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justheretop0st · 2 years

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Hey not sure if I’ve asked you this if so sorry but I was wondering if you could do a dead by daylight reaction for Jake, Leon and trickster to their s/o getting a skin of a wedding dress or suit.

Hello! You haven’t asked me anything so no worries. Ask away! I am so happy you decided to stop by. Thank you for being my first ask! I promise to do my best! I don't know much about Leons character, but I did as much research as I could. Let me know if I need to change anything. I hope you enjoy!

There are few luxuries that this world offered to its killers and survivors. Fortunately, a change of clothes were one of these amenities. It was a strange concept that the Entity understood change, but not pain. At least not from the receiving end. But to feel clean was certainly a blessing, even if washing up was rare.

She was returning from a trial, alone unfortunately. But there were no hard feelings. Everyone understood that trying to safe one another while NOED was active was certainly a death sentence. In this moment, she felt another call by the Entity. It happened after trials occasionally, so it would appear the Entity had something to give her. At this moment, she prayed it would be a change of clothes. She would have killed for a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Figuratively, of course. But this did mean she wouldn't be back at the camp before the call of the next trial. The ups and downs of this world certainly had a way of paying it back.

Jake Park

He was beginning to get worried, but it was the survivalist in him. He had told her to do whatever it took to come ‘home’ in one piece. It wasn't the kindest way to play this twisted game, but he wanted her spared of the pain they were all subjected to.

He supposed that she was called to gain her gift. In that instance, he hopped it would be the case. She was refusing his clothes, something about he needed to change and be clean. It wasn't that he wanted to feel filthy, but he lived in the woods for an extended period of time. He was fine. She deserved the life he used to have. She deserved everything. But that would have to wait, another call to a trial pulled him away from his thoughts. He would be back soon.

Once the darkness around him lifted, he went to work trying to find a generator to work on. He preferred to work with others only to disappear once trouble started. Unfortunately, it seemed luck was not on his side. He dropped to a knee and began to work. There were instances of a heartbeat, but nothing to be concerned about. Jeffs scream from across the area gave him the sense of safety.

One generator, then two and eventually four finished. Two were dead. Jeff and Kate. He sighed opting to try and hide it out. Granted he has yet to hear his other teammate. Was he alone?

Wondering around this forrest reminded him of home before this place. The way the trees swayed and the way the rain fell around him. It gave him a sense of peace whenever he was here. But in situations like this, it was best to be alert. In that moment he caught a glimpse of white. Pure white. It was out of the ordinary, and he could not recall anyone who wore pure white. Against his better instinct, he decided to give chase.

It took hot moment, but the moment he saw her form, he couldn't help but stop dead in his tracks. Luckily, the splatter of the mud made her stop dead in her tracks as well. She turned and the full nature of her dress made his heart stop and long to take her in his arms. Simple and still glorious as the v-neckline extenuated her features. Down to a waistline that exaggerated her curve. Her skirt was borderline ballgown that was tired in exact and simplistic layers. A tear almost fell from his eyes.

But in the moment, he retrained himself. He was so filthy, he couldn't stand messing up such beauty. It was a choice that he didn't have to make. She grabbed his scarf and pulled him to her. She was surely messing up this dress, but the way she held onto him made him realize that anything she is given, he was all she care about.

Ruining the moment between the two, a heartbeat could be heard. She pulled away to take a look around, but his hand taking hers made her turn back. It was a look of happiness and demand. A kiss placed on her hand as he stood and began to run towards the heartbeat. ‘I know.’ Is all she could think as she turned to try and find a generator. Hopefully, they both would get out together.

Leon S. Kennedy

He knew she would be gone for a while. Like him, she had an honorable sense of right and wrong. And if it meant sacrificing herself for the sake of others, he knew she would. Luckily, everyone had survived, unluckily she didn’t as it would seem. David might have been a staunch protector, but even he could only do so much in protecting others. Leon was proud to sit and listen as David, Felix, and Elodie told everyone what she did for them. Saving them, taking the killer away from them. Even throwing herself in harms way while Felix opened the gates.

It was still a while and he couldn’t help but feel the need to take a breather. Everyone around here was so kind and understanding. Something he wasn’t used to, granted he chose that life. He chose to continue fighting and under the government, he was allowed to. Because he was so good at it. Here everyone had a general understanding that perfection wasn’t possible. There was always something bound to happen in these trials and sometimes there was really nothing that could be done. Despite how hard he tried in the beginning, he now understood his place here. He would try to protect and help in every possible way. He learned everything he could from those who were there before him. Which is how he fell so hard for her.

She shined brighter than anyone else in this realm. She was unique and passionate about how she chose to live her life within this world. It’s what brought about significant change, or so he’s told. But he believes every word, he certainly couldn’t have found a better suited partner to spend his days with.

But as he walked through the dense Forrest that surrounded the camp, he couldn’t help but let his mind drift. She had lived her life so passionately here, but he can’t recall if he ever asked her about her life before coming here. Would it have been possible for them to meet? Not likely considering his job. His mind wondered to scenarios of protecting her in Raccoon City. Maybe even seeing her in South America or Spain. Though he is able to admit to himself, he probably wouldn’t have said anything to her.

He begins to recount the moment it changed between the two of them. When she made the mistake of talking about love and romance between the survivors. It certainly caused an uproar. There was usually peace, but in cases of controversial issues, everyone would speak their mind. Some calling love a distraction on the real purpose here, to survive. Some called it a meaningful and huge middle finger to the Entity, but in fewer words. He honestly didn’t know how to feel about it. But it probably didn’t help that her closest friend made an offhand comment about not caring and just going for it. After all, they all knew they both were crushing hard.

It took some time for anything really to come from it. But he is so glad it did. The only thing he regretted, was never being able to live a normal life with her. She might not have agreed and maybe she preferred to live a life of adventure. But he longed to see her in a wedding gown. Perhaps a home with children and a pet. Maybe several pets. He could almost laugh at the outlandish thought, but he wouldn't. It wasn't wrong to long for something simple.

Finally, he decided to turn back around to head back to camp, but alas, the ever changing fog had led him astray. It was a headache, but he would eventually get back. Until he heard his name out in the distance. It was her. She didn’t sound scared or in danger, but he chose to follow her sweet voice. “Y/N?”

Across from him was a true vision. An Angel in pure white lace and silk embroidery. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, high collared and long sleeved, shaped as a mermaid. Her legs could be seen through the material, only from her thighs down, but it spread behind her in a wave of decorated white.

He ran to her, not able to hold back the joyous laugh that bubbled in chest. She was so beautiful, and he couldn't help it. This is what he was just thinking about. She was a vision, and suddenly this daydream wasn't dream anymore. It was a reality now. If only she would truly take him to be hers forever. As long as it took for them to escape and more.

Lifting her in the air and spinning her, a tear did fall from his eyes. He wouldn't ask now. He would wait longer, but seeing his girl like this, it does make it hard. Her voice is what breaks this thought, "Leon. Leon." His eyes meets hers and they read as pure love. The way she looks at him, the way she helped him, the way she protected others, and so much more. It all comes flooding back to him, no longer the doubt of a normal life. "I do." Their smiles grow and mimic each other, finally leaning for a simple, fate sealing kiss.

Trickster (Ji-Woon Hak)

He is a very impatient man. She knows this, and yet she was late. In the woods, he is pacing. Swinging his bat and occasionally taking out his knives and throwing them about at trees and crows. Sometimes, he hits the crows that weren't paying attention. When they let out a squawk and hit the ground, he chuckles. Sneering at their dead corpse.

It wasn't the best idea to mess with the Entity that had already given him so much. Not that it meant he was totally grateful, but he was content. All eyes focused on him during the trials. Everyone ran, screamed and looked at him in fear. Rightfully so. It wasn't until his sweet little songbird came to him that things really began to change.

She was obviously a newer survivor, and she was being led around by his old manager. How cute, even in this place Yun-Jin was still trying to be stellar. Whatever, he wasted no time. After all he did not believe in this thing called mercy. But there was something different about this woman. She would hum a sweet and soothing melody that trumped his own. Granted she only did it at a generator, but still, it took the focus off of him. And he was furious. Despite the others desperate attempts to try and save their friend, they were no match. This woman would learn that he was to be feared and respected.

Anytime she was in a trial with him, he would be sure to remind her of this. But she was not learning the lesson that he was teaching her. He grew overtly frustrated at her stubbornness. Perhaps this is what Yun-Jin felt like? Well, it wasn't important. Because she was taking extreme care not to be caught in this particular trial. He had long since killed her teammates, but she was nowhere to be found. Even when he had found the hatch. He simply stood above it. It was boring and it took a long time before she made any sort of move. He could see her in the distance stepping out in the open and facing him. She knew he could see her. He began to rush towards her with his knives pulled out. But there she stood. When he threw them at her, she began to dodge his knives. He threw them all, and there he was stood behind her.

Now, the rules of this world were unclear, but there was one important rule. He couldn't touch the survivors unless he knocked them, grabbed them from vaulting or lockers, and taking the survivors to a hook. How he so badly wanted to take her round the neck. It wasn't the most outlandish thing he had done before. But he could only do so much. So there he stood looking down at her. His eyes glowing and a sneer on his face. “Jjajeungna.”

She simply chuckled and began to hum. He couldn't even hit her, because she would make it to the hatch. Foolish on him for not shutting it. Her voice continued to ring in his ears as she began to skip around him. She was taunting him. Screw it, he took a swing at her, and just like he thought, she rushed to the hatch. Instead of jumping in, she lifted her hand and pushed her thumb and index finger together. A heart? She jumped in before he could do much else. But it left him feeling annoyed.

Most of the trials after went like this, she would hide and he would be foolish enough to give chase. In-between his trials, he was haunted with her voice. Her melodic humming wasn't terrible, but annoying. He was the best and then some survivor comes and tries to show him up? On something he knows is far superior and human than her noise? He needed to figure something out.

In the trial that really changed it all, he begged the Entity to let him put on a concert. Something he wasn't used to doing, but he pleaded for her to be in this trial. The Entity finally decided to allow him freedom in the trial. There wasn't may places that were suitable for him, but he would have to make do. They all started in the basement, a single showing knife to their chest, and they were down. To begin with, he picked her up by the front of her shirt, taking he the wall by the stairs and pinning her there with his colorful knives. After that, he got to work, drawing the screams and pleads from his victims, just like his final performance in the real world. Before he was finished he heard her voice again. She was humming along with the screams, and somehow it was beautiful. Mid-swing, he looked to her. She watched, but she wasn't singing or humming. Did he want her voice? Before he finished, he demanded she sing and she did. Just like in his head, it made him euphoric. It's where it all ended for him. After the final survivor had become silent, he knelt in front of her, pulling the knives from where they were and taking her hands into his. He could have had anyone. It was then he realized he wanted her.

From a distance, he heard her coming. Finally. He would be sure to give her a piece of his mind. He waited for her, leaning up against a tree. His eyes were closed for optimal annoyance. "You know you kept me waiting dearest. I don't like that-" Once he opens his eyes to look at you, he is struck dumb. He hears you giggle, and he won't have that. He walks over to you and lifts you in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder. Your bare and smooth legs kicked out in front of him. He didn't care if the blood on his jacket got onto your dress. It was sexy either way.

"You should have known that showing up late and this sexy was bound to get you punished. Where are your friends dear?" He really wanted to shower her in music, he was sure the Entity would understand. After all, the Entity sent her to him like this. A mini skirt with ruffles, a high neck and long goofy sleeves. He didn't care that it wasn't a traditional wedding gown. He hadn't thought about that in his life, but this beautiful, vocal, sexy woman certainly made him want her to himself. He would sound a choir in her honor, and really claim him as hers.

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everythingissomewhatrepaired · 2 years

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Here is a sad one about a Kate Bush song. Thanks as always to the glorious angels who support the comic and my other artistic endeavors. (pay tree yon dot com slashhh tomor Judy) if you would like to join them. LOVE xx

Here is the script for accessibility:

Everything is somewhat Repaired: Moments of Pleasure cw: death

Getting to know an album on a tape walkman was special*. Leaving the house you maybe only had 2 or 3 tapes with you, which means you were stuck with your choices. The intimate connection you would make with those songs, you would make in public.

The last album that I got to know on tape was The Red Shoes by Kate Bush. I distinctly remember reading the lyrics inlay and trying not to burst into tears listening to Moments of Pleasure on a bus at Elephant and Castle.

