#he knows what its like to have a 'scorned lover' trash his things. he's not petty

[vagabond-art]

"How's that for an answer?"

apology tour but interview with the vampire AU + bonus with @ughhhhhhh-cringe-side-blog

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 22

“Please please come in quickly,” the honorable wizard Yen Sid urged Uma, barely muffling his own coughs from the dusty air of Judge Frollo’s “house.” Quite ironically or perhaps more telling, Judge Frollo’s abode was the basement of a brothel. A cruel twist of temptation or perhaps a house of convenience since it was no secret that Frollo indulged in his hypocritical desires while preaching at his imaginary pulpit during the day.

But Uma wasn’t here to hear how she was destined for hell. It was night, the perfect time to meet the rest of the Anti-Villain Club while Frollo was away.

It felt like the situation was getting more dire the more time past. Amplified by the restlessness Uma felt because they weren’t getting anything done!

Sometimes Uma wanted to give in to her temptation to just dump the Auradonians for themselves. They didn’t really offer her any information or skills that she needed. Plus, they were slow at best. Uncaring and disobedient at worse, far more concerned with their own problems and feelings. They didn’t know how to work with a team or for a cause other than themselves.

Such royal behavior. Must be nice to put your moods first when your need for food, shelter and safety were never in question.

So it was a breath of fresh air to meet with the Anti Villains. Though they did not give her the assuring efficiency of her pirate crew, they were still Vks, her people. And she would need all the allies she could get if they were to stop the Coven.

Yen Sid gestured to the faded rug with, of course, an image of a man bleeding and crucified while a red devilish monster stabbed at his torso with a pitchfork.

Frollo’s erstwhile, rebellious daughter, Claudine took the head of the rug with Diego De’Vil and Yzla on both sides of her. Harold, Jason, Hadie, Big Murph, Hermie Bing, Eddie Balthazar, Celia and a blonde girl that Uma didn’t recognize rounded out the rest of the circle. Uma took place across from Claudine and Yen Sid stood by, pacing around.

“What news can you give us?” Yen Sid asked, starting the meeting abruptly.

Uma hadn’t noticed when Yen Sid signalled to her from the alleyways but the elder wizard looked even older. He was hunched over, not from age but like there was an invisible yoke on his shoulders. His face was riddled with new lines of wrinkles, stress and fatigue. And he was pale. So pale.

Uma had seen that sort of sickly paleness before. The sheen of sweat from a non-existent flu. He looked like death. The Isle after 20 years was starting to take its toll.

Though Uma had no personal attachment to the wizard nor did she care for his method of teaching goodness so Vks would be accepted in Auradon, when they should be accepted because they like any other person should have a home without abuse or poverty, she respected what he was trying to do. He didn’t see them all as one mass of worthless deviants to be scorned and ignored. He could have stayed in Auradon, doing nothing like all the rest of the so-called good guys, but he didn’t.

And this place was slowly killing him.

This place was going to be the death of all them if Uma’s revolution didn’t work.

Uma cracked her neck, inhaled and began to brief them, even though her report didn’t offer much encouragement that their plans were going to be successful.

“Our communications link with King Ben no longer works thanks to the Isle’s crappy service. However, we were able to inform him that the invasion is taking place in less than a week before we were cut off.” “Circe is officially on our side and will assist Yen Sid on more complex, powerful spells against Nerissa and the others.”

“The rest of the Coven-” “Believes.. Well actually tolerates the idea that you and Calix are still loyal. Lala still is on their side but Jade thinks she can convince her to switch again. Zevon and Ginny are lost causes. But you are going to round up your crew, and Harriet’s crew for extra manpower.” Yzla interrupted, and shrugged at Uma’s glare, “Jade told me.” “Ah yes.” Uma pursed her lips, shaking it off to not act too ruffled. She had been aware that Yzla and Jade were close but she didn’t particularly like that they were discussing things without her. That’s how plans got overturned. And people were overthrown.

Uma pushed that thought away as too paranoid. After all, they were all here for the same thing. Escape, not power.

“Yes, so you already know that. I do believe we will be able to persuade the rest of the Isle on our side.” “Wait the rest of the Isle. Like you mean some other kids right? Or the Hun gang. Not not the whole Isle?” Eddie asked. “I meant the rest of the Isle. The adult henchmen. The orphaned kids. The Huns, the mercenaries, the prostitutes. Anyone and everyone who has no power or big villain names.” The rest of the club looked at turns confused, intrigued and disbelieving at her.

“They are like us. They gain nothing from the Coven gaining more power. They get everything if they helped the revolution. No more oppressors. And a promise from King Ben to take all of us off the Isle to better housing, new jobs and actual food. A better life.”

“Whether Mal likes it or not.” Uma added internally. That had been the one thing she managed to speak to King Ben about, and surprisingluy he agreed wholeheartedly. He had seemed horrified when she described the living conditions that children dealt with. The way teens had turned to violence among other things to survive their abusive parents. He didn’t think he’d be able to convince Auradon should be abolished completely. Big villains would probably stay indefinitely. But he was welcome to her suggestions for programs to hep Vks.

“That’s why I need your input. King Ben is putting me in charge of VK Integration Programs and I want to know what we need.” “Uh, that’s nice. A truly Christian thing to do,” Claudine sneered saracastically, she had always been the most doubting of anyone having good intentions what with who she had for a father, “But shouldn’t we get out of here before we plan any VK Integration Programs?”

“This is part of how we are going to persuade the rest of the Isle to help us,” Uma smoothly bridged the two disparting ideas, “We need solid plans with how, what, when. Something solid and real that people can imagine and believe in. When the other Vks and adults hear of these programs, these programs that are as real as when King Ben invited the Core Four, they will be willing to fight for their chance to get in. They will rise up against the Coven so that they could be free.”

Claudine and Diego still looked suspicious, but Jason, Harold, and Big Murph practically had stars in their eyes. Hermie was smiling shyly and Hadie was tapping his chin thoughtfully. He was the first to pitch in.

“I think there should be something for the victims of Hans and Lars.” Everyone turned to look at him which caused the spiky-blue haired teen to flush and clam up. , Uma nodded empathetically, “Continue.” “Well, I mean-uh.Well we all had it bad. But Prince Hans is another level of bad. I went there once with dad for one of Staylan’s parties and I lurked around and man, that dude is nuts. He has photos of his “harem” all “sexy bruised” and stuff. And Lars…”

Uma narrowed her eyes. She didn’t need Hadie to elaborate on Lars. Gil had already told her everything she needed to know about the icy sadist. It was a term that was generally thrown around for an island full of villains with bloodlust, but Gil described the sickeningly calm way Lars acted. How Lars almost described it in seductive terms the way a whip would constrict a person’s throat until the breath left them. The calculating gaze he’d watch the ones he picked as “lovers.” Apparently a sadism that he picked up from his dad.

“Yeah, everyone knows Drizella is his favorite. Poor Dizzy.” Eddie shook his head.

Dizzy had always been left alone with her grandmother, Lady Tremine, but Uma had always assumed that Drizella, like almost all the parents on the Isle, was neglectful and uncaring. She hadn’t thought that Drizella may have been dealing with her own things.

And why wouldn’t she? That was Gil’s mother had to go through everyday with being Gaston’s unfavorite. While Uma was more concerned with the kids on the Isle, she could see now that some adults may need help too.

“Great. Center for sadist victims. What else have we got?”

“Do we have to go to school if we go to Auradon? I just don’t think I need it. My band is doing pretty well and I bet those royal dorks never heard music like mine.” Diego mock-shredded on his guitar

Uma cocked her head. She got his point. She didn’t think there was anything Auradon Prep had that could teach her anything useful. Like smizing as she heard from Celia Faciliar’s letters from Freddie. Plus there were some teens near adulthood like Harriet who probably wouldn’t want to be forced into classes when they could get jobs. Same with adults who never learned to read in their lives and still didnt want to.

“I’ll talk about it with King Ben. What else?” Uma said.

“Food that isn’t covered with flies. Fresh food, not trash.” Hermie said.

“Uh that’s just a given. None of their food is rotten.” Celia told the lithe brunette before Uma could clarify that good food comes with the territory.

Several ideas were thrown around, but the main ones came down to food, homes away from the possible revenge of their parents and others, and none of the Goodness 101 that Celia heard Freddie taking.

“Great. Now the important thing is that you spread the word of these programs to the other. You have to make people want this badly enough that they will fight. Act like its their only chance because it is. From there, I will send my crew to organize them to key points and learn some better and dirtier fight tactics.” Uma announced.

The rest of the Club nodded somberly at the announcement. There was not much emotion from Uma’s command. No relief, excitement or even nervousness. Just a numb sort of nod that they understood. But the words, “This is your only chance,” clearly rang in their heads.

It was now or never.

Everyone slowly got up to leave, thinking their own thoughts except the blonde who slipped to walk next to Uma, expertly slinking through the alleyways.

“Hi, um, I know we haven’t met before but um.. I’m Cosette.” The literally dirty blonde introduced in a fake high voice, clearly highlighting her nervousness, “I’m Gaston’s daughter. Gil’s half sister? You know Gil right? I mean, of course you do. I’ve seen him and everyone knows he hangs with you. I’m sorry I’m babbling. It’s just this is all so new-”

Uma stopped walking so she could give her her full attention. Yes, now that she stopped to actually look at Cosette, she could see a bit of the resemblance. The blonde hair, the high forehead and cheekbones. She looked older, maybe Harriet’s age, though her ample chest peeking from her corset gave the impression of a woman in her 20s. Unlike Gil, she didn’t have the usually confused look in her eyes. Just scared.

That look heightened Uma’s protective instincts. The helpless usually did that, as unvillainous as that was, plus the Gil resemblance.

“Why haven’t I heard of you before?” Uma asked skeptically even though she was pretty sure Cosette was honest.

“Um I’m a girl. Dad wouldn’t acknowledge me. Actually he tried to throw me away and try again which is why Mom left and… it seemed safer to avoid him. But- but I heard from Celia about this Anti-Villain Club when I went in for a reading, and Celia said you’d come so I thought I’d ask you. You know, for permission.” Uma thought. The story was realistic enough. But there was too much to do right now to focus on a family reunion. Unless…

“I will. You have my word. But first, how good would you say your fighting and/or spying skills?”

[preparetosufferemotionally]

Home, Part Four: You Left Me to Bleed

Prinexity

TW: Trauma, cursing, Unsympathetic Janus, Unsympathetic Patton, past abusive relationships, child growing up in a toxic home, manipulation, emotional abuse, physical abuse, a stray cat, playboy, Remus, Trans!Virgil, friend break up, trauma, alludes to dissociation, traumatic experiences. 

Jeremy Empire was the school heartbreaker. Fitting, since he had his broken first. He knew that these weren’t the only names he was called. Gay JD, bad boy, fuck boy, and no good peice of shit were a couple of his other favorites. Remy was never in one place, he was in five at once. He caused trouble, but no one could ever declare him guilty. HIs fathers weren’t exactly pleased with what he did, but they did acknowledge that they gave him those traits. Roman gave him the romance, Virgil the emo rebel, his uncle Remus lent the trouble maker, and Emile...oh he gave him pain. 

Pain seemed to be a family trait. Everyone in Remy’s family always had some heartbreak, some emotional destruction. Hell, even their cat, Panic!, had something wrong with his life. The cat was a stray until Remy’s dads found and adopted him. 

Regardless, none of that mattered. Remy threw on his leather jacket, grabbed a coffee, got on his father’s old motorcycle, and went to school. It was junior year, a year of stress and susceptible emotions. So, the perfect time to find someone new to hit on. Remy went through the ideas as he walked through the halls. Maybe an aggressively straight guy with obvious internalized homophobia? Or the gay nerd that really wants attention? Or the- 

Remy’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he accidentally slammed into a fellow student. 

