#on louis mantle with her picture looking down

[nashvillethotchicken]

I'm think about claudia and louis again. 79 dead 1903 injured

[hanahaki-disease]

Waiting on some Holy Favor

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/SC cross over

Summary:

“Percy…Blew up…The St Louis arch?!

He’s not dead?!

Tim’s eyes were wide as they replayed the footage and enlarged the grainy picture showed off his best friend. What was Percy doing in Missouri? Who is that girl? What happened when he went to New York? Worry began to fill Tim’s stomach. He wondered if Percy was put up to this, threatened to do something for someone, because there was no way he was doing this of his own volition.”

Thank you to @keitria for beta reading!!!

*****************************

Tim locked the door behind him, wincing as his sore shoulder bumped the hard wood closed. Training was rough and he felt dead on his feet. But he chose this. He wanted—no, needed to become Robin. Dick didn’t want to take the mantle back, Jason was dead, and his best friend was missing. No one was here to reign in the Batman and Gotham was paying the price.

He hissed as he collapsed on the couch, an old towel separating him from the white material so that he didn’t stain it with his sweat or blood, groaning with relief when he could finally relax. His muscles burned. Legs weak, arms heavy, and head throbbing. Grapple training g was the worst but Robin needed to fly and so Tim will endure. Jason and Dick had, and he was sure Percy had too even if he wasn’t apart of the family business. If they survived, so could Tim.

With a groan he lifted his aching arms and grabbed the TV remote. He’ll turn it on to fill the silence, to make the empty halls not so empty anymore. Most of the time he didn’t really care what was playing. Sometime he flicked the channel button a certain number of times and leave it playing where it ends up, other times he’ll play friends or Sponge Bob, just something.

He flicked to the news. Alana Nazeer was Gotham’s beloved news reporter on channel eight, and Tim could see why. She was pretty, middle aged, and never shared her political opinions on city wide television. The best way to get on the masses’ good graces. She was reporting something serious, the laugh lines at the corner of her mouth pulled taught as she looked into the camera, hands clasped in front of her.

“Earlier today, down in St Louis, Missouri, a bomb detonated at the top of the St Louis arch,” She said reading the cue-cards. Tim was intrigued, he hadn’t heard about this yet. “There have been no causalities reported so far, however, eye witness accounts say that, just before the bomb went off and group of three young children rode to the top, and only two came down. No video evidence has been recovered yet but many suspect that these are the same children who caused a local greyhound buss to erupt at a gas station just outside Blüdhaven.

“St Louis Police department have recognized only of the three children involved with the Blüdhaven incident as young Annabeth Chase from Richmond, Virginia, the other two children are still unknown.” On the screen blurry surveillance camera footage showed Percy, the girl, and another kid their age jumping out the back of a bus before the screen cut off in the explosion. A few train station cameras also caught them before they disappeared in the southern city. “What their motives are is still unknown, but law enforcement is encouraging those with connections to either child to come forward and that we may apprehend them before any other tragedy occurs. This is Alana Nazeer with Gotham Today.”

Percy…Blew up…The St Louis arch?!

He’s not dead?!

Tim’s eyes were wide as they replayed the footage and enlarged the grainy picture showed off his best friend. What was Percy doing in Missouri? Who is that girl? What happened when he went to New York? Worry began to fill Tim’s stomach. He wondered if Percy was put up to this, threatened to do something for someone, because there was no way he was doing this of his own volition.

He should tell Bruce that Percy was alive. He needed to know, maybe—maybe that will help him get out if this funk he’s in. And perhaps Bruce will let him go down to Missouri to help Percy with whatever was going on with him, bring him back home to Gotham. Or even just supply him with the more discrete Batman tools and gadgets, give him another panic button just in case.

But as soon as those thoughts crossed his mind, he shoved them back where they came from. If he knew his best friend, and he does because they’ve known each other for years, Percy would not want Bruce’s help. Not after he was treated and ignored after Jason’s death. Percy would rant to him how Bruce would treat him as a burden, an unwanted mouth to feed because he wasn’t Jason. He wasn’t useful like Jason was, wasn’t as smart or as strong, and their near identical appearance was too much for the older man. Bruce couldn’t separate Percy from Jason and instead pushed him away.

And maybe that’s why Bruce didn’t notice till well after Percy went missing that he never came home. He didn’t fully recognize Percy as his son the way he had with Jason or Dick, even if Dick was his first. It took Alfred and Tim’s insistence for him to send Clark and J’onn to New York to find him, and by then it was too late. Percy had disappeared and it was days since the trip, and Tim had helped a few missing persons cases by then that anything after twenty-four hours was unlikely.

A part of Tim hated Bruce for being so ignorant and disrespectful towards Percy, for agreeing to take him in and care for him only to show favoritism towards his older brother. And he knew that a part of that ignorance was because of the grief over Jason, but it still wasn’t right. His there-but-not-there presence reminded Tim of his own parents and he doesn’t wish that upon anyone, much less his best friend.

But maybe now that Tim was Robin, or on his way to become Robin, he could help Percy somehow? But…How? Tim was stuck in Gotham and he was due to leave any day to Paris to complete his training—Dick! That’s right! Tim had almost forgotten about the oldest Wayne child. They hadn’t spoken since Tim asked if he could be Robin again for Bruce, but Dick told him to keep his number in case of emergencies. And this was an emergency if any.

“Hello?” Dick’s voice answered from the other side.

“Mr Grayson? Are you busy?” Tim asked.

“I can talk, Tim,” He said. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“You remember the gas station explosion a few days ago in Blüdhaven? The one with the bus and the missing kids?”

“Yeah, I went over there to investigate with the police department, but there wasn’t much evidence of how it happened,” He answered. “I know some of the passengers had said it was because of some kids, but we weren’t able to find them. Why’d you ask? Did you find something?”

“Ye-Yeah, um” He stuttered. He didn’t really think this conversation through, if he as honest. He thought it was just going to be easy. Ring up the young adult, tell him he saw his missing little brother on TV and that he was the reason for the domestic terrorist attacks across two different states, and then hang up and go about his night. It was a vague, unreliable plan because how exactly was he supposed to actually tell him that. He couldn’t just blurt it out right, Dick wouldn’t believe him. But this was important and he should know because it his little brother, Tim’s best friend! Who, apparently, is a wanted fugitive in two states. Wild. “I think Percy’s alive.”

Dick’s silence on the other side was concerning. “What?”

“I-I just saw the news,” He answered. “He was seen in St Louis and he-he’s a suspect in the arch explosion, but he disappeared after that.” Tim rewound the TV, letting the segment replay. “And there’s been surveillance recovered from the gas station, and Percy was spotted in the feed.

“I Just thought you should know,” Tim said. “I don’t know if B would have told you if he knew. I don’t know if he knows himself that Percy’s alive.”

“Did the news say why he was in St Louis?”

“No, just that he was spotted there and in Blüdhaven. They don’t know where he’s going from there of if he’s still there, not many witnesses saw him beside those that saw him at the top.”

“Okay. Okay.” Tim heard Dick sigh. “I’ll..I’ll look into it, try and see if I can find him or where he’s going next. Thank you , Tim. That means a lot.”

Dick hung up after that and Tim couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. First, his best friend as alive. (Already the best news in the world.) Second, he helped Nightwing with a missing person’s case indirectly. (His inner fanboy was screaming right now.) And thirdly, he was going to be Robin. Tim was going to be able to help the Batman and Nightwing and go on missions and help Gotham. The term ‘joy’ didn’t fully encapsulate what he was feeling.

He only wished Percy here to celebrate with him.

*****************************

I was originally going to post this on Sunday but I decided to be nice. I still might update on Sunday too, who knows 🤷‍♀️

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[ladycumhangabhainn]

Dans un autre monde - Chapter 10

Previously

  I was coming to the end of my story, how Jamie had gotten me and Faith to Craigh na Dun when the entrance door came bursting open and the sound of Faith, Brianna and Roger’s crying filled the Rectory.

 “Mama!” shouted my youngest.

 “Bree, darling, what’s the matter?”

 “Roger, lad, why are ye all crying?”

 At the grand old age of 9, Roger wasn’t known to cry for nothing, so something must have happened. Before the sweet lad could answer, the younger Mrs Graham came in, carrying her own daughter Fiona.

 “Reverend, Miss Beauchamp, I think yer lad and lassies might have some ear infection... We were having a picnic, then they started complaining about their ears...”

 “Mama, they scweamed!” sobbed Faith. “They were so loud, mama!”

 I frowned. “What was so loud? Roger, what is she talking about?”

 “The sound, auntie Claire, the sound was awful!”

 Sound? Screams?

 “Where did you say you went on your picnic?”

 “Just outside the city, Miss Beauchamp. Near this hill, Craigh na Dun.”

It took time, some cajoling and a full platter of Mrs Graham’s biscuits, but I finally succeeded in calming Roger, Faith and Brianna. They exhausted themselves and were now all napping in the girls’ room. I made my way back to Reggie’s study, the manse quiet except for the soft music coming from the kitchen.

 “Reggie...”

 The reverend’s desk was scattered with papers, the letters and proclamation I had found, but also what looked like a family tree and a piece of paper filled with Reggie’s familiar scribbling.

 “The bairns...”

 “They exhausted themselves. They’re napping in the girls’ room.”

“Good... I’ve been looking through all the papers ye found and tried to make a timeline... We are now in August 1950 which means that during yer Jamie’s time it is now August 1748... 202 years difference, right?”

I nodded and noted his frowned expression.

“What seems to be the problem, Reggie?”

He sighed.

“It’s all those dates... Nothing is right! The letter from the French King is dated May of 1748... And this letter from the Duke of Cumberland is dated September of 1748... In September 1748, Cumberland was in the Holy Roman Empire for the signing of the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle! It is impossible that ye and the lassies... Unless...”

 He started opening drawers full of paperwork, fished out a photograph before going to the mantle of the fireplace and taking a framed document.

 “McMaster!” he exclaimed, handing me the framed and the picture.

 The framed contained what looked like a very old document in Latin with several seals at the bottom.

 “I don’t understand... What is this document and who or what is McMaster?”

A smile appeared on the Reverend’s face.

 “This, me dear, is a photograph of the Declaration of Arbroath, the letters the Scottish barons sent to Pope John XXII in 1320 in response to the excommunication of Robert the Bruce. It is currently held at the Scottish Record Office in Edinburgh. And this” he pointed to the frame, “is an almost perfect copy of the Declaration that was made by a dear friend of mine, Ray McMaster.”

 “A copy, you say?”

 I couldn’t quite believe that this document was not the real deal. It looks exactly like the one in the picture, albeit without the signs of time.

 “So your friend, McMaster... He’s a counterfeiter?”

 Reggie let out a jolly laugh.

 “In another life he might have been... No, he is an artist. He works with several museums throughout Britain. As ye must know from yer experiences with yer Uncle Lambert, artifacts are priceless and mostly fragile. It is the same for documents and that’s when Ray comes in. He made several copies of documents that are on display at the Culloden Museum, like letters from Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Scottish Lairds Declaration to the Old Pretender.”

 “You want to ask your friend to make copies of King Louis and the Duke of Cumberland’s letters...”

 “Yes! It might take him awhile; Ray is quite the perfectionist... But the proclamation is dated July of 1749, so it will give you and the girl time to get ready to make the trip back through the stones...”

 He smiled, sheepishly.

 “And it will give us time to get use to the idea of ye and yer lasses leaving...”

 I sighed before hugging him. The girls and I would be reunited with Jamie and our family back in the 18th century, but it will mean saying goodbye to our 20th century family. The idea of leaving Reggie, Roger and Mrs Graham suddenly made me feel faint... 

“Promise me something, lass... Promise me ye’ll try to find a way to get word to us, to let us ken ye are all safe...”

 “I promise, Reggie... I think I might even have an idea how. You do business with a publishing house from Edinburgh, Fraser Press. It was founded back in the 18th century as F.A.M.M. Fraser, Printer and Book Seller...”

 He frowned. “F.A.M.M. Fraser? Yer lad, Fergus?”

 I nodded. “According to Mrs Graham, Fraser Press still belongs to my Fergus’ descendants... I’ll forever be thankful for what you did for me and my girls...”

 “I feel as if ye and yer lasses are me own... Like ye are part of me family and... maybe ye are, in a way.”

 He took the family tree from the table, it was a MacKenzie family tree.

 “Tis wee Roger’s family tree, from his father’s side. See if ye can find any name ye recognize...”

 I looked at the very top and let out a gasp.

 “William John and Sarah MacKenzie... They’re... They adopted Dougal and Geillis’ son... Oh my God! That means that Roger is...”

 “Dougal, ye mean the War Chieftain of clan MacKenzie?”

 “Yes, he was Jamie’s uncle, his mother’s brother... He had an affair with Geillis Duncan, the fiscal’s wife, but... She was a traveler, from 1968... And Roger can hear the stones as well... But then he is...”

 I tried to calculate in my head, but Reggie was quicker.

 “It means that wee Roger is yer lasses’ 2nd cousin, 6 times removed. So ye are, indeed, family.”

 “So I truly am Auntie Claire!”

 We laughed and cried at the same time, Reggie holding me in his arms and whispering softly. I felt so safe in his embrace. It reminded me of how safe I felt in Uncle Lamb’s embrace.

 “Now, me dear, we have to make preparations...”

                                                           ****

 And so we did. First we had to contact Mr McMaster who took quite his time responding to the message Reggie left with his assistant. Then with the help of Mrs Graham and her coven of druids, we salvaged pieces of the clothing Faith and I had wore on our arrival to 1948 and made three new dresses with lots of hidden pockets.

Slowly I started to get the girls to the idea that we would be leaving our current lives to be reunited with Jamie and Fergus. Faith had an easier time accepting it than Brianna. The 20th Century was all she had known and, although she had been quite young, my eldest daughter still had vivid memories of our lives in the past. She was able to get her sister excited at the prospect of finally meeting their father and their brother. My sweet little girl made sure to tell Brianna that both Jamie and Fergus would love her and that Fergus would teach her all the French comptines she couldn’t remember.

 We celebrated first Faith’s 4th birthday, then my own 32nd and finally Brianna’s 2nd. After Hogmanay, the girls started counting down the day until we would leave. We had decided that the best moment to pass through the Stones would be on the Summer Solstice. And so we counted the days and waited for Mr McMaster to send the copy of the letters. And we waited, and waited, and waited. By late May I was beginning to think the letters would never get on time and that we would miss our window of opportunity. That is until June 15th, 5 days before our set departure date.

 Reggie had taken Mrs Graham, Roger and the girls on an outing by the Loch and I was doing some last minute check, making sure all the medicine I had “borrowed” from the Infirmary would fit in all the hidden pockets of my traveling clothes, counting all the vintage coins we had found in several antique boutiques, when someone rang the doorbell.

