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ihaveastorminme · 1 year

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I know it's been years but there's hope you'll ever finished "how ruthless..."? I've been needing to read that story's ending to have some closure for so long 😭

hi anon, thank you so much for the question and the love implied, because im so happy that you still like this story and want to see it finished.

i have been saying forever than i am still writing, and i have - but those have been mostly edits and re-writes of things that i had written before, to fit a different mood so theres not anything new. im going to add under the cut one scene that is completely new and the opening scene of the new chapter im working on.

[and also add here what has been stopping me this whole time from completing this story that i very much want to complete.]

warned, very long post follows.

at first i changed my mind on the very arc of the characters. it started with jon being this flamboyant character who used melodramatics to mask his true self. that part where sansa tells him that she doesnt think he really loves her, was actually true. he did not, but she had kinf of fulfilled a fantasy for him and he was heavily involved with his idea of her, rather than the real person. and as i kept writing him i also wanted to portray the reason why he is so closed off, and his differences between who he used to be and who he is - and all those led me to believe that i hadnt really SHOWN the way the vioelnce in his past affected him. and that led me to write a more serious character, one that would just as easily confuse his feelings for sansa but express that confusion differently.

and sansa herself - i wrote her as very emotionally open, very easily connecting with jon - which is still a thing in the current version of the story - but also admitting those feelings easily to herself. and THAT last part didnt then make sense with her character. or rather where i wanted to take her character. i needed her figuring out that littelfinger has been behind her isolation and paranoya and all of that, to hit harder than it did. and it coudlnt the way i had written her the first time, because she had admitted her feelings for jon at least to herself. in this version, she never does. she never even considers it a possibility. one of the reasons she - subconciously - doesnt want to be around him is because she feels this very strong affinity for him, and she has been brainwashed, so to speak, to completely distrust her feelings about people. coming out of that needs a lot more time.

even as it is i think that the 'conflict' is still king of flimsy, but i also dont think that really matters to me much.

SECOND THING - i needed to add to two themes that were either very underdeveloped or missing entirely. one, a scene where jon sees the way sansa is treated in court, and reacts to it by 'crowning' her. i 'told' that scene before, and it needed to be shown, because sansa's reaction to that was severe, and though in the new version it is not, it is still portrayed as a very stupid thing jon did, out of impulse, and not like, actual outright intent to push her as in the first time.

second, i needed to flesh out where this 'image' of sansa in the eyes of the dragoncourt comes from. its not something she fashioned. its something that she simply uses. in this new light, her opening up to jon in the riverlands makes more sense, because she doesnt really lie, in king's landing. she just... doesnt make a spectacle out of correcting people's assumptions and has chosen to use them - same as Jon does , really, but sansa uses the assumption of weakness that has been put on her, while Jon uses the assumption of heartlessness. and both kinda sortea believe they are what others say they are, even as they scorn it, even as they wear it as a mask. which is the more insidious part of this whole thing. for sansa - her relationship with Viserys was abusive, and HE was the one who shaped the idea of who sansa was, that other people parrot back. i have never said this in the fic, not even in the re-written version, but the hints are there. and they were not before. i felt it was needed to make her character more cohesive, more believable, and also to build that bomb that was supposed to be Sansa realizing that it was Petyr, and not Viserys, who took Beth from her. ... i still have my doubts that i have managed to make it have the intended weight but as it is , its good enough for me not to obsess about it.

oh i also fixed what i thought was a pacing issue. there is no more picnic feast, it all happens in one night, one feast in the great hall. most of the conversations stay teh same, i have added one or two lines here and there, or removed some without much consequence. i wanted it done this way because i kept thinking of the timing of these things happening, and through realistically, it might have worked out. aka, this happenign in real life - in the story, it dragged down a part of the story where things needed to happen very fast for the tension to build apropriately.]

scene 1. golden laurels

The throne room was alight with music and laughter, the scents of roasted meats and pies. The wine was flowing freely. The music was beautiful and for the most part there had hardly been any fighting. It was overpowering, like too tight of an embrace, but one you could not bear to part with.

Not all celebrated the same thing or in the same way. This was Jon after all, that they were supposed to be honoring, and he was too distrusted and misliked for it to be any other way. But as she made her way through the hall, greeting people and indulging them with flattery and charm, Daenerys believed that the mood was positive enough. And either way, this was one of those rare times when she had decided she did not have to care, but rather could enough the feast and the joy of the occasion.

“-But do you not think that such a dealing could potentially overstep your mandate?”

“I do not,” Jon said firmly. “If a lord passes a law which he then violates, claiming to do so to calm an angry populace, that is wrong enough. And he is twice to blame if that anger is one that he himself created. Daenerys! A word.”

Jon did not even apologise; he just strode in her direction the moment he caught sight of her, leaving his interlocutors behind. Dany barely contained her grin.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying your celebration.”

Jon only shrugged before downing his wine. “They grow tedious quickly. Everyone wants something.”

“And this surprises you?”

“No. Where is Lady Stark?”

Dany blinked at his abruptness. “I certainly have no idea. Why?”

“Why is she not here? Half of King’s Landing seems to be.” He looked impassive enough, but she could see the truth of it in his hard eyes: it was a wonder anyone had spoken to him so far without getting cut.

“I told you, Sansa doesn’t like to attend court-”

“Unless she must, I remember.” But even as he spoke he’d already looked away from her, searching for someone. He caught one of the serving girls as she passed him by.

“See that woman there, with the dark hair and the red Lyseni gown?” he said before even giving the startled girl the time to curtsey.

“Lady Shae, your grace?”

“Yes. Tell her to come to me.”

“Yes, your grace.”

The girl hurried away. Daenerys stared hard at Jon’s face, consciously preventing herself the frown that her confusion was trying to stamp on her face.

“Jon, what on earth is the matter with you?”

“Nothing at all. Lady Shae, good evening. I don’t see my cousin. Is she not here?”

Shae had just risen from her usual awkward curtsey. She could do a perfectly good one when she felt like it, but there was a particular brand of insolence that ran strong in this girl and that she refused to surrender. Like the flat look she was giving Jon in that moment, for instance. There was nothing subtle about that.

“My lady is at prayer,” Shae said curtly. Jon’s grey eyes glinted with suppressed emotion.

“I would like her to honor me by joining the celebrations.”

Shae did not give in an inch. “Lady Stark is indisposed.”

“Indisposed…” It was as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth. “Well, that's a shame isn't it? She will have to change her disposition into one that is more favourable.”

Shae did not know Jon enough to know that he only spoke this softly when he was well and truly furious, but she was smart enough to recognize a threat when she heard one. Dany saw her tighten her jaw as if she was biting back the insult that lit up her eyes.

“I have news she will want to hear,” Jon pressed on. ”And she owes me a word or two of her own.”

“She owes you nothing.”

Shae spoke without inflection or emotion, her gaze unflinching and unafraid. Daenerys felt a shiver crawl up her spine. It was not fear, for no matter how fierce his reputation, how black his moods or the stinging of his indifference, Dany could never bring herself to fear Jon. It was merely the memory of old fears; the many lessons her brother had taught her, that her flesh had not yet shed.

Shae’s words seemed to have a curious effect on Jon too. His face darkened, yes, eyes flashing with a strong feeling that Dany knew was wrath. But then it cleared, like the sky after a flash storm. It looked as if he’d been given an answer to a question he did not even know he was asking.

“That is true,” Jon admitted. “But not for you to say.”

“Even so.”

“Tell your lady I require her presence. She would not refuse me.” Jon repeated, sounding like his own self again and calmer than he’d had all day. Then he smiled and it was a fierce and mischievous thing. “But if she does, remind her that I am the man to come get her myself.”

Shae arched one brow. “Truly? And which one of your many selves should my lady expect? The black prince, the black bastard, or her cousin?”

“Shae!” Dany hissed, straining to keep her face impassive, but Jon laughed loud enough to turn heads.

“All of them of course. It will not surprise her one bit to hear it,” Jon finally managed to say, a hand going over his face to help wipe the smile off his lips. “As i'm sure we both know, your lady believes everything.”

Shae was not amused nor did she seem reassured. She did not bother with the pretence of curtesy, simply giving them both her back and disappeared among the crowd. The moment she was out of sight, Dany turned to Jon. “What are you doing?”

“Inviting my cousin to my celebration.” He looked at her as if she was the strange one. “Why, what does it look like I am doing?”

Dany could not believe what she was seeing. “It looks like you’ve lost your senses.”

“There are many who would debate you on whether or not I ever had any.”

Dany huffed. “Spare me.” And her contempt must have shown because Jon laughed some more. He may not care a single whit about it but he was behaving in ways that were bound to fuel the idiotic rumors that had been swirling about the Red Keep for the past moon.

“Jon, I warn you, do not make a scene.”

“Of course not. Excuse me, my company is in high demand tonight.”

He pulled away from her and walked towards the balconies, stopping only to speak with one of his men, no doubt to tell him to watch for Sansa’s arrival. Which would be never, of course. Sansa was not one to succumb to such clumsy manners or threats. She would not come… which was a problem of its own, because Jon was not one to issue idle threats either.

What the fuck was the matter with him anyway? Sansa had not said anything to imply they had shared more words than politely necessary, which had been easy to believe: only a small handful of people could go further than that with lady Stark. Few bothered to presume it possible or necessary. Dany had simply assumed she would be that way with Jon as well. Worse even, because it had been obvious that he intended to use her for something, up there in the Riverlands.

As she was contemplating her options, Daenerys heard the chatter of the hall momentarily rise, swelling like a wave and then crashing down, expanding its ripple throughout the hall. There was open laughter pattered throughout, thought quickly shushed. Dany turned then and saw Sansa entering the hall through its northern gate, flanked by Jeyne and Shae. Her temper heated to witness the side-along glances and the little smiles that followed her. Dany knew what they were sneering at: Shae had been true to her word, Sansa really had been at prayer and it was quite plain to see. Aside from the diamonds in her ears, she had no jewellery to adorn her. Intricate hairstyles were the rule in official celebrations like this, the more elaborate the better, to better show the opulence of those wearing it. Sansa had her veil on, it fluttered with her every step like a silver cloud trailing behind her. The copper curls beneath it were unbound, unstyled. Her luminous dove-grey dress was exquisite, but despite how it flattered the line of her body or the lovely way the straight neckline exposed her collarbones and the tops of her shoulders, it was a downright conservative choice for a royal feast.

Of course, none of this had been accidental. Sansa built herself up layer by layer every day, wielding her many selves the same way knights did sword and armour. There was a reason for every piece; this hall was simply not her intended audience. And yet, even here, the meaning shone through: the fine silver sheen of her silk dress immediately traced it to the silkworm farms of northern Dorne, famous for the almost metallic shine of their fabrics and sole dominion of the queen, who from time to time bestowed bundles of the rare fabric as gifts, marking out those that had her favour. Sansa had embroidered the jaws of a snarling direwolf on the right half the bodice in white pearls, its open jaws framing her breast, its tail curling among her skirts. Her diamonds were from the mines of the Stony Shore, the pearls from the Trident. She was courting Hardying by reflecting back at him the narrow idea that his underdeveloped imagination fancied was the perfect highborn maiden, while inflating his pride with suggestions of the power he’d stand to gain by possessing her. It was such an elegant hunt, Dany admired it even if she scorned the prey.

And he would fall, of course. For all of his gallivanting on horseback, Sansa had more practice hunting than Harrold Hardying, who, despite all his failings, was an altogether different beast from Sansa’s previous ones. She would have no trouble muzzling him, Dany knew. She had muzzled worse. But it was not Harry Hardying’s eye that she drew now.

Jon reached Sansa faster than Dany did. It was as if he had materialised in front of her, so sudden was his appearance. Dany’s dread heightened but she couldn’t very well run through the hall and draw even more eyes than were already on them. Daenerys had not even taken three steps in their direction however, when she was herself intercepted. Margery came towards her, with Garlan in tow and a handful of Tyrell cousins. They all curtsied for her and Garlan kissed her palm.

“Princess, my congratulations. The feast is splendid.” Margery leaned in to kiss Dany’s cheeks, her smile brilliant. Dany’s answering one was small and it did not reach her eyes. She had not forgotten fat Tyrell’s insult to Elia during Blackamont’s hearing. Daenerys was not about to welcome them warmly.

“Thank you. I am glad you are enjoying the festivities.”

“We certainly are.” One of the girls admitted, looking to the others for confirmation. “The music has been wonderful; we have hardly managed to sit down for one reel at a time.”

Dany chuckled. “I will extend my compliments to the singers and the players.”

“To organise all this in a week is truly a feat, your grace,” Garlan pointed out, his enthusiasm more subdued than his sister, and therefore more tolerable. “I daresay there will be no better managed keep in the realm than the one you chose to make your future home.”

The allusion to her future marriage was one that would have sparked her ire, but she knew enough of Garlan to know that he only meant it as a compliment. That he was the Tyrell Rhaenys liked best, aside from her own husband, spoke highly of his character. “That is very kind.”

“Not at all.”

“And how is the prince enjoying his accolades?”

“I have scarce had the chance to ask,” Dany said, glad that she could find a use for her current company. “Would you like to join me and find out?”

“Why certainly,” Margery said, delighted. Garlan offered his right arm to Daenerys, his left to his sister and together they moved to Jon. He was still where Dany had last seen him: with Sansa just past the northern gates, where the dragon heads were of the height of a tall man. Tyrion had also found his way to them, standing next to his lady as was his custom. As they neared, they caught the tail end of their conversation.

“It was not common rain,” Dany heard Tyrion. “It lasted for two weeks. That may be seen in the stormlands but King’s Landing was simply not equipped for it. The deluge claimed homes and shops and people alike. Fleabottom was flooded, hundreds of people died. And the Citadel has already sent out warnings it may happen again at the break of summer. Princess, Lady Margery, good evening.”

