#Faceless Sultanas

[awkward-sultana]

Magnificent Century: Kösem + Faceless: Telli Hümaşah Sultan

[miqojak]

⭐ XVII - The Star : Inspiration, generosity, serenity, regaining hope, looking forward to the future.

(( So I think a few of these asks came in shortly before I went on a hiatus, and I kinda forgot about them - so have a thing that I wrote and re-wrote a lot, and I actually started writing in like, January of last year while on a train ride, then started again in the fall, and... kinda polished off today. I still don't feel fully satisfied with it, but probably because it's right after This Post - and is supposed to lead into talking about how meaningful this next tattoo is/was (especially in the face of all that she's lost), since it's related to Ketsuchi/his nickname for her, but I never finished this piece, and never got further than this! Maybe one day I'll write a more in-depth thing about the Robin tattoo and all the layers of meaning that has for her (every tattoo has special meaning for her - and tell you exactly who she is!). For now, it's a look at a more mature Jak - one who has grown as a person and is... indeed displaying some of that generosity and altruism that she always says isn't real - even if she's framing it as 'repaying' someone. Too bad no one ever catches her in the act to prove her wrong...))

Her feet still knew the way – after all, it was only a little more than two years - maybe two and a half? Since she'd run these streets – hungry, dirty, in debt… a street rat if ever there had been one. Just another forgotten refugee haunting the streets of Ul'dah – but now, now the word was that the Sultana had an initiative to employ refugees...to help them learn a trade, to get them home. Fewer, the Mhigan faces haunting the filthy back alleys... and part of her relished that, even if no such help had been handed down to her.

It never had been.

Who would she be, if it had been?

Would I be the one haunting shells of old hovels, lamenting the loss of those who've abandoned me?

It didn't matter, the 'what if' – the past was written, and she was the product of her past as much as anyone else was.

Tonight, her feet led her to Crying Dove's establishment – hood pulled up, tail tucked low beneath her cloak...better not to be recognized; best not to be seen either for who she was (who knew if she had wronged one of the faceless wretches that passed her now and again in the alley), nor for what she was: a small, attractive, and seemingly weak woman. Around here, that wasn't wise.

And yet, she couldn't help but wonder if her Wolf's eyes followed her, even here. Did he know? Did her attempts to go incognito, and slip past all others still manage to catch his ever-watching eyes? Funny, that there was comfort in it anymore, as opposed to the oppressive paranoia such thoughts had brought her, once. He'd promised, even - at her behest - to keep his eyes on her, and relief had flooded her. She could protect herself, but… he could, too. If something happened, he'd know. The irony, oh, the irony of it all – that she'd once choked on anxiety at the thought that his people would see her when that unknown 'something' happened. That she'd fuck up, and he'd know.

But now, oh...now… given what she was on her way to do, it made it all the more hilarious, really, how things had been turned on their heads.

She was at Dove's door before she knew it – watchful and wary as she was, it was almost a surprise how quickly she found herself at the threshold, letting herself in... letting herself briefly drink in 'old', but familiar sights and smells. Heady incense, and draped silks - only the finest, for Dove's little birds, after all. This could have been her fate, in truth, if she hadn't crossed the wrong man… or the right one, in truth, and ended up working for the Yakuza in the East.

Before she even had her hood fully lowered, the buxom Roe who ran the brothel was crossing the lobby in lengthy strides, arms open, “All little birds come home to roost, in time!” The far smaller Miqo'te rolled mismatched eyes - but couldn't help the ghost of a grin that hovered at the corner of her lips – Dove had been the only person who'd ever tried to help her when she'd been a hungry stray. Dove's Nest was a safe haven, and Jak had ducked into the establishment more than once when on the run from the Blades, and Dove would take the opportunity to cajole her and try to convince her to become one of her little birds – it was safe, it paid decent, and she'd have a roof over her head, and three square meals a day.

She'd had her twin to think of – though Dove would likely have gladly hired him, as well – but back then, sex had still seemed… grotesque. Frightening. Painful. You don't survive what she had and retain a sense of desire for physical intimacy of any kind - anyone's hands on her was still deeply disturbing.

All save for one.

But here, now, she couldn't be happier to see the gentle giantess...and allow her the hug she wanted. A rare occasion, hugs – any touch was unsettling, and intimate ones more so, but hugs? Hugs felt like traps. Exposing your belly to strangers, pressing your most vulnerable places to them... and most of the world was larger, and stronger than her. A hug could very well be a trap, in her mind - and not one easily fought out of, with your arms pinned.

Here, and now, she just let it be a warm, safe reminder that every now and then... she found someone worthwhile.

Paranoia be damned.

“I was never one of your little birds, Dove.”

“Oh weren't you, though? You don't have to rest your head in my roost, to be under my wing, Jackal.”

“Just... Jak, now. Finally picked a name, and stuck with it. I... ah,” she managed from the chokehold of a hug before, finally, the larger woman loosed her crushing hold, and the little Calico could breathe again, “I brought you something, for once, instead of just... showing up to ask for something.”

The woman settled her massive hands on the smaller's shoulders, and put a little space between them, to eye her better, “You look well. Healthy. In one piece. Not even out of breath from running from the law. And I can see that you've got some damn fine garb under those nasty robes, little bird. Tell me your tale... and do tell ol’ Dove what you've brought her, hm?”

Crying Dove loosed her hold, and led them back to her office, shouting for one of the girls to come and watch the lobby, the better to let Jak take as much time as she needed to...' tell her tale' – from when she went missing from the streets, up to this very moment. It took the little woman time, and alcohol, and plenty of blushing and swearing – both on her part, and the Roegadyn's, at points, but it was...nice.

Only when she was done with the tale, did she procure the gift – sliding a promissory note across the desk between them, next to the now-emptied bottle of top-shelf liquor Dove had produced from practically nowhere almost the instant the door had shut behind them – this woman had taste, no matter what anyone said.

“Well, ‘thank you’ might be in my vocabulary now, if… sparingly used,” here, the feline woman perks a thin brow upwards, as if to drive home the fact that it does mean something that she came to thank this woman, “But the importance of ‘please’ was impressed upon me, as well.” Wry, the faint curl of lips that follows… and precedes the following words, “So… while I did want to finally re-pay you for all you did for me,” - here, the giantess waves a dismissive hand the size of the smaller’s skull, though it does descend to pluck up that note, as the more feline of the two speaks, “I did want to ask if you’d lend me your tattoo artist again - I find that I’d like to return to hands I know, for my next piece.”

[confiteorims]

Drabble Title: N/A Setting: End of ARR MSQ/ “The Parting Glass”  Warnings: mentions of some canon typical violence

In some ways it felt like a dream. 

