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alansimpson · 3 years ago

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That red is not from cold.

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mellifluoushood · 5 years ago

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Into The Dark - C.H. AU [Chapter 2]

A/N: It’s chapter 2 already! After having a conversation with @calumscalm, I got inspired, again. I was originally gonna leave this at 2.5k words, but then Nads and I got talking and then it ended up being 5k so hahahahaha, whoops. And a very special thank you (and CREDIT) to @ammwritings for making this mood board for the series! I absolutely adore it. xx Synopsis: Full-time college student, Seraphina Sallow, works as a receptionist for world-famous tattoo artist, Calum Hood. Their friendship blossomed when she wrote an article about his tattoo parlour, Fallen Angel Tattoos, for a journalism project at school. Since then, she’s been working as a receptionist at his parlour to put herself through school. As college tuition increases and her social security checks get smaller, she’s beginning to struggle to keep up with her payments. And then, a fallen angel shows up in the parlour, offering her the solution to all of her problems. But, at what cost? (TEASER) (CHAP. 1) Genre (this chapter is): angst / fluff / smut / normal Warning: heavy mentions of drug use and selling, strong language, weapons (firearms), some suicidal thinking, vomitting Taglist: @calumscalm @gigglyirwin @ammwritings @loveroflrh @dukehoods @toofadedtofight @babylon-corgis @talkfastromance4 @thesubtweeter @vipclifford @spicycal @cals-wildflower

“I’ll walk her home, Cal,” Michael states, grabbing his jacket from the back of his bar stool. It was closing, the ceiling lights were being flicked on and the music was switched off.

“No, I’ve got it,” Calum grabs his own jacket, not even looking at Seraphina. Her gaze drifts between the two men, one a lot more intoxicated than the other. She always felt safe with Calum, but there was something about his stature tonight that lit her stomach with unease. She wanted to explain it away because her situation earlier, that she was naturally on edge, but his silence throughout the night did nothing to calm her.

“You’ve had like, eight or nine glasses of whiskey, Cal. I can get it-”

“-I’m walking her home,” Calum states, turning to look at Michael. His eyes are daring Michael to challenge him, to try and argue with him about who walks her home. Michael looks over Calum’s shoulder at Seraphina, to check on her, but she’s looking at her shoes. He looks up at Calum again before sighing, giving him a pat on the shoulder goodbye. Calum watches as Michael walks around him and hugs Seraphina. He bends down, his taller frame towering over her’s,

“You okay with him?” He asks, close enough to her ear that only she can hear his question.

“I’ll be fine, Mikey, thank you,” she looks up at him. The exhaustion on her features is prevalent. The lids of her eyes are hooded, complimented by dark circles underneath them. Her posture is no longer stiff, but slouched and lethargic, “I just want to go home.”

Michael nods at her before leaving the bar, leaving Calum and Seraphina, standing in silence. He doesn’t even look at her before heading for the entrance, his Docs clabbering against the wooden floor of Steve’s. His leather jacket squeaks as he heads out the door. She sighs, rubbing a hand down her face before following him.

He’s standing against the brick wall, lighting a cigarette. He holds the pack out to her, where she fumbles to take one. When she does, he hands her the lighter without saying anything. She sparks the lighter, bringing the flame up to the cigarette, taking a breath. The cigarette lights and she hands the lighter back to Calum before beginning to walk in the direction of her house. Her decision to leave her car for her to collect in the morning was a smart one, weed and alcohol swimming through her bloodstream and Calum was too drunk to drive it for her.

The beginning of the walk is silent. Calum’s boots thud against the sidewalk as Seraphina shuffles along next to him, sucking on her cigarette with intensity. She can feel the beginning of the nicotine buzz in her system, her head going slightly fuzzy. She doesn’t look at Calum, knowing his silence will only last for so long. She looks down at the walkway under her feet, counting the cracks in the pavement and stepping over the seams.

“Where were you tonight?” Calum cuts straight to the point, his voice void of emotion. She looks up at him. His gauges and nose ring twinkle under the street lights. When he looks down at her, his eyes are stone cold. They stare right through her act and down to the very being of her soul. She shies away from his eyes, looking back down at the sidewalk.

“As I said, I had plans.”

“What plans?” He scoffs, finishing off his cigarette before tossing the butt in a storm drain. He turns to look at her again, “Where were you?” She can smell the whiskey lingering on his tongue and inner cheeks. The stench of alcohol is one she smells on Calum once a week, but this time, it smells different. It smells dangerous.

“I had plans,” she shrugs, “It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business if you’re doing stupid, Seraphina,” he uses her full name and it almost makes her stop in tracks. But she keeps walking, attempting to build her exterior walls higher than Calum would ever be able to see over. She had to protect him. She wanted to protect him more than she wanted to protect herself.

“I had plans, Calum. Drop it,” she snaps at him, his prodding getting dangerously close to the topic she so desperately wanted to avoid.

“Plans where you come back, completely dishevelled, after being vague about your plans and not answering your phone for two hours. Okay, those kinds of plans,” Calum begins to slur his words at the end, antagonising her. He’s poking at the weak spots in her walls she’s ferociously building up, trying to get her to crumble in any way. She doesn’t budge.

“Honestly, Calum, it’s none of your fucking business.” She stops walking, looking up at him. She’s a few feet from her apartment building, but the anger beginning to swim through her blood is keeping her feet from moving.

“It’s my fucking business when there’s a gun in your fucking pocket,” he seethes. He points to the Glock that she hadn’t tried to conceal on her walk home, “Because I know that’s not fucking legal.” Her fingers fumble to move her oversized shirt to cover the bulge on her hip.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck off, Seraphina. Why do you have a fucking gun in your pocket?” He’s angry. He can feel the anger seeping out of his ears like steam. His heart is pounding out of his chest, his pulse beginning to speed up at the adrenaline starting to course its way through his system. The whiskey makes the corner of his vision blurry, but his anger only intensifies his tunnel vision. He steps close to her, only a few inches from their chests touching. She’s quiet, staring up at him, defying his questions, daring him to continue just the way he had dared Michael to defy him, “I’m going to ask one more time. Why is there a gun in your fucking pocket?”

“You can ask all you want,” she says through gritted teeth, “You’re not getting an answer because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Calum mutters, shaking his head and bitterly chuckling at her answer, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves. He heads back for the bar, hoping to catch a cab. The anger causes his head to pound, but as he walks away, just like he did earlier, the anger dissipates and he wonders to himself if he’s making the right decision by walking away. His question is answered when he turns around to see if she had gotten inside okay.

She’s sitting on her doorstep, unmoving. Her face is covered by her hands, hair tucked behind her ears. He notices the way the piercings on her cartilage sparkle. He can’t hear her, he’s too far away and his hearing is shot from the amount of alcohol in his system. He furrows his brows, turning around and walking back to her. As he gets closer, he notices her chest heaving. He begins to hear her whimpers of cries and the sound of her sniffling. She hears his boots approaching, quickly wiping at the tears on her cheeks and looking up at him,

“What, Calum?” Her voice bites at him, “What do you want?” She has a scowl on her delicate features and Calum frowns.

“I want to help you,” he says, his tone gentle for the first time all night. She shakes her head,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she instinctually sniffles from her tears earlier, “There’s nothing to help with.”

“Okay,” Calum drags out, looking down at her. Her brown eyes meet his and she has the same look in her eyes when she saw that text message earlier in the night. His eyes flick from her left to her right, trying to decipher what the emotion was, but he had never seen it on her before. His mind swims with alcohol and questions, “I’m going to sit here with you until you feel like going inside. You don’t have to tell me anything, you don’t even have to speak to me, but I’m here, okay?” His words jumble together, his intoxication leaking over his lips and mixing with the need for sleep that pulled at his shoulders. She doesn’t respond before he’s collapsing next to her on the concrete stoop and sitting close to her.

He can smell her perfume and shampoo. Her shampoo smells like lavender, she showers every night before bed because the scent of her shampoo makes her sleepy. He remembers asking her why she always smelt like lavender when she came into work one morning. Her perfume varies on the day. He’s identified around seven scents and he can distinguish which one they are based on her mood. Daisy by Marc Jacobs is her simply unbothered mood, Gucci’s Guilty Absolute Pour Femme when she was feeling particularly creative, Black Opium by Yves Saint Laurent when she was feeling a bit down, and the list goes on. She always smelt luxurious, hints of deeper scents, notes that would be found in men’s cologne but are mixed with typical notes in women’s perfume. It suited her - it was not bright.

She looks up at Calum, her eyes red-rimmed with tears instead of her high, wondering what the fuck was going on with him. He had been pestering her, questioning every move she’s made since she left the parlour earlier, but his fluctuating attitudes and simple assholery sent her into a near spiral. The last thing she needed right now was for Calum to turn on her. Calum, one of her good friends, who’s been there for her more than she’s willing to admit. And she can’t bring herself to drag him into another situation, especially one she had put herself in. She knows his past, he knows the world he was involved in before he invested in the parlour. She couldn’t bear to bring him back there, not when she had willingly made the choice to contact Roy.

Calum looks down at her, not speaking, just as he said. He was there, simply if she needed someone. She notices the way his brows have furrowed, not angry, but with concern and worry as he tries to figure out what’s wrong with her. She watches as he takes in her appearance, looking for any sign of what she’s gotten herself into besides the gun stuffed in her waistband.

“Do you... do you wanna stay the night?” She asks, noting his bleary eyes and tired stature.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” She nods, standing up from her place on the stoop, dusting off her shorts and turning to unlock her door. He waits until the door is unlocked and the door is open before he stumbles to his feet and trudges in the front door.

“Bed or sofa?”

“Whichever,” she shrugs, walking into her bedroom before he makes up his mind. He stands in the doorway, shutting the door behind him. She takes the time to stash the gun in her pocket in her nightstand. Her fingers wrap around the grip, pulling it out and examining it. It’s heavier than she ever thought a gun would be. It weighs down her arm, straining the muscles in her triceps to keep it level. She takes a shaky breath, looking back at the open bedroom door, checking for Calum and raises it. She doesn’t take off the safety but simply gets used to the feeling of holding it. She adjusts her hips and shoulders, just like she had seen in every action movie ever, closing one eye and seeing what the aim should look like. Her spine tingles with promises she had made to herself to never own a firearm and her palms begin to sweat. She takes another breath, opening the nightstand and placing the gun over a few notebooks she had stored there. She closes it and turns around to the door. It’s still empty.

She sighs and grabs a spare pillow from her bed and stops at the closet in the hall, grabbing a comforter for Calum. When she emerges, she finds him in the kitchen nursing a glass of water. He hears her footsteps and looks up, eyes flickering to where the gun had been all night. He notes its disappearance. She looks at him. The one light in the kitchen illuminates the sleeves of tattoos that decorate both arms, shading and line work immaculate. Decorated with swirls, patterns and flowers, the tattoos curl their way up past the hem of his t-shirt and to his neck, chest and back. She’s seen the chest and back tattoos a few times in the accidental slip of walking into the parlour when he’s pulling off his jumper and his shirt underneath rides up. She knows he has one massive piece on his back that took hours because he had complained about it after he had it done. That was only a week after she had started working at Fallen Angel. She looks down at her feet without saying anything to Calum and puts the pillow and comforter on the sofa.