“Shit,” He cursed. He saw the person’s tawny hair and sweater vest. Clearly a nerd, considering how many books were lying on the ground. Maybe he should help? But by the time Remy came to that conclusion, the books were already in his arms. 

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” the person mumbled. “I’ll just go.” The person started to walk away but Remy grabbed their sleeve. They sounded familiar. The person stopped. “Could you let go of my sleeve please?” Remy didn’t respond, instead pulling the sleeve slightly, which caused the person to turn around. Remy attempted to make eye contact through sunglasses, but the person dropped their head, avoiding it like a pro. He was impressive. “Please let go of my sleeve.”

“Make eye contact and I let go.” The person shifted the books in their arms and sighed, before lifting up their head. Remy stumbled backward. A sixteen year old Emile looked at him uncomfortably through glasses. He barely changed since they were kids, still with a face that looks like it could smile in moments.  “Emile?” Remy gasped, too shocked to say anything. He hadn’t seen him since sixth grade, he had assumed he transferred schools. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Emile asked, dropping his gaze again to avoid eye contact. Remy felt all his emotions rush forward again, just like the day Emile abandoned him. He attempted to keep his cool, but it was so hard when fucking Emile was standing there, acting like they had never been friends. First leaving him alone, and now this. Emile was a son of bitch. 

Remy didn’t even realize Emile had shrunk back, holding his books to his chest, until he came close, almost nose to nose with him.

“You should.” Emile flinched, taking a step back. 

“I’m really sorry, but I just don’t know who you are,” Emile panicked. At this point people stopped to watch. It was the most interesting they’d see all day. Everyone knew who the two were. Emile would always be there with a smile if you needed help and Remy had broken hearts so many times, he was probably heartless. 

“You are a fucking monster.” Emile’s eyes filled with tears that he stubbornly held back in. Those words echoed in his skull.  Remy glared at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Emile whispered, quickly running off into the crowd. Remy watched him run off. Then he stormed off into the opposite direction. 

For the rest of the day, gossip followed the two around school. Were they scorned lovers? Mortal enemies? Did Remy break his heart? Did Emile break Remy’s? Was there a  dramatic backstory? Did the two meet and one had a concussion and forgot? Was this some alternate universe that they traveled to where only Remy knew he saw Emile? Nobody was too sure. But two things were known. Remy was furious, and Emile was terrified. And that was enough for the rumors to make their way home. 

“All I’m saying is, hypothetically, you could murder him.”

“REMUS!” 

“Whaaat?” Roman shook his head at his brother, holding Virgil’s hand gently as they sat on the couch. 

“I don’t know if you know this Mr. Mad Scientist, but in the real world murder is illegal!”

“Only if you get caught,” Virgil chimed in, petting the cat. Roman looked at him, exasperated.

“It's amazing that I’m the only impulse control in this house.” Remus cackled as Virgil chucked a pillow at Roman’s head. Remy sat silently, not talking about anything that happened today. The adults stopped when Remy remained silent.

“Hey Remy, sweetheart, are you okay? I know that must have been very upsetting,” Virgil said softly. Remy rolled his eyes and huffed. 

“Upsetting is one word for ripping out my heart and stopping on its already broken pieces.” 

“You sound exactly like your father,” Virgil snorted. Roman smiled, leaning over and kissing the top of Virgil’s head.

“What can I say, I have the better genes.” Virgil leaned on Roman’s shoulder. 

“Aren’t you related to that trash rat?” 

“Regardless, still better.”

“Alright, stop flirting with you two. Clearly your son is having an emotional crisis. And I’m shit at emotions, so do your thing,” Remus said, gesturing to Remy. Virgil sighed and nodded.

“I know this is rough-”

“You have no idea how ROUGH this is. How could he just forget me like that? We were best friends, and he abandoned me.” Virgil and Roman exchanged a look as Remy fumed. Then Roman sighed, and stepped forward.

“He didn’t abandon you.” Remy looked at him incredulously, standing up.

“Um, I’m pretty sure he did dad!” Roman shook his head. 

“He didn’t. At least not on purpose.” Remy fell back into his seat, confused.

“What?”

“Virgil will explain better.” Virgil got up and sat next to his son, one hand on his back soothingly. 

“So it looks like I’m going to have  to tell you a long story. It started in college.”

“You’re kidding. Emile abandoning me, starts when you were in college? Bullshit.” Virgil rolled his eyes while Remus and Roman exchanged a look. 

“You are very lucky I didn’t start when I was in sophomore year of college. Trust me, this shit goes back a long while.” Remy flopped backward. 

“Fiiiine.”

“Good. I wasn’t dating your father at the time, instead I was dating Deceit.”

“Okay, this is not some dudes name is it?” Roman joined in, responding for Virgil.

“No it's not, but it's very difficult for your father to refer to him by his given name.”

“Why?”

“i’m getting to that,” Virgil said, getting irritated. “I will explain everything, just please stop interrupting.” Remy rolled his eyes but nodded. “Now Deceit was not a good person.”

“That's a nice way of saying absolute dickhead,” Remus muttered. Virgil glared at him and he shut up. Remy sat up, a bit more interested.

“Anyway, he wasn’t a good person,”

“Dickhead,” Remus muttered. 

“AND his brother was a person named Patton Lugner.”

“How is this important?” Remy asked, becoming bored again, grabbing a cup of coffee and starting to sip out of it.

“COULD YOU ALL JUST LET ME SPEAK?” Everyone immediately shut up. “Thank god. Now, I had been dating Deceit since sophomore year of highschool and we moved to college together. He was the only person I knew, so I was very isolated and alone. I had terrible anxiety at the time and being alone around him made it worse.” Virgil hitched a breath. Roman came over, encouraging him with a gentle arm around his shoulder.

“Deceit could get violent. In fact, he rarely didn’t. On the outside, you wouldn’t have known it. It was so easy to fall into his trap that way. He smoothly talked and lied about everything. He could have said, ‘The sky is green’ and I would have accepted it without question. That was the type of person he was. I had been incredibly nervous so I only saw people with Deceit. Naturally that met the only people I ever saw were people Deceit trusted to not help me. So, I met his brother Patton. I was convinced he didn’t know, so I acted secretive. He did know though. About everything that went on behind the closed doors.” Virgil inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm back down. Roman soothed him, and he began to speak again.

“Then I met your uncle Remus. He was best friends with Deceit.” Remy spit out his coffee.

“WHAT?!”

“Hey, I didn’t know he was a complete dolphin’s asshole at the time,” Remus shrugged. Remy gaped at his uncle. This was quite the story to be hearing and it had barely started.

“We didn’t talk much, he was quite loud and out there, and frankly I was terrified. But one night I ran out of the dorm, absolutely terrified and in pain. And your uncle Remus was there. I was hidden by the dark and my hoodie, so he didn’t know it was me, but he was kind and asked why I was here. I said I had been hurt badly,” Virgil unintentionally flinched at the memory, trying to get back on track. “He asked who did. And I said it was my boyfriend. He wanted to get me help immediately, because despite his off the wall attitude, your uncle was a good person.”

“Why thank you Virgey.” Virgil rolled his eyes.

“I said no, because I was so scared what would happen if he found out. But he tried to encourage me to leave, even if he couldn’t help. I didn’t listen at first, but the words sunk into my brain and stayed there. He succeeded in planting the doubt in my head. And one night, when I had finally had enough, I broke up with Deceit and immediately ran out the door, not listening to what he wanted to say or do next. Next thing I knew I was in the center of the grounds running as fast as I could away. And then I bumped right into your father.”

“This is like a cheesy rom-com,” Remy muttered, before Roman, not Virgil shot him a dirty look. 

“Anyway, I ran into your father. And I didn’t really know what I was doing at the time, but I begged for him to let me be in his dorm. I said I was running from someone who was trying to hurt me. Your father was always a big softie and let me come in. Turns out he was sharing a room with your uncle Remus. He was surprised to see me because,” Remus joined in.

“Aren’t you J’s roommate?” 

“I panicked immediately, but your father helped me through my attack and I calmed down. I didn’t tell them why I was scared, just that I switched rooms because Janus had a partner who was there all the time and it freaked me out. They let me stay, and eventually, I met their friend. His name was Logan Berry, and he was a very smart law student. As it happened he was friends with Deceit. Or not friends as much as acquaintances. He was, however, close friends with Patton, Deciet’s twin brother. So naturally, the twins hung out with us. I hadn’t told anyone about Deceit, but I quickly figured out from side glances and careful looks, Patton knew. And he didn’t care.”

“Should these names feel familiar? Because they are to me, but I can’t place them,” Remy asked. Virgil nodded.

“Oh they should. Patton scared the crap out of me, but he was Logan’s friend and by extension mine, so I tried to get rid of the underlying fear. And I just tried to pretend Deceit wasn’t there.  At some point your father and I started dating. He knew I had serious issues from something, but he didn’t know what. Eventually he discovered it was Deceit and I swore him to secrecy, albeit reluctantly. Then, Remus came in. He was crying. Actually crying so we knew something had happened. Remus, want to take this bit?”

“Yup! So, Logan dropped me as a friend. I didn’t know why, but it was very painful. At first I wanted to cry, and then I wanted to rip out his internal organs. But your dad was suspicious of what happened, especially after Logan started to date Patton. He went to talk to Logan, only for Logan to dismiss it and leave. Your dad got home, and then vowed to confront Patton about this.” Virgil sighed.

“So, after class, I went to go find Patton when I was stopped by Deceit. He threatened me with exposing what happened to me to everyone if I did anything. And while I had more confidence, I didn’t have enough to say ‘Fuck you, I’ll do this anyway.’ So I listened and went back, my suspicions confirmed when Logan walked back to class with foundation on his face. I’ve put on enough makeup in my lifetime, whether it was for me or to hide a bruise, so I could immediately tell what happened. I wanted to do something and tell someone what happened. But I knew no one would believe me and everyone would just end up hurt.” Remy looked confused.

“Why wouldn’t someone believe you pops? Surely people take this seriously.”

“I wish that was the case. But I was a scrawny twenty year old trans man, who hadn’t even fully transitioned yet. They don’t take this seriously when someone with confidence says stuff, how the hell could I even think of it. Regardless, things got better for me and unfortunately worse for Logan. I didn’t see him in class a week later. When I tried to call him, my number was blocked. And then he got married Patton, becoming Logan Hart.” Remy’s jaw dropped. 

“WHAT THE HELL? ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE SAYING?” Roman and Remus couldn’t help but laugh at Remy’s reaction. Virgil smiled. 

“Wait until I finish and you’ll really be shocked. Obviously, me and your dad got married and had you after we finished college. We lost contact with Logan, for obvious reasons. We knew he was married to Patton, but that was about it. Once you turned four we sent you to a preschool. You know the one fifteen minutes away? Then your father ran late to pick you up one day and that’s when we get to you. Patton was your teacher and your father vaguely recognized him. Your father suddenly saw Logan and everything clicked. You were playing with Emile, so you didn’t realize. Naturally, your dad told me what happened and I was tempted then and there to hunt down Patton Hart.”

“But,” Roman interrupted, taking the conversation, “I didn’t let him do that. Instead we bided our time. We didn’t want to ruin your and Emile’s friendship. You were both so happy. But everything went wrong on your first playdate at a house. It was ours and you had a good time. Everything seemed fine. Me and your father remained civil with Patton. Maybe this would work out. And then you asked-”

“What loud noises start at night?” Remy whispered, pulling up the distant memory in horror. Virgil nodded as Roman continued.

“And Patton immediately shut the door in our faces, bringing Emile in with him. You didn’t understand and were led back to the car. We don’t know what happened next in their home, but you can bet it was nothing good. I strongly suspect Patton might have manipulated or scared Emile into ignoring you.”