Tyrion managed to bow his neck an inch greeting them. Daenerys held back a snort. “Lord Tyrion. Nephew. I bring you well-wishers.”

Daenerys came to stand at Sansa’s side, putting herself Garlan and Margery between Sansa and Jon, forcing them all into a wider circle. Margery curtsied, the emerald that pinned the crown of braids on top of her head catching the light.

“My brother and I wished to offer congratulations on the behalf of my house. We are so very glad to see such honors being bestowed on one so worthy.”

Jon inclined his head to her. “Thank you, lady.”

“I was told you brought great relief to the people of the riverlands.” Margery continued, and Jon’s attention, which had strayed from her to Tyron, was brought back around.

“I made myself useful.” The side of his mouth curved upward slightly. “It’s one of my few good qualities.”

“Few, you say,” Margery teased. “Apparently modesty is among their number.”

“No, that was never one of my ailments.” Jon denied swiftly.

Margery’s laugh was like the chiming of silver bells. “I have all faith that you will put all your virtues and many gifts to good use, your grace.”

And Dany knew then, just by looking at her, her manner, the way she looked at him and stood beside him, how she spoke and even the way she moved her hands that Margery Tyrell was trying to endear herself to Jon. One look at Jon’s face and she knew he’d understood the same thing. And though her anger was for the closest target first, Dany knew that it was Margery’s pug-faced father that was to blame for this new development.

Was the Black Bastard good enough for the rose of Highgarden, now that he officially sat on the King’s council, Dany wondered bitterly. Now that they thought he finally had the king;s favour?

It could not be so easy.

“Lady Sansa, you look lovely this evening.” One of the Tyrell cousins said softly. Her hair was arranged less conspicuously than her cousin and she wore a fainter shade of green and gold, but she was lovely, and not at all sincere. Dany disliked her immediately, as she disliked the slant of her smile and the glances the other two girls exchanged. But Sansa received the words as if they were most plainly meant.

“Thank you, lady Gena. You all look lovely as well. You must tell me the name of your dressmaker.”

“I gladly would, my lady but I fear you will be disappointed with her. She is far too frivolous a creature to suit your sober taste.”

Sansa acknowledged this with a nod, choosing to not speak on the implied insult.

“Don’t be silly, Gena,” Margery said. “Can’t you tell lady Sansa has come from the sept? Is that not so, my lady?”

“It is. I wished to congratulate his grace, before I retired.” Sansa explained, the lie so smooth on her lips that had Sany not known differently, she would have believed her.

“I am sorry to have disturbed your prayers, cousin.”

He was a shameless liar and a villain, but Dany already knew this. She met his eye and Jon smiled as if he’d snatched the thought right out of her head and found it hilarious.

Jon turned to Sansa. “Which gods were you praying to this time?”

“The Seven, your grace.”

He did not smile, but Dany knew Jon enough to tell that something about Sansa’s answer amused him deeply. It danced in his eyes.

“I am curious, what would a lady such as yourself pray for?” Tyrion interceded.

“What do you care for prayer?” Shae asked, looking Tyrion over. “You don't believe in anything.”

“Which is why I am so curious, my lady.” Tyrion explained, full of mirth for whatever reason.

“I pray for wisdom not to fear shadows, my lord,” Sansa answered softly. “And the courage to face them, when danger truly dawns.”

Jon’s lips curled upwards. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Sansa inclined her head. “As you say, your grace.”

It was strange, Dany thought, to see two people so important to her, speaking to one another for the first time from this close. They had spoken before of course, but the way they looked at each other now was different. And unlike the other times, their proximity in that moment highlighted how opposite they had always seemed to her: Jon, with his darkness and intensity that carried all before him, and Sansa, silver-bright with her glacial calm that moved for no one. Like the two faces of the moon, it seemed impossible that they should share the same space at the same time.

And share it they did: if before Jon had been standing too close, now he could no longer, but still, Sansa could not move an inch, without Jon mirroring her, whether it was shifting his body so it was facing her exactly or inclining his head if she looked away as if he was inching to put himself back into her line of vision.

Daenerys knew these little tics about him. She had seen them before. She doubted he even noticed he was doing it.

“Were you just now speaking of the great deluge of three years ago?” Dany asked, trying to divert attention. Perhaps if she distracted them with politics, she could give Sansa a chance to slip away. It was a game they had played so many times, but the way Jon ket looking at Sansa, as if he was convinced if he blinked too slow she might disappear, did not make her hope very likely. If she left, he would follow Dany was certain: Jon had the very bad habit of not thinking very well when he was in his temper.

Dany did not want to stop and think what was making him act this way. She would need her calm undamaged.

“We were.”

“We suffered in Highgarden too. Many lives were lost,” Margery said her tone softening as it should when she mentioned the loss. “But as I heart it was nowhere near as bad as the crownlands.”

“The rain was bad enough, but the tales were worse.”

“Tales?” Garlan turned to look at Dany.

“A monster was apparently seen prowling the streets through the storms.”

“What kind of monster?” Jon pressed.

“A mule's head on the body of a whore, men said,” Dany began. “One human arm, the other's an elephant's trunk. On its back, the bearded face of an old man. A tail like a neck, ending with a snake's head. Scaly limbs. It's left foot like a hoof, the right an eagle's talon.”

“Well that certainly sounds horrific.” Garlan pointed out.

“It sounds like a fiction born of exhaustion, anxiety and too much wine.” Tyrion countered.

Dany could not help but agree. The whole thing sounded ridiculous in her mind. She remembered those rains. Even when the tall was light, the wind was such that one could hardly see five feet in front of one’s hand, let alone have vision sharp enough to tell what was a hoof and if arms were scaled.

“All the same, people were afraid,” Dany remembered their cries, how every time the curtain of rain eased, you could hear them shouting from behind the gates. “They came up the hills crowding against the doors of the castle, seeking safety.”

“There were those that believed the deluge was sent by the gods as punishment,” Tyrion reminded her.

Margery frowned at him. “Punishment for what?”

“Oh, the usual: corruption, decay,” Tyrion smirked. “High lords safe behind their walls on their hills while common folk wade through mud up to their arse and see their children washed away.” He turned to Sansa then, quite unexpectedly. “You are the true believer among us, lady Stark. Do you think it was divine punishment?”

When all the others looked at Sansa, Dany looked to Jon. His eyes were fixed. And even if the intent in his eyes had not been plain enough, Dany would have still known that it was not a need to appear well-mannered in public that made him wait for Sansa’s answer, because he’d always distained such things, choosing to be openly provocatory, instead of submitting to falsity.

“I believe in the power of faith, of course. But I also believe in hope and charity. In welcoming people in, when they’re in need, sharing one’s fire with them and the food of one’s table. Assuaging the fears of those who are frightened.”

Gena chuckled. “There are the words of a true devotee.”

“Are they?” Jon was not smiling. “They sound more like Stark words to me.”

He was looking at Sansa as if he could hear exactly what thoughts were turning in her head, which would have been a gift indeed since Sansa’s face was the picture of blank serenity, with nothing at all moving behind her eyes.

“How do you mean, your grace?” Margery asked, and if Dany did not know better she would have thought her suspicious.

“Sharing food, hearth and home is the only way to survive the deep winter.” Jon explained, looking to Margery one more. “When the snows fall fifteen feet deep, Wintertown, Barrowtown and White Harbour welcome the whole of the north. Most of the time supplies from Winterfell’s glass gardens are the difference between life and death for a great many people that are hungry and cold and scared.”

“Of course;” Margery’s eyes fell on the jaws of the direwolf on Sansa’s bodice and a small smile curved up her lips. “Our Sansa is such a gentle soul, one could be forgiven for forgetting the fierceness of her forebears.”

That was a bold-faced lie; no one forgot. It had simply been a long time since anyone cared for what it truly meant. There were some ideas, Dany thought, that once formed, took root deep. And the main ideas that had shaped who Sansa was to the court, had been moulded by hands that were not present tonight. Though he needn't be for how well people kept dancing to his tunes.

“An understandable mistake, considering.” Tyrion said. Dany pinned him with a sharp look that he answered with his own crooked smile.

“I do not know about that, my lord,” Margery insisted, looking at Sansa again. “While the lady is devoted to the seven, I am quite sure she prays to the old gods too, do you not Sansa? And I still remember how aggrieved she was to lose her little northern wolf, years back. Why, I believe she wore mourning clothes for months.”

Dany felt her blood run cold.

“Did you?” Jon’s question was direct, spoken as if he and Sansa were alone.

“A child’s fancy, your grace,” Sansa dismissed.

The scorn lingered in the coldness of his eyes. His little smile could not quite conceal it. “That so?”

Margery laughed at Jon’s softly spoken words. She did not understand him. Dany felt as if she’d stepped back in time, playing in a piece of theatre complete with the tittering of the ladies around them. But this was not Viserys’ company – the similarities were shallow at best; one look at Jon’s face, one true look and it would be known. Dany could not understand how Margery did not sense the danger. She was usually so perceptive. But Jon was unknown to so many, deliberately so, his passions so often misunderstood. And he had turned his body towards Margery Tyrell for the first time since she tried to get his attention, leaned into her space a little bit, interested, intent. He had scented the lurking filth the way beasts scent blood and he was after it. Dany knew this because she knew him. And she knew none of these people, save perhaps Tyrion, understood what they were stepping into, because she also remembered how easy it had been, once, in this very court, among these same fine people, to get the attention and favour of another prince by practising the games that he’d best enjoyed.

Perhaps Margery was trying to do that now, but it would go badly for her. That was Dany’s one consolation. Because though she might have understood something of Viserys, Margery Tyrell knew nothing of Jon and could not see… could not see the similarities were skin deep. She could not get the truth of it, because ideas, Dany reminded herself, had roots deeper than a hundred-year-old oak.

“Why yes, your grace. It went well within summer. But despite everyone pleading for her to shed her mourning and enjoy the renewal of the season, our lady refused. Even at the urging of the high septon. She turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to all. The picture of wilfulness indeed.”

There was no expected surprise on Jon’s face. Only a thin smile. “And how was she dissuaded?”

Margery bit her lip, coy. “She was not. The late prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys had to cut her out of them.” She laughed as she said it. “Then all the princess ladies got together, and we dressed her fit for summer once more.”

She said it as if it was a funny jape. And there were those who laughed. Even Sansa smiled, as if she could see the humour and was indulging a good friend with their shared history. But Tyrion’s eyes were searching his cup, his lips twisted in a sneer. Jeyne was looking at the floor and Shae looked fit to cut Margery Tyrell a red smile of her own. And Jon…

Jon’s eyes met Dany’s with the force of a hammer.

“Sounds like a grand time,” he spoke so softly, it was a wonder Dany heard it. But she did, and heard the words beneath the words as clear as a bell too. His eyes shone like polished steel. “I would have liked to be there and see it myself.”

Margery shrieked. “Ser, you are wicked. There would have been nothing at all for you to see, since we stole the lady away the moment her ribbons were cut.” Margery turned to Sansa with a brilliant smile. “But it was such wicked fun. By the time we reached the princess’ rooms I remember we were crying with laughter.”

“So. My fair cousin was stubborn once, many years ago,” Jon finally said, “Is that the only fault to be laid at lady Stark’s feet?”

“Oh, yes. The only one,” Margery smiled at Sansa, who mirrored her expression. Though the warmth had drained from her cheeks and made her look bone white against the flickering of the candles, her expression remained calm and unbothered. “Which of course I can only admire.”

“We all do, of course.” Genna added. “One cannot help it.”

Dany saw Shae take a breath as if she was about to speak, saw Jeyne move to grasp her wrist. Jon was faster than them both.

“Which reminds me, I owe you my thanks, cousin.”

The words themselves were plain enough. It was in his face that you could see the truth of it, the blistering feeling that animated him. It took just a glance for Dany to know he was about to do something stupid.

Sansa’s brows twitched together, the only manifestation of her confusion.

“Had it not been for insistence and prudent council, matters in the Riverlands might have been resolved very differently. And I daresay, quite more violently.”

“You’re too kind, your grace.”

Even Daenerys heard it. Do not.

Jon was deaf to it.

“I’m not. In fact, I say it would be only fair to share the day with you,” Jon said as if the thought had just occurred to him and Dany never knew that praise could be spoken so angrily, but there she stood and she heard it same as everyone else did.

“I would never presume-”

“You’re not presuming anything, though, are you?” and Jon did smile then, a true smile, which Sansa looked away from.

He put his cup down and plucked the wreath of golden laurels from his head. Dany realized what he meant to do the moment Sansa - and just about everyone else who had been paying attention - did. Sansa’s composure cracked, her surprise palpable in her wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Even the music had stopped.

Dany could not breathe. He might as well have just declared his intention to have her, right there for all to hear, for how unmistakable his actions were.

What was he doing?

Two steps ate the distance between the two of them. Sansa seemed frozen into marble, she did not even seem to be breathing. Jon unpinned her veil with one hand, letting it flutter to the floor, and settled the wreath on her head carefully. It was a touch too big for her, but Sansa’s curls kept it from falling to her ears.

A pocket of silence had formed around them. Dany could already see heads further away from their small circle, starting to turn.

“A royal gift for a lady worthy of it,” he stepped back, the look on his face fond. “I give it freely, along with my gratitude.”

Dany looked around, marking the stunned expressions that surrounded them. Margery’s eyes had narrowed, her cousins were already whispering. Garlan alone seemed to be wearing the ghost of a smile, which Tyrion grinned at her. If some version of this moment did not burn through King’s Landing within the end of the day, Daenerys would eat her favorite dress.

Finally, Dany could no longer hold back her miserable doubts. She let them wash over her and they gave her terrible pause. Could it possibly be true?

“Forgive me, your grace. Any words I know are too feeble to express my feelings in this moment.” Sansa said then, words barely above a whisper.

