#emilio: famous last words

[stolensiren]

famous last words // teddy, emilio, teagan, patricia, macleod, metzli, & cass

TIMING: just before midnight PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli @eldritchaccident @yourlocalbrawler @teaganmyrick @monstersfear @braindeacl @stolensiren SUMMARY: metzli, macleod, cass, patricia, teagan, teddy, and emilio all prepare to leave town together, but are stalled by the realization that something isn't right. metzli finds a solution, and everyone wishes there were a different one. CONTENT: sibling death, parental death

“It–it didn’t work.” The earth continued to rumble and crack, the lightning of concrete and dirt growing with each thundering pulse of energy from White Crest. Metzli stood there, watching helplessly, unable to coordinate another plan as everyone stood behind them. Cass, Teddy, Emilio, Teagan, Patricia, and Eilidh agreed to ensure the plan worked, to stay just outside the town’s boundaries in case they needed to step in or keep running. 

And it was so funny, wasn’t it? Decades of being a strategist, with backup plan after backup plan, and now, when the world was ending—arguably the most important moment in Metzli’s life—they were coming up with nothing. “It was supposed to work! I don’t understand! Twelve sacrifices for each hour. All the books—Leah said—fuck! Fuck!” Abigail and Lil, and all those people had given their lives, believing they were doing the right thing. The very thought made Metzli sink to their knees, their heart aching and wishing for some other way. “All those volunteers…it was supposed to—”

Then, it hit them.

“The thirteenth hour.” Metzli practically whispered to themself, rising to their feet and stumbling as dry earth burst open. The sinkhole was going to reach the city limit if they didn’t act fast. If Metzli didn’t do something. “We forgot about the thirteenth hour. Teagan–you were in it.” She nodded with her brows furrowing together, as if she knew where they were going with their thought. She did. She looked down at Eilidh with a somber expression, not saying a word as Metzli continued. “You and that Sol guy, right? If it exists, it has to be the missing part. We need…” Their eyes fell at the realization they knew no one would want to say aloud. Avoiding everyone’s faces, Metzli continued, preparing for the inevitable rebuttals. Especially on Eilidh’s part. Maybe even more especially on Cass’s. “There has to be one more…sacrifice.” The final word hung heavy in the air, and Metzli didn’t lift their head. Doing so would make them think twice, and there just wasn’t enough time for that.

Eilidh was the first to surge forward, putting together what her partner was really saying. Her nails dug impossibly deep into their skin, drawing blood, and Metzli could’ve sworn they felt them in their heart. The two of them were supposed to have a new start, and they were effectively telling her they never would. Her screams filled their ears, her pleas making it nearly impossible to submit themself to what they needed to do. Whispering sweet nothings in her ears, she clung to them, and they finally rose their head to acknowledge everyone they loved, tears streaming down their fearful expression.

Rhett was dead. The ground was shaking, the world was ending, Rhett was dead, and it felt so much like Etla that Emilio could see Jaime’s body in the street just a few feet away staring at him with unseeing eyes. Nausea tugged at his gut, and it took everything he had just to keep his goddamn lunch down, just to keep himself standing on his own two feet. 

And the worst part, he thought, was that it was all for nothing. Rhett stayed behind to play the fucking hero, did the exact goddamn thing he’d forbidden Emilio from doing, and it was all for nothing. Emilio lost the only brother he had left for nothing. The world was still ending. They were still going to die. It might have felt like a relief if he weren’t so goddamn angry about it.

Metzli was speaking then, and it took a moment for Emilio to tune back in to the conversation, took a moment for him to pull himself back into the present and away from the bodies in the street that had rotted away to dust in another country years ago, but when his mind caught up, he understood what they were saying. 

Twelve people stayed behind. And there should have been one more.

Immediately, Emilio stepped forward. He locked eyes with Metzli, tilting his head in a silent question. He’d do it, if he had to. He’d be breaking a million promises — to Rhett, to Teddy, to people no longer around to care, but fuck, it’d be worth it. He chose to live. He chose that. Maybe it didn’t matter if he didn’t stick to it. Maybe choosing it once was enough.

The ground trembled beneath her feet, and Cass stumbled in a wild attempt to stay upright. It should have stopped by now, shouldn’t it? All those people who’d stayed behind, all those people who’d given everything to stop it… It should be over by now. The fact that it wasn’t was bound to be a bad sign, and maybe — maybe they all should have known better. Maybe they should have realized that things couldn’t be this simple. 

Maybe some things weren’t meant to work out.

Cass’s heart was in her throat, because she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to fall into a hole in the world where no one would ever find her, didn’t want her life to end when it felt like it had really only just begun. Superheroes died for their causes, sometimes, but in the comics, they always came back after. Death wasn’t so temporary in reality. 

But then, Metzli came to a realization that was almost worse, somehow. They spoke, and Cass felt her stomach clench because she knew exactly what they were saying. She stepped towards them a moment after the hunter holding Teddy’s hand did, eyes sliding nervously to the man as she shuffled a little farther away from him and locked her gaze onto Metzli’s. 

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Metzli, no. You — You said we were going to leave together. You promised that. Let someone else do it.” She didn’t mean to glance back to the hunter as she said it, but maybe she did anyway. “You get to live now. You get that. Please, Metzli.”

The crumbling canyon before them was a ripping, yawning, hollow thing. Bleakly mirroring the expressions on those who stood around the edge. Teddy heard, yes. Teddy processed the meaning moments after the words came from Metzli’s mouth. His grip on Emilio’s hand and stubborn feet maybe the only thing keeping the hunter from rushing in without even knowing what he was going to even do about it. Teddy was doing it again. Flushed cheeks on a paling face. Slowly becoming about as ghost white as the crackles of energy that seeped up and out of the ground before them. Stuck in his spot. Unable to move. But if it wasn’t fear that was keeping him rooted, what was it? Despair? Rage? 

The florist (Well, was it even fair to call him a florist anymore? Twice now his shops had been swallowed completely by something all consuming and unstoppable. At least this time they weren’t alone. Though that thought was far more bitter than it should have been.) echoed the younger girl’s words. “No.” Firm, hurt, but lined with a breathy desperation that threatened to tumble outward should he say anything else. He finally forced himself to look over. Too much distance and too many people he loved stood between him and his appa. Fuck. Teddy was just getting used to that. To family. Each face painted a different portrait of grief. Emilio’s loss of another brother, Cass and the home she’d finally built for herself, Eilidh and the life they were about to create. And Metzli. Something determined and sad behind those eyes. A hungry thing Teddy recognized immediately as resolution. 

“There’s gotta– anyone else. Please. There’s so many people out there who could– anyone else.” It was pretty clear. The people there were among the few Teddy Jones would do literally anything for. Except allow them to die. Except allow them to be the final sacrifice in a pyrrhic victory against the town that raised Ted. The town that was set to raze the rest of the planet if someone didn’t intervene. There had to be another way. Anything. Anything would be better than losing a single one of them. 

— 

Despite the ravenous trembling of the ground beneath her, Patricia’s feet remained planted, looking on at the city that had attempted to make a massacre of its own population. It took her a bit longer than it should’ve to realize what Metzli was implying, what grim resolution to the problem they’d come up with, but it still hurt all the same. They were a close friend, one of the closest besides Teagan, and somebody she thought would become a parent-in-law someday in the future, but like all things, that innocent thought was cut short. Life was unfair, and cruel, but those words were understatements for the irony of Metzli sacrificing themself after already having given so much to the town and its people. 

A stunned silence washed over Patricia, the torrent of thoughts in her mind serving to silence the group’s pleading and denial. When she thought of putting herself in their shoes, she knew she couldn’t do it. There was no way she would leave Teagan and Daisy to give her life for the rest of the world. She knew just how selfish that was, but she didn’t allow self-pity to derail her thoughts. If anyone could do this, it was Metzli, that’s just the kind of person they were. They’d give their all until the last drop of blood was spilled.

Rather than a sob or a cry escaping Patricia’s lips as a tear streamed down her cheek, a grim chuckle instead left in its place. The feeling of disbelief fused with the sudden realization that it had to be Metzli, into a feeling of amusement at the irony of the situation. What else was there to do when all others wept for their closest friend? “Always gotta be the damn hero, don’t you Metz? If you’re going to go out, might as well go out swinging.” The world in front of them was emptying out, crumbling into nothing before their very eyes, but with a single realization Metzli proved that they were willing to charge forth into the void with a final defiant gesture. “Make it count, because there won’t be a single person who survives this that won’t miss you every damn day.”

There wasn’t much else to say. The group of people surrounding Teagan had every reason to refute what Metzli was saying, but even with how horrible the answer was, it was the answer. However, she did find herself wanting to fight back with the rest. If not to preserve a kind heart’s beat, then for her mother figure, Macleod. The love of her life was giving everything away, tossing out any possibility of the happy ever after she felt her mother deserved. But then, the love of her life spoke up, speaking in a way that would most certainly get her chastised. 

“C-cariad.” Teagan pulled Patricia closer to retreat to the back of the group, her voice still cracking from her time in The Ring’s basement. Her neck still bore the evidence of the horrible conditions she was under, and she was still weak from her time away from Dark Score, but there was an undeniable strength in the way she managed to get Patricia where she wanted. “They might h-hit you. Wanted to protect you.” She whispered hoarsely, confident that Patricia would still hear. “May be best to k-keep quiet for now. People in mourning. Denial.” Teagan looked at Cass then, the biggest and most frequent offender of denial. She did it best, and Teagan has experienced first-hand more than once. 

Everyone spoke together, refusing to accept the solution in front of them, just as expected. Metzli’s face contorted into a mixture of grief, frustration, and fear, the knowledge that they were wasting time heavy on their entire body. “Guys—please, can we just—” Then, Patricia, of all people, was tearfully chuckling, and they couldn’t help but scoff in kind. She not only understood what they were saying, but accepted it. There was no way they’d let Emilio give his life, and there was no changing Metzli’s mind, and she knew it. 

“No, guys. No.” Metzli propped Eilidh an arm-length away by her shoulder, hoping to help her see that their solution was the correct one. She continued to argue, to kiss them and beg them to let someone else do it, but Metzli simply shook their head. It wasn’t easy on their part, by any means, though it may have looked like it was. They had coordinated so many plans, were looking forward to a life full of love and adventure, and now…there was no chance. All of that was being given up so that everyone they loved could have that instead. It would hurt, it would ache indefinitely. But to Metzli, that fate was far better than having nothing at all.

Looking to the rest of the group, Metzli could see a tsunami of emotions crashing together, further increasing the difficulty of their decision. Eventually though, they found their resolve. “Emilio, you’re not giving your life. You haven’t lived long enough to make that decision so easily. Teddy and Cass, I know this is hard. I know. But who else will it be? Who else has had their chance at life? I’ve lived over a hundred and fifty years. I promised, I know. And you know what?” They chuckled in disbelief, shaking their head. “I did. I worked so hard to get out of here with you all. I kept my promise, and now I’ve gotta make good on my promise to love and protect you.”

“Metzli…” Emilio’s voice was low, quiet. He wanted to argue that they had more to live for than he did, but Teddy’s grip on his hand reminded him that that wasn’t quite true. And there was something unspeakably cruel about that, wasn’t there? The last time Emilio had run from a town as it came to an end, he’d had nothing left to live for and nothing to chase him down and put him out of his misery. This time, he had so much left to do and the world demanding someone stay to pay the toll anyway. Two years ago, this decision would have been a simple one. But now? Now, it was harder than it should have been. Now, it wasn’t him who was making it. 

He glanced over at Teddy, the stricken look on his face. He was going to lose something here today, no matter who made this sacrifice. And Emilio hated that. He hated that these were the kinds of choices they were given, hated that this was their lot in life, hated that Metzli was volunteering for this now, just when they were starting to make peace with each other, hated that he knew he was going to let them. 

“It doesn’t have to be you,” he said, still low. It was a pointless gesture, both the quiet tones when just about everyone in their group had some kind of enhanced hearing and the offer that Metzli had already turned down once. “Already made it longer than anybody thought I would, you know. Wouldn’t hate it if it ended like this.” They were going to say no — he knew they were going to say no — but Emilio still felt the need to offer. They deserved that much. He got that now.

Frustration built up in Cass throughout it all, through Teddy’s voice echoing her pleas and Patricia’s teary chuckle and Teagan’s sidelong glance in her direction. They were supposed to all get out. They were supposed to all be safe. She was supposed to meet up with Sloane after, they were supposed to all get away together, and it wasn’t —

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. They weren’t supposed to be faced with more impossible choices when the decisions had all already been made. Cass had already lost friends to this crumbling mess of a town, had already lost people before the chaos started thanks in part to the strange ‘warning signs’ the town threw out as it started the too-slow, too-fast process of dying. She wasn’t supposed to lose anyone else. She wasn’t supposed to have to leave her family behind. 

Teddy’s boyfriend made an offer, and it took everything Cass had not to beg Metzli to take it, not to say outright that it would be better if they left someone she didn’t care about behind than it would be to leave someone she loved. It was a selfish thing to feel, but she felt it so entirely that it threatened to swallow her whole before the crumbling town could. Growing up the way she had, first in the system and then on the streets, made it so easy to accept that terrible things were bound to happen and to prefer it when they were happening to people you didn’t know. It also made it harder, somehow, when they were happening to the people you loved. There were so few of them. Cass couldn’t afford to lose any more.

“I don’t want that,” she insisted, her voice breaking. “We don’t want that.” She gestured between herself and Teddy, speaking for him without permission because she knew she was right. For all that she’d resented him, she knew that Teddy grew up much in the same way she had. She knew that, like her, he would prefer it if strangers took the fall in place of friends. Teddy didn’t want anyone to die for him any more than Cass did. She was confident in that, at least. “Let it be someone else, Metzli, please. I — I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. You’re my family, the first family I ever had. Please don’t leave me here alone.” 

— 

There wasn't anything Teddy could say that Cass hadn't already. Though her glances towards Emilio hadn't gone completely unnoticed. It wasn't her fault she never had a chance to really meet him and get to know the side Ted had come to love. But that didn't really stop the sting and feeling of betrayal at the silent suggestion. His heart was pounding. If he had not spent the majority of the last few months learning how to control his shifting, he might have sported a much more toothsome look by now. Instead he looked much like a dog someone left out in the rain. Tearing his eyes between the one who had volunteered themselves, and the man who tried to take their place. Neither would be acceptable. How could they be? Teddy's life had been empty, so fucking empty until these beautiful lights filled it with meaning and worth. He gripped even tighter on Emilio's hand. Maybe even painfully, but not on an intentional scale. He'd probably have done the same to Metzli if he already had a hold on them. 

"You– you can't leave us." He repeated numbly, barely audible. "I said I'd go wherever you go, appa. You promised we'd be together." In lieu of a well thought out argument, Teddy began to mumble like a lost toddler. Felt the burn in his legs as he willed them to move but they stayed firmly in place. His stomach churned, and his chest rose and shuddered with his ragged breath. "Why-why-why would it even have to be you? Huh?" He stammered, a rising defensive rage bubbling up out of the demon. "Haven't you given enough? You deserve to make it out with all of us just as much as anyone else, more even. You fought for this appa, you have to come with us s-someone else out there has to-" The tears his wide stare had been holding back finally burst through the dam. Catching his voice behind a curtain of hyperventilation and choked sobs as the realization that there was no way that he was leaving here with his heart intact. 

—

Patricia couldn’t think of anything witty or insightful to add to this devastating moment of collective revelation. All she could do was wrap an arm around Teagan, and watch as each member of this group reacted in their own ways. Even if all of them were normal people, intertwined only by common interests and memories, this would still hurt like shit, but they weren’t just that. Everybody here had been affected by Metzli for the better, time and time again. How could anybody ever accept that a world of people they’d never met, of people that would mostly never know them or care about them, should be more important than the one person who was good without expectation? It was a herculean task, and it couldn’t be resolved in the mere minutes that remained before the world ended.

Only an immensely small percentage of the world would know just what had been sacrificed for them, and even less would get to know who was lost for them. It was a devastatingly lonely fate that Patricia wouldn’t wish on nobody, not even those that had taken Teagan from her. There was no point consoling others right now, because not even Patricia could keep it together to do so. There was no staying strong, not anymore. Thoughts were quickly becoming harder to grasp as the knot in her throat felt larger and larger. Patricia leaned over and buried her face in Teagan’s shoulder, quickly dampening the fabric of her shirt with a stream of the tears just as inevitable as the shudder of the earth beneath them.

Teagan’s whole demeanor softened at the emotional outpour around her. She found herself wanting to fight back too, but there was a look in the vampire’s eye that told her everything she needed to know. They were a parent, a lover, a friend, a sibling, and everything in between. Soon, they would be none of those things except in the fleeting memories of everyone surrounding them. Macleod would mourn for the rest of her days, and as Teagan looked back over to her whilst she held Patricia, she held back a sob. The people she loved were always so strong and never let their tears see the light of day. Each a cache of emotions they held tightly shut. Holding tempers that could be akin to a blazing fire. But there they were, extinguishing the flames themselves so as to not leave anything unsaid.

“Shh…” She cooed, bringing Patricia closer. What else could she say? Teagan led the pair to the ground to get a better hold, a better look at the damage Metzli’s decision was making. It was then that she realized just how good of a friend they were to Patricia. She should’ve known. They had played a willing part in her rescue mission, after all. Teagan then cried, too. She held them at arm’s length so she didn’t have to feel the love they so obviously wanted to give, and did anyway, even without her permission. “I’m sorry,” Teagan whispered, looking at Metzli. “I should’ve gotten to know you better.” They shook their head at her, proclaiming her words nonsense and that they wouldn’t change a thing. Sometimes a quiet love is the one that echoes the farthest. Nodding in understanding, Teagan placed a kiss on Patricia’s head and intertwined her fingers with Macleod’s, extending her strength and love to her.

“Come on man,” Metzli shook their head and faced the wreckage that White Crest was becoming. “You’re not getting out of living that easy. You’ve got shit to do. Besides…” Shrugging, they turned to Cass and Teddy for a moment, going back to Emilio to finish their thought. “You need to make sure everyone stays together and gets out. No one else knows how important that is more than you.” 

Metzli again turned around, this time facing Eilidh. If it wasn’t ghosts or ghouls, it was the intimate celebrations that brought back the dead, or better yet, kept them alive. Metzli had done just that only weeks ago when they put together a Día de Muertos party. Eilidh did that daily when she saw a butterfly and said hello to her first love. They wondered, for a moment, if she’d do the same when she found a blooming datura. At the thought, Metzli stared into her eyes with a softness that could compete with silk. Their hand grazed the necklace they’d given her and they swallowed a sob so they could replace it with a longing kiss. “I’m so glad you’re the first and only woman I’ve ever loved.” They muttered against her lips, stepping away slowly while holding her hand with a pressure she could feel. Raising it just as slow and biting hard enough to draw her black, clotted blood. She scoffed out a teary chuckle and roughly pulled them to her for another firm kiss. A proper one that ended with their blood in her mouth. “I love you,” They said in unison, in each other’s languages they learned for one another.

Finally, they faced Teddy and Cass, only cupping her cheek. They would’ve cupped Teddy’s too, but sadly, one needs two hands for that, and he was on their left. “Listen guys, I’m not leaving you because I want to. I made a promise to protect you. To love you so unconditionally that I would quite literally put my life on the line for you. Of course you don’t want this, hell, I don’t want this, but it’s the solution we’ve got.” Metzli tightened their eyes shut in a vain attempt to halt the tears that fell anyway, and slowly, they brought Cass and Teddy into the tightest hug. Tight enough to imprint their bodies onto their skin so they’d stay there forever and they never had to forget how beautiful it felt to have love wrap around them. “It’s not about deserve. That went out the window a long time ago. It’s just about love. That’s all this is, and if you remember that, I’ll never leave you. You’ll never be alone. Look around you.” They parted from the hug and gestured to the people that had banded together to leave. “We made a family, Cass. We started it. And then it got bigger.” Teary eyes met with Teddy’s. “So no, you two will never be alone, and you know, you know, I will find a way back. This isn’t the end. It never is in our world. I chose you from the get-go. I chose you when I said we should leave. I’m choosing you now.” With a pause, they let go and stood tall, looking at their car. “We don’t have a lot of time and I need to get something done. Can I do that?”

Teddy’s grip on his hand was almost painful, tight and certain in a way that told the slayer just what the florist thought of his offer. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Metzli had that bound and determined look in their eye, the one that told Emilio that their mind was made up. For all the ups and downs that their strange almost-friendship had been through throughout his year in White Crest, he could certainly recognize that that look meant there was no arguing with the vampire. 

Glancing to the rest of the group — to Teddy’s stricken expression, to the heartbroken kid, to Teagan and Patricia on the ground and Macleod murmuring in the language she and Metzli shared — Emilio nodded. “I’ll make sure they get out,” he promised. Metzli was right; out of all of them, Emilio knew best just how important that was. He could save people, this time. It didn’t make up for the ones he couldn’t save before, didn’t undo the shit he’d done, but it was something. It had to be something.

Cass, of course, was far less understanding. She wanted an easier answer, wanted a better ending to this story. She wanted the kind of thing that only ever existed in fairytales, where the people she loved were fine and everyone lived happily ever after. Never mind that that was already out the window now, never mind that people had already died for this town, never mind that it would all be for nothing if one more didn’t join them. All Cass wanted was to get out of here with what was left of her family intact. That was all. 

And this world couldn’t even give her that. 

Her tears soaked Metzli’s hand as it rested against her face, and she shook her head adamantly. “It isn’t fair.” After everything they’d been through, after all the work they’d put into regaining their soul, how was this how it ended? How was it okay that they were going to die when they’d only just started to live? The two of them had just celebrated Metzli’s birthday, the first time they’d been allowed to do so. It was supposed to be the first of many, was supposed to be the beginning of a new tradition. They were supposed to have decades of movie nights and stupid dinner parties, were supposed to be there for each other until Cass was old and gray. Cass was supposed to have her sibling with her until the day she died. 

They should have had sixty more years of laughter and joy and peace. It wasn’t supposed to end in a crumbling town, with tears and dust. It wasn’t supposed to end abruptly and without warning, the way every other attempt at a family Cass had ever made had. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But there was no other way it could be, either. 

Metzli wouldn’t let anyone else make this decision in their place, not even if they were volunteering for it. No matter what they thought of themself, they were good. Too good to let anyone else do this in their stead, no matter how much Cass might long for it. Maybe it was always going to end like this after all. Maybe, since the beginning, Metzli doing something this selfless and this wonderful and this heartbreaking was inevitable. Maybe good people didn’t get happy endings. 

