#when she won artist of the decade

[selenastaylors]

you can say stuff just cause you have a “idgaf” personality & not care what other think but theres a clear line you dont cross & thats disrespecting others in the industry whom have said nothing but kind things about you in the past

[alpaca-clouds]

Queen Liliʻuokalani

You guy's know what? Since that abomination of a "live action adaption" is out and we are all talking about Lilo & Stitch again, let me talk about Queen Lili'uokalani, because her spirit is invoked again and again in the movie.

Some of you might already know about her, as I am not the first to talk about this, but let's talk about the last queen of Hawai'i.

The thing to start with, is the fact that the entire "Kingdom of Hawai'i" thing was complicated from the very beginning. When what we now know as the Hawai'i achipelago was originally settled by polynesians who came there probably around 1200 CE (though the date is really a topic of hot debate, some putting it as far back as 300 CE). And for the longest time every single one of the islands had its own ali'i nui (so "high chief") and family with a complicated system of inheritance.

However, in 1779 James Cook came to Hawai'i. He got the death he deserved, but sadly through him being there folks learned that western folks existed, and so did western weapons. King Kamehameha the Great acquired those weapons and took over the other islands. So, welp... I will note that there being a royal family of the apelago was already a result of colonialism in a way.

But let's get to the actual colonial violence. Because this is where Queen Lili'uokalani comes in.

Now, Lili'uokalani, while stemming from the "royal family", she grew up with her hanai family, after the boarding school she was sent to closed. Due to this, and only being the third in line, it was her brother Kalakaua who became the king. And under Kalakaua the so-called Beyonet Constitution was passed into law, after American military men protested and threatened to overthrow the government.

The Bayonet Constitution was being proclaimed as being more "liberal and modern" than the constitution before, as it limited the power of the royal family in favor of a parliamentary government. But it will probably not surprise you, that this parliamentary goverment gave a whole lot more power to the white settlers than the indigenous people of Hawai'i.

Kalakaua was fairly open to US relations and was having a lot of political contact. However, he was also fairly close with Lili'uokalani, and it became custom that she would become "regent" whenever he visted the US mainland for political or private reasons.

In 1891 he visted California for health reason, had a stroke, still went out and then suffered a sickness of the kidneys, which lead to his death. When news reached Hawai'i, there was not even a doubt that Lili'uokalani, who had already been on the throne during his absence, would take over the throne.

And then she made herself some enemies, because she tried to desolve the Bayonet Constitution.

Now, her new proposed constitution would, yes, give her more power, but not fully abandon democracy. It did make it though, that indigenous Hawai'ians and the Asian population of the achipelago would get a lot more rights again, after having been systemically stripped of them over a good decade now.

Everybody close to her told her it was a bad idea to push for this - after all, it was not as if she had a bad position under the current constitution - but she went through it either way.

The white settlers - mostly the Americans and under leadership of the Dole family (yes, the one you know from canned fruits, like they are responsible for so much American Imperial violence) - organized a military push to overthrow her, which was met by a counter movement. However: The Americans won, and eventually, Lili'uokalani abdicated the throne in exchange to save the lives and freedoms of the people who had been captured fighting for her version of the constitution.

She was tried and went to prison, during her imprisonment becoming very artistic, and painting and composing various musical pieces (remember this, this will be important).

She was eventually released and did travel to the US several times in attempts to try to get Hawai'ian independence reinstored. And even though the American government had no right to claim Hawai'i as a territory, and Lili'uokalani tried to fight this, we all know how it ended: Hawai'i became a territory and was basically given to some companies to do with whatever, ignoring the rights of the indigenous people.

Again, fucking Dole. Overthrowing goverments with the help of the American military to make fruit plantations.

This is just the very base outline. So... let's return to Lilo & Stitch.

Lili'uokalani, while absolutely not being a flawless historical figure, has somewhat become the symbole of the disenfrenchisement of the indigenous people of Hawai'i and the American imperialism they have been put under, as she was the one who tried at least to fight it.

And because of this, the old movie invokes her several times.

Starting directly when the actual movie starts.

If you have not watched the old movie in a while, a quick reminder: While the movie starts with the entire story of Stitch escaping the Galactic Federation, the main bit starts with a song. The girls are practicing Hula, while Lilo is still out feeding peanut butter sandwiches to a fish. This is without dialogue first, instead a song is played: He Mele No Lilo (A Song for Lilo). This is not a traditional song, however, it was written in Hawai'ian.

And it starts with these lines:

Mahalo nui ia Ke Ali'i wahine 'O Lili'ulani 'O ka Wo hi ku Ka pipio mai o ke anuenuehi Na waiho'o lu'u a halikeole'e E nana na maka i ke ao malama mai Hawai'i akea i Kaua'i

If you pay attention, you will see her name there already: Lili'ulani. Those first lines translate to:

The greatest gratitude to her Majesty The Queen of Hawaii, Liliʻuokalani Who captured the rainbow watercolors Flashes of unmatched colors To see the rising dawn From the vastness of Hawaii to Kauai

Generally the song speaks about the beauty of Hawai'i and the royal family that is no longer.

And I find it quite notable that literally the first verse of song in this movie directly references Lili'oukalani, given her relation to the annexation of Hawai'i - and the clear anti-colonial theme of the movie.

If you go through the movie, you will find a couple of things also invoking Lili'oukalani's name. But then most notably there is the Aloha Oe scene.

When Nani thinks she has to give up Lilo, she takes her to the porch and the hamock, where she sings to her Aloha Oe.

This song has a bit of a weird story. Lili'oukalani wrote a lot of music in her life. This song she originally wrote as a goodbye to her American lover when she was still young. It is a farewell song. However, it became association with the annexation, due to being played during the accompanying ceremony, and now is seen as a cultural hallmark of Hawai'i.

The voice actress of Nani back in the day recorded a beautiful randition full version of the song back in the day, which you can find on Youtube.

The song is a farewell song - and Nani sings it as a farewell song to Lilo in the scene. But it also symbolizes the Imperial violence against the Hawai'ian people, which is here done to Nani and Lilo, by the Imperialist American system trying to force Lilo away from her o'hana.

By the way: Lilo and the girls are practicing hula specifically to dance on the Merrie Monarch Festival, a yearly festival that showcases Hawai'ian culture, including very much a lot of Hula and Haka dances and an associated competition, named after Kalakua, who often was nicknamed the "merrie monarch", due to his happy nature. This, too, you can find on youtube. The last festival has happened just a couple of weeks ago, so the dances are freshly online!

Generally speaking: Hawai'i should be independent. Settlers should just fuck off. And do not dare to go to Hawai'i for your vacation. The people do not want you there.

[emp00]

Waiting for the Stars: A Quillock Rapunzel AU Fanfiction: Chapter 1

Summary:

Peter and his Guardians protect the small town of Knowhere at all costs. When the Universal Church of Truth threatens the peace and Peter's concealed past, Peter chooses to follow their request: to bring a powerful being back to the Church.

Meanwhile, Adam believes his duty is to stay hidden from the world, never allowing his powers to be used by anyone. Adam's solitary life is disrupted when he finds a man hiding in his pantry. Of course, as any reasonable person would, Adam hits the man with his pan.

Notes:

This is a collaboration with my amazing friend, Jwiqt, and myself. Jwiqt provides the art while I provide the words. I have a lot to say, but I'll save that for after chapter notes. For now, I'll say that Jwiqt is a cracked artist, and I'm so grateful to be working with them on this AU! I want to share an animatic they made, which is essentially a Chapter 1 trailer. Please enjoy!

The AO3 link. You can also check this out if you want to see what tags are associated with this fic.

Now on to the fic!

Chapter 1

His birth home was not a topic Peter allowed himself to think about too often. Encircling cool air tucked strands of dark, blond hair behind his ears, and clear skies revealed shining stars flickering like candlelight. Unfortunately, these types of nights made it hard not to think about days long gone. Peter’s mood only worsened as he spotted a woman in red waiting below, contrasting harshly with the lonely, dark streets of Knowhere. He turned around to check on Mantis; she was currently standing in the middle of his bedroom, fingers nervously tapping on her palm. In an effort to reassure her, Peter gave a thumbs-up and brought a closed-eye smile to his face. Mantis’ fidgeting did not stop. 

While the circumstances weren’t ideal, Peter trusted Mantis to lead the rescue if anything went wrong. Breathing in the slightly musty air of the town, Peter leapt off his bedroom balcony and onto the streets below, wanting to avoid the possibility of running into other members of his team/family. He kept a hand on the hilt of his sword as he approached the women. In an unspoken agreement, they began walking to the outskirts of Knowhere with Peter leading the way, careful to avoid populated areas. They passed by familiar alleyways where Peter won fights (and suffered losses that no one had to know about) and passed familiar bars with memories of passed-out Guardians and wild conversations. Good times.      

Once they entered the wooded area around Knowhere, the women turned toward Peter and broke the tense silence with a steady voice. “We are elated that you have accepted our invitation tonight, Peter Jason Quill.” The crimson woman bowed slightly, her brown hair enclosing her face like a lion’s mane. Dangerous. “It is a true honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

Peter internally winced at the use of his title and full name — a name that he had not spoken aloud in over a decade. The hand on the hilt gripped tighter. “There’s no need for the fanfare, ma’am. Call me Star-lord in public and Peter in private.” 

The woman glanced briefly at Peter’s sword. “Of course, of course,” she replied, sickly sweet, “You may call me Matriarch.” She smiled and held her hands in front of her, as if she were a teacher chiding an unruly child. 

That certainly irritated Peter a little. He did not need reminders of his school days. “Well, Matriarch, I say let’s get right to the point. What do you want?”

Matriarch brought a hand up to her mouth, looking almost askance. “How blunt, Peter. We simply seek retribution for a wrong done by your team. Surely you understand the value of secrets best left unearthed. At the moment, we both have information we would rather the other not have; therefore, I propose a mutually beneficial agreement.” 

Oh goodie, Peter thought as he crunched random fallen leaves in his path. Matriarch continued, “We want you to retrieve something for us. In return, Spartax will remain unaware of the location of their missing prince.” 

Peter frowned and fiddled with his belt. He knew that this would be their blackmail, yet he was unable to suppress the shivers that crawled up his back. How did they even find out who he was, and so quickly, too? It was only a few days ago that Gamora and he stumbled upon the Church’s city. The only conclusion he could come up with was that they already knew his business. Bastards. They were probably just waiting for their chance to use this information. Luckily, Peter’s dirty laundry wasn’t the only one exposed tonight.

“As for the Guardians, we want the Church’s manpower. There’s a lot of strife going on between Xandar and Deneb, and Knowhere is getting hit hard. Help protect the areas around here and no one has to know where your Church is really hiding. Most importantly, though, stay out of Knowhere itself. The Guardians can handle the town alone.” This was usually true, but, for the most part, Peter just wanted the Church loonies to stay out of his turf.

“We are not hiding,” Matriarch plainly replied, still smiling.

Peter wanted to roll his eyes. 

She cleared her throat. “The Church values all life, even those of the non-believers. We would be delighted to help protect these lands.” She held her hands in front of her again — this time as if in prayer — and stared at Peter with wide, unsettling eyes. “What say you to my offer?” 

Peter noted that she didn’t promise to stay out of Knowhere. “That depends, what’d ya need me to get?” 

Matriarch walked silently for a minute, red dress flowing behind her, hands still held in prayer. Peter wasn’t sure if he should patiently wait for her to finish talking to who knows what, or if he should interrupt. He chose to wait. After a minute, Matriarch began speaking again, “Do you know the legend of the infinity gems?” 

Peter thought back to his childhood, of a room filled with storybooks, candles, and warmth. His mother might have told him at one point. He played with his necklace — the sharp, top point poking into his thumb.

“They’re real,” Matriarch said, a little breathless. “They are gems of extreme power, destined to bring enlightenment to this world.” She looked up to the sky, as if the enlightenment she sought could be found in the stars. “We found one a few years ago.”

She stopped walking and so did Peter. She leaned closer. He wanted to pull away. 

Matriarch whispered, “We made a mistake. Now the gem is with an individual who refuses to work with us.” 

“Damn, I wonder why,” Peter said while doing nothing to hide even an iota of his sarcasm. The floral fragrance of Matriarch’s perfume wafted to his nose and disquieted him further. It reminded him of the older, noble ladies who would fuss over him as a child. Condescending and fake. He guessed those were the qualities you needed to smell like that. 

She ignored him. “Bring this man back to us. That is what we want.” 

Tapping his boot on the ground, Peter gave the women a slight glare. “Maybe you realize this but I’m a little sympathetic to runaways. Can’t I just retrieve the gem itself and call it a day? That’s really what you want, right?”  

“You lack understanding, Peter Quill,” Matriarch said with a sigh, “The gem is attached to the individual. If they are brought to us, we can remove it without causing harm.”

Peter had so many questions about this. “Can’t a regular, not-weird-Church doctor remove it?”

Matriarch frowned, the artificial smile finally gone. 

Peter kept tapping his boot. He really wished he had a comforting cup of coffee with him. So what if it was close to 1 AM? Sue him. “Is this guy keeping the gem really so bad?”

Matriarch brought a hand up and rubbed her temple, a small sign of exasperation. It brought Peter some satisfaction to see that she was also struggling with this conversation. “Your ignorance astounds,” Matriarch said. 

Rude, Peter thought.