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” she mutters, collecting a glass of water for herself, not saying another word to Calum. He watches her move around the kitchen. Her shoulders are slumped and the dark circles underneath her eyes are more prevalent than earlier. She looks defeated, whether it was from her argument with Calum or what she had been up to earlier in the evening was unclear to him. He wanted to ask, he really did, but knew he shouldn’t press her. Not right now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as she walks out of the kitchen. She turns around to look at him for a split second, her eyes sad. She shakes her head,

“It’s fine, Calum. There’s nothing you can do.”

She walks into her bedroom, shutting the door before Calum can ask her what she means by that. He looks down at the glass of water, his hand loosely grasping the base and he has to resist the urge to hurl it at the wall. He wants to help, that’s why he came back. That’s why he turned around and sat on those steps and waited. He wants her to tell him what’s going on. His blood alcohol only intensifies those feelings, blood pumping at the small flick of anger that originally started in his chest and begins to consume his head. But he knows her, and he knows her past, and the only way for her to open up to him is when he’s calm.

He sighs, finishing the water and placing the glass in the sink before padding over to the sofa and beginning to undress. He unbuckles his belt, the metal clanking against each other before he pushes the hem down his waist. His lower half is covered in briefs, tattoos on his thighs peeking out from underneath the black fabric. He strips off his socks, sitting on the couch. He shrugs off his leather jacket, piling it on top of his jeans and removes his t-shirt. He tosses the shirt on the pile of clothing before reaching behind him for the pillow. He tucks it behind his head as he lays down on the sofa, forgetting about the comforter for a moment. With one hand behind his head, he stares at her ceiling.

Before his thoughts get far, he begins to hear music emerge from the crack of her door and through the thin walls of her house. He frowns, struggling to hear the lyrics of the song. As if she can read his mind, she turns up the music, emphasising the words coming out of her speaker. The guitar lick and kick drum sound vaguely familiar, before a raspy female voice comes in again. She had the song on repeat. He recognises the song as 'You should be sad' by Halsey and his heart aches for her. The few times he’s heard this song is when she was so upset at the parlour that he gave her control of the playlist for the day. It was songs similar to this that occupied the speakers all day, but she always seemed to appreciate this one the most. He would always see her sitting at the front desk, foot against the desk and leaning back in her chair, staring far away. He never asked about it.

So, he pulls the duvet from the edge of the sofa and over himself, turning onto his side and drifting off into an alcohol-aided sleep.

She sits on her bed, lamp switched on, staring at the wall in front of her. Her eyes glaze over, the song background music to the hurricane occurring inside of her. Her mind thinks to the drugs stuffed under the floorboard next to her dresser. She thinks about the little baggies sitting in her purse. She thinks about the gun stuffed in the nightstand right next to her. She wonders if there was an intruder if he would find the gun, and kill her in her sleep. A small part of her wishes it would happen. The university payments stacking up and the dwindling checks from the U.S. Federal government as if to say they’re sorry that her parents were murdered wouldn’t matter anymore. The fact they were murdered only a few feet from her very house, only a few doorways down, wouldn’t matter. She thinks about the few friends she has lingering in her life. She thinks about all of the men that have fucked her over, literally and metaphorically. She thinks about everything that has gone wrong in her life, her mind spiralling out of control as loses track of where the train of thought even started. The drugs. The thing that is supposed to help her out of her financial hole, but the feeling in her gut tells her something different.

Her stomach begins to gurgle, tossing and turning the few drinks she had at the bar. She blinks for the first time in what feels like hours, looking up at the ceiling and pushing down the bile that begins rising in her throat. She swallows, but her mouth begins to fill with saliva. She all but runs to the bathroom in the hallway, busting open the door and emptying the few drinks of her stomach into the toilet. She absentmindedly feels for the edge of the open door, pushing it shut so Calum couldn’t hear her retching into the toilet. She coughs, gagging on nothing and sucking down as much air as she can. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, her arms finding their way around the seat of the toilet. She rests her head on her bicep, facing towards the toilet she had just gotten sick into. She thinks of waking Calum, what he might ask, what he might find out and it sends another wave of nausea bubbling out of her mouth and spilling into the toilet.

She hears a knock on the bathroom door,

“No, don’t come in,” her voice is weak, straining against her acidic throat. Calum doesn’t listen as he pushes open the door, looking at Seraphina, kneeling over the toilet,

“You never fucking listen to me,” she sighs, shutting her eyes and reaching up to flush her sick down the toilet. Calum exhales loudly, shutting the door behind him. He sits against the door, so he’s at her level,

“Are you okay?”

She chokes back a bitter laugh, not wanting the movement of her muscles to stir up another fit of vomit. She just shakes her head, eyes still closed,

“I’m fine. Just go back to bed.”

“Seraphina,” he huffs, “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“I think you’re a guy who walks away whenever he gets angry. I think you’re a guy who wants to help others, not for them, but because it makes you feel better about yourself,” she snaps. Her words are meaningless to her the moment she spews them out of her mouth, but she can’t bring herself to open her eyes and apologise, “Just... leave me alone.”

“You’re not like this,” Calum shakes his head, ignoring the feeling of his heart beginning to crack at the seams at her unkind words. He licks at his lips, eyes focused on the woman who’s still curled up around the toilet bowl.

The tone of his voice awakens something in her own chest and she opens her eyes, looking at the man in front of her, “I...”

“I know, ‘phina, I know,” he soothes, crawling closer to her. He begins to stroke her back, the tears that were pricking at her eyes spilling over her cheeks. He stops her apology before she can say it, knowing it’ll start a crying fit, but it looks inevitable now. She was going to cry, no matter what he did. So, he sits there, stroking the smooth skin of her back underneath her t-shirt. The tears start trickling down her cheeks, the warmth of the drops seemingly burning her skin in their path. Her breathing becomes laboured, her cheeks turning a pink as she sits and cries into the toilet.

“C’mon, let’s get you into bed,” Calum soothes, standing up from the floor. He crouches over and places an arm around Seraphina’s waist and helps her up. The soothing touch of his palms keeps her from another fit of tears, instead calming the anxiety in her chest, replacing another inkling of a feeling in her heart. She looks up at Calum, eyes still stained with tears, streaks dripping on her cheeks. She offers him a tight-lipped smile. Calum returns it, using his free hand to cup her jaw. He uses his thumb to wipe the stains from her olive skin, admiring the small freckles that are speckled across her nose and the blush of her cheeks. It’s sad, but she looks beautiful when she cries, at least to Calum. He hesitates slightly, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to her hairline. Her baby hairs tickle his upper lip, the frizz of her curls brushing along his jaw. She closes her eyes at the touch, basking in the feeling of safety, of protection that Calum has always seemed to provide, but in this moment, he exudes it. Safety.

She’s always liked that about Calum. After breaking through his stone-cold exterior, she noticed sides of him that seemed so stereotypical of a guy like him, but she adored nonetheless. She’s noticed the way his eyes crinkle with a smile when he sees his mother’s name pop up on the screen of his phone. She’s watched as he texts his sister daily updates, whether it was about a client or just how he was feeling. She’s watched as he’s stood up for her when a drunken man gets a little too close in the bar even though she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. She would always chastise him for that, even though he insisted he knew she would be just fine without him. But, he would do anything for the people he cared for, and that’s something she admired about Calum. His heart. She admired his willingness to stand up for anyone, no matter his feelings towards them, and his loyalty to those who meant most to him. That’s what made him so successful before the parlour - his loyalty. His nights spent behind bars, lips shut as he waited to be bailed out.

She places a hand to his chest, pushing him back slightly. Without words, she turns to the sink and brushes her teeth. Calum’s arm remains in proximity of her, his hand drifting down to the sides of her waist as she runs her toothbrush under the sink. Her stomach begins to flutter, in a good way, when his thumb starts caressing the skin of her hip underneath her shirt. She looks up at him in the mirror, and he’s already looking down at her. She can’t read the look in his eyes, but there’s something softer, kinder about the way he’s looking at her. She notices the smile lines by his eyes and the sunburn that lightly dusts his cheeks from his days off, sitting out in the sun. She looks away, spitting into the sink and wiping her mouth. She lets him guide her into her room.

He notices the immaculate state of her room. The walls she painted grey herself, even after Calum insisted on helping her, reflected nicely in the faint light coming from her bedside lamp. She had painted her dresser and nightstands black, changing the handles to silver. She’s hung up fairy lights along the crown moulding of her room, shining down on different arrays and shapes of Polaroids. Each wall had a different shape made from Polaroids. One wall held a square, a circle, a rectangle and a triangle. He would’ve figured a heart would be more artistic and heartfelt, but he’s learned the only place she voices her emotions is in her music taste and the tattered black journal she brings to every one of her Creative Writing lectures.

He helps her over to her side of the bed, pulling back the comforter that she had been sitting on earlier and letting her slide in. She rests her head against her pillow, eyes looking up at Calum as he focuses on pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. Their eyes meet and he gives her a tired smile, his own eyes starting to show shadows underneath them.

“Goodnight, Seraphina,” he sighs, hesitating once more before leaning down again and placing one last kiss on her forehead. She looks up at him as he does, trying to memorise each detail of him so close. The scruff that trails along his jaw, the birthmarks on his cheek, the exact placement of his nose ring, the small hairs straying from his eyebrows, the length of his eyelashes. Everything she can commit to memory.

When he pulls away, he turns away without looking at her face, afraid of what might be written on it. With his back turned, he can barely hear her whisper,

“Can you stay here? With me?” He stops in his tracks, turning and looking at Seraphina who’s eyes gleam up at him. And he finds himself nodding and sliding into bed before the nerves of laying next to her set in. He lays underneath the covers, beginning to feel the traces of her body heat radiating into the linens. He tries to calm the increase of his heartbeat, looking up at the ceiling. He can feel her turn next to him,

“Can you,” she exhales shakily, “hold me?” Calum looks down at her, similarly to the way he had when she had asked her first question. Instead of answering, he turns on his side and uses his hand to hold her hip and pull her towards him. She immediately tucks her head into his tattooed chest, her own heart rate pounding against her chest, her stomach erupting with flames that dance along the bottom of her ribcage. But, she can feel the same safe feeling wash over every limb, settling her every muscle. She cautiously wraps her own arm around Calum’s midsection, which he seems to welcome. She presses her hand to his bare back, palm flat against his spine. His arm wraps around her back, his large fingers clutching to her other hip, holding her flat against him. Their hearts beat rapidly, but in sync.

“Goodnight, Calum,” she whispers, her eyelashes tickling his chest as she closes her eyes.