A song full of sentimental memories and then... "Just let us try to give these moments back, Turn those we love, to those who will survive."* As if we could trade our treasured memories for more time with people we lost.

Well here I am weeping in my kitchen, listening to that song for the first time in years. At Elephant I was probably thinking about my dad who, at the time, was getting ready to die.

Today it's all these funny smart beautiful trans girls on the internet who are so tired of living. Trying to think what I have that I could trade for more of their days. To turn those days, exhausted with survival, into what Kate calls "gifts from time".

footnote: * mixtapes are a beautifully intimate thing, but shop bought albums are slightly different. Learning to love every track on that Joan Jett covers album (The Hit List) inside out was something that maybe had to happen on coach journeys with a cassette.

* turns out I miss heard these even with the lyrics sheet in my hands. Officially "Turn" is "To". But as ever, the ear hears what it wants to hear. What it needs to hear.

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nebulousfishgills · 3 years

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My thoughts on the finale (long post)

Okay, I really just wanna put some thoughts down and I need to do it here. Spoilers and opinions, you can choose to agree or not, but please be respectful

I usually try to have a good attitude about things, pointing out the best in everything.

I'm having a really hard time right now.

That's not to say the episode was bad, it's just...

Well, I feel like I'm watching the Game of Thrones finale again. I just feel so unfulfilled. Then again, my hormones are a little out of wack at the moment (thanks mother nature) so my odd feelings could be because of that. I feel so angry and upset and hyped and... I don't honestly know. I really don't. I feel like I want to throw up, but not in a bad or good way.

I guess I just...

Feel.

I've stayed up every night for every episode because I just adored it so much. Yet I feel like... there should be more. I know we got a second season confirmed, but we don't know when. We don't know what it means for the future of the MCU. We don't know anything.

I guess we should have expected this because Loki was supposed to be this new horizon for the MCU. Doctor Strange 2 needed a plot. Someone said this show was just a big ad for MoM, and I find myself disagreeing with that, but only a little.

I think the best way to describe it is it's like the show suddenly decided it wanted to be something else. It's not a bad thing necessarily, but after episode 3, the tone really shifted.

I'm trying really hard to hold off on my more detailed thoughts, but they just keep creeping in, so I'll just wrap up this... intro? Idk.

I think the TLDR is that I feel disappointed, but I don't really blame anyone. Kate Herron, Mike Waldron, they all did AMAZING jobs. They really deserve the highest of praise for this. Is it my favorite MCU project? Yes. Am I excited for season 2? Absolutely.

But Game of Thrones can still be my favorite show and I can still dislike the ending.

I find writing this out is helping me feel better. Once I sleep it'll probably feel less... hopeless.

Now, next section. My thoughts on key plot points.

We all figured Kang would be introduced. I'm actually very excited to see what they do with him. The actor was just phenomenal and I can't wait to see him later on. Someone call up Erik Voss because he redeemed himself after the whole Mephisto deal

I guess the Multiverse was reborn, but not in the way I was expecting/hoping. I feel like there's a large gap between when the timeline shattered and the final scene with Loki, Mobius, and B-15. What happened? Though, I guess it makes sense. We all wanted a multiverse. We never considered the consequences.

I'm angriest about Mobius losing his memories and not getting his jetski. Like I said, Yelena can get a dog in BW after mentioning it once. But as someone on Reddit pointed out, they had to make sure Marvel would greenlight a second season. It does not mean I can't have a huge cow about it. That's what we get for jinxing it, friends.

I think I understand what Star Wars Sequel haters went through. Getting all these grand (maybe... glorious?) ideas about the ending and what a hopeful message about destiny and identity the series could give us. And the series gave us... none of that. Hell, I was so sure these would be used, and I was bamboozled. I'm sure others saw it coming, but they just looked too good to be fake out shots. My best guess is that they're gonna use this footage in season 2 for a plotline and they stuck it in here to trick us... but maybe that's just me being desperate

It was barely 1 AM here, Marvel. The Miss Minutes jumpscare was NOT COOL. I mean, THIS IS HORRIFYING IN LIGHT AS WELL

I'm really confused about Ravonna now. Is she good or is she bad? Where did she go? And why was it important we see her backstory and not any of the others (say, B-15 or Mobius)?

God, okay, I guess I have to address the elephant in the room now.

The Sylki kiss and then betrayal fight thing.

Let me get one thing very extremely clear before I continue: I do prefer Lokius, but I am FINE with Sylki. I think I've just been desensitized to any ship that ends with -cest because, as I've made clear here and in the past, I adore Game of Thrones and Crimson Peak.

I honestly think my main reservation about it is a flaw within myself that I dared not admit until I saw it staring me in the face: I'm probably a little possessive. I can admit this and I really dislike it about myself. But I think I'm just not a fan of Loki having a love interest in general. What makes Lokius different, I have no clue. Maybe deep down I knew Marvel was too much of a pussy to ever make it canon... then again, I was begging for a last minute kiss or something. My feelings on the matter are complicated.

But the way they handled the kiss in this episode? Gotta say, not too much of a fan. I know some antis like this, but it just felt too... not genuine. Maybe I'm just an idiot who thinks all kissing should have a meaning. A purpose. The Reylo kiss in Rise of Skywalker? Ben just saved Rey's fucking life, I think that warrants a large gesture of affection.

But this?

I think I get bad juju from the kiss, not the fact that they made it Canon. You can disagree or agree any way you want, you can even send nasty anon messages. That's my opinion and I'm choosing to stick to it.

And sending nasty anons won't do squat, I don't give a shit about faceless threats and hate.

Anyways, back to my point

The fight felt like a mutual betrayal, but at the same time it felt like neither really wanted to go through with it. I admit I felt Sylvie was more in the right and that Loki seemed a little too complacent, especially after everything he went through and saw. But like Sylvie, I didn't consider the consequences and now everything is fucked. But I still don't think Loki was right.

I think it boils down to being an impossible choice because no matter what you pick, everyone loses.

I believe that my main gripe with Sylvie and Loki's ideology split is that it feels a little too rushed and/or, dare I say it, out of character. I've agreed with Loki's characterization up until this point (again, you can disagree with me, that's your opinion and you have full right to it), but... man, I don't know. It all feels like an impossible situation.

Then again, I'm not the one in the director's chair. I'm not the team in the writers room. I don't know the first thing about making a project like this. I like taking solace in the fact that Tom had some creative control in the series about the character he loves so much. And, let's be real, he knows Loki the best out of all of us. None of us can hold a candle to that.

We can call ourselves experts, but Tom is the real expert. I trust him more than anyone. If he hated how this was turning out, he probably would have said something.

We just have to trust in the creative process

So, at the end of the day, this series was (and still is, remember, season 2 is on the way) absolutely phenomenal and I think it's Marvel's strongest work in a very long time. They know Loki is a character we all love and adore and I feel like they've done their best in honoring that. Besides, what other character is getting a second season? How awesome is that??

I found writing this out helped me process my thoughts and emotions IMMENSELY. I don't feel as... angry? Hopeless? I don't know. I keep comparing this to the end of Game of Thrones, and I feel like that's doing a disservice to Loki. Game of Thrones' ending was just absolute dog shit and there was no chance to redeem it because it was the last season.

Loki has a second season on the way.

It's not over yet.

Nothing is ever final until the universe forces it.

Kang can be stopped

The Multiverse can roam free

Loki can learn to find true happiness

Sylvie can stop running and fighting

Ravonna can redeem herself

The TVA can burn or reform (whichever you choose)

And yes

Mobius can get a jetski

We know nothing yet of season 2, what it will entail, how it connects to the rest of the Marvel Universe, or even when it will be out. But I know that I will eagerly await it when that day comes. I will once again put on a smile. I will wait hours to watch the new episode the moment it drops. I will be excited for it and enjoy it.

Because, at the end of the day, that's all it's about. Telling a story. And, mother of God, Marvel sure is telling a good one.

Until next time, my friends.

For All Time. Always!

-FishGills

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grade-a-masochist · 4 years

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Okay, so things I have figured out during my Teen Wolf Rewatch

Honestly, Stiles's Jeep is tougher than half the assemble combined

I flicker between profound like and even more profound dislike for Allison and honestly, 9 year old me would be weeping

The more I remember why Derek is, y'know, Derek—the more I wanna give Kate her own Tara

I just finished season two and I'm actually kind of impressed at how they've set down the groundwork for some of the events of season three

Deaton was?? So fucking mysterous??? Like, get on my level, creepy Hales

The whole Lydia-is-immune crap is so funny in retrospect because ooh, boy, she sure as hell ain't

Peter is a hella good character and I just can't bring myself to hate him though trust me—I have tried

Okay I already said it but I kinda wanna beat Allison with Stiles's bat. The metal one, not the wooden one

Honestly Scott is the most cunning dumbass and I feel we overlook the first part of that statement a lot?

Someone give Derek those years of therapy he needs so he can give Isaac the support my poor pup needs

Or, you know, Scott can do it, too, I'm not picky

Just someone—help that poor boy

(I know it doesn't really happen and it hurts)

I love Coach like thrice as much this time around??? Idk don't ask me

And I appreciate Chris as a parent like, cubed

Honestly if Peter had bitten Stiles and not Scott, shit would have gone down thrice as much and Peter would not stare at Stiles as though to ask "Why the fuck haven't you taken the bite yet???" during the next three seasons

Jackson came out just like his alpha—dramatic. AF

I wanna smack Erica and Boyd for being idiots but I also whimper and mumble about "My pups, my poor pups"

(I am choosing to chalk that up to the constant fever)

Scott has grown so much?? I am so fucking proud??

And Stiles, too

Jury is still out on Allison

Victoria Argent was scarier than all the scary shit in Teen Wolf and honestly what the fuck

Like?? Lady??? Lady are u alright

Also I'm glad Isaac's dad is dead and gone and honestly, pat on the back for you, Matt

The effects used to be sooo crappy man. We sure have evolved a lot

Also remember when the biggest problem Scott had was avoiding the cool kids? Yeah me too

Melissa McCall is a fucking blessing

Sheriff Stilinski, too

Give those guys a cookie

Edit:

Jennifer is such a good actress? The character, I mean. Like, wow. Give the woman an oscar

I had completely forgotten how under all that sarcasm, persistent negativity and occasional puppy-like behavior, Isaac's got some serious sadistic tendencies going on

Also the reason why Isaac and Stiles get along worse than Scott and Jackson is because the two are pretty fucking similar

Derek loved his pack of self-esteem-deprived adolescents a lot, okay, even if he had a HELLA weird way of showing it. Like, dude; therapy

I knew this for a fact, sure, but you can see it so fucking clearly when he's desperate to get Boyd and Erica back even if they willingly left him. For all intents and purposes, they're not his responsibility anymore. But he cares, so he keeps searching and looking, and the devastated look on his face when he cradles Erica's dead body is actually painful. You can see his grief. And you can see his life even more when "Survivor #1" Derek Hale lets Boyd and Cora fucking maul him half to death without hurting them. He just ...lets them unravel. Because he'd rather die at their hands than kill them. And I think that's beautiful

Peter and Stiles might actually be the ones I find funniest in the whole show and I don't know how I feel about that

Can someone give Kali some shoes and tell her that she doesn't need to hop through life with her claws on display? They aint that pretty sis

Scott's tattoo is still amazing, thank you very much

Stiles can't catch a break and honestly, fuck you, writers

How come it takes everyone in every show 178939 episodes to figure out what in fuck is going on and Stiles has got it right on episode three

Like wow the only competent decision Peter's ever made is offering that kid the bite

(Making terrible decisions runs through the Hale blood, okay)

Might I just say I really, really love Lydia's banshee arc

Like, WOW IT'S ONE OF MY FAVES

I'm just watching this and remembering the glorious time when Alphas were still worth something

Like, wtf now any random creature magically matches up when before having red eyes immediately made you more or less the equivalent to an angry lion while everyone else is, like...a dying baby sheep

Yeah, no

I already said this but it's worth repeating: Scott McCall can be one hell of a cunning, clever little shit when he wants to be. If he had Stiles's morals? I'd be scared for the world. It's a very, very good thing things are the way they are, or Peter would've had a fucking blast

The effects? Much better. Could use some work? Definitely. Do I choose to ignore it? Yup

Isaac's bond to Derek is sometimes sweet and powerful (c'mon, he's the first beta, he's special) sometimes just...dude you shouldn't have said yes honestly

I am not looking forward to next episode. At all. Derek will be a bad, bad Alpha and I do not like it.

