

He nodded, raising a hand again to sign out: “Enforcer?” before pointing to himself.

“I….if you want to?” she said as a squeak. He probably did know how ranks and titles worked more than she did. “What does an enforcer do, exactly?”

“Hit people for you,” he signed. “I will do that until I do not like who you ask me to hit.”

“Deal,” she said with a smile. 

[clusterassets]

New world news from Time: ‘Now It’s a Sign of Protest:’ Muslim Women in Denmark Defy the Face Veil Ban

Sabina started wearing the niqab two years ago as a way to feel more connected to God. The face veil—a piece of fabric tied around the back of her head that only reveals her eyes—is a reminder of her identity and beliefs, she says. “I found it very beautiful,” the 21-year-old education student explains, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the women’s prayer room in Det Islamiske Trossamfund, a mosque in Copenhagen. “In the beginning it was a very spiritual choice.”

But starting this month when she wears her niqab in public, her act of devotion will also be an act of civil disobedience. She will be one of the Danish citizens defying the country’s ban on face coverings in all public places, which came into effect on Wednesday.

“Now it has also become a political choice for me,” says Sabina, who asked TIME not to disclose her last name out of concerns for her safety. “It is also a sign of protest.”

Sabina is a founder of Kvinder i Dialog (Women in Dialogue), an organization started by niqabis—women who wear the veil—that brings Muslim women affected by the ban into conversation with the larger Danish population through events, social media and public appearances. Their goal has been to dispel what they say are misconceptions about their choice to wear the veil: that niqabis are forced to wear the garment, don’t go to school or work, and are radicalized and pose a threat.

Now their aims have expanded to include standing their ground in Danish society. On the first day of the ban, the women led a public protest over their right to wear the veil. Hundreds of people of different religious and ethnic backgrounds congregated at Den Sorte Plads in Copenhagen’s Nørrebro neighborhood, donning niqabs, colorful scarves and flamboyant face coverings—a horse head, fake beards and lucha libre masks were spotted across the plaza—to challenge the enforcement of the ban. The crowd marched on local streets led by a sign that read “My clothes, my choice” and chanted “No racists in our streets!” as they locked arms around the Bellahøj police station. At the same time, across the country a protest took place in Aarhus, Denmark’s second biggest city.

Many in the crowd said taking to the streets seemed to be the only way to bring attention to the problem. “When I was a kid, no one talked about who you could be and how you could look and dress,” said Line Schmidt, 33, wearing a black balaclava with yellow translucent heart-shaped glasses.“It’s not the Denmark I know.”

To protesters and women who wear the veil, the ban looks like another sign that Denmark is betraying its long-held value of tolerance. “It’s not just about us fighting for the right to wear our niqab,” Sabina says. “It’s also about us fighting for right to live our lives as practicing Muslims in Denmark. We are saying to the government: we do not accept this form of racist, Islamophobic and oppressive politics.”

Aleksander Klug—NurPhoto via Getty ImagesThousands of people protest in Aarhus, Denmark, on August 1, 2018 in defiance of the Danish Governments ban on the burka and niqab.

Denmark’s new law, passed May 31 to take effect from August 1, does not specifically mention the niqab (a veil that covers the face except for the eyes) or burqa (more conservative headwear that covers the head and body and includes a mesh screen over the eyes). It is up to police to judge whether a face covering is in violation of the ban and to instruct the offender to go home. Fines range from 1,000 krone ($156) up to 10,000 krone ($1,568) for repeat offenses.

But many of those in support of the ban have been clear that it is meant to target the Muslim face veil. “We don’t want the burqa and niqab in Denmark,” Naser Khader, a parliament member with the Conservative People’s Party and a Muslim who has long supported the ban, tells TIME. He says it’s about the principle of women not being oppressed, rather than the number of women who wear the veil. “We want gender equality in Denmark, that’s it. If you want to go with burqa and niqab, find another place to do it.”

The current number of women who wear the veil in Denmark is unknown, but the most recent research suggests it is very few. A 2009 study by Margit Warburg, a professor in sociology of religion at the University of Copenhagen, indicates less than 0.2% of Muslim women in the country wear the niqab or burqa—an estimated 150 women out of a country of 5.7 million. “It is really a very small minority out of a minority out of a minority,” says Warburg.

Human rights groups have slammed arguments like Khader’s. While there might be some specific instances where the full-face veil ban might be legitimate in the interests of public safety, Amnesty International argues that the blanket ban is a violation of women’s rights to freedom of expression and religion. “If the intention of this law was to protect women’s rights it fails abjectly. Instead, the law criminalizes women for their choice of clothing—making a mockery of the freedoms Denmark purports to uphold.”

A Continent-Wide Debate

Denmark follows France, Belgium and Austria with full bans on face coverings (Bulgaria, the Netherlands, Germany and other regions and cities across Europe have partial bans based on geographical area or type of space). In 2014 the European Court of Human Rights upheld France’s 2011 law, accepting that social cohesion was a valid argument for the ban, even though fewer than 2,000 women reportedly wore the veil in 2011, out of nearly 5 million Muslims in France.

But enforcement and effectiveness of the ban have been mixed. In Austria, which implemented a similar law in October 2017, police fined people with scarves and a man in a shark costume because of confusion over the vague wording of the law. France, the first European country to introduce such a ban, has consistently enforced the law—but surveys indicate niqabis continue to wear the veil but spend more time indoors (though there is little research on women who wear the veil after the ban).

“It divides society,” says Sara Silvestri, professor of religion and politics at City, University of London, and an expert on Islam in Europe. “It either withdraws women into the closely-knit community or empowers them to fight back and become even more religious and even more proud to wear the veil.”

In Denmark both the center-right government and center-left Social Democrat party voted in favor of the ban, passing the law 75-30. At the heart of the government’s argument were concerns over the subjugation of women and a need to enforce Danish culture and values.“We must be able to see each other and we must also be able to see each other’s facial expressions,” Justice Minister Søren Pape Poulsen said when the ban was passed in May. “It’s a value in Denmark.” A significant portion of the Danish population favored the ban: 62% supported a ban on the niqab and burqa according to an opinion poll from last September.

Read more: Denmark’s “ghetto” policies are an ominous sign that liberal Europe is starting to unravel at the seams

Denmark is still a homogeneous country: 87.6% of the country’s population is ethnically Danish and 75% of the population is Protestant (based off membership in the state-funded National Church). In recent decades, the country has struggled to integrate immigrants and their new cultures. This year alone, significant debate has raged over policies that seem to target minorities. For example, the country has weighed a citizens’ proposal to outlaw circumcision (mainly practiced by the country’s Jews and Muslims) and the immigration minister suggested Muslims do not work during Ramadan because they pose a safety hazard. And more concretely, the government passed a series of laws to eradicate “ghettos,” neighborhoods with social problems where more than 50% of residents are non-Western immigrants.

“The parliament decides what it means to be Danish,” says Garbi Schmidt, a Roskilde University professor who studies migration and cultural encounters. “Right now, it is Muslims that fall out and minorities that fall out [of that definition]. But it is also problematic for society—how xenophobic should it be when it comes to ethnic, religious and all kinds of diversity? Who has the right to live as a Dane?”

