#fata boom

[aureatchi]

ᝰ𓂃⊹ ִֶָ SHE PAINTED THE HIGH RENAISSANCE ONTO HER BLANK CANVAS. . .ft. fyodor dostoevsky & dazai osamu

৻ꪆ RIASSUNTO. fata viam invenient...you attend a ball, fated to stumble upon two demons in disguise. you don't know whether it is for better or worse that you somehow already know them, all masqueraded as angels, regardless of how laughably far off that would be.

◞ OR ROME WAS TRULY THE PROMISED LAND, and you sought the art of chaos, rivalry, and seduction.

SERIES MASTERLIST. → ii. | PLAYLIST ♫. | wc. 9.6k+

৻ꪆ a/n. it’s FINALLY HERE !! get ready because there’s A LOT. i’ve poured sm heart into this so i hope you enjoy it as much as i do :) THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who was patient + reached out telling me how excited they are for this. this series is also my entry for @kentopedia’s love through the ages historical!au collab. thank u sm for putting this together <3

৻ꪆ info. fem!reader. renaissance!au. drama & romance. cursing. some suggestive parts. love triangle. arranged engagement. slowburn. lowk touch-starved. a lot of story buildup/complex character. suicide attempt from dazai. historical inaccuracies. bad poetry. religious imagery/symbolism.

— THE MONA LISA WASN’T REAL. And Vincenzo Peruggia was not, in fact, the person who stole the piece, contributing to the boom of its fame to the general public, but was planned in a way to frame him so that the origins of the painting would be a secret gossip only a group of the most successful artists knew about. 

The gendarmes were close. They were correct in assuming that another artist could’ve stolen the painting during the investigation. But they never suspected it could be the person the portrait was painted of herself—no, obviously not Francesco del Giocondo’s wife—but the original face who remained under the cover-up. 

An artist’s face, who later went under the alias of “Raphael” to conceal her contentious image and entanglements from the public eye—you. 

The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin amidst the summer air. The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders, and an unknown heart who vowed to drown you…

“My, miss, you’re already stirring up tons of drama, and you’ve only been here three days!” 

The past couple of months had felt like a dream. It almost seemed like yesterday when you packed your things into suitcases and moved to one of the most famous centers of the art world, Florence. 

Yet now, you entered through the gates of the ‘eternal city’ itself—Rome, a great privilege granted to you by the Pope himself. You almost cried when you received his invitation, commissioning you to paint the frescos in his private library. Of course, there were some strings pulled, like the person who recommended you…

“It’s all thanks to you, Ranpo,” you giggled mischievously. As the lead architect of the Vatican (but before that, your friend), he had told the Pope, “...she might as well become the best painter in all history. She may not be well known here in Rome, but say her name in Florence, and you’ll awaken the whole city. You’ll realize you’ve found a diamond among all the rubble. Trust me on this one; I’m never wrong.” 

“It was nothing,” Ranpo replied with a smug smile. “His Holiness, Fukuzawa never doubts my word.” He tapped his head with his forefinger and winked. “Not only does he recognize my talent in the arts, he also acknowledges my outstanding intellect! I’d be a detective in another life.” 

You chuckled before he continued. “The rest is all on you, princess. Again, you’re progressing quickly-” he pulled out a letter to summarize out loud. 

“-His Holiness was so impressed that he’s giving you the rest of the rooms to paint,” Ranpo said while you stared at him with widened eyes. “He…fired everyone else who was working on them. On top of that, he invites you to a ball happening in a couple of days to make an announcement on new projects. Other than you, he’s invited only the most influential artisans to attend alongside the aristocrats.” 

“No way!” You grabbed Ranpo’s hands in excitement. 

“Yes, way.” He let you spin him around on the pavement in eagerness, your long dress following along. “Though, I feel like you’re going to have to explain to him how you painted the library’s frescos so quickly.” 

Your turbulence of elation calmed. “Hm, you’re right. 

“I hope the question slips his mind.”

You hadn’t actually told Ranpo, but it always seemed like he would figure out everything about you anyway. There was one reason why you had become so famous in Florence. You created masterpieces in what felt like seconds—it was almost like you were granted the touch of creation itself. No one had ever seen you paint, so the mystery of how you were able to produce your portraits in mere weeks—sometimes days remained a mystery to the entire world, no matter how fast science progressed. 

You called it an ability. To be able to visualize—a mental image in your head you wanted to come to life in the form of a still painting on a canvas was what you did. You conjured the concept yourself, freezing daydream into textile. 

You weren’t sure why you possessed something supernatural, or perhaps there were other artists you didn’t know who could also do the same thing, but firstly, you kept it a secret—it seemed almost inhuman to hold such a power. Yet secondly, it was even more the reason to follow in your father’s footsteps. 

He, too, was a painter in the courts of Urbino and would’ve liked to become a famous artist as well. Now, that dream lived on through you—you had studied and trained under his teachers and other artists until you mastered their techniques from the foundations to geometry. Your father was no longer alive, but you were sure he’d be proud of you for getting this far. 

“Oh, one more thing,” Ranpo said.

“The two angels of art are going to be there.” The brunette closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head as if he already knew the shocked expression awaiting your face. “Your inspirations. Osamu Dazai of Milan and your fiancé, Fyodor Dostoevsky of Florence.” 

“Pardon me, Fyodor?” 

…

A long time ago, your uncle—your now legal guardian—arranged your marriage to Fyodor Dostoevsky. However, the same would’ve happened even if your father had been in charge due to his family’s good societal position. 

It was just meant to be, you guessed. 

Coincidentally, Fyodor had also taken an interest in art the few times you two saw each other when you were younger, and you eventually saw him go on to become the most talented sculptor in Florence. 

However, your path of similarities ran cold after that. You hadn’t seen him in years, and you weren’t even close. You were obligated to write to each other once a month, but each message almost seemed like business transactions rather than love letters. Fyodor was too aloof a person despite being well-educated and polite—though he checked off every other box (and you were sure any other woman would want him), you realized you would never be able to connect with him. He was just not interested. 

You couldn’t do anything to change the engagement, but as long as there was no set wedding date to look (dread) forward to, you were content with life for now. 

You didn’t necessarily like Fyodor, nor did you go to Rome to finally pursue him, but you admired him from a different standpoint. 

He and Osamu Dazai were truly angels of art; even gods, if the Church was not one’s forte. Everyone across the country knew their names—patrons and civilians alike worshipped them at the feet. Even the powerful Medici family, sought by every artist to be commissioned, held close ties with both. 

Clientages saved their money to have the two paint for them, upcoming artists aspired and envied their success, ladies came with their names rolling off their tongues to the horror of their husbands’ faces—they were rumored to be devilishly handsome, too. Self-portraits of the prodigies were yet to be made, but you didn’t doubt it one bit. If Dazai was anything like Fyodor, he had to be fanciable too. 

They had the world and heavens as masterpieces in their hands; one could say their names traveled as far as the badlands. You arrived in Florence right after they departed for Rome, and you studied the creations left behind to figure out how they made crowds swoon and create such huge impressions on people.

And you found their pieces were indeed the pinnacle of the renascene summer. You silently made them your mentors, incorporating what was successful for them into your own works. 

…

“And you’ll be there, right, Ranpo?” 

“Of course, so don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing,” he tapped his head with a smile. “Though, I have some work to finish first, so I’ll leave thee to explore Rome.” 

“Don’t take the wrong wagon this time,” you giggled. Ranpo was late to meet you on your first day because he kept taking the wrong passenger coach to get to you. For some reason, he was knowledgeable at everything but navigating transportation. 

“I’m taking a horse this time,” Ranpo replied. 

“Even worse! You better not fall off!” 

There was a tailor you had been recommended to by your aunt before you departed. You decided to head to his shop first to find a dress to wear for the evening. 

“Good day, my lady,” the couturier said with a kind smile. “I have multiple options of gowns for you tonight. Please do take your time selecting.”

“Gramercy,” you replied with a smile in turn. Your measurements had been sent to him a few weeks ago, so that you wouldn’t have to wait for your garments to be made. 

He brought out at least four cioppas. You didn’t even care to figure out how many in total because among all the regal reds, greens, and royal blues stood out a silk, off-white dress with gold accents. Your eyes were immediately drawn in, though you couldn’t put your finger on why. It wasn’t the most showy in the bunch, but that didn’t matter to you. It was like a rare gem among common stones—though you would need a good eye to really appreciate its uniqueness. 

You ran your fingertips across the fabric, closely observing its craftsmanship. You became fascinated with the opulent designs on the flowy skirt and the long sleeves. You guessed that if you didn’t take it, you’d instead dream of it for the rest of your days in regret and freeze it in one of your paintings for eternity.

“I think I’ll try this one first.” 

Your first choice proved worthwhile when you tried on the gown in the separate dressing room. You exchanged the simple front-laced bodice and plain cotton attire for the new, elegant piece sewn just for you. The fabric hugged and complimented your curves in all the right places, creating the most flattering look as you turned in front of the mirror. 

You imagined yourself with your hair styled and matching jewelry to accompany it—you felt like a princess. Perhaps this confidence was the only thing that would help you get through the ball this evening and perhaps your entire time here. You hadn’t been around so much aristocracy in years—though you grew up privileged, you preferred to live humbly and simply focus on your hobby (and you spared your change on those in need). You were lovely yourself, no doubt, and maybe that’s why you charmed many people of different social classes as you grew more popular. 

You studied yourself through the mirror again, and it was like the polarity of your dresses reflected the fate of this new chapter of life set against the one you left behind.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and an unknown heart that vowed to drown you…you suddenly felt cold. You rushed to get out of the room. 

“It’s perfect on you,” the tailor said, unable to disguise his awe when you asked him for his opinion and to ensure all the sizing was correct. You nodded in curiosity when he asked, “Now, would you like to know the inspiration behind the dress?” You always looked forward to seeing how your tailors incorporated your personality and family style into their design. 

“It’s a play on a singular topic,” he said. 

“Angels. A dual purpose signifying both the type of art you create and how you give off an entrancing allure—they will be curious about your enigmatic yet enchanting importance. That will be your statement tonight among the darker colors.” 

The earlier thought of comparing your two inspirations to angels came to mind. You decided right then—you found no need to try on any of the others. 

“I’ll have this one sent for me tonight,” you said. “Thank you again.”

Rome was alive and busy with action at every corner you turned. You strolled down the streets with no set destination, admiring the liveliness of the city. There were markets and shops everywhere and merchants with all sorts of foreign goods. 

You discovered a ruella at the corner of one street, and the door was widely opened. You peered in to see a group of women inside, probably discussing various intellectual topics. 

You decided to go inside and socialize, having nothing better to do. As you stepped into the salon, they all turned to greet you. 

“Good day, miss,” a few of them said. 

“Oh, aren’t you the Florentine artist?” one of them asked. She moved to the side so you’d have a spot to sit.

I got recognized, you thought, and you couldn’t hide your smile. 

“My husband was there awhile back,” she continued as you sat beside her. “He couldn’t stop talking about how enamored he was with your style and was sure you’d make it here next. Looks like he was correct!” 

“I’m very flattered,” you responded, a warm tint in your cheeks. 

“Did you recently arrive?” she asked. “I hope your journey here went smoothly.” 

“Yes, it went alright!” you said. “The weather wasn’t too bad, and I enjoyed the views on the way. I even passed by some lakes…” 

You felt it again. A shiver ran down your spine. The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin that stood perpendicular to summer’s balmy weather. The intense feeling to stay alive—to save yourself and the soul you did not know…

Your journey had gone smoothly up until you passed by one of the lakes near Rome. It had been a peaceful day, and your coach driver suggested that you look outside. You lifted the curtain and were received with one of nature’s blessings—verdant grass and plants that thrived around clear blue waters. 