“And,” Virgil added, “Emile likely associates you with a traumatic memory and his brain blocks you out to stay safe.” Remy stared in horror at his fathers, who stared at him solemnly. 

“Holy shit.”

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 15 - Meditations Two! Electric Boogaloo

There's something to be said for having a home to come back to at the end of the day. Especially when Charles is coming home battered and bloody and with his blood singing in his veins, “You're still alive, motherfucker. You're still alive.”

Because against all odds, he is still alive. And it's starting to feel like he's going to stay that way for a while. Like he isn't just dancing on a knife's edge where a single misstep gets him dead. And the steps more and more complex everyday, til he's jigging for his life to the devil's tune, too caught up in the steps to ever stop cuz if he stops he's dead. And he ain't quite ready to end it all – not just yet, not without a good reason.

So he'd smoked up – from a bong, from a crack pipe – and tried to forget for just a little while that he is where he is (the boneyard) and that he's living how he's living. Just a tiny misstep from dying.

And it's fine. He's got a crew, to help catch and steady him, just as he's there to catch and steady them. Make sure there's at least a little margin of error in the dance. Make sure there's a guy rope tying them together. Keeping them all balanced on that blade – or all falling together.

But the thing about living that way is that it ain't really living. Charles had never known anything else but this, so it feels like a life. But all it is is being dead and not realizing it yet.

Or maybe he had realized, just a little. Been able to catch tiny glimpses of another way of living through the cracked and dirty glass separating him from the living. Able to see out into the real world, with its real people. People who were safe and clean and happy and free.

And Charles had hated them.

Hated them for having what he could never have. Hated them for living when he was just dying slow. Hated them for being free – for having the ability to make choices about what kind of life they lived when he can't choose, not even between living and dying, not really.

And Charles got bitter. Spiteful. Angry. He'd fought back the only way he could. Telling himself that they were weak. That he was strong.

Look at how coddled they are. How loved. He'd never needed any of that shit to survive. He'd toughened up, and they could stand to do the same, the fucking pansies.

So it had become a kind of mantra. Rules to live by, in a world where he's half dead already.

Loving things makes you weak. Loving things makes you vulnerable. And out on the streets, vulnerable means dead. Better to love nothing and be free than to chain yourself to worthless comforts. Better to love nothing than to chain yourself to vulnerabilities.

So Charles had loved nothing. Not even his crew. His crew who'd feared and respected him as he'd respected and occasionally feared them. But there's no place for love – not there on the streets and not with the kind of people he'd invited into his crew – into himself. Strong people. Fierce people. Fighters.

And then Charles had fallen in love with Eleanor Guthry. Or he'd though the had, anyway. Eleanor might not actually be capable of that emotion. And even if she is, she certainly wasn't in love with Charles, making the whole relationship just a touch one-sided. And that was before she got him sent away for that two-stretch. The bitch.

Because that's the thing about Eleanor, the thing that had originally attracted Charles to her. She's a monumental bitch. Ruthless and callous and cold. Just like him.

Equals.

And she'd played the part of fellow gang boss well. Acting tough. Acting like she could understand the life of someone like him. Like she could care about street trash like him.

But it had all been a not-particularly-well-constructed facade.

She'd only put up with Charles for what he could get her – money and thrills and respect from the street. As soon as his usefulness was gone, he'd been disposable.

And Eleanor herself. Well...

She was no gang boss. She was not strong, not in the ways that mattered on the streets and not in the ways Charles has learned are strong in the world of elitist fucks he lives in now. No. Eleanor had been coddled. She'd been safe and spoiled and pampered by everyone she'd ever come in contact with. Completely divorced from the consequences of her actions – at least until Max had taken a go at her.

Max who's another lover scorned and tossed aside when Eleanor grew bored. Which means the justice is just fucking poetic really. And Charles is so fucking glad he'd gotten to be part of Max's revenge. Gotten to see Eleanor toppled from her marble pedestal. Gotten to be the one to send her crashing down to shatter on the streets with all the other gutter trash.

But he's also glad he got to be part of Max's revenge cuz it means he's part of the con she's running now. The con that involves a fancy house and fancy clothes. And safety – real safety.

When he'd gone away for that two-stretch, Charles had chafed under the pointless rules, the petty tyranny of the guards. The lack of humanity – from the guards and from the other prisoners.

But he'd had three hots and a cot and nobody'd fucked with him, not even the most sadistic guards, not after he'd threatened – and committed – enough violence to make his point. His point that he was the toughest motherfucker around and they'd better take that into account going forward.

And, since he didn't know any better – hadn't ever experienced anything else – he'd thought that was safety. He'd thought that was freedom from fear. And it had just confirmed his belief that you couldn't have safety without giving up the freedoms that made life – even a half-life on the streets – worth living.

And then he'd gotten out, gotten back to the streets. Back to Jack running the crew and Max planning the cons. Just in time for the rug to be pulled out from under him – for him to get shoved into the kind of life he'd always derided, always sneered at. The life of soft, safe, spoiled fucks with no drive in them to ever achieve anything. So used to the gilded cage that they'd never walk out, even if the door was left open for them.

He'd chafed at the idea at first. Remnants of his mantra echoing in his head. Love nothing. Care for nothing. Cuz then it can't be taken away. Only then are you free.

Plus, he'd been pissed as hell at Jack for manipulating him into this shit. Cuz he knew – he knew – Charles'd fight it tooth and nail if he'd approached it honestly, democratically. But Jack's always been a slippery fucker. Charles can't honestly say he'd expected any different from him – though Anne's easy acquiescence to the plan had surprised him, Jack's machinations or no.

But Charles is man enough to admit when he's been beaten. So he'd gone along with the plan. Dolled himself up in designer togs. Submitted to Mary's ridiculous social media campaign. Insinuated himself into a circle of shallow, self-obsessed, backstabbing aristocrats. And all for a plan he hadn't really believed in.

But Jack's the captain of their little crew. His word is law. So now Charles is living like one of those rich fuckers. And as it turns out, the half-life he'd been living out on the streets wasn't even close to the real thing. Jail just a pale imitation of what safety could mean.

Cuz it turns out that when you're rich, you can have the food and clothes and safety. But you also have the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want. The freedom to live.

That's the big fucking secret. The thing they don't want you to know, cuz you'd burn the whole fucking city down if you knew about the caviar at breakfast eaten off of an ivory spoon. About the champagne filling the Jacuzzi of a penthouse hotel suite with enough gilt to make the Church green with envy. About the blood and spend and filth on your hands – just what it takes to get you that multi-million dollar view, that corner office.

When you're that kind of rich, you can do whatever the fuck you want. No rules, no laws affect you. The little people – the normal people - don't matter at all. They're worth about as much consideration as a bug on the sidewalk – noticed, reviled, and then immediately forgotten.

Charles and Max and Anne and Jack, they're all rich enough they can live like that. No regard for anyone's rules but their own. No concern for anyone but themselves. Content to live cut off from all consequences, surrounded by splendor. Never having to face the grit and the grime of the streets again if they don't want to.

But that's the thing. It ain't about having fancy cars or fancy clothes or a fancy house.

Sure, it's fun to ride around in a limo. Fun to wear ridiculous outfits that cost more than most people make in a fortnight, hideous and tacky and camp, because you can afford to. Fun to live in a mansion with more rooms than they know what to do with.

But that's not the thing that makes him free. That's not the thing that makes this living.

It's the smaller things. The quieter things.

Things like having a place to return to at the end of a long day. A place to rest. A place where he can rest, without worrying someone'll try for him. Without having to put up a facade of power, of ruthlessness.

Charles had mocked Flint for his domesticity once. For his desire for the finer things – well, finer for them, anyway.

But there is something comforting in having a favorite mug in the cabinet of your kitchen. Of having tea to drink out of it, breakfast to eat along side it. To have people around you who you can dare to care about because you're not just clinging to survival – you're living.

People you can do things like sitting out in the garden with, having a tea party like some kind of posh fucker. And people you can trust to patch you up after a night at the underground boxing ring, instead of licking your wounds all alone in the dark.

Because Charles has never felt stronger than the morning he stood in the bathroom with Jack wiping the blood away from his face with a posh hand towel. Berating him for coming home in this state. Begrudging in his ministrations. But his hands were gentle. And worry lurked behind his eyes.

And Charles had realized that Jack cares for him. Anne cares for him. His crew care for him. Care rather than fear.

And Charles cares for them in turn. Can care for them. And that is safety. That is strength that can never be taken away.

Even if they were to lose everything tomorrow, all the money and the house and the whole con going up in fucking smoke, that can't be taken away. Charles knows now what it is to be strong. Strong in a way that even the rich fuckers who they're conning can never be. He knows what it means to be free.

Because the rich aren't free.

They might look free. They might act free. But they've chained themselves inside a new kind of prison, one they made for themselves. Because the thing holding them back, the thing keeping them weak, keeping them civilized, is shame.

The idle gossip of their neighbors. The scandal that can ruin them as easily as it had ruined Eleanor and Woodes Rogers. The fear of offending the wrong other rich fuck and ending up “penniless” and on the streets – or, shudder, a lower-middle-class neighborhood.

That fear, that shame, is what keeps the rich from being free.

But Charles has been penniless on the streets, and he survived. Charles has been low and nearly dead and he'd lived. He isn't tied to the money and the disgusting excess and the whole fucking pretend pageantry of nobility.

And the thing about Charles - about Jack and Anne and Max and Mary - is that they don't really feel shame.

[spell-cleaver]

(Luke Palpatine AU) Since becoming Emperor, Luke had grown accustomed to the fact that people were going to spy on every little thing he did, so when he started watching a holo drama, he knew that it would not last long. What he didn't expect was for Nova to join him.

Previous parts on the masterpost here!

Since becoming Emperor, Luke had grown accustomed to the fact that people were going to spy on every little thing he did, so when he started watching a holo drama, he knew that it would not last long. What he didn’t expect was for Nova to join him.

But there she was sitting next to him, just as swaddled in blankets as he was, the long colo claw fish V— Luke had received the previous night acting as a pillow long enough for both of them to use. The rest of his gifts were snuggled around them on the large sofa as well, and Luke felt so… comfortable, lying atop cuddly toys and watching something pathetic and ridiculous like this, like he was half his age.

When the episode finished, Nova glanced at him. “Do you want to watch the next one?”

Luke blinked. “I can?”

“Of course you can,” she said simply and patiently. “Do you want to?”

He glanced at the holo projector. “It’s not a good show.”

“It’s really not. But it’s fun to watch.”

“And it’s getting late.”

“Yes.”

“And I shouldn’t waste my time on this sort of trash.”

Nova pouted. “That’s your father talking.”

“It’s me talking—”

“C'mon, you’re fourteen. You should be having sleepovers and watching trashy shows until your eyes bleed.” She swatted his arm. “Do you want to watch the next one?”

“I— no,” he decided, getting up. The nexu toy tumbled off his lap and landed on top of the holoprojector, its face being cast into odd, slightly comical shadows by the blue light. “No, I don’t want to.”

Nova said, “Hmmm,” and watched him go.

*

And then the next morning, she said to him, “How many times how you spoken to someone your own age?”

He looked at her. She knew the answer to that. “Zero,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose.

“Well then.” She patted him on the shoulder and walked away. “We should fix that.”

*

“Nova,” Luke said that afternoon, staring at the two teenagers sitting awkwardly on one of the sofas in the entrance chamber to his quarters, as far away from each other as they could get without standing up and being explicitly rude, “what did you do.”

It had to have been her. No one else would’ve done this.

“You said you’d never spoken to someone your own age,” she said cheerfully. Luke flushed berry-red, and hated the look one of the teenagers, a girl dressed in white with a bun of dark braids, gave him at that. It was far too close to pity.

