#I could rag on the artistic direction forever

[ladyelainehilfur]

yoooooo not to yuck anyone's yum but what on God's green earth is going on with the Thea Sisters franchise.

[singlesablog]

The Look.

“Is There Something I Should Know?” (1983) Duran Duran EMI - Capitol Records (Written by Simon Le Bon, John Taylor, Roger Taylor, Andy Taylor, Nick Rhodes) Highest U.S. Billboard Chart Position – No. 4

“[It was] completely separate from electronic music or the future…all the fucking Southern New Romantic bollocks. I mean, if we were ever called New Romantics there'd be a fight... 'Am I wearing a kilt? Am I wearing enough eyeliner? Is my shirt frilly enough?' Oh, fuck off!

- Paul McCluskey from Orchestral Manoeuvres in The Dark on The New Romantics

I love the term “across the pond”, which suggests that England, the mother country for the USA, is only a hop and a skip away, when in truth, the spaces between us are enormous.  The innovations transferring from one continent to the other, especially with respect to music and fashion, have always had a strange and years-away delay that has been ongoing since the very beginning, as if the ideas were always awaiting the right winds, funding, and large, cumbersome, three-masted ships from the Colonial period to bring them over to us.  Part of Modernism is to assume the new world will be changed; part of reality is that the change, as delivered, is much more elusive.

In 1982 the Second British Invasion was brought to the United States in color on MTV, and was ushered in by two very important videos: first and foremost with the complete smash “Don’t You Want Me” by The Human League (an electro masterpiece and forever influential) and then by Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like The Wolf”, their first bonafide, giant US hit.  It wasn’t just MTV that had them on heavy rotation, it was nonstop over the airwaves as well: these two songs nearly swallowed up the 1982-83 season for radio.  In truth there was so much happening with British artists over here that year it is dizzying to consider; sound and image were delivered with enormous speed, and very persuasively.  It was a very rapid musical turnover (and considering my previous thoughts, I know this is ironic; however, a backlog is a backlog.)  The only problem for me that year was that I loathed “Hungry Like The Wolf”; this included the song, and the stupid video, in which I believe Simon Le Bon is in animal drag pursuing a female through the jungle, but I can’t be sure: I refuse to look at it again after being forced to 500 times.  I was also only mildly interested at the time in “Don’t You Want Me”, after being worn down by its’ endless radio play in the US.  However, the invasion had begun.

As a teenager, there was a lot to process in 1982/83: music was now television, and MTV was our god.  I wasn’t staying up late to look at the Brits, I was staying up late waiting for Prince to appear in a haze of multi-colored, neon-infused fog spinning around in high-heeled boots to “Little Red Corvette” (an incredible fusion of sound and image).  There was a lot to look over: Men at Work with “Who Can It Be Now”, A Flock of Seagull’s “I Ran (So Far Away)” which was HUGE in the states, and even Bowie, the originator, coming back from the dead with the future-forward “Ashes to Ashes” being re-aired (1980).  The Vee-jays talked and talked, and we absorbed every scene.  

In 1983 Duran issued their 8th single, “Is There Something I Should Know?” straight to MTV in a video directed by Russell Mulcahy, and it was at this moment that I sat up and took notice.  Technically the band had already conquered the UK and the US, but it took forever for these ideas to sail my way.  Capitol Records was looking for another hit and had the band create this track after their best album, Rio, was already a sensation, and they were starting to work on their third, Seven and the Ragged Tiger (a hilariously late-imperial and overblown, if rather beautiful, mess). For me, watching on TV, this video was my first impression of The New Romantics ever.  Even though DD's style had already moved forward into clothes that were more New wave, I could sense the old style running through the images.  Mulcahy, a true innovator in music videos, had directed many of Duran Duran’s previous clips, as well as for many other artists (notably Buggles “Video Killed The Radio Star”, MTVs first-ever video broadcast, and most representatively Duran’s “Planet Earth”, which, shockingly, I had missed).  His work initiated many of the classic techniques in video: spot lighting, jump cuts, platform stages, empty spaces, slo-motion, breaking glass, fog, bifurcated screens, costumes, nonsense—you name it.

Unbeknownst to me at that time, Capitol tacked this single on to Duran Duran’s first, self-titled debut LP (1981) for the 1983 US re-release, to capitalize on the huge success of Rio’s “Hungry Like the Wolf”.  Until this post, I was always confused at the range of style changes and images that we took in from Duran in ’83, and why I assumed this look was from 1981.  We were all taking in so much British fashion then it was impossible to sort any of it out.  The video, however, was sharp, clean, and brilliant, the clothes still holding a bit of the New Romantic flounce and swagger, but cut leaner, and cleaner; the bandmembers, by now seasoned stars, had clothes, hair and makeup all perfected in an exactitude of knowing postures, and the song was one of their best, and hookiest, with old touches of guitar from their previous work, and with synth-work that looked forward to the next record.  But in 1983, I thought that this was vintage Duran.

Fashion is a curiously hard thing to pin down, especially considering the clothes from London and Birmingham in the late 70s and early 80s.  I would submit that a classic, classic New Romantic look would be the Duran Duran of 1981: lots of makeup, lots of flounce and ruffles, lots of teased up hair (even a ponytail, here or there).  The beginning of the look sprang up alongside of punk (which was anarchic and utilitarian); Bowie and Bolan would be among the New Romantic inspirations.  By the time of the 80s things moved quickly, and Malcolm McClaren and Vivienne Westwood’s Sex shop become involved (Westwood’s Pirate collection in 1981—think Adam and the Ants—is a clear expansion of New Romantic fashion); however the Sex shop was also an expression of Punk fashion, and much more avant-garde, so the ideas began to merge and mutate.  By 1983, to be called a New Romantic band became an insult (and to these eyes a downright homophobic assault on foppery and artifice) and many bands distanced themselves from the title, if not outright denied it. Even a band like Spandau Ballet (a true New Romantic sensation from the Blitz club in London) moved away from those associations, and began to wear suits.  With the Duran of 1983 everything was trimmed down but one could see they were unashamed; if their clothes flounced less, they still had the spirit in them.  This was in contrast to the bands that resented the association for whatever reason: ABC, Depeche Mode, The Human League, Soft Cell, Simple Minds, Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, and Talk Talk.  The other band closely associated with it, Culture Club, was fronted by Boy George, whose fashion sense ran from Bowie to Punk.  He seemed neither to take offense nor to care what they called him as long as they were looking.

Back in America I was watching all of this late at night on television—too late.  Many of these styles had emerged and were already smoldering in the ashes before we could understand or appropriate them here.  New wave we got, New Romantic we did not.  It did all rather re-flower in the mid to late 80s for us, however.  Looking at the back of the vinyl from the offshoot band Arcadia (with three members of Duran, 1985) I would say their old style had returned.  Around this period there were lots of brooches and asymmetrical haircuts, lots of layers, and lots of unashamed extra everything from nearly every pop artist everywhere. I think the British divisions had finally synthesized into a catch-all aesthetic.  In fact, it was this extra-ness that we now think of in America when we think of 1980s pop music. 

Back cover from Arcadia's So Red The Rose (1985)

But please—don’t call it New Romantic.  It just isn’t cool.

-

There were so many styles that emerged in the 80s from the streets, but none better than Bananarama, who were never hard to understand, being appropriated from street culture in England.  Like the Go-Gos, when you saw them, it was pretty clear what they were doing stylistically, and it was never anachronistic. US or UK, you just got it.

Researching this entry, and looking around on the internet, I became interested in the word “naff”, which because it is British has had many permutations, but mostly means awful, ugly, no-good.  I texted my friend British Rachel for the definition:

Me: Define “naff” Her: Deely Boppers and Ra Ra skirts. That was the 80s here.  Nightmare.   Thank god for Bananarama!

On an internet message board from The Guardian, I found a more complete, and complex, definition:

Naff is polari (or palare), the gay urban secret language developed in London to ensure conversational privacy in public when talking about gay sex or insulting straight people. Polari was widespread in London, and particularly in the theatre, from the 1940s-1960s, suffered a decline in the 1970s and 1980s, and has had a revival since the 1990s. It consists of snippets of Italian, Latin, Spanish, Yiddish, Cockney Rhyming Slang, Black-slang and acronyms. Naff is an example of the latter - Normal As Fuck - and means drab, unfashionable, dull. By extension, it is a defining characteristic of straight people, who lack the style and swagger of the urban homosexuals.

- Gerard Forde, London, UK

Well. Excluding Duran Duran, of course.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨3

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) sleep paralysis, stress.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m so happy people are liking this story. Thanks so much to everyone reading and sorry if I’m a bit inactive lately, I’ve been exhausted and yesterday didn’t end, I swear.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

On Monday, you yawned over your keyboard as your fingers moved on instinct alone. Your eyes ran along the text but the words were just letters to you. You had a lot to think about, a lot to do. 

You decided you would skip lunch and get through your work day an hour early so you could head to Clark’s right away. He was hard to deny when he asked if you could make it back so soon. You told him you worked everyday from home and you had hours beside that at the gallery three times a week at least. He accepted it with a nod but his silence was telling so you caved and said you could make it but not until the evening.

You texted Marcus as you waited for your Uber. He had a few hours to go still and you left him everything he needed to make supper with instructions; the veggies were cut, the meat thawed, and the pans already arranged on the stove. You had faith he could manage on his own.

The mansion was just as intimidating as the first time you visited. You walked up the drive and to the front steps. It was human nature to be envious of the sprawling yards and lavish estate and yet, it didn’t feel as if someone could truly live here. It would be like staying in a hotel as you were always overly aware of your every move, afraid to break something or make a mess.

You hammered the large knocker when your soft tapping brought no answer. You heard someone on the other side and wiggled your foot nervously. The door opened and square-faced woman greeted you in another language. You couldn’t tell if it was Swedish, German, or some other dialect. You were never a skilled linguist.

“Um, hi, I’m…”

“Ah, you are the lady painter,” she said, “I remember. I am Nina, Mr. Kent’s housekeeper.”

She turned and beckoned you to follow her. You closed the tall door and trailed her across the spacious foyer and behind the stairs into the kitchen. She turned through another room and led you out through the glass doors that opened onto the pool.

“Miss, would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” you said as the water moved and your eyes were drawn to the figure moving beneath the surface.

“Miss,” Nina nodded and left you.

You stood, awkward and listless, and glanced around at the loungers and the umbrella over the round table. You weren’t entirely sure what to do. Had he forgotten about you?

“Hey,” your gaze was drawn back to the pool. Clark waded to the edge, his broad shoulders and chiseled chest visible as he made his way to the shallow end, “sorry. Lost track of time.”

He grabbed the metal railing and climbed up the stairs. The water slaked off his tight trunks and down his thick thighs. He appeared even larger with less clothes. You looked away before your thoughts lingered too long.

“It’s fine, I should have texted I was on my way,” you said, “I can go wait for you--”

“No worries,” he took his towel and rubbed dry his dark hair. The scruff along his chin was thicker than before, almost a full blown beard, “you’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“No, not really, can’t really rush… painting,” you shrugged, “I just… I didn’t mean to catch you off-guard.”

“Pfft, I’m ready for anything,” he grinned, “but I should also listen to the artist. I’ll go get changed and you can get settled in the studio.” He directed you ahead of him as he approached the sliding doors, “you just finished work? You should take a few minutes to unwind.”

“Uh, yeah, but it’s just, um, typing, not exactly hard labour,” you said as he followed you inside.

“Work is work,” he said, “I will never fault anyone who works hard, regardless of what they do.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you stifled a yawn behind your hand.

He let out a breath as you came out into the foyer, “I’m sorry, you could’ve… you’re tired. We could have rescheduled. I’m sorry if I came across… pushy yesterday. I don’t mean to take advantage of you.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assured him, “I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he said doubtfully, “but you let me know if you need a break.”

“Will do,” you murmured as you neared the stairs.

🎨

You weren’t even close to done just the background of the portrait. Clark really didn’t even need to be there as you shadowed the folds of the curtains around his figure and the marble bust. Your arm hurt from reaching across and up the gigantic canvas and your eyes burned from squinting at your work.

You backed off the ladder carefully with your paintbrush and palette balanced in one hand. The paint was drying and you needed to mix more. You set down your armful and wiped your hands on the rag. He was watching you, he was always watching you. Well, no, he was just looking in your direction; it was all for the portrait.

You hit the button on the side of your phone and gasped. It was midnight. You had several messages from Marcus and you blanched as you unlocked the cell and quickly texted back. You rubbed your eye as you hit send and turned to Clark.

“I didn’t realise it was so late,” you said, “I gotta go.”

“What time is it?” he asked and looked at his watch, “oh.”

He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and stretched out his arms as he neared. You took your brush and rinsed it in the tinted water in the jar.

“I’ll just clean up as I wait for an Uber,” you said as you let the brush rest in the jar and lifted your phone again.

“I’ll drive you,” he said as he grabbed a rag, “it’s a long way. I’ll hire a driver for you from here on out. It’ll be easier and cheaper.”

“You don’t have to--”

You flinched as he wiped your cheek with the rag. He smiled and showed you the paint on the white cloth.

“I wouldn’t offer it if it was too much trouble,” he tossed the rag down, “and I did have something to talk to you about. The drive will be more than enough to get it sorted.”

“Oh, okay,” you eked nervously. Had you done something wrong? Were you not painting fast enough?

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he touched your arm gently.

He left you and you finished scraping off the palette and cleaning your brushes. You dumped the jar in the sink just inside the nearest bathroom and rinsed the porcelain back to white. You left everything arranged neatly on the table and descended to the first floor.

Clark stood by the door in a different jacket, his tie gone and the top button undone. He held the door for you and showed you to the garage. There were at least a half-dozen cars inside and he took you to the same silver one he drove the night of the show. You settled in and groaned as the tension left your shoulders.

He started the car as the doors rose behind him and he backed out smoothly. He turned down the long drive and onto the desolate roads of the wealthy countryside. He kept one hand on the wheel and dropped his other to his thigh casually.

“So, your job, you like it?”

“It’s work,” you said, “I get paid to sit at home and type. Half the time, I’m just waiting for an assignment.”

“I asked if you liked it,” he said more pointedly.

“Oh, well, not… really?” you answered, unsure. 

He could be so pleasant and then so blunt. He made you nervous and the more you thought of it, the more you realised you knew almost nothing about this man besides his name. You didn’t know how he made his money or what exactly he did outside of his extravagant mansion.

“If I doubled your fee, would you quit?” he asked without hesitation.

“Quit? This… the painting won’t take forever,” you said, “I can’t really just drop everything--”

“This is an opportunity,” he said, “you could spend your days doing what you love. And who’s to say it’s just one painting? I already have something in mind for the dining room and I have friends asking about you.”

“Friends? Who--”

“One thing at a time,” he said curtly, “I’ll introduce you to them in time. Is it a deal?”

“I… it’s all very sudden, can I think about it?”

He looked at you in the rearview and you caught his eye. For a moment, you were afraid. There was something in his expression that left you breathless. He lifted his hand and stretched his arm between the seats, his fingers gripped the leather just above your shoulder.

“Sure, I’ll give you a couple days,” he said at last.

“I--I’m sorry…” you didn’t know why you were apologizing but it felt appropriate, “I just, I’m tired.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he assured and the epithet hung in the air.

“I have to go to the gallery tomorrow, I’ll get back to you on Wednesday,” you said as you rubbed your chin nervously. Your lips was quivering. He was smiling but you felt his impatience in the small space of the car, “if I… if I say yes, I have to talk to my boss and that might get messy.”

“No problem,” his voice softened, “you take some time and figure it out.” His thumb rubbed the leather seat and he pulled his arm away to grasp the steering wheel, “why don’t you close your eyes. We got some time left.”

You peeked over at him and nodded. 

“Okay,” you murmured and hugged your bag against you as you tried to relax against the leather. You turned your head and looked out the window up at the starry sky. You closed your eyes as the fatigue settled over you but you could only fake dozing as your nerves stormed inside of you.

He was right, it was a great opportunity, but you just couldn’t believe it would last. Was it your own doubt getting to you? Or should you be weary of this fairytale buyer? It was late and you couldn’t think. All those worries could wait until tomorrow.

🎨

You crept into the dark apartment. It was after one and you foresaw a long day ahead of you. You’d get maybe four hours in before it all started again. You put your purse down and went into the bedroom, undressing in the shadows and crawling into bed next to Marcus as the colours of the tv moved around him. The playlist he was casting kept on even as he slept.

He grunted as you laid on your back and he turned to graze your arm with his fingertips. 

“You’re home,” he grumbled and kissed your cheek, “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I… it’s so far out there and it’s a lot of work. The canvas is like nine feet-- I’m sorry, I’ll let you sleep.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” his voice was gristly as he propped himself up on his elbow, “you’re gonna finish the job right?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” Marcus insisted, “I mean, at that price, you can do anything.”

“It’s not about the money, Marcus,” you huffed, “I don’t know if it’s worth all this. Going back and forth…” you ran your hands over your face, “he wants me to quit my job and just paint for him.”

“You should,” Marcus said blithely, “why not? He’s paying you well enough.”

“And what about when I’m done,” you whined.

“You’ll find more work. Vanessa even offered to take on more of your work in her shows, so what’s the problem? Isn’t this what you want?”

“Y-yeah, it is but… I don’t know, it just seems too good to be true.”

“You do this and we might even have enough for a down payment,” he said, “something had to give after all these years. Why can’t it be this?”

You looked at him and tried to smile, “you’re only saying that because he has a pool.”

“Maybe,” he kidded, “but I also want it for you. You spend all your free time painting anyhow so why not get paid for it?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, “yeah, I just don’t know why I feel so… I don’t know. It just all seems off.”

“Sleep on it, you’ll feel better,” he leaned over and kissed your lips that time, “love you.”

“Love you,” you echoed as he grabbed the remote and shut off the tv.

You closed your eyes as the darkness shrouded you and despite your anxiety, you fell into a deep sleep. You didn’t even roll onto your side before you sank into your REM but found yourself caught in limbo. The abstract and intense sensation of paralysis overtook your body and your eyelids flicked open.

