#but I did it in the portrait to remind myself for later

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hello! I have an idea but I don't know if you'll see this. I don't know maybe where Geta and Caracallas' wife is pregnant with twins but she doesn't want her children to grow up in a place like Rome, so she flees with the help of General Acacius far from Rome and lives in a cozy and humble house. While Geta and Caracallas are furious about the departure of their wife but they don't know anything about her until two years later when they receive valuable information and send for her to return to Rome. It is until then that they realize what the reader was hiding.

If it is not well translated it is because my language is not English

You will never escape our love

Geta/Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : hurt, dubious consent, kissing, mention of war and death, family problems, mention of injury, it's one of the darker portrayals of the two less sweet more narcissistic and controlling

Summary : If you were the Empress of Rome you were at best the most beautiful thing you could look at. For the people you were beautiful, for the rich you were a short thought and for the two emperors you were property that had to be impregnated and had little to say. But how long can a golden cage last before you break out to escape?

info: thank you dear for the request, sorry that you had to wait a bit i had university to do. Nevertheless I wish you a lot of fun :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A marriage should always be something beautiful, something exciting, something splendid, something that you remember for the rest of your life, at least that's how it seemed to be for everyone, except for Geta and Caracalla when they married the 'Flower of the West' to benefit politically.

Both parties profited from it with trade, money and slaves it was as simple as that and she had to realize how divine her two new husbands were...it was above all the disgrace of the gods that came over her and love seemed to slowly close around her like a cage with no prospect of salvation.

It had started well, Geta had sent her many letters, his words had flattered her and the coins that came with them showed portraits of two young men who both had a certain charm.

Her mosaic which had been sent back with a few letters was also warmly received, ,,You're here at last, look brother the prettiest woman in all the provinces is finally here with us” Geta greeted her, his fingers warm and careful as he took her hand and placed a kiss on it.

It was a sign of respect, something that would be appreciated once they were married, his looks flattered her, he truly had something divine about him and she found herself laughing more often than she thought she would, ,,Your ideas and views are truly inspiring” she had replied as they had taken a short walk through the palace together.

Each of the two wanted to spend some time with her...until the moment they arrived at Caracalla.

She felt Geta's hand tighten around hers, painfully tight as the younger man came over to them, ,,My pretty flower, if you please,” he chuckled, pulling her hand from his brother whose look seemed almost warning.

A first sign of what was happening between the two, what it was that had befallen eid and what “divinity” lay behind them. As she realized after only a few weeks, none at all.

Geta, a self-proclaimed god whose words were like liquid lies, seemed to influence her every move, from her clothes to her hair, what she ate and what she didn't. In his kisses, there was no love, only mockery.

There was no love in his kisses but cobwebs that wrapped around her more and more, ,,Alone in Rome, a world power, my love, you know I could never forgive myself for losing you” he reminded her almost daily why she stayed in the palace.

When she did go out she saw what she was supposed to see, people starving, protesting, murdering and the Colosseum only seemed to amplify all of it This is no place for children she thought fearfully and put her hand on her stomach, she had shared the bed with Geta as often as with his brother.

A bed full of blood and tears and yet she hadn't gotten pregnant, not yet, but how kind could gods be, especially to her.

What Geta had in being a god, his brother had in madness, Caracalla could be the sweetest and most caring man you knew one moment only to cut her with a knife the next, thinking they were at war and he had to kill her and laughing when he saw the blood dripping on the floor.

A maniac whose bites covered her body more than kisses, ,,I need you, you know that, don't you? This madness I don't know what I'd do without you...maybe burn down the world” he always told her when they were in a quiet moment, when he calmed down and she hoped for something better.

But what Geta had in lies, Caracalla had in manipulation and two golden gods moving around her was a hopeless future...a future she knew she only had one way out of, especially when she didn't bleed for the first time and she vomited.

It was the dark eyes of the folk hero who had often watched the empress, seeing the stains and marks under her make-up, hearing the screams and weeping whenever he had an audience with one of the servants and never seeing her wife in such a friendly way.

Acacius and Lucila had already made plans and the Empress would play a role. ,,If the Empress wishes, I will accompany her back, it is not always safe,” he placed himself between her and the Emperor's brothers, who appreciated Acacius.

She cautiously felt the hand on her back as he led her away from her husbands, her breathing unsteady, the fear of finding out she was pregnant ever-present, ,,Why? Why are you doing this?” she asked cautiously as they sat together in a carriage and he sat opposite her.

His warm eyes looked at her with almost fatherly reassurance and his hand pointed to her belly, ,,Rome has been close to death since it was built, the battles are too bloody and peace must come.

Two dead emperors without heirs would be the beginning” he said slowly and the fear that rose in her that they wanted to kill her disappeared immediately when the carriage suddenly took a different direction than the palace.

,,You will be taken care of, a small hut you will stay in until I come for you and the two have fallen" a short explanation, short words and a plan that brought tears to her eyes. The cage seemed open for the first time.

A cage that opened and led to freedom in the countryside, Acacius hadn't lied, it was a small hut with a servant to help her with the work and the sheep, with a small field for self-sufficiency and supplies that would last for some time.

It was a place that was like the other side of a coin, quiet, peaceful, friendly and safe for her children children who were born a few months later in the spring of the new year and twins a boy and a girl saw the light of day.

A light of the world that did not deny them their origins the girl looked like her older father except for her eyes, she was eager to explore and kept her mother on her toes.

The boy, on the other hand, was the image of his younger father except for his hair, always laughing and chasing after his twin until he played with the little figures.

They were children from her time in Rome, children who had reached the age of two and she still loved them, they were her ,,My two beautiful suns" she called them while she held them and listened to her servant who was more friend than servant at the time.

A time that was pervaded by peace that she did not think that the shadow of the past would once again settle over her, a shadow that came in the form of a carriage.

,,My lady, a troop with the military seal is approaching” she heard the voice of her servant who wanted to close the door but was interrupted. It had been two years of harsh fears and discomfort and peace had finally come to an end, Acacius had won.

A victory she didn't know how false it could be, a victory that turned out to be a sword that stabbed her friend and she didn't even realize it when she was on her way back to town.

The city that held so much sorrow seemed quiet, few people on the street, new buildings and she spotted scattered statues for her Time has changed so many things it went through her mind and the two small children each sat next to her holding her hand.

They would be looked upon as a prince and princess, would be a fresh inspiration and she would finally have peace under Lucilla...or so she thought.

A thought that was miserably shattered when, upon entering the throne room, she looked into two faces that almost made her cry out as she realized like a blow that all those who had helped her were dead, that Acacius had given his life again for a dream of Rome that would never exist and that Lucilla, the princess she loved so much, was gone.

,,Information is more promising than letters and empty words and you're finally back” Geta said his eyes kind but his voice was laced with anger as he came up to her and Caracalla looked tearful ,,You left me alone" he said and she saw the dagger flash in one hand.

You can't escape misfortune, not when your human gods own you or love you, her children still whimpered nervously behind her as they sensed their mother's fear, a fear the emperors treated with disdain.

Geta's hand sought hers, ,,We would have given you heirs, as many as it would have taken, but instead you are raising the children of a what, a merchant? Give them to him” Geta demanded and his hand closed around her arm and Caracalla realized what he should do with the dagger and his smile widened.

Her heart was beating so loudly that she could hear it in her ears, memories of former love were long gone and all she saw were the two monsters she would never forget, monsters who did not recognize their own children and she cried out, ,,They are your children!” as Caracalla raised the dagger and Geta tried to pull her away.

Words that made them both pause, the dagger fell to the ground and the clink gave her goose bumps.

Geta let her go and both men looked at each other uncertainly, she let her twins slowly emerge to see their fathers, ,,They're yours...that's why I left,” she said in defeat and she knelt between her children to look up at the emperors with both of them.

Geta and Caracalla both looked at the toddlers in disbelief but the resemblance was unmistakable before Caracalla poked his son on the nose who laughed.

,,Such a waste of time we would have celebrated, instead we had to mourn...but never again, finally we are a family” Geta announced and took his daughter in his arms who immediately played with the gold in fascination while her mother still knelt on the floor not knowing what to do.

Monsters could love, they had once loved her themselves, but in the end it was always just her body, her natural existence, having children that they both wanted from her and when she saw that neither of the two husbands even gave her a glance she could hear the slamming of the cage all the more.

They had given the emperors what they wanted, heirs, and now she was nothing more than a soon to be distant memory for her twins because they now had their heirs and her mother had to rest for a long, long time alone, accessible only to the emperors.

It seemed as if the nightmare was only just beginning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @somepallings , @userchai

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

I kinda hate myself for asking this but can I get more of Your Personal Ghost?? Maybe a part two or just more of him in general??

.⋆｡Your Bandit｡⋆.

Brahms Heelshire x plus size reader

With the disappearance of all of your panties, some new information comes to light that isn’t as unwelcome as you thought it would be

Warnings: panty stealing, fluff, swearing, writer!reader WC: 1k

Minors DNI

Part 1

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“I swear I just did laundry.” You muttered, frustrated as you stared down at your mostly empty underwear drawer. Your panties had been disappearing at quite an alarming rate but they always ended up in your laundry hamper even if you couldn’t quite remember if you ever even wore them.

You sighed and slammed the drawer shut. Dressed only in an oversized t-shirt, you stomped your way down to the laundry room in some deluded idea that maybe the washer had somehow eaten your underwear. 

The small room in the basement of the house echoed with your aggravated curses as you dug through not only the washing machine but also the dryer and the linen closet in the corner. But nope- no panties, dirty or otherwise. 

“I give up!” You threw your hands into the air. “Whatever ghost is in this stupid fucking house, stop taking my fucking underwear! I need that shit!” You received no reply back except the house groaning as it settled. “I hate this place.”

Fishing a pair of leggings from the dryer, you tugged them on angrily as you muttered to yourself under your breath. “I’m gonna blow all my savings on fucking panties and ya know what, they’ll just go missing again. This is such bullshit.” Stomping away from the laundry room, you were dead-set on restoring your supply of undergarments and keeping it that way. No pervy ghost would get the better of you.