“These two agreed to meet you, and you just have to watch one movie together,” she badgered, taking Luke’s shoulder and steering him closer. He felt like a five year old. “If you decided you all hate each other, then you never have to socialise again, but until then, please give it a chance, Luke.”

She whispered. “It’ll be good for you.”

Luke swallowed tightly, hating the way the two teenagers—likely infinitely cleverer, more socialised, more experienced than him—were gazing at him. It was probably scorn—scorn for the child emperor who couldn’t even talk to his peers—

Then Nova ushered them all into the living room of his quarters and sat them down around the holoprojector. They each took separate chairs or sofas, and Luke was intimately aware of the confused glances his Noghri bodyguards were giving and receiving from the newcomers, but he stubbornly tried not to flush again.

“So, uh,” he said. “I’m Luke.”

“We know,” the girl said.

He nodded. “Right.”

She took pity on him and smiled. “This is Zevulon Veers,” she said, and the other teenager—a tall, dark-haired human—gave her a look.

“I was going to introduce myself, thank you.”

“Well, now you don’t have to.”

“Any relation to General Veers?” Luke asked tentatively.

Zevulon… didn’t frown, but he didn’t smile, either. “My father. I hardly ever see him.”

Ah. If only Luke had had that pleasure with his father, he might not have disappointed him as much.

“I met him yesterday,” he offered. “Apparently Vader roped him into teaching me how to shoot.”

“You don’t know how to shoot?” asked the girl. Her voice was loud, regal, and it brimmed with confidence. Luke felt like a shadow next to her.

“No,” he said tightly. “My training never covered that. But Vader and Nova thought it would be a good thing to learn now.” He decided not to mention the whole fight there’d been about that. “The general was a good teacher.”

Zevulon nodded. “He is. When he’s around.”

“When he’s not off slaughtering people?” the girl chimed in.

Zevulon tensed. “Excuse me?”

“What? He’s a general. That’s what he does.”

“It’s his job, he’s good at it. Doesn’t mean you get to insult him for it.” He bristled. “Who even are you? It’s pretty creepy that you know who I am but never thought to return the—”

“I,” she said, glaring daggers, “am Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan.”

Oh.

That made sense—Luke recognised her now. She’d been dragged in front of holocams just as much as he had as a kid.

Zevulon snorted. “Ah. That explains it.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. She puffed herself up. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re all Rebel sympathisers on Alderaan, aren’t you? No wonder you hate my father.”

“We're—” That seemed to have taken the power out of her engines. She grimaced and said, tensely, “That’s not true, and I never said I hated him—”

“No, you just—”

“Can you two… not fight?” Luke asked. “It’s kinda awkward sitting here watching it.”

Zevulon stopped immediately. Leia’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before she did the same. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Luke winced. “Don’t do that. Don’t call me Majesty. I’m just Luke.”

The princess actually smiled a little, at that. “And I’m just Leia.”

“I’ve met your father as well,” he said to her, smiling back. “During the talks with the senators. He was nice. Had some good ideas.”

She nodded. “That’s my father.”

He turned his head. “And Zevulon—”

“Zev.” He fidgeted. “While we’re exchanging names, I’m just Zev.”

Luke nodded. “Alright.”

Then he glanced at the holoprojector. “Do either of you know what you want to watch?”

*

“This is stupid,” Leia said, her mouth full of cake. “Monarchies don’t do arranged marriages anymore, that’s archaic.”

“Hey, you’re the one who randomly decided we should introduce Luke to daytime holonet shows. It’s called Crown of Stars, what did you expect it would be like?”

“I have heard of a few arranged marriages in recent years, mainly between magnates and industrial leaders and Moffs and stuff,” Luke admitted, reaching for the tray of food Nova had sent a droid in to deliver for them. The jogan fruit was sweet when he bit into it; juice dribbled down his chin. “But yeah, it’s not that common. And why does she need to marry that guy anyway? His system doesn’t exactly have any resources that her family would exactly need, and they’re on the edge of Wild Space.”

“It’s a holodrama, it’s not meant to be logical!”

Luke shrugged. “Shouldn’t they at least try?”

“They’re more interested in the drama,” Leia said, drawing out the word a tad longer than needed. “To keep their viewers hooked.”

“To keep their viewers confused?”

“That too.”

“Oh stars, the wedding scene.” Zev cringed away. “I can’t watch.”

“Getting invested, Veers?”

“She’s about to marry someone twice her age while her one true love watches in agony! I can’t bear it!”

Leia rolled her eyes. “Then let’s turn it off—”

A pillow smacked her in the face.

“Hey!” She glared at Luke.

“Shhh, it’s getting tense.”

She chucked the pillow back at him. He threw himself against the sofa to dodge it.

“Oh no,” Zev whimpered, peering through his fingers, “he’s gonna kiss her…”

“Wait, look!” Luke leaned forwards. “Is that—? I don’t understand.”

“Shhh, let it finish.”

“The lover burst in and read out a law that declared the marriage illegal,” Leia drawled. “A law which doesn’t exist, by the way—”

“Oh, that’s a sweet ending.” Luke smiled at the projector.

“They’re kissing and riding off into the sunset together, it’s literally the most cliché ending in the galaxy.”

“But it’s sweet.”                            

Leia had to smile when she glanced at the holo again—at the woman’s beaming face.

“Okay,” she admitted, “it is pretty sweet.” She glanced at Luke and Zev, and cackled when she saw they’d both inched their chairs and sofas closer to the holo, as well as closer together. “You sappy romantics.”

The credits began to roll.

Luke glanced at the time. “Uhhh,” he said, “the time Nova said she was going to lock us in for is up. If you don’t want to stay any longer…”

“Are you kicking us out?” Leia asked. Zev looked hurt.

“No! I just thought… if you did want to leave…”

“Well.” Leia grabbed the remote. “He can leave, but I’m not going to go until you’ve been introduced to a holonet show that is actually good. How about—”

“Are you kidding?” Zev burst out. “They haven’t resolved the secret letter arc yet, and the Count is still missing! Luke has to finish watching the series!”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“One against one.” Zev crossed his arms. “You’re a senator, Leia—”

“Aspiring senator, I’m actually an apprentice legislator—”

“—you like voting. Luke gets the deciding vote.”

Luke smiled. “Crown of Stars.”

“No!”

“There’s too many plotlines that haven’t been wrapped up yet!”

Leia glared at Zev. “You’ve ruined his taste forever.”

“Shhh,” Luke said as the theme began to play. “It’s starting.”

Send me the first sentence of a scene from this AU and I’ll continue it!

Beginning | Previous | Next

[fuwafuwamedb]

Proto Pop Pt 3 (Hakuno, Proto Gil)

Previously: One, Two

___

She was like a painted doll.

Her skin almost had a glow to it. Her eyes were lined in kohl and pigments, making those eyes look so much bigger than he had ever seen before. Her cheeks were flushed, although it looked like that was nothing more than a farce.

Gilgamesh looked around a moment, brushing the bangs back from his face before he saw a box of small flimsy rags nearby. The material was a joke, but- he still grabbed a couple and wiped at the woman’s face.

There were large, atrocious bags under those eyes. Her lips were stained, with what had to be the most venomous looking color of red he’d ever seen. The more he wiped, the paler and frailer she seemed to look. Between that and the lithe body she had; she didn’t look like she could sustain him as a master. She barely looked like she would survive seeing an enemy.

Then again…

She’d run from him pretty well. She had mana, but it felt so quiet.

He wouldn’t be summoned by a frail wisp of a thing, she had to have some power in her. If that was the case, then she may have held a talent for holding back that mana of hers. If it hadn’t been for her command spells, he probably wouldn’t have sensed her enough to follow.

Yeah, she had to be more than what appeared before his eyes. She was a strong magus. Which meant that she had feared him for his strength and the sheer opulence of his appearance. She was more than he had ever expected, more than she had ever dreamed.

What a humble master.

“You must be a cute master when you are smiling,” Gilgamesh purred, pulling her closer.

Her body fit so nicely against his side. Like the rainfall to the thirsting desert, her presence was such a balm to his mana levels. Just holding her close was giving him such a feeling in his chest. There was warmth, blossoming forth, spreading through his face and his neck. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to hers.

There was more pigment on her face. Traces lingered, here and there, drawing his hand to her face once again to wipe at the mess.

It didn’t do much, but it was better. He needed these flimsy rags wet.

Tissues.

The word came to mind as he looked at them. Then he looked around.

Television.

Remote.

Apartment.

Slowly, the grail and its infinite wisdom was sinking in. He needed time to adjust, time to think about what everything was.

Kitchen.

Living room.

Bedroom.

He found himself moving to his feet, puling his master into his arms as the thought of her bedroom came to mind. She would rest better in there. She needed to be amongst her comforts and pleasures. He’d look around at her space and begin planning after he’d gotten her all settled and comfortable with him.

After all, they were in a grail war. She would need to have that comfort.

There were photos on the wall as he went.

His master seemed happy.

Well- maybe not.

He frowned, holding her close and looking more at the images on the wall.

She was smiling brightly at him in all the pictures, making his heart do that strange pitter patter, but it didn’t sit quite right. She was always having those same eyes. He’d seen it when she was telling him to leave. She’d had that scared prey look in her eyes. It looked more like she was going to be devoured by someone rather than anything else.

“Why hang such things,” he wondered aloud, holding her closer and carrying her through the doors to her room.

This room was also cold.

The room had nothing. No kohl sticks and incense anywhere. There were no handwoven fabrics or furs from her father and brothers. There was nothing in the room that made it look like it was a home for anything.

Come to think of it, the whole place had been that way. It was like she was borrowing a home, somewhere clean and lacking of personal life.

She was swallowed in her cold bed, the sheets looking far too thin to provide any warmth at all. Her view to the city outside was nice, but it wasn’t worth this.

He had to fix this.

All of this.

Opening the gates, he pulled out his own prized furs, throwing her useless fabrics to the corner of the room for later disposal. She looked happier amongst the wolf and leopard furs. He threw her useless cushions aside as well, pulling some of his own as well.

Colors. That was what the place was lacking.

It was all blacks and whites in this place. There was a brown lump that looked like it had been a plant, but it was dead.

Nothing could survive in this colorless mess.

The cushions he’d pulled out were deep reds and vibrants blues and greens. She was snuggling into a collage of colors, her complexion looking more radiant as she adjusted and settled in.

He had more work to do though.

The square and rectangular attempts at painting were pulled from the walls, tossed in the trash corner of the room and replaced with rich, thick fabrics and jewelry.

The room went from white walls to large mural tapestries of war scenes and Ishtar worship.

He moved to pull down the depressed stills of his master, replacing them with more jewelry. The whole place was a mess, but he had time.

He found some paints and entertained himself with a wall, painting something more suiting- a replica of the world outside the window. The glittering lights were glorified in golden splotches of color. The water was given a highlight, showing off the moon that he painted high above the fake city. Stepping back, he grinned.

He had much talent. It was a wonder he had settled for simply being a king.

The rooms were better. Pulling away from all his work, he found himself without aim again.

Perhaps he should see what a television did…

“Thank you, everyone, for coming to my concert!”

Gilgamesh paused, staring at the woman on the screen and glancing around the television, to the open doors where he could see his master resting in her bed.

“How are we doing tonight? Are you ready?”

She was flashing another one of those smiles again. Why did she smile with those eyes?

Gilgamesh moved to the floor, sitting cross legged and looking up at her face as she began to call upon the gods and goddess alike with that voice of hers.

When she had been awake, she had called herself an idol.

He knew what that word meant now.

The sound coming from the television was pure elation and pleasure, consolidated into singular force that rocked him to the very core of his being. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop himself from the smile that came over his face. Note after note was coming forth, spiraling around his head and stroking at his very ears. Her words were a balm and a ward against the darkness and sorrow in this world.

Then her movements.