It was an awful feeling you knew too well. You knew you were dreaming, you knew it was all in your mind, but your body was filled with sand and your subconscious conjured visions of doom. The tall man stood by the door as he always did and just stared. He got closer, just a little at a time, and you fought to move just a finger and free yourself from the trance.

You felt like you were drowning as your body remained heavy and unmoving. He was getting closer and closer. As he did, his figure changed and his shoulders got wider as his features came clear in the slat of the streetlight that leaked between the curtains. It was Clark staring down at you, his blue eyes sinister and sparkling. 

He reached for you and you woke with a start as your name rose from his lips. You inhaled sharply and looked over at Marcus as he snored. It was only the two of you. You reached for your phone, it was just after three. You turned onto your side but your heart still raced. It always happened when you were stressed, the dreams felt so real that you never really came back down after.

You stared at the wall and curled up under the blanket. You didn’t expect to get much sleep anyway, not with the question on your mind. Should you quit and live your dream or should you kill all hope before life did it for you?

[theinkedfoxsl]

all of the hour ones for artisan <3

0. The Moth What is their blind spot?

Remorse. Empathy. What does it mean to be a monster and feel every single thing you do in excruciating detail? Does it not make one blind? Tell me, oh God, does it not make one blind?

I. The Door-in-the-Eye What was their introduction to the most important thing in their life?

The church is said to be ones most important introduction. But for Artisan it was not religion or community. No. But it did open his eye to the importance to his brother. There was nothing more important than shielding from a religious man's twisted view.

II. The Velvet Describe a secret that they have. How far would they go to protect it?

Red. There is so much red here. He is stained in it. He doesn't remember when he dipped his hands in red. Is is paint? No it is blood. And more will be shed to protect this secret. More will be shed to protect his mind.

III. The Malachite What restores them? How often do they return to it?

There is beauty in the work. In the sketchy lines or the sure brush strokes. Artisan goes back to it time and time again. His health is in the art. His victims is in the art, too. He is honouring them.

VI. The Thunderskin What fills them with the most optimism and passion?

Praise. He is so void of it. He has not had good graces pass his ears in so long. Please, praise him, praise me. Praise is necessary for development.

V. The Mother-of-Ants What do they consider sacred, even as it harms them?

Love. Even through the darkness, Artisan craves love. He needs it. No matter how much it hurts him. Colombe, Colombe, Colombe.

VI. The Witch-and-Sister Why might a stranger seek them out, and what is asked of them? Do they give it?

A commission, a hit, a soldier. So many skills so later time. What do you need? The artist may have it. An arsenal of weapons from artistry to knives to guns. He'll give. He'll give. What do you want?

VII. The Colonel What drives them towards their goal?

Fear.. Fear. Who are we afraid of? Ourselves? Shed your skin.

VIII. The Lionsmith What is the cruelest thing they've done that they do not regret?

Artisan is a bleeding heart with too much soul. There is not a cruel thing he's done that he doesn't regret. Even against those who have deserved it.

IX. The Elegaist What do they want their legecy to be?

Silence. No legacy. Do not remember him. Not anymore. Not anymore..

X. The Beachcomber Describe a grudge, intrusive desire, anxiety, or other similar negative emotion they nurture. Are they willing to give it up? If not, what could force them?

He must harm. It is an impulse that he cannot help. They tried to take it from him, tried to rip this need from him. But solitary breeds insanity and he has only grown worse. Please help him, truly help him. He wants to get better.

XI. The Meniscate Are they prone to self-examination? How do they view themselves and their actions?

So many eyes. All of them directed at himself. He's looking at himself always. Always examining. Thinking.

XII. The Sun-in-Rags What do they consider to be their greatest loss? How have they coped with it?

Colombe. Colombe, the woman he loved most. She is gone now. By his hand no less. And there is not a moment he doesn't think of her. Mindbreak insanity induced by her death. He is not coping.

XIV. The Madrugad How good is their self control?

Waning. Fading. Help him.

XV. The Red Grail Describe their ideal form of absolute hedonism, pleasure to the point of pain. What would they gorge on forever if they could?

The feeling of control. He is tired of feeling powerless.

XVI. The Wolf-Divided Describe their rage.

Brutal and artist. Blood is merely red.

XVII. The Vagabond Describe an alternate version or an au you have of them.

Streamer au my beloved ♡ good man chillin with his lil brother.

XVIII. The Sister-and-Witch Who is the closest person to them? How far would they go to protect them?

Mua Lan. And there is nobody he wouldn't kill to protect them. And I don't think they even realise.

XIX. The Flowermaker How best could somebody manipulate them?

Threaten the only two people he loves. You either die or have him in your pocket.

XX. The Forge of Days What is the biggest change that happened in their life?

Artisan lost everything. What else do I need to say? That evening. That night. Everything changed.

XIII. The Horned-Axe How do they cope with lonliness?

The voices never leave him alone.

XXI. The Wheel Their role has been usurped or claimed by another. How do they respond to being replaced?

Who is he to complain in this game?

XXII. The Tide What drains or exhausts them the most?

Himself.

XXIII. The Seven-Coiled How did they feel towards their parents as a child? How do they feel towards them now?

Cruelty is cruelty. He loved them then, believed they loved him. Oh how poor Artisan knows better now. Monsters make monsters sometimes.

XXIV. The Flint What is their most destructive tendency?

The blood under his nails.

XXV. The Crowned Growth What do they find the most repulsive in the world around them? What are they disgusted with about themselves?

Everything. Everything. His hair, his glasses, his skin, his voice. All of it is not enough and the worst. He is a shell of somebody else and he hates it.

XXVI. The Egg Unhatching What have they always meant to do, but never done?

Die.

XXVII. The Sun-in-Splendour Describe their ideal self.

Not this. God not this. Anything but this. Please let him not be like this. Let him go back.

XXVIII. The Mare-in-the-Tree Describe them at their most dangerous.

When Artisan is no longer there and autopilot is running there is nobody he won't hurt.

XXIX. The Applebright What small thing brings them joy?

The photos tucked behind his bed. His brother. Him. Colombe. Small pictures bring him joy even on the worst of nights.

XXX. The Rising Spider How great is their need for control?

Too great. He must always be in control. Its a sin. A problem. Artisan knows it. He knows it. And it hurts. But he needs control, he can't be without it again. Do not take it from him again.

XXXI. The Chandler What is something you don't know about them?

Artisan is a man of mystery. There is nothing you need to know.

XXXII. The Witness Do they fear the future, or the unknown?

The future. He does not have one.

[courtsartdream]

Reading and Response 1

“This reading on Barretts Approaches on Postmodernism Art-making was extremely beneficial. It was informative on the direct ways that art has come to in this current age. To break the confines of art as it was seen and created in the past. I found it interesting to see the different ways to approach this issue. 

Postmodern Approach: Escaping the Confines of the Museum. ”Valley Curtain” orange curtain of fabric across the Colorado state highway Christo and Jean Claude, 1972

Postmodern Approach: Collapsing Boundaries Between “high” and “low” ”Dogs Playing Poker” Oil on Canvas Brown and Bigelow, 1894

Postmodern Approach: Rejecting Originality  ”Untitled (fashion)” Chromogenic print; unique Richard Prince, 1982

Postmodern Approach: Jouissance  ”JOUISSANCE” Digital Abstract Art Myriam Gylon, 2019

Postmodern Approach: Working Collaboratively  “Olympic Rings” Acrylic and silkscreen on canvas Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat, 2012

Postmodern Approach: Appropriating  “Bicycle Wheel” Bicycle wheel and Stool Marcel Duchamp, 1951

Postmodern Approach: Simulating “Untitled” Chromogenic print Gregory Crewdson, 2005

Postmodern Approach: Hybridizing

“31 Flavors Invading Japan/Today's Special” Thirty-five-color woodcut printed from hand-carved blocks Masami Teraoka, 1982

Postmodern Approach: Mixing Media “Popcorn Shells” collage, oil, polyester resin, map-pins & elephant dung on linen & two elephant dung props Chris Ofili, 1995

Postmodern Approach: Layering “China, China - Bust 81” glazed porcelain Ah Xian, 2004

Postmodern Approach: Mixing Codes 

“Forever Free (Desire)” Latex paint on Canvas Michael ray charles, 2019

Postmodern Approach: Recontextualizing  “Margaret F. Stewart:Our Lady of Guadalupe“ Oil pastel on rag paper Yolanda Lopez, 1979

Postmodern Approach: Confronting the Gaze “This was the beginning“ Acrylic on Canvas Tracy Emin, 2020

Postmodern Approach: Facing the Abject “Promising“ Lithograph and silk screen with foil Kiki Smith, 2018

Postmodern Approach: Constructing Identities  “Our Lady of Regla“ oil and 24-karat gold leaf on panel Harmonia Rosales, 2019

Postmodern Approach: Using Narratives “MY OLD NEIGHBORHOOD“ acrylic on linen Eric Fischel, 2021

Postmodern Approach: Creating Metaphors “Home within Home“ Polyester fabric, stainless steel DO-HO SUH, 2019

Postmodern Approach: Irony, Parody and Dissonance  “ISHI: The Archival Performance“ Multimedia performance James Luna, 2015

Additionally, In reading the other two articles within this module I found that my understanding of artists in todays time really has to do with personal identity, what I mean by that is we are now free to express ourselves in a unique way through art. This could be sparked from who we are, our passions or beliefs and more. In the 3 Mixed-Media Artists in 5280, this was shown by the personal introduction of the artists and more incite on how who they are influenced their art. The overall medium of these artists were collages in some unique, specific and personal way. I think this article expands the confines of what art can be and shows that you can take anything that is attractive or important to you and transform it in some way to create art. This makes me feel more comfortable as an artist to know that I don’t have to create a beautiful painting to be a good artist. With the second article I found it the subject of this poor image quality to be very interesting. To really think about images and films being put onto the internet and the fact that it’s quality does change and adapt. In truth if you are putting these things onto the internet you do have to come to terms with these adaptions being reality. Overall these articles helped me understand the foundations of the art world we are living in today. 

[kneamet]

James Nicholls wants to have a baby with a reader. She wants to get away from him. James caresses her gently and kisses her. He tells her that they will try for a baby tomorrow. The reader is terrified and tries to get out of bed, but James holds her wrists and says she must be in bed with him.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, forced.

Word Count: 1862

Character: James Nicholls/reader

Summary: James wants a baby, but you're against it.

POV James

He liked to see you in bed. In his bed, which he had bought himself, distributing his pitiful soldier's pay for the arrangement of furniture and home comfort. He did not want to admit to himself that at least the pay of a soldier in those difficult war years for people was very good. The pay was excellent and one month would have been enough for two more, while sharing the household budget with his wife. But now he was being paid, as a former soldier, a fairly small salary, which meant that he had to earn extra money and save money.

But surprisingly, the police paid enough. The salary for his main job as a police officer in his small village covered everything, so there was a lot of money left for other small expenses and food. As well as the paper he used too often.

James swallowed, smiling slightly and wiping his pencil with his thumb, making a smudge for the shadows on the man's body. The love of drawing, which had been instilled in him since childhood, always gave him pleasure. It was nice to sit in silence, enjoying only the small crowing of the chickens in his parents ' backyard, and leaning against the wall of the room, drawing, remembering, and memorizing all sorts of images.

James has always had a great passion for drawing and for art in general. He wanted to achieve something great. Make it so that it is remembered. And they remembered him not as just an unlucky person in the family circle, as everyone thought, but as a famous artist who would dedicate his works to his beautiful wife and share his art all over the world. And, of course, he also wanted respect.

A man rarely got respect in the family circle. Being a rather soft and insecure person, little James was teased, as he himself remembers, from the beginning of the school to which his father sent him, paying off the last money for his son's education, even without counting the fact that he himself had a lot of debts.

James didn't really remember him. Only in fragments. A tough man, whose nra still try to subdue. And everyone always wondered how such a man could have such a son that even a woman could not command?

James shook his head, running the hard lead over the soft paper of his sketchbook, which he had barely found in the town. He considered drawing his outlet. Something that he can only share on paper and only to himself. Basically, in his paintings, he liked to draw people, animals and feelings. Unattainable feelings that all the people in the world deny. Weakness, pain, and poverty. A disturbing topic, but very important. The one that all people are afraid to reveal.

As he made a few more touches, James pushed it slightly away from him, carefully assessing the result. His beloved wife, his beloved rose. You. You were so good at this image. An innocent but fatal beauty was visible in you in his drawing. The only thing he didn't particularly like about the painting was the shadows. It is quite difficult to find the right slates, since all the artists wrote at once with paints, even without wanting to outline.

James chuckled as he set his leather-bound sketchbook down on the low round table beside the bed. His gaze immediately shifted to you and he tried to stifle a small moan. No, he definitely didn't think you were a sexual object. Of course, he had such feelings for you, but basically they were all tender and as sensual as possible.

He saw how your beautiful eyes, which reflected and understood absolutely everything, tensely jumped from line to line. He was curious about what you were reading, so James quickly reached for your hands, snatched the book out of them, closed it, and wrote the title of the cover.

"Little women," he muttered, frowning, one hand clutching a book with a soft and battered cover. Without turning, he frowned. "I haven't read this yet. Interesting?" Looking up, he smiled a soft smile as he placed the book on the table where he had previously placed his sketchbook with an unfinished drawing.

He saw your startled and slightly frightened look. Did he scare you?" Or disgusted? No, no, no! He definitely didn't want to do it. His eyes widened slightly as goose bumps covered his back.

But no, of course he imposes it all on himself. You love him, and he loves you. You had a pure and tender love, which can not be compared with anything, even with book novels.

The man reflected your smile and stretched out his hand, touching your stomach covered with a sheet and looking from him to you, looking at the features of your face with such a penetrating look, as if he wanted to remember forever.

Your velvety, bottomless eyes looked straight into his soul, searching for every bit of his unforgiving sins and punishing him. And he would definitely repent of them.

"My rose, I've wanted everything for a long time, but I didn't dare..." James muttered, stroking your stomach and feeling it sink slightly down, as if moving away from his touch. "What do you think about it?.." he was nervous. I was nervous. It was such an awkward yet interesting feeling that he couldn't describe it. "What do you think about having a baby?" he finally managed to say, feeling his hands start to shake from the strain.

He was burdened with the happiness of becoming a father with the one girl he loved, cherished, and was literally dependent on. He always wanted to feel her gentle touch, her soft words, her lovely appearance, her beautiful voice and, of course, her witty mind. So wonderful and so lovely. And all of it.

Suddenly, he felt your body tense under the weight of his hand, and you jerked. James frowned. He didn't like it. Are you trying to leave him?" Run away? From him? Or from responsibility? No, he doesn't want that.

"What are you doing, my rose?" he couldn't remember when the nickname had first appeared. Perhaps when they had first met and crossed eyes in the flower shop where James himself had bought flowers for his mother.

***

"Yes, finish this bouquet, please," he said, smiling sweetly at the saleswoman, who nodded and could not help but reflect his smile and catch his flattering state. James grinned, looking around. He's never been here before. Buy flowers. Who's going to do it anyway?

He turned his head to the right after the saleswoman, and his eyes widened in incredible and flattering surprise. Right in front of him, in the farthest corner of the hall, stood the most beautiful and beautiful girl he had ever met.

Her hair was tied up in a small bun that pulled her hair up; he couldn't see her eyes, but he was sure they were incredible. Lowering his eyes a little lower, he noticed what she was wearing, smiling slightly. Such innocence.

***

Touching your hand with a light touch, the man pulled his whole body up to you, touching your soft lips with yours, barely holding back a moan at how soft and pliable they were. Stepping back slightly, he touched his forehead to yours, feeling the little saliva that ran from your lips to his.

"We'll try to have a baby tomorrow, my rose."

***

POV Your

You wanted to leave. Make a scene and leave without even saying goodbye. Slam the door loudly, saying you don't want to hear his voice. But you knew that was impossible. That it was too risky and putting the trust that James had in you was risky. Once again, you didn't want to get into his confidence by talking about it, praising his ears with flattering comments in his direction.

It's better to leave it as it is. What does it say? Is the old evil better than the new? Yes, I think so. So it's better not to make James angry, but just continue to pretend to be his wife, that she loves him. At least he wouldn't notice.

You never thought that this nice gentleman. Your sweet boy and friend James, who was so sweet and charming, will eventually turn out to be a man who is obsessed with you and believes that his love is pure and does not even realize that he is hurting you.

But now it seemed to you that he had overstepped his bounds.

Have a baby? You absolutely did not want to do this because you thought it was too much. Yes, you have been living together for more than a year, but it is still scary to go to such a step. And you definitely didn't want a child with a man who literally kidnapped you and forced you to be his wife.

And yet, despite all the flaws, you didn't think he was crazy. And no, you didn't love him. There was no love between you, and there can't be any, because you hate him, and he's just obsessed with you. It's not love.

"Wh-what?" you tried to force yourself to say, feeling your hands tremble under James ' touch, and coda's skin prickle with goose bumps. Your breathing became ragged and erratic.

"Yes, my rose, why don't we have a baby? I think we're ready for this, " he muttered under his breath, moving away from you and wiping away the saliva with his finger, smiling slightly at you. Smiling the smile you've come to love, not knowing what lies behind her mask.

You hated the way he called you. A rose. With my rose. You didn't belong to him, and it sounded disgusting. Too disgusting. It's like he only thought of you in a sexual way. Because you only associated rose with sexuality.

You looked up at him, feeling very confused. James was definitely a freak at heart, but his appearance was not lacking in nature. He was handsome: his blond hair was cut short; his blue eyes, like a distance in which you could disappear, looked at you with a needful look; his lips were thin. His face was so aristocratic that you couldn't believe he was an ordinary soldier.

But no, you're not buying his innocent face. Although you were still tormented by doubts. James has never physically touched you before. It is possible only morally, and this is rare. So you didn't know how to describe him as a person. He was a rather ambiguous person. The face of an angel, which in the end turned out to be a devil, but a devil in which an angel is half seen.