That was probably very true, Dany thought as she watched Sansa’s chest heaving with short, fast breaths. Nerves, most would think. Overcome with emotion. But then again, most people had not spent so much time in Sansa Stark’s company and would not be able to read anger in the stiff line of her shoulders, in her downturned eyes, so fixedly staring at the ground for fear they would give her away.

Dany did not think Jon was aware of it either, until she saw that a small frown had made its way between his brows. “No need for any, then.”

Congratulations and questions started pouring in. Sansa fended them off graciously, modestly. And as she watched, Dany wondered how it must feel for her, to receive smiles and praises from some of the very same people that had laughed at her before, who had abandoned her when she had been in need. People who, dany felt sure, would have not hesitated to mock her even now if Jon had given the slightest hint that it would have amused him.

She turned to look at Margery, who was very jovially saying something Dany only caught the tail end of.

“Indeed, to hear Lady Stark tell it, she did nothing but keep company with the ladies the entire time.”

Jon did not seem overly impressed. “She did that too.”

Margery laughed, her discerning eyes going from one to the other. “Well, aren’t the two of you a puzzle.”

“My cousin gives good advice and asks the right questions. There is nothing more to puzzle out.”

“Of course, a lady always needs to be very discerning in her daily duties,” Margery said with a nod.

Sansa caught Dany’s eye over their conversation. Finally, in the ensuing confusion, Dany saw her chance.

“Discerning and beautiful and modest,” Dany said as she took a step and put herself in front of Sansa, offering her hand with a grin. “Will the lady gift me with a dance, so that I may bask in her graces some more?”

Sansa put her hand in Daenerys’ outstretched one. “I would be honoured.”

Margery gasped. “Oh but you cannot deprive us of Lady Stark so soon. She has not even begun her story.”

“I can and I shall,” Dany said haughtily. “Like all dragons, I guard my treasures jealously.”

It caused laughter, which had been Dany’s intent: distract with charm and get Sansa away. They did dance and when Shae approached and abruptly told Sansa that Yohn Royce and Harry Hardyign awaited her, Daenerys let her go. Sansa left so quickly, it was a wonder she did not run. And, as Dany watched, she noticed that it was not anywhere in the hall that Shae led her, but outside into the gardens. A lie then. Good. Dany calmed further when she saw that Jon had had the wisdom not to follow but was rather having a conversation with some of Stannis’ men.

Daenerys turned away. She could not even look at him without her temper rising.

“Aunt.”

Dany startled to hear Aegon’s voice so close behind her. She jutted her arm backwards, causing Aegon to grunt.

“Gods you have sharp elbows.”

“How many times must I tell you not to startle me like that?”

“Well, then you should make such funny noises when i do, should you?”

He put a cup in her hands and came to stand by her side. “Did I mishear, or did my brother just crown Sansa Stark for something or other, with the very wreath of laurels the king gave him?”

“You did not mishear.”

Aegon blinked as if he struggled to understand. “You mean - he did that here?”

“He did.” She said through gritted teeth. He ahd done precisely what she’d told him not to do.

Aegon’s laughter was shocked and disbelieving both. “What can he mean by it?”

Fucked if I know, Dany thought. Outwardly, she shrugged.

Aegon took a long drink from his cup, thinking it over. “Do you think it’s true?” he asked finally, voice low, before he grinned at her. “That the dreaded black prince has finally fallen in love and forgotten you?”

Dany gave Aegon a scathing look. “Court gossip is ridiculous, and you must be drunker than you look to believe it.”

In truth, she did not know what to think. Ever since he’d come back, Jon had been a mystery. He’d never been easy to read by any means, but at least before he would share his mind with her.

She might have believed him in love, if this was five years ago and his true smiles were not rarer now than snow was in Dorne. He had been slow to trust before too, but never slow to love. Indeed, once, when he was still a boy, love had come so easily to him, it still broke her heart to remember it. He used to give armfuls of it to anyone who showed him the smallest kindness.

They’d both been such sad children.

But they were children no longer, Dany reminded herself sternly. And much had changed since then. The Jon Dany knew now could never fall in love in little more than a month, with a woman he’d hardly met before. The more she thought of it, the less possible it sounded. And then… then strange thoughts began clouding her mind. And more and more they darkened her judgment.

No, she would have answers from him, be it the last thing she ever had from him.

and the new scene - the opening scene of the next chapter, after the fight in the red keep between lannister and stark men, for Shae.

i. ambush

Rhaenys rode her horse inside the courtyard at breakneck speed, her guards far behind her. When she saw him, she urged her mound in his direction, making slow circles around him as she paced her stallion down.

“Half brother.”

She sounded studiously bored, which meant someone had thinned her patience quite a bit. An interesting feat considering it as so early in the morning.

“Dear sister.”

Rhaenys made a face at him. “Where are you coming from?” She asked as she dismounted, handing the reins to one of the stable boys.

“The market.”

“You mean the brothels?”

“If you like.” Jon said with a shrug.

“You should have come to prayer. You need it.”

They started walking towards the Red Keep together. “I don’t hold with the seven.” Though he found it hilarious that she pretended to.

“Might give the septons praying for your soul’s salvation a crumb or two.”

“I don't hold with giving people false hope either.” Jon said then. “It happens to be the reason i don't hold to the seven.”

“Yes, yes you're very clever.”

“You find my wit tedious, I know.” Jon looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Just like I know you don’t believe in the seven either.”

“I have recently changed my mind on that account.”

Jon’s laugh was dry. “You want me to believe your stay with the Tyrells has made you pious? Even Willas cannot have that power.”

“One might argue,” Ser Arthur suggested calmly as he reached them, “That the fact the princess has yet to strangle any of her good-family - or you - might be proof of divine intervention.”

“You make a good point, ser.” Jon conceded. “Though I have always thought my half sister to be more practical than to attempt murder by strangulation.”

“I am indeed - and clever enough not to need to murder people, when i can simply persuade them to obey.”

“I do not think threats and coercion count as persuasion.”

“They do if you do it right.”

“Unlike me, you mean.”

They passed beneath archways of the great hall. “Well, if you feel the burn of my words, that is no fault of mine.”

“Come Rhaenys, no need to be shy.”

She scoffed and looked at him with derision form the corner of her eye. “I haven’t been shy a day in my life.”

Oh she wanted everyone to believe that, but he remembered differently. Yet, Jon smiled anyway. “If you keep rolling your eyes that hard, they will roll right out of your head.”

“Yes, Pycelle used to tell me the same thing.” Her grin was all teeth. “You must be so proud to match the wit of a man whose balls brush his knees.”

“Great age allows for great wisdom.”

“Do not hold out hope for that. No matter how much time it spends trying to, wisdom will never penetrate through your thick skull.”

Finally Jon laughed. “You’re in fine form this morning.”

“She’s been practicing with the high septon.”

Jon looked at his half sister with great perplexion. “What for?”

“Yes, that was a question I asked myself too, about five blinks into the conversation with the man. Gods he’s dull.”

Jon stopped abruptly, an icy shiver running down his spine. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on its ends, responding to a danger that was nowhere near him, and as real as the walls about him.

Ghost.

Rhaenys turned back to look at him, perplexed. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” But his heart was already speeding up, legs carrying him forward. Sansa would have taken the garden path back to the castle, Jon thought as he started taking the entrance stairs in front of him two at a time. It was not so far from here.

“Where are you going? What is it?” Rhaenys grew more angry with each unanswered question. "Is it mother?”

When he heard the sounds of clashing steel, Jon started running. Arthur ordered the guards at the entrance with him.

“Jon, don’t!” Arthur warned. Jon did not heed him.

Arthur dry his blade and stopped at the entrance of the hall just as Jon did. “By the all thundering gods…”

The scene appeared to him all at once, all the details entering his mind in the space it took him to draw his sword. He surged forward, disarming the first redcloak he saw, blood running cold at the sight of Sansa on the ground, painted gruesome red on one side.

Please…

“What are you- Stop this madness in the name of your king!” Rhaenys’s shout echoed over the sounds of clashing steel but the fight was so fierce and so close, none could stop without risking their own skin.

Jon saw his half sister unsheathe the dagger from her belt, sharp and long as her forearm. She slashed at the thigh of the first redcloak she reached, twisted his wrist to steal his sword.

Jon kneed him away from her. “Stay back.”

“Fuck off!”

“Drop your swords or I will see you all hang for treason!” ser Arthur’s voice managed to draw attention, but it was too late. The stroke was already falling. The blade catching skin, his uncle brought to his knees. Sansa’s scream was terrible enough to draw blood from stone.

Ghost jumped. They tasted the man’s blood. They howled in rage and pain when the arrow bit into their shoulder. It was that red rage that propelled him to move, a measure of all the small cuts that had demanded his restraint for weeks in this place, the pent up fury of having to smile in the face of those who had earned meeting his fists, until he had to walk here and find his own people bloodied broken and-

With a howl he cut the archer’s throat so deep, he reached bone. He stalked the two men to his left, who had stopped fighting yet met his look with wide frightened eyes of their own. And thought Jon knew it was fear that made them raise their sword against him, he still threw himself at them, fighting both at the same time until he kicked one against the wall and took the head clean off the other one. He did not turn to see it land with a metallic clang a foot away. He parried the blow of the second soldier who had recuperated his breath enough to defend himself, twisted his arm out of the way and got in close enough to knee the other man in the balls. He doubled over, sword falling from his hand. Jon kneed him again in the face, felt the metal nose-protection cut into his knee and then out of sheer anger kneed him again before slashing at his throat. He fell and Jon would have taken his head too, had not something slammed against his side hard enough to make him lose his footing.

Jon did not mind the breath being driven from his lungs or the stinging of his ribs. He turned with a growl, and his steel met the milky white of Dawn as Arthur parried his blow, scowling.

“I said enough!” Arthur bit out, face close enough to his that Jon knew he was keeping himself from grabbing Jon by the hair and shaking him.

Jon lowered his blade. There was no one left to kill anyway.

Arthur pushed him aside, kneeling down to see to the man whose throat Jon had opened before looking up at him with severe accusation and distain. Jon met the knight’s accusing stare without shame or regret. Were it up to him, it would be Cersei Lannister’s throat he’d open next.

The quiet that came after seemed to echo, punctuated with groans, and far-away cries that were coming closer with every moment.

“Send for the maesters, now!” Rhaenys’ voice vibrated with anger. Her glare turned to Sansa and Cersei with equal fierceness. “And you. How dare you break the king’s peace in his own halls!”

“That beast attacked me!”

Jon gripped his sword again, spinning his blade and turning his body to better face the Lannister woman. She looked at him then, drawn by the motion, and eyed his sword and then his eyes, and Jon knew that she could see it clear as day that the blood of her men had not even begun to quench his thirst and it was her own he would see painting the stones red. She saw it clear and she hated it and it frightened her as much as her pride did not allow her to take a single step back from him.

Rhaenys’ lips pulled back from her teeth in her anger, as if she was ready to growl. “By the gods, woman, you will not lie to my face!”

Jon moved away to crouch by his uncle. He was not awake, but heartbeat was strong. He turned to Sansa then, tried to catch her by the shoulders, but she resisted, pressing down on Benjen’s leg with all her weight. He took hold of her arm.

“Sansa!”

She would not turn. She did not even seem to hear. Jon ripped the clasp of her cloak so that he could better see the state of her; traced his hands through the red on her neck, her face and hair, smearing the blood away, looking for a wound and, mercifully, finding none.

Of course. As his temper cooled and his fear eased he started thinking clearly again. That was arterial blood she was smeared with; too much for her to have spilled and lived. Of course.

More voices surrounded them. The thundering footsteps of guards and servants. Jon looked to Shae, the cut on her forehead, along her hairline. Searched along her body to find others.

“Are you wounded anywhere?”

Shae shook her head.

“Do you you feel dizzy, nauseous?”

“No.”

“My lady, let us take him.”

Jon looked up to see Pycelle standing over them. There were servants running about already, people speaking in all directions. He could hear Rhaenys just behind him, Arthur giving orders. Ghost limped towards them, an arrow sticking out of his right side, just at the shoulder.

Jon took hold of Sansa’s wrists. Her pulse was flying.

“Let go,” Jon urged gently. “Sansa, let them take him.”

There was a wildness in her eyes when she looked at him, her breaths sharp and shallow, only a thin ring of blue remaining in her eyes the rest eaten up by the black pupils blown wide with shock. She looked from him to the maester and to Benjen again, before she unhooked her fingers from the fabric of her cloak one by one, slowly. She stared at her bloodied hands as Jon moved her aside to let the master do his work.

The guards moved Benjen onto a stretcher.

“Will he live?” Jon asked.

Pycelle hummed. Looked beneath the tourniquet Sansa and Shae handmade. “It is not so deep that he should die. The belt was clever. Whether he will ever walk as he did, remains to be seen.”

The old man got to his feet with the help of his steward. He looked at Sansa up and down then. “And you, my lady? Are you hurt?”

Sansa also rose to her feet slowly. Jon reached for her, expecting her to stumble, afraid that she might, but she did not. Her hand fluttered to her middle as she stood, but it was only a nervous gesture she seemed to push down.

“I am well, thank you."

“I will see to your lady, then.”

“My lady stays with me.”

She spoke so bluntly, Pycelle was taken aback. But when she held out her hand, Shae went to Sansa immediately and they linked fingers together so tight it turned their knuckles white.

“Get to your work maester,” Jon ordered. “Lady Stark will see to her own woman.”

“I do not advise-“

“Get to it.” Jon barked, so harshly Pycelle took a step back. Jon spared not a look to his mutterings. He urged Ghost to sit and be still, lest the arrow hurt him more, and leaned in to take a closer look at the wound. It had pierced him shallowly on the side, shaft going through the skin and poking out the other side.

Jon took out his knife.

“What are you doing?”

He looked to Sansa, who had spoken the question. She sounded strange. Too calm.

Jon laid a hand on Ghost’s flank. Urged him to stillnes. “I will cut him and take the arrow out. It has caught him sideways, so it's not deep. It will hurt him less this way.”

