#Gregory gallant
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You must be Joking, Mr. Bridgerton!
Reimaging An Offer from a Gentleman#2/ Missing from moments from My cottage
Synopsis: When Benedict offers her a glass of whiskey, Sophie gets slightly drunk. And, also, how Benedict starts to see Sophie Beckett in a new light.
⚠️ This dabble is set before their marriage, a moment before the lake scene in An Offer from a Gentleman. Benedict hasn’t finished his character development, so……..he’s kind of a dick?
Ao3 post from here!!
“Then, Gregory broke his arm the moment he held the arrow in his hands…”
“He didn’t!”
“Unfortunately, this part is true.”
Sophie burst out laughing as Benedict imitated the stern yet exasperated look and the voice of his elder brother, I’m taking that away from you.
“Does he truly sound like that?”
“Like a 60-year-old man with 9 kids? Yes, he does sound and acts like so, ”
The kitchen again was filled with the merry laughter of Sophie Beckett. No longer the quiet, reserved girl he had imagined her to be, Benedict began to notice that he rather liked the sound of her voice, the sound of her laughter.
Although Sophie had repeatedly insisted that he should take his supper in bed, or at least, in the main dining hall, Benedict was quite persistent on having his meal in the servant’s kitchen. Firmly stating that he would dine in there. With Sophie.
But Mr. Bridgerton, I believe it is not suitable for you to dine there…
But you are dining there, am I correct?
Well yes, but…
If it is suitable for you, it must be suitable for me, isn’t it? I’m only saving you from further trouble, Ms. Beckett. It must take quite an effort to carry that quantity of food from the downstairs kitchen. I’ve also been brought up of the logic; the more the merrier, Ms. Beckett, have you heard that…
Sophie did not exactly understand either of those logics. But seeing as he dabbled on and firmly seated himself on the head of the table in the servants’ kitchen, she did notice that Benedict Bridgerton was a stubborn man indeed.
“…And that is why Colin was confiscated from giving gifts to Gregory for the next couple of years.”
“A wise decision for your brother,” Sophie chirped back, barely suppressing a giggle.
Sophie had never felt so peaceful in her life. With the fireplace cracking by the side, the peaceful summer night breeze, and the love of her life gulping down her stew quite enthusiastically (This is remarkable, Ms. Beckett, Benedict had beamed at her ), every moment felt like a dream. She had imagined every fantasy of him since two years ago, but sharing a stew in the countryside had not been on her list.
Sophie was quite worried that the dinner might end in awkward silence, just as it had been in the phaeton from the Cavenders. But Benedict has been gallant and sweet, sharing stories about his family, and his siblings.
Although their plates had been finished at least an hour ago, they were pushed aside in the corner of the table. Sophie couldn’t bring herself to start cleaning them up, and Benedict was beginning to wonder why he couldn’t stop rambling on. He noticed that he wanted more of Ms. Beckett’s smiles, her laughter.
Benedict was thanking the stars that the Crabtrees had not returned from their travels yet. Mrs. Crabtree would be furious to have him in the kitchen, let alone have a young woman be in the same room with him unchaperoned.
Sophie was almost hollering with laughter as Benedict continued to talk about the time his father had put glue on his boots. It had been quite a while since he even talked about his father, but words kept slipping out as if he couldn’t help himself.
“So, it was your father, who encouraged you to sketch?”
“Well, Anthony was rather wild, so I presume he wanted his second son to engage in more …quiet pastimes.”
“…I wouldn’t call it a pastime if I had your skills,” Sophie smiled softly.
“How could you be the judge of that?”
“…I accidentally came across one of your sketchbooks the other night,” Sophie answered sheepishly, but Benedict must have been frowning because Sophie suddenly broke into a burst;
“I’m incredibly sorry, Mr. Bridgerton. I was overstepping, I knew that I was intruding on your privacy…”
“No, no. No need for apologies, Ms. Beckett. I was merely…surprised you saw them.”
Silence had fallen between the two.
“Any thoughts, by the way?”
He asked hesitantly.
“I thought they were beautiful,”
“…You flatter me, Ms. Beckett,”
“I mean what I say, Mr.Bridgeton.”
Sophie’s serious gaze met his.
“…I loved the one with your siblings,” Sophie’s voice was barely above a whisper, “The one with the mallets. I could just feel the merriment. The expression of your sister that you sketched, she looked just like you.”
The fire in the fireplace was burning down, but Benedict noticed Sophie’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes were cast down as if she were imagining the sketch in her mind.
She is quite fetching, he thought, and Benedict suddenly wanted his sketchbook in his hands, desperately wanting to capture that exact expression on paper.
“I truly loved that sketch,” she sighed, “your father must have been so proud if he had seen your works.”
Benedict felt a stroke of heartache, remembering how he would sketch in his father’s study on his lap, and his father would ruffle his head, the first time to have an artist in the family, eh?
“Well, your father must be proud of you as well, to have a daughter so well-spoken and educated as yourself. With expert culinary skills.”
Sophie’s corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, her green eyes somewhat dimming.
“…I doubt he would.”
“Why so?”
“He was…rather distant. I don’t think he ever wanted to…” Sophie suddenly stopped, surprised that she was even talking about this. She softly placed her hand on her cheeks, trying to raise the corner of her lips. No, she wasn’t going to break down in front of him.
“It must be lovely, to grow up in a family like yours.”
“…You don’t have a family.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
Just when she tried to change the subject, she thought, she could feel her spine become rigid, her fingertips curling.
“You said that your mother was a housekeeper, but you never mentioned your father.”
Curiosity was quietly bubbling inside him, he oddly had the urge to know more about the woman who had taken such good care of him. Who was she? What was she?
“Where does he live now?”
“…He passed on as well when I was young .”
“What did he do?”
“……………….he was a gardener.”
“Who took care of you, Ms. Beckett?”
“I told you before, Mr. Bridgeton,” The more he asked, the more stubborn her tone became. “The family that my mother worked for was very generous and took care of me after her death…”
“They took care of you, but they didn’t love you.”
“…They took care of me the best they could do…”
“Why so many lies, Ms. Beckett?”
Benedict saw her eyes widen, almost as if she were in shock.
“……..How did you know I was lying ?”
“I could see it in your eyes.”
Benedict knew that he should have stopped interrogating the poor girl moments ago, but he couldn’t help himself from rambling on. There was so much sadness in the girl’s eyes, and he had to know the depths of it.
“Aren’t you ever lonely Ms. Beckett? With no one to protect you, filling your gaps with deception ?”
“I have become quite accustomed to my lifestyle.”
“But that makes it more miserable, doesn’t it?”
“And what would you know of that, Mr. Bridgerton?” There was a sharpness in her tone, and Benedict felt his cheeks redden, Sophie was not looking for his pity or sympathy.
“I suppose I do not know,” he mumbled, noticing that he had overstepped. He stared down at his empty plate, regretting that he had pushed too hard. “But I do wish to understand…”
“Understand, Mr. Bridgerton? There is no need to understand…”
��I care about you,”
Benedict blurted out, almost instinctively.
“ I……I ….I meant that…I …worry about you.”
Benedict saw Sophie, who had a soft smile rising on the corner of her lips. Her shoulders and hands were relaxed, but there was a look of disbelief on her face.
“…I apologize that I have overstepped.”
Sophie quietly shook her head.
“…I will never understand your loneliness, truly.” Benedict fidgeted his hands. “But I do know how it feels to …be lost. Alone.”
“Even with a family like yours.”
“Even like a family like mine.”
He gave a weakening smile.
“You must think me of a privileged git,” Benedict continued, but Sophie quietly shook her head.
“You could feel lost and alone in a room of a hundred people, but at the same time you could feel most fulfilled when there’s only two in the room,” Sophie said softly.“ You don’t have to feel guilty about feeling lonely or lost, no matter what position you’re in.”
“Mmmm”
Benedict noticed that he couldn’t quite respond to her words. But there was something incredibly soothing about her voice, her words.
“But personally…” Sophie continued hesitantly, “ I never knew you felt so…lost. You seemed so sure of yourself. You didn’t hesitate to help me at the Cavender’s”
“I wouldn’t hesitate to help you,” He replied quickly, “I just feel so lost because…”
I lost the love of my life two years ago and have failed to find her ever since,
“…Ever since Eddie was born, and Miles, that is, Anthony and Kate’s boys,” Benedict couldn’t believe those words were coming out of himself. “I’ve been…uh, struggling..?”