She whimpered as Metzli spoke, a thousand arguments building up in the back of her mind. But you won’t, she wanted to scream. You won’t be here. You won’t be here, and the town is gone and Levi is going to go back into the sea and Teddy probably doesn’t like me much, anyway, and I can’t go back to being alone when I’ve only just started to be with other people. This can’t be all the time we get. This can’t be all the family I get to have. It was stupid and selfish and childish, but she wanted to stomp her feet and throw her hands up and scream at the sky, wanted to yell at a god she wasn’t even sure she’d ever believed in for making this the hand they were dealt. It isn’t fair. I need you here. I still need you here. 

But what good would it do? What good would throwing a fit at the end of the world do for any of them? It would only make Metzli feel worse than they already did and, god, Cass didn’t want their last impression of her to be that. She didn’t want Metzli to feel anything negative towards her at the end, didn’t want to be the inconvenience every one of her short-lived foster families had accused her of being. There was so much here that she didn’t want, and so little time to correct any of it. 

There was still too much to say, still too much to do. And the world was still ending. And not one bit of it was fair.

She reached out, clutching Metzli’s hand desperately. “I’m not — I’m not ready,” she said, voice caught somewhere between a whisper and a sob. “I’m not ready to be without you. We just started. This is supposed to be the beginning.” 

The messy mix of memories that had firmly rooted Teddy in place began to settle into the corners of his mind, letting him slip into an unkind and uncomfortable sense of morbid pain. He had stopped flicking his gaze between Metzli and Emilio at some point, maybe when the older of the two guided the younger to keep everyone else safe. A firm decision that didn't seem up for debate. No, instead his eyes fell on Cass. Watched every bit of the churning ocean of emotions washed over her features in a way his inability to process the very same ones wouldn't allow. He watched until they were both pulled into a hug so tight his view was obscured, and he could only feel the flushed heat radiating off her skin. Hear her heartbeat banging against its cage in rhythm with his own. 

Her words compelled him to do something he never really would have thought of, if not for how Metzli brought them closer together. Funnily enough, their connection to Levi and Marina made them something of siblings, but it might just have been the old vampire who made them family. Teddy gently, far more gently than he had been (and still was) gripping tight to his boyfriend, slipped his hand into Cass's. A wordless promise that if she wanted it, if she allowed it…he would be there for her. They both knew so intimately what it was like to be alone. Maybe it was time they tried to get rid of that feeling together. 

Teddy wasn't ready to lose Metzli either. The annoying gnawing voice that always grated at the back of his head reminded him that they hadn't even really known each other that long. That the strange sensation of knowing the vampire all his life had come from a stint of magic that temporarily altered his memories and gave him and Metzli a few days where he got to be a real kid. Their kid. And now… now he was going to be an orphan again. It didn't really matter how old you were, losing that part of yourself… especially after having fought so long to feel it. To really belong to something or someone who chose you because of who you are, not something you did or something you could give. He wasn't ready to lose it all again. It didn't matter what he had with Levi. A thousand years and that would never be this. 

A loving embrace, before a calculated release. 

A selfless sacrifice that would leave a living scar on everyone here. Teddy wept. Silent and steady. Hot blistery tears streaking down his cheeks with no sign of stopping. His breath stifled any words, as if he could think of any. What the hell was he supposed to say? How do you tell someone that they've become such an ingrained part of you that to pull them away means the very fabric of you begins to unravel? How do you keep standing when the ground below gets ripped away? The closest he could think of was a sobbed, repeated phrase. Over and over. 

"Apa, please. I love you."

—

All Teagan could do was watch with eyes so full of mist that everyone was a blur. Looking down at Patricia, it was all she could do to keep herself from falling apart when there were parties clearly more affected than she was. For the time being, she kept quiet, wiping her eyes to see Metzli hurry around the vehicles as the world crumbled around them. Time was ticking, and Teagan could’ve sworn she could hear the clock bell roar, confirming Metzli’s suspicions. 

Why did it have to end this way? Life always had a cost, and it looked like there was nothing left to do but pay, and Metzli was holding the lump sum. One so large that it was lodged in their throat while they said their goodbyes, even taking the time to speak to those they barely knew. Teagan appreciated that, looking at Macleod with eyes so full of sorrow, they were dripping down her cheeks. Everything was breaking, and the nix didn’t wield the power to make everything come to a full stop when the collection of all their fears was titanic. But that strange, one-armed vampire did. And they knew it. 

“I’m not ready either,” Metzli whispered with a tired smile, pulling Cass into one more tight hug after spending a few minutes rushing to transfer items to the other vehicles and writing letters as fast as they could. They figured their belongings would be better off kept by those they loved than lost beneath the rubble of a lost town, and their family would pass on their goodbyes to everyone they knew. Of that they were sure of. 

“And Teddy,” Metzli locked eyes with the one and only son they ever had, wrapping their arms around him and giving into their heart that they opened up so anxiously to the world. “ I love you. I love all of you.” That time, they looked around them, taking the time to share a glance at everyone, disregarding the way their backwards world could they offer their dying breaths and it be called beautiful. 

Emilio, the man that hated them without a second thought became one of their greatest allies, and even better friend. 

Patricia, a woman who so lost in her failure that she nearly lost sight of what she could have. Now she had everything, and the best was yet to come. 

Teagan, a girl who kept everyone at arm’s length, was now using those very limbs to encase people with love. 

Cass, once a stranger that prevented them from being their own worst enemy. She shared Metzli’s  fear of loneliness and abandonment so intimately that she became tightly entangled in their heart and made a family. Their first. 

Teddy, a boy who was never chosen despite holding the biggest heart made of gold that persevered through loneliness, and now, finally, he knew what unconditional love from a parent was. 

Eilidh, the first and only woman Metzli ever loved. With her heart as full and lively as every garden she tended, she gave the vampire everything, even if it was to her detriment. She found their heart, but she’d always be their soul. Their death so early on in their relationship was not the ending they wanted, but they handed her the seeds for the future and were giving her a watering can to nurture something into bloom. Each petal would be marked with their love and she would be reminded every day that they would never leave her. With their sacrifice, with their love, they were painting the future in the background with only 30 minutes left. 

And yes, they would all grieve. But Metzli found comfort that their deep grief meant that they loved fully. They all opened their hearts despite the inevitable. Metzli had many regrets, but never would they regret the love they gave, or anything they did in the name of it. 

With one final round of hugs and a lingering kiss for Eilidh, the ending was cemented. Each rumble and shake grew in strength, leading a flurry of tremors to course through Metzli as their legs settled in the driver side. “Please, take care of each other. Please.” They faced everyone, rolling the window down and shutting the door with their face tear-stained and red. “And Cass?” They chuckled dryly, a glimmer of humor pushing through with a twitchy, quick nod. “Tell amá I love her, okay? And check Macleod’s glove compartment in her trailer. There’s a little present there for you.”

It wouldn’t have mattered if the quakes hadn’t been trembling through the ground, wouldn’t have mattered if the sun was high in the sky or the clouds were all far away. In that moment, no matter what the world actually looked like, all Cass would have seen was darkness. The scene blurred around her as her eyes filled up with tears, and she shook her head again, adamant. It couldn’t end like this. After everything, it couldn’t end like this. They’d made it out. They’d gotten all the way to the edge of town, had plans to go farther, had a future all mapped out and ready to go. They were all supposed to survive this. They were all supposed to be okay.

But the world, Cass had learned long ago, never gave much of a shit about the way things were supposed to be. It didn’t matter that Metzli was going off to stop the apocalypse, didn’t matter that a dozen other people were giving their lives for the same reason. The world was ending anyway. It already had.

Cass clung to Metzli stubbornly as they hugged her, and she wanted to drag the vampire with them, wanted to say fuck the world, let it end, I don’t care even if it wasn’t true. She was too kindhearted to doom the world, even if hers would be so much emptier without Metzli in it. Even if it felt like the apocalypse might as well have been successful in this moment.

She sniffled as Metzli spoke again, nodding her head even as her throat burned, even as her chest ached. Whatever present Metzli had left for her would be far too small to fill the void carved out in her life, but at least she’d have something to hold onto. At least she’d have something tangible to remind her that once, for a moment, someone had loved her like this. 

Too soon, the goodbyes were over. There wasn’t enough time in the world to say everything they wanted to say, and there certainly wasn’t enough time now. Metzli had to go, and so did the rest of them. Someone tugged her back towards the cars, Teddy’s boyfriend practically dragging him along, and everything hurt long after Cass was settled into the seat with a seatbelt holding her in place, long after Metzli disappeared in the rear view mirror. 

There was a future ahead of them, still. There was a windshield with a whole world contained behind it, a world that would continue to exist because of an infuriatingly selfless vampire who left to save the planet because it needed them to. And Cass had needed them, too. She understood it — of course she did — but she didn’t think the ache would ever really go away. Maybe, if she could ever look to the future in the windshield instead of the crumbling past in the mirror, it would hurt less. Or maybe it never would. Either way, she figured, they had to keep driving. For Metzli. For all of them.

[ducavalentinos]

Hello, What were the opinions of the people who personally knew Cesare ? Thank you !

Hello ;) So, there were a lot of opinions made about Cesare by his contemporaries, but most of the opinions come from people who met him, not knew him intimately. The unfortunate thing here is that Cesare is mostly seen through the lenses of people outside his inner circle: ambassadors, orators, enemies who wrote daily dispatches, reports, letters to their employers and others. Some of this material has weight and it’s helpful, but still they all contain the unavoidable political element and focus towards Cesare as the political figure, not Cesare as a person. There are interesting glimpses of his personality and intimate life here and there, but never enough to make more than a sketch of it, and often much of it is distorted, with incorrect information and/or evaluations which were believed at the time to have been accurate. Cesare through the lenses of people inside his inner circle: people who knew him intimately, people he trusted and loved and vice-versa, are frustratingly limited, there’s almost nothing, which creates a big unbalance about his figure and his life. I believe the opinions of his beloved tutor Giovanni Vera, his most known secretary and adviser Agapito Geraldini di Amelia, or Miguel da Corella, or of his mother, his sister, his wife, would be incredibly valuable in order to have more precise knowledge, and a more rounded assessment about his person, in all of its facets, since we don’t have that, what fills up this gap are the words of one of his first secretaries, the alleged words of his father, Rodrigo, and the words of intellectuals and poets who interacted with him at his father’s court in Rome, some later following him at his own court in the Romagna, beneath the exaggerated flattery common in these writings, these men make some interesting observations, and express a genuine opinion about Cesare, aside from just the political man, which helps to shed a light into his personality, his qualities, and other aspects of his life. With this in mind, I gathered opinions that can be confirmed by Cesare’s own documented actions, and that I find are generally reliable: not entirely dominated by personal/political bias, and absent of the malice and gossip which became more common the more powerful Cesare and his family became. There are mix between the first group (ambassadors, orators, enemies, etc), the second group (people close to him, intellectuals and poets), and maybe there will be one or two which does not belong to either group, so I’ll leave them for last as a type of miscellaneous third group, in chronological order: 1488:

“What thanks can I give you, Cesare Borgia? May this auspicious day be celebrated as a festive day, in which this work comes to light only out of your love, and if our judgment is worth something, it will be most useful for general prosperity. In this book, we teach how to write a poem, exploring and manifesting all the secrets of metric art. Certainly a work that will please you very much. [...]Add to that your great and truly effective love for beautiful letters.You, Cesare, are truly worthy of much commendation, if at such a young age you act with the wisdom of an old man. Forward, then, O hope and ornament of the Borgia family, and accept with a good heart our Syllables, an offering of your devoted friend. So I believe that my name, joined to your eternal name and that of [your house], will have ornament and life."

- Extracts from a dedication written to Cesare by Paolo Pompilio,h in his Syllabica, a literature text-book of verse composition, published in the same year. 1492:

“Cesare Borgia profited so much that, with ardent ingenuity, he discussed the questions posed to him both in Canon law and in Civil law.”

- Paolo Giovio, concerning the Disputation for the laurea at the University of Pisa, where Cesare studied from 1491 to 1492. 1493:

"On the day before yesterday I found Cesare at home in Trastevere. He was on the point of setting out to go hunting, and entirely in secular habit. that is to say, dressed in silk and armed. Riding together, we talked a while, I am among his most intimate acquaintances. He is a man of great talent and of an excellent nature; his manners are those of the son of a great prince; above everything, he is joyous and light-hearted. He is very modest**, much superior to, and of a much finer appearance than his brother the Duke of Gandia, who also is not short of natural gifts."

- Disp. written by Gianandrea Boccaccio to his employer, the Duke of Ferrara, Ercole d'Este. 1497:

"Nature has engendered in you not the seed of virtù, but virtù itself, and in occupying herself to form you, [she] has adorned your body with an excellent form, dignity, and every beauty, and provided the soul with moderation**, decorum, gravity, benevolence, and above all royal liberality**, which nature seemed to have surpassed herself. And this liberality of yours, is shown with writers and artists."

- Extract from a dedication written by one of Cesare's secretaries, Carlo Valgulio, in the first transl. of Cleomedes: De contemplatione orbium excelsorum. 1499:

“By his modesty, his readiness, his prudence, and his other virtues he has known how to earn the affections of every one.”

- Letter written by Giuliano Della Rovere, to pope Alexander VI, concerning Cesare's arrival in France.**

"The Pope's son was very gallant..."

- Baldassare Castiglione, in a letter after seeing the entrance of Cesare and his suite alongside King Louis XII of France in Milan. 1500:

“To-day, about the twenty-second hour (four in the afternoon), after he had dined, he had signor Ramiro fetch me to him; and with great frankness and amiability his Majesty first made his excuses for not granting me an audience the preceding day, owing to his having so much to do in the castle and also on account of the pain caused by his ulcer. Following this, and after I had stated that the sole object of my misson was to wait upon his Majesty to congratulate and thank thim, and to offer your services, he answered me in carefully chosen words, covering each point and very fluently. The gist of it was, that knowing your Excellency’s ability and goodness, he had always loved you and had hoped to enjoy personal relations with you. He had looked forward to this when you were in Milan, but events and circumstances then prevented it. But now that he had come to this country, he --determined to have his wish-- had written the letter announcing his successes, of his own free will and as proof of his love, and feeling certain that you Majesty would be pleased by it. He says he will continue to keep you informed of his doings**, as he desires to establish a firm friendship with your Majesty, and he proffers everything he owns and in his power should you ever have need.[...]When I take both the actual facts and his words into consideration, I see why he wishes to establish some sort of friendly alliance with your Majesty. I believe in his professions, and I can see nothing but good in them.”

Postscript: “The Duke’s daily life is as follows: he goes to bed at eight, nine, or ten o’clock at night (three to five o’clock in the morning). Consequently, the eighteenth hour is his dawn, the nineteenth his sunrise, and the twentieth his time for rising. Immediately on getting up he sits down to the table, and while there and afterwards he attends to his business affairs. He is considered brave, strong, and generous, and it is said he lays great store by straightforward men.[...]He is great of spirit and he seeks eminence and glory.”

- Extracts from a Disp. of Pandolfo Collenuccio to his employer, the Duke of Ferrara, Ercole d’Este, from Pesaro. 1501:

"This lord is very magnificent and splendid, and so spirited in feats of arms that there is nothing so great but that it must seem small to him. In the pursuit of glory and to acquire a State he never rests, and he knows neither danger nor fatigue. He moves so swiftly that he arrives at a place before it is known that he has set out for it. He knows how to make himself beloved of his soldiers, and he has in his service the best men of Italy. These things render him victorious and formidable, and to these is yet to be added his perpetual good fortune."

- Disp. written by Niccolò Machiavelli to the Signory of Florence. 1502:

"He [Cesare] argues with such sound reason that to dispute with him would be a long affair, for his wit and eloquence never fail him (dello ingegno e della lingua si vale quanto vuole...)

-Disp. written by Francesco Soderini, from Urbino, to the Signory of Florence.

"The duke[Cesare] is good-natured, but he cannot tolerate offenses."

- Rodrigo Borgia, to the Ferrarese ambassador B. Constabili.

Miscellaneous: A certain author named Camillo di Leonardo from Pesaro dedicates to Cesare, in the year of 1502, his famous work Speculum Lapidum, in which he 'commends the duke for his great love of letters, his courteous liberality towards the scholarly, the care he used when collecting the beautiful and numerous [works] of the library of Cesena, and even his sweetness and his gentleness.' Gaspare Torella, one of Cesare's personal physician and advisers also dedicated to him his Dialogus de Dolore, in which he says he is "...pleased that [Cesare's] virtù surpassed those of the great ones of Rome, such as the justice of Brutus, the constancy of Decius, the continence of Scipio, the loyalty of Marco Regolo, and the magnanimity of Paolo Emilio.” The French commanders used to say of Cesare: “At war he was a good companion and a brave man." The Spanish historian Zurita, atypically pays a compliment to Cesare when assessing the situation in Italy and of pope Julius' panic when hearing about Cesare's escape from the Spanish prison in 1506, he writes: "The duke was such that his very presence was enough to set all Italy agog; and he was greatly beloved, not only by men of war, but also by many people of Tuscany and of the States of the Church." Lastly, during the winter of 1500-1501, a scholar and poet named Francesco Uberti, native of Cesena, adressed to Cesare a volume of epigrams, all which show the Romagnese opinion about him. According to Uberti, Cesare's Romagnese subjects learned his temper was 'mitissima' (gentle), 'placidissima' (calm) and his 'crueltà' (cruelty) was the severity necessary to repress political disorders. There is also other epigrams where Tiberti praises Cesare's clemency, "pious and kind Cesare..." ** The terms modesty and moderation, according to Gregorovius, can be also taken to 'understand as part and manifestation of a liberal education,...’ and the term liberality means generous, which Cesare was particularly reputed as being, to such a degree his genorosity was called at the time after his own name as “liberalità cesarea”. ** I decided to add Della Rovere’s words about Cesare, because as writer and historian Anthony Everitt said in one of his books: “Praise from one’s worst enemy is the most annoying, but also the most credible, of compliments.” and because even if Della Rovere’s words are insincere, likely, these words can nevertheless be confirmed by the opinions of others about Cesare, esp. in the historical records about his soujour at France. **Cesare had sent long letters to Ercole d'Este while he was at the conquest of Imola and Forlì, telling him the details of the military campaign.

[phantomnationdraws]

I Love You 3000

It’s here it’s here it’s heeeeere!!! The final product of the collab between myself and @thdorkmagnet​!! I strongly recommend listening to this version of the Blood Moon Waltz as you read, for maximum feels.

https://soundcloud.com/ubercelloczar/cleaved-together

Marco ran up the driveway of his house, panting from exertion as he jogged steadily on the uneven ground, clutching a large box tightly in his hands, making sure not to ruin the steaming hot pizza inside. He didn’t slow for a second, keeping his focus and attention entirely on the front door to his house, which he kicked open without hesitation, lacking the hands to turn the doorknob, already knowing it was left unlocked. After all, any burglar dumb enough to try and break in would find himself biting off way more than he could chew, since both he and Star were well trained in combat. 

The red-clad teen was breathing heavily as he stepped into the living room of his wonderful home, the lights all turned off and what had to be at least a dozen candles all lit and scattered about the room, creating an absolutely breathtaking and romantic atmosphere. The boy used the back of his foot to close the door behind him, before calling out loudly to his seemingly empty house, “Star, I’m home!” 

Normally, he would keep his voice down this late at night out of fear of waking his family up but both Mariposa and his parents were gone for the night, his sister to stay overnight with her best friend Meteora and his parents away on an overnight camping trip in the Forest of Certain Death with Star’s parents (the four adults becoming very close friends in the few years since the Great Cleaving), leaving the house to just him and Star. Just the way they wanted it. 

The boy took a few steps forward, looking around for his girlfriend somewhere in the darkness of the room, only to be practically toppled over as Star appeared out of nowhere and trapped him in a surprise hug. “Marco!” she shouted in delight, squeezing him as tightly as ever, while the hooded teen screamed, holding the box over his head to avoid dropping it as Star continued to cling to his midsection. “I’m so glad you’re back!” the blonde cheered, her voice as bubbly as ever and the boy couldn’t help but grin.

“Yep, I’m back,” Marco said with an enthusiastic smile down at his loving girlfriend. “Sorry it took me so long, Emilio’s was closed after a herd of Snippergriffs apparently got inside, so I had to improvise.”

Star rolled her eyes, finally releasing her grip on her Marco, putting her hands on her hips. “Ugh, dang, Snippergriffs, they ruin everything!” the blonde muttered angrily, cursing the very nature of the pesky critters of her homeland. 

Marco, seeing his girlfriend’s distraught behavior, quickly changed the subject as he looked around the room, which almost radiated with an otherworldly glow. “I see you were busy while I was gone.” 

Star’s bright enthusiasm returned full-force as she looked around the room with pride, saying with satisfaction, “Yeah, I thought this way it would all be much more romantic.” She arched her eyebrows knowingly on the last word, causing Marco to chuckle. “Do you like it?” the girl asked hopefully, her hands hovering near her mouth in anticipation for her boyfriend’s opinion.

The boy nodded happily. “I love it! It’s perfect, Star,” Marco said, setting the pizza down on a nearby coffee table. “Now then, do you know what today is?” the boy asked, doing little finger guns in the air for emphasis.

“Uhh,” Star began, thinking the question over. “Date night?”

Marco shook his head, “Well, yeah but you know what else it is?”

“Hmmm,” the blonde said, tapping a finger to her chin. “Friendship Thursday?”

The hooded teen frowned in disappointment, asking in a hinting tone, “Anything else?”

Star contemplated this for a few seconds, the boy growing more and more disappointed with each passing second before Star snapped her fingers and said confidently, “The last day for Stop N’ Slurp’s half-off sale.”

Marco shrank at that answer, looking sadly at the ground. He couldn’t believe Star had forgotten how special today was. The blonde seeing the depressed look on her boyfriend’s face, quickly added, “Marco, I’m just teasing of course I know what today is.”

The latino’s sad frown turned into a bright grin as he and Star shouted as one, “The anniversary of the Blood Moon Ball!” The two burst out into laughter at their shared sentence, Star clutching her stomach as she practically doubled-over from her giggle fit, Marco very lightly grabbing onto the girl’s shoulders to keep her upright as he tried to fight through his own laughter. Finally, the two recovered from their laughing fit, wiping tears from their eyes as Marco said, “Can’t believe we still do that.”

“I know, right,” Star said, opening the box of pizza and taking out a slice. She plopped down on the couch, before patting the seat next to her beckoning Marco over. The boy smiled, picking up his own slice, before sitting down beside her, the girl laying sideways on the couch and resting her legs on the boy’s lap as she practically inhaled the pizza slice, munching on it greedily. “It’s funny,” Star said, in between bites of food, not even bothering to swallow as she spoke in a muffled tone. “After the curse was broken, I thought we wouldn’t do that anymore” 

“Guess it had nothing to do with the curse,” Marco replied, before taking a bite of his own slice.