The wall by the front door creaked ominously as you stuffed your feet into the worn sneakers you couldn’t seem to part from. You didn’t even bother to address your haunted mansion, only stepping into the brisk morning and slamming the door shut behind you. It would be a long drive to the shops but it would give you time to plan your revenge.

——————

Your anger had dissolved to almost nothing by the time you pulled back into the driveway, getting home a lot later than you expected. It was stupid to think that the house was haunted; it was old, sure and a questionable history, no doubt. But haunted? That was idiotic at best. Yeah, you heard the ghost stories and still couldn’t find it in yourself to take down any of the creepy family portraits scattered around the eerie hallways. You were just lonely and in desperate need of some inspiration for your stagnating writing.

Your sigh was carried off on the breeze as you stepped from your car. The heat still emanating from the engine gave you a brief respite from the cold while you gathered yourself. “I’m losing my fucking mind.” The plastic bag stuffed full of brand new panties crinkled as you pulled it from the back seat, along with a well-deserved (in your opinion) bag of Chinese food from the only takeaway shop in a 50 mile radius. 

Too lost in your own head, you didn’t notice the light on in one of the empty bedrooms and the dark silhouette against the thick glass of the window. Maybe if you had, you would’ve thought better than to call out into the house as you took off your shoes. “Honey! I’m home!” 

You chuckled to yourself at your little joke, completely oblivious to the barely audible footsteps above you. The bag of panties landed with a soft thud at the foot of the stairs as you passed by it, a gentle reminder to bring them upstairs once you had your fill of bland food and plenty of wine. 

The huge shadow that darted behind the wall followed after you, far closer than it normally was though, as usual, you were ignorant to its presence. You hummed under your breath as you laid out your feast on the kitchen table. The food was now only lukewarm though you didn’t mind, the cheap bottle of red sitting in the pantry would warm you up plenty.

You pulled the cork from the bottle stem with a satisfying pop, too occupied by your task to see the large painting of a landscape lift itself from its place on the wall. The squeak of the Styrofoam covered the creak of the floorboards as a heavy weight settled on them. 

Just as you pulled out a kitchen chair, you heard heavy breathing over your shoulder.

“Welcome home.” The voice that rang out through the room was a strange mixture of that of a young boy and a grown man. Your entire body froze as fear shot through your veins. The house settled into silence as your gaze creeped to where the voice had come from.

Standing in front of a man-sized hole in the wall was a veritable giant. He loomed over you, even at a distance, his body wide with sinewy muscle that was barely covered by the large cardigan he wore. Greasy black curls hung down over his face or rather what should have been his face. The orange glow of the kitchen lights bounced off the cracked white porcelain, making his dark brown eyes stand out as they shone with anxiety.

“I’ve been waiting for you, I missed you.” His paw-like hands clasped together in front of him, his fingers nervously intertwining as he waited for you to do something, anything.

Your lips parted and there was only one thing you could think of to say. “You took my underwear.” His whole body curled in on itself as he cringed like a little kid when they would get in trouble. His head bobbed. “How- how long have you been here?”

“My whole life.” He answered. His huge shoulders dropped as he lowered his head, looking at you through his eyelashes. 

“Holy shit, you’re Brahms.” The boy who supposedly died in a fire in this very house almost 20 years ago. Suddenly you knew why you got this house for so fucking cheap. “And you’ve been watching me?” His nod was slow, almost as if he were ashamed. 

“You’re nice.” He simpered.

“Oh fuck,” You whined, “This is a great idea for a book. C’mon get some food, I suppose that neither of us are going anywhere for a while.” He lumbered over, his eyes still wary but the slight pink tint that you could see spreading down his neck told you just how pleased he was with this development.

“Were you the one deleting my writing?” Brahms’s breath hitched and before you could blink, he grabbed a box of fried rice and scurried back into the hole in the wall.

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[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity; Invisible String

series masterlist

i was going to include this in chapter seventeen to break up the angst a bit...but then i thought i'd just do it as its own separate piece so that they have a chance to explore their love without there being as much (because i couldn't help myself) angst overshadowing this pivotal moment for meadow and matty....there is also an important (not very subtle) easter egg regarding the storyline that will be delved into in a later chapter....anyway this takes place between chapter 16 & 17 xxx

warning: 18+ content, fingering, piv, soft smut, declarations of loooove!!

~∞~

After the Order members had left, with plans of meeting privately to discuss Professor Dumbledore's funeral and what they were supposed to do in the wake of the harrowing battle, Madam Pomfrey had made her way over to you to check on the wounds that littered your abdomen, and with a flick of her wand, they became faint lines of jagged silver as they scarred over. Shortly after that, she'd declared you okay and insisted that you get some rest in a proper bed. It was probably also to make space for the students, part of Dumbledore's Army, who had also been injured in the battle.

You and Mattheo left shortly after that, but not before Ron came up to you and wrapped you in a hug, tears leaking from his dull blue eyes. No words were needed, you knew what his actions meant. You held him tighter, even as his parents beckoned him to his brother's bed.

The castle halls are eerily silent as you walk hand in hand with Mattheo. Even the portraits don't stir at the harsh glow of his lit wand, as if they were grieving for the loss of Dumbledore in their own way. The two of you are the only disturbance in the still atmosphere, your soft breathes and light footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floor.

Neither of you had wanted to venture near the Astronomy tower again, afraid that the sight of the now spotless hallways would spark harsh reminders of the bloodshed and carnage that had swept through them like a petulant disease only hours before. So wordlessly, Mattheo had begun leading you towards the dungeons, his body heat sheltering you from the chilly bite in the air.

The Slytherin common room was mysteriously desolate when you entered behind him. Not a soul to be found under the dim glow of the Black Lake's murky waters; only the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth and the gentle ripple of the current against the windows could be heard over your mingling breathes.

"Where is everyone?" You ask, cringing instantly as your voice becomes agonisingly loud in the silence, despite your words being spoken with quiet cadence.

"In bed I assume, or gone." Mattheo responded with a low rasp. "It wouldn't surprise me if news has already spread and parents are collecting their children to return home."

You respond with a soft "oh", as you follow him up the stairs to his dorm.

"Draco's gone." He continued as he unlocked the dark oak door leading to his dorm. "So are Blaise and Pansy. Enzo and Theo are still here, but they'll leave soon too."

"Why didn't you tell me anything before? I deserved to know that my friendships started out as a means to an end." You ask him as you enter his room. He's silent as he observes you from the threshold, brows creased in thought.

"I would've told you eventually. There was never a good enough time though. And it wasn't a means to an end, love." Your about to retort but he continues as if you hadn't opened your mouth to speak. "It felt like the right thing to do, to tell you when I did."

"To gain The Order's trust?" You ask, running a hand through your hair.

"Exactly. Though I doubt it's done much to sway them."

"What happens now?" You ask hesitantly, reaching and squeezing his hand.

Mattheo gently guides you to where his bed sits in the corner of his room, allowing you to find a comfortable position before he finds his own one behind you. He pulls your back to rest snugly against his chest, cradling your body to his own with strong, protecting arms as your heartbeats synced as one.

"I don't know, darling. But we'll face it together." He says as he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. The two of you rest in stagnant silence, unsure of what tonight's happenings meant for the world as you knew it.

~∞~

A little while later, you turn to face him, restless anxiety clawing at your insides. Mattheo's curly, deep brunette hair has fallen haphazardly across his forehead and his onyx eyes, framed by glorious lashes, shine bright, despite all that they had witnessed in the past few hours. He has a soft smile painting his face as he admires you in tandem, although you can see his poorly hidden concern for you reflecting behind the tenderness. Each breath you take, he mirrors and your racing heart slows to a relaxing lull in your ears. Unhurriedly, you bring a hand up to his face and brush the loose curls away from his eyes, a tender look overtaking your fatigue.

"I meant what I said in the ward." He mumbles, voice betraying how exhausted he was, too.

"Yeah?" You ask, your smile widening imperceptibly. You fingers caress his face with featherlight strokes as you trace the freckles and scars that are scattered across his cheeks. Your eyes are now alight with teasing mischief as if daring him to say the words aloud, all sense of tiredness having left your face in the wake of it.

"Yes, Meadow." He responds with a quiet snicker as he pokes your side. His eyes glow with serene happiness as he watches you squirm and giggle, watches the despondency leave your pretty face. "Did you ever take me for a liar, sweetheart?"

"No." You say breathlessly as he continues to stroke at your trouser covered hips. "Never."

I want to hear you say it. You implore wordlessly. Please.

He kisses you then. It's not hard and rough and passionate like his caresses always are. Instead, it's soft and slow and entirely all consuming, like the very first time, but infinitely better. Every emotion he's ever felt for you coarses through your veins as his tongue clashes against your's.

"I love you." He says breathless and low against your lips. You kiss him with a newfound fervour, pouring your every thought and every emotion, intertwining your soul with his. Your magic practically explodes around you, casting a warm indigo glow about the dorm room, illuminating his features; guiding shadows in a dance across his face.

He looks at you in awe as you both admire the way his own magic seems to tangle seemlessly with it. Whorls of indigo and silver flicker in pretty patterns that seem to pour out around you like a smattering of a million tiny stars.

My incredible, smart girl. He tells you with a wide smile on his face as he looks at you, admiringly. You flush under his intense stare.

You undress each other with practiced fluidity until you are both blissfully nude; no barriers separating you from the other, all vulnerabilities splayed out in the open. He rolls on top of you and presses your hands above your head with one of his as his other trails lightly down your stomach, tracing the new lines of scars which seem to twinkle under the faux starlight. He presses soft kisses to the marred skin, words of love and adoration melting into you as he presses away the new insecurities without even trying.

He eventually works one finger, and then two inside you as his thumb strokes idle patterns against your clit. You mewl at his practiced ministrations as he fingers you, slow and rough, in the way he knows you love, despite never having said it out loud before.

The noises you make bring a delighted smirk to his pretty lips and he speeds up his movements almost unnoticeably to bring you close to release; teasing you through one orgasm before letting a second rush through you, all while drinking in every sound; every expression that you let overcome your flushed face.