A horrible, terrible dream where the Sultana, in all her idealism, had choked to death on the very air in her lungs right before his eyes. All while he was helpless to do anything more than run to her side as she fell to the floor. Where had the poison come from? E’mrys didn’t know, how could he know? Ul’dah was a political nightmare at the best of times, from his own observations 

Maybe the distant almost unintelligible babbling from Teledji Adeledji sounded so muted from shock.

Or, well, in all likelihood it was because he simply didn’t care. The man clearly had an agenda, was obviously behind this whole mess. And E’mrys had little interest in playing a part, no matter how unwilling. 

Crouched low, hand resting on the pommel of his sword, he eyed the Brass Blades behind the Lalafell. Not enough, not nearly enough to stop him. But... Something was off. 

Hadn’t there been one other-?

As soon as he realized the trap it was too late, the blow landing hard against his head, directly on his ear. It sent him sprawling, stars exploding before his eyes. A low groan escaped him as the room spun nauseatingly. There was no time to even adjust, to try to make the ringing in his ears stop. The instant his back hit the rug, right on the puddle of poisoned wine, the Brass Blades were on him. 

Hands bound tightly, far too tightly, behind his back with rough rope. An unfamiliar and yet agonizingly all-too familiar sensation. His vision blurred, for a brief moment Brass Blades and Adeledji both replaced with faceless strangers clothed in black iron. E’mrys shuddered, forcing the memories down with a sharp inhale. 

Just in time to be forced to his feet and dragged, like a prisoner or an uncooperative animal, through the palace. 

Infuriating.

Head still spinning, he barely noticed being thrown to the floor. Barely heard any of the arguments and accusations, until Teledji’s clammy little hand gripped his chin.

“Of course, it’s so very convenient that the great hero of these treacherous Scions would be this wanderer with no true ties to any nation, hm? Or should I say any Eorzean nation.” The slimy little smirk on the bastard’s face made him snarl, the implications of his statement sparking the budding white-hot rage in his chest even as icy dread crept down his spine. “I suppose it’s only to be expected, after all! The Empire has grown rather clever so why wouldn’t they send in a trained spy to act the hero!”

And that- That was the final straw. E’mrys lunged forward, feeling immense, visceral satisfaction with the startled yelp the Lalafellin bastard made as he snatched his hand away. 

Satisfaction that only grew with the blood he saw on the man’s hand, paired with the faintest taste of it on his teeth. 

“How dare you.” E’mrys hissed, tail lashing wildly even as he bared his fangs once again. “How dare you call me a Garlean spy.” It was all so much, The shocked silence in the room, the weight of the Scions’- of Raubahn’s -gazes on him. The way the ropes cut into the skin of his wrists and the ringing still in his aching ear. Everything was pushing him far too much. “I never willingly worked for the Empire, and I haven’t had any contact outside of taking their miserable lives since Carteneau, you scheming blackhearted pathetic rat. Once I get free I’m going to-...!” 

A kick to his stomach, sudden and heavy enough for the force to travel through his armor, cut him off. Wheezing, E’mrys slumped to the side, glaring wildly up at the perpetrator. Ilberd. Of course. Of course. The de facto leader of Alphinaud’s fool’s dream of a perfect army. Who else could make so many of the Crystal Braves turn traitor besides the ever so charismatic man before him?

He’d kill him. 

That was a promise he swore to himself even as the arguments once more grew to fill the air around him. 

No matter what it would take, he would see Ilberd dead by his own hands.

Something dark was burning in his chest, a fire he desperately gripped to keep the chill of memories and fear of judgment at bay. It ached. Even though he knew he had Minfilia’s support, it still ached like an old wound. 

He wasn’t a Garlean agent. He wasn’t. He was free from that life. 

Wasn’t he?

Wasn’t he free to simply be E’mrys? 

But then...who really was E’mrys? He didn’t know how to answer that question anymore. 

[littlelonghairedoutlawllho]

#PotORarePairs Contest Entries Masterlist

Finally the masterlist of all 13 contest entries! There was a wonderful variety of entries, and I really enjoyed reading them! Here they all are in alphabetical order! Please check them out and review!

A Business Lunch -- @phantomofthebasement -- Managers -- T -- Yearning just so much yearning Unrequited Love (AO3)

A Hoe’s Guide to Escaping a Kidnapping -- @dictatoroffandoms -- Philippe/Erik -- T -- How one Comte escapes an attempted kidnapping by none other than the Phantom (AO3)

A Little Night Music -- Aldebaran -- Erik & First Bassoon -- T --  The Phantom demands perfection of everyone involved in the production of Don Juan Triumphant.  Especially a certain first bassoon… (AO3)

All That Glitters -- @helloitskrisha -- Christine/Carlotta -- T -- Carlotta Giudicelli was a popular movie star in the late ‘90s, best known for her leading role in the musical “Hannibal.” When she finds out that the film is being remade with a complete unknown cast in the lead, she becomes obsessed with taking back the part that was once hers.Her plans—and her life—change once she gets to know Christine Daaé. (AO3)

New Beginnings -- @chrstinedaae -- Raoul/Daroga -- T --  After Nadir saves Raoul from Erik's plots, they share a moment of tenderness together, in which they wonder how they truly feel for each other. (AO3)

of mirrors and their reflections -- @ofserien -- Erik/Meg -- G --  Set right after the Phantom returns Christine to the opera house, above ground. Meg is frightened and angry at whoever this man - thing, whatever - is, and is even more fearful when she learns the part her mother plays in this scheme. After a heartfelt conversation with Christine, she disappears into the night, only leaving behind a letter. Begrudgingly, the Phantom and Meg decide to embark on a journey to find her. But not all is as it seems, and feelings may form along the way. (AO3)

The Arrangement -- @madamefaust -- Philippe/Christine -- T --  Christine and the Comte de Chagny have one, very important thing in common: they both loved and lost Raoul. (AO3)

The Gift from a Beggar -- @i-penna -- Madame Giry/Papa Daaé -- K -- (Tumblr) (FFN) (AO3)

The House Without Judgement -- @behindthemirrorofmusic -- Christine/Meg -- G --  When Christine struggles to come to terms with her feelings for Meg, she receives support from an unexpected ally. (AO3)

Tiny Dancer -- @notaghost3 -- Philippe/Sorelli -- T --  When he closes his eyes he's always greeted by the image of how her eyes lit up under the moonlight at the sight of the slowly crashing waves that night...Philippe/Sorelli. 1970s AU. (FFN) (AO3)

Unspoken Words and Broken Souls -- @helloitskrisha -- Pharoga -- T --  The Daroga has many regrets, but the worst of them all are the words he didn’t say. (AO3)

you are a rose in the field where the wolves walk -- @fallenidolandfalsefriend -- Erik/Raoul -- M --  he thought it ironic doing such a routine to conform to absurd societal standards yet using it excessively which still lumped him together with the lowest of the low. (AO3)

you spoke of roses -- @dorkshadows -- Christine/Little Sultana -- T -- The Sultana was a rose, beautiful and keen and as elusive as smoke. She was a poem, a word from a brush, and a thread of silk knotted around Christine’s hand. But under those petals, there were thorns, sharp, unyielding, and unimaginably cruel.Or, the AU in which the Shah-in-Shah hires Gustave Daae instead of the faceless magician. And the violinist's daughter catches the eye of the little Sultana. (AO3)

[feeshies]

Have you done Sultanas sprites yet? Or Joyces?

