#dios (producer)

[ilikebobcuts642]

Bruno week day 7 - Au

Sooo, I was thinking about how so many people say “Bruno was/should’ve been the main character of part 5” and it ended up leading to the idea of him being apart of the Joestar bloodline somehow. (Don’t ask)

He’s a result of Dio’s mischievous activities and is a little younger than he is in cannon. Bruno has no knowledge of his biological father at first, not even a modeling picture. He only finds out later in life when he meets his half brother Giorno. I’m not exactly sure where to go with it from here but I just love the idea of Bruno being a mini version of Johnathan (who’s literally my favorite joestar).

Bruno week was really fun to do and I’m glad I was able to fight off artblock with it.

[daily-yuzuki-yukari-songs]

Dios/SignalP - This is Elimination!

Genre: Electropop

Release Year: 2014

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

Ardiente Paciencia (2022, Rodrigo Sepúlveda)

09/11/2024

[reasonsforhope]

It’s an open secret in fashion. Unsold inventory goes to the incinerator; excess handbags are slashed so they can’t be resold; perfectly usable products are sent to the landfill to avoid discounts and flash sales. The European Union wants to put an end to these unsustainable practices. On Monday, [December 4, 2023], it banned the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear.

“It is time to end the model of ‘take, make, dispose’ that is so harmful to our planet, our health and our economy,” MEP Alessandra Moretti said in a statement. “Banning the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear will contribute to a shift in the way fast fashion manufacturers produce their goods.”

This comes as part of a broader push to tighten sustainable fashion legislation, with new policies around ecodesign, greenwashing and textile waste phasing in over the next few years. The ban on destroying unsold goods will be among the longer lead times: large businesses have two years to comply, and SMEs have been granted up to six years. It’s not yet clear on whether the ban applies to companies headquartered in the EU, or any that operate there, as well as how this ban might impact regions outside of Europe.

For many, this is a welcome decision that indirectly tackles the controversial topics of overproduction and degrowth. Policymakers may not be directly telling brands to produce less, or placing limits on how many units they can make each year, but they are penalising those overproducing, which is a step in the right direction, says Eco-Age sustainability consultant Philippa Grogan. “This has been a dirty secret of the fashion industry for so long. The ban won’t end overproduction on its own, but hopefully it will compel brands to be better organised, more responsible and less greedy.”

Clarifications to come

There are some kinks to iron out, says Scott Lipinski, CEO of Fashion Council Germany and the European Fashion Alliance (EFA). The EFA is calling on the EU to clarify what it means by both “unsold goods” and “destruction”. Unsold goods, to the EFA, mean they are fit for consumption or sale (excluding counterfeits, samples or prototypes)...

The question of what happens to these unsold goods if they are not destroyed is yet to be answered. “Will they be shipped around the world? Will they be reused as deadstock or shredded and downcycled? Will outlet stores have an abundance of stock to sell?” asks Grogan.

Large companies will also have to disclose how many unsold consumer products they discard each year and why, a rule the EU is hoping will curb overproduction and destruction...

Could this shift supply chains?

For Dio Kurazawa, founder of sustainable fashion consultancy The Bear Scouts, this is an opportunity for brands to increase supply chain agility and wean themselves off the wholesale model so many rely on. “This is the time to get behind innovations like pre-order and on-demand manufacturing,” he says. “It’s a chance for brands to play with AI to understand the future of forecasting. Technology can help brands be more intentional with what they make, so they have less unsold goods in the first place.”

Grogan is equally optimistic about what this could mean for sustainable fashion in general. “It’s great to see that this is more ambitious than the EU’s original proposal and that it specifically calls out textiles. It demonstrates a willingness from policymakers to create a more robust system,” she says. “Banning the destruction of unsold goods might make brands rethink their production models and possibly better forecast their collections.”

One of the outstanding questions is over enforcement. Time and again, brands have used the lack of supply chain transparency in fashion as an excuse for bad behaviour. Part of the challenge with the EU’s new ban will be proving that brands are destroying unsold goods, not to mention how they’re doing it and to what extent, says Kurazawa. “Someone obviously knows what is happening and where, but will the EU?”"

-via British Vogue, December 7, 2023

[goldentemplariumcrow]

Steal. Dio's. Jacket.

Just do it.

Make my day and steal his jacket.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Tide

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Frankie Morales is capable of almost anything... except not cumming in his jeans when he thinks about you, the pretty clerk at the grocery store he always buys his giant jugs of laundry detergent at. Warnings: Smut thoughts, Frankie's POV and internal monologue, premature ejaculation, so much cum talk, addiction recovery, laundry detergent, this is so ridiculous but I also tried to make it super sweet. Words: 1,200

A/N: I'd probably classify this as a crack fic... but with heart. This is SOOOOO indulgent and ridiculous. I don't know what @luxurychristmaspudding unlocked in me but this is what's released. I know this is my *4th* story in a week, but I couldn't help myself. Also, shout out to the JM Discord and all of the tenants who join in the luxuriousness of this level of depravity.

Masterlist

🚁👖🤍Frankie🤍👖🚁

It keeps happening to Frankie over and over and over again. Recovery has been a challenge, abstaining from all of his previous vices means he’s no longer numbing his mind… and body. 