“Peter Quill, if a gem with god-like power is in the hands of a man with no desire to wield or direction to follow, what do you think happens?” Matriarch asked with dripping condescension.  

“They don’t use the power at all.”

“Or they misuse the power, putting the entire world in danger. 

Peter huffed a laugh while crossing his arms. “That’s extreme, lady. Are you seriously telling me there’s a magic stone out there that can destroy the world?” 

“Or bring enlightenment. Only if the Church has it back.”

Peter seriously doubted that.

It seemed Matriarch could see the doubt on Peter’s face, because she sighed and turned away from Peter with a conclusive wave. “Sleep on it, Peter Quill. Know that the fate of the world stands over you.” She looked at Peter again with a final, sweetly fake smile. “You don’t truly have much choice anyway.”

★ ★ ★ 

They really didn’t mean to find the Church’s furtive situation. Peter and Gamora were away on a completely unrelated mission: helping merchants travel from Asterion Port to the capital of Deneb, and fighting any bandits who dared get too close. Once they were done and on the way back to Knowhere, Peter pointed out an alternative route that he thought might be a shortcut. 

“We really should have known better than to follow Peter’s ideas,” Gamora later lamented. 

What awaited them was a dilapidated city on the edge of Deneb. Destroyed homes with shattered windows; burned, limestone walls; rotten, wooden support beams; toppled over stone slates; and caved in roofs greeted the pair as they traveled farther into town. Peter remembered looking at an abandoned, ornate teacup on the table of a storefront. It still had liquid, neither moldy, nor evaporated, as if momentarily forgotten during the day. That probably should have been their first sign of something being amiss. 

Together, Peter and Gamora explored the city in search of any forgotten treasures, taking advantage of this unexpected find. A stone church stood proud and mostly intact in the center of town. Inside, Light shone through the stained-glass windows, painting the broken floor tiles and dirty pews with a kaleidoscope of shining colors. The windows especially fascinated Peter. Organized religion wasn’t this thing, but he had to admit the architecture went hard. To the left, the stained glass depicted 6 colorful gems scattered throughout the world. To the right, the stained glass depicted a young man with a green gem on his forehead. Peter found himself gravitating to this side of the church while Gamora investigated the basement. 

In one glass window, a young, blond man was nailed to a cross and many people stood around him with hands together in prayer. The green gem on his forehead shined brightly. In the next window, the man — now older — stood before his followers as they bowed before him. Hues of blues, greens, yellows, and white surrounded the man. The final window had the man cradling a globe with a rainbow halo around his head. The globe itself glowed violet and red. This series of stained glass seemed more vibrant than the other on the opposite side, as if it were newer. 

The vibrant colors reminded Peter of his first sunset while out at sea. The bright reds, oranges, and pinks had captured Peter so much that he hadn’t realized he was crying until a stranger asked him if he was okay. It was just a sunset, yet as his ship sailed toward a destination he had never heard of, he thought of it as the most beautiful view of his life. 

Before Peter could examine the rest of the church nave, Gamora came out of the basement, exclaiming that she had found something. Carefully, she led Peter to a small, hidden room in the basement. The inside looked like a small storage room with some empty shelves, but hidden underneath a tile was a trap door leading somewhere below them. Gamora immediately began descending. Peter sputtered nervously above her as he called her insane, but he ultimately followed behind.

Eventually, they reached another storage room containing bookcases and a single door out. From the other side, they could hear faint sounds of congregations: children playing, parents shushing them, adults gossiping, and merchants yelling about their wares. It unnerved both of them to hear such familiar sounds far below the dirt. Peter, with as much bravery as he could muster, slowly opened the door. When he saw what was on the other side, his jaw dropped. 

It was an entire, golden village. What had to have been thousands of lanterns filled the streets, buildings, and people in a golden glow. There were even lights hanging from the cavern ceiling (how did they do that?!). The residents of this city went about their day, as if they all weren’t who-knows-how deep below the surface. All around them, in banners, windows, ceilings, and floors, were depictions of those gems Peter saw earlier. Peter and Gamora stood in a temple-like building with large, glassless windows overlooking the area.   

“Holy shit,” Gamora said. 

They stopped and stared for a minute before they heard a loud “Hey!”. Turning toward the voice, Peter saw a figure wearing a religious cloak running toward them.

“Time to skedaddle,” Peter said before ushering Gamora up the ladder ahead of him. He threw a bookcase down in the room they were in, blocking the door.   

As fast as they could, they climbed up the ladder, ran outside the ruined city, mounted their horses, and raced off. Only when he felt the whipping of the wind around him did Peter allow himself a relieved exhale. 

“Do you think they got a good look at us?" Gamora asked after a few minutes of riding.

Peter dismissed her concern. “Nah, we were like riptides running out of there. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” 

They were not fine. 

A few days later, early in the morning, Mantis brought a letter to him addressed to Star-lord. It read: Peter Jason Quill, Your knack for getting into places you don’t belong is inspiring. Meet us outside tonight as the clock strikes 12. We have much to discuss. With grace, peace, love, and mercy, the Universal Church of Truth. 

Peter burned the letter as soon as he was done reading it. 

★ ★ ★

“Peter, you’ve come back unharmed!” Mantis said as soon as Peter climbed onto the balcony of his room. Two cowlicks at the top of her head that Peter liked to call her “antenna” bobbed happily.  

He let out a confident huff. “Of course I did. Those evangelical weirdos don’t scare me.” 

Mantis let her face fall. A more serious tone taking over. “Peter, what did they want? How did they know about… You.”

Peter hunched over and sighed. “I think this situation is something the whole team should know at this point, aside from my identity, of course. I’ll tell you the details along with them tomorrow morning. When I do, please act like it’s the first time you’re hearing about any of this.” He looked at Mantis with pleading eyes. 

Mantis hung her head slightly but quickly recovered and brought her eyes back up to meet Peter’s. “Of course!”

“You’re the best, Mantis.” Peter held out his arms — a silent question. Mantis gladly answered by walking into him, accepting the hug. “I’m sorry for keeping you up so late worrying about me.” Peter whispered in Mantis’ hair, “You should go get some sleep.” 

Mantis let go of Peter. “No need for an apology. You get some sleep as well. I imagine you have a lot to think about.” 

Peter let his shoulders sag. “Oh boy, don’t I ever.” He walked Mantis back to her room — which was just next door. “Sleep tight.” 

“And if bed bugs come, they will get squashed!” Mantis said with a pump of her fist. 

“That’s my girl!” Peter said as he waved goodbye and reentered his room. 

He closed the door, took off his boots and belt, threw his sword on the floor, and crashed into bed with a soft grunt. In no time at all, he fell asleep. Green gems and glass faces were his last thoughts as he fell unconscious. 

Gamora nearly punched his right arm off the next morning. 

“Ow! Please, Gamora, that’s my most charming arm!” Peter said while rubbing his hurt limb. 

Gamora glared unsympathetically at Peter. “It’s what you get for doing something so incredibly dangerous by yourself. You should have told us the moment you got that letter.” 

After waking up and fueling himself with some coffee, Peter called an all-hands Guardians meeting. Most of the team was already in the common room; they just had to wait for Drax to wake up. Heather, always impatient, decided to barge into Drax’s room, yelling at him to get up before she started kicking things. All that while Phyla-Vell laughed at their antics. Afterwards, they all gathered around their old, wooden kitchen table — lovingly decorated with ringed water stains and mysterious scratches — and enjoyed the morning. To Peter’s dismay, he broke the jovial atmosphere with a summary of his conversation with Matriarch. He excluded any mention of his past identity and instead told his team that the Church was threatening to take over Knowhere if they did not retrieve a man of interest. 

Phyla-Vell clenched her fists. “That’s an awful deal, Peter! We can’t let them blackmail us. I say let them come, we can take them!” 

“You’re underestimating the Church’s power, dear. It’s practically an open secret that they control much of Deneb’s government,” Heather refuted, laying a calming hand on her partner’s back. Phyla-Vell leaned in and exhaled. 

Drax chimed in with a mouth half full of eggs. “Then can’t we let Xandar know where the hideout is? We are more friendly with them, and they’ll take care of the Church all quick-like.” 

Some murmurs of agreement floated around the room. After all, Xandar had been looking for an excuse to ruffle some Denebian feathers. Xandarians paying a visit to an area the Universal Church of Truth never wanted found? Anything could happen there. 

Nevertheless, Peter made a pained face. “You guys aren’t thinking. If Deneb and Xandar go to war, guess which poor sap gets caught in the crossfire?” 

The small, independent territory in between them: Knowhere. 

Gamora sighed. “So, no going to Xandar.” 

“I still think we could take them,” Phyla-Vell pouted. 

Peter slid over to Phyla-Vell and gave her head a quick and fond shake. “Let’s avoid any unnecessary battles, Phyla. Knowhere only has us to protect it.”

In any other situation, Peter might have considered going to Xandar or even Titan to get some help taking on a hostile Church. He might have even considered an espionage mission to take down the leaders of the Church, letting the group fall apart without guidance. However, involving too many people could get his past blown wide open, and that would make this situation astronomically bigger and more dangerous for everyone. He decided they couldn’t go to anyone else — the Guardians would handle everything. 

Peter looked toward Mantis, who had stayed mostly quiet throughout the conversation. He told her to pretend she didn’t know as much as she actually did, and her apparent solution was to limit her speech altogether. 

Mantis finding out that Peter was a prince of Spartax was a full mistake. He was drunk. Really drunk. Mantis pulled the shortest straw and had to be the one to drag him back home while the others partied at Starlin’s after a successful mission. As they walked back, Mantis asked him where he got his necklace. He should have just said he forgot. No, instead he started talking about home, which got him talking about his mom, which got him talking about his dad. Unwittingly, he let a name slip out: J’son. 

Mantis nearly dropped him on the pavement. Meanwhile, Peter felt the sudden urge to throw up, so he did. He held himself up by his arm on a wall and threw up on a random corner in Knowhere. Mantis held a comforting hand on Peter’s back, and that made more remorse climb his throat. A minute later, when he was done, he was shaking and close to tears; the vomit had little to do with it. 

“Please,” Peter begged, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, “forget you heard that.” 

Mantis, of course, did not forget that conversation, but she never brought it up again. The only indication that she remembered was whenever she would throw Peter a quick glance anytime Spartax was mentioned. Since that night, Peter avoided getting near blackout drunk. 

When he got the letter from the Universe Church of Truth, he knew he wanted someone looking out for him in case he didn’t come back. Mantis, by default, was the only option. He had learned to accept Mantis as an accidental accomplice, even growing to appreciate her role in his life now. While he still hesitated on opening up about his time as royalty, Mantis and he would have occasional nights of fragile reminiscing — their similar mindsets made conversation flow easily.

Out of anyone to know his true identity, he was glad it ended up being kind, compassionate, and kick-ass Mantis.

Peter looked to her; he was pretty sure he knew her answer but he still wanted to ask. “Any thoughts?”

Mantis thought for a few seconds before answering; her face contorted in a slight grimace. “I agree that we should avoid any fighting. If getting this man is all they request, then that seems like the easier option.” 

“Is it, though?” Gamora replied, “According to them, this is a guy that can destroy the world with a gem up his ass or whatever.” 

Drax snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“I don’t care how powerful this individual might be,” Heather said as she walked to the sink to begin washing their breakfast dishes. “If all of us work together to take him down, it should be as easy as blinking.” 

Drax emphatically nodded — Mantis following his head as it bobbed up and down, and Gamora following Mantis’ head. Phyla gave a loud “Yeah!” 

“No,” Peter put his coffee cup down. “It’s safer to treat this man being god-like as fact. And if that’s the case, then I propose that I go check him out alone. 

“What?!” The Guardians all yelled in unison. 

Peter had a few reasons for wanting to go alone. First, at the end of the day, this was his fight — even if the majority of the team didn’t know it. It was his secret possibly being revealed; therefore, it should be him doing the dirty work and getting them all out of this mess. He could already hear the Guardians’ protests at this line of thinking, but his plan also had some logic to it. He did truly believe it would be safer to treat this unknown man as god-like, as unbelievable as it sounded. In cases where all you know of your target is that they are more powerful than you, you need more information. A weakness to exploit. Emotion to manipulate. Sending people to investigate is the best practice, but you can’t let the target feel outnumbered. The situation could get dangerous. 

These are tactics Peter learned from Gamora, so it was no surprise when she recovered first. “It’s stupid, Peter. It’s so stupid.” She shook her head. “You can approach this guy alone and work whatever 'Star-lord charm' you can, but at least one of us needs to be close by. I won’t budge on that.” 

“I’ll have you know my 'Star-lord charm' has gotten me at least three free drinks at Starlin’s and countless invitations for nighttime 'activities'.” 

“Gross,” Phyla said. 

“It’s countless because it’s zero,” Gamora replied.

Peter blew raspberries in their direction before replying, “I’m fine with you guys close by. Any volunteers?”

“Drax and I will go,” Gamora said.

Drax looked wide-eyed at Gamora, as if she had just revealed that breakfast was poisoned. “Me?” 

“You can beat any bad guys we meet on the way,” Gamora reasoned. 

Drax smiled. “I’d like that.” 

“Great!” Peter exclaimed with a clap. “Us three will check out our guy while the rest stay in Knowhere and keep the peace. Any other comments?”  