I started Joyce’s, but right now it’s a bunch of faceless bald naked mannequins so yeah lol.

I won’t be adding Tana though because I figured out how to make a customizable protagonist for the player (you don’t ever see them, but there are more options for their personality/gender/background/etc)

[gegenji]

A Hard Day’s Night

Chachanji all but flopped in through the front door of his smithy, setting his bags down by the hat rack with a relieved grunt. It had been quiet the busy day for him, after all. Past couple days, in fact. But it was draining in a wholesome, fulfilling sort of way to the little Lalafell. While those with the skills and the intelligence to counteract that strange disease that was going around, Chachan helped out in his own little way by reading to the kids at Lorelei's orphanage and trying to keep their spirits up. He'd been hearing all the fret and frantic over the linkpearl as well, and - after setting it aside one time and leaving it on accidentally - had taken to leaving it next to the spot where he was reading. Maybe his hero stories were dumb and childish but, if it helped any of the others on the linkshell at least a fraction as much as it seemed to help the kids, he was willing to count that as a win.

He tried to bring them food as well - the kids anyway. The first day he had brought them stew, one of the few things he actually knew how to make, but it turned out to be not such a great choice as some were sick to the point they couldn't ingest much beyond liquids. Which had led to awkwardly made miso soup the next day, and then hitting up any and all taverns and eateries that could provide more tasty and filling foods than what bachelor-level things he could. It was a bit draining on the purse, but he didn't mind. It was going to a good cause.

And then there was his meeting with Aya yesterday evening, where they had gone over the results of her tests with that amazing wing suit thing she had designed. Sure, he had helped with building the components and the harness itself, but the whole thing was ultimately her brainchild; which just impressed the little Lalafell even more. He had spent most of the evening afterward going over the notebook she had given him, filled with diagrams and notes on how to further improve the design to allow her to dance among the clouds like she was a bird. He was pretty excited to see how the second iteration turned out.

On top of all the talk and discussion about the suit, there was the staff as well. Chachanji had never been one for the making of weapons - but that wasn't to imply that he couldn't. In fact, the opposite was very much true: he was quite good at it, thanks to the training of his father. But his pacifistic nature, along with the Gegenji view on weapons and their wielders, always made him hesitant and quite picky on who he would make weapons for. He would be heartbroken if he made a weapon for someone too weak-willed to handle it, or if his weapon was used to cause more harm than good.

Aya, though... Aya seemed to be wanting to walk a path close to his own. Where she wanted to avoid hurting or killing if she could manage it, and desired a weapon that could fulfill that purpose. He was certain she'd likely have to use the thing to hurt, perhaps even to kill, but his reading of her that night was that of a strong, intelligent woman who would seek out any and all alternatives available to her before reaching that point. That was someone he wanted to support, even discounting their close friendship. It wasn't often he felt a bit eager to develop a weapon, but he could feel the inklings of it.

And that wasn't the only help he was doing. After his morning and afternoon with the children, he had trekked all the way back to the Goblet to assist Duncan and Nina with the House Dentra-owned smithing shop "Three Ingot Outlet" in the Sultana's Breath Shopping Arcade. Which was its own little bit of ordered chaos - watching Duncan flirt and complain even as he sold the smelting guild's wares, while his firecracker of a daughter tried to keep the old coot reined in even as she too sought to provide a stellar customer experience. And with Chachan himself on the forges, he could let them go about having their fun while he worked on the custom orders, did repairs, or replaced sold items.

He had stayed a bit after closing time, too. Wrapping up what small custom orders he could finish and have sent out by the House's employees over the next couple days as well as just helping with general clean-up. After that, he hit up a couple of the other stores too, seeing what neat little things he could bring to the kids on his next visit: more storybooks, perhaps some toys and other gifts. A quick pit-stop for a late dinner at the food court - a Warker Pounder from McMoogles before it got closed due to something involving that apparently involved Flames intervention (he had been too hungry to ask) - and then he had made his way home.

Tomorrow would be a pretty busy day too, the little Lalafell mused as he meandered through the kitchen and down the stairs to the living area of his little smithy. Bringing the gifts and the stories to the orphanage, then the initial work on the polearm for Aya along with a couple of the larger orders he had taken personally from the Three Ingot Outlet. Perhaps he could even bring Aya along to see the kids with - she wanted to head out that way anyway to find the same hardwood used in her old spear for their new creation, and Chachan was certain the kids might get a kick out of another friendly face.

Oh! Maybe Tiroro too!  He still stopped by the Duskbreak to check on her and spend some time with her, but with her still recovering - along with the still-looming issue of Gunnar and this sudden onset of the stuff with the Whispers - they hadn't really been able to go out and do a lot of fun things. The kids would definitely get a kick out of Tiroro's folk songs, and the two of them could enjoy a nice walk through the Shroud afterward or something equally as enjoyable. Perhaps even plan something even nicer once she was fully healed...

Ah, but he'd need to make sure they both wore masks, he realized as he entered his bedroom and went to change into his pajamas. He didn't want to risk either of them getting sick, that wouldn't be good at all - especially with Tiroro already being as bedridden as she was. After all, he'd been pretty lucky thus - the flowers didn't seem to sprout around his place, he had learned about wearing a mask around the time the disease really started spreading, and even being around the kids he seemed fit as a fiddle. There were folks on the pearls saying they were immune - perhaps he was too? But he couldn't be certain with Tiroro or Aya, though, so it would either be a matter of making sure they didn't get sick as well... or just not bringing either of them by the orphanage until the kids were feeling better.

Well, he thought as he clambered under the covers, they'd figure something out for sure. The people on the pearl had sounded like they were on their way to a cure, after all, though the details for what it all entailed were over his head as usual. Which could mean that this whole disease thing would be behind them and he wouldn't have to worry about immunities or lack thereof - either for himself or others - and everyone already sick would be able to get better very soon. Like the kids, and like Ms. Lucerna. He was looking forward to that day.