“Guess not,” Star said, before moaning in delight. “Oh man, Marco! This pizza is delicious!”  

Marco nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah, it is! Looks like we just found our new favorite pizza place, right Star?”

Star giggled, before saying in a teasing tone, “Don’t let Emilio hear you say that, considering what happened last time.”

Marco blushed, looking away from his pretty girlfriend. “Come on, Star. That was like three years ago,” he whined in embarrassment.

Star laughed at her Marco’s cuteness before sitting up and planting a kiss on his bright red cheek. “You’re adorable,” she cooed.

“Not as adorable as you,” Marco replied with a playful smirk, his cheeks just slightly painted pink.

“Aww, Marco,” the blonde gushed, putting a hand to her flushing cheeks. “You spoil me.”

“Oh, then just wait and see what I have planned for later,” the hooded teen said with a wink.

Star’s eyes widened in curiosity, before demanding, “Ooh, tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Marco shook his head stubbornly. “Nuh uh, it’s a surprise,” the boy declared. 

“Aww come on, Marco, just tell me,” the girl pouted, crawling into his lap as she gave him sad, puppy-dog eyes. 

“Nope, your famous pout isn’t working on me this time,” the boy said, raising his head up so he wouldn’t meet her hypnotic eyes. He knew from experience how easy it was to fall into that trap.

“Oh, Marco,” Star said in a sing-song voice, grabbing his chin and pulling his head down so their eyes met. “Just tell me, pwease.” She gave him the saddest, most heart wrenching look she had in her arsenal, even going so far as to whine and quiver her lip.

Marco felt his will crack, his pupils shrinking as he stared into the gorgeous eyes of his favorite person in the world. There were few things that could sway Marco’s judgement and make him lose all sense of anything, and he was staring into one of them right now, the crystal blue of her wide eyes making his heart do a dance. 

“Ok, fine,” the boy groaned in defeat, he knew when he had been bested by his bestie. 

The blonde clapped her hands, shouting in joy, “Yay!”

He quickly moved his girlfriend off his lap, before saying, “Be right back, I left it in my room.”

“Okay!” Star called after him, practically hopping on the couch as she watched him leave. In the span of about thirty seconds Marco returned, the blonde having time to engulf another slice of the delicious pizza before staring up at her boyfriend with curious blue eyes, her cheeks still stuffed with pizza.

Marco couldn’t help but grin down at the love of his life, her expression making his heart melt all over again. Could she seriously get any cuter? he thought to himself.

“Okay, so, I was gonna wait a little bit before showing you this,” Marco began, keeping his hands behind his back so as to not spoil his surprise. “But then, someone had to go and cheat.” He gave her a halfhearted glare.

The girl swallowed her food before smirking mischievously. “Come on, you know you love me,” she said flirtingly.

The boy nodded at that before declaring with zero hesitation, “Of course I do. But that still doesn’t make it alright.” He gave her a teasing look, which she returned with one of her own.

“Hey, all’s fair in love and war, Diaz,” Star said with a playful wink.

“Anyways,” the boy continued, getting back on subject before he found himself gushing over his cute girlfriend all over again. “I figured since this is a special occasion, I’d show you this.”

He held out a pair of earbuds to Star who eyed them questioningly. “Uh, Marco, I already know you have earbuds.”

“Put one in,” Marco told her cryptically.

Star hesitantly obeyed, confusion still obvious on her face as she inserted the small circular device into her left ear. But as the soft notes hit her tender eardrum Star’s mouth fell open, listening in disbelief as the smooth melody she knew by heart played, every note practically etched into her heart. A flood of memories came back to her at once, filling her with euphoric nostalgia, as the unmistakable notes of the Blood Moon Waltz played into her ear. 

She looked up at Marco with disbelief, who had been watching her closely for her reaction and he smiled brightly. “You- How did you- Where did-” the girl stuttered, unable to find words as a lump formed in her throat, tears filling at the edges of her eyes as she choked on a small sob.

Marco stared down at her with soft, loving eyes as he asked her simply, “Do you like it?”

Star nodded, wiping at her eyes to free them of happy tears. “I love it!” she squeaked out. “How did you even find this song?”

The boy shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“Tom,” the girl guessed.

“Tom,” the boy confirmed with a slight nod. “He had a version recorded just for us.”

“I missed this song so much,” the girl sighed, melting into the music as she lost herself to the irresistible tune. 

For a few seconds, the two just listened to the graceful melody, before Marco sucked in a breath and held out a hand to his girlfriend. “May I have this dance?”

Star giggled, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet, before dropping into a graceful curtsey. “You may, kind sir.”

The two shared a laugh as they moved closer to each other, their bodies pressed together as they locked hands. Marco rested a hand on the small of Star’s back, drawing her even closer to his warm presence as he drank in her smell. She always smelled of roses and vanilla and he felt his heart rate increase as she laid her head against this chest. 

The boy then began to lead them in a slow waltz around the dimly lit living room, their movements slow but purposeful, moving perfectly in time and sync with their chosen partner. The sound of the gentle waltz drowning out the world around them until it was just the two of them, captured in this moment in time. 

Star couldn’t think of when she had been happier, surrounded by warm feelings and sounds as she listened with one ear to the graceful ball music and, with the other, was soothed by the rhythmic pumping of her dear Marco’s heartbeat. The girl snuggled into Marco’s chest after a moment, just loving having him here with her. Nothing in all of Earthni able to make her happier. 

Marco clutched Star tightly against him, listening to her gentle breathing as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, her soft hair tickling his skin, and he smiled, feeling complete. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Star in his life, and there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t thank all the forces in the universe for this chance to be loved by someone as wonderful as Star Butterfly.  

The two sighed in contentment as they let the music wash over them, taking them back to a simpler time when it was just the two of them trapped under the glow of a single red light. And just like that, it was as if they were back in that moment, time falling away from them as the music continued on an endless loop, sealing them inside its graceful notes. 

The two smiled in bliss, their cheeks beginning to burn as, without warning, a pair of hearts and crescent moons formed on their cheeks, remnants of the magical connection the two shared, one that defied logic and space itself. Nothing in the universe could separate the two again as they shared this dance. 

“Marco,” the girl whispered, her eyes still closed as she was led slowly around in a circle. 

“Hmm?” the boy muttered, incapable of words at the moment, a swirl of emotions causing his head to spin.

“I missed this,” Star said simply, her hand squeezing his tightly.

The boy paused for a moment, not entirely sure what she meant when she said ‘this’. Until he realized she meant dancing to this song and he almost choked on a sob. “Me too,” he replied softly.

“I’m glad we didn’t lose this moment,” Star continued, and Marco felt his heart swell to almost bursting. “Cause there’s no one I’d rather be here with than you. And I just have to tell you one more thing...” Then Star gently leaned her head in, gazing in wonder at Marco’s loving eyes. She took her chance to whisper something in his ear, something that caused the Latino’s cheeks to turn crimson. Marco smiled dorkily before kissing her forehead softly. “Same here, Star,” he said as their eyes met in another tender glow, pupils shining in the glow of their cheeks and candlelight, reflecting all the thoughts and feelings and emotions that had brought them to this moment. Time had lost on meaning on the two young souls as they continued their dance for what felt to them like eternity.

“Same here.”

[tabloidtoc]

Us, May 3

You can buy a brand new copy of this issue without the mailing label for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Pregnant Meghan Markle: My Baby, My Way

Page 2: Red Carpet -- rufflemania -- Hollywood style stars are tier-ing it up in this flattering design with feminine flair -- Tracee Ellis Ross, Kaitlyn Dever, Margot Robbie, Logan Browning, Nicola Coughlan

Page 3: Lizzo, Maude Apatow, Lucy Boynton, Jessica Alba, Lily Collins

Page 4: Who Wore It Best? Anya Taylor-Joy vs. Isla Fisher vs. Regina King in Stuart Weitzman Nudist sandal

Page 6: Loose Talk -- Shonda Rhimes on the intense backlash she received over Rege-Jean Page's exit from Bridgerton, Kelly Ripa on her most embarrassing interview, Luke Bryan on his mother LeClaire's Instagram fame, Blake Shelton on The Voice's new coach Ariana Grande, Reese Witherspoon joking about wearing bottoms that aren't sweatpants

Page 8: Contents

Page 10: A Final Farewell to Prince Philip, his four children Prince Charles and Princess Anne and Prince Andrew and Prince Edward were among the loved ones who participated in the emotional ceremony, feuding brothers Prince Harry and Prince William (and his wife Duchess Kate) put their differences aside after the intimate service, due to Covid-19 protocols the grieving Queen Elizabeth stayed socially distant from the other 29 people who attended the funeral for her husband of 73 years

Page 11: ACM Awards 2021 -- Maren Morris teamed up with her husband Ryan Hurd and won Female Artist of the Year, Thomas Rhett won Male Artist of the Year, Carrie Underwood took the stage

Page 12: Hot Pics -- Rosie Huntington-Whiteley wore an orange coat during a visit to NYC, John Stamos plays a coach on the TV show Big Shot, Zach Braff goofed around on the set of Cheaper by the Dozen in L.A.

Page 13: Eva Longoria on her trampoline while aboard a yacht in Miami, Howie Mandel arrived to the set of America's Got Talent dressed as a bug in Pasadena

Page 14: Jon Hamm and his rescue dog Splash strolled around the neighborhood in L.A., Heidi Klum in all white in Pasadena, Sara Gilbert and Linda Perry take a stroll in L.A.

Page 15: Eddie Cibrian and LeAnn Rimes held hands after dinner at Il Segreto in L.A., Patrick Dempsey shot a scene for his show Devils in Rome

Page 16: Rachel Brosnahan in a blue dress and carrying a clear umbrella on the set of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel in NYC, Lin-Manuel Miranda at the opening of a vaccination center for Broadway workers in Times Square, Trisha Yearwood feeds one of her rescue pups

Page 18: Gen Z Has Spoken -- these celebs are making the young kids proud -- Baggy Jeans -- Hailey Bieber, Tracee Ellis Ross, Bella Hadid

Page 19: Middle Parts -- Busy Philipps, Lizzo, Jennifer Lopez, Kourtney Kardashian, baguette bags -- Dua Lipa, Elsa Hosk, Irina Shayk, Kendall Jenner

Page 20: Seeing Double -- stars bear a striking resemblance to their famous counterparts -- Elizabeth Banks and Chelsea Handler, Emmanuelle Chriqui and Nina Dobrev, Betty Gilpin and Jodie Comer

Page 21: Rob Lowe and Ian Somerhalder, Jaime Pressly and Margot Robbie, Isla Fisher and Amy Adams, Rupert Grint and Ed Sheeran, Kyle Richards and Kacey Musgraves

Page 22: Clueless Crew -- stars are totally buggin' over Cher Horowitz's style in yellow plaid -- Robin Roberts on Good Morning America, Katie Holmes was rollin' with her homie beau Emilio Vitolo Jr. in NYC, Vanessa Hudgens, Dianna Agron

Page 23: Gabrielle Union

Page 24: Stars They're Not Like Us -- Jay Leno took one of his vintage automobiles out for a spin in L.A., Chrissy Teigen and John Legend took a selfie with a fan while grocery shopping in Beverly Hills, Kylie Jenner has custom vending machines

Page 25: Carrie Underwood in her massive walk-in closet, Denzel Washington signs autographs for fans in NYC, Megan Thee Stallion on a private plane, Drake and his bodyguard in Beverly Hills

Page 26: Stars They're Just Like Us -- Sarah Jessica Parker catches a yellow cab after working at her shoe store in NYC, Brad Paisley picked up five pizzas to go in Montecito

Page 27: Kelly Osbourne handed out goods at a drive-thru food distribution event at the Islamic Center of Southern California, HGTV's Egypt Sherrod transformed her closet into a meditation space in Atlanta, in between filming Law & Order: SVU's Mariska Hargitay and Ice-T take a selfie

Page 28: Hollywood Dads -- Scott Porter on parenting his two kids McCoy and Clover

Page 29: Jonathan Tucker on life with twins Hayes and India, parenthood is a lot tougher than Jovi Dufren imagined, Maksim Chmerkovskiy can't wait to show son Shai his work

Page 30: Love Lives -- Rihanna and A$AP Rocky are showing no signs of slowing down -- the pair enjoyed a night out in L.A. hotspot Delilah where they were holding hands and laughing and they're not hiding the fact that they're dating but they just don't want people in their business -- they're a good match and are each other's best friend

Page 31: Justin Bieber and Hailey Bieber may look like the picture-perfect couple, but Justin admits that their first year of marriage wasn't what he expected, saying it was really tough and there was just a lack of trust and he blamed the strain on his own personal struggles and said before he didn't have someone to love or someone to pour into but now, more than two years after exchanging vows with Hailey, he has that

* Kacey Musgraves' romance with Dr. Gerald Onuoha is giving her butterflies -- the pair are so happy they found each other and while Kacey, who split from her husband Ruston Kelly last summer, is trying not to get too ahead of herself, her connection to the Nashville-based doc is off the charts and it's got the potential to go a very long way

* Today's Savannah Guthrie is thankful to have husband Michael Feldman in her life, especially given the demands of her early morning work schedule

Page 32: Kourtney Kardashian and Travis Barker are getting serious -- all the details on their whirlwind romance

Page 33: Adapting to parenthood has been a breeze for Emma Stone and she's soaking in all the precious moments of being a mom for the first time -- she and husband Dave McCary welcomed their baby daughter in March and Emma is super protective and a very hands-on mom and Dave is also hands-on and helps with their daughter -- thanks to the little one, Emma's marriage with the comedian has also gotten stronger and having a baby has brought them closer in a way they never expected -- Emma is looking forward to getting back to work; she's taken this time off to embrace motherhood and her number one priority is to raise a healthy baby so that's what she's focused on right now

* Britney Spears is setting the record straight -- despite her ongoing conservatorship battle with her dad, Jamie Spears, she is doing totally fine, assuring fans that she's extremely happy and she has a beautiful home, beautiful children and she's taking a break right now because she's enjoying herself -- although the legal drama with her father is heating up, Britney is staying strong and she has this wonderful ability to see the positive even when the odds are against her

* Keeping Up With Us -- production for the Downton Abbey sequel is underway, Mossimo Giannulli is a free man, Chrissy Teigen returned to Twitter 23 days after announcing that she was leaving the platform, Vanessa Bryant remembered her late husband Kobe Bryant on what would have been their 20th wedding anniversary, Helen McCrory lost her battle with cancer at age 52 according to her husband Damian Lewis

Page 34: A Day in My Life -- Whitney Port

Page 35: Colton Underwood is ready to live his truth -- during an interview on Good Morning America, the former Bachelor came out as gay, saying he's run from himself for a long time and he came to terms with his sexuality earlier this year and he's the happiest and healthiest he's ever been -- now that he feels like he can finally breathe, Colton is excited for his next chapter, which fans will get to see on an upcoming reality show with Olympian Gus Kenworthy -- a huge weight has been lifted off of Colton's shoulders and he is looking forward to being his authentic self

Page 36: Moms Tell All -- Happy Mother's Day! From milestones and manners to rules and nanny-bans, celebs and insiders talk about raising kids in Hollywood

Page 37: Bindi Irwin says life at home with her daughter Grace Warrior has been positively blissful and her family with dad Chandler Powell is so full of love, adding that the newborn has already met some of the wildlife at the Australia Zoo where Bindi and Chandler live and work and of course she's seen some crocs and really lit up when she saw them -- while the Aussie conservationist is sad Grace won't get to meet her late dad Steve Irwin, Bindi's brother Robert Irwin and mom Terri Irwin have been by her side constantly and Robert is obsessed with Grace and has been helping out so much and her mom has been the biggest guiding light and she's already taught Bindi so much about being a mother, both in how she raised her and by showing her things day by day and Terri is quite the baby whisperer and she's so great a calming Grace down when she's crying -- first-time father Chandler is also a natural with Grace and he's been the most supportive and involved dad and together, he and Bindi make such a great team -- for now, Bindi, who stars with Chandler in Crikey! It's a Baby!, is hoping Grace will follow in her animal-activist footsteps, saying having three generations of strong women working as conservationists is a dream come true

* Jennifer Garner said teaching your kids is a lifelong job, and certainly values are something you have to show them -- Jennifer, who shares kids Violet, Seraphina and Samuel with ex Ben Affleck, is staying true to her word and has led by example when it comes to things like kindness and patience and she won't let anyone in the house to judge or speak ill of people, and she enforces the same wholesome, traditional values that she was raised with and the kids have been taught to be loving, hardworking and fair -- Jennifer has always taken a kids-come-first approach to parenting, and it shows as they bake together, enjoy movie nights, read books and have very active lives and it's a very healthy, happy household filled with laughter and love

Page 38: Gwen Stefani has her hands full with her sons Kingston, Zuma and Apollo with ex-husband Gavin Rossdale, but she wouldn't want it any other way -- Gwen's a tomboy, so having three boys wasn't daunting for her at all, plus she has fiance Blake Shelton by her side to pitch in with parenting duties and Gwen and the boys have a blast at Blake's ranch in Oklahoma where they enjoy riding their ATVs, and they play baseball and football -- it's not all fun and games, though because Gwen is big on boundaries and manners and she doesn't want to raise Hollywood brats and it's important to her that her sons be gentlemen

* Meghan Markle's pregnancy with Archie was no walk in the park, as she revealed during her bombshell TV interview with husband Prince Harry, the couple had concerns over whether or not the royal family would provide security for their son and claimed there were conversations about his skin color -- but this time around, as Meghan and Harry gear up for baby No. 2 at home in L.A., she's doing everything her way, without the royals and Meghan and Harry feel blessed that they're able to raise their daughter in the U.S. and can live by their own rules and make the decisions they feel are best for their children; having independence is the most important thing for Meghan and she's got free rein to be exactly the kind of mom she wants to be -- her parenting style is really like most mothers out there, and she's been craving pasta and doing yoga two times a day as her due date nears and she keeps a lot of art supplies out to foster creativity and healthy snacks around and she's a devoted mom and wants the best for her kids

Page 39: Kate Hudson has a lot on her plate, so the mom of three, who shares son Ryder with former husband Chris Robinson and son Bingham with ex Matt Bellamy and daughter Rani with boyfriend Danny Fujikawa, knows when to put her foot down as things can get a little overwhelming at times for Kate, but when she says no, it absolutely means no, and the kids respect her very much because of that

* Gigi Hadid, who shares daughter Khai with boyfriend Zayn Malik, wants to spend every waking moment with her precious little girl -- Gigi could easily afford to employ a team of nannies but chooses not to and she prefers to do everything herself and besides, she can't bear to be away from Khai for more than a few hours

* Candace Cameron Bure's three grown kids are flying the coop, but she's still super involved in their lives, despite slowly becoming an empty nester -- the mom of Natasha, Lev, and Maksim with former hockey player Valeri Bure says it's been a very transitional time and she's been trying to help them make decisions they feel good about and it's challenging, but they're figuring it out

Page 40: Oh, Baby! Meghan Markle's due date is just around the corner, and here are all the details

* Bump Brigade -- Halsey, Gal Gadot, Shawn Johnson East

Page 42: 10 Years of the Cambridges -- a look back at Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton's solid marriage for their anniversary

Page 44: Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez: What Really Happened -- cheating and lies? The truth behind J.Lo's split from fiance A-Rod

Page 45: Friendliest Exes -- these former couples managed to stay close after going their separate ways -- Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin, Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theroux, Orlando Bloom and Miranda Kerr, Demi Moore and Bruce Willis, Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz

Page 48: Gifts for Mother's Day

Page 54: Entertainment -- Ben Barnes on Shadow and Bone

Page 58: Fashion Police -- the most daring Oscars looks -- Bjork, Whoopi Goldberg, Charlize Theron

Page 59: Rachel Weisz, Gwyneth Paltrow, Lady Gaga

Page 60: 25 Things You Don't Know About Me -- Julia Michaels

[dr-nero-is-god]

i felt the urge to riff on the hive streams for a little bit since discussion came up on the hive discord, namely, holding issue with the idea that the alpha stream is inconsistent in that it is about leadership when otto is the only leader, and that it’s also possible that the alphas are just kids with specialized skills, and not actually bonded by any particular unifying element.

and, in response, @vulpix-sinistre brought up a quote from the abridged hive fanfic, that goes something like: “there are four streams: main characters, stereotypical bullies, ?, and nerds.”

and i disagree with the first two ideas, but almost completely agree with the abridged fic quote. that is pretty much how the streams work, and it is IMPORTANT that that is how the streams work. 

in the end, you may conclude that the streams system still doesn’t make sense. you won’t be like “well clearly dr. nero was just logically dividing the labor of his students to reflect a specialized training program” because it’s more complicated on that. i  hate to do this to y’all, but a lot of everything streams-related requires an out-of-book explanation to get where you’re going, but i can promise that i will at least try to go

first, let’s think about why h.i.v.e. would have streams at all

on the one hand, it’s inescapable to consider that one primary reason that hive has streams is because harry potter had houses, and for the same reason that percy jackson had cabins, the 39 clues had branches, hunger games had sections (or counties, idk), divergent had factions, and so on and so on. the rise of fandom spaces on the internet was concurrent with a big ya/mg boom in the post-2005 world (after twilight was published), and within those fandom spaces it became important to identify with an aspect of the fantasy world as part of your personality. that became a very marketable thing for a while, and so separating children into streams would, to a publisher, seem like a pretty solid storytelling choice.

however! the alpha stream is not the same as gryffindor house. on the one hand, it seems easy to make an alpha/gryffindor and henchman/slytherin parallel, because one group is good (relatively) and one is bad (or at least antagonistic). but it doesn’t work because while slytherin has a reputation for constituents of poor moral character (which has been largely revised in fanon), being a henchman is where you go, according to the books, if you are unintelligent and burly. it’s not a really sexy stream, is what i’m trying to say. and though there are undoubtedly some readers who would look at the henchman stream and see themselves, i think the majority of readers would likely find the henchman stream a completely undesirable stream to be in. 

and, given how little importance the role of streams have after the first book, i will go out on a limb and say that mark walden knows that the henchman stream is unsexy. we aren’t interested in the hopes and dreams and motivations of the henchman stream; as we learn in book two, the ideal henchman is weak-minded and easily led—so what dreams would they even have? this leads me to conclude that while mark walden might have sold h.i.v.e. on the “there are personality-based groups in the school!” idea, he had something completely else in mind when he started writing and that, I think, is actually far more interesting.

but really, why would h.i.v.e. have streams at all

a few things about mark walden: 1) he studied english lit in school, 2) he has a background as a video game producers, and 3) he likes james bond. i know the first two things because i have read his bio and i know the third thing because i have read his books in conjunction with seeing all the james bond films. so we will call 1-3 facts. 