The room grew silent, the conversation officially over. Some unease still lingered, so Peter “accidentally” threw a spoonful of jam at Drax’s face. That got Drax yelling and the rest of the team giggling. Peter felt his shoulders relax as he laughed with his family.

Matriarch returned that night. This time, all the Guardians were stationed at various locations near them. Peter couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face, feeling protected and loved.

“Your answer?” Matriarch asked as soon as Peter was within earshot. 

Peter crossed his arms as he approached. “I’ll get your man, but I also want to be there when you extract the gem.” Matriarch raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want you hurting this guy. That’s all.” 

A third reason why Peter wanted to meet this man alone was because this predicament felt familiar. A runway who didn’t want anything to do with his past? Peter and this guy should start a club. The possibility of this man being dangerous was high, but Peter found his empathy growing more and more throughout the day. What if this man hated the powers he was gifted? Maybe he would give up the gem easily if it wasn’t the Church that was asking for it. What if this man had no desire to hurt people? What if he just wanted to be left alone?

Peter could relate to that. When he first arrived at Asterion Port, he thought he would live the rest of his life as a loner, maybe becoming a bard. Fortunately, a pickpocket saved him from that future. Overall, Peter concluded that this man did not deserve harsh treatment until proven otherwise. In fact, this guy might be in need of a hero, and isn’t that what Star-lord was always meant to be? 

“Your presence can be arranged,” Matriarch replied, her voice low.

Peter held out his hand. “Then it looks like we have a deal.”  

★ ★ ★ 

Three days and two nights later, Drax, Gamora, and Peter were near their target. The journey took them close to the southern mountains by Xandar, the area mostly being an untouched wonderland of waterfalls, diverse flora, cute animals, and bears (which Drax would argue are still cute). The team reached the peak of a small mountain and caught their first sight of a castle, standing proud on the top of a cliff. According to Matriarch, this castle was where their target was located. From a distance, all the team could see was that the stonework castle was on the smaller side, having one keep, one round tower, two spires, and curtain walls connecting all the structures. Gamora tried to glean if the castle had any defenses, but she couldn’t see any from their distance.

They continued to hike with occasional, tired complaints from Peter about this guy being in a hard-to-reach region. Drax laughed and claimed that “the more the legs burn the happier the eyes feel”. Peter agreed the sights were pretty, but he wasn’t so sure the jelly legs and sweaty pits were worth it.  

After a bit more walking, they decided to set up a camp near a stream of water and hopefully far enough away from any residents. As they ate a late lunch, Peter and Gamora decided that they would scope out the area surrounding the castle. Peter would check the top of the cliff while Gamora would check the bottom. Drax meanwhile, antsy from the lack of encounters with enemies, went to hunt dinner. 

As Peter got closer to the castle, he noted arrow slits on the walls, the lack of a mote, and a dirt path leading to the entrance, indicating that at least one person frequently comes and goes. Peter tried to avoid thorn bushes as he let his thoughts stray to the Church. They’ve always been, frankly, creepy. But to be fair they haven't actually done anything bad (that Peter knows about). They’ve mostly been annoying, demanding to be allowed into various nations in search of something. Peter surmised he now knows what they were searching for. 

Magic gems were still mind-boggling concepts to Peter. He always loved magic and fairy tales, exhibiting excitement and wonder at the stories his mother would tell him. He used to imagine being a fairytale hero, Star-lord. Star-lord would get his magic from the sun and use his powers for the good of the universe. He’d be brave and have lots of friends and always do the right thing. He’d have magic boots that enabled him to fly, and a small, cannon-like weapon that fired light. His mother would giggle at his overactive imagination, but she never inhibited his big personality. She was the first to ask all sorts of questions about who Star-lord was, his motivation, his personality, his likes, his dislikes. She was even the one who inspired the name. 

“If you’re going to be a big shot hero, you need a cool name,” she said to Peter while he sat on her lap. 

Peter pouted and looked all around the reading room, desperate for inspiration. His blue eyes landed on the night sky outside. 

Peter’s mother followed his gaze. “Did you know stars are just suns that are really far away?”

Peter snapped his head to face hers. “No way! That can't be real!”

“It’s true,” she said while raking her fingers in Peter’s hair. “They may be small compared to the majesty of our sun, but they are just as mighty if you get close enough.” 

“So, they are all royalty, like me!”

“Yes,” his mother paused, looking toward the door of the room with solemn eyes. “like you.” 

“I got it!” Peter said with a jump, “My superhero name will be Star-lord, and the world will see that he’s just as cool as any other hero or king!”

Peter wondered if little Pete would think being the leader of a band of misfits in a grungy city, an ocean away from home, was “cool”.

The snap of a twig brought Peter’s mind back to the present. Ducking behind the nearest tree for cover, he braced his back to the trunk and quieted his breathing. He briefly thought of Gamora and wondered if she was doing better than the cowering Peter was currently engaging in. Quiet footsteps followed the loud cracks of sticks and leaves. As they grew close to Peter’s hiding spot, his fingers tensed on the hilt of his sword. The languid march of the stranger continued, and Peter’s heart raced while he became increasingly aware of the bark dragging into his back. Eventually, the footsteps retreated, likely following the desire path Peter noticed earlier. When the steps grew more distant, Peter chanced a look at his surprise visitor.

They were like a fallen sun, fires trailblazing on the Earth. So much gold assaulted his vision that, for a brief moment, Peter felt like he was back at the Spartax treasury room. When his eyes adjusted to the new abundance of color, he realized just what he was staring at — a barber’s wet dream. No way was that amount of hair possible! 

The figure slowly and wistfully strutted away from Peter, their head tilted up as if contemplating the very cosmos. A few butterflies performed a fluttering dance around their head, as if recognizing this person as one of their own. Behind them, a veil of hair cascaded down their body and overflowed into the ground below, picking up leaves and twigs, yet the locks of hair flowed easily. Upon more staring, Peter noticed how the hair was more a pale yellow than gold, the shining god rays making the strands shine with a golden hue. The stranger’s skin on the other hand was a golden tan, leaving Peter to question if that was even natural. The figure turned slightly, revealing a gleaming green gem on their forehead. 

Peter’s focus locked onto the gem. So, this was the man wanted by the Church. Peter frowned, the wonder and serenity of the moment now gone. 

Turning away from the retreating figure, Peter brought his attention to the castle ahead. If the man was out here, then the castle was open to explore. While Peter wasn’t sure if anyone else lived there, he figured his chance of winning a one-on-one fight with a not-potential-god to be pretty high. 

The rest of his team would probably call him reckless, but right now all Peter could see was opportunity. Opportunity for information, and opportunity to get the job done by himself. Determined, Peter began quietly ascending to the castle, following the dirt path all the way to the entrance. 

On the way up, he reviewed his options. Option A: break in, hope no one else is there, and gather any meaningful information. This was the safest option, but it required him to be fast since he had no idea when the man would come back home. Also, Peter wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. The man of interest and his gem were outside, and it wasn’t like the inside would have a big sign explicitly stating the man was allergic to roses or something.

Option B: break in, hide inside, and watch how the man lived. This was a way riskier play. Maybe Gamora could pull this off, but Peter wasn’t so sure of himself. Besides, when seeing the man Peter realized something; the guy is human. Yeah, he may look like some sun god walking on Earth, but in that forest, he did what any person would do: enjoy the day. 

Therefore, Peter was leaning toward option C: approach the guy. This may be the riskiest option of them all if Mr. God Man ended up being Mr. Evil God Man, but this approach will potentially get Peter closest to his goal of getting the man back to the Church, willingly or not. It wasn’t a goal Peter was particularly happy about, but for the safety of his friends, home, and himself, he had to do whatever it took. 

Besides, Peter was essentially the walking personification of charm. No matter what kind of person this man was, Peter was confident in his ability to get out mostly unscathed. 

His mind made up, Peter trekked the rest of the way to the castle by purposefully running into bushes, stepping into mud, getting dirt all over himself, and letting a branch or two rip his clothes. The intention was to look pathetic, and according to the rest of his team, Peter happened to be very good at this. 

The castle, despite the fortifications it featured, was easy to get into. The front door was unlocked — clearly because someone breaking in would be insane. With a blithe scamper, Peter went inside and stood in the middle of the foyer to take in the atmosphere. While the outside looked impressive, the inside clearly was not made to entertain guests. Don’t get him wrong, the architecture was beautiful, but the area was so big, dark, and barren that he could be convinced the entire building was abandoned. A staircase led to a tempting second floor, but Peter decided to check out the kitchen to his immediate right.

Unlike the foyer, the kitchen felt lived in. Windows adorned two walls, flooding the area with sunlight. A small breakfast nook took over a corner of the room. Some cabinet doors were wide open. Bowls, cutting boards, and cutlery were strewn about. One specific bowl harbored rising dough. Despite the misplaced items, the room was generally clean and spacious. A pantry door innocently stood at one end of the kitchen. As expected, a variety of random dry and canned food was found inside. On one shelf was a small basket of white bread loaves. 

Genius plan forming in his mind, Peter closed the pantry door behind him, grabbed a bread loaf, and waited in the dark. After around 30 minutes of twiddling his thumbs, Peter heard the opening and closing of the front door. He stayed painfully quiet as the newcomer moved around the first floor of the castle. Eventually, he heard the kitchen door open. The sounds of matches being struck, rattling of utensils, and splashes of water filled the room. Someone was beginning to cook, just as Peter hoped. 

With a deep, stabilizing breath, Peter purposely knocked over a broom in the closet. Immediately, the rustling from the kitchen stopped. Peter watched the crack under the door as a shadow grew closer and closer to the pantry. The doorknob moved slightly but did not turn all the way. 

“Rats?” a deep, harmonious voice asked. 

Alright, Quill, time to show the world your acting chops. Mama didn’t call you her bestest little actor for nothing. Breathing in, Peter answered, “Um, squeak?” Perfect. 

In a flash, the pantry door was thrown open and Peter came face to face with the man he wished to see. The light of the setting sun from the windows and the light from the lanterns around the room bathed the man in a golden aura. The force of the door opening blew his hair to the side, where Peter noticed a few leaves were still stuck. Now being so close, Peter could see that the man sported a prominent nose and a killer jawline. A literal storybook dreamboat come to life. Is this what the Church is into? As much as Peter hated to admit it, he understood. 

The man’s eyes were a strange, otherworldly iris-less and pupil-less white. Matriarch’s insistence of a god-man walking among them was questionable at best, but actually seeing the guy, Peter suddenly found the conclusion hard to argue. 

Peter didn’t get to stare at the man for much longer because pain abruptly exploded in his head. He dropped his bread loaf and fell to the ground with a loud thud. Before losing consciousness, he noticed the man holding a frying pan in his right hand. Killed by a pan, huh? Not the worst way to go.

Notes:

it has been an absolute joy to work on this AU with Jwiqt. They've already made so much content it's actually insane. In these after chapter notes, I want to share any other pieces/sketches she's done that don't make it into the story. Starting off, we have character designs for both Adam and Peter, and then an early first sketch of them together.

But that's not all. In perhaps the most insane move imaginable Jwiqt made a whole colored animatic of the entire story of this AU. Be warned, this video technically contains spoilers for future story beats, but things are still vague enough that it's not easy to tell exactly what will happen.

Watch via this YouTube link.

Finally, I don't want to promise anything about the frequency of updates, but I will say I hope to not go more than a month without updating.

Thanks for reading, Happy Pride Month (this coming out during pride was totally planned, trust me), and it's still June 3rd where I am, so I can say DELTARUNE TOMORROW WOOOO!

[andreablog2]

I don’t understand how Lady Gaga is such an insanely disciplined person who’s well versed in so many subjects, psychology, music, fashion etc. Had such a big celebrity presence and cult following very early in her career. The debut she had the likes of which we will never see again…and she’s so well respected and is very consistent and dynamic as a person so committed to growth as a person and all this. Yet, she hasn’t made an interesting or commercial album in over a decade. Even her branding has been so bleh? I really respect her as an artist but I don’t like her art if that makes sense 😭. She seems real as fuck. Also it’s so weird she’s talking about telephone 2 happening when Beyoncé hasn’t said anything. It seems like something Beyoncé would want to tease to unless it was some type of negotiation Gaga won bc it’s technically her song even though the only reason people care about it is bc of Beyoncé.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Introductions (2.1.1)

About me:

↪ Leah, she/her/any pronouns

↪ In my early 20s

↪ Reader, writer, sometime animator and artist

↪ Big cannibalism fan. Huge, really ;)

↪ Been doing martial arts for over a decade

↪Fan of CJ Cherryh

↪I reblog stuff from @leahpardo-pa-potato

My writing:

↪ Generally horror, with sides of fantasy

↪Posted in regular chunks of 500-1k words

↪I love tag games, esp OC ones :)

↪I do mini-series, one-shots, and novels

↪I will love you forever if you send me an ask

↪See my full list of one-shots here and my longer pieces below

My art and animation:

↪Masterpost here

↪Mostly blender 3d animations, though I do a bit of drawing too

↪ Don't expect it quite as often as my writing ;)

↪Just interact here to join the taglist!

WIPs / Longer stories

The Unwanted Visitor: (Completed)

Aida's house has been haunted by a spirit for as long as she can remember. Thing is, she's grown used to her Unwanted Visitor (or Vis, as she likes to call him). So when exorcists come after him, she does what any sane person would: protect her brother friend.