He leaned over to turn off the light and nestled against his pillow, ready to get a good night's sleep and be ready to seize the day tomorrow. Slowly he drifted off, dreaming dreams of happy children and heroic adventures. His breathing was gentle, soft, even.

Other than the occasional, quiet cough.

(( @the-faceless-ffxiv ))

[lighttheabyss]

//For those interested in RPing with Khaida, the following screens are her ‘canon’ right now!

DRK - Not your ‘typical’ DRK; due to the events of ‘Down Into the Black’, a way to vent large amounts of voidtaint at once had to be developed for her, and her ancestress Íomhá came up with such a thing. Though it is far more physical than Khaida was used to, she’s taken to the blade very well, and spent most of the events of Stormblood standing between enemies and her allies.

BLM - Khaida picked this back up off and on after the events of ‘Down Into the Black’, and threw herself back into studying it seriously after the defeat of Zenos. She is, first and foremost, a child of the Black, and there was a sort of relief in picking up the staff again, secure in the knowledge that she wasn’t just a tool of destruction. She’s taken to wearing a mask again when she’s flinging spells to harm, reveling once more in being the ‘Faceless Prodigy of the Thaumaturges’ Guild’.

RDM - Picked up between the events of 3.55 and 4.0, Khaida took to Red Magic like a fish to water, and she spends the most time of late with rapier at her side. Red Magic has proven to be a good way to keep her voidtaint in check, so long as she’s not dealing with anything particularly reality-breaking.

AST - Khaida originally picked up a starglobe out of curiosity, and it became nearly her sole method of spellcasting between 3.2 and 3.55. She’s even ended up with a sentient star globe she calls ‘Quartz’, and good luck parting her and her AST soul stone or Anima.

MCH - Gracie picked it up first, but Khaida wasn’t far behind. Stephanivien de Haillenarte was too bright a person to ignore, and the melding of aether and machine in a way that wasn’t magitek was too much of a siren song for Khaida to ignore. She’s become a crackshot, though Gracie is far better. Anyone who might be impressed by her shooting skills will find themselves pointed in the direction of Khaida’s ‘Wind and Sky’ with stories of the feats Gracie manages with her flintlock.

Location - Khaida can most often be found in Kugane, Ishgard [and Dragonhead], Doma, and the Reach. She can also be found now and then in Ul’dah [she IS a member of the Flames and is intensely loyal to the Sultana].

Shipping - Just a reminder that not only is Khaida multiship, she is very poly. @reasoningruffles​ is almost always a part of her dynamic, and even if you don’t ship with Gracie, just keep in mind Khaida very dearly loves her Wind and Sky and any arrangement that tries to cut Gracie out entirely will be a no go. Her ships with @skysteelsun​ and @ofsacrificeandfallingsnows​, and @exscientiavir​, @alandeathweaver​, and @libertatearchitecto​ are in separate ‘verses from other ships [minus Gracie, because again, Gracie is Important as Hell to Khaida], so please keep this in mind! [If you develop a platonic relationship with Khaida tho, it is possible any questions about her love life will default to one of those ships!]

Down Into the Black - What’s this ‘Down Into the Black’ thing? Basically, Khaida’s ancestress Íomhá was an Echo-touched Mhachi voidmage who dipped a little too far into the void. That voidtaint has passed on the generations, and has been mostly dormant for some time now. Khaida diving headlong into the Black kind of...woke the voidtaint on her own soul up, and it built and built, but Black Magic kept it well enough in check. Until the events of 3.2, where Khaida ended up throwing her staff and Gem of Shatotto into storage in a fit of self-doubt and self-loathing. The voidtaint suddenly had no vent, and it built and built. The combination of having to fight her childhood friend Brody while he was being used as a puppet by Ascians, Baelsar’s Wall, and Dun Scaith shook her so badly that she finally snapped and all that voidtaint came rushing forward. Íomhá had awoken from stasis by then, and helped contain her wayward descendant and siphon off much of the exploding voidtaint. Khaida spent from then until after the events of 3.55 in recovery under the watchful eye of E-Sumi-Yan and Íomhá. [Gracie participated in the release of Omega; Khaida only got to be at the meeting Nero showed up at. Ooooh did she FEEL the fight though. She was very aetherically sensitive during that time, more so than usual.]

What’s this WoL doing in MY RP? - Simply put, if you don’t want to RP with a WoL who is companion to other WoLs, Khaida’s not the character for you to hang with. She was conceived as a Warrior of Light from the get-go, and has never been a singular WoL either. Saying that, I am always happy for more WoLs for her to RP with and develop bonds with! Scions, too! If you’re curious about what she was like from the beginning to now, I am more than happy to share if you throw me a message! o uo I am not chronologically locked, so I am totally down for past RP!

Side Characters - You may see side characters from time to time on here! There’s Quartz, the spirit of Khaida’s Anima weapon; Íomhá, Khaida’s Mhachi ancestress who was in stasis until about 3.3ish; Kahzu Ahmahno, Khaida’s mother who is slowly becoming less and less xenophobic and traditionalist in the wake of 3.3; Kenja’ Cohrce, Khaida’s father and a merchant who has made a name for himself by being among one of the first to return to Gyr Abania; and Moh Esh, the dragonet of Nidhogg’s brood that Khaida accidentally adopted who refuses a gender label and loves taking a glamoured form of an androgynous Keeper miq’itten around others.

In Game RP - I don’t do this a whole lot, simply because I’ve little practice and few people on the same server as me at the same time. My main is on Goblin, but I do have alts on Sargatanas, Balmung, and Brynhildr!

Crafting! - Khaida does have canon crafting classes, but this post is already long as heck. |D ASK AWAY IF YOU WANNA KNOW~.

[lunaexiv]

Spiral

It must have been days since The Sultana’s Cup was destroyed. Days, maybe weeks... The lavender lady must have lost count at this point. After seeing Oliver and his injuries the woman, in a panic, locked herself up in her room. Lunae frantically tried putting whatever pieces together with the little clues she had, refusing any and all sorts of visitors. Including her husband S’honji. She -had- to. Lunae needed all the focus she could gather if she wanted to stay ahead of her enemy. She needed to do it, and she needed to do it alone. 

And alone she sat, sitting at her normally organized deck. What was once spotless and free of any sort of clutter is now littered with many crumbled pieces of parchments, documents, bottles of ink- some even carelessly tipped over spilling it’s dark contents with no bother made to be cleaned. The area-no the room was a mess to say the least. Unfortunately, cleanliness was the last thing on the woman’s mind. A frusterated growl escaped the woman’s throat as her vicious claws reached out for a specific piece of parchment. It was the very same note she received the day of thee explosion. The day this little dancer’s perfect life shattered. And her blanket of safety crumbled.