Mads Claus Rasmussen—AFP/Getty ImagesWomen wearing niqabs to veil their faces take part in a demonstration on August 1, 2018, the first day of the implementation of the Danish face veil ban, in Copenhagen, Denmark.

Fighting for the Right to Wear the Veil

Asserting the right to live as a Dane while wearing the niqab has been the goal of Kvinder i Dialog since it officially launched in January. The group, which has grown to approximately 60 niqabis and allies, has hosted open houses, stood on the street handing out flyers, visited high school classrooms and participated in debates on the issue, all in the hopes of trying to help their fellow citizens understand their choice. “We were saying to everyone, just ask us whatever you like,” Sabina says. “Let’s talk about it.”

By becoming more visible, Kvinder i Dialog has been able to change some minds. “If you are forced to wear it, I would not understand why you are fighting so much for it,” Sabina recalls a woman telling her at an open house. But it hasn’t always worked. Politicians have refused to take their meetings and they’ve received hateful responses on their social media posts.

Part of the problem is that many Danes have never seen, let alone met or talked to, a woman who wears the niqab, Sabina says. That fueled misconceptions about the background and motivations of the niqabis. Half of the women that Warburg found in her 2009 study were ethnic Danes, for example, as recent converts tend to be more devout in their religious expression. Further, women wear the niqab as a way to challenge and deepen their faith, Warburg says. She did not find evidence that there were women being forced to wear the veil in Denmark.

Women who choose the niqab say oppression has not come from the veil itself, but from Denmark’s opposition to it. Sarah, a gregarious 30-year-old student, mother of three and another founder of Kvinder i Dialog, said it was already difficult to wear her face covering in public. Once a man threatened to kill her at a train station in front of her then 3-year-old son.

Despite this, Sarah, who was born in Denmark to a Muslim family and speaks Danish as her first language, grew up believing that the country’s tradition of tolerance would protect her religious choices and allow her to follow her dreams of studying engineering and starting her own business. Now Sarah—who asked TIME to only use her first name to protect her privacy—is considering switching to e-learning to finish her courses, and her husband has agreed to take full responsibility of picking up their children from school and running errands.

“If I want to go somewhere, I really have to think about it—is it worth getting a fine?” she says, bouncing her curly-haired 7-month-old daughter on her lap during a preparation workshop for the protest on Wednesday. “I have never felt like a victim before. This is the first time I’ve felt oppressed.”

Still, she sees the veil as a source of power as she begins life after the ban. “You have to be very strong to wear the niqab in Denmark,” Sarah says. “We are not going to lie down and let people kick us. We are going to fight to the end.”

August 02, 2018 at 05:15PM ClusterAssets Inc., https://ClusterAssets.wordpress.com

[thejourneymaninn]

Forever

@teamblueandangry Kandersgiving

“Tell me again.”

Karl raised his arms above his head. As he stretched his body, his movements were as languid as his grin. “You’ll never get tired of that story, will you?”

“Nope,” Anders agreed, punctuating the words with a playful bite to his neck. “Never.”

Around them, the room was getting dark. From the great hall below, they could hear the faint sounds of rowdy laughter and toppling chairs. Ale, tales and boasting - the usual. They hadn’t been in the mood for it tonight.

Karl settled back into the pillows, one arm propping up his head, the other slung around Anders’ waist. He could feel Anders’ fingers dance across his chest, playing an unknown song on his skin. At the top of the bed, Ser Pounce-a-lot had claimed half of Karl’s pillow for himself and lay curled up into a little ball of purring contentment.

“Alright,” he relented, putting on his best storyteller voice, the one that never failed to take both of them back to a time of gangly limbs and patchy attempts at beards. ”So, I’m in the Gallows, all forlorn and alone, surrounded by grey walls and evil Templars. Suddenly, the door bursts open and in waltzes the Commander, not looking left or right, not stopping for anyone, you know how she is. Walks right up to the Templars, demands to see the ‘shem in charge’ – and then she conscripts me, right in the middle of the most infamous Circle in Thedas, in front of everyone. With one of our surly friends on either side of her and Oghren burping in the back. The look on Meredith’s face –“

“Describe her again.”

“Shiny and polished. Skin liked cracked stone, urine-blond, always rigid, doesn’t have a single flexible part in her body. Full of righteous evil. Weird taste in headwear, has probably seen one or two Andraste statues too many. Anyway, she stares at me like I’d asked her to suck my staff, and then she throws the biggest fit, goes into an endless speech about divine right and the dangers of magic and the Commander doesn’t say one fucking word the whole time, just stands there with her arms crossed and that creepy bland expression, and you can see Meredith get more unnerved with every passing second…But she keeps going, brave little fanatic that she is. And when she’s finally finished, the Commander nods. ‘Very informative. We’ll be going now. This way, Warden Thekla.’ And we march right out of there. And then…well, you know what happened next.”

“Husband,” Anders murmured against his skin.

Karl smiled at the word. Not exactly new, it had been several months already, but he felt he needed to savour it for as long as he could, hold onto that feeling, that reminder. Free. His. Forever. He ran a finger along the shell of Anders’ ear. “I’m still not convinced she actually has the authority to declare us that.”

“Does it matter?” He could feel Anders’ mouth curve into a grin. “Would anyone dare question her?”

Karl nodded solemnly. “I pity the fool who tries.”

“Thank you for indulging me yet again,” Anders said, nestling into the crook of Karl’s arm. “It’s my favourite story. Though it leaves out the part where I was left to my own devices for weeks, fighting Darkspawn with no one but Gloomy and Bubbly at my side, sobbing into my pillow every night that the Commander abandoned me right after I told her the story of my one true love who was taken away by the evil Templars…I’m still mad she didn’t tell me she was planning to get you out.”

“She didn’t want to get your hopes up. Or risk you smuggling yourself along in one of the trunks.”

“You know me so well, love.”

“Well enough to know you would have risked everything for a chance to save me…And she clearly knew that too. And let’s face it, it’s not like she needed your help. It all worked out. And your face when we all walked into the great hall…that was priceless too. You had no idea.”

“How was I supposed to know she’d do that?” Anders muttered. “Why would anyone in their right mind do something like that for me? It’s not like she doesn’t have enough trouble of her own, why would she take on mine.”

“She likes you.”

I don’t know why, though. I’ve pissed her off so many times…”

“Ah yes, that big mouth of yours—“Anders twisted his neck to glare at him, all reproach, hurt feelings and betrayal, and Karl bit back a chuckle. “—which I love, darling, it’s entertaining and endearing and a vital part of the whole, charming package. And as for the Commander…she knows you have a good heart. Anyone who spends more than a few days with you and isn’t a complete idiot would know that. And you ‘returned to help when given the opportunity to run’. I think that impressed her. Perhaps she wants to return the favour. Although I’m still not sure how happy she is with the extra Warden mage that got her…”

“I’m almost positive I saw a smile when she muttered about our ‘stupid shem business’, so I’d say you’re good. And she gave us a room to ourselves. Who would have thought we’d ever have that…”

“Yes.” Karl nodded. “Some days, I still have to pinch myself to believe I’m really here. No more stuffy wardrobes for us, no more keeping quiet. It’s quite invigorating to know how vocal you can be…”

Anders flashed him a crooked grin. “See, the world outside isn’t so bad after all, old man.”