↪ Urban fantasy-comedy, very light-hearted

↪A lot of found family and sibling squabbling

↪If you like teens causing chaos, this is for you!

↪Final bit here

A Perfectly Normal Schoolgirl: (Completed)

All Katherine wants is to eat mortal food, bask in the warmth, and be a normal schoolgirl. But when a boy begs her to help him save her parents, she finds herself fighting for her (and his) life once more.

↪Urban fantasy with a side of horror

↪ Basically an inversion of a bunch of tropes

↪My attempt at writing fantasy without mentioning magic by name

↪Full thing here

Convenience Store Vampire: (Completed)

You'd expect vampires to be imposing and terrifying, masters of the night and princes of darkness. But that's not Davie, no siree. He's stuck down by Sunny Mart, working all day to scrape by. The last thing he wants is any trouble. Unfortunately for him, that's exactly what he's getting.

↪Silly urban fantasy shenanigans

↪ What it says on the tin + slice of life

↪Full thing here

A Tale for A Mouse: (Completed)

Who doesn't like to listen to evil old dark lords monologue about their childhood? Take a seat and come hear the story of the Spirit Emperor, as told by the man himself!

↪Cannibalism. Lots of it. World building too :D

↪High fantasy told via monologue

↪I cannot stress how proud I am of this.

↪Full thing here

Fast Food:

An embarrassment to his entire tribe, Hash is lazy and uninterested in anything. So, when he reaches majority, he gets unceremoniously booted out of home. Follow his adventures through Triworld, as he somehow ends up in every single single conflict across the continent.

↪High fantasy with a side of humour

↪Very heavy Lore™ and Worldbuilding™

↪ My excuse to ramble about fictional history

↪Latest bit here :) Also have @/illarian-rambling's rendition of Hash and her OC Elsind!

A Tale of Love, Death, and Maggots (Completed):

Doc's been wandering through hell for a good twenty years, now. He thought he'd seen it all. He thought he'd felt it all. He thought he'd lost it all. But it turns out love just has a way of crawling back into his chest and breaking his heart again.

↪ Tragedy?, fantasy?, horror?, Idk it's a weird little thing

↪I hope you like death because this sure has a lot of it

↪Full thing here, here's a moodboard of it and here is some fanart @/illarian-rambling made!

Lich-Queen (Completed):

Iraela has all but won: the King of Ceredell and his bride are gone, the cities fallen to her army of undead, and the way to the throne cleared for her. But her coronation, and her sanity threaten to fall apart under the weight of duty. Can she hold it together until she truly becomes Lich-Queen?

↪High, dark fantasy with some horror and gore

↪Watch Ira slowly lose her mind in real-time

↪If you like cannibalism, you'll love this

↪Full thing here, and here is fanart the lovely @/vampirelover890 drew?

The Novel™ (Mind of a Mercenary):

Luna, Terror of Garvenoi, mind-mage extraordinaire, has been caught at last. Whilst everyone celebrates, she is given an ultimatum: Be an indentured hunter for the government, or die. But when she signs on with them, she finds that perhaps death might have been a better choice...

↪ Urban Fantasy set in a Non-Earth world

↪Starring a sassy, mean-girl villain protagonist

↪Enjoy several hundred pages of Luna trying and failing to run from her duties

↪Find snippets here (find the others on my masterlist of writing)

Finally, my taglist! If you interacted with this post/already asked me to add you, and you don't see yourself here, please remind me! I may have accidentally missed you :')

Oh pls kill me I felt so silly doing this- Anyways bye guys hope to see y'all around don't judge me for this

[foxes-that-run]

Exclusive: Taylor Swift and Harry Styles Are ‘Making Plans to Meet Up’ Post-Split: ‘Timing Is Everything’

Jul 6, 2023 - Life & Style Staff (x)

She was hardly subtle. During Taylor Swift’s performance of “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” at the 2013 Grammys — which took place a month after she split from One Direction singer Harry Styles — the pop star seemingly took a jab at her ex in front of millions. 

“So, he calls me up and he’s like, ��I still love you,’” she said in a British accent with a mocking tone in the middle of her set at the time. “And I’m like, ‘I’m sorry, I’m busy opening up the Grammys!’ And we’re never getting back together, like, ever.” 

But a decade later, Life & Style has learned, Taylor, 33, may be having a change of heart. 

“Taylor and Harry dated more than 10 years ago. She was 22 and he was 18 — they were both very immature back then,” an insider explains, recalling the pair’s brief but high-profile 2012 relationship that saw them going on dates to NYC’s Central Park, having sleepovers at her Manhattan apartment and vacationing together in the Caribbean over the New Year’s holiday. 

“Yes, Harry broke her heart,” the insider adds, but unlike some of her other exes, after the early sting wore off, “she and Harry actually became friends again.” 

Now they’re getting a second chance at romance. 

“The rumors are true — Taylor’s talking to Harry again,” the insider says, “and friends are buzzing that this could end with them getting back together.”

A lot has changed since Taylor was photographed leaving the British Virgin Islands alone on a boat in early 2013 while Harry, 29, remained behind, signaling the end of their three-month romance. 

“One thing about Taylor is that she never gives up on love,” the source says. The singer “knows timing is everything.” 

Harry has been single since splitting from actress-director Olivia Wilde last November after two years of dating. Taylor’s six-year romance with British actor Joe Alwyn ended this spring. Though she enjoyed a month-long fling with another Brit, 1975 frontman Matty Healy in May, that ran its course too.

“She learned her lesson after being so public, so fast with Matty,” says the insider, noting the rock star was seen meeting her dad, mingling with her famous friends and cheering Taylor on at concerts. “Her love life will be more under wraps going forward.” 

Taylor and Matty went their separate ways in early June. 

“Once that was over, Harry just started popping into Taylor’s head,” the source says. They shared some memorable conversations, which were caught on camera, at the Grammys in recent years, and during the February ceremony, Taylor stood up in support of her ex when hecklers shouted that Beyoncé should have won Album of the Year as Harry took the stage to accept the award. 

“She’s watched Harry from afar and has been very impressed by his growth as an artist but especially by his relationship with Olivia — she thought he handled that like a true gentleman,” the insider adds. “Taylor can see how mature Harry’s become and she respects and admires that.”

[justforbooks]

Marianne Faithfull, singular icon of British pop, dies aged 78

Singer and actor overcame drug addiction and homelessness to collaborate with everyone from the Rolling Stones and Metallica to Jean-Luc Godard

Marianne Faithfull, whose six-decade career marked her out as one of the UK’s most versatile and characterful singer-songwriters, has died aged 78.

A spokesperson said: “It is with deep sadness that we announce the death of the singer, songwriter and actress Marianne Faithfull.

“Marianne passed away peacefully in London today, in the company of her loving family. She will be dearly missed.”

With a discography that spanned classic 60s pop tunes to the prowling synthpop of Broken English and onto collaborations with Nick Cave, Warren Ellis, Lou Reed and more, Faithfull was idolised by fans and fellow musicians alike, and was also celebrated across the worlds of fashion and film.

Mick Jagger, with whom she had a four-year relationship, said: “I am so saddened to hear of the death of Marianne Faithfull. She was so much part of my life for so long. She was a wonderful friend, a beautiful singer and a great actress. She will always be remembered.”

Born in 1946 in London, Faithfull was descended from Austrian nobility on her mother’s side – her great-great-uncle Leopold von Sacher-Masoch wrote the erotic novel Venus in Furs – but grew up in relatively ordinary surroundings in a terraced house in Reading.

After leaving for London in her teens, she met Rolling Stones manager Andrew Loog Oldham, who asked Mick Jagger and Keith Richards to write her 1964 debut single As Tears Go By, which hit the UK Top 10. She had three other Top 10 singles in 1965, all of which also reached the Top 40 in the US.

Faithfull also began acting at that time, appearing on stage in productions of Chekhov’s Three Sisters, alongside Glenda Jackson, and Hamlet, playing Ophelia with Anjelica Huston as her understudy and performing each night’s climactic “madness” scene, she later revealed, high on heroin.

On screen, she acted alongside Orson Welles, Oliver Reed, Alain Delon and Anna Karina, and played herself in Jean-Luc Godard’s 1966 film Made in the USA.

Her fame as an icon of “swinging London” was superseded, though, by the infamy that came from her relationship with the Rolling Stones. She had married the artist John Dunbar in 1965 and had a son, Nicholas, but soon left Dunbar for Mick Jagger.

She was often described as a muse for the band: she once told Jagger “wild horses couldn’t drag me away”, which became the chorus line to Wild Horses, and her drug struggles also proved inspirational for the songs Dear Doctor and You Can’t Always Get What You Want. She said: “I know they used me as a muse for those tough drug songs. I knew I was being used, but it was for a worthy cause.”

She co-wrote her song Sister Morphine, recorded with Jagger, Richards and Ry Cooder, and later recorded by the Rolling Stones for their album Sticky Fingers, but her writing credit was left off until she won a protracted legal battle.

Her addiction to cocaine and heroin worsened, and her reputation was damaged by being discovered naked, wrapped in a fur rug after having a shower, during a 1967 police search of Keith Richards’ house, alongside Richards, Jagger and six other men (described by one person as an innocent gathering “of pure domesticity”). “It destroyed me,” she later said. “To be a male drug addict and to act like that is always enhancing and glamorising. A woman in that situation becomes a slut and a bad mother.”

In 1970, Faithfull lost custody of her son, split with Jagger and became homeless, living on the streets of Soho in London as she tried to quit heroin. “I’d been living in a very fake sort of world in the 60s,” she said in 2016. “Suddenly, when I was living on the streets … I realised that human beings were really good. The Chinese restaurant let me wash my clothes there. The man who had the tea stall gave me cups of tea.” She slowly turned her life around, ending an almost decade-long spell away from music with the country album Dreamin’ My Dreams in 1976.

She cemented her comeback with one of her most acclaimed albums, 1979’s Grammy-nominated Broken English, embracing synthpop and postpunk with an affectingly raw, deepened voice. She quit drugs for good in 1985, and regularly released music throughout the rest of her career. Her collaborators over the years included Nick Cave, Damon Albarn, Emmylou Harris, Beck and Metallica. She released 21 studio albums.

Faithfull married and divorced two additional times, to Ben Brierly of punk band the Vibrators, and the actor Giorgio Della Terza. “I’ve had a wonderful life with all my lovers, and husbands,” she said in 2011, excepting Della Terza: “He was American, and he was a nightmare.”

There were other acting roles, too, notably playing God in two episodes of the sitcom Absolutely Fabulous; the devil in a 2004 production of The Black Rider, a musical by Tom Waits and William Burroughs; and Empress Maria Theresa in Sofia Coppola’s film Marie Antoinette.

In her later years she lived in Paris, and reacted to the 2015 terror attack at the city’s Bataclan concert venue, in which 90 people were killed, with a song called They Come at Night written on the day of the attacks.

Faithfull had numerous health issues. In 2007, she announced she had the liver illness hepatitis C, having been diagnosed 12 years previously. She had successful surgery following a breast cancer diagnosis in 2006, and weathered numerous joint ailments in her later years, including arthritis. In the early 1970s, she also suffered from anorexia during her heroin addiction. In 2020, she contracted Covid-19 and was hospitalised for 22 days.

She is survived by her son, Nicholas Dunbar.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[retropopcult]

"Thirteen" is a song by American rock band Big Star.  Rolling Stone describes it "one of rock's most beautiful celebrations of adolescence", and rated it #396 on their list of the 500 greatest songs of all time. It was written by Alex Chilton and Chris Bell.

The name of the album was #1 Record, which was bitterly ironic, as it ended up selling under 10,000 copies upon its initial release in 1972 (the name of the band also proved to be an unfortunate misnomer, because outside of critics and other musicians, they remained virtually anonymous during their brief time together).

Bell and Chilton wanted to emulate the Lennon/McCartney formula as much as they could, so they shared credit on many of their songs even though there was in fact little writing collaboration between the two. “Thirteen" was in fact entirely Chilton’s creation, and he also delivers the aching vocal that vacillates between hope and heartache and that many cover versions have tried to emulate but never quite matched.

The yearning acoustic ballad focuses on an age that is somewhat underrepresented in pop and rock music. Chilton found that bittersweet spot when innocence still lingers but more complicated emotions start to work their way into the picture.

Over tender guitars, he begins with a question that thirteen-year-old boys have been asking thirteen-year-old girls for generations: “Won’t you let me walk you home from school?” “Won’t you let me meet you at the pool?” he follows, again treading lightly so as not to scare her away. He eventually suggests a date at the dance on Friday; “And I’ll take you,” Chilton delicately sings, as if anything more forceful than a gentle plea will destroy his chances.

In the second verse, the narrator for the first time reveals an obstacle blocking the path to this girl for whom he is clearly falling hard: “Won’t you tell your Dad get off my back?” he asks her. His response to the doubting father is brilliant: “Tell him what we said about ‘Paint It Black.’” By drawing a parallel between his own musical tastes and that of the father, he’s hoping to show that he’ s not just some punk kid with bad intentions.

The final verse finds him struggling as she remains seemingly unknowable (“Won’t you tell me what you’re thinking of?”) resulting in his sweet but awkward follow up (“Would you be an outlaw for my love?”) His final lines redeem him in terms of his integrity and honor, even as they suggest that he’ s losing his opportunity with her in the process: “If it’ s no then I can go/ I won’ t make you.” The final “Ooo-hoo” that Chilton utters is a real killer, tinged as it is with the sting of implied refusal.