With a murmured apology to his friend, slashed the couple of inches that the arrow had pierced. Ghost yelped, then growled but did not snap at him nor did he move. He bled freely, but the arrow came away whole.

“That will need sewing.”

“I’ve done it before.” Jon admitted, patting Ghost’s head.

When he turned to see her, Sansa was pressing a hand chief at the cut on Shae’s head. Shae pressed it against her own skin and kept it there. Sansa whispered something to her that Jon did not catch, before casting her eyes around, lingering on the headless corpse that was being taken away, on the man without an arm whose bleeding one of Pycelle’s helpers was trying to stop. She did not flinch nor look away. At the centre of the storm of movement and sound of the aftermath, Sansa Stark was completely still and silent. Jon knew she must be in a state of shock, but when she finally met her eyes, there was terrible awareness there.

“Where are my men?”

“To the nearest room that will take them.”

She blinked at him. “Were any of them dead?”

“I do not think so.” He stopped one of the servants. “Post one of your boys with the maesters. Have him take news to lady Stark of her men’s condition.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Then go to the barracks and find officer Grenn of my personal guard. Tell him he is to make his unit ready and meet me in the courtyard as soon as he is able.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Ser.”

Sansa’s voice stopped the young man, his brown eyes glancing quickly to the blood smeared on her before they found her face again.

“You will find Sandor Clegane in the barracks as well. Tell him that Lady Stark requires his presence, as a matter of urgency.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I will not be spoken to as if I were some common wench!”

“You will answer the questions asked, madam!” Rhaenys ordered, hand gripped right around the hilt of her sword as if it was taking all her patience not to raise it. “Or i will relinquish the courtesy of asking them and have you arrested this very moment as a woman of blood.”

Cersei Lannister took a step towards the princess. If that was meant to be a threat, it had little effect. Jon saw a muscle twitch on Rhaenys’ face at the Lannister woman’s nerve and met her advance with stillness and a raised chin that dared her to come any closer. The Lannister woman did not.

“I was robbed and attacked. My men were slain in this very hall, yet the Stark girl and her whore are allowed to go free while I am threatened?” Cersei Lannister’s lip curled back in disgust. “Has this kingdom fallen into into tyranny? Does Rheagar’s law no longer govern, even under his own roof?”

“As I informed your ladyship before you set your men upon us,” Sansa said then voice void of any feeling and deeper than her usual sweetened tone. “Whatever your accusation, it is against the king’s law to throw a noble lady in the black cells.”

“She is a foreign whore!”

“Enough!” Rhaenys’ face was set in harsh lines, eyes glinting with barely suppressed anger. “You will both be confined to your rooms. No one may be permitted in or out and you will leave your confinement only at the king’s order, and none other. Ser Arthur, I charge you with lady Lannister.” She handed the sword to a passing man, looking to Sansa. “I will escort lady Stark to her apartments myself.”

“I demand justice, princess.”

Rhaenys turned the full force of her disdain on the Lannister woman. “And I pray that you have it, my lady. But only when the king’s law gives it to you and not a moment sooner. And you will certainly not take it with your own savage hands.”

Ser Arthur stepped in front of Cersei. “After you, lady.”

“You do not command me, knight.”

Arthur remained impassive. “You can walk. Or be made to walk. I leave the choice to you.”

Cersei smiled, and it was an ugly thing. “I will have blood for this.”

When she’d turned the corner, Rhaenys came to stand in front of Sansa.

“I will take her.” Jon offered.

“You will not.”

“The king will have questions, princess.” Jon insisted. “You are better equipped to answer them than I.”

Rhaenys clenched her teeth. “Yes indeed, I am the one better equipped to explain to the king why you beheaded two men in his halls and opened the throat of a third when you could have easily disarmed them.”

“I will arrange a guard and keep the post until the kingsguard arrives.” Jon went on in the face of her anger. He leaned in close to his half sister and lowered his voice a fraction. “Let me do what I am meant to do. You alert the king, before he hears half a dozen false accounts of what happened here.”

“I do not know what happened here.” Rhaenys said through gritted teeth. She caught sight of something over his shoulder then and Jon did not have to turn to know she was looking at Sansa mostly because he knew she was just behind him, but also because of how his half sister’s downturned mouth twisted into a scowl. When she looked back to Jon her eyes were alight with renewed anger. Her words were a low hiss. “Keep her to her rooms and have her maids clean her. I will not have her appearing before the king like some slaughtered lamb.”

Jon mirrored her expression. “And why would that displease you?”

“Fuck you. There is no need for more of a spectacle. The carnage you left here will set the whole of king’s landing ablaze.”

“You think i give a fuck about any of it?”

Jon towered over his half sister, yet she did not seem to see or sense the difference of their sizes when she met his outrage with her own. Jon opened his mouth but Sansa spoke sooner, drawing the attention of both dragons to her and away from each other.

“If it please you, your grace, princess, I am ready to retire.”

so that is it. the action scene is choppy cause i havent edite yet, but that is where its going. this was a very long way of saying, i AM working on it, and very much want to finish it. its just been slow because ive gone back and edited so much.

thank you for still caring and for asking.

#jon snow #sansa stark #jonsa #actuallyjonsa #dragoncourt au #how ruthless are the gentle #idk if actuallyjonsa is still a tag #but nevermind.#anonymous

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whennnow · 9 months

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Regency Ribbon Bodices

July 8, 2021

[Image ID: a neck-to-hip photo of Alex wearing a blue ribbon bodice that ties in a bow at the front over a white Regency dress.]

I found an on Pinterest ages ago and fell in love with the idea of an over-bodice made of ribbons. Eventually (read: accidentally) I discovered its source - the July 1808 edition of "Journal des Luxus und der Moden".

Now, admittedly, my white Regency dress is a few years earlier than 1808 (it's more 1800-1803-ish?) and the bodice as-pictured wouldn't suit the cut of my dress, but if I'm making it I can redesign it to suit my needs!

The Blue Ribbon Bodice

For my first ribbon bodice, I used 2" wide poly satin ribbon in a lovely shade of blue. To better suit my dress, I changed the shoulder straps to angle in and come to a point in the back, which imitated the narrow back of my dress bodice.

To start constructing it, I cut a piece of ribbon long enough to tie around the waist of my dress and leave long trailing ribbons. I found the center of the length and pinned it to the center back of my dress at the waistline. Then I pinned it again at the sides of the waist just where the drawstring ended.

After that, I approximated how long the shoulder strap needed to be and, through trial and error, figured out where they needed to be joined and at what angle to stay on my shoulders. Those got pinned onto the dress as well.

With those pieces pinned in place, I pinned on a ribbon to connect the two shoulder straps and a short ribbon connecting the center of the waist ribbon to the center of the shoulder-connecting ribbon.

I unpinned it all from the dress (making sure the ribbons were still pinned together), trimmed any excess ribbon, and pinned the raw edges of the ribbon under. That all got basted in place and I gave it one last try-on.

Once everything was finalized, I used a spaced backstitch and thread in a matching color to sew everything together. And then my first bodice was done!

Almost. I wanted to add two more short ribbons connecting the shoulder straps to the waistband, but I had to make sure I had ribbon enough to decorate the straw bonnet I'd be getting soon. The bonnet arrived a few days later and was decorated with enough ribbon to spare to finish my bodice. The last two straps were pinned, basted, and attached in the same manner as the rest. Then the bodice was fully complete.

The Red Ribbon Bodice

Why stop at one ribbon bodice when you can have two?

My second ribbon bodice was made of the same kind of 2" poly satin ribbon, but in a dark red, and I opted for a much simpler design.

I started this one the same as the other - a long ribbon sash marked at the center. The center got pinned to the center front this time, so it ties in the back. I then cut two lengths of ribbon for shoulder straps and pinned them where I wanted in the front.

The other end of the shoulder straps were pulled around to the back and clumsily pinned into place. The straps needed to be close enough to the back to keep from falling off, but still leave enough room to tie the waistband between them. It took a lot of pinning and re-pinning and trying on and taking off to get this part right, but once I was happy with the length and placement I was good to go.

Like with the first ribbon bodice, I did my best to tuck under any raw edges, and basted everything together before sewing it.

Final Thoughts

These two bodices took me just a few hours total to make, so they're a quick, simple way to expand your Regency wardrobe. I'm not sure how ""historically accurate"" they are, but they look nice and I'm content to settle for historically adequate.

I did this all on myself (by myself) and on my dress as it was either laid out or on a hanger. I feel like having a mannequin (or a trusted sewing helper) would have sped up the process a lot though, especially on the first bodice, where I was pinning on the back a lot. There was a lot of taking off the dress and putting it back on.

But they really were a fun, quick, simple project, and I'd love to see other people's takes on the idea.

I've got an upcoming post on decorating a straw bonnet to match these bodices coming, and then it's the final installment of my 1890s corset, so you'll hear from me again soon!

Stay warm. Stay safe. Stay healthy.

[Image ID: a back-view photo of Alex wearing a red ribbon bodice that ties in the back over a white Regency dress.]

#wnn projects #regency era #regency sewing #regency wardrobe

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keondras-grad-film-production · 1 year

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Week 3, Sept 20th - 27th

My animatic is now finished and can be viewed below. Originally, the story I had in mind ended up being a whopping 6 minutes in length. Oops.

It has now been shortened to 4 minutes. This is still longer than the 3 minute film goal, however most of the shots are held ones that consist of the same subject being in frame for about 8 - 10 seconds, and that is where the extra minute is coming from.

youtube

This adjustment from 6 minutes to 4 will allow me to reallocate my time appropriately to work on other aspects of my project, and also cut some elements out all together (such as many of the additional props I had planned to model this week). Ultimately I think this decision will be better for the final product, though I wish I could have made it the total 6 minutes.

Some shots may seem out of place or abrupt because of this after-the-fact adjustment. I did not want to redraw the frames that needed more context (for example, the introduction of the red-yellow butterfly, which originally had much more of an entrance than appearing next to the red one) but I hope to use close-up shots to re-add emphasis. Instead of redrawing this, focused my time on building an asset for the project this week.

This week I aimed to model, texture, and rig both butterflies for my animation. I ended up completing one, which I can copy and edit to create the second butterfly.

I didn't have time to re-texture the second butterfly with the appropriate shaders needed to create the emissive effect of the wings. However, now that I have less props to rig this week, I can give it extra time without delaying my production schedule.

Last year I made a butterfly as well that was essentially a flat plane with a simple picture texture and a toon shader. This year, I want my animation to have a more realistic feeling to it, so I tried to replicate the texture of a real butterfly wing more accurately.

The base mesh of my character was something else I worked on this week. It still needs a head, hands, and the feet need more work, but I will continue this week. I didn't want to add too much detail to the body model, aside from making sure there will be sufficient geometry and edge loops for rigging and weighting accurately.

Lastly, this week I tested grass textures. I like how the image looks on the blades as a collective, and with some modifications to the base geo of the grass when I'm creating the MASH network it will look more realistic while still having that slightly stylized look that I admire.

To-do for next week:

Finish base model

Modify current butterfly for second

Start modelling clothing, mask, shoes, and other accessories for character

#Youtube

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musiconanironingboard · 1 year

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14 August 2022: Outside, David Bowie. (2022 ISO/Parlophone reissue of 1995 Virgin release)

Here, the final purchase of my August visit to Milwaukee’s Lilliput Records, is one of six ’90s Bowie albums that received a vinyl reissue this year. I am chipping away slowly at purchasing these and intend to own them all when I can. This is the first one I bought, and I chose it because it was the one the store had the fewest copies of. When Lilliput was still The Exclusive Co., I marveled at how voluminous their stock was. They’d order what felt like dozens of copies of many things. I guess that store was pretty well funded. I wonder if Lilliput will be able to keep up that pace.

Outside was an album I didn’t like at all when it was new. I checked it out at the library and I’m not sure I even got all the way through it. Only following Bowie’s death and a massive catalog re-examination did I finally see the appeal of the album. I didn’t much like Bowie at all in the ’90s, at least not his new work; I sat him out for the entirety of the decade, buying nothing by him between the “Blue Jean” single from the Tonight album of 1984 and his 2002 debut on Columbia, Heathen. I only bought Heathen because I thought it was so wild that a new Bowie album received a U.S. vinyl release, something that hadn’t happened since 1987′s Never Let Me Down. I was a very late-blooming Bowie fan, and now it seems I have hundreds of Bowie releases and whether I want to admit it or not I suppose he has become one of my favorites.

Strangely, it wasn’t until 2015 that Outside in its entirety received a vinyl release. Original 1995 copies, as well as 2012 and 2013 reissues, included only portions of the full album and were titled Excerpts from Outside. (Note that they weren’t titled Excerpts from 1. Outside. Hyper-pedantic Bowie fans insist on calling the album 1. Outside, and while I know it says that on the cover, the number was meant to reflect that Bowie planned this as volume one in a series, which never came to fruition, whose entries wouldn’t all be called Outside. And I’m certainly not calling it 1. Outside—The Nathan Adler Diaries: A Hypercycle, which super-pedantic fans do.) I should also note that the original Japanese mini-LP edition of this album (CDs whose packaging is made to look like miniature vinyl albums) employs the Excerpts cover art though the disc includes the entire track listing.

Above are the front and back covers. This album has perhaps the worst graphic design of Bowie’s entire catalog. Bowie painted the cover, but sometimes the artist is the least successful person at making their own covers (cf. Elvis Costello’s various album-art paintings of the 2010s).

Here are both sides of the first album’s inner sleeve (this is a double LP).

Here are both sides of the second inner sleeve. That top image is all right, but lord, do I dislike that bottom one.

Here is the front of the album booklet. Notice here you get a sub-subtitle. Are there people who call this album 1. Outside—The Nathan Adler Diaries: A Hypercycle, or The Art-Ritual Murder of Baby Grace Blue? No doubt, I’m sure. And dear me, there’s even fine print that adds A Non-Linear Gothic Drama Hyper-cycle. This last bit reminds me that there was something about the album that took inspiration from the then-new (at least to most people) concept of the hyperlink on websites. I think this booklet is supposed to be the “actual diary” of Nathan Adler, hence the slightly different wording shown here of The Diary of Nathan Adler.