He exhales shakily, “Goodnight, ‘phina.”

#this is literally so long #i had no idea it would be this long but hey here we are #5k words later #WHOOPSIE #isabella writes #CH #calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood smut #5sos #5sos blurb #5sos fic #5sos fluff #calum hood fluff #5sos imagine #5sos smut #into the dark

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rambling-at-midnight · 6 years ago

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Pick Your Battles: Part 2/5

Pairing: Five x Reader

The Handler’s voice greets your ears and your lip curls. You’ve been waiting in her office for an hour, wearing a scratchy skirt and a large, shapeless shirt. You absolutely despise this eras’ fashion, but nobody would move the entire Temps Commission headquarters simply because the Spartan is complaining about clothes again. You did that plenty when you first arrived, probably stupidly, and now you’re pretty sure they send you on missions with dress codes just to piss you off.

Thirty-five years of scratchy skirts and odd garments these people call ‘shirts’. Thirty-five years that’ve left you painfully aware of every passing second—despite being a time traveler, time affects you in all the usual ways. Thirty-five years of watching everything around you change.

What you would have called the future thirty-five years ago (for you), when you slit throats with a smile and spoke Greek in a tongue that feels fuzzy around any other language, has changed in ways you never could have imagined. Truthfully, you’re fond of toilets, but you really miss good old-fashioned battles where two armies met on a battlefield with nothing but their swords and shields to defend them.

Not to sell yourself short, though; you’re above competent with any kind of gun, nunchucks, sword, spear, and basically anything that can be used to hurt people. While you might have been upper-average in Sparta, nobody in the future is as stone-cold as your former kinsmen. You’re the best of the best. What separated you from the masses in Sparta—your eye, keen at spotting tensions and weaknesses; your demeanor, which you’ve changed to become somewhat like Anthia’s in that you’re quite good at being a chameleon; and your intellect, whereas in Sparta brute strength was mostly prized—has made you exceptional here.

You smooth out your skirt, suddenly regretting the shirt you’d chosen to wear; you’d chosen the tent-like garment in a fit of petulance, but now that you think about it, the Handler might take it as you’re not comfortable in your own skin. It’s too late now, though; the door to her office is opening. You hear the hinges squeak and two sets of footsteps enter the room. Without turning around, you remark, “You summoned for me nearly an hour ago.”

“I was a bit sidetracked,” she replies, coming around her desk and sitting down airily. You definitely notice the creaking floorboards behind you; they’re far enough away from you for them not to be an issue. If your ears are correct—and they usually are—the angle at which the person behind you is standing wouldn’t be a good one to shoot you with; the bullet could go straight through your head and hit the Handler as well. “Dot noticed an abnormality in 2064. Happy fiftieth birthday, by the way, Y/N.”

“Thank you.” You cross your legs at the ankles and smile benignly at her. The Handler is used to people jumping through hoops to impress her, as well as chattering nonstop to keep the conversation going in an effort to improve their standing in her eyes.

If you’re not wrong, silence may unnerve the timeless old woman. She certainly does keep talkative friends. If they’re not talking, she is.

“Five, sit down,” the Handler instructs after a second, motioning to the second chair by yours. The floorboards creak again as this ‘Five’—what kind of a name is that?—walks slowly to the chair. Out of the corner of your eye, you make out a man that looks to be about your age wearing an utterly bizarre combination of clothes, even for this era. His hair and beard are unkempt and you sneer internally; what is the point of civilization if not to act and look civilized?

This Five is cautious. He’s not jumpy, and he’s not jittery. When he puts his hands on the armrests of the chair, you can see the shadows of a formerly privileged and civilized man somewhere underneath all that grime and tangled hair.

“Y/N, I’m sure you don’t know, but modern civilization ends in the year 2019,” the Handler says, as if that isn’t a huge deal. “Five here is extraordinary. He has supernatural abilities and is able to jump through space and time. When he jumped to the year 2019, he was stuck in the apocalypse for about forty-five years.”

Pause. You take in the information and glance back at this newcomer. “How extreme is this apocalypse?” you ask. That’s the only reaction you’ll give to this news. If there’s nothing else the Handler delights in, she loves to shock people.

“The end of all humanity,” Five says in a gravelly voice that sounds unused. If you’re not mistaken, the way he glares at the Handler indicates resentment. No doubt he feels a bit more strongly about the end of the world than the Handler does.

Fucking bureaucrats. They never really care about the things they’re supposed to. Still, if Five wants to survive at the Commission, he’ll have to suck it up—you’d gotten in trouble one time for almost stepping on the rat that started the Bubonic Plague—and suck up to the Handler.

“How come he was able to jump to the apocalypse and not out of it?” you ask, ignoring Five’s grunt of displeasure. He’s not one to be ignored, you know. What you don’t know is how far he’ll allow the disrespect to go.

“It’s a phenomenon we’re aiming to get to the bottom of,” the Handler says smoothly.

“Well.” You nod your head. “It was nice to be formally introduced to whom I assume is the newest member of our Commission. I assume he will be mostly covering the BC missions, considering the… caveman look?”

“I assume you don’t cover any missions that require a reasonably attractive femme fatale,” this Five shoots back. So, not much bait needed for him to rise to it, but his comebacks aren’t very good. Maybe it’s a setback of being in the apocalypse alone for all those years.

You already know the Handler is beaming when she says, “Actually, Y/N, I supposed you would be partners with Five. I suspect he has much potential, and you’re just the person to help him unlock it.”

Partners?

You’ve never had a partner before. It was either your odd accent, your distaste for ‘modern’ clothing, or the stories that circulate around you about how you killed your mother just before the Handler found you.

Apparently matricide is frowned upon in the societies most of the other agents come from. It was hardly uncommon in yours.

If it was anyone else, you would protest. Five does, loudly and viscerally, and you grimace. He’s not… no. There’s no way you’ll get along with him. He may be on your side of the hill, compared to the youthful glow the rest of the agents that the Commission employs have, but there’s no way you’ll get along.

If there was ever a reason to take the Handler up on that offer of restoring your younger self’s body…

You shake yourself of that notion. The Handler thinks that you’re dangerous and bloodthirsty, a hound, but a hound that’s obedient to its master. She thinks less of you for that, how you never question or argue with her. It’s always good for people to underestimate you because then you can catch them off their guard.

You’re not a hound. You’re the wolf in sheep’s clothing, and unfortunately Five lacks the finesse to be anything other than the lumbering ox in the china shop. The Handler may find him more amusing, the way he argues with her at every turn, but she’s also more guarded when he’s around.

She’s nearly forgotten how you’d tried to stab her the second you’d met her. In this sort of life, it’s not good to forget a single second.

Five turns around to glare at you, his face wrinkling even more (if that was even possible). How someone can be so weathered, you don’t know. It must be from the apocalypse, which hardly sounds luxurious. Still, he looks terrible.

What a fantastic fiftieth birthday. This ought to be good.

Umbrella Academy Taglist:

@fentanvl @deathswretch @lightningidiot @five-hg @iamsnek666@ameliatrh @ihatecheesyusernames @dora-the-grownup

Pick Your Battles Taglist:

@dadzawas-eyebags

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes

#tua #the umbrella academy #number five #five hargreeves #five x reader #number five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #reader insert #reader x five #reader x five hargreeves #reader x number five #the handler

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nudibutch · 3 years ago

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Do u have recommendations for who to talk to about discovering you might be a stone femme? And also how to talk about that with your partner who is definitely not stone? I've been avoiding thinking about it lol but I really think I might be a stone femme and idk why it makes me so nervous, I think bc a lot of ppl have negative views of stone femmes. But yeah do u have blog recs for ppl to talk to about that? I'd rlly appreciate it!!

anon 🥺 i adore stone femmes so much and love what they give to this world. i want to reiterate that you are not selfish or greedy or uncaring for being stone. stone femmes love and offer so much it's indescribable. thank you 💖

the stone femme community on here is amazing. if you're a stone femme blog please feel free to like/rb/reply to this post for anon's reference if you wish. ima give a personal shoutout to my stone femme bestie, mel, aka @loveheartfemme who has a GREAT tagged archive of all things femme. there's some posts in that archive about being stone. mel if you have a specific post where you discuss or know of a post that discusses stone femme discovery, pls feel free to add it here bestie xoxo

as far as talking to your partner about it - stone femmes, please feel free to weigh in. i know the initial perception of stone femme is a lot different than stone butch, so i'm not sure if i could offer the same advice. but as a stone butch i can relate on the fact that it's nerve-wracking and scary to even think about bringing it up to someone, so i understand why you're nervous. but what is important for your partner to know is that this is a possibility for you - that you think you're uncomfortable giving - and discussing what you'd prefer to try while exploring this identity is important for you and your comfort.

mel would probably have better insight. when i try to describe this boundary for myself, i often say that it makes me filled with dread, it makes me panic at the idea of receiving. and most people really want to respect that. i know there's a lot of negativity about stone femmes out there, but i think people are more willing to understand than the internet likes us to think. ❤️

#again pls stone femmes my beloved feel free to weigh in #anon please feel free to come into my inbox at any time #you are amazing beautiful showstopping incredible never been done before #i would simply like to give all stone femmes The World #anonymous #answered

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hakuteeth · 6 years ago

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Harry Styles and the Concept of Gender

I have a lot of thoughts and I wanted a place to lay them all out so I’m sorry this is gonna be probably indecipherable but disclaimer I’m not saying harry is a gender he’s not this is just really exploring the concept of freedom with or without gender and expression of oneself thru clothes not so much about identity but the wider concept of the binary based around my own interpretations of it. A femme take on femininity thru a white man’s exploration of gender if u will so if u dont like that i dont care

also.... ive never taken a queer studies class but I love sociology so..... all these connections I make are from my own knowledge and arent meant to box harry in...

Gender defined from a sociological standpoint is based around how we behave and what actions we are expected to perform and for the most part a little give and take people can stick within this binary as it can be safe and comfortable and black and white. What’s interesting is when people step outside the norm and are more willing to explore that grey area that most people simply dont understand. This is interesting because it extends beyond clothing or makeup as most people don’t realize a man wearing makeup does not subvert gender because the gender binary is also inherently shackled to the concept of heteronormativity just as a woman completes a man, the soft counterpart to his masculine ways.

Harry Styles and the concept of gender started for me with a dress. It never quite occurred to me that harry would wear a dress and reading the rolling stone article that harry had worn or would ever wear something quite as feminine as that. I think for a lot of people solo Harry Styles was a strange and beautiful uncharted territory of course many people came to suspect the new age rock n roll harry had to usher in but what’s fun is not so much deconstructing Harry as a soft rockstar but the idea that Harry has a femininity to him something I never saw until I noticed it everywhere in his clothing and even more interesting his actions.

The most interesting thing is Harry doesn’t quite believe in a gender binary when it comes to fashion possibly attributed to Alessandro Michele’s take on gender or perhaps the work of a really good stylist but I think if anything Harry also believes in that mission that gender could be redefined within the confines of fashion.