It feels like an eternity later that he finally sheathes himself inside you, every ridge of his cock brushing sensually against your most sensitive spots as he sets a leisurely pace – starting slowly before he finds a particular rhythm that has the both of you moaning in unison. His arms are braced at either side of your head, careful not to snag on your hair which is haphazardly fanning out on the pillow beneath your head. The muscles in his biceps flex with every push and pull of his body, his core tense with the exertion of making you feel like you're walking on clouds.

Your own hands are on a journey of their own, travelling along the defined muscles of his abdomen and across his strong hips, until a particularly deep thrust from Mattheo causes you to claw at the soft skin of his back, willing him to come closer to you. The scars that litter his skin are blissfully joined by marks of your making, marks that he wishes could stay there forever in place of the others.

Where he's left love bites on your skin, you eagerly return the favour as best as you're able. Leaving deep purple marks across his chest and clavicle with your kiss-swollen lips that happily migrate from his body to his own lips as much as possible.

"I love you." You whisper against him and he lets out a barely restrained groan as he thrusts even harder into you at your admission. Satisfaction thrummed through his veins at the whiny sound you let out in response.

"Say that again." He says, pressing hard kisses to your chest, leaving more delicious marks in his wake.

"I love you, Mattheo Riddle." You repeat, a moan catching in your throat as you begin to reach your peak for a third time. "You have my whole heart. Break it. Crush it. Decimate it. Do what you must, but please know that it's yours. It will always be yours. I love you."

The both of you are pushed over the edge at that, clinging to eachother's bodies, which are slick with sweat. The euphoria causes your intertwining magic to surge around you again, and you both feel how it sparks at your very souls, the feeling never ceasing, only growing as you allow your love to manifest and flourish like its very own entity.

Neither of you want the intoxicating feeling to end, content in basking in the sensation, if only to prolong the immense amount of love that radiates from your magical cores.

"I love you, darling." He mumbles into the skin of your shoulder, exhausted and spent, breathing in the scent of you; the soft floral hint of your perfume that seems to linger despite the raging battle you'd been in and the musky scent of the sweat that clings to your skin.

You press a kiss to his own shoulder as his body flops to land beside your's on top of ruffled emerald sheets. Your interwoven magic still permeates the air, seemingly in no hurry to dissipate any time soon and you can feel it, along with Mattheo's deep in your chest. By the look on his face, he's feeling its affects too.

"That was–" You mumble with a breathless giggle, fingers trailing patterns across his marked skin.

"All consuming." He agrees with a lethargic chuckle of his own before he's pulling your body into his again, magically rearranging the sheets so that the two of you are modestly covered.

"Can you feel something-" You start, but are unable to put this new sensation into words as he gazes down at you with soft eyes. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Different? Like my magic isn't entirely my own anymore?" He wonders aloud and you find that he's voiced your exact feelings.

"Yeah. Precisely like that, actually." You say. "It's like I've unconsciously absorbed your magic again. I'm sorry-"

His lips against your's prevent your apology from fully forming and he's looking at you with such a tender expression that makes you melt.

"I'm not sure it is your siphoning, love. It's different. I can feel your's too." He says with lightly furrowed brows.

"How strange." You mumble, a yawn escaping your lips. Mattheo manoeuvres you so that you're practically chest to chest as he lies on his back, letting your aching nipples brush against his strong pecks as he wraps his arms around you.

You breathe out a content sigh that causes a shudder to rush through him as it ghosts over the sensitive skin of his neck. The impact of your shared love and intertwining cores feels like a supernova swirling inside you.

The fate of the wizarding world, and your own fate, is a haze of unknown territory, but you were entirely certain of one thing; Mattheo held your heart in his hands, and he had no intention of ever letting it go.

~∞~

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[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: "My A-R-T"

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: who would have thought you'd be a centerpiece of someone's world

Tag: @elalfywhore 🫶🏾🩷

Based of the song ART by Tyla..

Morning sunlight filtered through the windows as I walked into our apartment, still buzzing with energy from an early cheer practice. My muscles ached slightly, but it was nothing a hot shower couldn’t fix. Tossing my duffel bag onto the couch, I noticed how quiet the place was. Jana must still be out—probably in class or at the gym.

I headed toward the kitchen, but something on the dining table stopped me in my tracks. A large canvas, carefully covered with a cloth, rested against the wall. A note lay next to it, written in Jana’s familiar, neat handwriting:

"For my muse. Come find me after you see it, habibti"

-xoxo

My heart skipped a beat as I reached for the cloth, my fingers trembling slightly. Jana always had a way of surprising me, but this was different. This felt… intimate.

Pulling back the cloth, I gasped softly. The painting beneath was breathtaking—a portrait of me, vibrant and alive, rendered in soft yet striking hues of caramel and gold. My figure was posed delicately, with one arm resting against my hip and my eyes gazing softly at something out of frame. It wasn’t just a painting; it was me through Jana’s eyes—bold, confident, beautiful.

The details were astonishing. The curve of my lips, the arch of my brow, even the faint shimmer in my hair—everything was captured with an artist’s precision. But what stood out the most was how she’d captured my essence, the warmth and softness that only she got to see.

I couldn’t stop staring. My lips parted as I traced the edges with my fingertips, completely in awe of the love and care that had gone into this.

“Do you like it?”

I turned to see Jana standing in the doorway, a shy but proud smile on her face. She was dressed casually in sweatpants and a UConn hoodie, her hair slightly messy from a morning workout.

“Like it?” I asked, shaking my head as I walked toward her. “Jana, this is… it’s incredible. You did this?”

She nodded, her cheeks tinting pink. “I didn’t paint it myself,” she admitted. “But I found an artist who could bring my vision to life. I told them exactly what I wanted—how I wanted you to look, the colors, everything. I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

I threw my arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re amazing, you know that?” I whispered, burying my face against her shoulder.

Jana chuckled, her hands settling on my waist. “I had to do something. You’ve been playing that Tyla song nonstop. I figured it was my turn to make you my ‘A-R-T.’”

I pulled back to look at her, a teasing smile on my lips. “So, you think I’m worthy of being someone’s centerpiece, huh?”

She brushed a strand of hair from my face, her eyes softening. “You’re worthy of being the centerpiece of my world. Always.”

Heat crept up my neck as I bit back a grin. “You’re so corny.”

“And you love it.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Later that morning, after I’d showered and changed into a cozy hoodie and leggings, we sat on the couch together, the painting propped up on the coffee table so we could admire it.

“Why didn’t you wait until my birthday or something?” I asked, leaning against her shoulder.

Jana shrugged, her arm draped over me. “I didn’t want to wait. You’ve been working so hard—between cheer, school, and everything else. I wanted to remind you how amazing you are. You’re my muse, you know.”

I turned to look at her, my chest tightening with emotion. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” she said, cupping my face with her hand. “Every time I look at you, I see something new to love. Something beautiful. I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I leaned into her touch. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m just giving you what you deserve,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over my cheek.

As the day went on, I found myself unable to stop glancing at the painting. It felt surreal to see myself through someone else’s eyes, especially someone who loved me as much as Jana did.

By evening, we’d hung it up in the living room, right above the couch. Jana insisted on doing the heavy lifting while I stood back and gave her directions.

“Left a little… no, your other left,” I teased, earning an exaggerated eye roll from her.

“Keep talking, and I’ll hang it crooked just to spite you,” she shot back, but there was no bite to her words.

When it was finally in place, we stood back to admire it together.

“It’s perfect,” I said, slipping my hand into hers.

“You’re perfect,” Jana replied, squeezing my hand.

I glanced up at her, my heart swelling with love. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I think this is my favorite song now.”

She laughed, pulling me into a hug. “Good. Because it’s ours now.”

As the soft melody of “ART” played from my phone in the background, I couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world. Jana didn’t just see me—she celebrated me, and that was a love I’d treasure forever.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[th3-0bjectivist]

Face # 9: Godspeed into the hereafter, Eva!

So, folks, at the end of 24’ I lost a buddy. An elderly buddy, but a buddy, nonetheless. Last year I started doing a little volunteer work in my community, spending time on random Saturdays in food pantries and soup kitchens. One of those Saturdays I met Eva, an old lady with a medical condition that required frequent cranial surgery. Eva was always extremely conversational with everyone, because she loved life and people. Eva wore shawls to cover up her cosmetically damaged scalp and despite her condition, she chose to be happy, friendly and optimistic with everyone. We became friends after I noticed she had a unique ability to read how you were feeling or what you were thinking just by observing your facial expressions and body language. Eva was a mother of four, grandmother to twelve, and she loved professional wrestling. Although I haven’t watched the product since my late teens, I found myself compelled to occasionally visit her at her assisted living community and watch WWE, TNA and AEW. Her favorite type of wrestler was the chickenshit heels, who she would laugh and boo at. Outside of that, we would talk about each other’s lives and experiences, and when she caught me being melancholy or negative, she’d say something like, “Get your head out of the wreckage, kiddo, good things are a ‘coming for you!”

Come late December, I went by her room to visit with some baked goods for the holidays, and her family was there instead. I asked what happened, and they told me she passed peacefully during a recent surgery. After lightly bawling in the lobby, I went home and drew her face to remember her. I'm not saying it's a good drawing, but it does remind me of her. I wish I would have appreciated our time even more than I did, and I wish I could have spent more time with her. I’ll miss you, Eva. I’ve got one more of these to go and it’ll be a self-portrait… but I’m going to be taking a break from Tumblr soon, so that’ll be much later this year.

Face # 1: Click here

Face # 2: Click here

Face # 3: Click here

Face # 4: Click here

Face # 5: Click here

Face # 6: Click here

Face # 7: Click here

Face # 8: Click here

[reginalusus]

Retro tutorial?

Disclaimer: Tumblr, for some reason, likes to dullen the colour of the screenshots, just know that they're actually a bit more saturated and brighter than how they appear here.

So, after posting my recent retro drawings on Reddit, and getting some comments that genuinely made me cry (/pos), I noticed I also got quite a few comments asking me how I actually do these drawings.