I must also note that I really dislike when artists attempt these sorts of monolithic, faux-literary concepts that they insist will span multiple albums. It was easy to predict when Outside was new that we’d never see whatever 2 would be called. Bowie is one of the most literary rockers ever, and if anyone could manage it it’s him, but I’m glad this concept was limited to one album.

Here is side one’s label. I was surprised to see the three other labels shared this design; I expected there to be a different wild image on each of them.

Last, here is the sticker celebrating Bowie’s 75 birthday that is being included on all his releases of the past year or so.

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rhysand-vs-fenrys · 2 years

Note

Why does it take so long to do the work? What are packages? Are they hard?

Oh!

So, 'package' just means the product when you edit videos together. Like, if you just had a clip, that wouldn't be a 'package', but when you have like audio and video and graphics and such, that's called 'package'.

I was just editing videos together.

The main reason it takes so long is that we use a monumentally stupid program called AVID. And we only use AVID because the Old Boys Club that the station was until about 6 months ago pulled some fucking shady shit after they'd all been fired for being incompetent and ineffective.

TL:DR on that is that we're stuck with this shitty fucking program for 7 years.

What the department director (now head) wanted was PremierePro, a vastly VASTLY superior and efficient editing platform that you can install on a properly equipped computer (Final Cut is also acceptable, it was actually made by the same team who did Premiere Pro, so they're basically the same program).

So like today took FOREVER because I had still images I had to use in stories due to there being audio clips with no video (so like a "Voice Of" thing and their picture).

In Premiere (5 packages would take 2 hours):

Drop the video into the timeline where you'd like it. Don't worry if it's too short, Premiere will automatically adjust the speed everything else you put on later moves at so you can stretch or shrink it as you wish.

Apply an enlarge effect to the video so it moves just ever so slightly as it sits there.

Above it, layer the box-shrink-background element that makes the video appear in a window rather than taking up the whole screen.

You're done, conservatively, in 5 minutes if you have the 2 effects saved as templates so you don't have to mess with anything.

Export it when you're done with the whole video!

In AVID (5 packages takes around 5 hours):

Create a new timeline that is ONLY the image you selected. You may need to lay the picture 2-3 (or 200-300) times depending on how many seconds long it defaults to in the timeline. Make it longer than the space you need to fill, but only by a little. If it's not perfect, you're fucked.

Apply an englarge effect.

Add 2 keyframes and set different values for each so it scales from one to the other as the video plays.

Export the sequence as an MP4 file.

Import the MP4 file into your bin of clips.

Transcode the linked file to fully import.

Hope during this process it kept your zoom in effect.

Select the range on the timeline you wanted to fill and drop it in. If it isn't long enough, start everything again from the top.

Apply the box-shrink-background element that makes the video appear in a window rather than take up the whole screen.

Pray AVID hasn't crashed, as you've now been working for 20 minutes on this bullshit. AVID crashes more often than it autosaves.

Render the clip so you can even watch it, because it won't play properly until you do!

Fix anything that needs fixing, re-render after each time~

Transcode and export the whole video when you're done.

I fucking

HATE

AVID

It can just go die in a hole. It’s a fucking stupid program that only people too incompetent to learn Premiere or FinalCut use. Imagine the absolute dumbest way to do something and AVID is like “Wait, I think I can do worse!”

#ask

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filmsstillexist · 2 years

Text

Film Narrative 2: Post Production

ADR

After filming was complete, the remaining members of our group, Kyle, Joseph and I, got together to record some additional sounds and dialogue for the off screen presences.

We booked out a classroom on Craiglockhart campus and booked a sound recorder. Joseph was recorded doing dialogue for the character of Hugo as we failed to get any dialogue for him on set. Then Kyle was recorded re-doing dialogue for Detective Inspector Carver as although his dialogue was recorded on set, we thought it best to have more options as his character is entirely off screen.

Editing & Sound Design

The editing process was quite long. I was not overly familiar with using Avid Media Composer so I first had to get comfortable with the software. After that, the whole group got together to help me identify how to cut the film. Our first completed draft came in at 3 minutes 40 seconds. This made us realise we had to remove entire sections of dialogue, nevermind just trim clips. After a couple of more weeks of re-cutting the film, I managed to get the film down to 3 minutes 18 seconds. I then exported this cut so it could be watched over and over to help identify what more could be removed. After a couple more meetings at the Screen Academy, the film managed to be taken down to 3 minutes with another 4 seconds for credits. I successfully got the film to that duration by removing a fair chunk from scene 3 which made the scene a bit more clunky and it meant we lost some important character building. However, it was the only section we could remove whilst keeping the plot coherent. None of this was helped by the numerous complications that I ran into with Avid as it would often crash, refuse to open the files, not save at all and attempting to change the split screen moment in the film always seemed to result in the system crashing or the images on screen simply moving at what seemed like random despite me always rendering the effect. Just before finishing the editing stage, I added some colour grading to the fake murder scenes to make them look more dream-like.

After the film was down to 3 minutes 4 seconds, I exported it as an AAF and got started on the Sound Design. I found the Sound Design process quite difficult as it was not a role I was prepared to do but due to the circumstances, I had to give it a go. In Pro Tools, I didn’t add an overabundance of sounds, however I did add sounds of knife stabbing, clubbing beating and the main addition was the music which I edited to make it sound like it was playing on a stereo during the third scene. Then I added the sounds back to the Avid project and exported the final film.

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angelguk · 3 years

Note

omg so i sent in an ask re angst jock jk n oc ! but then i also realized its highly possible these 2 break up at one point while in uni mostly bc of the "are we dating bc its convenient" kinda dilemma and then it just pushes them apart bc they think theyre losing theirselves while being in such a close relationship,,,cue save ur tears by theweeknd BUT i just know when they grow up a lil bit more, theyll end up together <3

here we go! (the beginning of the end....may be...)

didn’t include save your tears as the soundtrack but may haps for the follow-up :3

pairing: jock!jk and oc

warnings: angst, yes the break-up scene, jaykay being an ass (a very huge one motivated by his own insecurities and selfishness – translation: he’d rather break her heart and carry that weight than be the heartbroken one), chayoung is no longer Seed of Doubt but something else (still up for debate but she’s fairly nice here), not edited but hey atp that’s part of my branding (also i would like everyone to consider that oc is not the greatest gf ever like guys don’t hate jk alone!!)

soundtrack: bags, clairo + stay, gracie abrams + say you know, alina baraz

(titled — honeymoon fades)

Jeongguk’s contact name hasn’t lit up the screen of your phone for six days now and you haven’t seen his face for just as long. It’s weird to go from constant incessant communication to complete and utter radio silence. Not a single meme deposited in your Instagram inbox, no random notification from his Twitter. Just silence, quiet brewing silence.

It breaks two days later when Chayoung finds you coddled under your duvet, mouth stuffed with the saccharine sweetness of mint chocolate. (Jeongguk kept a stash of it at your place but who was around to eat it anymore apart from you?).

“And why do you look like you live in a dumpster?” She’d hummed, ripping open the curtains you’d involuntarily welded shut.

“Because that’s how I feel inside,” you’d retorted, pushing aside your laptop. The screen is stuck with an image of an idiotic character named Nabi kissing the spawn of Satan. You hope for her sake it works out. Chayoung had huffed at your response, fondly whacking your head with a stray pillow.

“Well get over that feeling cause we’re going out tonight.” A declaration, the fierceness in her feline eyes a warning that you’re not allowed to even think of saying no. That doesn’t mean you hadn’t tried – sorrowful eyes and pouted lips as you begged her to spare you. But Chayoung is a force of nature, one that could easily wreak havoc on your delicateness. And she does though, with a string of comments that propels you out of the miserable burrow you’d dug up.

“You’re killing everyone, you know?” She’d supplied, yanking open your closet. “You’re sulking, Jeongguk is shutting down. He’s said like five words since this whole...thing...you have going on.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at that, toying with the corner of the large grey shirt donned on your body. Jeongguk’s shirt. One of his favourites actually. You’d thought about stealing it after spying it on his obsessively neat laundry pile, but after seeing your wandering eyes he’d given it to you instead.

“He always does that,” you’d said after Chayoung had whipped her head in your direction, curved eyebrows perplexed. “I mean, shut down. It’s his emotional response to things that bother him. Complete detachment so it hurts less.”

She had just stared at you, a long meaningful look at left your skin prickled.

“Huh.”

“What do you mean ‘huh’?”

A measured step forward, her body weight sinking into the edge of your mattress a moment later. “I mean, you know him so well.”

“Of course I do he’s my best-friend,” you’d said, indignation coating your words

“No–No you're not getting me. You know him. You know he wouldn’t make the move to reconcile–”

“But he should!”

“You told him to go away! He’s trying to listen to you even though he’s hurting!”

And maybe that was it, that simple implication that you were causing him pain that had you pausing, reviewing the things you’d said to him – the things you’d felt.

“But,” a timid rebuttal, “I just–I just need him to show me that he cares.”

“He does,” Chayoung had returned. “So much. And he misses you. He’s probably just afraid that you don’t feel the same.”

“But I do! He knows this.”

“Does he?” A question in her eyes, one that you’re afraid you know the honest answer to.

You say things and never mean them, he had said, eyes hard.

That had hurt you but perhaps he was right, there are things you hadn’t told him, feelings you hadn’t truly expressed. And Jeongguk had always been good to you, so understanding and caring, trying to fill the places were you lacked. Wasn’t he the one who planned the majority of your dates? Remembered all the important milestones of your relationship while you contributed the bare minimum. You hadn’t even told Chayoung about the surprise he had planned for your one-year anniversary, the shame of your own choice hanging heavy over your head.

So that’s why you’re here, staring at the back of his head forlornly as the music drifts around you, flashing florescent lights bathing him a hazy glory. He hasn’t seen you yet (something you’re thankful for because oddly enough you feel sick to your stomach). It feels like you’re skating on thin ice, waiting for the impending crack to sound through your heart, ice water swallowing you whole immediately. Chayoung is the one who pushes you forward, gingerly plucking the idle drink from your hand, Jimin aiding her efforts with a soft smile your way.

It’s time for you to try the way Jeongguk has, put aside that bumbling ego that oversees your actions and adopt the humility he’s always granted you.

“Go,” she murmurs. “He misses you.”

And God you hope he does because you’ve missed him too.

Except the moment his honey eyes land on you you know he hasn’t.

“Jeongguk,” you mumble. Yoonoh is frozen beside him, concerned gaze flicking between your faces. Your own eyes are stuck on him, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the subtle hint of the dimple in his cheeks.

You’ve missed him, and it slips from your heart and brims in your eyes, vision blurry as your blink those stray tears back inside.

“Hi,” you add, when his silence doesn’t break.

“I should probably go,” Yoonoh lets out, awkward words bumping into the wall of tension standing firm between you to. He settles a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, sending him a look that feels loaded. “See you guys later, right?”

You nod, finally noticing the lump clogging your throat. “Yeah, sure.” Jeongguk just hums, the edge of his cup caught between his lips. Yoonoh flees within seconds, leaving you to wade through this alone.

“I–I know you’re not happy with me right now, but please, can we just talk?” He blinks at you, it feels like a premonition. “Please?”

“Okay.” The simple word fills you, like a hollow you weren’t aware of finally found the cure needed.

“Okay,” a small smile on your lips. Jeongguk’s face is still unreadable. He guides you up and away from the deafening sound of the song bleeding from the speakers, into an empty room, the door closing behind him muting the music and giving way to the own pounding in your head. Nobody says anything for a second, both of you navigating this uncharted territory of animosity. Until Jeongguk sighs, melting into the bed at the centre of the room. You follow suit, allocating enough space between the two of you. You’ve ever had to do that before.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Jeongguk finally cuts through it, eyes unforgiving when he glances at you.

“I did! I do–Just Jeongguk,” you can’t help it drifting out. “I miss you.”

Nothing, not even a flicker in his eyes. He eyes shift to the floor instead. “Okay. I that what you wanted to say?”

“No–No not just that! I’ve missed you Jeongguk and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that i went off on you like that and I’m sorry I haven’t been the best towards you and I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like I didn’t care about you–or made you feel like the things I said or did had no meaning behind them. Because they do–they do because I love you. I love you so so much and I’m sorry if I made it seem like otherwise.” You automatically extend out for him, hoping to grasp on his thing floating to fast away from you. Jeongguk shifts and you hand tumbles down to the empty space between you instead, halted by his hesitance.

His head drops into his palms a second later, a broken exhale leaving his lips. The motion cause the silver bracelet on his wrist to slip down the length of his arm. It jolts something in you. Jeongguk had given you a matching one but you’d ripped it off after the last argument and hadn’t considered putting it back on. But Jeongguk was still wearing his.

“Do you really?”

“What?” He’s staring at you know, doe eyes cloudy.

“Do you really love me?” There, that stupid evil vile question that you thought you had the answer to but the words vanish in your head the longer he looks at you.

“I do–what? What are you implying? Of course, I do.”

“Of course, you do,” Jeongguk echoes. His eyes turn to the window located over his shoulder. You can see his head working through something, and you’re suddenly terrified fingertips itching to wander through his curls and coax those thoughts from his head.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are you talking about? Talk to me, please.”

He sighs again, at it feels like your heart splinters. A sudden shake of his head and Jeongguk twists back to face you, a silent tear falling down his cheek.

“You don’t love me.”

“Wh–What are you talking about? I do! And how can you decide my feelings for me?”

“No. You don’t love me the way you think you do–the way you should.” It feels like he’s saying it to more than you, like he’s saying it to himself. “Maybe this the wrong choice to make. You know. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.”