Nobody should ever cum during a prescription commercial and yet… he does. The swimsuit hugged the woman’s curves a little too close, plus she had the same color hair as you. His mind couldn’t help floating to thinking about you in a swimsuit.

Aye dios mio, get a hold of yourself man.

He’s too embarrassed to bring it up to his doctor. The notion of ever mentioning it to the Delta Force boys terrifies him, although he knows deep down they’d lend a sympathetic ear. They’ve killed, fought wars, and climbed out of the lowest points of their lives together… but the thought of letting his secret out? Awful. He shudders at the thought of telling his fellow Narcotics Anonymous attendees: “Hi, my name is Frankie, I’m an addict and I can’t stop cumming in my pants.”

He tries to think of the worst things, mental images that should scar even the scariest of humans, thoughts about death, rotting produce, weird looking insects, and yet, it still happens.

___

“Hi, how’d you find everything today?”

He blinks towards your tag though he’s already memorized your name, it repeats through his mind whenever he climaxes… he wonders to himself how your sweet voice would sound repeating his name. 

Uh oh, quick, think of a bee sting, everyone’s going to die, burnt pizza. 

He shakes his head, the thoughts of you wrapped around him flying out of his head with each subtle knock. 

“Sir, are you okay?”

Fuuuuuuck, you really had to call me sir, didn’t you?

“Y-yeah, sorry, long day. My name’s Frankie by the way.”

Focus, don’t look at how her hand wraps around the shampoo bottle, soldier. 

“Hi Frankie, nice to finally have a name to the face.”

Of course you say his name in the sweetest way. He presses his fingers into the flesh of his palm as hard as he can withstand, he prays you don’t see the way his nostrils flare.

Be strong.

He’s been captivated ever since he first saw you working in the mom and pop market across the street from his apartment. You’re always friendly and smiling, he swears he feels your eyes on him every time he leaves yet he’s too scared to look back and confirm for himself. He wishes he knew how to small talk and somehow step over the threshold of this case of shyness he has with you. 

Why bother? I’ll just end up disappointing you, never leaving you fulfilled. 

He’s so ashamed. 

“That’s a big bottle of detergent, you must do a lot of laundry. You have kids?” 

“I do… a four year old, but she lives with her mom,” he answers, lifting the giant jug into his cart, his cock twitches when he feels your eyes on his biceps. 

Stay cool, you can do this, you’ve literally overcome worse… and cummed over less.

He wonders if you notice just how much laundry soap he buys… he’s confident that you have no clue you're the only reason why his washing machine is constantly working overtime. 

“Oh, I love that age,” you mindlessly muse scanning a cereal box. “Is she as cute as her dad?”

His spine turns to jelly… he feels the phantom getting closer. 

Trash compactors, mom and dad’s divorce, elephant seals.

“Everyone says she has my eyes.”

“Then she must be,” you wink.

Not a wink, not a wink, not a goddamn wiiiiink. 

He quickly pulls his head down, sticking his card in the chip reader, resisting the urge to think of his now aching cock pushing into you. 

STOP. STOP. STOP THINKING FRANKIE.

Focusing on the pin pad breaks his spiral. Relief spreads through his tense body knowing this run in will be over soon, he can go home in peace, his pants surviving this moment.

Your fingers brush against his hand when you hand him the receipt, his favorite part of buying groceries. He’ll stand in your checkout lane no matter the size of the line for the split second of skin to skin contact. It’s all he can afford to let himself have, any more would surely stain his jeans. 

___

“Hey Frankie!” 

He turns at your voice, his breath hitching when you walk over to him while removing your name tag.

“Want to go next door and grab a drink?”

“I’d love to… but I, uh,” he lifts his hat nervously tussling his hair, “I’m in recovery.” 

“Oh,” your voice and face falter, “I’m sorry, um–”

Don’t let this moment pass, you can do it.

“I know a really good ice cream place, a few blocks down, I can meet you there?” 

Ice cream means licking. Frankie, you're an idiot.

“Oh, um, that sounds amazing but I don’t drive.”

“I can take you… if you’d like.” 

“Yeah?” your smile grows wider. “That sounds amazing.”

“I just need to drop these off, and then I’ll meet you outside in twenty?”

“Awesome!” You squeeze his hand wrapped around the cart handle. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Your touch scorches his skin, he blinks watching your ass sway while walking through the doors to the backroom. 

1-2-3, a gush of hot liquid releases against his jeans, his knuckles turn white as they clutch the cart handle.

Jesus Christ.

Frankie picks up his bags, holding them close to his crotch and leaves the grocery store. He better hurry. Thank god he just bought more detergent. 

___

In hindsight, he’s thankful for his little grocery store indiscretion. He’s carefree and relaxed as he falls even harder for you over chocolate sundaes. You ask for extra rainbow sprinkles and laugh at all of his jokes. 

This must be what it’s like to live normally.

___

“That’s me,” you point to a small bungalow unbuckling your seatbelt. “Thanks for the ice cream Frankie."

“This was really fun,” he turns towards you, shocked at how close you’re leaning towards him. 

Kiss her. No, wait, don’t kiss her. Yeah, definitely don’t kiss her. 

“It was,” you lick your lips and lean even closer. 

He can smell you now, you smell divine. Like ice cream and floral perfume. 

You place a soft kiss against his lips and pull away.

Frankie’s body tenses, a pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, he spurts against the cotton of his briefs. Doe eyes rounded with embarrassment stare at you.