She lost everything. Or so she thought at the time. It wasn’t until her husband sparked her candle and reminded her of their plans to expand business to the East. This was not the end. Not by a longshot and there was still a chance. Adding to that spark that intevitably lit the flame was Oliver’s words of encouragement. Well, encouragement in his own way. They always had a certain bond between the two. Their moments, though they may be few, have been some of Lunae’s most cherished memories. And his words always helped her find the way. They both gave her the strength to continue on and chase her dream. She wasn’t going to let a faceless coward best her in this war they had declared. No, she was not going to let them win. 

With burning passion in her eyes she had hope once more.

And then... she lost it again.

Not even days after the Explosion, Oliver was attacked. Lunae and S’honji- who were on their way to retrieve Vex- didn’t get the news until their boat arrived in Kugane. Dropping all plans the couple traveled back home to the Mists, and arrived in the room where Oliver laid. Unconscious, yet stable. But there was something wrong... Quickly Rosa, The lovely red-headed Doctor of Fool’s Covenant, informed Lunae and the others that Oliver... was missing his hands. Both of them, from the elbow down. They were both... gone. They took them, and for what? For being close to Lunae? It was the same pattern. Something close, something or someone dear to her heart, and that wretched message. Check. Was she too slow? Or was it because the man used Necromancy to give Lunae the upper hand or at least some clue. But how could they even know? Lunae refused the words being spoken to her, she couldn’t bare the thought. There was no way. Taking each hesitant step she inched closer to where Oliver laid unconscious. And Rosa was right. There he laid- quiet despite his shallow breaths and his arms... missing. She knew was this meant- anyone knew what this meant. Oliver Amaranth, the man she adored and the powerful mage she respected... could never cast magic again.

Nothing could take that sight out of her head. No words could erase that guilt, not even now. She found herself staring down at that parchment in her hands in feral rage. “Check.” She read outloud in a threatening growl. “Check, check, CHECK, CHECKCHECKCHECKCHECKCHECK!”She screamed over and over again losing herself in a whirlwind of emotions. That note taunted her and it was winning... Lunae didn’t like to be taunted. As another threatening shriek left the small woman she took that repulsive message in hand and stomped furiously to the other side of her room- stabbing it onto the wall with some ornate knife she had lying on he table beside her.

Feeling a sense of relief after she felt the knife puncture through the paper and hit the wood at the tip she actually smiled. Again she stabbed, and again and again. With each and every time she hit that poor wooden wall she felt her body becoming lighter. And then laughter. Manically the woman laughed as tears began to stain her cheeks. Each puncture her laughter grew louder and each rip and tear, her lips grew wider. One last slam into the wall with that pretty knife. One last one as her sad laughter echoed in the empty room. One more before she fully lost herself again to that same rage she felt so long ago. Lunae felt it in every single bone, that same chilling sensation that takes over you. That thirst... that need to devour- to kill. And she had a specific appetite. She was eager to hunt down whoever it was that offered the trumpets for war in such a violent display.

Finally regaining some sort of sense of being- the woman collapsed to her knees short of breath. Those tears still flowed freely out from the ducts of her eyes as she whimpered in a brief moment of defeat. She was lost, backed into a corner like a starved animal in a cage. She was desperate and anxious with nothing to do. What -could- she do? She couldn’t look at Oliver in the eyes. No- not after this. She couldn’t fathom the thought of his distaste towards her again. Regret, disappointment, hatred. The very thought terrified her. But she couldn’t just leave him alone either. Then there is Vex, who is sitting in Kugane without a clue to what is going on. The very girl Lunae saw herself in. The woman she tried to save from a fate that was already written. Lunae, always challenging fate. What would the stars say to her now? Would they shun her? Or would they guide her down an even darker path. What was once a bright and colorful future, now looks empty and dark- in hues of grey. One thing was for certain... there was absolutely nothing she could do crumbled on the floor like this. Taking a deep breath the woman picked herself up and wiped away her tears. With another deep inhale she’d glace around the mess of her room. Taking in every single little detail. She -had- to make a choice. And quickly- before they attack again. Everything recently has been overwhelming to the once indestructible Lunae Lux. And despite her many achievements she is still a little girl playing a game she couldn’t keep up with. And what do little girls do when they are scared? They run. It was the only thing she knew. It was her only  constant. Her invincible blanket of safety. She cut off her pearl and hid herself away. Away from the world, away from her problems, and away from the people who could potentially get hurt if they were seen with her. But she had to. She needed these empty moments to somehow win this game. 

And then... She heard a knock on the door.

((Shout out to @olisnark @rhotano-rose and @shonji-hayakawa ))

[thefreakyfun]

requested: faceless sultanas + Ayse Hafsa and Ayse Hatun (omens of Selim I) and Telli Humasah ,Ayse Sultan (womens of Ibrahim I) and Şemşişah (wife of Murad IV)

[jenksy]

Best of 2018 a.k.a. Give me your tired, your poor, your female solo artists and frontwomen