You shook your head, wanting to leave the room and get the hell out of there. Just away from James and his ideas. Sitting up, you were about to get up, until you felt James's big hand on your emaciated wrist, and he was glowering at you from under his brows. He was scary.

"You will stay in bed with me, my rose."

[kakatenzo]

royalty au 2

this took a while but here’s the second royalty au idea

the kind of love (i’ve been dreaming of)

Tenzo tries to convince himself that he isn’t upset, but the tree that he is slashing into is starting to look mutilated. His shoulders are starting to burn as he hacks away at the bark, breaths coming out deep and ragged, and the tight ball of fury and disappointment in his chest starts to ebb away. It’s not like he wanted to be in an arranged marriage, if he had any say in the matter he would’ve been happily single in the castle forever and not stuck with the world’s most standoffish fiance. He doesn’t blame him for not being enthusiastic, but Tenzo is one dinner away from getting on his knees and begging the guy to hold a conversation that lasted longer than two minutes. 

He swings his sword with more force when he’s reminded of the flippant way his fiance had eyed him up and down before turning on his heel and walking away. Tenzo’s sword gets embedded into the tree and he stops to catch his breath. His grip loosens and he leans forward to press his forehead against the rough bark of the tree. He had tried. Tenzo wouldn’t brand himself as the most charming, but he could carry out interesting conversations and entertain any topic that people threw at him, yet it seemed like he didn’t manage to pique any of his fiance’s interests. 

A bubble of frustration rises in his chest and Tenzo surges backwards, grabbing the sword again and yanks it out of the tree. He starts to swing his sword again to fight off the hot childish tears that sting his eyes. Their interaction in the corridor was borderline humiliating and he hated feeling belittled. Kakashi Hatake, the crown prince of the neighbouring kingdom, with his cold unresponsive eyes and unruly mop of hair, that’s all that Kakashi had because the rest was covered by a mask, and his apparent skill of whittling Tenzo down to an embarrassing example of a prince.

“If you wanted to cut down that tree, I would suggest you use an axe not a sword.” 

The voice startles Tenzo and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He swivels round and finds a stranger doting by the treeline, a canvas tucked under his left arm and his right hand preoccupied with a heavy satchel. 

Tenzo stares at the stranger for a moment and he has to squint because the sun is reflecting off the lake and into his eyes, the sound of his heavy breathing is his only response before he places his sword back into its sheath. He takes a wary eyeful of the stranger, the concept of assassinations was not foreign to Tenzo, and many unassuming figures had approached him before displaying a dagger or vial of poison. The man has loose brown curls that hang over his grey eyes which are decorated with purple paint, the paint follows down the curve of his cheek and stops short above a sharp smile.

“Thank you, I can go back to painting in peace.” the stranger quips and it makes Tenzo’s eye twitch. 

“You have a whole forest.” Tenzo snaps haughtily. “You don’t have to paint right next to me.”

 He did not have the patience to handle any snarky remarks today, and if someone complained to the palace that the crown prince was being rude, then he would just sit and pray that Tsunade would not reduce him to tears. 

The stranger, who had begun to turn, looks over his shoulder and his eyes quickly flit over Tenzo, head to toe. “I thought knights had their own training grounds.”

Tenzo quirks an eyebrow and quickly looks down at his apparel. He didn’t wear his usual princely outfit, it was difficult to move around in it and god forbid he would ruin another set of silk shirts because he was reckless with his sword, Tsunade had been hesitant to even let him look at a blade, and instead he had sported a simple cotton tunic. The fabric was much more breathable and left him a lot of mobility to practice his sword fighting forms, or in this instance, space to take his frustrations out on a tree. 

That was beside the point, this forest had been Tenzo’s getaway for as long as he could remember, a place where he could just be Tenzo and not have the weight of the kingdom weigh down on his shoulders. It was usually empty too, with his hideout in the furthest point of the forest, nobody bothered to venture out unless they were looking for an adventure and that suited Tenzo just fine. He didn’t have the towering walls of the palace, nor the suffocating gazes of the guards, and most importantly, the aloof fiance that wouldn’t spare a glance in his direction. 

“I’m not a knight,” Tenzo answers, but is careful to not reveal his true identity. It seems that the stranger hasn’t recognised the crown prince, afterall, he isn’t donning his crown or royal robes. “I just like to practice out here, it’s nice and quiet.” 

The stranger mulls over Tenzo’s reply in silent thought before marching over to stand next to the crown prince. He’s slightly taller up close, Tenzo notes, his head tilts back slightly to look at the stranger in the face. “I suppose you don’t mind if I paint quietly then?” the stranger offers, voice light and soft. 

Tenzo cocks a brow. “Right next to me?”

“It’s a nice view, can you blame me?” 

Tenzo hopes the flush that spackles his face is from the earlier sword practice. The stranger starts to unfold his easel and props the canvas onto it, he drops the heavy satchel and the clatter of paints and brushes are muffled by the forest floor. Teno watches as the stranger sheds his coat and scarf, his scarf the same shade of purple that is painted on the stranger’s face. His shoulders are broad for an artist, Tenzo thinks, maybe he sculpted too?

“Are you planning on accompanying me?” the stranger asks as he rolls up his sleeves. “Seeing as you’ve made no move to leave.”

Tenzo whizzes through his plans for the rest of the day, he had initially planned on staying here until just before sunset in order to make it back home for dinner, but then he’s reminded of the empty chair across his table and the cold, rubbery food that is left at the end of the night. He thinks of the long winding and lonely halls of the palace, so large yet so small with the way it seems to constrict him, like a snake who had him in her vices. Her body coiling and contracting, her eyes cold and dark like his fiance’s, unwavering and closed off, offering no reply nor questions.

He decides, “Yes. I would like some company.”

The stranger smiles at him warmly. “It’s Sukea, by the way.” 

“Oh,” the statement catches Tenzo off guard, he had forgotten to exchange names and then remembers he can’t expose his status. “It’s Yamato.” 

Sukea shares the same welcoming smile, “It’s nice to meet you, Yamato.”

[mytastessuck]

Gorillaz: Humanz

SHere it is, the comeback tour! I was so excited for this album, I sucked all the singles that came out before I could download the album. This album basically reminded me of the reasons I love Gorillaz. All of them. One particular reason a little too well...

Okay, let's get the elephant out of the room. This album is a bit controversial among the community for playing a little too hard to one of Gorillaz' strengths: showcasing cool artists. There are more than a few tracks where Damon doesn't even show up. Hell, my favorite track doesn't even have it on him. Me, I honestly don't care about that as long as I get to hear good music but for the rest of you die hard Gorillaz fans? Just think of this as a compilation album like NOW That's What I Call Alternative/Indie Hip-Hop/R&B/Electronica/Pop.

See? Rolls off the tongue. Now let's get started.

1. Intro: I Switched My Robot Off

Nice. Real ominous. Gorillaz really know how to build up a presentation. Feels like you're walking through the doors of the doors to the Shrine of the Silver Monkey. Anybody remember Legends of the Hidden Temple? Were there doors on that stage? Anyway, awesome.

10/10

2. Ascension

Holy hell, Vince really knocks it out of the park on this one. Different beat, nice flow, social commentary...He was not fucking around on this track. Damon's barely on the track but Vince makes up for it with his existential rhymes and chorus back-up. Man, Gorillaz has gotta take advantage of gospel more often.

9/10

3. Strobelite

That didn't take long, did it? Anyway, this is my favorite song on the album. Peven has an incredible voice, the music psychically compels you to dance and...that's it. Sometimes, well usually with me, you just need to go with Simple Yet Awesome. Have a good voice and a good beat. This song has both and I'm pretty sure that one day, a scientist will hear this song and will be inspired by it to cure diabetes.

100/10

4. Saturn Barz

Ah, the lead single from the album. Remember the 360 house, everyone? Yeah, you remember. Glad to have Gorillaz welcome back Reggae into their line-up with Popcaan manning the helms. He and Damon tag-team the eardrums with the power of dread as the instrumentation makes you feel like you're in a haunted house. Welcome back, guys.

25/10

5. Momentz

WELCOME BACK, GUYS! De La Soul returns to say some real shit about time and how you should, respect and stuff. Seriously, awesome track. Kicks so much ass and you can even dance to it as you wonder if this MOMENT will be one of the last times when you feel really happy. Nice...

9/10

6. Interlude: The Non-Conformist Oath

Hey, Steve Martin! I like to imagine a bunch of assholes listening to this and...just not getting it. Not us though. We get it. We're smart. Smarter than those guys...

10/10

7. Submission

This song had to grow on me but years after I got the album and after I learned to appreciate Danny Brown a little more like all humans should, this song became one of my favorites off the album. Don't worry Kelela, he doesn't carry the whole song. Her voice is so beautiful that it can calm a charging rhino or a coked-up Connor McGregor. These make the song a lot classier than it had any right being.

90/10

8. Charger

She's beauty, she's Grace...she's also Jones. Man, I haven't heard from this woman since Corporate Cannibal and she has clearly been keeping up practice. God, how can a woman's laughter both scare and arouse me? Damon's no slouch on this track either, singing about the monster that keeps us all tethered: the charger. I kid, I kid. Hey, did Damon really get a boner on stage when he sung this or are you guys messing with me? Message me if you know.

9/10

9. Interlude: Elevator Going Up

On a recent trip, I tried to go up the elevator but it was card-activated so a desk lady had to help me. That's it.

8/10

10. Andromeda

Damon has to do the heavy lifting here and his muscles have not completely wasted away from lack of use. He tells us to take in our heart and you know what? I did. I took this song directly in my heart...and my playlist.

50/10

11. Busted And Blue

Yeah, this song is a bummer. A good bummer. It's Broken's younger brother who joined the army to make his parents proud after he couldn't get into university like his older brother who managed to form a separate family with his squad and began to think that maybe he was good enough after all before his squad gets bombed and, as he lies legless dying painfully on the ground, a blue butterfly land directly on his outstretched busted hand...

Directed by Mervyn LeRoy

10/10

12. Interlude: Talk Radio

You ever wonder how we get voices in machines? I know you think it's a complicated process but I know a dude who picked up the radio in his electric fan once. Think about it.

8/10

13. Carnival

Again, this song had to grow on me but one day, while I was thinking about Gamzee for a godforsaken reason, I thought "Geez, he talks about the Dark Carnival and the Dark Carnival isn't even some of ICP's best days. What's a good song about a carnival?" Anyway, Anthony can spin a person's mind and mind around just by singing. He's wild.

80/10

14. Let Me Out

Hey, wouldn't it be funny if Mavis was Vince's mother? She's not but that would be funny as well as cool. Her and Pusha T bang on the walls of this track as they rant about the politics at the time of this song. Yeah, they're talking about Trump. That car horn can't protect you forever, you orange bastard.

9/10

15. Interlude: Penthouse

Dear Penthouse: Hi. Does anyone check in on you, just you? I'm here to say I think you're important and you provide a necessary outlet for men to brag about being perverts. At least before the Youtube comment section existed.

Thanks for everything,

mytastessuck

8/10

16. Sex Murder Party

Ooooo, this track puts me in a funky mood. Like, there's a part but there's sex there...and MURDER. So you know it's an awesome party. Kick-ass, right? I know it's kick-ass. Keep dancing, people.

11/10

17. She's My Collar

Pretty sexy song. Gotta love people vauging about being used in a song. That's why we love Offspring, that's why we love Damon on his knees onstage. Hey, there was a post that said Noodle wrote this song about her girlfriend. That was an excellent post. Well done.

9/10

18. Interlude: The Elephant

I SAID GET OUT OF HERE, YOU BASTARD!

8/10

19. Hallelujah Money

Ah, the technical first single. Remember when they said that they weren't going to put this song on the album? Anyway, this is exactly the song we needed after The Incident occurred. Benjamin manages to calm down an entire populace while Damon just fearfully wonders what our future will be like...and he's in the UK. This song is one long terrifying lullaby to an entire country...until the end, anyway.

75/10

20. We Got The Power

A great way to remind listeners that no matter what's happening, no matter who's in charge, we have the power change everything. An excellent message for people who were still recovering from The Incident.

10/10

21. Interlude: New World

Okay, the bonus tracks. Should be nothing special here, right? Just some B-sides and I've never shown favoritism towards B-sides, right?

8/10

22. The Apprentice

A nice song from the same Rag n' Bone Man who brought us "Human". Zebra manages to lay down some nice rhymes as Ray BLK backs them both up with the force of her voice. These guys should form a team with how well they work together. Oh, they should make a virtual band! All they need to do is find an artist...

9/10

23. Halfway To The Halfway House

A very nice song if a bit overshadowed by the others on the album. Still, Peven can't be beat when it comes to crooning and he raises a song from a solid C to a B.

8/10

24. Out of Body

This song had to grow on me also but when it did...lord, this song is weird. Hypnotic suggestions, telephone tones, the song starts then Zebra jumps in to help then who is this person?! Why are people applauding?! Who are you people?! Why are there so many crows gathering outside my house?!

60/10

25. Ticker Tape

Well well well, look who's back. Damon returns with his old friend Kali to join the accuser of the vain Carly Simon to beg us to stay on the album. Sorry Damon, but I got places to do and people to go. There's nothing you can do to convince me to stick around after how long this album already is.

9/10

26. Circle of Friendz

Huh. Seems like a riot is going on. Weird for Gorillaz to get this real. What, this guy is just going to keep saying Circle of Friendz again and again? Is this supposed to affect me? Get real. It'll take a lot more than a nice voice and implications to...

To...

...

...Maybe I should listen to the album again.

11/10

Album score: 25/10

Damn, that took a while. Shouldn't be the case next week when we cover The Now Now. See you then!

[kryptidkat]

Now I'm curious. Does ghoul have faves? Kobra? Party? What about the Girl

Oof I spent way too much time on this and then didn’t proofread it….but here u go. (For the rest of the Four I’m excluding the Girl again, because she’s still so young that she has a very different relationship with them than they have with each other.) 

KOBRA

For Kobra, you almost have to exclude Poison from the start, because from being raised together and sharing so much of life, they’re on the same wavelength to where they can have whole conversations without saying a word. However, Poison can be loud — and obnoxious with razor-sharp precision like any good brother is  — so Kobra often needs space, even from him. It literally just depends what mood he’s in, who he most likes to spend time with on any given day. If he’s feeling mischievous, Ghoul is the obvious choice for a partner in crime. (Those two will also rag on each other incessantly, but it’s all in good fun and they’re pretty well attuned by now to when they need to back off before they hit an actual nerve.) And Jet, a man of relatively few words himself, is great for just being in the same room with while doing your own thing. (And once Kobra warmed up to him? Jet quickly became one of his favorite huggers in the world.) If you straight-up asked Kobra, though, he’d just snort, because he doesn’t even have to think about it, and because you should already know. No matter how unbearable his brother can be, it’s always Poison. 

POISON

Of course we have to start with Kobra, here. Poison perhaps has more of a bent toward protective than companionable feelings for Kobra, but he still feels incredibly close to him. They’re so close that you rarely see them physically side by side when they’re hanging out. More often than not, they will be on opposite sides of the room and merely sending occasional looks that will have the other making a face or outright laughing like there’s an actual verbal conversation going on that only they can hear. That said, Kobra can be moody quite often and won’t speak to anybody at all, not even to Poison by telepathy or whatever the hell it is that they can do, and gets even more moody if Poison tries to cheer him up and make him come do something with him. (That or he’ll ramble for hours about something Poison couldn’t give less of a shit about, like lizards or the care and feeding of succulents or different kinds of bike tires and how they respond on different terrains….)  So however borderline codependent they may be, it’s not an end-all be-all and their relationship doesn’t come at the expense of their relationships with other crewmembers. 

It’s nearly impossible to rile Jet. Poison knows, because Poison has tried. This discovery would make most people more comfortable around Jet; Poison finds it uncanny and infuriating. No one should be that unflappable. (He’s determined to find more of Jet’s buttons, so that’s kind of a subconscious ongoing mission of his.) However, if Poison’s feeling unspecifiably fragile, (and therefore acting the most assholeish), Jet is a steadying presence, as big and sturdy and unmovable as a joshua tree. For this, Poison is secretly glad Jet is unofficially the actual leader of the crew. And yet Poison’s never quite shaken the feeling that Jet is always…watching him. Not judging him—just trying to figure him out, see under the Party Poison mask, predict if he’s going to blow up at someone or fall into a panic in a given circumstance. Poison’s never been sure if this is actually the case or just his imagination. 

Ghoul can take whatever you give him and throw it right back. His addition to the crew was actually a godsend for everybody else, because Poison finally had an outlet for what seemed like an infinite amount of pent-up aggression. More often than not, they can be found wrestling on the floor somewhere without check, like they’re genuinely trying to kill each other (the rest of the crew have learned it’s best to just step around them), or screaming insults at each other. What’s more jarring is when they’re both being amicable. They skip making up entirely; there’s nothing to make up. (When Kobra first noticed Poison had started letting Ghoul touch up his hair, the two of them were on the receiving end of frequent horrified, wary side-eyed looks for a full week before he seemed to be satisfied that this was as far as things were going to go.). They were made for cuddling each other — they’re most alike in size of everyone at the diner, so they love hugging and snuggling once they’ve exhausted their excess frustration. 

GHOUL

Ghoul, who’s still trying to learn gentleness for the first time (it’s easy with the Girl, but a little more difficult with everyone else), is grudgingly fascinated how desert-hardened Jet can be so strong and yet remain so in control of that strength. Jet is fucking tough, tough as nails, but Ghoul’s never seen him use brute force on anyone besides a drac. Even at Ghoul’s worse, Jet has never lashed out at him. That’s nice. More than Ghoul deserves, certainly. The other nice thing about Jet is that he lets Ghoul be, much like the crew treats predator animals they encounter when they’re out in the open after dark. A desertborn attitude — live and let live. Jet doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t try to change him. Ghoul’s grateful for that. 

Kobra is like, 12. And what a weirdo. Ghoul doesn’t get him at all. He has to respect the kid, though, because despite his quirks Kobra is a keen strategist, a formidable prank partner, and not scared of getting the shit beaten out of him — whether it’s in a fight or a bike accident or whatever. Not to mention he’s got a helluva pokerface, and a dark, sardonic sense of humor to rival Ghoul’s own. So yeah, Ghoul likes Kobra just fine. 