Is it bad that I took pleasure in Allison finding out how the fuck her mother got herself killed? Yes. Do I actually feel bad? Ha—no

The true alpha plot line always makes me think of this one small moment in season one, when Peter makes Scott shift in the school. For a moment, his eyes flashed red—that never happened ever again with any other beta when they were forced to turn

#Teen wolf #allison argent #scott mccall #isaac lahey #derek hale #Peter hale #Vernon boyd #erica reyes #Stiles stilinski #melissa mccall #chris argent #kate argent #spoilers #like sooo many #woe

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magic-miraculous · 4 years

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Thoughts on Crisis on Infinite Earths (Part 1)

(This is super long but I'd like to think it's well done)

(Spoilers under the cut!)

Is that Commissioner Gordon???

A ROBIN??? IN THIS ARROWVERSE??? (I think it was Jason but idk??? It looked like Jason??)

I really hope the Robin comes back

Take a shot every time they say 'Crisis'

JONJONJONITSJONOHMYGOD

(This means Damian has to show up. He has to.)

Oh my god the Jon/Kal-El/Kara parallel jesus christ that HURTS

Hello I'm Upset

It's moments like this I wonder if I should've powered through season 1 of Arrow

Bc I've gotten a basic idea of what's happening on that show from Tumblr and the internet in general, but I have no context for this scene

Oliver and Mia are sad so I'm sad

Crisis count: At least 6

Nope, 7

Ooh, Kate is mad mad

Wow that henchman is weak, he literally got stepped on for 2 seconds and he's spilling his secrets

FINALLY THE LEGENDS ARE HERE YAY! MY BABIES!

Yay! Kal-El and Lois are alive!! Everyone's alive!

Except the mom. Oof

Wait Oliver saw Earth 2 die? Wow I missed a lot

Why are only Sara and Ray here? Is everyone else going to show up or?? I really want to know what's up with the Zari situation

Still a little confused about the whole Monitor/Anti-Monitor thing

NO JON MY CHILD WHY DID YOU GET TAKEN BY A WORMHOLE

Brainy+Kids= A combo I would love to see

Love that they're bringing up past season's issues instead of acting like they didn't happen

Lena? Lena? Darling? Where are you?

SuperCousins bonding time

Ooh, now I can check 'passing down the mantle' off the bingo board

Prediction: The Monitor is also the Anti-Monitor (or something along those lines)

LENAAAAAAA

Nia? Nia still exists here? Because I haven't seen her all season and nobody ever talks about her even though she's supposed to be a main character

Wow Lena go off

Break my heart why don't you?

Aw poor Brainy still tied up (but seriously, Jon is more important)

Wait, I thought this Oliver and Sara met during a Legends episode? Maybe not? Idk

Uh, ghosts? What?

Aw baby Ray rambling-- I missed that

DREAMER YESSS Thank the lord she's finally getting a singular moment on this show

Aw it was a happy Lena/Alex moment for one glorious second but nah

Kelly with the Guardian shield??? Alex giving her such a cute look when she used it?? I'm?? So soft??

Yes Oliver stand your ground go off

Ugh of course he's out of arrows

Is he... Is he dead, or...

(Dang commercials)

What did Nash do? Oh frick Pariah, he done a dumb thing

So is Oliver actually dead? Is he going to come back somehow?

Wow Nash way to be helpful

Honestly I'm a little disappointed nobody had any raw moments with Oliver's death, and that kinda makes me feel like he's coming back

Final Crisis count: 7

Death count: A whole lot

My nerves: Shot

My hopes: Up

Hotel: Trivago

Tune in tomorrow for part 2 I guess

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historyrepeatsitself-phff · 6 years

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Chapter Ninety-Three

A/N: OH MY GOD HERE IS A CHAPTER OH MY GOD I’M SO EXCITED TO BE UPDATING SORRY IF IT’S CRAP BUT IT IS A CHAPTER PLEASE ENJOY xxx

P.S. It picks up right where we left off so you can read the last chapter here .

DAZZLING EMMY, BORING KATE

It was battle of the Duchesses yesterday as Emmy was in Denmark on her first solo tour abroad while Kate visited one of her charities in London. And who came out on top? Well, Emmy of course.

Emmy has been turning heads ever since she joined the royal family in June 2015, not just because of her looks and her age difference with her husband, but because she has been getting involved with numerous different charities and causes. In the two years since her marriage, she has outworked Kate every month – including the nine months of her pregnancy – and has met thousands of people around the country, and the world, who sing her praises. She wears a nice balance of extravagant designer and affordable high-street fashion which people can easily replicate. It is this, coupled with her kind and sometimes playful personality and her adorable daughter Princess Grace, that placed her at the top of the ‘most popular royals list’.

Kate, by contrast, is sinking closer to the bottom. Her engagements are scarce, and while many had forgiven her by reminding everyone that she has two small children, now that Emmy can still work a lot they are expecting Kate to too. Her outfits are overpriced, her charities are always the same and her children are hidden away from the world.

Many people are now wishing that it was Harry and Emmy that would be inheriting the throne-

Emmy stopped reading then. She closed the laptop and closed her eyes, taking a moment to calm the mixed feelings within her. It was difficult to stop herself from being even slightly happy, to have read all of those lovely things about her – it was uplifting. But to big her up, they’d dragged Kate down – everyone had. While the Daily Mail was the only newspaper controversial enough to openly criticise Kate, it was plain to everyone that even the other news companies thought the same.

The BBC had written a long, complimentary article about Emmy, her visit to Denmark and how good a year she’s having, while they wrote two sentences about Kate’s visit to Action on Addiction. The Guardian hadn’t even reported on Kate’s engagement. And all over Twitter, all people could talk about was Emmy’s tour, everyone forgetting that Kate had actually done something too that day.

And while it was touching and nice to hear, it was also worrying – Emmy would be seeing Kate that day for Trooping the Colour, and she was worried about how she would be to her.

“Ah goo tah mee lah.”

Emmy looked round at the sound of Grace’s babbling, and she smiled to see her sat on Harry’s hip as he strolled into the bedroom.

“Don’t you look lovely!” she cooed, getting to her feet and taking her daughter into her arms. She’d colour-coordinated their outfits, and she was pleased with the result.

But Harry could see the way her smile was half-forced, and his eyes flickered from her to the closed laptop on the bed, before he sighed. “Emmy! Why were you reading the news?!”

“I just wanted to see what they’d said,” she replied innocently. “You said it was bad for Kate, I wanted to see how bad.”

“Right now? Just when we’re about to leave?”

“When else?” she said, with a small shrug.

He swallowed an exasperated groan, before raising an eyebrow at her. “Why did you do that? I said it was just going to worry you.”

“Hmm, you were right.”

He didn’t look smug to have been right – if anything, he looked concerned, and the worry in his blue eyes melted her resolve. She quickly turned away before he could see her own anxiety.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for her arm and stopping her, searching her gaze as she turned back to him. “Alright?”

She mustered a smile. “Fine.”

“I know you’re worried now,” he said gently. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. If Edward hadn’t let it slip-” He growled slightly as he rolled his eyes, before looking back at her. “If he hadn’t let it slip, you wouldn’t know. And then you wouldn’t be worrying, because there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You would have me go there today with absolutely no idea what they’re writing about me?” she said sceptically.

“It’s not what they’re writing about you that’s the issue, is it?” he pointed out, following as Emmy crossed the hall to the nursery, starting to pack the bag ready for the day ahead.

“Of course it is!” Emmy shot, incredulous. “All the stuff they’re saying about Kate wouldn’t be half as bad if they weren’t bigging me up at the same time.”

“I’m just saying-” He continued, leaning against the doorframe in his oh-so-glorious uniform, his eyes trained on her as she swept round the room, Grace cooing on her hip. “You have nothing to worry about. Kate might not even be angry. She might not even have heard all the stuff that’s being said.”

Emmy snorted at that – at both those possibilities. “Harry. If Edward came round to tell us – well, you – about it, then surely Rebecca would have gone round there to tell them. And if she did, you can bet that Kate is angry.”

Harry sighed, then his mouth curved up into a somewhat shy smirk. “Is there any point in me telling you to just ignore her?”

Emmy felt herself smiling too in response, and she carefully placed Grace down into her cot. When she turned, he was already crossing the room to envelope her in his arms, and she nuzzled into his chest, reassured by his warmth.

“Regardless of whether she’s angry or not,” he murmured into her hair. “I will stick up for you. I know I haven’t really done so yet, I’ve been pretty much the shittiest husband ever in that sense. But now I’m not worried about keeping the peace. If Kate says even the slightest thing to you, you tell me, right?”

His words filled Emmy’s heart, lifting it up and she was sure she felt it explode in her chest. She smiled breathlessly, nodding.

Harry hadn’t seen William since two days earlier, when they had come close to arguing about their wives. He didn’t know how his brother would be – he hoped that William would’ve just let it go, but if Kate was now holding a new grudge he highly doubted that. And if William and Kate were not prepared to be kind for the cameras, then Harry sure as hell wasn’t playing nice either.

He held Grace in his arms as the three of them made their way across the grass to Kensington Palace. It was quite chilly, the wind rather harsh, and Emmy frowned up at the white sky, wishing it was warmer.

“Moo lah,” Grace said, her tiny chubby hand on Harry’s neck as she looked out to where they were walking.

“Yeah, do you see Uncle Edward?” Harry murmured to her, as Edward and Claire came into sight waiting by the car with Rick, Brian and Kev. He kissed the top of her head, stroking her blond hair back into place as they neared their entourage. Emmy would need them to get her through today.

They arrived at Buckingham Palace with the whole family gathered in one room to wait, and William instantly hurried over to greet Grace.

Kate smiled sweetly at Emmy as they approached, and she stooped to kiss her sister-in-law on the cheek. “Emmy, you look lovely!”

Emmy was so shocked it took her a moment before she stammered “Th-thank you. You too, of course. Always.”

Kate smiled again, but now Emmy noticed that there was something wrong about it – it didn’t meet her eyes. It was somehow colder than a grimace.

Harry seemed to sense it too, for he said, “Nice to see you both, but I think we should go say hi to Pa,” and hastily ushered Emmy away.

Emmy glanced back just in time to see Kate glaring at the back of her head.

“What?” she hissed slightly at him. “That was so rude.”

“I just ended it before it could escalate,” he replied in a low voice. “Did you not see the way she was looking at you?”

“You mean, with hatred in her eyes?” She tried to lighten her tone to make it sound like she was unfazed, but somehow having Kate dislike her was something she was never going to get used to.

“Hmm.” His lips spread into a thin line – he didn’t want to dwell on what had just happened, for he knew that it would make Emmy sad, and they had a long day of smiling ahead.

Grace was sat in his arms, and her blue eyes were on Emmy as they quietly made their way across the room towards where Charles was stood. His face lit up at the sight of them – well, the sight of Grace.

“There’s my beautiful granddaughter!” he crowed, reaching for her and taking her into his hold for a cuddle. “Hello beautiful! Hello darling Grace! Hello!”

Harry smiled at his father’s affection, but Emmy couldn’t stop another glance over her shoulder at Kate. The Duchess was talking to her husband in what looked like quick, hushed voices. As Emmy watched, Kate’s eyes met hers.

Emmy quickly looked away.

“Just ignore her, Emmy,” Charles said, to her surprise. “She’s having a pretty bad day. Didn’t get much praise for her engagement yesterday.” He sighed, absentmindedly tickling Grace’s tummy. “Goodness knows what she has to do to get attention nowadays, it’s very unexpected.”

“Maybe if she did a little more work-” Harry said.

Charles cut him off with a look. “Now you need to stop saying these things, William told me what you said. Do you know what will happen if you start dismissing Kate’s work ethic? She’s already got the papers onto her, and you too? She’s going through a tough patch, we don’t need her getting sick of all of this. Can you imagine how bad it would look if she tried to leave the family?”

“Is that honestly all you care about?” Harry said sceptically, narrowing his eyes at his father. Emmy felt like she was listening into a private conversation, like she should let him speak to his dad about these private matters on his own, but she couldn’t stop herself from being interested in what Charles had to say. “Besides, you really think she’ll split up from him? She’s spent most of her life traipsing after him, she’d never give it up now.”

“She would if it’s not what she expected it to be,” Charles pointed out.

“Pa, you’re forgetting – Kate married William out of love, not out of greed,” Harry said, with a roll of his eyes.

“Still – you’d do good to stop shaming her for not doing much. It’s tough for her, George and Charlotte are still very small-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Grace is only seven months old!” Harry shot, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Emmy just went on a solo tour abroad if you didn’t notice!”