You could’ve painted it if you remembered the sight. You truly could have if the memory of the scene wasn’t tainted by what you saw seconds after. 

“Hey, is that a person?” you asked your driver, squinting your eyes—unblemished, untouched picture shattering in your head. The land on one side of the lake was vastly elevated, creating a cliff on that end, and a figure stood in the distance.

A moment passed. 

“…Yes, my lady.” 

Your eyes weren’t betraying you—there was a man dangerously close to the cliff’s ledge, and you weren’t born yesterday to not know what he was thinking of doing. 

“Stop the wagon,” you said, a slip of panic in your tone. Your driver looked back at you hesitantly, but you ordered once again. 

“Please stop the wagon. Don’t come after me. And don’t tell anyone about this.” 

The horses carrying you came to a halt, and you rushed out of the chaise. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you at that moment—there was a random person you happened to catch making more than a terrible decision, why get involved—but you couldn’t stop now as it was like your legs were carrying you themselves. You immediately took off east towards the cliff. It would take you a few minutes until you got to the man. 

What would you even tell him? Would you try to talk him out of it? Gaslight him into stepping away from the edge? Offer to paint him a custom piece for free?—“Oh, I’m actually a famous artist in the country, I can paint you whatever you wish. But I can’t really do that if you kill yourself.” You dashed past grass and rocks as you hurried up the hill.

You would definitely have to change once you got back—the bottom of your dress was already soiled, and you were sweating.

Splash!

Your face was struck in complete horror at the loud sound. You peered over the edge to see huge ripples cascading across the surface of the lake. 

Oh shit! 

You ran back down and then towards the shore. You thanked God that you weren’t using any heavy layers under your dress that day and prayed you weren’t going to end up killing yourself as well. You knew how to swim, but the man was far from the bank. 

Am I really going to do this? 

This might’ve been the most spontaneous thing I’ve done. And the worst.

You liked to think that if you saved him, you would be rewarded in some other way. A good Samaritan—you thought. It had to be worth it. You couldn’t die before your new life even began. 

You submerged yourself into what felt like frozen water, your clothing suddenly feeling uncomfortable around you. Still, you wasted no time swimming toward the man who jumped in. 

He was already sinking—of course, this lake has to be deep. You immediately grabbed onto his waist when you got to him, but not before you took a good look at his face. He was probably of the working class because he only wore a simple white shirt. You also noticed he was covered by an absurd amount of bandages. Soft waves of brunette hair framed the man’s profile, and he looked far more content and at peace than he should’ve been. In any other situation, you would’ve thought he was taking a pleasant nap by the way his eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted. 

You’d never seen anyone so pretty underwater. If you hadn’t seen him as a human above land, you would’ve thought he was a mermaid or some other foreign creature. 

Your thoughts and observations were interrupted when you realized you couldn’t hold your breath any longer. Trying not to panic anymore, you first tried to drag the two of you up above the water, but you weren’t strong enough to battle the weight of it against the two of you. 

You would have to swim to shore and didn’t know if you had enough air to return. 

Well, I need to make it work anyway, you thought. You wouldn’t let this mysterious guy you didn’t know cut off everything you wanted to pursue. 

You took ahold of one of the man’s loose arms and, with determination, tried to propel yourself the way you came from, kicking your legs through the water. You were more than correct in assuming it would be complicated—the energy in your body drained quickly. 

You were only halfway from where you started when you accidentally choked. But that caused you to completely seize up—water poured into your lungs like open floodgates, and you were unable to breathe. You tried to push yourself up to get air, but you were already too weak to carry even yourself.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and trying to save an unknown heart that had led to you drown—you wondered if he was still alive. He would have to be resuscitated at this point, and you realized, you too. If anyone came in time to save you, that was. You shouldn’t have had ordered your driver to not follow after you. Or rushed into the lake unprepared. 

Or involve yourself with this man. It was his decision to jump off the cliff…and now you had tied his own weight onto your life. Maybe it was all too heavy to carr—

“I’m happy to hear,” the woman replied, oblivious to and interrupting the encounter you were replaying in your head. “I wish you the most success here.” 

“Thank you,” you replied. “You are very kind.” 

“I am a bit nervous,” you whispered. “I’ll be meeting His Holiness for the first time and other artists. Do I even compare to them?” 

It was evening now. You had spent the last couple of hours preparing for the ball after exploring town—you had on the classy cream-colored dress you selected earlier from the tailor, accompanied by a couple of necklaces. Your hair was put up in a complex style and fastened by a few pieces of jewelry. 

Your mind utterly conflicted with your appearance, though. Your thoughts were in chaotic peril—you tried to hide the fact that you had been pacing around your room in anxiousness right up until Ranpo picked you up. 

“Thou art second to none, miss,” Ranpo replied with a wink and a tight squeeze of your hand. It had only half the same effect as his bear hugs the viridescent-eyed would give you when you weren’t in public, but it was enough. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You fascinated him long ago—you might’ve even been his favorite if I wasn’t here!” 

“Maybe so.” You giggled at his lighthearted smugness. “Well then, let’s get going.”

Ranpo nodded and led you through the large doors of the ballroom. Immediately, you were greeted with the celestial light from the chandeliers contrasting the dark evening sky outside. 

Your eyes drifted in awe among the artigiani and aristocratici of Rome. It was almost chimerical—you hardly remembered you were still holding Ranpo’s hand. The scene looked like it came straight out of a painting. 

“Appealing so far?” Ranpo asked, guiding you down the stairwell. “Can it stand against the Florentine carnivals?” 

You slowly nodded, still focused on the liveliness surrounding you. “It feels divine.” It was more prestigious than any event you’d been to so far—most likely because this was held in one of the Pope’s courts itself. 

“You haven’t even experienced it yet,” Ranpo laughed before leading you into the waltzing crowd. “Shall we dance?”

You and Ranpo followed the movements of the other couples. When you were sure of the pattern of the steps, your eyes wandered again to admire the setting. Everyone was dressed to the nines—although, as your tailor said, they all wore darker colors. You pretended to not notice the looks you received from strangers—however, they were not insulting. They were out of captivation and marvel.

Multiple pieces of artwork were hung around the hall, too, and you wondered if the chosen artists who created them were here now. You considered if they knew of your name too, just as you recognized theirs. 

However, your heart almost stopped when you were reminded of a completely different topic. Ranpo noticed a moment of shock flash through your eyes but did not proceed to question you. (Thankfully, he knew when you would prefer him not to be nosy.) 

You saw the back of a man’s head dressed in pure white—his brunette hair in slightly messy, soft waves. 

There is no way. 

However, you could not confirm your suspicions because he approached a lady in a beautiful, deep red gown to ask for a dance. His face and figure became completely hidden as he waltzed with her at the opposite side of the room. 

“See someone you know?” you heard Ranpo ask. 

Of course he didn’t need to be nosy, because he figured out everything about you anyway. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” you responded quietly, still trying to get a glimpse of him, but before you could say anything more, a guard standing next to the entrance silenced the entire crowd. 

“Enter, His Holiness, Fukuzawa!” 

You immediately turned around, and once more was someone dressed in white—the Pope, Yukichi Fukuzawa. You glanced at Ranpo, who gave you a nod of reassurance before politely applauding with everyone else. 

“Thank you for attending this event today,” Fukuzawa started. “Our city has made much progress due to the collaboration and contribution of our artists, so I would like to take tonight to celebrate all of them. Ultimately, I want to reveal the next upcoming project.” 

After a few more words, everyone applauded again, and the party resumed activity. You and Ranpo moved away from the dance, him deciding it was finally time to do the thing you were dreading. 

“Look over there.” Ranpo urged his head towards two men in conversation standing a few feet away. 

If the ballroom really represented the heavens, surely these two were the angels. Even without Ranpo telling you, you knew them to be Osamu Dazai and Fyodor Dostoevsky, standing side by side, white suits further proving their empyreal position.

But your eyes widened, and if you hadn’t been careful, your jaw would’ve dropped, too. Obviously, you recognized Fyodor—tall, jet-black hair—handsome and intimidating as ever, but you didn’t dwell on him for too long. Your eyes quickly scanned the room in search of a woman from earlier with dark curls, dressed in deep red, and when you found her, she was no longer dancing with the brunette dressed in white. 

You looked back at the man beside Fyodor.

It’s him. 

And as if hell—fate, whatever wanted to taunt you further, Osamu Dazai noticed you and Ranpo first, pausing his share of thoughts with the ravenette. You locked eyes with him, and you immediately became embarrassed. 

What the hell? First, one of them is my fiancé, whom I don’t even say a word to, and then the second is…him? 

Perhaps we shall meet again, were the brunette’s words to you by that lake. You truly didn’t believe him then, but it wasn’t the first time you choked on your assumptions. 

In a split second, you pulled Ranpo out of sight. “Ranpo,” you pleaded. “I can’t meet them now!” Your fingers hastily ran through your hair, making sure everything was in place. “I’m not even sure what to say-”

“You’ll have to rip off the bandage sooner or later,” he said, tugging on you. “And I say the sooner, the better! I’ll introduce you to them!” You felt even more displaced at the fact that he offered to introduce you to your own fiancé. However, before you could even object (or say, “Ranpo, somehow I already fucking know both of them!”), he dragged you back—toward the two painters. 

“Good evening, my lords,” Ranpo said as you approached them. 

You didn’t miss how Dazai’s face lit up in a curt smile. Meanwhile, Fyodor had on a neutral expression—probably the only appearance you ever saw him wear. 

“Good evening, Edogawa, the darling of His Holiness,” Fyodor said, the slightest spite in his tone. He did not glance at you at all. 

“Still as cold-hearted as ever, Il Divino-Painter,” Ranpo replied with a chuckle, but it was apparent that he did not like the man.

“I am a sculptor,” Fyodor corrected, a bogus smile still plastered on his face. 

“Don’t mind him,” Dazai said, patting your friend’s shoulder. “He’s just jealous you’re in charge of planning out the entire Vatican palace. And also at the fact His Holiness had to force him into a suit!” When Fyodor gave him a look, Dazai turned to you. 

He had eyes of the sunset, paving the way of something between hell and earth—though in a perfect world, it should’ve been the other way around because he looked as if he had just come down from heaven. You felt your cheeks warm and an uncertain feeling in your stomach. 

“Good evening, my lady,” Dazai said, knocking you out of your reverie. You blushed again as he knelt to take your hand and kiss it, bowing before you—the single minute felt longer than nox itself.

Was this the same man you met at the lake a few days ago? 

He was the artist you admired all along? 

“Apologies for not greeting you first,” he continued as he stood up. “I did see you earlier. How could anyone not notice the angel of Florence who creates masterpieces in days, especially when she looks like one tonight?” You became even more flustered by his sweet words. 

He was familiar with my name all along.

“Ah, so you already recognize her?” Ranpo asked. 

“Of course I do!” You suddenly tensed—half expecting him to reveal your previous encounter with him that you did not want anyone else to know. (If Ranpo knew, you hoped he would keep his mouth shut for your sake.) It would cause too much trouble if someone decided to spread it, and even worse if your uncle found out. He was very strict on image.

But to your relief, he did not. 

“I am very fond of your style, my lady,” Dazai said, resting his hand under his chin. “Madonna del Granduca,” one of your paintings. “You capture human sentiment and emotion so well, even in the most simplistic pieces.” 

Finally, you were able to respond to one of his compliments without becoming a mess. “Thank you.” 

“...And sfumato, your technique,” Fyodor added. “Perhaps you like her style so much because she takes it from you.” 