Over the decades there have been some fine cover versions of this classic, with brilliant and diverse artists like Garbage, Wilco, and Elliott Smith taking their turns, among many others. But they’d likely all agree they were playing for second behind Chilton’s one-of-a-kind, haunting performance. “Thirteen” is as good as it gets for those looking to relive that moment when life is still rife with possibilities but love seems stubbornly impossible.

Music critic Simon Robinson rates it as Big Star's best song and one of the most important of 1972, praising the "catchy melody and jangly guitars that perfectly capture the carefree and optimistic spirit of youth" and the "simple yet poignant" lyrics that evoke the "experience of teenage romance and heartbreak."

[stargazer-sims]

Non-Sims Interests

I was tagged by @igotsnothing - thank you!

I have a lot of interests outside The Sims. In fact, I'd say The Sims is fairly far down my list of interests at this point...

Writing - I love writing. It's my longest consistent hobby; I've been doing it since I was a child, and I've been honing my craft over the past 4-plus decades. Writing is always something I come back to, no matter what else I'm doing. I think there are times in my life when my writing was better than it is currently, but there are definitely also times when it's been harder and both my motivation and execuation have been worse than they are now. I wrote a murder mystery about 20 years ago when I was in law school, and I tried to write science fiction, but my favourite genre to write has always been general fiction/literary fiction or "slice of life" if you prefer.

My dogs - I have two chihuahuas named Eden and Sailor, who I'll admit I spend way too much money on and way too much time thinking about. I love spending time with them and going on adventures with Eden in particular (because Sailor is a diva). I used to have a Boston Terrier named Grace who lived to be 15, and she was my soul dog. There was no adventure she wouldn't go on with me, including camping, sailing (she had a life jacket), airplane travel (no sedation required), outdoor concerts, and the Canada Day fireworks. She LOVED fireworks and was never afraid of the noise. She always tried to jump up and "catch" the lights and it always seemed like a huge game for her. I miss her.

Photography - I got bitten by the shutterbug in the mid-90s when I was studying journalism and took a photography class as part of my program. (a class, incidentally, that the general manager of our college didn't think I could do because I have low vision). I turned out to be better than mediocre at photography, and I loved it! I've won a couple of amateur photo contests in the intervening time, but mostly I just enjoy taking photos for fun. I photograph my dogs, various insects and flowers, scenery and my action figures. My favourite genre is macro photography and artistic photography.

Action Figures - I collect action figures and I really enjoy taking photos of them. I have a lot fewer now than I used to, but I still like the ones I have. My current favourites are my 1/12 scale DAMToys FunMan series figures. I have the entire collection of those.

Hiking - I am an avid hiker/walker. I like doing the Trans-Canada Trail system as well as going on hikes in wilderness areas or provincial parks, and I also just enjoy walking around the city or on the beach. It pairs well with my other interests of photography and hanging out with my dogs.

Cooking (and eating) - I love food, and I always enjoy trying new foods at restaurants or events. I also love to cook, and I will often try new recipes at home.

Fiber and textile crafts - I like knitting, sewing and weaving. I learned those skills, as well as cooking skills, from my late grandmother. I have way too much self-made knitwear. I may have a slight hat addiction, and I like making mittens too. Socks are my nemesis! This year, I'm planning to knit myself a sweater-coat.

Other interests of mine include reading, Pokémon, Build-A-Bears, video games (especially Nintendo) and generally being a 10 year old trapped in a 48 year old's body XD

__________

I have absolutely no idea who's already done this, but I'm going to tag @nakasumi-sims @jessy-the-martian-girl @cawthorntales @lindyloosims @dandylion240 @enkisstories and @enniewritesathing

As always, participation is optional. Only do it if you feel like it =)

[dd-is-my-guiltypleasure]

David Duchovny: ‘The X-Files took up my life, but it was a miracle’

It's behind a paywall so if somebody has access I would love to read the article

Update : got it, thanks @aimsies-mctaymellburg

David Duchovny: ‘The X-Files took up my life, but it was a miracle’

As Fox Mulder in the hit sci-fi show, the actor and singer peddled fringe conspiracy theories. Now the 63-year-old says Mulder’s paranoia is everywhere.

In hindsight it wasn’t a great idea for me to kick off an interview with David Duchovny by suggesting that he was a musical dilettante. You’re most likely to know Duchovny, of course, as Fox Mulder, the conspiracy-theory-guzzling FBI agent in The X Files, one of the biggest shows of the Nineties, watched at its peak by 30 million in America alone. Perhaps you saw him as the womanising writer Hank Moody in Californication or the 1960s detective Sam Hodiak in Aquarius. You may even have read some of his five books.

Duchovny, a New Yorker living in Los Angeles, is less known for music, although he’s been making rather decent folk-rock for a decade — songwriting, playing guitar and singing in a honeyed drawl. His 2015 songHell or Highwater has been streamed more than a million times while Layin’ on the Tracks, from 2020, has pointed lyrics about a certain politician (“It’s a killing joke that no one laughs at/ A stupid orange man in a cheap red hat”). He has released three albums, with a fourth due next year, and this month plays Latitude festival in Suffolk and the 2,000-capacity Shepherds Bush Empire in London.

So does the 63-year-old feel that he should no longer be seen as just a musical dabbler? “That’s part of a lazy person’s perception,” he says, bristling slightly. “It’s a lens through which people want to see me. I think music is an innocent art form — you listen to it and you have a response. To bring any kind of baggage to bear on it in the beginning seems to me to be dishonest, but that’s the way things go.”

YouTube clips of recent shows suggest people were having a lovely time, I say. This doesn’t have the soothing effect intended. YouTube footage lingers “because of the horror of the cell phone”, Duchovny says. “It’s a pet peeve of mine.” Is he tempted to ban them at his shows, as artists from Prince to Bob Dylan have? “I don’t know that I can enforce that view on anybody.”

For Duchovny, it’s as much about phones limiting his performance as it is about the audience not living in the moment. “To do something unique or for the first time, to reach for a note or play a different melody — all these are chances you might take if you weren’t inhibited by the fact that somebody is [recording] it,” he says. “You’ve got to be able to fail and the ubiquity of cell phones makes failure scarier than it needs to be.”

Failure is the key to another of his jobs: podcasting. In his series Fail Better, he adroitly interviews guests including Bette Midler, Ben Stiller and Sean Penn about their failures. “I feel like I’ve been failing my entire life,” Duchovny said on launching it in May. That may sound strange from a man with English degrees from Princeton and Yale, who has won a Golden Globe for The X Files and another for Californication.

Is he familiar with Elizabeth Day, the British journalist who has hosted a successful podcast called How to Fail since 2018? When Duchovny announced Fail Better, Day tweeted: “I might invite David Duchovny on @howtofail to discuss his failure to be original.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” he says. “If she wants to be rigorous in her thinking, she would investigate what my approach to failure is. I don’t know what her approach to it is. My sense, since failure is universal, is that there’s room out there for more than one discussion.” This is a rather po-faced response to what seemed like a playful comment from Day, and surprising because Duchovny has a wicked sense of humour. He can also afford to be more magnanimous, given that his podcast is at No 12 in the UK chart and hers is at 54.

Gillian Anderson, his X Files co-star, certainly likes his podcast, writing this week on Instagram that she had listened to all of the episodes and found them “intimate and vulnerable … very smart questions, although I wouldn’t expect anything else from you [David]”.

“It’s very sweet,” Duchovny says. “I will email her and thank her. I’m sure somebody running my social media is … I don’t really like to be on social media.” Later that day his Instagram account replies to Anderson’s post: “Thank you for listening, you have an open invite [to appear on his podcast]!”

That encounter would be worth hearing because his relationship with Anderson is fascinating. Despite their chemistry in The X Files there were rumours of friction — although they looked to be getting on swimmingly when they appeared on Jimmy Kimmel’s talk show in 2016 to publicise the return of the show, which ran for two more seasons.

When asked by Kimmel about frostiness between her and Duchovny in the Nineties, Anderson collapsed into giggles, laid her head in Duchovny’s lap and put any froideur down to the dampness of Vancouver, where the series was shot. Her hair kept going frizzy, she explained, and “for every single take we’d have to stand there and blow dry my hair again”.

“And I got pissed at that?” Duchovny asked.

“Well, I think it added to the tension,” Anderson said.

“It kinda makes me sound like an asshole,” Duchovny replied.

Anderson had nothing to do with him leaving The X Files in 2002, he says now. “That was just me wanting to have a family, but also to try other things. It had kind of taken up my life. There was no animosity with the actual show and the people that I worked with. I am proud of the show — it was culturally central in a way that it’s very hard to do these days in a fragmented landscape. There’s so many lightning-strike aspects to it that I can’t help but think of it as some kind of a miracle.”

The X Files gave conspiracy theories a kind of nobility — “the truth is out there”, as its tagline ran. Now they are more widespread and pernicious. “Mulder’s way of looking at the world was through conspiracy and that was the fringe at that point,” Duchovny says. “It doesn’t seem to be so fringe any more. It’s really the world that [The X Files creator] Chris Carter foresaw happening almost 30 years ago. He’s almost clairvoyant in that case.” Is Duchovny more evidence-based than Mulder? “Not at all. I’m an artist — I am associative-based and I see poetry as science and science as poetry.” So are there some conspiracy theories that he buys into? “No, I’m talking about art. I think conspiracies are mostly just lazy thinking.”

One failure that has shaped Duchovny is that of his marriage to the actress Téa Leoni, who starred in Bad Boys and Deep Impact. They married in 1997 and have a daughter, West, 25, and a son, Kyd, 22, but divorced in 2014. “That darkness does deepen you. It makes you more empathetic and humble,” Duchovny says. One of the themes of his podcast is “the difference between humiliating and humbling. Often we focus on humiliation in our culture. I don’t see any positives coming from humiliation, but I see a lot of them coming from humility.”

One wonders if the reference to humiliation has something to do with Duchovny checking into rehab for sex addiction in 2008. Could him playing the bed-hopping Hank in Californication be a case of art imitating life? “People never tire of trying to figure that out,” he says with a sigh. “But to me, that’s not what acting is about. I don’t look for things that are mirroring my life in any way.”

Well, there are parallels in Reverse the Curse, the 2023 film that Duchovny directed, starred in and adapted from his book Bucky F***ing Dent. He plays a would-be novelist who has “sacrificed his artistic dream to put food on the table”. His father, a publicist, did the same, publishing his debut at 75, the year before he died. The film has some really funny scenes, including one where Marty and his son have a farting competition in a motel room that ends up smelling like “an aquarium that fed a sock”. That may have come from a line in Aquarius where someone says something similar about a police station. “I might have ripped it off, I’m not sure,” Duchovny says. “ You can ask Elizabeth Day about that.”

David Duchovny will perform at Latitude festival, near Southwold on July 25 and 02 Shepherd’s Bush Empire, W12 on July 27

[aleafshapedcloud]

It’s Wiress relationships hc time! Featuring her and The Female Morphing! Who I will call Alina bc she deserves a name. The 2 victors are quite similar aren’t they? Both won their games via hiding, only Alina was consumed by addiction while Wiress didn’t succumb to it. I believe that they were each other’s mirrors in some way, they could end up exactly like one another but they didn’t. D6 is also a tech based district so they were both quite smart, to add to their similarities. Then there is the topic of whether she won before or after Wiress. I believe that she won the 47/48th games. And seeing as D6 didn’t have any known victors she likely was forced into mentoring in her very first year as a victor(just like Wiress will be) ,and how horrible would it be to have your first tribute make it to the final 2? You can’t help but get attached to the first children you mentor, they always will be etched into your memory as the first of many children you failed to save, but for a brief moment, Alina thinks, hopes, maybe a miracle can happen and her boy is going to make it, In such a horrible arena like the nest of mirrors too? The boy from 6 had every chance to win, but a girl from 3, one she didn’t even know was still in the games outsmarted him and she watched him crack his head on a mirror and drown. And of course, Alina knows that the newest victor was just trying to survive, just like she did, but she can’t help but feel bitter still. And then when Wiress has to mentor for the quell they don’t become friends instantly, but their kids are part of an alliance, so they become familiar with each other. And look at that, her girl Wellie, makes it to the final 3, she knows better not to get attached now, especially with a deadly contender like Silka going after her, but the boy from 12 uses his last strength to defend Wellie, against everything Alina hopes again. But the odds are never in her favor it seems, Wellie is decapitated, another death that she is sure she’ll see haunt her nightmares again and again, and Wiress’ boy takes the win, she decided that it’s better than the girl from 1, the girl who killed little Wellie. But at the back of her mind she echoes:Wiress brought home a victor on her first time mentoring , and for a moment, a little moment Alina feels that bitterness again. That feeling haunts her when she sees exactly what price Wiress would pay for bringing back home a victor. From then she falls into her addiction, and Wiress becomes even more closed off and scattered, and Alina begins to think that they aren’t too different. I believe that it takes them at least a decade to get closer, both already very deep in their demons, but there is an understanding, a strange, one but an understanding nonetheless. They, much like Wiress and Brutus aren’t friends, but they are similar in more ways than they realize, and that’s why when they are eventually reaped into the third quarter quell they aren’t surprised to see each others faces when they watch the other districts reapings on the train. And when they meet in the training center, when they meet late at night to discus the rebellion, they aren’t surprised. They are quite similar after all.