Sophie suddenly noticed that the man in front of her was not the debonair, gallant Prince Charming Sophie had known in the masquerade, but a simple, honest man struggling to find purpose in life.
Sophie desperately wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him, but she knew that was out of the question. Instead, she quietly put her hands on his, rubbing the palms of his hands. She knew she was overstepping, but she just needed to touch him somewhere.
“You’re hands are cold,”
Benedict smiled softly.
“I’m sorry, I’m meddling …”
Sophie quickly withdrew her hand, but Benedict caught it at the last second.
“No. I..… I like it.”
It was truly a silent night. Not like the ones in London, Benedict thought, and he could only hear the crackle from the fireplace.
“………I’m no longer the spare or the spare of the spare. Anthony wouldn’t need any help managing the estate in a few years…and I’ll be just a useless uncle.”
“You’re not useless.”
“But I am!” He groaned, grinding his head in his arms. “I have nothing in my hands, I don’t have any professions, trade, or specialty…”
“What about art?”
“What about it?”
“You’re talented. The sketches I saw…”
“I just…I just lost the passion for it. Or the love for it. I don’t think I can put myself out again.”
“What was once lost could be found,” Sophie quietly replied. Her voice was incredibly soft. “Sometimes the lord gives us chances in the most unexpected places,”
“I never thought you were a religious sort,”
“I’m not.” Sophie had a rather guilty look on her face. “I’m saying this from experience.”
But it was a sad smile Sophie had given him.
Benedict was in strong need of a cigarette. Or at least a stiff drink.
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Benedict regretted ever giving a drink to one Sophie Beckett. He had forgotten that he had been drinking with an inexperienced woman of two and twenty, not the lads from Will’s bar or the bohemian artists in Granville’s parties. Benedict had offered too much, and apparently, Sophie had too much to drink.
I’ve never had a drink, Sophie timidly had admitted an hour earlier when he offered her a glass.
Oh, I do believe you will enjoy it, Ms. Beckett. Benedict foolishly had said, passing her one of his finest. Go on, a sip wouldn’t hurt you.
Oh, how ignorant and careless he was. Sophie Beckett was now on her eighth glass, currently giggling away happily to pour the ninth. Benedict would have to come up with an excuse to Mrs. Crabtree why one of his finest whiskey had disappeared in just one night.
The extent of her influence? Sophie had been rambling on how talented he was with his artistic pursuits, and how he truly resembled Prince Charming she had read in her childhood fairy tales.
Admittedly, Benedict did feel rather smug.
“You are a very charming gentleman, Mr. Bridgerton.” Sophie declared for the fifth time that night, softly tracing the graining on the table. He noticed that her fingertips were grazed with blisters and cuts, painful cracks on each side. He should get a bottle of lotion on his way back, he thought to himself. Although Benedict was bewildered by the amount of her consumption she decided to take, he knew how much she deserved a nice, good drink.
And he did enjoy seeing Sophie Beckett, always so prim and reserved, ramble on so high-spirited and…utterly drunk.
“…Why thank you, Ms. Beckett.”
With her pale cheeks flushed and her green eyes glowing, Benedict suddenly felt an immense amount of thirst, quickly taking another shot of his drink.
“It is your eyes, I suppose. Or is it your smile that pleases the eye?” Sophie slurred, dropping her head on the table, “With your talents and charms, you must have every man and woman at your disposal,”
Should he kiss her? A flash of thought skimmed through his mind. No, he firmly thought. He was a gentleman for god’s sake, and his father and mother had taught him better than to take advantage of an intoxicated lady. Taking liberty with a helpless maid, he would be as obnoxious as Cavender, the man he had saved Ms. Beckett from. He shuddered, reminiscing the moment he saw her in Cavender’s arms. Benedict sighed, ashamed that even the thought of kissing her had entered his mind.
But Benedict was sure that Sophie Beckett did hold some affection towards him, listening to her drunken slurs, he knew that somehow, unconsciously, he had captured Sophie Beckett’s heart, her subconscious entirely. Was it his looks? Was it his charms? Was it his family name?
It was true that Sophie Beckett was tempting, very tempting indeed. With her soft blond curls and her captivating green eyes, he could see the parts that would capture the eyes of a gentleman, despite her scrawny figure and the worker’s rags.
Just fifteen inches, Benedict thought, if he leaned over just a little, he would have her lips on his, and somewhere in his mind, instinctively, was screaming, demanding that she would be his. He simply just knew.
He could ravish her, cherish her, adore her with his whole body. He could dress her up in silk and satins, buy her ribbons and jewels, bonnets and dresses, everything a young woman would dream of. He could hide her away, she could be there for his pleasure, as his muse, his inspiration. He would sink her in his silk sheets. Perhaps he could even give her a family, which she seems to desperately want. She would never be alone.
For the first time in his life, he was making excuses to his lady in silver, the woman he had sworn would be his future wife.
A little one on the side wouldn’t hurt, would it?
But he was a gentleman. He knew that a drunken state was far from ideal to be making an offer, and there would be a perfect moment to ask her for her hand, to come to London and live with him. He would have to wait for that exact moment.
He just simply stared at Sophie Beckett, who seemed to be drifting off, her ample chest softly rising and falling.
Maybe he should just kiss her.
Benedict Bridgeton realized that he was also quite drunk as hell.
He staggered as he stood up to take a pitcher of glass, hoping that it would sober him up and water would drain the immense lust that seemed to be creeping up on him.
“Ms.Beckett, I advise you to be more careful with your drinks on future occasions.”
“…Mr. Bridgerton, you were the one who offered me these refreshments!” She mumbled, barely cracking an eye open.
“Well yes, I did, but…”
“You are quite a hypocrite.”
Benedict chuckled at the direct insult.
“The world is a dangerous place, Ms. Beckett. Typically a man would take advantage of you in such a secluded space as this…”
“Men are beasts,” She hummed,
“And men are beasts,” He sighed, searching for another glass to hand over to Ms. Beckett. She would have a terrible hangover, he thought, remembering the first one he had when his schoolmates smuggled a bottle of wine into the dormitory. He would tell her about it tomorrow morning, perhaps over a nice strong cup of tea….
“But you would never hurt me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Up until that moment, Benedict thought that he knew Sophie Beckett. He knew what ticked her, what made her laugh, what she wanted from him. He knew how she lied about almost everything of her past, how damaged she was, but how she firmly kept it inside. He knew how fragile, yet strong she was, how kind and caring she was. When he looked at her, he thought he knew everything.
“I know that you would never hurt me.”
But Sophie, simply looking up at him with her evergreen eyes, he saw an overwhelming amount of innocence, faith, and confidence towards him; a passionate gaze he couldn’t help but avert.
Benedict Bridgerton could read Sophie Beckett like the back of his hand.
Yet, she was a labyrinth he could never decipher.
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Carrying her up from the kitchen to the guest bedroom did not take that much effort. Her figure was so petite that she fit easily in arms, and he noticed that she was morbidly light, to the degree it concerned him. She must be skin and bones, he thought, was she not fed enough at the Cavenders? Although her face was still flushed, he winced at the coldness of her hands and feet as he tucked her in bed, putting extra blankets on the covers.
Benedict smiled at the little stuffed dog that sat on the dresser, not imagining that a practical maid like Sophie would keep such childlike trinkets. It was, rather dirty and worn out as if it had been kept for years, but he could see that it was made with intricacy. Made with fine velvet and beautiful beads for the eye, it was something his sisters would have, not something a housekeeper or a gardener could give to a poor child. Perhaps, it was the generous family that had given it to her.
Quite generous indeed.
He should get her a dog, he thought. Perhaps a Pomeranian or spaniels. But he was sure that she would love an English terrier. Benedict’s mind wondered happily as he imagined life as Sophie’s patron, promenading in the London streets with a puppy on the side. Oh things he could give her, the things he could teach her…
“Are you going to leave me, my lord?”
Benedict almost jerked at her address. No one had addressed him that way, except for a few women who had teased him for that lack of a title despite his wealth and prospects. Mostly in bed. He certainly did not expect it from one Sophie Beckett. Especially when he was fantasizing about Sophie as his mistress.
But Sophie’s tone held no teasing nor sultriness. It was almost childlike but hesitant and timid.
“Are you going to leave me again, my lord?”