Ghoul trusts Poison completely, full stop. He’s not sure how much Poison does. There’s a huge, scary amount of trust between them, he knows, but he gets the feeling Poison has many more layers he still isn’t ready to show Ghoul. Which is fair, because some things Ghoul doesn’t want to bring up, either. (Not because it’s Poison. Poison would never laugh, or dismiss him, or judge. Ghoul just doesn’t want to think about certain things, let alone talk about them.) When they first met, Poison saved his life, probably (Ghoul maintains to himself he would’ve been fine even without his help), which under normal circumstances would’ve made Ghoul hate Poison’s guts forever. But Poison never acted like Ghoul owed him anything. As soon as Ghoul was well enough to take it, he treated Ghoul with the same abrasive combativeness he did everyone else. And Ghoul loved him for it. Poison never pulled punches, with him. That was what made Ghoul ultimately come to trust Poison with his softer side, too, oddly enough. 

THE GIRL

Jet is strong and smart and big. He can lift the Girl off the ground with one hand and he knows everything about how to not get killed in the desert, which is really important. Being the biggest means he’s the best for climbing up, which is also important. And even though he only has one eye anymore, he’s a killer shot. He’s super dangerous for bad guys and can even throw whole people across a room! He’s always nice to the Girl and Party and Kobra and Ghoulie, though. 

Kobra is so cool. He even gave the Girl a pair of sunglasses, so she could be cool too. Kobra knows everything about bikes and computers and martial arts, and he’s even started teaching her some sick moves. (She’s still too small to ride a bike, though.) She appreciates how Kobra tells things like they are, even though he still does his darndest to shield her from actually seeing things like they are when they’re out running the zones. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking sometimes, but she guesses that’s just part of being cool. 

Ghoul is so fun. Which is fitting, given his full name, but yeah — he lets the Girl do the really fun stuff. At least when Jet isn’t watching. He knows everything about blowing stuff up and making things catch on fire. It doesn’t get much funner than that! And yet there’s something about the way Ghoul looks at her from a distance, sometimes. Like he’s seeing somebody else. It’s kind of creepy, but it happens rarely enough that she’s never mentioned it. 

Party is…a lot of things. He’s a really good artist, and a good teacher of it, too. He’s even taken the Girl out to do graffiti before, not just paint on the diner walls. He can be scary sometimes, but never in her direction. When they’re in public and he jumps up onto something and starts talking really loud, everyone shuts up and listens and does whatever he says. His eyes can get scary when he’s like that (if he’s angry, not just excited). However, if he catches the Girl watching him and remembers, afterward, he’ll usually shoot her a wink so she’ll know everything is okay. And he’s never given the Girl a reason to believe he’d ever turn that anger on her. Sometimes after a clap he gives hugs so tight they hurt, but the Girl isn’t bothered by that. The only thing that bothers her about Party is that he reminds her of someone, occasionally — in a fleeting expression, in the tilt of his head, in a smile. She’s never been able to put a finger on who. 

[louistomlinsoncouk]

After tragedy, One Direction’s Louis Tomlinson is finally in a ‘good place in life’ — and ready to rock

While most boy bands only spawn one major solo superstar — think Justin Timberlake from *NSYNC, or Ricky Martin from Menudo — the men of One Direction have bucked those odds. Zayn Malik, Harry Styles, Niall Horan, and Liam Payne have all found success, in genres ranging from R&B and EDM to folk-pop and retro rock, since 1D went on indefinite hiatus in 2016. But one member, Louis Tomlinson, has kept a relatively lower profile. “I've tried to!” he laughs softly, speaking to Yahoo Entertainment about his much-anticipated new solo music.

“I had a couple of things in my personal life which made momentum a little bit more difficult, naturally,” says Tomlinson, now age 27. He is referring to the loss of his mother, Johannah Deakin (who died from leukemia at age 43, the same year of 1D’s split), followed by the fatal overdose of his 18-year-old sister, Félicité, earlier this year. Only one week before Félicité’s death, Tomlinson had released the single “Two of Us,” a heartbreaking ballad dedicated to his mother. He once described this “darkest s***” period in his life as his “rock bottom” during an interview with The Guardian. But as he readies his debut solo album, out in January 31 next year with a world tour to follow, Tomlinson says he’s no longer writing from a place of mourning. While the album, WALLS, will contain “light and shade,” fans can mostly expect anthemic rockers with “plenty of guitars,” like the ‘90s-style Britpop banger “Kill My Mind” and the just-released buoyant terrace-chant “We Made It.”

“I touched on [grief] with ‘Two of Us,’ but I definitely kind of told that story with that,” Tomlinson explains. “I felt like I needed to get that off my chest creatively in my songwriting because around that time, it was hard for anything to feel more important, obviously, than that. ‘Two of Us’ is an important song for me, but I understand how heavy it is — emotionally, for me to sing, and for some people to listen to. … I don't think for a while I'll be going near anything else too heavy emotionally; I'm not really that way inclined. I want to make songs that make people feel good, you know what I mean? I'm conscious of trying to make happier songs, definitely. What I've learned about the writing process is you can't write a happy song if you don't feel happy. And I feel like I'm in a good place in my life, and naturally with that comes happier songs. So I think it all depends on what headspace you're in, really, at the time.”

Tomlinson is clearly in a rock ‘n’ roll headspace at the moment. To tease the release of “Kill My Mind” last month, the proud Northerner made a Spotify playlist of his influences that included Oasis (“probably forever my favorite band”), the La’s, James, the Verve, Arctic Monkeys, the Smiths, “Tomorrow Never Knows” by the Beatles, and newer artists like Sam Fender, the Courteneers, and Catfish & the Bottlemen — and “Kill My Mind” and “We Made It” wouldn’t sound at all out of place on a playlist alongside those Britrock luminaries.

Tomlinson is well aware that going in a rock direction is a risk, though he believes “music definitely works in cycles” and rock ‘n’ roll will “definitely be back.” In terms of speculating why the type of music he heard on mainstream radio as a kid — like Oasis and Amy Winehouse — has fallen out of favor commercially, he speculates, “Well, we're in a in a very, very PC era, and some of those bands were a little bit reckless, a little bit crazy.” Regardless, it’s possible that Tomlinson could educate the “super-f***ing-dedicated” One Direction fans about ‘90s/early-2000s indie the same way Styles’s debut album was a gateway to ‘70s glam and classic rock, or Horan’s was an introduction to more mature singer-songwriter sounds.

“That's why it's important for me to make those playlists, because I do often get messages from my fans saying they hadn't heard of this band or this artist before,” he says. “And I think that's really important. That's really cool. That helps them get to know me even better. … Harry, I think in terms of the music he's making, I think that's incredible and I'm sure the fans have then gone to look at other bands that have influenced him on his album. And I actually saw it firsthand when I went to watch Niall live — it must have been like maybe over a year ago now. There were some really great musical moments in that show, and I was thinking about the contrast of that show with a One Direction show. I was watching the girls at the front just absorbing this musical moment, and I thought that was really cool, really interesting. I think that is important, for all of us.”

Tomlinson knows “there is definitely a bit of music snobbery” when it comes to a former boy band star doing rock ‘n’ roll — he once joked to the BBC that Alex Turner of Arctic Monkeys would be mortified would be mortified to be cited as one of Tomlinson’s core influences — but he says, “I think you've just got to kind of earn your stripes as an artist, and be honest and be real — and whoever likes you, great. Whoever doesn't, well, it is what it is, I suppose.”

Tomlinson has been pleased by the initial response to his new sound. “I was feeling really, really f***ing proud about ‘Kill My Mind’ and the reaction on that. It makes me feel really good to do something that is true to my influences and get a good reaction. Some people were a little bit shocked, but that's exciting, you know what I mean? That's the way it should be with music.” Still, he doesn’t seem too concerned if his music doesn’t reach the commercial level of One Direction in their post-X Factor heyday.

“In terms of kind of chasing radio, I feel like I've done a lot of that. To be honest, out of all the songs I've got on the [forthcoming solo] album, ‘We Made It’ probably is the best equipped melodically for radio, so we'll see how that goes. But I'm not as precious as I used to be about all that,” he says. “To be fair, I fell out of love with music a little bit, and I actually kind of come back ‘round to finding bands that I used to love, and finding new bands. And I had a bit of an epiphany with music and with my music. I thought, instead of making music for other people, I should start making music for myself and what I really love. So it feels really refreshing to be able to do that.”

Tomlinson’s album will feature production from both longtime 1D collaborator Julian Bunetta and Ben’s Brother frontman Jamie Hartman, who has worked with Lewis Capaldi, Rag ‘n’ Bone Man, Rachel Yamagata, James Bay, Andy Grammer, Joss Stone, and Parachute). “Jamie is just an amazing producer, and I think he really understood me musically,” Tomlinson gushes. As for what to expect from the record, he says, “I'm always trying to be as honest and as relatable as possible, and sonically, I always want it to feel as live and as authentic as possible. It's been a long time in the making now, but I'm really happy with it as a body of work.

“I'd been used to releasing an album a year with [One Direction], and I didn't realize until I got into it just how much of a perfectionist I was going to be about my first album, and what it says about me and what it represents. I've been maybe at times too much of a perfectionist, and it's taken a little bit longer than it should have. But I'm kind of all right with that, because I'm really, really proud of where it is now. I never want the feeling of releasing an album and feeling like there's two or three fillers on there. I'm really happy with every track on the album now. So I think it was hopefully worth the wait.”

[ambersky0319]

You Have Us

Pairings : Platonic! Intruloceit , Logince? Like, ended Logince

Warnings : Cheating; Unsympathetic Roman(I mean he could be worse but he's the one who cheated basically); Sympathetic Remus, Deceit, and Logan

A/N : Okay so this was originally gonna be Intrulogical but I just hhhjsgdgd I really wanted some good ol' platonic stuff for a bit

Masterpost

----------------------

Logan took off his glasses so he could wipe his eyes, the steady stream of tears seeming forever. His breaths were ragged and his heart raced, eyes puffy from a long time crying. But he was in a safe place now, he didn't need to worry about Roman or whoever he had found in bed with his boyfriend. He didn't have to think about or worry about it now. He couldn't, if he did, he feared he might feel even worse.

Yelling from a room down the hall made Logan curl in on himself slightly, and his friend's roommate sat beside him on he couch. "Hey, it's totally not going to be alright." He said, reaching out to rub his back slowly.

The liar frowned slightly as Logan only continued to tremble. He felt bad. He might not know Logan well- he'd only met Logan twice before- but that wouldn't stop his heart from hurting, knowing exactly how Logan must feel.

"How would you know?" Logan mumbled, sniffing and wiping his eyes again. He put his glasses back on to look at Damien.

Damien bit his lip slightly, and the yelling quieted in the other room. "You have Remus as a friend, and me too I suppose. Things will get better one way or another." Logan stared at Damien, a man he barely knew, but he felt comforted by the look in his mismatched eyes.

Remus came back into the living room, his anger slowly fading as he plopped on the couch beside Logan and pulled him into a hug. Logan accepted the embrace, tucking his head under Remus' chin. He was safe. He wouldn't get hurt physically or emotionally here.

The couch shifted, and Logan tilted his head to watch Damien disappear down the hall, probably to his room. Remus' arms tightened around Logan.

"I'm sorry about Roman." Remus said softly, and Logan turned his gaze up to him. Remus was looking at the blank tv screen though. "I'm really sorry that you had to see him cheating on you."

Logan hummed lightly, his breathing was still slightly short, but it was calming now. His tears had faded quickly as well. But he didn't doubt there'd be more in the morning.

He hugged himself closer to Remus. "It's not your fault." Logan said. "Don't apologize for his actions."

"Right." Remus muttered. "Want to watch a documentary to get your mind off it?"

Logan nodded silently, and Remus grabbed the remote to find something Logan would like.

-

Logan awoke in a foreign bed, the smell of pancakes wafting through the house. He yawned and grabbed his glasses, glancing around the room. He was alone, underneath a bunch of soft blankets with all kinds of designs.

The walls were a dark green, and on a blank wall, a mural of a bright green octopus with black and shades of green markings. The other walls were covered in shelves or pictures, a morning star on one of the shelves among some other disturbing niknaks.

He concluded it was Remus' room, but where was Remus?

Logan climbed out of the bed, stumbling slightly from lack of water. He carefully made his way to the door, and made sure he was close to the wall just in case he did pass out. He was making his way towards the kitchen when he heard talking, and he stopped to listen, debating just maybe going back to the bed.

"Don't fret about Logan, Rem. He's strong, he'll make it through this." Damien.

"Yeah! I know! But you saw him last night, and you know what it's like to see someone cheating on you." Remus seemed to accuse Damien, who just grumbled something.

"Sorry," Remus said after a few seconds of silence. "I'm just worried is all. And angry. I'm still very angry at Roman."

Damien laughed lightly. "Who wouldn't be? Your brother hurt one of your best friends- that's just shitty of him."

Remus hummed in agreement, and their conversation seemed to end. Logan took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen, and Remus looked up from his plate while Damien kept his eyes on what he was cooking.

"Logan!" Remus jumped out of his seat and hugged Logan tightly, and Logan felt as if he might faint. "How ya doing?"

"Lot better if I could- breathe-" Remus let go quickly, eyes wide and he apologized. Logan smiled at him reassuringly. "Thanks, and I'm doing..." he trailed off, unsure what word to use.

"Meh?" Damien offered from his place at the stove. Logan nodded.

"Yeah, that."

Silence fell over them and Logan sat down, Remus already placing a water bottle in front of Logan. Logan smiled up thankfully and ran a hand through his hair, only messing it up more as he drank his water. He was too tired to hear Remus take in a shaky breath, and soon pancakes were placed in front of him.

It was far too soon that Logan had to check his phone, many missed calls and voicemails mixing in with the rest of his notifications. Along eith them though, he saw at least twenty messages from Roman, and Logan bit his lip harshly. He didn't seem to notice the slight taste of blood as his jaw clenched and he tensed up.

Remus looked up from his own phone, watching Logan for a moment. Watching as his friend drew blood from his own lip and how it seemed his nails dug into his palm. Remus set aside his own phone and moved to Logan's side of the couch, reading the texts over Logan's shoulder.

Remus glared at the phone upon seeing texts a mix of pleading for forgiveness and anger that were directed at Logan for being 'too sensitive' about this. Logan leaned back into Remus' touch as Remus began to rub Logan's shoulders.

Logan's shoulders slumped and he set his phone aside. He really didn't want to deal with Roman right now. It was still too soon for him. His heart still ached and he still felt as if he had been stabbed with a knife multiple times in the back.

"I'm sorry." Remus mumbled as Logan leaned closer, Remus' arms wrapping around Logan's torso protectively.

Logan glanced at him, frowning slightly. "I told you not to apologize for his awful decisions, they were not your doings."

Remus didn't look at Logan at first, only nodding slightly. "What are you going to do about it?"

He was silent for a moment. "I don't know. But I'll figure it out."

Remus nodded again. "I understand. Take your time." Remus whispered.

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[badwolfwrites-sometimes]

Drawn Together: Chapter 11

Featuring a special character ;))

In his thinking about what he should do with his life now, Feliciano managed to fall asleep. If only for a short while.

"Toni is coming over! Make yourself presentable!" Lovino burst into his room, screaming and attempting to put some fancy leather pants on himself.

Feliciano turned around to face his brother. He loves his brother so much he would die for him, but if he wakes him up one more time... Feliciano wasn't actually sure what he would do. Probably something mean and then apologise the second the deed is done.

He closed his eyes again, adjusting in his comfortable bed. "He's your boyfriend. If anyone should look presentable, it's you."

"Don't embarrass me, Feli." Finally, those pants found themselves on Lovino's legs. Damn, he needed to lose some weight. And try not to sit down. "Get ready and help me set the table. Midget is off somewhere." After saying that, Lovino made his way downstairs.

Feliciano reluctantly sat on his bed, hugging his pillow. He giggled at his brother's gay panic. No matter how much of a flirt they all were, finding themselves in a situation where romance was required left all three of them in a state of helplessness.

Then it dawned on Feliciano. He was the only one not in a relationship out of the three of them. Well, Romeo wasn't officially in a relationship, but the way he talked about that girl the other day makes it seem like being single wouldn't last a while for him. It left Feliciano with a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. The ones who believe in love the most are always the last ones to experience it.

He should really get up before he gets drowned in the feelings of forever alone. He could stay in pajamas though, it's only their Toni.

As he was leaving his room, in the corner of his eye he noticed his unfinished painting still standing. It was calling for him, but he wasn't ready for it yet.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're wearing that to dinner." Lovino commented as soon as he saw him. Feliciano was dressed in his red pajama pants with cats all over them and an old blue T-shirt he got from Grandpa. In other words, he was dressed in his favourite outfit.

"It's comfortable." Feliciano responded, earning an eyeroll from his brother. "Don't tell me you're afraid he might actually come to my room tonight and not yours cuz I'm more inviting."

Lovino threw a rag at his brother.

Feliciano only laughed. "Those pants do look hard to pull off."

Lovino gasped at the comment, but before he could hit Feliciano again, the door swung open. "Lovi~" Came a sweet, exotic voice which got Lovino all red in a matter of seconds.

Feliciano smirked, but Lovino didn't notice. In fact, Lovino seemed unable to move. That means Feliciano has to get Antonio.

"Hi, Toni! Lovi is having a meltdown in the kitchen and he needs all of your kisses." Feliciano popped a greeting to his friend, before he turned serious. "Did you get my texts?"

Antonio nodded, patting Feliciano's head and messing his hair up. "I'll take good care of him." He smiled.

Feliciano's mood returned back to normal after hearing that, continuing with his jokes. "I hope you don't mind me being in pajamas. Please don't try to sleep with me accidentally."

Antonio blushed, the soft shade of pink matching his green eyes and dark complexion. Feliciano could see the reason why his brother fell for him. He was beautiful, kind, loving and had a really nice butt. "Don't worry about it, Feli. My heart is only Lovino's." Antonio said.