“Sorry,” whispers out of his downturned lips. 

“Oh,” your face fails at hiding a smile, “Frankie, it’s okay. Really.”

His head knocks against the headrest, face frozen in a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Frankie,” your hand clasps his chin forcing him to look at you. “Honestly, it’s okay. It’s actually… kinda hot.”

Right then and there he knows he’ll never shop at another grocery store again. 

[carbootsoul]

The biggest clues to an inspection of the prince myth are colors. Utena is liberal with its color symbolism, and the flat, primary shades in the myth’s shadow-box visuals are a blatant use of them. Also, since Utena’s color symbolism is semi-internal (e.g. while a lot of connotations are external, like yellow for innocence, the most significant applicability of them are things formed by association within the show, like the combination between purple and a particular pair of siblings), the prince myth is our first introduction to these colors and their logic in Utena. Starting with a blank slate, what is the first impression it wants us to have of its shades? Like all mythic symbols, they’re providing a basis for how we will interact with these elements for the rest of our time in this story. Let’s begin our color examination with the opening scene, after a quick aside on the general visual style.

Like a shadowbox, the figures in the prince myth are paper cut-outs moving in front of a flat background, so while there’s significant detail within each layer, the layers don’t interact. Instead, they’re completely flat, casting a simple shadow on the backdrop. In Plato’s allegory of the cave (which we may as well get over with), prisoners are born into a dark cave with a view of one wall, onto which objects are projected by unseen captors. These captors say the names of the objects that pass, and the association between the objects and the names produce the prisoner’s reality. This is false reality, and fake “knowledge,” but to the prisoners nothing else exists. In the shadow box, we seem to see both the objects and their shadows (the cut outs and the real shadow), but the figures themselves and the intervening “real” moments where the false myth breaks to show Utena’s real memory show the second, more important, layer of cast shadows. The shadow box scene itself is enclosed within a silhouetted frame, and complex figures (like people) are pure black. The fact that the same things are happening between the shadow figures and the real memory show that the memory is clearly casting these shadows, but it’s not clear what is truly happening in the moments when the shadow reality takes over. (Looking forward to the rest of the show, like in Plato’s allegory, the real question is not necessarily “what do the shadows refer to,” which can eventually be answered by walking out of the cave, but by “what will the prisoners prefer? The real world, or the shadows?”)

The use of black as a silhouette also establishes right away that black in the show is always in relation to light—as a shadow, yes, but maybe more accurately as the real object whose details are obscured by light. A silhouetted object is the true object, but the fact that it’s in front of a bright light means that our eyes can’t focus in on it. In this case, we might say that the prince (Dios) is a real object, but the brightness of emotion and desire Utena has infused this memory with silhouette his reality. All that's left is the shadow memory. (This comparison may prove helpful in looking at the Black Rose arc, whose duelists are less shadowy than obscured by the brightness of desire).

Also right away, we’re faced with pink roses over a pastel green curtain. These are not Utena’s pink, but a lightened red, and since it’s our first time seeing this color, I don’t have much to say on it. Likewise with the pastel green, although I do want to note that it seems significant that the show opens with a color we associate mostly with Saionji: an indication that, like Nanami, he is more essential to understanding Utena than we might think. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that green may refer to ignorance—why it’s paired with innocent yellow here and, of course, why it’s given to Saionji, who is stubbornly oblivious to Ohtori’s rules.

“Once upon a time... there was a princess grieving over the deaths of her mother and father.”

The first few lines present a classic basis for any story of preteen sexuality—sorry, I meant any fairy tale. They’re not only a clear indicator that this isn’t real life, but also present us with Utena’s orphan status as her initial trait. This is a psychoanalytic story, despite the near total absence of parental figures, and nothing plays a more vital backstage role than family. The little princess, of course, is wearing yellow (and here, again, is Saionji’s pastel rose green on her collar).

“Before this princess appeared a prince traveling upon a white horse. His appearance gallant, and his smile gentle…”

A white-clothed prince on a white horse, against a white background, emerges to save her. Here is our first true introduction to white, which is inarguably the most important color to the show. All other colors are adulterated with it in Anthy’s roses or contrasted with it in the Student Council uniform. Note that it isn’t the young princess who wears pure white, but the prince: white is not a color you’re born into, but one you aspire toward, perpetually bleaching the fainter and fainter yellow out of your dress. White is an ideal color, not something actually wearable, and the pure white of the prince in the myth only doubles down on the impossibility of the story. (Also, note the red interior of the cape, even in Dios: a strand of Touga’s chauvinism in the princely ideal, or an indication that there is something genuine Touga is trying to emulate?)

“The prince enveloped the princess in the scent of roses, and wiped away her tears. ‘Little one bearing up alone under grief, never lose that strength or nobility, even when you grow up’ [he said].”

As the prince kneels to embrace the princess, the rosebuds in the background burst into bloom. With the death of her parents, the princess’s sense of the world’s meaning was destroyed. The cracks in the version of reality she had—a glimpse the true objects outside of the cave—began to show themselves. Impossible to handle even for adults, the young princess falls into a depression and searches desperately for a way to obscure this truth from herself, which she finds in the prince and his command: “Never lose that strength or nobility, even when you grow up.” William James, discussing the “process of inner incompleteness and reducing inner discord,” refers to this emergence from depression as the new birth, which may be religious or “produced by the irruption into the individual’s life of some new stimulus or passion, such as love, ambition, cupidity, revenge, or patriotic devotion.” The princess’s new birth, prompted by the prince, could be any of those things, and it’s perhaps because of this shift that we’re able to see our first glimpse of the real memory between her and Dios. Whatever it is, it is what saves her from an orphan's depression, and so becomes the grounding force in her life. Nothing she has can exist without faith in this moment: the prince is the thing keeping the entire system together.