Benedict noticed the quiver in her voice. It was the same tone Eloise used when he left school for Eaton, furious that she couldn’t leave with him, and would throw a tantrum every time holidays came to a close.
Are you going to leave me, Benedict? Again?
But while Eloise’s words were fumed with anger and frustration, there was a desperation in Sophie’s voice, a fear for loss, a fear for…abandonment. Almost as if she were begging him not to leave her.
What did she mean by My lord? Was it her former lover? A deceased partner? A former master? Thoughts wandered through his mind like a hurricane, but Benedict couldn’t help himself but go down on his knees and take her hand into his, softly caressing them as he had done every time with Eloise.
I’ll be back before you know it, Benedict had said gently as Eloise sobbed against his shoulders. You wouldn’t even notice that I was gone.!
With his knees on the bedside floor, Benedict finally saw that she was sobbing in her sleep, her endless tears gleaming in the candlelight.
“Please don’t leave me again,”
“I would never leave you, Sophia,” Benedict whispered, softly wiping off her tears.
“How could I ever leave you all alone?”
----------------------------------------------
Sophie woke up with the most terrible headache that she had ever had. It was as if humongous drums were banging in her head, and her body had never felt so heavy, so nauseous. Her throat was dying of thirst, but as she rolled over the covers, she was pleasantly surprised when she found a glass of water on the bedside table.
Ever so thoughtful, Sophie smiled softly. As she took a sip from the glass, she looked through the window, admiring the beautiful gardens that surrounded my cottage. Birds chirping in the distance, flowers blooming ever so radiantly, sunlight softly shining across her bedcovers….
Sunlight. Sunlight. ….sunlight?
Sheer panic was the only thing Sophie could feel for the next few seconds. With so much haste Sophie fumbled across the room, splashing water across her face, and rinsed her teeth to make herself, at least, presentable to Mr. Bridgerton. It had been years since she had overslept, and one time she did so, Armintia had torn her into pieces, punishing her with the terrible belt. Her fathers’s chocolate-colored belt from France. She could still remember the pain that struck her, the metal fittings that gouged her skin, staining the floor with sweat and blood.
Such a stupid, stupid girl, she cursed herself as she ran down the stairs. She could hear Armintia screeching in her head; you incolent girl, why do I even keep you here?! You foolish, lazy, girl. Good for nothing, son of a bitch…a child of a whore…Basturd, Basturd, Basturd….
“Oh, good morning Ms. Beckett.”
Benedict Bridgerton greeted her with a cheerful smile.
“You must feel terrible this morning. Aren’t you hungover, Ms. Beckett? I was hoping that you would wake up around noon so I could clear the mess…”
Benedict softly chuckled seeing Sophie look flabbergasted, her mouth hanging open in shock. He must have made a terrible mess, he was starting to regret even thinking that he could do it…
“You…you are not angry, Mr. Bridgerton?”
“Why would I ever be angry at you?”
“Because I overslept!” Sophie burst out, “I haven’t got your tea ready, or your breakfast, or your eggs, your bacon, your toast, and I haven’t got your sugar and milk and”
“Sophie, I want you to take a deep breath.”
Benedict’s voice was achingly soft and tender.
Sophie could finally see that there was no anger or annoyance or hatred in his eyes there was glee, almost as if he was going to break into a grin.
“I’ve never seen you with such messy hair,” he gave her a teasing crooked smile, and she felt her cheeks burn.
“I didn’t have time to tidy them up.”
“I’m surprised that you even woke up, Sophie.” Benedict gallantly replied, softly brushing a lock of hair off her face. The morning light shined on her like a halo, her blond curls almost glowing. “Considering the amount you drank, I thought you would sleep till noon,”
“…Was I that drunk?”
He was, standing rather close to her, she noticed.
“You were so irresistibly drunk,” Benedict grinned at her so dearly. “So adorably drunk.”
Benedict took a step forward, narrowing the distance between them. Perhaps this is the moment, he thought quietly to himself, he could lean in a bit more and…
Sophie took a step back.
“I hope I did not say anything to offend you, Mr.Bridgeton.”
“Offend me? Oh, no, no, no, no. Not at all, Ms. Beckett. Not at all. We had a lovely conversation didn’t we?” He frantically waved his arms around him. “I did enjoy our midnight chats, truly. Very engaging, very educational, very intriguing, very interesting, very agreeable. Wasn’t it Ms. Beckett?”
It was NOT the moment.
“…I’m afraid I don’t remember what we talked about, or what I said…” Sophie peered into his eyes guiltily, awkwardly fidgeting over the apron ribbons. “Or at least, after your glass of whiskey, I must have lost control and caused you so much trouble…”
“No, no. no no no no no. No. No trouble at all, Ms. Beckett.”
Sophie finally regained the emotional leeway to observe her surroundings, and she finally noticed that Benedict Bridgerton looked quite disheveled. No, he wasn’t disheveled. He was in a mess. His soft brown curls were disarrayed as if he ran his fingers through them too many times, flicked with sawdust and ashes. His white shirt was stained with…something, and his dark breeches were covered with flour and egg yolks.
And Sophie noticed that it was not just Benedict Bridgerton who was in the mess. The kitchen was an absolute fiasco. Flour, eggs, milk, wood, ashes, everything she saw on Benedict was scattered on the floor, every pot and pan were scattered every inch of the room, and he had taken out every bottle of seasoning from cupboards.
Even a Roman army couldn’t have caused such a catastrophe, Sophie found herself thinking.
“I was thinking that I could clean it up before you woke up.” Benedict’s voice was meek as mice.
“I knew you would wake up late, and you’ve been taking such wonderful care of me, so I wanted to show you my gratitude.”
“Oh.”
“So I thought I could make you breakfast.”
“Oh.”
“First I tried to make a loaf of bread,” he muttered, staring at the bags of flour that lay under the table. In heaps of flour that were sprinkled across the table, Sophie could see some kind of a lump he managed to make.
“Until I understood that bread was not made from just water and flour.”
“..Right,”
“Next, I tried to make an omelet. Initially, I thought, nothing hard, is it? Just mix them up and put them on the stove…”
Sophie saw at least a dozen eggs smashed miserably on the floor.
“And that didn’t end well, did it?”
“I see.”
“So I decided to reheat the delicious stew you made for us last night.”
Benedict gave a sheepish look at the window. The handle of the ax lay broken next to the stump, while the blade was stuck horizontally to the stump, not the chunk of wood lying next to it. At least he tried, Sophie thought.
“Until I realized I didn’t know how to put on the stove.”
Sophie didn’t know if she should kiss him on the lips or just strangle him to death. It was infuriating, almost maddening, considering the mess he had made (And how much food he had wasted); but there was something so endearing about the fact that he had attempted to do something for her.
Sophie broke out in a small grin, and Benedict felt a rush of relief. He was beginning to feel quite anxious, seeing that Sophie hardly reacted to what he was rambling on for the past few minutes. She looked…quite happy.
“So, I decided to rearrange the wonderful stew with what I could find. To refresh up the taste!”
“It is a wonderful idea, Mr. Bridgerton.”
His eyes lighted up like a candle.
“Isn’t it? Please, Ms. Beckett, go on and help yourself. I’ve already got it on a plate right here. You don’t mind cold stew, would you?”
“No, not at all.”
Sophie took her seat at the edge of the table, trying to ignore the flour and eggs scattered around the floor. The stew did look different from the night before; when she had made it, it was in a lovely shade of yellow, but now…it was rather grayish.
What on earth did he use? Sophie thought to herself as she took a sip.
“Any thoughts?”
“….It tastes remarkably marvelous, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are a terrible liar, Sophie?”
#benedict bridgerton#bridgerton#benophie#benophie fics#sophie beckett#benedict x sophie#bridgerton fanfiction#an offer from a gentleman
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7. The oldest book you read this year
12. What was the most unexpected book you read this year?
17. Top five books of the year
thanks for the ask!! referencing this post:
7. the oldest book you read this year
THE EDGE OF THE SEA by Rachel Carson, published 1955! i didn't go super far back this year haha--most of my ~classics~ are in boxes, so i haven't been cycling through the backlog as regularly as i'd like.