 “Yes?” I said to the well dressed man standing on the doorstep.

 “I have a parcel for Mrs Claire Fraser...”

 Claire Fraser... I hadn’t been called that in what seemed like a lifetime ago...

 “Yes... I mean... I am Claire Fraser.”

 He handed me a large envelop before wishing me a nice day. The envelope was indeed addressed to me, but there was no return address. I slowly made my way to Reggie’s study and opened it. Inside were two sealed documents as well as what looked like antique bank statement from the Royal Bank of Scotland and three delicate necklaces with gemstones. In between those documents was a simple white envelope with one word, Madonna.

 Ma chère Madonna,

 You must have now deduced that Ray McMaster and the Paris apothecary you met a long time ago are one and the same.

You see, I have been watching you for years, Madonna. I first met you when you were a small child, pushed in a pram by your mother in an Oxford park. Your light, even at such a young age, shined a bright blue. Our second meeting happened shortly after your parents’ untimely death, when you were travelling to Egypt with your Uncle Lambert.

You see, Madonna, the Beauchamp are quite dear to me and I was tasked – or more likely I tasked myself – into looking after them through Time.  Just like you, Madonna, I am a traveler. I have traveled for so long that I somehow forgot where and when I am from. But I have never forgotten my line. You are of my line, Madonna. You come from a long line of what now people call time traveler.

Your destiny was always to travel through the Stones of Craigh na Dun and to meet your Highlander. And it is my destiny to reunite you with him.

I was able to visit Versailles recently. Do not worry, Madonna, King Louis didn’t recognized me. Although for him 4 years had passed since our last encounter, for me it had been a couple of decades. After leaving Versailles I made a quick detour by Aix-la-Chapelle and met with the Duke of Cumberland. I was able to convince him of the innocence and the loyalty of both you and your Highlander. Quite the man, that Butcher of Culloden.

I know Reginald believe me to be an artist – a counterfeiter maybe – but as you can see I am simply a traveler. Don’t tell him that the Declaration of Arbroath I gave him a couple of years ago is actually one of the original copy. I don’t think he would survive the shock.

Aurevoir for now, Madonna, for I am sure we will meet again.

 Raymond

 PS. I almost forgot, you will also find bank papers allowing you to access an account at the Royal Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh back in the 18th Century. I opened it in 1727 in your name, hopefully the fund will allow you and your Highlander to live comfortably. – R

PPS. The gemstones necklaces should allow you to pass through the Stones and through time more easily. Opal for yourself and your Faith and topaz for your Brianna. – R

 I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear fell on the letter, staining the paper. I didn’t know what to think about all that, but knowing Master Raymond had spent years furtively watching over me...

 “Thank you...” I said before putting the precious documents away.

                                                         ****

 Before I even realized it, it was June 20th. We all went to bed quite early the previous night and got up a couple of hours before dawn. I took my time getting the girls ready before joining Reggie and Roger down in the kitchen for a light breakfast – I knew from experience that it was better to travel through the Stones on an empty stomach.

 “Do ye really have to go, Auntie Claire?” asked Roger, eyes still red from having cried himself to sleep.

 “I’m afraid we do, sweet boy... But I promise I will find a way to get word to you as soon as we can...”

 The car ride was spent in silence and as we arrived at Craigh na Dun we were meet by Mrs Graham and some of her fellow Druids. Unlike for Beltane and Samhain, the Midsommer Druids Dance was done only by 3 dancers led by Mrs Graham.

 “They are ready for ye, me dear...”

 That’s when it hit me... I turned toward Reggie and Roger, hugging them as if my life depended on it, pressing kisses to the cheeks and tasting their salty tears. The girls too hugged them and kissed them goodbye, Brianna having to be pried from her grip on Roger’s neck.

 We finally made the trek up the hill and the buzzing sent more tears to my daughters’ eyes. Arriving in front of the central stone, I took Brianna in my arms, balancing her on my hip, and held Faith’s little hand.

 “Alright, girls... Now I want you to think about your father and brother... Think about them and about finally seeing them... I want you to count to three with me, and at three we will all touch the stone, alright?”

 They both nodded.

 “One... Two... Three!”

 TBC

[kimnamjooonz]

Blank Space - Episode 9

PBlank Space 

Showing up in this episode:

Karlie Kloss

Tom Holland:

Taylor Swift:

Chris Evans:

Basically everyone is here. 

Songs that inspired this chapter:

Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m bored - Ariana Grande. (Morgan’s song)

I’m a Mess - Bebe Rexha (Also Morgan’s song)

Don’t Hurt Yourself - Beyonce

I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift

Hands To Myself - Selena Gomez

Mambo N. 5 - Lou Bega

Dancing Queen - Abba

Africa - Toto

Hey Ya - Outkast

Blank Space - Taylor Swift.

Okay, this is a hot mess but I had a lot of fun writing it.

''Oh my God, who is she, I get drunk on jealousy, when you come back is time you leave, cause darling I'm a nightmare dressed like daydream.''

After the Madison Square Garden outing, the two weirdest weeks followed. Morgan and Sebastian had rescued a cat and almost kissed but after that, Sebastian came back to his senses and Morgan went into a spiral of anger without any precedent. The thing was that for a moment she had thought that she had achieved something after the moment they had shared while rescuing Thirteen so, it was a disappointment of the size of the Empire State when on the next day pictures of Sebastian and his girlfriend splashed the Internet. Morgan was as livid as the majority of Sebastian's fans. But, just like in the old times, she kept her emotions to herself and went on with her life. Only Taylor noticed that something was off and that Morgan was ready to snap. Not of stress or pressure but of anger. But Morgan was taking revenge in the best way she could: by landing her first Vogue cover, being invited to every show at the New York fashion week and hanging out with the most popular models afterwards. And being loved by apparently everyone on the Internet. On set, everything was as normal as it ever was. Morgan and Sebastian kept their outstanding chemistry but when the cameras stopped rolling, they went back to their brooding selves, hardly sharing a word. At least they weren't shouting at each other anymore even though Sebastian could see a shadow of anger in Morgan's eyes every time she looked at him. There were only two people that knew the reason why Morgan had been like a chained monster the last couple of weeks: her assistant Lucas and her new friend Karlie Kloss. She had met Karlie at the New York Fashion Week and they had immediately clicked. They were often pictured together leaving events or hanging out around the city. Morgan hadn't had any other option but to tell Lucas as he had found her smashing a glass of water to the floor after a new set of pictures of Sebastian and his girlfriend had surfaced the Internet, this time kissing. Lucas was a bit alarmed by Morgan's attack of jealousy and decided to call Karlie to help him handle her. He decided to not tell Taylor who was going to give Morgan an earful, without any doubt. Together decided to distract Morgan with an sleepover and a Harry Potter marathon. Taylor joined them, even though she found the situation curious. Morgan just lied and told her that she had had a bad day at set and they were helping her to relax. But Morgan needed help to release that anger. The best solution was to get over Sebastian but everyone knew that this was not going to happen any time soon. Morgan's solution was to run him over with her Porsche but Lucas had pointed out that this was probably getting Morgan to prison and would end her career in a heartbeat. Luckily Karlie proposed Morgan to do kickboxing with her and she had liked the idea. She already knew how to do rugby tackles and now she was learning to punch and kick. Lucas and Taylor were a bit reluctant. The were starting to fear for Sebastian Stan's well being. Taylor still remember the words that Clint had told Morgan at the airport: 'If they break your heart, you break their necks.'. She prayed that Morgan didn't took that piece of advice to heart. But after a week doing kickboxing, she could feel the difference. Anger wasn't clouding her thoughts anymore and she could feel her wits getting sharper and more calculating. Or that was what she thought. Many others had noticed too. Taylor, Lucas and Karlie were proud of her as she was in a much better mood. Even Sebastian had noticed. There was no anger in her eyes anymore but sometimes she caught her staring at him in a way that made him wonder if she knew something he didn't or if she was planning to give him an slow and painful death. That Friday evening Morgan was with Lucas and Karlie at the gym. Don't Hurt Yourself by Beyoncé was blasting and Morgan was punching a punching bag with all the force in  the world, and the song was motivating.  They were even singing some lyrics. ''I am the dragon breathing fire, beautiful mane I'm the lion, beautiful man I know you're lying...'' Punch. Karlie was impressed. In a week Morgan's workout was noticeable. She looked even more stunning, if that was possible. ''Morgan, sing the next part because it's absolutely epic.'' said Lucas, laughing.

''We just got to let it be, let it be, let it be, baby'.. HEY BABY'' Punch. ''WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK ARE YOU?'' Punch. ''I SMELL THAT FRAGANCE ON YOUR LOUIS V BOY'' Punch.  'JUST GIVE MY FAT ASS A BIG KISS BOY'' Punch. ''TONIGHT I'M FUCKING UP ALL YOUR SHIT BOY'' Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. Morgan was punching that bag as it had personally offended her.

''This is so cathartic'' said Lucas, who was lying on a mat, tired. ''It is'' the song had stopped and Morgan was on a little break to drink water and rest. ''Brilliant, Morgan, brilliant'' said Peter, Morgan and Karlie's personal trainer. He was a lovable big guy, who was always flirting with Lucas. And Lucas shamelessly flirted back. Morgan always thought that he was the reason why Lucas kept going to the gym with her and Karlie. ''I wouldn't like to be the person you're angry at.'' ''You're right. You wouldn't like to.'' Morgan looked at her reflection on the big mirror and she loved what she saw. Her back was more muscular and her arms more defined. ''Are you sure you're not training for an action movie?'' he asked. ''Something Marvel related? After all, you work with Sebastian Stan and he's from Marvel.'' Thinking of the DEVIL, there he was, mentioned again. ''Not at all. Maybe I take on the mantle of Captain America now that Chris Evans is leaving.'' she said with sarcasm. ''It seems that you're enjoying being Stan's partner way too much that you want to do it again.'' Karlie teased her again and Lucas laughed out loud. Peter was the only one that didn't understand. ''Keep teasing, you two'' Morgan rolled her eyes at him. ''Let's do something else.'' ''Let's try to combine your kicks with your punches, okay?'' Karlie was searching for another song to motivate Morgan. Taylor Swift's I did Something Bad was the chosen one. Morgan was thinking exactly the same. Peter was guiding Morgan in everything that she needed to do, and of course that the song lyrics were helping her. They say I did something bad, why does it feel so good? Punch. They say I did something bad why does it feel so... Punch. ...good? Kick. Most fun I ever had and I'll do it over and over and over again...'' Punch. If I could... Kick. It just felt so... Punch. Kick. ...good. Punch. Kick. Karlie and Lucas were having a lot of fun, watching Morgan kick and punch, totally possessed with the song. ''LIGHT ME UP! LIGHT ME UP! GO AHEAD AND LIGHT ME UP!'' they sang, trying not to laugh.   She finished basically submissing Peter. ''Okay, okay, you were good Morgan. Anger motivates you.'' he ruffled her hair. ''See you newt week and don't punch anyone, okay?'' She just nodded. She was so tired that she was lying in a mat, breathing heavily and trying to get some energy and get up. ''So... ready for tonight?'' Karlie asked. That night there was going to be a cast party but everyone knew it was more than that. Many people was going to go, and they weren't related to the movie at all but Damien had invited them for publicity. Morgan herself had invited Taylor, Lucas and Karlie. Everyone knew that Sebastian was going to bring his girlfriend and everyone was asking if Joe Alwyn was going to bring Taylor Swift. For all of these reasons, Morgan was excited. ''More than ever'' she was still lying on the mat, moving her hands sensually at the rhythm of Selena Gomez's Hands To Myself. Lucas jumped from the mat with Morgan's phone in his hands. ''Can I film this for your Instagram? This is too priceless. Post workout Morgan Llewellyn lip synching and looking devastatingly sexy. Perfect.'' ''Perfect to PornHub'' commented Karlie. ''Shut up, Kloss. Now, do what you were doing, Morgan. Remember, you can't keep your hands to yourself. Taylor is going to kill you but not before you kill a certain someone of a heart attack. Now, action.'' At the other side of Manhattan, Sebastian was opening the new Instagram notification from Morgan only to end up weak on the knees with his eyes almost bulging out of his skull. He had to sit down to call himself a little and watch the video again. ''Damn'' was the only thing he could mumble.

''You are absolutely out of control.'' Taylor reprimanded Morgan once they were at home getting ready for the party. ''I told you not to post sexy stuff.'' ''It was good.'' Morgan was ready and she was sitting on the table, looking bored. ''Did you see how many likes it got?'' ''Yeah, including one from your co-star.'' Taylor kept curling her hair. Lucas giggled. He was straightening the front of his shirt. He and Morgan knew that they had achieved their purpose. And it was just he beginning. Lucas couldn't wait to see what else Morgan had in store. She looked spectacular, with a metallic short, loose dress, that had a star in the middle with an inscription in Welsh. It highlighted her long legs to perfection. She accompanied the look with high heels, snake themed jewellery and her signature red lip. ''Beth bynnag y mae'n ei gymryd, rwyf bob amser yn ennill.'' Taylor read the inscription in Morgan's dress. ''Isn't that a bit threatening?'' ''It depends how you take it. And no one except you understands Welsh.'' ''What does it say?'' asked Lucas. ''Whatever it takes, I'm always going to win.''  Taylor translated the sentence. ''Childish.'' however, Taylor was a bit weary of Morgan, who was not going to give up in whatever she was planning. Taylor didn't want to know. So, Morgan was going to go there making statements and no one was going to understand. ''Let's go, remember we're picking up Karlie on our way there.''