“It has you. That’s all I really need. Well, and that whole ‘being free’ thing is pretty nice too.”

“Yes. Free. Except for the horrible nightmares and daily monster hunts.” A shadow flitted across Anders’ face. “I didn’t exactly give you ‘forever’.”

“I prefer the taint to the brand.”

“You’re harrowed. The law says—“

“We both know they don’t care about the law.” Karl shrugged, taking care to keep his expression calm. This particular inner turmoil could wait; Anders didn’t need to be reminded of how real a danger it had been, not tonight. “And it’s not like our lives are already over. We may have less time, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still have a lot of it.”

Anders nodded. Resting his chin on Karl’s chest, he reached up to twist a strand of hair around his finger. “I get to see you go grey after all…”

Yes. Prematurely and unfairly so!

“I’ll make sure to leave a silver trail for you to follow wherever I go.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it. And should you forget in your old age, I’m sure your creaking bones will help me locate you. Can’t risk you getting lost again after all the Commander went through to get you out.”

“Yes,” Karl said absently. Pounce’s purr sent faint vibrations through his skin as his thoughts chased one another in a constantly accelerating spiral.

“What’s on your mind, love?” Anders’ voice was soft. And once again, his eyes held all the knowledge from which Karl so desperately wanted to protect him.

He sighed. It hadn’t worked when they were young (younger!), and it wouldn’t work now. “I still can’t believe the Knight Commander actually let me leave. For a moment there, I thought she’d just execute us all right on the spot. If anyone had the guts to defy the Wardens, it’d be her.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“And all the others are still there, still at her every whim. The First Enchanter’s trying his best, he really is, but he doesn’t stand a chance. They keep stripping away what little influence he has. And the way she trains her Templars…There’s no room for any trace of mercy or compassion. I thought they were bad growing up, but this… You know Cullen’s there too?”

“That creep who had the hots for Surana? How did he end up there?”

“I wouldn’t know, his Highness has a strict policy against conversing with us lowly, cursed folk. He’s always right at Meredith’s heel, her devoted puppy. But he’s far from the worst. Hates us, certainly, wants us all caged or killed…but at least he doesn’t keep Tranquil as his personal ‘pets’.” He swallowed. “You wouldn’t believe the kind of sadists they have in there…” He caught the shadows gathering in Anders’ eyes and internally cursed himself. A whole fucking year. “I mean—“

“We could always go back. Try to change things, like we talked about back when we were children.” Anders swallowed visibly. “Justice…after the stories you…and I…told him, he suggested…” He trailed off, biting his lip.

“Yes. I heard.”

“You…did?”

Karl looked down at him with a smile. “Don’t I always?”

“But you…you didn’t say anything…or…ask me not to.”

“Why would I do that? It’s your choice. That’s the whole point of all of this, isn’t it? So we’d finally have one.”

“Karl…“

“I can’t give you advice on this, I know even less about the whole thing than you do…But whatever happens, I’m with you. I’d offer to be the one to do it but…I don’t have your talents. You’re the one the spirits flock to, the one most at home in the Fade. I’ve certainly never managed to charm a bunch of wisps into posing as stars so we could make out beneath them. But if you think it could work anyway, I’ll ask Justice if he—“

“No!” Anders shot up. “No. Not you, absolutely not, never, over my dead body. I already lost you once. If Justice needs me, if we choose to fight, I’ll be the one to do it. I’d do anything to keep you safe, I couldn’t bear it if…” He trailed off, eyes narrowing at the chuckle Karl hadn’t managed to hold in. “Care to tell me what’s so funny?”

He stroked his thumb along Anders’ jaw and gently pulled him back down. “Nothing. It’s just…not surprising. You will always help a friend in need, it’s who you are. And I love who you are. And I’ll love you no matter how things turn out. You’ll still be you, even if you’re different. There’s a reason he likes you. Just like those wisps did. Perhaps this was always meant to happen.”

“Yes. Perhaps. And perhaps it’s a trap.”

“The Chantry doesn’t know everything. And it’s often wrong…So, so often. Just look at us.”

“Yes.” There was a long pause. “You think the Commander would let us go?”

“Hmm… Subversion against the Chantry… I have a feeling she’d be delighted. Well, unofficially. Officially, we’d probably ‘die in a Darkspawn attack, bodies were never found”.”

“Too bad.” Anders grinned. “I quite like your body.”

“I’m glad this creaking old thing can still be of use. Yours isn’t too shabby either, now that I think of it.”

“Still a poet at heart, I see.”

“For you, always,” he said, letting his hand land on Anders’ hip with a playful smack.

They fell silent, listening to the singing and stomping from below. Karl was about to doze off when Anders spoke again.

“We could stay here until we’re all old and wrinkly. Leave the big fights to others and just be happy for once. Just you and me, shooting lightning at fools, raising kittens, killing the occasional Darkspawn, pissing off Nate…”

Karl bopped his nose against Anders’ head, a smile spreading across his face. “Just me, my husband, our cat, and a band of noisy, nosy misfits? Sounds good to me. We should definitely consider that option.”

“Yes…” Karl could feel Anders’ lips moving against his chest. He raised his hand and began to carefully pet Anders’ hair, watching his fingers disappear between the soft strands as he massaged his scalp.

“We don’t have to decide right now. We’re free. We finally have the whole world to choose from. And whatever we decide, we’ll decide together.”

“Yes. Together,” Anders murmured, so softly that Karl could just barely make out the last word. “Forever.”

[lady-alayne]

Game of Thrones: An Angry Recap

Season 7 Episode 6: Beyond the Wall

Winterfell:

Sigh. Okay. Let's do this.

Arya and Sansa's relationship is all over the place. After a heartfelt reunion where it seems the old tension between the sisters had been set aside, Arya became more and more paranoid of everyone and everything, resulting in the lurking bonanza last episode where it seems Arya got royally littlefingered.

Because just as Petyr planned (presumably), Arya jumped to all the wrong conclusions about the letter Sansa was forced to write to her brother, urging him to bend the knee to Joffrey. “Why didn't you just murder everyone instead, like I would have?” she snaps at her sister. “This is what this show is about! Violence begets violence, and it's awesome! No wonder everyone on reddit hates you.” Ah, sisterly love.

It breaks my heart that GRRM wrote the Stark sisters as polar opposites, but equally strong. Arya is the more traditional Strong Female Character(TM), portraying stereotypically male traits: She wants to learn how to fight, she has a temper, is reckless, and she solves her problems with violence rather than words. Sansa, on the other hand, embraces her femininity. And that's wonderful. She navigates through the snake pit of King's Landing because she is polite, well-trained, and knows when to shut up and swallow her anger and then attack later out of a position of power. Although different, the sisters are both strong, resilient, and grow more and more powerful over the course of the series. GRRM has done a beautiful job portraying women as real people with unique characters.