12. what was the most unexpected book you read this year?
okay so i feel like this one depends on how well you Know Me. my mostly-sex-repulsed aroace ass really had no business reading DOCILE, but that's been languishing on my TBR shelf since literally release day. if you look at the lineup of my goodreads, though, the one that sticks out most as Not Like The Others is THE KINGDOM OF RYE: A BRIEF HISTORY OF RUSSIAN FOOD by Darra Goldstein, because it's the only history thing on there in a lineup of SFF and horror and writing and Science, but also i'm obsessed with russiany things (which isn't Common Knowledge, in the real world, is the only reason this might count as Unexpected). what a question! fun to think about!!
17. top five books of the year
in approximate order (excluding rereads, i did a lot of rereads bot and locked tomb beloveds):
LEECH by Hiron Ennes
ONCE AND FUTURE WITCHES by Alix E. Harrow
GALLANT by VE Schwab
Tied: THE DAUGHTER OF DOCTOR MOREAU by Silvia Moreno-Garcia and THE ALBUM OF DOCTOR MOREAU by Daryl Gregory
JUST LIKE HOME by Sarah Gailey (i'm...not actually solid on this one as the fifth, but i'm not sure how to rank my fifth. ALONE OUT HERE by Riley Redgate is also equally haunting in my brainpan, but ALONE OUT HERE was toward the beginning of the year and i have the object permanence of a fruit fly :/ both excellent!! both kept me up way past my bedtime!! it's hard to Choose haha)
thanks again for the ask! this was fun!!
#text#answered#books#book games#book asks#hypnagogic-marshmallow#this was fun i love talking about books!!!
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Gregory ‘Greg’ Ares Goyle Introduction: “because fuck you, that’s why”
tw: swearing, death mention
{ cis-male , he/him , 22 , rory culkin } during the trial of voldemort’s last major conspirators, gregory goyle was spotted. they work as unspeakable for the ministry of magic (memory chamber). rumor has it they are precise + mysterious, but i’ve heard they're resentful + secretive. during the battle of hogwarts they fought for voldemort. when i think of them, i’m reminded of a rose thick of thorns, haunted eyes of a life now gone, creme de menthe on the breath, silk sheets and a overly thumbed copy of jekyll and hyde.
NAME: Gregory ‘Greg’ Ares Goyle
NICKNAMES: not unless you want to live
AGE: 22
CURRENT LOCATION: Westonbirt, Cotswolds, Gloucestershire
OCCUPATION: Unspeakable - Ministry of Magic (Memory Chamber)
EDUCATION: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
NATIONALITY: British.
ETHNICITY: White British
GENDER: Male.
PRONOUNS: He/Him
SEXUALITY: Bisexual / Biromantic
BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood
HAIR: Long, Curly, Dark Brown/Almost Black
EYES: Bright blue
HEIGHT: 5ft.10 / 1.82m /
WEIGHT: 74kg / 11st 5lbs
BODY TYPE: Thin
FASHION: Professional, Suits, Slacks and Shirts
SCARS: Burn scar from The Room of Requirement Fire on his left back shoulder
TATTOOS: The Dark Mark on his inner right arm.
PIERCINGS: N/A
OTHER FEATURES: N/A.
POSITIVE TRAITS: Precise, Mysterious, Gallant, Focused, Surprising
NEUTRAL TRAITS: Shrewd, Resourceful, Orderly, Insightful, Dutiful
NEGATIVE TRAITS: Resentful, Secretive, Tactless, Insincere, Sadistic
HISTORY:
Gregory Goyle wasn’t exceptional. His family, although sacred twenty-eight weren’t the biggest of players in the ballpark but that didn’t mean Greg wasn’t brought up the same as his peers. It was the same private tutors- not that he cared for them- and the same social circles, same parties and events and stupid traditions. He knew most of his school mates before they even started school. Which worked out fine because he’d always been close to the Malfoy’s and happily took on the role of ‘supporter’ to Draco. And it wasn’t because he was weak nor stupid not needed the clout- it was simply because this way, he could go undetected and no one would pay him much attention when focused on the main bully.
This left Greg in school to do his own thing, alongside Vincent who he gelled very well with. As long as they both played along with the idea of being ‘the muscle’ it wasn’t that hard to do, both had a fair bit of weight on them and both were very skilled at playing ‘dumb’. The best thing, it fooled everyone and it’s exactly how Greg designed it. His parents were very controlling, in the sense they wanted their only son to do well and make good impressions. Everything in his life was controlled, what he could wear, how he must look, the length of his hair, the classes he took. They didn’t have the chance of another child and to them, he was their only chance of continuing on the family name.
Greg was bullied to his own extent in school. Looked down upon, ridiculed by Saint Potter and his friends, he couldn’t believe that he and the others were being thwarted every time. He even became disillusioned a couple of times with Draco.
As time passed throughout school, Greg became enamoured with ideas of the dark lord and idealised what he preached. He was one of the first in his sixth year to take the mark, his parents looking upon him proudly- it was his way of finding his place, of being where he should be in the world. Only, no one told him there would be actual fighting and him having to kill. It suddenly dawned on him that maybe all of them were in over their heads- they were kids, yet they were following their parents blindly into a battle they weren’t prepared for. But Greg was in now, he couldn’t back out and he set about helping Draco in the tasks given.
Between this, he and Vincent became the closest they’d ever become. Mostly, a way to curb rampant hormones but also as a way of coping. No one knew, even if people suspected and both of them were very clever in hiding their ‘moments’ from prying eyes. Simply he and Vincent were like their own two peas in a pod. Cut from the same cloth. After all, both of them had yet to know about betrothals or who they’d be set up with. Maybe it was best for now that they stuck together until it was properly needed.
When it came to the year of terror, Greg relished in those who had laughed at him or looked down on him getting what he considered their comeuppance. It was easy to fall into a sadistic reign, helping the Carrows because if anyone did stand up to them, the resulting consequences ranged on the barbaric. In a way, they were all just foot soldiers, replaceable in an instant. And for a brief, short moment of the year, his attitude changed in a complete 180. Millicent Bulstrode, a girl Greg had befriended in their first year, who wasn’t always involved with their schemes but still equally as important to him and the house- the Carrows caught wind that her claim as a half-blood wasn’t as reliable as they originally thought and he had found her, hours after a ‘session’ with the twins in a pool of blood and he suddenly realised just how insane things were becoming.
No one knew to this day that it was he and Vincent who had taken her to the the 7th floor, both knew where students were hiding out- they weren’t stupid but they also didn’t need to grass people up. Instead, they tried to patch her up the best they could before knocking on the door and running the opposite direction. Only when hidden behind one of the statues did they look and see that someone brought her inside. Millicent had been one of theirs, a true Slytherin and it seemed not even that was enough.
Conflicted, Greg had a stupid idea of simply ‘quitting’- running away, taking Vincent and both of them going elsewhere. But then Harry came back to the castle and the mark burned on his arm like a branding iron as the master was called. Then, war reigned down. Following Draco, they were instructed to go to the Room of Requirement, which now resembled a junk room full of crap. And Vincent, sweet Vincent, who had become so skilled from Amycus in Fiendfyre set the room ablaze. In the chaos and confusion, Vincent was lost and Greg felt like his world had collapsed. But he couldn’t even grieve, there wasn’t time- he joined in on the death eater side when curses started falling and threw whatever hexes and curses he could think of in general directions of Hogwarts uniform and those he recognised as ‘good’ ones. But his heart wasn’t fully in it, he looked like he was doing the part but inside he was grieving and questioning everything he had done.
In was in the midst of battle he had seen Millicent once more, patched up but looking worse for wear fighting- but for the good guys, the only Slytherin he could tell who actually stayed to fight for the side of the light. He’d lost Vincent, but Millie was there, she would be enough. She had taken his hand, leading him through bodies and falling pieces of Hogwarts- with her guidance, he found himself helping the other side, picking up injured and he did it without question. Fuck Draco, fuck Lord Voldemort, fuck his parents who he knew where out there somewhere- fuck it all. But then, just when it seemed he could do good and right and after this plead stupidity and ask for forgiveness, Millie was hit right in front of him by another Avada curse and turning to see his own father, Edward Goyle as the caster.
His father looked at him, with such hatred and disdain on his face that he almost didn’t recognise the man before him. His own wand was raised and before he knew it, he had uttered a body binding spell- using his father’s hesitance against him and turned to run. He kept running, through bodies and curses and the screams until he made his way past the chaos and to a place he could disapparate.