It was only now Fyodor finally acknowledged you. 

He may just be the son of Nyx. His intentions were tucked away behind amethyst eyes, slumbering in the peaceful twilight he allowed mercy to while all else was caught up in chaotic darkness. Maybe no one else noticed that—if anyone did, Fyodor would not be as beloved as he was now—but you did. You saw through the three strands of malice that laced his following words. 

“Good evening,” he said softly. He kneeled in front of you with your hand, tormenting you with eye contact.

“It’s an honor to see you again, miss. Though I must ask, was Florence not enough? 

“Is grasping originality so tough?

“Are you here to copy more artistic concepts to boost your own depictions of seraph?” 

He delivered a deadly kiss to your hand before you could respond, and before he could see the puzzlement on your face. 

“Excuse me?” 

But you did not falter before him as he stood back up. He did not intimidate you. 

“I’m flattered.” 

For once, the slightest sign of curiosity seeped onto Fyodor’s face.

You gave him a poisonous smile of your own. 

“Sfumato—the blending of colors to create smooth transitions between them,” you explained, giving a nod toward Dazai. “I’m honored that you immersed yourself so much with my painting that you could observe such a detail.”

Ranpo pretended to look around the hall as if he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening, while Dazai couldn’t keep a snort from escaping his throat. 

You kept your eyes fixed on your fiancé’s violet gaze, trying to figure out whether or not you’d be dead after the night was over. Actually—he seemed like the type that could seduce someone into death. Stygian black hair framed against his pallid complexion—ethereal, no doubt, yet you would not be surprised if he turned out to be the Grim Reaper’s right-hand man. (And you were supposed to marry him!)

“I’m here because His Holiness summoned me to paint the frescos in his house. I feel that if he sensed plagiarism in my work, he would’ve not trusted me with this project. 

“What about you, my lord?” 

There was a pause; he was thinking. 

“I am simply searching for something important,” he replied. “An inspiration, if you want to call it. I need it to complete a piece I have been working on.”

“And you’re sure you can find it here?” 

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

The foreign word rolled off of his tongue like honey. He dressed his voice to sound like a lullaby, and you remembered why you thought of him as an angel before he decided to insult you. 

What a juxtaposition. 

“What did you say?” 

“Did you not hear me?” 

He wasn’t going to tell you what he said, nor what he meant in entirety. “Nevermind. I did. Good luck trying to find it.” 

…

“May I have this next dance, my lady?” 

The charming brunette extended his left hand out to you. You had become irritated with Fyodor after his apparent distaste for you—So this is how you treat me after years of not seeing each other? You thought you could at least try becoming acquainted with him to make your inevitable fate a bit easier for both of you, but it seemed like that wasn’t happening anytime soon. You left the conversation at the nearest opportunity and moved to the other side of the room, unaware that your other dilemma was following you. 

“Lord Dazai?” 

You noticed something new about him as he stood in front of you. Those sunset orbs also harbored a concept as far as the sun. There was something distant in them that felt like half of his mind was immersed somewhere else. You wondered where. 

“I don’t like Dostoevsky at all either,” Dazai chuckled. “Even though tonight���s given me another rival on my list, I like you way more.” 

“Don’t speak so soon,” you scoffed. “You’re going to hate me when I take all your customers.” 

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, bella.” You frowned at his attempt to flirt. “And besides, many of them are very loyal to me.” 

You hesitantly took Dazai’s hand as he led you to the floor, joining the circle of couples who had already lined up to dance the almaine. 

“I’m still annoyed with you,” you said quietly as the two of you lightly skipped across the floor on your toes, never breaking eye contact with his tawny eyes. That same look was there—it was like he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. “I’m only agreeing to this so I could boost my status. You just caught me off guard back there. That’s why I acted nice.”

He dramatically pretended he was offended. 

“Why, tesora?” Dazai took both of your hands. You circled around each other gracefully before reversing to step in the other direction. “I saved you! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be dancing here tonight and finally knowing the name of the poor soul who jumped into the lake!” 

“If it weren’t for you, I also wouldn’t have nearly drowned, idiota,” you glared. 

“Keyword: nearly!” 

You continued sulking at him while the dance went on, ignoring the rest of his defensive sentences and the friendly endearments he added to the end of them. 

“Ow!” 

Dazai had stepped on your foot during another turn. 

“What was that for?” you asked, silently observing how he made sure he did not catch your dress along too, so it would not ruin. 

“Hm? What do you mean?” Dazai spun you again; this time, he stepped on your other foot. 

“Lor- Dazai!” You disliked how much fun he was having with this. Now, he wore a mischievous gleam in his eyes that coupled an unmistakable, playful grin. 

He spun you one last time, and this time, you purposely stepped on his foot. 

“Hey—why did you do that!?” he pouted. 

“Thou did it first,” you replied dryly. “You’re a bad dancer, my lord. You can’t even keep up with the slow ballroom almain.” 

He smirked as the number concluded, and then he brought you to the center of the floor. 

You looked around to see at least half of the couples moving off, either to watch or go elsewhere. 

“Let’s see if you can keep up with this one,” he chuckled lowly. 

“What dance is this?” you asked.

“A galliard. The La Volta.” 

Your lips slightly parted to say something, but you didn’t know what. 

It made sense now why so many chose not to participate in this one. The La Volta was a bit obscene—first, the women were lifted up in springs and jumps, even though that was usually improper. It was also very fast—it would require skill to do it comfortably, especially with the long, heavy gowns you wore. 

Finally, it required close contact between the couples, which was…scandalous. Like a forbidden fruit. 

You had never danced it before. Nor had you planned to. You were engaged, after all.

I bet noone in this room, but Fyodor himself and Ranpo even know we’re to marry, though, you thought to yourself, even though you shouldn’t even be considering excuses. …And he probably couldn’t even care less.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dazai said, a bit more seriously, leaving it up to your decision, but his eyes alleged something else. Like he was pleading to let you indulge. 

The forbidden fruit and its serpent. Why was this man always tempting you to things that could sabotage your name? It was as if his heart vowed to drown you to doom…

“No, I’ll do it,” you decided. 

…yet you had let him, again and again. The descendants of Eve never learned. 

“They call you the Renaissance Man, my lord? I’ll steal your title when I show everyone I can do more than paint…and outdo you in dance.” 

“Dance is a form of art, too, y’know,” Dazai smiled before he parted from you. “How about instead, you think of it like we’re creating our own special piece together.” 

“Competition,” you disagreed in one word, curtsying before him as the drums cued.

“Collaboration,” he bowed. 

You two rose, and a new tension was ignited in the room. Your eyes locked with his again, but this time more determined—more passionate, as you gracefully swept to the left while the brunette the opposite way. You continued that movement while also gravitating closer. 

Closer, until he was finally able to lay hands on your waist. 

“Look up, miss,” Dazai softly reminded you. “Too flustered that you’ve forgotten etiquette?” 

You didn’t even realize your eyes chased down to where he was holding you—no man had touched anywhere near your corset before. You felt nervous; it was supposed to be so wrong, so why did his hold feel so right? As if his fingers were always supposed to be wrapped around you, the final touches to a masterpiece of intimacy. 

You were falling for it—the serpent’s art of seduction. This wasn’t supposed to be a collaboration. 

“What happened to your confidence?” Dazai teased, whispering in your ear; you felt his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes drifted back to his in embarrassment, but you couldn’t give your rival the entertainment of winning against you in something you proposed. Fighting against your nerves, you wrapped one of your arms around Dazai’s broad shoulder.

“Shut up.”

He lifted you by the hips to aid as you lept and turned around him, his left thigh pushing you upward, and that same nervous excitement returned to your stomach. It was as if pools conjoining both everything and oblivion at once lay physically on you. His gaze resembled hands—he caressed your shoulders; he traced your face like he wanted to paint every angle of you. 

He was gentle with his actual hold on you, too; Dazai carried you as delicately as the brush strokes he made on canvas. He carefully set you down with ease after every jump while still treating you like a porcelain doll, and there you made the mistake of wandering your eyes down to his lips, lightly parted—you realized this was the second closest time this man had come near enough to kiss you. 

His body was so warm, he could pull you flush against him if he wanted to. His breath was minty, the coolness of his mouth addicting, and if Eden smelled heavenly too, he had truly just slithered down, carrying the sweet, earthly scent along with him. All your senses were overloaded by the man standing before you like alcohol; you wondered if you’d even end up home by the end of the night. 

“You’re enjoying this way more than to simply boost thy status.” 

In that moment, you snapped out of your haze of dopamine, and the music faded into a new routine. You also realized that an entire audience had been watching you. That was not ideal. 

You scooted back right after Dazai released his hold on you, looking down in coyness. “Maybe I’m just a good actor.” 

“You’re a terrible one,” he chuckled, following you out of the crowd. “You can’t even look at me to sell your lie!” 

You glared at the brunette once more. “I don’t have to look at you to tell you the truth.” 

“So cold-hearted,” he sighed. “Even after a dance to loosen you up. Guess I need to work harder to ask you out.”

“For what, a double suicide?” You once again recalled some other things he had said during your weird, fated meet at the lake. 

“Exactly! You remember!” 

“Well, sorry, that’s not happening,” you responded. “Go find some other lady to ask. I’m sure you do this all the time anyway.”

Because how did he touch you so perfectly? How did he dim out every other person in the room to make it seem like it was just you two?

He paused. “No, I don’t. You’re the first person I danced this galliard with. You realize we were even in skill, right?” 

“Didn’t seem like it. And I don’t understand why you chose me.”

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence,” Dazai said. “You did save me in a way. Sure, we’re rivals. But one day, I’ll paint you myself. 

“You’re too beautiful to not.” 

…

“I hope you all have had a lovely night,” Fukuzawa spoke over the room. “To conclude the gathering, I would like to announce what the Vatican’s next project will be.” 

Artists all around you waited in anticipation, for good reason. You and Dazai looked at each other too. You’d already experienced it for yourself—a commission from the Pope himself guaranteed immediate, enormous success (and money; your job from him was your biggest pay so far). Whatever he proposed required another artist, and it could be anyone in the room. 

“The Sistine Chapel,” Fukuzawa said. “The large crack that has formed along the ceiling is to be repaired in the upcoming year.” 

There were a few chatters after that. The chapel was insanely impressive—the interior of the large building was covered in stunning frescos by some of the great artists who had come before you. Even though the Pope hadn’t even said what the job was to be, anyone working on things concerning it would have to be just as good as its predecessors. 

“Along with reparations, its panels shall be painted.” 

There were a few gasps from the patrons. Was that even possible? How could someone even paint the ceiling without it being taken off of the roof? And it was so large, too, like a mega-sized canvas. 

It was unheard of. 

“I have already selected the person I would like to work on this,” Fukuzawa continued. There was silence again. 

“It’s probably Dostoevsky,” Dazai said to you. 

Fyodor? “Why do you think so?” you asked. 

“He completely stole the spotlight with that statue of David he finished this year,” he dryly chuckled. “Well deserved, I’m afraid. You saw it too when you were in Florence, did you?” 

“Yeah,” you replied. You had to acknowledge how impressive it was for yourself. It was like the man turned hard stone into pliable clay. 

“But that’s sculpting, not painting.” 

“Oh? Do you think you’d be a better candidate?” 

He was smiling again. “No, I never said that,” you scoffed. “I was going to say maybe you’d have a chance-”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Fukuzawa said.

Oh.

You paused, scanning the room to see where he was. 

He was on the other side, intently making his way to the Pope. 

“I request you to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.” 

Fyodor stood in front of him and then bowed. 

“...I offer my sincerest gramercy for this opportunity, Your Holiness,” the artist said.

There was a pause.