The phrase “even when you grow up” feels very significant. I would say it has its fingers in too many pies to discuss here—in a story about adolescence, the idea of those virtues we lose as we age is essential to our founding myth. Is the fact that Utena changed as she grew older the reason she can't achieve the princely ideal? It's haunting, true or not.

"’I give you this to remember this day. We will meet again. This ring will lead you to me, one day.’ Could the ring from the prince have been an engagement ring?”

Then, the symbolic engagement, with the prince’s white gloves sliding a ring onto (real) Utena’s hand. The true memory says “I give you this to remember this day” and then—crucially—the scene switches and it is the shadow who says “this ring will lead you to me, one day.” Dios, this unattainable ideal which Utena bases her life around, has truly left her something to remember him by, something she will never leave behind: her desire. However, it’s only the false shadow memory which tells her that the ring will lead her to him. It’s the eternal hope of every young person that the overwhelming desire you feel, which seems both focused and directionless, is an indication that it will one day be fulfilled. It’s a message from your prince. This stubborn hope that the need for something means that it is meant to be yours, is what keeps all of the Ohtori students we meet spinning on their hamster wheels.

"Because of the strength of her admiration for the prince,  the princess made up her mind to become a prince herself! But was that really such a good idea?"

As the princess watches the prince ride away, the red roses of the frame are replaced with white ones, before finally becoming the familiar Utena pink, as the shadow version of her stands proudly on screen in princely dress. The myth is over: the story begins.

The twist at the end of the myth is simple misdirection: rather than a desire to have the prince, Utena desires to become him. This confusion, which seems on the surface like a ridiculous misunderstanding, is instrumental to nearly every conflict on the show. Yes, it’s a gendered confusion, but it’s also a natural lack of knowledge about what exactly will fulfill the desire for the princely ideal. We see it most overtly in Utena, but every student council member expresses it in their own way: do you want Anthy (to be the prince), or do you want to have her position (to be the princess), or do you want to somehow merge with her into one through an exchange diary (to be and have at the same time)? When one method fails, maybe the other will work, the student council thinks. Sadly for them, the shadow girl’s rhetorical question applies to all: you cannot just make your mind up to be a prince. He and the princess are only shadows. The more you grasp at them, the flatter they will show themselves to be.

[thefreakandthehair]

top of the hill

@steddiemicrofic | written for ‘top’ | wc: 510 | rating: teen & up | tags: steve pov, steve harrington has a crush on eddie munson, first date, drive-in movies, hand-holding, pure fluff

As the sun sets beneath the horizon, shades of pink and blue giving way to orange and gold like a melting water color between tree branches on either side of his car, Steve fiddles with the knobs on the stereo. Static fills the space between himself and Eddie, nothing broken words and inaudible noises. Bright animations down on the large projector screen encourages them to buy a soft drink or a—

“— thick, juicy hot dog!” 

Eddie snorts to himself, covering his mouth with a piece of hair. 

“Great timing,” Steve mutters, grinning to himself and leaning back into his seat. 

It’d been his idea, coming to the drive-in with Eddie, but that’s as far as he’d gotten in his plans. Truly, Eddie agreeing to come with him was further than he’d imagined he’d get but now he’s here, in the suffocating closeness of his BMW’s front seat at the top of the hill, and he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. 

The past year has been a slew of pizza nights at Eddie’s new trailer, smoking on the hood of his van, slowly convincing Eddie that baseball isn’t that terrible and being slowly convinced that maybe metal isn’t that terrible either. 

How could it be? Eddie’s eyes light up every time he plays Dio, and nothing that makes him smile like that could possibly be bad. 

Anyway, Steve didn’t ask Eddie to come see Grease with him at the drive-in as a strictly friendly activity, and he’s at a loss for how to bridge that gap. 

“Got the goods,” Eddie says, producing two immaculately rolled joints with a grin and wiggle of his eyebrows and tearing Steve out of his own thoughts. 

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think it’s that same Dio-Smile. 

“Me too,” Steve retorts. 

He twists around and grabs a plastic bag from the grocery store laden with what he’s learned are Eddie’s favorites: Blue Razz Poprocks and Nerds, a couple of Moon Pies sitting on top to avoid getting squished. Eddie digs into the bag and grabs the Nerds first, chomping away as the familiar sound of Frankie Valli’s voice signals the start of the movie. 

Steve’s seen Grease more times than he cares to admit— maybe because of Kenickie, maybe because of Sandy, he’s not sure anymore— so he can follow along mindlessly. Thank God for that, because Eddie seems to get closer and closer as the movie continues, his shoulder brushing against Steve’s with every raise of his hand to pop more snacks into his mouth, and he can’t think about anything else.

He wants to close the distance, do something stupid like hold his hand and somehow, it feels scarier than Vecna or Demodogs ever did. But he’s Steve Harrington so sure, lacing his fingers through Eddie’s and squeezing intentionally for the first time is terrifying, but being afraid has never stopped him before. 