Sebastian was already in the place accompanied by his girlfriend and his friends. Damien Chazelle was around as well as some of the cast, pop music was on the background and the place was peaceful only because Morgan Llewellyn hadn't arrived yet. ''Are you sure she's not here yet?'' Florence asked. ''Yes. If she were here you'd notice that. She's chaotic and this place too peaceful.'' Florence wanted to meet the infamous Morgan Llewellyn once and for all to see if she was as bad as Sebastian said she was. Sebastian glanced at the windows. A horde of paparazzi were outside that didn't pay much attention to him when he got in. They most asked questions that were asked went like: ''Are you and Morgan dating? Because you should, you look gorgeous together'' (and they had asked that IN FRONT of his girlfriend), ''What do think about Morgan's latest Instagram video?'' or ''What do you think about the rumour of Morgan Llewellyn leading the live action Wicked movie?''. They just wanted to ask stuff about Morgan. Suddenly there was a commotion outside and there were flashes everywhere. ''What the hell...'' Florence mumbled. ''There she is. I told you she was chaotic.'' Florence suddenly wanted to leave. She hadn't even seen Morgan yet and she knew that she was whatever but good news. She was too overwhelming and she hadn't entered the building yet. And her feelings were justified when Morgan entered the place. Immediately, Sebastian's group knew that he had been right: pictures didn't do her justice. Morgan in person was ten times more gorgeous and with that metallic dress that exposed her long legs she looked like an exotic flamingo. In Florence's opinion she looked like a beautiful snake. ''I think I lost my ability to breath'' Chace mumbled. ''If you don't want her for you, set me up!'' ''Shut up, Chace!'' Sebastian desperately hissed. But he was with his eyes fixed on Morgan in a not so subtle manner. But Florence was staring at Morgan too. She was built like a Victoria's Secret Angel and she walked like one. She was pacing the room with feline steps, like she owned the place. She was vibrant, magnetic, full of life and absolutely chaotic. Morgan wasn't looking at them but Karlie Kloss was and Florence didn't like her expression. When Florence finally took her glance off of Morgan she saw Sebastian, Toby, Will and Chace staring at her with their mouths hanging open. ''Snap out of it!'' Florence reprimanded them but none only Will took notice. Morgan walked straight to Damien who was waiting for her. ''My dear Morgan! I was waiting for you! Finally the star of the show is here! I want you to meet a couple of people...'' In five minutes she was surrounded by a circle of influential people. From Greta Gerwig, Patty Jenkins, Kevin Feige (that no one knew what was he doing there) and many more. Only after half an hour she was free. ''I think I'm meeting my cast mates'' she said to Karlie and Lucas (Taylor was still talking to Greta Gerwig). Firstly she went to greet Michael and Alicia and then Emily and her husband John Krasinski. They talked for some minutes until Morgan decided that she couldn't keep avoiding the inevitable and approached Sebastian's table before she had any chance of chickening out and running away. Florence felt a pit in her stomach when she saw Morgan approaching. But there was no way to avoid her. But Morgan wasn't looking at her, she had her impressive blue eyes fixed on Sebastian. ''Nice co-star you make. You're here hiding while I have to deal with everyone.'' Florence was surprised. She was expecting Morgan Llewellyn to hiss or to speak Parseltongue. Instead, she had a silky voice that combined with a standard British accent that made it sound completely irresistible. ''What's the deal with you, mate? You always act like you don't even want to be here.'' Florence absolutely detested her. She just needed a couple of seconds next to Morgan to see that she was even worse than what Sebastian said she was. ''You have the whole stage to yourself, Llewellyn. Go and shine.'' Florence wondered if that was banter or if they really were used to say snarky things at each other. ''It tears me apart to say this, doll, but you may be right. With that sour face you won't charm anyone. Why don't you leave? TacoBell is having discount night. You can have a nice dinner there.'' Wait a second... since when Morgan Llewellyn called Sebastian 'doll'? ''I told you two weeks ago, princess. I'm not leaving, I'm staying.'' Florence was about to blow up. He was shamelessly calling Morgan 'princess'. He didn't even called her like that. What was the game they were playing at? ''That's on you, Stan. Have fun if you like or do whatever the hell you want, I don't care. Remember we're on the public eye and we're supposed to be friends so at least smile when you're talking to me. I don't want a Madison Square Garden 2.0, believe me, doll'' Florence couldn't stand it anymore. ''Hello, I'm Florence. I'm Sebastian's girlfriend.'' she had to intervene before Morgan tore Sebastian apart with her words. And she couldn't stand her calling him 'doll'. ''Oh, hi'' Morgan looked at her with a sweet expression. Nothing on her beautiful face revealed a drop of animosity but her eyes told a complete different story. They were cold as ice. ''Sebastian talks a lot about you.'' Sebastian couldn't believe that Florence was saying that. But his girlfriend was still angry because he had called Morgan 'princess'. ''How nice'' Morgan said with an unemotional voice. ''Can't say the same, but we almost never talk, so don't worry.'' Florence was reading the words on Morgan's dress. They were in some strange language that she didn't know. It wouldn't surprise her if it was a curse. Nothing would surprise her about Morgan. ''What does it say?'' she asked with a fake smile, pointing at the dress. ''To be or not to be, that is the question'' she lied without wincing. The message was to Sebastian, not to Florence. ''Shakespeare's Hamlet in Welsh. Balmain customised this dress for me with this quote.'' ''So you are Welsh. I thought you were British.'' Florence meant to say 'English' but she couldn't think clearly with Morgan in front of her. Morgan blinked a couple of times in confusion. ''Wales is part of Britain.. but maybe I'm not the best person to explain this... you can always go to the Wikipedia. It's pretty clearly explained.'' she turned around, making it clear that the conversation was over. Then she noticed Chace. ''You're Chace Crawford! Oh darlin'! I love you since Gossip Girl!'' Sebastian almost dropped his glass to the floor. He could see that Chace had got numb. ''Thank you. That is... a wonderful compliment.'' ''I have to go now, see you later.'' she smiled at him in a nice way, not flirty or anything of the sort. They all watched Morgan leave and take a seat in a table with Lucas and Karlie. ''She hates me'' Florence said, out of nowhere. ''She doesn't'' Toby showed up out of nowhere after he and Will had vanished when Morgan appeared to the scene. But they had been listening to everything. ''She hates Sebastian, you're just collateral damage. And she was pretty nice to you.'' Will laughed out loud. ''She literally said 'Can't say the same' and sent her to look up stuff in the Wikipedia. In which world that counts as being nice? Sebastian was right, she's a snake.'' ''She's not!'' apparently Chace was caught in the Morgan spell. ''I don't know what did you see. But she's really nice. She's just angry at you because you got two hours late to the first read through and invented she was on a date with you, Florence'' Sebastian wanted to punch Chace on the face. That was one of the things he wasn't supposed to tell anyone. But apparently justifying Morgan was more important to him. ''But you weren't! Sebastian!'' Florence looked at him with anger. ''Thank you very much! She was right after all! Where were you by the way?'' Sebastian couldn't think of an explanation that made sense. He had had a mental breakdown that fateful morning but he was not telling that to Florence. ''It doesn't matter'' ''Yes, it matters because thanks to your stupid lies now Morgan Llewellyn loathes me and wants me out of the picture'' Sebastian, Chace and Toby looked at her with their eyebrows raise. ''C'mon! You can see it all over her fake sweet face.'' ''You're just paranoid'' Sebastian kept his eyes glued to Morgan's back, who was with her friends and some other people. ''If she hates someone here, she hates me.'' ''The thing is...'' Will looked at him, straight in the eyes. ''...she doesn't hate you, Sebastian. And you know it.'' Many more people had arrived and some of them had joined Morgan and her friends who were just talking about harmless stuff like pets or what was going to happen in the next season of Game of Thrones. Between Morgan's new company were Tom Holland, Zendaya, Jacob Batalon and Harrison Osterfield. No one knew why they were there but their funny personalities gave life to the group. Tom Holland started to tell anecdotes that had everyone in tears. Sebastian couldn't kept his eyes away from her for a second. And she hadn't looked at him once. He got distracted only when Chace stood up. ''Where are you going?'' he asked. ''With them.'' he pointed at Morgan's group. ''They're a young and lively bunch.'' ''So you're on her side, now. Wow, thank you, Chace.'' ''I'm in nobody's side, stop being so immature. They look like they're having a great time and we're here in silence watching them have fun. I'd rather be there.'' And without any more words he left and second later he was installing himself between Zendaya and Karlie Kloss, being all smiles. The only thing Sebastian wanted was to follow him. After a while Toby's loyalty to him was over and he followed on Chace's footsteps. Morgan received him with a huge smile. Only Will and Florence were still with him. ''I'm getting a drink'' he almost ran to the bar. Michael Fassbender was there and Morgan was near, mysteriously talking with Karlie and Tom. Maybe they were talking about him or maybe he was as paranoid as Florence. He asked for a beer and was going to get back to his table when Michael approached him. ''Finally I get you alone... I'm going to be direct with you because you look painfully unhappy... just, once and for all, make up your mind'' ''What?'' he knew that what Michael had just said made perfect sense but he was not going to admit it. ''Don't try to deny it. I've been watching you and you could take your eyes off of her for a second.'' it was pretty clear who 'her' was. ''Just...clear that head of yours. Once you do that, you'll be a happier person, trust me.'' Michael went back to his table, in which his wife was talking to Morgan's agent. He was still processing Michael's words and looking at Morgan, who was talking only with Karlie, who after getting a drink was going back to the table. It was now or never. Without overthinking too much he approached her. He knew that what he was doing was wrong but he didn't care. Suddenly he was feeling reckless. ''So, you've been working out, Llewellyn?'' Morgan looked at him with suspicion. ''Glad you watched my Instagram video. I guess you enjoyed it.'' ''Yeah, half the world enjoyed it.'' he got one step closer to her. ''But that's not how I noticed. You look different. Stronger.'' Morgan had a side smirk on her face. ''Thanks for the compliment. There's nothing better than strength in this world. Physical strength and strength of character get you ahead in this universe. You feel powerful.'' He got even closer to her. ''What the hell are you playing at?'' Morgan looked at him with a side smile, without no hint of shame. ''My own game, Stan. It's not my fault you're bitter because you're not involved in it.'' He looked at her with the same smile. ''Are you sure of that? I'm pretty much sure I'm well into your game.'' ''Why don't you... prove it?'' she said the last words very slowly. She knew he couldn't. She was never evident about her feelings in front of anyone, let alone, him. He got so close to her that they were almost touching. Morgan needed all her self control to keep herself level headed. ''I thought something had changed between us after MSG. But no. You went back to being the insufferable person you were before.'' ''Look who's talking! I didn't see much of a difference in your behaviour, Stan.'' He had his eyes glued to her. Even though the room was full, this moment was just theirs. ''We shared a moment, Morgan.'' ''And? You come here talking about moments, when your girlfriend is right there looking at you. You have no shame, Sebastian. You thought we shared a moment but, I'm sorry to tell you that nothing of what I told you was of much importance''. But he didn't give up. He closed the space between them, placing her hand softly on her shoulder and leaned in order to whisper something on her ear. ''Keep lying to yourself, Morgan.'' his lips were almost brushing her skin. ''It meant something for you and it meant a lot to me.'' he placed a short and soft kiss just below her ear, leaving Morgan absolutely disarmed. He left with a smile and winking. The bastard knew that her had won this round. At least Morgan had the consolation that his girlfriend was going to give him hell and erase that winning smile from his face. But she was needing all her self control because her insides were screaming.  She was obviously very shaken. ''What did he tell you?'' asked Karlie when she was back at the table. ''Nothing of importance.'' she said with all the calm in the world. ''Some crap about my Instagram video. Idiot.'' she didn't know why she was lying to Karlie. Maybe because there were many things that she liked to keep to herself. Like the sensation of Sebastian Stan's lips brushing against her skin for less than a second. Sebastian kept the winning smile for a good while. The magic lasted until Florence spoke. ''Are you going to explain what happened with your co-star? You two were pretty close.'' ''I was just telling her something about Tom Holland. Nothing serious'' he wasn't very focused on giving a strong excuse. The only thing that ran around his head was the softness of Morgan's skin and how good it'd feel to place more kisses in that neck of hers... Will, who had spent the night basically in silence, noticed Sebastian's absent minded and dreamy expression. ''Sebastian!'' Florence said in a loud voice that scared him a little. ''I was talking to you.'' ''Yeah, I know and I wasn't hexed by Morgan, we were just talking.'' once again, he was talking before thinking. '' She's a person by the way, not a creature from Mordor...'' then he noticed Florence's expression. ''Do you think I'm having an affair with her? Trust me, I'm not.'' ''I don't trust you'' she blatantly said. ''But I trust Morgan's ego. She'd never accept to be anyone's side chick. She has to be in the spotlight, she demands full attention, she has to be the one and only. I kind of pity the poor guy that ends up with her.'' Sebastian didn't share that view. ''She's not that bad, you know.'' ''Sebastian!'' he got yelled for the second time in ten minutes, this time by Will. ''You were the one that told us that she was a snake and we believed you. We're on your side, not like Chace and Toby, who are there laughing and having fun.'' But they couldn't finish what they were talking about because someone was making his way into the place: the one and only Chris Evans. Before Sebastian could even wave at him, Damien had already caught him and a second later he was introducing him to Morgan Llewellyn. ''What the hell Damien!'' he hissed. The only thought he had on his head was 'Not Chris, not Chris, not Chris, anyone but Chris.' He had to control himself for ten minutes while watching them talk. Thankfully someone had got the idea of dancing and Morgan had grabbed Jacob's arm and jumped to the dancefloor. Sebastian was starting to hate the Mambo Number Five only because he just wanted to be in Jacob Batalon's place so hard it hurt. Some minutes later she was dancing to Dancing Queen with Chace. But the worst was yet to come. It seemed that the world was testing how much jealousy he could bear before snapping. The first notes of Africa by Toto started to sound and he was absolutely scandalised when he saw Chris inviting Morgan to dance this particular song. And she accepted. Of course she was going to accept. Who on earth would reject dancing with Chris Evans? ''I can't believe it!'' he hissed. ''This is our song!'' ''What? Do you have a song with Morgan Llewellyn?!'' Florence just couldn't deal with this situation. She was discovering a side of Sebastian she had never seen before. The side that was very similar to Morgan's chaotic personality. And she didn't like it one bit. ''Just ignore him'' Will answered for him because Sebastian was too concentrated looking a Morgan and Chris. ''He's bewitched. It seems like that woman's exclusive fragance was poisonous after all.'' ''Well...'' Florence said bitterly. ''I don't see Toby, Tom Holland and his friends or Chris Evans bewitched. Not even Chace looks like a dreamy idiot anymore. Only Sebastian is acting like a fool. What does she have anyway?'' ''What she doesn't have'' it seemed like Sebastian was listening after all. The song ended and Morgan and Chris stayed a bit further apart from the rest of the group, sitting alone in a table. Sebastian was fuming. ''I have to stop this.'' he stood up and went towards Chris and Morgan. ''Sebastian, don't!'' Florence was getting desperate. ''Just don't do it!'' but he didn't listen. Chris and Morgan were having a normal conversation. None of them was flirting, that was absolutely out of the question. They were just talking about their pets. Chris was telling Morgan all about his dog, Dodger. ''...I love him. He's like my son. He's so unique... do you have dogs?'' There was nothing that Morgan liked more than talking about her animals. ''I have two corgis. Well, one is actually my brother's. We named them after Doctor Who characters. Mine's Doctor River Song and Clint's Captain Jack Harkness. I also have cats.'' ''Oh, I like cats too, no more than dogs but they can be nice. Are yours named after fictional characters too?'' ''No. I named them after Elizabethan people. I have Sir Francis Drake, William Shakespeare and Lady Elizabeth Tudor, who was Queen Elizabeth's name when she was Henry VIII's bastard daughter. It's impressive the amount of history you can learn through Shakespeare plays. Oh, and I rescued a cat here in New York. I named him Thirteen because of the thirteenth Doctor, who's finally a female, and I was born on a thirteen.'' She didn't mention Sebastian in the story. He had been the one that had actually found Thirteen after all. But Chris, or anyone else, didn't needed to know that. ''I was also born on a thirteenth. But of June.'' And also Sebastian, Morgan thought. But of August. Great. The triumvirate of the Thirteens. ''And I also have a sheep'' she added before making the mistake of blurting stuff about Sebastian in front of Chris Evans. ''Lady Macbeth....'' she was about to explain why she had chosen that name when she was interrupted by Sebastian. ''And here comes the Grinch.'' ''Chris, we need to talk.'' Chris was as surprised as Morgan by his attitude. ''Well, hello Sebastian. I had no idea that you were here. I haven't seen you yet.'' ''Yeah, yeah, we need to talk'' he basically dragged Chris away from Morgan, who wondered if he was jealous of her as she was talking with his beloved Chris Evans. ''Seb, are you okay?'' Chris was a bit concerned. ''What are you doing talking to her?'' he asked with bothering to answer Chris' question. ''Sebastian, are you drunk?'' Chris grabbed Sebastian's face and looked at his eyes. ''You're not. Not on alcohol at least. On jealousy, maybe. What the hell is wrong with you, Sebastian? You have a girlfriend and you're being a jerk to me because I was talking to Morgan about pets! Be honest, do you like her?'' Sebastian was a bit ashamed. He had gone there with the intention of call out Chris but the tables had turned in a second and Chris had got him straight in the wound. ''She's my co-star'' ''And? Do you think you're entitled to control her life just because she's your co-star?'' Chris laughed. ''Please, do me a favour and calm yourself down. I know you like her and you're conflicted so I'm letting this one pass as it never happened but... make up your mind.'' Sebastian found it weird that he was told the same by two different people, Michael and Chris. ''Do it sooner rather than later because you'll lose your girlfriend, Morgan Llewellyn and who knows who else, okay?'' Chris patted his shoulder with tenderness and a bit of pity. ''Chris, one more thing...'' he looked as if he was fearing the answer. ''Do you like her?'' ''I met her half an hour ago. She's a nice woman. Interesting to talk to, very charismatic. Now I know why the general public likes her so much.'' Defeated, he went back to his table. Chris went back to Morgan who was very intrigued to know what the hell Sebastian wanted. ''He was jealous'' said Chris before Morgan asked anything. ''What an idiot. Does he fear me to be a bad influence on you?'' ''He wasn't jealous of you. He was jealous of me talking to you.'' Morgan looked at him with her eyebrows raised. Her face remained unemotional. ''That is even worse. The guy has a girlfriend.'' Chris didn't believe her for a second. Maybe her unemotional voice, relaxed body language and the expression of her eyes were pretty convincing but Chris was absolutely sure that there was something else between these two. ''Whatever Sebastian feels for you, is mutual, isn't it?'' There was no need to keep lying. Chris had caught her. ''How do you know? Nevermind... look, it's weird. We hardly ever talk let alone touch if it's not strictly scripted. So, I have no idea what the hell is going on.'' She was being honest, there were days that she was really confused about what the hell was going on. ''There's something implicit between you two and you'll never admit it to each other because you're too proud for that. And he also has a girlfriend, which complicates things even more. And he's scared to leave her because what if everything backfires and he ends up staying alone. And he's probably very confused. Nice situation he got himself in.'' ''Wow, you're good in this. Anyway, I won't do anything as long as he has a girlfriend. Cheating is always wrong and he should know it. And I'm no one's second choice. Well, maybe the second woman to play the Doctor after Jodie Whittaker who's amazing. Anyway, I won't ever be 'the other woman'. That's simple humiliating.'' and she wasn't counting on the fact that she had been his fan for years. Embarrassing stuff to the limit. ''Of course it is. You deserve...'' He was about to say 'better' but Morgan wasn't listening anymore. She was looking at the door, where Joe Alwyn was making his entrance (late, by the way) accompanied by a woman that everyone in this room knew. Taylor Swift. ''Oh my God.'' she mumbled, looking at Joe talking to Damien and introducing Taylor to him. ''I've loved this woman since 2009, and I can't believe she's in front of me.'' ''I saw her live once'' Chris commented. ''She's really good.'' She was going to tell something to Chris but it was too late because Joe was already there. ''Hey, Morgan!'' he cheerfully exclaimed. ''And... Oh My God, Chris Evans. Captain America. Wow.'' he was a bit dumfounded for a minute and he wasn't the only one. He was fangirling with Chris just like Morgan was fangirling with Taylor. The difference was that Morgan didn't let it show and Joe's eyes basically shouted 'I LOVE CHRIS EVANS'. ''Hi, I'm Taylor!'' Morgan was surprised that bloody Taylor Swift was introducing herself in such a simple manner. ''Joe told me a lot about you. Believe it or not I've seen you before! I saw Lady Macbeth with Joe in 2016. I had to put on a wig just to pass as a normal person. But you were fantastic, really moving and wonderful. When Joe told me who you were I basically clapped like a seal.'' Morgan was sure that she was looking as starstruck as Joe. And she had performed in front of Taylor Swift in 2016 and she was learning about it in 2018. Nice. ''I've admired you since 2009. I know all of your lyrics, they've helped me out so many times to count.'' They were praising each other for a while and then went on talking about whatever that crossed their minds. Acting, cast mates, Hollywood, childhood stories. Anything. On his table Sebastian was with a wide smile. She had never loved Taylor Swift as much as at that moment. He wanted to stick a poster of her in his room. Thanks to her, Morgan had moved away from Chris. ''Someone should call Lord Voldemort to come and pick up his people.'' said Will, pointing at Morgan and Taylor with his head. ''They kind of look alike except from the hair colour.'' Sebastian disagreed with everything he had said. ''No. They don't look similar at all.'' once again he was making the stupid mistake of talking before thinking, ''Morgan has no comparison. She's the most beautiful woman in the world, hands down.'' He knew immediately that he shouldn't have said that. At least not in front of his girlfriend. ''You know what?'' she asked with coldness in her voice. ''Enjoy the rest of your night.'' Without saying a thing more, she stood up and left. ''Florence, wait, I'm sorry!'' ''Just, stay here, okay?'' Will was taking the situation under control before Sebastian made more of a mess causing a public scandal. ''I'll drive her home and make sure she's okay. You screwed this up.'' On the way out Florence didn't want to look at Morgan Llewellyn because she was sure that she had her signature sarcastic side smile, buy she did it anyway. And she had been wrong because Morgan was immersed into a conversation with Taylor Swift and hadn't noticed anything at all. Florence hated that harpy more than anyone she had ever met. Sebastian was looking around, making sure no one had noticed that fight with his girlfriend. But there was only Harrison Osterfield on a near table, typing something on his phone, not aware of anything. Morgan only noticed that something had happened when she had got a text from Harrison  with all the gossip. And Taylor had also noticed something. ''I think your co-star is in trouble'' she said. Of course that Joe had told Taylor all about Sebastian and Morgan's constant bickering on set. ''I think he is'' Morgan was still looking at her phone. ''Are you two still fighting?'' she asked and Morgan wanted to laugh. Not even in her wildest dreams she could have imagined that someday she was going to be a topic of conversation for Taylor Swift and her boyfriend. ''Sort of.'' she simply said. She glanced at Sebastian who was looking a bit miserable and lonely. And she felt pity for him. Curse the fangirl feelings. ''I don't know why I'm doing this but... do you want to meet him?'' she asked Taylor who simply nodded. She made her way towards Sebastian's table with Taylor closely following. When they got there, they sat at Sebastian's side. ''I don't know what's happening to me, Stan but... I feel sorry for you.'' ''I didn't know you were capable of feeling, Llewellyn. This is a nice surprise.'' ''Oh, and... Sebastian, this is Taylor Swift. Taylor, this is Sebastian Stan.'' For some reason Sebastian wasn't very excited at meeting one of the most famous persons in the world. He was more busy guessing why Morgan had decided to talk to him at all. ''Nice to meet you. I really like your songs.'' it was the most stupid thing he had ever said but luckily for him, Taylor didn't seem to mind. ''And I saw you in I, Tonya. You were absolutely fantastic. It was outrageous that the Academy snubbed you. As outrageous as Morgan not getting nominated to the Lawrence Olivier.'' ''And Red deserved a Grammy'' Morgan and Sebastian said at the same time. It was the first time in his life that he admitted to liking that particular album. Morgan kept her intense gaze fixed on Sebastian. ''Look, I'm going to be honest here'' she suddenly said. ''I mean it when I said that I was sorry for you. You look so unhappy and lonely here that it makes me feel bad. You should be with us, dancing, talking and having fun. Make up your mind, Sebastian.'' this was the third time he was told of this in just one night. And somehow Morgan Llewellyn was more convincing than Michael or Chris. ''It's time for you to do what you want, not what you need. Just like I do.'' He looked at her with raised eyebrows. But what Morgan had just said made perfect sense. ''And does it work?'' he asked with genuine curiosity. He couldn't believe he was planning to follow Morgan's life advice. ''Just look at me! I've always done whatever the hell I wanted and look where I am!'' she got closer to him. ''I think it's worth a try.'' she whispered on his ear. ''Let's take a picture together! For sure it'd get attention! Can we kiss you on the cheeks?'' ''Go ahead'' he tried to keep calm. Morgan placed her head on his shoulder and he almost got dizzy with her fragance. She smelled like diamonds, fun, excitement, the city after dark and passionate nights. Before he knew she was 'kissing' him on the cheek, but barely touching him. Taylor had just wrapped an arm around his shoulder and making a face. And that was the picture. Just in this moment, Hey Ya by Outkast started to blast throughout the place. Even Damien was dancing. ''This song!'' Taylor exclaimed with a big grin. ''We have to dance!'' ''This song is my childhood'' Morgan and Taylor stood up at the same time. Sebastian thought that Morgan was exaggerating when she had said that this song was her childhood as he had been in his early twenties when that song came out. Then he remembered that Morgan was just twenty five and she was like ten or eleven when she was listening to Outkast. Yeah, that song was her childhood. He saw Morgan making her way to the dancefloor but she stopped in the middle of the way and came back to where he was. ''Come'' she suddenly said. He was expecting anything from Morgan but not this. ''What?'' he blinked a couple of times, confused. ''Come with us and have fun''. She extended her perfectly manicured hand and without thinking it twice he took it in his, with a smile on his face.