“…I would like to discuss the rest of what this entails in private.” 

Your brows furrowed. That was almost a bit…rude. Sure, he hadn’t declined the offer, but for whatever reason, he also didn’t accept it. 

“Very well,” Fukuzawa replied without a change in his tone. “I adjourn this party. Bonam noctem.”

There was a final applause for him and the city’s next project, and then everyone began filing out. 

However, you and Dazai stayed in place until Ranpo suddenly tugged on your arm. 

“There you are! Let’s go!” 

“W-Where?” you asked as he started to drag you away. 

“Goodnight!” you heard Dazai say before disappearing into the crowd. His small smile remained in your memory, and a part of you wished you could give him a proper goodbye.

“To eavesdrop, duh,” Ranpo replied as he sifted you through everyone moving the opposite way. “Don’t you also want to hear what Fyodor has to say?” 

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just accept the proposal,” you said. “Anyone else would do it in a heartbeat!” You were sort of jealous; that job was given to someone so ungrateful! If you were the one who recieved it, you would’ve put your entire effort into transforming the ceilings right away. 

“I don’t know how he’s so beloved,” Ranpo continued. “Not even His Holiness likes him that much; he just doesn’t show bias when choosing people to paint his architecture. Did you know Fyodor was supposed to produce his tomb?” 

“What happened with that? I thought it was being worked on by a few other artists.” 

“He kept clashing with His Holiness about it,” he said. “Until the plans got so messed up, Fyodor called it a ‘tragedy’ and left Rome for a while. Quite literally abandoned it.” 

What an asshole! Especially in front of His Holiness!

“I don’t like him at all,” Ranpo squeezed your arm. It had become quite apparent to you that Ranpo admired Fukuzawa—not just because he was his so-called favorite or because he was the Pope, but something else. You had seen them together during the party earlier, and you were reminded of father and son. “He has a nasty ego, and I can’t figure out his intentions. I feel off every time I meet with him.” 

“Intentions? For what?” 

“Don’t be stupid, miss,” Ranpo said. “He told you himself, he’s here for something. It’s just so annoying! He hides it all behind those stupid, purple eyes…” 

You approached the entrance to a hallway at the very back of the room, and you heard two familiar voices outside. 

“...I carve marble, not paint.” 

“You discredit your skill with a brush too much.”

“Your Holiness, we had very different views during the last commission you gave me,” you overheard Fyodor say. “I simply don’t want to cause another commotion with this.” 

You only peeked through the large doorway to hear more clearly, but Ranpo continued walking right in as if they wouldn’t notice. 

“R-Ranpo!” you whispered harshly.

Immediately, Fukuzawa and Fyodor looked at you both, and you scrambled behind Ranpo. 

“I’m so sorry, Your Holiness,” you replied, accidentally locking eyes with Fyodor, who looked at you unfazed as if he had already noticed you two a mile away. You couldn’t even think of an excuse to explain what you were doing there, but then Fukuzawa resumed the conversation without a care. 

“I see then,” he replied and then gave it some thought. “I felt you were the only one who was fit for the matter, but perhaps I could just hand it to-” 

Fukuzawa looked at you, and Fyodor looked at him before looking at you. 

“Ah, what I said was just a concern,” Fyodor interrupted to your dismay. “I’ll accept your commission on one condition.” 

The three of you waited. 

“On the contract, it shall be stated that noone shall view the inside of the Chapel until it is completed,” Fyodor stated. “Including yourself, Your Highness.” 

He thought for another moment. 

“Very well, Fyodor. It will be arranged.” 

What a rat!

It had been a few weeks since that eventful ball. You had started work on painting the rooms in the Pope’s chambers—there were sketches of concepts scattered all over your desk. Coupled with your thoughts—thoughts reliving all the situations you were thrown into that night. 

You hadn’t seen the two angels since then. Well…would you even call them that anymore?

Knock, knock, knock!

“Hey! Let me in!” You heard Ranpo’s voice from outside your house. You were still half-asleep, trying to make breakfast, but you immediately rushed to open the door. 

“Ranpo!” You were startled. “What are you doing here so early?” 

“Stop complaining. You’re going to love this.” 

He stuck his hand into his pocket and then revealed a set of shiny keys. 

“Sitting in my palm are the keys to the Sistine Chapel.”

“No way.” It was like the sight fully awakened you, like caffeine. “Ranpo…how?!” 

“Hmph!” He shook his head. “You underestimate me so much when you quite literally depend on me!” When you laughed, he continued. “Lord Fyodor’s on a business trip until next week. Do with that info as you wish.” 

“You’re a genius,” you replied with a mischievous grin as he threw you the keys. 

“Of course I am! I despise him, but I’m too lazy to mess with him right now, so I’ll just leave it up to you. After all, he didn’t want to do it initially because he thought you set it up.” 

“By me?” you asked, shocked. “He hates painting so much that he thought I had a hand in it? Imagine giving away the Sistine Chapel.”

He was really something else. Was dead set on declining the offer right until His Holiness debated giving it to me…

…

Ranpo sat at the dining table eating the remaining tarts left over while you finished washing the dishes in the kitchen after your meal. Your move had gone smoothly, and you were pleased with the home you created for yourself—the windows in front of the sink were opened, letting air and the sounds of nature in as you looked outside. 

“His Holiness instructed me to paint over the previous works in the Palace when I first walked inside because he deemed what I could produce more important than what was already up there,” you told him with your own dash of pride. You couldn’t contain the bright smile that flashed on your face. 

“Just as I suspected,” he replied, pleased. 

“...But social-wise, I think I dug a hole for myself.” 

“Definitely!” Ranpo said with no hesitation, popping another dessert into his mouth. He already knew what you were going to talk about. You gave him a look before sighing, realizing that he probably was right.

“A few days ago, I overheard people in the salons saying that…I have a special thing going on with Lord Dazai. It’s not true! I don’t know why he was being so friendly with me!” 

You hadn’t even seen him after that night. Maybe you were a little disappointed, but you should’ve seen that coming anyway. He was known as a charmer, but he hadn’t committed to anyone. And regardless, you were to marry Fyodor one day. 

Ugh, Fyodor.

“And you were friendly to him in return,” Ranpo replied. “You could’ve shrugged him off like normal rivals do. But it looked like you were completely enraptured with him.” 

Enraptured?! He was completely enraptured with me! However, you couldn’t describe to Ranpo how exactly he was—how the brunette’s eyes pleaded with yours to follow him into the eventide, how he made you feel like the only person that existed in the large crowd of people…maybe Ranpo would have his point proven.

“Well, other than that, I’ve got thee settled in Rome well enough. I’ll be here for the rest of the unwise decisions you’re going to make, but from here on out is on you, princess.” 

“Thanks, Ranpo,” you sarcastically replied. “Seriously? Unwise decisions? Rome is just different from everywhere I’ve been to before. I’m learning.” 

“Exactly, there are arts of everything,” he said. “Thou better grasp them quick or fall behind.” 

Dance. 

Deceit.

Dreams. 

Only a few you had discovered so far. 

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence. You did save me in a way.”

You couldn’t even grasp,

Dazai.

You didn’t know how long you were out. All sense of time was lost when you gained consciousness again, and you realized you had been washed up on land. 

Did God stay true to your pleas? Did an angel really come down to rescue you?

That was certainly what it seemed like in the first few seconds because you were blinded by light when you opened your eyes. You heard insects buzzing off in the distance and maybe even a bird chirping as you lay on lush grass. Perhaps you were in heaven instead, and this was your first taste of peaceful paradise. 

But all was ruined when your eyes finally focused, and a face obstructed your view. (Why was he always ruining your flawless moments?) He hovered on top of you, and the first thing you became aware of was that his mouth was dangerously close to yours. 

You immediately coughed—out of both shock and the need to. Lake water gushed out of your mouth, causing you to sit up without warning. The brunette was flung off of you, landing harshly on his bottom.

“Ow!”

You paid no mind to him as you coughed again. And again. 

When all the water was finally out of your lungs, you looked at him in utter confusion.

“Why the puzzled look?” he asked as if he wasn’t the one who was drowning and you weren’t the one saving him (and less importantly, it hadn’t looked like he was about to kiss you).

Now he sat beside you, almost perfectly fine if it weren’t for his clothes that were soaked. 

“But…you—we were drowning?” You turned to see if anyone else was in the distance because who was it that saved both of you? 

“Yeah, I was drowning,” the man replied, and you now noticed the honey color of his eyes that had been shielded behind closed eyelids and pretty eyelashes earlier. “And this time, it almost worked! Until you decided to rescue me!” 

“Um, what?” You asked sharply, even more bewildered at the way he tried to make your efforts sound negative. 

“At first, I thought maybe thou were a lovely lady who wanted to commit double suicide with me! But I realized that wasn’t the case when you started fighting to get some air…” 

“Are you crazy?” you asked, not caring whether you were speaking impolitely or not. “Double suicide? Why else would I dive into a cold lake to join a stranger? And you were aware of what was happening all along?” 

“Maybe! Women have done a lot to try to get close to me.” You didn’t believe him. “And, well, yeah! Obviously, I couldn’t continue because of two things. The first was you because I couldn’t let an innocent involved be harmed along with me! I had to save you, of course.” 

You became even more irritated. “You wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t pretend you were drowning! I had to use all my strength to rescue you, y’know! I could’ve died as well!” 

“But you didn’t!” the brunette replied. “There was no way I was going to let someone so beautiful drown.”

You scowled at him before you stood up. “You’re ridiculous. What’s your second reason?” 

“Drowning in a lake ended up becoming uncomfortable.” You wanted to punch him in the face—uncomfortable was an obvious understatement. “I didn’t like the feeling of suffocation that set in, so I just decided to give up.” 

“It didn’t even look like you had any air left in you,” you muttered, facing your back towards him, remembering his placid expression earlier. “How were you conscious if you weren’t even holding your breath?” 

“Party trick,” he responded, and when you dared to glance back, he wore a smug grin. 

“Oh…are you leaving me then?” he asked as you started walking away, saying no more. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” you scoffed, not stopping. “I’m completely soaked, and I don’t know about you, but I have important things to get to.” 

You heard a chuckle from him. “Is that so?” he asked. His voice was getting farther, meaning he was no longer following you. “Where are you headed?” 

“Rome.” 

“I live there. Perhaps we shall meet again. And then, I could ask you—properly—if you would like to commit a double suicide with me.” 

“I doubt it,” you replied, assured you were never going to see this man whose face looked kissed by Aphrodite herself again. Perhaps you would’ve found him handsome if he was in a less disheveled state. 

As if you did not already. 

“Why do you seem so sure? Anything can happen.” He chuckled once again. 

Well, I am a painter, and you don’t look like someone who would even have an eye for art, is what you wanted to say. But you didn’t want to open more doors to curiosity and stay there even longer. 

“Maybe you’re right,” you stopped. “Okay, then.

“If you think you’re going to see me again, can you promise to not kill yourself until then? Until I agree to you?” 

You figured you would just give him some hope so that your efforts to save him would not be in vain. If he would actually keep your word, anyway. 

When you turned around, the brunette was still standing on the shore, and he had a smile on his face. 

He really did carry the setting sun in his gaze. It was still midday, but the man’s soul seemed to prefer the softer shades of light that appeared just before the cool shades of night. 

And you felt his eyes tenderly cupping your face, even though you were feet away from each other. You weren’t sure if you were so lost that you were imagining things—but he looked at you as if he’d known you a hundred lifetimes, longing to touch your soul once again. 

“I pinkie promise,” he said. 

You thought that finally ended the conversation, but he asked one more thing. 

“Your name?” he asked. 