You shatter just like that, shards on the floor as you stare him, this person that you thought you knew. And maybe the feeling is mutual because Jeongguk is staring at you in a similar way, searching for the courage to say the words you know lie in his heart. Like a loaded cannon, waiting for the match to strike and leave you lying in pieces.

“I think we should break–"

“No,” you cut him off with an adamance that you didn’t know existed until right then. “No, you’re not gonna say that and we are not doing this.”

His eyes narrow then, jaw set. “This is not about ‘us’, I’m doing what’s right for me.”

“How is that right? Huh, Jeongguk? Don’t you care about this? Don’t you care about me?”

He looks away then, ignoring your questions, his throat stuck.

“Jeongguk...” You reach out again, and he allows it, shoulders sinking with the weight of your hand on them. “Don’t you care about me?”

Another heavy exhale, his eyes blinking hard. “I do. And that’s why this won’t work, not the way it should at least. I really think we should end this, or at least reconsider the reasons why we’re together. You say you love me–you say you always have but really–really think about it. About me and us and what we are. I’m sorry, I really am but I just can’t do this anymore.”

He rises then, your outstretched hand tumbling down to the empty space he’d left behind. You can’t move it, can’t breathe, your heart hurtling out of your chest and onto the ground where it lies, fragmented beyond repair and bleeding bare. You glance up through tears, watch him open his mouth and then it and look away.

“Do you mean it?” You finally ask, and his eyes snap to you. He knows what you’re saying. There’s a pause that stretches out for eternity, coloured by the sound of the ringing in your head.

“Maybe.” It cuts right through you, lodging itself deep with intent. And then you just have to nod, swallow the scream clawing at your throat. He murmurs one more apology before his feet carry him away, and you watch, forlorn as you burn his frame into your memory, as your whole world walks out the door.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #au: jock!jaykay #i really abused the hyphen in this but oh well

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rubykgrant · 2 years

Photo

As promised, I finally finished all my RVB pin-ups! (these are honestly pretty tame, mostly just cutesy poses and anatomy practice. I’m putting the full image under a cut below). I spent a couple of weeks drawing these, sometimes trying multiple poses until finally they looked right, and then I had to travel to scan the pictures... and the scanner was really wonky. It washed out certain colors, while over-saturating others. It was just really weird. So, the only solution was to try to edit and fix the scanned images on my computer, and since I only have MS Paint with no layers, this was a challenge. I basically had to add the colors, then go over my lines so they would be clear, and finally erase around the edges. It took another few days to fix them all, but I did it!

Here is Franklin Delano Donut~

Donut was the second one I made after Kai, because he pretty much took over my brain and DEMANDED to be drawn in a pin-up pose. What kind of pose was easy enough to figure out (imagine him spread out on a bead). I totally screwed up on his feet, and didn’t want to re-draw the whole thing... but I also didn’t have white-out, or even white paint. I wound up using this craftwork enamel stuff... which is OK, but really tacky (I don’t mean like it looks bad, but tacky as in it takes forever to dry and stays sticky for too long).

I imagine Donut is what you get if Barbie had a baby with GI Joe; totally adorable, and also impressively buff (especially his arms). His face has the scar from the grenade incident, and after having his hair lop-sided for a while, he started styling with a side-cut and letting the rest grow out. He also has a scar on one of his hands (from when he got hurt from the vehicle). His face naturally makes the cutesy kitty mouth~

#my art #red vs blue #franklin delano donut #mild nudity #anatomy #pin-up art

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maos2013 · 3 years

Text

Gifs and Ships

I was tagged by @justanalto to describe my ships with gifs -- thanks, re!

Watch as I desperately try not to use Philinda as several of these.

1. First Ship

Juliet/ Sawyer from Lost - Looook. They were also my first OTP. They had a tragic ending and younger me had a literal stomach ache for 2 weeks after I saw the episode where the ship died. Still not over it if I’m honest.

2. First OTP

Regina Mills/ Robin hood from OUAT - Since my first OTP was also my first ship, here is my second OTP. Don’t get me wrong, Regina had a lot of great ships, but Outlaw Queen has a special place in my heart.

3. Current Fave Ship

Abby Griffin/ Marcus Kane from The 100 - Kabby just gives me major Philinda vibes and I might have a thing for middle-aged ships, ok?

4. Your Ship Since the First Minute

Yes, I ship Romanogers, don’t @ me.

5. You Wish They Had Been Endgame

Jamie Taylor/ Dani Clayton from The Haunting of Bly Manor. Did they get a decade or so of happiness? Yeah. But damn they got a tragic ending after that. They deserved more happiness after what they went through.

6. You Wish They Had Been Canon

I can’t find a gif so enjoy this image I pulled from google of Clarke Griffin/ Gaia from The 100. @sapphicsgaia made me ship them with all their talk of Claia, and now I’m sad they weren’t canon (other than platonically). *sigh*

*edited to add one of my fave ships that I can’t believe I forgot!🤦🏻‍♀️*

John Carter/ Jing- Mei Chen from ER - I watched ER as a kid with my mom(I’m talking like as a smol child in the mid90s- early 2000s) and then rewatched the entire shoe in college. When I tell you I shipped these two... y’all. I really hoped it would happen.

7. Most of the Fandom Hates, but You Love

Can I list Claia twice? Yeah, I’m gonna. I’m new to The 100 fandom, but I’ve gathered there is a big divide on the Clarke ships. And both of the main ships hate each other and Claia. Soooo... yeah!

8. You Don’t Even Watch the Show, but You Ship Them Anyway

I couldn’t do Stranger Things, no matter how much I tried. I saw part of one episode and that was it. Now that being said - I ship these two.

9. You Wish They Had a Different Storyline

I just have a lot of Philinda feelings, ok? I won’t take up your dash with them, but just dm me to chat about my many feelings for these two. They’re my forever OTP.

10. Fave Ship That is Endgame

Andy Dwyer/April Ludgate from Parks and Rec. Their relationship was weird, but sweet, and I loved them so much. Also, this may be the only ship I have that was endgame.

*edited to add another ship I forgot about.🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️*

Chidi/ Eleanor from The Good Place- who knew that a quirky comedy about the afterlife would have such an impact on the way I view the world, and then have such an amazingly heartfelt series finale that I still cry even though I’ve seen it multiple times.

Tagging: @sapphicsgaia @immhungry @herosofmarvelanddc @melindamayownsme @browneyedgenius @batgirlassociationofgothamcity and anyone else who may want to join!

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

Text

20 years a blogger

It's been twenty years, to the day, since I published my first blog-post.

I'm a blogger.

Blogging - publicly breaking down the things that seem significant, then synthesizing them in longer pieces - is the defining activity of my days.

https://boingboing.net/2001/01/13/hey-mark-made-me-a.html

Over the years, I've been lauded, threatened, sued (more than once). I've met many people who read my work and have made connections with many more whose work I wrote about. Combing through my old posts every morning is a journey through my intellectual development.

It's been almost exactly a year I left Boing Boing, after 19 years. It wasn't planned, and it wasn't fun, but it was definitely time. I still own a chunk of the business and wish them well. But after 19 years, it was time for a change.

A few weeks after I quit Boing Boing, I started a solo project. It's called Pluralistic: it's a blog that is published simultaneously on Twitter, Mastodon, Tumblr, a newsletter and the web. It's got no tracking or ads. Here's the very first edition:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/

I don't often do "process posts" but this merits it. Here's how I built Pluralistic and here's how it works today, after nearly a year.

I get up at 5AM and make coffee. Then I sit down on the sofa and open a huge tab-group, and scroll through my RSS feeds using Newsblur.

I spend the next 1-2 hours winnowing through all the stuff that seems important. I have a chronic pain problem and I really shouldn't sit on the sofa for more than 10 minutes, so I use a timer and get up every 10 minutes and do one minute of physio.

After a couple hours, I'm left with 3-4 tabs that I want to write articles about that day. When I started writing Pluralistic, I had a text file on my desktop with some blank HTML I'd tinkered with to generate a layout; now I have an XML file (more on that later).

First I go through these tabs and think up metadata tags I want to use for each; I type these into the template using my text-editor (gedit), like this:

<xtags>

process, blogging, pluralistic, recursion, navel-gazing

</xtags>

Each post has its own little template. It needs an anchor tag (for this post, that's "hfbd"), a title ("20 years a blogger") and a slug ("Reflections on a lifetime of reflecting"). I fill these in for each post.

Then I come up with a graphic for each post: I've got a giant folder of public domain clip-art, and I'm good at using all the search tools for open-licensed art: the Library of Congress, Wikimedia, Creative Commons, Flickr Commons, and, ofc, Google Image Search.

I am neither an artist nor a shooper, but I've been editing clip art since I created pixel-art versions of the Frankie Goes to Hollywood glyphs using Bannermaker for the Apple //c in 1985 and printed them out on enough fan-fold paper to form a border around my bedroom.

As I create the graphics, I pre-compose Creative Commons attribution strings to go in the post; there's two versions, one for the blog/newsletter and one for Mastodon/Twitter/Tumblr. I compose these manually.

Here's a recent one:

Blog/Newsletter:

(<i>Image: <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:QAnon_in_red_shirt_(48555421111).jpg">Marc Nozell</a>, <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en">CC BY</a>, modified</i>)

Twitter/Masto/Tumblr:

Image: Marc Nozell (modified)

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:QAnon_in_red_shirt_(48555421111).jpg

CC BY

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

This is purely manual work, but I've been composing these CC attribution strings since CC launched in 2003, and they're just muscle-memory now. Reflex.

These attribution strings, as well as anything else I'll need to go from Twitter to the web (for example, the names of people whose Twitter handles I use in posts, or images I drop in, go into the text file). Here's how the post looks at this point in the composition.

<hr>

<h1>20 years a blogger</h1><xtagline>Reflections on a lifetime of reflecting.</xtagline>

See that <img> tag in there for frnklogo.jpg? I snuck that in while I was composing this in Twitter. When I locate an image on the web I want to use in a post, I save it to a dir on my desktop that syncs every 60 seconds to the /images/ dir on my webserver.

As I save it, I copy the filename to my clipboard, flip over to gedit, and type in the <img> tag, pasting the filename. I've typed <img src="https://craphound.com/images/ CTRL-V"> tens of thousands of times - muscle memory.

Once the thread is complete, I copy each tweet back into gedit, tabbing back and forth, replacing Twitter handles and hashtags with non-Twitter versions, changing the ALL CAPS EMPHASIS to the extra-character-consuming *asterisk-bracketed emphasis*.

My composition is greatly aided both 20 years' worth of mnemonic slurry of semi-remembered posts and the ability to search memex.craphound.com (the site where I've mirrored all my Boing Boing posts) easily.

A huge, searchable database of decades of thoughts really simplifies the process of synthesis.

Next I port the posts to other media. I copy the headline and paste it into a new Tumblr compose tab, then import the image and tag the post "pluralistic."

Then I paste the text of the post into Tumblr and manually select, cut, and re-paste every URL in the post (because Tumblr's automatic URL-to-clickable-link tool's been broken for 10+ months).

Next I past the whole post into a Mastodon compose field. Working by trial and error, I cut it down to <500 characters, breaking at a para-break and putting the rest on my clipboard. I post, reply, and add the next item in the thread until it's all done.

*Then* I hit publish on my Twitter thread. Composing in Twitter is the most unforgiving medium I've ever worked in. You have to keep each stanza below 280 chars. You can't save a thread as a draft, so as you edit it, you have to pray your browser doesn't crash.

And once you hit publish, you can't edit it. Forever. So you want to publish Twitter threads LAST, because the process of mirroring them to Tumblr and Mastodon reveals typos and mistakes (but there's no way to save the thread while you work!).

Now I create a draft Wordpress post on pluralistic.net, and create a custom slug for the page (today's is "two-decades"). Saving the draft generates the URL for the page, which I add to the XML file.

Once all the day's posts are done, I make sure to credit all my sources in another part of that master XML file, and then I flip to the command line and run a bunch of python scripts that do MAGIC: formatting the master file as a newsletter, a blog post, and a master thread.

Those python scripts saved my ASS. For the first two months of Pluralistic, i did all the reformatting by hand. It was a lot of search-replace (I used a checklist) and I ALWAYS screwed it up and had to debug, sometimes taking hours.

Then, out of the blue, a reader - Loren Kohnfelder - wrote to me to point out bugs in the site's RSS. He offered to help with text automation and we embarked on a month of intensive back-and-forth as he wrote a custom suite for me.

Those programs take my XML file and spit out all the files I need to publish my site, newsletter and master thread (which I pin to my profile). They've saved me more time than I can say. I probably couldn't kept this up without Loren's generous help (thank you, Loren!).

I open up the output from the scripts in gedit. I paste the blog post into the Wordpress draft and copy-paste the metadata tags into WP's "tags" field. I preview the post, tweak as necessary, and publish.

(And now I write this, I realize I forgot to mention that while I'm doing the graphics, I also create a square header image that makes a grid-collage out of the day's post images, using the Gimp's "alignment" tool)

(because I'm composing this in Twitter, it would be a LOT of work to insert that information further up in the post, where it would make sense to have it - see what I mean about an unforgiving medium?)

(While I'm on the subject: putting the "add tweet to thread" and "publish the whole thread" buttons next to each other is a cruel joke that has caused me to repeatedly publish before I was done, and deleting a thread after you publish it is a nightmare)

Now I paste the newsletter file into a new mail message, address it to my Mailman server, and create a custom subject for the day, send it, open the Mailman admin interface in a browser, and approve the message.

Now it's time to create that anthology post you can see pinned to my Mastodon and Twitter accounts. Loren's script uses a template to produce all the tweets for the day, but it's not easy to get that pre-written thread into Twitter and Mastodon.

Part of the problem is that each day's Twitter master thread has a tweet with a link to the day's Mastodon master thread ("Are you trying to wean yourself off Big Tech? Follow these threads on the #fediverse at @[email protected]. Here's today's edition: LINK").