I usually seem to find an accidental theme in my listening habits over the course of a calendar year. In what may best be described as a precarious couple of years for women's rights in the United States (and, of course, much of the world), female musicians have certainly been making their voices heard. Art tends to reflect the political climate of the day, and the "Me Too" movement that began toward the end of 2017 made its way into music studios in 2018. Whether it's as subtle as a punch in the face with lyrics, like Courtney Barnett ("I wanna walk through the park in the dark/ Men are scared that women will laugh at them/ I wanna walk through the park in the dark/ Women are scared that men will kill them" - "Nameless, Faceless") or simply the fact that more women are writing and recording their own music, it's clear that current events have laid the groundwork for a feminist revolution in entertainment, and while this might not be surprising, as the arts obviously tend to swing left, we can only hope this trend continues into other areas of society. Clearly, my accidental theme for 2018 was Female Singer/Songwriters & Bands. By my count, 33 of my Top 50 albums were written and recorded by female solo artists or bands with women in them. But before I get to the list, I'm starting with what has become one of my favourite traditions of the last few years- Calling out an album that I had high expectations for but which completely disappointed me. The Most Disappointing Album of 2018 Jack White - Boarding House Reach I love Jack White, from the White Stripes to the Raconteurs to his solo work... but this album was not good. Pick a genre, dude. I usually include some of my favourite EPs, etc. at the beginning of my list, but there were so many this year that I gave them their own post. Click here if you missed it. Top 50 50. I'm With Her - See You Around "Game To Lose" 49. Alkaline Trio - Is This Thing Cursed? "Blackbird" 48. Poliça and s t a r g a z e - Music for the Long Emergency "Fake Like" 47. Eels - The Deconstruction "Today Is The Day" 46. We Hate You Please Die - Kids Are Lo-Fi "Melancholic Rain" 45. Rainbow Kitten Surprise - How to: Friend, Love, Freefall "Mission to Mars" 44. The Voidz - Virtue "All Wordz Are Made Up" 43. The Magic Numbers - Outsiders "Sing Me A Rebel Song" 42. St. Paul & The Broken Bones - Young Sick Camellia "Apollo" 41. The Fratellis - In Your Own Sweet Time "Starcrossed Losers" 40. Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears- The Difference Between Me and You "Culture Vulture" 39. The Midnight - Kids "America 2" 38. Miss World - Keeping Up With Miss World "Diet Coke Head" 37. Middle Kids - Lost Friends "Please" 36. The Joy Formidable - Aaarth "Cicada (Land On Your Back)" 35. Our Girl - Stranger Today "Being Around" 34. Sunflower Bean - Twentytwo in Blue "I Was A Fool" 33. Thunderpussy - Thunderpussy "Speed Queen" 32. Gaz Coombes - World's Strongest Man "Wounded Egos" 31. Gunship - Dark All Day "Dark All Day" 30. Caroline Rose - Loner "Soul No. 5" 29. Franz Ferdinand - Always Ascending "Huck and Jim" 28. Skating Polly - The Make it All Show "Long Ride" 27. Albert Hammond Jr. - Francis Trouble "Harder, Harder, Harder" 26. Lake Street Dive - Free Yourself Up "Doesn't Even Matter Now" 25. Kurt Vile - Bottle It In "Bassackwards" 24. Parker Millsap - Other Arrangements "Other Arrangements" 23. Liza Anne - Fine But Dying "Panic Attack" 22. Wye Oak - The Louder I Call, The Faster it Runs "It Was Not Natural" 21. Arctic Monkeys - Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino "Four Out of Five" 20. Death Cab for Cutie - Thank You for Today "I Dreamt We Spoke Again" "Summer Years" 19. Beach House - 7 "Black Car" "Dark Spring" 18. U.S. Girls - In a Poem Unlimited "Pearly Gates" "M.A.H." 17. Anna Burch - Quit the Curse "Asking 4 a Friend" "With You Every Day" 16. Lucy Dacus - Historian "Night Shift" "Yours & Mine" 15. Superorganism - Superorganism NPR Tiny Desk Concert: "The Prawn Song," "Night Time," and "Something for Your M.I.N.D." 14. Dream Wife - Dream Wife "Let's Make Out" "Fire" 13. Now, Now - Saved "Drive" "SGL" 12. Gregory Alan Isakov - Evening Machines "San Luis" "Dark, Dark, Dark" 11. Soccer Mommy - Clean "Your Dog" "Wildflowers" 10. Mitski - Be the Cowboy "Lonesome Love" "Me and My Husband" 9. CHVRCHES - Love is Dead "Graffiti" "Graves" 8. Tancred - Nightstand "Reviews" "Something Else" 7. Snail Mail - Lush "Pristine" "Heat Wave" 6. Courtney Barnett - Tell Me How You Really Feel "Nameless, Faceless" "Need A Little Time" 5. The Beths - Future Me Hates Me "Little Death" "Not Running" "Happy Unhappy" 4. Slothrust - The Pact "Double Down" "Birthday Cake" "For Robin" 3. Metric - Art of Doubt "Now or Never Now" "Underline the Black" "Risk" 2. Tash Sultana - Flow State "Cigarettes" "Seven" "Mystik" 1. Screaming Females - All at Once "I'll Make You Sorry" "Soft Domination" "Step Outside"

[awkward-sultana]

Magnificent Century: Kösem + Faceless: Ayşe Sultan

[micaramel]

Artists: Julie Becker, Jesse Darling, Win McCarthy, Ima-Abasi Okon

Venue: Galerie Neu, Berlin

Exhibition Title: The Same Room: Julie Becker in dialogue

Date: February 8 – March 14, 2020

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of images, press release and link available after the jump.

Images:

Images courtesy of Galerie Neu, Berlin

Press Release:

Galerie Neu is pleased to present The Same Room: Julie Becker in dialogue — an exhibition exploring the singular vision of American artist Julie Becker (1972 – 2016) through a selection of photographs, drawings and a video alongside recent works by Jesse Darling, Win McCarthy and Ima-Abasi Okon.

Deeply rooted in the mythology and economic realities of the city, Julie Becker, who grew up, lived and worked in Los Angeles, produced a remarkable, yet underrepresented body of installation, sculpture, drawing, photography and film constantly oscillating between reality and fiction, truth and fantasy.

Reflecting on her own personal experience of precarious living, Julie Becker investigated the psychologically charged spaces of architectural interiors, where built scale models, staged photographs and mystical drawings of interiors turn into sites of refuge and fantastical escape.

Her powerful aesthetic visions articulating the fantasies, nightmares, and dispossessions underpinning late capitalism, with particular emphasis on the loneliness and estrangement that result from social inequity, vividly resonate in the different approaches and visual languages embodied by the recent works of Jesse Darling, Win McCarthy and Ima-Abasi Okon.

Through the narratives of history and counter-history, the work of Jesse Darling addresses the vulnerability, fallibility and adaptability of being a body caught in the structures of the social and material world.

Haunted by the financial and psychological precarity of city life, Win McCarthy’s work reflects on the complex construction and representation of the self within New York’s ever changing and gentrifying landscape.

The aesthetic of administered scarcity of this economic and political landscape finds itself further exposed in the works of Ima-Abasi Okon who uses industrial objects and “repurposes” them by removing their function in order to raise questions relating to value, productivity and excess.

The four artists of the exhibition cast light, all in very personal ways, on the language and constraints imposed by the architectural, social and economic structures of our urban reality.

  Born in Los Angeles in 1972, Julie Becker briefly studied at the Hochschule der Künste, Berlin, in 1991 before returning to Los Angeles and received a BFA in 1993, and an MFA in 1995, from the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts). In 1996 she was the youngest participant in the 23rd São Paulo Biennial, exhibiting her early acclaimed work, Researchers, Residents, A Place to Rest (1993 – 1996), subsequently exhibited the year after at the Kunsthalle Zürich (1997). In the following years, she has had solo exhibitions at the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York (2001), the Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles (2003) and Greene Naftali, New York (2016). Becker has taken part in notable group exhibitions including Stills: Emerging Photography in the 1990s, Walker Art Center, Minneapolis (1997); the Seville Biennial (2006); The Shapes of Space, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York (2007); and Nine Lives, Hammer Museum, Los Angeles (2009). Julie Becker died in Los Angeles in 2016. In 2018, the Institute of Contemporary Arts (ICA), London, organized the first survey exhibition devoted to the work of Julie Becker. The exhibition I must create a Master Piece to pay the Rent travelled last year to MoMA PS1, New York.