Enter D&D! While doing some pseudo-research for their characters, biding their time until they ran out of books so they can make up their own shit, they decided to A) dumb Arya and Sansa down to have “invincible killer robot whose trauma made her want to murder everyone” and “stupid girl who is stupid and everyone takes advantage of” and then to B) PIT THESE CHARACTERS AGAINST EACH OTHER IN THE MOST FORCED CONFLICT IN THE HISTORY OF TELEVISION.

Are we really supposed to believe that single letter poses such a threat??? To make this conflict work, Arya had to be:

stupid enough to think Sansa meant what she wrote

evil enough to blackmail Sansa with it

paranoid enough to think Sansa has ulterior motives and wants to usurp Jon or whatever (can you usurp something that is RIGHTFULLY YOURS?)

Sansa had to be

stupid enough to believe that letter poses a threat—as if the Northern lords wouldn't immediately know Sansa wrote what Cersei told her to write

evil enough to send Brienne away, a woman in the perfect position to mediate and de-escalate

paranoid enough to break into Arya's chambers and try to steal the letter back

And all just so D&D can create random conflict out of thin air because, uh, good television.

Also at Winterfell, we get out weekly dose of two minutes Petyr Baelish screentime. (And it's not enough. It's never enough.) It looks like Sansa and Petyr are friends again and she asks him for his council (after telling him to go away, telling him she's smarter than him, and gloomily talking about what he wants, but who cares about characterization in this show? The plot demands that Sansa and Petyr speak.) Petyr helpfully suggests to have Brienne talk to the girls, as she has an invested interest in those two being on the same side, which makes Sansa send Brienne away. Logic(TM)!

As mentioned above, Sansa then sneaks into Arya's chambers to steal the letter back from her, and finds Arya's work clothes under the bed. To dial up the creepy, Arya then appears and... threatens to kill Sansa so she can know how it feels to wear beautiful dresses??? Arya, YOU COULD HAVE WORN ALL THE BEAUTIFUL DRESSES, but you WANTED TO BE A KNIGHT INSTEAD. Before stabbing her sister, Arya changes her mind/reveals she was bluffing (who can tell with this demon child), and gives Sansa Littlefinger's dagger because... reasons. Oh boy, that dagger is going places! Tune in next week to see Sansa give the dagger to Gilly's four year old baby when Sam and family turn up in Winterfell on their way back to castle black! And stay tuned for season 8, where we find out THE DAGGER IS AZOR AHAI!

Beyond the Wall:

Jon, Tormund, Jorah, Gendry, the Brotherhood Without Banners, and a few nameless extras to be killed off as needed hike through a blizzard during Operation Catch a Wight, and we are immediately treated to a rape joke! This time Tormund jokes about raping Jon because “fucking is best to stay warm.” It's funny, because it's two men! Haha, gay! Like Loras! Lol!

But Jon is not just the butt of the joke (I couldn't resist), we are also reminded once again that he's super nice and honorable, much like his “father,” and so he offers Jorah Longclaw back. But Jorah declines, because he's also super honorable and a good guy(TM). I was rooting for him to take the sword and stab Jon with it while yelling “I'm getting rid of the competition! Khaleesi, here I come!!!” But, oh well, when D&D fanservice they somehow never take my wishes into account.  Wait while I send them a raven and complain.

My raven seems to have reach them, because a little later the Hound insists he does not like gingers, and all the SanSan shippers break into crisis mode while I laugh. Heehee. Then we have the incredible honor and privilege to witness a dialogue that includes the words “dick,” “cock,” and “pussy” within what feels like 0.000001 seconds. Finally, proof of GoT's level of sophistication that everyone is talking about. But... Tormund x Brienne, so yay!

The shipping does not last long, because out of nowhere ZOMBIE ICE BEAR ATTACK!!! Run for your lives!!! We watch with bated breath while the bear threatens to kill our beloved heroes and hope he will kill one of the suspiciously random background extras instead, but then we realize we are already dead inside when it comes to this show, so we would not care either way. By the way, is anyone else reminded of Star Wars whenever the Brotherhood Without Banners switch on their fire swords?

But killer zombie bears are not the only threat beyond the wall, and soon the men meet a white walker taking his pack of wights out for a walk. Now I feel safe enough to scream again. THE WIGHTS ARE WEARING HOODS WHILE THE MEN ARE NOT. THE UNDEAD PEOPLE ARE WEARING PROTECTIVE HEADWEAR WHILE THE LIVING PERSONS ARE NOT. THIS SHOW MAKES NO SENSE. NO SENSE. UGH!!!!

Because this is Operation Catch a Wight, the men decide to, you know, catch a wight, and set a trap for some reason. I guess just attacking their enemy without the enemy knowing they were even there would not be sneaky enough! Luckily, the dragonglass proves potent, and Jon successfully makes the white walker burst into a billion pieces AND re-deads the un-dead! DOUBLE KILL! …... except for one wight, who is still undead for practicality and thus immediately captured. Lucky!

The team soon realizes their chances are dire at best, and decide to send Gendry back to Eastwatch so he can send a raven to Daenerys. GENDRY. WITHOUT ANY WEAPONS. ALONE. THROUGH A BLIZZARD. While Gendry runs of to his certain death—who would survive a marathon through a snowstorm?— Jon & Friends also run to their certain death, as they are suddenly attacked by an army of thousands of wights. But—oh joy!—there's a lake there! And the ice on the lake is super special and only breaks AFTER ALL THE IMPORTANT CHARACTERS have already passed! But then it drags all the wights, plus one nameless extra for supposed shock value, down to their icy (re-)deaths, and our heroes manage to escape on a strategically placed isle in the middle of the lake to wait for their rescue.

Dragonstone:

Meanwhile, Dany and Tyrion are having some girl talk because Missandei seems to be MIA. After establishing that Jon is, like, super in love with Dany, you guys, and of course Tyrion knows that because he's SO SMART!!!, Tyrion broaches the topic of succession and SUGGESTS IMPLEMENTING A DEMOCRACY. I mean... yeah, Democracies are nice like 94% of the time, unless you elect someone like Donald Trump Euron Greyjoy. But it just gets SO FUCKING BORING how Tyion is always so super duper good and even his mistakes just make him more human and more lovable, isn't Tyrion just the awesomest, hooray hooray, all hail the best character in the history of the universe.

After what seems like 2 minute flight time, the raven from Eastwatch arrives and delivers Jon's cry for help. The men are trapped in the wilderness, under attack, and in dire need of immediate rescue! Daenerys wastes no time leaping into action. “I have to fly North immediately to rescue the guy I have a lady boner for, the guy who has a sad boner for me, the guy who knows how to turn dragon glass into weapons, the grumpy fan favorite, and their friends... As soon as my seamstress has finished my new winter coat! What fur should I use? This one matches my eyes, but this one goes better with my skin tone!”