She was grace and beauty. Ishtar would have been yanking her hair out bit by bit, raging like a scorned lover. There wouldn’t have been a single god to stand for such a radiance to survive without trial and tribulation. Every movement was so precise, so flawless. There was no weight to her, from what he could see. She danced with a fluidity that made it seem like she was teasing him with her body. A lift of her skirt here, a flash of those brown eyes from under those thick lashes; he felt that stutter in his chest again as she flashed a pearl white smile his way.

The gods had placed her in a lifeless hell to keep that happiness she showed in her art from spreading to the world around her.

That must have been it.

“Sometimes I can feel down, but you know? I have all of you! Thank you!”

The stumble was almost impossible to note, but he could see the slight bend of her foot, the shift of her skirts just a little too high compared to what she’d done earlier.

The light in those eyes was gone.

As much as it had grown before, it was gone. The fake smiles returned.

Gilgamesh turned off the television, sitting in the silence of her home.

His master was inhumanly graceful. Her voice was still ringing in his ears as he leaned back on the floor and looked up to the ceiling.

He smiled to the ceiling.

The great king of Uruk and the gods’ own songbird whose mana sung so quietly that no one would ever suspect her.

Surely fate was smiling upon him now.

This war was practically over already.

[momo-de-avis]

Do you have any recommendations of female artists (sculptors and painters)? (I went to a museum and now im salty lmao)

Off the top of my mind, I might remember someone else some time soon:

Sonia Delaunay. My girl LIVED and BREATHED art. She was the type to literally, and I mean wholly, surround herself with art to the point of living inside art. She sewed, made costumes for the theater, she made puppets, dolls, quilts, even furniture. She was an incredible, outstanding painter. She is at the centre of Orphism more so than Robert, her husband, who was more of a cubism guy. Now, from what I gather, a lot of what people say about Sonia in other countries is coupled with her husband, as if you can't talk about her without mentioning him. To a degree, that's correct because the two had a really secure partnership. They were both creators, and they pushed each other. It was incredibly inspiring tbh. But Sonia has her own merit, and in Portugal she is actually way more relevant than Robert bc of the influence she had on our modernist circle.

Lee Krasner. If only people sort of forgot she was Pollock's wife. Her method of creating is fascinating to me cause this girl just destroyed her past work completely, but instead of throwing it in the trash, she reused it to create new works. Art historians in the post modernist era weren't too kind to her, but she's being avenged. She's methodical and clearly puts so much thought into her composition her creative process is fascinating.

Julia Margaret Cameron. This woman is one of my favourite artists in the world. Cameron began taking photographs at 42 years old after she moved to the isle of Wight in England. She was gifted a camera by her daughter who just wanted her mother to be a bit less bored, and Cameron went on to create over 3000 astonishing photographs that are at the core of the pictorialist movement. She was also INCREDIBLY well acquainted of her society. I mean, literally every famous victorian person you can think of, she met them. The majority of famous photographs you can think of? She took them. She was very honest about her work too. Its really endearing because Cameron was so concerned about her own honesty in capturing beauty she didn't give a fuck about the actual mechanics, which resulted in a lot of photographers at the time labelling her "an amateur". She also refused to photograph high society folk that weren't her friends, and mostly photographed her maids. It must be said that Alfred Lord Tennyson absolutely DESPISED every single illustration made for his Idylls of the King, so much artists knew they were in for hell if they were commissioned the book's illustrations. Cameron was the only person Tennyson personally asked to illustrated, and he absolutely adored her work.

Hannah Hoch. I love Dada so it couldn't miss. Hannah Hoch was married to uhhhhh... Huesekbeck I think? I keep forgetting. Either way, she was part of the Berlin Dada group, and they gave her hell for being a woman. Yes, it's nothing short of that: they didn't want her to belong because she was a woman. Especially her husband, who she supported throughout his life and then he died and she was like "lmao maybe you should have made good art, my bitch". Hannah Hoch mostly makes collages, and it's incredible. Its a very poignant work about being a woman in post-Weimar Germany and the societal issues Germany faced after World War I.

Claude Cahun. There's a post I made about her going around so I wont prolong myself but essentially, though she used female pronouns throughout her life, she identified herself as androgynous and created an INCREDIBLE set of photographs. She was a surrealist who became the inspiration for Davie Bowie and Andre Breton lauded this woman breathless. She was also arrested for taking part in the resistance against the Nazis and lived her whole life with another woman who was her partner. Her work focuses tremendously on issues of gender and our perception of our own bodies.

Camille Claudel. Infamously, she is known as Rodin's lover. Camille's story is a very tragic one. She was a tremendously talented sculptor who accumulated patrons throughout her life, and though she had an a rough affair with Rodin (and he was a bit of a dick), he did praise her work and tried very hard to preserve her artwork. The issue was Camille's family, who scorned her and shamed her for being an artist and her life choices, and destroyed a lot of her art after sticking her in a mental institution where she died at like, 70. But Camille's work is... Well, it's beautiful. Its the kind of work you can see that conflict between being a woman in her society while desperate to liberate herself. Though she incorporates Rodin's language, she has her own mark, her own hand, and her own language.

Janet Sobel. She is actually the first person to coin, use and employ the technique of dripping. You know, the one Pollock gets all the praise for? Essentially, Janet Sobel was a grandmother by the time she picked up a paintbrush. She was also a ukranian emigrant with little to no english, and she engaged in art at her son's insistence. When her son Sol Sobel brought his mom's artwork to the major New York circles (she lived in New Jersey), she immediately caught the eye of Peggy Guggenheim, who put together a collective exhibition about female abstract expressionist painters. That exhibition was in 1946. Pollock was there, he msde a remark wbout Sobel's work, and in 1947 you have the first Pollock dripping painting. Do with that information what you will (and also, check for photos of how Sobel painted, it's so adorable and it just explains SO MUCH MORE THE CONCEPT OF ACTION PAINTING THAN POLLOCK). Eventualyl, Sobel stopped painting and disappeared, and there are several factors as to why we forgot her: Pollock was the CIA's bad boy, so yeah; she spoke little english (she befriended Marc Chagall and Mark Rothko bc they both spoke russian and they claimed that being with Sobel felt like being back home) and she developed an allergy to oil painting.

Maria Helena Vieira da Silva. We're moving to the french circle here, and yes she is portuguese but she belongs to the french post modernist circle. She's an abstract painter who draws a lot from cityscapes, and I think it's worth taking a look at her work.

Niki de Saint Phalle. Now Niki is incredible. She's mostly known for her Nanas, which are immense outdoors sculptures of women with thick bodies, defying the notion of slenderness imposed by fashion magazines that prevailed in the 50s. She also engages with her own trauma of sexual abuse and explores the notion of sexuality a lot, as well as women's bodies outside the realm of sexuality. At a given point, she collaborated with Jean Tingely a lot so she made a series of kinetic sculptures too.

Martha Rosler. I know you said painting and sculpture and I've already talked about collage lmao but Martha Rosler belongs to the first wave of feminist art and those mostly concern video art, though Rosler is very well known for her collages Bringing the War Home in which she literally brings the Vietnam war home. It's worth looking at her work.

Ana Mendieta. Another tragic story. Ana Mendieta was incredibly worried about the notion of the female body as perceived outside the realm of something sexual and nature. She works a lot with perishable material, works of art that are organic, that is, that will disappear with time. One of her most well known methods is leaving an imprint of her own body on natural surfaces, like a beach, or a field of grass, and then photographing it. Ironically, that was exactly how she died: she fell off I believe it was a 10th floor and onto the hood if a car. There is still speculation about it and everything points towards there having been a fight between her and her partner at the time, Carl Andre, who neighbours believe pushed her out the window. Carl Andre never saw justice and Ana Mendieta died at like 25 years old and at the prime of her career.

Kara Walker. She's a pretty young artist who's creating artworks as we speak and she confronts the notion of blackness with US history so blatantly it becomes monumental. She also makes large scale works to defy this message. If you ask me, she's one of the best artists living today.

Hilma af Klimt. She was a Swedish abstractionist and surrealist who was really focused on the occult, and made monumental paintings that engaged with things like the human psyche.

Lizzie Siddal. Now, Lizzie is better known as the Pre-Raphaelite muse, immortalised in Millais' famous Ophelia, but she was an artist of her own. And not just any artist. John Ruskin tutored her and praised her. In fact, he considered her biggest flaw being her love affair with Rossetti lmao she is very naive and honest about her work, and I would also recommend taking a look at her poetry.

Eleonor Fortescue-Brickdale. I know very little about her, but she was a post pre-raphaelite illustrator who, and this is just me, follows the trend of Julia Margaret Cameron. Her paintings are beautiful and seriously, look at both their work and try to see the similarities hah

Helen Frankenthaler and Joan Mitchell, two abstract expressionists who developed their own mode of painting and who border the Colour Field Painting (think Rothko).

Tamara de Lempicka. She's the glamour gal. She makes paintings about the glamorous life of high society and is very interesting because she depicts female nudes in a very intimate way. If I am not mistaken, Tamara de Lempicka had relationships with women, so that tells you a lot. She's very cubist in technique, more so than style.

Faith Ringgold. Oh my God, Faith Ringgold is fantastic. She is a black american woman who paints about the experience of being a black woman, but not just paint. She's best known for her Tar Beaches series, which as quilts she stitches while telling the story of a little girl who dreams about a world while spending time on her tar beach, which is the rooftops of the buildings in Harlem. Please do check her work, she is fantastic.

I'll leave well known names out because they are easy to search like Frida Kahlo, Artemisa Gentilleschi, Josefa d'Obidos, Sofonisba Anguissola (these three are located in the late renaissance period, so there's a lot of portraits, religious themes and still life), Mary Cassat, Berthe Morisot (both impressionists who focus on private female themes), Rosa Bonheur (naturalist who makes landscapes mostly), Evelyn de Morgan (post pre-raphaelite). Also check Zinaida Serebriakova, Georgia O'Keeffe, Lavinia Fontana, Louise Bourgeois, Angelika Kauffmann, Elisabetta Sirani, Romaine Brooks, Sophie Tauber-Arp, Varvara Stepanova, Paula Rego, Bridget Riley, Leonora Carrington, Vigée le Brun, Yayoi Kusama, Francesca Woodman. Etc. These are like .. top of my head with a quick google search to make sure I wrote the names right haha

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for Wednesday, november 4 of 2020 with Proverbs 4 and Psalm 4 accompanied by Psalm 44 for the 44th day of Autumn and Psalm 9 for day 309 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 3rd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 4]

Gather, children, to hear your father’s instruction.

Pay close attention so you will understand,

For I am passing down to you important precepts.

Do not abandon these valuable life lessons.

Back when I was young—the very image of my father,

and yet from my mother’s view, still her only boy—

My father, with his years of experience, became my teacher.

Father: Son, grab on to every word I say to you—hold them close—

stay true to my instructions as you live, and they will serve you well.

Whatever it takes to gain Wisdom, do it.

To gain understanding, do it! Never forget this!

Never stray from what I am telling you.

If you don’t forsake Lady Wisdom, she will protect you.

Love her, and she will faithfully take care of you.

Gaining sound judgment is key, so first things first: go after Lady Wisdom!

Now, whatever else you do, follow through to understanding.

Cherish her, and she will help you rise above the confusion of life—

your possibilities will open up before you—

embrace her, and she will raise you to a place of honor in return.

She will provide the finishing touch to your character—grace;

she will give you an elegant confidence.

Hear my words, my son, and take them in;

let them soak in so that you will live a long, full life.

I have pointed you in the way of wisdom;

I have steered you down the path to integrity.

So get going. And as you go, know this: with integrity you will overcome all obstacles;

even if you run, you will not stumble.

Tighten your grip around wise advice; don’t let it slip away.

Protect Wisdom, for without her, life isn’t worth living.