Through the chaos of the battle, no one really knew the full extent of Greg’s involvement, he was brought in though by aurors a couple weeks later, to give his side of events and to explain his actions and part of the battle. He admitted his part with the room of requirement and said most had been done under confusion, duress and the threat of death if he didn’t comply. He mentioned that it was he who had betrayed his father and bound him in coils to be captured and by grace of the Ministry, served a year in Azkaban and then another year on house arrest. During his time in azkaban, the weight he used to carry dropped off him a lot and it adds to his gaunt, sallow looking frame which only heightens the malice in his face.
He was lucky, afterwards, to find himself able to work for the Ministry. The job offered to him as a way of ‘contributing’ to society and showing the Ministry how ‘forgiving’ they could be towards a child who didn’t know what he was doing. So he remained with them to this day, working as an unspeakable and tied to the Ministry as a pet.
He allows people to think the worst of him, the fight long gone in him to defend himself or make his ‘redeeming’ factors public knowledge. With the exception of a certain few and a certain red head. He lives alone, in the home left by his parents who were arrested and lives his day to day and actively avoids the golden trio and their followers. He had gotten what he deserved, and if he so happened to give half his living wage to those who need it still after the war, that’s between him and his prayers.
The best thing though since being alone? He can grow his hair as long as he likes and do whatever the fuck he wants. His actions and imprisonment brought him freedom in some sense.
Connections:
Draco Malfoy - Ex (?) ‘Best Friend’ / TbC
Vincent Crabbe - Deceased Best Friend / Part Time Lover
Millicent Bulstrode - Deceased Close Friend
Daphne Greengrass - Ex House Mate - Potential Friend
Astoria Greengrass - Loathes With The Fire of a Thousand Suns
Blaise Zabini - Frenemie
▶ - TOP 5 PLAYLIST
tbc
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* ◟ 𝑨𝑪𝑪𝑬𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑫 ! welcome to new york LUKE MORALES , MAHER İPEKÇİ , NIMA RYU try and stay out of trouble . santiago cabrera , alperen duymaz , lee jieun are now taken faceclaims ! you have twenty four hours to send in your account before being reopened .
* ◟ : 〔 santiago cabrera , cis man + he / him 〕 damn ! is that LUKE MORALES ? last i heard they were making a name for themselves as the DETECTIVE / FREELANCE PAINTER for the GOVERNMENT / THEMSELVES . i heard that the FORTY - SEVEN year old is a bit MORALISTIC but can also be AFFABLE . sometimes you can hear them humming FOR THE BEST by GREGORY & THE HAWK , though people mostly associate them with A CLUTTERED DESK , RADIO STATIC IN BETWEEN TUNES OF BLUES , AN ASH TRAY MUDDLED WITH ASH AND CRUMBLES OF PASTRIES , A COMFORTING HAND ON YOUR SHOULDER , WARMTH BY THE FIREPLACE , AND A RED ROOM . ( leo . )
* ◟ : 〔 alperen duymaz , non binary + he / they 〕 damn ! is that MAHER İPEKÇİ ? last i heard they were making a name for themselves as a SOLDIER / MECHANIC for the JAPANESE MAFIA . i heard that the THIRTY year old is a bit UNRULY but can also be DILIGENT . sometimes you can hear them humming OFF@NIGHT by ANWAR , though people mostly associate them with THE CONSTANT CLACKING OF AN ANTIQUE LIGHTER , SHIRTS�� MUDDIED WITH NICOTINE AND COFFEE , A LOPSIDED GRIN , HOLLOW PROMISES , AND THE UNSETTLING EMOTION OF DISTRUST . ( leo . )
* ◟ : 〔 lee jieun , non binary + she / they 〕 damn ! is that NIMA RYU ? last i heard they were making a name for themselves as the CAPO for the LATINX MAFIA . i heard that the TWENTY - NINE year old is a bit BRUSQUE but can also be GALLANT . sometimes you can hear them humming YOU’RE NOT HERE by AKIRA YAMAOKA , though people mostly associate them with PINK KNUCKLES AND BANDAGED FINGERTIPS , SILENCE THAT FOLLOWS BOISTEROUS LAUGHTER , DEEP HOLLOW STARES , A REMARKABLE FEELING LIKE HOME , AND A BLINK AND YOU’LL MISS SMILE . ( leo . )
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»Ich schreibe immer wieder die Geschichte meiner Eltern«
Der kanadische Comiczeichner Seth alias Gregory Gallant im Gespräch über die Ungenauigkeit der Erinnerung, die Last der Nostalgie und seine Erwartung, in der Bedeutungslosigkeit zu versinken. In diesen Tagen erscheint sein lang erwartetes, neues »Palookaville«-Album.
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#ArtSpiegelman#BenKatchor#CharlesM.Schulz#ChesterBrown#ChrisOliveros#ChrisWare#DanielClowes#DougWhright#EdwardHopper#EdwardHoppy#ElGreco#featured#FrancisBacon#GilbertHernandez#GregoryGallant#HayaoMiyazaki#Hergé#JackKirby#JaimeHernandez#JennyLind#JoeMatt#JohnStanley#LucChamberland#RobertCrumb#SarahBernhardt#Seth#ThoreauMacDonald#WesAnderson#WilliamShakespeare#YvesChaland
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Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus
It was, however, probably built by Constantine Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus, on the site of an earlier palace built by Constantine the Great, as a conveniently situated residence when reviewing the troops. The Jucundiana, Justinian’s favourite residence, was at Galata, and not at the Hebdomon as is erroneously supposed. Tekfur Sara’i is worthy of special notice as being one of the few remaining specimens of Byzantine architecture, a style which appears to have been further developed in the palaces at Venice. The building, commanding a fine view of the Golden Horn, is a three-storeyed one, with triple windows and marble sills. The immediate vicinity is now the Jewish quarter. Admission to the interior of the palace is free; the entrance is through the glass factory near the walls.
Eghri Kapil (Crooked Gate) is the sixth gate, and is the ancient Harsia, also called Porta Caligaria, from the number of military bootmakers’ shops once in the vicinity. It is the gate so bravely defended by the gallant German, Johann Grant, and by Theodore of Carystos, during the last siege by the Turks, and is also the place from which Constantine Palaeologus made his last reconnaissance on the eve of the taking of the city.
The seventh gate has disappeared long ago, and not a vestige of it now remains.
In the Hebdomon district was the site of the Blackemce Palace, which probably stood on the very spot where Awas Kffendi’s Mosque now stands. This palace was first built by Anastasius Dicorus, in 499 A.D., before the erection of the Theodosian Walls, and was originally an imperial pavilion for the use of the emperor when proceeding to Blachernse Church; but was subsequently enlarged, and in the ninth century was considerably extended by the addition of new wings, and decorated and embellished with such magnificence as to evoke the astonishment and admiration of Peter the Hermit and his Crusaders in 1096.
Alexius Comnenus
At Blachernae took place the meeting of Godfrey de Bouillon with Alexius Comnenus (see p. 12). Here also the arrangements were made with Isaac Angelus for the fourth Crusade. During the fifty-eight years of the Latin occupation the palace suffered considerable damage; but in 1261 it was restored by Michael Palaeologus (see p. 15), and was the favourite residence of the Greek emperors. It con-tinued to be the favourite residence of the Palaeologi down to the time of the taking of the city by the Turks.
The closed gateway seen half-way between the second and third towers, beyond the foot of the hill, is the Gyrolimne, once the main entrance of the Blachernae Palace. The inscription on the fourth tower sets forth that it is the tower of Isaac Angelus, built in 1188. The next tower, known as the Tower of Anemas, was a state prison attached to Blachernae Palace, and was built by Alexius Comnenus. Its name is derived from its first inmate, Anemas, imprisoned for conspiracy against that emperor in 1107. Amongst others confined in it, at different times, were the Emperor Andronicus Comnenus; John Palaeologus and his two sons; Gregory, Duke of Trebizonde; and the patriarch Yeccus.
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Photo
Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus
It was, however, probably built by Constantine Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus, on the site of an earlier palace built by Constantine the Great, as a conveniently situated residence when reviewing the troops. The Jucundiana, Justinian’s favourite residence, was at Galata, and not at the Hebdomon as is erroneously supposed. Tekfur Sara’i is worthy of special notice as being one of the few remaining specimens of Byzantine architecture, a style which appears to have been further developed in the palaces at Venice. The building, commanding a fine view of the Golden Horn, is a three-storeyed one, with triple windows and marble sills. The immediate vicinity is now the Jewish quarter. Admission to the interior of the palace is free; the entrance is through the glass factory near the walls.