“Do you really need it?” It was unlikely, but you didn’t know if he would recognize your name. You didn’t want to risk anyone knowing about this encounter. 

“I saved you,” he said. “I almost thought you were done for. You still weren’t breathing when I performed chest compressions, so I had to—” 

“Okay, stop right there!” you interrupted, becoming flustered. You didn’t need to hear the rest. You imagined the stranger’s mouth on yours—trying to give you oxygen, of course, but his mouth on yours regardless. 

You told him your name. “Don’t bother with yours. I’ll figure it out if we run into each other again.” 

His grin was smug. “Fare thee well, mia belladonna.

“Until we meet again.” 

…

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

ur man of choice (or both if u’d like) dances with u during the ball if u rb; reblogs are incredibly cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

WE DID ITT !! i hope this was decent, tbh i’m rly nervous HAHA ᡣ𐭩 dazai rly got most of the love here, but i promise there’s waay more to come.

+ check THIS FOR EXTRA INFO/LORE, it’s cool ;) comment on the masterlist to be added to the tagslist !! & ilu if you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading ᰔ

TERMS & DEFINITIONS:

CIOPPA - outermost layer of a dress

RUELLA - salons/social gatherings

ALMAINE - slow court dance; GALLIARD - fast court dance (in the renaissance)

TRANSLATIONS: (not all bcz they wanna be mysterious)

gramercy - “thank you”

artigiani; aristocratici - artisans; aristocrats (italian)

bonam noctem - “good night” (latin)

© AUREATCHI 2024. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated line divider by cafekitsune. header + series dividers mine; DO NOT SAVE.

[the-words-we-sung]

The songs of Young Royals - S1 E1

So after a few re-watch I started noticing how well the songs are used in the show and I wanted to chat a little bit about it ^^ (Because I'm usually watching alone with my cat and he doesn't really care about my opinions on how awesome the show is at picking its songs :p So hopefully people here will be more interested!!)

Bad, Farveblind

I think it's wrong I think it's bad I think it's lame I think it's horrible The song starts when we see Wilhelm at the club where he gets in a fight and then we get the chorus through his earbuds in the car (note: I love it when a show put a music in the background that ends up being something a character is actually listening to in the scene!!). He just got out of a shitty situation which will have huge repercussions on his life and his mother is making decisions about his life without asking him: the show is not subtle about telling us how "wrong" and "bad" it is. And despite this lil' foreshadowing (the song plays before Minou tells Wille about his mother's decisions) and Wilhelm's strong opinion against them, it's still gonna happen. Going to a boarding school is "lame" (or so Wilhelm thinks) and the whole situation is "horrible". And yeah, it's gonna suck on a lot of points, but it's also gonna change his life...

Wannabee Ghetto, Fata Boom

... Keep up the front like it's your decision ... Look our best Covering up what we're missin It's literally what Wilhelm has to do now. His mother decided for him that he should change school and enroll at Hillerska, he is not happy about this plan but has to pretend he's okay with it. He just lied to the public that it was a decision he took part in. He is the prince, even if he's not (yet) the Crown Prince, and he has an image to maintain. An image that was damaged due to the video of the fight: someone is literally putting make up on him to "cover up" the marks of the fight so he can look his "best". And what is he missing? Well August will say it at least twice: he doesn't have the same drive as him or Erik. So he's missing the desire to be on top, to be king, to keep the status quo...

It takes a fool to remain sane, The Ark

... Wasn't life supposed to be more than this ... Let go off my hand and it will slip on the sand If you don't give me the chance To break down the walls of attitude I ask nothing of you, not even your gratitude 'Cause it takes a fool to remain sane ... Of becoming like the others Who become unhappy mothers And fathers of unhappy kids This song!! Such a great choice for their first song <3 Wilhelm being so incredibly unhappy and stuck because "being a prince is a privilege, not a punishment" but he wants more for his life. It is supposed to be "more than this", more than pressure and appearance. The song going on with the "unhappy mothers / unhappy kids" while we follow Erik and Wilhelm stiffly posing for pictures outside. How can Wilhelm not be scared? Is it the life that awaits him? Always keeping a nice front, not being himself?And why is that? 'Cause they've forgotten how to play But Erik and Wilhelm haven't forgotten yet!! Right after these lyrics we have a playful Erik who suggests they take off in the middle of the photo-shoot! And they do!! So there's hope for them!!

I see you, Nadia Tehran

Back to their bases Covering their faces Tones through the breeze yeah The power calls crises Round my crowd No cops allowed Interestingly the song starts with "you ain't welcome here, you don't look like us". This part is not in the show but works so well for Wilhelm starting at Hillerska. He's getting hazed by his peers "covering their faces" and being really rough with him (this hazing is so yucky, I struggle watching it every time ^^'), and he's welcome here because he's the prince, because he's supposed to be part of their world. But he's not gonna be like them. Do they know it already? "You don't look like us", and thanks god for that!! (And yup, "no cops allowed", right August? You can do whatever you want here without any consequences...)

Blah blah blah, Armin van Buuren

All we ever hear from you is blah blah blah So all we ever do is go ja ja ja And we don't even care about what they say The song plays while August is talking to Wilhelm about being among his peers and criticizing him for wanting to be "normal" at his previous school. I love that this song is playing because, yes, it's a good party song, but also, it's probably what everyone watching the show is thinking when August is being an insufferable prick like that! And Wilhelm too, who just usually goes "ja ja ja / yes yes yes" to what August tells him (until he stops and finally goes openly against him, but for now in the show, he just listens and nods). Erik told him he should listen and trust August, so he listens to him. But at this moment Simon appears, and suddenly Wilhelm "don't even care about what they say" because the cute boy he already has a big crush on just arrived. And August and his stupid speeches about rich people being above everyone else don't matter anymore.

[grapehyasynth]

shuffle your ‘On Repeat’ playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people

thanks for the tag @andthatisnotfake

Stay cool - James Vincent McMorrow

2. Ghost - Lea Kampmann (hello YR S3 soundtrack)

3. Caroline - Arlo Parks

4. Wannabe Ghetto - FATA BOOM (hello YR S1 soundtrack)

5. Beyond the Sea - Bobby Darin

6. The Spark - William Prince

7. You Make My Dreams (Come True) - Hall & Oates

8. Ex-Factor - Lauryn Hill

9. Wading in Waist-High Water - Fleet Foxes

10. A Sunday Kind of Love - Etta James

tagging @roguebebe @hagface even though she hates music @thisbuildinghasfeelings @ygrik @wilmon @saraminia @skibasyndrome @kiashyel @rubinoanais @hemnalini

[heliza24]

Let's talk about the music in Young Royals! (Part 1)

This post, which will focus on the needle drops used in the show, is the first part of a two-part analysis. Part 2 will focus on the original score.

I love the way music is used in Young Royals. It was one of the first things that attracted me to the show, but it's only recently that I’ve stopped to think about why I find it so effective. I used to (in a pre-disability past life) work in the music industry, and I’ve been missing my old job a lot lately. So I thought I would use some of my knowledge (and my media analysis skills) to write this meta. I've tried to link a youtube video for every song I reference, so you can go and listen to the tracks if you want to.

First, let’s talk about some logistics. “Needle drops” are when a show uses a pre-existing song as part of the score (like literally dropping a needle on a record player; isn’t it weird how that terminology has stuck around even while the technology has changed?). You can also call them music syncs, which refers to the fact that in order to use pre-existing music in film, you have to obtain a music synchronization license from the copyright owner (this ensures that the recording artist and the songwriter get paid for the use of their music). The person in charge of selecting songs and clearing the rights for them is called the music supervisor. The Young Royals music supervisor is Magnus Palmborg, and I think he does an incredible job. (He was also a co-writer on Simon’s Song, so we really have a lot to thank him for).

Music serves a very important role in Young Royals. I believe that the selection of songs and use of the score really helps establish one of the most important themes of the show: the dichotomy between the public and private self. So much of Young Royals is about the images characters consciously try to project and the pressure society puts on them to act a certain way, and the way that conflicts with their actual internal feelings.  And this dichotomy exists very clearly in the music too.

Most of the needle drops in the show are big, bold pop and hip hop songs. They are usually played over montages of the students at Hillerska, often towards the beginning of the episode, and they reflect the “cool” image that the students are trying to project to each other. The very first time we see Hillerska, “Wannabe Ghetto” by Fata Boom is playing, and the lyrics “keep up the front like it’s your mission/Look our best, cover up what’s missing” perfectly sums up the pressure the students feel to fit in at such an elite school. When everyone is getting ready for the welcome back party in 2.1, the incredibly confident "Ripe" by Flavia is playing. The lyrics “no need to go to work unless you're working on my body” are full of sexual confidence, but they also play while students are putting on makeup and trying to look their best, literally working on their bodies. (Flavia is one of my favorite finds from the soundtrack by the way. She makes total queer bangers, I recommend checking her out). 

It’s probably worth talking briefly about the opening title card here. A lot of shows have full opening sequences, with their own theme song. Young Royals eschews this, choosing instead to just flash the title on screen over an existing scene, often with a needle drop (but this changes each episode). I think this approach works really well, because it lets the music clue us in to the mood of each episode. A lot of episodes start with a very intimate scene, like the music room scene at the beginning of 1.3, and then contrast that with a burst of pop music during the title card that reminds us of the front the characters are normally projecting. In 1.3 the title card is shown over a montage of Felice struggling in the stables and is accompanied by a loud, lyricless pop song. That contrast from the intimacy of the music room, to a space where Felice feels like she’s always pretending, is really effective.  

But sometimes needle drops are used to reflect more intimate, genuine emotions. Sometimes the show does this by making the song semi-diagetic. (Diagetic music is music that exists within the story that characters can hear; so Simon’s Song for instance is diagetic). At the beginning of episode 1.1, Wilhelm is listening to “Bad” by Farveblind, which has the lyrics “I think it’s bad/I think it’s lame/I think it’s horrible” over and over again, which is a pretty clear indicator of how Wilhelm is feeling. The show does a similar thing in 2.3, when Wilhelm listens to “The Lonely Ones” by Lova in his headphones when he walks by the lake. He’s feeling lonely! He listens to a sad song! That’s pretty straight forward. 

But sometimes the way the music captures characters’ genuine feelings is a little more subtle. I actually think that there’s a lot more of this in season 2 than there is in season 1. There are a few examples I love from season 1, but most of my favorite examples are from the latter half of season 2. This perfectly reflects the journey that all of the characters, but especially Wilhelm, are going on; as season 2 goes on he gets more and more in touch with his real feelings and less and less able to pretend to please the royal family. These songs tend to be a little quieter than the flashy pop and hip hop that represents the facade of Hillerska, and you sometimes have to think a little bit about how the lyrics are illuminating what the characters are feeling.

Some of my favorite examples in season 1 include  “Holes (Deep Throat Choir Remix)” by Zhala that plays during Erik’s funeral, which has the lyrics “And I lose myself inside”, reflecting Wilhelm’s descent into grief and the way that he’s about to push Simon away, and “Sunday” by Gina Dirawi that plays as the girls are setting up for the sleepover and Wilhelm is going over to Simon’s house in 1.5. The lyrics “but I can see you clear here” reflect the fact that both sets of characters have found a sense of comfort with each other. But my absolute favorite example in season 1 is “Samurai Swords” by Highasakite, which plays while August uploads the video of Wilhelm and Simon to the internet. “I am leaving/I’m unleashing/I unravel to the leeches/I’m unpleasant/I’m unloving/So call out the guys with the samurai swords” plays while the camera focuses on August, reflecting his emotional state and also the fact that uploading the video is an act of self-harm for August (the image of samurai swords makes me think of seppuku, or the ritualized suicide that samurai warriors would commit instead of falling into enemy hands) and an act of aggression against Wilhelm and Simon. And when the camera cuts back to Wilhelm and Simon the lyrics say “someone else will love like a rainstorm”. The melody is so wistful and sad, like the show is already nostalgic for the perfect love that Simon and Wilhelm had which is about to be marred by the outside world. 