Er, I'm not the best teacher, really, and honestly, there's probably an easier, faster way to do it. But, this is my way of doing it, lmao. I work on a Gen 2 iPad Pro with a Gen 1 Apple Pencil, just in case you're wondering.

Firstly, here are the four apps I use for this kind of drawing:

From left to right: Sketchbook Pro, Pixlr, Photoleap and CapCut. Sketchbook Pro is what I use to draw everything. You could honestly use any drawing app though. We will talk about the other three when we get to them.

Step 1: draw whatever it is you want to draw.

I'm going to use the first drawing I did in this style to help me explain: my simpy Spamton drawing! Firstly, basically draw whatever your little heart wants. Get your sketch layer down. Here's what my sketch layer looked like:

Looks bad, no? Lol, it always starts that way. Just get your drawing down first. I rely heavy on references for clothing. I found this particular pose on Pinterest. Pinterest is great for finding references.

Notice that I have some spaces filled in with the word 'black'. This is literally just to remind me that the particular space will just be filled with a solid black.

This particular pose and setting is tricky, I'm just using it as an example and because I still have the original files for it. I recommend maybe starting with a portrait or a face first.

Step 2: fill in and clean your lines. This is important, especially for the anime look.

When I do linework, I tend to make the lines thicker wherever they meet one another. For this style, it doesn't really work, and I had to train myself to stop doing that.

As you can see, I made some changes along the way, such as making Spamton's expression softer and making him grin instead of smirking. How do I know when to make something solid black? This is mostly for clothes. If you are following a reference, and you notice that some of the shadows are darker than others on the reference, make those darkest shadows your solid-blacks.

So, here we have the finished lines! Remember: no making the lines thicker where they meet! Keep the lines thin all around. If you're wondering what brush I use in Sketchbook for the finished lines, it's this one:

This is the ONLY brush I use for the retro drawings, besides a pencil for the sketch layer. It provides a nice, solid, thin line.

Step 3: Filling Flat Colours.

The easiest step IMO. Choose your colours, fill those babies in.

Unfortunately, I think I deleted my flats layer (I have no idea why, but I cannot find it, lmao), so I don't have an image to show for this step. But, it's self-explanatory. Just colour it in with your flats.

You can choose saturated colours if you wish, but we'll be editing that sort of stuff later.

Step 4: Shading.

Ooh, the tricky stuff. But this is what will make or break the look of the drawing. Besides lines, shading is important as fuck for this style. I recommend pulling up some screenshots from actual 80s/90s anime. For this Spamton drawing, here's some of the ones I used as a reference:

Remember to make your shading on separate layers! You may want to change their tone and opacity later, as I did.

The shading in old anime is usually done with one colour, which is cooler-toned than the flat it is based off. Remember to keep the shading as simple as you can if you want to actually make it look like a screenshot from an anime or cartoon.

For shadows, I used the multiply tool or the overlay tool. You can mess around with these to see which one suits your drawing best. It mostly depends on the colour.

For 'lights', I used either the soft glow tool or the overlay tool. However, I don't recommend spending too much time 'lighting' your colours. Retro anime tends to focus more on shadows rather than lighting (obviously there are exceptions).

As you can see, the only 'lighting' I used on Spamton was a small section of his hair, and a shine on his suit. The rest is either shadows or flats:

For clothing, follow a reference or follow where your light is coming from. For this, I followed the reference.

Step 5 (Optional): Adding Gradients.

You don't need to do this, but to help with the 'mood' of the drawing, I added a gradient over the top of the layer. I chose a dark purple/blue to give that city vibe, then I used the darken tool and turned the opacity down. So, it looks like this:

The difference isn't much, but it will add a lot to the vibe!

Step 6 (Optional): Backgrounds. *Shudders.*

I'll be real, I can't do backgrounds for shit. Well, I can sort of do them, but I definitely don't enjoy it. If you can do your own backgrounds, this will probably come easier. I have a sneaky, maybe cheaty method, however, to make it look good.

Firstly, make sure any 'windows' or areas in your drawing that you want to add a background to are empty. The windows in Spamton's car here are transparent. You'll want to put your background layer at the very bottom, behind everything else.

Firstly, I choose a solid colour and fill the entire layer. I chose a navy/purple for this one, since it's always dark in Cyber City.

Then, and here's the cheat part, I find a stock image of a city skyline. I deliberately picked one that had sort of 'basic' buildings. Put this on top of your solid colour and use the hard light tool.

The hard light tool tends to focus on the lights and basic outline of the image. I did do some smudging and added some lights to give it that 'retro' feel. The lower quality it looks, the better. So then it looks like this:

But the car needs windows! Easy. I chose a blue colour with the soft glow tool and added them like so (on top of all the background layers):

Step 7: Editing in Pixlr.

Now, this is my favourite part: the editing to really make the image pop! Firstly, we are going to use Pixlr, so save your image and open it up in Pixlr.

So, in Pixlr I only do two things: choose some overlay editors and up the saturation. Firstly, the overlay editors. The ones I choose for the retro look are:

Antonio - this blurs the lines somewhat, and makes it overall darker/softer. I obviously do not use it to its full capacity (there's a slider you can mess around with under each tool to find your desired effect, though I recommend using Antonio only a little.)

Hagrid - this will make it look slightly more saturated and sharper. It also adds a sort of 'burn' effect on each outline of the colours. Again, I use this one only slightly.

Ivan - One of my favourites for Big Shot Spamton. Again, I only use it slightly. This one will add an orange effect and 'fix' some of your shading. Though, it only works to its full potential if you have your shading as best as it can be.

Sara - Another really good one for retro anime. It's sort of like Hagrid, but softer. Depending on your colours, it will also add a soft 'glow' effect. Because of this, I only use it a little, as older anime does not have the intense glow you see in more recent anime, in general.

There are lots of other options. You can play around to see which one will suit the vibe you're going for best!

Then, we go into the general menu and up the saturation if needed!

Step 8: Editing in Photoleap - then back to Sketchbook!

Why the fuck do you use two editors? Simple - Photoleap has some cool options that Pixlr does not, and vice versa. We won't be spending as much time in Photoleap compared to Pixlr.

Now, Photoleap does NOT allow screenshots within the app, so I just have to explain it without any images.

In Photoleap, we're only going to be doing two things, and one of those things are optional. Firstly, using the grain tool. This will really add to that 'old' look. Don't go too hard on it!

The optional thing you can do is add a red chromatic abberation. It's under the 'effects' tab in Photoleap. However, sometimes this will take away from the retro look, so use it carefully. I only used the tiniest amount for this drawing to make the lines look 'cleaner'.

Once I'm done in Photoleap, I save the image and export it back into Sketchbook. This is where I'll add/fix some things, such as adding a shine in Spamton's eyes, a shine on the car window and the smoke coming from his cigarette. I also bring the gradient layer back up and mess with the colour a bit (optional).

Have you noticed the large, black border to the right of the drawing? Yeah, that'll be cropped. I decided to make the overall image smaller and, unfortunately, Sketchbook Pro does not allow you to change the canvas size once you've started a drawing (please add this option, Autodesk!)

Step 9: CapCut Editing.

This will seriously be the cherry-on-top to actually make this thing look like a screenshot. Save your image and open it up in CapCut.

Firstly, you'll want to add an 'effect' to the photo. Under 'retro', I personally choose 'frosted quality', because it adds a moving grain and gives an 'old cartoon' feel, which is what I'm after. There are lots you can choose from, it's up to you to play around with it! You can also adjust the effect as you wish. I tend to turn the blur completely off.

Then, the last step in CapCut: adding a caption, if you want. I make the text yellow and add an italic effect to make it seem like an actual subtitle.

Step 10 (Final): Exporting.

That's us basically finished! I'll export it as a video from CapCut, crop it using my iPad's default editing software in the gallery, then export it as a GIF. Exporting it as a GIF lowers the quality a tad further, which is a bonus for this type of drawing. Viola! You now have a retro-anime-inspired piece!

Final Notes

Again, I'm not a good teacher and this is kind of all over the place, lmao. But, I hope it can guide those who wish to try this style!

If you do try it, maybe tag me and let me see if my tutorial worked for you? Or maybe you were just curious, lmao. There's a LOT of steps here, lol, and I'm not a professional artist by any means, so...

Anyway, that's all from me for now!

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic Prompt 3 - Darkfic

TW: Mentions of sexual assault and non-consensual incest. Nothing graphic is described at all. Mentions of Black family homophobia.

Words: 825

@wolfstarmicrofic

***

Sirius looked up at his mother’s portrait, which continued to scream at him.

“Filth! Degenerate! How dare you return to my house?”

He fired off a few curses, none of which made any difference of course. He sat down on the landing and just let her scream.

When Remus returned, several hours later, he found Sirius with a glassy look on his face and Walburga still shrieking.

“Would you shut the fuck up?!” He bellowed.

“Half-breed! Do you think you can command me? You’re lucky not to be put down like the vermin that you are!” Remus rolled his eyes and looked down at Sirius.

“How long have you been sat here?” Sirius remained staring straight ahead. Remus crouched and reached for his hand. “Pads?”

“Do not touch my son! Do not sully this household with your disease. Sodomite! Half-Breed!”

“Oh, so he’s your son now? I don’t remember you being a parent for at least twenty-five years, and you’ve only been dead for ten of those.” Remus squeezed Sirius’ hand. “Muffliato.”

It didn’t silence her completely, but it helped pull Sirius out of his stupor. “Moons?” He said, in a small voice.

“Let’s go downstairs. We won’t hear her from there. I've got you, come on.” He pulled Sirius to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist so he could lean on him. “Were you sitting there the whole time I was out?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I just— I started remembering things and they were worse than I thought.” They arrived in the living room and Remus set them both down on the squishy sofa that Remus had transfigured from the old furniture. “I don’t know how much I told you, before.”

Before always meant Before Azkaban. A lot of Sirius’ positive memories of school and the first war were gone, or at least warped and faded. Remus did his best to regale him with tales of the marauders and the flat they’d shared afterward, going as far as secretly writing them down and planning to gift the book to Sirius at some point, and hoping he’d share the stories with Harry.