On a brighter note the lighter hc for their friendship is that while Alina is a pro artist Wiress sucks, like she SUCKS at art. My girl just can’t draw for the life of her, Alina can’t and won’t stop teasing her about it, but whenever the victor from 6 would talk about her art techniques Wiress would always listen very attentively, hence she knows quite a lot about art theory!

[frozen-snowflakesandsunflowers]

Jennifer Lee and Marc Smith revealed as director and writer for Frozen 3 and 4 + Lee no longer WDAS's CCO | News

The source comes from the Hollywood Reporter:

Frozen Fan's wish comes true... Sort of. Jennifer Lee has been replaced as Walt Disney Animation Studio's Chris Creative Officer by Jared Bush. Those of you wanted Jennifer Lee to step down from her role as CCO of WDAS have won but she is confirmed directing and writing Frozen 3 and 4. But not for the reason you wanted, but for a better reason actually. We knew she was involved with the film's making but didn't know that she would write it and direct it with Marc Smith, who some of us speculated as director.

For those who don't know who Jared Bush is, he's the co-director and co-writer of Zootopia, director of Encanto and producer of Raya and the trj Last Dragon. Both him and Lee are currently executive producers on Moana 2.

Disney Co-Chairman, Alan Burgerman has said the following, “Jared Bush is an incredible filmmaker and a talented executive who’s been a prominent creative force at Disney Animation for the past decade, and I am thrilled that he’ll be taking the reins of this storied studio. [...] I also want to thank Jennifer Lee for her passionate leadership of the studio over the past several years — she’s made an indelible mark on both Disney Animation and the industry. I know she has so many more stories to tell, and there is truly no one better suited to oversee the continuation of the beloved story of Frozen.”

Bush has said, “I am so deeply grateful to Bob Iger and Alan Bergman for their faith in me, and thankful to Jennifer for her leadership and for her generous support as she embarks on the next chapters of Frozen. Disney Animation is home to some of the greatest stories and characters of the past century, and I’m so excited to work with all of our filmmakers, artists, and Disney Animation team members as we shape the future of this legendary studio together.”

But here's the most revealing part. In a note Lee sent to the staff of WDAS, reads:

Morning All,

For so many of us here, our dreams came true when we joined Walt Disney Animation Studios. I pinch myself every day that I get to be a part of the Disney magic with all of you, as our stories bring genuine hope, wonder, possibility, entertainment and joy to the world through the beautiful craft of animation. It has been my great honor to be CCO these past six years. I’m so proud of all we’ve built together, weathered together, and discovered together. The love, dedication, talent, and passion you all show every day is not just an inspiration to me, it’s an inspiration to the world.

As you know from Alan’s email, I will be returning to filmmaking full time writing and directing with Marc Smith on FROZEN 3 and FROZEN 4. I admit, I was hooked from the moment Marc first pitched this new adventure for our gang, and I am in awe of the incredible work he has done since then developing this powerful story. As a studio, we are fairly new to musical sequels, and this will be our first story told over two films at once. I’m excited for the challenge and so grateful for this opportunity to return to filmmaking, and can think of no better way to do so than with our FROZEN family.

One of the things that makes Disney so special is our commitment to having filmmakers as our studio leaders. This morning, Alan also announced that Jared Bush has agreed to be our new Chief Creative Officer. Jared’s talents as an animation writer and director stretch far beyond the ZOOTOPIAs, the MOANAs, and ENCANTO. He is committed to this studio and its future, and I truly believe that his passion, his tireless work ethic, and his pursuit of excellence will only make us stronger.

I am so grateful to Bob Iger and Alan Bergman for their incredible support and guidance over all these years. Every moment I’ve gotten to work with them has been a master class in creativity, business, community, and integrity. I want to thank them for supporting my decision to return to filmmaking at this studio that I love so much.

I also want to thank Clark Spencer, the greatest partner anyone could ever have. He is brilliant, patient, and, like Kristoff from FROZEN, he’s the honest goods. He is our rock and will continue to be. And I could not have made it through the hours without Eileen Aguirre. Her care for this studio, her knowledge, and her considerate spirit remains a beacon to all of us.

I can’t wait to get back in the rooms with you! Thank you again for everything; you’re all worth melting for.

Sincerely,

Jenn

So from these statements, especially Jennifer Lee's note, it is confirmed that she has stepped down from the role of CCO because she decided to be a full-time writer and director on Frozen 3 and 4 with Marc Smith., who was the storyboard director for the previous films but now is co-writer and co-director. Those who speculated Marc from the moment Jennifer Lee gave the hint in previous interviews, we're spot on! I didn't believe it at first but obviously should have since he gave the initial idea.

I know Jennifer Lee has gotten a lot of hate since Frozen 2 and we're glad to hear that she isn't writing or directing Frozen 3 and 4 (until now) but it's not bad news because I'm sure she's learned her lesson, main one being to give the story a good amount of time to develop before rushing into things that haven't been fully thought out yet, hence Frozen 3 a release date being delayed to Nov 2027 from the expected Nov 2026. Plus Marc Smith is helping her so it will definitely be different than the previous two with a new co-director/ writer and a fully developed story.

The concept art definitely looks promising though it's far from final. So yes I have full trust in the movies but also a little cautiously as one should be.

[fantom-as]

𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ||

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞

Description: On Valentine’s day, Hermione receives a box of chocolates that starts her obsession with a certain forbidden flavour.

Trigger warnings!: cannibalism, food, sensuality, obsessive!hermione granger, dark!draco malfoy

Word count: 7,1 k

The package arrived on a cold, misty Valentine’s morning.

Hermione Granger hadn’t expected a gift—not from friends, not from admirers, and certainly not from a lover. Valentine’s Day was a frivolous holiday, one she ignored entirely. Yet there it was: a small, elegantly wrapped box resting atop her stack of morning correspondence. A crimson ribbon was tied in a perfect bow, the deep black wax seal on the card embossed with an unfamiliar crest.

Frowning, she set her tea aside and turned the package over in her hands. There was no sender’s name, no note of affection. Just her own name written in a steady, precise hand.

Her first instinct was suspicion. Working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had trained her to distrust the unexpected, and unmarked gifts were rarely innocent. A quiet Homenum Revelio revealed no hidden curses. A deeper detection spell found no poisons or enchantments. Whoever had sent it was clever—but not malicious, at least not in an obvious way.

Curiosity won.

Carefully, she tugged the ribbon free and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, was an array of the most exquisite chocolates she had ever seen. Each piece was crafted with artistic precision—some swirled with gold leaf, others dusted in shimmering red powder. Their scent was intoxicating: a blend of deep cocoa, spiced honey, and something richer, something she couldn’t quite place.

Hermione hesitated. It was foolish to eat something from an unknown sender. But something about them—about the sheer decadence of the gift—called to her.

She reached for the smallest one, a simple dark chocolate truffle with a glistening red sheen. The moment it touched her tongue, warmth bloomed in her chest. The flavor was unlike anything she had ever experienced: impossibly rich, smoother than silk, with a depth that sent a shiver down her spine. Hints of cinnamon and something darker, something more primal, lingered on her tongue as the chocolate melted away.

Her breath caught.

It was… divine.

A slow heat curled low in her stomach, a hunger awakening in her that she didn’t quite understand. She closed her eyes, savoring the lingering taste, the way it coated her tongue, the way it left her craving more.

Only when she reached for another did she notice the small slip of parchment beneath the chocolates.

With slightly trembling fingers, she unfolded it. The ink was dark, the handwriting familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place.

True hunger cannot be denied.

A chill ran down her spine.

She stared at the note, the words pressing into her flesh, sinking deep into her bones.

True hunger cannot be denied.

—

The taste lingered.

No matter how much Hermione tried to shake it, the memory of that first bite haunted her—an exquisite ghost that refused to fade. She could still feel the silkiness of the chocolate melting against her tongue, still sense the strange heat curling low in her stomach, still hear the echo of those words.

True hunger cannot be denied.

A week had passed, and she had exhausted every avenue she could think of to trace the sender. She had examined the box for enchantments, scoured magical merchant records, even enlisted the help of an Unspeakable colleague to identify any rare magical ingredients that might explain the undeniable pull of the chocolates.

Nothing.

The truffles were unlike anything commercially available. The scent, the texture, the indescribable depth of flavor—whoever had crafted them was no ordinary chocolatier. They were a master.

And Hermione needed to find them.

At first, she had told herself it was simple curiosity. A puzzle to be solved. But the more dead ends she hit, the deeper the obsession grew. She found herself thinking of the chocolates at night, her fingers itching to reach for another piece—she had rationed them, wanting to make them last, but each bite only made her crave more.

It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t logical.

And yet, the need burned inside her.

She spent hours poring through magical confectionary texts, searching for anything remotely similar. She visited every high-end chocolatier in Diagon Alley, then Hogsmeade, then Paris. Nothing matched.

She needed to go somewhere deeper, darker—akin to the flavour of the chocolates.

It wasn’t until she paid a visit to Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley that she found her first lead.

The shop was as vile as she remembered—dark, musty, filled with cursed artifacts whispering to her as she passed. Borgin himself sneered as she approached the counter, but the moment she slipped a gleaming Galleon onto the wood, his demeanor changed.

“I’m looking for something rare,” she said, voice steady.

“Aren’t we all?” he replied, but his greedy eyes flicked to the coin.

She unwrapped one of the remaining truffles and placed it in front of him.

“Tell me who makes these.”

Borgin hesitated. The moment his eyes landed on the chocolate, something flashed across his face—recognition. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced with an oily smirk.

“Expensive taste, Miss Granger.”

Her pulse quickened. “You know where they came from.”

Borgin tutted. “Knowing and sharing are two very different things.”

She slid two more Galleons onto the counter. “Try me.”

He sighed theatrically but took the money. “You won’t find these in Diagon Alley, or anywhere respectable for that matter.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “There’s a place, a supper club of sorts. Exclusive. Invitation only.”

Hermione’s breath hitched.

“They call it Nocturne,” Borgin continued. “And the man behind it… well, let’s just say he has a reputation for indulgence.” His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “You won’t find his name on any registry, and you certainly won’t find an invitation. But if you’re determined…”

“I am.”

“Then you’ll want to start at the south end of Knockturn Alley. Midnight.”

The deeper Hermione ventured into Knockturn Alley, the quieter the world became. The usual rabble—the hooded figures haggling over cursed artifacts, the stench of damp stone and something rotten beneath it—seemed to retreat as she moved through the shadowed streets.

She followed Borgin’s directions until she reached an unmarked door at the alley’s dead end. A soft golden glow spilled from the cracks, the only sign of life. There was no handle, no knocker—just smooth black wood and the faint hum of magic in the air.

Hermione raised her fist and knocked.

The door swung inward.

The warmth inside was immediate, sweet and sharp. The room beyond was a lounge of sorts—intimate, dimly lit, with plush crimson seating and golden chandeliers casting flickering shadows against dark-paneled walls. A quiet murmur of conversation filled the space, punctuated by the clinking of glasses. It smelled of wine, firewood, and something rich and savory, something that made her mouth water.

And at the very center of it all, leaning casually against the polished bar, was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione froze.

She hadn’t seen him in years—not since he’d disappeared from the public eye after the war. There had been whispers, of course. That he’d fled the country. That he was running some illicit business in Eastern Europe. That he had been seen at the most exclusive wizarding gatherings, charming the elite with something only he could provide.

But none of the rumors had prepared her for this.

Gone was the sharp, wiry boy she remembered from school. The man before her was older, taller, his once-pointed features now refined with an effortless sort of elegance. His platinum hair was slightly longer, tousled in an artful way that suggested he didn’t care—or that he cared just enough to make it look that way. He was dressed in all black, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with faint scars. He held a glass of something dark and amber in one hand, his fingers lazily tracing the rim.

And he was watching her.

Their eyes met across the room, and for the briefest moment, something flickered across his face—recognition, amusement, and something else. Then, slowly, he smiled.

It unsettled her more than anything else.

Before she could decide whether to flee or march forward, he pushed off the bar and strode toward her, his movements unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world.

“Hermione Granger,” he drawled, his voice smoother than she remembered, touched with something deeper, richer. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I’m looking for someone.”

He arched a pale eyebrow. “How fortunate. You’ve found me.”

A sharp retort sat on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the small velvet box, the last remaining chocolates inside. She flipped it open, revealing the delicate truffles nestled within.

Draco’s gaze flicked down to them, something dark and knowing passing behind his eyes before he looked back up at her.

“I received these anonymously,” she said, studying his reaction. “I want to know who sent them.”

A slow smile curled at the edges of his lips.

“And what makes you think I would know?”

Hermione exhaled sharply. “Because they aren’t just chocolates. I’ve searched everywhere. There’s nothing like them in any shop, any market. They’re unique. And given your… reputation, I figured if anyone could help me trace them, it would be you.”

He hummed, considering her. “And what, exactly, do you think my reputation is?”

She hesitated. “Exclusive.”

That made him laugh—low and genuine. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

Her patience was thinning. “Do you know where they came from or not?”

Draco tilted his head, watching her with quiet amusement. Then, to her surprise, he plucked one of the chocolates from the box, holding it up between two fingers.