Eghri Kapil (Crooked Gate) is the sixth gate, and is the ancient Harsia, also called Porta Caligaria, from the number of military bootmakers’ shops once in the vicinity. It is the gate so bravely defended by the gallant German, Johann Grant, and by Theodore of Carystos, during the last siege by the Turks, and is also the place from which Constantine Palaeologus made his last reconnaissance on the eve of the taking of the city.
The seventh gate has disappeared long ago, and not a vestige of it now remains.
In the Hebdomon district was the site of the Blackemce Palace, which probably stood on the very spot where Awas Kffendi’s Mosque now stands. This palace was first built by Anastasius Dicorus, in 499 A.D., before the erection of the Theodosian Walls, and was originally an imperial pavilion for the use of the emperor when proceeding to Blachernse Church; but was subsequently enlarged, and in the ninth century was considerably extended by the addition of new wings, and decorated and embellished with such magnificence as to evoke the astonishment and admiration of Peter the Hermit and his Crusaders in 1096.
Alexius Comnenus
At Blachernae took place the meeting of Godfrey de Bouillon with Alexius Comnenus (see p. 12). Here also the arrangements were made with Isaac Angelus for the fourth Crusade. During the fifty-eight years of the Latin occupation the palace suffered considerable damage; but in 1261 it was restored by Michael Palaeologus (see p. 15), and was the favourite residence of the Greek emperors. It con-tinued to be the favourite residence of the Palaeologi down to the time of the taking of the city by the Turks.
The closed gateway seen half-way between the second and third towers, beyond the foot of the hill, is the Gyrolimne, once the main entrance of the Blachernae Palace. The inscription on the fourth tower sets forth that it is the tower of Isaac Angelus, built in 1188. The next tower, known as the Tower of Anemas, was a state prison attached to Blachernae Palace, and was built by Alexius Comnenus. Its name is derived from its first inmate, Anemas, imprisoned for conspiracy against that emperor in 1107. Amongst others confined in it, at different times, were the Emperor Andronicus Comnenus; John Palaeologus and his two sons; Gregory, Duke of Trebizonde; and the patriarch Yeccus.
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New Post has been published on Vasilka
Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus
It was, however, probably built by Constantine Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus, on the site of an earlier palace built by Constantine the Great, as a conveniently situated residence when reviewing the troops. The Jucundiana, Justinian’s favourite residence, was at Galata, and not at the Hebdomon as is erroneously supposed. Tekfur Sara’i is worthy of special notice as being one of the few remaining specimens of Byzantine architecture, a style which appears to have been further developed in the palaces at Venice. The building, commanding a fine view of the Golden Horn, is a three-storeyed one, with triple windows and marble sills. The immediate vicinity is now the Jewish quarter. Admission to the interior of the palace is free; the entrance is through the glass factory near the walls.
Eghri Kapil (Crooked Gate) is the sixth gate, and is the ancient Harsia, also called Porta Caligaria, from the number of military bootmakers’ shops once in the vicinity. It is the gate so bravely defended by the gallant German, Johann Grant, and by Theodore of Carystos, during the last siege by the Turks, and is also the place from which Constantine Palaeologus made his last reconnaissance on the eve of the taking of the city.
The seventh gate has disappeared long ago, and not a vestige of it now remains.
In the Hebdomon district was the site of the Blackemce Palace, which probably stood on the very spot where Awas Kffendi’s Mosque now stands. This palace was first built by Anastasius Dicorus, in 499 A.D., before the erection of the Theodosian Walls, and was originally an imperial pavilion for the use of the emperor when proceeding to Blachernse Church; but was subsequently enlarged, and in the ninth century was considerably extended by the addition of new wings, and decorated and embellished with such magnificence as to evoke the astonishment and admiration of Peter the Hermit and his Crusaders in 1096.
Alexius Comnenus
At Blachernae took place the meeting of Godfrey de Bouillon with Alexius Comnenus (see p. 12). Here also the arrangements were made with Isaac Angelus for the fourth Crusade. During the fifty-eight years of the Latin occupation the palace suffered considerable damage; but in 1261 it was restored by Michael Palaeologus (see p. 15), and was the favourite residence of the Greek emperors. It con-tinued to be the favourite residence of the Palaeologi down to the time of the taking of the city by the Turks.
The closed gateway seen half-way between the second and third towers, beyond the foot of the hill, is the Gyrolimne, once the main entrance of the Blachernae Palace. The inscription on the fourth tower sets forth that it is the tower of Isaac Angelus, built in 1188. The next tower, known as the Tower of Anemas, was a state prison attached to Blachernae Palace, and was built by Alexius Comnenus. Its name is derived from its first inmate, Anemas, imprisoned for conspiracy against that emperor in 1107. Amongst others confined in it, at different times, were the Emperor Andronicus Comnenus; John Palaeologus and his two sons; Gregory, Duke of Trebizonde; and the patriarch Yeccus.
0 notes
Photo
Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus
It was, however, probably built by Constantine Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus, on the site of an earlier palace built by Constantine the Great, as a conveniently situated residence when reviewing the troops. The Jucundiana, Justinian’s favourite residence, was at Galata, and not at the Hebdomon as is erroneously supposed. Tekfur Sara’i is worthy of special notice as being one of the few remaining specimens of Byzantine architecture, a style which appears to have been further developed in the palaces at Venice. The building, commanding a fine view of the Golden Horn, is a three-storeyed one, with triple windows and marble sills. The immediate vicinity is now the Jewish quarter. Admission to the interior of the palace is free; the entrance is through the glass factory near the walls.
Eghri Kapil (Crooked Gate) is the sixth gate, and is the ancient Harsia, also called Porta Caligaria, from the number of military bootmakers’ shops once in the vicinity. It is the gate so bravely defended by the gallant German, Johann Grant, and by Theodore of Carystos, during the last siege by the Turks, and is also the place from which Constantine Palaeologus made his last reconnaissance on the eve of the taking of the city.
The seventh gate has disappeared long ago, and not a vestige of it now remains.
In the Hebdomon district was the site of the Blackemce Palace, which probably stood on the very spot where Awas Kffendi’s Mosque now stands. This palace was first built by Anastasius Dicorus, in 499 A.D., before the erection of the Theodosian Walls, and was originally an imperial pavilion for the use of the emperor when proceeding to Blachernse Church; but was subsequently enlarged, and in the ninth century was considerably extended by the addition of new wings, and decorated and embellished with such magnificence as to evoke the astonishment and admiration of Peter the Hermit and his Crusaders in 1096.
Alexius Comnenus
At Blachernae took place the meeting of Godfrey de Bouillon with Alexius Comnenus (see p. 12). Here also the arrangements were made with Isaac Angelus for the fourth Crusade. During the fifty-eight years of the Latin occupation the palace suffered considerable damage; but in 1261 it was restored by Michael Palaeologus (see p. 15), and was the favourite residence of the Greek emperors. It con-tinued to be the favourite residence of the Palaeologi down to the time of the taking of the city by the Turks.
The closed gateway seen half-way between the second and third towers, beyond the foot of the hill, is the Gyrolimne, once the main entrance of the Blachernae Palace. The inscription on the fourth tower sets forth that it is the tower of Isaac Angelus, built in 1188. The next tower, known as the Tower of Anemas, was a state prison attached to Blachernae Palace, and was built by Alexius Comnenus. Its name is derived from its first inmate, Anemas, imprisoned for conspiracy against that emperor in 1107. Amongst others confined in it, at different times, were the Emperor Andronicus Comnenus; John Palaeologus and his two sons; Gregory, Duke of Trebizonde; and the patriarch Yeccus.
0 notes
Photo
Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus
It was, however, probably built by Constantine Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus, on the site of an earlier palace built by Constantine the Great, as a conveniently situated residence when reviewing the troops. The Jucundiana, Justinian’s favourite residence, was at Galata, and not at the Hebdomon as is erroneously supposed. Tekfur Sara’i is worthy of special notice as being one of the few remaining specimens of Byzantine architecture, a style which appears to have been further developed in the palaces at Venice. The building, commanding a fine view of the Golden Horn, is a three-storeyed one, with triple windows and marble sills. The immediate vicinity is now the Jewish quarter. Admission to the interior of the palace is free; the entrance is through the glass factory near the walls.