"Good. Make sure it stays that way. And use protection." Feliciano laughed before walking back to the kitchen.

"Mamita told me the same thing!" Antonio giggled, walking over to Lovino who was still experiencing some troubles with moving and talking, and gave him a big kiss on his cheeks. "How are you, amo?"

Feliciano avoided directly staring at them, but he could pick out Lovino's smiles and nuzzles from the glasses he was holding in hands. As much as he was glad that his brother was feeling happy and safe to even be doing this in front of him, Feliciano still worried.

"I finished the book, you know." He said, setting the glasses at the table. "I really liked it, too."

Antonio and Lovino tore their gazes away from each other for a couple of seconds, noticing that everything was now set. "Book? Silence in Venice?" Antonio asked, sitting down next to Lovino.

"Yeah. I feel really bad for Alice. She got too much abuse from everyone and she didn't deserve it." Feliciano ranted.

Antonio shrugged, running circles on Lovino's shoulder. "I only know what Andy told me so I can't really say anything about that. He has a theory that she's pregnant or something by the end of the book. And the author gave some hints about a sequal so..."

"Oh, you're talking about that German book." Came from Lovino, who finally connected the dots. "Should I leave the table?"

Antonio made a weird face, like he had done something wrong. Feliciano could feel his blood beginning to boil, wanting to evaporate from his body. He had to keep it cool, a dinner is never a place for war. "No, it's fine. We're done anyway." He said.

"You know I hate them and you know why I hate them, so don't bring them up in front of me." Lovino huffed out angrily.

Feliciano didn't respond, he just quietly ate his dinner. Right now, all he wanted was his room and his peace. And not being a third wheel to his brother.

He finally slipped away from the table, under a bathroom excuse, when Antonio was too busy courting Lovino and Lovino was too busy flirting with him to notice. God, it felt so good to be free from their loveydoveyness. True, he loved romance, he could literally drown in romance, but sometimes he needed to be away from it to fully enjoy it again.

He sat in front of his painting, thinking back of his mistake. There were still chances to fix it, but did he really have to do it now? After the suffering he just went through with the book?

Then it dawned on him. He could fix the painting AND his broken heart. All he had to do was paint what broke him over the nasty brown colour. Hell, even that ugly brown looked so beautiful to him now that he had an idea.

Feliciano raced out of his room, squealing and jumping around, bursting with inspiration and ideas. He had to share them with someone. The one time he could really say that he was a genious was now.

Antonio and Lovino looked at him as he jumped all across the stairs. If Lovino was forced to admit it, he had never seen Feliciano this happy in his life.

He run up to them, hugging them both at the same time much to their confusion, mumbling something about how he got it. Feliciano then proceeded to kiss both of their foreheads, just as Romeo was entering the house.

To Romeo's distress and confusion, Feliciano jumped for him next, hugging him and kissing him the same way he did Antonio and Lovino. The oldest and the youngest brothers exchanged looks of pure confusion. Something weird got into Feliciano lately.

Then, like nothing happened, Feliciano stormed back to his room, leaving his brothers and Antonio in a what-the-hell-just-happened-here atmosphere.

Feliciano returned back to his chair, he already wasted enough of his inspiration time to hug and kiss his brothers, if he wasted more, he would lose the idea.

It took Feliciano several days to finish his work of art. That is several days of not eating or sleeping. He barely even drank anything and most of the time it was paint water. He couldn't even distinguish it from actual water because everything started to taste metalic like the paint. But it was a small price to pay for being an artist.

Feliciano was proud of his work. The ugly brown stripe was now replaced by a magnificant bridge, The Rialto bridge. On top of the bridge Feliciano added two people holding hands and pressing their foreheads together. One was a beautiful girl with red hair tied in two side braids which fell neatly down her green dress. The other was a boy dressed in black with slicked blond hair and a lovestruck expression on his face. Just as Feliciano imagined them.

He snapped a picture of his painting, posting it on his Instagram and Tumblr, before leaving his room for the first time in a while.

"He's alive!" Was the first thing welcoming Feliciano as he entered the kitchen. "We really thought you were dead." The same person, Romeo, commented.

Romeo was making lunch that day, quite an unusual activity for him, and Lovino was nowhere to be found. "He's at Toni's house if you need him." Romeo said, reading Feliciano like an open book. "And Nonno called, he'll be here by tomorrow night."

Well, that was exciting. "Really?" Feliciano asked, earning a nod from his brother. "Where do you think he's been travelling this time?"

"Probably anywhere but Greece." Romeo joked.

"That's rude to Uncle Heracles!" Feliciano giggled.

"Why do we even call him uncle? He's basically the same age as Lovi."

"No idea."

The conversation died. Romeo was too busy cooking his lunch to continue poking fun at their odd family relationship. Uncle Heracles was actually only half of an uncle to them, their grandmother's son after she divorced their grandfather. Even with the two remaining close friends, Feliciano and his brothers barely see their uncle.

But it wasn't the time to think about family drama.

Feliciano placed his arms on his brother's shoulders, an old habit which hadn't died even after Romeo outgrew him. "What are you making?"

"Eggs." Romeo answered.

"Yeah, I can see that." Feliciano giggled. "Wait, that's all you're gonna eat?"

"That's four eggs, Feli."

"That's not a lunch!" Feliciano was offended. "Move over, I'm gonna make you something proper."

Romeo stopped and stared at Feliciano. "I wanna eat eggs. And I wanna make my own lunch. So go away."

Before Feliciano could protest, Romeo wiggled his eyebrows in the direction of the door, clicking with his tongue. No point in fighting, Feliciano, just be a good dog and walk away.

He returned to his room, wondering if he should paint more or leave it to settle for a few days. Or he could check how his new painting was doing on the social media.

Feliciano opened his Instagram first, saw that he got a few likes and no comments so far. Tumblr was even worse. Well, he didn't expect much in the first place.

Then he got a WhatsApp notification. From an unknown number.

'Hey Feli! <3' 'I haven't heard from you in a while, how are you?' 'This is Elizabeta btw. From middle school.'

Oh. It was Lizzie.

Truth to be told, Feliciano had the unfortunate luck to get all the numbers from his middle school deleted in a broken phone accident. Good thing he kept his old number.

He added her back to his contacts and responded.

♡~Feli~♡: Heyy Lizzie ♡~Feli~♡: True long time no hear ♡~Feli~♡: Im fine how are you hows life in Hungary

Feliciano decided to browse around his phone, waiting for a reply.

Lizzie: Great actually XD Lizzie: I'm not really living in Hungary anymore Lizzie: I got married

♡~Feli~♡: Congratulations!! ♡~Feli~♡: Where do you live now

Lizzie: Germany Lizzie: Actually that's what I texted you for Lizzie: See I saw your latest art on Facebook Lizzie: From the book Silence in Venice Lizzie: And I showed it to my husband's cousin and he's really into it so I wanted to ask if you'd be okay if I gave him your number Lizzie: He wants to gush about his emotions to you

Feliciano blinked. There was too much going on right now. First of all, he posted his art on Facebook? Unlikely, but then again he is prone to forgetting about things when it comes to art. That's how he failed his Art History. Stupid Rembrant.

Second of all, he was not comfortable with that at all. Elizabeta having his number was alright and all, even if they haven't seen each other since forever, but a complete stranger... He'll have to pass on that.

♡~Feli~♡: Actually... ♡~Feli~♡: Id rather you dont do that ♡~Feli~♡: Im not really comfortable with that ♡~Feli~♡: He can message me on Insta tho ♡~Feli~♡: Or Tumblr

A couple of minutes passed.

Lizzie: Yeah no problem Lizzie: He doesn't have either but I'm gonna make him some Lizzie: What's your Tumblr username

♡~Feli~♡: Artisloveandlife

Lizzie: That sounds just like you :D

Feliciano wasn't sure if he was supposed to wait for something or go and do his own thing. He wasn't sure if he even had a thing to do in the first place.

Half an hour passed. Feliciano spent them on Youtube, watching random cat videos. They were cute, but he wasn't really into them at the moment. Then his phone buzzed, two notifications from Tumblr.

'lutzie71 has followed you.'

'fryingpansandyaoi has followed you.'

Moments later, he was hit with another message on WhatsApp.

Lizzie: Heh took me a while Lizzie: I'm fryingpansandyaoi and he's lutzie71 Lizzie: You might want to message him first he's really shy

How cute! Feliciano thought. Shy men were the best kind of men in his opinion.

♡~Feli~♡: Okay lol ♡~Feli~♡: You re still into yaoi omg ♡~Feli~♡: Some things never change hahah

Lizzie: Yeah...

♡~Feli~♡: You re not trying to set me up with him are you now

Lizzie: No I've grown out of that phase Lizzie: Just talk to him he's been staring at his phone without blinking for a few minutes now Lizzie: It's freaking me out

♡~Feli~♡: Aww thats adorable ♡~Feli~♡: I will text him now

And true to his word, Feliciano opened his Tumblr, followed back his new mutuals, and typed out his message to a potential new friend.

Artisloveandlife: Hello! Artisloveandlife: How are you? I'm Elizabeta's friend! Nice to meet you!

3 minutes passed before Feliciano got a response.

Lutzie71: Hello... Lutzie71: I really appreciate your artwork for my book. Lutzie71: I am Ludwig by the way.

It was at that moment that Feliciano knew... the tables are about to be flipped.

[if-i-want-to-dance]

Dance with Devils headcanons for the boys going to a haunted house with their S/O

Happy Halloween, everyone~

Rem

You tug at Rem’s sleeve and point at the mock haunted mansion. “Come on! Pleeeease?”

Rem sighs and nods.

You enter through the ramshackle front door to find yourselves in a room that looks like a Victorian parlor.

A woman in a black dress approaches you, holding a flickering lantern. “I trust you had a safe trip? Good to hear. Now, I have to warn you that it’s been quite active tonight. I wish you luck with him.” She gestures with the lantern towards the next door.

Rem takes your hand and leads you towards the door.

The next room is what looks like a bedroom. A little girl sits on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs.

She stops at the sight of you. “Oh, hello. Are you here to take care of it?”

“...Yes?” you respond.

The girl points to what looks like a closet door. “He’s in there.”

You go to the door and try it. Nothing.

The room goes pitch black.

Behind you, light flares. You turn around.

The girl is standing in the middle of the room, staring at you and holding a kitchen knife. “It’s here to play.”

You gasp in surprise.

Rem’s grip on your hand tightens and he puts his other arm around your shoulders. “Are you okay?”

The room goes black again, then the lights turn on. The girl is gone.

“Are you sure about this?” Rem rubs your shoulders. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine. Just startled.”

“If you say so.” Rem moves you towards the other door, which leads to a narrow set of dark stairs.

You end up in what looks like a dining room, where two more girls are playing with their backs to you.

A woman in a grey dress and apron approaches you. Her eyes are black holes. “Are you here to see the girls? How lovely of you to come and play.”

The two girls turn around - their eyes are empty and their white dresses stained with blood.

You shriek in surprise and take a step back.

Rem pulls you behind him. “It’s okay, they’re not real.”

You nod, shaking.

“Do you need to leave?”

You nod again.

A few minutes later, you’re both standing outside again. Rem puts a hand on top of yours. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I thought I was braver than that...”

“Those are meant to scare people, and they’re all fake. You were doing fine up until then. There’s nothing wrong with that. But I take it there will be no more haunted houses for you?”

You shake your head.

He takes your hand and leads you off towards the carousel.

Urie

“Butterfly, if you wanted to spend time in a carnival, we should have just gone to my dreamworld.”

You shake your head. “While I do love having your dream one to ourselves, the crowds and the buzz are part of the fun.” Your eyes settle on an attraction next to a teacup ride. “Urie! Look, a haunted house! You don’t have one of those in your dreamworld.”

Urie’s smile freezes on his face for a moment. “No, I don’t.”

You grab his hand. “Let’s go in!”

Urie sighs. “If you like.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“I would go anywhere with you, Butterfly.”

You roll your eyes and walk up to the haunted house, which is designed to look vaguely like a circus big top, complete with actors dressed as circus actors. 

“Come in, we’ve been waiting~” sings one of them, her blank expression not matching her cheery tone.

Urie puts a hand around your waist. “Be sure to hold my hand if you get scared, Butterfly~”

You laugh and open the door.

The room is cluttered with circus props, with a clown sitting in the corner.

“Hi?” you say.

The actor stares at you and say nothing.

You proceed towards the door, her eyes following you as you walk.

Urie’s grip on your hand tightens.

A voice comes from behind you. “...Watch out for the trapeze artist.”

You turn around but the clown is gone.

Urie laughs. “It’s all just a show, Butterfly. Nothing more, nothing less.” He plants a kiss on your cheek and pushes aside the curtain in your way.

You enter a room full of circus costumes - most of which are torn and stained with blood.

A girl in a frilly, tattered dress stares at you dully. “Why are you here? She can find you here. Go! Go quickly!” She points at the door, which you both head through.

Urie’s grip on your hand tightens. “Don’t worry, Butterfly, it’s all a show, that’s all.”

“I’m not that scared yet, Urie!” You laugh.

“Aren’t you though?” A man in a tattered magicians costume appears in front of you. “You SHOULD BE!”

Urie jumps and glares at the man.

Is he... scared? No...

The magician runs out cackling like a lunatic.

“Urie... do you not like haunted houses?”

Urie reddens. “Butterfly - ”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if I’d known.”

“You wanted to.” He pouts slightly. “These haunted houses don’t exactly scare me - I’ve seen much, much more terrifying things. I do find them unpleasant though. I don’t like being shouted at and having the actors try to startle me, it’s unsettling. I’m fully aware it’s a show but even so.”

You kiss him. “We’ll walk through to the end, and then no more of this. And thank you.” You put your arm around his waist and walk towards the next door.

Mage

“A haunted corn maze?” Mage eyes the sign over the entrance, directing his flashlight up and illuminating the word “Welcome”.

“Yeah, one of my friends did it last year. She said it was fun. You want to?”

Mage hesitates.

“You’re not scared, are you?”

A minute later you’re heading into the maze, Mage practically dragging you behind him. “Okay, so we just have to find our way out?”

“Pretty much. It’s not big so if we get lost we can call for help and they’ll come get us out.” Your boots squelch in the mud as you advance between the cornrows. “And no using magic on the actors or attacking them, they’re not getting paid enough to get struck by lightning.”

“Actors?”

“Yeah, there’s people in costume who come out and try to scare you.”

“Not like they could scare - ”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” A clown with a chainsaw jumps out of the stalks and runs at you.

Mage freezes for a split second, eyes wide.

He grabs you and runs.

You leave the clown’s cackling in the distance as he tears through the cornstalks, straight through to the end of the maze.

Once he stops, he sets you down and turns back to see the new path he’s created through the maze, the chainsaw-wielding clown staring at you at the end of it.

“Oops.”

“No haunted corn mazes anymore?”

“Nope.”

“...Let’s get out of here before anyone else sees what we did.”

“Yup.”

Shiki

Shiki pulls on your arm. “Let’s go into the Haunted House. Come on~”

You roll your eyes and go along with him. It’s just a carnival haunted house made to look like a hospital. It’s not like anything in there is any kind of real terror. Except for Shiki.

You go through the front door into what looks like a waiting room.

The nurse sitting behind the desk looks up at you and smiles. “The doctor is waiting for you, my dears. Go right on in~”

Shiki puts his arm around your waist and opens the door for you. You step into the doctor’s examining room, where a man in a dingy white coat and holding a clipboard beckons you towards a examining chair with dilapidated leather straps. “Come, sit down, I’ll examine you.”

Shiki’s eyes lock on the straps and he plops himself down in the chair, putting his hands out to be restrained.

You and the actor exchange glances. You shake your head and grab his hand, pulling him off. “Shiki, no.”

The actor goes on, explaining that you’re being committed the madhouse and sending you through into the next room. The dingy room is lined with beds, and several are occupied with patients.

“Are you new?” A woman in a ragged nightdress ambles up to you like a zombie, staring at you with huge eyes. “Come, lay down and sleep... forever....”

Shiki puts an arm around your waist. “Are you feeling sleepy?”

You glare at him and say nothing.

A man approaches you, holding a syringe. “...I’m hungry... I want to eat... I like eating flesh... one toe? Please just one?”

Shiki puts himself in front of you.

He removes his shoe, then his sock, and holds out his foot for the man. “As many as you want.”

The actor blinks a little.

“The pain... it would be so exciting...” Shiki moans.

You pull Shiki’s sock back on, then put his foot back in the shoe. “Let’s go, Shiki.” You grab his wrist and pull him past the bewildered actors, through the door, and past the bloodied nurse who jumps out screaming.

Shiki moans again at the screaming actor.

You tow him past all the scares, ignoring them all until you’re past them and at the exit in the sunlight.

You release his wrist. “Don’t freak out the actors, Shiki.”

Shiki pouts. “Meanie~” He puts an arm around your waist and kisses you on the cheek. “ Let’s go do something else.”

Lindo

“Are you sure?” Lindo frowns at the haunted house, which has been made up to look like a red and white circus tent.

“I can handle it, Lindo! I’m not a little kid!”

“Fine.” He pays the lady and the front and leads you forward through the doors.

You find yourself in a room with red and white striped circus tent walls and multiple exits with curtains.

A man dressed as a bloody clown stares at you both. “Well, take your pick, I can’t wait all day.”

Lindo’s grip on your hand tightens. It’s kind of cute how protective he is, even if it’s just a fake horror clown. You squeeze his hand back and push back the curtain in front of one of the doors.

You follow the narrow, dim tunnel behind it, only to come out one of the other doors and back into the room with the clown.

The clown smirks at you. “Aw, are you lost?”

Lindo glares at him and pulls you through another curtain. This one leads you to a small, similarly dim room littered with circus props.

A little girl carrying a doll runs up to you. “Please, he’s after me! Run!” The little girl runs past you and disappears.

Lindo leads you forward through the narrow exit.

“Hey there!” A bloodied clown jumps at you, holding a butcher’s knife.

Lindo scoops you into his arms and bolts.