Harris Reed described his vision and Harry ended up wearing five different looks on his world tour introducing a student and relatively unknown LGBT designer to the masses and Harris has went on to say that Harry completely understood the connection clothing gender and sexuality have all shared since the dawn of fabric and it’s interesting when one also thinks about the time and effort this collaboration took considering Harris designed all these looks himself over a very short period of time. Harry wasn’t looking for somebody to dress him as what we normally see male popstars wear onstage, he was looking for a risk.

Gender like most things is more complicated than somebody might think. It extends beyond putting on a funky print before leaving the house it’s about the mannerisms, the actions, the behavior of the individual and the overall societal imprint. And Harry’s always been a bit softer than most. He’s always displayed his self as overwhelmingly kind to the point it makes my teeth hurt sometimes and he’s never overbearing. He’s quite quiet and subtle for somebody who can wear a loud pink custom gucci suit.

Since 2013 he never shied away from looking or being a bit more feminine and he’s always exuded this calming energy or at least I believe if he had an aura it would definitely be soft pink. During his 2018 tour, every night he would tell fans that they were allowed to be whoever they wanted be in that room and it was all about fostering this environment where crying is manly and babies could choose their own gender (which he said twice on tour). Also something that sticks out quite vividly is when a fan told him his mermaid has saggy boobs and he replied that everybody should love themselves.

“We are men!” Then he prances away. That’s always how I picture Harry now him using his kilt to curtsey or him twirling like a ballerina on a football pitch. The concept of gender has extended more beyond fashion and into comfortability but also exploring what somebody may not be comfortable with at first but finding they quite like it.

When men wear nail polish or when you gift your boyfriend flowers for valentines day. It all lies inside the confines of gender. Subverting gender doesnt mean men should wear makeup but it encompasses a vast majority of actions AND behavior or as I like to call it being a bit softer than most. Men have a tendency to bathe themselves in aggression and to assert their dominance and I’m not saying Harry can’t be masculine as well. One of his favorite hobbies is boxing but even then I’d argue that’s less about aggression and more about control and analytical power where taking down an opponent requires more than brute strength.

I believe there’s power in being feminine and there’s power in owning yourself, 100%, and what’s interesting is Harry is the one who taught me that. I think a lot of people see Harry as this mysterious figure and while he is more private than some people would like I also think he’s shown us a lot about himself and it all depends on us to draw our own conclusions. The thing is I don’t like Harry cause I think he subverts gender or I think he’s feminine. I like him cause he’s authentically himself without any concern for others and he’s different. I’m not a man I present as a woman so I’m subjected to an oppressive environment. I am wary at people who are unwilling to learn who are afraid of stepping outside the box ANY box and hold themselves so tight they can barely move. I see Harry as somebody who moves freely.

I could make an entire essay on Harry and the concept of heteronormativity but I’m going to stick with toeing the line on gender for right now but I do believe a lot can be said for cis heterosexuality and attending a harry styles concert. It felt a bit like a pride parade which was interesting how somebody who essentially had for years this show of heterosexuality somehow ended up being followed by lesbians and bisexual women as well as many gay and trans men fans.

Well it’s not that hard to see. Harry’s concerts are more celebrations of being yourself and I’ve never seen Harry ever discourage that or shy away from defending his fans to him we are a group of strong men and women and girls are the future. Once again bringing the concept back to the gender binary, girls can do anything despite being told they are only good at some things.

I don’t think this vision of Harry is a product of fan pressure. I think Harry genuinely supports things like LGBT rights and I think he believes in it just as much as we do I can’t ever imagine him not doing so. He made pride merch and wasn’t getting a cent of it because it was all donated to an LGBT charity to benefit youth in schools. If we’re talking in the ways in which Harry explores gender the number 1 community for that has always been the LGBT community historically we tend to fuck around with the concept of gender so it’s not surprise to me that’s a community Harry advocates for.

Harry’s solo career from the beginning has been about reinventing masculinity. He wore a women’s suit for his album photoshoot and bathed in flowers and pink lemonade for his album cover and though his album had some rock n roll tropes he’s never shied away from talking about women’s rights or lgbt rights. And even within One Direction Harry never felt like just another man to me. He’s somebody special. Not afraid of vulnerability, not afraid of being called gay, not afraid of expressing who he is thru clothing.

To me it’s always felt like Harry wanted people to know this is who I am you can take me or leave me. Harry I feel is somebody willing to take risks putting himself in a dress in a booklet as tour merch. Saying we’re all a little bit gay on tour. Like moths to a flame outsiders are drawn to him at least I was.

To me Harry Styles is carving out a place for himself in a world that can be very rigid. Harry isn’t following anybody’s path but his own setting out to reinvent rock n roll and always and forever being a bit softer than most. It’s an admirable trait in a world that has become quite scary as of late.

#i got bored #so yall are gonna deal with this #long post

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beatriceinmessina · 6 years ago

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American Horror Story: Cult Rewatch--Episode IV, “11/9″

SPOILERS for the entire season and William Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. (Screenshot by me, from Netflix. And ha, it looks like they’re looking down at my notes.)

The episode flashes back to election night, before the cult starts.

Winter takes a selfie in the voting booth. Isn’t that illegal and causes your vote to not count?

Ally promises to vote Democrat, but then votes for Jill Stein, which Ivy knows about in the first episode. When did she tell her? Did she even tell her, or did Ivy find out on her own?

Kai and Gary jump the voting line. Gary obviously needs a doctor, but wouldn’t Kai be told to go to the back of the line? What are the rules of this polling station?

Everyone votes very quickly. What about the rest of the ballot? Don’t you have to fill that out too?

I’m positive that if a man pulled out his bleeding stump of an arm at a polling station, he would be rushed to a hospital to recover, then be psychologically evaluated. Has Gary been evaluated? He needs it.

After the intro, the date is 09 November 2016, so Kai seems to begin to form his cult on that day, meaning the previous episodes (with the exception of the first scene) take place after that, likely in the rest of November and December 2016 or January of 2017.

How long has Kai been watching the Wiltons, that he selects Harrison as the first person to recruit for the cult? They appear to vote before he comes in, so he probably didn’t see them then. How did he find them? Was it just because he was a member of the gym, or did he join to find Harrison? How much control does he have at this point? It’s only one day after the election!

Kai knows enough about Harrison to know he’s gay even though Harrison’s just met him. Again, how long has been be watching them? How has he been watching them? Does he have cameras everywhere or something?

Kai says he works in technology, specifically coding. He could probably hack into a camera in someone’s house and watch them. On the other hand, he could be lying. I’m not entirely sure he even has a job prior to deciding to run for city council. He also says that he tested at a genius IQ level at age ten, which could be possible--he is very intelligent and good at getting in people’s heads, but again, that could be lying. There some things he says that I know aren’t true, and some things he says that I’m not sure about.

Kai tells Harrison that while he likes women, he will fight and kill for anyone, man or woman, if they’re part of his team. He adds that “and if they wake up in the morning with a hard-on that won’t quit, I will find a way to make sure they know how much I love them.” This is the start of indoctrination: letting Harrison know that he’s okay having sex with men, opening up the possibility of them sleeping together, if Harrison is with him in his endeavors. He’s using his sexuality to draw Harrison in.

Harrison says that sometimes people masturbate in the steam room--are people allowed to masturbate in a gym steam room? What if someone else is in there? Doesn’t that count as sexual harassment, then? Or indecent public exposure?

When did Kai have the time to sneak into the steam room and draw the smiley face without Harrison noticing? He went right there from the end of their session.

About the shower masturbation bit: How is Kai so sure that Harrison is going to walk in on him doing that? What if someone else came in? Why wouldn’t he close the door just in case and then open it when he saw that it was Harrison coming in? Why does Harrison just watch him? Does this count as indecent exposure in a public place? (He’s probably doing it on purpose to let Harrison get an eyeful, though… Kai likes to use sex to get people interested, which is interesting in of itself. He is later established as a complete misogynist, and yet he uses a traditionally feminine means of villainy--sexuality. What is this archetype of the person who uses their sexuality as a weapon often called? The femme fatale--which is French for “fatal woman.” The femininity is right in the name. Why would a man who so disdains women employ a tactic that he likely associates with them, and therefore would disdain as well? I won’t deny I like seeing the trope gender-flipped, though. It’s cool, and fun to think about.)

The “Macbeth scene” (my name):

It’s been at least twelve or thirteen days since the election, since this apparently Kai and Harrison’s last session out of twelve.

Kai has somehow managed to get into Harrison’s head well enough that the bullshit he spouts about being a mirror and quoting Nietzsche makes sense to the latter and he doesn’t ask questions. Then again, Harrison is very vulnerable here--he’s about to be homeless, and he’s feeling down on himself. It’s classic cult leader logic--get them when they’re feeling lost, and reassure them to make them think that you have all the answers.

“Harrison, I’m just a mirror. Anything you see in me is in you.” (Kai). These words are almost lifted directly from a 1970 Rolling Stone interview with Charles Manson, a man who (in my opinion) Kai might as well be. They’re so similar that the season is kind of just that history repeating itself. Perhaps this is the writers trying to seed the Manson material that wil happen later. (An additional note: I discovered this completely by accident about a week after watching the episode while reading this article. It even mentions this season!)

The actual Macbeth part begins with Harrison cleaning up in the steam room and Kai walking in. Harrison, like Macbeth, is in a place of uncertainty; Kai, his Lady Macbeth, urges him to take power and control of his life, which in both cases means murder. There’s also a bit of a gender thing going on--Lady Macbeth insults Macbeth’s masculinity to encourage him, and Harrison probably is feeling a bit emasculated right now, being made to clean up other men’s semen, which leaves him vulnerable to Kai’s manipulations. Harrison, however, is more willing than Macbeth--he doesn’t ponder killing as Macbeth does, he simply does it. On the other hand, his reaction to murdering Vinny is almost identical to Macbeth’s to murdering Duncan--freaking out. Kai is the opposite: calm and covering up the murder, just as Lady Macbeth does.

Kai is able to hack into Vinny’s phone to send a text from it as well as erase three weeks of security footage seemingly due to a computer virus. Perhaps he’s not lying about working in tech. Either that or he’s a really good hacker.

He also confirms that he’s been watching Harrison and everyone around for a long time. How? In person? Through cameras? What kind of operation is he running?

More classic cult leader logic: Kai tells Harrison that they’re going to destroy everything to create a better world. He smartly doesn’t specify what that world is, but promises a better one to someone who’s having a hard time, which is part of seeming like he can provide all the answers.

Kai apparently knows enough about the human body to instruct Harrison how to cut off a head. Has he done this before? As a matter of fact, did he ever kill anyone before he started the cult?

Cut to December of 2016, when Beverly is reporting on Vinny’s murder. I’m guessing that his body wasn’t found for about a month or a little more than a month.

Beverly’s not a part of the cult during this report, since it’s this that draws Kai to talk to her and recruit her.