Morgan Llewellyn during this whole chapter:

P.S. my Morgan is painful to deal with but I love her. 

[indomitablemegnolia]

Taking a people watching post, sitting in the fourth seat in, perching on the edge of the chair, I push my messenger bag and purse under my chair, lay my coat across my lap, leaning my shoulder into the back of the chair, I watch.  I watched the rapacious soul eating mob move and ebb and flow as they would. Rock Hudson and Doris Day style husbands and wives in deep serious whispered fights, staring daggers at each other; a Calvin and Hobbes, pair of college students mumbling amongst themselves whether or not they had asked anyone to feed their bong water fish, which I highly doubted that the fish was ever alive; Mothers with children looking like the perfect advertisement for birth control, faces bleak, eyes sallow, looking at the world with a ‘someone kill me now’ appeal, my heart ached for them. Then like a ray of light a tiny toddling head went past, not screaming, not crying, he toddled on, chasing a large red and white ball. His tresses shorn close on the sides, the middle left long, his tiny Native American feet trotting to a mix of a babies walk and a fancy dance in his borrowed handmade mucklucks, like a Sherman Alexie character brought to life; he chased that ball, hunkering in the fashion that only a beautiful child can, accidentally nudging the ball, chasing and hunkering again.  His simple, beautiful, innocence was unmistakable, I wish I could capture that image to hold on to forever, but like anything and everything miraculous, possibly once in a life time, it could only be seen, witnessed, never captured for reproduction, no picture can be taken, no beckoning for others to see.  I watched him play, until mom noticed how far he had traveled, she motioned for him to come back, with a shriek of a laugh he finally captured the ball, it balanced awkward in his tiny hands as he scampered back to mom, I reveled in his beauty for as long as I could.

A shadow passed, a series of people walked into my vision, I watched a very rich woman, head to toe designer gear; from diamonds to Manolo’s, the cheapest thing on her could have been the down payment on a home, basically Marie Antionette circa 2017. I don’t know why, but I liked her, she was blonde; in fact, she was a blonde, to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window, you know the type, beautiful, petite with a touch of sad, the kind you know any of fifty men would commit a felony for, start a war for, but she was not the kind that could eat people alive, her money was new and she wore it like a crown.

Sadly, there she was trying almost desperately to gain the attention of her Louis XIV, his must be very new money, there is a comfort that comes from old money that he utterly lacks, with old money there is nothing really to prove; this man wore his wealth, including his wife, as if it were a status symbol requirement, his BMW keyring dangling from his Burberry coat pocket, his hands soft, totally without callouses, nails perfectly manicured, his hair coiffed with gallons of product; by all counts he was a useless man. Despite Marie’s attempts for his attention, it was focused like a laser on his newest game, he chased a bedazzlingly big busted, slim-fit skirt, again you know the type all tits and flash. I saw Drusilla, Louis’s game, meet his chase; she was also blonde, not nearly as pretty; she reeked of five thousand an ounce perfume, cheap sex in a motel room, and cigarettes, it all came along with a none too subtle ‘I would suck your dick just to kill time’ look about her, but her attitude left way too much to be desired. She must have felt my eyes watching them, she gave me a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of my back.  I watched the movements of these people, friends worse than enemies; lovers as adversaries; families at war and at peace; and lonesome strangers all lost in this Dante’s inferno morass, helpless, stuck, stranded.  In this place, full of people there was only about a handful of humans.  Poor Marie, she doesn’t know that down mean streets, on these streets a person must travel; a human who is not themselves mean, but can be; who must be neither tarnished nor afraid; they must be the hero in this story. She must have been looking for a man whose lips tasted of faerie tales, and mistook the frog for the prince.  Oh, but she is a peach, there may yet be hope for her, they walked on.  Then as ships pass in the distance my eyes moved from them to another.