Jesse Darling (b. 1976, Portsmouth, UK) is a Berlin based artist working across sculpture, installation, drawing, text, video, sound and performance. Recent solo exhibitions include Selva Oscura, Galerie Sultana, Paris (2019), Crevé, Triangle France – Astérides, Marseille (2019); The Ballade of Saint Jerome, Tate Britain, London (2018); Support Level, Chapter Gallery, New York (2018); and The Great Near, Arcadia Missa, London (2016). Recent group shows include Transcorporealities, Museum Ludwig, Cologne (2019); May You Live in Interesting Times, 58th Venice Biennale, Venice (2019); A cris ouverts, Biennale d’Art Contemporain, Rennes (2018); Give Up The Ghost, Baltic Triennial 13, Tallin (2018); Cellular World, Glasgow International (2018); An unpredictable expression of human potential, Beirut Art Centre for Sharjah Biennale, Beirut (2017).

Win McCarthy (b. 1986, Brooklyn, US) is a New York based artist working across sculpture, installation, photography and text. Recent solo exhibitions include God Shaped Hole, Atlantis, Marseille (2019); Apartment Life, Svetlana, New York (2019); Gridlock Person, Galerie Fons Welters, Amsterdam (2018); Mister, Silberkuppe, Berlin (2017). Recent group shows include Delirious, Lustwarande, Tilburg (2019); Smart to the Core: Embodying the Self, SMART Museum of Art, University of Chicago, Chicago (2019); Mirror Cells, Whitney Museum of American Art, New York (2016); Night Thoughts, CCS Bard, Annandale-on-Hudson, New York (2016); and Puddle, pothole, porthole, Sculpture Center, New York (2014).

Ima-Abasi Okon (b. 1981, London, UK) is a London and Amsterdam based artist working across print, sculpture and moving image. Recent solo exhibitions include sur— [infinite Slippage: production of the r ~e ~a ~l as an intensive magnitude starting at zero-eight] —plus, Void, Derry – Londonderry (2020), Infinite Slippage: nonRepugnant Insolvencies T!-a!-r!-r!-y!-i!-n!-g! as Handclaps of M’s Hard’Loved’Flesh [I’M irreducibly undone because] —Leanage-Complex-Dub, Chisenhale Gallery, London (2019), sur— [MIX-USE COMMODITY] —plus, two person show with Alessandro Raho, Kingsgate Project Space, London (2018). She is currently participating in the residency programme at Rijksakademie voor beeldende kunsten (Academy for fine arts), Amsterdam.

  DOWNSTAIRS

A lowered ceiling using a standardised modular system, commonly found in offices, waiting rooms, retail spaces and other administrative spaces, has altered the original architecture of the entrance room. The grid of 104 white-fissured ceiling tiles composing the work of Ima-Abasi Okon creates an oppressive clinical space while pointing to a hidden space above it, a negated zone.

Lodged within this hidden space, two automatic air fresheners distill at 6 minutes intervals a unique and personal fragrance composed of the artist’s jewellery, black soap, insulin, kinesiology tape, home-made lychee serum, morphine oxtail, palm oil, scotch bonnet, soursop, and ultrasound gel. Directed at what could be described as the underneath of the industrial tiles, the collective works highlight an excess normally hidden from view and in turn point to an absent body.

This constructed and controlled environment operates as a gateway and junction point, giving access to the gallery’s main room and the room upstairs.

In 1993, while still studying, Julie Becker started photographing corners of both existing rooms and of fabricated scale models based on her imagination or memory of actual interiors. Closely cropped, the images of the Interior Corners series obscure the scale of the spaces, blurring the line between the real and the staged places. Illuminated by the flare of a flashbulb, the empty corners evoke views of crime scenes, film sets or vacated apartments.

In the series The Same Room (1993 – 1996), Julie Becker would alter the decor and the tone of the same scale model staged room. The cropped photographs of this series are mysteriously inhabited by objects (here, shelves), giving the space a sense of ambiguous utility.

Similarly enigmatic items populate Jesse Darling’s works Virgin Variations (2019). Reminiscent of lockers and relics of one’s personal intimate world, the wooden and plexiglass display cases – whose surfaces have been brutalised and often scratched, painted or fixed with tape – all individually integrate various items stuck on them, penetrating them, or assembled inside of them: cemetery rose, egg timer, table cloth, stickers, piano keys, toilet brush, porn, pipe cleaner or sceptre among others. All together the works stand as an unmonument to all the (precarious) lives and bodies that history doesn’t care to name or remember.

Variously subtitled, Win McCarthy’s works Street Scene (2019) revolve around photographs the artist took of architectural maquettes housed in the developer’s sales office or situated in the lobbies of the newly constructed condominium buildings of essex Crossing, a major under-construction mixed-use real estate development project in New York City’s Lower east Side. The images feature faceless buildings populated by figures, pausing, walking or sunbathing. Printed in a grainy black and white, the closely cropped images of the real estate promotional architectural models turn into street scenes of dystopian film noir.

Empty Volume (2019), a sculpture consisting of refrigerator doors, partially enclosed in glass, complete the previous series. Domestic remains (a dishtowel, decaying food products, probiotics) inhabit the sculpture that seems to re-create the cold facade of a multi-storey glass tower of the Manhattan skyline.

  UPSTAIRS

In 1999, Julie Becker began an ongoing project titled Whole.

The project was initiated when Julie Becker moved to a neglected building owned by the California Federal Bank located in echo Park, a then run-down neighbourhood on the edge of downtown Los Angeles that was home to a predominantly Latino community and had not yet undergone dramatic shifts due to gentrification and real estate speculation. The bank let her occupy the space for a reduced rent in exchange for clearing out the basement containing the unclaimed belongings of its former inhabitant, who passed away from an AIDS related illness.

Instead, she spent several years digging through his personal belongings: “No one ever came to collect [his] things. It’s like he mattered to no one. He was about as invisible as a person could be. I guess I wanted to bring him to life again and ask him some questions… as well as honour him just for making it through life as long as he did”.

Haunted by the presence of the former inhabitant, Whole centred on the echo Park building, operating both as a studio and as a stage, and its ambiguous relationship with the California Federal Bank. At a time, the bank was not only the landlord of Julie Becker but also one of the buildings that she could vividly see when looking outside the window. The spectral architecture of this imposing modernist building looms into many of Whole’s series of photographs, drawings, notes, and video.