Kai takes Adderall, which is prescribed at one pill a day, but he’s also popping more than one at a time. Also, I just want to point out that he looks like a modern-day, ratty Daario Naharis in this scene.

Beverly understandably cracks after being harassed during work, but still checks herself into a rehab facility, which doesn’t really seem like her, since she’s very headstrong. Was she made to by her boss?

Once again, Kai practically appears behind someone, this time Beverly. Honestly, does the man wear some kind of noise-cancelling shoes?

Beverly takes up Kai’s offer for coffee even though she has no idea who he is. Why would she do that? Why would anyone do that? He could be dangerous! He is dangerous! The fact that she took him up on the offer and didn’t walk away is honestly a stroke of luck for him.

Kai almost acts as a more chaotic version of James March here, asking Beverly how it felt to do something bad (as March often does with John), and encouraging her to kill people. He tells her that fear gets stronger and scarier as it spreads (which is pretty obvious) and essentially asks her to be his minister of propaganda. An earlier scene has shown that Beverly is worried about her job, as Serena seems to be rising in the ranks of the news station. Kai is preying on that here; giving her an opportunity to become valuable when she feels like she isn’t.

“If you get the world scared enough, they will set the world on fire for us.” (Kai). So he wants people to be so scared that they’ll do anything for him. Does that mean he’s going to make people scared of him, or of the world at large so that they’ll cling to him? Maybe both.

The backstory Kai gives Beverly (Iraq, Yale, etc.) is such blatant lying that I’m not entirely sure she believes him either, given the indulgent smile she gives him after. Did he really think she going to believe him, or is he using the lie to paint himself as stupider than she thinks he is, so she’ll underestimate him and he’ll be able to control her later?

Beverly tells Kai that there aren’t any open seats on city council, so this is before the Changs are murdered, meaning that they were probably murdered in mid-December of 2016.

“I need you, Beverly.” (Kai). The vocabulary is specific. Beverly isn’t feeling especially needed at her job at the moment, given the assignments she’s been getting (such as the landfill), but Kai is there to fill that hole. Like with Harrison, he takes advantage of a person at a moment of low self-esteem and unhappiness. Once again, pretty classic cult recruitment.

Only Harrison, Meadow, and Kai show up to kill Serena and her cameraman. Are Samuels and Gary not part of the cult yet, or could they simply not make it?

As the clowns walk away, Kai appears to be holding Serena’s heart in his hand. Holy shit. That’s all I can say. Jesus freaking Christ. That’s… that’s another level of depraved.

Two people are dead, but at least the puppy is alive. The puppy lives, and that makes me happy. Also, I want to pet it.

Meadow is clinging to Kai’s every word in the next scene. I’m guessing she’s already in love with him, and he probably knows it, given that he’s going to use her love for him to his advantage in two episodes. (Just a note on the way Kai talks here--he’s very slow and deliberate, building up anticipation for his reaction to the masks. He knows he’s got them (or Meadow at least, Harrison doesn’t look too interested) completely in his thrall.)

Kai tells Beverly that he will do anything for her, a probable callback to him telling Harrison something similar earlier in the episode (see above). So he wasn’t lying about that--he’ll do anything for anyone in his circle, or if he thinks it’ll get them in his circle. And it’s part of indoctrination--he’s making Beverly feel like he cares about her, like he’s one of the only people who cares about her, so she’ll come to rely on him.

Beverly is next seen reporting on the finding of Vinny’s severed head, which was reportedly alerted to the police by anonymous tip. Did one of the cult members call it in, to work more fear-mongering?

Flash back to 07 November 2016, the day before the election. Ivy first meets Winter when the latter defends the former after Gary sexually assaults her. I’m guessing that Ivy met Kai through Winter, likely after confiding her frustrations in her about Ally voting for Jill Stein. An important question: is the cult tormenting Ally only because Ivy is angry and wants to hurt her, or does Kai have some vested interest in Ally? (I’ve seen the interpretation that he’s in love with her, which is interesting to think about.)

Kai must have some kind of ability to move without sound, because he opens the door to Winter’s room and walks in without her noticing. How stealthy can he be? I’d swear he was a ghost if this season wasn’t the only one without supernatural elements or magic.

He also seems to notice the blood on Winter’s finger even though she’s standing far from him in a dimly, red-lit room. Again, does he actually have some kind of power?

Kai honestly looks rather aroused when Winter tells him that hurting Gary “felt fucking fantastic” and orders her to tell him everything. It’s like if James March and Viserys Targaryen had a son. An extremely disturbing son.

Given that Kai frees Gary from the basement, Winter must have told him everything, but why, when it’s not in her interests at all? My guess: she’s afraid of what he’ll do to her if she doesn’t. Even though the cult isn’t a thing yet, he still exerts some power over her, especially since she likely knows of his violent tendencies and inappropriate attraction to her. (I am using the words “likely” and “probably” a lot in these notes. I’m sorry; it’s simply that not everything is confirmed and I must hazard guesses based on dialogue and body language.)

When Kai goes down to find Gary, there’s a shot where the background is completely black, and he’s the only thing in the shot that’s lit. No comment here. I just think it looks really cool.

“Humiliation” and its varieties is a word Kai uses with almost all of his followers recruited so far: Harrison, Beverly, Meadow, and now Gary. He even uses it to refer to himself in the first episode. Humiliation is key here; Kai takes people that feel humiliated and works with it, because people hate feeling humiliated (in my experience), and he’s promising them that he can take away that feeling, and maybe even help them punish those who humiliated them. He’s using it to get them to do insane things that they would otherwise never do (i.e., Gary cutting off his own hand). Throughout this whole episode, he’s been doing that, and I won’t say that it’s not clever, since it’s working very well.

I don’t like Gary at all, but I do feel sorry for him. No one deserves an insane man manipulating them into cutting off their own hand. Not even to vote.

Kai looks unnerved by Gary cutting off his own hand. This man cut out a woman’s heart without flinching, and this freaks him out? What the hell are his standards for gore? Not self-inflicted?

#american horror story #ahs #ahs cult #kai anderson #winter anderson #harrison wilton #beverly hope #ally mayfair richards #ivy mayfair richards #akh rewatches ahs #akh.txt

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vectorgallery · 7 years ago

Photo

3am magazine

niconomicon: a conversation with lutz graf-ulbrich

Interview by JJ Brine and Cat Marnell.

Lutz Graf-Ulbrich is a prolific German musician with a varied discography spanning several decades. He’s been a member of many groups, from the 70s art rock band Ash Ra Tempel to his current folk ensemble, 17 Hippies. What might be most intriguing to rock historians, though, is his long relationship with Nico, which he recently documented in his book, In The Shadow Of The Moon Goddess.

If The Velvet Underground was the first “alternative” rock band, Nico—the Andy Warhol Superstar and original art house chanteuse most famous for her contributions to 1967’s The Velvet Underground & Nico, the band’s debut—was the first alternative to alternative music. Warhol essentially imposed the German supermodel on the band, as though she were an art installation. The result, arguably, was the advent of contemporary pop culture.

The solo careers of Lou Reed and John Cale bore traces of their roots in the avant garde, whereas Nico’s musical sensibility seemed to have no roots at all. Rather, it was the zeitgeist that had its roots in her, ones that are still growing. She was not simply the first goth girl, but the first goth (the first use of the term “gothic” in the rock press as a musical descriptive came from Rolling Stone in 1971, in reference to Nico). She was “the most beautiful woman in the world,” whom the Ibizan authorities would not allow out of her home unveiled, for fear that her beauty would cause civil unrest. She was a tabloid fixture who had given birth out of wedlock to the son of the most famous man in France, actor Alain Delon; the model turned actress turned singer who, by Andy Warhol’s reckoning, seemed to change careers whenever something was beginning to really go well for her; the woman whose only regret was to have been born a woman instead of a man; the interdimensional songwriter who taught herself how to play the harmonium and channeled a mystical operatic alien civilization that peaked in its apparent nuclear winter; and the junkie with the lowest female voice this side of everyone.

This past summer, I met Lutz and his wife Daniela at a cafe in Berlin, along with my friend Cat Marnell, a former beauty editor and the author, earlier this year, of the amphetamine-addled memoir, How To Murder Your Life. Considering Nico’s unapologetic, perennial drug use, and the media’s determination to cast her persona in a Warholian mold—something critics have tried to do to my own work as an artist—Cat and I were perfectly placed for this assignment.

—JJ Brine

JJ BRINE: How did you meet Nico?

LUTZ GRAF-ULBRICH: We met in 1972 in Paris because we had the same manager. He promoted a concert in Paris and I was playing with a hard rock band called “Agitation Free” in Berlin. Nico was playing there too. That’s when I first saw her. Nobody knew who she really was. There was a strange aura, and lots of rumors, and nobody knew what to make of all that. Before we met she was already a mysterious thing. When she performed it was really strange, with her harmonium and the way she sang. The audience was very enthusiastic. I was stunned. And of course we talked. As we had the same manager, we met a few times. There was a party held by our manager and she took me aside. She saw my record cover and she said it was strange and frightening. Her aura and personality were just so strong that I felt like a little boy. I was 22 and she was 36.

JB: How did your love affair begin?

LG: In ’74 my band split up in June or July. I stayed in France because I loved the people and I wanted to live there as a solo musician. We met again at a musical festival we were both playing at. I was backstage with a band called “Creme Delirium” and I drank some tea, and I remembered that this band puts acid in their tea. It wasn’t normal, I felt intoxicated. I closed my eyes and played the guitar. When I opened my eyes Nico was there. I was on the acid level, and Nico was always sort of over the moon. It was a very good time. After our concerts Nico asked me where I was staying. I didn’t have a hotel and she invited me, she bought me a room. I went to her room and said bye and she said, “Oh no, you’re not getting away.” She was naked on the bed and she was very good looking. I was too shy, I went back to my own room. We sat together on the train to Paris and I played her all of my songs and the whole thing started.

CAT MARNELL: What were you guys wearing at this time?

LG: Nico was wearing a red cloak like a curtain. I was probably wearing a leather jacket.

JB: Were you a fan of hers before you two met?

LG: Of course I had known the Velvet Underground, but only some songs. I hadn’t really connected her history. I only knew a photo of her but I had forgotten about it. One day when we were together she showed me a German fashion magazine, Twen, and it all hit me. Maybe when I was sixteen I had seen this cover.

JB: How was it to be in a relationship with Nico?

LG: Nico generally liked philosophers and drug dealers and gangsters and anything like this. I was an exception to this. She didn’t hold hands in public. She called me her “German friend.” There was one time that she did give me a huge compliment. She did say in public that I was the best lover she ever had. But Nico had many lovers in her life. She could be jealous when provoked. One day she walked into “our” New York restaurant close to the Chelsea Hotel and saw me with the model Angeline, a friend of Nico’s whom she had introduced to me. Nico was very angry and she left.