So the first order of business is to create the Mastodon thread, pin it, copy the link to it, and paste it into the template for the Twitter thread, then create and pin the Twitter thread.

Now it's time to get ready for tomorrow. I open up the master XML template file and overwrite my daily working file with its contents. I edit the file's header with tomorrow's date, trim away any "Upcoming appearances" that have gone by, etc.

Then I compose tomorrow's retrospective links. I open tabs for this day a year ago, 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 15 years ago, and (now) 20 years ago:

http://memex.craphound.com/2020/01/14

http://memex.craphound.com/2016/01/14

http://memex.craphound.com/2011/01/14

http://memex.craphound.com/2006/01/14

http://memex.craphound.com/2001/01/14

I go through each day, and open anything I want to republish in its own tab, then open the OP link in the next tab (finding it in the @internetarchive if necessary). Then I copy my original headline and the link to the article into tomorrow's XML file, like so:

#10yrsago Disney World’s awful Tiki Room catches fire <a href="https://thedisneyblog.com/2011/01/12/fire-reported-at-magic-kingdom-tiki-room/">https://thedisneyblog.com/2011/01/12/fire-reported-at-magic-kingdom-tiki-room/</a>

And NOW my day is done.

So, why do I do all this?

First and foremost, I do it for ME. The memex I've created by thinking about and then describing every interesting thing I've encountered is hugely important for how I understand the world. It's the raw material of every novel, article, story and speech I write.

And I do it for the causes I believe in. There's stuff in this world I want to change for the better. Explaining what I think is wrong, and how it can be improved, is the best way I know for nudging it in a direction I want to see it move.

The more people I reach, the more it moves.

When I left Boing Boing, I lost access to a freestanding way of communicating. Though I had popular Twitter and Tumblr accounts, they are at the mercy of giant companies with itchy banhammers and arbitrary moderation policies.

I'd long been a fan of the POSSE - Post Own Site, Share Everywhere - ethic, the idea that your work lives on platforms you control, but that it travels to meet your readers wherever they are.

Pluralistic posts start out as Twitter threads because that's the most constrained medium I work in, but their permalinks (each with multiple hidden messages in their slugs) are anchored to a server I control.

When my threads get popular, I make a point of appending the pluralistic.net permalink to them.

When I started blogging, 20 years ago, blogger.com had few amenities. None of the familiar utilities of today's media came with the package.

Back then, I'd manually create my headlines with <h2> tags. I'd manually create discussion links for each post on Quicktopic. I'd manually paste each post into a Yahoo Groups email. All the guff I do today to publish Pluralistic is, in some way, nothing new.

20 years in, blogging is still a curious mix of both technical, literary and graphic bodgery, with each day's work demanding the kind of technical minutuae we were told would disappear with WYSIWYG desktop publishing.

I grew up in the back-rooms of print shops where my dad and his friends published radical newspapers, laying out editions with a razor-blade and rubber cement on a light table. Today, I spend hours slicing up ASCII with a cursor.

I go through my old posts every day. I know that much - most? - of them are not for the ages. But some of them are good. Some, I think, are great. They define who I am. They're my outboard brain.

#pluralistic

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ooc-but-stylish · 3 years

Text

freezedive:

I think I said it in one of your other beautiful posts, but I thought I’d mention it again. All of the ridiculous cutscenes did give us a golden nugget of information on Luna that most of us who are brutally critical of her (like you and me), suspected all along: Luna openly admits to Gentiana that she doesn’t think she has anything to offer Noctis outside of being an oracle. And Gentiana makes it worse by speaking in fancy words by saying some bullshit about her being the oracle is her being human or something and that she is fulfilling her true calling and that is what Noctis needs? Idk but it reeked of emotional manipulation.

I hold little to no regard for Ravus because there’s evidence Luna was being brutally beaten right under his own nose while he was busy being the Emperor’s lapdog thinking it could maybe give him the power to save his sister? The man should have opened his eyes and defended her against the men that kept them jailed

I happened on this reply to roxainn’s post while trying to recapitulate all my other FFXV critical posts and reblogs on the way to making new ones.

Crawling back to find anything about this point, I find that it was posted 3 years ago. But at least I reblogged the reply to it.... and missed that it was literally @ ME. Goddamn did I slack.

But here’s my reply, 3 years late, which should elaborate on where I stand on this.

Yes, the flashback that gets triggered by a random creepy little girl in Tenebrae is about Luna and Gentiana. Somehow the little girl knew about that conversation even though she wasn’t there to witness it first-hand? Or maybe Noctis was imagining what the conversation would be like between Gentiana and Luna off of the vague suggestion from the girl, and it’s just him telling on himself that his imagination of Luna says all that? Otherwise the not-altogether-tinfoil-hat theory says it’s Gentiana in the form of a little girl, telling Noctis something that IMO should piss him off but just makes him sad and guilty because Luna loved him so much, don’t you see. She loved him so much that after wrapping her entire life around him, she’d just want to keep that going for the rest of their lives!

Gentiana opens the conversation with, “At first, the father had mourned the fate of his chosen son. Yet in Tenebrae, the two found solace. It was not the Oracle who assuaged their fears. But the girl…she holds…the true power.”

Then Luna replies, “I have little to offer a king, other than the voice afforded the Oracle. Nevertheless…” She turns to look at the wedding dress. “And—I’m afraid he might find this foolish… But…to be together with Noctis again, even if only for a short while… It…would mean the world to me. I do not seek to guide him, merely to stand beside him.”

The exchange is all types of fucky.

First off, she was twelve. What comfort could she have offered Regis and Noctis? What comfort was she capable of when Sylva was right there, an adult with experience of an Oracle and a personality thanks to a presumable full life not hampered by grooming of the gods?

Second, every other scene of Luna as a child is of her telling Noctis his duty, and that it was her duty to see it through. Did that assuage his fears-- the fears he didn’t have at the time since he never knew the entire meaning of his fate and was being told a saccharine, embellished version of it by Luna right there? Did that comfort Regis, knowing a little girl would also die to protect his son if the gods wanted it, but that she wouldn’t have the will to avert their fates whatsoever?

Third, even she thinks Noctis would think her desire to be with him is foolish. So... was she expecting that Noctis himself didn’t have feelings for her or want to spend time with her of his own volition for reasons outside of her job? She was looking forward to a marriage with no emotional security, where her desires are one-sided and unreciprocated, and the man she cares for think she’s worthless outside of her powers? She would’ve been willing to put herself through that, given a choice?

We know what we know and think what we think, but the fact that this was placed right in the vanilla game and no one thought that was wrong, and instead they doubled down on it in patches, is pathetic on their part.

Moreover, what does The Girl have, that was separate from The Princess and The Oracle? Every facet of her being wrapped around Noctis since age 4. She was nothing but her duty by the time Noctis met her; they had no scenes where they acted as children would. Even supplemental/promotional art for other XV media and related locales cement that. Little Luna serves Little Noctis pastries, she’s not seen eating with him. Luna teaches Noctis how to play piano, she’s not playing with him. Dawn of the Future came out with its own art, and Noctis is afforded the liberty to sit in a chair, and his son(?) sits on his lap, while Luna and her spitting image child(?) are both on their knees, looking up at the dudes.

In most of their art together, Luna and Noctis are either not meeting each other's gazes, she's bending or kneeling to him, or he's supposed to be holding her close but he hover-hands her, or there’s that one time where they took a selfie and the picture was of their Pocket Edition versions. They’re still not looking at each other in that one. And it’s not canon.

Anyway yeah, any conversation Gentiana has with Luna about Noctis is emotional manipulation on Gentiana’s part, but the writers manage just enough to make everyone involved seem creepy and reprehensible in their own way.

In DOTF, Luna has a death soliloquy that confirms she sunk into the water at the end of the game’s Chapter 9, but the soliloquy is about how she was prepared to die even at the age of 12, and she put on a smile and resolved to be strong for Noctis’s sake, so that he wouldn’t remember her having a look of despair. There’s a line there about how she would cry herself to sleep but Gentiana would wipe her tears. Gentiana does nothing else except allow her to cry and wipe her tears afterward, and makes no effort to save her from her fate or at least take her out of terrible situations so that she would cry fewer tears. But there is cut dialogue from the game, and used in the novel, where Gentiana revealed herself as Shiva when Luna was <16 (probably still 12 at the time), when she thought she was being held back from forming the covenants, so there’s that. And Luna still somehow ignored that this meant Shiva allowed Sylva to die, and thanked this useless goddess for her nonexistent generosity.

For whatever reason they had to add a passage where Luna superimposes the image of an eight-year-old Noctis onto the adult version-- quote, "the image of him as a child, burned into my eyelids, overlaps with his now-grown face"-- even though Noctis has canonically sent her photos of him as a teenager (15-16, around the time he met Prompto in high school, see: Brotherhood). Granted, that's a translation from Luna's voice actress reading an excerpt as if it were first person POV. The English version says she sees the child image first, then the adult version is superimposed. Then not much after that there's a passage where Noctis smiles as his child self and it was "that smile she loved that had been in her heart all these years, giving her strength, always and forever".

So she was groomed and turned into a shell since age 4, believes she has no value outside of her job and turned her grooming on a similarly vulnerable child, and her strongest image of him, the one she fell in love with and kept in her heart, is of the helpless boy that promised her the world without knowing the cost. The smile of the carefree boy that didn't know his journey would end with his soul annihilated. It couldn’t have been that hard to have her see an image of him as the 30 year old True King of Light that he would become. At least she'd sound a little less like a weirdo who continually places herself (and is placed by the narrative) as below him, unworthy of him, etc. but also has strong feelings and memories toward a goddamn child.

Re: Ravus: you already got a reply to that, but for real? Ravus was also shafted by the plot and beaten down by terrible, amateur writing. The narrative shits on him as if it’s written by a high schooler or otherwise emotionally arrested adult trying to push a Mary Sue Protagonist. The modus operandi for those stories is that everyone who disagrees with the protagonist in any way has to suffer tremendous humiliation including but not limited to death, because the Protagonist Is Just So Good And Perfect And Always Right.

Nothing Ravus does justifies his treatment in-game or in-fandom like he’s a one-note out-and-out villain who wanted nothing but to kill Noctis and disrespect his sister, to the point where his corpse is defiled multiple times in Chapter 13 and he’s twisted into a perversion of himself that begs to die.

Chapter 13 has Noctis land next to Ravus’s corpse and all his letters to Luna, and Noctis has piss all to say about it, either out loud or to anyone. He looks at the Sword of the Father, glances at Ravus, and without a word takes the Royal Arm and lets the Magitek arm-- still dripping, still gross-- fall onto Ravus’s body and doesn’t even move it.

He had no way of knowing beforehand that Ignis and Gladio knew of Ravus being killed. WE didn't even know they saw security footage until Ch13V2 was added in. Noctis happening on his late fiancée's dead bro sounds, I don’t fucking know, like something you’d want to tell everyone else about later. Along with the letters he wrote evidencing that he intended to return the Sword of the Father to Noctis!

An aside: The Letters from Ravus are just weird to behold; it isn't 100% clear whether Luna ever received all of those letters. She had to have received the first one, at least. But the idea that Ardyn intercepted even one other letter so that Luna never heard from her brother between Tenebrae and Altissia is farfetched. He shouldn’t be able to intercept those messages as if they were delivered conventionally. Luna has a pair of magic space-bending Shiba Inu that send letters instantly across continents. If she’s sparing their use to send Noctis one-liners and stickers but can’t afford that for Ravus to send her discrete updates on Noctis’s status, she’s a piece of shit.

They do meet in Tenebrae as Ravus wanted her to, and they have the conversation where he gets on her case about her “throwing [her] life away” for Noctis. So chances are higher that Ardyn only got a hold of all three letters after Luna received them and no sooner, but then he shouldn’t be tossing letters from Ravus at the dude’s body when it makes more sense for him to toss down letters to Ravus, since the writers wanted to make a point of Ardyn having a vicious streak. It makes way more sense for Ardyn to deprive Ravus of Luna’s writing, then insult him with them post-mortem, unless Ravus’s notes were really all he could acquire, meaning Luna never once wrote back to her brother.

The Doylist explanation is that the writing team sucks and couldn't be assed to think of anything for Luna to say because they didn't think of her at all. The Watsonian explanation is that Luna’s a piece of shit and that tracks with her in Kingsglaive watching her brother burn alive in response to the Ring, but ignoring him and running to Regis’s aid instead, but then the rest of the plot presents her as morally pure through her white clothing and “unconditional, self-abnegating love” for Noctis.

Back to the topic: I don’t know, maybe I’m being old fashioned, but Noctis should’ve given more of a shit that his dropping the Magitek Arm on Ravus’s body was probably what turned him into a mutated abomination begging to die, and he thought so little of Ravus that the dude isn’t even in the glimpse of "people who helped me get this far" in the Beyond. Ravus doesn’t even get a spot to wish Noctis and Luna well on their afterlife wedding, not that it makes any sense for any of them to have words to say since Noctis is already dead, no one was there with them, and none of the bros expressed any sign that they knew that Noctis was bound to get married after his sacrifice (he sure doesn’t mention it in the final campfire scene and that’d be a better place than any). But anyway, Regis is in the Beyond at Noctis’s side even though he never told Noctis a damn thing and still never spoke to him from within the Ring, but Ravus? Nah, he’s the real asshole somehow and doesn’t deserve any recognition whatsoever.

The only other characters I know of that have a remotely similar dynamic to Noctis, Luna, and Ravus (lovers, but the girl has a straight-edge protective brother working for the bad guys) is Nero, Kyrie, and Credo (see: Devil May Cry), but as much as I think the writing in that series is hokey as fuck, at least the writer(s) for DMCs 4 and 5 had enough sense to make the love story simple and based it from a line from Amagasaki City-- “I love you, so I love the city that you love.”-- and opted against portraying Credo as an outright villain because if Nero killed him, Kyrie would resent him for it even though she knew Credo was working for the same Order that threatened her life.