“You managed to avoid the subject most of the time, I think. Unless there was physical evidence,” Remus looked down at the key-shaped scar on Sirius’ arm, which had been carefully inked around. “You didn’t want to tell us anything you didn’t have to. We knew it was bad, though.”

“Someone told her I had a boyfriend once.” Sirius slumped against Remus’ chest. “Not you, I think it must have been… What was his name? The Ravenclaw, I think.”

“Benjy Fenwick.” Remus stroked Sirius’ hair slowly. “You were together for a few months in fifth year.”

“It must have been one of my cousins. Doubt it was Andromeda. Do you know what my mother did when I came back for the summer?” Remus shook his head. “She locked me in my room with Bellatrix.”

“Why would she—” It suddenly dawned on Remus what he was implying. “Oh, Pads, no.”

He nodded. “She said she was going to cure me. That I was disgusting and unwell. At one point, mother came in and watched.” Remus felt sick. “Practically cheered her on.”

Remus wrapped his arms around him tight. “I am so sorry. That’s awful. If she wasn’t dead I’d kill her myself, and if I ever see Bellatrix again…”

“She’s still in Azkaban.” He said flatly. “They put her in the cell next to mine for a while.”

“We shouldn’t have come back here.” Remus said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I have nowhere else to go.” Sirius’ voice broke. “I’m more trapped here now than I was when I was a child.”

“You got out once. We'll get you out again.” Remus reminded him, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he sobbed. “Let me talk to Dumbledore.”

“You can’t tell him.” Sirius sat up, quickly. “Don’t tell him.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Pads.”

“Do not tell him.” Sirius hissed, through sniffles. “He’ll think I’m even weaker than I am.”

“You’re not weak. You have survived so much horrific shit. You’re the strongest person I know. I won’t give him details, I promise, but I need to express to him how vital it is that we move somewhere else.”

“It’ll be just another place for me to wake you up by screaming.”

“But my house won’t scream back at you.” Remus took him by the shoulders. “I need you to trust me on this.”

“I think you’re the only person I do trust.” Sirius’ face was unreadable. “I wish I’d told you back then.”

“I understand why you didn’t. We’ll get you through this, I promise.” He brushed Sirius’ hair off his face and Sirius had a sudden flash of a memory from the summer he’d finally run away to the Potters’. Remus, silhouetted in sunlight, brushing the hair off his wet face, telling him it would all be ok.

[tommys-little-writing-corner]

One Small Shadow: Chapter I

》 The youngest of Sindel's daughters, (Y/N) was only born after the passing of King Jerrod. Growing up shadowed by her family and their magics, the Third Princess does what she can do best. She stands by and waits... 》 Chapter I: Waiting... 》 General Notes: Fem!Reader, Complicated Family Relationships, Canon Divergence, Angst Train, No Beta We Ball Like Kobe, No Romance, Y/N is described to be feminine with certain features, Bounces between Y/N's POV and third person 》 Chapter Notes: The first few chapters of One Small Shadow take place before the start of the plot of Mortal Kombat 1. 》 Word Count: 600+ ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

(Y/N)'s P.O.V.

I hate looking at this damn mural.

It sits in the main hall where the thrones lay, always alight with candles. Sometimes by the bright flame of the sun or by the pale flame of the moon. It's a mural portrait of my mother, Empress Sandel, and my late father, Emperor Jerrod.

I never knew Jerrod, not in the way my Mother and sisters knew him. My mother was expecting me when he was killed. Nobody spared me any details, only that it was a great tragedy over a thousand years ago. Now his soul resides in the forest, along with all other members of royalty and more.

Many say I do hold some resemblance in him, a trait I share with my sisters. We have his dark eyes-- the way they seem to sparkle with a plan, with a mind game to taunt others. setting down stones to be stepped on. However, it would be my sisters who would have his smile, his dark hair and everything.

I would be the one, the youngest of three of about roughly a thousand years old in age, who would have my mother's white hair. Pale like marble stone, like the colorless stars in the sky. Unlike my family who kept their hair long, I kept mine short, barely touching the corner of my jaw below my ear. It was better to maintain hair that way, easier to hide it whenever I wanted life out of the palace. Another talk for later.

I hate how everyone around me doesn't understand how I feel every time I look at the painted mural.

"You should be mourning-- you have no father, as does your sisters do. As your mother doesn't have her husband anymore."

How was I to mourn someone I never knew?

I only knew his name, the painted faces that decorated this wall along all other walls. The stories of praise and glory from the Umgadi who remember him, who loved him well as does everyone else inside and outside the palace. However, only because I was born three months after his death, I would never know the man personally as did everyone else who once knew him.

Maybe a trip to the Living Forest, where his soul resides, I would get to know him. Maybe he would be willing to talk, to tell me tales of his life before death. No... I would not be able to go beyond the walls of Sun Do. The ones made by my ancestors many lifetimes ago. Mother doesn't like me wondering around, not without armed guards, without Umgadi, or even the likes of Reiko. Since losing Jerrod, she became paranoid about an unfortunate fate falling onto me as well.

Certainly, she truly thought things well. Despite magic running in my veins, in my family blood, I could conjure no magic. To her, I seemed defenseless without a means to defend myself. It was why she insisted me having to be monitored and protected at all times if it could be helped.

I hate looking at this damn mural.

"Princess, you're needed at the entrance. To meet with the Empress and your sisters."

The Umgadi guard reminded me, making me snap out of my reoccurring thoughts about the mural in front of me. My lips curled into a frown as I looked over my outfit one last time. Dark purple ceremonial robes that almost matched colors with red wine, shades darker than the purple Mother wore. A layered skirt-piece that touched my ankles over black tights, black longlseeve under a dark purple top. My hands and arms decorated with golden jewelry with pretty gems-- fitting for a royal princess, but not as flashy as my older sisters. Subtle, quiet, just like me.

"Right..." I responded with a flat tone, turning my head towards her and nodding. "... Let's get going."

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TO THE KONTINUED...

[vonnart]

XXXIV - Annual Birthday Self Portrait 🎂 Here is this year’s annual birthday self portrait and reflection piece! Below are the previous ones i've drawn throughout the years!

This drawing reflects the last year of my existence and on my previous birthday, I had both the best day of my life and the worst. I had an extremely traumatic psychedelic experience where i was convinced i had died for the first 2 and a half hours. It was intense and surreal, making connections to what the afterlife was and it was like none of the religions or theories had taught us. It was just returning to matter, still conscious but unable to grasp reality or have any say or control. An unnerving feeling of numbness and the inability to function. After collapsing multiple times from the rigor mortis i told myself I was experiencing, I was confused why i could still see and interpret anything. After some processing on the floor, I made a mental shift and thought: “Maybe the afterlife was like a turnable dial and because I was afraid, it unintentionally turned it a bad direction”. I was clearly in a negative plane of existence so I turned this mental dial in a more positive direction. “Maybe the afterlife is whatever you want it to be.” So I entered into what i thought was a projection of my own idea of what heaven was.

Almost instantly, I felt the sensation of unrivaled elation. I wasn’t at the pearly gates, an astral projection amongst the stars, or a foggy cloud representing a soul. I was still in my body and everything around me looked normal, which oddly seemed strange. “But why would i be in my house?" Maybe my mind is still processing being dead so instead it’s projecting what is familiar and comfortable OR OH maybe because heaven is wherever you would want to be the most! And this house is literally my favorite place on earth. And then I saw my bf Josh and wondered “Why would Josh be here when i could make any celebrity or crush I've had in my life to be the projection of a guide in this afterlife?" OH okay, because there truly isn't anyone I would want to help me through the early stages of accepting what’s after death!

This pattern of thoughts and answering them in my strange sense of being keep on a loop for about 5 hours and letting go of each physical attachment to the world was euphoric. No more fear of having to make money, keep up with work, pain or stress, worries about war or the state of the world, and most importantly, never having to fear dying again. I had never felt this light before. I let go of all of it completely and somehow, at the same time, felt incredibly connected to everything in a way that I can’t quite put into words. And the best part is that I kept reminding myself that I get to feel this feeling forever!!

Later that night I wanted to see if you could nap in the afterlife, and when I opened my eyes, I no longer was in that dream state. I was horribly confused and conflicted. I was actually disappointed I was still alive as that projected afterlife was the most beautiful sensation I may ever experience. The weeks that followed became a constant fear of questioning reality and developing pretty bad insomnia. I was afraid of learning that I still might be dead but I couldn’t have any way to prove it. It ended up being rather painful for about 4 months. My friends, family, and parents really helped ground me back to earth and I am so thankful for them. I’ve been reading a lot of books that explore consciousness and it’s been helping immensely.

So now, I feel like I’m seeing the world again for the first time through fresh lens of perspective. Being alive is the greatest sensation that I was taking for granted. I did develop my first actual fear in life, and like many, it’s the fear of dying. And that feeling is so strong because I enjoy being alive SO much, I really, really love it! The ups and downs, the connections and lessons. Everything is so delicate and precious and I’m making sure to handle it better these days. Here’s to 34 and it’s pretty safe to say I’m looking to make it a more calm and peaceful one!