if you are wondering what a lit degree, video game production, and the james bond franchise all have in common, then let me connect those dots: all three of those things depend heavily on the study and understanding of repetitive structure in storytelling as an interpreter and creator of meaning. each one of these fields requires an understanding of how stories and words work to create meaning in order to be successful. 

and, to quote mr. walden here directly (sourced from this here link):

“So, I was playing with this cat one day and it got me thinking that those old-school Bond villains always just seemed to appear out of thin air with very little back story and that got me thinking about how they became world- conquering megalomaniacs in the first place.  It was only a short mental walk from there to HIVE.”

so, imagine you’re a writer trying to tell a story about a school for villains like those in james bond—you’ve studied storycraft and you have a lot of experience in a job finding believable and compelling obstacles for people to interact with in video games. you have noticed patterns. and you need to make those patterns work for you.

enter: streams

i have watched all the james bond movies (all of ‘em) (i mean it) (just not the unreleased one yet lol) and you know what? 

there’s probably just about four kinds of villains in those movies.

henchmen include the likes of jaws, oddjob, and tee hee. often physically disabled in a cinematically interesting way, these guys are the muscles and the machines in every bond film. they are the ones who tail bond as he takes long train rides and who try to personally throw him into shark tanks. they are the hands and feet of their evil masters and they don’t have a lot of emotional depth or backstory. 

politicians/financiers abound in the james bond franchise because he is a government employee who often hangs out with other government employees (he has no friends). these people are like colonel rosa klebb, georgi koskov, prince kamal khan. there are a lot more, as a matter of fact, because the whole point of james bond is that they are in the cold war and even people without titles have political and financial motivations for screwing around with stuff. these types of villains depend on being well and truly embedded in an existing infrastructure or hierarchy, somebody who worked their way up from being a foot soldier or clerk into a powerful leadership position that gives them a lot of state-sanctioned trust and authority.

technicians and inventors include folks like henry gupta and boris grishenko, who use technology as their primary weapon. they are often inventors or innovators and are really good at making high-tech stuff. however, i think this stream is also a direct result of the character Q, someone who is actually on James Bond’s team and who runs an entire department of people who test sometimes outlandish gadgets for Bond to use in the field. (but we love the gadgets. they are fun.) in other words, Bond arguably has a technical stream at his disposal in MI6, which means the idea isn’t necessarily evil, but, likewise, our James Bond School also needs Qs. it’s the rules. if you are familiar with Q from James Bond at all then you understand

and that leaves us with alphas... the “supervillains.” these are the famous ones. dr. no. mr. big. scaramanga. le chiffre. blofeld. max zorin. emilio largo. goldfinger. these are the ones with the master plan, the dreams to recreate the world as they see it, the passion to see their desires to fulfillment and the resources to make them happen. they are rich. they are fancy. they are larger than life. is it weird that karl stromberg tries to incite a nuclear war between Britain and the USSR so that a lot of people can die so that he can colonize the ocean? yes. but by god, it’s fancy and dramatic, and that’s what counts. 

are there other kinds of villains? oh, definitely. lots more. but you have to understand, that those kinds of villains generally don’t appear in Bond. sometimes! but it’s not a staple. for example, not many people in the bond films are motivated by revenge because each movie is kind of designed to function as a one-shot. villains don’t come back and so there is no revenge. the villain who gets the most notable reprise, jaws, actually ends up finding his true love in space. 

compare: every movie is going to have henchmen. every movie has government stooges making morally questionable decisions. (almost) every movie has Q, or some gadget stuff going on. and every movie has a big bad that has to be better than the last. 

so that explains why the streams are what they are. 

it was a jumping-off point for mark walden to figure out what this universe might look like and how different character types need to function. consider that while the core four are all alphas and are kind of insulated as a group, the teachers all kind of roughly align with one of these groups. colonel francisco, raven, and chief lewis are henchmen types, doing on-the-ground work to get stuff done. ms. tennenbaum and the contessa are political af, they are all about the corruption and infiltrating institutional power. ms. gonzales, ms. leon, and professor pike all have technical skills that help keep an organization moving forward. and over them all is the singular alpha, dr. nero, who is coordinating and monitoring it all for his own evil plan: to run a high school.

honestly, dr. nero’s hive idea operates just like a james bond villain plot! it works, or it does when pitching the idea. the problem is that the books continued after the pitch did, and with worldbuilding came some complications. namely, the fact that the megastructure of james bond villainy does not replicate well into a small friend group on which the narration focuses. so let’s return to the question presented at the beginning:

how can alphas really be alphas when not everyone on the field trip can be a mastermind?

i’m gonna give this to you in two ways. one, the way i personally interpret it as an in-universe explanation, given the background premises we have already established. and the other, why the stream system kind of ruins the structure it sets out to create.

so, for me, the alphas can be alphas because there is more to villainy than being a mastermind and there is more to being a mastermind than being in charge. as i think about it, this novelization is actually the backstory for every one of the students, who will go on to do great and scary things. they will manage big projects and come up with interesting ways to terrorize the British government, because that is what James Bond villains do (and James Bond does canonically exist in their universe). much like your actual teenage years, this is not the main event.

as students, the core four need to learn to do a little bit of everything. you gotta learn some lock-picking, that’s essential. everyone has to be able to climb a rock wall. it’s the rules. and everyone needs to be able to do some programming. that’s just the way school is. though everyone has a different personality and a different way of looking at the world, their education has to cover the basics because the fact of the matter is, none of them are villains yet. will they become one? that remains to be seen. but they are being given the tools to become the greatest villains if that is something they choose. 

the main problem that remains when holding this attitude is that the specialized skills of otto and his friends might be better suited to other streams, in which case, what is an alpha anyways?

here’s the facts: if everyone were assigned to a stream by talent, then there wouldn’t be an alpha stream.

franz? political/financial stream. 

nigel? laura? otto? technical stream.

shelby? wing? henchman stream. 

you can debate me on the specifics of those assignments, but the point is this: all the other streams are based on hard skills. franz can manage a ledger and that is a financial skill. laura can build a computer from scratch and that is a technical skill. wing can do martial arts, and each martial art is a physical skill that can be taught and performed in a measurable level of proficiency. 

the idea of being a “mastermind” is a much softer skill—which is to say, there’s no one recipe that will make it work. my manager at work has coached me by saying that leadership is often about having a “style,” and working at it that way. leadership requires interpersonal flexibility, being able to stay organized and to make important decisions rapidly, it is about being able to prioritize and delegate. and it’s very much open to interpretation, every day, all the time. 

let me tell you something else about james bond: there is a lot of classism, racism, and sexism embedded into every aspect of those films, but that goes for double when it comes to the villains in the show. to vastly oversimplify that very concept, it shows up in the bond films like this: henchmen are working class folks, the villainous equivalent of “the help,” and the supervillains are (usually) rich and glamorous and powerful. henchmen are uneducated (read as: stupid) and ugly and poor. no one cares if they die. (there’s more complexities, as always, but this essay isn’t actually about james bond so we’ll fast forward through My Opinions to the end)

the problem with replicating james bond in your villain school universe is that some of the biases of the james bond universe get replicated in there, too. poor and uneducated folks get turned into disposable henchmen whose lives are irrelevant. people who are educated and talented get fast-tracked to a more glamorous and interesting stream that will catapult them to the top of the ladder as soon as they graduate. if you look at the dialect with which block and tackle are written, they are clearly meant to be seen as a different social class than otto, despite the fact that otto is coming from basically nothing. and we understand that when otto graduates, he will be able to do basically anything that he wants to at all.

so, if you’re asking why wing has a role in the alpha stream when he doesn’t seem as leader-y as otto, there’s a simple answer: because dr. nero believes that wing can be more.

the climax of book one is dr. nero explicitly telling otto, wing, laura, and shelby that they are in his school because he believes in them and he wants to see them grow. they are given an elite status other students do not have despite the fact that they have just literally tried to escape. as we see in the case of duncan cavendish, the main way to get on that highway to a guaranteed career is to convince him that you’ve “got it.” for those who are not believed in, there is no way to make up for the special grooming. you’re stuck with the stream you’re placed in, doomed (perhaps) to be a second-in-command at best.

is all this intentional? probably not. but it is implicit in the structure of the story and, alas, that’s the way it is.

all i can think to say in conclusion is that while the stream system tends to replicate some of the unfair and classist realities present in other media and the world we live in, i think part of the reason we read h.i.v.e. is because the alpha stream is so appealing. imagine! you are competent and you have a desirable, specialized skill as well as a proficiency in many general skills and you are certain you are going to do good things—and all because someone believes in you. to receive someone else’s support and confidence can be life-changing. the magic of h.i.v.e. is that yes—lives are changed and ordinary, boring people were elevated to the level of supervillains. we are only left to wonder, are they the only people who deserved that honor?

[thdorkmagnet]

I Love You 3000

Hey everyone!! Today I bring to you all a short Starco fluff fic, loosely based off of Avengers Endgame.This is also made in collaboration with @phantomnationdraws​ who drew the amazing piece of art to go along with this!! Please show them some love because there talent knows no limits!! And please enjoy!!

Marco ran up the driveway of his house, panting from exertion as he jogged steadily on the uneven ground, clutching a large box tightly in his hands, making sure not to ruin the steaming hot pizza inside. He didn’t slow for a second, keeping his focus and attention entirely on the front door to his house, which he kicked open without hesitation, lacking the hands to turn the doorknob, already knowing it was left unlocked. After all, any burglar dumb enough to try and break in would find himself biting off way more than he could chew, since both he and Star were well trained in combat. 

The red-clad teen was breathing heavily as he stepped into the living room of his wonderful home, the lights all turned off and what had to be at least a dozen candles all lit and scattered about the room, creating an absolutely breathtaking and romantic atmosphere. The boy used the back of his foot to close the door behind him, before calling out loudly to his seemingly empty house, “Star, I’m home!” 

Normally, he would keep his voice down this late at night out of fear of waking his family up but both Mariposa and his parents were gone for the night, his sister to stay overnight with her best friend Meteora and his parents away on an overnight camping trip in the Forest of Certain Death with Star’s parents (the four adults becoming very close friends in the few years since the Great Cleaving), leaving the house to just him and Star. Just the way they wanted it. 

The boy took a few steps forward, looking around for his girlfriend somewhere in the darkness of the room, only to be practically toppled over as Star appeared out of nowhere and trapped him in a surprise hug. “Marco!” she shouted in delight, squeezing him as tightly as ever, while the hooded teen screamed, holding the box over his head to avoid dropping it as Star continued to cling to his midsection. “I’m so glad you’re back!” the blonde cheered, her voice as bubbly as ever and the boy couldn’t help but grin.

“Yep, I’m back,” Marco said with an enthusiastic smile down at his loving girlfriend. “Sorry it took me so long, Emilio’s was closed after a herd of Snippergriffs apparently got inside, so I had to improvise.”

Star rolled her eyes, finally releasing her grip on her Marco, putting her hands on her hips. “Ugh, dang, Snippergriffs, they ruin everything!” the blonde muttered angrily, cursing the very nature of the pesky critters of her homeland. 

Marco, seeing his girlfriend’s distraught behavior, quickly changed the subject as he looked around the room, which almost radiated with an otherworldly glow. “I see you were busy while I was gone.” 

Star’s bright enthusiasm returned full-force as she looked around the room with pride, saying with satisfaction, “Yeah, I thought this way it would all be much more romantic.” She arched her eyebrows knowingly on the last word, causing Marco to chuckle. “Do you like it?” the girl asked hopefully, her hands hovering near her mouth in anticipation for her boyfriend’s opinion.

The boy nodded happily. “I love it! It’s perfect, Star,” Marco said, setting the pizza down on a nearby coffee table. “Now then, do you know what today is?” the boy asked, doing little finger guns in the air for emphasis.

“Uhh,” Star began, thinking the question over. “Date night?”

Marco shook his head, “Well, yeah but you know what else it is?”

“Hmmm,” the blonde said, tapping a finger to her chin. “Friendship Thursday?”

The hooded teen frowned in disappointment, asking in a hinting tone, “Anything else?”

Star contemplated this for a few seconds, the boy growing more and more disappointed with each passing second before Star snapped her fingers and said confidently, “The last day for Stop N’ Slurp’s half-off sale.”

Marco shrank at that answer, looking sadly at the ground. He couldn’t believe Star had forgotten how special today was. The blonde seeing the depressed look on her boyfriend’s face, quickly added, “Marco, I’m just teasing of course I know what today is.”

The latino’s sad frown turned into a bright grin as he and Star shouted as one, “The anniversary of the Blood Moon Ball!” The two burst out into laughter at their shared sentence, Star clutching her stomach as she practically doubled-over from her giggle fit, Marco very lightly grabbing onto the girl’s shoulders to keep her upright as he tried to fight through his own laughter. Finally, the two recovered from their laughing fit, wiping tears from their eyes as Marco said, “Can’t believe we still do that.”

“I know, right,” Star said, opening the box of pizza and taking out a slice. She plopped down on the couch, before patting the seat next to her beckoning Marco over. The boy smiled, picking up his own slice, before sitting down beside her, the girl laying sideways on the couch and resting her legs on the boy’s lap as she practically inhaled the pizza slice, munching on it greedily. “It’s funny,” Star said, in between bites of food, not even bothering to swallow as she spoke in a muffled tone. “After the curse was broken, I thought we wouldn’t do that anymore” 

“Guess it had nothing to do with the curse,” Marco replied, before taking a bite of his own slice.

“Guess not,” Star said, before moaning in delight. “Oh man, Marco! This pizza is delicious!”  

Marco nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah, it is! Looks like we just found our new favorite pizza place, right Star?”

Star giggled, before saying in a teasing tone, “Don’t let Emilio hear you say that, considering what happened last time.”

Marco blushed, looking away from his pretty girlfriend. “Come on, Star. That was like three years ago,” he whined in embarrassment.

Star laughed at her Marco’s cuteness before sitting up and planting a kiss on his bright red cheek. “You’re adorable,” she cooed.

“Not as adorable as you,” Marco replied with a playful smirk, his cheeks just slightly painted pink.

“Aww, Marco,” the blonde gushed, putting a hand to her flushing cheeks. “You spoil me.”

“Oh, then just wait and see what I have planned for later,” the hooded teen said with a wink.

Star’s eyes widened in curiosity, before demanding, “Ooh, tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Marco shook his head stubbornly. “Nuh uh, it’s a surprise,” the boy declared. 

“Aww come on, Marco, just tell me,” the girl pouted, crawling into his lap as she gave him sad, puppy-dog eyes. 

“Nope, your famous pout isn’t working on me this time,” the boy said, raising his head up so he wouldn’t meet her hypnotic eyes. He knew from experience how easy it was to fall into that trap.

“Oh, Marco,” Star said in a sing-song voice, grabbing his chin and pulling his head down so their eyes met. “Just tell me, pwease.” She gave him the saddest, most heart wrenching look she had in her arsenal, even going so far as to whine and quiver her lip.

Marco felt his will crack, his pupils shrinking as he stared into the gorgeous eyes of his favorite person in the world. There were few things that could sway Marco’s judgement and make him lose all sense of anything, and he was staring into one of them right now, the crystal blue of her wide eyes making his heart do a dance. 

“Ok, fine,” the boy groaned in defeat, he knew when he had been bested by his bestie. 

The blonde clapped her hands, shouting in joy, “Yay!”

He quickly moved his girlfriend off his lap, before saying, “Be right back, I left it in my room.”

“Okay!” Star called after him, practically hopping on the couch as she watched him leave. In the span of about thirty seconds Marco returned, the blonde having time to engulf another slice of the delicious pizza before staring up at her boyfriend with curious blue eyes, her cheeks still stuffed with pizza.

Marco couldn’t help but grin down at the love of his life, her expression making his heart melt all over again. Could she seriously get any cuter? he thought to himself.

“Okay, so, I was gonna wait a little bit before showing you this,” Marco began, keeping his hands behind his back so as to not spoil his surprise. “But then, someone had to go and cheat.” He gave her a halfhearted glare.

The girl swallowed her food before smirking mischievously. “Come on, you know you love me,” she said flirtingly.

The boy nodded at that before declaring with zero hesitation, “Of course I do. But that still doesn’t make it alright.” He gave her a teasing look, which she returned with one of her own.

“Hey, all’s fair in love and war, Diaz,” Star said with a playful wink.

“Anyways,” the boy continued, getting back on subject before he found himself gushing over his cute girlfriend all over again. “I figured since this is a special occasion, I’d show you this.”

He held out a pair of earbuds to Star who eyed them questioningly. “Uh, Marco, I already know you have earbuds.”

“Put one in,” Marco told her cryptically.

Star hesitantly obeyed, confusion still obvious on her face as she inserted the small circular device into her left ear. But as the soft notes hit her tender eardrum Star’s mouth fell open, listening in disbelief as the smooth melody she knew by heart played, every note practically etched into her heart. A flood of memories came back to her at once, filling her with euphoric nostalgia, as the unmistakable notes of the Blood Moon Waltz played into her ear. 

She looked up at Marco with disbelief, who had been watching her closely for her reaction and he smiled brightly. “You- How did you- Where did-” the girl stuttered, unable to find words as a lump formed in her throat, tears filling at the edges of her eyes as she choked on a small sob.

Marco stared down at her with soft, loving eyes as he asked her simply, “Do you like it?”

Star nodded, wiping at her eyes to free them of happy tears. “I love it!” she squeaked out. “How did you even find this song?”

The boy shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“Tom,” the girl guessed.

“Tom,” the boy confirmed with a slight nod. “He had a version recorded just for us.”

“I missed this song so much,” the girl sighed, melting into the music as she lost herself to the irresistible tune. 

For a few seconds, the two just listened to the graceful melody, before Marco sucked in a breath and held out a hand to his girlfriend. “May I have this dance?”

Star giggled, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet, before dropping into a graceful curtsey. “You may, kind sir.”

The two shared a laugh as they moved closer to each other, their bodies pressed together as they locked hands. Marco rested a hand on the small of Star’s back, drawing her even closer to his warm presence as he drank in her smell. She always smelled of roses and vanilla and he felt his heart rate increase as she laid her head against this chest. 

The boy then began to lead them in a slow waltz around the dimly lit living room, their movements slow but purposeful, moving perfectly in time and sync with their chosen partner. The sound of the gentle waltz drowning out the world around them until it was just the two of them, captured in this moment in time. 

Star couldn’t think of when she had been happier, surrounded by warm feelings and sounds as she listened with one ear to the graceful ball music and, with the other, was soothed by the rhythmic pumping of her dear Marco’s heartbeat. The girl snuggled into Marco’s chest after a moment, just loving having him here with her. Nothing in all of Earthni able to make her happier. 

Marco clutched Star tightly against him, listening to her gentle breathing as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, her soft hair tickling his skin, and he smiled, feeling complete. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Star in his life, and there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t thank all the forces in the universe for this chance to be loved by someone as wonderful as Star Butterfly.  

The two sighed in contentment as they let the music wash over them, taking them back to a simpler time when it was just the two of them trapped under the glow of a single red light. And just like that, it was as if they were back in that moment, time falling away from them as the music continued on an endless loop, sealing them inside its graceful notes. 

The two smiled in bliss, their cheeks beginning to burn as, without warning, a pair of hearts and crescent moons formed on their cheeks, remnants of the magical connection the two shared, one that defied logic and space itself. Nothing in the universe could separate the two again as they shared this dance. 

“Marco,” the girl whispered, her eyes still closed as she was led slowly around in a circle. 

“Hmm?” the boy muttered, incapable of words at the moment, a swirl of emotions causing his head to spin.

“I missed this,” Star said simply, her hand squeezing his tightly.

The boy paused for a moment, not entirely sure what she meant when she said ‘this’. Until he realized she meant dancing to this song and he almost choked on a sob. “Me too,” he replied softly.

“I’m glad we didn’t lose this moment,” Star continued, and Marco felt his heart swell to almost bursting. “Cause there’s no one I’d rather be here with than you. And I just have to tell you one more thing...” Then Star gently leaned her head in, gazing in wonder at Marco’s loving eyes. She took her chance to whisper something in his ear, something that caused the Latino’s cheeks to turn crimson. Marco smiled dorkily before kissing her forehead softly. “Same here, Star,” he said as their eyes met in another tender glow, pupils shining in the glow of their cheeks and candlelight, reflecting all the thoughts and feelings and emotions that had brought them to this moment. Time had lost on meaning on the two young souls as they continued their dance for what felt to them like eternity.

“Same here.”