Shouldn’t Noctis care about the shit Luna cares about even if he has no personal investment in it or it’s inconvenient to him? Shouldn’t he care about Tenebrae and its prosperity? or about Ravus? Nah, it’s okay, Noctis doesn’t have to respect Luna’s love for her brother or her kingdom because for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t care for Ravus or for Tenebrae as much as she loves Noctis. Her love for Noctis and her looking forward to the wedding is what matters here.

The yaaaas queen vicious clapback from Kingsglaive!Luna about how Ravus is the Empire’s dog is especially rich coming from her when she’s fellating the gods all through the game even though Eos’s equivalent of The Holy Bible says the Hexatheon’s Revelations destroy cities and that undoubtedly means people are killed by the gods, and their summoner is complicit, because there’s no such thing as a perfect evacuation. See: "Revelations left great devastation in their wake, with entire cities being laid to ruin," noted in the Cosmogony long before the True King even exists.

Luna herself didn’t see a problem with this and helped in the effort, with no regard to the collateral damage she would cause with the summoning: bonus points for the part where Leviathan is hostile to humanity and threatens to eat every living being if Noctis fails! She had even less regard to the damage Niflheim would cause in their attempt to kill the gods even though she was first-hand witness to them sacking Insomnia. Waking and defeating Titan deprived Lestallum of the meteor they derived power from. Waking Leviathan destroyed Altissia. Luna’s refusal to leave Insomnia when told to by Regis led to her being used as bait and taking the whole of the Kingsglaive out of Insomnia in time for their Face Heel Turn and Insomnia being destroyed. Everything else leads to the eventual World of Ruin where people also die.

All because she killed herself prematurely from the covenants and didn’t hold back the longer nights as she promised to the public’s face and on her honor as Oracle she would do. Her dying words in Chapter 9 were her being completely satisfied with her fate because “[her] prayers were answered, [her] calling fulfilled”, even though the calling requires that she dies and she should’ve known better than anyone that her death, even if it was for Noctis’s ascension, would endanger the rest of the world for 10 years and helped the Starscourge spread. But instead of fighting for her own life to stem the plague for as long as possible, she let herself die under the belief that "Noct can handle this" to give him the chance to be the revered King of Light. She also didn’t make a single appearance on the world of the living in her spirit form during those ten years until Noctis needed help with a piddly imitation of the Magic Wall, only then does she come down in her ghost form with seemingly all of her power intact, and summons five of The Six as if Noctis can’t easily do it himself.

But Ravus is the lapdog? Luna’s the one with her “ends justify the means” behavior and what looks like general neglect for actual human beings.

Anyway, Ravus stabs Caligo in the back and kills him, and that move only makes sense in light of the idea that Caligo was manhandling Luna as seen in the Dawn trailer. Ravus was 16 when Tenebrae was overrun, and there’s no reason to believe he was magically immune to institutional abuse, so there’s a high chance that he was abused by the Empire too, held resentment of that, and waited for the time he’d be able to retaliate with no repercussions. Gentiana as a goddess is 1000000% more on the hook about letting Luna be beaten than Ravus is, since he saw his mother die in front of him while Regis ran away. Regis had the power of the Ring and could have used elemancy to put out that fire, or void magic to banish Glauca and his MT army, didn’t do that, but he totally spares enough magic during the treaty signing to toss around Thunder spells straight from his hand, cast barriers, and summon some Royal Arms straight at Iedolas, and that’s bad enough. Gentiana who’s been the Fleuret family attendant since Luna was born and also is Shiva who can freeze people with her fingertip had even less excuse to let that fire rage, to let Sylva die protecting her son, and to stand by and allow her ward(s) to get thrown around by some random Imperial soldier.

#freezedive #ffxv critical #ffxv criticism #lunafreya critical #gentiana critical #regis critical #lunafreya nox fleuret #ravus nox fleuret #regis lucis caelum #ravus deserved better #long read

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passionate-reply · 3 years

Video

youtube

Have you and Telex met somewhere before? If not, you may want to make their acquaintance. This delightfully irreverent Belgian electro-disco trio came in next to last at 1980′s Eurovision Song Contest. And then they did an album featuring English lyrics by Sparks’ Ron and Russel Mael! Find out all about what makes this record tick, in this week’s installment of Great Albums. Full transcript below the break...

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! It’s time to break outside the Anglosphere, and take a look at one of the finest synth-pop acts to come from Belgium: the irreverent post-disco trio of Telex. Telex were, in fact, so European that they were sent to that most European of institutions, the Eurovision Song Contest, in the year 1980, in what was perhaps their finest hour in the spotlight.

Music: “Eurovision”

While many contemporary listeners may find “Eurovision” amusing, it actually didn’t go over well in the contest itself, and Telex managed to place second to last on behalf of the Belgian people, losing even the (arguably) more illustrious last place to Finland. It was one of the earliest true “joke entries,” so perhaps the masses weren’t ready for this approach yet. Despite its generally upbeat sound, I think the lyrics of “Eurovision” come across as really quite harsh--and the song’s availability in both English and French meant that plenty of people understood them. Mocking the financial instability of Italy and, apparently, anyone dumb enough to tune into Eurovision, there’s really a rather condescending, perhaps even cruel, sensibility about it. A conspicuous reference to the Berlin Wall, a symbol of some of Europe’s deepest divisions and greatest political turmoil, gives it an extra nudge towards feeling rather contextually inappropriate. Telex’s “Eurovision” might just be the most cynical or anti-European song ever entered...at least up until Hatari of Iceland gave us the thunderous industrial anthem “Hatrið Mun Sigra,” in 2019.

Telex’s follow-up to this “incident” is, in my opinion, where their career starts to really get interesting. While it isn’t that heavily advertised, 1981’s Sex was actually something of a collaboration album, featuring English-language lyrics on all tracks which were contributed by Ron and Russell Mael of Sparks. Given the recent resurgence of interest in Sparks spurred by Edgar Wright’s documentary on them, I figure now is as good a time as ever to revisit this somewhat lesser-known work in the Sparks catalogue--or, at least, with one foot in the Sparks catalogue.

In my opinion, Sex takes the better aspects of both of these groups and combines them into something that feels like more than the sum of its parts. Telex’s soft, yet sprightly synth arrangements have as much fun and flair as those of fellow Sparks collaborator Giorgio Moroder, and feel more substantive and organic than Sparks’ many attempts to play with various genres in which they remained outsider dilettantes. Likewise, the Mael brothers’ lyricism is a major improvement to the often clunky English offered by previous efforts by the Belgians. Recontextualized amidst a sea of dreamy Euro-pop, and delivered by Telex’s suave yet unassuming vocalist Michel Moers, the same style of lyricism that often makes Sparks feel crass and overwrought to me becomes transmuted into something I’m much more amenable to. Much like Devo, I’ve often found the “smartest guys in the room” vibe of Sparks a bit off-putting, but Sex has a certain subtlety or ambiguity about it, that keeps me coming back and pondering it.

Music: “Dummy”

The feel-good, squelching bass grooves of “Dummy” recall the most affable work of the seminal Yellow Magic Orchestra, and a falsetto hook that’s to die for marks it as one of the more pop-oriented tracks on the album. Had it stopped at “Dummy, hey, I’m talking to you,” it would be not only less interesting musically, but also conceptually; the overt questioning, “now who’s the dumb one?”, rescues it from simply being mean. I like to think it calls to mind the archetype of the fool who is constantly vocally doubting the intelligence of others, in an attempt to cover for their own insecurities. While it’s a comparatively simple track, lyrically, it establishes some of the album’s most important themes, portraying traditional “intelligence” as mutable, and perhaps questionable. Despite its appeal, “Dummy” was actually not included on the original tracklisting of the album, but rather debuted as the B-side to the single “Brainwash,” before receiving this promotion in later revisions of the LP. In this rare case, I actually think the later edition is superior, and it’s the one I’d recommend.

Music: “Brainwash”

Besides just sharing opposite sides of the same single, there’s also a strong thematic connection between “Dummy” and the slower-paced, narrative-driven “Brainwash.” Arguably the most high-concept track to be had on Sex, “Brainwash” tells the tale of an intellectual who willingly forfeits his intelligence for the sake of falling in love. That, in and of itself, is a take on the love song that I’ve never heard before. We all know the trope that being in love makes one stupid--our word “infatuation” is basically Latin for “being made stupid.” But “Brainwash” suggests that, given the choice, we might well be better off as fools rushing in. What good is a life full of knowledge if it is one without passion, and deeper humanity? The narrator of “Brainwash” seems fully cognizant of what they abandon, and makes an informed decision to do so. But what complicates things even further is the development that the object of the narrator’s affections seems desperate to make them regain their prior book smarts--perhaps a commentary on how society frames this issue, and its willingness to prioritize the prestige of education over genuine human happiness. The single “Haven’t We Met Somewhere Before?” explores a related, but also distinct tension between knowledge and happiness.

Music: “Haven’t We Met Somewhere Before?”

Moreso than anything else on the album, “Haven’t We Met Somewhere Before?” is really sort of harrowing. Moers’s falsetto feels less like a fun disco aftershock and more like a cry of pain, and the stilted melody and more brash synthesiser stabs establish an air of unease--though still not so strong that it feels out of place alongside lighter tracks like “Brainwash.” Its lyrical narrative is plainly a tragic one, with a narrator who thinks he’s encountered his wife, but can’t quite piece it together, or get the response that he’s looking for. It’s evocative of the very real agony a sufferer of dementia and their loved ones might face, losing their memories, and, with them, their connection to the people around them. But perhaps the most eerie thing about the track is that it never does dip into more maudlin territory, even if it feels like it ought to. In the full context of the album, and particularly the sentiment expressed by “Brainwash,” we’re forced to question just how unfortunate the tale expressed in this song is. Perhaps “Haven’t We Met Somewhere Before?” is also suggesting that love is more powerful than knowledge, in its own way. Perhaps the characters it presents have transcended the need for knowledge of their shared history, because their bond is deeper and more primal than that? Similarly subversive questions about love are also posed by “Exercise Is Good For You.”

Music: “Exercise Is Good For You”

With a pleasingly abrasive, textured synth line and a rather singable refrain, “Exercise Is Good For You” is the one track cut from the later version of the album that I do find myself missing. This track’s narrator has devoted themselves to exercising--perhaps over-exercising--in the wake of a bad break-up. At first blush, it may seem a bit absurd, but this is a real-life coping mechanism, and one that can potentially be quite dangerous, particularly as it’s often combined with eating disorders. The potential for peril is compounded by the notion that, well, “exercise is good for you,” and that in a world where too few of us partake, anyone who does must be doing the best for their health. While it doesn’t deal with the realm of knowledge, I do think “Exercise Is Good For You” works in a similar space as tracks like “Brainwash” and “Haven’t We Met Somewhere Before?” do, offering an ambiguous narrative that asks us to question something we habitually value--in this case, by portraying the apparent virtue of physical fitness in a darker and less healthy light.

Earlier, I referred to this album simply as Sex, but for the UK market, it was re-christened Birds & Bees. There is obviously something quite transgressive and irreverent about naming a pop album “Sex”! We like to think of pop music as trading chiefly in themes of love and romance, so the title Sex functions as a bit of a “low blow,” suggesting that we ought to think more cynically about “what’s really going on below.” Despite this, there’s really not a lot of terribly bawdy tracks to be had on either version of the album, which may come as some surprise if you’re familiar with their early track “Pakmoväst.” I think the fact that the album title was changed, and seemingly “censored” with the very knowing title Birds & Bees, only adds to its transgressiveness, and lends it a certain allure of the forbidden.

You won’t find birds or bees on the cover of the album, however, but rather a butterfly, feeding off the nectar of two large flowers. It’s certainly an image that can be read as evocative of sensuality, with yonic visual overtones. Perhaps more overtly offensive to the eye is its queasy, dull yellow colour scheme, which is actually much more stuck in the 70s than the rather sharp and with-it electro-disco stylings of the music.

Historically, the butterfly is often used as a symbol of innocence, particularly with respect to the carnal knowledge of sex. In François Gérard’s depiction of the mythological heroine Psyche, a butterfly hovers above the subject, as she receives her first kiss from her lover, Cupid, a god of lust and sexual desire. The suggestion of youthful innocence is only heightened when the title Birds & Bees is applied. We might also consider the similarity between the idea of naivete or innocence as a virtue, and the apparent thrust of tracks like “Brainwash,” which also challenge the utility and benefit of knowledge about the world.

Telex would go on to release three more LPs after this one, and while they never quite surpassed a cult following, they keep up with the times quite respectably, incorporating sampling and digital synth textures without losing their signature levity and playfulness. I think they’re well worth a listen if you’re interested so far.

Music: “Raised By Snakes”

My favourite track on this album is one that’s exclusive to the later release, and never appeared anywhere else: “Mata Hari,” which was not only added to the album, but given the prominent position as its opening track. Mata Hari was actually a real person, a courtesan famous for her exotic dances inspired by her time in the Dutch East Indies. But she became caught up in the political storm of the First World War, and the French government convicted her of spying for the Germans--even though many believed she was framed. After her execution for the alleged crime, her severed head was embalmed and displayed in a Parisian museum, for all to gawk at...until it mysteriously went missing, possibly stolen by an “admirer.” It’s a strange and tragic tale, for sure, and one suitably treated with a sense of mystery and uncertainty by the song. An undoubtedly complex and controversial figure, Mata Hari can be seen as a symbol of European disunity, not unlike the Berlin Wall, as well as a representation of sensuality used for devious and destructive ends. I think this track enriches the album’s themes while also feeling somewhat separate, with its more pensive mood and third-person lyricism. That’s everything for today--thanks, as always, for listening!

Music: “Mata Hari”

#music #album review #album reviews #telex #sparks #ron mael #russel mael #eurovision #eurovision song contest

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