Back beyond the wall:

It seems as if Dany's seamstress is really fast, because Dany makes it to the little isle at the perfect moment—Thoros has just died for shock value (and let's face it, nobody cared about Thoros anyway), and the wights have just discovered that the lake has frozen again, and are about to attack, when—DRAGONS!!! Dany swoops in and saves the day. Everyone climbs aboard Drogon, EXCEPT FOR JON, who runs off on a one man “Fighting my way through thousands of wights to kill the Night's King while he's surrounded by his four friends who are all expecting me” mission. Naturally, he does not get far and soon joins nameless extra in the icy depths below. RIP Jon, RIP.

To make matters worse, the Night's King turns out to be an insanely accurate spear thrower, and pierces Viserion's heart. Now that was a death for shock value! The mighty dragon plunges out of the sky, and Dany watches him motionless. I suppose she was just shocked, but maybe that was also Emilia Clarke's inability to act.

Drogon and his human load then get the hell out of there, and—OH GOD!!! JON IS NOT DEAD!!! WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT???? HE'S ALIVE!!!!

And then IT'S BENJEN EX MACHINA!!! AND HE SAVES JON!!! AND HE PUTS HIM ON A HORSE!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!! AND JON SNOW IS SAVED!!!

Dany, it turns out, is very relieved about that, and immediately rushes to his side while he's lying in bed naked, recovering from almost freezing to death. Because that's how you get warm—you go to a somewhat warmer room and take off all your clothes. Then, when you freeze, you realize the cold outside was not so bad in comparison, so your body heals itself. Science(TM)!

[fuckyeahlara]

7 Spectacular Details About Royal Ascot Ladies Day

The Royal Ascot horse race is entering its third day, with all eyes on the lavish hats, attractive attires, of course, the royals. Day Three of the five-day event is likewise the day of the historical Gold Cup. The Gold Cup is Ascot's longest making it through race, and what is now referred to as Royal Ascot began to take shape when The Gold Cup was first run in 1807. The Gold Cup coincides with what is informally referred to as "Ladies' Day," a term first used in 1823. A confidential poet explained the day as "Ladies' Day ... when the women, like angels, look sweetly divine." However the Ascot doesn't officially recognize the day as Ladies' Day. As the Ascot's director of racing, Nick Smith, described to The Telegraph, they have not described Ladies' Day in any marketing or promotions products. "We are comfortable with the public calling it that, however to market it as such would trigger confusion as ladies' days far from Royal Ascot 2019 are totally various," he said. "We don't have best dressed competitors-- for either sex-- and we don't believe catwalks and such like is what it is about."

What is the Royal Ascot?

Among Britain's most widely known racecourses, Ascot holds an unique week of races in June each year called Royal Ascot, attended by The Queen and other Royals At other horse races in the U.K., Ladies' Days are synonymous with style competitions. At the Kelso Racecourse, which stages fifteen dives components during the season from September through May, there are competitors for categories such as Best Dressed Lady, Best Dressed Couple, and Finest Hat. While there are no competitions at Ascot, according to The Evening Requirement, ladies still take care to dress in an extra attractive look on Ladies' Day to celebrate. Princess Eugenie wore a beautiful floral-print Erdem gown teamed with a boater hat, while vocalist Ciara went with a stylish white Edeline Lee gown. Royal Ascot's spectacular heritage, unlike any other, has made the event the most anticipated and revered the world over. From the arrival of the Royal Procession at 2pm sharp to common singing around the bandstand, with 6 impressive top-class races between, each of the 5 days is unforgettable.

It's a social highlight of the summer, not just for the racing and royalty but also because of the style, style and breadth of entertainment on offer. An option of 4 enclosures, each with an individual character and numerous food and drink alternatives, enable you to curate your own genuinely special event. From exotic street food, gourmet hamburgers and traditional afternoon tea to bring-your-own picnics on the spotless yards and dining from Michelin-starred chefs, the choices for an elegant food experience alone are endless. It's a chance to dress up and enjoy yourself while attempting to break bookies' hearts. To experience it to its maximum, a little preparation will pay huge dividends. Tuesday 19 If you're aiming to experience Royal Ascot at its most royal, the opening day is a must. When the clock strikes 2 the Royal Procession starts and the landaus, led by four Windsor greys, make their way along the Straight Mile, enacting a British custom that extends back to when Queen Victoria was a woman. There is no equivalent event in the racing calendar or certainly the sporting world and, while the spectacle is duplicated every day of the meeting, Royal Ascot's opening day is justifiably renowned as awesome.

For flat racing fans too, this is a day not to miss. 3 Group One races-- the sport's greatest category, with the most significant prize money and the very best horses-- are run: the Queen Anne Stakes, the King's Stand Stakes and the St James's Palace Stakes. Wednesday 20 A more carefully paced day however no less interesting, as it includes the Group One Prince of Wales's Stakes. This is held by lots of to be Royal Ascot's crucial race of the modern-day age: the wealthiest race of the whole meeting with a handbag of ₤ 750,000. And where much better to enjoy it than in the Queen Anne Enclosure? Not as official but just as magnificently composed as the members-only Royal Enclosure-- no stovepipe hats and tails required-- this enclosure uses the perfect and up-close views of the stunning horses, both in the Pre-Parade Ring and the Parade Ring. With Wednesday being a slightly calmer day, maybe look for the different sculpture installations spread around the racecourse, some long-term and depicting past stars of Ascot in their most regal states while others include exclusively for the royal meeting. Home entertainment is omnipresent at Royal Ascot with every day waning around the renowned bandstand, situated in the Queen Anne Enclosure, for triumphant and traditionally British communal singing at 6pm. Thursday 21 One of Royal Ascot's charming eccentricities is that Thursday is not officially called Ladies' Day however Gold Cup Day. However this is unquestionably the day when all eyes are concentrated on the hats, and both traditional and modern display screens of magnificent millinery are most on show. Queen Anne Enclosure guests can display their headwear while enjoying a grilled lobster or champagne afternoon tea at 1768 Grill and Tea Rooms. A best Ascot Events experience to boost your big day, this restaurant was one of several outlets introduced in 2017 to use racegoers a choice for lunch and afternoon tea that does not need reservation ahead of time.

Gold Cup Day is likewise when Ascot's a lot of prestigious race is run-- always a source of high drama as it unfolds over two and a half miles. You can get a fresh perspective on this by enjoying from Royal Ascot's most recent enclosure, The Village, which is open from Thursday to Saturday. Located on the within the track, with the Grandstand providing a background to the day, the Village Enclosure has already ended up being popular with a more youthful, fashion-conscious group of racegoers looking for a modern Royal Ascot experience. 3 phases offer a series of music all the time and, once the racing surfaces, the live entertainment continues until 9pm with a varied collection of shop restaurants and champagne bars to keep the party going and develop a dream of a summer night. Friday 22 The racing stays of the highest quality all week with Friday peaking once again as viewers witness 2 Group One races-- The Commonwealth Cup and The Crowning Stakes. As the weekend nears, racegoers can take pleasure in the glorious environment in the Queen Anne Enclosure and sample from the most splendid range of food and beverage with a last-minute dining experience at James Tanner's Queen Anne Cooking area or by indulging in a Royal Ascot Blush Mixed drink from one of the quintessential bars located in the location. There are numerous artisan food stalls and champagne bars in The Town and Windsor Enclosures, but equally numerous visitors delight in bringing their own picnics. There are, nevertheless, particular constraints that use and the only alcohol that guests may bring with them is champagne or champagne (and a maximum of one bottle per person). Saturday 23 There is no stopping the magnificent racing and the final day is no exception. Its format is a recognisable six-race card staged between 2.30 pm and 5.35 pm. Saturday's emphasize is certainly The Diamond Jubilee Stakes. Its size of field and strong pace offer a thrilling race for all and contribute to the finale of the five-day yearly celebration. Saturday is also an excellent day for children to experience the distinct Royal Ascot atmosphere and enjoyment. Children's tickets can only be bought on the day, with all cash going to Ascot's annual charitable providing.