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 6.12

910 – Battle of Augsburg: The Hungarians defeat the East Frankish army under King Louis the Child, using the famous feigned retreat tactic of the nomadic warriors. 1240 – At the instigation of Louis IX of France, an inter-faith debate, known as the Disputation of Paris, starts between a Christian monk and four rabbis. 1381 – Peasants' Revolt: In England, rebels assemble at Blackheath, just outside London. 1418 – Armagnac–Burgundian Civil War: Parisians slaughter sympathizers of Bernard VII, Count of Armagnac, along with all prisoners, foreign bankers, and students and faculty of the College of Navarre. 1429 – Hundred Years' War: On the second day of the Battle of Jargeau, Joan of Arc leads the French army in their capture of the city and the English commander, William de la Pole, 1st Duke of Suffolk. 1550 – The city of Helsinki, Finland (belonging to Sweden at the time) is founded by King Gustav I of Sweden. 1653 – First Anglo-Dutch War: The Battle of the Gabbard begins, lasting until the following day. 1665 – Thomas Willett is appointed the first mayor of New York City. 1758 – French and Indian War: Siege of Louisbourg: James Wolfe's attack at Louisbourg, Nova Scotia, commences. 1772 – French explorer Marc-Joseph Marion du Fresne and 25 of his men killed by Māori in New Zealand. 1775 – American War of Independence: British general Thomas Gage declares martial law in Massachusetts. The British offer a pardon to all colonists who lay down their arms. There would be only two exceptions to the amnesty: Samuel Adams and John Hancock, if captured, were to be hanged. 1776 – The Virginia Declaration of Rights is adopted. 1798 – Irish Rebellion of 1798: Battle of Ballynahinch. 1817 – The earliest form of bicycle, the dandy horse, is driven by Karl von Drais. 1821 – Badi VII, king of Sennar, surrenders his throne and realm to Isma'il Pasha, general of the Ottoman Empire, ending the existence of that Sudanese kingdom. 1830 – Beginning of the Invasion of Algiers: Thiry-four thousand French soldiers land 27 kilometers west of Algiers, at Sidi Ferruch. 1864 – American Civil War, Overland Campaign: Battle of Cold Harbor: Ulysses S. Grant gives the Confederate forces under Robert E. Lee a victory when he pulls his Union troops from their position at Cold Harbor, Virginia and moves south. 1898 – Philippine Declaration of Independence: General Emilio Aguinaldo declares the Philippines' independence from Spain. 1899 – New Richmond tornado: The eighth deadliest tornado in U.S. history kills 117 people and injures around 200. 1914 – Massacre of Phocaea: Turkish irregulars slaughter 50 to 100 Greeks and expel thousands of others in an ethnic cleansing operation in the Ottoman Empire. 1921 – Mikhail Tukhachevsky orders the use of chemical weapons against the Tambov Rebellion, bringing an end to the peasant uprising. 1935 – A ceasefire is negotiated between Bolivia and Paraguay, ending the Chaco War. 1938 – The Helsinki Olympic Stadium was inaugurated in Töölö, Helsinki, Finland. 1939 – Shooting begins on Paramount Pictures' Dr. Cyclops, the first horror film photographed in three-strip Technicolor. 1939 – The Baseball Hall of Fame opens in Cooperstown, New York. 1940 – World War II: Thirteen thousand British and French troops surrender to Major General Erwin Rommel at Saint-Valery-en-Caux. 1942 – Anne Frank receives a diary for her thirteenth birthday. 1943 – The Holocaust: Germany liquidates the Jewish Ghetto in Brzeżany, Poland (now Berezhany, Ukraine). Around 1,180 Jews are led to the city's old Jewish graveyard and shot. 1944 – World War II: Operation Overlord: American paratroopers of the 101st Airborne Division secure the town of Carentan, Normandy, France. 1954 – Pope Pius XII canonises Dominic Savio, who was 14 years old at the time of his death, as a saint, making him at the time the youngest unmartyred saint in the Roman Catholic Church. In 2017, Francisco and Jacinta Marto, aged ten and nine at the time of their deaths, are declared saints. 1963 – NAACP field secretary Medgar Evers is murdered in front of his home in Jackson, Mississippi by Ku Klux Klan member Byron De La Beckwith during the civil rights movement. 1964 – Anti-apartheid activist and ANC leader Nelson Mandela is sentenced to life in prison for sabotage in South Africa. 1967 – The United States Supreme Court in Loving v. Virginia declares all U.S. state laws which prohibit interracial marriage to be unconstitutional. 1975 – India, Judge Jagmohanlal Sinha of the city of Allahabad ruled that India's Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had used corrupt practices to win her seat in the Indian Parliament, and that she should be banned from holding any public office. Mrs. Gandhi sent word that she refused to resign. 1979 – Bryan Allen wins the second Kremer prize for a man powered flight across the English Channel in the Gossamer Albatross. 1987 – The Central African Republic's former emperor Jean-Bédel Bokassa is sentenced to death for crimes he had committed during his 13-year rule. 1987 – Cold War: At the Brandenburg Gate, U.S. President Ronald Reagan publicly challenges Mikhail Gorbachev to tear down the Berlin Wall. 1988 – Austral Líneas Aéreas Flight 46, a McDonnell Douglas MD-81, crashes short of the runway at Libertador General José de San Martín Airport, killing all 22 people on board. 1990 – Russia Day: The parliament of the Russian Federation formally declares its sovereignty. 1991 – Russians first democratically elected Boris Yeltsin as the President of Russia. 1991 – Kokkadichcholai massacre: The Sri Lankan Army massacres 152 minority Tamil civilians in the village of Kokkadichcholai near the eastern province town of Batticaloa. 1993 – An election takes place in Nigeria and is won by Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola. Its results are later annulled by the military Government of Ibrahim Babangida. 1994 – Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman are murdered outside Simpson's home in Los Angeles. Her estranged husband, O.J. Simpson is later charged with the murders, but is acquitted by a jury. 1997 – Queen Elizabeth II reopens the Globe Theatre in London. 1999 – Kosovo War: Operation Joint Guardian begins when a NATO-led United Nations peacekeeping force (KFor) enters the province of Kosovo in Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. 2009 – Analog television stations (excluding low-powered stations) switch to digital television following the DTV Delay Act. 2009 – A disputed presidential election in Iran leads to wide-ranging local and international protests. 2016 – Forty-nine civilians are killed and 58 others injured in an attack on a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida; the gunman, Omar Mateen, is killed in a gunfight with police. 2017 – American student Otto Warmbier returns home in a coma after spending 17 months in a North Korean prison and dies a week later. 2018 – United States President Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un of North Korea held the first meeting between leaders of their two countries in Singapore.

[italian-sides]

“Ombre e Bastoni”, ch. 1

Hello everyone!  Today I’m back with a fanfic written by the amazing and wonderful @misslilidelaney almost over a year and half ago?, which i tried to translate in English, while at the same time keeping some key Italian words in it. A huge thank you goes also to @watcher-from-the-heights for being my extraordinary beta all the freaking time.  I also @ts-italian-gang because they’re all great people and i hope they’ll enjoy this too! There will be some translations at the end of the fic, but please lemme know if you don’t understand something, I’ll gladly answer your questions!  Well, enjoy! Pairing: Deceit Sanders x Emile Picani; implied!Logicality

TW: the italian version of a swear word, mentions of alcohol, and non-consensual staring at body parts (?) Whenever Emilio Picani walked into the Dolce&Remi, all heads turned. Maybe it was his everlasting teenager vibe despite having been in his thirties for some time. Maybe it was the way his light brown hair brushed the frame of his glasses. Maybe it was the bright burst of joy that radiated with every step he took. Or maybe, simply, because he was excruciatingly hot. Everyone, in the clique of Remo Stella's friends, including himself, got a more or less significant crush on the psychologist. His brother Romolo was the first to flirt with him in a rather shameless way, getting knocked down with a feather when the handsome Picani delicately declined his offer. Luca looked at Emilio's eyes - and maybe also at his ass - for a long time in a dreamy way, before placing his own pair of eyes on those surrounded by ephelids belonging to Emilio's cousin, Patrizio, and realizing that those were the eyes he wanted to look at forever. Virgilio never said anything about it, but Remo was quite convinced that his choice to enroll in Psychology at university was not entirely accidental. On his hand, Remo limited himself to get over his crush when he learned that Emilio was looking for someone to share rent with, and decided to offer one of the rooms in his apartment to house the psychologist, at least until he found  another arrangement - which didn't happen, not even three years later. While living with him, Remo understood that Emilio was as adorable as he was terribly distracted and messy, and he took him more as a clumsy older brother than a possible companion. And there was the closet situation, of course. Despite hanging out with the most queer souls of Bologna, Emilio never did a coming out of any kind, so in reality only Patrizio could probably know if he spent time with them only because they were interesting lost causes or because, in the end, he was also part of the closet too. Not that it mattered, anyway, because when Patrizio brought the psychologist, who had just moved from Verona, to the bar for the first time, the whole company "adopted" him almost automatically, either because of the Cool Cousin Effect™ or because, in the end, Emilio was a truly exquisite person, who managed to impress everyone. Well, almost everyone. If there was a person who couldn't stand the psychologist, it was undoubtedly Remo's dishwasher-handyman, Giuda Schiavon. After moving from what he called "la terra dei mussatti" [1], that is Venice and his mosquitoes, to study at the University of Bologna, he gave up on it during the second semester of his third year, finding various little jobs before landing at Dolce&Remì and being accepted by Remo and Tommaso. Remo doubted that he really had the chance to have all those work experiences, but Tommaso liked the commitment that Giuda put into doing things, so the owner of the bar agreed to keep him. Giuda appeared like a good person, even if everyone seemed to have noticed that he loved to exaggerate things, especially regarding his past in Venice, and Virgilio once sentenced, sipping his coffee: "He tells things as if they were true.", something everyone nodded to. But if Giuda was good at hiding his emotions behind layers and layers of nonsense, it was clear as the sun that he, unlike everyone else, couldn't suffer Emilio. As soon as the young man got into the bar, or showed up for the clique's nights out, Giuda had always, and invariably, something to do. When they were out, he would get a text that forced him to go elsewhere; when he was at work, suddenly he had to go and do something in the kitchen.Emilio tried several times to speak with him, but Giuda always cut him short in a bad way. Remo found it irritating, but Emilio didn't say much at home about it, and Giuda eventually continued to do his job well. Lately, he made up his mind that the bar's wine list was not interesting enough, and started suggesting typical wines from the Veneto region, which Tommaso decided to try, and that everyone seemed to like. Paradoxically, the happiest of them all was Emilio himself, whom Remo knew was a wine lover: "Really, I would have expected everything, except that here in Bologna I would have drunk such a good Millesimato di Conegliano [2]! Guys, really, I love Emilian wines but here you're really spoiling me. Last week's Garda Chardonnay [2] was divine!" Tommaso gloated and indicated the kitchen boy struggling with a tray full of glasses: "You must thank Giuda, Emi. He's the one who's coming up with Veneto wines." Emilio darkened for a moment, looking down at his feet. Remo didn't even have the time to comment that the veronese came out with a ringing: "Thanks for the wine, Giuda!", which followed up with a disaster that definitely opened the bartender's eyes. "GHESBORO!” [3], the Venetian shouted, while the tray flew out of his hand, shattering the six glasses on it. With his face flushed from... anger?, he turned to Emilio and hissed, mordant: "You're welcome." before leaving for the umpteenth time in search of the broom. The veronese darkened further, and Patrizio put a hand on his back, without saying anything, while the hamsters in Remo's brain slowly started to move. With an agile bounce, he passed the massacre of glasses and reached Giuda in the broom's closet, where he was about to say something before hearing him speak: "Ma ghesboro. [3] That's not possible! Right in front of him!"  the young man was saying with bitterness, while putting on his yellow dishwashing gloves to be able to collect the glasses without hurting himself. And it was at that moment that the hamsters in Remo's head understood how to run on the wheel. All the distancings, all the tension, his always getting away but remaining within reach of conversation. Giuda asked the boys to bring more Veneto wines because Emilio often said that he would have wanted to be a sommelier, if he hadn't become a psychologist. Giuda knew it. Giuda always listened. And as they looked each other in the eyes, Remo visibly shocked and Giuda flushed with embarrassment, the roman finally understood. Giuda had a terrible crush on Emilio. [1] transl: "the land of mussatti", in which "mussatti" is the venetian dialect term for "mosquitos" [2]: they're two famous Veneto wines [3]: according to the Urban Dictonary, "Venetian slang meaning literally "I ejaculate on it", an expression of anger or surprise. Expression of very common use." So... did you like it?! I really hope you did, because there will be other chapters later on and I can’t wait to share them with you all!  See ya around, ciao! <3

Ciao a tutti!  Oggi torno con una fanfiction scritta dalla fantastica e meravigliosa @misslilidelaney, ormai un anno fa, circa?, che ho cercato di tradurre il più possibile in inglese, pur mantenendo qualche parola in italiano. Spero vi piaccia! Quando Emilio Picani entrava al Dolce&Remì, tutte le teste si giravano. Forse era la sua aria da perenne ragazzino nonostante avesse da un pezzo raggiunto i trent'anni. Forse era per come i capelli castano chiaro sfioravano la montatura degli occhiali. Forse era l'aria di gioia che irradiava luminosa ad ogni suo passo. O forse perché, semplicemente, era un figo atroce. Tutti, nella compagnia degli amici di Remo Stella, lui incluso, si erano presi una cotta più o meno pesante per lo psicologo. Suo fratello Romolo era stato il primo a provarci in maniera abbastanza spudorata, rimanendoci di sasso quando il bel Picani aveva declinato con tatto la sua offerta. Luca aveva guardato per un bel pezzo gli occhi - e un po' anche il culo - di Emilio con fare sognante, prima di posare i propri su quelli contornati di efelidi del cugino Patrizio, e rendersi conto che erano quelli, gli occhi che avrebbe voluto guardare per sempre. Virgilio non aveva mai detto nulla a riguardo, ma Remo era abbastanza convinto che la sua scelta di iscriversi a Psicologia non fosse del tutto casuale. Dal canto suo, Remo si era limitato a farsi passare la cotta quando aveva saputo che Emilio cercava qualcuno con cui dividere l'affitto, e aveva deciso di offrire una delle stanze del suo appartamento per ospitare lo psicologo, almeno fino a quando non avrebbe trovato un'altra sistemazione - cosa che, a distanza di tre anni, ancora non era successa. Vivendo assieme a lui aveva capito che era adorabile quanto incasinato e tremendamente distratto, e Remo lo aveva preso più come un maldestro fratello maggiore, che per un possibile compagno. E c'era la situazione Armadio, ovviamente. Nonostante girasse con le anime più gay della città, Emilio non aveva fatto nessun genere di coming out, quindi in realtà solo Patrizio poteva, probabilmente, sapere se girasse con loro solo perché erano degli interessanti casi umani o perché alla fine faceva anche lui parte della Parrocchia. Non che agli altri interessasse; infatti quando Patrizio aveva portato nel bar per la prima volta lo psicologo, appena trasferitosi da Verona, tutta la compagnia lo aveva "adottato" quasi in automatico, vuoi per l'effetto Cugino Figo™ o perché alla fine, Emilio era una persona davvero squisita, che faceva colpo su chiunque. O quasi. Se c'era una persona che invece non riusciva a sopportare lo psicologo, quello era indubbiamente il lavapiatti-tuttofare di Remo, Giuda Schiavon. Trasferitosi da quella che lui chiamava "La terra dei Mussatti", ovvero Venezia e le sue zanzare, per studiare all'università di Bologna ma si era arreso ed aveva mollato al secondo giro di terzo anno, trovandosi vari lavoretti prima di approdare al Dolce&Remì e venir accolto da Remo e Tommaso.  Remo dubitava che avesse davvero avuto modo di avere tutte quelle esperienze lavorative, ma a Tommaso piaceva l'impegno che Giuda metteva nel fare le cose, quindi il titolare del bar aveva acconsentito a tenerlo.  Giuda sembrava una brava persona, anche se un po' tutti sembravano aver notato che amava ingigantire le cose, specialmente per quanto riguardava il suo passato a Venezia, e Virgilio una volta aveva sentenziato, sorseggiando il suo caffè: "Le racconta che le par vere.", cosa a cui tutti avevano annuito. Ma se Giuda era bravo a nascondere le sue emozioni dietro strati e strati di baggianate, era chiaro come il sole che lui, al contrario di tutti, Emilio non lo poteva soffrire. Non appena il giovane uomo entrava nel bar, o si presentava alle loro serate fuori, Giuda aveva sempre, invariabilmente, qualcosa da fare.  Quando erano fuori, gli arrivava un messaggio che lo costringeva ad andare altrove; quando era a lavoro, improvvisamente doveva andare a fare qualcosa in cucina. Emilio aveva più volte cercato di parlare con lui, ma Giuda tagliava sempre corto in malo modo. Remo trovava la cosa irritante, ma Emilio non diceva molto a casa a riguardo, e Giuda alla fine continuava a fare bene il suo lavoro. Ultimamente, si era messo in testa che la carta dei vini del bar non fosse abbastanza interessante, ed aveva iniziato a proporre vini tipici del Veneto, cosa che Tommaso aveva deciso di provare, e sembravano piacere a tutti. Paradossalmente, il più contento di tutti era proprio Emilio, che Remo sapeva essere un appassionato di vini. "Davvero, tutto mi sarei aspettato, tranne che qui a Bologna avrei bevuto un Millesimato di Conegliano così buono! Ragazzi, veramente, amo i vini emiliani ma qui mi state veramente viziando. La settimana scorsa avete messo il Garda Chardonnay che era divino!" Tommaso aveva gongolato ed indicato il lavapiatti, alle prese con un vassoio pieno di bicchieri.

"Devi ringraziare Giuda, Emi. È lui che sta proponendo vini veneti." Emilio si era rabbuiato per un attimo, abbassando lo sguardo. Remo non aveva nemmeno fatto in tempo a commentare che il veronese se n'era uscito con uno squillante: "Grazie per il vino, Giuda!" che aveva dato seguito ad un disastro che aveva aperto definitivamente gli occhi del barista. "GHESBORO!" Aveva gridato il veneziano, mentre il vassoio gli era volato di mano, facendo frantumare i sei bicchieri presenti. Rosso in viso per la... rabbia? si era girato verso Emilio ed aveva sibilato, caustico: "Prego." prima di andarsene per l'ennesima volta alla ricerca della scopa. Il veronese si era rabbuiato ulteriormente, e Patrizio gli aveva messo una mano sulla schiena, senza dire niente, mentre i criceti nel cervello di Remo avevano, lentamente, iniziato a muoversi. Con uno scatto agile, aveva superato la strage di bicchieri e raggiunto Giuda nello stanzino delle scope, dove stava per dirgli qualcosa prima di sentirlo parlare. "Ma ghesboro. Ma non è possibile. Davanti a lui." stava dicendo con amarezza il giovane mentre si metteva i guanti da piatti gialli per poter raccogliere i vetri senza farsi male. Ed era in quel momento che i criceti nella testa di Remo avevano capito come si correva sulla ruota. Tutti gli allontanamenti, tutta la tensione, il suo allontanarsi sempre però restando a portata di conversazione. Giuda aveva chiesto ai ragazzi di portare più vini veneti perché Emilio aveva detto spesso che avrebbe voluto fare il sommelier, se non fosse diventato psicologo. Giuda lo sapeva. Giuda ascoltava sempre. E mentre si guardavano negli occhi, Remo sconvolto e Giuda rosso di imbarazzo, il romano aveva finalmente capito. Giuda aveva una tremenda cotta per Emilio.

[therosaliciasilva]

FACT FILE

📖 THE BASICS

Name : Rosalicia Ana Silva Age : Nineteen Place of birth :  Los Angeles, California, USA Current location : San Diego, California, USA Nationality : American Education : High School Diploma →  History/Archaeology  Occupation : None

👀 PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Eye Colour : Brown Hair Style : Black, Medium length, Wavy Build : Slim Height: 5′2″ Distinguishing Features : N/A Preferred Outfit : Very girly, loves dresses but likes to be dressed up. Her wardrobe can be found here. Glasses? : Yes but only at night when tired Associated Accessories : Pearl Necklace (her mothers) Appearance : Hair usually down. Make up at all times but more dramatic for parties Mannerisms : Pacing when angry or nervous Health : Body health is fine, can sometimes feel a sense of survivors guilt Handwriting : look here Walking : Feminine Walk, usually in heels

💬 SPEECH AND COMMUNICATION

Speech Speed : Casual speed unless angry then tends to get faster Speech Style : Passionate voice  Accent : Californian Posture : Good posture but bad habit of resting on one hip Gesture : Expressive when proving a point  Eye Contact : No problem looking someone in the eye Preferred Curse Word : Fuck Speech Impediments : None Distinguished Speech Tics : Nope Laugh : Girly laugh/giggle at times Smile : look here Emotive : Good at hiding what she feels but when she speaks about something she is passionate about, you can tell by her eyes and how she holds herself

⏪ THE PAST

Home Town : Los Angeles, California Childhood : Upper Class, Spoilt rotten, Happy Childhood but pressured at times Education: High Grades - usually A/A+ Organisations/Clubs : Dance Most Likely To : Travel the World Jobs : Tutoring, Charity work, Volunteer work - Animal Shelters Dream Job : Archaeologist  Role models : Parents, Charles Darwin Greatest Regret : Her last words to her mum being ‘I hate you’ Hobbies : Travelling, History, Lore/Mythology, Dance (Latin) Favourite Childhood Place : Rio Carnival Earliest Memory : Sitting on her grandpa’s shoulders in the Rio streets watching the floats go by Saddest Memory : Her Mum’s Funeral Happiest Memory : Listening to her grandpa talk about Brazil Clearest Memory : The fight she had with her mum in the car Skeletons in the Closet : Her Guilt Change one thing in the past : Again, her last words to her mum Major Turning Points : Grandpa’s death, Mum’s death 3 Adjectives describing her as a kid : Strong-willed, Passionate, Opinionated Advice to Younger Self : Appreciate your loves ones more, they only want the best for you Criminal Record : Been arrested a couple of times at protests but her dad usually got her out of that situation before she could be charged

👪 FAMILY

Father : Luiz Silva, 55 y/o , Diamond Company Owner, respects him, loves him Mother : Ana Silva nee Costa , died at 49 y/o , Housewife , loves her and feels guilty Brothers: Emilio Silva, 30 y/o. Vincent Silva, 26 y/o. Julian Silva, 23 y/o. Marcos Silva, 23 y/o. Family Economic Status : Very Upper Class Seeing Family: She tries to go home about every three weeks on a Sunday until Monday as she has no Monday morning classes

💜 EXTERNAL RELATIONSHIPS

Closest Friends : see here Enemies : None Social Media Platforms : Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat Group Dynamic Role : Leader Responds to Emails : As quick as possible or Ignores for three days, no inbetween Relationship Expectations : Mutual respect, Spoil her and she will spoil you Significant Other : None

💭 PSYCHOLOGY

Rainy Day Activities : Studying, Documentaries, Netflix Smart Type : Book Smart Outlook : Realistic Social Ability : Extroverted Favourite Sound : Latin Music or music with a good rhythm to dance to Favourite Place : Rio in Carnival Season Most Afraid Of People Finding Out : She inadvertently killed her mum (How she sees it) Wants : Woman’s rights to be acknowledged, To see the world and experience cultures Biggest Flaw : Guilt, Sometimes too vocal Biggest Strength : Passionate Mind Biggest Accomplishment : Performing a dance on stage Idea of Perfect Happiness : Travelling the world and experience cultures different to her own Want To Be Remembered? : Yes as a voice of revolution or for an archaeological discovery Power Approach : Be vocal and don’t stop until heard Ambition Approach : Hard work Love Approach : Find someone who respects her and she can respect Treasured Possessions :  Mum’s Necklace, Photo Albums Find Boring : Celebrities famous for nothing Causes Anger : Sexists. Racists.  Moral Compass : Always tries to be a good person Pet Peeves : K. If you K. her she might kill you

🔮 THE FUTURE

Future Job : Archaeologist  Future House : Honestly, she doesn’t really want to settle. She wants to keep moving around. Future Relationship Status : Depends if it fits in to her lifestyle Want Kids : Depends again on her lifestyle at the time Death Age : Not thought about it

[castandloose]

Wonder twins power activate! Go go power rangers! Transformers combine! The circle is now complete!

This Wednesday, the 4th and last ep of #FamousCastWords drops on ALL ARTS digitally AND on broadcast. Collect all 4 interviews!

Ep 1: Amber Gray 

Ep. 2: Maysoon Zayid 

Ep. 3 Emilio Delgado 

Ep. 4 Aneesh Sheth

https://allarts.org/programs/famous-cast-words/

[alistonjdrake]

Part One: The Rios Queen

Queen Isolde ana’Juliano Rios Mother to: Prince Cidro and Prince Leonides Born: Year 1725 after the fall of the Saints Died: Year 1751 after the fall of the Saints

While Queen Isolde is perhaps the most famous of the Harver queens, the least is known about her. 