Do not start down the road of the wicked—

the first step is easy, but it leads to heartache—

do not go along the way of evildoers.

Stay away from it; don’t even go past it—

and if you find yourself anywhere near it,

turn your back and run as far as you can in the opposite direction.

For evildoers are so twisted they cannot sleep unless they have caused harm;

they’ll lie awake all night until they figure out a way to cause someone to stumble.

For they feed on evil the way most eat bread;

they drink violence the way most guzzle wine.

Yet the way of those who do right is like the early morning sun

that shines brighter and brighter until noon.

Evildoers travel a dark road because they love to hide their deeds in darkness;

they can’t see the perils ahead that cause them to stumble.

My son, pay attention to all the words I am telling you.

Lean in closer so you may hear all I say.

Keep them before you; meditate on them;

set them safely in your heart.

For those who discover them, they are life.

They bring wholeness and healing to their bodies.

Above all else, watch over your heart; diligently guard it

because from a sincere and pure heart come the good and noble things of life.

Do away with any talk that twists and distorts the truth;

have nothing to do with any verbal trickery.

Keep your head up, your eyes straight ahead,

and your focus fixed on what is in front of you.

Take care you don’t stray from the straight path, the way of truth,

and you will safely reach the end of your road.

Do not veer off course to the right or the left;

step away from evil, and leave it behind.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 4 (The Voice)

to be accompanied by this line from The Message about the genesis of the instrumental womb of the heart:

Keep vigilant watch over your heart;

that’s where life starts.

(verse 23)

[Psalm 4]

An Evening Prayer for Help

For the Pure and Shining One

For the end, a melody by King David

God, you are my righteousness, my champion defender.

Answer me when I cry for help!

Whenever I was in distress, you enlarged me.

I’m being squeezed again—I need your kindness right away!

Grant me your grace, hear my prayer, and set me free!

Listen to me, you elite among men:

How long will you defame my honor

and drag it down into shame?

Will you ever stop insulting me?

How long will you set your heart on shadows,

chasing your lies and delusions?

Pause in his presence

May we never forget that the Lord works wonders

for every one of his devoted lovers.

And this is how I know that he will answer my every prayer.

Tremble in awe before the Lord, and do not sin against him.

Be still upon your bed and search your heart before him.

Pause in his presence

Bring to Yahweh the sacrifice of righteousness and put your trust in him.

Lord, prove them wrong when they say, “God can’t help you!”

Let the light of your radiant face

break through and shine upon us!

The intense pleasure you give me

surpasses the gladness of harvest time,

even more than when the harvesters

gaze upon their ripened grain

and when their new wine overflows.

Now, because of you, Lord, I will lie down in peace and sleep comes at once,

for no matter what happens, I will live unafraid!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 4 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 44]

Wake Up, Lord, We’re in Trouble

For the Pure and Shining One, by the prophetic singers of Korah’s clan

A contemplative poem for instruction

[The Past]

God, we’ve heard about all the glorious miracles

you’ve done for our ancestors in days gone by.

They told us about the ancient times, how by your power

you drove out the ungodly nations from this land,

crushing all their strongholds and giving the land to us.

Now the people of Israel cover the land

from one end to the other,

all because of your grace and power!

Our forefathers didn’t win these battles by their own strength

or their own skill or strategy.

But it was through the shining forth of your radiant presence

and the display of your mighty power.

You loved to give them victory,

for you took great delight in them.

You are my God, my King!

It’s now time to decree majesties for Jacob!

Through your glorious name and your awesome power

we can push through to any victory and defeat every enemy.

For I will not trust in the weapons of the world;

I know they will never save me.

Only you will be our Savior from all our enemies.

All those who hate us you have brought to shame.

So now I constantly boast in you.

I can never thank you enough!

Pause in his presence

[The Present]

But you have turned your back on us; you walked off and left us!

You’ve rejected us, tossing us aside in humiliating shame.

You don’t go before us anymore in our battles.

We retreat before our enemies in defeat,

for you are no longer helping us.

Those who hate us have invaded our land

and plundered our people.

You have treated us like sheep in the slaughter pen,

ready to be butchered.

You’ve scattered us to the four winds.

You have sold us as slaves for nothing!

You have counted us, your precious ones, as worthless.

You have caused our neighbors to despise and scorn us.

All that are around us mock and curse us.

You have made us the butt of their jokes.

Disliked by all, we are the laughingstock of the people.

There’s no escape from this constant curse, this humiliation!

We are despised, jeered, overwhelmed by shame,

and overcome at every turn

by our hateful and heartless enemies.

Despite all of this, we have not forgotten you;

we have not broken covenant with you.

We have not betrayed you; our hearts are still yours.

Our steps have not strayed from your path.

Yet you have crushed us,

leaving us in this wilderness place of misery and desperation.

With nowhere else to turn,

death’s dark door seems to be the only way out.

If we had forsaken your holy name, wouldn’t you know it?

You’d be right in leaving us.

If we had worshiped before other gods,

no one would blame you for punishing us.

God, you know our every heart secret.

You know we still want you!

Because of you we face death threats every day.

Like martyrs we are dying daily.

We are seen as lambs lined up to be slaughtered as sacrifices.

[The Future]

So wake up, Lord God!

Why would you sleep when we’re in trouble?

Are you forsaking us forever?

You can’t hide your face any longer from us!

How could you forget our agonizing sorrow?

Now we lay facedown, sinking into the dust of death,

the quicksand of the grave.

Arise, awake, and come to help us, O Lord.

Let your unfailing love save us from this sorrow!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 44 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 9]

A David Psalm

I’m thanking you, God, from a full heart,

I’m writing the book on your wonders.

I’m whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy;

I’m singing your song, High God.

The day my enemies turned tail and ran,

they stumbled on you and fell on their faces.

You took over and set everything right;

when I needed you, you were there, taking charge.

You blow the whistle on godless nations;

you throw dirty players out of the game,

wipe their names right off the roster.

Enemies disappear from the sidelines,

their reputation trashed,

their names erased from the halls of fame.

God holds the high center,

he sees and sets the world’s mess right.

He decides what is right for us earthlings,

gives people their just deserts.

God’s a safe-house for the battered,

a sanctuary during bad times.

The moment you arrive, you relax;

you’re never sorry you knocked.

Sing your songs to Zion-dwelling God,

tell his stories to everyone you meet:

How he tracks down killers

yet keeps his eye on us,

registers every whimper and moan.

Be kind to me, God;

I’ve been kicked around long enough.

Once you’ve pulled me back

from the gates of death,

I’ll write the book on Hallelujahs;

on the corner of Main and First

I’ll hold a street meeting;

I’ll be the song leader; we’ll fill the air

with salvation songs.

They’re trapped, those godless countries,

in the very snares they set,

Their feet all tangled

in the net they spread.

They have no excuse;

the way God works is well-known.

The cunning machinery made by the wicked

has maimed their own hands.

The wicked bought a one-way

ticket to hell.

No longer will the poor be nameless—

no more humiliation for the humble.

Up, God! Aren’t you fed up with their empty strutting?

Expose these grand pretensions!

Shake them up, God!

Show them how silly they look.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 9 (The Message)

[fantasysuiteleague]

Week 2 Recap: The Three Ds

Is it just me or does it always seems like The Bachelorette gets a shitty draw of contestants? Each year there are at most 3 guys I would take home to meet my parents, maybe one worth actually marrying, and the rest are all that terrible guy you see on TV and hope you never meet in real life. They only care about themselves and what makes them look good or what will get them the most screen time. This season, with its new colors and Blachelorette, is no different. At most we’ve added an extra amount of swagger, but with that swagger comes an added level of douchebaggery that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

D is for Doggo

This episode highlighted 3 of the worst people we’ve met since Chad, and one precious angel who is too pure to be around any of this mess. That’s right, I’m talking about Copper. That precious baby with the broken toe who stole Bachelor Nation’s heart. Not only did he get his own limo entrance, but he also went on the first and best 1-on-1 date of the season, accompanying Rachel and Peter to a DOG PARTY. I can’t say I paid much attention to Rachel and Peter, as I was focused solely on Copper and all the ways I could pet him and be his best friend.

The only thing I took away from the 1-on-1 date was that Peter and Rachel bonded over the gap in their teeth, and that Rachel doesn’t seem to mind that Peter is dead in the eyes. Something’s off about him, but it looks like he’ll stick around for awhile so I’ll come back to him when the meat isn’t as fresh.

D is for Douchebags

The first group date of the season is very on-brand for the Bachelorette: a low key picnic with ... an obstacle course and celebrity sighting. The picnic is set up in what I assume to be a vacant lot three spaces down from the Bachelor mansion, where everyone takes turns grilling and playing touch football. Right off the bat it’s hard not to focus on the douche of the century, Whaboom. Everything he does is for attention. He pushes other guys around so he can be the “first” to say hi to Rachel, he obnoxiously dances around the football, shouts constantly, and even picks Rachel up at one point and spins her around like a Disney Princess. It’s not hard to see that Lucas is, in the words of Blake: garbage. The other guys question his personality traits and whether he’s here for the right reasons simply because he is TERRIBLE.  He’s not even trying to fight with anyone, he’s just being himself, which is absolute garbage. Fun fact: My friend was in the same frat as Whaboom at Berkley and said that he is, hands down, the absolute worst person he has ever met in his life—next to his twin brother.  That’s right, there are two of these assholes. 

He also told me that Lucas was constantly trying to be the center of attention and was always making loud obnoxious jokes or trying to steal the stage but NO ONE thought he was funny. Some quick sleuthing on the interwebs brought me to his IMDB page, which honestly says it all. I mean, a 2012 Spanish dating show? God what a fucking loser. But his “rival” Blake is no better, and we need to unpack both of these shitty bags of garbage to really get down to their trash core. In a voice-over, Blake mentions that he knows Whaboom and is the only person that can “ruin this” for him. Well first of all, Whaboom doesn’t need anyone’s help ruining anything. Second, Blake knows the true garbage nature of Whaboom because they were both on a trashy reality TV dating show hosted by Carmen Electra. Yep, that’s right. Garbage, meet Garbage. Oh, you already met on the Ex-Isle? Perfect. Let’s skip the pleasantries, and the entire obstacle course while we’re at it. That way we can also skip over Blake whining the entire time that Lucas is cheating and not following directions, and Lucas winning then attempting to get Ashton Kutcher to yell “whaboom.” To literally everyone’s relief, Ashton politely passes on the offer, as he should have with My Boss’s Daughter / Just Married / Killers / basically all movies he’s ever done.

No really, name a good Ashton Kutcher movie. You can’t, because there are none. Anyway, since Whaboom won the competition he got the first 1-on-1 time with Rachel. Blake takes this opportunity to let everyone know that, to the extent they hadn’t figured it out yet, Whaboom is a douchebag. Blake, it is the first fucking week. Chill the fuck out man. When Lucas gets back to the perfectly stirred pot, he’s confronted with the question of our generation: how do you identify yourself? The correct answer, of course, was garbage, but we would have also accepted trash. Speaking of trash, Blake continues his crusade against Whaboom by informing Rachel that, to the extent she is both blind and deaf, Lucas is just a clown here for TV exposure. Like any guy NOT trying to get TV exposure, Blake then goes and tells Lucas that he just spent his time with Rachel letting her know that Whaboom is wearing makeup and is here for the wrong reasons. 

At this point it’s pretty clear that Blake is also here for the wrong reasons and obsessed with Lucas, who may or may not be totally wasted. It’s hard to tell, because he’s just that terrible. In the end, Whaboom walks away the winner of this confrontation after he tells Blake he’s going to do “him” and that Blake is “dismissed.” Point, Garbage. I can’t really tell you what else happened on this date due to the overpowering stench of Garbage, but everyone else was so boring that the 20-year-old Ricky Fowler look alike, Dean, got the group date rose. Good for you, Dean.