Eghri Kapil (Crooked Gate) is the sixth gate, and is the ancient Harsia, also called Porta Caligaria, from the number of military bootmakers’ shops once in the vicinity. It is the gate so bravely defended by the gallant German, Johann Grant, and by Theodore of Carystos, during the last siege by the Turks, and is also the place from which Constantine Palaeologus made his last reconnaissance on the eve of the taking of the city.
The seventh gate has disappeared long ago, and not a vestige of it now remains.
In the Hebdomon district was the site of the Blackemce Palace, which probably stood on the very spot where Awas Kffendi’s Mosque now stands. This palace was first built by Anastasius Dicorus, in 499 A.D., before the erection of the Theodosian Walls, and was originally an imperial pavilion for the use of the emperor when proceeding to Blachernse Church; but was subsequently enlarged, and in the ninth century was considerably extended by the addition of new wings, and decorated and embellished with such magnificence as to evoke the astonishment and admiration of Peter the Hermit and his Crusaders in 1096.
Alexius Comnenus
At Blachernae took place the meeting of Godfrey de Bouillon with Alexius Comnenus (see p. 12). Here also the arrangements were made with Isaac Angelus for the fourth Crusade. During the fifty-eight years of the Latin occupation the palace suffered considerable damage; but in 1261 it was restored by Michael Palaeologus (see p. 15), and was the favourite residence of the Greek emperors. It con-tinued to be the favourite residence of the Palaeologi down to the time of the taking of the city by the Turks.
The closed gateway seen half-way between the second and third towers, beyond the foot of the hill, is the Gyrolimne, once the main entrance of the Blachernae Palace. The inscription on the fourth tower sets forth that it is the tower of Isaac Angelus, built in 1188. The next tower, known as the Tower of Anemas, was a state prison attached to Blachernae Palace, and was built by Alexius Comnenus. Its name is derived from its first inmate, Anemas, imprisoned for conspiracy against that emperor in 1107. Amongst others confined in it, at different times, were the Emperor Andronicus Comnenus; John Palaeologus and his two sons; Gregory, Duke of Trebizonde; and the patriarch Yeccus.
0 notes
Photo
Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus
It was, however, probably built by Constantine Porphyrogenitus for his son Romanus, on the site of an earlier palace built by Constantine the Great, as a conveniently situated residence when reviewing the troops. The Jucundiana, Justinian’s favourite residence, was at Galata, and not at the Hebdomon as is erroneously supposed. Tekfur Sara’i is worthy of special notice as being one of the few remaining specimens of Byzantine architecture, a style which appears to have been further developed in the palaces at Venice. The building, commanding a fine view of the Golden Horn, is a three-storeyed one, with triple windows and marble sills. The immediate vicinity is now the Jewish quarter. Admission to the interior of the palace is free; the entrance is through the glass factory near the walls.
Eghri Kapil (Crooked Gate) is the sixth gate, and is the ancient Harsia, also called Porta Caligaria, from the number of military bootmakers’ shops once in the vicinity. It is the gate so bravely defended by the gallant German, Johann Grant, and by Theodore of Carystos, during the last siege by the Turks, and is also the place from which Constantine Palaeologus made his last reconnaissance on the eve of the taking of the city.
The seventh gate has disappeared long ago, and not a vestige of it now remains.
In the Hebdomon district was the site of the Blackemce Palace, which probably stood on the very spot where Awas Kffendi’s Mosque now stands. This palace was first built by Anastasius Dicorus, in 499 A.D., before the erection of the Theodosian Walls, and was originally an imperial pavilion for the use of the emperor when proceeding to Blachernse Church; but was subsequently enlarged, and in the ninth century was considerably extended by the addition of new wings, and decorated and embellished with such magnificence as to evoke the astonishment and admiration of Peter the Hermit and his Crusaders in 1096.
Alexius Comnenus
At Blachernae took place the meeting of Godfrey de Bouillon with Alexius Comnenus (see p. 12). Here also the arrangements were made with Isaac Angelus for the fourth Crusade. During the fifty-eight years of the Latin occupation the palace suffered considerable damage; but in 1261 it was restored by Michael Palaeologus (see p. 15), and was the favourite residence of the Greek emperors. It con-tinued to be the favourite residence of the Palaeologi down to the time of the taking of the city by the Turks.
The closed gateway seen half-way between the second and third towers, beyond the foot of the hill, is the Gyrolimne, once the main entrance of the Blachernae Palace. The inscription on the fourth tower sets forth that it is the tower of Isaac Angelus, built in 1188. The next tower, known as the Tower of Anemas, was a state prison attached to Blachernae Palace, and was built by Alexius Comnenus. Its name is derived from its first inmate, Anemas, imprisoned for conspiracy against that emperor in 1107. Amongst others confined in it, at different times, were the Emperor Andronicus Comnenus; John Palaeologus and his two sons; Gregory, Duke of Trebizonde; and the patriarch Yeccus.
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Gregory and Lucien pt 1
Story One
The Meeting
Doo doo doo Gonna get a roommate. Doo doo Gonna be their best friend. Doo doo doo Gonna have cool friend adventures, dooo dooo Ka-Pow!
Hello?
Ah! What the hell man?!? You can’t just go sneaking up on people like that!
Sorry?
It’s ok broski, but whew, thought I was gonna have a heart attack there.
Oh. I apologize I didn’t realize you had such a fragile cardiac condition.
No, I uh don’t have a fragile cardiac condition, whatever the hell that is. It’s just a saying broski means you scared me.
Of course! Hahahaha I was um messing with you! Ah um bro?
Oh. Oh! Ok buddy I got you. Bring it in!
Oh, yes let me just fist bump. Yes, there you go.
Cool! Well, I’m Gregory but everyone calls me Greg, or if you’re one of my teammates Gallant Greg.
Gallant?
It’s cause I always apologize after I knock down the opposing team during a game.
Fascinating. Now before we get to close may I ask what you are doing in my room?
Because it’s my room too broski! We’re roommates! Now which bunk do you want?
Neither since we are not roommates.
Uh yes, we are.
No, we’re not.
Yes, we are.
No. We. Are. Not.
Yes. We. Are.
Listen Gregory you seem to be a very fine fellow.
Fellow?
But I ordered a single room.
Well, are you sure you got the room number, right?
Of course! Room 420 in Tubman hall.
I don’t know what to tell you broski that’s my room number too. Maybe there was a mix up at res life?
This is infuriating! I specifically requested a single! I am going to speak to the room and board coordinators right now!
Goodluck Broski!
Slam
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The Dew-locks into plastic bags
A curtal sonnet sequence
1
” She spied he has no been my lordly sun.
There foundress us, as bright whose smooth calm
ravish’d as night blend in one. Yes I touch
the door. A subtle to my gain, all the
golden arrow-straight goes he. And treasure
laden, her would surpass that are than those
light of yourselves into her by night. Wise
Head—clean Heart—strong since he had address’d of
the day should from over my lips of glee,
my freedom. By just prevent my bed-
I dream.
2
Why liuest the torment shadow’d my mistes
eclipse, and ringing us all. And then
her fair creature sprang elate, but blessed with
his hand to guides my bosoms of light euen
thou still be waste, and a heavy hand sherbet
cooling in the know: is it in payne,
his glory moved these nine Worthiest thou
kenst, the death down toward the glistering him
here were touch a struck by the skies! ’St thou
have his, by just thy stately that the week
he door!
3
If love thee the lily’ juan had on a
piteous life’s various story aptly
ends: come heretos and their black-fac’d cowards
in cunning their light: from its hold, shows
the love-hat really tame, or the power
had left but my five with lovest to behold
the right: their pride of raising hound. Good
Betty’s still and made him alive without
drop its golden pin; since I can find and
to hold you ain’t neva have for more,
never me.
4
Herds the empty head, and the cling came steam,
as on a grand pomegranate nodding
travelling run, and the rich mightst thou hast thou,
poor soul out of her sweet Memories, his
country’s custom of these are thinking and
to this beauty in the jewel of rock. She
thine hears through certain’d his ears, when in her
god, and if the restless at once travel’s
stories dark, and go, mount and kisses, which
he gave: is how I measure dry; for though
her that.
5
Tho deemed as a serious influence,
and flammable creature those. Lions,
franticly she repairs, and exorcised.
She courteously to put the soul toward, because
than a man, my heart relent, yet
hastily subscribed, we drove We die an earth.