She was born in Graza as the first child to Queen Marisol and King Juliano. She was recluse as a child, paying more attention to her studies before eventually joining court at the age of 13. Grazan court culture was vastly different under King Juliano than it would be under King Frederick. Most of the nobility tended their own land and palaces, and thus Graza was full mostly of King Juliano’s closest allies and attendants. The atmosphere was more strict and the palace, massive as it is, was mostly empty. So, Isolde never grew close to her peers or those her own age. She was very popular among her father’s men.

People say when her father died, everyone was in a panic about the lack of an heir and the country was in chaos. This was not true. Her father’s men immediately bowed to Queen Isolde and she was crowned such in the palace chapel on the second morning after. It was the nobles of Escan who held issue, and many were split on their dislike for their new queen. There were those who would have favored a son instead, and those who mainly did not like the queen’s notable lover.

Many aren’t sure when or where Queen Isolde met Leonides an’Emilio Barraza. While he shares a family both with Queen Marisol and some of her father’s closest allies were Barraza men, he was not well liked by his family, supposedly not welcome in court, and ten years older. Isolde had spent time in Orrasas when she was younger, but had only visited Ovango once (where Leonides called home). This must have been where they met and eventually letters were uncovered dated from when she would have been seventeen. But this would have been three years after her short trip to Ovango. Leonides was not well liked. He was famous for his gambling debts, his utter disrespect of high society and its rules, and his greed. Since King Juliano’s birth, the Barrazas had been called the “uncrowned kings” of Escan by being. But there were those who did not want a true Barraza king even if the family could also trace their line back to the Espinars. Leonides stained their reputation, and once Queen Isolde made him public there was so much fighting within the family that they perhaps didn’t find the time to focus on Frederick in the north and the amount of ships and carriages arriving from Oskya. 

The story follows that Arturo an’Román Harver called upon Queen Isolde formally while she attending her small court and asked her to deliver on the promises of her father. She rejected Frederick publicly but most say she was polite and mostly balked at the notion she had to do something when it was not in writing. Arturo’s story is often embellished with tales of the humiliation of her laughing at him. Either way, in a fury he returned to Tadrus. 

Queen Isolde is also known for turning Frederick away at the Navanese border while he was just trying to make a diplomatic visit to discuss any possible terms of an engagement between them. The Harvers also can trace lineage back to the Espinars, and more recent marriages also made them have Rios blood. On one side, we are told Frederick traveled only with his mother, Prince Vadik, and naturally, a few guards as Oskyan princes go few places unattended. On the other, we are told Frederick showed up with an army and Queen Isolde reacted the only way she could have. Whatever happened at the border, it sparked a struggle between them, enough for Frederick to claim he’d been wronged and called for alliances. He looked towards Nava and disenfranchised nobles of Escan. Queen Isolde, losing popularity with her own people, looked south towards Sceoque. 

The Oskyan army worked faster than words. Gates opened up for them on sight. Nava had no standing army, neither did Escan and with most power so firmly in the hands of the noble class their numbers depended entirely on how much effort the Escana nobles put into rallying troops for her cause. No one wanted to fight the Oskyans. And more and more likened to the idea of Frederick marrying Queen Isolde. An invader perhaps, and Tadrune, but at least he wasn’t a Barraza. 

Her famous last stand was in Graza. She’d locked herself in Alda and shut the city gates. It was said she spent the night devising plan after plan with her men. Some even say, as a last ditch attempt, she exchanged vows with Leonides before retiring to bed. Whatever happened, around midnight her men turned against her, pulled her from her bed, dragged her to where Frederick camped, and begged her to surrender. She did, but it was still said she bit his hand while he tried to help her up.

Terms for a formal surrender were drawn on neutral ground. Whether or not anyone brought up her fleeting marriage to Leonides is unknown. It would not have been considered legal as they did it without the Saints’ blessing. Some say Lady Helena, the Vipress, had a long talk with Queen Isolde and it convinced her to see reason. King Frederick and Queen Isolde married in the main cathedral of Graza some days later on the same day he was coronated, and she received a second and more public coronation. 

It was no secret that their marriage was loveless. Queen Isolde kept her lover close, and as King Frederick took quickly to changing Escan and wrestling power from her hands and from that of the other nobles, he paid little attention to her. Frederick had no lack of lovers either. 

So, it came as a surprise when the queen announced pregnancy rather early into the marriage. This sparked rumors that it was not Frederick’s child, and when Cidro was born seven months later it seemed only to convince people further. He was born too early. Frederick himself never doubted the child was his, and Lady Helena was known for announcing how pleased she was with both of them for putting their differences aside to perform their duties. There were others who were less sure. Leonides had not been banished from court, many claimed to see him enter and exit the queen’s chamber as he pleased. Frederick is quoted to have laughed when asked what he thought of his wife’s lover. So much as saying “he and I are brothers bonded in marriage.” But they were never seen together. It was an odd family.

Things changed when Prince Vadik finally left Escan. He was called back to Oskya on the death of his uncle and king and was called to take his place. He left. And with him, his army. 

People say the only fearsome thing about King Frederick was his Oskyan allies. But they forget how many people hanged in the early days of his reign. He spent the first months weeding out dissenters, building a council of loyal men, rewarding those who aided him and handing harsh punishments for those who hadn’t. Even so, when the Oskyans left, rebellion sparked. 

The Barrazas had reunited. If there was someone they disliked more than their embarrassing kin, it was surely King Frederick. Lady Helena, although she was a cousin to the Barraza family herself, could only call so few loyal. It was through her King Frederick learned of the plot against her, and her who convinced him hanging Leonides would help quiet them. He had not publicly turned a hand against the Barrazas as of yet. They were a large family and it was better to mind their insults and tiptoe around their playing field. Lady Helena said it would better for all of them. Remove the threat and the man who distracted the queen.

As it was not a public hanging, none can be sure how Queen Isolde reacted. Some say she followed Frederick there, attacked him, dragged herself after him and wept. Others said she watched coldly and said nothing. She went into a period of mourning after his death that lasted months. She willingly went into confinement, wore a veil over her face, and would not speak. So, it came as another surprise when she finally reappeared and announced she was pregnant once again. Again people questioned if this was King Frederick’s child. No one can say for sure if he visited her during her solitude, and they surely hated each other. The baby was born. Another boy. Lady Helena was said to have left the birth chamber in tears, remarking that he looked just like her son. 

She named the boy Leonides, and much to everyone’s surprise, King Frederick did not protest. 

After the birth, Queen Isolde spent little time in public. She was known for saying she despised her husband and his court. She despised the nobles who now called the palace home. She wrote in letters she would leave behind for her youngest son that she even so much as despised Escan, as it was no longer the country she knew. Her health began to decline rapidly, and as if she knew she was going to die she started leaving things behind for her son. Some wondered if she’d been poisoned somehow. Queen Isolde had never shown poor health before. 

Queen Isolde was the first to die on a rainy day. No one would know what possessed her to crawl from her sickbed to an empty hall of the palace, but she was found the next morning by a servant. 

King Frederick did not weep. In a letter addressed to King Vadik of Oskya, he is known to have written:

My dear friend, it is like a dark cloud has finally passed and I can breathe again. 

[saintworthit-blog]

Something I got a “C” on in High School

Estocada

Like any symphony, the final movement of a bullfight hinges on one particular finale. The estocada - the thrust of the sword; the killing blow. The estocada must be swift, fluid, and most importantly, painless. A quick pierce between the shoulder blades, effectively piercing the heart of the animal, will often kill the bull instantly, sparing it of any agony. A matador that fails to provide a clean death will often be met with protest from the crowd. In the event of a clumsy estocada, a matador must perform a second act - a descabello. A mercy kill, in which the Matador cuts the spinal column of the writhing animal, putting it out of its misery. Call it cruel, but bullfighting, despite its ultimate purpose, treats the bull with a modicum of respect and honor. A matador will always make sure a bull does not suffer in death.

A bull, on the other hand, has no such agenda.

A bull fights without honor or humanity. In what is essentially a battle of its own survival, a bull must fight with ruthless ferocity if it values its life. There is no concern of ethics or morals when a bull kills a man. It is an act of desperation. While the matador may dance around and tease the animal to the delight of the crowd, the bull charges, headstrong and direct, as it knows, one single mistake, one errant pierce, would mean its life. And when it gets that feeling, that single misstep, that first drop of blood, that screaming crowd as they watch as horns bore into flesh, that gurgling noise coming from the matador as they are ripped to pieces; that is when the bull truly lives.

On that fateful day, in that warm, Spanish summer, forty thousand seats leaped and roared, shaking the coliseum to its very foundations as the young matador, Emilio de Soto, was impaled. Emilio was a crowd pleaser, a fan favorite, quickly making his way up the ranks of accomplished bullfighters. Yet he was always too cocky. All it took was one wrong step with the wrong bull at the wrong time.

The horn, caked in a visceral pink sheen, protruded through the young man’s back. The crowd looked on in horror as the bull paraded around the stadium, trotting triumphantly, as the matador’s corpse hung limp on its horn like a macabre trophy. The mighty steer had conquered the bullfight. His face was bright red, stained in Emilio’s blood. His horns were caked in gore, intestine and spleen wrapped around it like a ghastly bit of tinsel on a christmas tree. From his bright red horns, the animal took on the title, “El Toro Demonio.” The Demon Bull.

Pedro. The Rock, the Demon Bull, baptized in blood. He would carve a path of destruction in Spain comparable to the wrath of Caesar’s Legions.

For one would think that after a matador was murdered, the bull would be put down, as was the practice. However, Emilio had a brother: Matías de Soto. Like his deceased sibling, Matías was an aspiring matador as well, having performed in local circuits in their small town of Marbella. He was a promising talent, having slain many bulls. They called the two brothers the Marbella Marauders.

When the young man learned of his brother’s death at the hands of the demon bull, he called for revenge. Matías demanded to face the bull in the coliseum, where he would kill Pedro himself. The bookers rationalized that the possibility of blood and death sold many a ticket, and so the fight was set.

So Pedro entered the arena once more.

Matías was quick. Deadly yet elegant. As Pedro charged after him, hunting for the red cape which the matador twirled in the air,  Matías would dance around him, parrying his blows, avoiding Pedro’s horns. It seemed as though Matías would avenge his brother. But, Pedro, having tasted blood before, began to recognize the familiar scent from which it came. It was the scent of uncertainty: of fear. It radiated off of Emilio as he drifted off into the nothingness, and it radiated off of Matías. Having locked down the scent, Pedro seized his moment. The stately bull with the ebony coat and the crimson horns skewered Matías while he was busy entertaining the crowd. The crowd fell silent in terror. The familiar wash of warm liquid bathed Pedro’s face, as he was once more baptized in de Soto blood, and another Matador: the younger brother was killed.

As the bodies were cremated and buried, the question arose once more. Shouldn’t Pedro be put down?

It seemed too simple an answer. But it was man’s stubbornness, man’s desire to do things the right way - the honorable way - that sparked the destructive fire. For a new challenger had entered the fray. Esteban Quiroz, a rival of the two brothers, believed he would succeed where they had failed. They called him “El Verdugo,” the executioner. Unlike other bullfighters, Esteban did not regard bulls as noble creatures. No, he saw them as rabid dogs, and he enjoyed putting them down. There was no mercy in Esteban’s work. The estocada was brutal, and ruthless, much like Esteban. And so, another fight was made.

Esteban did not last ten seconds before he was impaled upon the horns of the demon bull. He was a heavy man. As Pedro paraded him around the stadium, Esteban sank lower and lower on the horn until it eventually tore right through him, ripping him in half. Suffice to say, it was a closed casket funeral.

Poor Esteban’s death was mocked in the papers. The mighty warrior, brought to his end in under ten seconds. As the word of the demon bull spread through the country, one man decided to answer the call. The legendary Lion of Lanzarote, Fernando Laroya. He was said to have perfected the art of the estocada, able to locate the heart, pierce it, and extract it whole. As he signed on to fight Pedro, the small town of Lanzarote accompanied him, wanting to see their hero in action.

On the day of the fight, they watched as the Lion of Lanzarote was torn to pieces, shielding their eyes as Pedro ground Fernando’s body into the sand, turning him into mincemeat, painting the coliseum red.

News of the demon bull had spread internationally, attracting the attention of the talented Colombian matador, Carlos Castaneda, the Cannibal of Cartagena, beloved by his countrymen, feared by his rivals. Carlos was famous for being a renowned chef as well as a matador, as whatever died in the arena, he would cook and serve to the starving people in the barrios. It always tasted delicious.

He too, met his end, at the horns of the beast, splattered against the stadium walls like a tomato, requiring a removal with a spatula. Another tick in the win column for Pedro.

But with that death, came another challenger. And with that death, another. Every day, a new matador stepped forward, each more talented than the last. They entered the arena, believing they could end the bull’s reign of terror, and every time, they ended on his horns. This led to Pedro’s third nickname, the “Unkillabull.”

Unbeknownst to Pedro, he had become the clueless gladiator. As Saint Peter had been the rock on which the Lord’s church was built, Saint Pedro became the rock on which an unholy necropolis was constructed, a temple built upon man’s arrogance. Matador after matador stepped up to face Pedro, and each time they met a grisly, stomach-churning death. Their skulls adorned Pedro’s throne. Millions vilified him, millions more idolized him. Pedro had brought back a balance to nature. In what was always a one-sided affair, Pedro had made bullfights a fair game, with the highest stakes: now, either party could die.

Pedro then earned his fourth nickname: “The Gladiator.”

As matador after matador perished and perished, the question arose. Why were people still willing to lay their lives down to fight this bull? Why were men so adamant in killing Pedro honorably? The bull could have been put down a long time ago; a simple injection, and that would have been the end of it. Yet dozens after dozens showed up to fight him, each of them seemingly unworried, not noticing the trend happening around them. Simply put: Why does man not give up? Why must he hold himself to these set expectations, and why must he be willing to die to accomplish them? Why must we subject ourselves to misery? However, if there was a philosophical lesson to be learned from this macabre spectacle, none of it was being heeded by the one creature that should. Pedro. To him, it was a simple game; a repetitive sacrifice made every so often so Pedro could return to his stables and eat his hay and mate with his heifers. He did not care for the fame and fortune. He did not understand the sentiment. All he knew was to run over everything in his path, and man kept stepping in his way. Why? Why must man impede the unstoppable force that is nature? Nature does not pause for the lofty ideals of man, nor should it. And yet, bodies after bodies were thrown onto the ever-growing pile.

Matadors became an endangered species. Bullfighters, the proud and the mighty, were buried in closed caskets around the country. In the wake of his destruction, Spain called out  to the last great matador they had. He was the greatest bullfighter that had ever lived, with the highest kill-count in existence. He was said to have slaughtered thousands of bulls, a few hundred of them when he was but a child. The man was born, bred, and taught to be a matador. El Juez, the King of the Ring, the Saint of Seville, the legendary, Efrim Goya.

The men came to him, pleading for a savior. They sang his praises; they recounted his tales of valor, all in order for Efrim to accept the call. It took a bit of convincing, but Efrim took on the challenge. There was just one small wrinkle.

Efrim Goya was retired. He was an old man now, living peacefully in a little cottage by the seaside with his adoring wife and his loyal dog. He was too old for the violence of the Colosseum. Yet when they came to him, with high expectations, he recognized that sparkle in their eyes. It was the look of admiration. Of hope. And he had missed that look. He did miss the roar of the crowd, and the smell of blood on the sand. But he was too old. Nevertheless, he foolishly accepted the challenge.

It was only the night before the fight when Efrim realized his grave mistake. Efrim was a happy man, who still desired to live out his life. He had fame, wealth, and a loving family. Efrim wasn’t ready to be crucified upon the horns of a demon bull.

He walked into the arena, a frightened man.

The crowd was deafening.

Thousands of people packed the seats, roaring in excitable fervor. News helicopters flew overhead, cameras aimed directly at Efrim. People from all over the world, from all walks of life, were seated in anxious anticipation. Some of the crowd called for the head of Pedro, cheering Efrim on. Some, in some grotesque sort of manner, backed the bull, wishing to see Efrim skewered on his horns. But all had come to see blood spilled on the sands.

He said his prayers. He bowed, and waved to the crowd, hoping the cameras did not see him sweat profusely.

The gate was lifted.

And there was Pedro.

His horns were permanently stained bright red. His black fur, now a distinct shade of maroon. Baptized by blood. Pedro had bathed in the river that was the glory of the lord, and came out an angel of death.

There, Efrim stood, face to face with the unstoppable force.

The fight began. Efrim lifted his cape, as he had done so many times before. The demon bull viciously pawed the ground, smoke rising from the sand. Efrim waved the blood-red cape, inciting the savagery within Pedro. Taken over by animal instincts, Pedro charged in for the first pass. Like a speeding bullet, he blitzed, racing at Efrim at high speed. Nothing would stop him. The crowd screamed.

Estocada.

In the next few seconds, Pedro was dead. Efrim’s sword, embedded in his chest.

There was a thunderous explosion throughout the stadium as Pedro collapsed to the ground. An uproarious cheer. Efrim had done it. He had avenged so many of his fallen brothers. He had solidified his legendary status. He had survived the Unkillabull, the Gladiator, El Toro Demonio, the Rock.

But nobody noticed the small hole in Pedro’s head.

Nobody notice the small hole in the red cape.

Nobody noticed the loud “crack” of an Astra 400, Spain’s standard service pistol.

Nobody noticed that Pedro had fallen dead before Efrim performed the estocada.

Nobody noticed the wash of shameful relief on the face of the old matador.

Nobody noticed the gun hidden underneath his cape.

Not even Pedro.

[romancatholicreflections]

22nd November >> Saint of the Day for Roman Catholics: Saint Cecilia martyr

Cecilia was a Roman martyr of the 3rd century but practically nothing certain is known about her life. About the 4th century AD there appeared a Greek religious story based on the loves of Cecilia and Valerian, which were a glorification of the celibate life. It was intended to replace the more sensuous romances such as that of Daphnis and Chloe, then very popular. Cecilia’s later popularity is mainly due to legends dating from the 5th century, some 200 years after her death.

The tradition is that she was a Christian of noble birth and promised in marriage to a non-Christian called Valerian. But, as she had already made a vow of virginity to God, she let her husband know that she did not want to consummate their marriage. As a result, her husband and his brother, Tiburtius (Thateus), themselves became Christians. They were arrested and martyred about the year 230 under the Emperor Alexander Severus. Soon afterwards, Cecilia herself was brought before the prefect.

She refused to offer pagan sacrifice, converted her persecutors to Christianity but was then sentenced to death. Her executioners first tried to kill her by locking her in an overheated sauna-type bathhouse. When this failed, she was to be decapitated but, after her executioner failed in three attempts, he fled the scene. Cecilia survived for three days in a semi-conscious state before finally succumbing. In the last three days of her life, she opened her eyes, looked at her family and friends and then closed them forever. Those keeping vigil knew that she had entered paradise. Later her house was dedicated as a church by Pope Urban, who had encouraged her in her fidelity. Unfortunately this story finds no confirmation in any other contemporary source. She is not mentioned in the writings of Jerome or Ambrose, for instance, although they were particularly interested in the martyrs.

While many legends arose in the case of many early saints, in Cecilia’s case, her very existence is uncertain (similar to Christopher and Philomena). The only basis on which her existence might be argued is the existence of a church, called the titulus Ceciliae in the Trastevere, Rome, and which was founded by a certain Roman lady called Cecilia. It dates from about the 5th century, was magnificently rebuilt by Pope Paschal I about 820, when her supposed relics, with those of her companions, were brought there by the pope. The church was again rebuilt by Cardinal Emilio Sfondrati in 1599. Then the tomb of Cecilia was opened and the body was found incorrupt but it quickly disintegrated through contact with the air. The sculptor Maderna, however, made a life-size marble statue of the body “lying on the right side, as a maiden in her bed, her knees drawn together and seeming to be asleep”. A replica of this statue occupies Cecilia’s supposed original tomb in the cemetery of Callistus. The church was in recent times the titular church Cardinal Carlo Martini, former Archbishop of Milan.

Cecilia is one of seven women, excluding the Blessed Virgin, commemorated by name in the First Eucharist Prayer of the Mass. She is probably best known as the patron of musicians and choirs since the 16th century. The origin of this seems to be found in the antiphon taken from her Acts: “As the musical instruments (at her wedding feast) were playing, Cecilia sung (in her heart) to the Lord, saying: ‘May my heart remain unsullied, so that I be not confounded’.” The traditional account of her life is famous as the Second Nun’s Tale in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. In art her principal emblem since the 16th century is an organ (as in Raphael’s painting at Bologna) or some other musical instrument such as a lute but she appears without emblem in ancient representations such as the mosaic in S. Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna (6th century), and in Roman frescoes in the catacomb of Callixtus and in the church of S. Maria Antiqua.

Reflection

Readings: Hosea 2:16b,17b, 21-22; Ps 44; Matthew 25:1-13

The Gospel reading comes from Matthew’s account of the end times where Jesus speaks of the coming destruction of Jerusalem and mingles it with images about the Second Coming of Jesus for the General Judgement. This section also contains three important parables linked to the Final Judgement.

We have the first of these parables as our reading for today’s feast. Not surprisingly, it is the parable of the 10 bridesmaids, often referred to as the Ten Virgins. Jesus says that the Kingdom of God (he uses the word ‘heaven’) can be compared to ten bridesmaids going out to welcome the bridegroom at a wedding.

Five of them were sensible and had foresight and the other five were foolish. The sensible ones took a reserve of oil for their lamps while the foolish ones did not. Then the groom took much longer to come than expected and all the virgins became heavy-eyed and sleepy.

At midnight the call went up, “The groom has arrived! Go out to greet him!” But as the bridesmaids trimmed their lamps, the foolish ones realised all their oil was used up. They asked the sensible virgins to share some of their oil. They refused on the grounds that all of them would end up with not enough. They told the foolish girls to and get more oil.

But, while they were on their way, the groom arrived and those who were ready went into the wedding hall with him. And the door was locked. When the foolish virgins arrived, they begged for the door to be open. “Lord, Lord, open the door for us.” But he answered with one of the most chilling statements in the Gospel: “I’m sorry but I do not know you.”

The moral is then given: keep your eyes open for you do not know the day or the hour.

We know that in the very early Church many believed – and it is reflected in the earliest letter of Paul – that Jesus would come again during the believers’ lifetime. (Even in our own days, there are preachers who talk about the imminence of the ‘end times’. One date being given is 21 May 2011.) Or there are people who work on the principle of ‘eat, drink and be merry’ and straighten things out just before the end comes.