Booking ahead is advised if you are thinking about a great dining experience in the Royal Enclosure or Queen Anne Enclosure, with a number of restaurants already sold out throughout all days.

What is Ascot ladies day?

The world's most attractive race day. Ladies Day at Royal Ascot is renowned as the greatest day on the British social and sporting calendar. It is worth remembering that lots of days throughout the four enclosures sell out well ahead of time. So strategy early-- and enjoy. Whatever day you choose, Royal Ascot really is like no place else. Each day offers a different experience but always with the exact same style and sophistication that the racecourse is renowned for. Exceptional racing, exhilarating entertainment, splendid food and sartorial beauty can constantly be anticipated. Be sure to inspect the official gown code for your enclosure before you go, look at possible upgrades you can choose to improve the occasion and prepare yourself for among the most remarkable days in the British social-- and horse racing-- calendar. The Royal Ascot definitely measures up to its main motto," Like no place else." A significant event on the British social calendar since its starting by Queen Anne in 1711, the annual race conference, which occurs each June at the Ascot Racecourse in Berkshire, England, stays a heady mix of pomp, custom, fashion, class distinction and, naturally, sport. Formally opened every day by the Queen, in addition to various royals, the most apt way to explain the experience to Americans would be to think of a cross between a royal wedding and the Kentucky Derby, except boozier, if that's humanly possible (by means of champagne rather than bourbon). Though each of the five days has its highlights, Opening Day stays special simply because it attracts a full enhance of royals while also restricting admission to the Royal Enclosure, the most prominent level of participation, to members only. How does one end up being a member of this swank pack? The response is purposely left vague, including a secret recipe of social stature, connections, letters of reference, and, above all, aspiration. On the staying four days, members are permitted to acquire 2 guest badges each per day. Ascot Opening Day was commemorated by the Lerner and Loewe musical, "My Fair Lady," which opened on Broadway in 1956 starring Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews, and later made into a big-budget Hollywood extravaganza, again with Rex Harrison however with Audrey Hepburn changing Andrews. (It's running yet again this season on Broadway at Lincoln Center Theater.).

Both the stage production and the movie featured spectacular depictions of Royal Ascot with sets and costumes by Cecil Beaton, the iconic professional photographer, designer, diarist and royal elbow-rubber. Intensely developed in black and white, the number, particularly in the movie variation, practically stands on its own as a pill of choreography and couture. Today, Ascot Opening Day is a far less mannerist affair, but similarly fashion-aligned. In the rarified air of the Royal Enclosure, tradition reigns supreme in all manners of gown throughout the five-day duration. Men are required to wear a complete morning match with waistcoat and either a black or grey stovepipe hat at all times. Just black shoes are enabled and in an affront to the current vogue for bare ankles, socks are compulsory. Only in 2015, for the extremely very first time in Royal Ascot's history, when the temperature skyrocketed into the 90s, were guys allowed to remove their coats and hats. Otherwise, hats must stay on heads except within a dining establishment, a private box, an enclosed balcony, and a few other designated areas. Ladies must wear a hat with a minimum base of four inches (i.e. no fascinators) and dresses with a modest cut. Pants and one-piece suits are allowed, however again with a caution: pants should be worn with a coat or top "in a matching material." There is a large range of stylish to saucy, but Brits do the "garden party" look quite well, with a mix of bright colors, flower prints and the recent appearance of long, streaming dresses that undoubtedly take their treatments from the younger members of the Royal Household.

How long does Royal Ascot last?

Over 300,000 people make the annual check out to Berkshire during Royal Ascot week, making this Europe's best-attended race meeting. There are eighteen group races available, with at least one Group One event on each of the 5 days. Beyond the Royal Enclosure, each area has its own set of sartorial standards. If the Royal Enclosure is First Class, Service Class would be the Queen Anne Enclosure. There, men must wear a suit and tie and ladies are asked to wear tasteful gowns and a hat. Premium Economy would be The Town Enclosure, with the same gown code as the Queen Anne Enclosure. The Windsor Enclosure is the most unwinded, without any dress code at all. The main website states "lively, interesting and fun" which translates to party main, sometimes rather rowdy. Indeed, every level of Ascot UK is party hearty, no matter whether sustained by Bollinger, Pimm's, or Guinness. The numbers speak volumes. Throughout 5 days, 300,000 participants will have consumed 56,000 bottles of champagne, 44,000 bottles of wine, 21,000 jugs of Pimm's and 60,000 finger sandwiches. For those who do not imbibe, fear not. Likewise taken in are 80,000 cups of tea and 128,500 bottles of mineral water.

No matter which section one is in or what is in one's glass, the mood is extremely buoyant, sparked by the arrival of the Queen and various members of her family in a line of horse drawn carriages. This year, as usual, the Royal Procession entered the park through the Royal Gates noticeable to all off in the distance. The closer the carriages got to the stands, the louder the buzz from the crowd. All at once, the Band of Her Majesty's Irish Guards marched into place to play the national anthem, "God Save the Queen." Thousands of top hats were gotten rid of en masse and the crowd sang, followed by spontaneous applause and cheers that became a cacophony as the Queen's carriage passed, accompanied by nonstop "Hip, Hip, Hoorays!" Resplendent in a jonquil yellow coat and hat, she was accompanied by her kid, Andrew, daughter Anne, and Lord Vestey, Master of the Horse to the Royal Household. Next came Prince Charles with Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall and the Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie. But the loudest cheers this go round were for the occupants of the third carriage, Prince Harry and his new bride-to-be Meghan with Prince Edward and his partner, Sophie. Following the royal arrival, just like halftime at a football game, there's a mad rush for the bars and the washrooms. But instead of beers and brats, it's Bollinger and lobster rolls. Yes, there are a few awesome horse races, accompanied by a remarkable quantity of drinking. But the real show remains in the garden of the Royal Enclosure, which becomes one big celebration, and, naturally, the Royal Box, which hovers over the stands like the bridge of a massive ocean liner. One can easily see the comings and goings through its set of double doors, with riding crop deals with, from a number of viewpoint within the clubhouse, which feels precisely like a shopping center, although it has bars and betting stations instead of stores. One can apparently make a bet pretty much anywhere. In addition to the fixed desks, there are mobile kiosks spread inside the clubhouse and throughout the park. One can even position a bet, albeit prior to 2 p.m. on what color the Queen will use. (In 2015, I won ₤ 15 on pink.) And if one is in the right location at the correct time, the doors to the Royal Box will swing open and a tiny little figure in a vibrantly colored coat and hat will emerge, and walk unaccompanied to the parade ring to present a prize, sometimes a number of times a day. This is why one attends Royal Ascot: to witness firsthand the gravitas, the splendour, the adulation and a little bit of the isolation that accompanies what the existing occupant of Buckingham Palace refers to, sometimes wearily, "this job for life." It's a thrilling and strangely moving thing to see. After all, who requires to binge watch The Crown when one can just binge watch the Queen?