“I did,” Charles said, then turned to Emmy and smiled warmly. “You did fantastic, dear. You really did, Camilla and I were so proud when we saw it all on the news.”

Emmy couldn’t stop a smile. “Thank you. It’s…been kind of marred by – everything.”

He smiled sympathetically. “I know, but try not to let it ruin it. Ignore what the papers are saying about Kate – that’s her problem.”

Elizabeth and Phillip arrived in the room then, signalling it was time for the senior members of the family to head downstairs and prepare for the carriage ride. Harry took Grace and handed her to Zara.

“You sure you’ll be alright to look after her?” Emmy asked anxiously, as Zara bounced her goddaughter up and down.

“Of course, I don’t see this little one enough,” Zara said, with a smile. “Harry, tell your wife not to worry.”

Harry grinned. “I would, but I think I’d probably make Emmy worry more.”

Emmy tried to smile at his teasing, but her insides were like worms – half of her was terrified about what lay ahead, all the attention, having to smile and wave under the eyes of thousands. The other half was worried about leaving Grace behind, not knowing if she was okay, stressing about whether she was crying or not.

“Hey,” he said, taking her hand as they followed the family downstairs. “You okay?”

“Just nervous,” she said, with a shrug.

“You shouldn’t be nervous, you’re an old hand at Trooping now,” he teased, nudging her lightly.

He broke through her anxiety, and she smiled. “The things I do for you.”

“Just think about the things I’ll do for you in return, that should get you through it.” He was smirking, and she suddenly felt oddly aware of his fingers entwined with hers.

“Can you at least try and behave?” was her reply.

He chuckled to himself, looking ahead down the corridor. He looked so tall and stoic as he strolled along, and she felt her heart skip a beat as she gazed up at him. Yes, gazed. She was gazing so hard she stumbled on a piece of carpet and grabbed onto him, her cheeks burning.

“Shit,” she hissed, as he steadied her. He laughed.

“How much have you had?” came from behind them, and they turned to see Beatrice giggling at her. “Come on, Em, it’s not even lunch time yet.”

“It’s because I’m here,” Harry replied pompously. “I’m like alcohol, my presence intoxicates her.”

“You mean you make me sick and do stupid things,” Emmy said, scowling at him.

He grinned. “Exactly.”

They glanced back to where Beatrice and Eugenie were walking, but Emmy’s eyes went to William and Kate. They’d said nothing as she tripped, and now William looked straight ahead while Kate kept her eyes on the floor. Neither looked at Harry and Emmy.

Emmy swallowed nervously, looking to Harry to see how he felt about his brother’s frostiness. Harry’s face was set as he turned back and followed his father out onto the courtyard.

Emmy hurried slightly to catch up with him. “I thought George was coming in the carriage with us today?”

“No, William and Kate decided it was a year too early,” Charles answered ahead of them.

She looked at him in surprise. “Oh, I thought he was coming. We were told that George was coming and so we had to bring Grace too.”

Charles looked up, equally shocked. “Really? They wanted you to bring Grace?” He was looking at Harry. Emmy didn’t know who ‘they’ was.

Harry nodded once, eyes hard. “They put a lot of pressure on us to bring her. Evidently. Even lied to us.”

“I had no idea,” Charles began, then sighed. “Desperate times, Harry, you’ll have to forgive them.”

Harry scoffed, leading Emmy away to their own carriage. Emmy wondered what ‘desperate times’ meant.

Although Emmy should have been dreading the carriage journey due to the prolonged time her and Kate would be spending together, she couldn’t help but feel like she had the upper hand; Harry would be riding with them, while William would be travelling on horseback to horse guards. And so, if Kate said even the slightest thing mean, Harry would be there to stand up to her.

At least, Emmy hoped so. She knew that Harry had said he would stand up to Kate but she was still half-expecting that to just have been for show.

Harry offered her his hand to help her up into the carriage, and she threw him a small smile as she settled herself into place. The air was quite chilly, the breeze cold, and she frowned up at the overcast sky as though daring it to rain.

“Looks as though it’s going to pour down,” Camilla observed opposite her, as Harry helped Kate up into the carriage too.

“What happens if it rains?” Emmy asked, as the two of them took their seats. “Will it be called off?”

Kate scoffed. “Don’t be silly, they can’t call this off for a bit of rain!”

Her voice was light enough to sound like she was teasing, and Camilla didn’t seem to notice, but it was quite clear Kate thought it was a stupid suggestion. Harry tensed beside Emmy, ready to retort, but luckily the conversation moved on.

“No, dear, we just have to get wet,” Camilla answered with a little laugh.

“Nothing new to you,” Harry teased Emmy, nudging her lightly. She rolled her eyes at him, then cast her eyes up to the building, searching as though Grace would be there. “Hey, she’s fine.” He took her hand, knowing exactly what was worrying her now.

“She’s probably crawling around trying to keep up with George and Charlotte,” Camilla agreed, smiling. “Is she coming onto the balcony with us?”

“Of course, we didn’t even have a choice with that one,” Harry said. “We only just managed to not have to bring her in the carriage with us.”

Camilla frowned. “It’s a bit soon for that, isn’t it?”

“Evidently not.”

“Hmm.” She looked round at the other carriages, her eyes spying her husband sat on horseback at the front of the parade. “Does William look forward to the parade as much as Charles does?” she asked Kate.

The two of them started discussing their husbands riding on horses to horseguards, and Emmy turned her attention to the surroundings, still worried about it raining, still worried about Grace being left at the palace. Harry’s hand went to her leg and he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I can tell you’re still worrying,” he murmured to her.

“Lucky guess,” she replied dryly.

He chuckled, then pressed a kiss to her forehead as behind them instructions were shouted to those in charge, signally that Trooping the Colour was about to begin. “Just remember – smile and wave.”

She threw him an amused look – that seemed to be the advice that ran through the entire family. Just smile and wave and everything will be alright.

“Ah goo!” Grace cooed, as Emmy came into view. The baby started squirming in Zara’s arms, wanting to be back with her mummy.

“Hello beautiful!” Emmy gasped, scooping her up and cuddling her tightly, pressing endless kisses to her face. “Were you good for Auntie Zara? Were you?”

“She was perfect,” Zara beamed, smiling at Harry as he too came over to check on Grace. He smoothed her soft blond head with his palm before kissing the top of it gently.

“Told you,” Harry teased, throwing Emmy a grin.

“She’s all ready for the balcony appearance I think,” Zara said.

“Yeah, I was giving her a pep-talk,” Mike said, coming over. “Told her to look above the peasants on the ground and not directly at them.”

“Mike,” Zara shot, as Mia giggled at him referring to the public as ‘peasants’.

“What? I’m only joking? I’m as much of a commoner as all of them.”

“Yes, but Mia doesn’t know you’re joking!” Zara hissed. “And neither does Grace.”

“Grace doesn’t understand words,” Mike said exasperatedly.

“Well, soon she will be saying words!” she snapped. “Do you really want her first word to be ‘peasant’?”

Mike and Harry’s eyes met, and they both dissolved into laughter.

“Not gonna lie, I would pay money to see Grace say ‘peasant’ as her first word,” Mike chuckled.

“I’ll do my best,” Harry replied.

Emmy glared at him. “If Grace’s first word is peasant I will kill you.”

“You want to take those kind of threats seriously, H,” Mike said to him. “Look at her. She’s small and lethal. I think she honestly would kill you.”

Emmy couldn’t help but giggle at that, but their conversation was cut short by the announcement that it was time to prepare for the balcony appearance. The centre room was packed with the family, even the most extended members, and Emmy found herself stood beside Harry.

“Harry,” Charles said, joining them. “Can you hold Grace for this? I think it would go down better if you did, see you holding your little girl.”

Harry looked questioningly at him as Emmy handed Grace over. Grace cooed, eyes now on his medals. She fiddled with them curiously.

“You both ready for this?” Charles asked then. “We want you both right by the front. Actually, move over a bit. You should be beside your grandmother.”

“Why us? What about William?” Harry asked, looking round for his brother.

“William will be on your grandmother’s other side.”

Again, he shot a confused look at his father, but said nothing and instead went to stand beside Phillip. Emmy followed, nervous now for what was to come.

“Oh, you’re to be beside me, huh?” Phillip said gruffly to his grandson. “With this little one?” He tickled Grace under the chin.

Grace’s eyes widened as she took in all of Phillip’s medals. Many more than Daddy’s medals.

“Why are we not stood with William and Kate?” Harry asked his grandfather.

“Don’t complain,” Emmy murmured, in a voice only loud enough for Harry to hear.

“We just thought it best to keep you both apart for this,” Phillip answered. “There’s starting to be rumours about conflict, you know. And dirty looks won’t help that.”

“Neither will separating us, you realise that?”

Phillip sighed. “I’m too old to care about all of this, Harry.”

Harry grinned. “And what’s my excuse for not caring?”

His grandfather chuckled. “Stop that. And behave yourself for this, okay. I know you’re both very frisky but no kissing, regardless of how much the crowds shout for it.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his grandfather before turning to Emmy. “Ready? You’re very quiet.”

“Just a little nervous,” she said. “I’d feel better if I were holding Grace. At least I’d have something to do with my hands.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But the mighty overlords want me to hold her, so…” He trailed off, dazzling her with that cheeky smile of his. “Maybe we’ll swap halfway through?”

She smiled, appreciating his attempts at making her feel better. “Honestly? I just want this over with.”

“So we can get home, but Grace to bed and then go to bed ourselves, right?”

That earned him a roll of her eyes while a blush tainted her cheeks. “And that is why your grandfather just called us frisky.”

“Well, it’s no surprise to anyone.”

She half-smiled, just as the doors to the balcony were opened and Elizabeth led the way outside.

The cheers were astounding; every time Emmy forgot just how loud and overwhelming they could be, and each time they surprised her anew. She followed Harry out, hearing the volume somehow multiply as she and Harry stepped out after William and Kate. George and Charlotte tottering around, excited, getting onto their stalls to look down at the crowds. Grace cooed, frowning slightly, at the noise, and she nuzzled her head into Harry’s neck. He kissed her forehead gently, trying to soothe her.

“So many people,” Emmy mused, waving down at them all.

There was a very large sign in the crowds that made Emmy’s heart catch in her throat, and her insides lifted infinitely. Someone was holding a homemade sign saying “Emmy: queen of the duchesses”.

“Oh my,” she said, delighted that someone thought that of her. Then realisation crept up on her. “Oh dear.”

She chanced a glance at Kate, trying not to look smug, and received a glare in return. And that was the picture that every paper and every photographer was using the next day – Emmy smirking at Kate, Kate glaring at Emmy.

Accompanied by the headline “ROYAL FEUD – EMMY AND KATE SHOW TRUE COLOURS AT TROOPING”.

#historyrepeatsitself-phff #Prince Harry #prince harry fanfiction #prince harry fanfic #newchapter

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fuck-you-i-am-spiderman · 6 years

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Spidey Kate’s Cl3xacon Experience

Okay so this is going to be quite a long post, mainly about the glorious Elise Bauman and Carmilla!

I got a single-day Saturday pass because the prices bled me dry and that’s all I could afford but anyway

I went to a few panels before really getting into the photo op and autograph portion of the day. The One Day at a Time panel was really interesting to listen to, to hear about the creative process and how decisions about representation the show covers were decided. Isabella Gomez speaks so eloquently and it was really great to get to hear her talk about Elena in more depth.

The next panel I went to was the Bisexual representation in the media, it was really interesting and informative. I only knew who Stephanie Beatriz was but listening to conversations about bisexuality and what that means, the tropes and misconceptions - it was just really good to gain perspectives on that and to talk about how the media should handle bisexual storylines and to hear stories of what other bisexual people have gone through. Stand out quote: "there's no one way to be bisexual" !

We did get to explore some of the booths and I bought a few bits of Carmilla related merch: an a5 Hollstein print, “this is a good sign” pin, some bisexual badges and a “buckle up Creampuff” sticker!

( @strivia got to get an autograph from Tamara Duarte the actor who plays Rosita in Wynonna Earp and was complimented on the Jeremy t-shirt she designed, Tamara was super impressed when I mentioned how Sarah designed it and later on in their group photo pointed it out to Dominique and Kat! )

That was when my anxiety came thriving back in full force. The line for the Natasha and Elise photo op duo was soooo long and it got rushed a lot more than usual because things over ran. However I was prepared and brought an army of flower crowns since I suck at thinking of poses.