[paintedpolitics]

trump & the changing role of political art

recently, i was discussing differing images of marat with prospective history students. the martrydom of marat in david’s 1793 painting was conveyed through his dedication to the pen even in death, and the almost halo-like lighting in the portrait. 

a week later, images emerged of a bloodied trump defiantly holding up his fist in the aftermath of a shooting at his rally. immediately, the american right responded with commendations of martyrdom. simultaneously, ‘how did he miss’ trended on twitter. the image held incredibly different implications depending on one’s view of trump. i knew i ought to see it as the picture of irony, vindicating the stance of campaigners for gun control: an advocate of gun rights shot down. 

despite this, the image first struck me as rousing. i felt myself viewing it from the perspective that this man was for the people, would lay down his life for the american people. in this regard it reminded me of those portraits of marat. i felt that the caption accompanying the images could shape the interpretation of it in the same way that artists upheld their political opinions in portraiture. 

i made the decision to draw trump in only red, white, blue and varying shades of grey. however, i felt the political implications of creating this image every time i touched (digital) pen to paper. not only would people judge my terrible rendition of a fist, but perhaps my political views too. 

this dilemma, i concluded, revealed little about the politics of this event. what feels interesting to me in political art is not criticism or praise, but what they can reveal about the nature of power in the moment being recorded. david’s portrait of marat revealed his power as a figurehead of the revolution, and the power of l’ami du peuple in catalysing change. the red white and blue in my drawing implies the populist power that trump holds, presenting himself as a representative of the common american. highlighting the blood allowed the event to revealed his power to divide america to the point of violence, regardless of my opinion on him.

in the current media landscape, political artwork has a highly limited role in influencing opinion. i didn’t feel like any image of trump i created could dissuade someone voting for him. perhaps, a more valuable role for political art today is to objectively examine power and political relationships. as polarisation increases globally, allowing political events to be viewed through a different lens may lead to the reevaluation of ideas and more critical thought. i think iconic opinion based pieces of art - like warhol’s portrait of nixon - has immortalised popular opinion of political figures. however, as scared and angry as trump makes me, i feel like i can impact through a more objective artistic approach.

[annmariethrush]

Day 5: Portrait

Cas gets his phone stuck in portrait mode and asks Dean for help, leading Dean to see the photo he was trying to look at.

on AO3 or below the cut

“My phone won’t turn sideways.”

Dean raised his eyes from the book he had been staring at for almost an hour now.

“What?” Dean raised his eyebrows at the grumpy angel standing over him.

“Dean, my phone won’t turn sideways.” Cas repeated, glaring at Dean, clearly already frustrated since he had resorted to asking for help.

Dean, partly due to a lack of understanding still, partly in hopes of being a little shit, slowly took the phone from Cas’s hand, turning it to the side so that it now lay horizontal in Cas’s palm.

Cas squinted harder, glaring at Dean like he was considering lethal force. “No, Dean. The screen. The picture on the screen won’t spin so it can be bigger and fill up the screen.”

Dean began to laugh heartily, “Cas, is your phone stuck in portrait mode? Let me see it.”

Shoulders still shaking with laughter, he took the phone from Cas’s hand once more. Turning it on and typing in Cas’s passcode, Dean quickly opened up settings to search for orientation lock. Less than thirty seconds later, Dean had resolved the problem and was about to hand the phone back to Cas when he thought to ask, “Wait, what were you trying to look at?”

Cas reached for his phone without answering, only for it to be snatched away as Dean pulled his hand back. “Nuh uh mister, if you have a tech problem, you gotta show it to the tech solution.”

Dean wiggled his eyebrows and bit his lip in an obnoxious attempt at sexiness. Cas flushed, though clearly not in response to Dean’s stupid antics. “I was trying to look at a picture… it’s quite old, so it’s too grainy when I zoom in so I wanted to see it just a little bigger.”

Dean’s face slipped into curious confusion before he returned his eyes to the phone. Opening up the running apps, he swiped back to photos and found a picture he had not seen in a very long time. It was from the night he took Cas to the strip bar when he thought that his conversation with Raphael might mean certain depth. Dean had taken a quick photo of Cas from across the table while they were waiting for their drinks, partially out of fear that it would be the last time he saw him, and partially because the look on his face had just been so priceless. Dean couldn’t remember sending it to Cas, but angels had their ways.

When Dean thought to look back up at Cas again, wrenching himself from his memories, he found Cas looking sheepish with a blush still lingering on his cheeks. “Didn’t I take this photo?” Was all Dean could get out, though he didn’t think it was what he really wanted to ask.

“Yes,” Cas answered slowly, “it was my last night on earth.”

Dean waited for Cas to continue, but when he didn’t, “Why do you like it so much?” Dean didn’t want it to come out harshly, but he thought it did anyway so he kept going. “I mean, I like it cause I had a great time that night, but I don’t remember you particularly enjoying yourself…”

Cas smiled fondly, seemingly able to see the humor of the situation, even if only in hindsight. “I…” He paused, face contorted as he tried to phrase his thoughts appropriately. “I like seeing myself the way you see me. At the time, I had not yet developed a strong connection to this physical form. I have become more fond of it since then, and being human helped ground me in this shape, but still when I think of myself, it is something more akin to my true form. But I like the reminder that, even then, this is what I looked like to you and this is what you think of when you think of me.”

Cas finished his explanation with a resigned smile, having just laid bare his heart, and waited patiently for Dean’s thoughts to catch up.

After a moment, Dean began, “That’s… That’s not what I think of when I think of you.”

Cas’s face dropped and he quickly started to apologize, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume that you—“

“No no no, that’s not— you’re more than that.” Dean stopped for a moment and licked his lips hesitantly before resolving himself. “When I think about you that’s the face I see, yeah. And the trench coat and suit. But you’re… I can feel your energy, Cas. You’re bigger than that. I can’t see it, but I can feel you in the whole room. Sometimes I can almost swear I bump into your wings when I walk past you. It’s… your true form is there, I can sense it, even if I can’t see it. But mostly when I think about you, it’s not even what you look like at all. Like, yeah, your face is good and your hair and……. Yeah, but you’re just a cool guy to be around. I think a lot more about how funny you are and what a pain in my ass you are and how kind you are and how much I care about you….” Dean trailed off, blushing as he realized how much further he had gone than he meant to.

Cas smiled broadly, “I see… thank you, Dean.”

Dean chuckled awkwardly, “Yeah bud, don’t worry about it. I wish I could take a picture that had all of you in it to show you what I see.”

“It’s okay Dean, I often wish that I could show you exactly what I see when I look at you. Your soul is beautiful, even if you can’t see it.”

With that, Cas turned to leave, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his trench coat, guiding himself out of the room as Dean gripped the back of the chair next to him and tried not to let his eyes get misty. He wondered how he could be so lucky as to have someone who found him beautiful.

[purplesurveys]

1926

When did you last drink coffee?  I haven't had any today yet but I am going to my uncle's later for a bit of a coffee-tasting session, so that'll be fun.

When did you last cry? And why, if you feel like sharing.  Two Thursdays ago. It was just one stressful situation after another at work, and while that was happening on its own it was also a day where I seemed to be everywhere doing everything but also nothing seemed to get done / I was only meet with criticisms. At the end of the day when it was just myself and Dev left in the office I finally put my hands to my face and cried.

What was the last beach you visited and when?  The last beach I was in the ~general vicinity of was My Khe in Vietnam but I didn't venture any nearer. The weather was horrible when we went and I knew it was going to 100% ruin my mood if I walked under the sun for anything longer than 5 minutes.

What book do you plan to read next?  I'm reading three books at the same time because all excite me so much I take turns among them hahaha -- they're all books that house a collection of history essays, which explains why I can easily switch from one to another.

For anyone curious, the books are:

Tikim by Doreen Fernandez

One of the Looking Back books by Ambeth Ocampo

Cabinet of Curiosities by Ambeth Ocampo

What fictional character/s remind you of yourself?  Monica Geller except for the fact that I can't cook.

What's in your fridge right now? List as many things as you can think of.  Coffee cake, pizza, eggs, a bunch of condiments I don't feel like enumerating one by one because There Is A Lot, butter, cheese, some veggies, whipped cream, pitchers of iced tea and water, a carton of almond milk for me, a handful of tumblers, the dogs' food. I'm sure I'm missing a few others but this should give a good picture.

If you could have any artist, living or dead, paint your portrait, who would it be?  Monet.

Do you smell anything in particular right now? The ocean scent my reed diffuser is supposed to be, well, diffusing.

Do you make enough money to live comfortably? [can be in combination with a spouse]  Assuming this means living alone comfortably: Live within the threshold of acceptability, yes. Live comfortably, probably not.

What is one thing you like about your appearance? Don’t say nothing!  I like the dimple that shows up when I smile.

What would you like to tell your father?  I'm tired again and I wish I can find the strength to leave. But I'll try to be better soon and hopefully you'll be even more proud of me then.

What would you like to tell your mother? You make good arancini and I wish you could make it again hehe.

Whose was the last wedding you went to? I haven't been to a wedding since '07, for an aunt and uncle lol.

What is your greatest fear?  Losing a loved one. I don't do well with grief.

What is a chronic health issue you deal with, even if it’s minor? Scoliosis.

What was your college major? If applicable.  Journalism.

What new place have you been to recently?  I went to this membership club thingy in Makati for an event.

What are you a geek about?  Wrestling history.

What is something you have no patience for?  Crying babies, screaming toddlers, and disrespectful kids.

What celebrity would you want to go out for a meal/drinks with? Kate Winslet just because I'd know it'd feel normal and not pressuring at all and that she'd be in Cool Mom mode the whole time lol.

Are you happy with your weight?  Yes. My mom called me fat the other night and while it personally stung knowing what Filipinos mean when they use the word fat (i.e. they purposely want to make you feel degraded. Gen X and Boomer Filipinos are really strange in that regard), I realize in the grand scheme of things I really shouldn't care. I'm like a hundred pounds flat and my arms are just no longer bones lmao. Where I am now is so much better than before when I literally looked 16.

When did you last hold a baby, if ever? Whose?  I don't know. I think my cousin Cholo when he was a few weeks old? This was in 2007.

How many cats do you have?  One on earth, Max; two in pet heaven, Arlee and Miki.

How many dogs do you have?  Two on earth, Cooper and Agi; one in pet heaven, Kimi.

How many other pets do you have? We just have the three now.

How old were you when you got your driver’s license?  18.

What year did you graduate high school?  2016.

What is the first number of your zip code?  Nope.

How many of your grandparents are still alive?  Three.

What is your favorite number?  7.

How many kids do you want?  Zero.

How many apartments have you lived in?  Zero.

What age do people say you look?  I don't usually get a number per se but people are just generally surprised and say they didn't expect me to look so young.

Do you feel like your family accepts you for who you are?  I know my sister does. I'm elusive to everyone else because I know they have the potential to get all judgy.

Do you feel like your friends accept you for who you are?  Yes.

Who is the best doctor you’ve ever had?  I've never been to the same doctor more than once, apart from my dentist.

Have you ever been flipped off by a random stranger?  I don't think so.