He runs past all the other scares, ignoring the trapeze artist with no eyes and the ragged, bloodied ringmaster brandishing a whip, vaulting over several pieces of circus equipment.

He doesn’t stop until he runs through a striped curtain and the frigid night air hits you.

He stops and looks around at the other carnival attractions. The brightly lit carousal, the maze of mirrors, the Ferris wheel in the distance. His eyes are still wide and his hands are shaking slightly.

“Lindo... what was that?” 

He seems to see you for the first time. “Oh! I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. I was startled.” He sets you on your feet.

He seems oddly perturbed. Odd. It was just a clown... wait. “Lindo... are you afraid of clowns?”

Lindo’s face turns as red as his hair. “...they’re creepy.”

“You’re an exorcist who sees demons on a regular basis and clowns scare you?”

He avoids your gaze and stares at the boyfriend.

You laugh and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for protecting me.”

He blushes and puts an arm around your waist. “Let’s go do something else that doesn’t involve those freaks.”

Roen

“...You know these are fake and these are all just actors and special effects, right?”

You sigh. “Of course I do, Roen. But it’s fun!”

Roen sighs and pays, following you into the mortuary themed attraction.

The room you enter is decked out in flowers, with a coffin in the center.

A woman in a black dress leads you forward towards the coffin. “Hello, I’m the director here. I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to say goodbye one last time?”

Roen sighs. “If I must.”

You dig him in the ribs with your elbow and he lifts the lid of the coffin.

A woman in a white dress with bloody nails jumps out of the coffin, gasping. “They locked me in there! Get out! Save yourself!” She sprints past you into the back room.

The woman in the black dress sighs and shepherds you around the coffin towards the back room.

Roen puts an arm around your waist. He seems... tense? Strange...

The next room is also full of flowers, but filled with rows of caskets and lit by candles.

The lids on the caskets pop up and bloodied bodies rise from them.

You shudder and Roen’s grip on you tightens. He’s not getting scared, is he? if anything he should be finding this ridiculous.

Roen reaches behind you and tries the door. It doesn’t open.

He frowns and glances at the woman in the black dress, who seems confused and tries it herself.

Roen walks you forward through the actors, who are very close.

He pushes you in front of the door. “Stand here and don’t move.”

You turn to see the actors have all stopped and are staring at him.

“Did I give the Fuserhof House offense when I fought you last, Lilith?”

One of the actresses shimmers and transforms into a woman in a long black dress. “Leave him alive, but she can die.”

One of the bloodied actors lunges at you.

Roen steps in front of you, blocking your attacker, and, putting two fingers in his mouth, gives a sharp whistle.

Lilith glowers at him. “She’s only a human, she ought to be your shield, not you hers.”

Roen sighs. “As always, you’re not paying attention. Do you remember what happened in our last fight?”

She looks down.

You follow her gaze to see two hounds tearing at her shadow.

She screams and vanishes.

All the actors collapse to the floor.

Roen sighs and gives you a hug, pulling you against his chest. “No more haunted houses.”

You nod and return the way you came.

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

All aboard the Midnight Train

One of the hardest parts of embarking on a big journey is taking the first step. I can say for certain that you will definitely stumble and fall - believe me, I’ve fallen further than I’ve moved forward - but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

That’s not to say you don’t have every right to be ticked off when things go wrong. I mean mishaps can be a good learning experience, but it’s okay to get frustrated when you lose your way. 

Hell, it’s absolutely okay to bail out and throw in the towel when you’re just not feeling it. Perseverance is good, but sometimes it’s okay to say “fuck this shit, I’m out” - not to mention freeing if it’s about something that’s really dragging you down.

Sometimes life doesn’t work out. It fucking sucks but in most cases there’s nothing you can really do other than carry on. As my mom says, what’s done is done. Stop trying to build a house if it brings you more frustration than joy - tear the whole damn thing down and burn the remains if you have to.

Funny how far your mind can wander when you’re on a train. With nothing but trees, beautiful landscapes, and the starry night skies, deep thoughts are bound to run free. Especially when it’s about something that’s been on your mind for a while.

At the start of the new year, Daisy Jane decided to leave Rosevine. Like many other old friends - and myself - as much as we love our charming little town, we were starting to outgrow it. After spending almost two years at home stuck in a limbo, Daisy Jane had enough and packed her bags. Her mom wasn't too on board with the idea as she doesn’t really have the means to support herself but nevertheless she gave her daughter her blessing to go out in the world.

Daisy Jane’s one of those people who deserve so much more and yet usually ends up with the short end of the stick. She’s one of the most creative people I know and could easily make it as an artist if she had the support. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not nagging on her family, but at times they don’t respect her enough - especially her sister. 

What I’m saying is that Daisy Jane could've become an artist if she wanted to, but disapproval from family is a hefty roadblock. They say doubt kills more dreams than failure but what about strict family expectations? Asian parents, amirite?

Tired of sitting around at home, getting repeatedly rejected in a career involving a degree she worked her ass off for, and being put down for not being as successful as everyone else, Daisy Jane needed to get out. So she did, taking a leap of faith and jumping straight into the unknown. She didn’t have a plan in mind, but sometimes you just gotta cut and run before you lose your nerve.

Months of traveling led her to the small village of Neptunia as she was running low on funds. What seemed like a promising new start quickly fell apart as soon as she stepped into her new house. That’s because it’s not actually her house - it belongs to someone else. Because Neptunia is so small and resources are limited, Daisy Jane is stuck rooming with a stranger. And both have to pay off the remaining mortgage, adding to the annoyance of both since the main resident already paid off a huge part of it herself.

Because of the living situation, Daisy Jane’s not too keen about living in Neptunia now. Her housemate’s nice and all but neither one were prepared for the roommate situation. Had she known about that, Daisy Jane wouldn’t have gone through with the move. But knowing how bad Tom Nook felt about the miscommunication regarding housing (you just can’t stay mad at him for too long - and in his defense, Neptunia’s kinda on the bottom of his list of villages he’s overseeing so it’s easy to forget things) Daisy Jane decided to stick around and see how things work out.

Six months in and things have been pretty meh for Daisy Jane. She didn’t want to dwell on the negatives too much but I suspected that she wasn’t entirely truthful. Always eager to please and willing to silently suffer, that Daisy Jane. Instead of creating art like she wants to, Daisy Jane’s been selling pears and shells, randomly planting stuff around the village, and running errands for everyone. She doesn’t mind doing all that (well, except maybe the garden, which she admits isn’t something she’s too excited about) but it all seems kinda anticlimactic. It also doesn’t help that Neptunia’s kinda isolated so there’s rarely any visitors, so things are pretty monotonous.

And to top it all off, Daisy Jane’s experiencing the absolute worst art block ever. By spending all her waking hours trying to pay off a mortgage, saving up for a rainy day, and catering to everyone else’s needs, she rarely has time for herself - or her creativity. 

I really miss seeing her art online. It’s been months since she last posted something she made and it’s sad. You never know how much you miss something until it’s gone. The same can be said about creativity.

I’ve had my moments where my creativity and motivation for art burns out and it’s not a good feeling. Being someone who is driven by creating art, losing that spark is one of my biggest fears because without it, I’d be nothing. Art is one of those things that keep me going so to lose that means I’ve lost my purpose. I’d hate to think about what happens if my creativity is gone for good.

And what’s even worse is that I’m afraid Daisy Jane’s headed for that direction if she doesn’t take action soon. I suspected something from our texts and her posts, but seeing her in person really puts things into perspective. 

She’s not one for selfies, her last one being taken over a year ago, so seeing her face for the first time in forever, I almost didn’t recognize her. From her hair being tied into three messy pigtails instead of adorned with pretty clips to the concealer hiding away the bags under her eyes and the slightly too dark blush on her face (what happened to her naturally rosy cheeks?) as well as the slightly ragged Nook shirt a couple sizes too large, I could’ve sworn that she was someone else.

Visiting Neptunia wasn’t too bad, but it’s no Wizpire. Things are just a tad bit too slow for my liking - and a bit outdated as well, then again what do you expect in these parts? Honestly I’m surprised that Tom Nook still keeps tabs on this village, especially since he’s busy with islands and such. Then again, he does feel bad about Daisy Jane’s housing mishap so he’s been dropping by quite a bit to check in on her.

To say that Daisy Jane’s been frustrated is an understatement. She describes it as escaping from one prison only to get stuck in a trap. Except staying in the trap is more practical than going back out on the road where it’s unpredictable. So she’s in a position where she feels like she can’t really complain because it’s not like she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere. It’s not an ideal situation but sometimes you need to pick and choose your battles.

I can’t tell Daisy Jane what to do since it’s not up to me, nor should I try to influence her in any way, but I can take her away for a bit. An outsider’s perspective can be super helpful, especially if you’ve been looking way too closely and missing out on the big picture. I know I’ve fallen into that trap too many times, wasting too much time and energy on one small piece without considering the overall grand scheme of things.

So we took out the train amenity to go on a late night ride. We’ve been meaning to bring back the train and this was the perfect opportunity for it. A scenic route’s the perfect way to escape from monotony and let your mind wander without putting too much effort into it. 

Also, Daisy Jane enjoys long train rides as she’s the kind of artist who breaks out a sketchbook to capture the view outside her window. It’s amazing what she can do with a pen (yes, she uses a ballpoint pen and does so with full confidence) and paper. It would be a shame to see her talent and passion go to waste.

The train ride was super relaxing and beautiful to look at. Of course, it didn’t solve Daisy Jane’s problems, but it was a good retreat. I can tell by how much her eyes lit up that she’s feeling a lot better than she had in a long time. I had suggested that she bring her sketchbook along as well as a pen (no pencil, because that’s now how Daisy Jane works!) and that did wonders for her. 

I never thought that the sight of Daisy Jane scribbling in her sketchbook with ink stained hands would bring me as much joy as it did tonight. I’m pretty sure she filled about half the book in the span of a couple hours.

Creativity can be fickle. Sometimes it flows in a steady stream, sometimes it comes and goes, and other times it goes into a drought before flooding back like a storm. The latter is what describes Daisy Jane. Hopefully the storm will lead to a steady flow of inspiration. After all, you can’t keep the tide from coming in, even after a long dry spell.

The night’s still young and there’s still so much to see. It’s just me and Daisy Jane in the train but it feels like we’re in different worlds. There she is, scribbling away, capturing the views outside her window. Jagged shapes for mountains, curving lines for rivers, scattered stars bringing a night sky to life - even in rough sketches, you can tell it’s unmistakably Daisy Jane.

A train ride won’t solve all of Daisy Jane’s problems, but it’s a start. 

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“Bloody Knuckles” High Honor!Arthur Morgan x Low Honor!Reader

Okay, it took me forever to get this fic out because I had the separate ideas for art supply store and low honor reader/high honor Arthur but couldn’t quite come up with a solid plan. After playing some Red Dead, I had a very strong urge to beat there ever living shit out of Micah and that sparked this idea! I honestly really like the idea of High Honor Arthur and Low Honor Reader so you’ll probs see more fics like this one in the future! 

Fluff with lots of adorable pining! Trigger warning: Violence, sexual harassment, mention of rape (just a threat, but just in case.)

After Arthur fills the pages in his journal, you take him to a small art supply shop to help him pick out a new one.

You rolled into camp mid day. You had been gone for three days to work a robbery but the Pinkertons arrived at impeccable timing. You spent the last two nights sleeping in the woods and you were pissed. Ever since Micah joined your rag tag group, trouble has been behind every corner. At first you thought it was coincidence when your jobs went smoothly while Micah was in jail or camping up near Strawberry. You told yourself it was because he wasn’t there to fly off the handle, but ever since he returned to camp, you weren’t so sure. Blood was dried to your clothes and you were covered in dirt head to toe.

You hitched your horse and made a beeline for your tent. You felt grimy and exhausted. “Come on, girl. Let me get a taste of that chocolate skin.” Your head twisted up in disgust to see no other than Micah cornering Tilly. Usually you don’t have time to get caught up in camp drama, but when Tilly caught your eye, the fear you saw there sent you off the handle. You stormed up behind Micah and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him to face you. “Y/N!” He said in surprise. “So quiet, I didn’t even hear ya come back to camp.” His voice was nervy, knowing he had been caught. You looked at Tilly. “Go on, Ill take care of this trash.”

Tilly nodded and quickly walked in the direction of her tent. Micah sneered at you. “Ya know, I like seeing you get all jealous, warms my heart. You know you’ll always be my favorite.”

You spit at his feet. “I don’t know why but Dutch trusts you. My personally, I wouldn’t trust you farther than I could throw you. I hear one more disgusting remark, see you put one more hand on one of the girls round here, you’ll be dead. Hear me? No questions asked, I can deal with Dutch later.”

“You think killin’ me is gonna be that easy cowpolk?” Micah straightened his back, he was bigger than you and trying to assert dominance.

You laughed, “trust me, had weapons been allowed in camp, youdve been dead long ago.”

Micah scoffed. “Careful sweet thang, or I’ll be comin’ after you next.” He leaned in close and whispered in your ear. “I’ll slit your throat before you wake up, that way no when can hear you scream while I fuck your-“

“Well well, if it ain’t my two favorite people!” Dutch approached you from his tent.

You pushed Micah off you and brushed your clothes. “You May want to reevaluate your favorite people Dutch, it’ll get your throat slit in your sleep one day.” You glared at Micah as you shoved passed Dutch. You gave up warning Dutch long ago. He wasn’t the man you once followed, the Dutch you knew would’ve never let a piece of scum like Micah into their ranks. The Dutch you knew would’ve sent him packing the first time he touched Mary Beth, or tried to pay Abigail for sex. Just about every woman in that camp went to Dutch, voicing their fears and uncomfort with Micah. You recalled Mary Beth crying to Dutch about how Micah had groped her and whispered vile things in her ear and if Charles didn’t walk by when he did, she wouldn’t have gotten out there so quickly. You remembered listening in wholehearted disgust as Dutch defended him, told her not to be so sensitive and Micah didn’t mean it. When Mary Beth ran from Dutch’s tent crying, you barged in and gave Dutch an ear full. The whole camp could hear you screaming at him and he just watched you with cold uncaring eyes. That was the day you decided Dutch wasn’t the man you once knew, nor would he be the man you followed. There was one reason you stayed, and one reason alone. There he was, sitting under a shady oak tree with his nose buried in his journall. Nothing in this world had ever softened your heart like he did.

Your body was tired and you were angry, but there he was, so peaceful and calm. His hair moved with the gentle breeze, this was your destresser. You smiled as you approached him.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” You asked as you approached him from behind.

He looked up at you and smiled. “Ran into Albert again today. He was tryin’ to get pictures of alligators.”

You rolled your eyes, “that man is going to get himself eaten one day.”

Arthur handed you his journal. “I know, that’s what I keep telling him, but the man’s a damned fool.”

You admired the beautiful sketch that took up the last two pages in his journal. Arthur didn’t let anyone look into his journal, most the camp didn’t even realize he could draw much less write. “Arthur, this is beautiful! In another life you would’ve been a famous artist.” You frowned. “Sucks it’s your last page though.”

Arthur rubbed his neck and you handed him the journal. “Yeah, I’m in need of a new one. I already checked at the store in Rhodes and they don’t have any. God knows how long it’ll take me to find another one.”

“I do!” You cried. “In Saint Denis, I saw an art store right beside the tailor!”

“Well alright!” Arthur said as he stood. “I’ll head that way.” He extended a hand down to you. “Want to come with? Looks like you could use a visit to the tailor. And a bath.”

You laughed, “I suppose you’re right. Let me change into some different clothes and splash some water on my face and I’ll be ready.”

“Sounds good!” Arthur turned and waved as he walked towards his tent. Suddenly your body wasn’t so tired and you weren’t in such a bad mood when you made your way to your tent. You dug around in your trunk for your favorite shirt. “Shit, where is it?” You cursed to yourself. You looked down. That’s where it was. You had mistakenly grabbed it and shredded it for bandaging just before you left for your robbery job. You sighed and called to Abigail who shared a tent with you. “Can I borrow one of your shirts? I’m taking Arthur down to Saint Denis.”

She raised an eyebrow at you, “How gentlemanly of you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up. I guess I’ll stop at the tailor to grab a new outfit if you just let me borrow one.”

Abigail crosses her arms. “You gotta let me pick it out.”

You groaned. “Fine, but no skirts, you know I don’t like skirts.”

Abigail rolled her eyes as she went through her blouses. “I know I know. I wish you would just try them though, they’re perfect for this weather, plus I bet Arthur will think it’s cute.” She gave you a knowing look and you turned red.

“No he won’t, because I ain’t cute period.” You crossed your arms stubbornly then sighed. You did like the idea of Arthur thinking your cute. You bit your lip. “Just find me a cute blouse and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“A cute blouse eh?” Abigail giggled. “How about this one?” She lifted up a button down pale blue shirt with little white flowerrs.

“I like it, but they won’t match my pants.”

“Then wear a pair of mine!”

“All of yours are too tight!”

She rolled her eyes and threw you a pair of golden khaki riding pants. “That’s because they’re actually made for women. They wouldn’t feel too tight if you didn’t wear men’s clothes all the time.”

“They’re comfy.” You responded as you changed pants.

“Yeah well comfort won’t catch a man now will it?”

You sighed as you pulled off your top and began buttoning the new one. You turned and looked at your reflection. It always surprised you to see how much curvier you were in women’s clothing. “And a final touch,” Abigail sung as she replaced the old beat up hat on your head for a more feminine sun hat. Floppy yet simple. You groaned. “I dunno Abigail, I think I look funny.”

She leaned her head against your shoulder as you looked in the mirror. “You look adorable, you just ain’t used to wearing proper clothes. Now get out there!” She shoved you hard and you stumbled out of the tent. You almost fell when heavy hands caught you. he chuckled, “careful now.”

You smiled up at him as you leveled your feet. “Thanks Arthur.”

“No problem.” He backed up and looked at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in women’s clothes before.”

You blushed and turned away, “I know, I look silly. I just-“ you sighed and felt ridiculous. “Abigail let me borrow some clothes since most of mine are in rags.”