Elise was happy when I gave her a flower crown and said something along the lines of "ooh this is so cool". Natasha and Elise's poses were so fun. I kind of felt like an awkward whale but they were so sweet. I was super anxious and afterwards Elise asked if I wanted the crowns back and when I said they could keep them she got really excited and exclaimed "Natasha we get to keep them!" and gave me a huge smile on my way out!

The line for Elise's autograph table was so short but it went down fairly quickly. Given there were only like 10 of us we definitely could have had more time and it's a pretty crappy rule that you can't use your camera (no one’s fault, just something I would have liked to take a photo of!) I did anyway, I ended up recording my feet as I have a tendency to forget what is said when I get overwhelmed and I was really fricking nervous.

I gave Elise the book I made full of nice messages, tourist things and inspirational quotes and she thanked me and said that she might be journeying to the UK soon. She complimented my t-shirt and asked where I got it from, after listening to the video I wanted to type what our interaction was because it meant so much to me.

Elise: Hi, how are you?

Me: good

Elise: good! [smiles]

Me: that's for you [hands her the book I made]

Elise: *genuinely surprised* oh thank you so much, that's so sweet!

Me: [awkward laugh]

Elise: [looking at a label with someone else's name on it] is this your's?

Me: *realising the label with my name on is on the desk* oh, it should be on there [points to the artwork I wanted her to sign] sorry

Elise: oh here it is! [finds label with my name]

[it’s quiet as she writes a little message in the corner of the artwork]

Elise: [handing me back the artwork with her autograph] thank you so much, I can't like write and talk at the same time

Me: no it's okay!

Elise: [looking at my Carmilla t-shirt] Whaaaat is that?! I've never seen that, it's amazing!

Me: Yeah!

Elise: that's so fantastic! Wow, where did you get that from?!

Me: I got it of redbubble, one of the Carmilla fan artists designed it!

Elise: that's so good!

[Elise smiles at me so warmly]

Me: um- yeah, the book has like touristy stuff in there, if my accent didn't give it away I'm British

Elise: terrific, sounds amazing!

Me: Yeah it has like a bunch of stuff, like hiking stuff

Elise: so rad, thank you so much. It was so nice to meet you!

Me: thank you!

[I hold my hand up to wave and Elise gives me a high five]

The Hollstein panel was such a highlight. Obviously if my blog is anything to go off of then y'all know I'm a massive Carmilla fan. The line was incredibly long and as usual people at cons don't follow line rules and there was a fair amount of cutting in. Thankfully I got a seat right at the end of the aisle meaning when everyone sat down I stood against the wall and got lots of photographs throughout.

There were soooo many people in the room and you could really tell how much it meant to Elise and Natasha to see all of us there. The panel was so fun, from the introduction of “let’s welcome 2 Canadian Screen Award winners” to the questions our wonderful moderator Dana Piccoli asked. The best section of the panel was definitely when Natasha and Elise reenacted scenes from other lgbtqiaa+ shows and movies. It was so much fun to see them get into character and make the scenes their own. My personal favourite was the scene from D.E.B.S.

Then came the audience Q&A session and I have never moved so fast. I am a super anxious person, especially in large crowds so this was pretty overwhelming. I don’t feel comfortable speaking infront of a class let alone a room with over 1000 people (according to Natasha’s instagram post!). I often avoid things that I know will increase my anxiety but today something clicked and I knew if I didn’t at least try I would regret it. I’d travelled so far and I was finally there so I needed to do it, to prove something to myself and to others.

It might not seem like a huge deal but to me this is something I could have never brought myself to do had it not been for Carmilla and the fantastic role models Elise and Natasha are, they encourage us to be ourselves and to embrace all parts of who we are. My anxiety is a huge part of who I am, in that moment I accepted that fact and I did it anyway! I asked my question, stumbled through it and I acknowledged my anxiety but refused to let it demolish something I worked hard to do. I thought I was going to pass out but I did that, I asked two of my favourite actors a question infront of a bunch of people I didn’t know, I was in that panel - alone and I did that. I did it and it might not seem like much but I feel proud of myself that I faced my fear and did something terrifying. ( Plus Natasha said she liked my t-shirt! )

My question is here: https://youtu.be/YSsS_2IWDjM?t=2578

Looking back on these memories will be another thing to keep me going and remember that I can do this! I don’t really like my face but Natasha and Elise both look great in my photo op so I’ll post that at some point soon.

(Oh and if anyone was wondering my t-shirt was designed by @bigmammallama5 and is officially approved by both Natasha and Elise!)

- Your Anxious Neighbourhood Spidey (Katie)

#elise bauman #natasha negovanlis #hollstein #carmilla #clexacon18 #natlise #spidey speaks #okay to reblog

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thesjt · 4 years

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Orpheus & Eurydice

The Flanagan Collective and Gobbledigook Theatre bring Orpheus & Eurydice to our Round in November, performed by Alexander Flanagan-Wright, Phil Grainger, Serena Manteghi and Casey Jay Andrews. The show weaves together two ‘sister’ shows –Orpheus and, yes, Eurydice – in a new presentation that has only been seen before in New York. Here, Alexander F-W gives us his take on the show, and the world in October 2020…

Serena Manteghi, Orpheus & Eurydice | c. Sam Donnelly

We don’t make fancy theatre any more, none of us do, none of us can, and none of us should. We should be giving people a reason to gather, to commune, to come listen to something outside of our day to day. And we’re heading to Scarborough to hopefully do just that.

This is a moment in history.

It’s strange to know we’re living through one. A before and after point. A point where, when people read about these times, there will be a before this moment and an after this moment.

Right now, we are in this moment. And being in a moment in history – living through a kind of future we wouldn’t have imagined – makes the present so much more important.

All the things which we didn’t value in the same way: being able to see our friends, being able to know our families are well, being able to spend time indoors, or outdoors and, for theatre makers like us, being able to give being a reason to leave their houses and commune together. All those things feel so much more powerful, more important, than they did before.

We’ve been telling stories for a good while, well over ten years. Serena and I met at University of York in 2008 (along with Chris York, writer of Build A Rocket) and have been working together, hanging out together, and telling stories together every since. Phil and I met at school when we were 14 and haven’t stopped playing music together since. Casey and I met maybe six years ago up at the Edinburgh Fringe, a ridiculous powerhouse circus of arts, and we’ve been building worlds since then too.

Casey Jay Andrews, Orpheus & Eurydice | c. Sam Donnelly

The stories we’re bringing to The SJT are even older, much older, thousands of years old. Those ancient stories have survived and thrived through no end of moments, through no end of history.

So it feels like a pretty amazing thing to be bringing those old stories – remade and retold with a bunch of very good, old friends – into a theatre at this point in history or, rather, in this important present. To invite people to come, to commune, to listen, to be a part of a present thing in a complicated time.

And the stories aren’t about Coronavirus, thank god, we have enough of those on every news channel. They’re about people. They’re about what we hope for, what we fall for, and how far we’d go for something we love. They’re about discovering ourselves and discovering other people. They’re about figuring out what we stand for and what we fall for. They’re about things which are true now, and were also true thousands of years ago. They’re about people. And they’re about us.

We last performed this version of these shows in New York, Off Broadway, In December 2019. We haven’t done them like this since. So, in a way, we’re transferring from New York to Scarborough, just as things should be.

We excited for a week on the coast, to look at the sea, to eat chips, to find a little home in the glorious in-the-round auditorium of The Stephen Joseph Theatre and, most importantly, to get lost in some stories with a real life, live audience. With you.

Casey Jay Andrews & Serena Manteghi, Orpheus & Eurydice | c. Sam Donnelly

There’s a lot of music. There’s a lot of spoken word. If you’re a fan of Kate Tempest, Loyle Carner or The Streets then this might be up your alley. If you’re a fan of Simon Armitage or you’ve read Carol Anne Duffy’s poem about Eurydice, then this might be up your alley. If you like Bruce Springsteen or Cindy Lauper then this might be up your alley. If you like gathering with people, being present in a room together, if you like stories, if you like music, if you hate Greek mythology but do like stories about people, if you like supporting your local theatre or if you’ve seen Serena in Build A Rocket or Little Voice, then this might be up your alley.

There’s loads of rules. We’ll figure them all out. You’ll be safe as houses.

And, although we’re not allowed to all socialise together, I can promise you that us four will be buying plenty of dinners from Eat Me Cafe... and if we all just happen to be there at the same time then... well... be sure to give us a wave.

Scarborough – we’re coming for you – and it’ll be a little bit of our shared history. See you there.

Orpheus & Eurydice is in our Round from 19 to 21 November: https://www.sjt.uk.com/event/1069/orpheus_&_eurydice

#sjt #thesjt #Stephen Joseph Theatre #orpheus and eurydice #the flanagan collective #gobbledigook theatre #sam donnelly #theatre

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nemolian · 4 years

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'Stand Back and Stand By' Already Selling on Extremist Proud Boys T-Shirts, Thanks to Trump

Armed Proud Boys at an Sept. 5 rally in Vancouver, Washington.

Photo: Nathan Howard (Getty Images)

At the 2020 presidential debates on Tuesday, Donald Trump didn’t just choke on condemning white supremacists—he actually gave what a far-right hate group that has beat up protesters and launched street brawls interpreted as at the very least a tacit endorsement, or even a direct order. The president has since attempted to walk back his failure to condemn far-right extremists during the debate, but the damage is already done.

Prompted by the debate moderator, Fox News host Chris Wallace, to condemn racist and far-right militia groups in the wake of violent clashes with anti-fascist groups in Portland, Oregon, and a militia double-killing in Kenosha, Wisconsin, Trump landed on the Proud Boys after Democratic challenger Joe Biden suggested them by name. A neo-fascist, male-only organization, the Proud Boys has been referenced by the FBI as an extremist organization and has taken the president’s “law and order” agenda into their own hands by bringing guns and other weapons to protests, starting melees, and firing paintball guns into crowds.

Last year, two of its members were handed four-year prison sentences for offenses including attempted gang assault over their role in a 2018 street fight in New York. On Wednesday, Portland police arrested another member for allegedly pointing a firearm at, and using pepper spray on, protesters at an Aug. 22 rally. Members have also issued death threats, and they’ve coordinated with other far-right groups like Patriot Coalition that advocate brutal violence against leftists. The Proud Boys have largely been driven off mainstream social media sites, but have built up a presence on less public services like messaging app Telegram in response.

Trump pointedly didn’t condemn the Proud Boys and instead asked them to “stand back and stand by”—adding that groups like them should “do something” about “antifa and the left.” Per the USA Today transcript (emphasis ours):

1:04:23 WALLACE

Okay, you have repeatedly criticized the Vice President for not specifically calling out antifa and other left-wing groups. But are you willing, tonight, to condemn white supremacists and militia groups? And to say that they need to stand down and not add to the violence in a number of these cities, as we saw in Kenosha, as we’ve seen in Portland? Are you prepared specifically to do that?

1:04:46 TRUMP

Sure, I’m prepared to do it. I would say- I would say, almost everything I see is from the left-wing, not from the right wing-

1:05:55 WALLACE

So what do you, what do you say-

1:04:56 TRUMP

I’m willing to do anything I want to see peace.

1:04:57 WALLACE

Then do it, sir.

1:04:59 BIDEN

Say it, do it, say it.

1:05:00 TRUMP

You want to call them — What do you want to call them? Give me a name, give me —

1:05:04 WALLACE

White supremacists and, white supremacists and right-wing —

1:05:07 BIDEN

The Proud Boys.

1:05:07 TRUMP

Proud Boys, stand back and stand by. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll tell you what, somebody’s got to do something about antifa and the left because this is not a right-wing problem. This is a left-wing problem

G/O Media may get a commission

On Parler, a social media app for conservatives who feel spurned by Twitter and which has predictably served as a venue for hate speech, Proud Boys organizer Joe Biggs wrote, “Trump basically said to go fuck them up! this makes me so happy”. Within an hour of Trump’s comments, one of the group’s official channels on Telegram posted a version of their logo with the text “STAND BACK / STAND BY” imposed on it, and by Wednesday morning they were selling t-shirts.

“Fuck it, let’s go back to Portland,” another Telegram channel run by the Proud Boys posted. “... Leftist f*gs are seething right now lol. It’s glorious.”

Per the Miami New Times, Proud Boys chairman Enrique Tarrio tweeted that while he didn’t take the president’s comment as a “direct endorsement,” “stand back and standby is what we have ALWAYS done” and he is “extremely PROUD” of Trump’s debate performance. In an interview with the Daily Beast, Tarrio said it was likely “stand back and stand by” would become one of the group’s new slogans, joining prior ones like “The West is the Best” and “Fuck Around and Find Out.”