“These,” he murmured, rolling the truffle between his fingertips, “are not something you simply find, Granger.” He met her gaze, something unreadable in his expression. “They’re something you earn.”

A chill ran through her, though she wasn’t sure why.

Draco exhaled, as if coming to a decision. Then he placed the chocolate back in the box and slid his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice low, velvet-smooth. “Come to dinner with me.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“You want answers, don’t you?” His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Then come to Nocturne tomorrow night.” He smirked. “I’ll even cook for you.”

His words and what lay behind them sent a shiver down her spine.

But the hunger inside her—the one that had been gnawing at her ever since she first tasted those chocolates—only sharpened.

Against her better judgment, she nodded.

“Fine.”

Draco’s smirk widened.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re going to love what I have planned.”

—

Hermione arrived at Nocturne precisely at eight.

The entrance was hidden within a narrow, candlelit corridor at the back of Knockturn Alley, tucked behind an iron-wrought gate that only opened for those meant to find it. Draco had sent no formal invitation, but the moment she approached, the gate creaked open as if welcoming her inside.

She stepped into a world of low-burning chandeliers, flickering candelabras, and an air thick with something indulgent—spiced wine, charred rosemary, and something deeper, darker, that made the hunger in her belly twist with anticipation.

At the very center of the intimate dining hall, at a long mahogany table set for two, sat Draco Malfoy.

He looked utterly at ease, clad in a tailored black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. A crystal decanter of deep red wine sat between them, its contents glistening in the candlelight as he slowly swirled his glass. His pale fingers were lazy against the rim, but his gaze—his gaze—was sharp, assessing, waiting.

“Hermione.” He didn’t stand, but his lips curled in something resembling amusement. “Punctual, as expected.”

She slid into the chair across from him, her eyes sweeping over the decadent table setting. The silverware was charmed to gleam unnaturally, the wine glasses were so fine they were nearly translucent, and the plates—each one made of black porcelain—held no food. Not yet.

“You said you would cook,” she remarked.

Draco leaned forward, resting his chin lightly against his fingers. “I did. And I have.” He nodded toward the far end of the room, where a pair of silent servers stood, waiting. At his cue, they moved with synchronized precision, placing the first course in front of them.

Hermione stared down at her plate.

A single, delicate bite of something deep red—seared at the edges, glistening with a glaze of dark honey and something thicker. The scent was intoxicating. It smelled rich, powerful, something that made the hunger inside her tighten with an intensity she didn’t understand.

“What is it?” she asked.

Draco’s lips curled. “Taste it.”

She hesitated—but not for long. The first bite melted against her tongue, impossibly tender, the balance of sweet and savory so perfectly aligned that it sent a shiver down her spine. A slow warmth spread through her, pooling in the pit of her stomach.

She swallowed. Licked her lips. Looked at him.

Draco was watching her with a knowing smirk. “Good?”

She exhaled. “Incredible.”

“Food is the oldest form of intimacy, you know.” He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. “Before there was magic, before there was even language, there was hunger. Sharing food is one of the first ways humans connected. It’s instinct.”

Hermione tilted her head. “I’d beg to differ.”

Draco laughed. “But tell me, Granger—what’s more revealing than the way someone eats?” His voice was smooth, like the wine in his glass. “You can tell everything about a person by how they approach a meal.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And what have you gathered about me so far?”

Draco studied her, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “You hesitate at first. You analyze, try to decipher what’s in front of you before committing. But once you surrender to indulgence…” His voice dropped slightly. “You don’t hold back.”

Heat crawled up her spine.

She took a slow sip of her wine to distract herself, only to find it paired perfectly with the lingering flavors on her tongue. She should have felt uneasy—this was Draco Malfoy, after all. And yet, the conversation flowed easily between them, their usual sharp wit honed into something almost playful.

Course after course appeared before them—each one more decadent than the last. Velvety soup infused with something floral and intoxicating. A slow-roasted cut of meat so tender it barely needed a knife. Dark chocolate ganache laced with the same essence as the truffles that had started this entire obsession.

Everything was exquisite. And everything made her feel something—a slow, curling heat in her stomach, a quiet but undeniable craving that only intensified with every bite.

Finally, as the last plate was cleared, Hermione sat back in her chair, exhaling. “Alright, Malfoy,” she said, pressing her fingers to her temples. “That was, without question, one of the best meals I’ve ever had.”

Draco smirked. “I know.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips. “Now tell me—what is Nocturne, really?”

Draco tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “A place for those who understand that indulgence is not a sin.” He lifted his glass, watching the deep red liquid swirl. “A place where hunger is celebrated.”

Something in his tone made her pulse quicken.

“Hunger for what?” she asked carefully.

Draco’s gaze flickered to hers, something dark and knowing settling in his silver eyes.

He just smiled.

—

Hermione hadn’t meant to keep coming back.

But she did.

At first, she told herself it was curiosity. A mystery to be solved. Draco Malfoy had vanished for years, only to resurface here, of all places—running an illicit, underground supper club where the food was intoxicating, the guests secretive, the rules unspoken. If nothing else, she wanted to understand it.

But that explanation unraveled quickly.

Because it wasn’t just the intrigue that pulled her back.

It was him.

It was the way he spoke—low, smooth, teasing—always with the perfect balance of charm and provocation. It was the way his hands worked in the kitchen, precise and deliberate, turning ingredients into something sinful with an artistry she couldn’t look away from.

It was the way he looked at her.

Like he had known, from the moment she first walked into his world, that she belonged there.

Weeks turned into months, and Hermione lost count of the nights spent at Nocturne. What began as dinners turned into late-night conversations over candlelit tables. Conversations turned into stolen moments in the kitchen, watching as Draco worked, his sleeves rolled up, his focus razor-sharp as he plated something just for her.

She learned his patterns, his rhythms.

He was always composed, but his hands betrayed him—always moving, always restless. He drank his coffee black, took his whiskey neat, never rushed a meal. He hated idle chatter but loved a good argument. He smirked when he was amused, rolled his eyes when she said something too self-righteous, tilted his head ever so slightly when he was genuinely listening.

She had never known Malfoy like this.

She wasn’t sure anyone had.

And somewhere along the way, the lines blurred.

One night, after a particularly indulgent meal—a slow-roasted dish laced with cloves and something darker, something she still couldn’t place—she had leaned back in her chair, a little light-headed from the wine, her skin warm.

Draco had watched her, his silver eyes unreadable.

“You’re comfortable here,” he murmured, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

She had smiled lazily, not bothering to argue. “I suppose I am.”

He exhaled, swirling the last of his wine. “That should probably concern you.”

“Why?”

His gaze flickered to hers. “Because being comfortable by my side is not really something you’re capable of.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Says who?”

“I do.”

“Well, maybe I changed.”

Maybe she had changed.

Because Hermione Granger—the woman who never let herself get swept away, who always followed logic, who never surrendered to impulse—was now spending most of her nights in a hidden corner of Knockturn Alley, drinking expensive wine and letting Draco Malfoy feed her things that made her knees weak.

The night she realized she was in love, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand moment, no sudden revelation.

It was simple. Subtle.

They had been in the kitchen together, long after Nocturne had closed for the night. Hermione had insisted she wanted to learn—wanted to understand the magic of the food, the way he crafted flavors that sent warmth curling in her stomach.

So Draco let her watch. Let her stand beside him as he worked, his sleeves pushed up, his fingers moving deftly over the cutting board as he taught her how to slice something just so.

She had teased him about being a perfectionist. He had smirked, flicked a bit of sauce at her wrist. She had rolled her eyes, but she had smiled too.

And then, at some point, without thinking, she had reached for a bowl at the same time as him—her fingers grazing against his.

A simple touch.

But when she looked up, Draco was watching her.

Something shifted.

The air between them stretched thin, tight, electric.

Hermione felt her pulse against her skin, sharp and insistent. Felt the heat of his body standing too close. Felt the pull—the quiet, undeniable pull—that she had been ignoring for weeks.

Her breath caught.

And that was when it hit her.

What set her loins on fire.

It wasn’t just the food.

It was him.

—

It started with a feeling.

A slow, creeping sense of unease that settled in Hermione’s bones long after the meals were finished, long after the wine was drunk, long after she had let herself believe that this—whatever this was—was real.

Draco Malfoy had made her feel alive.

But something was wrong.

It wasn’t immediate. The realization did not crash down all at once. Instead, it dripped in—slowly, subtly, like the honeyed glaze he used to coat the tender cuts of meat he served her. It seeped into her mind in the quiet moments, in the spaces between bites, in the hunger that never seemed to fade, no matter how much she ate.

She had never craved food like this before.

Not just the flavor, but the feeling of it. The warmth that spread through her veins, the way it settled deep in her belly, the way it left her skin flushed and her thoughts hazy. She would wake in the middle of the night, mouth dry, body aching with a need she didn’t understand.

And then there were the dreams.

Dark, twisting things.

She dreamt of teeth sinking into flesh. Of hands slick with something warm. Of voices whispering words she couldn’t remember in the morning.

At first, she told herself it was nothing. A side effect of indulgence. Her body adjusting to the rich, spiced meals she had been consuming for months.

But then she started noticing the absences.

People disappeared from Nocturne.

Not all at once, not enough to raise alarm—just one guest at a time, names she barely remembered, faces that blurred together in the candlelight. A woman who had once dined beside her, a man who had toasted Draco over wine, a quiet figure who had occupied the same corner booth every week—gone.

She asked Draco once, in passing, where they had gone.

He had only smirked, sipped his wine, and said, “People lose their appetites sometimes.”

A joke. A meaningless answer.

But it didn’t feel meaningless.

And then, one night, she made a mistake.

She had lingered after closing again, watching as Draco moved through the kitchen, his hands steady, his expression calm. She had watched him work so many times, had admired the precision in which he prepared every dish, had let herself believe in the magic of it.

But this time, she noticed something different.

A locked cabinet at the far end of the kitchen.

She had never seen him open it before. Never seen him retrieve anything from inside. It was black, reinforced with iron, humming with protective spells. A chill curled down her spine the moment she saw it—an instinctual, primal sort of dread that made no sense.

Draco caught her looking.

His movements didn’t falter, but for the first time, his expression shifted.

Subtle. A flicker of something behind his eyes—warning, perhaps. Or regret.

“You’re curious about the wrong things, Granger.” His voice was smooth, too smooth. A distraction.

Hermione forced a smile. “I thought I was supposed to be learning.”

Draco’s lips curled, but it wasn’t quite a smile.

“There are some recipes,” he murmured, “that are better left untasted.”

Hermione couldn’t let it go.

The locked cabinet, the disappearances, the lingering taste of something too rich, too intoxicating, too wrong on her tongue—each piece gnawed at her mind, twisting her thoughts into something dark and restless.

She should have walked away.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she started watching. Really watching.

She paid attention to the way Draco worked, the way his hands moved over the food with reverence, like it was something sacred. She noted how certain dishes were only served to certain people, how some meals came with a quiet exchange of glances between him and the servers, how he always ensured she had the most exquisite, the most delicate, the most carefully prepared plates.

And then there was the hunger.

It wasn’t just hers anymore.

She started noticing it in the others—the way the guests at Nocturne ate like they were starving, how they devoured each bite with something bordering on desperation. How their skin was always a little too warm, their eyes a little too bright, their movements a little too sharp.

Something was wrong.

And she needed to know what.

One night, when Draco was preoccupied in the dining hall, she acted.

The kitchen was empty, the low candlelight flickering against the iron cabinet that had haunted her thoughts for weeks.

She hesitated for only a moment before drawing her wand.

“Alohomora.”

The spell fizzled uselessly against the locks. Wards. Strong ones.

She bit her lip. Of course Malfoy wouldn’t make it that easy.

Glancing over her shoulder, she pressed her fingers against the cool metal, feeling the faint pulse of magic beneath her touch. This was not just a storage cabinet. This was something else.

A heartbeat of silence.

Hermione turned sharply, expecting Draco, expecting a reprimand, a smirk, a warning—

But she was alone.

Alone, except for the scent.

A thick, cloying scent that she had somehow ignored until now, masked by the richness of the other ingredients, by the perfumes of wine and spice and roasted herbs.

Something coppery.

Acidic.

Her stomach twisted. She knew this smell.

Blood.

Hermione staggered back from the cabinet, her breath coming too fast, too sharp. No. No, no, it couldn’t be—

“Looking for something?”

The voice was smooth, calm.

Draco.

She spun to find him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his silver eyes fixed on her like he had been expecting this moment all along.

Her throat was dry. Her heart pounded.

“I—” She forced herself to swallow, to breathe. “What’s in the cabinet, Draco?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward—unhurried, composed, as if they were simply discussing the weather.

When he reached her, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her ear.

“You already know,” he murmured.

A shiver crawled down her spine.

She pulled back, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. “Tell me.”

Draco studied her, his gaze flickering over her face, assessing. And then, with slow, deliberate movements, he reached into his pocket.

A key.

Hermione’s breath hitched as he turned to the cabinet and—without flourish, without hesitation—unlocked it.

The door creaked open.

The scent hit her first—thicker now, undeniable—and then, the sight.

Rows of glass containers, filled with preserved ingredients that shimmered in the candlelight. Some were familiar—spices, oils, aged wines—but some—

Some were not.

She felt bile rise in her throat.

Because she had spent months letting Draco feed her.

And now, staring at the carefully labeled jars, at the cuts of flesh, at the preserved pieces of something once human—

She realized she had been eating people.