“You look lovely.” He extended his elbow to you, “you ready my lady?”

You tucked a fly away hair behind the sun hat and took his arm. He led you to the horses and unlooped his arm from yours. “You can ride with me if you like.” He offered.

You nodded. “Thank you Arthur, Blue deserves a rest, he’s been on his hooves since the morning I left.”

Arthur mounted his horse and offered you his hand. You took it and he helped you up his horse. “What happened back there by the way? I thought it was only gonna take a day.”

You rolled your eyes as you wrapped your arms around his waist and the horse bolted off. “Pinkertons showed up and ruined the whole damn plan. I swear, its like every job we plan with dumb ass Micah ends with the law knowing exactly how to catch us. Something’s up with him and I know it.”

Arthur nodded. “I can’t stand that snake. I don’t know what Dutch sees in him.”

“Me neither. One of these days I’m gonna knock his teeth out.”

Arthur laughed, “I’d pay to see that.”

“Well, stick around because if I see him touch Tilly one more time I’m gonna rip his arm right out of its socket.”

Arthur laughed, “so violent!” Arthur’s voice changed more serious. “Seriously though, don’t go gettin’ yourself hurt by messin’ with a fool like him. If he ever bothers you, you tell me. I’ll take care of him real fast.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “What, you think I can’t take him on my own?”

“I never said that.” Arthur’s horse slowed to a casual trot as you entered the large city. “This is Saint Denis?” He coughed and gagged. “Smells terrible.”

“Turn here. Yeah, humanity’s greatest advancements. I’m not surprised, humanity has a way of painting a pile of shit gold and calling it divinity.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” Arthur tipped his hat to a passing carriage. “The sooner we get outta here, the better.”

“Just keep heading straight. At the end of this street take a left and it should be on the corner up here.”

Arthur followed your directions to the art supply. He pulled his horse to a halt and hitched it in front of the building. He dropped from the horse to let you down. “Such a gentleman!” You laugh.

You walked up the stairs to the shops and Arthur took your hand to lead you through the crowds. You looked down at his big hand wrapped around yours and swallowed the lump growing in your throat. He released your hand when you entered the small art supply shop. “Welcome!” Greeted the shop owner.

“Afternoon, partner.” Arthur responded. You were always so taken aback by Arthur’s polite manners. For someone who grew up as rough as he did, you wondered where those polite mannerisms came from. You split off to explore the store. Art supplies lines the walls, everything from canvas to paint to pencils to things you didn’t even have names for.

“Y/N!” Arthur called in a hushed voice. “Over here.”

You found him surrounded by note books, journals, and sketchbooks. “Wow,” You whispered. “There’s so many to choose from.”

“Which is your favorite?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, “we’re here for you Arthur, not me.”

He shrugged. “I know, just curious.”

Your eyes studied the books, various styles and shapes. You smiled down at a red brown leather journal, small flowers ran embellished the border and a fox ran down the spine. “I like this one! How about you?”

Arthur was holding one similar, the leather was more brown and it had a deer stamped with ink on the front. He nodded, “I think I’m gonna go with this one. Why don’t you get that one?” He asked as you set yours back on the shelf.

You shrugged. “I’ll come back for it later. I really need to spend my money on some new clothes right now. Although, if you distract the shop keep I can steal it.”

Arthur raised a brow at you then shook his head disapprovingly. “Fine.”

His broad shoulders bumped you as he squeezed between you and the shelf of journals. When Arthur got to the front to pay, you looked down at the shelf and the journal was gone! You frantically looked around the shelf and shifted books out of the way. It was just there? You bent down to search the floor when Arthur called to you from the door. “Let’s go!”

You frowned and met him at the door. He was clutching the brown paper bag the clerk had put his new purchase in. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I couldn’t find the journal! One minute it was there and then it was gone, I guess it’s no big deal but I was hoping you could teach me to draw.”

He looked at you surprised. “Really? Would you rather someone more talented teach you?”

You scoffed and gave his shoulder a shove. “Of course! You’re a very talented artist, Arthur.”

His cheeks turned a slight shade of pink as he rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Nah, it’s just little doodles that’s all.”

The look on his face when he talked down to himself always made your heart ache. You could see through the sad smile he was trying to pass off. “Why do you always do that?” You asked.

“Do what?”

“You always talk about how bad you are and how ugly you are. You can’t even admit that you’re good at the things you enjoy like drawing and writing!” You huffed. “I just hate seeing you put yourself down, you’re your own worst enemy and you’re just so-“ You cut yourself off. You could feel him staring at you and your cheeks flushed. You looked away and quickly changed the subject. “So, do you need anything while we’re at the tailor?”

He cleared his throat and stroked his thick beard. “I guess I could use a new vest.” He pulled his finger through a hole in the side seem of his worn down vest. “What kinda clothes are you thinkin’?”

“I definitely need some new shirts and pants. I uh, I was thinking I would buy some more women’s clothes.”

“Like a skirt?” Arthur asked. He didn’t laugh, but you still felt embarrassed.

“I dunno, I feel like I look weird in ladies clothes.” Your eyes stayed on the ground feeling rather self conscious.

He put his hand on the small of your back and you looked up at him. He greeted your gaze with a kind smile. “I think you’ll look lovely in whatever you choose.”

Your whole face turned bright red and you tripped over your words. “Oh I...t-thank you Arthur.”

A small bell chimes as he held the door open for you. The boutique was filled with fancy dresses, trousers, skirts. Blouses of every style and color hung from the walls. Arthur’s hand did not stray from your waist and you took comfort in the warmth of his hand. Arthur seemed to be having more fun with this than you, pulling pieces out to show you left and right. He did always have such nice style, so you trusted in his opinion. You laughed as he pulled ridiculous things and he made silly faces. He draped your pieces over his arm, not allowing you to hold any of it. Even when you pulled out a lovely vest he quickly snagged it and threw it over his arm. After you exhausted the women’s side of the boutique, you moved to the men’s side. Arthur shook his head in disapproval every time you lifted an over sized ranch shirt up for yourself. You’d roll your eyes, but you couldn’t help but recall your conversation with Abigail. You decided to step out of your comfort zone and Arthur was helping.

“Just a vest, my ass.” You taunted as Arthur added a pair of pants over his shirt and two vests. “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry anything?”

“No!” Arthur said defensively as you tried to snatch the clothes from his hand. “Damn it woman I’m finished lookin’ anyways.” He led you to the fitting rooms and handed you your pile. As he turned to his separate room he pointed a finger at you, “now I want to see those on you before you go sayin’ they look ‘weird.’”

“Fine fine, but if I should you mine you show me yours!” You joked as you closed the door to your room.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You heard him call sarcastically from his room.

The first outfit you tried on had navy riding pants and a fitted pink button down, accented with navy buttons and outlining. You added a white floral vest to it and examined it in the mirror before stepping out. “I dunno,” you called to Arthur. “I like the colors, but do you think it’s, I don’t know...too frilly?”

Arthur stepped out in his new chocolate pants, beige button down, and a paisley vest, mostly dark crimson with accents of various shades of brown. The clothes hugged his body perfectly and the vest accented his broad  shoulders and chest. You cleared your voice, trying not to stare.  “Looks good.”

He looked over your outfit and smiled as he adjusted his sleeves. “Back at ya, I think it looks perfect. You just ain’t used to something that isn’t a hand me down from Hosea or John.”

You punched his shoulder as you stepped back into the dressing room. “Thanks.” You said sarcastically.

Your next outfit had brown high waisted trousers and a red blouse, the material was thin and felt soft against your skin. You tucked your shirt in and smiled, this felt more like you. You fixed your collar as you walked out of your fitting room. Arthur was leaning against the doorway, the only change in his outfit was the color of his vest. This one was olive green with golden accents. “Very nice.” You said. “That one is definitely my favorite, which are you gonna go with?”

He shrugged. “Both probably. I like the red, but I gotta go with what the pretty lady says.”

You rolled your eyes as you turned back into the dressing room. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” He muttered.

You picked up the last outfit. A good pair of denim work pants and a linen top, perfect for the upcoming warm weather. Arthur had just stepped out of his fitting room in his original clothes, the pieces he had just tried on slung over his arm. “Whatcha think?” You ask.

He looks down at you and smiled. “Looks like it’s your favorite.”

“It is.” You smiled back.

He put a hand on your shoulder. “Then it’s my favorite. Hurry up and try on that last outfit.” He took a seat in a chair just outside the fitting rooms. “I’ll be right here.”

You gave him a confused look and turned back to the fitting room. “There isn’t anoth-“

“Yes there is!” He called back to you. You looked down and saw the chemise first. It’s material was soft and sheer. Underneath it was a beautiful blue material with tiny pinstripes, it reminded you of Arthur’s favorite shirt. Your cheeks flushed when you picked it up and it unfolded into a skirt. Abigail’s voice rang in your head, “I bet Arthur will think it’s cute.” Her teasing voice echoing in your mind.

You sighed and pulled on the chemise then hitched the skirt to your waist. You turned to the mirror and looked over the outfit. The way the skirt hugged the small of your waist made you look so tiny and the chemise was more low cut than you were comfortable with, but it silhouetted your body perfectly. When you walked out of the fitting room, Arthur was fiddling with this fingers. You cleared your throat and smiled shyly. He cleared his throat as his eyes trailed up and down your body. “That’s uh, that looks real..good.” He tripped over his words and his cheeks flushed. “I know you don’t normally wear skirts but I saw it and I just” He sighed. “It was my favorite color and I thought it would nice on you.” He looked up at you from under the brim of his hat with a sheepish smile. “You can put it back if you don’t like it I just-“

“I like it. I want to wear it out.”

He cleared his throat again, “good I’m glad you like it. I’m gonna go pay for my stuff while you get your stuff. Meet me outside when you get done.”

You nodded and turned to the fitting room to gather your things. Arthur has already paid and was standing against the building outside when you came out. When the owner gave you your price at the register, you tried to correct him; surely it was supposed to be more. He pointed out the window towards Arthur. “The fella you’re with paid for the clothes you’re wearing. He seems like a keeper, that one does.”

“Yeah, he does.” You said as you handed him your money. You gave him a wave as you exited the store. He looked up and smiled as you walked out of the store. He put his arm around your waist. “Want to grab a bite to eat before we head home?”

“I’d love to, but you’re letting me pay this time.”

He looked down at you,  his brows furrowed. “What? No. I’m paying.”

You groaned. “Arthur, I can’t let you buy me clothes and dinner, you’ve already spent enough on me. It’s not like this is a date or anything.” You joked.

Arthur tried to hide the disappointment on his face under the brim of his hat as grip on your waist loosened. “Oh. Well, I was hopin’....”

You looked up at him in surprise and pulled his hand back down to you. “It’s a date then.”

He smiled and his grip on you tightened. As you walked together to the saloon you flirted and laughed and it felt so natural. He held the door open for you and led you to the nearest table. “I’ll be right back.”

You watched as he walked to the bartender and ordered. After a few moments he returned with two plates. Your mouth watered as he sat your plate in front of you. A big piece of prime rib took up the majority of the plate with a side of potatoes. You were both quiet as you ate, both too focused on how delicious the food was. After you finished your plate you let out a loud belch, awarding you with a hearty laugh from Arthur. “I’m stuffed. Thank you Arthur, that was great. A whole hell of a lot better than whatever Pearson cooked up tonight.”

Arthur wiped his mouth. “Damn straight. It’s starting to get late, you ready to head home?”

You nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Arthur stood and offered you his hand. You took it and he intertwined his fingers with your as you walked out of the saloon. The sun was barely visible on the horizon, the sky mostly hues of dark blue. With his spare hand, Arthur whistled loudly for his horse.

“I’ve been meaning to do this for awhile now, take you out I mean.” He stroked his beard, “probably about as long as you’ve been riding with us.”

His horse came around the corner and you moved into the street. He put his hands around your waist and hoisted you onto the saddle. He sat behind you and pulled his arms around you to give the reigns a quick flick. You leaned back and he settled his chin on top of your head. “What a silly ol’ fool I am for waitin’ this long. Guess I always thought I wasn’t good enough for this.” He held his reigns loosely in one hand as he snaked the other around you and gave you a squeeze.

You buried your face into his chest. “I don’t know where your self hatred comes from, but I wish I could take it away from you. I wish you could see the you I see. The funny handsome man who is the kindest soul I’ve ever met. You’re so genuine, I’ve never met someone quite like you. You give me hope that maybe I could be a good person one day.”

His voice was soft in your ear. “You’re already a good person. “

“Not as good as you. I’ve killed and robbed more men, women, and children than I can count. I never really cared til I met you, you make me want to be better.”

He kissed your ear softly. “I don’t believe you could get any better than this.”

He half buried his face in your hair, keeping his eyes on the road. The soft buzzing of the crickets around you soothed you and your body began to fall back into the exhaustion you felt this morning. Your eyes felt heavy as you rested against his chest. “We’re almost there darlin’, I’m sorry I’ve kept you out so late.”

“S Okay, I’m not tired.”

He smiled. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I know.” You yawned and closed your eyes.

You didn’t even feel the horse slow to a stop. Arthur placed a kiss on the top of the head. “We’re here, sweetheart.”

He slipped down the horse and pulled you down gently. “I had so much fun today Arthur. I came home feeling terrible and you turned my whole day around. I wasn’t expecting this.” You spoke softly as he walked you to the tent, most of the camp already asleep. His fingers brushed yours and you tangled yours with his. “Me neither.” You approached your tent and you heard Abigail snoring softly. You stood staring at each other under the moon light. His thumb rubbed your hand softly. “I should let you go on then, it’s getting late.”

“Okay.” You whispered.

He let out a shaky breath and put his large palm on your face. You leaned into him as he pulled you close and gave you the softest kiss you had ever had. His lips were smooth on yours and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body tightly against yours. When he pulled away from you, you could see the redness on his cheeks and could feel his heart pounding against his chest. “I uh, I should go. Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Arthur.” You watched has he walked away, your fingers against your lips.

You almost jumped out of your skin when you entered the tent, Abigail was sitting wide awake on your bed. “Shit! Abigail, were you awake the whole time?”

She smiled at you widely, “I dunno, was that the sound of lip smacking I just heard out there?”

 You threw your pillow at her. “Shut up!”

“Ahhh no way!” She squealed.  She looked you up and down. “I see you changed your mind on skirts.” She said pointedly towards your new clothes.

“He picked it out for me, he said he was his favorite color.” You smiled down at the skirt as you fummed with the material.

“Shut up, that’s adorable. Tell me everything!” You stayed up late with Abigail and gave her all the details as you showed her your new clothes.

Arthur woke up early the next morning and pulled himself out of bed to make the morning coffee. Arthur couldn’t help but play back the night before on loop in his head. He couldn’t get over the way your lips felt on his, the way your body felt against his. When he finished the coffee, he turned and found the ususal early morning coffee group talking as he approached. He poured his own cup then handed the kettle to Sadie. “Mornin’ Arthur.” She handed the kettle to Abigail, who then handed it down to Tilly.

“So Arthur,” Tilly said in a mischievous tone. “I heard you and Y/N didn’t get back from Saint Denis until late last night.”

He rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Oh hush, its not like we did anything promiscuous.” He stared down into his coffee and could already feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

Sadie smacked him in the gut, “Arthur! I didn’t expect you to be such a lady killer.”

Arthur his his face under the brim of his hat, “Shuddup.”

Tilly giggled, “I didn’t think you had such a soft spot Arthur. I think it’s sweet.”

Abigail smiled as she took a sip from her coffee. “I do too.”

Arthur was bright red now and he stammered over his words. I don’t- you sh-“ he groaned. “Don’t you ladies have something better to do right now?”

Tilly laughed and Sadie rolled her eyes as the girls turned to walk away. When Abigail turned to leave, Arthur caught her shoulder, “Wait, can you do me a favor?”

She turned to him. “Sure, whatcha need?”

He pulled a small brown bag from his satchel and hands it to Abigail. His voice grew soft and his eyes were full of admiration as he stared down at the small brown parcel. “Can you leave this on her nightstand?”

“Of course.” Abigail turned to leave then turned her head over her shoulder. “You did a good job picking out that skirt by the way.”

“I thought so too.” He muttered to himself as he finished his coffee.

“Arthur!”

He looked up to see Dutch approaching him. “Good morning, my boy!” He hooked a heavy arm around Arthur’s shoulders and pulled him towards the horses. “I’m meeting Sheriff Gray in town and I want you to join me.”

“Okay, how long’s this gonna take?” He said as he looked longingly to your tent.

“Not long. We’ll be back by early afternoon.”

Arthur nodded and he mounted his horse. He knew you wouldn’t be awake for a few more hours, but he was disappointed he wouldn’t be there when you found your gift.

“Let’s go.” Arthur said and dug in his spurs.

When you woke, the morning sun was already high in the sky. You stretched and slowly pulled yourself out of bed. You yawned as you pulled on your denim work pants and linen shirt. You reached for your hat on the night stand and stopped. Sitting beside your hat was the small paper bag from the art store, your name scrolled across the top in Arthur’s beautiful handwriting and a fox drawn under your name. You reached in and pulled out the journal you had picked out in the art store. “That sneaky bastard,” you whisper as you run your fingers across across the cover.

You put the journal into your satchel and grabbed your hat, eager to show Abigail. You found her doing laundry and as she saw you turn the corner, she jumped up and ran to you. “What was in that bag?” She asked  excitedly before you could even say anything.

You reached into your satchel and pulled it out. Her hand came to her mouth as she gasped. “This is gorgeous! He gave me the bag  to give to you this morning at coffee and I’ve been dying to know what it was!” She handed it back to you. “He’s got it bad for you, ya know.”

You smiled sheepishly, “you think so?”

“Pfft, you should have seen him this morning! Sadie and Tilly were grillin’ him about you two getting back so late. I’ve never seen that man get so flustered. I’ve known him a long time and I ain’t never seen him like this before.”

The image of Arthur’s blushing cheeks in the moonlight and shaky breath came to the forefront of your mind and butterflies formed in your stomach. You looked around the camp, “where is he anyways?”

“Dutch took him out early this morning. John said they’ll be back soon.”