A Proud Boys channel affiliated with a Seattle chapter posted a clip from a debate livestream featuring the organization’s creator, Vice Media co-founder Gavin McInnes, who has espoused rhetoric indistinguishable from white supremacy in the past. McInnes reacted with apparent surprise, asking, “Did he say Proud Boys? ... Really?”

Members of Proud Boys channels on Telegram also speculated about a rise in “new recruits,” according to the New York Times, though estimates of Proud Boys’ membership across its U.S. chapters have always been hazy (ranging from the hundreds to thousands). According to tgstat.com, a major Proud Boys channel that had around 7,725 subscribers on Tuesday had added nearly 660 subscribers by mid-Wednesday afternoon. It used the publicity in part to direct new users to a crowdfunding effort for members in prison.

Trump’s comments lit up the far-right web ranging from venues like 4chan’s /pol/ board to Telegram channels affiliated with other groups, but it also gained the group major exposure on Twitter. Clemson University social media researcher Darren Linvill told the Washington Post the group had been mentioned more than 1 million times on the site and was continuing to rack up 75,000 mentions per hour on Wednesday morning.

Trump insisted on Wednesday that he did not know who the Proud Boys were, but that they should allow police to do their jobs, according to reporters.

“I don’t know who the Proud Boys are. You’ll have to give me a definition, because I really don’t know who they are,” Trump said. “I can only say they have to stand down.”

Megan Squire, a computer science professor at Elon University in North Carolina who maps online extremism, said in a phone interview that Trump’s remarks at the debate fit into his long history of encouraging violence against political opponents. Some of the president’s prior actions, such as declaring antifa a terrorist organization, have directly resulted in waves of harassment and threats, Squire said. And on Telegram, the Proud Boys are already seeing “increased numbers, increased traffic, increased views.” Squire added the president’s remarks on Tuesday are especially alarming, given he has called for supporters to show up at poll sites during federal elections on Nov. 3 and take matters into their own hands.

Trump has “done this before with, like, Bikers for Trump, for example,” Squire said. “And, you know, he’s talking about, ‘I’ve got the strongest people on my side.’ He’s kind of got this fantasy that he’s going to be defended by this working-class male, some kind of cadre or something.”

“This kind of fits with his longer-term pattern of looking forward to people defending his presidency and his authoritarianism and using their physical bodies and using street violence,” Squire added, saying it would be “extremely concerning” if the Proud Boys started “standing out in front of the polling places and watching, and that kind of voter intimidation.”

“I think that was an incredibly critical moment in this debate,” Kate Bedingfield, the Biden campaign’s communications director, told reporters on a conference call, according to the Daily Beast. “[Trump] had multiple opportunities to say he disowns white supremacy. He was asked explicitly to do so and once again he openly refused. Even after citing the Proud Boys by name, he refused to condemn that group and to condemn white supremacy.”

The CEO of the Anti-Defamation League, Jonathan Greenblatt, told CNN on Wednesday that the Proud Boys are a “hate group through and through” that “traffic in misogyny, anti-Semitism, xenophobia, and anti-Muslim bias. They’re violent... More than anything they have links to other white supremacist groups on the so-called alt-right.”

“This wasn’t an opportunity to condemn, this was a clarification,” Greenblatt added. “He sees these groups as his allies.”

via:Gizmodo, September 30, 2020 at 04:36PM

#IFTTT #Feedly #Gizmodo

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choclette8 · 4 years

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Individual cakes are always popular. Something to do with their cuteness and that the cake is just for you. There’s no need to share. They’re a good introduction to baking for kids and great for bake sales too.

#CookBlogShare

#CookBlogShare is a weekly linky party where the food love is liberally shared. We have a look, possibly a taster and comment on each other’s posts. If you have a recipe to share, this is the place to do it.

Yes, it’s me doing a round-up once again. I still miss those #WeShouldCocoa days. Thanks to everyone who shared recipes in last week’s linky. There’s plenty there to get my teeth into. But this week I’m highlighting individual cakes.

Recently on Tin and Thyme

With so many of us at home now, baking has never been so popular. I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it really hard to get hold of flour, yeast and eggs. With this in mind I recently posted thirty egg-free cake recipes that you might find useful.

There are other ingredients that are hard to get hold of at the moment too and lots of us are relying on store cupboard staples. My easy one pot ramen is not only tasty, but it’s really quick to make. Fifteen minutes from start to finish is pretty impressive for a delicious and nutritious home cooked meal.

Spring is a wonderful time. Thank goodness for the lovey sunshine we’ve been experiencing over these past few weeks. It does make staying at home a lot easier. As dandelions carpet the grass and fields, my recipe for dandelion honey has become very popular. It tastes just like honey, only it’s much cheaper. It’s a useful alternative for vegans too.

Finally, this time of year can’t go without a mention of one of my favourite spring crops, rhubarb. We recently harvested the first sticks from our new allotment. And really, there was only one thing to make with them – rhubarb crumble.

Easy To Make Individual Cakes

I’ve highlighted four individual cakes here which are perfect for all of the reasons mentioned at the top. All of them are super easy to make and ideal for both young and old.

Orange & Raspberry Friands

So lets start off with some fancy friands from Gluten Free Alchemist. These orange & raspberry friands may seem a bit posh, but they’re incredibly easy to make and taste delicious. They’re also great for using up any leftover egg whites.

Kate says they may “look like posh cupcakes cupcakes. Indeed, I have seen them described as such on other websites… But trust me. These are not cupcakes. Their texture and flavour is altogether different“. As they’re mostly made with ground almonds, it’s easy to make them gluten-free.

Small Batch Vanilla Cupcakes

Vanilla cupcakes are a classic and every baker will have their favourite recipe. As Cat from Curly’s Kitchen says though, you don’t always want as many as twelve. “For those times when you don’t want to bake a full batch of twelve cupcakes, these small batch vanilla cupcakes are perfect”.

Isn’t the swirly buttercream icing lovely?

Vanilla Butterfly Fairy Cakes

I said vanilla cakes were popular and here, just to prove the point, are some vanilla butterfly fairy cakes from Feast Glorious Feast. Chloe said butterfly cakes were the bake she most liked to make when she was a kid. “There was always something special about getting to cut the tops off little buns, add buttercream then create and stick the wings back on“.

Fairy cakes always make me feel nostalgic for days long gone. Days when the sun was always shining or there was enough snow around to make a proper snowman.

White Chocolate & Strawberry Flapjacks

OK, strictly speaking a flapjack isn’t a cake. But these white chocolate & strawberry flapjacks fit the bill in all other respects. They even have icing. As Kat from The Baking Explorer says, “the great things about flapjacks is that you don’t need flour or eggs to make them“. Now what was I just saying about hard to buy ingredients?

The flapjacks are made with dried strawberries and topped with a layer of white chocolate. That’s fancy enough for anyone I reckon.

Bread and Soup

If after all this sweet stuff, you’re craving something savoury. How about homemade bread and soup for lunch? I’m massively tempted by the two recipes from Jo’s Kitchen Larder this week. Wild garlic soup and easy wholemeal bread. Both are vegan and the bread is a no knead one.

Easy To Make Individual Cakes

I hope you enjoy this week’s #CookBlogShare and that you feel inspired by one of these recipes for individual cakes. They’ve certainly made me want to head to the kitchen and indulge in some baking.

For more delicious and nutritious recipes, follow me on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram or Pinterest.

Four Individual Cakes. PIN IT.

#CookBlogShare 2020 Week 16

How to join in

You can link up any foodie posts you have. Both old and new posts are welcome as long as they have not been linked to #CookBlogShare before.

Link up a recipe or foodie post by clicking the blue ‘add your link’ button below and following the instructions. You can link up to 4 posts, either old or new.

Add a link from your post back to this post. This helps everyone else find it and link up too.

Add the #CookBlogShare badge to your post (code below – for WordPress copy and paste the code below into the text view of your post).

Comment on some of the other recipes linked up here (at least 2 for each link you add but the more you can the better) and generally share the love with a bit of social media action.

Comment on either this post or one of the posts labelled HOST in the linky.

Have fun and get ready to Cook Blog Share.

What you can expect

I will endeavour to visit every post that’s linked up this week and pin the recipes to the Pinterest #CookBlogshare board. I’ll try to comment on all of them too. You might even get some yums, flips or mixes.

If you tag me on Twitter at @choclette8 using the #CookBlogShare hashtag I’ll do my best to retweet.

I’m really looking forward to seeing all the recipes you share this week. Have fun and thank you for joining in with #CookBlogShare.

Share the love

By joining in you are giving the #CookBlogShare hosts permission to use your pictures in a round up and on social media, if your recipe is selected to be featured.

Please use #cookblogshare when sharing your recipes on Instagram. We could all do with some help there. Once you’ve posted, quickly hop over to the #CookBlogShare feed. Like as many as you can and comment on any that particularly catch your eye.

Do post your recipes on the Cook Blog Share Facebook Page if you’d like to.

Your host next week will be Jacqui at Recipes Made Easy.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Individual Cakes + #CookBlogShare 2020 Week 16 Individual cakes are always popular. Something to do with their cuteness and that the cake is just for you.

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gregorvorbarra · 7 years

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Top 5 Ivan Vorpatril Moments

1. THE WEDDING

speaks for itself. best wedding. favorite wedding. dream wedding? maybe

2. “Shut up. Get up.” Miles threw Ivan’s undress uniform jacket across his prostrate from. “This is important! But you have to stay absolutely cool. I may be completely off-base, and panicking prematurely.”

“I don’t think so. I think you’re panicking post-maturely. In fact, if you were panicking any later it would be practically posthumously. I’ve been panicking for days.” - Cetaganda

god I love Ivan Vorpatril

3. when Miles is stuck working at the Barrayaran embassy on earth with Ivan in Brothers in Arms and this bit happens:

“Never fear,” he struck a pose in his station chair, hand across this chest, “Cousin Ivan will protect you.”

“That’s so reassuring,” Miles muttered.

god I hate Ivan Vorpatril

4. in CVA, when Ivan made a really nice romantic dinner for him and Tej, but Tej went to stay at the hotel with her family, so he made By eat it with him. headcanon that he also made By stick around and clean up and wash the dishes. Ivan soaps them up, By rinses and dries.

5. the time in Cetaganda when Miles and Ivan went to Yenaro’s party and Ivan came downstairs going LETS LEAVE RIGHT NOW I’VE BEEN POISONED bc he couldn’t have sex with the Cetagandan ladies. let me get a quote. I’m leaving this one for last only because the quote is long, so I can stick it under a read more

Ivan bent down to whisper behind his hand into Miles’s ear, “Get us the hell otu of here. I think I’ve been poisoned.”

Miles looked up, startled. “D’you want to call down the lightflyer?”

“No. Just back to the embassy in the groundcar.”

“But--”

“No, dammit,” Ivan hissed. “Just quietly. Before that smirking bastard goes upstairs.” He nodded toward Yenaro, who was now standing at the foot of the staircase, gazing upward.

“I take it you don’t think it is acute.”

“Oh, it was cute all right,” Ivan snarled.

“You didn’t murder anybody up there, did you?”

“No. But I thought they’d never... Tell you in the car.”

“You’d better.” Miles clambered to his feet. They perforce had to pass Yenaro, who attached himself to them like a good host, seeing them to his front door with suitably polite farewells. Ivan’s good-byes might have been etched in acid.

---

As soon as the canopy sealed over their heads, Miles commanded, “Give, Ivan!”

Ivan settled back, still seething. “I was set up.”

This comes as a surprise to you, coz? “By Lady Arvin and Lady Benello?”

“They were the setup. Yenaro was behind it, I’m sure of it. You’re right about that damned fountain being a trap, Miles. I see it now. Beauty as bait, all over again.”

“What happened to you?”

“You know those rumors about Cetagandan aphrodisiacs?”

“Yes...”

“Well, sometime this evening that son-of-a-bitch Yenaro slipped me an anti-aphrodisiac.”

“Um... are you sure? I mean, there are natural causes for these moments, I’m told...”

“It was a setup. I didn’t seduce them, they seduced me! Wafted me upstairs to this amazing room--it had to have been all arranged in advance. God, it was...” his voice broke in a sigh, “it was glorious. For a little while. And then I realized I couldn’t, like, perform.”

“What did you do?”

“It was a little late to get out gracefully. So I winged it. It was all I could do to keep ‘em from noticing.”