JB: You and Nico remained close friends even after your love affair ended. But how did that breakup come to pass?

LG: One day we were both in her room and she wanted to be alone but I wouldn’t leave the room. So she threw an iron at me and I went for her and we fought. That was 1979.

JB: Was Nico proud of her body of work? Did she feel that she was a great artist—the greatest?

LG: Of course. I think she found herself underestimated, which was true. A lot of people say, oh yeah, she can’t sing and all that. Of course sometimes when you hear live recordings the tone was sort of off, but at the same time she was such a fantastic singer. When you listen to a song like Tananore, it’s really difficult to sing! She had such a powerful voice. Nico’s body of work was the greatest contribution to music. That’s what makes her so fascinating. The way she was composing and writing songs. There’s nobody who can really explain her music. So dark and poetic. And the combination with her voice. People talk about All Tomorrow’s Parties and Femme Fatale, but of course Nico was more than that. She thought she deserved a better audience, she should’ve sang in an opera hall and all that. But instead she was playing to this young punk audience.

JB: Do you think Nico was thinking of herself as a celebrity—as a star? Was she consistently aware of this?

LG: She was always aware and thinking of things in this way. Nico was a star and everybody knew it.

CM: What kind of scent did Nico have? What was her favorite perfume?

LG: Well, Nico did not like bathing much. She hated water, like a cat she didn’t like to get wet. But she wasn’t stinky, and I do remember her fragrance. It was Chanel. That was her favorite.

CM: Did Nico ever exercise?

LG: One time in Los Angeles, at a friend’s place, I saw her in a bathing suit and I said wow! That was the maximum.

JJ BRINE: What was her attitude toward Andy Warhol? Did she speak of him often? Did they keep in touch over the years?

LG: Andy Warhol I met for like 15 minutes in Paris, actually. Nico had her money stolen and we went to see Andy and she said, “Oh Andy, can you give me some money?” And he gave it to her. He was very generous.

[Warhol recalled this incident in a diary entry from 27 May 1977: “Nico was there with a young kid with a big bulge in his pants, she asked Bob to photograph him. Bob already had. Nico looked older and fatter and sadder. She was crying, she said, because of the beauty of the show. I wanted to give her some money but not directly so I signed a 500-franc note ($100) and handed it to her, and she got even more sentimental and said, “I must frame this, can you give me another one, unsigned, to spend?”]

JB: What do you think of the narrative presented in the documentary Nico Icon about Nico wanting to lose her good looks so as to be taken more seriously as an artist? Do you think this is in any way reductive or misleading?

LG: I don’t know what to say. I know that Paul Morrissey said that.

DANIELA GRAF-ULBRICH: I asked you the same question a few years ago and you told me she was always putting on makeup and that she was very concerned with her appearance. And that she used that as an excuse, like she didn’t want to be beautiful anymore so she gave it away.

LG: It’s true. She could be insecure. When we were living at The Chelsea at one point she had put on a lot of weight. And she didn’t like that.

JB: How do you think Nico wished to portray herself?

LG: More than anything, Nico wanted mystery. And to provide this air of mystery, Nico sometimes lied. Often, in fact. I mean, what happened to her father in WWII, or saying her grandfather was a Whirling Dervish or something, he wasn’t Turkish. Acting lessons with Marilyn Monroe, meetings with Ernest Hemingway, et cetera. She was also very self-absorbed, narcissistic. For instance, she was convinced that right before he died, Jim Morrison came back to Paris just for Nico. I’m not sure that it’s true.

JB: What do you think Nico was most proud of?

LG: Her artistry. She knew that there was nobody else like her, not anywhere. Also, she would always say in interviews that she was most proud to be the mother of her son, Ari [the result of an affair with Alain Delon, who refused to recognize his paternity].

CM: Were there some things about Nico that you came to understand as you got to know her, related to her addiction?

LG: It began when I met her. She was smoking heroin. I didn’t want to take it. But when you’re in love with a person, you want to get on their wavelength. And Nico was so hard to follow as a person, even though we were really close. I could never tell what she was thinking. When she was taking heroin she went even further away. After awhile I gave in to her. I only took it for about a year and a half, maybe in 74 and by 76 I was done. I think Nico thought she was productive! I remember she once said, “I wrote already three albums with a lot of songs. That’s enough, what more do people want?” I think she was lazy actually. She was not productive. She was sitting hallucinating. She wasn’t working on songs all the time. There were two concerts in a month or something. She would rehearse right before a concert or a few notes occasionally.

JB: Did Nico have any phobias?

LG: The sun. And that was what killed her in the end.

JB: I know that you arranged Nico’s last concert, Fata Morgana, where she performed a set of completely new material—hinting at what her next album would have been like, with her alone on her harmonium. Was that the last time you saw her before her death?

LG: Well, she slept at my place after the concert. The next day we talked and she was staying at my place, she was sick of hotels, and I took her to the airport. She was angry at the airport staff because they charged something for her harmonium and she had been told she wouldn’t have to pay but it turned out she did. I remember the woman telling me at customs, you should take care of this woman because she won’t last much longer like this. And then of course six weeks later she died.

JB: Can you tell us more about the circumstances leading up to her death?

LG: I remember she invited me to stay with her in Ibiza, telling me she was going with Ari for three months to write songs or write a book, and I wasn’t sure because she was smoking so much hash, and at that time I didn’t want to do that. But then I had this answering machine message from Ari that said, “It’s so nice, come to Ibiza with us!” And so I bought this ticket the next day. The same day I bought the ticket, I got the news she had died.

JB: If you could say one thing to Nico today, one last thing, what would it be?

LG: I would tell her how grateful I am to have had the luck and fortune to meet her, I still don’t know why she chose me to be with her. That was the great gift in my life.

ABOUT THE INTERVIEWERS

JJ Brine is the creator, owner, and artist behind the Vector Gallery installation project, which also encompasses its own religious movement, a governing body of Ministers for a self-proclaimed sovereign, Vectorian State, and even its own singular Vectorian time zone. Often called the founder of the PostHuman Art movement and the Andy Warhol of our time, you can follow “The Crown Prince of Hell” straight to heaven at jjbrine.com, or Twitter and Instagram (@jjbrine).

Cat Marnell is the author of How To Murder Your Life (2017), a memoir centered on her experiences with the revolving door of drug addiction and drug rehab by way of high fashion offices like Condé Nast, Nylon, and XOJane. Previously, she wrote a column for VICE Magazine titled “Amphetamine Logic.” You can keep up with Cat’s wizardly ways on Twitter and Instagram (@cat_marnell).

https://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/niconomicon-conversation-lutz-graf-ulbrich-nico/

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maurine07 · 3 years ago

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I’m so in love with her, like it’s a serious problem at this point. I always love getting to know more about Tiffany so reading this was truly a delight. First of all, she’s so gorgeous. You’re can’t tell me you’re gonna look at her and go “Yeah, I’m totally not in love with her”, that’s simply impossible.

I honestly thought she would be taller than 5’4 for some reason. Also, freckles, dimples and a tattoo (and on her hip bone no less)… respectfully, ma’am, ruin me. I’m done, dead, deceased. That’s so freaking attractive. And I’m convinced red lipstick was made for Tiffany. It would look iconic on her.

Pasta is the best and without it, the world would’ve been destroyed already , literally the best thing known to mankind. I don’t like roses but white roses> red ones for sure. Her taste in music is *chef’s kiss*. It’s perfect, just like her.

Dr. Strange is so underrated imo and I love that he’s her favorite MCU character. Also, he’s hot af. Thor: Ragnarok is one of the best MCU films, period. That’s not an opinion, it’s a fact. Honestly my comfort movie. Miss Tiffany has such great taste.

I love that one of her hobbies is reading. I’m a huge bookworm myself. What kind/genre of books does she read though? Comics are so entertaining though they’re expensive but I do love reading them.

Bending Dr Grumpsey to her will and melting his stone cold heart

LMAOO As she should, I love that for her. That’s the power of Tiffany Addams, folks. Honestly, who wouldn’t bend to her will? An idiot that’s who. She gives me very much femme fatale energy.

In conclusion, I’m so in love with her, I need her to reject me so I can move on already. But in all seriousness, I do love and care about her a lot (like if she was real (and into women) I would marry her in an instant) and she’s one of my absolute favorite MCs ever and I always love getting to know more about her. This was amazing and I loved it so much❤️❤️❤️

Also the formatting of this is gorgeous!!

Let’s get personal with my MC!

@openheartfanfics

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femmesfollesnebraska · 5 years ago

Text

Poetry and images by Rose Bruno Bailey

Excited to feature the writing and images by Rose Bruno Bailey ...

DISORDER

I'm fighting

I'm fighting to forget

I'm fighting to remember

I'm fighting food

I'm fighting time

I'm fighting finality

I'm fighting a sterile existence

I'm fighting perfection

Im fighting to fit in

I'm Fighting to be finished

I'm finished fighting.

I'm a lover not a fighter.

But I will never win the fight.

Loss of love is the biggest defeat

With Love comes a price.

To love or to fight?

Either way we all lose.

MARATHON OF HEROES

Don't sit, stand

Don't stand, walk

Don't walk, March

Don't march, run

Run,

Run for your life

Run for others

Run for office

Run the world

Run

Don't sit, Stand,

March, and Run

It takes one

One person

One movement

One step

One

Run

INVESTING IN OTHERS

Money doesn’t buy happiness,

That’s what they say.

Tell that to the single mother,

Who can’t pay the power bill.

Or the uninsured,

Who can’t treat their chronic illnesses.

The weeping animal lover,

Who cannot call the veterinarian.

Or the elderly,

Who go without supper.

I see it daily.

The hard workers, the struggling.

The forsaken tired laborers.

The grocery store clerk,

Who works two jobs,

But tipped a waiter 100 bucks

Simply because he was frail and limping.

The kind givers who have nothing,

Who share something

Of what little they do have.

Kindness within exists.

Giving unconditionally.

Looking out for others

Just like them.

Community.

Happiness is found in hope, despite

Foreclosures, liens, bill collectors,

Eviction notices,

Late fees, due dates.

Sucking away joy.

Spirits remains intact,

Needed to warm yet another cold day.

Lending a helping hand

To a neighbor,

Or a stranger in need.

Money may not buy happiness,

But it buys basic needs;

Tools we need to survive.

They also say most people just survive,

And to be happy you need to thrive.

How can you thrive

When you are barely surviving?

It’s a tongue twisting

Quagmire of a riddle;

A crisis of humanity

I wish to fix.

I contemplate who first said these words?

Probably a bored person

Who never lacked a roof or a hot meal.

Ebenezer Scrooge comes to mind.

Charles Dickens understood these things.

Money may not buy happiness,

But I would take my chances.

I would rather be wealthy

so I can help others,

instead of worrying

about dreaded bills.

In the meantime I give,

Whatever little I have to give;

Because that’s how we roll.

Excess pennies

Become

Heaven sent change.

This is community

Not defined by debt.