D is for Drama

The second group date the guys get a considerably better draw with a game of pick up basketball monitored by Kareem Abdul Jabar. DeMario is the focus of this date, which I wanted to attribute to his charisma fuckboi charm and casual ability to dunk a basketball. But something doesn’t feel right about this spotlight and even though deep down I know why, I think and hope that maybe, just maybe, it’s not him. It’s like when you’re watching a Law & Order SVU episode and it’s definitely the dad, but it feels way too obvious to actually be the dad, so instead you convince yourself its the neighbor but like, it was always the dad.  It was always DeMario. Always. You don’t get this kind of attention in a group date when there are previews of a scorned lover confronting her man unless it’s your scorned lover. Enter Lexi, the girl who DeMario was allegedly fucking days before he went on ATFR and met Rachel. Before she even opened her mouth I could tell from her eyebrows that this girl was trash and was ready to shamelessly take down the Big D. The build up to this drama is great. After being summoned by Rachel, DeMario is convinced he’s getting the rose and walks gleefully back into the gym talking about what he learned playing the game until he saw cash me ousside girl waiting for him.

DeMario’s face quickly goes from happy to freaked out to “confused.” He immediately launches into fuckboi defensive mode and makes a series of moves that only digs him deeper into the pit of despair.

Move 1: Pretend like you have no idea who this girl is and that you’ve never seen her before. Obviously this is NOT the right way to go, but you have to give him partial credit if only because I would also deny knowing (let alone fucking) someone that trashy. This obviously doesn’t work as she’s tracked him down, so it’s on to the next move.

Move 2: This girl is fucking crazy, and we met “many many times ago.” Um, what? Thankfully Rachel is smarter than to buy into the “she’s crazy” excuse that’s constantly applied to women by the patriarchy. Instead, she asks for clarification on what “many times ago” means, and at this point the Big D starts to sweat.

Move 3: Claim that this is personal stuff that we should handle off-camera. This was an obvious misstep that sent Lexi into a rage about unanswered text messages and fucking her 2 days before he went on ATFR. Rachel keeps it classy, however, pointing out that this is also her personal life so DeMario really needs to explain himself.

Move 4: Admit he dated her, but claim that he broke up with her because she was “too much” to handle, circling back to the old “she’s crazy” thesis. DeMario tries to suggest that he broke up with Lexi face to face, but then Lexi starts shouting about how he still has her keys... 

Move 5: Keys? What keys? I don’t  have your keys..... Oh, wait. I actually mailed them back to you. As if this mother fucker has ever been to the post office. At this point DeMario has to know that he’s totally fucked and should probably just leave before he says anything else. But he doesn’t. Instead, he continues trying to downplay what Lexi is saying until finally Rachel tells him he’s not making any sense and she just wants to know when was the last time he saw Lexi.

Check: Lexi stops swearing on her kittens’ lives long enough to offer up the receipts to prove not just her side of the story, but the exact date and time when Demario was last in and out of her...apartment. Before Rachel accepts any documents into evidence, she gives DeMario one last chance to say literally anything that isn’t a lie and asks if the dates on Lexi’s phone will match his story or hers....

Move 6: It depends on the dates...

Checkmate: Finally at the end of her rope, Rachel takes Lexi’s phone (which I imagine smells like cigarettes) and reads the standard fuckboi texts we all knew DeMario sent. Rachel calmly informs DeMario that she is not here to be played or to be made a joke of, so he can get the fuck out.

In the aftermath of the DeMario drama everyone starts whispering about how DeMario was obviously not there for the right reasons when, in reality, they are all there for the same reason: fame. DeMario was just sloppier about it. The remaining guys on the date all use this as an opportunity to let Rachel know they’re there “for her” and will “protect her” from this kind of behavior. Josiah flexes his protection muscles the most with his... creepy side eye stare and ends up getting the group date rose. We don’t get too far into the cocktail party before the ghost of DeMario comes knocking at the gates of The Bachelor mansion to prove once and for all that D is for determination dumbass.

Did you notice . . .

Ashton knew when he “first saw” Mila that they would get married ... after he married Demi Moore and played dad for a few years, of course.

“This is not a show. When I want to turn it on, I turn it off. When I want to turn it off, I turn it off.” - ummm that’s a show, Lucas.

Curious that Lucas and Blake hate each other so much yet look like pals in this picture from 2016....(also, the hastags...)

“I check my mailbox every day.” - Lexi, lol.

OF COURSE her name is Lexi with an I.

I could do without Alex’s singing, especially as it’s likely a trigger for the Russian Manchurian Candidate, Jared Kushner.

Minority Report: The most embarrassing part of the whole DeMario saga is that before the Bachelorette he was dating white trash like Lexi.

[cupkayke]

Cupkayke Rewatches/Liveblogs Boueibu!

Season 1, Episode 3

So I dropped off the face of Tumblr for awhile, sorry guys! I also rewatched the entirety of Yuri on Ice with my boyfriend and he now likes ice skating anime so that took some time lol But I am back JUST IN TIME FOR YUMOTO’S BIRTHDAY OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRECIOUS CHILD. So, have a liveblog/collection of my stupid thoughts about one of the more ridiculous episodes! Yay! 

Also, I apologize in advance- some of this episode’s subtext led to an impromptu dissection of the boys’ sexualities/orientations and there are some brief mentions of unsavory teachers (because what kind of teacher holds a pretty boy contest???) so if any of my terminology/speculation is incorrect or you find any of my discussions potentially triggering or in need of tags PLEASE inbox me and I will tag the post as such/correct any misinformation! I am a literature student- I like to analyze things. Sometimes I get carried away~

I SAW THE PREVIEW IMAGE FOR THIS EP ON CRUNCHYROLL AND IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT ‘HERE WE GO I REMEMBER THIS EPISODE IT’S GONNA BE A TRASH PARADE AND WTF CITY LET’S GO’

Okay- I always wondered about the pretty boy contest… like why? What purpose does it serve? Why are there posters put up in a fucking BATHHOUSE advertising the local boys’ high school’s PRETTY BOY CONTEST. .3 seconds into the episode and it’s ridiculous. 

What do you mean ‘weight with the ladies’ c’mon man I have a hard time believing you care ANYTHING about ‘the ladies’ -eyebrow waggle-

He’s doing pirouettes in a towel… okay seriously bro I danced ballet for like 10 years and I never pirouetted in a towel OKAY THAT’S PROBABLY A LIE BUT YOU CAN’T PROVE IT OTHERWISE

"EWWWW TEACHER DICK”

Aww Yumoto. So innocent. So naive. So willing to point out he just saw his teacher’s penis-

...well that’s an odd question. Yumoto why would you ask-

Oh, shew, it’s because you’re not ashamed of bodies! How sweet and innocent and refreshi-

WAIT BACK UP NEVERMIND YUMOTO WTF THAT’S CALLED VOUYERISM

Those are the faces of some senpais that just came to the realization that their kouhai has probably been checking them out.

Well he got dressed fast.

How do you hire someone by accident?

Took the words right out of my mouth, Atsushi.

This is disturbing on several levels. Pedo Principal? -shudders-

FEET SHOULD NOT BEND THAT WAY

GUYS. GUYS. GUYS. AKOYA AS A BALLET DANCER OMG. IMAGINE. HAS THIS BEEN DRAWN? THIS NEEDS TO BE FANART SOMEWHERE. HE’D BE SO PRETTY JUST IMAGINE HIM IN TIGHTS BEING THE PRINCIPAL MALE LEAD IN SWAN LAKE OR FUCK EVEN IN A FUCKING TUTU BECAUSE HE’D BE GORGEOUS IN EITHER ROLE I CAN’T EVEN AWKEJFLASJFASLDJFOSIJFOAJ -Cupkayke Explodes-

Arima speaks truth

Io why do you have an exact copy of the calculator I use at work that’s terrifying.

RYUU YOU ARE LYING YOU GO TO AN ALL BOYS SCHOOL THAT IS APPROXIMATELY 0% WOMEN TRY AGAIN

Io looks so disappointed he can’t talk numbers with Ryuu

THEIR CHEESY CATCHPHRASE AGAIN

Side note I feel like the quirkiness of the school got toned down in later eps but perhaps that’s my faulty memory. Which is why I’m rewatching it lol.

Pretty and savage AF

PINK RIVALRY! I mean seriously, “you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me?” Maybe not even a rivalry but something else ohohohohohoh I’m alone on this ship

Okay this creepy teacher apparently calls all the boys ‘sweet honey’ which is disturbing on its own level but that got cranked up to 11 on the creep scale when he referred to YUMOTO as sweet honey. 

Yumoto is a precious cinnamon roll you freak

Paper airplane contest lololol why do I feel like this happened at my school back in the day?

Wombat sounds like a jealous lover lolol

OH BOY! PUNS!

RYUU AND AKOYA TIED FOR THIRD???

HOW DOES AKOYA NOT WIN IN THE LINEUP OF THE SC???

LIKE SERIOUSLY KINSHIROU????

AKOYA IS TEN TIMES PRETTIER!

This school must have a thing for ice princes I s2g

En's boredom is dangerous. I mean... the face says it all.

Ryuu is all “this is NOT up my alley”

A bit slow on the uptake, Yumoto.

Io that’s so sweet... I guess? Well Ryuu seems to think it is- look at his face!

...nevermind. His expression is all “Thanks... I guess...”

Either Yumoto was hoping his senpais would teach him how to be popular with the ladies, or he’s just confused as to what in the hell it is that older boys want. This entire scene is just a clusterfuck of innuendo BUT I’M GONNA OVER ANALYZE IT ANYWAY.

The surface meaning of En and Atsushi’s statements here- or what the audience is supposed to get- is that being popular with girls will only get you so far. It may get you ‘love’ but having a girlfriend means jack squat if you don’t have guy friends (most likely to brag to). 

It also could be taken that En at least would rather appreciate women than exert his energy into making them lust after him, which is rather sweet if you think about it.

Atsushi’s point also draws attention to the fact that stereotypical displays of machismo are much more well-received by other men than women- ie outward displays of strength, aggression, bragging about sexual encounters... er- yeah. No need to go on, there.

So. In order to be a well-rounded man, a man needs to be popular/be admired by other men! So you aren’t a lonely loser the rest of your days.

Buuut... because I’m me... LET’S LOOK AT THE SUBTEXT IN RELATIONSHIP TO THEIR SPECULATED SEXUALITIES 8D

En basically says straight up it’s more beneficial to be admired by men. Putting aside the above statements about admiring women... En’s likely gay. Fosho.

And the top screencap of Yumoto, instead of just clarifying his senpai’s intentions, that could mean that he’s more interested in girls. HOWEVER-

With a c: face, Yumoto admits his heart flutters watching rugged young men!

Bi Yumoto anyone? (He also unironically uses the word ‘flicks’ but that’s either a translator thing or another example of a mysterious dialect but ON TOPIC-)

At least within the context of this scene, Yumoto implies he’d be interested in being popular with girls and he is attracted to at very least a certain type of man. Buuut the rest of this episode (which I will get to later) potentially directly contradicts this implication as to Yumoto’s romantic and/or otherwise attraction.

It’s too bad that we don’t get Ryuu or Atsushi’s opinions on the matter- although Ryuu makes his attractions pretty clear just from his character (and then the subtext with Io). Atsushi is a bit of a mystery, for now. 

As for Io, we get this  exchange-

Le sigh. Io is moneysexual. Anyway...

Wombat so salty- I guess helping Ryuu win a contest is more entertaining than being superheroes.

Me about halfway through this post

En's expressions in this scene are great.

Tho does anyone else now headcanon En as really into athletics when he isn’t being lazy?