In season 2, I really love “My Awe Sustains” by Ari at the top of 1.5, which perfectly captures the feeling of longing between Wilhelm and Simon (this is my other favorite discovery from the soundtrack; the whole album For Evig by Ari is one of my favorites now) and “I Wanna Be Someone Who’s Loved” by Tusse, which is included after the fight in the music room in the same episode. The lyrics to this one are really heartbreaking: “You make me feel like I’m invisible… Thought it would help but no one hears my call/No I won’t give up/I want to be someone who’s loved.” The lyrics capture how much Wilhelm wants to make his way back to Simon, but there’s frustration in melody too, which reflects how trapped he currently feels. “Please Don’t Go” by April Snow and Elias in episode 2.3 is another really interesting example. It plays right before August invites Sara to his room “just to talk” and before Simon tries to break up and Marcus doesn’t let him. The lyrics “I asked you to leave but I meant that I want you to stay/I need you to hear what I mean and not what I say” seem to capture the push-pull in both sets of relationships, and how all of the characters are trying but failing to really communicate what they mean.

But I think my favorite needle drop in season 2 that's used to illuminate the inner thoughts of a character is "Mirror" by Mogli. The song starts playing right after Wilhelm's last session with Boris in 2.5, when he realizes he has a choice: he doesn't have to become king. He could let August inherit and be with Simon. The lyrics "You don't want to be sad anymore/And I can't laugh/ No I can't laugh/I want to win this race but you can't lose/I let you score" underscore Wilhelm contemplating August in the Forest Ridge common room. Letting August inherit the crown would be letting him "win" in their invisible war for power, but what would that matter if Wilhelm gets to be happy with Simon? We see Wilhelm come to that realization, and then in the next scene he tells Simon that he's willing to give up the crown for him.

Since we’ve talked about the opening title card needle drops, we should probably address the fact there is also often a song over the closing credits as well. Again, this doesn’t happen in every episode; sometimes original scoring is used instead. But when a needle drop is included at the end of an episode, it feels like foreshadowing for things to come. My favorite is the end of 2.1, right after Wilhelm has a meltdown on the call to his mom. “Seize the Power” by YONAKA plays, and seems to signify Wilhelm’s arc for the rest of the season: 

“Woke up this morning, I feel so fucking important/Look in the mirror, I’m different, I finally made a decision/All the rejected that lost a lack of respect in themselves cause people get hectic/they hurt you and make you feel helpless/they’re not brave like you/they’re too scared to do/anything that’s different, anything that’s new/I don’t need lessons/I do what I want it’s refreshing/as soon as you taste independence/you start living life in the present”

Season 2 is all about Wilhelm realizing he needs to claim his independence and start living his own life, so the lyrics perfectly represent his arc. Plus, the melody of this song is driving and angry, which helps carry forward the momentum of Wilhelm’s conflict with his mom through the end of the credits and reminds us how urgent this need to stand up for himself is.

You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t talked about “Revolution” by Elias or “The Most Beautiful Boy” by The Irrepressibles yet. I saved these two for last because I think they get the most fan discussion of all of the music choices in the season, and for good reason. To me these two are almost the theme songs of their respective season; everything centers around them. They occur at the same place in the season (at the end of 1.4/2.4 and 1.6/2.6) and they encapsulate the lessons that Wilhelm needs to learn: how to stand up to his mom and defy what is expected of him, and how to prioritize his love for Simon.

(I’ve also already talked about “Holy” by Elias in my post about the sex scenes here).

Overall, I love the way that needle drops are used in Young Royals. I know some people have complained that the songs don’t have much to do with the story, but to me nothing could be further from the truth. The songs capture both the societal expectations of Hillerska and the tender, inner workings of the characters. They help us understand the pressures put on our main characters and illuminate how they are really feeling inside. Plus the soundtrack is filled with queer, female, and POC artists who are a delight to discover.

I would love to hear your interpretation of the needle drops in the show. Do you have a favorite song on the soundtrack? Is there something I missed that you want me to talk about? My ask box is open and I would love to hear your thoughts!

[princessmacedon]

{ OOC: housekeeping!

it's been a while since i did one of these and i have a great big mess to clean up ASDFDSD so! threads below the cut, and if i missed something please let me know!

UPDATED:

per suggestion of the newsletter, mun pages ( 🐦 ) ( 🐈‍⬛ ) now have guidelines

both maria and katarina's supports pages have been brought up to date!

threads + thread tracker nonsense below!!

here's my thread tracker! currently, it should contain all of my active threads, excepting those from the ethereal ball and as always, please don't feel as though you need to rush! (especially those of you whose threads i just replied to while fixing my shit AHSDHSDFHSD) this is for my organizational sake HAHA ; i'm glad to continue any and all threads, but if you're not feeling one anymore that's fine too >vo)v

MARIA

Waiting on me:

something old, something new -- @ventusanimae

spirit of healing -- @ashenprofessor

what my cover shows -- @knighteclipsed

all things precious -- @reddragonprincess

red riding hood's basket -- @justices-blade

wondrous tails -- @carefreemonk

with those who favor fire -- @arcelerity

objects in mirror -- @raikuroji

three lions walk out of a field (BOEL) -- @pirrhyc @sharpscion

paperwork perils -- @magictome

land and heavens near -- @lycianlynx

solace in the abyss -- @justices-blade

Waiting on partner:

an end to the song -- @arcstral

sun's shine -- @lycianlynx

shadows in the moonlight -- @hresvelged

birds chasing cats -- @aubins

not dead yet -- @alliberacio

from winter's close emerging -- @hermidetta

i do believe in fairies! -- @nagaficat

KATARINA

Waiting on me:

seeds of hope -- @arcaeda

a blanket of white, unbroken -- @knighteclipsed

a mystery in monochrome -- @gentlenekomata

the road that we walk -- @unsungblade

a day in (un)kingly shoes -- @arcstral

Waiting on partner:

uprooting wallflowers -- @unsungblade

a fleeting fata morgana -- @nabataprophet

cat cat kitty cat -- @unsungblade

cooking by the book -- @amitieos

sham of a prince -- @hosannan

gallowed halls -- @princepsumbra

a night and day we'll never see -- @ulircursed

the mega bonk technique -- @sharpscion

the name of a villain -- @indevouement

TBD:

penpal randomizer -- @gauldheri

ETHEREAL BALL INTERACTIONS

with @cursedbluebird : i'm planning on tacking on an extra reply and have it fade to black if that's alright? :o marianne is so sweet though, thank you for sending her my way!! <3 <3

with @pirrhyc : while i do love lobbing the hot potato around ASDFSDFSDG i think i'll call it there?! but i really enjoyed their little exchange!! :pleading: :boom:

with @frauleindermorgen : i'm definitely down to make this into a mini thread :] unless i misunderstood aDSDDSFHF

ALL MASKS: maria was mask 22! if you'd like to play out the rest of a masquerade thread, i'm down! ^^)7

as always, if you need to contact me for anything, feel free to do so through here or discord!

[nevzatboyraz44]

THE LONGEST TRAIN OF THE DESERT

One of the longest trains in the world is the one in Mauritania (Africa) and runs through part of the Western Sahara, from the city of Zuérate in the middle of the desert to the coastal city of Nuadibu.

It is a train that transports iron ore along 700 kilometers of railway line. The train with all its wagons can measure up to 3 kilometers and on each journey can carry around 20,000 tonnes of cargo. It's the backbone of Mauritania's economy..

Although it is a freight train, many people use it for transportation since they are not prohibited to get on the wagons. However, the journey is dangerous as it is traveled without any sun protection and the temperature usually exceeds 40°C. Besides, on the way they are breathing in the iron ore dust.

Courtesy: Pocket Sciences

www.yourafricanation1.com.ng

[i-belive-in-unicorns-magic]

Sunt un om fericit

Sunt un om fericit. Asa pare nu?

Da ma bucur din cand in cand. Dar oare e chiar fericire cand pentru mine simt ca dureaza doar doua secunde? Si boom, deodata ma spulbera avalansa de ganduri, de anxientati, de lipsa de afectiune.

Oare sunt goala pe dinauntru pentru ca dau prea mult? Pentru ca dau totul pentru oameni? Pentru omul caruia ii ofer iubire neconditionata, fara margini, fara limite? Imi pare rau? Nu.

Ador ma sa ma hranesc cu bucuria altora. Ador sa fac pe cineva fericit. Ador sa te fac fericit pe tine. Stiu ca poti si singur sa fi fericit. Dar nu e ma frumos ca imi doresc sa contribui la fericirea ta? Ai simtit vreodata sa faci acelasi lucru inapoi? Daca da, eu n am simtit. Am simtit doar ca sunt o povara, ca sunt prea mult, ca sufoc. Am simtit ca izbucneste o cearta doar pentru ca am vrut sa te vad. E trist.

Acelasi gand ma invaluie azi, acelasi gand de care credeam ca am scapat. Credeam.

Imi doresc atat de mult, incat obtin tot mai putin. Tu nu ma lasi sa te iubesc… As vrea sa ti fiu, dar tu nu stii sa primesti. Esti mic… iar eu sunt cu atat mai mica in ochii tai.

Astazi am decis ca nu ma mai exprim, doar o sa observ. Nici nu vei sti, pentru ca nu esti atat de prezent. Nu o sa-ti spun. Nu o sa te mai las sa stii ca doare. Nu o sa te mai las sa stii ca imi e dor de tine si ca imi va fi mereu. De ce? Pentru ca nu mai vreau sa ne certam. Vei fi liber fara sa-ti dai seama. Sentimentele inca s aici, dar tu le vrei inhibate.

O sa spui ca ma contrazic. Dar nu… decizia nu-mi apartine. Ma cunosti si stii ca-mi place sa ma exprim liber, fara cenzura. Tu ai decis, asa ca buzele mele lipite iti apartin.

Vei afla tot ce am scris. Nu acum. Nu maine. Candva. Candvaul pe care il simt tot mai aproape. Caci e neevitabil cand imi reprim sentimentele. Esti plecat, nu te bazai la cap. Dar nici nu te mai bazai vreodata… Decizia ai luat o cand mi am vazut primul rasarit plangand. Cand am vrut sa te vad inainte sa pleci si nu s-a putut. Cand am vrut orice si a existat un alt motiv sau o alta scuza…

Desi s-a intamplat acum cateva zile inca doare… inca diger momentul.

Asta este… mergem mai departe. Eu inca sunt aici, dar nu stiu pentru cat timp. Sentimentele inca sunt prezente, iar ceva imi spune ca vei fi the one indiferent de ce va urma. Dar oricum nu conteaza pentru tine. Esti un om matur, insa momentan tu nu poti percepe iubirea pe care o am fata de tine.

E trist. E trist pentru ca e frumos…

Eu nu regret nimic din ce simt si nu voi regreta niciodata.

Oare sunt cu adevarat fericita, sau doar pare?

#M

[bartholomaus]

O extrem de scurta si hiper simplificata istorie a religiilor - că iar începe un război religios.

Prima etapa : oamenii trăiau in triburi mici, vânau si culegeau fructe. Si-au imaginat mulți zei - care arătau ca animalele pe care le vânau. Si aveau un vraci șaman in trib care se ocupa cu temele astea si era si un fel de doctor, ii trata de boli.