Do you have a lot of people blocked on Facebook?  Probably, but absolutely nowhere near as many as on Twitter.

Do you consider yourself spiritual?  No.

Do you consider yourself religious?  No.

Are you afraid of spiders?  Little bit, yeah.

Are you afraid of snakes?  If they're venomous.

Does everyone in your family know your sexual orientation?  I don't even know mine.

What is one thing you find offensive?  I'm extremely sensitive about Southeast Asian racism because there's so fucking much of it as it is, even from fellow Asians.

Do you often post about politics on social media?  I do if I have to.

Would you ever want to go back to school?  I'd love to take a course simply for leisure learning, but because they all require theses and all I don't really plan on pursuing further studies haha.

What are three things you are naturally good at?  Writing, table tennis, small talk but only if the person can small talk back. I do not bother if they only give one-word answers lol.

What are three things you are NOT naturally good at?  Cooking, sewing, drawing.

Is your dream to get married and have kids?  No and no.

Where do you hang your towel to dry after showering?  Above the shower door.

If you were the opposite sex, how would you style your hair?  I wish boy-me could pull off Jungkook's bob cut. That man's babygirl era felt like a fever dream and I was so bummed when it ended :')

Last person you hugged?  Maybe Angela?

How is the weather right now?  31C.

Are you missing someone?  My dad, but that's a constant feeling.

What is the wallpaper on your cell phone?  Namjoon's my lockscreen and the whole gang of 7 is my home screen.

What do you have handy at your bedside?  Katinko, a notepad, a few pens.

What is your dad's middle name? Nope.

What is your mom's middle name?  Nopes.

First thing you'll save in a fire?  Phone in pocket then rush to get all the animals.

[thatrickmcginnis]

SPALDING GRAY NYC 1990

Spalding Gray had just woken up when I arrived to photograph him at his loft in SoHo; I was let in by his director and collaborator Renee Shafransky, the "girlfriend Renee" that Spalding frequently mentioned in his monologues, and meeting her felt as momentous as meeting Spalding. Renee fussed over Gray, reminding him why I was there, patting down his bedhead, telling him to eat something before we took any photos, and then she left. I have a memory - it might be false - that you could see the Performing Garage from the window of his loft, the home of the Wooster Group that had launched the careers of Spalding in addition to Ron Vawter, Willem Dafoe and Kate Valk.

I was there to take Spalding's photo for the cover of NOW magazine, in advance of the Toronto run of his latest show, Monster in a Box. Since the release of Swimming to Cambodia three years earlier Gray had become a celebrity, and his theatrical monologues had become hot tickets. In my mind he was a big star, so I was amazed to find myself with this half-asleep man, sitting at his big wooden kitchen table eating bread and cheese and talking about the deaths of our mothers. Mine had died just two years earlier and from the way Spalding talked I assumed his mother's death was just as recent, but I learned later that Margaret Gray had committed suicide in 1967, when her son was on vacation in Mexico City.

My job was simple enough: take a portrait of Spalding Gray on colour slide film for the cover of the magazine, and a black and white shot for the inside. I had arrived with my Nikon F3, my Rolleiflex and a Metz flash with a light stand and umbrella. Talking about dead mothers didn't seem to dampen Spalding's mood, and after we moved the big oak kitchen table near a white wall, Spalding suggested he get out the "Monster in a Box": the manuscript for his first novel, Impossible Vacation, to use as a prop in addition to the customary glass of water that sat on his desk when he performed his monologues.

We began with the cover shot - a creatively constrained job that required a brightly lit shot with at least a third of the frame left vacant for type, and a space on the top for the magazine's logo. There weren't many other options available and Spalding didn't seem enthusiastic about going outside and shooting on the street, so I limited myself to that wall, the table, and the props on hand. Spalding gave me a lot of options, alternately mugging, smiling and glowering for my camera, taking whatever direction I was able to give. We moved on to the setup with the table, the glass of water and, eventually the "Monster". It was an uncharacteristically luxurious shoot - over an hour including the time we spent talking over breakfast. I thanked him and headed out, to my girlfriend's place in the West Village and eventually back to Toronto.

My photos of Spalding Gray ran with the cover story and I managed to score tickets to see Monster in a Box. After the show I was standing around with my girlfriend in the lobby of the theatre when I saw Spalding emerge tentatively from a backstage door. Should I go and say hello? I asked my girlfriend. She said I should; we seemed to get along so well during the shoot, she was sure he'd remember me. I made my way over and reintroduced myself; he remembered our shoot, and asked what I thought of the show. I said it was great, and I thought he gave a great performance. His expression immediately told me I'd said something wrong.

"Was it a performance?" he asked, almost pleading, a note of panic in his voice. "Did it seem like a performance to you?"

I stumbled over an answer, but a group of his friends descended on Spalding and carried him away. I felt upset and grateful at the same time. It would be the last time I'd see Spalding Gray.

If you know about Spalding Gray you know the rest of the story. The continued success performing his monologues, most of which ended up being filmed. (Monster in a Box was made into a film by Nick Broomfield, with music by Laurie Anderson. Gray's Anatomy would be directed by Steven Soderbergh.) There were movie roles, and appearances on sitcoms like The Nanny and Will & Grace. He'd get name-checked on The Simpsons. He would leave Renee for a younger woman and start a family, and in the summer of 2001 Gray was severely injured in a car accident in Ireland. A head trauma caused a deep depression - a neurological injury that only made his nascent bipolar tendencies worse. He began talking about suicide, even rehearsing it and making attempts before he apparently jumped from the Staten Island Ferry in January of 2004. His body was found two months later in the East River.

When someone kills themself you can always spot the warning signs in hindsight. As someone who's dealt with depression most of my life I immediately spotted that Spalding was from the tribe. I was young, and hoped that our brief but intense conversation that morning might have provided a connection, but that almost never happens; my nearly forty years of portrait shoots are records of encounters, usually brief and rarely repeated. But I'll never forget the hour or so I spent with Spalding Gray, and will always wish that he'd found a way out of his darkness.

[emcant]

State of the art (TW below cut, sfw above)

It took Friends With Kids' Kid a bit to get used to his stuffed monkey. A few days ago, his dad sent us a video of them playing with it over the bars of his crib.

It's lost somewhere in the ether, but I've seen a similar video of myself and my dad doing the same thing, and I am so glad that Friends recorded that. Whatever else may happen in his life, now Kid has proof that when he was really small, his dad loved him so much that he made him laugh until he fell over.

I think my role in that process, as the maker of the monkey, always was my career goal. Capitalism aside, I want to make things that people have nice memories with, not strictly of - the finer details of a richer plot in the back corners of their minds. I think I went into film knowing this but not understanding it: I wanted to work on the edgier Adult Swim shorts because they remind me of screwing around with my friends. It's only recently hit me that one gets so much more out of tangible things, and we're kind of turning away from them as a culture. Healthy love is so much more physical than what I was raised to believe.

Anyway, I've hit on something I'd really like to make for myself. I found an old cross stitch pattern of a cat sitting in a portrait pose, and I've customized it for a few friends to excellent results. One of my friends has a tripod cat, and I adjusted the pattern just a bit to reflect that - and she says she teared up when she opened it. In 20 years she'll remember Willow very well, and still have a piece of her to hold. I can't replace Willow - no one can - but I sure can help celebrate her.

I'm pretty open about my folks just consistently stepping in it as parents, largely because I want to normalize it but also because the rabbit hole is always a little deeper than I remember. I've told you stories I hate. This is the story I hate the most.

TW child abuse via animal abuse

My mom used to get me pets for birthdays, Christmas, etc. None of them had a natural death. With the exception of I think one "accident", they all "ran off" shortly after, and I have no idea why. It was 1000% some kind of punishment, but we never discussed it; I couldn't have told you what I did. It comes up quite a bit in therapy because I'm trying to find a pattern for it and I can't. Overall, we're trying to focus on making a narrative, getting down the objective facts, and it's really upsetting to me to have to just boil it down to "my caretaker deliberately hurts things smaller than she is".

The first and the last were cats. Bear, the last one, somehow "hopped" a six foot fence in coyote county... despite being both indoor and declawed. I begged her to help me look for him and she said no and flat out ignored me. Luckily it was my dad's night, and despite the half hour between their houses, he ran me home and we whipped right back out there with "lost" flyers. He doesn't remember it too well, but he was pissed. He very pointedly stapled one to the same fence that Bear got over. Later my mom chewed us both out, I suppose for standing up. We never did find Bear (he wasn't lost) but it never happened to a living thing again, thank goodness. After that my clothes started walking off on their own, but between the two options, I'd take that in a heartbeat.

The first cat was named Pogo, who did have claws and was indoor/outdoor - and also, I wasn't more than 5, and the pattern hadn't started yet. He "ran off" sometime between my dad moving out and my mom and I getting an apartment. I spent a distraught week calling for him every time I was outside, and that was the end of it. I guess I'm still a little surprised; it wasn't yet something I could see through.

Frankly I feel terrible that there is no memorial for Pogo. I can still picture him pretty clearly, and so can my father- he was loved, and his life was forcibly cheapened by someone who hated us more than she loved him.

I believe I'll stitch him up so we can all remember what he looked like.

[schismusic]

Caterina Barbieri, six years later

After taking my last exam on June 4th I was waiting for the train home to leave. As the carriage I was in decided all of a sudden to piss a good liter of accumulated rainwater out of the ceiling and the walls behind me, I grabbed my earphones to listen to some music — and all of a sudden I was reminded of Information Needed to Create an Entire Body and INTCAEB by Caterina Barbieri. I first found out about Caterina Barbieri about a year and a half after she released Patterns of Consciousness, or right around the time she was releasing her retrospective compilation Born Again in the Voltage. At the time Caterina was a guest at a local electronic music festival, and it was incredibly unexpected for me to find myself more attracted by the two most mundane names in the lineup: hers, just a first name and a last name, exhuding elegant confidence; the other, Ross from Friends, a practical joke that sounded more fitting for some kind of fifth-wave emo band than it did the blissfully nostalgic tech-house act it actually stands for. And while I did love Family Portrait, I actually never listened to it in full in one single sitting. Patterns of Consciousness, on the other hand, immediately became my jam.