We seek happiness

In spite of the cliches,

Although the numbers on surveys

Tell us otherwise.

We prevail over poverty

Giving each other hope

With the currency of kindness.

FIASCO

Hope, we are told to hold onto hope. it's really just a gussied up four letter word, fuck hope; A grandiose word for tease. I bought in, we all buy in; Images of sunnier shores ahead. Land never appears, hope casts you out to drown with no buoy. Hope is a passive aggressive bully, a busted pipe dream. Hope is like a cubic zirconia promise ring, fake, lackluster and never delivering. Rough waves of disappointment roll in, High tide sweeping away optimism for a better tomorrow. Today is under water, today is a flood Of salty tears and people who throw stones. Today sucks as much as hope lies. I may as well just let go of hope. I may as well just let go.

REMORSE I killed a fly I killed another being Weaker than myself They used to say She wouldn't harm a fly I used to say I wouldn't harm a fly But I did cause harm To that little buzzing creature I did not mean to be The reason For the fly's demise I killed a fly I'm Just another human Being Weaker than myself

TOO YOUNG TO DIE

I paint my face, getting ready for my evening; sadly aware that somewhere an old friend lies in a morgue. Too young to suffer such a fate. She will never have the opportunity to have such a mundane moment again. A life snuffed out with the turn of the wheel. In an instant her family's world has come undone. I knew her, dark, beautiful, vital, alive. Painting her face, like myself and all women. Never knowing her last moments were near, as she performed her final beauty routine. So now when I paint my face, I contemplate life is too short. Our moments can cease at the blink of ones eye. Today I am melancholic, as I sleepwalk through my day. I vow never to take my life, or loved ones for granted. I paint my face, and I reflect, that one last time, so did she.

Rose Bruno Bailey @rosebrunobailey

Les Femmes Folles is a volunteer organization founded in 2011 with the mission to support and promote women in all forms, styles and levels of art from around the world with the online journal, print annuals, exhibitions and events; originally inspired by artist Wanda Ewing and her curated exhibit by the name Les Femmes Folles (Wild Women). LFF was created and is curated by Sally Deskins. LFF Books is a micro-feminist press that publishes 1-2 books per year by the creators of Les Femmes Folles including the award-winning Intimates & Fools (Laura Madeline Wiseman, 2014) , The Hunger of the Cheeky Sisters: Ten Tales ( Laura Madeline Wiseman / Lauren Rinaldi, 2015 and Mes Predices(catalog of art / writing by Marie Peter Toltz, 2017) .Other titles include Les Femmes Folles: The Women 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 and 2016 available on blurb.com , including art, poetry and interview excerpts from women artists . A portion of the proceeds from LFF books and products benefit the University of Nebraska-Omaha’s Wanda Ewing Scholarship Fund.

Current prompt: What does being a womxn mean to you?

http://femmesfollesnebraska.tumblr.com/post/183697785757/what-does-being-a-womxn-today-mean-to-youyour

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asktheneverfairies · 7 years ago

Note

Nyx presents the LEAST femininely of all the Fairies listed, and tbh I don't think fairies have the same ties of GNC-ness to protesting Societal Standards because I would hope they don't enforce those kind of rigid Societal Standards, so while Nyx very much likes her place and job in the society, she works a rougher, more (in our human perception) masculine job than most fairies and presents in a distinctly Butch way (more so than Fawn imo but I'd let Fawn be considered Stone Butch still)

While I do like to think of the fairy society as less rigid with regards to gender than ours (because honestly...it only makes logical sense), canonically they HAVE only been shown to be dimorphic with fairies and “sparrow men” (also called fairies) as the two known genders.

I think it’s as likely, if not more, that there are non-binary/non-conforming fairies as in our world, but there is still a canon binary that contextualizes any non-adherence to it. Fawn is specifically noted by the narrative and by her peers to be a tomboy who rejects girly things such as frilly dresses (which she’ll wear only if Rosetta convinces her to) and that is an Important Part Of Her Characterization, which I don’t want to ignore. She is the only character of the group who is noted to do such a thing.

Meanwhile, I think Nyx’s talent is the only thing we have to go on when deciding where on the scale she would fall. She shows butch qualities insofar as her role in society, which as you referenced is regarded as masculine, but we also ONLY see her in that job. We don’t see Nyx’s personal life outside of that--her hobbies or her personality when she doesn’t have to be playing bad cop or serious to get a situation under control.

To classify her as a butch only based on how she acts while scouting would be like labeling Chloe as a femme only based on her talent being garden--but in her case we get to see her engaging in interests such as sports, while in Nyx’s case we only see her in the context of the plot of “Legend of the NeverBeast” where she is too busy with a kingdom crisis to have much else of her life shown. In some moments we do see her being gentle and soft, implying that she isn’t so serious all of the time and is buffing up to perform her role better (see the end of the film when she puts on the braveface to bow to Gruff.)

I can’t pin her down to be a stone butch when I have only seen one side of her life and that side is the professional one which because her talent requires it, pushes her to take on a “masculine” leading role.

Also keep in mind when you say that she presents the least femininely out of the listed fairies--what we see her wearing is a uniform which all of her talent-members share, not an outfit of her own choosing like the rest of the fairies. It makes sense for her to be wearing a sturdy outfit while on duty for such a talent, but we don’t know that her personal style choice isn’t more feminine or even more masculine! We can’t assume.

Though I’d note that compared to the rest of the scouts, Nyx is visually the most feminine one in my opinion--she has the longest hair and it’s not tied back in a ponytail like some of the other girls, which implies a level of preference for aesthetic over function in the one aspect of her outfitting she can control.

In short, I just personally don’t think we are given reason to believe that she embodies these butch traits because she has an express desire to, the way that Fawn does, rather than it being a result of the fact that we only see a small snippet of her life in which she definitely has to act the “straight man” against Fawn’s antics. If we were told that she specifically designed the scouts’ uniform because she likes masculine clothes and doesn’t want to be feminine, that would be as canon as Fawn’s expressed dislike of dresses and I would have no problem bumping her up a level on the scale.

Again, I just personally view the ends of the scale as a place for the characters who I believe would embrace the label and who actively seek to fit to it (Rosetta with femininity, Fawn with masculinity) rather than those who simply fall into that category by my arbitrary standards. I’m totally not against other people placing Nyx or Vidia or anyone else at the ends of the scale if that’s where you think they belong and you have different standards for giving the label.

This is just my interpretation!

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rheanimalsachikokassielynn · 7 years ago

Text

Major Essay 1

Rheanne Harkness

Professor Timothy Greenup

English 112

25 October 2017

All Sides of the Characterization Spectrum: Evolution Verses Devolution

In the event that the average college student has taken even the most basic literature course, he or she should at least be somewhat familiar with and be able to tell the difference between three-dimensional characters, two-dimensional characters, and stock characters across a variety of different narratives - graphic novels being no exception. Three-dimensional characters (or “round characters”) may be traditionally thought of as the most important asset that a work of fiction has other than an engaging plot, atmosphere, or tone. After all, they by default, end up being portrayed as the most like real people, and as such, have the best chance of connecting with the reader on a deeper, more personal level, and audience identification can often be an essential part of what makes a story truly impactful to those who read it. No matter how much water this way of looking at round characters happens to hold though, that doesn’t mean readers of a particular work should entirely dismiss the roles stock and/or two-dimensional (or “flat characters”) play in strengthening its content as a whole - even if those roles are seemingly limited to serving as stepping stones that guide a potential round character as he or she goes through change. This begs the question: If both the flat and stock characters in a simple, straightforward comic like “Batman: Year One” only exist to help round characters in their development, are these same types of characters tailored to that same purpose in the more complex and formally depicted graphic novel that is “From Hell”?

To begin answering this question, there must be some semblance of comparison between the two pieces’ main characters and how interactions with other less imposing characters affect their motivations in the long run. In “Batman: Year One”, almost, if not every other character that Jim Gordon has ties to (particularly the few female characters) can be considered as more of a catalyst for change in his character than anything else. Take Gordon’s wife, Barbara for instance, throughout the comic, the reader never gets to learn much about her apart from the fact that she’s the supportive, pregnant housewife of his. Because Barbara is kept at arm’s length from so much of her husband’s troubles within the force until the very end of the comic and we only hear brief mention of the couple’s marital problems from Gordon’s perspective, Barbara represents nothing more than a stereotype, and thusly cannot be described as anything more than a stock character. But both her and Gordon’s unborn child are important nonetheless since Gordon’s desire to protect them is established as the driving force of his character from page one onwards. Sargent Essen is a representation of the “Femme Fatale” stereotype that’s seen so often in Film Noir; and again, the only bit of backstory we get from her is told to the reader from Gordon’s perspective in a single panel. She gives Gordon internal conflict to work through that works in tandem with the external conflicts he’s already facing. Three-dimensional characters are expected to have moments of weakness in their convictions. So, by having Essen as the vehicle through which Gordon deals with that weakness by having him torn between two places, (his obligation to his family and his newfound feelings for her) it makes the reader want to keep following him on his “Hero’s Journey” as well as call into question just how far he’s willing to go in order to do what’s right, as he himself isn’t so sure anymore - much like an actual human being might feel in the same situation.

If Lieutenant Gordon is the most prominent three-dimensional character from Frank Miller’s “Batman: Year One”, the most prominent round character from Alan Moore’s “From Hell” would be Doctor William Gull. Gull by contrast, doesn’t let other characters define who he is as one could argue for Gordon, (unless of course, the historical figures that Gull reveres so much - like William Blake and Nicholas Hawksmoor, are taken into account). It is seemingly established just how deep-seated Gull’s lack of empathy towards his fellow man really is from the first moment we see him purely out of plot convenience without any residual reason for it that wouldn’t have to be inferred by the readers on their own. To this effect, the essence of Gull’s character could simply be chopped up to his profession, in that many doctors do experience a loss of empathy while experimenting on human bodies for medical benefit; on top of which, he’d taken to dissecting animals (as is elaborately showcased in several disjointed panels with a mouse on the grounds of Beaumont Rectory) out of mere curiosity long before becoming a doctor in his adult life (Campbell Ch 2 p 6).

This aspect of Gull’s identity is significant and does give the audience some insight as to why he might and would eventually take on the “Jack the Ripper” persona. However, I don’t think that just being an emotionally detached doctor is enough to account for every facet of Gull’s character as much it sets the groundwork for those facets overall. Considering Gull’s long-dead heroes to be actual characters doesn’t feel terribly practical. So, it’s probably safe to assume that Gull has been shaped as a person by what he’s been exposed to more than who he’s been exposed to. The only time Gull lets others influence his actions at all is when they come into conflict with what he believes or stands for - like the whole reason he is committing these murders in Whitechapel to begin with. Gull is a firm proponent of the notion that men are superior to women, so the closer he gets to disposing of all these filthy prostitutes and by extension, fulfilling what he feels to be his divine purpose in life and throughout history, the more savage and less methodical the killings themselves become. It’s only when Gull briefly travels to the future a second time (in a purely non-character-driven plot point) and is so disillusioned by what he finds that he begins to lose heart with what he’s done. Up until then, though, Gull knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. Any other character who observed him (round, flat, or stock) could only do just that, observe and offer nothing (even unconsciously) that could sway him of his convictions whatsoever.