A doua etapa : începe agricultura. Apar zeițe feminine care simobilizau fertilitatea (a pământului, similară cu uterul femeii) si multe povesti despre ciclurile naturii / agricole (renașterea, iadul si raiul etc). Dar tot cu mulți zei era, fiecare se ocupa de ceva din viața oamenilor.

A treia etapa : apar societății mai avansate.

- Prima in actualul Iran (Mesopotamia). Si apare primul Dumnezeu unic - in Zoroastrism (1500-1200 îCh). Si următoarele concepte cheie : un singur Dumnezeu care a creat Universul, binele contra răului, ingeri si Diavoli, ziua judecății de apoi, așteptarea unui Mesia salvator.

- evreii ajung in Babilon (unde erau persanii care credeau in zoroastru) si preiau cam toate temele astea in Biblia Evreiasca (Tanakh, care include mare parte din Vechiul Testament). Asta s-a întâmplat gradual între 1000 îCh si 200 îCh

- Biblia creștina e scrisă in perioada 50-200 dCh. E o completare fata de vechiul testament - practic spune ca Iisus era Mesia din cartea precedentă. Si - ca sa convertească cât mai mulți care credeau in mulți zei - au inventat “Sfinții” ca sa te poți ruga la mulți, îți alegi tu pe cine placi. S-a răspândit in imperiul roman pentru ca era o societate avansată atunci.

- Islamul e scris in 600 si ceva. Nu spune ca Mohamed e fiul domnului dar e tot un fel de Mesia. E o versiune adaptata pentru arabii de atunci (recunoaște Dumnezeul evreilor si creștinilor, Ba chiar si pe Iisus ca profet).

- după religia creștina se sparge in câteva sub-categorii dar diferențele sunt super-minore. in anul 1000 si ceva ortodoxia se separa de catolicism (pentru ca Constantinopole devenise mai puternic si bogat decât Roma, după caderea imperiului roman de vest). Si in 1517 Luther lansează protestantismul (ca reacție contra bisericii din Roma - pentru ca era boom economic, se descoperise America, si nordul Europei devenea așa bogat si nu avea de ce sa accepte sa ramana sub sud).

Si aicea suntem. Evoluție reala zero de peste 500 de ani in vest, de peste 1000 de ani in estul europei / ortodoxie, de peste 1400 de ani la musulmani.

Problema e ca societatea a cam evoluat in sutele astea de ani. Ar fi nevoie de un update ceva. Care nu poate veni pentru ca bisericile sunt atât de bogate si puternice. Si atunci e haos - lumea sau se duce in negurile trecutului sau merge la psihologi, numerologi, crede in reptilieni, extratereștri, energii dacice si pământ plat. Ca par mai rezonabile chestiile astea decât texte atât de vechi. >>Pe scurt ca sa Simplific la maxim - cam tot ce credem toti creștini musulmani evrei - e ce a scris Zoroastru acum 3000 de ani in actualul Iran. Adaptările sunt absolut minore - se schimba personajele si decorul si costumele cam atât. Devine complex dacă includem in poveste si Asia depărtată. Schimburile culturale erau foarte reduse acum 2000-3000 de ani deci acolo evoluția a fost separată. Oamenii marea masa are nevoie de așa ceva, e important pentru menținerea speranței unei vieți de apoi si niște reguli comune de conviețuire. Va recomand cartea asta sa vedeți câte “Evoluții” a avut conceptul de Dumnezeu in textele sfinte. Sunt nu știu câte versiuni fiecare făcută de aia in funcție de situația lor economică / politica / militară etc. Sunt nu știu câți “Dumnezeu” in funcție de ce vroiau sau își imaginau oamenii atunci. (Karen Amstrong, A history of God)

Eu am o mare problema cu religiile organizate si cu cărțile “sfinte”. Va zic sincer. Chit ca NU sunt ateu.

Dar totuși in Bib_lie Dumnezeu s-a enervat si a om-or-ât sau aproape pe toată lumea (potopul) sau orase intregi (sodoma si gomora). Dar ne iubește ! Dar - dacă cumva nu ești perfect si nu respecti fix tot ce scrie in carte - te condamna la o eternitate de stat in lavă în iad. Dar ne iubeste. Mda.

In Co_ran tot așa - il cearta pe Mohamed ca i-a lăsat in pace pe niște prizonieri de război si ca nu i-a om-o-rât pe toti. Si mai zice acolo ca dacă Luptătorii au sclave sau prizoniere de război, pot sa le facă orice ca sa înțelegeți voi, le dă voie. negru pe alb. Dar e bun, tolerant, iubitor de oameni. Sigur ca da.

Astea sunt cărți scrise DE OAMENI. Ok? De oameni. Nu de Dumnezeu. Cuvinte pe niste foi. Scrise de unii cu stiloul sau ce aveau. Acum enorm de mult timp, in timpuri TOTAL diferite de azi.

[nightcoremoon]

I disagree with critics a lot but sometimes they have good opinions. metacritic’s video game section is the best I’ve honestly ever seen.

ocarina of time is a 99 because of course it is.

tony hawk pro skater 2, gta4, and soul calibur 1 are 98.

super mario galaxy, smg2, rdr2, gta5, disco elysium, breath of the wild, perfect dark, metroid prime, gta3, super mario odyssey, halo, and nfl2k1 are 97.

bioshock, goldeneye, uncharted 2, resident evil 4, the orange box, arkham city, tekken 3, elden ring, mass effect 2, the house in fata morgana, twilight princess, (what the fuck is skyrim doing here), half life 1, the wind waker, gran turismo, and metal gear solid 2 are 96.

baldur’s gate 2, gta san andreas, persona 5, gta vice city, littlebigplanet, red dead redemption 1, gran turismo 3, halo 2, a link to the past, majora’s mask, the last of us, nfl2k3, portal 2, and mgs5 the phantom pain are 95.

tetris effect, world of goo, bioshock infinite, final fantasy 9, modern warfare 2 (the OG) god of war 4, devil may cry, call of duty 4, chrono cross, celeste, GoW ragnarok, nfl2k4, gears of war, (what the fuck is oblivion doing here), civilization 2, quake, halo 3, ninja garden black, street fighter 4, super mario bros 3, jet grind radio, metal gear solid, grim fandango, splinter cell: chaos theory, resident evil: code veronica, burnout 3, diablo, metal gear solid 3 and 4, ncaa2k4, god of war (the OG), star wars kotor, civilisation 4, nfl2k4, virtua fighter 4, mario 64, are all 94.

the top 100(ish) games all definitely deserve to be there (except for skyrim and oblivion especially since fallout 3 isn’t on there so why the FUCK is oblivion there but not fallout 3??? THEYRE THE EXACT SAME GAME EXCEPT ONE HAS GUNS).

and what’s on the very bottom? *checks paperwork* family party: 30 great games obstacle arcade. what? no, what REAL game is on the very bottom? oh… yes…

ride to hell: retribution has 16. out of 100.

joining it down in the hell pit is leisure suit larry: box office bust, the war z, afro samurai 2: revenge of kuma, drake of the 99 dragons, rambo, charlie’s angels, postal 3, charlie and the chocolate factory, raven’s cry, the XIII remake, the simpsons wrestling, and sonic boom are all down in the 30s or lower.

actually you know what, I take back what I said about skyrim and oblivion. those are good games with huge problems. this list of garbage- actually no, that would be offensive to garbage. this list of the juice that runs off of garbage- actually no, that would be offensive to garbage juice. this list of the maggots wriggling around in the juice that runs off of garbage is the worst of the worst and for good reason. they are offensive, broken, ugly, difficult, lazy, rushed, and worst of all, BORING AS SIN. the only pleasure that can be derived from these evil monstrosities is that of viewing the suffering of others who play it. I never want to touch a single one of these. they are crimes against video games, and also against humanity.

thank you nintendo, rockstar, valve, konami, bungie, capcom, naughty dog, fromsoftware, bioware, atlus, square, infinity ward, irrational, blizzard, and… sigh… thank you bethesda. thank you all for making good video games. or at least for having made them at some point in time (looking at you, literally half of the entire list lol).

[mystlnewsonline]

Concurrent Group LLC Failed to Follow Safety Requirements

US Department of Labor Finds Pennsylvania Contractor Concurrent Group LLC Failed to Follow Safety Requirements After Investigation of Lineman's Fata Electrocution in Miami, Florida. Concurrent Group did not ensure overhead power lines were de-energized before work began. MIAMI, FL (STL.News) A U.S. Department of Labor investigation into the electrocution of a 32-year-old worker in Miami found the lineman's employer, Concurrent Group LLC, failed to make certain its crews working near overhead power lines followed required safety measures. An inspection into the January 2023 incident by the department's Occupational Safety and Health Administration learned that a digger derrick truck used by employees of Concurrent Group LLC was parked beneath energized overhead power lines when the worker began operating the truck's boom to unload a metal crossbeam.  As they raised the boom, it contacted the 7,620-volt power line sending electricity through the truck and into the surrounding ground. The lineman jumped from the truck and suffered a fatal electrocution. OSHA issued citations for five serious violations to Concurrent Group LLC of Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, for exposing employees to electrocution hazards by: - Allowing employees to operate a digger truck within the minimum approach distance to non-insulated, energized 7,620-volt overhead power lines. - Failing to designate an observer to supervise and warn employees working near energized and non-insulated overhead power lines before minimum approach distances were breached. - Not ensuring protective equipment was in place to ground and insulate the area while employees worked near energized power lines. - Failing to inspect the site and equipment to make certain employees did not approach overhead power lines and to ground all equipment before starting work. "An employee lost their life because Concurrent Group LLC failed to use required safeguards before starting work that morning," said OSHA Area Office Director Condell Eastmond in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. "The company could have prevented this tragedy if it had ensured the power lines were de-energized before allowing employees to work in close proximity." OSHA proposed $40,937 in penalties, an amount set by federal statute. Based in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, Concurrent Group LLC provides electrical contracting, utility construction and maintenance, and storm restoration services. The company has 15 business days from receipt of its citations and penalties to comply, request an informal conference with OSHA, or contest the findings before the independent Occupational Safety and Health Review Commission. SOURCE: U.S. Department of Labor Read the full article