Jesus is warning that this is not a very good idea. We do not know when the Bridegroom will come. We have no idea when life on our planet will come to an end. Even more practically, we do not know when our own time on this earth will terminate. The point of these Gospel texts is that, whenever it happens, we be ready, that our lamps are burning bright.

This is not a question of piling up good works and putting them into some celestial account. It is clear from the Gospel that God does not work that way. What is important is that at any given moment we are in a right relationship with God. And how do we do that? We do it by seeking, finding and serving God in every experience of every day, finding and loving God in every person that comes into our life. Sometimes we will fail but we just turn round and start all over again. What is most important is where we are when he calls us. Strangely enough, we guarantee the future by focusing on the present, on the here and now.

Cecilia was just such a faithful virgin who had consecrated her whole life to God and in bringing others to know and love him and unhesitatingly gave that life back to God.

The First Reading is a short passage from the prophet Hoseah. The words describe Yahweh speaking to Israel but they can be understood as describing the Lord calling someone to be espoused to him as his bride, very appropriate for someone who has vowed virginity and makes Christ her Spouse.

“I will lead her into the desert and speak to her heart,” says the Lord. And “she shall respond there as in the days of her youth, when she came up from the land of Egypt.”

The Lord then makes his proposal of marriage: “I will espouse you to me forever; I will espouse you in right and in justice, in love and in mercy. I will espouse you in fidelity, and you shall know the Lord.”

Words again which apply so well to Cecilia who was truly a Bride of Christ, a Bride who was always ready with her lamp burning to greet her Lord.

[loosealcina]

VINCENZO BELLINI’S IL PIRATA AT LA SCALA, JULY 17, 2018

There's no doubt Il pirata (created by Felice Romani and Vincenzo Bellini in 1827) qualifies as a seminal work, on a number of levels. It's the opera that turned Bellini into Bellini. (He was 25). It originated the Italian Romantic tenor. It culminates in a mad scene that predates (and actually became a model for) many celebrated mad scenes. (It's impossible not to think of Lucia di Lammermoor here). It was the breakthrough act for a whole set of properly Romantic items into Italian opera: hostile nature, castles by the sea, gloomy anti-heroes, gloomy arch-enemies, etc. As for what happened with this new production, I think I'd better begin with a quick rundown on the storyline. After a lost battle and a brutal shipwreck, a famous pirate (Gualtiero) and his crew find some aid, then food and shelter in the very castle of Gualtiero's lifelong nemesis (Ernesto). Of course, nobody is aware of their true identity there. However, Gualtiero himself is in for a shocker: he soon discovers that his former lover (Imogene), whom he has been desperately searching for over the last ten years, is the lady of the castle. She got married to no other than Ernesto; and they have a son together, as well. My first observation is that for an opera whose title is Il pirata, the amount of pirate action was decidedly small. Still, it must be noted that Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island—which is altogether essential to the way pirates exist in our imagination—was only published in 1883, hence there's no disgrace in falling a little bit short in this respect. In fact, maybe you can just erase that observation; I'll replace it with this one: Il pirata made me think of Gaetano Donizetti's La Favorite (1840). Apart from a certain similarity between the two plots, there was something specific about melody-making. Both narratives are fueled by tunes that are unpredictable, multi-layered, constantly enriched with nuances. They can tell stories.

(If you're interested in a captivating example, I'll mention Gualtiero's unreasonably upbeat, and positively dance-like cabaletta «Per te di vane lagrime»). Alas, this specific iteration of Il pirata wasn't consistently great. To me, it was a radical split; the great part was Sonya Yoncheva as Imogene (I'll try and describe that later). The not great part was everything else. The staging—directed by Emilio Sagi, with Daniel Bianco/Pepa Ojanguren/Albert Faura as set/costume/light designers—did nothing but present an extremely static and generic boy+girl+rival situation. (I'd say that the theatrical potential of Gualtiero—a Byronic figure who is both the genuine protagonist and a black-hearted villain who has a taste for spilling other people's blood—got almost entirely wasted). The orchestra conducted by Riccardo Frizza seemed to put an emphasis on the outgoing/cheerful side of the score; their reluctance to play piano and pianissimo (hardly rewarding as far as my listening experience is concerned) was a coherent complement to that approach. Now what can I say about Sonya Yoncheva? Her timbre—imposing, fierce, and at the same time seductive—was gloriously unperturbed anywhere her voice was requested to go (high and low; largo and presto; ppp and fff). Her performance as Imogene was as effortless as it gets. It had the raw power and the irresistible allure of a natural prodigy; and her famed final soliloquy («Ascolta… Col sorriso d'innocenza… Oh, sole! Ti vela») was a veritable gem. Unfortunately (but I really should say: fortunately), no singer is an island. In other words, it's not like you're visiting a group exhibition where you can be like, I love this painting, I don't care for that one, and wander untroubled toward the next room. Everything is connected. And this rare appearance of Il pirata—back at La Scala after a pretty massive sixty-year hiatus—was the definition of a missed opportunity.

[pamphletstoinspire]

St. Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta

St. Padre Pio was one of the holiest saints of the 20th century. His insight into the usefulness of Maria Valtorta’s revelations for spiritual reading is certainly most reliable, as he was a mystic who communicated often with Our Lord and Our Lady; he often had instantaneous spiritual insights (such as the ability to read hearts); he was a stigmatist, bilocater, and prophet; he obtained miraculous cures and other miracles for many people; and he had numerous documented mystical experiences with other people, as well as lived in the same country at the same time as Maria Valtorta, who herself testifies that she had mystical experiences with him, and who others testify that they have experienced or witnessed supernatural occurrences connected with Maria Valtorta and him.

Drawing from handwritten testimonies of Rosi Giordani (a spiritual daughter of St. Padre Pio), Marta Diciotti (Maria Valtorta’s live-in housekeeper, friend, and confidant), and Maria’s autobiography, we will explore some of these experiences and testimonies.

Letter from a Spiritual Daughter of Padre Pio’s Telling About His Verbal Command to Read Maria Valtorta’s Works

The following is an exact copy of a letter written by a spiritual daughter of Padre Pio, Rosi Giordani, to Dr. Emilio Pisani, the editor and publisher of Maria Valtorta’s works. Included among the export publishers who receive special recognition each year from the Italian Ministry for Cultural Goods, in 1995, Dr. Pisani's Centro Editoriale Valtortiano (the publisher and worldwide distributor of Maria Valtorta’s writings) was awarded the Culture Prize by the Italian Presidency of the Council of Ministers.1 Dr. Emilio Pisani is the son of Knight Michele Pisani, a renowned Catholic publisher who was knighted a Knight of the Order of St. Gregory the Great by an Apostolic Brief of Pope Pius XII in 1943, upon the recommendation of the Pontifical Priestly Missionary Union.2 In this letter to Dr. Pisani, Rosi Giordani attests to the words of Padre Pio directed to a spiritual daughter of his, ordering her to read Maria Valtorta’s books. This letter is taken from the book published by Dr. Pisani entitled Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta:3

For Dr. Emilio Pisani,

Beloved in Jesus!

My name is Rosi Giordani, a spiritual daughter of Padre Pio. I am from Bologna, but have been living here for many years with my mother, who was born in 1897, like Maria Valtorta. Father has been at rest for twelve years in the cemetery of this town. In 1981 I was present with Mother at the Basilica of the Annunciation in Florence for the celebration of the anniversary of Maria Valtorta’s death. I was with dear Domenico Fiorillo. I embraced Marta and listened to her lovely talk.

I am writing particularly to tell you the following: a spiritual daughter of Padre Pio from the outset, Mrs. Elisa Lucchi, known as Malvina, from Forlì, a year before Padre Pio’s death asked him in Confession, “Father, I have heard mention of Maria Valtorta’s books. Do you advise me to read them?” Padre Pio replied, “I don’t advise you to—I order you to!”

San Giovanni Rotondo

January 7, 1989

Rosi Giordani

Padre Pio once wrote about the special care and solicitude that he had for his spiritual children: “I belong entirely to everyone. Everyone can say: ‘Padre Pio is mine.’ I deeply love my brothers in exile. I love my spiritual children as much as my own soul and even more. I have regenerated them to Jesus through suffering and love. I can forget myself, but not my spiritual children. Indeed, I can assure you that when the Lord calls me I will say to Him: ‘Lord, I will remain at the gates of Paradise; I will go in when I have seen the last of my children enter.’”4

Introduction to the Mystical Experiences Between Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta:

A Publication of San Giovanni Rotondo (The Place Where Padre Pio Spent the Last 52 Years of His Life)

The following are recollections of Maria Valtorta among the followers of Padre Pio. What is quoted below is from a fortnightly publication on Padre Pio’s work, and this was reprinted in the book Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta.5

The following is news published regarding the Our Lady of Grace Prayer Group in Ancona, taken from La Casa Sollievo della Sofferenza, a magazine published twice monthly by Padre Pio’s foundation in San Giovanni Rotondo (vol. XXVIII, no. 14, July 16-31, 1977):

“After the usual Eucharistic celebration, followed by recitation of a third of the meditated rosary, the group’s spiritual director, the Most Rev. Bernardino Piccinelli, Auxiliary Bishop of Ancona, permitted a public reading of one of the most interesting instances testifying to Padre Pio’s extraordinary relations with Maria Valtorta of Viareggio, who had died a few years before with a reputation for holiness and was the author of famous literary works…”

Background on Some of the Common Miraculous Occurrences Involving St. Padre Pio

For those who are unfamiliar with the many miraculous occurrences that frequently occurred with the holy saint, prophet, and mystic, St. Padre Pio, I recommend the following article as a good place to start acquainting yourself with these phenomena: Life and Miracles of Padre Pio. Near the top of that article, there are links that go to additional articles dedicated to specific themes of his miracles, including stigmata, bilocation, gift of healing, gift of reading souls, encounters with his guardian angel, triumph over the devil, etc.

In this particular article about Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta, several of his common miraculous phenomena that occurred between Maria Valtorta and him that we will discuss was his well-known supernatural rose fragrance as well as him appearing in dreams. Before we proceed further, I want to put into context and establish what is meant by “his well-known supernatural rose fragrance”. Throughout history, various saints have miraculously exhibited a very strong scent of roses which cannot be attributed to natural causes. This is indicative of great holiness and the sign of God’s Presence. This has sometimes been called the “heavenly fragrance”, “celestial perfume”, or simply “miraculous scent of roses”.

An article by Jim Dunning, on the popular website, Mystics of the Church, relates:6

Although [Padre Pio] never left the monastery in a physical sense, he was observed at different places many miles away on numerous occasions. Thus he possessed a gift shared by very few saints; that of bilocation. Sometimes he appeared beside someone he wished to help; at other times he made his presence felt by the perception of a singular fragrance. This was noticed by everyone in the vicinity at the time.

An unusual aspect of this latter gift is that Padre Pio held it while still alive. Saint Teresa of Avila was reported to have emitted heavenly scents immediately after her death. A similar account was given of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux (the Little Flower), whose body at death was said to have produced a strong scent of roses. There are numerous accounts of saints’ bodies possessing a distinctive fragrance years after their burial, but few in modern times were so honored during their lifetime.

Another article relates:7

The aromas are a feature of Padre Pio's spiritual views. He used to say to those who felt the scent: "What is there to explain... It is my presence."

Also note that many people have testified to having had mystical experiences with Padre Pio appearing to them in their dreams, and in them, speaking to them. The supernatural origin of these dreams has often been confirmed by subsequent miracles (such as healings) or by prophetic statements from Padre Pio in the dream that later came true (for example, he may tell them that something is going to happen that they would never have been able to guess would happen and would have no way of knowing it, and it in fact does occur).

From Maria Valtorta’s The Notebooks (1943): Mystical Experience of Communicating with Padre Pio in Dreams & the Experience of His Well-Known Supernatural Rose Fragrance

Maria Valtorta relates in The Notebooks, in 1943:8

I have seen and spoken to Padre Pio of Pietrelcina (in dreams). In dreams, too, I have seen him in ecstasy, after Holy Mass. I have seen his penetrating gaze and felt the scar of the stigmata on my hand when he took me by the hand. And, not when dreaming, but wide awake, I have noted his fragrance. No garden packed with fully-blossoming flowers can emit the heavenly scents which flooded my room on the night between July 25 and 26, 1941 or the afternoon of September 21, 1942, precisely while a friend of ours was speaking to Padre Pio about me (I did not know he had left for San Giovanni Rotondo). On both occasions I later obtained the graces requested. The scent was also perceived by Marta. It was so intense that it woke her up. It then ceased all at once, as it had come all at once.

Br. Daniel Klimek, T.O.R., discusses this dream and makes some good points (especially the third paragraph):9

Notice all of the sacred components surrounding Valtorta's dream, signs signifying that her encounter was, indeed, more than a simple dream. It was something deeper. First, she encounters the experience after Holy Mass, the holiest of all rituals between God and man on earth. Second, she encounters the experience in a state of ecstasy; thus, it has the feeling of an out-of-body experience for the mystic. Third, there is a vividness to the dream that is evident in Valtorta's intimate details of the encounter – from the fact that touch is accentuated in the way that Padre Pio held her hand and she could clearly see the details of the painful stigmata, to the fact that she describes Saint Pio's "penetrating gaze," showing us a poignant personalism in the encounter between these two Italian mystics. This personalism is further noticeable in the very fact that Valtorta reported speaking with Padre Pio. Thus, it wasn't simply a casual dream of a saint that she experienced, but a deeply personal and intimate interaction with a saint.

The fact that a powerful, sacred fragrance remained afterward while Valtorta was wide awake, a fragrance so powerful that no "garden bursting with flowers in full bloom can give off the celestial scents" which filled her room and which even woke up her friend Marta, further shows us that her experience was something special. Notice that the second time that this fragrance came, according to Valtorta's description, was when a friend of the family's was speaking of Valtorta to a priest in Saint Giovanni Rotondo, the site famous for a hospital founded by Padre Pio.

What further merits attention is that Valtorta experienced the encounter in the 1940s, back when Padre Pio was still a controversial figure in the world of Catholicism as a mystic. It would not be until decades later, in 2002, that Padre Pio would finally be recognized as a saint through formal canonization during the papacy of Pope John Paul II, who himself revered the famous stigmatic. Yet, before Padre's ecclesial recognition by Rome, the friar remained a controversial figure, admired and revered by countless of people but, unfortunately, also demonized by his bishop who spread many falsehoods about Padre's reputation and sanctity. The path of controversy is the path that every mystic must walk. Valtorta is no stranger to this reality, having both strong supporters and critics in the Church while her writings continue to inspire a wider audience. Perhaps her early encounter with Padre Pio, recognized today as an unquestionably holy presence, an encounter that took place back when Saint Pio's sanctity was still being questioned by many, hints at a sacred source behind Valtorta's own mystical experiences: for she saw authenticity in a holy man before the Church even recognized that authenticity.

From Maria Valtorta’s The Notebooks (1944): the Experience of Padre Pio’s Well-Known Supernatural Rose Fragrance Again

Maria Valtorta relates in The Notebooks, in 1944:10

July 25, 1944

Yesterday there was no dictation. Rest for my weary shoulders, crushed by abundant writing in recent days. But not an absence of heavenly favors.

First of all, a lot of peace, and then the visible presence of my Heavenly Friends and their caresses and—perceptible to others as well—that scent of roses, which is sometimes pure, as if there were tufts of just-cut roses in the room, and sometimes seems fused to a tenuous smell of iodine and vinegar, as if the roses had withered a little on their stems. The perfume comes slowly; at the outset, it is barely a nuance; it then intensifies and grows, virtually coming in waves, at times very forceful and at times less marked. It then disperses as it has come. It is generally the smell of roses. But sometimes it is complex, as if there were gardenias, jasmines, violets, lilies of the valley, normal lilies, and tuberoses. I never smell carnations, irises, daffodils, freesias, or other flowers. Only the ones I mentioned above.

I think it is brought by some “Friend” or comes with the blessing of Padre Pio. But I do not know exactly. And I greet it every time with thanksgiving, saying, “Whoever you are, thank you for your perceptible protection.” For I feel protected when I am in the midst of those fragrances, even more than usual. As if I were in the arms of someone who loves me with the perfection of a saint.

November 29, 1944

…Eight days ago, on November 22, precisely the night preceding Marta’s going down to Lucca to find out about permission for haulage, in my short sleep at dawn, I dreamt of heading for Viareggio (on foot), together with Marta, and meeting Padre Pio, or a Franciscan—but I think it was Padre Pio—who looked at me and said, as if speaking to himself, “It is bitter, though, to have gotten enthusiastic about returning and to experience such delay!” I turned around and, a bit irritated and excited, asked, “What’s that? What’s that?” He replied, “Nothing. I was saying that it is bitter to have gotten enthusiastic about returning and to experience such delay.” He said that twice and disappeared.

I woke up with concern and said to Marta, “You’ll see that nothing can be done.” Marta replied, “Why, no! On the contrary, Padre Pio came to say that the delay has been bitter, but it is over.” I responded, “No, no. You’ll see that it’s beginning now. He was too sad on saying those words.”

Marta went to Lucca…and found out that it was impossible to leave until after the 30th because permission was denied.

A Testimony About Padre Pio’s Words About Maria Valtorta’s Sufferings

Before I quote the testimony of Marta Diciotti (Maria Valtorta’s live-in housekeeper, friend, and confidant until the day of her death) concerning Padre Pio’s words about Maria Valtorta’s illnesses and sufferings, it is important to put her illnesses into context.

In 1920, at the age of 23, while walking down the street with her mother, Maria was struck in the back with an iron bar by a communist anarchist delinquent. She was confined to a bed for three months, and then recovered enough to be able to move around again. In 1925, she read the autobiography of St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, and, inspired by it, offered herself as a victim soul to the Divine Merciful Love. Five years later, she took private vows of virginity, poverty, and obedience, and then (after much deliberation and preparation) offered herself also as a victim to Divine Justice.

God accepted her offer. As a result of complications from her injury in 1920, as well as having contracted numerous, terrible illnesses which caused her great pain, she was bedridden beginning in 1934, and was forced to remain bedridden for the remaining 28 years of her life. She suffered excruciatingly.

I will give a couple of excerpts from her autobiography where she explains her many illnesses and, important for this article, describes how she offers up her sufferings willingly for God, does not want to be relieved of them, and she turns down potential healings for the sake of others. This is important when we later see what Saint Padre Pio said of her sufferings.

First, it should be noted that she suffered from five major chronic illnesses and ten other minor ones during the entire time she wrote her works. Her illnesses included progressive paralysis, myocarditis, an ovarian tumor, lung ailments, chronic peritonitis, volvulus, neuritis, and others.

Maria Valtorta writes in her autobiography:11

On February 2, 1935, after a heavy sopor and a terrible cardiac crisis, paresis appeared. It was then that the family doctor had his theory accepted by the consultants that not only my heart was damaged, but also the spine, or, rather, the spinal marrow. We do not know if it is a tumor or the formation of liquid resulting from the blow received in 1920, but the lesion exists. After the consultation I wrote as follows (I copy from my diary): “My soul is full of song. An incomprehensible song and incomprehensible gladness for someone unaware of the most burning longing of my heart...! You, my Good, know why I am happy...! The fact is that I do not have one malady, but three afflicting me! I kiss this trinity of pain wherein I see the will of the Trinity reflected and worship God, who adorns me with three such gifts, and with St. Francis I cry, ‘Lord, I am not worthy of such a great treasure!’ I clasp these three nails to my heart, your three nails, O my King, O my Christ, O my All, and since the more love grows, the more it sees itself comprehended and compensated, with the boldness of lovers I ask You, ‘Why just three wounds? Why not five, like yours?’ And I trustingly wait, for I feel that You will adorn me with all, all your jewels of pain....”

The three maladies were myocarditis, the ovarian tumor (now formed), and the spinal lesion. But I saw that the doctor was concealing something. And I prodded him to speak out.

On the morning of the 3rd I observed an undecipherable sign from the doctor to Mother. They went to the front hall and shut themselves in. “Just fine,” I said, “now I’m coming too.” Holding on to the furniture, I went barefoot to the glass door and, grasping the sewing machine to keep myself erect, I looked through the glass and heard the conversation. “The professor informs you that it is a form of progressive paralysis. Very slow, but extremely dangerous and inexorable in its course. As a result of a scare or some emotion or other, it may accelerate, strike the diaphragm and the bulbar centers, and provoke instant death. If there are no factors speeding it up, it may last years, gradually extinguishing the life of the organs....”

I went back to bed because—my heart was leaping and my legs, bending. Not from fear, but from exhaustion. I now knew enough, though. I have always wanted to know the truth. And to tell the truth.

The paresis beginning in the lower abdomen had little by little spread to many other organs and from time to time gives signs of paralyzing others. When it rises, it is the head which is affected; when it descends, the thorax. It is most painful because, according to the bulbar center stricken, it occasions blindness or deafness, or impairments involving speech, swallowing, breathing, digestion, renal filtration, writing.... A mine of troubles.

It was then that I made a solemn pact with Jesus to rescue a soul for every crisis. I had done so before informally. And how happy I was if I had many crises a day.

Maria Valtorta writes in her autobiography:12

The doctor obstinately maintained that either tuberculosis or hysteria was present. Analysis after analysis.... And the tuberculosis would not make up its mind to pop out so as to please him. Test after test to establish hysteria. But neither did it want to show up to make him happy. And I suffered terribly.

Another consultation with a surgeon. “It’s appendicitis! It should be operated on immediately!” Boom! In 1920 the same thing had been said, and after fourteen years the appendicitis had still not appeared. I am still waiting for it. And I live on raw salad, peas, and similar delights for an intestine which, according to the surgeon, is nearly perforated...!

Another consultation: “It’s a case of genital insufficiency.” Boom thrice over! I had never suffered in that sense. Insufficiency, of course! If anything, there was a tendency towards super-sufficiency! But that had to be the breeding ground. There was no solution. Very comfortable for doctors to take care of women! What they are unable to classify by its proper name is called hysteria, and we’re taken care of! Ovarian hormone treatment. The result: my heart remained the same. An ovarian inflammation leading to the tumor which gives me so much pain and not only physical troubles.

Then, since they had failed to hit the bull’s-eye, ladies and gentlemen, it was time for a change. The physiologist came back once again. Properly worked on by the family doctor—oh, human inconsistency!—he took back his entire diagnosis of a short time before, and whereas he had previously put me on water fresh from the tap and fruit juices for my pressure, he now ordered super-nutrition; whereas he had previously ordered complete immobility, under pain of death, he now ordered me to get up and go to the pinewood; whereas he had previously decalcified my arteries with all the nitrates possible, he now ordered calcium again without interruption, because there was bilateral tuberculosis (boom!), which, if not checked by supernutrition, air, movement, and calcium, would take me to the cemetery in three months (boom! boom!) amidst tremendous hemoptyses (boom! boom! boom!).