In Federal Building with Music (2002), the bank becomes the main character of the psychedelic journey of this 29-minute shaky video shot on Super 8 cutting between blurry shots of the building itself and its scale model, winched through a hole connecting Julie Becker’s ground floor and basement. The video is set to the soundtrack of the Mexican technobanda outfit Banda Arkángel R-15, from a cassette Julie Becker found discarded in the car park of the bank.

In the video, a sign briefly appears:

“IF YOU CAN KEEP YOUR HEAD IN ALL THIS CONFUSION YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND THE SITUATION”

  Link: “The Same Room: Julie Becker in dialogue” at Galerie Neu

Contemporary Art Daily is produced by Contemporary Art Group, a not-for-profit organization. We rely on our audience to help fund the publication of exhibitions that show up in this RSS feed. Please consider supporting us by making a donation today.

from Contemporary Art Daily http://bit.ly/3cT2meD

[viralnewstime]

Indigenous rapper Baker Boy and singer-songwriter Courtney Barnett have dominated The Age Music Victoria Awards for 2018, receiving four and three awards respectively at The Melbourne Recital Centre on Wednesday night.

This year’s awards — which saw Molly Meldrum and late Divinyls frontwoman Chrissy Amphlett inducted into the Hall Of Fame — also saw Baker Boy claim the Best Song, Best Male Musician, Best Live Act and Best Victorian Breakthrough Act awards.

Meanwhile, Courtney Barnett was awarded Best Solo Artist, Best Female Musician and Best Victorian Album for Tell Me How You Really Feel. Other award winners included Camp Cope and Golden Plains, which took home the industry-voted Best Festival award.

The night featured performances from the likes of Mildlife, Baker Boy, Evelyn Ida Morris, Angie McMahon and Sampa The Greatm, before Ella Hooper and Dallas Frasca covered Divinyls’ ‘Boys In Town’ in tribute to Chrissy Amphlett.

During the evening, Victoria’s Minister for Creative Industries, Martin Foley, also announced that the Andrews Labor Government will launch a 10-day, state-wide music festival if re-elected this weekend.

Catch the full list of this year’s The Age Music Victoria Awards winners, below.

The Age Music Victoria Awards 2018

PUBLIC VOTED AWARDS

The Premier’s Prize for the Best Victorian Album of 2018 – $10,000 Cash Prize

Camp Cope – How To Socialise & Make Friends Courtney Barnett – Tell Me How You Really Feel — WINNER Laura Jean – Devotion Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever – Hope Downs Sampa The Great – Birds And The Bee9

Best Band

Camp Cope — WINNER King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard MOD CON Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever Tropical F*ck Storm

Best Song

Baker Boy – Marryuna — WINNER Camp Cope – The Opener Courtney Barnett – Nameless, Faceless Laura Jean – Girls On The TV Mojo Juju – Native Tongue

Best Solo Artist

Alex Lahey Angie McMahon Baker Boy Courtney Barnett — WINNER Didirri Laura Jean Mojo Juju Sampa The Great Tash Sultana Vance Joy

Best Male Musician

Danzal Baker (Baker Boy) — WINNER Didirri Peters (Didirri) Gareth Liddiard (Tropical F*ck Storm) Jake Robertson (School Damage, Alien Nosejob) Tom Iansek (No Mono)

Best Female Musician

Courtney Barnett — WINNER Erica Dunn (Tropical F*ck Storm, MOD CON, Palm Springs) Laura Englert (Laura Jean) Mojo “Juju” Ruiz De Luzuriaga (Mojo Juju) Sampa Tembo (Sampa The Great)

The Premier’s Prize for the Best Victorian Breakthrough Act of 2018 – $5000 Cash Prize

Angie McMahon Baker Boy — WINNER Kaiit Mildlife MOD CON

Best Live Act

Amyl And The Sniffers Baker Boy — WINNER Cable Ties Courtney Barnett King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard

Best Small Venue (under 500 capacity)

The Gasometer, Collingwood Howler, Brunswick Northcote Social Club, Northcote — WINNER The Old Bar, Fitzroy The Tote, Collingwood

Best Large Venue (over 500 capacity)

170 Russell, Melbourne Corner Hotel, Richmond — WINNER The Croxton Bandroom, Thornbury Hamer Hall, Southbank Melbourne Recital Centre, Southbank

INDUSTRY-VOTED AWARDS

Best Festival

Golden Plains

Best Regional/Outer Suburban Act

This Way North

Best Regional/Outer Suburban Venue (Over 50 gigs per year)

Karova Lounge, Ballarat

Best Regional/Outer Suburban Venue (Under 50 gigs per year)

Meeniyan Town Hall, Meeniyan

Archie Roach Foundation Award for Emerging Talent

Kaiit

Best Blues Album

Collard Greens And Gravy – Luedella

Best Country Album

James Ellis & The Jealous Guys – It Ain’t Texas (But It Ain’t Bad)

Best Electronic Act

Mildlife

Best Experimental or Avant-Garde Act

Nat Grant

Best Folk or Roots Album

Michael Waugh – The Asphalt & The Oval

Best Global Act

Senegambian Jazz Band

Best Heavy Album

Encircling Sea – Hearken

Best Hip Hop Act

Sampa The Great

Best Jazz Album

Sam Anning – Across A Field As Vast As One

Best Reggae and Dancehall Act

Monkey Marc

Best Rock/Punk Album

Little Ugly Girls – Little Ugly Girls

Best Soul, Funk, RnB Album

Sampa The Great – Birds and The BEE9

HALL OF FAME INDUCTEES

Molly Meldrum and Chrissy Amphlett

The post Baker Boy & Courtney Barnett Dominate The 2018 Music Victoria Awards appeared first on Music Feeds.

from Music Feeds https://ift.tt/2KnvQU4

[littlelonghairedoutlawllho]

You spoke of roses by @dorkshadows

The Sultana was a rose, beautiful and keen and as elusive as smoke. She was a poem, a word from a brush, and a thread of silk knotted around Christine’s hand. But under those petals, there were thorns, sharp, unyielding, and unimaginably cruel.

Or, the AU in which the Shah-in-Shah hires Gustave Daae instead of the faceless magician. And the violinist's daughter catches the eye of the little Sultana.

The absolutely *stunning* first place winner in the recent Poto Rare Pairs Fic Contest! Check it out and leave a comment! Link is in the title

[awkward-sultana]

Magnificent Century: Kösem + Faceless: Turhan Sultan

[awkward-sultana]

Magnificent Century + Faceless: Firuze Hatun