This other; this long, tall, dark cloud drifted past stealing my vision; he was head and shoulders taller than Louis; he walked to the agent desk, handing the agent his ticket, there was something about him that usurped every atom of air around me. His dark licorice coloured, supple leather jacket hugged him tightly, dark wash jeans detailed the rest, tight enough to highlight the merchandise, but loose enough to leave bits and pieces for the imagination; Goddamn, taking in the entirety of his goliath frame was breathtaking, my god, he was lovely. The desk agent said something and motioned for him to find a seat; he spun deliciously on his heel, with ceremonious attitude reserved for royalty; he walked away, sliding his sunglasses down to rest on his nose.  He moved like water, luscious, cool, delicious water flowing over smooth stones; I literally leaned foreword and watched that walk, it was magnificent. God, he was about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food cake; no reverse that he was the angel wings on devil’s food; he was like a prowling lone wolf looking… for what? I am not sure, but the way he moved over the crowd, not through it, it was almost enrapturing. I mean, look at me, I was amongst these adders, trying to make my presence small, wanting literally to disappear, but I felt their lies and hate sticking to me like hot molasses, but him, he, seemed to be coated with a repellent, a Teflon, not a thing stuck to him.

He was as honest as you can expect a man to be in this world where it was going fast out of style. Not only did he move above them and through them without a spot of tarnish, he walked with that sultry panache. He was a complete man, very complete, my eyes slid to the lightly bagging rear pockets; they showed enough definition, but not the detail; good god I can’t believe my mind went there; he was a common man, although, there was not a thing common about him, he was as unusual a man as could ever be found. He, to use a rather weathered phrase, an unutterable phrase, was a man of honor. Possibly, by a natural instinct, look at those shoulders he could support the world; maybe by inevitability, by the sheer thought that someone had to be so he was more than happy to pick up the mantle, without thought of it, and certainly without ever saying it; or maybe he wasn’t, I was none too sure about my instincts these days. Oh, but the delicious stride of his foot sure and while in his gaze no man faltered, even Louis straightened his head when this wolf was on prowl. He seemed a man whose story was a manly adventure in search of a hidden truth, oh and goddam by the looks of him he was fit for adventure; oh, to be part of that adventure. Christ, my mind and oddly enough my body reacted to the idea of what kinds of adventure he would be up for.  It would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure, and I have had enough of those not fit for adventure. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in… he was the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world; he would be something of a marvel in every world. No, no, he probably wasn’t, look at me running wild with a though; he was probably just a man who dressed a part, stuck in an airport, with a walk… I let him slowly move from my sight, he was already driving me to distraction.

I look out on the desolate grey landscape, the ice creeping up the window panes; maybe it was Marie, maybe it was that godly walk, maybe I was in mourning for the loss of his visage or just the self-destructive nature of the human condition, but it was something that not even those chubby little hands clutching at that giant rubble ball could chase away; I don’t know what or why, and frankly I don’t really care, it just was; I suddenly feel ages, years heaping onto my shoulders.

To lean heavily of Dickens, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times; though really, mostly, it was just times; it always does seem like we are on the edge of evolutions end; hopefully, like on the TV shows the countdown stops at 1, although this time is feels to be on negative numbers.

I remember not too long ago, it seemed we were in an age of wisdom of invention and growth; now it is an age of foolishness, it is the epoch of disbelief, it is the epoch of incredulity; I miss the season of Light, for this is a damn season of Darkness, from which it seems there will never again be a spring, no hope, it is a winter of discontent, of despair. I remember the last day when we still had everything before us, though now in retrospect we really had nothing before us, we thought we were all going directly to heaven or maybe we were already there, we are all actually in a freefall directly the other way. I look at my world and succumb to the dark, dreary letting the weary days soak my soul.

[sartle-blog]

Art History Meets Fashion at the 2018 Met Gala

  Art history, but make it fashion.

  Is the Met better known for its art collection or for its luxurious annual gala? Yesterday our favorite (and not-so-favorite) celebrities appeared at the 2018 Met Gala for “Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination.” The theme was one of the event’s most controversial yet, and a large number of people didn’t dress accordingly (why anybody would willingly not follow a Met Gala theme is beyond me) while others showed up in outfits featuring bedazzled crosses and halos. A few others went above and beyond to incorporate art into their outfits. Here are some of our favorite parallels to art history in this year’s Met Gala costumes.

  In the most obvious nod to art history, pop singer Ariana Grande displayed the “back wall of the Sistine Chapel” in her gown designed by Vera Wang.

The Last Judgment, Michelangelo, 1536-1541

It doesn't get much more Roman Catholic than this!  The painting that graces Ariana Grande's dress also graces the back wall of the Sistine Chapel, a building at the very heart of Roman Catholicism. The chapel is part of the apostolic palace, AKA the Pope's very own house, and is used for ceremonies such as the Papal Conclave, when a new pope is selected. Michelangelo completed this wall in 1541, some time after he finished the ceiling, and it depicts the final judgment of man in a tumultuous swirl of motion and rippling muscles. The placement of this scene on the East Wall rather than the West wall, where such scenes were typically painted to remind visitors of the coming judgment as they left, was an interesting choice; the only person who went in and out of the door on the East side in the right corner was the pope, which placed the pope's entrance directly inside Hell! (Did Michelangelo have some beef with the pope, or what?) And speaking of interesting placement, check out where Jesus is on Ariana Grande's dress! Not where you usually find Jesus, to say the least. (Though maybe one could say he is directly over her heart, which makes it a little better.)

    As always, Rihanna stole the show with her expensive pope get-up by John Galliano. Her papal tiara looks incredibly similar to one on this mosaic of Pope Clement VIII by Jacopo Ligozzi.

Rihanna's filet-shaped hat is a super-glam version of the Mitre, a type of papal hat worn since at least the tenth century after a long evolution from the Roman camelaucum. There are several kinds of mitre, each worn on designated occasions and differing from each other in level of ornamentation, from the heavily ornamented mitre pretiosa to the mitre simplex, the most plain.  Rihanna's hat is a little more pretiosa than simplex. The only people officially allowed to wear mitres are Popes, cardinals, and bishops. Ri-Ri over here probably didn't get a special dispensation from the Pope to wear that headgear, but since she was one of the overseers of the entire Met Gala this year we'll let it slide.

  Triumph of Religion, John Singer Sargent, 1916

A number of the outfits were heavily inspired by a popular type of Marian imagery called “Our Lady of Sorrows,” which is a religious devotion including specific prayers and meditations relating to seven episodes from the Virgin's life that caused her great sorrow. The standard depiction of Our Lady of Sorrows includes a golden halo or crown, prominent tears, and seven swords piercing her heart.    

  Lana del Ray in Gucci

  Lily Collins in Givenchy Haute Couture

  SZA in Versace

  (we know who really inspired the resurgence of the halo crown though)

Halo crowns weren’t the only type of headwear at the Met Gala, but they certainly did make a splash. The halo, depicted as a disc or small circular nimbus, was used in Classical Rome in the depiction of certain gods and emperors, and while early Christians tried to resist incorporating the halo into their imagery because of its Pagan origins, the Halo was too powerful an attribute to make disappear. I mean, what else could be so effective at representing holiness than this symbolic use of light? By the sixth century CE, the halo was standard in depictions of all the most important saints and angels, and even Jesus. While Michelangelo eschewed halos for his more earthly looking saints, the halo made a big comeback during the Counter Reformation, during which time the Church was using art to reinforce its own majesty and glory.   

Consider these art-inspired headpieces for your next music festival outfit.

  Rita Ora in Prada and Lorraine Schwartz

Ghent Altarpiece, Jan Van Eyck, 1432

  Janelle Monae in Jennifer Fisher

Madonna Enthroned, Giotto, 1306

  Rosie Huntington-Whiteley in Ralph Lauren and Anita Ko

Madonna of the Candelabra, Raphael, 1513

Kate Bosworth in Oscar de la Renta and Tacori

Mary with the Child and Singing Angels, Sandro Botticelli, 1477

With her golden hair parted chastely down the center of her head and covered with a transparent, fringed veil, Bosworth looks the very image of a Botticelli Madonna. While Mary is typically shown in a blue mantle over a red garment, Botticelli also liked to show off his skills by painting transparent silk. Her head covering is representative of her virginity, which according to Catholic dogma, she retained her entire life, despite her marriage to Joseph. The virginity question aside, Kate Bosworth shares the Madonna's beauty and regal bearing.  

  Sarah Jessica Parker in Dolce & Gabbana and Jennifer Fisher

The Adoration of the Magi, Giovanni di Paolo, 1460

Sarah Jessica Parker seems to live by the motto “Go Big or Go Home.” The ornate quality of her headdress is reminiscent of many late gothic reliquaries, which were often covered in gilding, encrusted with jewels, and decorated with little figures, including Nativity scenes. The red heart that tops her church of a hat may also be a reference to the Sacred Heart, a common symbol in Catholic devotion that refers to Christ’s divine love of mankind as the reason for his sacrifice.

  If crowns aren’t your thing, don’t worry- the Met Gala’s got you (mostly) covered when it comes to clothes. These outfits were not only dazzling but also took inspiration from major period artists! What more could you want?

  Lena Waithe in Carolina Herrera

The Annunciation, Jan Van Eyck, 1436

The rainbow is a powerful symbol in Christian art, denoting God's promise to never again wipe out all of humankind in a devastating flood. The insanely gorgeous rainbow wings Van Eyck gives the Angel Gabriel in this Annunciation scene may refer to that promise of old while also enforcing the idea of a new covenant God would create with man in the birth, death, and resurrection of His son. Since then, the rainbow flag has been adopted as a symbol of Gay Pride, reflecting the diversity of the LGBTQ community. And who said you can’t have pride and be religious at the same time? Certainly not the Bible.

  Emma Stone in Louis Vuitton

Mariana, John Everett Millais, 1851, Tate Britain

Millais isn’t exactly Catholic art, but the stained glass windows in his painting sure are. The painting depicts Mariana from Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure," a play that takes place in Catholic Italy and grapples with Roman Catholic themes such as chastity, piety, corruption, lust, hypocrisy, and repentance. Mariana waited patiently and chastely for her ex-fiance Angelo after he dumped her when she lost her dowry in a shipwreck, only to take part in a crazy bed-swapping trick to lure Angelo into marrying her. Whether or not Mariana is a good Catholic role model is debatable, but that dress is clearly inspired.       

Jasmine Sanders in H&M

Shrine of the Virgin, anonymous, 1300, Metropolitan Museum of Art

  If this dress wasn’t inspired by this piece, there’s still an uncanny resemblance between the two--the slit in the dress is in the exact same spot as the opening for the shrine. The volume of the dress and its golden color also reflect the Marian imagery found on many shrines, including this one from Medieval Germany that was gilded on wood and opens to reveal a mystical image of the Trinity. What mystical treasures this dress conceals are for Jasmine to hide or reveal as she pleases.

    Misha Nonoo

Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia, Sofonisba Anguissola, 1599

  We can only hope this dress isn’t as uncomfortable as it looks--for both of them. You have to give her credit for going the Renaissance Noble route, celebrating the fancy Patrons who would have commissioned all the fabulous art. Sofonisba Anguissola was a rare female artist who actually worked at the Spanish Court in the reign of Philip II, during Catholic Spain's fight for dominion over the Low Countries. Anguissola was able to render her royal sitters and their fabulous clothing and jewelry delicately and soberly. Misha Nonoo, denizen of the London Fashion world and matchmaker to Prince Harry and Megan Markle, takes that classic little-black-number-and-white-ruff Spanish court look, and gives it a contemporary, more subtle edge. The Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia probably wouldn't have been able to get away with a sheer midriff, but it's a perfect update for 2018. 

Christian Combs in Dolce & Gabbana

Portrait of Jacob Boncompagni, Scipione Pulzone, 1574

  If you’re ever wondering what P. Diddy is up to these days, he’s apparently taking his son to the Met Gala. Young Christian "King" Combs is no stranger to the catwalk, and he can pull off pretty much anything. That gold embroidery on black, studded jewels, and velvet crown hearken to the most fancy armor seen in 16th century portraits, making Combs look positively kingly. Such armor, while great for getting your picture painted in, would have been far too costly to wear out and about or, God forbid, in combat. "This is just my fancy dress armor," Jacob Boncompagni would have said. "I only bust it out for things like the Met Gala."

    Zendaya in Atelier Versace and Tiffany & Co. jewelry

Jeanne d’Arc, Albert Lynch, 1903

Roman Catholic attire can't be summed up by silly hats, robes, and jewels alone. There's also a little something called "crusader chic," and it is full-on medieval. While Joan of Arc was no crusader, she is now one of nine secondary patron saints of France due to the prominent role she played in the Hundred Years' War. When just a girl, the peasant Joan received visions of various saints telling her to support Charles VII and help��free France from English rule. She attended the military campaigns wearing protective armor, but after several French victories, she was captured by a Burgundian faction working for the English and burned at the stake. Now canonized by the Roman Catholic Church as a martyred saint, Joan of Arc continues to inspire, as can be seen in Zendaya's surprisingly sultry, but very heavy-looking chain mail outfit. Somebody just give her a sword already!

    Katy Perry in Versace

Angel, Abbott Handerson Thayer, 1887, Smithsonian American Art Museum

  Katy Perry looks ready to take flight any minute now. And that's because she did the right thing and went all out for her gala outfit! Despite the fact that the word "angel" comes from the Greek word for Messenger, and there is no standard description of their appearance in the Bible, Thayer's painting largely sums up the popular conception of angels: virginal, dressed in flowing white robes, and with wings, of course! There's no halo here, however, and that may be because the model for this was actually Thayer's own 11-year-old daughter, and he was trying to depict her as the personification of spiritual beauty, not specifically an angel, despite the painting's title. Thayer himself thought art was "a no-man’s land of immortal beauty where every step leads to God." And that's pretty much the same plane where traditional Roman Catholicism places Angels, majestic beings close to God.   

Emilia Clarke in Dolce & Gabbana Alta Moda

  The Triumph of Galatea (detail), Raphael, 1514

  The Mother of Dragons always slays, no matter what she's wearing. With its elaborate, curvilinear gold embroidery and frolicking putti, this dress looks like it came straight out of the Rococo. While Putti were originally found on Classical Pagan sarcophagi, the motif was revived during the Renaissance in Italy, where it was utilized in paintings of classical myth, and was adopted into Christian Iconography. What was once a little cupid underwent a conversion experience into an angel (along the lines of a cherub). In the Rococo, Putti also became symbols of leisure and playfulness, which is why Putti often scream of wealth and excess. Dolce and Gabana clearly know that, like leopard print, putti are most tasteful in small doses.

    Stella Maxwell in Moschino and David Yurman

  “Tenderness” icon of the Mother of God, 1521

  Wow. Where do we even begin talking about this beautiful dress? This mosaic-styled gown features various images of Mary that you’ll only be able to find in churches and on prayer candles. Indeed most, but not all, appear to be inspired by Byzantine icons of the Madonna. While most strongly associated with the Eastern Orthodox Christian tradition, such radiant and opulent images could be found in pre-Renaissance (and therefore Catholic) art in Western Europe as well. Images like this were meant to be venerated as conduits to saint Mary herself, who could then intercede for you. "Our Lady of Tenderness" is one such icon that was depicted, either with the Christ child in her arms, or with her hands over her chest in that heart-felt position.

  Migos in Versace

  There’s too many references in these matching sequin outfits to count! One jacket is covered in solely Christian images while the other two primarily feature classical Greek and Roman artworks. We were able to spot the Venus de Milo, The Victorious Youth, and several variations of Madonna and Child currently exhibited by the Met (shown below).

    Madonna and Child, Duccio di Buoninsegna, 1290

Madonna and Child, Berlinghiero, 1230

Madonna and Child, Giovanni Bellini, 1480

Salma Hayek in custom Altuzarra

  Garden of Eden with the Fall of Man, Peter Paul Rubens and Jan Brueghel the Elder, 1617, Mauritshuis

The branch of parrots and white horse trotting in the background scream this classic Brueghel/Rubens collab, even if Adam and Eve are nowhere in sight. The Garden of Eden and the Fall of Man that took place therein are central to Roman Catholic dogma, so this makes a fabulous choice of subject for the evening. Jan Brueghel the Elder and Rubens were both Catholic and their artwork shows the influence of the Counter-Reformation, during which the celebration and cataloging of natural phenomena (such as flora and fauna) was used as a way to understand the divine revelation of God. Nature was how God revealed himself to man, so observing it carefully was good for one's spiritual health. But don't forget, this is the 17th century. Don't get too scientific now--stay outta here with your gravity and Capernican Heliocentrism. You can keep that nice, zoological dress, though.

With so many options for themes, ranging from Roman Catholic dogma, to Bible stories, to priestly vestments, to works in museums and churches, and the patrons who commissioned them, this sure has been a fruitful year for fashion creations. Kudos to all those designers out there getting really funky with it, sacrilege be damned.

  Today’s lesson: if you’re heading to a museum to look at art, the best outfit to wear is art itself. Let us know what your favorite Met Gala looks were this year!

By Alannah Clark and Jeannette Sturman

[timelordthirteen]

peace, in a moment (kastle fic)

Frank Castle/Karen Page, G

Summary: Because I can't imagine them spending the holiday apart. For the 31 Days of Ficmas prompt #10 - Peace.

Notes: Because Frank needs a drink, a nap, and some peace.

[AO3]

Snow is falling, gently blanketing the black concrete, brightening the gray tinge of the buildings, and dulling the sharp shrill of the sirens. Everything is thick and wet, the flakes gathering in the gaps and piling on ledges, a perfect picture of winter in the city. Behind him there are little candles in red glass cups; tea lights Frank remembers them being called. Maria used to have a line of them on the mantle.

He swallows and turns the bottle in his hands, picking at a corner of the label, stopping when Karen comes up behind him. Her arms slip around him, and she presses against his back.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she says.

The corners of his mouth shift, curving into a half smile. “You said free booze.”

He catches her hand in his and tugs until she comes around to stand in front of him. Her free hand brushes over his chest, picking and some imagined lint on his shoulder. She looks up at him, amused. “And I like free booze,” he finishes.

She smiles and laughs softly. “I hope it’s not just the booze.”

It’s fresh in her mind still, Louis, Billy, everything. They met in the park a couple of weeks ago, after she’d had a vase of white roses in her window for three days. He’d healed some by then and looked more like himself than he had in weeks. She’d invited him over because it was Christmas, and it’s not as if either of them have somewhere to be or people to be there with. Foggy has Marcie, and, well - the rest is the rest. Sorting the beginnings and endings is still something that they both have to work through, something only they understand.

Her eyes close and she leans against his shoulder. “I’m glad you came.”

Frank turns, his arm coming up, and he brushes back her hair. The gesture is almost shy. “Me too.”

He moves down, fingers grazing her forehead, then down along her jaw before drifting to her neck. He runs his hand down and over her shoulder, and she lets out a sound that he feels against his palm.

She licks her lips and he dips forward, his mouth touching her cheek where it meets the corner of her mouth. What do you want, he almost asks, but can’t or won’t, and forces himself to swallow as he straightens. She reaches up and pushes his hair back, and he sees that look, the same look she had in the elevator, where everything was either going to work out or fall apart, and they were all each other had.

Sighing, she leans into him, turning to watch the snow out the window. He holds one of her hands, his other resting on her back. He isn’t sure he’s ready for this, not yet, but it’s enough to know that she wants him here. His business might not be finished, and he won’t risk her until it’s truly over.

He hopes there will be flowers in the window when it is, but for now, there is peace.

[ladiekatie]

Happy late Birthday @acaranna!!!!

Stiles pads into the kitchen, careful not to trip on one of the many dogs that seem to litter the floors. Derek is standing at the stove, the smell of bacon filling the air and sending a growl to Stiles’ stomach. Stiles isn’t the only one who smells the cooking bacon, and it’s no surprise that there is a small group of dogs all of whom are wagging their tales waiting for a piece to “fall” on the floor.

“Smells good,” Stiles says as he closes the space between himself and Derek. He wraps his hands around Derek’s stomach and tucks his nose into Derek’s neck. “But you don’t need to tell me that,” he laughs knowing that there has to be a few more wet noses surrounding them. In true Derek fashion, there is way more bacon being made than can be eaten by the two of them.

“T’s Sunday,” Derek answers, because all the dogs get a piece of bacon in their bowl on Sunday mornings. It’s been tradition for nearly 40 years.

“Don’t forget, the kids are coming over today,” Stiles says as he looks down to the dozen sets of eyes looking at them.

“Yeah, Vivian called while you were still asleep. They’ll be here for lunch,” Derek flips another bunch of bacon onto the plate next to the stove.

“Great, I’ll start doling out medication,” Stiles kisses Derek’s neck again, running his hand through the hair that is still somehow black but thinning at the sides.

“I already took mine,” Derek says.

Stiles pads across the kitchen to the huge amount of medication bottles with lists of names that go along with them. The bowls are brought in from their place in the garage. Stiles makes sure the medications go into the right bowls. Cans of wet dog food get spooned into each bowl and another scoop of dry dog food on top. The bowls are stirred to make sure that the medications get covered so they’ll be eaten.

Derek finishes with the bacon and takes to plate to Stiles’ assembly line. A single piece of bacon is added to each bowl. They both load up on bowls and make their way to the backyard, a pack of old dogs follow them.

One by one they call the dogs by name and they come to where their bowl is set down and dig in. All the dogs have their bowls and Stiles and Derek watch to make sure no one goes in for seconds on someone else’s food.

Stiles’ back is a little achy this morning, he’s expecting it to hurt all day, even if he takes a painkiller. Derek leans over and kisses Stiles’ bald head.

The go back inside once all the bowls are empty and make their own breakfast. Stiles has egg whites and toast, and Derek has a bowl of cereal.  They go around and check on all the dogs, Louis, their oldest resident follows Stiles around like a puppy, and jumps on the couch slowly to cuddle when the tv turns on.

All around the tv mantle are pictures of their family over the years. Their wedding so many years ago, both of them so much younger. The day Vivian was born, Stiles and Derek holding her in the hospital right after their surrogate delivered her. A picture of the three of them in front of the courthouse with the addition of Devin holding a sign that said ‘after 1,697 days in foster care, I’m going home!”. Their daughter's wedding, and the birth of her kids. Their son’s graduation pictures from law school, and his wedding. There’s even a picture of their first family dog, a stray Vivian picked up on one of her walks home from school. They named him Bart, and he’s the one who started Sunday Bacon.

He’s the reason Derek and Stiles’ home somehow became a home for old dogs.

Slowly, over the years people would leave their dogs with them that they couldn’t take care of, usually old. 40 years and somewhere close to 200 dogs later, they have a facebook following that rivals the Old Friends Senior Dog Sanctuary.

They sit and watch tv, waiting for their kids and grandkids to come over. The grandkids get to exercise the dogs, especially some of the younger ones that show up on their doorstep. It’s a happy existence for sure. After so many years of fight monsters of the week and worrying about the greater good, they finally get to relax. Even if their retirement includes 15 dogs and a tortoise.

[theunofficialchurchofsatan]

“The Worlds Most Powerful Religion” (Essay by Anton Szandor LaVey)

Religion is the most important thing in a person’s life. If electric trains are the most pervasive thing in one’s life, that is his religion. Anything can be a religion if it means a lot. If your present religion isn’t the most important thing in your life, then skip it. Find whatever impels you most and make that your religion.

Religions are easy to invent. Most traditional religions have little or nothing to do with reality, are dependent on obfuscation, interpretation, guilt, and unreasoning faith—some more than others. Since Satanism is essentially a religion of the self, it holds that the individual and his personal needs comes first. If that means playing with trains or spike-heeled shoes or singing in the bathtub, those are its sacraments and devotions. Taking inventory of old comic books is counting beads on a rosary, each book being a station of the cross.

Before I codified Satanism, thus enabling me to integrate everything of a personal meaning into a suitable forum, I first considered the religion of Dogism. The belief system made sense, but was too limiting. Dogism holds that if you can’t eat it, and you can’t fuck it; piss on it. Much as I respect dogs and their gods, I could relate more to Catism, the principle religion of cats. The Five Commandments of Catism are:

DON’T RUN, IF YOU CAN WALK.

DON’T WALK, IF YOU CAN STAND.

DON’T STAND, IF YOU CAN SIT.

DON’T SIT, IF YOU CAN LIE DOWN, AND

DON’T STAY AWAKE, IF YOU CAN TAKE A NAP.

Catism counsels: “He who sleeps the day away / lives to sleep another day,” or, “Respect the friend who brings your food, for he has been your choice / Or go and catch it for yourself, and have a louder voice,” and other such homilies.

Freud’s “pleasure principle” should be known to be the highest motivator for any religion. The significance of any fetish is a yardstick for its priority. When a fetish transcends all else, including survival needs, religious fanaticism is the result. When the audio equipment takes priority over the music, the way the music sounds is more important than the sound of the music. The act of falling in love can be more important than one’s choice of a mate. If the size of a screen is more important than what’s on it and the latest hardware and software eclipses the quality of the product entered—fetishism is the result.

All activity that consumes, therefore, should be recognized as being both religious and fetishistic. A Satanist whose hobby or fetish is Satanism per se, is no more of a Satanist than one who, realizing the indulgence advocated by Satanism, accepts the Name. The difference between the man or woman who’s a practicing Satanist, from an identity Satanist is that the practicing Satanist looks at the picture, while the identity Satanist studies the frame.

All activity that consumes, therefore, should be recognized as being both religious and fetishistic.”

Those who disparage and belittle the Church of Satan to an obsessive degree reveal their fetish. In reality and practice, by their consuming interest, they reveal their true religion to be—the Church of Satan. Otherwise, they would turn on their heel, walk away, and refuse to subject themselves to that which they need not. Clearly, they need us. We don’t need them.

Never underestimate the sexual corollaries to fetishism/religion. It’s too easy (and convenient) to dismiss covert arousal. Just as there have been foot fetishists who work in shoe stores, there are masturbationist writers and artists who have nothing to say and write nothing worth reading. Their output amounts to one stroke or rub per line of type, using their typewriters or computers as sex toys. This can lead to sexual dependency upon the computer. Far-fetched? Things have changed since monks illuminated manuscripts and suffered ecstasies.

Varieties of religious experience can be as interesting as varieties of fetishism. Though there may be many kinds, overall, each disciple has his or her rigid set of preferred and obligatory devotions. Each has personal words of power as a result of distillation. All roads lead to Rome for the serious practitioner. It is Spare’s principle of reduction, Pavlov’s bell. The devout Catholic crosses himself and murmurs “Saints preserve us.” The Pentecostal shouts “Hallelujah!” The Jew says “Mazeltov.” A more potent manifestation is possible, when one considers the true nature of religion. They might instead say: “I need a drink,” “My niece with the fine ass...,” “Is she a disciplinarian?” Every fetishist/religionist has sacred buzzwords: “tickle,” “Cherry ’65 Mustang,” “stinky socks,” and millions more. Sexual fetishes are probably the most epicurean preference of the human animal. The smallest detail is of great significance and there is little margin for error. In fact, there is less room for deviance in deviance, than in any other human endeavor.

If certain words and phrases keep reappearing, it’s because they're never tiresome, always fresh. Uncle Louies favorite musical composition may be the same old tune to others, but to Uncle Louie, it improves with age - which is more than can be said for Uncle Louie. It is his Ave Maria.

Satanism is the only religion which serves to encourage and enhance one’s individual preferences, so long as there is admission of those needs. Thus, one’s personal and indelible religion (the picture) is integrated into a perfect frame. It’s a celebration of individuality without hypocrisy, of solidarity without mindlessness, of objective subjectivity. There need be no deviation from these principles. They should summarily negate internecine strife and bickering. Any attempts at Satanic “reformation” should be seen for what they are: creating problems where none exist. There should be no place in any religion for reformers whose very religion is the fetish of reformation. There is even a place and title for compulsive dissidents, and if they can wear the mantle, they are welcome. They would delude themselves to be revolutionaries. In our camp, they are called “House Masochists.”

[darveyfics]

Donna is sick and a worried Harvey is taking care of her- anonymous.

“You Give Me Fever”

A/N: This one got away from me a little....

He couldn’t concentrate. 

Harvey checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

11:58

He let out a frustrated sigh, which really was a mask for the concern he felt coursing through him.

Donna hadn’t come into work that morning, and he knew it wasn’t her day off. Hell, they had planned on meeting that morning to go over a case. Besides, Harvey never knew a time where she wasn’t the first one to arrive at the office. He had tried calling her, but her phone went straight to voicemail. Three times. Harvey wracked his brain, trying to think of a logical explanation for why she wasn’t at work that morning.

Maybe she had some prior appointment she forgot to mention?

Harvey shook his head, Donna would never forget anything. And she would have told him. Wouldn’t she?

He glanced at his watch again.

12:01

With his heart in his throat, stomach in knots, Harvey shot out of his seat and left his office. Marching straight into Louis’ office, he spoke before letting the man greet him.

“Do you know where Donna is?” Harvey asked impatiently.

Louis looked on confused. “Isn’t she in her office?”

“If she was in her office, do you really think I’d be here asking you?” There was an edge to his voice.

“I’m- sorry, Harvey, I don’t know where she is. Have you tried calling her?” Louis looked concerned now for his friend.

Harvey sighed. “She didn’t pick up.”

“I’m sure everything is fine, she probably just got hung up on something.”

Still, she would have told me. Harvey thought silently.

“We had a meeting this morning.” He told Louis instead.

Louis nodded. “Maybe you should check with Rachel?”

Harvey mentally chastised himself for not being able to think about that earlier. He nodded. “Thanks, Louis.” Before he made it out of Louis’ office, the senior partner called out to him. Harvey turned around.

“Let me know when you hear from her, okay?” Louis asked, a look of concern on his features. Harvey only nodded, giving the man a small smile before heading out.

His walk to Rachel’s office felt like an eternity. I just need to know she’s okay, he kept telling himself.

“Rachel.” Harvey greeted upon entering her office.

“Oh, hey Harvey how-”

“Have you heard from Donna?” Harvey cut her off, wanting to get to the chase.

Rachel furrowed her eyebrows. “She’s not here?”

Harvey sighed. Why can’t people just answer my damn question?

“No, Rachel, she’s not. I haven’t seen or heard from her all morning, I called her and she doesn’t pick up. Did she speak with you at all lately? Did she have somewhere she had to go this morning?” Harvey prodded, his impatience running thin.

Rachel shook her head. “I- talked to her last night before going home, but no, I haven’t heard from her since.” Her voice was low, small, worry dripping from her words.

Harvey nodded, almost defeated. “If you hear from her-”

“You’ll be the first to know” Rachel nodded. “And if you do, please let me know.”

With a final nod and weak smile, Harvey left her office and headed in the opposite direction of his own.

He was going to find Donna.

Without having to think twice about it, Harvey found himself heading to Donna’s apartment.

When he reached her door, a wave of deja vu overcame him, but he quickly shook it off. Now was not the time, and he knocked on her door.

Nothing.

He knocked again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harvey pulled out his keys. Screw it, he thought. He never used his keys to her apartment as freely as she used hers. It always felt like some invasion of privacy and he didn’t like doing that to her. But this time he was worried. If she was fine, she could yell at him, tease him, all she wanted. He just had to know she was okay.

Opening the door, he was immediately greeted by a sight he wasn’t expecting.

Donna. Asleep on her couch.

He took a moment to breathe a little better. She’s here. She’s okay.

Except- she didn’t really look it. Harvey knitted his eyebrows, that overwhelming feeling of concern and protectiveness washing over him again as he approached her. Taking a closer look, he noted that her skin looked paler than usual, nose red, large blankets swalloweing her frame, making her appear smaller.

Glancing down to the coffee table, he noticed boxes of tissues, some cough medicine, and a cup of water. Harvey sighed.

She was sick.

Finally knowing where she was and having an explanation for her earlier absence only washed away a small portion of his concern. He hated seeing her this way. In fact, he couldn’t even remember a time Donna was sick in all the years they had known each other? Certainly not to this extent.

Shuffling his way over to her, he leaned down, gently tucking her red hair behind her ear, exposing her face to him a bit more.

“Donna.” He called out to her quietly. “Donna.” He tried again after getting no response, a little louder this time. He nudged her shoulder gently, trying to get her to wake up without startling her.

Her lithe body began to stir, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes fluttering, trying to adjust to the light in the room.

“Wh- what? Harvey?” She squinted her eyes in his direction, staring up at him until his shape became less distorted and she could see clearer.

“Hey.” His brown eyes were warm as he smiled down at her, hand still on her shoulder, thumb subconsciously running circles on her skin.

“What-“ She yawned, sitting up straighter on the couch. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was raspy and hoarse as she spoke.

I was worried about you. Harvey thought to himself. He watched her make room for him on the couch, curling on one side with her legs tucked into her chest.

“You didn’t show up for work this morning.” He told her simply, sitting down next to her.

Donna tilted her face to the side, confusion written all over her face. “This morning?”

Harvey could only stare at her in concern before responding. “Yeah, this morning. We had a meeting.” One I could care less about at the moment though, he thought.

“What time is it?” Eyes wide and alert, Donna glanced between him and the watch he wore.

“It’s- a quarter to one.” Harvey told her after checking his watch.

“Shit.” Donna muttered, immediately swinging her legs over the couch, scrambling to pick up the blankets on the couch. The last thing Donna had remembered was taking some cough medicine and settling on the couch the night before at eleven o’clock. Everything else was a blur.

Harvey sat up straighter, giving her a confused look. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get ready to leave, what does it look like I’m doing?” Donna responded without looking at her boss, shuffling around, picking up the items on the coffee table.

Harvey shot up from the couch. “Whoa, you’re not going anywhere.” He placed his hand on hers where it currently held the cough medicine, feeling her body radiating with too much warmth.

“Why the hell not?” Donna challenged him.

“Donna, you’re sick.” Harvey emphasized.

“I’m fine.” She gave him a smile.

Harvey tilted his head. “Donna…”

“Harvey…” She countered back, waiting for him to make his compelling argument.

“You’re not in the best shape to go to work today.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Harvey.” She reached down to continue picking up her surroundings.

“You look awful, Donna. You can’t go in today like this.”

Her head shot up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I look awful?”

He stuttered. “I just meant- you look sick. You know you always look great.”

Donna bit back her laughter, giving him a teasing smile. “Do I?”

“I- you look- you know you-“ Harvey groaned.

Donna laughed at how quickly he became uncomfortable.

“I just meant you don’t look like your usual self, ok?” Harvey recovered, finally being able to give her a complete sentence.

She sighed. “Harvey, I can’t not come in today. This case is too important to you.”

“You’re more important to me.” Harvey told her pointedly, almost as surprised at his own words as Donna was.

They stared at each other for a long moment, both contemplating what he had just said and what to say in response.

“Okay.” Donna finally spoke, the word quietly falling from her lips.

Harvey’s shoulders dropped as the tension gradually left him. “Good.” He nodded in response, smiling at her.

“I’m uh- just going to-” Donna motioned in the direction of her ensuite.

“I’ll be here.” Harvey spoke before he could think. Donna only smiled in response, continuing in the direction of her bedroom.

Harvey settled on her couch, placing his head in his hands and sighed, the mornings events and stress finally catching up to him. He suddenly remembered then to send a quick text to both Rachel and Louis, letting them know Donna was okay, just sick. Louis replied almost immediately.

“Tell her I said I hope she gets betters soon. Take the rest of the day off.”

Followed by Rachel.

“Take care of her.”

Harvey only nodded, even though he knew they couldn’t see him. He sent a quick text back to both of them before putting his phone away.

A few moments later, he heard the shower running, and immediately started wondering what he should do for Donna. He knew he didn’t want to leave her alone.

Glancing around her apartment, he took in all the little details, the frames around the room. A particular one caught his eye and his stood up, walking over to her mantle.

A few he recognized as a younger Donna, some with her family, others from when she was studying theatre in college. The rest were more recent. There was one with Rachel from Rachel’s last birthday, a group photo at the firm with Louis, Mike, Rachel, Jessica, Donna, and himself. And the last one…

He picked up the frame. Staring down at the picture, he remembered the day it was taken. It had been the firm’s holiday party about two years prior. They had had a good time. Whatever was going on at that time in their lives, whatever drama they were facing at the firm, you couldn’t tell from the picture. It was a candid still of him and Donna, looking at each other, smiles wide with whatever they had found amusing at the moment, eyes alight with humor and something else he couldn’t place. They looked happy. They looked-

“Rachel took that.” Donna’s voice shook him out of the moment.

He turned around. “I didn’t hear you come out of the shower.”

Donna shrugged, clad in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white sweatshirt. Harvey took in the sight of her, noticing that some of the color had returned to her skin, although her voice was still hoarse.

She walked over to him, taking the frame from his hands and studied the photograph. She smiled looking at the slightly younger version of themselves. “I can’t even remember what we were laughing about.” She said softly.

“I’m sure I said something incredibly hysterical.” Harvey mused.

Donna rolled her eyes. Placing the picture back on the mantle. “I’m sure you were drunk.” She replied dryly, heading over to the kitchen to grab herself a cup of water.

Harvey followed her. “How are you feeling?” He chose to ask instead of responding to her quip.

Donna shrugged, taking a sip of water. “I’m fine.” She replied confidently, a cough following, contradicting her previous statement.

Harvey narrowed his eyes. “You’re still not coming in today.” He told her sternly.

Donna motioned to her clothes. “Well, obviously.”

A moment of comfortable silence settled between them.

“Are you hungry?” Harvey suddenly realized she probably hasn’t eaten since the night before. “I can make you something? Do you want some soup because I can try to figure out how-“

“Harvey…” Donna put up a hand to stop his ramblings, an amused smile on her face. “I don’t need to get food poisoning too.”

He gave her an unamused look. “Hey, I’m an excellent chef.”

Donna raised an eyebrow at him. “Since when, Casanova?”

“Since- okay fine, I can’t cook shit, but I can order in? I can look for the best chicken soup in the city. Or do you want something else like Chinese? Maybe Thai?”

Donna looked on amused as Harvey rambled, heart warming at his need to make sure she was well-fed. “Harvey…”

Harvey stopped his rambling to look at her, sighing. “I just- I’m feeling a little helpless right now.”

Donna gave him a quizzical look.

“You’re sick, but- I don’t know what to do to make you feel better.” He spoke softly.

Donna’s heart leaped at his words, warmth settling all over her. She bit her lip in thought. “Okay, I’ll have some soup. And Chinese.” She added as an afterthought.

Harvey smiled, glad for having something to do now. “I’ll get right on it.” He pulled out his phone and started making orders.

Donna shook her head, amusement and delight settling in her.

An hour and a half later, they were settled on her couch, half-empty containers of Chinese food scattered around the coffee table. The television was on in the background, but neither had been paying much attention to it as they had settled into some easy conversation.

Donna yawned. “Well, Chinese is officially my favorite cold-pick-me-up meal.” She smiled, eyes starting to droop.

Harvey mirrored her smile. “You should get some sleep.” He told her gently.

“‘m not tired.” Donna yawned again, followed by a small series of coughs.

Harvey shook his head at her stubborn nature. “Sleep.” He insisted again.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Donna. “Hey, you didn’t go to work today.”

“What?”

“Work. The place you go to everyday.” Donna emphasized. “It’s- nearing four, you should start heading back to work.”

Harvey should his head. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I’m sick, Harvey, not invalid.”

Still, Harvey shook his head. He knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate at work knowing she was home alone and sick. Granted she looked and sounded better than earlier, but still, he couldn’t.

“Louis can take care of things by himself.” He replied.

“Since when is that your philosophy?” Donna asked, not convinced Harvey truly believed that.

“Okay, Mike and Rachel will be there to help.” Harvey smiled at his response.

“You’re impossible.” Donna muttered, yawning once again.

“And you’re tired. Go to bed. I’ll clean up in here.” He told her once more.

Donna just stared at him, taking in his suit, now sans tie and coat, and even shoes. The look suited him, she thought. He looked right at home, here with her. The whole scene appeared so domestic to her. She momentarily wondered if this is what life with Harvey Specter would look like. Coming home after a long day, lounging on the couch with the tv on, but their focus being on only each other, cuddling on the couch….

She shook her head at the thoughts that seeped into her mind. We’re not even cuddling, we’re just sitting here, she thought. Ok, maybe she did need sleep.

Standing up, she found herself wobbling a bit in place, Harvey immediately stood up to help settle her.

“You ok?” He looked on in concern, his hands holding her arms gently but firmly.

Donna nodded. “Yeah, just-“ She placed a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes for a moment. “Just have a headache.” She gave him a weak smile.

“Why don’t you head on to bed and I’ll bring you some pain killers. You’re probably coming down with a fever.” He continued to look at her with concern.

Donna weakly agreed, slowly making her way to her bedroom, Harvey right behind her making sure she was okay until she reached her bed.

Once he made sure she was settled in bed comfortably, Harvey began to head out when he felt her hand on his arm.

“Hey, thank you.” Donna told him sleepily, curling into her comforter.

Harvey smiled, taking her in the dim light of her bedroom, only now realizing that the last time he had been here….

He brought up his hand to caress her cheek, feeling her body radiating warmth. “Any time.” He answered softly. Before he could think about it, he reached over and gently kissed her cheek, lingering for just a moment.

When he pulled back, her eyes were wide and glassy as they stared at him in surprise.

“I’ll be right back.” He whispered as he stood straighter, giving her hand a squeeze.

Donna felt her whole face heating up, a shiver running through her body, and her heart rate picking up.

She knew it wasn’t because of the fever.

[cakane463]

🐣 #RubysEasterHat – April 1883 #Easter #GodeysLadysBook

Ruby’s “Easter Hat”

“I wish I was dead, so there;” and Ruby Brown stood the picture of lovely despair, gazing down at a yellow mass at her feet, consisting of six dozen crushed eggs. Poor Ruby had been a whole month saving and hoarding these treasures which were to play an important part in the purchase of a lovely “Easter bonnit,” Aunt Rushy had contemptuously called it, when Ruby had said in a pleading tone: “But auntie, all the girls are going to have pretty new hats to wear Easter Sunday.” “Easter bonnits, indeed,” snapped Aunt Rushy, “better be thinkin’ of the good Lord, and how he riz on that day, then hey their minds on bonnits.” “But auntie—”“Now, no buts, Ruby Brown; girls in my time wusn’t thinkin’ eternally ’bout bonnits and gimcracks; and Easter Sunday wasn’t made a show day for bonnits, either.” “If I could have the eggs, auntie,” pleaded Ruby, ignoring her last remarks.“Well, take ’em; I don’t, know as I care, if you can save enuff ‘tween this and then. You’ll hey to hey a bonnit eny how shortly after Easter.” Ruby ran joyfully out into the coop to gather the first installment, after giving Aunt Rushy an affectionate little hug.“That child always will get the best of me long as grass grows and water runs,” smiled the spinster aunt, grimly—who had been mother and aunt for many years, nearly eighteen now, since her dearest and youngest sister had died, putting baby Ruby into Jerusha’s arms, murmuring “Be kind to her, love her for my sake,” and had died; and the young girl well repaid the care and grim sort of love lavished upon her. No one knew what ever had become of gay, wild, dissipated Will Brown, Ruby’s father, whom people said had once been Jerusha’s lover, and who had deserted her for the younger sister, pretty Helen.The eventful morning had come on which Ruby’s eggs were to be disposed of. Blithely and gayly she started forth, a neat willow basket on her arm, her eyes shining like twin stars, and cheeks rivaling summer roses. A stray robin chirped dubiously overhead in the budding but leafless trees, and visions of the “Easter hat” floated before Ruby’s vision, with which the young minister who had just been settled at the “Caworth village” church, should be ensnared; for all the girls, Aunt Rushy said, “wus casting sheep’s eyes that way. Ruby tripped along in the crisp March air, satisfied with herself and the whole world, when alas! for human hopes and joys how fleeting, Ruby caught her foot in some tangled weeds, and fell headlong upon her precious basket of eggs, and for a moment felt as if the whole world had crushed all the joy and happiness out of her young heart and life. In her great sorrow she gave vent to the ejaculation, “I wish I was dead,” as she slowly arose from the ruins of all her (eggs) hopes.

“Can I be of any assistance?” asked some one behind her.

Ruby started and looked around, to encounter the amused smile on the young minister’s face.

“I hardly think any one can remedy this disaster,” stammered Ruby, dismally viewing the mass at their feet.

“Eggsactly,” laughed Mr. Howard.

“Don’t laugh,” said Ruby, suddenly bursting into tears.

“Don’t cry, I beg. I will try not to laugh,” he said anxiously.

“How foolish I am,” said Ruby, bravely trying to smile, “but I have lost my Easter hat.”

“Your Easter hat?” he asked, a little nonplussed.

“Yes. With those eggs I should have bought it,” sighed Ruby.

“Hem! Well, is it absolutely necessary to have Easter hats, Miss Brown?”

“Oh no. Still, every one does, you know,” said Ruby, gravely.

“No, I did not know it before. Do you not think you could enjoy that grandest and loveliest of anniversaries without a new hat, Miss Brown?” he asked, looking into the sweet face searchingly.

“Oh, yes I could,” replied Ruby, blushing rosily. “I think I have been a little vain, and I am punished this way,” and Ruby laughed quite merrily.

“Not one left to tell the tale,” he answered, joining in her laughter.

“Only on my dress and mantle,” laughingly said Ruby; “that will tell all.”

“Allow me to remove a few flecks from your hair,” and he bent forward with a dainty cambric handkerchief, removing the golden spots from the soft, curling brown hair; both faces had taken on an added hue of pink.

“May I walk back with you?” he asked a little eagerly, as she turned to go home, after their united efforts to clean the basket, which they partially succeeded in doing. Permission was shyly given, and soon they were chatting like old friends, and Ruth was surprised that she felt no greater disappointment in the loss of her “Easter hat.”

“Well I swun if here doesn’t come the minister ‘long with Ruby,” ejaculated Aunt Jerusha, peering out of the window. “But—heavings and airth, what is that yaller all over the front of your

dress, Ruby? How de do, Mister Howard: walk in. What on airth—”

“Oh Auntie, its my ‘Easter hat,’ cried Ruby, almost hysterically, ‘look at, me! Only for Mr. Howard coming to my rescue, I don’t know what would have, become of me.”

“Well I never! such a child,” gasped Aunt Rushy, shocked beyond measure at Ruby’s appearance before the new minister.

How was she to know that he was thinking she was the loveliest and most sensible girl he had ever met?

Ruby went to church “Easter Sunday” with her winter’s hat, and the Rev. Clinton Howard thought the face so sweet and good beneath it, that all the new “Easter hats” sank into insignificance in contrast; but Ruby looked around at the pretty sprays of rose-buds, mignonette, violets, and pansies, and could not help but feel a little pang of envy. How could she know that the young minister was not admiring the pretty faces so sweetly adorned? And how could she know that while the organ sent forth its grandest music, and the anthem, “He has arisen from the dead,” swelled from the lips and hearts of that Christian congregation, that the thought had come to him (and was not an irreligious one) that the Lord had ordained Ruby Brown for a minister’s wife, and that another Easter she should wear an “Easter hat,” and it should be bridal white.

So Ruby’s “Easter hat” was worn the very next “Easter,” and all the good folks said never a sweeter bride blushed beneath an “Easter hat,” than the minister’s young wife, née Ruby Brown, now Mrs. Clinton Howard. Even Aunt Rushy had indulged in the fashion for once, and came out in an astonishing beflowered hat, and she explained in her earnest emphatic way: “I don’t know but it is a sort of a hangin’ out of a signal, of how happy you air, by decking out in posies, that our blessed Saviour riz to glory that day; never quite looked at it in that air light before, come to think of it. I don’t see how I ever wanted to put down sich kind of rejoicing. Ruby does look like a picture in hem, and the eggs after all did get her ‘Easter hat,’ so Clinton says.”

Godey’s Lady’s Book— Louis Antoine Godey began publishing Godey’s Lady’s Book in 1830. He designed his monthly magazine specifically to attract the growing audience of literate American women. The magazine was intended to entertain, inform, and educate the women of America.

Learn more about Godey’s Lady’s Book (1830–1898)

Source

Collection: Godey’s Lady’s Book

Publication: Godey’s Lady’s Book

Date: April, 1883

Title: Ruby’s Easter Hat

Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

https://www.accessible-archives.com/2014/04/rubys-easter-hat-april-1883/

[pamphletstoinspire]

Our Universal Mother - Part 48

Our Mother of Perpetual Help - Feast Day: June 27

Mother of Perpetual Help, you have been blessed and favored by God. You became not only the Mother of the Redeemer, but the Mother of the redeemed as well. We come to you today as your loving children. Watch over us and take care of us. As you held the child Jesus in your loving arms, so take us in your arms. Be a mother ready at every moment to help us. For God who is mighty has done great things for you, and his mercy is from age to age on those who love him. Our greatest fear is that in time of temptation, we may fail to call out to you, and become lost children. Intercede for us, dear Mother, in obtaining pardon for our sins, love for Jesus, final perseverance, and the grace always to call upon you.

The origin of the Our Lady (Mother) of Perpetual Help Icon is uncertain, although many have thought that it was painted by St. Luke and venerated in Constantinople until that Holy City fell in 1453. The Byzantine style and Greek lettering are consistent with an icon of Eastern origin.

While we may not know the exact origins of Our Mother of Perpetual Help, we do know the next part of the story—-from the original picture itself. A parchment attached to the painting tells the story of how it got to Rome.

According to this record, a merchant from the island of Crete heard stories of many miracles that occurred around a fabulous painting on the island. Wanting this power for himself, he stole the painting and packed it away with his other wares. His travels led him, and the stolen picture, to Rome, where he suddenly fell ill. As he lay dying, he told the whole story of the stolen picture to his friend, a Roman, who was caring for him during his illness. His last request was that the Roman take the picture and have it placed in a church where it would help many people.

The Roman’s wife, however, put the picture in her bedroom. Mary made her opinion of this situation known by appearing to the Roman in a series of visions. Each time, she asked him to stop hoarding the picture and start sharing it with others. And each time, the Roman ignored her. After being rejected by the adults, Mary visited their six-year-old daughter. The daughter announced that Mary had commanded that the picture be placed in a church between St. Mary Major and St. John Lateran—a church called St. Matthew’s. At last, the Roman obeyed, and the picture was placed in the care of the Augustinians on March 27, 1499.

It’s hard to understand why Mary would choose such a place to be honored. St. Matthew’s was a small church in a barren place far from the center of the city. Yet the rich and the poor, the powerful and the lowly alike, traveled the rough stone path to the church to seek comfort from Our Mother of Perpetual Help—and to learn from her humility.

One man, however, was not impressed. In 1798, Napoleon’s general ordered the destruction of thirty churches when the French invaded Rome. St. Matthew’s was one of them. After the soldiers left, those who loved Mary searched the ruins but could find no trace of the picture. There seemed to be no doubt that their beloved picture had perished with the church.

Almost half a century later and miles away, an altar boy named Michael Marchi listened to a sacristan’s tales of the past. The sacristan, named Augustine Orsetti, pointed to a picture of Mary in the chapel and said, “See that picture, Michael? It is very old—very old. It used to hang in St. Matthew’s Church, where many people came to pray to the Mother of God.” The painting, he said, had been rescued at the last minute, hidden from the marauding general in a humble cart, and transported secretly to this chapel. “Remember that,” the sacristan told him. Michael Marchi remembered.

Years later, Father Michael Marchi, by then a Redemptorist, was in Rome. In 1853, Pope Pius IX commanded the Redemptorists to establish their world headquarters in Rome.

After much searching and prayer, the Redemptorists bought a huge estate. When they inspected their new property, they found a house, barns, stables, gardens—and the ruins of an old church. Inquiring into the history of the church, the Redemptorists learned that its name was St. Matthew’s, and that it once had housed a miraculous painting, a painting that had been lost.

Even as they ruefully shook their heads at the loss of such a treasure, Father Michael stunned his associates by telling them that not only did the picture still exist, but he knew where it was.

After three years of prayer, the Redemptorists decided to ask that the picture be brought back to Rome. When they told Pope Pius IX that it was Mary’s own wish that she be enshrined between St. Mary Major and St. John Lateran—where the Church of St. Alphonsus now stood—the Pope immediately commanded the return of the painting. Flowers and banners greeted Our Mother of Perpetual Help on April 26, 1886, and miracles attended her procession—including the cure of a four-year-old boy suffering from a brain illness. After 75 years, Our Mother of Perpetual Help had finally returned home.

But Pius IX didn’t give the picture to the Redemptorists as a gift. He gave it to them as a mission. He told them, "Make Our Mother of Perpetual Help known throughout the world." The Redemptorists embraced this command wholeheartedly by distributing reproductions of her picture and talking about her in missions and homilies around the world.

Their efforts yielded impressive results. By the turn of the century, 1.8 million Spaniards belonged to the Archconfraternity of Our Mother of Perpetual Help, ten thousand shrines and altars were dedicated to her in France, and devotions in her honor were observed in several thousand churches all over America. These services, or novenas, of Our Mother of Perpetual Help drew thousands of people. Churches in St. Louis, New Orleans, Detroit, Chicago, and Boston had to hold eight or ten services a day to accommodate everyone who wanted to honor Mary, and in New York, the service was even broadcast over the radio.

THE CHARMS OF THE PORTRAIT ARE MANY, FROM THE NAIVETE OF THE ARTIST, WHO WISHED TO MAKE CERTAIN THE IDENTITY OF EACH SUBJECT WAS KNOWN, TO THE SANDAL THAT DANGLES FROM THE FOOT OF THE CHILD. THE EXPRESSION OF THE CHILD JESUS IS HAUNTING AS HE GRIPS THE HAND OF HIS MOTHER WHILE GAZING SIDE WARD AT THE INSTRUMENTS OF TORTURE HELD BY THE ANGELS. ABOVE ALL, THE EXPRESSION OF THE MADONNA EVOKES A SADNESS ON THE PART OF THE VIEWER. WITH HER HEAD GENTLY TOUCHING THAT OF HER SON, AND WHILE SURROUNDED WITH THE INSTRUMENTS OF HER SON’S SUFFERINGS, SHE SEEMS TO GAZE PLAINTIVELY—AS THOUGH SEEKING COMPASSION FROM THOSE WHO LOOK UPON HER.

Devotion to this wonder-working icon spread rapidly to the United States. In 1870 when the Redemptorists were asked to establish a mission church in Roxbury (near Boston, Ma.) they dedicated their small church to the Mother of Perpetual Help. They received from Rome the first copy of the portrait, which had been touched to the original. This Church was raised to the honor of a “Papal Basilica” by Pope Pius XII.

WHAT THE PICTURE MEANS

GREEK INITIALS - FOR “MOTHER OF GOD”.

Star on Our Lady’s Veil: she is the Star of the Sea who brought the light of Christ to the darkened world—the star that leads us to the safe port of Heaven.

Greek Initial for St. Michael The Archangel-He is depicted holding the lance and gall-sop of Christ’s Passion.

Mary’s Mouth is small for silent recollection. She speaks little.

Red Tunic the color worn by virgins at the time of Christ.

Dark Blue Mantle the color worn by mothers in Palestine. Mary is both Virgin and Mother.

Christ’s Hands turned palms down into His Mother’s indicate that the Graces of Redemption are in her keeping.

Golden Crown placed on original picture by order of the Holy See 1867. It is a token of the many miracles by our Lady under this title.

Greek Initials for St. Gabriel the Archangel. He holds the Cross and Nails.

Mary’s Eyes are large for all our troubles. They are turned toward us always.

Greek Initials for: “Jesus Christ”

Mary’s Left Hand supporting Christ possessively, she is His Mother. It is a comforting hand for everyone who calls .

Foot with Falling Sandal symbolizes Christ’s Divine nature, barely clinging to the earth. His human nature is symbolized in the other foot to which the sandal is more firmly bound. Christ has two natures—human and Divine in One Divine Person.

The Entire Background is golden, symbolic of Heaven where Jesus and Mary are now enthroned. The gold also shines through their clothing showing the heavenly joy they can bring to tired human hearts.

[nashvillethotchicken]

#all that work to leave her abuser and get a better life for her and louis just to get taken out by louis husband again like omg#she shoulda been in the club! she should have been an aka! or an sgrho! she shoulda been upwardly mobile! but instead shes in an urn#on louis mantle with her picture looking down#or a tree in a garden in dubai or in a locket held tight in louis’s fist#like i truly feel for her so much#that baby is trapped!!! she literally cant escape not only from lestat but louis as well!#louis needs something to cling onto and its claudia#its always been claudia even when it was paul or grace or lestat or armand its always been claudia#and she cant leave his heart cus hell die if she does and oh how horrible itd be for the both of them#and she dont even get anything outta it! she love her father so much and all she got outta it was a soft casket#do you think she thinks about how louis killed her. even outside of what she says in ep 5 like louis killed her. he was the prox cause of-#the storyville fires/race riot like do you ever think about that?#do you ever think about how louis ended her life just to restart his own? cus i do. so fuckin often#and its not like she couldnt have done something with herself outside of them! she can! bailey!claudia was light enough where she could pass#for white pretty well and go and live whatever like she wanted but she didnt. cus she loves and misses her father so much and she wanted-#a life with him and her without the specter of lestat over them and louis couldnt let it go for her#see thats louis problem. he cant let anything go#couldnt let paul go. couldnt let lestat go. couldnt let humanity go couldnt let claudia go kept all them damn newspapers looking for a-#glimpse of his heart his baby his angel his claudia#claudia belonged to louis. cus nothing belongs to louis really#not the home he lives in (either rue royale or his childhood home)#he doesnt own his husband who galavants up and down the quarter with a white woman who isnt an 1/8th of him#he dont own his business cus that can be taken away by a lynch mob or a plague or a drink too many#he dont own his family who replaced him with some broke ass nigga the second paul passed#he dont own his brother who lives quietly in a mausoleum louis is so sure he put him in#he dont own his sister who so wants to connect with louis even when its rough and its eating at her like he almost did Benny#the only thing he really really owns is claudia. thats HIS blood. thats HIS daughter#he didnt make her but she is HIS and no lestat or armand or freaky vampire life can take that from him

tags mine

I'm think about claudia and louis again. 79 dead 1903 injured