Seconds pass and he holds his breath as the projector dims to the tune of Blue Moon, exhaling with a growing smile when Eddie squeezes back. 

[dioslesbianwife]

Here are my headcannons for Jojo villain house and how I think they’d each approach chores

Dio

Refuses to do chores outright. He sees himself as above such menial labor and will either try to manipulate someone else into doing them or make excuses.

If he has to clean, expect a dramatic show of irritation. He’ll use The World to do everything inhumanly fast, pausing time and leaving the room spotless but making sure everyone knows how beneath him the task was.

Biggest offender: Leaving blood filled wine glasses around the house when he forgets about them.

Kars

Insists on having things done “the right way” and will redo someone’s work if it’s not up to his impossibly high standards.

Enjoys organizing. He might spend hours rearranging bookshelves, ensuring they’re sorted by theme, era, and importance to human evolution.

He delegates tasks to others but criticizes their technique endlessly.

Biggest offender: Lecturing everyone about how primitive humans are and how they’ve “desecrated” the art of maintaining a clean space.

Yoshikage Kira

The only one who genuinely enjoys chores- as long as it’s quiet. He finds cleaning therapeutic and uses it as an excuse to stay away from the others.

His favorite chore is folding laundry, particularly because it lets him admire the way hands move as they grab onto fabric, bend, and fold.. He folds everything with military precision.

He despises dirty dishes and will passive aggressively complain about anyone leaving them in the sink.

Biggest offender: The ungodly amount of nail clippings he produces.

Diavolo

Doesn’t do chores, period. He considers them a waste of time and relies on Doppio to handle everything. If questioned, he’ll walk away.

He gets visibly annoyed when the house isn’t clean but refuses to do anything about it himself. If someone confronts him, he’ll use King Crimson to skip the argument entirely.

Biggest offender: Leaving half empty coffee cups everywhere.

Doppio

He takes on messes left by Diavoll without complaint. He tries to stay cheerful, but even he gets overwhelmed when Diavolo’s mess becomes too much. Occasionally, he’ll mutter to himself about how unhelpful the others are.

Enjoys vacuuming because of its repetitive and calming nature, aslo it drowns out the chaos of the house.

Biggest offender: Picking up random items to make his phone calls and leaving them out of place.

Enrico Pucci

Insists on assigning everyone their tasks at the start of the week, using philosophical arguments to convince them that chores and daily routines are part of some higher plan.

He’s efficient but doesn’t tolerate laziness, constantly nagging the less helpful men to pull their weight.

Pucci has a habit of singing hymns while sweeping or mopping the floor, which unnerves everyone.

Biggest offender: Rearranging everyone’s personal belongings to organize the house according to “the Lord’s” standards.

Funny Valentine

Treats chores as a matter of patriotic pride. He gives long winded speeches about how a clean home reflects the strength of the household.

He has a habit of delegating tasks and overseeing them rather than just doing them himself. He’ll help if absolutely necessary but only with "important" jobs like cooking or maintaining the garden.

Obsessively cleans anything that might tarnish his image, like the front porch or living room. He makes sure guests (if they ever get any) think the house is always immaculate.

Biggest offender: He sometimes makes a mess intentionally to test others' "dedication to the cause."

Chore Dynamics in the House

Dio and Kars constantly fighting over who’s more above doing chores.

Pucci trying to convince Dio into participating, only for Dio to scoff and vanish dramatically.

Kira scolding Diavolo for leaving things dirty while Doppio tries to mediate.

Best team: Doppio and Kira. They’re the only ones who actually get things done without complaining.

Worst team: Dio and Diavolo. They’ll spend hours arguing about something and never lift a finger.

Pucci and Kira end up supervising everything like a pair of exasperated parents, while Valentine alternates between helping and giving motivational speeches no one asked for.

[differentnerddiplomatopera]

Modern Odysseus/Diomedes/Penelope AU 

When Odysseus married Penelope, he built her an art studio with an adjoining greenhouse. He blindfolded her and walked her over to it. When he removed the blindfold, he handed her the key to open it. She opened it, and was in awe of the carpentry. She saw the greenhouse and was like, “ohmahgodyouareawesomeiloveyousomuchtheywillneverfindyourbody.” 

Penelope, after kissing him stupid, talks about all the stuff she needs to put in it. Odysseus,  then produced the highest quality art supplies, and the best gardening tools and equipment. Penelope went weak in the knees, and Odysseus had to catch her. Fun

Odysseus works at a theater. I don’t know. Just feels right.

Penelope is an art teacher, and owns her own place. 

When Diomedes comes to one of Odysseus' shows (they knew each other, and they are meeting up for the first time in a long time), Odysseus is floored. Shamelessly staring, looking up all his social media’s all that stuff.

At said show, during intermission, Odysseus pulls Pen over and they both  gawk at Diomedes. Penelope is more subtle than Odysseus.

That night, they just search up everything they can find about Diomedes. All that stuff, marriage status, work, hobbies, pictures, etc. The start of a good relationship, internet stalking. They have a screaming match when they find out he is married, but have a dance party a few days later when Diomedes tells them he is getting a divorce.

All three hang out with a hell of a lot of tension. Dio helps Pen in the greenhouse, and Odysseus is off in a corner, debating whether he should take a picture of two of the prettiest people alive while they are talking about hyacinths.