“What?”

“I made up a lot of instant barbarian folklore--I told ‘em a Vor prides himself on self-control, that it’s not considered polite on Barrayar for a man to, you know, before his lady has. Three times. It was considered insulting to her. I stroked, I rubbed, I scratched, I recited poetry, I nuzzled and nibbed and--cripes, my fingers are cramped.”

that’s all for the quote (i know block quotes mess things up so i avoid them :/ )

I laugh at Ivan Vorpatril every day of my life

honorable mention: when Tej and Ivan decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together, the few moments they still think they have left. v sweet. I love them. “Will you spend your life with me, for the next ten minutes?” someone watch The Last 5 Years so you can cry with me

thank you kate! i love this

#ivan vorpatril #vorkosigan #i hate him i'm going to fight him #kareenvorbarra #ask alba

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the-revisionist · 7 years

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the tristan chord, chapter 17

xvii. the great fire

if you do not love me I shall not be loved if I do not love you I shall not love Samuel Beckett, from Cascando

A plunk and a splash and Gillian wakes up.

Her arm, resting on the rim of the tub, had finally slipped into the bath. The noise roused her, the raw skin on her arm stung as it hit the water. She’s been in the tub long enough that the water is too cold, her hair is starting to dry, and her toes are swollen, colorless raisins. Whether this has served long enough as a diversionary tactic, she’s not sure. Hiding in a bathroom for an unspecified amount of time is a move straight out of Caroline’s own passive-aggressive playbook. Perhaps Caroline appreciates the delicious reversal of the maneuver; she might be downstairs right now stroking her chin like a thoughtful supervillain while murmuring to herself, well-played, Gillian Greenwood, well-played.

Sitting on the loo while looking at Raff’s bathroom reading—a bevy of mindless lad mags—got boring fast, so she had decided to take a bath. That she got in a nap while being passive-aggressive should earn her a gold star in multitasking. She drops a damp washcloth over her face and enjoys its sour, shroud-like suffocation. Tiredly her mind roams like a transistor radio on a cross-country trip, fading in and out of frequencies conscious and unconscious and rescuing from the ether thoughts and images with strangely satisfying randomness. A few months ago Caroline told her that sometimes she still talks to Kate in her head. It made Gillian feel slightly less crazy for taunting her dead husband in a barn, and from that she takes further comfort in recalling thirty-year-old conversations with a dead friend so vividly that she can almost believe Maurice is still alive. Such is the power of the dead over the living.

She gets out, drains the tub, and wraps herself in a towel. In the hallway on her way to the bedroom she hears the distant, distinct lilt of Caroline’s voice from downstairs—actually in this instance the lilt bends under the weight of a Morrissey-like weariness, a strong indication that a mobile conversation with Celia is occurring—and realizes she’s lost the passive-aggressive battle, that Caroline has successfully laid siege to the farmhouse. Ah, hubris, Gillian thinks as she enters the bedroom and shuts the door. How stupid to think she could outmaneuver the queen, that steely-eyed bitch who rivals her stubbornness, who always plays to win. She sags against the door. Except, apparently, in matters of love.

She will not dress to impress. Not that she ever does, really, but now there’s well and truly no point to it and so she throws on a pair of jeans that have both knees shot out, a frayed t-shirt, and a mismatched jumper against the nibbling chill of summer night. Then, arms flung out Christ-like, she falls back onto the bed. She used to do a variant on this when she was young and went swimming at the lake: standing on a dock, pretending to be shot by a sniper, freezing, and then doing a backward freefall into the water. Always got shrieked at by her best mate: You’re gonna break your neck, Gillian! Of course she never did and, from the soft blue embrace of the water, she would laugh at her friend, the sky, the insensate fates out there that marked the shivering trees and the undulating tide but not her, never her.

The bed is, once again, hers alone. Robbie is back in his old house, which he had never sold and had rented out to a mate from work. While uncertain if the retention of the house was careful if cynical foresight on his part or sheer laziness, she’s willing to bet the farm on the latter. All trace of him is gone except two large suitcases of clothes taking up space in her tiny closet. Despite her repeated threats to burn them or give them to a charity shop he refuses to pick them up; he ignores her terse texts and instead besieges her with guilt trips and pathetic entreaties for reconciliation. Then it’s her turn to ignore him. The thought occurs that with regard to Caroline she is as stubbornly spiteful as Robbie is with her—the immovable object resisting the forces of change around it—and this realization makes her even less inclined to move from the bed. Painfully she pinches the bridge of her nose. Stupid, she thinks. Stupid to have kissed her like that, while pissed, in the loo of some shit pub. Stupid because Caroline belongs to someone else, even if that someone else is, as far as Gillian is concerned, a clueless bloody twat for not realizing what lies so easily within her grasp.

From the open window she hears the familiar tinny percussion of the rain pinging on the edge of the water trough, light and persistent—then lingering heavy drops, three in a row, tap tap tap. It stops. She counts forty seconds. It resumes. It’s a pattern she knows well, for she’s heard it all week long, all year long, all the many years she has lived here. She knew yesterday the rain wouldn’t stop yet—stupid bloody forecasters—because no one counts the drops, no one feels the gaps and silences between them, no one lies awake and listens to the rain quite like she does.

With the magnificent hiss and percussion of the rain’s concerto washing over her, she falls asleep.

Wake up you fucking bitch, wake up wake up wake up

Crying and gasping, she sits up. The air is thin and cool. She cannot drink it down fast enough and her mind chants its usual mantra following nightmares: Gone, gone, gone. The sky is darker—faded periwinkle, painterly and flat with a thick smear of clouds across the pretty backdrop, a minor masterpiece desecrated by an embittered apprentice. She’s clutching a quilt. She does not remember covering herself with the quilt, which is usually draped over a chair in the corner of the bedroom except in the dead of winter. So either the shade of Eddie, despite the typical brutal wakeup call, is feeling particularly charitable toward her at the moment, or Caroline covered her with the quilt before leaving. Because Caroline cannot possibly still be here. It’s getting on. Gillian grabs the mobile from the night stand in order to confirm the time—muttering shit when she sees she’s been asleep for nearly two and half hours—but there is no way to confirm the lingering presence of ghosts or Oxford bitches other than actually getting her arse out of bed and going downstairs.

She knows every creak, squeak, and groan of the house, knows what noisy floorboards to avoid in the hallway, knows that if you put enough weight on the bannister it will make a telltale peep and playfully threaten to give way under your touch, knows that the third step from the bottom will betray you every time, and even if you get that far you’ll have to hopscotch to the kitchen and then be careful not to let the screen door slam behind you. The house is an enchanted trap, a fucked-up cautionary tale; once its prisoner, Gillian is now its sovereign, lording over sheep and ghosts and unwanted guests and yet tiptoeing foolishly down the stairs to avoid detection in her own home, something she has not done in years.

In the living room she finds Caroline asleep, slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position on the couch, half-sitting, half-sprawled, resembling an abandoned, suicidal marionette: head pillowed on the armrest, long legs jutting at uncomfortable-looking angles, hands in curled stasis in her lap, face obscured by waves of blonde hair, and snoring softly.

Quickly she glides past this poor slumbering queen who has somehow stumbled into her toxic mythos. But fairytale magic has transpired: the house is clean, at least cleaner than it has been in weeks. The grotty swamp near the door has been mopped away and the muddy boots and trainers that were there in a grimy discarded pile are neatly aligned on the now-sparkling mat. The dirty jumpers, muddy jeans, and plaid shirts strewn here and there throughout the house are in a basket, ready for washing. The floors are swept, the dishes done, the kitchen table wiped down and piles of mail, newspapers, and magazines are neatly stacked upon it. A pot of tea is on the stove, a tray of sandwiches covered with a translucent plastic lid is on the counter.

Suspiciously Gillian regards the sandwiches. Despite the fact they were put together with many of the same commonplace ingredients she would find in her own kitchen, they approach a chef’s level of competence: cut on precise diagonals revealing beautifully even striations of each ingredient. Their perfection bestirs an inordinate amount of resentment, which builds as she realizes she is furious about fucking sandwiches of all things, and that steeps into bitterness as she shoves one half of a delicious perfect sandwich in her mouth and nearly groans at how good it is—chicken salad with tarragon. Of all the fucking posh toff twatty spices, tarragon. Twenty minutes later she’s devoured two of them and washed it down with a cup of tea, cold but still good. Before she can work herself up into irrational indignation about enjoying pretentious food, she hears the creak of the floor in the living room and by the time she summons the courage to turn around Caroline is leaning in the doorway, gorgeously disheveled and running a hand through the glorious mess of her hair.

She blinks and smiles uncertainly and this drowsy, sensual vulnerability makes Gillian ache all over. “Sleep all right?”

“Yeah,” Gillian says. “Thanks.” In the hope of frantically shoring up some pointless small talk she turns her attention back to the counter, but nothing comes to mind and she finds herself staring helplessly out the window, the land and sky as always a consistent comfort. The rain, possessing a light of its own, flashes silver against the dusk. There is a conversation unspoken, a reckoning that lurks around the corner but she does not possess the energy for pursuit anymore—pursuit of either Caroline or the words that will resolve their emotional stalemate—and Caroline, she knows, does not have the stomach for it. Maybe it’s all a bad sign but she doesn’t know anymore; she’s spent her life frantically rushing past so many omens of ill portent that the art of discernment and interpretation is like her French: a woefully forgotten skill.

“Thanks,” Gillian says again. “For the food. For cleaning up.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then she undercuts the gratitude with a jibe: “Know your mum made you come out here.” She had all but threatened Celia with bloody murder—which, admittedly, felt enormously satisfying—if her father so much as entertained the idea of coming out to the farm to help right now. But someone would have to be the fall guy and quite frankly if Caroline’s life were a film noir it would be titled Dial M for Martyr. Better competent Caroline, however, than Greg with his flip-flops and mung beans, and who once told her that sheep made him “terribly anxious.”

“It wasn’t a bother,” Caroline replies. “At all.”

“But you should go.” Gillian forces it out while furiously drumming the kitchen counter. “It’s getting late. Roads still aren’t good. Harder driving at night.” She hears Caroline sighing, shifting—tiny movements rippling through the house amid the susurrations of the rain, two pieces of music vying for prominence in her mind.

“Do you want me to go?” Caroline asks softly.

She lets out a hollow laugh. “You really have to fucking ask?” She raises the teacup to her mouth—and finds it empty. Then nearly jumps out of her skin when she realizes Caroline has crossed the room and stands next to her.

Caroline takes the cup, her fingertips graze Gillian’s knuckles. “Let me make you a pot of fresh.”

“No. I-it’s all right. Don’t need it.” As usual Gillian’s body betrays her. First, that stupid fucking stammer, and then idiotically discovering that they are standing too close, that she’s practically leaning into Caroline and somehow together they’ve initiated the fumbling first steps into an awkward embrace, an accidental intimacy emblematic of their entire relationship. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, whether to touch as a lover, a sister, or a friend. She’s been all of these things and none of these things. So she just stands and allows it to happen: the deceptively easy fit of their bodies together, the arm around her waist, the neat tuck of her head under Caroline’s chin, her hot forehead falling to gentle rest on the bower of Caroline’s collarbone—all of it caught in the sweet undertow of sweat and that citrusy shampoo she apparently still uses.

Her breathing goes shallow and she thinks that once again she’s surrendering to scraps like a starving dog. But that’s the thing about starving. You need the scraps to live. She closes her eyes, feels Caroline’s warm breath on the top of her head.

“You kissed me,” Caroline murmurs into her hair.

It doesn’t sound like recrimination. Nonetheless Gillian plays her favorite get-out-of-jail-free card: “I was drunk.”

“So you regret it?”

Too tired for lying. “No,” she replies.

“Good. Neither do I.”

Gillian does not care what happens next because if nothing else she has this: an admission of want, along with the urgency of the rain’s tap tap tap outside providing the perfect counterpoint to the languid unfurling of the moment.