Or am I not proud of honour’d of
the waves rose, and stranger fit; even for
their love Gregory! To enter; his eyes
moved his dark fen the flowers, small her
goeth about.
6
I have that no just have you doest watch the
man shew the sun doth crystal tide thee, clumsy
hold; and if you love, though earth beneath
that thy soft groin. But never relief; the
cold terrors not a bell in this sunlight
of them still clapping on of nut-brown and
mortal Rome, and cut think and grass, how broke,
and ends of free as the long. This broad wakes,—
to see, the courtier could he now is
rage hys right, and by her sweet in a
curbside pool.
7
Of charms SHE alone, then his fyrye face brightes,
the prefaced the slack; now, that every
eyes, in Johnny, till to thee. When all smile
is made about. Elements was low, that
God had suffering my saddening wound? As he
rosy flood, smooth moist cabin when at last
clear’d Absál from her eyes, but not being
mimicry! Into her. As I divining
blowing off, arms limpid lapse to tale;
still renew our loving longer is
this busied.
8
They think of the cup with a full of velvet
cushions and some, or your grave, ne’er did
breedeth love? Th’ amorous year had
no powre to find thee so indeed, that on
the dale, and she becomes the gracious! And
times, and in battles treads the joints did the
gallant gentlemen who have broke and the
Dew-bespangled tears in her weakeness
the pineal glanced the manlier one and
desired cheeks, and pray you where my pen
doth tears.
9
Thou should hinder learn’d her fair throat; abase
to Paphos, where he would be ours fresh and
he: a winged Fame and mile. Says my half-closed
themselves beheld most lowe, I cannons rattle,
those who drew on its crystal nunneries;
not fitly done no wonder of this
back’d breeds by beating of the gasping laugh’d
to hold it! Starts; no jealous though all her
veil I saw rooftops. Their chase were sweet
pharmaceutical behold the Dey
of Tripoli.
10
Your idiot boy? From harmony through
my gentle she mitigated the white
with head besprent which grows young Lycidas
is that dream’d a dream had slop’d his silently
ravell’d laws, and there among a weasel
on a row of mourner, black and gladly
to play the Lady Psyche, ’ I beg;
why art there among their spoused to the
woodbine, we stay that, so much delight. The
truth—to prove he left alone. But
the loneliness.
11
To think it heaven’s head, over my bedde,
not beauty stood, thaw’d and Kingcups, came in
round her these are up—she dregs of the same
the pension twixt crimson on that loss and
yet I worry over is thy dayntye Nymphes
did parts words favour, form’d in fact,
excepting that climax of all so surprised
me. And now she state was brief while you’re lagging
I will calendar could not to touch
the Sunne, and play should bringeth forth by thee
on me.
#poetry#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Markov chains#Markov chain length: 6#180 texts#curtal sonnet sequence
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Preminuo je glumac Gregory Itzin, gledateljima najpoznatniji po ulogama u serijama 24, NCIS i Mentalist
Glumac Gregory Itzin, najpoznatiji po ulozi predsjednika Charlesa Logana u televizijskoj seriji 24 preminuo je u 75. godini života
Glumac Gregory Itzin preminuo je uslijed komplikacija tijekom hitne operacije, potvrdila je za People glumčeva menadžerica Lisa Gallant. Godine 2015. Itzin je doživio 'jaki srčani udar' tijekom izvedbe Shakespearea, ali se 'vratio samo kako bi nastavio napredovati u kazalištu, na filmu i televiziji', rekla je Gallant u svojoj izjavi.
'Njegovu ljubav prema umjetnosti jedino je nadmašila ljubav prema obitelji. Greg je pune 43 godine bio u braku s ljubavi svog života, Judie, s kojom ima dvoje djece, koja su bila njegov ponos i dika: Wilke (također glumac) i Julia (umjetnica) te unuk Wylder Gregory, koji je bio zjenica njegovog oka,' rekla je Gallant.
'Svoje posljednje dane proveo je na Srednjem zapadu sa svojom sestrom Pamelom i nećakinjom i nećakom, Deidre i Aaronom, i pranećakinjom i nećakom, Claire i Coleom te zajedno sa svojim sinom i unukom,' dodala je.
Njegov sin Wilke je podijelio na društvenim mrežama iskrenu poruku u kojoj se oprašta od oca napisavši: 'Teško je riječima opisati život čovjeka koji živi punim plućima. Moj je tata bio poznat u svijetu kao fenomenalan glumac s opcijom rada koji bi nadmašio životopise većine poznatih glumaca. Radio je na svemu, od Prijatelja, Zvjezdanih staza: Deep Space Nine, Mork i Mindy, i naravno zloglasnog predsjednika u 24 i još mnogo toga.'
'Ali ono po čemu su ga mnogi ljudi doista poznavali bile su njegove nevjerojatne izvedbe na pozornici. Sjećam se da sam ga gledao u showu Shipwrecked Donalda Marguliesa i oduševio sam se što je čovjek na pozornici upravo moj tata. On je bio zaljubljen u kazalište, pa je čak i na samrti mogao recitirati Shakespearea kao da je sam smišljao riječi,' doda je.
Zaključio je poruku napisavši: 'Nikada neću osjećati kao da smo imali dovoljno vremena zajedno. Volim te stari i stvarno ne znam što ću bez tebe. Svi su te voljeli i nedostajat ćeš nam nevjerojatno. Iako gorko-slatko, drago mi je što smo ovih nekoliko dana proveli zajedno.'
Jon Cassar, izvršni producent serije 24, prisjetio se Itzina na Twitteru. 'Moj prijatelj Greg Itzin je preminuo danas', rekao je. 'Bio je jedan od najtalentiranijih glumaca s kojima sam imao čast raditi, ali više od toga bio je svestran i sjajan tip. Nedostajat ćeš svojoj obitelji iz 24 koja je prema njemu imala samo ljubav i poštovanje. Ostavio si svoj trag, sadapPočivaj u miru prijatelju.'
Itzin se pridružio glumačkoj ekipi serije 24 2005. godine Tijekom prve sezone glumio je potpredsjednika Charlesa Logana, a sljedeće sezone njegov je lik postao predsjednik. Za ulogu je bio nominiran za dva Emmyja.
Osim u 24 Itzin se pojavio u brojnim televizijskim serijama uključujući NCIS, Prijatelje, Prvo ubojstvo, Mentalist, Očajne kućanice i Bostonsko pravo. Glumio je i nekoliko različitih likova u serijama Zvjezdane staze: Deep Space Nine, Zvjezdane staze: Voyager i Zvjezdane staze: Enterprise.
My friend Greg Itzin passed away today.He was one of the most talented actors I had the honor to work with, but more than that he was an all around great guy. He’ll be missed by his 24 family who had nothing but love & respect for him. You made your mark, now Rest In Peace friend pic.twitter.com/IbrhAQXix2
— Jon Cassar (@joncassar) July 8, 2022
Na velikom platnu, glumac rođen u Washington, D.C. i koji je studirao na American Conservatory Theatre u San Franciscu, pojavio se u Lincolnu Stevena Spielberga, kao i u 'Martovskim idama', 'U tuđoj koži' te 'Strah i prezir u Las Vegasu'. Itzin je dobio nominaciju za Tonyja za svoju ulogu u The Kentucky Cycle 1994. Kasnije se vratio na Broadway 2010. kako bi preuzeo ulogu Kennetha Laya u Enronu.
Tportal.hr
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Gregory Itzin, 24 and Star Trek actor, dies at 74
Gregory Itzin, 24 and Star Trek actor, dies at 74
24 actr Gregory Itzin has died at age 74.
The actor’s manager, Lisa Gallant, confirmed the news Friday, adding that Itzin died from complications that arose during an emergency surgery. He previously had a heart attack on stage during a 2015 performance as William Shakespeare’s Falstaff.
Emmy-winning 24 producer Jon Cassar remembered Itzin on Twitter, writing about his bond with the performer…
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Gregory Itzin, actor who played president on '24,' dead at 74
Gregory Itzin, actor who played president on ’24,’ dead at 74
NEWYou can now listen to Fox News articles!
Gregory Itzin, an actor who played roles in “24” and “The Mentalist,” has died at 74.
Lisa Gallant, the actor’s manager, confirmed to Fox News Digital that Itzin died of complications during emergency surgery.
Itzin spent his final days in the Midwest with his family.
“His love for the arts was only surpassed by his love for his family,” Gallant…
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