It was September 4, 1934. Today is April 8, 1943. I have eaten less and less, have not taken air, except for what comes in through the window, have not moved about, have not ingested calcium, and I am here—waiting....

I had to engage in movement, but none of the three consultants committed himself to taking me in the ambulance to have the X-ray done.... They knew that on moving I risked death, if I did not precipitate it as well.

In short, one gave me alcohol in any case; another prohibited even watered-down white wine; one administered heavy doses of caffeine, and another prohibited coffee; one fed me to excess, provoking crisis after crisis, and another put me on water and fruit juice.... Enough to drive you crazy!

Finally, a professor came who was a friend of ours. “Why, who has given you all this stuff?” he exclaimed on seeing the pharmacy I had on my bedside table. “But they’re mad! I’d throw everything into the middle of the street.” An examination and the complete exclusion of tuberculosis. A serious myocarditis, definitely, and now an ovarian inflammation. Bed, complete repose, nutritious but very limited food intake, cardiotonic injections, and that was all. “And then I’ll see to finding the doctor you need.” And he found him.

This is my current physician, who has been treating me for eight-and-a-half years and who, if not a genius healing all maladies, is at least a good psychologist who understands the causes of ills. And this is already quite a bit for a patient, particularly for certain patients!

With respect to my recovery... He has often stated for years, “We can do nothing in this case. We are faced with forces stronger than medicine which impede the slightest relief of the patient’s condition just as they impede her death, for, in human terms, she should have died years ago, on account of both the violence of the maladies gnawing at her and the foolish treatment applied at the outset. I am not a convinced believer, but I surrender to the evidence of a miracle: a miracle even greater than that of a cure. I do nothing. I merely follow the malady as best I can because I feel that even if I accomplished the impossible, I would collide with a Will which would annul my every effort.”

It’s a good thing he understood! But the others—those who were just “passing through,” shall we say, like the consultants—also reached the same conclusion. “If you are a believer, go to Lourdes or Loreto. Here the hand of God is present, and He alone can work a cure.”

It has often been proposed that I go to Lourdes or Loreto. My parish priest at the outset also suggested accompanying me there gratis. But, though grateful to him, I refused. First of all, as I have already written, it would be a serious inconsistency. What has been donated is not asked for. In the second place, I renounce the grace of health which might be granted me in favor of another ill creature who is not resigned to infirmity.

Every time there is a pilgrimage of patients or a solemn novena, like the ones to Our Lady of Lourdes, St. Joseph, St. Anthony, and others, I say to the Lord: “If I went, if I asked, You, Infinite Goodness, would bring me, too, back to health. But I ask and beseech You, instead, to give someone else the health, or at least the relief from agony, which You would give me. May another enjoy it and give You praise. There are so many fathers and mothers of a family who are ill and needed by their children! Heal one of these! There are so many patients who despair over being such: heal one of them! It is enough for there to be another creature who loves and blesses You, and I am content, much more than if I were to get well or my agony were to diminish.”

Just think how lovely Paradise will be for me, where I shall meet those who were healed through my renunciation! Healed of physical maladies and of distrust or despair! Now I do not know who they are. But in Heaven I shall know. My Lord Himself will be the one Who points them out to me when, clasping me to His Heart, He says, “Come, blessed one, for I was ill and you healed Me.”

This blessedness, too, will certainly exist for those who renounced recovery to heal another! Not even a glass of water given in His Name is in vain or goes unrewarded.... What, then, will be the reward for having given the grace of health in His Name to an ill brother?

Oh, I am so happy when I suffer very, very much...! My mission is to suffer. Every time the doctors’ compassion thinks up a remedy and every time the compassion of believers utters prayers for my improvement, a more serious deterioration and more acute suffering are observed.

In the economy governing the Universe everything has its reason for existence and its mission to carry out. The circling stars give us light and send forth astral forces influencing the fructification of lesser elements and the laws of the tides. The waters obey the eternal code directing them to descend in rain and snow from the clouds which amass them to sprinkle the earth and form glaciers nourishing the rivers, which, flowing into the lakes and seas, sustain them with their substance and turn them into a kind of enormous reservoir from which the sun draws up the evaporating vapors to create new clouds giving rain. Fish, the quite dimwitted fish, serve to clean the waters as well as for human food. Birds serve to exterminate insects and for the spontaneous sowing of the flowers’ seeds. The trees, respectful of vegetable laws, robe themselves in leafy branches in the spring to provide an abode for nests and shade for man or cover themselves with fruit to feed man and the good Lord’s birds. Seeds agree to be buried in the black earth, where nothing creeps but little worms, so as to sprout, in due course, as small plants supplying bread and food of every kind. Sheep cover themselves with thicker wool during the autumn to give tufts in the springtime to the birds building their nests and the warmth of clothing to the sons of man. Bees and butterflies serve to spread pollen, without which the flowering of plants would be of no use. Winds have their reason for existence, for they regulate heat, sweep clean the sky, purify the seas, and act as paranymphs in the vegetable marriages between flowers. Even the brambles have their mission. They are a defense for the hanging nests filled with tender bodies against the danger of man and snakes and serve as a hook for the tufts of wool sought out by the birds and donated by the flocks.

Everything, everything has its reason in creation, and everything has its mission, given to it by the Creator. I have mine: to suffer, to expiate, to love. To suffer for those who are unable to suffer, to expiate for those who are unable to expiate, to love for those who are unable to love. I do not think of myself. I say to the good Lord, “I trust You!” and that’s all I say to Him.

In fact, Jesus told her in one of His dictations to her:13

You are a nothing. But I have called you to this mission. I formed you for this, watching over even your mental formation. I have given to you an uncommon faculty for composition, because I needed to make you the illustrator of My Gospel....

I have crucified you in heart and flesh for this. So that you could be free of any bondage of affection, and would be the mistress of many more hours of time than anyone who is healthy could have. I have suppressed in you even the physical needs of nourishment, of sleep, and of rest, reducing them to an insignificant minimum, for this.

In your body, tormented and consumed by five grave and painful major illnesses, and by another ten minor ones, I have increased your energy in order to bring you to be able to do that which a healthy and well-nourished person could not do, for this. And I would wish this to be understood as an authentic sign. But this arid and perverse generation understands nothing.

...You are a nothing. But into this, your "nothing," I have entered and said: "See, speak, write." That "nothing" has become My instrument.

Now we will discuss what Saint Padre Pio said about Maria Valtorta’s sufferings.

If you are not familiar with Saint Padre Pio’s history of obtaining miraculous cures for countless people, see: Padre Pio and the Gift of Healing.

Testimony by Marta Diciotti, Maria Valtorta’s live-in housekeeper, friend, and confidant until the day of her death, taken from the book Recollections of Women Who Knew Maria Valtorta:14

The professor (Nicola Pende) wanted to take Maria to Rome, to his clinic on Salaria Street. And he would have provided transportation for her, either in his fine car, which was big and comfortable, or in an ambulance—whichever she preferred.

“Yes, yes, Professor,” Maria said. “Later, on arriving there, I would become a guinea pig.” In this way she shielded herself against the numerous proposals. In addition, she once said to me, “It’s useless all the same… They won’t cure me. They make me suffer more, and that’s all.” And I replied, “Why not say so?”

She answered, “Why let others in on my secrets? No one can cure me anyway.”

She said this to me on many, many occasions. And, in addition, more than once she said, “The Lord wants me like this in any case! And even worse than this,” or “Once I was cured, I would make all my offerings again.”

I remember that once a warrant officer from Marina, who lived alone with his wife near here, on Vittorio Veneto Street, and was named Arena, spoke to Padre Pio, whom he had gone to see, about Maria. In fact, at one time men in particular could also speak with that famous Capuchin, not just make a confession. This warrant officer, then, who felt pity over Maria’s many sufferings, by his own initiative asked Padre Pio to have her obtain the grace of getting healed, or at least of suffering a little less.

“Look, Father, that poor woman is suffering so,” this man said.

“Yes, yes, I know, I know. But if I can do anything, it will be for her soul. But I can do nothing for her body, to relieve her afflictions.”

And while he was speaking with Padre Pio, a big wave of perfume was perceived here. When he returned home, he came to see Maria and told her about his request and the answer he had received. She smiled and said “Well, yes! He’s right.” And she asked him about the time of that conversation with the friar in San Giovanni Rotondo. Well, the time—and, obviously, the day—correspond exactly to the moment that wave of perfume was perceived.

Maria Valtorta writes in her autobiography:15

When pain loosens its hold, when I know prayer is being offered for my recovery, I tremble and become anxious about my treasure’s being taken from me. It would be the only thing that would make me waver in the limitless trust, the boundless confidence I have in God. I would be tempted to think that God had found me so unworthy that He no longer associated me with the redeeming work of His Son.... And I, who recognize my worthlessness, but am familiar with the infinite mercy of my God, who raises us—poor human wretches—to the degree of redeemers, would fall into discouragement and weep immensely. But I trust my God!

As she wrote earlier:16

Every time the doctors’ compassion thinks up a remedy and every time the compassion of believers utters prayers for my improvement, a more serious deterioration and more acute suffering are observed.

…It has often been proposed that I go to Lourdes or Loreto. My parish priest at the outset also suggested accompanying me there gratis. But, though grateful to him, I refused. First of all, as I have already written, it would be a serious inconsistency. What has been donated is not asked for.

These last two excerpts show why Saint Padre Pio said of her:

“Yes, yes, I know, I know [she is suffering]. But if I can do anything, it will be for her soul. But I can do nothing for her body, to relieve her afflictions.”

He could do nothing for her body to relieve her afflictions not because he couldn’t obtain a healing for her (which he has obtained for numberless other people during his life), but because her afflictions were God’s Will for her for the benefit and salvation of other souls. To heal her would be to undo her offering, which she would then make all over again, undoing the healing. As the doctor said:17

“We can do nothing in this case. We are faced with forces stronger than medicine which impede the slightest relief of the patient’s condition just as they impede her death, for, in human terms, she should have died years ago, on account of both the violence of the maladies gnawing at her and the foolish treatment applied at the outset. I am not a convinced believer, but I surrender to the evidence of a miracle: a miracle even greater than that of a cure. I do nothing. I merely follow the malady as best I can because I feel that even if I accomplished the impossible, I would collide with a Will which would annul my every effort.”

Saint Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta are two of the greatest prophets, victim souls, and spiritual giants of the 20th century, who no doubt experienced multiple connections on a supernatural plane during their lives on Earth, and who are now enjoying each other's company in Heaven.

This article related several testimonies that confirm that St. Padre Pio recognized that Valtorta was a true fellow mystic and victim soul whose writings were given by God for the benefit of souls of good will. But St. Padre Pio is not the only canonized or beatified saint who has approved, endorsed, or praised Maria Valtorta's work.

References

1. Centro Editoriale Valtortiano (CEV). Centro Editoriale Valtortiano srl. Viale Piscicelli, 89/91, 03036 Isola del Liri (FR), Italia.

http://www.mariavaltorta.com/index.php/eng/centroeditorialevaltortiano-eng/

2. Fireworks: Sunrise of Truth Encyclopedia, Vol. 1. The Maria Valtorta Research Center. Kolbe's Publications: Sherbrooke, Canada. 1996. p. 90. ISBN: 2920285009. This book is also available online here:

https://web.archive.org/web/20130106000533/http://valtorta.org/FIREWORKS.htm

3. Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta. By Dr. Emilio Pisani. Centro Editoriale Valtortiano. 1999. p. 68. ISBN-13: 978-8879870719.

4. Padre Pio of Pietrelchina: “Have a Good Day!”: A thought for each day of the year (3rd Edition). Edited by Br. Mariano Di Vito. Edizioni “Padre Pio da Pietrelcina”, Piazzale S. Maria delle Grazie, 4 71013 San Giovanni Rotondo, FG, Italy. 2015. pp. 174-175.

5. Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta. p. 60. Op. cit.

6. Padre Pio – the Saint Who Wore Gloves. By Jim Dunning. Mystics of the Church. Originally published in Irelands Own magazine.

http://www.mysticsofthechurch.com/2010/03/padre-pio-saint-who-wore-gloves.html

7. The Scents of Padre Pio. By Antonio Norrito. Casa di Padre Pio.

http://sanpadrepio.myblog.it/archive/2012/03/16/the-scents-of-padre-pio.html

8. The Notebooks: 1943. By Maria Valtorta. Centro Editoriale Valtortiano. May 13, 1943. p. 27. ISBN-13: 9788879870320.

9. Maria Valtorta Encountered Padre Pio. By Daniel Klimek.

http://ministryvalues.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1483&Itemid=125

10. The Notebooks: 1944. By Maria Valtorta. Centro Editoriale Valtortiano. pp. 468-469, 626. ISBN-13: 9788879870429.

11. Autobiography. By Maria Valtorta. Centro Editoriale Valtortiano. 1991. pp. 322-324. ISBN-13: 9788879870689.

12. Autobiography. By Maria Valtorta. pp. 358-361. Op. cit.

13. The Notebooks: 1944. By Maria Valtorta. Centro Editoriale Valtortiano. November 25, 1944. pp. 623-624. ISBN-13: 9788879870429.

14. The text for this reference is also quoted in: Padre Pio and Maria Valtorta. pp. 64-65. Op. cit.

15. Autobiography. By Maria Valtorta. p. 348. Op. cit.

16. Autobiography. By Maria Valtorta. pp. 359-360. Op. cit.

17. Autobiography. By Maria Valtorta. p. 359. Op. cit.

[hellyeahrihannafenty]

The Totality: Rihanna | ELLE Magazine

Let’s just call Rihanna what she is: the coolest woman on the planet—with beauty, talent, attitude, and personal style to spare. Here, the global megastar answers questions from a cross-section of her famous fans.

Somewhere between releasing her debut single “Pon de Replay” (to blitzkrieg effect) in 2005 and sitting down to discuss international education with Emmanuel Macron in 2017, Rihanna has become much more than a pop star. The music is still absolutely vital, yes—her eighth album, Anti, which has been kicking up dust on the dance charts since it dropped last year, was deemed by Forbes to be one of the most successful recordings of all time—but as an icon, she represents something far greater: what a woman can achieve when she tackles her career, and her life, on her own terms. Rihanna is always fearlessly, unapologetically herself, whether she’s making maverick fashion choices on the red carpet, calling out body shamers, or adding yet another unmistakably RiRi-stamped endeavor to her string of (singer-actress-designer-entrepreneur-philanthropist-etcetera-etcetera) hyphenates. We can now add beauty mogul to that list.

The singer has poured her uncompromising attitude into a much-awaited makeup line, Fenty Beauty by Rihanna, poised to launch with a big bang of 91 products on September 8 at Sephora (expect lines) and on the brand’s website (Internet = broken). Its focus, perhaps surprisingly from a practiced maquillage peacock who has been known to rock vivid blue and ink-black lipstick with defiant flair, is gleaming, satiny, flawless skin, built around an assortment of user-friendly highlighting and contouring sticks, and a whopping 40 shades of foundation. “The biggest void I’ve found in the industry is the lack of variety in foundation shades,” Rihanna tells us. “That’s one of the things that was most important to me—to make sure everyone was included.” It’s a nod, too, to the complexion-perfecting gateway drug that ushered the Barbados native into beauty in the first place: “Foundation was the first product I ever owned,” she says. “It was like magic, and I’ve been in love with makeup ever since.”

Avidly hands-on throughout the collection’s development, Rihanna helmed everything from the playful name selection (there’s a gold powder highlighter, for instance, dubbed Trophy Wife) to the packaging, which, like its creator, is multifaceted, with tough, graffiti-inspired outer boxes opening onto sleek, streamlined, sweetly pretty individual products. “There are plenty of options out there when it comes to makeup,” Rihanna says. “My approach with Fenty Beauty was just to do things my way.”

19 QUESTIONS FOR RIHANNA, FROM 20 OF HER FRIENDS AND FANS

Tyra Banks, Model/Entrepreneur: You’re so successful and surrounded by people who want to please you. Who gives it to you straight?

Rihanna: For me, it’s my mama. They all fake, LOL, and fired!

Eminem, Rapper: You don’t seem like you’re ever thinking about trends when you go in the studio, yet you end up setting them. What are you looking at when you start your recording process?

Rihanna: I rarely know exactly what I want to do, but always know exactly how I want it to make me feel. Feeling always leads the sound!

Wyclef Jean, Rapper: The last time I saw you was at the World Cup. If you could be any football player in the world, who would it be?

Rihanna: Cristiano Ronaldo. But then again, Beckham did marry Posh Spice.

Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia, Designers, Oscar de la Renta: What’s your best vintage find?

Rihanna: On New Year’s Eve, 2016, I bought this costume from 1952 that was worn in the movie Singin' in the Rain.

“Rihanna is today’s most fascinating performer, a mysterious amalgam of amiable warmth and glittering charisma. With her keen creative eye for line and color, she has become a fashion icon, like Audrey Hepburn. Yet she is a tempestuous wild child and international adventuress, like Ava Gardner. Most importantly, as an artist in this overmechanized age, she bravely draws on deep wells of pure emotion, endearing her to millions of fans worldwide.” —Camille Paglia,Author/Critic

Tricky Stewart, Record Producer: Do you remember the first time a crowd gave you goose bumps singing all the lyrics to your song in concert?

  Rihanna:  Yes! I was on tour, and the whole crowd started singing “Take a Bow” word for word…to the point that I couldn’t even sing. They performed the entire song for me.

April Bloomfield, Chef: What do you cook when you want a little comfort?

Rihanna: Bajan macaroni pie, which is our version of a baked mac ’n’ cheese.

Zac Posen, Designer: What’s your secret family recipe?

R:It’s a secret! LOL. But they make a mean “cook-up” and pepper pot. Both are Guyanese recipes.

Jacquie Aiche, Jewelry Designer: What’s your favorite body part?

R: Well, my favorite body parts on pretty much any woman are the collarbone and shoulders.

Charli XCX, Singer/Songwriter: What’s your ultimate karaoke song?

R: Bon Jovi, “Livin’ on a Prayer”; Journey, “Don’t Stop Believin’ ”; Brandy and Monica, “The Boy Is Mine.”

"Rihanna brings ‘global gumbo’ to the culture. Her voice unites the world through positive music vibes." —Wyclef Jean, Rapper 

Danielle Steel, Best-Selling Author: I love your shoe passion, especially your collaboration with Manolo Blahnik. How much of the designing do they let you do?

R; They really give me all the creative freedom I could ask for, but of course I have this unique opportunity to work with Mr. Blahnik himself, so his expertise is always more than welcome!

Kelly Fields, Chef (Willa Jean, New Orleans): Your preferences in fashion and art appear to embrace the entire scale of highbrow/lowbrow—which is how I like to cook. I’d love to know if your preferences in munchies run along that same scale?

R: You mean KFC on a private jet is not normal?

Laverne Cox, Actress: You’ve had so many iconic fashion moments and take so many risks. The CFDA Awards Adam Selman dress in 2014—what gave you the courage to take that risk that was so perfect and elegant yet daring?

R: Dear Laverne, I took advantage of my titties before they go south. I saw my window, and I took it.

Pharrell Williams, Musician/Producer: You’re a pluralist in every sense of the word. Did you always have these dreams to do so many things, in addition to being an artist? Or have you just figured that out along the way that there are other things you can do very well?

R: I’ve always been a dreamer…or let’s just say I kept my options open. In my heart, I knew singing was gonna be in my future, but I considered psychology, hairdressing, banking, teaching, acting, modeling, aviation, and philanthropy. I just didn’t know I’d pretty much be doing all of these things eventually!

Gary Ross, Director, Ocean’s 8: What’s the first thing I should do when I get to Barbados?

R: [Fast-food] Chefette and a rum punch!

"I love Rihanna. I love that she is herself with no apologies. Her sense of style and self is unique. I love how she transforms herself with each album, each campaign. Always evolving. A true icon." —Venus Williams, Tennis Champion

David Copperfield, Magician: I’m not kidding, this is a real offer: I can make you disappear and reappear anywhere in the world. Where do you want to go, and why?

R: Ten minutes before I lost my virginity…and I’m holding you to that offer. LOL.

Emilio Vitolo, Restauranteur (Emilio's Ballato, New York City): What’s the name of the soup dish that’s the most popular in our region of Italy?

R: It’s my favorite on your menu...pasta e fagioli.

A$AP Rocky, Rapper: Tupac, Bob Marley, and Time: Fuck? Marry? Kill?

Shit, well, we stay killing Time. Fuck Tupac. Marry Bob, duh.

Olivia Wilde, Actress: What’s the most valuable mistake you’ve learned from?

No cheese for Jay Brown before a flight.

Patricia Field, Stylist: Would you consider having a cocktail with me sometime in the near future? I’d like to get to know you better. (Not hitting on you.)

Your place or mine?

"Rihanna’s MTV 2016 VMA performances were groundbreaking, paradigm- shifting moments in female swag. She represents badassery, positive self-esteem, and in a great way. She is powerful and vulnerable simultaneously, which makes her a revolutionary. Yes, she’s sexy, but once she’s got your attention, I don’t think you can ignore what she’s saying to you: She is curated and deliberate without feeling staged, and her intent is as real as anything out there. I respond to her as a writer, a woman, and a fan.” —Courtney Kemp, Showrunner/Creator, Power (Starz)

HERE, RIHANNA'S INSIGHT AS THE PROPRIETOR OF FENTY BEAUTY

ELLE: When did you first wear lipstick?

         Lipstick always got me in trouble. Whether it was at home as a kid, or my early teenage years in my career, I always had the urge to wear it. So I broke all those rules. Now lipstick is like my li’l secret weapon!

What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done/tried for beauty? Would you do it again?

         A corset! I’d do it again, though. I’d wear it every day if I could make it out alive!

What makes you feel dressy/“done,” beautywise?

         My finishing touch is usually my highlighter. I love highlighter—it just adds this sense of fantasy to any look.

"What is incredible about Rihanna is that in a world facing a deadening crisis of leadership and the constant negation of creative efforts, her music globally moves and inspires us to be completely alive without restrictions or prohibitions." —Richard Phillips, Artist

Of all the celebrities you’ve met, who smells the best?

         [Photographers] Inez and Vinoodh! Inez smells delicious. She actually gifted me her scent, because I always asked her about it.

Who’s your hair idol?

         This is probably confusing to most, but it’s in between Toni Braxton from back in the day with all her short haircuts…and Cindy Crawford. She had the most effortless yet stunning hair.

Who’s your makeup idol?

         I have to go with Veruschka. She made makeup look like silk!

This article originally appears in the October 2017 issue of ELLE. [Buy]