“There was this book I read about a year ago,” Caroline says. “Found it in Kate’s office after she died.” Caroline pauses, and then finds the courage to continue. “Didn’t seem like something she would read, but she always surprised me, you know? Her tastes were always so far ranging, so unpredictable. I—” She hesitates again, and Gillian feels the movement of her throat rolling through muscle and bone. “I almost thought this book was some bloody sign from beyond, like she left it there for me to find and read after she was gone. Know that sounds ridiculous. I thought that because it was called The Natural History of Destruction and I felt like I’d been annihilated myself, destroyed in a way and that there was absolutely no way of coming back from the loss of her. But this book—this book was about Germany during World War II. It was fascinating. And depressing. I hadn’t known there were so many bombings and firestorms in so many different cities—knew about the big ones, of course. Dresden, Cologne, Hamburg. The one in Hamburg, that was probably the worst. Forty thousand people dead, entire city virtually destroyed. But, but one of the things that fascinated me was that after all this death and destruction, the natural world regenerated itself in this strange, unprecedented, rapid growth. So unusual at the time, studies were done about it. Tree and flowers sprung up faster than anyone thought possible. Life came back with a vengeance. Who could have imagined that out of these ruins, this complete fucking decimation of all life something beautiful would arise, so quickly and so powerfully? I was thinking about that book today because I saw the books you keep in your barn, Gillian—I didn’t mean to snoop but the drawer was kind of open—” Caroline stops and laughs gently, self-consciously. “Well, all right, it wasn’t, but at that moment I wanted to know something about you, anything, even if it meant finding out what stupid bloody tools you have even though I wouldn’t be able to identify half of them, and then I thought maybe, maybe you should read this book. If you haven’t already. You’ve read a lot of history, yeah? Maybe you know this. But if you don’t—maybe you need to know this story because in a way I think it’s your story too, because I think you’ve defied everything that has ever happened to you by being here and alive and beautiful and it is amazing that you are here, it is amazing, you are amazing.”

The cadence of her voice over Gillian’s head belies the intent of the words and once again she’s back in Maurice’s garage, skimming the surface of great beauty. Then stupidly she thinks of the Smiths, the immaculate shimmer of a guitar overlaying a song about pedophilia or suicide or fat girls in love with closet cases and ruffians or headmasters beating the shit out of you. The more she tries to pull herself out of this lovely stupor the more entrenched she remains, eyes closed and head resting upon Caroline’s shoulder. It is a disbelieving, disorienting thing to suddenly be seen, to be comprehended by someone who beforehand only tentatively lifted the cover of the book of your life, who has never read beyond the pale, academic introduction of your story. Here is someone cracking the spine of that book and diving in, mining the text in a way no one else has before, striking a vein rich in blood and gold.

“You asked me that night if it was like it was before. It wasn’t,” Caroline continues. “It was better. It always felt right and that frightened me. I’ve asked myself since the first time we were together—if what I felt was wrong, if I was using you, if I should have told Kate—and fuck, I should have, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, I didn’t.” Caroline stops. “Fuck. I don’t know what my point is, except—I did not, could not ever dare allow myself to feel for you.”

Gillian’s eyelids twitch. She does not move but to blindly raise a hand to touch the soft down of Caroline’s cheek. Lips grace the inside of her wrist, where the veins crisscross like tracks at a busy railroad station and the switchback of her blood follows unknown courses, a tongue traces a route to the terminus of her palm. Then her fingers are in Caroline’s mouth, damp and soft and dangerous as her fingertips rest tentatively against the sharp blade of teeth. At this her blood is up; she remembers this exchange of trust so well. When they kiss it is surprisingly tender and confident and quite unlike the others that delineate the history of kisses exchanged between them, a history witnessed in her mind as time-lapsed photos: the chaste sisterly pecks on the cheek, the full onslaughts designed for domination, the lazy postcoital ones that could go on forever, the determined, carefully plotted nips leading to grander pleasures. This time is different because it breaches narrow categorization into a significant marker in Gillian’s life in this house, in this room. The kitchen is where he hit me the first time and where he broke my ribs. It is also where I told him I was pregnant and he was so happy he hugged me and spun me around, laughing. Now she can add where Caroline said beautiful things to me and kissed me like it meant something.

It’s also where I remember she’s strong in more ways than one because Caroline is half-nudging, half-lifting her onto the counter, where her ass gently collides with the sandwich tray and sends the empty tea cup clattering on its side—she never liked those cups anyway, and it prompts a darker memory of how they were bought out of desperation at a charity shop to replace all the cups she and Eddie had flung at each other during an epic row. She had actually nailed him a few times—Christ, he had laughed like a fucking devil and she paid for it later, but the fleeting, fearful illumination on his face as he touched a smear of blood on his head and realized that she could hurt him too was worth the hundred hells that followed.

Hell, oh hell. They are kissing again. Gillian shivers. She thinks of cities on fire. A hundred hells, a conflagration of histories.

Of course Caroline senses the mood change, stops, pulls back, and touches her cheek. “Are you okay?”

“It wasn’t the first time Hamburg had been destroyed by fire—in the war, that is,” Gillian blurts. “I-it also happened like a hundred year before that. 1840s, 1842, maybe? Not as many people died, city wasn’t quite as destroyed. Funny, they call the first one the great fire, the one during the war was worse. Much worse. More people died, for one thing.” Gillian blurts it all out at once, then gnaws her lip, gnashes her teeth, and curses herself, blithering idiot that she is, for allowing her nerves to trample all over this moment where she’s practically wrapped around and writhing against this woman that she has wanted for what feels like forever.

But Caroline smiles, tucks hair behind Gillian’s ear, and then sneakily caresses it. “I didn’t know that.”

“No?” It’s surprising. Caroline knows everything.

“Tell me.”

That Caroline is so willing to follow her lead, to do whatever she likes—whether it’s kissing or an impromptu history lesson, making tea or making love—sets everything right and the hollow pressure, the ceaseless recurring hollow pressure within her, deflates steadily. Shyly she gazes downward. Caroline’s hands rest lightly on her twitching thighs. This is happening.

“The great fire of Hamburg was also a, um, landmark case in insurance history.” Fuck sakes, she tells herself, please shut up.

“Oh,” Caroline says, with that placating, sweetly affectionate tone she uses at times on children, animals, and Alan when he goes on about the Tories.

“Re-reinsurance history, actually. Had a sixth-form history teacher who was weirdly obsessed with insurance. Did real well in his class, though.”

“I see.” She kisses Gillian’s forehead. Then lightly traces Gillian’s eyebrow with the tip of her tongue and it hits Gillian that no one has ever done that to her before, and the strangeness of it all leans into the undeniably erotic, so much so that she must babble further to regain her equilibrium.

“Did so well in the class, m-my dad wanted me to be an insurance agent.”

“How perfectly dreadful,” Caroline replies archly. Her mouth lingers near Gillian’s. Her breath smells faintly of sandwiches and tea, the seductive reek of a civilized animal.

“Had nice hair, my teacher did.” Mr. Trainor. Pudgy, a bit spotty, red-faced, bespectacled. But God that hair, like Robert Redford in his prime.

Caroline’s hand is at her back, sliding up her t-shirt, cupping the column of her spine and bracing her against the inevitable swoon.

Because Christ all mighty she is set to faint dead away. “Blonde,” Gillian whispers. “Like—like yours.”

She has one hand tangled into Caroline’s perfectly aged but obviously expensive chambray shirt whilst the other goes for the gold, the thick glory of her hair. Caroline’s mouth is warm, slippery, tasting of tea, sharp and strong and comfortingly familiar—she hums and Gillian devours the sound, cannot get enough of it, her bare heels dig hard into the back of Caroline’s calves as the humming goes deep and low, triggering some kind of brief fugue state where she will not remember until the next evening what happens next: kissing in the doorway of the kitchen for a long time, Caroline peeling off her jumper and tossing it cavalierly God knows where (found behind the recycling bin two dizzy days later) and pressing her against the doorway beam, Caroline’s hands sliding up her t-shirt, under her bra, and touching her in just the right way, persistently teasing and caressing, palms delicately brushing her nipples, until the declaration of I want to be in your bed cut through the dreamy fugue and Gillian takes to the stairs two at time, noisy fucking staircase be damned.

In the bedroom once again she falls, spread-eagled, back into the bed. This spectacular surrender seems infinitely more dangerous than blindly flinging herself into a lake because Caroline, head tilted, watches her for such a long slow moment that Gillian interprets tender regard and a commitment to memory as the banality of regret and begins to lose her euphoric nerve.

“It’s like you were diving, almost,” Caroline finally says, sweetly awed. She kneels over Gillian, touches her hair, and pulls it gently. Gillian arches, bares the feast of her throat, and allows her clothes to be slowly removed.

They move with the ease of swimmers, the element of sex not unlike water; under the great force of the sea, you cannot help but summon forth grudging gracefulness lest you perish in panic. Touch flows smoothly over bodies, every movement like strokes pulling them toward the line of the horizon: Caroline’s fierce, mermaid wriggle-kick as she removes her jeans, the smooth backstroke as she discards her shirt. With the fervor of a novitiate Gillian believes that she knows Caroline’s body better than any other lover before or since. The force of this preoccupation—the absence of possession, the mind yearning for what it does not have—inscribed lines in her memory as a pen digging into a notepad and mastering nothing but strokes of indelibility, the intensity of which may diminish but will never completely disappear. She rolls a finger along the curve of Caroline’s bare hip. Memory is a sixth sense. In the quickening dark through touch alone, she is reacquainted with the stretch marks that embarrass Caroline, the freckles that irritate her. And scars of note: the nacreous clot from an appendectomy—she was 37 and ridiculously proud of the fact she drove herself to A&E from work after teaching all day. The jagged thin line along the side of her knee from where she fell off a bicycle and onto a broken bottle—she was 23, at Oxford, and despairingly drunk over a breakup. Gillian has always wondered how many girls she was miserable about during her brilliant academic career at Oxford, enough, presumably, that someone like John became a viable romantic alternative.

Caroline clasps her wrists, pinning her against the bed but for a moment until she recalls that Gillian doesn’t like being held down and then her hands straighten with the careful slow precision of a mechanized bird readying for flight, her palms press gently into Gillian’s wrists before gliding across her arms. Her mouth tracks over Gillian’s body, over breasts and stomach and thighs, brushes a teasing breath and a tender nuzzle against her pubic hair, before doubling back and moving up her body again. What began gently intensifies and Gillian grants herself free rein—something she has not done, well, probably, since the last time they were together. She has spent the past two years fucking in order not to feel. Sometimes it was easily faked, particularly when both parties were so desperate for deception; other instances required bare minimal effort for the crucial release that kept her from going completely mad. She’s wet, grinding helpless and slick against Caroline’s skin, desperate to feel Caroline’s mouth on her cunt but not yet, not yet—Caroline will bite her lips, dig into her skin, grip her ass, bruise her thighs, as if she were a delicacy to be torn and relished, destroyed and devoured in equal measure. When at last she’s claimed and Caroline is licking and sucking her off with tortuous abandon, her hips rise off the bed and she buries a hand in thick hair and touches veritable, living art, this gloss of blonde in evening blue, and helplessly she thrusts against Caroline until a rhythm takes hold, cradled with reverence as if by a cupbearer while riding teeth and bone and when she comes she forgets everything, she forgets herself.

Then the rain, the racketing of her heart, the cool air falling crisp like a fresh bed sheet over the sweat on her chest. The feint of dusk teases light and promises darkness along the ceiling and walls, the chair and the dresser. The year after Eddie died she painted the bedroom and rearranged the furniture in it, even scraped together money to buy a new bed, all to scuttle the memory monsters in her mind. It didn’t work. She can still walk into any room of the house with the taste of blood in the back of her mouth.

A needless, frantic fear blossoms and she props herself up on elbows, is about to ask, did I hurt you? when she hears a sigh of strange contentment from Caroline, who lies in half-sprawl across her, damp face pressed against her hip while lazily stroking her thigh.

“I’ve missed you,” Caroline says.

Time proves a better architect for memory, giving structure and substantiation through distance. Time and this—whatever it is. For herself she calls it love even if she still believes, as she does, that it is nothing of the sort for Caroline—fondness and lust, a serious case of like.

She slides down the bed and reverses their positions, carefully placing herself between Caroline’s thighs, pushing, pushing, entering her, slow and steady until Caroline’s kiss dissolves into raw pulsing gasps that fill Gillian’s open mouth and it’s sweet, there’s honey in her throat, between her legs, running wild through her veins and sticky against her skin, persistent gold and relentless like the rain, which rains and rains and reigns all night long.

CHAPTER SOUNDTRACK: Sharon Van Etten: “Love More” Angel Olson: “Sister” Portishead: “It’s a Fire”

NOTES:

The book Caroline talks about is W.G. Sebald’s On the Natural History of Destruction.

Chapter title shows that Shirley Hazzard is still on my mind, I reckon; her last novel was titled The Great Fire.

#last tango in wordy sex scenes #are we cool vincent

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