Penelope really likes Diomedes. At first he is really shy and reserved around her, but when they get closer, he opens up. And when they get to talking about Odysseus, she can’t help but notice that beautiful flush when he talks about him.

Same thing with Odysseus. When they talk about Penelope, Diomedes tries his best not to affectionately recount his interactions with her. Odysseus internally jumps with joy like, “yes stay with us, leave that devil of a wife, fall for us, do it, do it nowww”

One night, after a bad fight with his wife, Diomedes gets invited to a night out with Odysseus and Penelope. Beautiful night out, Diomedes realized he feels more at home with them than with his wife. He prays the private investigator will quickly get the rest of the information to expedite the end of his marriage.

They went to a carnival. 

The boat ride malfunctioned and somehow while everyone fell into the water, Odysseus was the only one left on the boat. He was the only one who made it to the end. Penelope and Diomedes clapped for him as he got off.

Diomedes did balloon darts. He was originally encouraged not to because the game was rigged, but was told he should do it by a really tall woman. He won. 

Penelope participated in an art competition. She originally finished it in the first ten minutes, but everyone else wasn’t done. She kept painting over it while she waited, and it was the most beautiful thing the judges and the other contestants had ever seen. She was the OBVIOUS winner.

After, they walk on the boardwalk as the sun goes down, Odysseus and Penelope clinging to Diomedes on either side. Diomedes feels so guilty, cus he thinks he is a clingy intruder in their marriage. 

Odysseus snaps him out of his daydreaming. They ask him what's wrong. He tentatively explains, worried they are gonna confirm his fear and politely ask him to spend less time with them. Not that he would refuse. He would do anything they asked.

Odysseus and Penelope snicker at his outrageous theory. They explain their  feelings for him and asks if he would honor them by being their partner. Diomedes is like “…..what?” Diomedes is generally scared to agree, because they are married, they are “changing” for him, and what if they break up with me, and I don’t want another heartbreak, what happens when-

And when they kiss him, the world just feels okay. Just okay.

I’m not satisfied with this. 

Take it anyway.

Please. 

Muchos besos.

[klausinamarink]

The Only Sounds Are His Heart and Music

rating: T | cw: mentions of Vecna nightmares and near-death experience | wc: 893 | tags: established relationship, canon divergence, hurt/comfort | prompt: Love is the perfect mixtape/Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

written for @steddielovemonth

-

Heavy silence filled the trailer, not even the barking of the neighbours' dogs or the rattling winds dared to break inside. It was as if all sounds from the outside world had been snuffed out, putting the residents into a solitary confinement room. It would've been unnerving if the Steve wasn't pressing his ear against Eddie's chest where his heart thudded loudly.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Eddie was still alive.

Steve swallowed another lump down his throat, wincing slightly as he did. When Eddie had gone white-eyed and later floated in the air, Steve screamed so loud out he nearly shredded his throat. He had no idea how much it hurt to speak until after the music worked and Wayne Munson demanded an explanation for his nephew's apparent possession that when Steve had tried to explain, barely a wheezing sob came out. Dustin and the other kids had taken over as storytellers of the Upside Down while Steve held a heaving Eddie in his hold.

Eddie was breathing normally now as if he was sleeping. But Steve knew from his tense body that Eddie was still wide awake. His fingers kept twitching from squeezing Steve's biceps to twisting the wires of his headphones where Dio's Hungry For Heaven blared out to gripping the blankets around them. It was close to his usual manic energy but more subdued. Terrified as if everything he touched was even real.

Whoever the hell this Vecna guy was, Steve was ready bash his brains out with his nail bat.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-babump.

Eddie's heartbeat stayed the same but Steve caught the moment it started to quicken. Steve squeezed his arms around Eddie's torso and nuzzled his face against the chest. He wanted to kiss his boyfriend so badly but Steve couldn't bare to let go and let the sound of his heart vanish from his functional ear.

He felt Eddie shuddering out a breath before his arms began to wrap around Steve's shoulders. Eddie sniffed and pressed his face on the top of Steve's head.

Nestled between them, Hungry For Heaven faded away but the Walkman kept whirring. And then, very clearly, Eddie My Love by The Chordettes started playing.

Steve blinked down at the Walkman with a mix of confusion and bubbling fear. He knew that Lucas was the one who managed to snagged the right tape to save Eddie during the panic, but for a terrifying moment, he wondered if Lucas made a mistake. "What the-"

He looked up when he heard Eddie snorting. For the first time since he had safely fell back to the ground, Eddie was cracking a smile. "I thought Vecna was going to snatch me again when that played after Dio. Turns out that it's my second favourite song." He lifted the Walkman up to the streams of the moonlight so Steve could peer closely at the cassette's label. His heart leapt up to his throat when he recognized the tiny heart doodles over his own handwriting.

Eddie's VERY METAL Mixtape

The whoosh of air escaping Steve's lips might've been a sigh or some poor attempt of a laugh. Either way, relief flowed from him, top to bottom. He dropped his head onto Eddie's chest again, almost headbutting the chin. "Jesus" he murmurs soft enough that it doesn't agitate his throat, "we should give Sinclair a fruit basket."

"A truck full of them. Freshly produced from sweet Alabama." Eddie adds cheekily.

