#BRAZEN

[diana-andraste]

This is the Night, 1932

[whatevertheweather]

Thank you so to everyone who’s kept tagging me on WIP days!

It’s sure been a minute. Like a 4 million seconds-long minute. I’ve spent roughly half of those seconds being like “I’m gonna post on Wednesday. K well I’m definitely gonna post something Sunday. K I’m for sure gonna do the next one tho.” and today I’m finally doing it, even though I mostly still feel like rolling my eyes every time I try to write something.

I’ve been working a little on the Brazen sequel today, and I couldn’t find one really satisfying but non-spoilery snippet, so here are two less satisfying snippets:

“I don’t need your reassurance,” he says flatly.

Simon leans forward and dips his head, a quick scrunch of his nose as he says, “‘Course not,” in a hush, like they’re sharing a secret. Baz looks like he’s about to pull a knife on him. “I’m just saying,” Simon shrugs. “I would kill for you.”

Baz scoffs. “That’s not saying much.”

And:

Trying to dig his heels in. Get back at Baz for yesterday.

He doesn’t have a prayer. There’s not a lick of impulse control in that man’s body. He licks on impulse. Stopped them in the middle of a crowded footway once just to stand on his toes and lick a stripe from the corner of Baz’s mouth up to his temple. Caused a pedestrian traffic jam and then walked away from it without a word.

Now I must be off again cause I actually sorta want to keep writing (how bizarre!), so tags: @fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @cutestkilla @artsyunderstudy trying to think who else liked Brazen um @sillyunicorn maybe @fight-surrender @bookish-bogwitch k just gonna tag everyone @whogaveyoupermission @martsonmars @facewithoutheart @ivelovedhimthroughworse @basiltonbutliketheherb @confused-bi-queer @captain-aralias et al.

[addictivecontradiction]

L'avenir, 2016

[curmudgeonness]

The maid has taken a break while his laundry finishes.

[dcviated]

@runefactorynonsense sent: [Boundary setting for the Guna?] First, the blue. Then, the red. Was there a violet victim in there? Either way, now, it was the orange- a color suited for autumn and days with lengthy vibrant sunsets, not the current colder, barren outside world. A world she was suited for- winter was her friend. Easily adjusted to. Another layer? Lynette didn't need it. One in her size? Available. In a drawer. But, no, she'd taken that one. Just another theft in as many days, worn brazenly at her place beside the Earthmate's kitchen island. Chin on hand, elbow on counter, eyes bright; "I don't see your name on it."

Wow. Quips. Raguna hadn't even said anything yet? The words must have been plain on his face. Was he really so easy to read? (yes) Indigo eyes had been trailing over the garment (his coat) (that's his) as it rests (flatteringly) (a couple sizes bigger than her) over her form (she's so smug) (what the heck). It's not hard to see that the gears turned. And the way she was taunting him so openly about it...

"I didn't realize that's something I needed to do with how old we are. Y'know. With how the weather is outside I kind of need that myself, Lyn. So..." There's a half hearted gesture of the hand with a matching twist of his lips.

"I need you to take it of--" A hard stop that catches the remainder of the words in a jumble in his mouth. There's insinuations to that line and unknowns to the equation that make this not the best thing to say. Especially to her. Suffice to say with how his face changes in shade maybe extra warmth isn't necessary. "...t- to change out of it when you get the chance. Geez."

...the question is, does he wash it afterward? When was the last time he washed it himself?!

[wally-b-feed]

'Voyeur' by Edward Hooper

[chronolatry-art]

wrath finn for the soul

[dndtreasury]

Brazen Shelter

[cupoftrembling]

Brazen

May I tell you my favorite joke from the Celestial Civil War?

Unlike many of the aggrandizement and hyperbole of the other stories from such a terrible, miserable war, this one has something I consider to be much more illuminating than the propaganda. Something that is of so much more use to us as investigators. Unlike the rest of the war, this joke actually has somewhat of a punchline.

So, can you allow me the pleasure? I don’t get to tell many jokes anymore.

…

Thank you, dear reader.