[aprilpillkington]

Seven Amazing Details About Ladies Day

The Ascot Events horse race is entering its third day, with all eyes on the elegant hats, attractive clothing, naturally, the royals. Day 3 of the five-day event is also the day of the historic Gold Cup. The Gold Cup is Ascot’s longest making it through race, and what is now called Royal Ascot started to take shape when The Gold Cup was first run in 1807. The Gold Cup coincides with what is colloquially referred to as “Ladies’ Day,” a term first used in 1823. An anonymous poet explained the day as “Ladies’ Day … when the women, like angels, look sweetly divine.” But the Ascot doesn’t officially recognize the day as Ladies’ Day. As the Ascot’s director of racing, Nick Smith, discussed to The Telegraph, they have not referred to Ladies’ Day in any marketing or promos products. “We are comfortable with the general public calling it that, but to market it as such would cause confusion as ladies’ days far from Ascot are entirely different,” he said. “We don’t have actually best dressed competitions– for either sex– and we do not believe catwalks and such like is what it is about.”

What is the Royal Ascot?

One of Britain’s the majority of well-known racecourses, Ascot holds a special week of races in June each year called Royal Ascot, went to by The Queen and other Royals At other horse races in the U.K., Ladies’ Days are associated with fashion competitors. At the Kelso Racecourse, which phases fifteen dives components during the season from September through Might, there are competitions for classifications such as Best Dressed Lady, Finest Dressed Couple, and Best Hat. While there are no competitors at Ascot, according to The Night Requirement, ladies still take care to dress in an extra glamorous look on Ladies’ Day to commemorate. Princess Eugenie wore a stunning floral-print Erdem dress teamed with a boater hat, while vocalist Ciara chose a chic white Edeline Lee dress. Royal Ascot’s spectacular heritage, unlike any other, has actually made the event the most awaited and revered the world over. From the arrival of the Royal Procession at 2pm sharp to communal singing around the bandstand, with six exceptional top-class races in between, each of the 5 days is extraordinary.

It’s a social highlight of the summer season, not just for the racing and royalty but also because of the style, style and breadth of entertainment available. A choice of four enclosures, each with a private character and many food and beverage alternatives, permit you to curate your own genuinely unique celebration. From exotic street food, gourmet hamburgers and timeless afternoon tea to bring-your-own picnics on the spotless yards and dining from Michelin-starred chefs, the choices for a splendid food experience alone are endless. It’s an opportunity to dress up and enjoy yourself while attempting to break bookies’ hearts. To experience it to its fullest, a little preparation will pay big dividends. Tuesday 19 If you’re looking to experience Ascot UK at its most regal, the opening day is a must. When the clock strikes 2 the Royal Procession begins and the landaus, led by 4 Windsor greys, make their way along the Straight Mile, enacting a British custom that stretches back to when Queen Victoria was a woman. There is no similar event in the racing calendar or indeed the sporting world and, while the spectacle is repeated every day of the conference, Royal Ascot’s opening day is justifiably renowned as breathtaking.

For flat racing fans too, this is a day not to miss. Three Group One races– the sport’s highest category, with the most significant cash prize and the very best horses– are run: the Queen Anne Stakes, the King’s Stand Stakes and the St James’s Palace Stakes. Wednesday 20 A more carefully paced day but no less exciting, as it includes the Group One Prince of Wales’s Stakes. This is held by lots of to be Royal Ascot’s essential race of the modern era: the wealthiest race of the whole meeting with a purse of ₤ 750,000. And where better to view it than in the Queen Anne Enclosure? Not as formal however just as beautifully composed as the members-only Royal Enclosure– no top hats and tails required– this enclosure uses the best and up-close views of the spectacular horses, both in the Pre-Parade Ring and the Parade Ring. With Wednesday being a slightly calmer day, perhaps seek out the numerous sculpture installations spread around the racecourse, some long-term and illustrating previous stars of Ascot in their most royal states while others feature exclusively for the royal conference. Entertainment is universal at Royal Ascot with every day waning around the renowned bandstand, located in the Queen Anne Enclosure, for triumphant and generally British communal singing at 6pm. Thursday 21 One of Royal Ascot’s endearing eccentricities is that Thursday is not officially called Ladies’ Day but Gold Cup Day. However this is undoubtedly the day when all eyes are concentrated on the hats, and both conventional and contemporary displays of splendid millinery are most on show. Queen Anne Enclosure visitors can flaunt their headwear while enjoying a grilled lobster or champagne afternoon tea at 1768 Grill and Tea Rooms. A best Royal Ascot experience to enhance your wedding, this dining establishment was among a number of outlets presented in 2017 to use racegoers an option for lunch and afternoon tea that does not need reservation ahead of time.

Gold Cup Day is also when Ascot’s most distinguished race is run– constantly a source of high drama as it unfolds over two and a half miles. You can get a fresh viewpoint on this by viewing from Royal Ascot’s newest enclosure, The Village, which is open from Thursday to Saturday. Found on the within the track, with the Grandstand offering a background to the day, the Town Enclosure has already ended up being popular with a more youthful, fashion-conscious group of racegoers trying to find a contemporary Royal Ascot experience. 3 stages provide a range of music all day and, once the racing finishes, the live entertainment continues until 9pm with a varied collection of shop restaurants and champagne bars to keep the party going and create an imagine a summer night. Friday 22 The racing stays of the highest quality all week with Friday peaking again as viewers witness two Group One races– The Commonwealth Cup and The Coronation Stakes. As the weekend nears, racegoers can delight in the marvelous environment in the Queen Anne Enclosure and sample from the most splendid variety of food and beverage with a last-minute dining experience at James Tanner’s Queen Anne Kitchen area or by indulging in a Royal Ascot Blush Mixed drink from among the essential bars located in the area. There are numerous craftsmen food stalls and champagne bars in The Village and Windsor Enclosures, but similarly numerous visitors take pleasure in bringing their own picnics. There are, however, certain limitations that apply and the only alcohol that guests might bring with them is sparkling wine or champagne (and a maximum of one bottle per person). Saturday 23 There is no stopping the amazing racing and the final day is no exception. Its format is a recognisable six-race card staged in between 2.30 pm and 5.35 pm. Saturday’s emphasize is certainly The Diamond Jubilee Stakes. Its size of field and fierce speed provide a thrilling race for all and contribute to the finale of the five-day yearly occasion. Saturday is also a fantastic day for kids to experience the special Ascot Events environment and excitement. Kid’s tickets can only be bought on the day, with all cash going to Ascot’s yearly charitable providing.