They chuckle together before falling back to silence, barely accompanied by the faint vocals.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Steve waits for another minute before he breaks it with a quiet question, "Are you okay, Eds?"

It's a stupid question, but Steve just wanted to hear his honesty. No person can handle the massive guilt of letting Chrissy Cunningham go home after a little freakout over the drug she wanted, only for her body to be broken beyond recognition by an unseen force in front of her parents, or be tormented alone by painful headaches and nightmares before nearly dying, or the sudden revelation that your secret boyfriend and his little gaggle of kids have been fighting monsters of an alternate dimension for years.

Eddie gave out a drawn-out sigh before he answers, "Not really. Feeling like shit but I can't sleep."

The Chordettes come to a sweet end before being inappropriately followed up by Black Sabbath's Die Young. It made Steve shrivel on the inside. He wished he could pummel his past self for including that song in the tape. But if Eddie was bothered, he didn't show it. Still-

"You're going to fine." Steve whispers harshly. His face is close up to Eddie now, his hand pressing against the other man's heart. "As long as you keep listening to our tape, we're gonna figure out to kick Vecna's ass. You will live."

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Eddie's eyes glistened. Steve flipped the both of them over, careful not to crush the Walkman, allowing Eddie much more room to crawl further up and bury himself into Steve's tight embrace. Eddie's face pressed into Steve's neck, already soaking his skin with tears. It doesn't bother Steve at all. His hands rubbed his boyfriend's back in smoothing circles. Steve brought his mouth to Eddie's temple first before moving to his ear, quietly repeating "you will live" over and over.

Steve prayed for it to be true.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

[sciatu]

LA SICILIA SECONDO VINCENT VAN GOGH

Nel febbraio del 1888, Vincent van Gogh lascia Parigi e si trasferisce in un piccolo paesino chiamato Arles nella solare Provenza. Se fino a qualche anno prima aveva dipinto meno di un centinaio di opere, al sole di Arles, Vincent trova la gioia della sua arte, producendo in meno di un anno più di trecento opere. Definisce il suo stile originale e sostituisce i colori oscuri e tenebrosi delle sue prime opere, con una luce accesa e pura. Se il calore mediterraneo di Arles fece questo effetto su Vincent, cosa sarebbe successo alla sua anima tormentata se fosse venuto a contatto con l’abbagliante luminosità siciliana? E ancor di più, come avrebbe reagito la sua ricerca fallita di Dio, il suo difficile cammino nella società del nord Europa alla filosofia siciliana dove “Tutto scorre e nulla resta” per cui non dobbiamo chiederci “Chi siamo e dove andiamo?” ma “Quando si mangia e che cosa c’è da mangiare?”. Forse i suoi tormenti umani ed artistici si sarebbero sciolti di fronte ad una granita al caffè, ad un bicchiere di birra Messina, o ad un tramonto alle Eolie. Seduto su una lunga spiaggia solitaria per dipingere le lunghe onde del mare, sarebbe stato raggiunto dal solito cinico siciliano che senza farsi i cazzi suoi gli avrebbe chiesto se Gauguin se la stesse spassando alla Martinica. Oppure, con la saccenteria degli ignoranti, avrebbe chiesto se nel dipingere avesse copiato i colori densi e pastosi di Monticelli, o se quelle pennellate dense ed intense le facesse così a come venivano, tanto per babbiare (prendere in giro) i critici. Alla fine, in quest’isola dove è l’arte stessa che si intreccia con la natura crea il paesaggio, dove la follia è una ordinaria condizione di uno, nessuno, centomila, alla fine forse la sua anima infelice avrebbe trovato la sua quiete e avrebbe accettato la sua cristiana inquietudine in quanto elogio dell’essere. Infine, invece che piccoli caffè o cieli inquietanti pieni di oscuri uccelli, qui in Sicilia avrebbe incominciato a dipingere le meraviglie luminose dell’isola, affinando quella sua tecnica in cui rinchiudeva le sue angosce e tristezze dentro a dense intense pennellate. Qui, in quest’isola dove la follia è di casa, sulla tela avrebbe raccontato di campi infiniti e dorati, di chiese accese da sole, di piccoli dammusi affacciati sul mare e immacolati sotto un cielo di un azzurro felice e saturo di luce. Avrebbe finalmente toccato e dipinto quella luce che cercava, quella che non aveva trovato né nelle sue infinite letture della bibbia, né tra le cosce delle prostitute che amava o delle donne borghesi che lo avevano rifiutato. Avrebbe capito che solo la natura è reale, ed è il palcoscenico su cui gli uomini, come i pupi dal corpo di legno, recitano passioni ed amori che solo per pochi atti sono eterni e che questa provvisorietà è l’unica certezza che questi pupi hanno, tanto che con essa riempiono la loro arte per viverla all’infinito.