The Autumn Court had just accepted the Wolf’s Bargain. On the horizon, to the west, the sky burned. Castle Elphame was, of course, sheltered from this raging inferno. But each of the Summer Court knew that war would, eventually, be on their doorstep. They readied themselves for it. They brandished bronze blades, hardened wood into spears and armor, and steeled themselves to die in their Queen’s Name. Even Queen Titania, Queen of Storms, could feel it coming. 

She was reclining on a golden throne within the heart of Castle Elphame. All of her servants had either fled or been pressed into service. And so, she had to feed herself her grapes. She looked out the western window as the person who was to become Durandal played idly with a toy soldier at her feet. When her son entered her throne room, she didn’t even acknowledge him. Simply waved her hand dismissively, as if that was enough of a greeting.

“You called for me, mother?” Her son asked. He was a stout man. A red cap by the name of Tallulah Brightsky. His hammer was bigger than he was and it was sheathed on his back. Mattered and matted with autumn blood. His cap had been dyed red, his armor dented and burnt. It was as if the entire autumn court had turned feral all at once.

Queen Titania did not respond to him, not fully. “Look, my child, look at our kingdom.” She muttered. Tallulah was unsure of whom exactly he was talking to.

“The war goes well.” He responds. He wishes he could tell her that they will win. He wishes he could tell her that there is hope. These both would be lies. And he knows better than to unmake himself for such petty falsehoods. “My scouts predict that it will be over by the end of the day.”

“The day seems so long, my dear Brightsky.” The Queen turns towards him, the light of a burning Elphame on her face. She puts a grape in her own mouth like a child, like a pauper. “Isn’t there some way to expedite the process?”

“The Wolf ignores our missives. Our scouts return empty handed, if at all” Tallulah cringes. He does not tell her of how he found the scouts returned.

“Maybe the Goddess of Revolt needs a bit of a regal hand?” Titania rejoins.

Tallulah blinks twice. “Mother, I don’t think I understand.”

Titania rises from her throne, brilliant as a crack of lighting. She floats towards a nearby table. It is filled with all sorts of fruits and fine wines. Expensive treats and goods. Underneath it was a golden platter. It reflected the lights that haloed Titania’s head. She brings one of her thousand limbs down across it, knocking all the finery onto the ground with a brutal clatter. Tallulah flinches. From her belt, she draws a sword and places it upon the platter. She then uncouples the sheath from her belt and places it next to its sister. She then lifts the platter up and hands it to Tallulah Brightsky.

“I still don’t think I follow.”

“Think of it as a brazen gift, my child.” Titania responds, smile sharp enough to crack lightning. “We see the Wolf as madness. As roil and as chaos. But what if she is to be reasoned with?”

“I don’t know if Isosa would care for such talk, mother.” 

Titania continues smiling. Tallulah flinches. To the west, the sky continues to burn. “If she takes the sword, she is braced for war. And there is nothing we can do but defeat her.”

Tallulah looks at the sword on the platter. It is the sword that she promised him if he was to win this war. He looks back at his mother. “And the sheath?”

“The sheath means that she accepts our gift. And that she has the capability to listen to peace. That her war is not with us, but with Titania.”

Tallulah paces slightly in his spot. “And what do we do then?”

“We reassess!” Titania exclaims, too excited for her own good. “We see what we need to do to survive, like we always do.” She hands the platter to Tallulah. Durandal is now standing in the window, hands barely tall enough to reach the bannister. He is old enough for war, yet not yet Durandal as we understand him to be. He is wearing the garb of a child, stretched out far too much. It does not fit him anymore, despite his mothers protestations. He is growing older.

“Is this your will, my queen?” Tallulah asks, almost begging.

“It is.” She responds, turning back towards Durandal.

Tallulah sighs. He blinks once at Durandal. He blinks back at him. “Then I will do it.”

Titania does not see Tallulah until Castle Elphame falls. 

The walls have started to burn and she sits in the same throne room that he left her years ago. Durandal sits at her feet again, now a blade forged. He gleams in the light, silver with an iron grip. He burns to even look at. Tallulah looks beat. Tallulah looks bruised. Tallulah walks now with a limp. His hammer was dented and worn, dripping with void and blood. How many autumn fey did he kill to get here, I wonder.