A sharp breath. A step backwards.

Draco was watching her with quiet, patient amusement.

Her knees nearly buckled.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

Her stomach twisted violently, a flood of memories slamming into her all at once—the decadent meals, the rich, dark glazes, the soft, tender bites that had melted on her tongue. The hunger that had never truly gone away.

She had wanted it.

She had loved it.

And Draco—Draco knew.

His smirk was slow, deliberate. Pleased.

“Hermione,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice nothing but velvet and ruin.

Her breath was ragged. “How long?”

He reached out, gently brushing his thumb against her lower lip. Like he had done so many times before.

A soft, knowing smile.

“From the very first bite.”

Hermione ran.

Not immediately—not driven by instinctual panic as she should have, not in a blur of panicked gasps and splintered glass. She should have screamed. Should have turned on her heel and fled from Nocturne, from Draco, from the dark, seething hunger that curled inside her stomach like a thing alive.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she walked out in measured steps, her face blank, her hands steady, her breathing slow and calculated—because she knew, she knew, that if she let even a single crack show, he would see it.

And Draco Malfoy did not miss a thing.

So she left quietly.

And then, she did not sleep for three nights.

Because the truth had rooted itself in her mind like a disease.

She had eaten them. She had eaten them.

The nameless, faceless strangers who had dined at Nocturne before disappearing without a trace—the ones she had barely noticed, the ones who had smiled and laughed and raised their glasses to Draco, just as she had, never suspecting that their last toast would be to their own flesh.

She had devoured them.

And worse—worse—

She had loved it.

The fear did not drive her away.

It drove her deeper.

She should have burned Nocturne from her memory. She should have buried the name, buried the taste, buried the way Draco had looked at her when she finally knew.

Instead, she became obsessed.

She scoured the Daily Prophet for missing persons, tracing the names, the dates, the places where they were last seen. She studied the menus at Nocturne, memorizing each course, each ingredient, each delicate, exquisite cut of meat. She replayed the conversations in her mind—the things Draco had said, the way he spoke of food, of hunger, of indulgence.

She knew what he was.

[calabria-mediterranea]

Loredana Bertè & Mia Martini: 2 voices from Calabria, Italy

Italian sisters and singers Loredana Bertè and Mia Martini were born in Bagnara Calabra (Calabria, Italy), respectively in 1950 and 1947.

Mia Martini is considered, by many experts, one of the most important and expressive female voices of Italian music, characterised by her interpretative intensity and her soulful performance.

Her debut album, Oltre la collina is regarded as one of the best Italian albums made by a female artist. Hit songs like Piccolo uomo, Donna sola, Minuetto, made her one of the most popular artists of Italian music in the 1970s, both nationally and internationally. She is the only female artist to have won two Festivalbar consecutively, respectively in 1972 and in 1973.

In 1977, two important encounters occurred in Martini's life: the first with Charles Aznavour, with whom she began a musical collaboration, and the second with singer-songwriter Ivano Fossati, with whom she started an artistic and sentimental partnership.

In 1982, she sang E non finisce mica il cielo, written by Fossati, at Sanremo Music Festival, where she received the Critics Award, which was created specifically for her interpretation and which was named after her as "Mia Martini" Critics Awards from 1996, the year after her death.

In 1983, she was forced to leave the music industry and quit her career, as the music sector and colleagues considered her a person bringing bad luck and barred her from participating in any music and TV events, radio shows and concerts. This kept her away from the music scene for seven years. Only in 1989 was she able to reprise her career, when she returned to perform at Sanremo Music Festival, singing Almeno tu nell'universo, which brought her a new success.

She died on 12 May 1995 in Cardano al Campo at the age of 47.

After her death, the town Bagnara Calabra dedicated to the singer.

Loredana Bertè is a singer-songwriter and artist who has been in the music industry for over five decades. She has released twenty-one studio albums, five live albums, and three soundtracks throughout her career. In addition to her work as a solo artist, she has also collaborated with other renowned artists such as Gianna Nannini, Angelo Branduardi, and Claudio Baglioni.

In her long career, Bertè has experimented with different genres, from rock to reggae, from funk to pop. Bertè is known for the eccentric clothing she wears onstage for her performances.

One of her most popular song is E la luna bussò, an Italian reggae ballad which stayed on the Italian Singles Chart for 29 weeks.

In the 1980s Bertè achieved success in Italy with songs such as Maledetto Luna-Park, Una Sera d'Ottobre, and 'Ti Sento'. She also released two successful studio albums during this period: 'Loredana' (1985) and 'Loredana Berté' (1986). In 1988 she represented Italy at the Eurovision Song Contest with the song 'Non siamo soli'.

Bertè is one of Italy's most beloved singers and has achieved great success throughout her career. She has sold over 12 million records worldwide and continues to be an inspiration to generations of fans across the globe.

Follow us on Instagram, @calabria_mediterranea

[nico-esoterica]

..Who are you when no one’s watching?? Astrologically, that’s an element of Pluto ingressing through Aquarius worth pondering.

On one level, there’s that dualistic nature to it: Its association with the collective and being seen (perceived) in antithesis. Aquarius is the wayward journey from Saturn that decides its learned and seen enough and departs. Instead of laying a foundation of a new legacy to be followed (Capricorn), it rejects society’s template and goes its own way. It isn’t concerned with whether or not it’s followed.

Aquarius also dreams. Oh, it dreams. It imagines a world where it wouldn’t be othered for what it can’t perform and is embraced for who it simply is. Without compromises or conditions. Unpolished and raw; our sincerity is anything but smooth. Uneven, imperfect, mottled, and true. If you’ve ever loved an Aquarius---You know they love all of you. They anticipate your flaws and bad days and crack a smile when your mask falls. It’s unsettling and you scramble. Still, they see everything. There’s no one in the dark but you two.. and you’re fucked up and beautiful.

..We’re exposed. But there’s a sensuous thrill in the discomfort. When the layers are peeled back and our innocence is raw and pulsing. Bare and interested in just being rather than having approval. I think we’re at a point on a collective level that we want what’s shoved in our faces to feel unapologetically real and human. Not an Ai generated effect. It only hypothesizes; it can’t romanticize its own condition.

Around the eve of Pluto in Aquarius some centuries ago, artists sought to capture said condition in all of its folly, emotional volatility, and loss of reason and control through the rise of Romanticism. The European aristocracy’s demand for austerity and perfection through classist ideals bled into the disassociation of popular art depicting the rich as both mythical and necessary. The festering resentment among the poor calcified and blackened into violence. Gifted hands channeled the proletariat’s agony from centuries of abuse and its wish to purify itself by burning it all down.

We’re not interested in the elite and want to support people who bleed like the rest of us. It’s not just about sob stories—It’s about who hears you in the pitch black void of endless noise. It becomes something more. It hums, flowers, and reverberates because it touches. Different points connect and links are formed. Resonance.

The artists who rise to fame during this period won’t inherently be categorized by one particular aesthetic. But by how much of ourselves we see mirrored back to us. We also want to see them homegrown. Doechii’s and Victoria Monet’s Grammy wins didn’t come out of nowhere. They were artists who steadily grew their fan bases and perfected their sound over time. They weren’t overnight flyby successes who’s virality brought them into public awareness. Those who were there were. Doechii sat on Nissan-Altima for an entire year before she dropped it and has documented her life journey on Youtube for a decade. Clips from her struggle and growth have gone viral as if to say, “Hey wait—She earned this.”

It’s through line is, “She’s been through what I have.” She isn’t a nepo baby or an industry plant. When Black Queer legend Tracy Chapman won her Grammy in 1989 with Fast Car—a song which encapsulates the ambitious highs and abyssal lows felt within Capitalism, it skyrocketed her career trajectory forever. Her love stricken croon of loss cut into marrow and soul. It’s still covered to this day.

Chapman was born during a Uranus-Pluto conjunction in Virgo. These planets in aspect can represent a serious point in time when systemic tremors are felt. In Fast Car, Chapman was a check-out girl saving change to get out of Ohio. Doechii was self-funding her creative projects in her NYC bedroom on the dwindling benefits she still had from a job she hated and got fired from. Doechii has a Saturn-Uranus square. The cultural climate doesn’t only wail when you’re born with that—it shrieks. It’s carried and means that you won’t sit idly by and wait for things to shift. You move.

These are the stories that we want to see. Unpolished and sincere yet electric and thrumming with talent, motivation, charisma, and just having it without you being forced to feel that way. What’s popular in this day and age will be more intuited. It parallels proletariat art during the French Revolution decentering the bourgeoisie and its depictions of ease and comfort versus its human cost to both produce and be liberated from it. Because those who fund those lifestyles are people we know. They’re all of us. It’s what the axis of Leo and Aquarius is. To center the self.

And the self is a messy and complicated thing. Our brains are permanently rewired from pain and trauma. Resentment quietly disables us. For many, there’s a never ending cycle of fleeting relief followed by crushing disappointment or suffocating emptiness which proliferates everything. The faith and beauty we find within that in spite of everything isn’t just given to us. We have to carve it out.

In an exhausted world potentially on brink of something far sinister, it’s helpful for us to see each other as the water rises. ‘Maybe, I exist too.’ //

| Listen to how you can use this energy to honor what serves instead of what dehumanizes you [Patreon].

[foxes-that-run]

Taylor Swift & Harry Styles Reunite at the 2023 Grammys: Watch the Moment

Billboard - Hannah Dailey - 02/05/2023 (x)

You know it’s not the same as it was, but we remember it all too well. It’s been more than a decade since Harry Styles and Taylor Swift dated and called it quits, leaving millions of heartbroken fans feeling akin to children of divorced parents. But at the Grammy Awards Sunday night (Feb. 5), the two singers proved that, though long broken up, Mom and Dad are on great terms, taking time to chat and support one another during the ceremony.

In an onsite video captured during Steve Lacy’s performance of “Bad Habit,” Swift can be seen making her way over to Styles’ table in her glitzy, midnight-blue two-piece gown. The “As It Was” singer, who took home the coveted album of the year award and best pop vocal album for Harry’s House that night, stands up to greet her with a hug.

As Lizzo dances along to Lacy’s performance a few chairs down, the former pop power couple talk for about a minute before Swift glides elegantly away. Did she congratulate her “ex man” (to quote “Shake It Off”) on his wins? Did they discuss the best ways to co-parent their joint fanbase? It remains to be known what their brief conversation was about, but whatever it was, they were all smiles throughout.

The moment mirrors Swift and Styles’ reunion at the Grammys two years ago, when it was Swift who was honored with album of the year for Folklore. Just like this year, the two were also spotted on video having a friendly conversation at the 2021 awards, except Harry was the one to approach Taylor.

The “Anti-Hero” singer — whose “All Too Well (10 Minute Version)” was nominated for song of the year, which went to Bonnie Raitt’s “Just Like That” — was also filmed passionately applauding Styles after his performance of “As It Was,” giving him a standing ovation. Now that snowmobile accidents, paper airplane necklaces and dozens of songs rumored to have been written about each other (looking at you, “Style” and “Two Ghosts”) are simply things of the past, fans can rest easy knowing that the two pop stars are friendlier than ever.

Taylor Swift Gives Ex Harry Styles a Standing Ovation as He Wins Grammy for Best Pop Vocal Album

Eliza Thompson February 5, 2023 Us magazine (x)

Showing her support! Taylor Swift stood up and clapped for ex-boyfriend Harry Styles as he won a trophy for Best Pop Vocal Album at the 2023 Grammys on Sunday, February 5.

“Thank you so much,” the former One Direction member, 29, said during his acceptance speech. “This album, from start to finish, has been the greatest experience of my life. From making it with two of my best friends to playing it for people has been the greatest joy I could have asked for.”

The Don’t Worry Darling star went on to thank “everyone who inspired this album” and all of the friends who “supported” him during the recording process. “I wouldn’t be here without you,” he added. “Thank you so much.”

When Styles’ name was called as the winner — he beat ABBA, Adele, Coldplay and Lizzo — the “Anti-Hero” singer, 33, jumped to her feet and applauded the “Watermelon Sugar” crooner, wearing a big smile on her face

The U.K. native and the “Maroon” artist first sparked romance rumors in December 2012 when they were spotted strolling through New York City’s Central Park. The duo called it quits just one month later, but their relationship remained a subject of fan speculation for years. When Swift released her album 1989 in 2014, some listeners theorized that tracks including “Out of the Woods” and “Style” were about her fling with the former boy bander.

Styles, for his part, has said that he doesn’t blame his ex-girlfriend for writing about her relationships, even if that means he’s sometimes a subject of her lyrics. “We always say that we write from personal experience, and I think everyone does,” he explained during a 2014 Google Hangout. “So, it would be hypocritical to say ���Oh, you can’t write songs.’ And she’s really good, so, they’re good songs. I’m really lucky in that sense.”

Three years later, he noted that he was proud to be a small piece of Swift’s success, though he admitted he didn’t really know if any of her songs are about him. “I’m lucky if everything [we went through] helped create those songs,” he told Rolling Stone in April 2017. “That’s what hits your heart. That’s the stuff that’s hardest to say, and it’s the stuff I talk least about. That’s the part that’s about the two people.”

The ��As It Was” singer’s Best Pop Vocal Album win is his second Grammy award. He won his first — Best Pop Vocal Performance for “Watermelon Sugar” — in 2021.