As I delved deeper and deeper into Barbieri's ever-looping, never-ending melody-making, I would actually find myself scouring for any and all available information on her work. Not much was available at the time, and I only accidentally stumbled upon her website that also included what I would later find out to be PoC's vinyl liner notes. Basically every melody Barbieri works with is a slow and constant accumulation/substitution of notes played by one monophonic synthesizer, dialed into a sequencer and slapped back and forth through a number of stereo delay lines to simulate counterpoint and even polyphony. The system by which the notes gather together and sort of gravitate into their respective position is, by the artist's own definition, "algorithmic", almost stochastic: eliminating possibilities until a powerful form coalesces and emerges out of nothing. Impossible to find a better soundtrack for my early university days, the 7am walks to Algebra class. And of course Information Needed to Create an Entire Body was exactly the sound I heard when learning how to count the subsets of k elements from a pool of n objects, or learning how to calculate the n-th number in the Bell succession. Little did I know that this record I'd naively stumbled upon would last longer in my memory than any of the classes I was attending at the time (this is regrettable, to an extent, but it also stands as a testament to just how much of an earworm Barbieri's work is).

I saw Caterina Barbieri play live three times, one of which together with Carlo Maria as Punctum (the sole vinyl pressing of Remote Sensing is to this day, speaking not just as a record collector but also as an estimator of that particular album, one of my "white whales": a gaping hole that might very well never be filled). It almost could have been four. I ran into Caterina Barbieri outside the train station of my city, about to catch the train to go back home; starstruck, I approached her, shook her hand. I knew she was going to play that night, and kind of in passing mentioned I would have loved to attend, but hadn't had any luck with the tickets. She was kind enough to offer to put me on a guestlist, which kind of took me aback: I wasn't even aware that that could have been a possibility, and I was so grateful she would offer that. I really did not know how to react to that. Unfortunately, the place she was going to play is pretty hard to get into, so nothing came of it, but even just the gesture was enough to actually make me stop and think. 2018 and 2019 weren't at all good years for me, but looking back it's these small, lacerating moments of kindness that stand out to me: signals that not everything was lost, that I could still become a better person and get better.

When Ecstatic Computation came out in May 2019, I had been religiously waiting for it to drop and the very moment I finally listened to it I knew we had an AOTY contender. It was literally everything I was hoping a sequel to Patterns to Consciousness to be, as someone who wasn't that into Born Again in the Voltage: heavily based on a comparable compositional method, yet somehow more human, more emotional, more ecstatic like the record itself says. I spent hours on end listening to the closing track, Bow of Perception, over and over again; the opener, Fantas, struck every chord it needed to; it was quite interesting and refreshing to hear Barbieri belt out ethereal vocals on Arrows of Time; However, the one that's stayed with me the most throughout all this is track 2: an otherwise unassuming, one-and-a-half-minute vignette striking like lightning with a sore violent melody in some sort of odd time signature (never really counted it out). Spine of Desire injects an inexplicable sense of danger into the entire record, and it never quite leaves, never afraid of its own nakedness, drenched in reverb it provokes the listener out of the analog warmth and into some edgier territories not too far removed from the more Oversteps-esque tracks on Remote Sensing.

Now I'll be completely honest with you all: I wasn't a fan of Spirit Exit when it came out, and I haven't exactly revisited it lately, but I did go to see Caterina Barbieri perform live at the RoBOt festival in October 2022 (on that same night, Ben Frost's show was plagued by performance-crashing issues to the main clock of all of his machines, and he still owned the night, shaking everything in his path right down to the bone). I had some fun, actually. I've met her and seen her so many times I'm convinced she must be terrified of me being some kind of stalker, which I clearly am not — I just like her live shows a lot, and if I had to be a bit of an asshole, they're usually on the cheap side, which makes it easier for me to go see them. At any rate, I went and grabbed a vinyl copy of the then-new album, which is still sitting unplayed on my shelf: not the nicest thing, but oh well. Now on the other hand, I knew what I was waiting for.

Last summer, Barbieri released a record called Myuthafoo, which she refers to as "Ecstatic Computation's sister album". The reason I was so hyped to hear it is that track 2, "Math of You", premiered (played along Pinnacles of You) in Virgil Abloh's Imaginary TV initiative. I was so fucking hyped to hear some new Barbieri tracks at the time — late 2020, I think — and when that track hit I was immediately sold. Spent a whole day reloading the page over and over again just so I could relisten to that new song: ice-fucking-cold. Like Ecstatic Computation, but from a parallel universe that's still in the middle of an ice age (Resident Advisor's review of the full album that featured it very cleverly says it's more or less like Ecstatic Computation, but replacing the human pulse with something more mechanical and computerized — I am paraphrasing, of course, to keep more in line with the tone of this piece and my writing in general). I was hooked. The opening synth swirl became its own track, Memory Leak, and it's as hard-hitting an opener as anything in Barbieri's catalog. Its strength? It is unbearably short. It should last much longer, and yet it doesn't. Cry about it.

Then what: all of a sudden, on June 4th, 2024, I am standing near the exit door of the train home after my last exam, and I'm listening to these two tracks that in my head have been practically synonymous with fucking discrete mathematics and combinatorics, in what feels like another life yet at the same time all too close for comfort. And I still derive enjoyment from it, and it's still the exact same enjoyment, which to me is the craziest part. Sometimes we find small elements of our past selves, refracted into tangential information, fragmented and forlorn and yet crystallized exactly as they appeared at the time. This entire post is essentially a counterpoint to the OPN one: it's probably not only surprise that I'm looking for. It's also something deeper than that and at the same time much simpler.

In the summer of 2019 I had just gotten my driver's license. I got two friends of mine onto my mother's car and we drove to Fano to see Caterina Barbieri play live in a former church which had lost its ceiling during some 1943 bombings. I was hoping she would play Bow of Perception, but I knew — looking at her other live shows available on YouTube — she wasn't playing that track, and would usually start off with Fantas, move almost to the end of the record, then do an old one (usually Scratches on the Readable Surface). Whatever, anyway, I was still hoping, driving on a highway for the first time in my entire life, trying to remember all of the different bells and whistles you need to consider when you're just starting out behind the wheel. As I was sitting on the grass, now freely growing on what once was the inner floor of the church, I remember watching the opening act (an admittedly very talented guy by the moniker "Aspect Ratio", you can find him here (link Bandcamp)) remove his equipment from the stage and Caterina Barbieri taking position behind her machines. The tension was palpable, for some reason. And then that first staccato line hit me. All of a sudden I knew it was going to turn out okay, as hard as it had been. Six years later, that same old feeling of catharsis runs me over again.

[shoque]

Realms of Whitmore - Forgotten Hollow

To The Esteemed Mattias Fischer, Word of your masterful artistry has reached my fair valley. Having seen your enchanting work for myself, I have endeavored to charter your expertise to enshrine my portrait upon my castle. I believe you'll find the funds enclosed more than needed to appropriate travel. Your payment shall be tenfold once three likenesses adorn my wall. Earnestly Yours, Count Vladimir

The famed painter from Henford on Bagley was surprised to receive the letter stuffed with golden coins. He had just proposed to his fiancée, Gretchen Wolf and was looking forward to planning a modest wedding. He felt aggrieved that the man who wrote the letter was so assured he'd drop everything for the travel.

Together, the two talked it over and decided he would ignore the letter.

Ignoring the letter quickly became impossible however, as that night the Count appeared to Mattias in his dreams and beckoned him to paint his likeness.

Mattias was oddly enthralled by his likeness and compelled to paint his beautiful face. "A face like his.. I must paint it." He told his wife the next morning. "It will only be a week, and then I will return and we can be wed in a most grand marriage."

Gretchen helped him make travel plans and Mattias left the following morning.

Mattias arrived at the Count's Castle that evening and was greeted by the count himself.

The count invited Mattias into the Grand Hall where a bowl of the regions fruit had been prepared for him. Mattias had wondered why the count did not also eat, but his hunger spoke louder to him.

After Dinner, the count lead Mattias to his bedroom, and the artist drifted off to sleep.

Later that night however, Mattias awoke to sounds of a pipe organ echoing through the halls. He followed the sound to the Main hall again where the count was playing furiously. Mattias tried to interrupt, but the man was so engulfed in the music nothing garnered his attention.

Unable to sleep, Mattias wandered the castle. It was then that he realized there were no staff, no other inhabitants of the castle. It was just the two of them in the entire estate.

The only locked door he discovered was in the basement, where a chilling draft nearly froze him to death.

Worried the organ music wouldn't be the only thing keeping him awake now, he decided to turn back to guest suite and find a book to read. He however passed out before choosing upon a title.

The next morning, the two began the work of painting the Count's portrait. During the painting sessions, the count chatted with Mattias. His calming voice set Mattias at ease, but every now and then the man would hiss and it truly creeped Mattias out.

The next few days followed this pattern- organ music at night, painting all day. Mattias was amazed at how quickly the time was passing. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that there were periods of time where he was simply drained and blacked out.

After three more days of painting and restless nights of organ music, Mattias was shocked on the fifth night when the organ was silent. His sleep schedule was already skewed however, so when the Count invited him to accompany him on an evening walk, he agreed. When they returned the two laid upon the ground to watch the stars.

It was then that the Count made began flirting with Mattias. Mattias reminded the Count that he had a fiancée waiting for him at home. The Count began to lay it on thick, but Mattias did not budge.

Defeated, the Count mesmerized Mattias to forget the evening and left him to regain his thoughts.

When Mattias awoke the organ music was playing once more. He figured he must have been wandering aimlessly once more and made his way back to the guest suite to read once again.

After the seven days was complete, the count had chosen three masterpieces and allowed Mattias to keep the rest. "Keep them, gift them, sell them," the count told him as he ran his hand smoothly across Mattias's chin, "use them to show the people what a kind Prince the Hollow has." He kissed Mattias on the cheeks and bid him adieu.

Enchanted, Mattias would go on to do just that, and the Forgotten Hollow would have new blood within no time.

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