Titania barely even looks at him. 

“Mother, where has-” He starts to ask.

“What did The Wolf say?” She interrupts him. “Did you find her?”

Tallulah flinches again. “I did.” He looks at Durandal.

“And?” The Queen asks again.

Tallulah pulls the sword from out of a bag. It is pristine and unused. Titania breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank goodness, then this all wasn’t for naught. Then Durandal didn’t-” And then Tallulah pulls out the sheath from the bag on his back. Titania’s words drip from her mouth, unsure of what combination of shock and anger is adequate. “I thought you said you met with her?”

“I did.” Tallulah responds.

“Then why do you-”

“Mother, she took the plate.”

[jp-hunsecker]

Brazen

Brazen #AlyssaMilano #MovieReview I’m sorry to report that Alyssa Milano does not forego her long-standing ‘no #nudity clause’ in Brazen — and I’m more sorry for her than for me

I’m sorry to report that Alyssa Milano does not forego her long-standing ‘no nudity clause’ in Brazen — and I’m more sorry for her than for me (after all, I’ve seen Embrace of the Vampire), because that’s about the only thing that could fix this mess. Milano is Grace Miller, authoress of thriller novels. Here is an excerpt from her most recent masterpiece, titled Brazen Virtue: She did not…

[whatevertheweather]

Well well, it’s been many a Wednesday since I’ve joined in! But I’m having one of those days where I’ve dropped off the face of the earth for over a month, lost track of everyone and everything, fallen 12,251 words behind goal in nanowrimo, dismissed every reminder on my phone, and decided to open up tumblr dot com to share a snippet of fanfiction instead of dealing with any of it.

So obviously I spent most of last night reading bits of this WIP rather than focusing on my nanowrimo project. Y’all can probably guess what it’s from.

“Baz, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t let Baz finish turning. He snatches his wrist and shoves between his shoulders, twisting his arm behind his back as he pins him against the wall. Baz lets out a sound between a grunt and a laugh, the edge of a smile just visible on his open mouth.

“Oh, I am going to tear you apart,” he murmurs. Simon presses close, nose brushing the shell of his ear.

“I’m not going to wait around like that again,” he says. “You get ten seconds next time.”

Did I at least add some words to this WIP? I did not. I’m just over here pouring one out for those WIP Wednesdays that feel like all work and no progress.

Anyhow, thank you to everyone who has been tagging me, I’m sorry I’ve not been around to appreciate all your amazing wonderful things. Please know I’m throwing hearts and love and support at all of you even if I have, by all appearances, vanished again. And now I have delayed writing long enough, so here are tags and farewell <3

@fatalfangirl @artsyunderstudy @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @whogaveyoupermission @nausikaaa @martsonmars @ivelovedhimthroughworse @bookish-bogwitch @urban-sith @basiltonbutliketheherb @ionlydrinkhotwater @cutestkilla @facewithoutheart @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter et al.

[christinered]

My Poor Mother...This Rebellious Redheads Motto has always been "Consequences Be Damned."

Some things are worth the punishment that will surely come later.

The whole purpose is to fear the punishment.

I didn't. It infuriated her to visible defcon levels.

Bad Ballsy Bombshell.

They Call Me ~Red

Anakin in a nutshell

[musicftmisfits]

Dead Tooth: "Being in a band turns your whole life into an art project"

Punk quintet Dead Tooth have just released their addictively distorted punk rock release 'Birthday Boohoo' and are gearing up for an extensive European tour. We spoke to Zach about the release, the tour, and future plans!

Queens-based brazen punk quintet Dead Tooth have just released their addictively distorted punk rock release ‘Birthday Boohoo’ and are gearing up for an extensive European tour. It seemed like the perfect time to ask Dead Tooth’s Zach some questions about their life as musicians, the upcoming tour, and future plans! Hi! Could you introduce yourself to us and who inspires you as musicians? “This…

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Holmes hunted about among the grass and leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird. Then, with a cry of satisfaction, he bent forward and picked up a little brazen cylinder.

"The Illustrated Sherlock Holmes Treasury" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle