#they call Grace Grazia

[malkaleh]

A small fact about the Tudors OT3 AU in which Thomas Cromwell’s oldest daughters lived: Grace is a sweetheart but Eleanora (Nora) will actually punch you with a knife if you hurt her family in any way. She takes after her mother.

[basilone]

Rating: M Fandom: Masters of the Air Characters: Benny DeMarco, Gale Cleven, Original Female Characters, mentions of other characters because they do not live in a bubble here Note: features canon-typical refs to death/dying etc., but if you watch the show you can handle this fic just fine. The only thing you gotta know about this AU before you start is: the history's the same, but there are women added to the bomber crews. References to Catholic imagery and the Italian-language prayers (Our Father/Hail Mary), as well as Benny hailing from Chicago in this one, are firmly based in fact. You might recognize fractions of episode 3 in this one, though it's not a play-by-play retelling by any means! Summary: Benny DeMarco omits one line from his prayers every time he pilots a bomber. The only time he speaks of mortality is when his feet hit the ground. Now, on a run that takes him all the way to Africa, he finds himself connecting with someone who'll call upon anything that's useful – from saints to baseball players – in order to make it out alive.

full of grace

He has lost count of how many Hail Marys he has held in his mind like rosary beads. Ave Maria, piena di grazia… Benny almost raises his eyes to the cockpit’s ceiling in supplication. Fixes his gaze on the point between the flak and debris instead – on that bright blue sky, colored like the robe on Mary’s statue back home – and rounds out the prayer that is taking shape in his mind. Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, please fucking save us, prega per noi peccatori, give us a goddamn break, amen.

There is a part to the prayer he does not bring into flight with him. Can’t. Bad luck all around to even think it, especially now that they’re so close to target. He’d have to do more than rap his bare knuckles on the strip of wood near his seat to ward that off. Would have to pray a thousand more Hail Marys, tumbling into the recesses of his thoughts like a game of marbles, before he’d feel safe flying this thing again.

There’s some things you just don’t take up with you. You don’t take fights. You don’t take grudges. You don’t take pictures of dames – no, Buck, not even Marge-with-the-pretty-smile – and you don’t take a completed prayer. It’s just common sense, like the dice and the strip of leather from Meatball’s harness he pocketed pre-flight. You take the things that bring luck. Leave out all the rest. Live with the feeling of your teeth about to rattle out of your skull with each hit you take, the twang of fear thicker on your tongue than the strongest liquor could ever be, and say a little half-moon prayer on every next breath.

And then, well, then there is that sweet, sweet feeling of being almost there.

[read the rest on AO3!]

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Five Times John Wanted to See a Movie, and One Time Kayne Made it Suck - a Malevolent Podcast Oneshot

In which Arthur struggles with right and wrong, bemoans the Hays Code, tries (and fails) to define love, and gets a second chance.

Spoilers up to Malevolent ep. 31.

AO3

----------

In January, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

“Damn it, John… fine. You know what? Fine! We’ll go sit in the dark and be perfect targets for someone! Is that what you want?”

He gives in, though.

Arthur can be stubborn. He can be foolish in refusal, often saying no just to say it. 

But to this?

To an innocent request, almost childlike in its intensity, and in its expectation of reply?

Arthur can’t hold out for that long.

Not when it seems to bring John such uncomplicated joy.

#

The movie is called Dancing Lady, and Arthur already knows nothing will ever be made like it again once the Hays Code has its way.

It’s a ridiculous love triangle, a “tarnished” woman (a concept Arthur finds absurd) torn between a rich sponsor and a poor lover, both of whom, at least, see her talent for what it is.

There are some scenes in this one. At one point, Clark Gable massages Joan Crawford’s leg, raising it above his shoulder, only hinting at the things that must surely be on display from Gable’s point of view.

Yowza.

It’s hard not to imagine Joan Crawford making the kinds of faces John describes, and Arthur can’t help a little bit of distracting response.

He focuses on his popcorn instead of anything else prone to explode.

“Those guys are a lot of silk hats and silk socks with nothing between,” says Clark Gable on screen, and Arthur laughs.

John huffs. Why are they being so particular about this?

“Particular about what?” says Arthur.

Tod, Patch, Janie. Why the fuck doesn’t she just lie with both of them? Why do they give a fuck?

Arthur is completely taken aback. “Well, it… I mean… she can’t do that.”

Why not?

Arthur has never in his life considered this question.

It’s about offspring, John decides.

“Ah… no, it’s not really—”

They demand monogamy so there can be no question of inheritance.

“She’s a dancing girl. She has nothing to inherit.”

Sure, but Tod does.

“Yes, but… that isn’t it, John.”

Then what is?

Arthur’s really not sure how to answer. What’s he going to say? That it isn’t the Christian thing to do? “I… it just isn’t done that way. Generally.”

Though in his musician days, he witnessed some truly unique romantic configurations.

It’s a lot to think about.

Stupid, pronounces John with fiendish delight, and continues to tell Arthur everything that’s happening on screen even though Arthur does not reply.

#

In February, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur sighs. “John. I’ve been fucking stabbed.”

Only a little, says John. The three stitches are fine. You’re fine.

He is fine, honestly. It wasn’t that bad, and in the end, they took out the giant bug-thing that poked him.

He’s pretty sure he isn’t poisoned. Maybe that alone deserves celebration.

Arthur sighs. “Well. I suppose an evening of distraction isn’t such a terrible idea.”

Of course it’s not a terrible idea. It’s mine.

Arthur rolls his useless eyes, but can’t help a little smile. 

#

This movie, though. This movie hits different.

Death Takes a Holiday is about Death himself, who is tired of being misunderstood, and decides to go slumming among humans for a few days to see if he can figure out why.

And he falls in love. 

With a human.

Which can’t end well for that poor lady.

Arthur forgets his popcorn.

The drama is absolutely contrived and thoroughly effective. The struggles of the inhuman to understand the human—

The choice of the human to understand the strange—

“And tonight, I must go back to my distant kingdom,” says Fredric March, whose portrayal of Death is passionate, quiet-spoken, and rife with tortured drama.

“Will you take me with you?” says Evelyn Venable, who plays Grazia, the love interest, and whose name means grace.

“Take you?” says Death, who is pretending to be something he is not, who is carrying on a wild con with the goal of… enlightenment? “Take you? I should be so unhappy alone. Take you? Oh, no, no… don’t tempt me. But Grazia, give me one hour of you—let me hold you once, and feel your life.”

Holy shit, Arthur thinks, because he’s pretty sure he knows how Grazia feels.

Sort of. He’s no damsel, and whatever he and John are isn’t romantic, but still?

“Now you see me as I am,” says Death, at last revealed as shadow, as monster, as darkly divine.

“But I've always seen you like that! You haven't changed,” says Grazia.

She chooses him, knowing what he is.

She chooses him, knowing what it will cost.

The music swells, and Arthur finds himself tearing up. “Then there is a love which casts out fear, and I have found it! And love is greater than illusion… and as strong as death!” Death declares.

John cheers. She goes with him! She went with him! Yes, Arthur!

Does John see the parallels, too?

Arthur isn’t brave enough to ask.

He wipes his eyes, amazed, moved. Almost envious of that stupid made-up girl.

Yeah. This one hit different. 

He can’t help wondering, silly as it is, if this movie was based on something that really happened.

Death and Grazia, reaching across the gap.

It’s not him and John.

But then, who can say just what they are?

#

In March, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur is tired. “Really? Now?”

Why not? We owe ourselves a little treat.

They do, but after Death’s little romance, Arthur’s not sure he’s ready.

He has decided “friend” is the word for them, but only because he doesn’t have a better one.

Its problem is, it’s not strong enough. It’s nowhere near strong enough.

Arthur is well aware that facing off against the damned pallid mask cult again is the reason for his mood, but what he needs to remember is they failed. 

He’s alive. 

John is still here.

John did not take his exit, his gilt and crafted fire escape, much to the cult’s confusion.

When Arthur destroyed their framework of magic and bone, John cheered him on.

John doesn’t seem to miss them, or regret Arthur’s success.

That means a lot.

Friend? Sure. In lieu of a better word.

Arthur sighs. “What do you want to see?”

#

Jimmy the Gent is bonkers.

Arthur half wonders if it pushes the bar so hard because the Hays Code is breathing down Hollywood’s collective neck, threatening to end artistic freedom forever.

He also wonders if anyone but James Cagney and Bette Davis could have pulled this plotline off.

Cagney plays an unscrupulous man who seeks out wealthy folks who died without a will, then produces heirs to rake in the moolah—heirs who aren’t even real.

The main conflict is his girlfriend balking at his techniques, bailing to join a competitor, and coming back again when the eponymous Jimmy shows himself to be slightly less wicked than the other guy.

There isn’t actually a hero. It’s not black and white; it may be comedy, but it’s comedy gray.

“The only thing he's got that I want is you, and he took you away from me,” says Jimmy.

Oof. Those are some words to hear, and Arthur struggles not to apply them.

“He's got ethics,” says Davis, the dame Joan.

“I don't care if he has carbuncles. The only difference between him and me is he's got a smoother line,” says Cagney as the eponymous Jimmy.

Haha… ah. Wow.

“You can't make yourself clean by making him dirty,” says Joan, and Arthur’s stomach twists.

Arthur slowly exhales. This is a poor allegory for the King in Yellow and him, isn’t it?

But it maybe isn’t so bad for him and Larson.

He’s a little bit better than Larson. Just a little. Is that enough to make him good?

John, funny enough, doesn’t wrestle with morality at all in this, but has a blast with the humor, and praises the cleverness of the characters. He particularly appreciates the way Jimmy puts on airs to win back his lady love. Goal achieved, intimacy earned, all for the price of a barrel of determination and a pinch of deceit.

Arthur is uncomfortable as fuck, and eats all the popcorn at the film, too much popcorn, and gives himself a stomachache.

Somehow, he feels it is deserved.

#

In May, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

They end up picking one all about deceit, romance, and false identity.

The Thirty Day Princess is a heck of a ride.

Are you trying to tell me something? Arthur thinks at a god he doesn’t believe in, thinks at the King in Yellow who is and is not John.

“She Reminds Me of You,” croons Bing Crosby as the hero dances with the princess-under-false-pretenses, who’s filling in for her sick counterpart for a total of thirty days.

Who looks exactly like the ill royal, but most definitely is not her.

I'm standing all alone I've got nothing to live for She reminds me of you And she reminds me of you And it breaks my heart in two

Dear fucking gods.

John is not the King in Yellow.

Except that he is.

Arthur hasn’t processed this. Hasn’t figured it out.

I am the King in Yellow, sounds John’s voice in Arthur’s memory, and Arthur ends up physically ill at the end of the film.

John is quite concerned, but Arthur doesn’t know what to tell him when he asks what’s wrong, and leaves all his questions unanswered like unraveling thread.

#

In September, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Enough time has passed that Arthur’s resistance has worn down.

He refused two months in a row. He rejoiced (in silence) that the madness with the Order of the Falling Star prevented any such frivolity through August.

But now that’s done, and Kayne has another poorly defined deal that began with an entire group of cultists violently dead, and Percy has Arthur’s blood in a jar for some reason and a promise of future contact, and it’s done.

For better or worse, it’s done.

And it’s quiet.

And John wants to see a movie.

“You know what?” says Arthur, who could use the distraction. "There’s one I want to see, too. Do you know the poets Elizabeth Barret and Robert Browning? Well… Elizabeth wrote some of the most wonderful verse about love and longing that anyone ever has, and apparently, there’s a movie about it, so let’s go see.”

#

The Barretts of Wimpole Street turns out to be completely not what Arthur expected.

Love disallowed by a sex-repulsed parent, physical illness barring the freedom afforded any ordinary adult, a stressful and creepy scene with incestuous undertones, and a decision to kill a beloved pet dog (which fortunately did not pan out) leave Arthur feeling absolutely weird about the whole thing.

The movie tiptoes a lot about morality, about right and wrong, about societal norms and familial expectations.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with Daniel, after Bella had come down pregnant.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with James, the day Faroe was born.

All of it reminded him of whatever he has with John, and he doesn’t know how to interpret that.

Norma Shearer as Elizabeth asking, “Robert, have you ever thought that my strength may break down on the journey?”

Frederick March as Robert answering: “It had occurred to me, yes.”

Arthur feels so very mortal, these days.

“Supposing I were to die in your hands?” she says.

“Are you afraid?”

Yes, thinks Arthur. I’m very afraid.

And then comes the line that hits hardest. “Yes,” says Robert Browning. “I am prepared to risk your life, much more my own, to get you out of that dreadful house and into the sun and to have you for my wife.”

Was that an okay thing to say?

Arthur doesn’t know.

He feels like he and John have each made that decision for each other, more than once.

But nobody’s a wife. 

Or something.

He’s not really sure what he’s internally protesting.

“I'm sick of fighting alone. I need a comrade in arms to fight beside me,” Robert says.

“But not one already wounded in battle,” Elizabeth says, who feels lesser, who feels so weak.

“Wounded but undaunted, unbeaten, unbroken. What finer comrade could a man ask for?”

Undefeated.

Arthur swallows hard. Maybe this one was pointed at him, after all.

That was kind of depressing, John pronounces with great cheer as they leave, having enjoyed every moment, and described it all to Arthur in an effort to help him enjoy it, too. I can’t believe he wanted to kill the dog! 

“Well,” says Arthur. “Some people are… cruel… when they lose.”

Someone should kill him instead, John says, and he is joking.

Probably joking.

It feels like John’s moral compass is more reliable than Arthur’s own, these days, so Arthur decides to just let that one go.

#

In October, Arthur says, “John—I want to see a movie.”

Really? You do? You want to hear one, you mean? says John, who’s being clever.

Arthur is able to laugh. “Yes, you whacko.”

John’s pleased. Arthur can feel it. I know you are, but what am I?

Arthur laughs again.

The back-and-forth is ridiculous, but feels so damn good in spite of that. Easy; effortless. Affectionate, knives long stashed.

Three whole weeks have passed since the Rancid Ruby case, and their successful retrieval of the jewel (and the minister’s daughter, whom they hadn’t even known was missing) has brought them enough business and enough income that Arthur has begun to believe John is right: they’re going to be okay.

It’s also put the final nail in the dismissal of their murder case. The minister stood as a character witness, and finally swayed the judge. Who knew?

Parker and Eddie’s deaths have been officially attributed to a burglary gone wrong—backed by Arthur’s wrecked car, miles from the scene; by hospital proof that Arthur, unidentified, had been in a coma; and by Arthur’s indisputable claim of amnesia, causing his disappearance for many months. 

Larson is MIA, having been carried off by the monstrous thing he summoned.

The Butcher is retired, having philosophized himself into a monastery, eager for hypocritical redemption and literal flagellation.

Kayne hasn’t called his favor, but right now, it’s hard to look toward that with horror.

Even this latest case worked out, with a wild showdown in Central Park, loads of witnesses, and the Jade MacGuffin returned to its owner.

It’s all coming up roses. Arthur is almost able to hope.

So what did you want to see? says John.

“Well, they’re saying this will be one of the last great movies—the Hays Code, and all,” says Arthur, who has tried to explain it, and shared John’s frustration at the enforcement of false human experience and morality on screen. “It’s about the great Egyptian queen Cleopatra—a tragic love story, and one that’s inspired all manner of art, music, poetry, and more for centuries.”

Sure. Sounds good. The theater on 15th has popcorn, you know.

That’s all Arthur needs to hear.

#

And it isn’t pointed, it really is not. But it sort of fits how he’s feeling, anyway.

“Together, we could conquer the world,” Cleopatra says, Elizabeth Taylor making every word so sensual that Arthur could drown in any one of them for a week.

“Nice of you to include me,” Warren William’s Julius Caesar replies, and Arthur chuckles, and John says, Hahaha! You can do better! and it’s such a beautiful, perfect shared moment.

And of course, she can do better—in the form of Marc Antony, played by Henry Wilcoxon.

Arthur loses himself in it all, even though he can’t see. The cast is huge. The effects (via John) are jaw-dropping. The music score is moving and expertly done.

When Taylor says, "On. Your. Knees,” Arthur feels some things he really doesn’t know what to do with, but the moment passes quickly.

Cleopatra is everything Arthur wanted in an evening of self-indulgent escape, and John’s continued enthusiasm only makes it more sweet.

Arthur sniffles at the tragic ending, even though he knew it was coming, which Taylor plays to the hilt.

It definitely doesn’t feel pointed like the other movies did. Arthur figures out why when it’s done, while he’s waiting for everyone else to file out so he can leave the theater unhindered.

A lack of communication and irreconcilable core values led to the tragedy on screen.

That’s not him and John. Well, it used to be; but Arthur is certain it’s not anymore.

John says, I think I understand her.

“Her? Cleopatra? How so?”

And with that unnervingly good memory John sometimes demonstrates, he quotes: ‘So Rome would forgive and take you back? And all they demand is for us to part. Why don't they ask the sun to fall right out of the sky?’

Arthur swallows.

That’s how I feel about you, says John, who has never said he loves Arthur, but has shown it, repeatedly and without hesitation.

Arthur has some thoughts on that. "I feel the same,” he says, who has never said those words to John, even though the King in Yellow called him on it months ago.

But Arthur’s fairly sure he’s shown it, too.

He's been thinking a lot about love, of late.

About what it really is, and how it is expressed.

About how the movies usually portray two kinds: romantic, and familial.

This love is neither. It’s different, loaded with unknown spice, broken free from a mold Arthur cannot name.

But it is absolutely real, and Arthur has come to a conclusion that shakes him to his core: he was already willing to die for John, many months ago, yes. But now?

Now, he’s willing to live for him.

Even if Kayne decided to offer me a body, I’m not going anywhere, John says out of nowhere.

“A body?” Arthur isn’t sure where that idea came from. “I doubt he’d do that.”

John says nothing.

Arthur tries to bridge whatever unexpected gap this is, squirming with things in the dark. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain papers for you, if that happened. Make you all legitimate.”

Really. Is that so?

Arthur has to poke. “I’ll say you’re from Montana. That should explain away any obvious social gaffes.”

Gaffes! I’ll have you know I’m far better at handling people than you.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? In this theoretical future that probably won’t happen.”

There’s another slight pause. Arthur frowns.

I want my name on the business, John suddenly says.

Arthur snorts.

Arthur! I’m serious!

“Yes, yes. I don’t see why not.” Arthur is more concerned he might not get his sight back than that John’s name is painted on frosted glass. “Lester and Doe, Private Investigators For Hire.”

Doe and Lester.

“Excuse you. I was in it first.”

But I’m clearly the smarter partner.

Arthur laughs. “You dork.”

And will probably be better-looking, too.

“Now, that’s going too far,” says Arthur, chuckling. 

You’ll see. I’ll draw everyone’s attention with my glorious form, and that’ll give you time to riffle their drawers.

“That’s… not a horrible idea, honestly, though there are a few problems with that—namely, you have no body, and even if you did, I’d still be blind.”

Well, I… well, we…

“Gotcha,” says Arthur, smug, because it’s easier to laugh at this possible future than actually deal with any of it, though even the shadow it casts hurts.

You did not. That’s not even a point. Half a point, maybe.

“Lester and Doe, it is,” Arthur says, because it’s fun to poke the bear.

Instead of answering, John gasps.

Arthur knows John. Knows him well. And immediately stops walking.

“You know, just when I think you two can’t get any cuter, you go and wrap a bow on your dicks and call it Christmas,” says Kayne so close that Arthur can feel breath on his lips.

Arthur staggers back a few steps, then stops himself. Running won’t help. “What do you want?”

Kayne must have kept pace with him, because he speaks just as close, an inch away. “It’s your lucky day! Oh, did you tell him, snippet? Did you? I assume you would have by now, I mean, it’s not like you had half a year or something to figure out how to broach the topic.”

Oh, no. What?

It’s like the ground under Arthur’s feet is shaking, ground he’d thought was solid, but hides a deep and jagged fault line. “What is he talking about?”

Arthur, I—

“Too late now!” says Kayne, and there is a whoosh of air.

Arthur staggers. He didn’t move, but he did, and the sounds and smells tell him he’s no longer on the sidewalk, but in an alley.

And then comes a voice he hates.

A drawl, casual and arrogant, and it doesn’t even matter that it’s coming from waist-height, because his immediate urge is to attack it at once like a bird in a mirror.

“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” says Wallace Larson.

Arthur takes a step.

John reaches across his chest and grabs his arm, hard, like a physical restraint.

“Oh, the webs we weave when we practice to deceive,” says Larson, who sounds fine and dandy, if a little shorter than before.

Arthur, says John, evenly. He’s not alone. He’s strapped to a weird, short table, barely fitting into the alley, and his legs are jammed against the wall. And he’s not alone.

And because this wasn’t fraught enough, the next voice is identical.

Identical. But it isn’t John.

You! Murderer!

“Yellow?” says Arthur, shock stealing sound and sense from this moment, tingling through his body so his face feels numb.

Kayne bounces something light off the side of his head.

“What?” Arthur startles.

“Sorry, thought you’d open your mouth for it, like a baby bird. Popcorn?” Another one hits right under his eye.

“Stop it! What are you doing?”

It’s time for justice! Yellow declares.

Oh, shut the fuck up, John snarls.

Traitor! bellows Yellow.

And Larson starts to sing. Insultingly, it is a hymn.

“Bury my body,” Larson croons in a surprisingly pleasing baritone. “Lord, I don't care where they bury my body. Lord, I don't care where they bury my body, ‘cause my soul is gonna live with God.”

Arthur is going to kill him. The rest of this can sort itself out. He takes another step.

“Hold on there, boyo,” says Kayne in the Butcher’s accent, and takes Arthur’s hand. “You’ll need this.”

That is the handle of a knife. A knife, pressed into his right palm, which means Kayne wants him to do this, and that pours cold water all over the whole operation.

The handle burns, but Arthur ignores that.

Go ahead, says Yellow. You’re already a killer. I see it in your eyes. I know you, Arthur Lester!

This can’t be happening.

“It is, though,” whispers Kayne in his ear. “Looks like Little John didn’t tell you anything, did he? That’s a real foundation for trust.”

“What?” says Arthur, who feels stuck like a skipping record.

You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, says John.

I do. He confessed. He murdered that man and fucking ATE HIM.

He did that because of you! John roars at Yellow. You’re the one who put him in the pit! You’re the one who sent him the gods-damned cannibal! What did you want him to do, just sit back and be eaten?

“What?” says Arthur, weakly.

Because for Yellow to have done that means—

I did? says Yellow, sounding as confused as if he’d been thocked on his phantasmal head.

“Oh, oh, oh yeah,” sings Larson. 

Arthur needs a moment.

“I’m not leaving,” he snaps before anybody can yell at him, and turns to stand at the entrance to the alley, just breathing.

He’s very, very glad he had no alcohol with dinner tonight.

“I dunno, pal, it might’ve helped you out,” Kayne says.

“What is this?” says Arthur.

“Isn’t it clear? No, I suppose it’s not—guess good old Liz (or maybe Henry) redirected the blood from your brain to elsewhere. You’re here to kill your enemy, my boy! End the torment. Flip the switch. Bring that hammer down.”

Arthur swallows. He’s tasting metal again—a thing he’s noticed only happens when he’s on the verge of panic.

Which he is. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Arthur, I can explain.

“Shhh,” says Kayne, and touches Arthur’s lips.

Arthur tries for him with the knife. 

Of course, it only hits brick, jarring his hand. “Ow,” he mutters. “Damn it!”

“He’ll get to explain it all after. For now, however, you, being the key in this situation, being fully entangled with him, and thus, his representative with a physical form, have a job to do.”

“What job? I haven’t agreed to—is this my favor? For killing those cultists?”

Kayne laughs. “No, you sweet thing. It’s his.”

“His?” Arthur’s voice is small.

I… Arthur, I…

Get back here! Coward! Yellow calls from the alleyway.

“I have questions,” says Arthur, but he honestly can’t think of one.

Kayne tsks at him. “I can see you’re in shock, you tender soul, you, so let’s make this simple. Do this, or John’s gone.”

“Gone?” Arthur’s voice cracks.

“Removed. Incised. Purged, if you will. It’s what he agreed to.”

“John?” says Arthur.

This is what you wanted him in New York for? John says, sounding incredulous.

Arthur’s brain has skipped parts of this conversation like it touched an electrical fault, and he blurts, “Yellow is the King in Yellow, isn’t he?”

Kayne laughs. “Wow, are you behind! They’re both the King in Yellow, my darling rose. Snippet, what have you been teaching him? What, nothing? Well, this is on you, then.”

Get back here! howls Yellow. We’re not finished!

“I said all right,” Larson starts singing again. “You know it's alright. It's alright, c'mon.”

And it calms Yellow. It calms the piece of the King in Yellow, the copy of John that Arthur betrayed, that Arthur ruined so badly that he’s refused to think about it because there’s no fixing what went wrong.

“You are correct on that one,” Kayne confirms. “This is fun, and all, but boys… you’re losing my patience. It’s time.”

Arthur finds himself walking back into the alley.

It’s easy to follow Larson’s voice. 

To follow the sweet-syrup sound of that most hated man, who is awfully damn calm about this, and that is the one thought that surfaces. “You’re awfully damn calm about this, Larson,” Arthur snarls.

“Of course I am, my boy. I’m about to enter immortality. Little hard not to face that with some sorta joy, given all I paid for it.”

“Paid for it!” Arthur’s voice breaks. “You didn't pay for it! Your daughter did!”

“So did yours,” says Larson, who shouldn’t know that, who must have been told by Kayne. “We both got to where we are through that most unfortunate necessity, didn't we?”

Murderer! Yellow declares.

Six months ago, that would have been it.

Arthur would have lost it. Gone feral, melted into violent goo, stabbed and tore and shouted until he was covered in gore, until Larson was unrecognizable, until the form could compete with Uncle for mess and mayhem and pulp in bad places.

Today, he pauses.

It’s not the same, says John, calm, because this is only for Arthur. You know it’s not. We’ve been over this.

He killed his daughter! says Yellow.

He made a mistake and she died—and what the fuck are you crowing about? Your guy sacrificed his on purpose! One’s an accident and the other isn't! Fuck, how stupid are you? Did I get all the intelligence, is that it?

What? says Yellow, again taken aback, again stuttered to a halt in the middle of rage.

Arthur realizes with a little gut-twist that Yellow is weirdly naive.

Gullible. That’s the word. He just accepts what anybody says in the moment, then applies that black and white, childish morality.

Yellow would not understand half the movies they’d seen of late.

Why? Why was this?

“Because he didn’t get to spend a month all alone, silly,” says Kayne. “Isn’t that neat? It’s all about godhood and nature versus nurture and all that kind of thing. If you’d been awake the whole time, your John would be even screwier than he is. It’s almost like your bad luck scratches the itch of some eager, chaotic observers. Anyway! What’s the hold up? That’s the guy who hurt you, Arty. That’s the guy who made your teeth loose. You really gonna hesitate now?”

That’s the guy means Yellow, not Larson, and this just got more complicated. “What happens to Yellow if I do this?” says Arthur, because he never asked that before, and he should have, and it’s probably too late, but that’s just how his life goes.

“Hm? Oh, he’ll die,” says Kayne.

John gasps.

Shit. “And what happens to John, then?” says Arthur.

“Heck if I know. This is all new territory, which is why I’m being so patient. Don’t want to miss a thing.”

“Lead me, Jesus, lead me,” sings Larson. “Why don't you lead me in the middle of the air, and if my wings should fail me, won't you provide me with another pair?”

“So you’re crackers,” says Arthur. “Barmy. Lost your damned mind. This isn’t Jesus. This is Kayne. He’s not going to do anything good for you.”

Kayne gasps. “Such ingratitude!” And he laughs. “Next, you’re going to say you don’t want your office filled with music boxes.”

Okay, that—

Okay.

Arthur needs another moment.

“You don’t get one,” Kayne whispers in his ear. “It’s time. John didn’t tell you, and I’m glad he didn’t, because you are fucking glorious this upset, but it’s time. Kill him.”

“Why?” whispers Arthur, and means so many things.

Kayne doesn’t bother to reply.

I… Arthur, I….

“Will you be all right, John?”

I don’t know.

Arthur grips the knife. Its burning leather handle creaks, and Arthur accepts the pain in his palm, because something this messy should not be easy.

Yellow gasps. You’re going to do it in cold blood?

“I’m sorry, Yellow,” says Arthur, because Yellow is not really the King in Yellow, any more than John is. “It seems I fucked up for you all over the place.”

You’re a killer. I don’t expect anything better from you.

He’s human, says John. He’s made mistakes, and stayed alive. Your guy’s no better.

Yellow seems stunned again. He’s not?

Larson laughs. “Little guy, it’s all right. This is where it was always going. Why do you think I had to get you to New York? You’re my final step. My sacrifice. Your death’ll elevate me, son. Mister Lester, I’m fully ready. Do the deed. Let’s get this over with. Then, when I’m ascended, and I’m a god, I’ll be sure to stop by and say hi.”

Arthur’s throat is tight. “He can’t be serious.”

“His deals aren’t for you to know,” says Kayne. “Also, you’re out of time.”

“Wait,” says Arthur.

“Say goodbye to John in three,” says Kayne.

“Wait!” says Arthur, who has an idea, who suddenly thinks—

“Two,” says Kayne. 

With a choked, miserable sound, Arthur cuts Larson’s throat.

But not with the knife Kayne gave him.

“Oh, foul!” Kayne cries. “Oh! Oh! Cheater!”

Andrew! says Yellow, sounding distraught. Andrew! No! No!

What did you do? says John.

“Improvised?” says Arthur, who has no idea what he’s done, except he had to save John, except the knife Kayne gave him was maybe special, except this complete guess was the only hope he had, and he’d only had time to stuff Kayne’s knife away and grab his own instead.

Larson gargles. He sounds like he’s trying to laugh.

Andrew! Yellow sobs it. Andrew! He doesn’t seem to be dying.

So it worked?

So Larson doesn’t get godhood?

Arthur’s hand is warm with blood. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to clean that knife inside his jacket, where he hopes it won’t show.

Kayne sighs. Paces. 

Kayne punches the wall.

It’s a bad sound, cracking, crumbling. Something inside the building crashes down, and there are screams.

Arthur shakes.

“You know,” says Kayne. “I’ll give you this one. I’ll hand it to you. Didn’t predict it. That’s awful rare. So I’m really pissed at you, and you’ll feel that soon enough—but I can appreciate a good scam.”

“I didn’t pull a scam,” Arthur says, quieter, because Yellow has begun to sob.

It is an ugly sound, wretched, utterly unselfconscious.

He’s doing that because Larson is dead.

It doesn’t feel good. None of this does. Arthur isn’t the same as he was in Addison. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Yellow doesn’t stop crying long enough to answer.

Kayne shoves him suddenly, bruisingly, against the wall. “I am… really… mad at you. I won’t get to pull an experiment like this again for who knows how the fuck long. But… that was the deal. You did the deed. Technically, you’re off the hook. But you, Arthur—you still owe me a favor.”

“I won’t kill Yellow,” Arthur says.

Arthur!

Arthur takes Kayne’s knife back out of his pocket and throws it down, and the clang it makes in the alley is weird, wrong, otherworldly. “I won’t. I’ve done enough to him! Fuck you, I—”

He chokes.

There is a fist is in his throat, impossibly swelling, knuckles distending, expanding, distorting, threatening to tear him from the inside. Can’t swallow around it. Can’t—

It stops. 

Arthur gasps, ragged.

“Better idea,” says Kayne, and suddenly, Yellow’s sobbing is inside his head.

“John!” Arthur manages, gagging, terrified John was swapped into the dead man’s body.

I’m here! I—what the fuck?

Leave me alone! Yellow howls.

They’re both in there, equally loud, equally growly, and it’s too much, there is a weight to the fulness of an eldritch god in his brain, and his own soul feels pinched and battered and stepped on, and he can’t breathe, and—

“This should be fun,” he hears Kayne say, and then he passes out.

#

The arguing is what wakes him.

That doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

Then you’re a hypocrite of the highest order, John snarls.

What does that make you?

Look, you moron, just calling me things doesn’t make it—Arthur! The change in tone is remarkable. Arthur—are you all right? Talk to me, Arthur.

The sharp concern in John’s voice—tenderness mixed with violence, crafted for him.

Arthur recalls Yellow weeping over Larson, and he aches for him, and wonders if his own inner compass has gotten even more broken over the last day. “I’m… I’m here. Fuck, I sound strangled.”

He does. Haggard, raspy. 

Larson could out-sing him at this very moment, and he won’t be able to sing to calm Yellow for a while, and that is such an odd thought to have that Arthur’s face burns, and he rolls over to press it into the cool pillow.

Wait. Pillow?

Lucky, says Yellow, low and bitter. Yours woke up.

I told you he would. He’s remarkable.

Andrew was remarkable.

Wallace Larson was a motherfucking cheat who traded children and people’s lives all the time to seem interesting. Arthur does it all on his own.

Arthur feels not all on his own a little too much, right now. “Yellow.”

What? says the new voice, and the tone is fearful, and challenging, and tight.

Is he doing this?

He’s doing this.

Arthur already decided he’s doing this, and he may be many things, but he doesn’t easily change his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Both the voices in his head are still for a moment.

What? they say together.

“I’m sorry. I met you when I was… I was at the worst of myself. I lied to you, and tried to control you, because I was so afraid of losing you again. Losing… John again. Kayne told me you were him, and I thought… you know, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I fucked up, Yellow. I’m sorry.” It feels weak. “That’s all.”

There is a trembling inside, a non-corporeal shaking that feels like maybe the fault line has been transplanted into him.

How dare you? Yellow says.

I told you so, says John.

How dare you lie to me! You just murdered my… you killed him!

Arthur sighs. “I did. I wasn’t letting John get taken. No matter what shape I’m in, that’s… just how it’s going to be.”

That trembling again.

Larson was ready to sacrifice you, like I said—but you’re safe now, says John to Yellow, which Arthur did not expect. You’re me. He won’t hurt you.

That’s more faith in Arthur than Arthur has for himself.

I’m not you. We can’t even merge, Yellow says.

“You can’t?” says Arthur, who’d forgotten that was a thing until this moment.

No. We… we’ve both changed too much. We can’t.

There is sorrow in John’s voice, deep and aching, a finality that communicates loss Arthur can’t fully comprehend.

It’s a farewell to a thing Arthur cannot even imagine needing.

He has no idea how to engage with it, so he goes for familiar ground. Not a poem, but the movie they just saw—a way to say, I love you, without saying those words. “‘You choose me, Cleopatra, against the world,’” he says.

John practically surges to respond. ‘Then we'll meet it! We'll smash it to pieces, put it together again and call it ours!’

Yellow is, understandably, confused. You’re going to smash the world?

“No, we… no. It’s a movie.”

What’s a movie?

John scoffs. Your asshole of a guy didn’t even take you to see a movie? We’ve seen six in just a few months!

But what is one? I want to see one! What is it?

Arthur is not going to see a movie right now. He feels like his head weighs a thousand pounds. “How did I get to a bed? Did Kayne bring me here?”

There is a distinctly guilty pause. So, says John. When you’re fully unconscious, uh. We. Um.

We have control of your hideous form, Yellow informs him. You’re in your hotel room.

“What? Wait, what?” Arthur sits up. He feels the same. Blind, left hand and foot numb. Head too heavy, but—“What?”

When you’re unconscious, repeats John, we have control. So we got you out of there, because there’s a dead body, and we don’t need to face the police again.

Cowards, both of you, says Yellow.

Maybe he should take Yellow to see some morality plays before the movies, or something. “Where’s the knife? It had my fingerprints.”

Fucking Kayne took it back. It was weird, Arthur. I’m glad you couldn’t see it. Even with me looking through your eyes, they bled.

Arthur stiffens and reaches up. Sure enough, there are dried tracks of blood from his eyes down his neck. “Fuck. Can you see?”

Yes. You seem all right. Just… that knife was bad.

Why—Yellow stops.

“Why what?”

Why didn’t you use it?

Arthur’s not sure he’s in any shape to verbalize this. “What I did to you before wasn’t right. What Larson was doing to you now wasn’t right. It’s time someone didn’t do the wrong thing by you, is all.”

Silence in response.

Whatever that means.

Arthur stands, shaky as a newborn lamb, and feels his way to the bathroom. He strips as he goes, dropping clothing in a trail.

Is it time for a rite? says Yellow, oddly hopeful.

Rite?

He’s naked.

So?

This is too weird, and Arthur does not engage. He turns on the shower. 

But… humans get naked for rites.

John scoffs. He told you that? What the fuck?

They don’t get naked for rites? Yellow sounds lost again.

“So what you’re telling me is fucking Larson never washed his arse,” Arthur mutters, and John laughs.

Don’t you know anything about humans? says John then, disgusted.

Of course I do! More than you!

They are clearly going to be at this for a while.

Arthur lets them, hoping they tire themselves out.

He’s scraped from the bricks in the alley. Bruised from Kayne’s manhandling, and, he thinks, inside his throat. His right hand, disturbingly, seems to have been slightly burned where he held that weird knife. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he’s lost his fingerprints.

But he’s okay. He made it.

He always makes it.

And for the first time in his life, weirdly, he feels like he might have a second chance at something he truly fucked up.

They’re still fighting about naked humans. It’s obviously a cleansing rite!

You’re a moron!

“Yellow,” says Arthur. “I’m sorry you lost your person. He was a monster, but… I get it, and I’m sorry. Good, bad—they don’t matter when there’s grief.”

Another trembling pause as the steam rises, and Arthur washes away the blood, the sweat, the dubious stickiness he finds where Kayne grabbed him through his suit jacket.

I… didn’t like it, says Yellow, soft.

“I know. I think we’ve all… we’ve all gone through some loss here, through no fault of our own.”

Don’t tell me you feel bad for taking that fucker out, says John. You’ve been wanting him dead for months.

Arthur knows clarification is needed, and it is the hardest thing to do, but he has to make this second chance count. “Since I learned he sacrificed his daughter for power, yes. It made me think of losing my little girl, and though that was… that was an accident, I couldn’t… imagine someone doing it on purpose. I went a little insane.”

A little? scoffs John.

“A lot insane, then. Still. Yellow wouldn’t have landed in him at all if I hadn’t been such an ass.”

Actually, says John. About that.

Arthur has been thinking. “You made a deal with Kayne.”

I… yes.

Why? says Yellow.

To get back to Arthur.

Why? Yellow says.

He’s mine, says John.

“And, what? It was just about getting me to New York?”

Yes. He said if I did that, I could stay in you. He even hinted he might give me a body, if I paid his debt right, though it wasn’t… worded clearly. If I failed, and couldn’t get you to New York, I’d… I’d go back to the Dark World. But then we were here, and nothing happened, and I… I sort of hoped he’d forgotten.

“You could’ve told me.” It hurts a little. More than a little.

I’m sorry.

Arthur sighs. “I forgive you. We made it through. Just tell me anything else like that, all right?”

I will. I promise.

Yellow is quiet. 

Arthur has no idea how this conversation might stack up against whatever else Yellow has heard.

He dries off and limps back to the bed, where he falls face-first into the pillow. “No joyrides while I’m out. I need rest.”

You adapted to that news pretty quickly, says John, suspicious.

“I have not adapted at all. I’m simply too damn tired to engage with it right now. Tomorrow, I’ll have a proper panic over it, but for the next few hours, I mean it. No joyrides.”

Fine. No joyrides.

But what if we—

We promised. No joyrides.

I didn’t promise, Yellow grouses.

I did, and we are both the King in Yellow, and that’s our word. Shut up.

They are never going to stop.

Weirdly… it’s not that hard to tune them out.

It reminds Arthur of the strangest thing: those noisy, chaotic, wonderful days when Faroe’s “friends”—really just toddlers her age, in the neighborhood—came over, and everybody was yelling and squealing and laughing and demanding, and all the other parents (mothers, they were all mothers, and Arthur never fit in) clustered like chortling geese to add to the ruckus.

And it shouldn’t have been peaceful, but it was.

It shouldn’t have been the kind of noise he could sink into, but it was.

Why this is like that, Arthur doesn’t know.

Maybe he doesn’t need to know.

For some reason, John is now telling Yellow the plot of The Thirty-Day Princess. And then the Baron said, ‘We are on a wild goose egg!’

Yellow laughs.

Is it safe, to leave them unmonitored like this?

Then again, maybe they need it.

Arthur certainly needs it.

He has no idea what to do with this. He has no idea if he can keep them both in there. His skull feels oddly… strained.

But now, right now, he needs sleep.

John promised no joyrides. (Arthur will deal with that horror tomorrow.)

John’s promise, in spite of today’s unpleasant surprise, is good enough.

Yellow’s grief is real. That’s going to take time to navigate. Arthur feels he owes that much.

So… is everyone safe now? At least until Kayne returns?

Maybe.

Arthur doesn’t know how this works, and he’s no longer arrogant enough to assume he ever will.

Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

Maybe it’s enough to survive, and listen, and forgive, and try to make up for mistakes.

To take his chance to make up for one, and hold it with all his heart.

Arthur drifts off to the sound of John’s attempt at a Ruritanian accent.

Maybe it really is coming up roses, after all.

--------

NOTES

Of course, I had to do ridiculous research for this so it would all be accurate.

It's part of my self-indulgence. Hush.

Dancing Lady on Wikipedia, and you get to see the scene that made poor Arthur hot and bothered right here on YouTube.

Death Takes a Holiday is on YouTube in terrible resolution here, BUT if you skip to 1:04:44, you get to see where Grazia chooses to go with Death.

The romp that is Jimmy the Gent. The quip about ethics and carbunkles is right here, at 1:25.

The Thirty Day Princess was hard to track down, but I found a solid review of it, a clip of the Ruritanian accent, and of course, Bing Crosby's She Reminds Me of You.

The Barretts of Wimpole Street, including that DEEPLY uncomfortable clip where the father seems to think all sex is evil, then gets weirdly handsy with his daughter. Yowza.

Oh, Cleopatra... they don't make movies like this anymore. On. Your. Knees.

As for Yellow... well, I saw how he responded to Larson at the end of 28. He just... accepted whatever Larson said - weirdly innocent about it, which made Larson even creepier to me. I sort of figured without a chance to reset and think (like John had during the coma), he wouldn't be able to grow the same way.

The hymn Larson was singing, My Soul is Gonna Live With God. In your dreams, asshole.

[lunamagicablu]

"Come la gioia del mare che torna a riva, possa il sollievo della risata scorrere attraverso la tua anima. Come il vento ama chiamare le cose a danzare, possa la tua gravità essere alleggerita dalla grazia. Come la dignità del chiaro di luna che ripristina la terra, possano i tuoi pensieri inclinarsi con riverenza e rispetto. Come l'acqua assume qualsiasi forma, così libero puoi essere riguardo a chi diventi. Come il silenzio sorride dall'altra parte di ciò che viene detto, possa il tuo senso dell'ironia portare prospettiva. Come il tempo rimane libero da tutto ciò che inquadra, possa la tua mente rimanere libera da tutto ciò che nomina. Possa la tua preghiera di ascolto diventare abbastanza profonda, per sentire nelle profondità la risata di Dio..." ~ John O'Donohue ******************************** "Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore, may the relief of laughter rinse through your soul. As the wind loves to call things to dance, may your gravity be lightened by grace. Like the dignity of moonlight restoring the earth, may your thoughts incline with reverence and respect. As water takes whatever shape it is in, so free may you be about who you become. As silence smiles on the other side of what's said, may your sense of irony bring perspective. As time remains free of all that it frames, may your mind stay clear of all that it names. May your prayer of listening deepen enough, to hear in the depths the laughter of God..." ~ John O'Donohue 

[pop-pop-pop-popculture]

MY 2023 Met Gala Guest List :)

(previous // there will be new people and old people as well as some changes)

Anya Taylor-Joy

Zendaya

Sadie Sink

Elle Fanning

Dakota Fanning

Margot Robbie

AnnaSophia Robb

Sarah Hyland

Lily Collins

Madelaine Petsch

Camila Mendes

Saoirse Ronan

Noah Schnapp

Melissa McCarthy

Florence Pugh

Rebecca Ferguson

Halle Berry

Keke Palmer

Miranda Cosgrove

Madison Pettis

Millie Bobby Brown (the so-called "boyfriend” stays at his own house!!!)

Awkwafina

Amy Adams

Jessica Alba

Jessica Chastain

Phillipa Soo

Lupita Nyong’o

Gal Gadot

Anna Kendrick

Blake Lively

Jessica Biel

Ariel Winter

Winona Ryder

Zoe Saldana

Charlize Theron

Natalia Dyer

Nicole Kidman

Emilia Clarke

Gugu Mbatha-Raw

Idina Menzel

Viola Davis

Emily Blunt

Sofía Vergara

Meryl Streep

Anne Hathaway

Amanda Seyfried

Constance Wu

Elizabeth Olsen

Ana de Armas

Karen Gillan

Lin-Manuel Miranda

Madelyn Cline

Hugh Jackman

Daveed Diggs

Jared Leto

Finn Wolfhard

Tom Holland

James McAvoy

Leslie Odom Jr.

Regé-Jean Page

Ryan Reynolds

Chris Hemsworth

KJ Apa

Idris Elba

David Harbour

Bebe Rexha

Caleb McLaughlin

Bill Skarsgård

Alexander Skarsgård

John Krasinski

Dua Lipa

Stanley Tucci

Charlie Heaton

Robert Downey Jr.

Taron Egerton

Selena Gomez

Ariana Grande

Beyoncé

Rihanna

Halle Bailey

Chloe Bailey

Alessia Cara

Alicia Keys

Céline Dion

Taylor Swift

Lady Gaga

Ciara

Cassie

Elton John

Madonna

The Weeknd

Lily-Rose Depp

Cara Delevingne

Taylor Hill

Elsa Hosk

Josephine Skriver

Romee Strijd

Jasmine Tookes

Lais Ribeiro

Sara Sampaio

Heidi Klum

Candice Swanepoel

Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

Behati Prinsloo

Miranda Kerr

Jacopo Venturini (CEO for Valentino since 2020)

Adut Akech

Paloma Elsesser

Kaia Gerber

Adriana Lima

Alessandra Ambrosio

Gisele Bündchen

Valentina Sampaio

Karlie Kloss

Gigi Hadid

Bella Hadid

Kendall Jenner

Lily Aldridge

Soo Joo Park

Paris Jackson

Daphne Groeneveld

Blanca Padilla

Sophie Turner

Nick Jonas

Jennifer Lopez

Ben Affleck

Billie Eilish

Billy Porter

Zoë Kravitz

Tiffany Haddish

Dakota Johnson

Kerry Washington

Mindy Kaling

Donatella Versace

Anna Wintour

Vera Wang

Tory Burch

Benedict Cumberbatch

Serena Williams

Kasey Musgraves

Katy Perry

Frank Ocean

Julianne Moore

Michael B. Jordan

Jordan Peele

Janelle Monáe

Ashley Graham

Mary-Kate Olsen

Ashley Olsen

Jennifer Connelly

Irina Shayk

Christian Bale + Mrs. Bale

Diane von Furstenberg

Gabrielle Union-Wade

Jeremy Scott (designer for Moschino)

Katie Holmes

Emily Ratajkowski

Gwen Stefani

Julia Garner

Angelina Jolie

Alicia Vikander

Lizzo

Adwoa Aboh

Jourdan Dunn

RuPaul

Solange Knowles

Billie Lourd

Daisy Ridley

John Boyega

Emma Stone

Eddie Redmayne

Bri Larson

Rita Ora

Dua Lipa

Naomi Scott

Law Roach (March 15, 2023: I would still invite him despite his decision to retire, but it’d be understandable if he chose not to attend.)

Kate Moss

Victoria Beckham

David Beckham

Mila Kunis

Natalie Portman

Zoey Deutch

Halsey

Michelle Williams

Winnie Harlow

Kiernan Shipka

Rachel McAdams

Florence Welch

Danielle Bernstein (@weworewhat on Instagram)

Grace Elizabeth

Joey King

Dan Stevens + Mrs. Stevens

Christian Siriano

Jeremy Scott

Alessandro Michele (designer for Gucci)

Miuccia Prada

Elie Saab

Iris Van Herpen

Han Chong (designer for Self-Portrait)

Maria Grazia Chiuri (designer for Christian Dior)

Anthony Vaccarello (designer for Saint Laurent)

Silvia Ventura Fendi

Giambattista Valli

Zuhair Murad

Virginie Viard (designer for Chanel)

Elaine Welteroth

Nina Garcia

Imaan Hammam

Sara Paulson

Julia Roberts

Brandon Maxwell

Pierpaolo Piccioli (designer for Valentino)

Yara Shahidi

Gemma Chan

Laverne Cox

Lucy Boynton

Naomi Campbell

Penelope Cruz

Salma Hayek

Gwyneth Paltrow

Rami Malek

Sienna Miller

Aurora James

Carey Mulligan

Charli XCX

Alexa Chung

Stella Maxwell

Sofía Sánchez Barrenechea

Dapper Dan

Aquaria

Timothée Chalamet

Normani

Camila Coelho

Deepika Padukone

Tommy Hilfiger

Violet Chachki

Nasiba Adilova

Shailene Woodley

Joe Jonas

Megan Fox (MGMK stays home.)

Laura Haddock

Orlando Bloom

Willow Smith

Jason Sudeikis

Ewan McGregor

Coco Rocha

Ralph Lauren

BTS - Jungkook, V, Park Ji-min, Jin, Suga, RM, J-Hope

Blackpink - Jennie, Lisa, Rosé, Jisoo

Doja Cat

Sam Claflin

Kiera Knightley

Sebastian Stan

Alexina Graham

Rachel Zegler

Sophia Lillis

Sam Smith

Mimi Cuttrell

Aubrey Plaza

Adam Driver

Kate McKinnon

Aidy Bryant

Thomasin McKenzie

Evan Peters

Maddie Ziegler

Colin Farrell

Kristen Bell

Idina Menzel

Michelle Dockery

Chris Evans

Peter Dinklage

Luke Evans

Amy Poehler

Liam Hemsworth

Robert Pattinson

Christian Louboutin

Stuart Weitzman

Nicola Glass (designer for Kate Spade)

Michael Kors

Manolo Blahnik

Alberta Ferretti

Kim Jones (designer for Fendi)

Viktor Horsting

Rolf Snoeren

Richard Madden

Giorgio Armani

Isabel Marant

Nicky Zimmermann

Simone Zimmermann

Gimmo Etro

Abigail Breslin

Lana Del Rey

Natalia Dyer

Molly Ringwald

Adele

Giambattista Valli

Tamara Ralph

Michael Russo

Isla Fisher

Anastasia Soare (founder of Anastasia Beverly Hills)

Charlotte Tilbury

Allan Avendaño

Danielle Priano

Pier Gelardi (founder of Refinery29)

Aubrey Plaza

Philippe von Borries (founder of Refinery29)

Christene Barberich (founder of Refinery29)

Justin Stefano (founder of Refinery29)

Sara Moonves (editor-in-chief for W Magazine)

Arnaud de Contades (CEO of Marie Claire Magazine)

Anne Fullenwider (editor-in-chief of Marie Claire Magazine)

Lauren Conrad

Miles Socha (editor-in-chief of Women’s Wear Daily)

Jay Penske (CEO of Women’s Wear Daily)

Jessica Pels (editor-in-chief for Cosmopolitan Magazine)

Rob Zangardi

Mariel Haenn

Michael Fassbender

Jason Bateman

Elliot Page

Betsey Johnson

Jonathan Groff

Anna Faris

Sabrina Carpenter

Meryl Streep

Brie Larson

Renée Elise Goldsberry

Jasmine Cephas Jones

Cindy Crawford

Nicholas Hoult

Jennifer Garner

Zac Posen

Taraji P. Henson

Joan Smalls

Samira Nasr (editor-in-chief of Harper’s Bazaar Magazine)

Lily James

Thandiwe Newton

Ciara Bravo

Mary Elizabeth Winstead

Phoebe Dynevor

Allison Janney

Daniel Levy

Claire Foy

Lisa Eldridge

Kale Teter

LaQuan Smith

Lacy Redway

Alexandra DiRoma

Alex White (fashion director for Elle Magazine U.S.)

Carine Roitfeld (founder and editor-in-chief of CR Fashion Book)

Carine Backoff

Zoey Grossman

Tyler Shields

Joy Sunday (’Bianca’ in Wednesday)

Greg Williams

Cass Blackbird

Kacey Musgraves

Owen Gould

Tobi Henney

Marc Eram

Charlotte Prevel

Romy Soleimani

Rebecca Minkoff

Joseph Altuzarra

Gabriela Heart (designer for Chloé)

Hedi Slimane (designer for Céline)

Phoebe Philo (designer for Céline)

Jonathan Anderson (designer for Loewe)

Saweetie

Kelsey Deenihan Fisher

Lorde

Harry Styles

Demna Gvasalia (designer for Balenciaga)

Anok Lai

Precious Lee

Michelle Yeoh

Storm Reid

Jennifer Hudson

Maisie Williams

Tom Ford

Iman Abdulmajid

Ella Emhoff

Regina King

Amandla Stenberg

Eiza González

Stella McCartney

Edward Norton

Vittora Ceretti

Leslie Grace

Cynthia Erivo

Alton Mason

Mary J. Blige

Carey Mulligan

Ming Xi

Donald Glover

Brooke Shields

Tracee Ellis Ross

Maya Hawke

Catherine Zeta-Jones

Symone

Chiara Ferragni

Ewan McGregor

Laura Dern

Anthony Mackie

Barbara Palvin (Dylan stays at home!!!! He does not need to be at every single event with her.)

Pharrell Williams

Frank Ocean

Dove Cameron

Daniel Craig

Queen Latifah

Jason Wu

Shawn Mendes

Camila Cabello

Jenna Ortega

Olivia Rodrigo

Emma Myers (‘Enid’ in Wednesday)

Tyler Doohan

Christina Ricci

Ke Huy Quan

Demi Lovato

Kristen Stewart

Hailee Steinfeld

Anyone who works in corporate fashion, is a fashion designer, a makeup artist, fashion stylist, fashion model, or hairstylist is invited. There’s just SO many of them, though... . Also, significant others are an automatic +1 unless I said they are not invited :)

NOT Invited

Justin Bieber

Hailey Baldwin

Austin Butler

Pete Davidson

Cole Sprouse

Lili Reinhart

Kim Kardashian

Ansel Elgort

Khloé Kardashian

Kris Jenner

Caitlyn Jenner

Miles Teller

Kylie Jenner

Emma Chamberlain

Addison Rae

Percy Hynes White

Charlie D'Amelio

Dixie D'Amelio

James Charles

Cardi B

Nicki Minaj

Miley Cyrus

Priyanka Chopra

Jeffree Star

ALL social media influencers (YouTube, TikTok, Instagram)

Lena Dunham

John Legend

Chrissy Teigen

Kanye West

Doutzen Kroes

Ezra Miller

Johnny Depp

Amber Heard

Armie Hammer

Travis Scott

Emma Roberts

Tom Cruise

Henry Cavill

Alida Morberg (Bill Skarsgård’s problematic “girlfriend”)

David Dobrik

Madison Beer

Domenico Dolce

Stefano Gabbana

Lil Nas X

Olivia Wilde

Alexander Wang

Justin Timberlake

Adam Levine

Machine Gun Kelly

21 Savage

French Montana

Chloë Grace Moretz

Chris Pratt

Bella Thorne

Scarlett Johansson

Jennifer Lawrence

Emma Watson

Vanessa Hudgens

Sacha Baron Cohen

Dylan Sprouse

Sarah Jessica Parker

Olivia Jade

Kid Cudi

Channing Tatum

Paris Hilton

Nicky Hilton

A$AP Rocky

Jeremy O. Harris

John Mulaney

Olivia Munn

Elon Musk

Chris Brown

MGMK

▪️ March 1, 2023 ▪️

[wildchildvdm]

Of course I did❤️🌹

My great grandma Grazia. My maternal grandfather’s mother. She was so lovely. She died when I was like 4 years old.

She got me a porcelain doll with brunette curls and a beige dress. She also used to give my mother money just for me and threatened her to use it just for me.

On her deathbed, my mother told me, that Great Grandma Grazia told my parents to open their eyes on me. Sometimes I have the feeling that my great grandma knew that something was not okay. Like she knew the whole time…

My mother wants to throw my doll away because she say “Giving a doll as a gift is bad luck” honestly I will take my Grace with me. Yes I called her Grace, the English version of Grazia.

I miss her.

Mine was amazing (x)

[ajoytobeheld]

Top Thirteen Films of 2011 (in no particular order)

January 7th, 2012

BRIDESMAIDS

Oh Kristen Wiig where have you been all my cinematic life?  Your representation of female friendships was bitterweet and your impersonation of a penis was accurate.

DRIVE

Any other director then Nicolas Winding Refn and any other actor then Ryan Gosling and this film could have been directed by Tony Scott and staring Nicholas Cage or Liam Neeson. What a hideous thought. That lift/elevator scene is one of the best things I have seen all year, and I saw a man fit through a tennis racquet.

If this list was in any notable order this would definetely be top.

MIDNIGHT IN PARIS

My first of two Tom Hiddleston films. Pure coincidence. I swear. I really enjoyed the sentiment of this Woody Allen film. A love letter to the literary and cultural greats he admires so feverishly and (you suspect) continually tries to emulate. And Adrian Brody makes a great Dali. It is a nice little dedication to his inspirations and I loved loved watching his interpretations of the personal lives of the great writers from the days of yore. Like Grazia for the readers digest crowd.

THE TREE OF LIFE

Terence Malick can be called many things (mostly by Sean Penn) but unambitious is certainly not one of them. This beautifully flawed film (perfection is sooo overated) manages to cover some pretty big themes (God, morality, the loss of innocence and creation of the universal to name but a few) in a relatively normal running time and introduces us to the talent and luminance that is Jessica Chastain. (Look at her being all the embodiment of Grace and that)

I thought it was at its best when the camera quietly and beautifully observed the relationship between the brothers and parents, like a wonderful hazy memory played in the minds eye of Sean Penn’s troubled architect, and at its worst when the overly earnest voiceovers kicked in. I could have done without those dinosaurs too…. Ultimately it is a far more interesting film thematically and visually then many others that came out last year, even if Sean Penn had no idea what as going on.

THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU

Not the best plot, nor the best film but the best chemistry I have seen between too actors (Emily Blunt and Matt Damon) all year. Genuinely elevated the film for me to something particularly special.

Watch it and have fun with it you. Have most fun with the bit where they can travel through magical doors that don’t bend to the laws of physics, but only if they are wearing Trilby’s.

ANIMAL KINGDOM

An Australian film about a dysfunctional crime family that both terrifies and disturbs with acting and camera work that is never hysterical or overplayed, just considered and very well done. Jacki Weaver gives a masterclass in acting as a truly terrifying matriarch who makes Joe Pesci look like a de clawed puppy dog with no testicles. Her Oscar nom was very well deserved.

A LIFE IN THE DAY

80,0000 people submitted videos to youtube showing the mundane and interesting events that occurred to them on July 24 2010 and Ridley Scott, Kevin Macdonald and Joe Walker edited it together into a documentary. It produces a smorgasboard of emotions and you can watch it here FOR FREE (what else are you going to be doing? Making some kind of sandwich?)

WORLD’S GREATEST DAD

Weird and dark and mental and made by the guy with the squeaky voice in Police Academy. Robin Williams stars as the father of a throughly unpleasant boy who makes his sons terminal asphyxia wank look like a suicide making him an unlikely poster boy for a mis understood generation.

THE DEEP BLUE SEA

A very British affair with Rachel Weiz as a post war lady who surrenders herself to the tragedy of romantic love but with a steely determination and a stiff upper lip. It felt like a play, but a really good one.

MELANCHOLIA

The first time I saw this film I got motion sickness and had to leave the cinema, the second time I sat further back and closed my eyes for the first ten minutes. Its ending left me in a state of complete and utter despair, confusion and flux. I thank Lars Von Tier for this reaction. The opposite of apathy. The opposite of comfort. The opposite of “meh.”

KILL LIST

This British film about two hit mens “last job” made me feel sick and unnerved for a good long while. Part Coronation Street and Part Wicker man, it’s a very hard piece not to wake up sweating about in the middle of the night.

ANOTHER EARTH

A low budget sci fi film that isn’t really about sci fi but the chance we all have at redemption. Or something like that. Written by and starring Brit Marling, it uses some fairly dodgy science to explore the idea of parallel universes but in a very personal way. The last two minutes are totally killer too.

SENNA

Senna is composed solely from archive footage thus The Academy have ruled it out as a best documentary contender. FOOLS. It is a excellent film about brazilian Formula 1 racing car driver Ayrton Senna, and his triple world championship winning ways and hopefully the much more sensible BAFTA team will give it the recognition it deserves.

Other Notable Contenders

Thor (This film was a monkey barral load of fun, thanks Kenneth and thanks Tom Hiddlestone and OMG AVENGERS! AM I RIGHT?) We Need to Talk about Kevin The Skin I Live In Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy Hugo Super 8 Beginners Rise of the Planet of the Apes

and the less said about X Men the better.

Ellen x

[brightly-painted-canvas]

TOG fandom - How to address others in Italian (a little help for fellow writers)

Another one of these posts in quick succession because a thing I’ve noticed in many, many fanfiction is the incorrect use of titles and honorifics in Nicky’s Italian lines. Which... I get it, it’s super-uper difficult to get and also Google is the worst of all to translate the right use and nuance (my suggestion is to always prefer Reverso Context when translating entire phrases, it’s based on examples and it’s more accurate in general). So!

Let’s start with family (famiglia, with a gl, different to the Spanish word).

Papà = dad (please, please, PLEASE USE THE ACCENT. Just like Nicolo ≠ Nicolò, remember that Papa = Pope. And Nicky’s dad - or Nicky as a dad - is not a Pope). Variants! They are mostly regionals, but you can also use: papi, babbo, pa’. Father = padre, so if Nicky has to refer to an austere father figure or someone else’s father? Use padre and the honorific form (we will get to that). Mamma = mom. Variants! Mami, mammà, ma’. Mother = madre. Figlio/a = son/daughter. Sorella = sister. Older sister = sorella maggiore or sorellona (like ‘big sis’), younger sister = sorella minore or sorellina (’lil sis’). Fratello = brother. Older brother = fratello maggiore or fratellone (’big bro’), younger brother = fratello minore or fratellino (’lil bro’). Nonno/a = grandad/grandma. Also: nonnino/nonnina, it’s cute. Zio/a = uncle/aunt. Cute: zietto/zietta. Cugino/a = cousin. Younger cousins could also be called: cuginetto/cuginetta. Nipote = nephew/niece and grandson/granddaughter. Younger ones: nipotino/nipotina. Suocero/a = father-in-law/mother-in-law. Cognato/a = brother-in-law/sister-in-law. Genero = son-in-law. Nuora = daughter-in-law. ... and I’m stopping here, but if you have questions on other particular words just DM me :D

How to address loved ones.

Amico/a = friend. Someone who’s always very friendly and nice to hang up with = amicone/a. The BFF from when you were young kids = amichetto/a. Ragazzo/a = boyfriend/girlfriend. ‘Chi è? Il tuo ragazzo?’ = ‘Who’s that? Your boyfriend?’. Variants (also regionals): ragazzino/a, moroso/a, tipo/a. Fidanzato/a = fiancée. Could also be used as boy/girlfriend, but it’s mostly for couples about to get married. However, nonne all over Italy at Christmas would always ask their nephews/nieces ‘ce l’hai il/la fidanzatino/a?’ which basically is ‘have you found yourself a boy/girlfriend?’. Marito/moglie = husband/wife.

How to address royalty/nobility (to the person who asked about this specifically some time ago: took me some time, but here it is).

Sua/Vostra altezza reale/imperiale = His/Her/Your royal/imperial highness Sua/Vostra maestà reale = His/Her/Your royal majesty Re/Regina = King/Queen Imperatore/Imperatrice = Emperor/Empress Principe/Principessa = Prince/Princess Duca/Duchessa = Duke/Duchess Conte/Contessa = Count/Countess Signore/Signora = Lord/Lady (’mio Signore’ = my Lord)

The clergy (a relevant topic for Nicolò).

Prete = priest. Also: don (mostly used before the name to address the priest, like ‘Don Nicolò’)(yeah I know it reminds you of mafia names, that’s where they get it from... it’s basically a substitute of ‘signore’, frequently used in the South). You can also call the priest padre (father) ‘Padre Nicolò’. Padre superiore = father superior, frate = friar, monaco = monk, eremita = hermit, abate = abbott. To address a friar: fra and the name, like ‘Fra Giacomo’. Suora = nun. To address the nun: suor and the name, like ‘Suor Cristina’. Also: sorella, madre superiora = mother superior (’Madre Teresa’), badessa = abbess. Vescovo = bishop. ‘Sua Eccellenza’ = His Excellency. Arcivescovo = archbishop. ‘Sua Grazia’ = His Grace. Cardinale = cardinal. ‘Sua Eminenza’ = His Eminence. Papa = Pope. POPE. P-O-P-E as in the old holy guy dressed in white living in Vaticano. First rule of Italian, folks: we don’t have as many accents as the French, but when we do THEY MUST BE USED. Also: Santo Padre = Holy Father. ‘Sua Santità’ = His Holiness. I had to translate half ‘Wikihow - come rivolgersi al clero cattolico’ LOL

There should probably be a whole chapter about politics too, but you get the drift: use Reverso, check the examples and write me (or any other Italian user in the TOG fandom) a DM if you’re in doubt.

And we arrive straight to the honorific form. This is hard, I know... English doesn’t really have this form, but it’s extremely important to know it and know the differences to write/talk good Italian.

The basic rule is that when we speak to someone who’s above us in hierarchy (a client, a professor, an older colleague, ecc.) or a stranger, we use ‘lei’. Dare del lei means not referring to the person with the singular form of ‘you’ = tu, but use the female third person singular. Let’s proceed with an example: if you’re writing Nicky as a professor, he’s gonna be called ‘prof Di Genova’ by his Italian students. They wouldn’t say ‘prof, non interrogarmi’ to him, but they would use the ‘lei’ form: ‘prof, non mi interroghi’ (don’t test/question me, professor). This form is basically the most frequently translated by Google. This is why the most frequent mistake in fanfiction is Nicky asking ‘scusi?’ (sorry, in the ’lei’ form) to Joe or Andy or Booker instead of ‘scusa?’. As much as I think Nicky is a very polite guy and he definitely would use the ‘lei’ form with strangers, he knows his family (and his husband!) well enough to use the ‘you’. As a rule, always check if the translated Italian you are using is in the honorific form and, if it shouldn’t be in your fic (as in: Nicky is talking to someone he knows, like Nile or Joe or his family), change it to the ‘you’ form. NB! Nice nuance in fanfiction: Nicky using the ‘lei’ form with Copley or even Merrick (sometimes using the honorific form with asshole strangers adds a very sassy flavour) and Nicky using the ‘lei’ form with Joe if you’re writing a first meeting AU (in a polite/formal environment). It’s cute because there’s frequently a moment during a first meeting conversation where people ask each other: ‘possiamo darci del tu?’ (can we use the ‘you’ form?) and I think it’d work well with them.

You think this is it? THINK AGAIN! We also have an even more reverential form, to use with very veeery important people (nobility, extremely high-up people and the such) which is dare del voi. Voi = you (second person plural). The ‘vostra’ you saw above in the royalty part comes from this. Example: if Nicky is a prince or a king, a counselor should address him with the ‘voi’ form. ‘Vostra maestà, vogliate scusarmi: ho dimenticato di aggiornarvi su questo argomento’ (Your Majesty, please excuse me: I’ve forgotten to give you updates on this topic).

A bit complicated, I know, but I hope I’ve helped. Remember you can DM me anytime if you have questions. If you think I’ve forgotten something, please add a comment so that I can reply! :D

Here are the links to my previous ‘Italian language for fellow writers’ posts:

Terms of endearment

Swear words

Writing ‘good’

[gra-sonas]

Roswell, New Mexico star Jeanine Mason first graced our television screens in 2009 when she made her debut appearance on season five of So You Think You Can Dance. Mason credits this time as her “entry point” into the entertainment industry, as she had no prior access into what can seem like an impenetrable apparatus. In what Mason calls a “ridiculous outcome,” she went on to win her season, and from there, her momentum has only grown since.

From there, Mason started receiving attention from casting directors to further her acting career, but what she found most valuable from her time performing on So You Think You Can Dance was learning how to truly enjoy herself and have fun.

“I didn’t have a game plan or a strategy to win [So You Think You Can Dance], I felt like I jumped into a TV screen and was just delighted, and I was just trying to show up and make it the best show possible,” Mason said in an interview with GRAZIA. “In my observations of 10 years in the industry, a lot of people get buried alive and debilitated by the stress and the pressure of ‘am I making the right moves.'”

Mason says her approach works best when she comes from a place of joy and what feels right in the moment for her. She said that she wants her piece of the puzzle in acting to be “the best, the shiniest, the funkiest and most entertaining.” She feels this is particularly important when preparing for her Roswell, New Mexico role of Liz Ortecho, a biomedical researcher who is the daughter of undocumented parents. Working on Roswell, Mason finds it very different to be leading a series as opposed to her previous roles on shows like Grey’s Anatomy.

Now, four seasons in, Mason said she loves the challenge and what she calls the “gifts” of being able to play such a role.

“When you’re in a position where you are going to have those hard days or those good days, you have a possibility for highs and lows,” Mason said. “It’s an endless learning gig, even into season four, I’m still figuring stuff out. I’m figuring out how to be a great leader, how to be a great comfort for my crew and how to create a happy, productive and comfortable work environment where people can be creative.”

Mason said that she seeks to create a space where vulnerability can thrive, as many aspects of acting require vulnerability for successful role execution. In her portrayal of Liz Ortecho, Mason said that she had the unique challenge of having a character “in her bones,” meaning it’s the longest she’s ever sat with a character. Working with this character, Mason always wonders what’s in store for her next, as her character develops, how does she develop alongside her?

“I’m so grateful that the character I’m getting to lead a series with is a character that is as strong willed, intelligent and full hearted as Liz [Ortecho],” Mason said. “Liz is here to work, and she’s a lot tougher than I am in how she presents to the world, and I’ve had to tap into that to be a good leader on the show.”

Alongside her work on Roswell, Mason, alongside actress Sarah Silverman, has scored a key role in Blair Underwood’s upcoming psychological thriller Viral. The story follows a man named Andrew (played by Blair Underwood) whose life falls into disarray after the disappearance of his wife, played my Mason. Mason said that this independent film was a prime opportunity to do something different in her acting and an opportunity to meet new people whom she finds creatively stimulating.

“I’m tuning my acting chops, I’m gathering more information, and I’m taking all of that back to Roswell,” Mason said. “It’s good all over, I love doing hiatus jobs.”

Mason’s latest “hiatus” job, Christmas On the Square, also starring Dolly Parton, was recently nominated for an Emmy Award. Mason said that working with Parton was the “dreamiest” thing to ever happen in her acting career.

But her work as an actress and an entertainer isn’t the only aspect of her life that Mason finds important, the actress recognizes and understands the importance of having a platform to inform her audiences about topics that are important to her. Lately, Mason, a Cuban-American, has been very vocal about the current protests occurring in Cuba. She feels that speaking on things that are personal to her and making space for activists and educators is more effective than speaking as an “authority” on topics.

“This is a topic that is personal to me, my parents are products what happened [in Cuba], and I feel that in my bones and in my body and I can tell you that these people have been fighting for 60 years to get their freedom back, and that freedom is not a dirty word,” Mason said. “Even still, with this topic that is personal to me, I still consider my role in this to be sending you in the direction of people who have all the information and who are activists.”

It has always felt comfortable for Mason to advocate for Hispanics, as it is something personal to her, but now as Roswell, expands on its representation, Mason finds that advocacy expanding into other marginalized groups as well. Mason said that as one of the only shows that is truly led by Latin women, Roswell helped her to see how she could be there for others, especially Indigenous communities in and around New Mexico, where the show is shot.

“There’s such an incredible native population in New Mexico. We have this particular opportunity there to create a channel to be involved in our industry.” Mason said. “This is my way of saying ‘thank you’ to the community and ‘thank you’ to the state that has provided so much for us. We’re so fortunate to be able to work among all these different cultures that coalesce there, the Spanish presence, the Mexican presence the Indigenous presence is all so beautiful.

[asdfghjkl1x1]

Grace had a somewhat better wake up than all those previous to the start of her higher education.

For once, it’s been the first time she actually smiled at the thought of having friends, or things to expect. Sure, her aunt Rachel was enough to keep looking forward, while she worked most of the day at the bank in London. She often made sure there was always something different on Grace’s life every day.

That day, she found pancakes, they were not just fluffy, but nicely decorated with whipped cream, and next to it was a tiny bottle of honey, along a cup of hot milk. It was enough for Grace to let out a long sigh at the sight.

Once she sat down and devoured her pancakes with joy, she realized about the time. She had barely 15 minutes to get to college. “Oh my god” she stood up quickly bumping into any other stuff to get her red shirt, jeans, and sneakers on. Later finding out she was wearing two different kind of socks, and there was definitely no time to get busy with hair, so she just tied it up in a ponytail. Then grabbed her backpack on the way and ran all the way to the bus stop, and then made her way to the university.

“I’m so so so late” she kept mumbling to herself, then she received a text from  her new friend, Vincenzo Bellini. He was a tall and slim guy, tanned, spikey black hair, light brown eyes and spoke English with an occasional Italian accent. While Lucy was lovable and really friendly, this young boy made her feel unusually at home, even though she kept shaking her head when remembering that it’s only because they both can speak in Italian to each other, something she used to do with the Castiglione brothers back at her hometown.

Buongiorno, bella Grazia. If you’re coming, you’re in ritardo. Luckily for you, the teacher was called by the dean, so you still got time. I saved you a seat on third row. Try to make it pronto!

It’d be a lie if she said that she didn’t blush at the greeting. Still, Grace only took a few more minutes before arriving, only to find herself lost. But as if it he was her guardian, Vincenzo sent her another text with the exact location of the classroom. She made it barely before the teacher came back.

While most of the first hour was just an introduction, the second made sure to bug their head with different mathematical operations and the teacher had them explain ‘as if I was a 5 year old kid’. It was like a piece of cake for her, since she used to help Claudette’s youngest sister with her math homework. The teacher congratulated her but still asked her to fix her messy red plaid shirt, earning a laugh from everybody. Vincenzo didn’t do so well, he got so nervous he started to explain the exercise in his mother language.

“I don’t want to see that class again” the boy said while walking with Grace, who giggled “We have to, there’s no escape for that. If you’re scared of him, imagine having 15-20 kids, Vince” he stared at her, almost going pale “Per favore, don’t mention that part.” Grace kept walking while laughing until she bumped into someone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry...” then she noticed who did she bumped into “Hey, Lucille. How are you?”

Vincenzo stepped next to her, he glanced at both girls and and then took Grace’s bag “I’ll see you at the café, I’ll be there.”

“You don’t have to do that” the ginger said as he was walking away.

“You’ll thank me!” he turned and winked at her, while she just smiled brightly at him, until coming back to her senses to turn to Lucy “Uhm... so, how are you?” then winced “I asked that already, right?” and giggled.

[carbonaracoifunghi]

Can you make a list of the most common slang words that are used in the show? I'm starting to pick up on a few but I'd love to learn!

Hiiii! Thank you for your question, it sounds like fun! Obviously, I am going to forget lots of it, and I will for sure wake up at night like Kronk because I suddenly remembered something so expect at least another post in the future

1. Grazie al cazzo. [literally, thank the dick]I love this one. It doesn’t have a literal translation, we use it like “yeah, right, here comes the genius”, when you say something that is obvious, like “is there one girl you like?” “…the Argentina” “grazie al cazzo!”. There is also a saying that Greta used in one picture on her ig “Grazia, Graziella e grazie al cazzo”. It’s a joke, it refers to Canova’s Three Graces, and it indicates three people who are very close, so when you see them you can go, “look, here they come, Grazia, Graziella e grazie al cazzo!” (Grazia and Graziella are two female names, and they sound similar to grazie, hence the pun).2. Sto a morì “I am dying”, it’s the slang for “sto per morire”, which means I am about to die. We use it to be dramatic in a lot of situations, like “the teacher is going to call me [for questioning], sto a morì!”, or after almost losing a kidney running after the bus -Elia cit.

3. Sei una pippa!“pippa” in Italian is also a verb that means “to wank”, but in this case it’s used to describe a person who isn’t good at something. For example “sei una pippa a trattenere il respiro”, means “you aren’t good at holding your breath”. If you say it with Marti’s soft voice, it sounds like a compliment :D

4. Mortacci tua [literally, your fucking dead ones]Used mostly in a joking manner, when someone says / does something you think it’s unfair to you. For example, hitting your back with a ball as punishment.^^ Another example could be, “mortacci tua, you could have said that earlier!”

5. Pisciare [literally, to piss]Used in some parts of Italy (for example I’ve never heard it in Tuscany where I live, we say “dare buca” o “saltare”) to mean when someone stands you up, or the plans are cancelled, or you miss one day / hour of school. It’s used a lot in the episodes: “ma non avevi una festa?” “sì, ma mi sa che è pisciata” = “but didn’t you have a party to attend?” “yes, but I think it was cancelled”; “pisciamo la prima ora?” = “why don’t we skip the first hour?”I will definitely add some others :) Let me know if you heard something else that you would like to know! 

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Uh-oh, I'm back on my self-indulgence

—-

Psst: it’s ready!

AO3 || Tumblr

Anybody want a feel-good one-shot Malevolent fic involving thought-provoking movies, surprise visits, brutal murder, and Arthur being REALLY clever?

I need to read it over again, but I think it'll be ready to post tonight.

Have a snippet.

Full story coming tonight!

--------

The movie is called Dancing Lady, and Arthur already knows nothing will ever be made like it again once the Hays Code has its way.

It’s a ridiculous love triangle, a “tarnished” woman (a concept Arthur finds absurd) torn between a rich sponsor and a poor lover, both of whom, at least, see her talent for what it is.

There are some scenes in this one. At one point, Clark Gable massages Joan Crawford’s leg, raising it above his shoulder, only hinting at the things that must surely be on display from Gable’s point of view.

Yowza.

It’s hard not to imagine Joan Crawford making the kinds of faces John describes, and Arthur can’t help a little bit of distracting response.

He focuses on his popcorn instead of anything else prone to explode.

“Those guys are a lot of silk hats and silk socks with nothing between,” says Clark Gable on screen, and Arthur laughs.

John huffs. Why are they being so particular about this?  

“Particular about what?” says Arthur.

Tod, Patch, Janie. Why the fuck doesn’t she just lie with both of them? Why do they give a fuck?

Arthur is completely taken aback. “Well, it… I mean… she can’t do that.”

Why not?

Arthur has never in his life considered this question.

It’s about offspring, John decides.

“Ah… no, it’s not really - “

They demand monogamy so there can be no question of inheritance.

“She’s a dancing girl. She has nothing to inherit.”

Sure, but Tod does.

“Yes, but… that isn’t it, John.”

Then what is?

Arthur’s really not sure how to answer. What’s he going to say? That it isn’t the Christian thing to do? “I… it just isn’t done that way. Generally.”

Though in his musician days, he witnessed some truly unique romantic configurations.

It’s a lot to think about.

Stupid, pronounces John with fiendish delight, and continues to tell Arthur everything that’s happening on screen even though Arthur does not reply.

#

In February, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur sighs. “John. I’ve been fucking stabbed.”

Only a little, says John. The three stitches are fine. You’re fine.

He is fine, honestly. It wasn’t that bad, and in the end, they took out the giant bug-thing that poked him.

He’s pretty sure he isn’t poisoned. Maybe that alone deserves celebration.

Arthur sighs. “Well. I suppose an evening of distraction isn’t such a terrible idea.”

Of course it’s not a terrible idea. It’s mine.

Arthur rolls his useless eyes, but can’t help a little smile. 

#

This movie, though. This movie hits a little different.

Death Takes a Holiday is about Death himself, who is tired of being misunderstood, and decides to go slumming among humans for a few days to see if he can figure out why.

And he falls in love. 

With a human.

Which can’t end well for that poor lady.

Arthur forgets his popcorn.

The drama is absolutely contrived and thoroughly effective.The struggles of the inhuman to understand the human - 

The choice of the human to understand the strange -

“And tonight, I must go back to my distant kingdom,” says Fredric March, whose portrayal of Death is passionate, quiet-spoken, and rife with tortured drama.

“Will you take me with you?” says Evelyn Venable, who plays Grazia, the love interest, and whose name means grace.

“Take you?” says Death, who is pretending to be something he is not, who is carrying on a wild con with the goal of… enlightenment? “Take you? I should be so unhappy alone. Take you? Oh, no, no… don’t tempt me. But Grazia, give me one hour of you - let me hold you once, and feel your life.”

Holy shit, Arthur thinks, because he’s pretty sure he knows how Grazia feels.

Sort of. He’s no damsel, and whatever he and John are isn’t romantic, but still?

“Now you see me as I am,” says Death, at last revealed as shadow, as monster, as darkly divine.

“But I've always seen you like that! You haven't changed,” says Grazia.

She chooses him, knowing what he is.

She chooses him, knowing what it will cost.

The music swells, and Arthur finds himself tearing up. “Then there is a love which casts out fear, and I have found it! And love is greater than illusion… and as strong as death!”

John cheers. She goes with him! She went with him! Yes, Arthur!

Does John see the parallels, too?

Arthur isn’t brave enough to ask.

He wipes his eyes, amazed, moved. Almost envious of that stupid made-up girl.

Yeah. This one hit different. 

He can’t help wondering, silly as it is, if this movie was based on something that really happened.

Death and Grazia, reaching across the gap.

It’s not him and John.

But then, who can say just what they are?

[lunamagicablu]

“Una benedizione, per l'equilibrio : Come la gioia del mare che torna a riva, Possa il sollievo della risata scorrere attraverso la tua anima. Come il vento ama chiamare le cose a danzare, Possa la tua gravità essere alleggerita dalla grazia. Come la dignità del chiaro di luna che ripristina la terra, Possano i tuoi pensieri inclinarsi con riverenza e rispetto. Come l'acqua assume qualsiasi forma, Così libero tu possa essere riguardo a chi diventi. Come il silenzio sorride dall'altra parte di ciò che viene detto, Possa il tuo senso dell'ironia portare prospettiva. Come il tempo rimane libero da tutto ciò che inquadra, Possa la tua mente rimanere libera da tutto ciò che nomina. Possa la tua preghiera di ascolto approfondirsi abbastanza da sentire nelle profondità la risata di Dio.” John O'Donohue art by_candycane1969 ********************************* “For Equilibrium, a Blessing: Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore, May the relief of laughter rinse through your soul. As the wind loves to call things to dance, May your gravity by lightened by grace. Like the dignity of moonlight restoring the earth, May your thoughts incline with reverence and respect. As water takes whatever shape it is in, So free may you be about who you become. As silence smiles on the other side of what's said, May your sense of irony bring perspective. As time remains free of all that it frames, May your mind stay clear of all it names. May your prayer of listening deepen enough to hear in the depths the laughter of God.” John O'Donohue art by_candycane1969 

[ciaoyoga]

Ashtanga: gli otto rami dello yoga

Ciao yogi in questo breve post vi lascio la traduzione di un brano che ultimamente ascolto e lascio suonare anche molto spesso durante le mie classi di yoga. Il genere musicale può non piacere ma a mio avviso il testo regala una visione chiara e completa dei famosi otto anga ( membra, rami o tappe) di cui ci parla Patanjali nei suoi Yoga Sutra. 

Non voglio e non posso aggiungere altro fuorché buon ascolto e buona comprensione! 

Namasté

Eight Limbs  (Otto Rami)

The 8 limbs of yoga, are called Ashtanga

Gli otto rami dello yoga si chiamano Ashtanga

The first limb - is the five disciplines of Yama

Il primo ramo riguarda le cinque discipline di Yama 

The very first yama is called Ahimsa,

Il primissimo Yama è chiamato Ahimsa,

the science of kindness or nonviolence positions.

la scienza della gentilezza e della pratica della non violenza.

The second Yama, is no dishonesty - Satya,

Il secondo Yama, è la non disonestà - Satya

which means truth in thoughts, words, indeed.

che intende concretamente la verità in pensieri e parole.

The third Yama of Ashtanga is called Asteya,

Il terzo Yama dell’Ashtanga si chiama Asteya,

which means not stealing or taken from your neighbor.

che significa non rubare o togliere al tuo prossimo.

The fourth limb - Brahmacharya,

Il quarto ramo - Brahmacharya

means self astray, ponesing our seeds so it wouldn't go to waste.

intende l’autocontrollo, posare i nostri semi in modo che non vadano sprecati.

The Fifth Yama is also important it's called a Aparigraha or

Il quinto Yama è anche molto importante ed è chiamato Aparigraha o

non-covet Aparigraha - concrecy,

non desiderare, concretamente Aparigraha consiste

not acquiring the things that we don't really need.

nel non procurarsi cose di cui non abbiamo veramente bisogno. 

Yama is the first branch of the tree,

Yama è il primo ramo dell’albero,

next to the Niyama, so let us proceed.

accanto ci sono Niyama, quindi procediamo. 

The Niyamas, like the Yamas,

I Niyamas, come gli Yamas,

are the code of ethics, yogis practice this to become perfective.

sono codici di etica, che gli yogi praticano per raggiungere la compiutezza.

The first Niyama - Saucha means purity,

Il primo Niyama - Saucha significa purezza, 

remembering to keep the mind and body clean.

ricorda di mantenere la mente e il corpo puliti. 

The second Niyama is called Samtosa or contentment,

Il secondo Nyama è chiamato Samtosa o appagamento,

an essential element of yoga,

un elemento essenziale dello yoga, 

remember to appreciate what we have,

ricorda di apprezzare ciò che abbiamo, 

seeing the perfection of where we act.

comprendendo la perfezione di dove agiamo. 

The third Niyama of Ashtanga is called Tapas for

Il terzo Niyama dell’Ashtanga è chiamato Tapas per

any of us to practice which burns the way to trust

ognuno di noi che pratica è ciò che brucia, la via per avere fede

Tapas is the arc which thought the way

Tapas è l’arco che mostra la via 

to go the sacrifice that purifies the soul.

per accedere al sacrificio che purifica l’anima. 

The fifth Niyama - Svadhyaya means self observation studying itself

Il quinto Niyama - Svadhyaya significa auto osservazione, studiare se stessi

in list of evolation studying scriptures, gently

in un’ottica di evoluzione, studiare le scritture, in un pacato 

contemplations these are all forms of self examination.

raccoglimento tutte queste sono forme di auto esame. 

The fifth Niyama is Isvara Pranidhana, surrender to a higher power,

Il quinto Niyama è Isvara Pranidhana, arrendersi ad un potere più elevato, 

so we no longer suffer from our own mental conditions 

in maniera tale da non soffrire più per i nostri limiti mentali

and next limb in yoga is the yoga position.

e il quinto ramo in yoga è la posizione yoga. 

The third limb in ancient science

Il terzo ramo nell’antica scienza

of Ashtanga is the yoga posture known as Asana,

dell’Ashtanga è la postura yoga conosciuta come Asana, 

Asana or yoga pose many people think it means touching the toes,

Asana o posizione yoga molte persone credono che consista nel toccarsi la punta dei piedi, 

but asana is more about touching the soul

ma asana consiste per lo più nel toccarsi lo spirito,

learning to be steel in the middle of it all.

imparando a rimanere imperturbati nel mezzo del tutto.

The word "Asana" literally means "Sit" 

La parola “Asana” letteralmente significa “Sedere”

it's not like a sport when you trying to compete.

non è come uno sport in cui si cerca di competere.

A regular practice can generate health so

Una pratica regolare può generare salute così

that we can pursue the knowledge of the ourself.

che si può perseguire nella conoscenza di noi stessi. 

The forth limb in the yoga of Ashtanga 

Il quarto ramo nello yoga dell’Ashtanga

is conscious breathing or Pranayama.

è il respiro consapevole o Pranayama. 

Prana is the energy inside the breath

Prana è l’energia dentro al respiro,

when we master prana then we conquer death.

controllando il prana possiamo sconfiggere la morte. 

Pranayama expands our mental energy

Il Pranayama estende la nostra energia mentale

so then we can have clarity and vitality.

in modo da raggiungere chiarezza e vitalità. 

The fifth limb of Ashtanga is Pratyahara 

Il quarto ramo dell’Ashtanga è Pratyahara

rejoin the senses pulling back from samsara 

ritirare i sensi per arrivare al samsara

moving inward away from the external pulling in 

spostandosi verso l’interno, allontanandosi dall’esterno

like a turtle moving towards the internal.

come una tartaruga che si ritira al suo interno

Six limb.

Sesto ramo.

The six limb of Ashtanga is called

Il sesto ramo dell’Ashtanga si chiama 

Dharana, concentrating the mind so let it grows stronger.

Dharana, allenare la mente in maniera da farla crescere più forte.

Dharana is known as deep concentration

Dharana è considerata come una profonda concentrazione

unbroken it becomes Dhyana Meditation.

ininterotta diventa meditazione in Dhyana.

Seven limb.

Settimo ramo. 

Meditation is the seven limb and this is where the real inner journey begins

La Meditazione è il settimo ramo é da qui che inizia il vero viaggio interno, 

when the mind flows like a river into the sea

quando la mente scorre come un fiume verso il mare

emerges with the being which is Known as Samadhi.

emerge con quello stato dell’essere che è noto come Samadhi. 

Samadhi is the eight limb in a state of grace where we can swim

Samadhi è l’ottavo ramo in uno stato di grazia nel quale possiamo nuotare 

in the ocean of bliss feeling freedom and moksha

in un oceano di benedizione, percependo la libertà e moksha

can find the liberation which is the goal of yoga.

possiamo trovare la liberazione che è l’obiettivo dello yoga. 

To be one with everything as it is to experience truth,

Essere uno con il tutto così come fare esperienza della verità, 

consciousness and bliss this is under kind 

della coscienza e della beatitudine questo è unire 

unifying all things a love without any gaining, universe in.

con gentilezza tutte le cose sotto un unico amore senza interessi, e con tutto l’universo dentro.  

[dorothy-gay-of-kansas]

I was tagged by @hemolimfa thaank youu ahhh 💕

Rules: tag 20 followers you'd like to know better

Nickname: Well, Grace is somewhat a nickname - it's the English equivalent of my name which doesn't exactly translate from Polish so it's the closest thing to it I could find - but I don't use it irl, my friends and family usually call me Gaja, Grazia, Graża or variations of these + my sis used to call me Rarity. Now my favourite nickname is Pszczółka (Bee or Queen Bee) 🐝

Gender: haha yikes The majority of the time I think of myself as a woman but like idk honestly

Astrological sign: Gemini

Height: 177 cm/5'8 ft

Sexuality: asexual demiromantic lesbian 💖

Hogwart house: Gryffindor, woo!

Fave animal: Cats, bees and cows! 💕💕💕

Average hours of sleep: Like, 6/7? At least I try to make it so

Number of blankets: 1, I guess

Where im from: Poland babey!

Dream trip: My top 5 places I want to go to are (in no particular order): Japan, USA, France, Spain and Lesbos in Greece

When i created this account: at the end of June 2018

Why i created this account: Cause staff deleted my previous account (which I created in February 2018) after the new European laws in May - they updated their policy so that nobody under 16 could have a blog and my sixteenth birthday was in June so they took down my blog 🙄🤷

I tag any and all of my mutuals who feel like doing this!

[seasideretreat]

Speak softly and carry big stick

Friends, I address you know, it's a form of small-talk I believe - but it's certainly not useful, it's certainly not good. I am evil. Anyway, there's no harm sharing my thought-process with anyone; fact of the matter is my life goes to shit when I do no think; e.g. the many texts I have yet produced. Some of them were perhaps suited to my environment, but certainly not to me. I am a Calvinist. I forgot what I wanted to say: case in point, I am insane, but at least I am unchanging.

So here we are: tat tvam asi. Speak soft and carry big stick, in other words. Theoedore Roosevelts words. Good man. Nonetheless, we're still stuck in limbo: I can´t control myself and must share my thought with you, or not. But I wanted to today because the evolution of my wisdom has reached consummate levels of apogee. Tat tvam asi. That's the literal meaning of what I am thinking. But to clarify: speak softly and carry a big stick. And I bought a telescope

Anyway, don't worry no "hard-core" metaphysics today: nothing that somehow has to with anybody's biology and I am not gonna go savage. I ain´t no savage I guess. I don´t remember. And we're not planning a heist so... you won´t here me speaking like I am planning something, like asking you to do anything illegal. I swear.

I met a man on a train in Italy. He asked if I was from der Schweisch (we spoke German). Then he asked me: so are from der Schweisch or from Italy? And that's kinda how it went. I consider him my friend now, my own personal John Silver. He taught me the twisted core of Islam. A little child was laughing, but later, even though I smiled, I thought of his words: grazia? Where was the grace? So too with the question I wish to ponder today. With or without you. Be careful boys.

You see, I am gay, so to speak. I want to fuck men. I think everybody notices that. But I wouldn't mind marrying Emma Watson. I've never fucked anyone. But I feel so much goodness from what I call the boys. But just now I called them the gentleman, which seems the opposite of what I wanna say - and yet, maybe it did manage to convey the meaning. What about the producers? What about the beasts? What about the fairies? No, never that. That's bad. That's self-derogatory. In the end, Steven Spielberg is a much more sensitive and beautiful man than he is known to be.

A man from Poland, when I was in Luxemburg, asked my father if I was gay. My father later claimed he wanted to find if I was my father's boyfriend: fuck that right? He was scared of me, and he thought he had to get to know it's true. When I denied that I was gay (because why would I love him)? he became quasi-violent - he said he was from Poland, and that's what I am saying. You are free the moment you want to be. Whenever you want to be. That's what I am saying: I am vampire. Only a vampire can retain freedom, but he's dead. I am dead. Got nowhere to go. No one to see. No one to ravage.

How to be free? A man needs to where he is, perhaps; and grow in his distinction, his might and love; even as he is no longer himself: he is just a a bird, or a king, or a drudge. I am sorry I said so, but this is what I have become, in truth, not what evil will make you want to think me. "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one." I know you.

Anyway, okay. Freedom? Appellation? Obedience? And oppression of course... Liberty is Englishness. Everything is Englishness. I doesn´t matter. I am in control. I know what's happening. These things are all irrelevant. However, they were done in a spirit of conduct that I like, that I recognize. Must I hobby-ize my friends? Do you know what birthday's are for? I suppose you do, for recognizing your existence, noticing your survival. It doesn't matter, though. What matters is that you live with some semblance of enjoyment. Jeu-libre.

The power is spiraling away from me. Shall I just do it, or a girl said, pull the trigger? I did it. I undid it, didn't like it. Found a word, instead of talking about the boys, I'll say I talk about the jets, from Elton John's famous song. And it's the best. Hit it...