Like him really liking competition just fits so well but without a goal he’s just like ‘why bother’

Atsushi sounds so awkward calling him Yufuin

“I can’t just announce him as Enchan that’s weird but I don’t think I’ve ever said his last name ughhhhhhhhh”

Io is NOT playing by the unspoken one urinal in between rule

ALSO I JUST NOTICED YOU CAN SEE THE GUY ON THE LEFT ACTUALLY PEEING WTF

Water go swoosh swoosh

Also their bathrooms are fancy AF

GDI why does Io make the best seduction face

Even tho it’s more predatory here still...

THEY WERE REALLY HEAVY HANDED WITH THE INNUENDO IN S1

The triplets WHY ARE THEIR EYES SO WEIRD

WHAT IS IT WITH THIS SHOW AND SIDE CHARACTERS WITH WEIRD EYES

Ryuu so destructive lol

I TAKE BACK WHAT I SAID ABOUT EN BEING ATHLETIC RYUU DOES FUCKING KARATE

Sparkles

Ibushi is still savage AF

I had to giggle and cap his character card because the image of Atsushi doing gigantic jigsaw puzzles was adorable

YOU’RE A TEACHER WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE A PRETTY BOY?

LIKE SERIOUSLY WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE VALIDATED BY HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS

Did he get scorned and that’s why his self esteem is in the toilet???

1579th pretty boy contest??? Damn Pedo Principal is thirsty AF I am still shuddering at the implications

Tho seriously that’s -does math- ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY ONE YEARS OF PRETTY BOY CONTESTS WHAT THE FUCK

And that isn’t taking into account there would probably be a month or two where school isn’t in session on the 27th to have the pretty boy contest. Like December wouldn’t they be on break? And don’t they have a summer holiday at some point?

IT ISN’T JUST ONE PEDO PRINCIPAL IT’S A DYNASTY

EWWWWWWWWW.

YUMOTO AND RYUU BROTHER RELATIONSHIP I FRIENDSHIP IT LOOK RYUU IS BLUSHING

Yumoto knows he’s a lil shit

What the fuck kind of sound effect is swan swan???

I’m suddenly reminded of Kronk doing his own theme music-

Ryuu so salty he wanted to know the winner

Yumoto that writhing mob of students is pretty gross I agree

SO ZUNDAR WANTS THE ENTIRE WORLD TO BE GAY

THAT’S HIS EVIL PLAN TURN EVERYONE GAY

HE SOUNDS LIKE A SHITTY GROSS POLITICIAN

With that shot angle I was just waiting for him to lay a fucking egg but thankfully that didn’t happen

The subtitle is inaccurate- he actually said ‘GIMME HUG’ which is slightly more unsettling.

EN YOU WANT TO MARRY IT WTF

Yumoto still just like c: “I have no idea what’s going on”

I NOW PRESENT TO YOU THE BEST BOUEIBU SCREENCAPS IN THE HISTORY OF SCREENCAPS 

ATSUSHI SO GRACEFUL

SO ROMANTIC

EN IS JEALOUS

THEY’RE ALL RIDICULOUS

Speaks for itself

And here is where Yumoto contradicts his earlier implications. Okay. 1) Writers make up your minds, although 2) ...shades of gray here.

Perhaps Kurotori’s feather spell represents sexual love (Eros for all you YOI fans~) and Yumoto is either a) too young/innocent to understand or b) somewhere on the ace spectrum. The others were affected because they are either simply older than Yumoto/past puberty or allosexual to the point where the spell could manipulate their feelings despite their existing attractions whatever those may be.

Yumoto’s earlier comments, then, could be taken to mean simply romantic attraction, even though his wording of his “heart fluttering” thanks to Yakuza men is a bit misleading in that respect. (Disclaimer: I am not on the ace spectrum so perhaps I am misrepresenting/misinterpreting here- please correct me if I have made a mistake in my understanding of asexuality- I definitely do not want to offend anyone! Just analyzing~) 

Though to play the other side, En’s comment about marriage, even though he’s under the influence of a spell, also indicates that the spell has romantic components as well as potentially sexual ones. If the spell plays to BOTH- wouldn’t Yumoto be affected as well, based on his earlier assertions?

OR PERHAPS- if it is both, Yumoto is ALSO potentially aromantic and his comments were purely of an aesthetic nature or self projection (that is, he wants to be a dashing Yakuza heartthrob, not necessarily date one). Or he was simply trying to relate to his senpais and was bluffing the entire time.

Damn, this episode can seem REALLY deep if you squint hard enough. Headcanons, abound!

Moving on- WHEN IN DOUBT, HUG THE ENEMY!

Now I’m starting to see some cleverness on the part of the writers- hear me out below- but first- MORE CUDDLES

With this, Yumoto can be read several different ways. 

On the surface and probably most importantly, regardless of what Yumoto’s personal attraction/orientation is (if he’s even figured it out at this point), he knows love at its purest form. He loves his brother. He loves his senpais (even though at this point they barely know each other- Yumoto probably latches on quickly). But more importantly, he is so in tune with his own feelings he realizes that self love is at the core of any type of love. That if you aren’t secure in yourself, if you don’t care about yourself on some level, how can anyone else care about you either?

This is another reason why I love Yumoto even though he can get a bit heavy-handed at times and seem like a one-note character; HE ISN’T.

Yumoto is incredibly introspective and even though his senapis make comments about how he just kind of shoves everything together to fit the situation he really does understand the monster-ified characters’ insecurities.

(Which can lead to some sad headcanons about how Yumoto has probably felt all of these things at one point or another... oh no...)

But back to my over-analysis of Yumoto’s orientation- with this... it’s really up to interpretation.

He can be read as a young character who hasn’t figured things out yet, he can be read as interested in romantic relationships of any variety but not necessarily anything else, he can be read as only interested in platonic relationships- anything. And while the inconsistency in his portrayal can be a bit maddening- it’s GREAT headcanon opportunity.

Thus, unless s3 gives Yumoto a canon interest- he’s whatever you think he is. Which is AWESOME! DO YOU SEE WHY I LOVE THIS SMOL CINNAMON ROLL?

Aaaand some closing, not very deep thoughts to wrap up-

SO BLUSHY. MUCH ANGELIC. WOW.

En you’re always tired

Kinchan... why do you want people to grovel at your feet...?

That’s certainly a random question, En- but for shits and giggles; these are their responses if I’m hearing their voices right:

Atsushi - My neck, I guess?

Yumoto - My arms

Ryuu - Armpits

Io - The nape of the neck.

My brain hurts so I have NO idea what these could mean but I highly doubt they’re throwaway lines- SO YOU GUYS TELL ME. Over-analyze what parts they wash first LOL

OKAY WOW THAT WAS LONG AS FUCK AND I GOT TOO DEEP. Again, let me know if I fucked anything up or need to add tags~ And let me know what you think/what your headcanons are/if there’s something from another canon source that could add to this!

I’ll try to get ep 4 up today as well since it took me forever to get back to this but this shit takes longer than I thought. I watch the ep first and take notes, then go back and re-watch and screencap and take more notes, then copy/pasta everything into tumblr and add more thoughts and make it readable. Shew.

[badoperafanfiction]

Captives: Chapter 3.7

Work: Lucia di Lammermoor/La Boheme crossover

Vampire!Ashtons, Fairy!Bucklaws.

Notes: Arturo and Lucia both survived their wedding night.

Main character: Marcello

Author notes: today is improbable anatomy day.

Character guide

"It looks nothing like him," Ashton said as he inspected the portrait. "The nose is too thin. Try again."

“This the best I can do on these ruined, water-stained pieces of trash!” Marcello said, loosing his temper despite the concerted efforts he had been making to keep his head on his shoulders and not flying about he room.

“Which is why I don’t begrudge you a second attempt,” his captor responded, “I am telling you now the most glaring of errors, which is that the nose is too thin. The eyes are also too wide, the jaw too soft, and the mouth in a distinctly unrealistic expression.”

“If you know the man, why not sketch him for me yourself, or at least give me a description to work with!”

“He was monstrous,” the vampire spat through his lips, “a barbarian. Human, and the very worst of his kind.”

“I cannot work with a moral description, sir!”

But the description was forthcoming. In excruciating detail, each word delivered with the voice of a bitter enemy, but as though describing the body of a lover. It made Marcello wonder who exactly this man was to Lord Ashton.

“Who was this man to you?” Marcello asked.

“My enemy,” Lord Ashton said, “and his father was my father’s enemy before that. He slighted our family many times, acted bitterly against us, and even-” The vampire cut himself off and took a long breath, which he let out with hate. “His name is cursed in this house.”

“....Then why am I painting his portrait?”

Lord Ashton practically slapped him with his wild eyes. Marcello half expected him to slap him with his real hands.

“You are to obey me. That is your only concern.” And with that, Ashton swooshed out of the room.

When Marcello had completed the second miniature, it received similar scorn from the pleasurless Ashton. “Better,” he said, “but still not right. His face is rounder than this. And he should be smiling.”

“You went to great lengths to make it sound as though he would never smile.”

“He smiled like a snake or a wild wolf before its pray,” Ashton hissed, teeth barred. “He was quite a kind man to his friends, or would have been, if he had any. He was alone in the world by the time of his disappearance.”

Disappearance? That was interesting. “So I am painting a kind villain with a round, angular face and friendly, vicious eyes?”

Ashton’s face flickered with annoyance, but all he said was: “Try again.”

The third portrait was detail for detail Lord Ashton himself. The only thing that saved Marcello from severe punishment was the fact that he was already working on a fourth before Ashton ever saw it. The vampire did grab him by the wrist though, push him back so his chair was wedged against the bed, and hold his teeth very close to Marcello’s neck when he said:

“I hope you remember what will befall you if you test me.”

Marcello did remember. But he was growing accustomed to the steady chill of fear that always accompanied his captor, and it did not affect his mood too much. Later that day, he reenacted the scene with Rudolfo for the laughing Schaunard and Colline, but with Rudolfo (in the role of Marcello) wearing a bed sheet as a skirt and his own lines (in the role of Lord Ashton) modified into a breathless proclamation of love.

---

“So am I the only one who is curious,” Schaunard asked one day, “who the Lord Ashton’s lady love is? We have not seen her at all, but his attention is always on her.”

“She’s making him miserable, whoever she is,” Marcello said with a laugh, “so I fully support their union.”  They were playing cards in the parlor, Schaunard playing for them sporadically on the piano when he got bored of awaiting his turn. His hands were little dancers on the keys, plinking out a melody almost coquettishly, never quite committing to a tune.

“I heard from the staff that she’s a human,” Rudolfo said. “They are quite disapproving.”

“That their master would cavort with a human, or that a human would cavort with their master?” Colline asked.

“Oh, we already know that the Lord Ashton has a passionate love for humans, but is too proud to express it!” Schaunard called out, spinning in a pirouette from his seat. “That is why he keeps us here. He cannot bear to know that we are far away, but nor can he admit to his burning passion!” He let himself fall across their card game, holding his head and hip as though he were a woman named Rose who had fallen in love on a now-sunken ship.

“Of course!” Marcello jumped up onto his chair and struck his best Aphrodetian pose. “He is a slave to our beauty, and so he holds us captive out of jealousy. He cannot bear the thought that we might be won by a greater vampire!” He fluttered his eyes and gazed limpidly at Colline.

“What else can we do?” Colline said with a deep sigh, stretching himself across Rudolfo’s lap. “To part from him would be an insult to the powers of his great love!”

“Indeed!” Rudolfo said with a flourish, and stood, causing Colline to tumble to the ground. “We must teach the man to approach his feelings, to express them with the heart of a true poet! Only then can he and we be free!”

Marcello lifted his arms in mock horror. “Oh, no, don’t teach him poetry.”

“Certainly not,” Schaunard said.

“We can’t possibly release vampire poetry upon the world,” Colline said from under the table.

---