[444names]

list of clone troopers from star wars form fandom.com

Ablon Adeng Alver Ammass Apper Arcanst Arper Astatery Astatfor Astie Astiony Atchess Attann Attle Avock Backs Ballots Banctans Barliema Barlii Barris Bashi Basse Bastroop Batch Battau Bellut Belvaull Besief Bethit Better Bling Blorn Bodyrel Bogeadv Bogmazy Bogutaav Boida Boild Bolus Boophaw Bothawn Botiego Botsh Bounidav Brayk Bredii Breer Brester Bropkick Brost Bylongan Bylow Camma Cammer Candomet Canks Capots Capsiot Cargus Cassar Casser Cator Chain Chara Charsh Chess Choupeck Chrevis Chrings Ciank Clasho Cleam Cloroth Closioth Clughth Clurbes Colsull Colut Comegard Comer Comliust Commer Compatis Coper Coringan Corns Crafel Cravo Croot Cruell Daarguel Daven Davenc David Dawuines Deadsio Denno Devaan Deyod Dicker Dionengs Dionst Diont Doric Draikan Draird Drazy Droge Dyref Eigge Enark Enatrust Entoak Entor Entros Epunche Eyeron Fainfa Fainly Fairow Fairt Fattiton Fican Ficky Figer Fight Finch Finker Fintrank Fireker Fireno Flacc Flace Flack Flamm Flamp Flampy Flanc Flassill Flast Floody Flotan Flybyler Formtrek Freem Frexce Frothawk Fynda Gafet Gaffand Galvo Ganks Geamp Ghridge Ghtnings Gliito Gother Gredo Gremy Grexce Groghr Guara Gunita Gyncher Hadda Hamikit Hamplass Harclur Heamer Heven Hitch Hockeel Homer Hompy Horen Horrist Hotar Hunaxer Hypoince Hypota Iiter Inaddals Incet Incho Inste Ivent Jagin Jayalsix Jesteadv Jestrak Jininke Jocks Jumadoga Jumag Jumber Jusca Kadevals Kadey Kanten Kapava Kaptaa Kassioth Kayarps Keffo Kiellus Kieucko Kilon Kiraceta Kixer Klief Kourider Kouthez Landsis Leatio Lockeye Lonsta Losixer Lucker Macer Malphez Manky Marfir Marrage Medenarg Mentit Merak Meron Mettle Miker Moope Mozne Munino Nacelven Nebury Nesold Neyellie Nidel Nilowzer Nindomee Noban Nobii Noghn Noryle Oaddak Oader Oaliilit Offal Offord Olfir Omeel Omegs Omidge Oppoth Ordcalle Orgeoner Ority Packohot Pands Parre Patchai Peema Phsin Piloss Pitak Plashpo Poidogma Potshil Preld Pripio Proil Prows Prudi Pubar Publongs Pullug Punce Quadeye Qualvo Quark Racks Raika Ramme Rancel Redged Reenneye Reepare Rennew Rhoth Rodic Roink Rolut Rooke Roommuzz Rostrin Rylony Ryloon Sabob Salor Sarger Sarine Sariss Sarmat Scirs Scomer Scommen Scons Scrawk Scuebace Scyth Secia Secit Secks Seker Sepuble Shaos Shast Shatter Shavo Sheta Shill Shorn Shypolt Silfice Sketa Slimixer Sliter Slity Slunce Sluri Slutu Spadenn Spadicel Spanda Sparr Spatam Spatis Spatt Spaum Speno Splak Sprenc Sprion Squaris Squilow Stalick Stanks Stards Stenonds Stice Stictice Stifires Stifix Stitch Stoake Stonnet Storrir Suards Sulasser Suller Sulsui Swinx Tacat Taizappe Tandawn Taner Tanzag Tareer Tatoke Tearr Tetinack Thami Thawk Thiatorg Thing Thivilon Thons Thordo Throyell Tiremy Toake Tokeer Tonno Toody Tored Torgut Torit Torrir Tracard Tracat Tracc Trackle Trameden Tratch Tratt Tredic Treng Tridgeon Triped Troye Trudiver Tryndox Tuarge Tucitu Turace Twiller Twillust Twize Ukilvo Unner Valak Valex Valice Valink Vancer Vandii Vauls Verot Vidbace Vidka Vijaa Vilfir Visood Wanaree Waris Warys Waviii Welles Welli Whird Whivider Winlyby Witer Wolder Wooper Wrecubar Wreding Wreek Wreeps Wreer Wremoup Xuthess Zireadv Zireye

same thing but shorter names

Acker Ade Ail Aitz Amed Ance Arge Arger Ars Ashawk Asma Astech Bace Backer Backs Bal Ban Bance Bane Bar Barge Bashpo Baster Bayl Ber Bii Biii Blashe Blio Bobi Bod Boo Bood Boom Boot Bor Bot Botie Bots Bounto Brashi Breek Breel Breena Brexce Breyeb Bridox Broy Bull Cad Cal Calimp Cam Carch Cass Cast Catar Catchr Cedor Chai Chatte Chawn Che Chirc Choter Cipe Cirev Ciron Cirst Citant Cless Clevau Cley Clig Clins Clon Clorn Clota Colfpa Com Comer Comlia Con Coner Cor Corrt Cran Crawk Cree Crol Cry Dalt Dard Darvy Ddak Ddevet Delva Dent Der Deven Dic Dii Dive Dog Doge Domine Dommer Domran Droped Dross Edo Enarc Enc Enne Eno Ent Enter Entifi Esty Everm Eville Facker Faing Fal Fata Fet Fill Fineed Fira Firayk Fire Firet Fix Flaa Flank Flast Fle For Forbek Foris Forps Fremag Frest Furyl Gaft Gammag Gance Gead Geaker Geo Ger Gerash Get Geyel Glia Gre Greeka Gren Guarc Gue Gunine Gut Gyn Haoss Hatter Hawn Hawui Heo Her Het Hockef Homish Homme Hon Hoper Horneb Hotho Houper Huni Hunne Hype Ike Inden Ing Jagion Jain Jayal Jed Jeker Jesta Jum Jus Kaleak Kam Kammer Kap Kaper Kapold Kark Kayk Kic Kift Kiluca Kir Kirch Kixe Klege Kot Kotace Koup Koura Kup Kutter Las Ler Leuck Lia Liedo Liid Linin Litz Lon Loss Luck Macks Man Marc Mastor Mattle Med Mego Mins Mirt Mon Mone Mont Mor Muum Nacc Nader Nan Navo Negent Nego Nild Nince Nintra Noneen Nov Nut Oad Olfix Oper Ophir Opper Ord Oznew Pane Panker Pann Pard Pat Pata Pion Plast Platim Pon Prid Pro Pross Proyar Psil Psis Pull Pun Qiide Qiii Quader Race Rack Racker Radel Rank Rantra Rap Reamer Redge Redo Reer Res Reye Rion Ris Rka Rks Roider Ronte Rope Rose Ryn Salth Sand Santer Sar Sara Sarec Sarks Scomer Scor Scort Sec See Shane Shir Sho Shony Shoo Shoper Sia Sinobi Sion Sione Sis Sixer Skefox Sker Skil Sla Sliida Slion Sni Snin Spe Spo Spone Spont Squi Squo Stag Stal Stard Stel Ster Stio Stleva Sto Storr Strid Sty Swole Taan Tack Tactal Taka Talcon Tance Tapped Teader Teadv Tels Temp Tence Ter Terbet Thec Theon Thev Thi Thirex Thon Thood Thred Thri Thris Toaka Tokell Ton Toos Toriid Tra Tracke Trag Trant Travo Trayl Tre Treger Trica Trighn Triner Tristy Tro Troal Tron Troot Tros Tucia Tuper Turan Twilow Twity Tyl Ukion Umater Uncer Undsil Upecia Uper Vad Valer Valthe Van Vaner Vantem Vashar Ver Veste Vidge Ving Visec Vist Warfi Welun Wifixx Win Witch Wizak Wre Wrem Wren Wyle Xon Xuth Yer Yov Zarty Zeell Zef Zeffix Zek Zer Zircar Zirem Zirsh

[omar-rudeberg]

the music of young royals, vols. 1-17

This post highlights is the music of young royals, volumes 1-17, lovingly birthed by @starsabovetheunderground (and shared here with express permission). These are separate close analyses of the young royals soundtrack, encapsulating close character studies, audio aesthetics, lyric interpretations, and how each of the songs are simultaenously informed by and drive forward the narrative within which they occur. Each contains exceptional meta-analysis, delicately nuanced and summarised in a piece of gorgeously evocative prose.

I have listed each post below with a favourite moment lifted from the text (none of the quotes are mine). Share this post if you’re called to, but most importantly, please click through to read and like / reblog / reply to / share the original work!

«« »»

the music of young royals

vol. 1 | bad - farveblind, killason

we are being pulled into the underground and the world of young royals with a mission to escape.

vol. 2 | wannabe ghetto - fata boom

battling the beat is the revving engine of erik's sports car.

vol. 3 | it takes a fool to remain sane - omar rudberg

acknowledging just how difficult this must be for wilhelm ... telling him, in fact, going crazy is the only response that makes sense.

vol. 4 | i see you - nadia tehran

to be a public figure like a royal is to be living in a fishbowl (or, using the metaphor from young royals, a frog prince snow globe) and exposed for viewing at all angles.

vol. 5 | blah blah blah - armin van buuren

once again we’re pulled into the underground, but this time the mission is not to escape. this time the mission is to survive...

vol. 6 | hands up high - adele roberts, jacob blair, gabriella chering, charlie tenku

if simon's voice is the powerful melody that comes through clear over the noise then these lyrics are a sign for wilhelm to keep turning up the dial.

vol. 7 | no tomorrow - ty frankel, stephane lo jacomo, myariah summers

but the songs of the second episode belong to felice ... can be read as an expression of the expectations for felice to get wilhelm’s attention and perhaps one day become a princess.

vol. 8 | alpha - yung titties

there is still an opulent confidence that accompanies the power of money. that money begets cultural capital begets more money.

vol. 9 | come to play -  andrey tatarinov, ty frankel, nathan bodiker

wilhelm must decide if he wants to make a break for it with simon or surrender all hopes of escape resigned to his gilded cage.

vol. 10 | äter upp dig - maxida märak

for what is supposed to be a moment of happy family reunions, there is a lot of unspoken tension just below the surface.

vol. 11 | holes - zhala, deep throat choir

...that state of isolation wilhelm is frozen in. the wind blows through his life, but the breeze echoes off the canyon walls freshly carved by the loss of the solid foundation from erik's presence that was once there.

vol. 12 | remember - omar rudberg

this song has a fascinating dual meaning of being both a memorial and a ballad. the remembrance is for erik, but being written into history is for wilhelm.

vol. 13 | revolution - elias, no. 1

there's the beauty of their love returning to the surface, but it still means setting a fire and feeling the heat as it burns.

vol. 13 | revolution - elias, no. 2

young royals uses beauty and love as a way to enter a revolutionary consciousness, where wilhelm and simon's connection becomes a way to push out of the past and into the future.

vol. 14 | live and die - gina dirawi

all that [wilhelm] has left is worship at the altar of the only god he has found: the love he feels for simon. ((not that I’m picking favourites, but if you’re going to read just one? for goodness sakes let it be this one - Lili x))

vol. 15 | sunday - gina dirawi

wilhelm is being cast down not only for refusing to kneel to the crown, but for kneeling in love before simon. ((...and this one - Lili x))

vol. 16 | impatient - duvchi

the meaning is to be impatient, but the way the song echoes the ending of the word as “patient” doubly communicates the opposite. this patience vs. impatience manifests immediately ... it’s wilhelm's impatience against simon's patience.

vol. 17 | samurai swords (acoustic) - highasakite

this song is the lone one that belongs to august. he wants to inflict as much damage on wilhelm as immediately as he can, even if that means burning the bridge. even if it means burning the palace.

[good-music-only]

Double Rum Cola FATA BOOM

[cilviae]

Yo can we agree the music/songs in Young Royals complimented the show so well. I legit watched it again just to Shazam them songs. 

1. Bad (ft. KillASon) by Farveblind 

2. Wannabe Ghetto by FATA BOOM

3. It Takes a Fool to Remain Sane by Omar Rudberg

3. I see you by Nadia Tehran

4. Blah Blah Blah by Armin van Buuren 

5. No Tomorrow by Ty Frankel · Stephane Lo Jacomo · Myariah Summers 

5. Alpha by Yung Titties 

6. Äter Upp Dig by Musikens Makt

7. Revolution by Elias

9. Impatient by Duvchi 

Samurai Swords (Acoustic Ver.) by Highasakite

[starryfreckles]

young royals - episode 1 intro 

「wannabe ghetto」- fata boom

[candied-marlboro]

june. 

Sunshine Superman - Donovan

No Trace - MS MR

Just in Time - Tony Bennett

Go For A Soda - Kim Mitchell

Hawk Eyes - The Kicks

Double Rum Cola - FATA BOOM

BTSK - MS MR

Nothing Burns Like The Cold - Snoh Aalegra feat. Vince Staples

Sleepwalk - Santo & Johnny