Scheduling ahead is recommended if you are thinking about a great dining experience in the Royal Enclosure or Queen Anne Enclosure, with numerous dining establishments currently sold out across all the times.

What is Ascot ladies day?

The world’s most attractive race day. Ladies Day at Royal Ascot is renowned as the greatest day on the British social and sporting calendar. It is worth keeping in mind that many days across the 4 enclosures sell out well in advance. So plan early– and take pleasure in. Whatever day you select, Royal Ascot actually is like no place else. Each day provides a various experience but always with the very same style and elegance that the racecourse is renowned for. Outstanding racing, exhilarating home entertainment, stunning food and sartorial beauty can constantly be anticipated. Be sure to check the official dress code for your enclosure prior to you go, take a look at possible upgrades you can pick to boost the occasion and prepare yourself for one of the most glorious days in the British social– and horse racing– calendar. The Royal Ascot certainly measures up to its main motto,“ Like no place else.” A significant event on the British social calendar considering that its founding by Queen Anne in 1711, the yearly race meeting, which happens each June at the Ascot Racecourse in Berkshire, England, remains a heady mix of pomp, custom, style, class difference and, obviously, sport. Formally opened each day by the Queen, in addition to various royals, the most apt way to describe the experience to Americans would be to envision a cross in between a royal wedding event and the Kentucky Derby, except boozier, if that’s humanly possible (via champagne rather than bourbon). Though each of the 5 days has its highlights, Opening Day remains special simply because it draws in a full complement of royals while also restricting admission to the Royal Enclosure, the most distinguished level of presence, to members just. How does one become a member of this swank pack? The response is purposely left vague, involving a secret recipe of social stature, connections, letters of reference, and, above all, ambition. On the staying four days, members are allowed to acquire two guest badges each per day. Ascot Opening Day was celebrated by the Lerner and Loewe musical, “My Fair Lady,” which opened on Broadway in 1956 starring Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews, and later on made into a big-budget Hollywood extravaganza, again with Rex Harrison but with Audrey Hepburn changing Andrews. (It’s running yet once again this season on Broadway at Lincoln Center Theater.).

Both the stage production and the movie featured spectacular representations of Royal Ascot with sets and outfits by Cecil Beaton, the renowned professional photographer, designer, diarist and royal elbow-rubber. Extremely developed in black and white, the number, particularly in the film variation, almost stands on its own as a pill of choreography and couture. Today, Ascot Opening Day is a far less mannerist affair, however similarly fashion-aligned. In the rarified air of the Royal Enclosure, custom reigns supreme in all manners of gown throughout the five-day period. Guys are required to use a complete morning match with waistcoat and either a black or grey stovepipe hat at all times. Just black shoes are enabled and in an affront to the present style for bare ankles, socks are obligatory. Just in 2015, for the very very first time in Ascot’s history, when the temperature soared into the 90s, were guys allowed to remove their coats and hats. Otherwise, hats must stay on heads except within a dining establishment, a private box, an enclosed balcony, and a few other designated locations. Ladies should wear a hat with a minimum base of 4 inches (i.e. no fascinators) and dresses with a modest cut. Trousers and jumpsuits are enabled, but again with a caveat: pants must be worn with a coat or top “in a coordinating material.” There is a wide range of elegant to cheeky, however Brits do the “garden celebration” look rather well, with a mix of intense colors, floral prints and the recent appearance of long, flowing gowns that clearly take their treatments from the younger members of the Royal Family.

How long does Royal Ascot last?

Over 300,000 individuals make the annual see to Berkshire throughout Royal Ascot week, making this Europe’s best-attended race conference. There are eighteen group races on offer, with at least one Group One event on each of the 5 days. Beyond the Royal Enclosure, each area has its own set of sartorial standards. If the Royal Enclosure is First Class, Company Class would be the Queen Anne Enclosure. There, males must use a match and tie and women are asked to use stylish dresses and a hat. Premium Economy would be The Village Enclosure, with the exact same gown code as the Queen Anne Enclosure. The Windsor Enclosure is the most unwinded, with no dress code at all. The main site says “vibrant, exciting and enjoyable” which translates to celebration main, sometimes rather rowdy. Certainly, every level of Royal Ascot Ladies Day is celebration hearty, regardless of whether fueled by Bollinger, Pimm’s, or Guinness. The numbers speak volumes. Throughout 5 days, 300,000 participants will have consumed 56,000 bottles of champagne, 44,000 bottles of red wine, 21,000 jugs of Pimm’s and 60,000 finger sandwiches. For those who do not imbibe, fear not. Likewise taken in are 80,000 cups of tea and 128,500 bottles of mineral water.

No matter which area one remains in or what is in one’s glass, the mood is distinctly resilient, sparked by the arrival of the Queen and different members of her household in a line of horse drawn carriages. This year, as usual, the Royal Procession entered the park through the Royal Gates noticeable to all off in the distance. The closer the carriages got to the stands, the louder the buzz from the crowd. Concurrently, the Band of Her Majesty’s Irish Guards marched into place to play the nationwide anthem, “God Save the Queen.” Thousands of top hats were removed en masse and the crowd sang, followed by spontaneous applause and cheers that turned into a cacophony as the Queen’s carriage passed, accompanied by continuously “Hip, Hip, Hoorays!” Resplendent in a jonquil yellow coat and hat, she was accompanied by her son, Andrew, child Anne, and Lord Vestey, Master of the Horse to the Royal Household. Next came Prince Charles with Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall and the Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie. However the loudest cheers this go round were for the occupants of the 3rd carriage, Prince Harry and his new bride-to-be Meghan with Prince Edward and his partner, Sophie. Following the royal arrival, just like halftime at a football game, there’s a mad rush for the bars and the toilets. However instead of beers and brats, it’s Bollinger and lobster rolls. Yes, there are a couple of thrilling horse races, accompanied by an incredible amount of drinking. But the genuine program is in the garden of the Royal Enclosure, which becomes one big party, and, naturally, the Royal Box, which hovers over the stands like the bridge of a huge ocean liner. One can quickly see the comings and goings through its set of double doors, with riding crop manages, from a number of viewpoint within the clubhouse, which feels exactly like a mall, although it has bars and wagering stations instead of stores. One can apparently make a bet basically anywhere. In addition to the fixed desks, there are mobile kiosks scattered inside the clubhouse and throughout the park. One can even place a bet, albeit prior to 2 p.m. on what color the Queen will wear. (In 2015, I won ₤ 15 on pink.) And if one remains in the best location at the correct time, the doors to the Royal Box will swing open and a tiny little figure in a brilliantly colored coat and hat will emerge, and stroll unaccompanied to the parade ring to present a trophy, sometimes several times a day. This is why one participates in Royal Ascot 2019: to witness firsthand the gravitas, the magnificence, the adulation and a little the isolation that accompanies what the current resident of Buckingham Palace refers to, sometimes wearily, “this task for life.” It’s a thrilling and unusually moving thing to see. After all, who requires to binge watch The Crown when one can simply binge watch the Queen?

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