You smiled. “Good.”

You looked at each other when you heard Ms. Grimshaw cussing Karen. “I gotta get back to work. I’ll find you later when I’m done.” She waved as she turned away.

“See you.” You called as you turned away. You made your way to Arthur’s spot under the oak tree and pulled out your new journal. This spot had a perfect view of the camp and the lake behind it. No wonder Arthur spent so much time here, it was beautiful. You watched as Kieran and Lenny cared for the horses. You began drawing all the gang’s horse, starting with your own. With each new horse you drew, they slowly improved.

The last horse you drew was Silver Dollar. You flipped through the pages of different horses you had drawn, playing with different styles and angles.

The air was warm and the shade from the tree kept you comfortable. You closed your eyes and rested against the tree.

“Get yer hands off me Micah.” Abigail hissed.

You opened your eyes and turned towards the sound of her voice. Micah had Abigail cornered down alone down the small hill outside of camp where the extra supply wagon was. He had a hold of his wrist. “You’re fiesty, I like that.” He grabbed her waist. “I like you.”

You grabbed your journal and ran down the hill towards them. Micah dropped her hands as he saw you coming towards them. “Abigail!” You called. Out of his grasp, she ran to meet you. “I think John was lookin’ for ya.” You told her loudly as you eyed Micah. As she passed, she gave you a concerned look and you gave her a small nod.

“Well well, already tired of ol’ Morgan? I knew you’d come running eventually but not this soon.” Micah’s tone was sarcastic.

“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” You responded flatly as you approached him.

Micah moved closer. “I saw you two sneakin’ back into camp last night, all cozied up” He closed the distance between you and whispered in your ear. “I always knew you were a little whore.”

“Shut her goddamn mouth.” You spat. “I told you, next time you harassed them you’d be dead.”

Micah spoke low, his tone menacing. “And I told you I’d slit your throat in your sleep.” He paused and a smiled twisted on his lips. “But ya know, now that I know you and Arthur are so close now, I could just tie ya up one night.” He pulled his knife and ran it across your chin. “I’ll tie you up while you sleep, cut off your clothes, and I’ll let all the trash in Rhodes take their turns with you and when they’re done I’ll take my turn. when I’m done I’ll dump you at his feet like the used up trash you are.”

You leaned in close to his face. “Ya know Micah,” You whispered. “I can’t understand a goddamn word yer sayin’.” You quickly jabbed him in the stomach, causing him to drop his knife. You kicked it out of reach when he doubled over. You looked over him coldly. “I can’t understand ya over all the shit fallin’ out of yer mouth.”

He groaned in pain. “That was a mistake, cow Polk.”

You pulled your leg back and kicked him hard in the stomach while he was still doubled over in pain. “You’re the mistake, you piece of scum.”

You underestimated how fast he was as he grabbed your leg and jerked you towards him. You fell to the ground in front of him and he grabbed your face in one hand. “You’re out of your league girlie.” His fist crashed into your cheek.

You sneered at Micah, “that’s my advantage cowpolk.” He was knelt down on one knee, leaving himself stupidly open. Your fist came up straight into his crotch. “You’re not fighting a man and I could care less about fighting dirty.”

You stood quickly and stomped his back hard, forcing his body down onto the ground. As you raised your leg for a second stomp he rolled out of the way quickly and swept his leg under you, throwing you back to the ground. He kicked you in the ribs and you cried out in pain. “Damn you,” you growled as you crawled to your feet. You threw a punch but he dodged, and caught you right in the mouth. Blood drenched your chin and ran down your shirt.

“Hate to ruin that pretty little mouth” Micah mocked. “But I just can’t wait to see how Morgan will be when he sees what’s left of you when I get done.”

You looked down at your now ruined shirt, covered in your own blood. You were boiling with your own rage as you tackled him to the ground and began slamming your fist into his face. “This was a new shirt you son of a bitch!”

“Everything okay down there?” You looked up to see John and Abigail standing at the top of the hill.

Micah’s fist caught you square in the jaw while you were distracted and he pulled himself on top of you.

“Holy shit!” You heard John yell.

“I’m gonna kill you.” Micah growled as he wrapped his hands around your throat and began to strangle you. You clawed at his face, “we’ll we about that,” You croaked as your nails found his eyes and you dug in hard. You felt his grip loosen and Micah’s hands flew up to his eyes as he howled him pain. You shoved him down and looked down at him in pure hatred. “Going for the kill this quickly in a fight? I always knew you were a coward.” You brought a strong blow down onto his nose. Your vision was turning red in a blind rage. “I. Am. Going. To. Destroy. You.” Your fist collided with his face between each word.  Someone tried to pull you off and you jabbed your elbow up into them, determined to beat Micah’s skull into the ground until it was a pile of goo.

“Son of a bitch!” John shouted. “Abigail, go get Charles, I need some help.”

You barely heard him over the buzzing in your ears. Micah’s face was completely covered in blood. Your knuckles were split and bleeding but you couldn’t feel them over the adrenaline. Micah was now unconscious under you but you gave him your word, if he touched another woman in camp, you would put him six feet under and you intended to make good on your word.

Two pairs of hands now grabbed you and lifted you effortlessly off Micah. You kicked and fought, “Let go of me!” You hissed.

Charles kept a tight grip on your arm. “It’s done, Y/N.”

“You’ve beat him enough, it’s done. He’s out cold.” John urged.

“He was touchin’ Abigail!” You shouted back. Your vision was beginning to clear and you noticed the small crowd that had formed at the top of the hill.

“She told me, and we’ll make sure somethin’ is done about it this time. You just can’t kill him before Dutch gets back. You’ve got blood all over your face and hands, you may want to get yourself cleaned up.” He put a hand on your shoulder. “You did good.”

You nodded, before you turned to leave, you spit on Micah’s face. “I ain’t done with you.” You said angrily down at his unconscious body. 

Arthur tried to keep pace with Dutch, but he kept pulling ahead. He was anxious to see you, they were getting back later than intended which was no surprise to Arthur. “What’s got you in such a rush?” Dutch called to Arthur.

“Nothin’. Just ready to get home.” Arthur responded.

“Arthur, don’t take me for a fool. I hear the gossip just as much as you.” Dutch’s voice softened. “Where’d you take her?”

Arthur sighed. “We went to an art supplies store and had dinner in Saint Denis.”

“Well that’s splendid son! Good to see you finally makin’ yer move.” Dutch crossed in front of Arthur’s horse. “Since you’re in such a hurry to get back, how about an ol’ fashioned race back to camp?”

Arthur smiled, “You’re on, old man!”

The two took off and left clouds of dust in their wake. Arthur’s heart was pounding. He found himself longing for your touch, now he had a small taste he couldn’t get enough. The familiar tree line came into view, “yah!” He cried as he pushed his spurs into his horse. You were so close now, it was all he could think about. He didn’t even notice Dutch slip passed him until the last second. “Shit!”

Arthur charged into camp just behind Dutch. “You got lucky this time, old man.” He called as he dismounted his horse.

“Luck don’t got nothin’ to do with it, son.” Dutch teased as he hitched The Count. Arthur barely heard him as he made a beeline for your tent, but he stopped to investigate the small crowd around Micah’s tent. He grabbed Sean by the shoulder, “Whats goin’ on here?”

Sean grinned, “You and Dutch missed the fight of the century, ya did. Micah got the hell beat out of him.” 

He looked over Bill’s shoulder and saw Micah’s unconscious body, covered in dried blood and bruises. He raised his eyebrows. “Shit, I’d hate to see the other guy.”

Sean slapped Arthur’s back, “That’s the best part, he got himself handed to him a little girlie. It took two men to pull her offa him.”

“Aw hell,” Arthur knew right then and there you were responsible. He half ran to your tent. When he ducked him, you were sitting on your bed, wearing your chemise with your denim work pants. The chemise was clean but the pants were covered in dirt. You looked up from your book and smiled. “Welcome back.”

He frowned when he saw your face, no where near as badly beaten as Micah’s but your lip was busted and your cheeks were swollen. “What the hell happened?”

You laughed nervously. “I kinda...got into a fight with Micah.”

He sat beside you on your cot and eyed your face worriedly. “I heard. You gave him one hell of a beating.”

You smiled smugly, “I told you I could take him.”

He gently took your chin between his thumb and pointer finger and investigated your face. “You did, but look what he did to this pretty face.” His thumb gently brushed your broken lip and you flinched. “I ought to kill him for this.” His voice was stern. “What happened?”

“I-” Dutch burst into your tent.

“What the hell happened between you and Micah?” Dutch looked over you in shock, your wounds minimal compared to Micah’s.

You crossed your arms, “Jesus Dutch, what do you think happened? He was trying to touch Abigail again. Last time I caught him cornin’ Tilly I warned him I would kill him if he decided to touch us again. I intended to keep my word until John and Charles pulled me off.”

 “That doesn’t give you the right to beat the man close to death!” Dutch raised his voice.

 You stood, you could feel your anger rising again. “If would’ve done something about him sooner, this would never have happened! I’ve came to you time and time again about Micah harassin’ us and you never did shit. He threatened to rape me Dutch, what the hell did you expect me to do?”

Arthur looked from you to Dutch. “He what?” His voice heavy with anger.

Dutch huffed. “Fine, fine! You’re off the hook. But no more fighting in camp. You know the rules.” He turned and left. You rolled your eyes and floppped down beside Arthur. “‘YoU kNoW tHe RuLeS’” you repeated in a mocking voice. “One a these days I’m gonna ring his neck.”

Arthur just stared at you in disbelief. “How do you have more balls than all the men in camp combined?”

You laughed and laid your head in his lap. “I guess you boys just need to toughen up.” Your tone softened. “I never thanked you for the journal, by the way. I found it when I woke up this morning.”

He stoked your hair, “I’m glad you like it darlin’.”

His eyes fell on the blood splattered shirt on the ground. “Is that your new shirt?”

“Oh yeah, it may or may not have gotten ruined when Micah busted my lip. I’ll have to go to Saint Denis and get another if you’d like to join me?”

He smirked, “are you askin’ me on a second date?”

You grinned up at him. “Sure am.”

[phoenix-before-the-flame]

Through the Haze

Hiya guys! Nothing much to see here, just showing off the piece i wrote for the @naluzine , it was a great experience working with other artists and writers! Loved every minute of it! Also I may or may not continue this fic depending on how I'm feeling. I hope I feel like it

Enjoy!

Arrows whizzed past her, narrowly skimming her hair, taking a few blonde strands with them before embedding themselves deeply in an elderly tree just short of her shoulder. Arrowheads sank out of sight beneath and even further below to the honey-coloured wood peeking out at Lucy from cracks in the bark as she sailed past, legs pumping hard despite undergrowth wrapping its spindly fingers around her thighs. They left stinging scratches but Lucy paid them no mind.

She couldn’t afford to slow down.

They were everywhere, leaping above her head from branch to branch and hot on her trail. The 'thwack’ of arrows from their bows and the flash of dark hoods out the corners of her eyes were the only constants in Lucy’s racing thoughts, arms curling instinctively tighter around what they were after, secured beneath layers of cloth wrappings pressed close to her chest.

Thieves, rogues, murderers, they were all one and the same in this hunt. They all possessed the same greedy hisses and the same hungered gazes as their eyes roamed over Lucy, stabbing into her from the shadows of their hoods.

Lucy could almost feel the stifling weight of their arrogance on her shoulders as they closed their ranks around her. They were all enemies to each other, no doubt going to turn on one other after they tore into her for the coveted prize.

But for now, they worked as one. Her lungs were on fire and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to take a proper breath, nor could she reach for the knife strapped to her thigh to defend. To do anything apart from run was to lose her ground. Lucy knew that and they surely knew too.

A cackle sounded when she stumbled, feeling fingers; clammy and bandaged, close around her upper arm. Blindly, Lucy yanked away with a hiss, her arm burning from where she was grabbed, knowing for sure a bruise would blossom later atop her skin.

Unfortunately, that was all they needed. The prize fumbled in her arms yet Lucy held on tighter than ever, eyes squeezed shut realizing that there was no way out as the bodies clamoured around her. The arrows had stopped long ago in the pursuit and Lucy tucked her head low, waiting to feel those clammy fingers grab her once more.

“Please no.” Came Lucy’s ragged whisper, lost inside the wave of triumphant shouts.

She couldn’t be caught, not here. Not with so much at stake. Lucy inhaled sharply, gripping the handle of her blade tightly. If she’s going down, then she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

A hand lashed out and Lucy moved to slice it when smoke filled the air. Thick and heavy curls of gray that danced around her, overpowering the cloying scent of dense wood with rich cloves and wood smoke. Confused shrieks went up in unison as it grew, tangling around her pursuers and thickening to a fog not even their hungry gazes could pierce through.

The hand narrowly missed her, catching only thick streams in its grasp. Lucy stood enraptured by the sight of her pursuers snared by the smoke, unable to move despite best efforts and struggling against the unseen force that had yet to grasp Lucy.

A cloud brushed past her face, a caress in its softness that urged her to move; to flee now that she had the chance. She spared them a glance as she slipped past, their eyes filled with blood and hate. The hisses that left their lips filled were with venom.

With a turn of her head, Lucy disappeared into the gloom, clutching the treasure a little less tightly.

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

The forest seemed almost a different place now, calmer with chattering birds hidden in the leaves and little critters scampering about in the brush. But maybe it was always like that, Lucy thought with a sigh, rubbing at her arm, maybe it only changed because something bad followed her into it.

She leaned against a tree trunk, the bark rough and scratching at her skin, yet it still felt as heavenly as her bed that she’d left behind days ago. She huffed a little and she reached for her canister to quench her thirst when she smelled it again.

Wood smoke and cloves, weak and lingering in the air.

Lucy looked down beside her at the intricate lamp nestled amidst worn cloth covers and resting against the tree much like herself. The forest light dulled its gold gleam and the glare of the dragon spout’s ruby eyes no longer seemed as harsh. Like its anger had been directed elsewhere.

Smoke leaked from the spout, thin tendrils now pink and not gray like before, weaved their way over to her. It snaked its way past her elbow to rest lightly on her bruise, now a deep purple yellowing at the edges. Almost like fingers gently running over the wound, barely skimming atop her skin.

“You’re hurt.” A voice buzzed in the back of her mind. The smoke swirled tighter around her arm, warm and distracting her from the pulse her bruise had decided to take up. She could almost hear the frown in his voice.

“It was bound to happen. You are well sought after in these parts.” Lucy said, a teasing lilt to her words. She tapped the lamp reassuringly on the top as though she were patting his head.

She hummed lightly at the thought; she wishes she could see him, this genie of the lamp. Her friend, Natsu.

Sometimes when he’s silent, she tries to put a face behind the voice that always seemed to speak softly into her mind, full of snark and lame jokes most of the time and yet, still soft with concern the rest of the time. Like now even, she thinks she could see him, hovering over her with narrowed eyes and lips turned down in a deep pout as he inspected the damage.

Even then, the image was hazy, as though the face she thought up wasn’t good enough and her mind sought the right one. Even after all these months, she still couldn’t picture it properly.

“If anything, I should thank you. If it hadn’t been for you in the end, I’d be nursing harsher wounds.” She took a swig from the canister, eyes still on the smoky tendrils wrapped around her upper arm. It swirled a deep, almost black scarlet as Natsu’s growl resonated in her head.

“There’s only so much I can do from inside my prison. These chains bind me tightly and still, the little I did wasn’t enough.” Natsu sighed and the smoke drooped almost, slithering down to filter between her fingers.

Warm and heavy like a hand resting atop her own, Lucy thinks, flexing her fingers slightly. A sharp knock sounded from the lamp as it rocked a little, a habit she’s noticed when Natsu’s upset, as though he’s banging around inside.

She couldn’t imagine a life like that, sealed in one place forever, forced to do someone else’s bidding. It made her stomach churn with the thought of how much he’s been through in his long life. How many evil wishes he had to grant, where his own voice was drowned out. Lucy wanted to free him so much but his own curse stood in the way.

“Let me free you then.” Lucy murmured, resting a light finger atop his lamp.

Silence met her words, the smoke dissipating to a thin mist. When she’d first ask the question it was met with dry laughter, and just sarcasm afterwards.

How many times had he heard that lie in his life? The promise of freedom? Of course he’d be apprehensive.

But now there was none, the silence uncertain as though he started to believe her just a little. “Why do you always ask? Why don’t you just force me?” His voice was small.

“Because it’s your life. I can’t make that decision for you.”

“But,” Natsu paused, his voice weaker than before when he started again. “once I leave I won’t have my power. I’ll be a mortal like you, and I know nothing of this world now. How can I be of use to you then?” She pictured him gnawing his lip in fear, eyes cast away from Lucy.

Her palm lay flat atop the lamp and she felt his stirrings inside cease. “You’ll be the same as you are to me now,” Lucy reassured. “a friend like no other who I desperately want to help.”

“Why is that?” He shot back. “Why do you want to help me so much?”

“Because no one deserves to be trapped away forever like this.”

Natsu went silent again and Lucy felt the seconds tick by before all the smoke was sucked back into the lamp, like a sudden sharp inhale.

Then Lucy heard him; a weak, shaky chuckle. A trickle of smoke leaked from the spout.

“The first human to ask my name, the first to never use my powers and the first to want me to leave the lamp. Just how many firsts am I going to have with you?”

“More if you say yes. Won’t you please walk beside me instead of having me carry you?” Lucy teased, prodding the stream of smoke in hopes he felt it.

“Won’t you please let me see you?” Her hand rested firm atop the lamp, waiting for his answer.

“I - yes.” Natsu said. “I give my permission. I want to be free.” The 'free’ sounded strained, a word new on his tongue but it was all Lucy needed.

She stroked the side gently, fingers dancing over the intricate gold carvings for the first and last time before rising to her feet. Smoke danced all around, ducking and weaving through the entire forest, racing all about until all was covered in a swirling red fog, dense in some places and light in others. Wood smoke and cloves were the only scent that could be detected in the now silent forest.

A twig snapped in front of her and Lucy held her breath, lungs filled with his scent.

A head of pink was the first thing she saw through the haze.