SICILY ACCORDING VINCENT VAN GOGH

In February 1888, Vincent van Gogh left Paris and moved to a small village called Arles in sunny Provence. If until a few years earlier he had painted less than a hundred works, in the sun of Arles, Vincent found the joy of his art, producing more than three hundred works in less than a year. He defined his original style and replaced the dark and shadowy colors of his early works with a bright and pure light. If the Mediterranean heat of Arles had this effect on Vincent, what would have happened to his tormented soul if he had come into contact with the dazzling Sicilian brightness? And even more, how would his failed search for God, his difficult path in northern European society, react to the Sicilian philosophy where "Everything flows and nothing remains" so we should not ask ourselves "Who are we and where are we going?" but "When do we eat and what is there to eat?". Perhaps his human and artistic torments would have melted away in front of a coffee granita, a glass of Messina beer, or a sunset in the Aeolian Islands. Sitting on a long, solitary beach to paint the long waves of the sea, he would have been joined by the usual Sicilian cynic who, without minding his own business, would have asked him if Gauguin was having fun in Martinique. Or, with the know-it-all attitude of the ignorant, he would have asked if in painting he had copied the dense and mellow colors of Monticelli, or if he did those dense and intense brushstrokes as they came, just to mock (mock) the critics. In the end, on this island where art itself intertwines with nature to create the landscape, where madness is an ordinary condition of one, no one, a hundred thousand, in the end perhaps his unhappy soul would have found its peace and accepted its Christian restlessness as a praise of being. Finally, instead of small cafes or disturbing skies filled with dark birds, here in Sicily he would have begun to paint the luminous wonders of the island, refining his technique in which he enclosed his anguish and sadness within dense intense brush strokes. Here, on this island where madness is at home, on canvas he would have told of infinite and golden fields, of churches lit by themselves, of small dammusi overlooking the sea and immaculate under a sky of a happy blue and saturated with light. He would have finally touched and painted that light he was looking for, the one he had not found in his infinite readings of the Bible, nor between the thighs of the prostitutes he loved or of the bourgeois women who had rejected him. He would have understood that only nature is real, and it is the stage on which men, like puppets with wooden bodies, act out passions and loves that are eternal only for a few acts and that this temporariness is the only certainty that these puppets have, so much so that they fill their art with it to live it infinitely.

[reasonsforhope]

"Sunlight dapples the once-denuded forest floor as saplings spread their branches and leaves overhead, slowly forming a lush canopy.

Beside each young tree, a sign notes its species. Lupuna, says one, the colloquial Peruvian term, and below that its scientific name, Ceiba pentandra — in other words, a kapok tree, known for its cotton-like fibers. Huito, says another sign, or Geinpa americana, which produces edible gray berries.

Each sapling is distinct, a reflection of the Amazon's stunning biodiversity, with so many different species that you might go acres without finding a repeat.

Yet this young forest did not spring up naturally. It has been carefully recreated by humans in an area that was, until just three years ago, a heavily contaminated moonscape.

This land was stripped of its dense vegetation by miners scouring the subsoil for tiny specks of gold, using mercury to separate the gold from the sediment. Many thought that a healthy forest would never thrive in impoverished, mercury-laden topsoil and that the piles of sandy tailings, the residue from the gold mining effort, and the pools of wastewater were irremediable...

"It feels good to see the forest grow back," says Pedro Ynfantes, 66, the miner whose legal mining concession of 1,110 acres includes this 10-acre patch of land where this young forest is located. "We don't want to deforest. When we had the opportunity to let the forest grow back, we took it. It's much better this way."

The opportunity he refers to came via U.S. nonprofit Pure Earth, which works with communities across the Global Southto remediate environmental problems left behind by mining, much of it illegal. Their biggest targets are mercury and lead contamination...

Security forces have launched anti-mining operations down the years, even blowing up the miners' equipment deep in the jungle. But most local politicians, including Madre de Dios' members of Peru's national congress, broadly support the miners, who are a powerful constituency in the relatively sparsely populated jungle region.

Restoring the forest

Pictured: France Cabanillas works for the nonprofit group Pure Earth, which is spearheading an effort to plant saplings in areas of the Peruvian Amazon that were devastated by illegal gold mining.

Now there's an effort to address the damage. Initially working with the region's legal miners, most of whom were here before the 2009 gold rush kicked off, the nonprofit group Pure Earth is using this patch of Ynfantes' land as a pilot project to show how the rainforest can be regenerated after the last traces of gold have been plucked from the soil.

It took a sustained outreach effort. Many miners are wary of or even downright hostile to foreign NGOs, which have repeatedly called for gold mining to be banned or severely curbed in the Peruvian Amazon — steps they say would cost them their livelihood.

"I am feeling optimistic," says France Cabanillas, Pure Earth's local coordinator, who has been appealing to the frustration of many miners at the heavy toll they have taken on the jungle and their desire to minimize their environmental footprint for the next generation.

"We still have a lot to do but this pilot is going well. Down the years, the miners have been getting a lot of stick but not much carrot when it comes to their environmental impacts," says Cabanillas. "We are offering them a carrot, allowing them to remediate their own impacts. Many of the miners do not want to be destroying the rainforest."

Before the miners plant the carefully-selected mix of tree species, they had to prepare the earth. Most of the topsoil had been washed away by the miners' heavy use of hoses.

That preparation involved adding biochar (burnt organic material) and even molasses, which contain fixed carbon and minerals, along with various other nutrients. The miners also had to dig tiny moats around the saplings to prevent all of this new planting from being washed away. Now, after three years, the forest is visibly coming back.

The rejuvenated rainforest also mitigates the impact of the mercury used by many of the illegal miners.

Research done by Pure Earth shows that the barren, sandy soil emits mercury. But in a rainforest, the ecosystem actually absorbs some of the metal, boosting public health."

-via NPR, April 2, 2024