Conversely, what puts a major rift between “Batman: Year One” and “From Hell” in terms of how the protagonists can be thought of as round would be that Gull does not evolve as a character so much as he has devolved by the time his role in the story finally reaches its end. Nowhere does this erosion become more apparent than directly after Gull travels to what would have been the present day at the time this novel was written. More specifically, at the point where Gull takes the heart of the women who may or may not have been Mary Kelly out of the fireplace hearth and watches it burn on the tip of his surgical knife, a look of wistful melancholia has dawned his face, as if to say that only for a moment, even he realizes how empty and fruitless his endeavors toward any sort of divinity through murder truly were on principal. Although, of course, Gull would never dare admit it to anyone - least of all himself (Campbell Ch 10 p 29). This single panel image is made all the more telling when one pairs it with what Gull declares to Netley across a middle row of panels a few pages later as most of his face is eerily covered in shadow, but with an air of resignation about it: “I‘m finished. I have been climbing...all my life, toward a single peak. Now I have reached it. I have stood and felt the wind. I have seen all the world beneath me. Now there is only descent. Only the valley. Would that I had died there...in that light above the cloud line.” (Moore and Campbell Ch 10 p 33).

The icing on the cake and its effectiveness at cementing just how far Gull has fallen afterwards is really dependent upon whether or not one believes that he truly did come close to ascending to Godhood just before death in an insane asylum at the apex of chapter twelve. Being that Alan Moore leaves the answer widely open to interpretation, I personally would pose the argument that his apparent journey through time and space was merely a series of fragmented illusions that play out similarly to the concept of a person’s life flashing before their eyes as they’re about to die. Only in Gull’s case, his life wasn’t flashing before his eyes, but rather his abstract ambitions and ideas of what moving on to a higher plane of existence might be like were. If there is indeed a grain of truth in Gull’s last words to Netley the night he killed “Mary Kelly”, then the image of a poor old man mumbling incoherently within the walls of an asylum and never moving past his unhealthy obsession with achieving historical/spiritual greatness fits much more consistently with someone who both literally and figuratively has nowhere left to go but down.

Ultimately, I feel that the secondary characters in “From Hell” did not aid in developing Doctor Gull as a character in the way that they did for Jim Gordon in “Batman: Year One”. This is because, unlike Gordon, Gull never really forged any deeply personal relationships with others that were impactful enough to dictate his actions. His life experiences as a self-righteous doctor as well as a time traveler deprived him of the ability to genuinely empathize with the people around him. Thus, those experiences were consequently the only thing left to propel him through his journey and eventual derailment that awaits Gull at the end of the story. Every action of Gordon’s by contrast was performed for the sake of the people he cared about. Regardless of how uninteresting these flat and stock characters may have been to the audience, it’s no wonder that their existence as Gordon’s driving motivation made for such a relatable protagonist who we want to see rise above the challenges his environment has set for him by the time his story concludes. As far as Gull is concerned, he isn’t meant to be a relatable protagonist as much as the complete opposite. So, if the flat and stock characters aid him at all, it’s to mirror the audience members’ impressions of him (which are mostly rooted in fear, intimidation, curiosity, respect, and annoyance). I suppose in this way, if some characters need not be three-dimensional to be effective, one could also say that they need not be at the forefront of the round character’s main concerns for he or she to go through intended changes set in place by the author of the story either - still being just as effective, but in a different way!

Works Cited

Hamilton, Sharon. “Characterization.” Essential Literary Terms, Second Edition. Norton, 2017, p. 136.

Miller, Frank and David Mazzucchelli. Batman: Year One. DC Comics, 2005.

Moore, Alan and Eddie Campbell. From Hell. Top Shelf Productions, 2014.

#Rheanne Harkness #English 112 Final #Digital Portfolio #Major Essays

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aitian · 5 years ago

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July 6 2019

3:15 am (saturday?)

it feels like july fourth was just a few hours ago, & june should not have passed yet. i really wish i had someone to love in these moments. it really feels like once again no one really cares for me (in all meanings; im not interesting or tasteful or attractive or desirable or worth understanding/being around). i feel so strange about my body as smth that i do not totally mind being in but also feel mildly disgusted by bc of how other ppl have treated me based upon it. it predicates so much of the violence & suffering that i have internalized. also i am hitting a rock with a few things- i spent all of last night (the night before?) looking up careers & etc things all over the internet & i still have no real dreams relating to working & being a worker- i am more & more uncomfortable with my transness & feeling like i will b disgusting & foolish if i become more feminine but also that i am disgusting & foolish already in how i have always looked & felt- i keep looking at these websites related to queer apa groups & literary things & “opportunities” for someone like me & they just fully do not feel like they are for someone like me bc i feel at the same time too privileged & too lacking to be who they want to support & also that i am simply annoying & burdensome for trying to do anything yet feeling like the work that they do is sometimes annoying & useless anyway so what gives them the pride to deny me & then circling back to these ideas abt money & power that seem antithetical to the stated goals of all of us but totally in line with our actions. it all makes me feel increasingly isolated & resentful that i am unable to change how i feel & live in this moment. it feels like i am back in high school with the part of my brain between my eyes aching yet unable to scream & cry. i know i am different now, but not enough, & not in a way that feels loved. i know that part of my problem is not having a large enough heart to love others first, but when i have not been extended kindness in ways that feel right to me, it is hard to step out & be generous to others who i know deep down will no reciprocate meaningfully. i feel stupid for having these desires that seem totally arbitrary & just make things harder for me (a masculine loving force, being treated as a queer femme by my friends & the respect that comes from knowing i have complex thoughts & emotions, codependency & mutualism in a way that may only be “unhealthy” because of how capitalist dynamics structure our interpersonal relationships) but i cant figure out how to change. i dont want to be uncomfortable & unfulfilled for the rest of my life. on the other hand, i now feel so much shame for wanting these things & pursuing these things in the way that i always have such as studying & licking the toes of elitism bc i understand that this is probably not a channel for me to truly gain comfort but a small part of me (& a huge part of the rest of the world) says yes, it really can be.

A review of june:

kicked off the month with sherry leaving. we had our philly day trip to eat cheesecake in late may & then our trip to toronto where we met up with grace for a day & then on the last day we hung out until smth crazy like 4am & i sat on the pavement of our driveway & cried as they back up their cars and left.

the next few days include hanging out w adele, going to hershey to visit alice, & hanging out w adele a little bit more before she left to go on vacation.

around the middle of the month, i did a lot of cooking & eating & sleeping at the correct time & trying to nourish away the emptiness that was slowly creeping in. i was also sewing a shirt with mom that we finished & it looks pretty cute.

mom & i took many trips. after the weekend at hershey, we went to philadelphia just to eat & hang around, & we went to baltimore at the end of the month (just last weekend). we also went to stone valley/shavers creek & walked around.

around june 20th or so everything started to become a blur. i was/am working on the zine, sleeping at the worst hours, & feeling so empty inside.

things on the immediate & horizon:

- i bought silkscreen supplies but have not set up a studio situation yet. i am trying to make smth that i am proud of first i guess.

- i am trying to illustrate a zine/comic but i have totally lost steam. i just want it to magically manifest as a finished product because idk how much i still believe in it in this moment of depression & fear it will never come to fruition. part of why i stopped was bc i started feeling like it was shameful to draw these things that i imagine could be a part of a wonderful life because other ppl could look at it & think abt how foolish & disgusting & simple i am.

- em shared these two articles which are rly fucking with me. i guess its comforting that they describe ugliness as smth that shouldnt be treated badly but they also do not have conclusions abt how to not treat ugliness as undesirability which fucks with me. its this strange rhetoric that undesirable people should be valued but maybe still remain undesirable? while acknowledging that value & desirability r unfortunately but definitely related. the more i think abt it the less sense it makes. esp bc i am struggling so much with feeling wholly & totally undesirable. i sent a msg to em today abt it bc they asked me how i am doing & i think it was too much bc they just liked it & didnt reply.

https://leavingevidence.wordpress.com/2011/08/22/moving-toward-the-ugly-a-politic-beyond-desirability/

https://thebodyisnotanapology.com/magazine/how-to-be-fat-caleb-luna-sub/

- im supposed to have my wisdom teeth removed at the end of august & im pretty scared tbh. i have never had surgery, & there are multiple parts that are intimidating to me. i fear being totally not in control of my body being cut up & gouged & not having the choice rly to object because waiting can only make it worse, i fear the physical stabbing & poking & bleeding, i fear the recovery & the pain & indignity, & i also fear the part abt losing consciousness. i dont know what part of my anxiety keeps telling me that its the same as dying, that losing myself to a strange limbo is terrifying, & that framework even makes me suddenly afraid of sleep. on top of that, i am afraid of what i will say & do as i am coming back into consciousness because i think my base thoughts & emotions are not things that i would want mom to hear.

- i am relearning dr. gradus & here is a section that i played today. ngl i practiced just these measures for the video but also i am rly beginning to string the piece together.

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dcnativegal · 8 years ago

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Compulsion & Identity

Ruminations of a Certified Alcohol & Drug Counselor--Intern

I’m sitting in one of the group therapy sessions with clients who have kept sober from a variety of substances for months or perhaps only days. They pee into a cup or suck on a saliva stick to prove their sobriety to me and their probation officers. They are biding their time and showing up and jumping through hoops that include community service, visits to Treatment Court, and paying off probation fines. Each one of them has harrowing stories. I have so much respect for them. Even when I know for sure they are flat out lying.

I’m trying to understand what it’s like, mentally, emotionally, and socially as they maneuver through their lives and all their important relationships as a sober person. We talk about it. One person admitted, I still don’t know who I am, sober. I know I was funnier when I was high…

I’m learning all about “Substance use disorder” which is the newest term. (No longer abuse, and less use of the term ‘addiction.’) I have a stack of books with titles like “Buzzed” and “Uppers and Downers.” I remember from my early social work training that there is a stunting of brain maturation when a person starts using a substance regularly. Each of these people starting using as young teenagers. The growing human learns to navigate through life with the help of the mellowing effects of pot, the mania and energy of meth, the disinhibitions of alcohol. There are supremely stupid choices that are made under the influences. They don’t know how to deal with frustration, with a broken heart, with the moments included under the umbrella: ‘shit happens.’

I don’t know anyone who deals with ‘shit happens’ perfectly. Well, maybe the Dalai Lama, and the late great Maya Angelou.

My personal drugs of choice are carbs and yarn. Carbs may kill me in the end. I’ve developed pancreatitis, in large part because it’s a side effect of an injectable drug that worked well for me for a couple of years. The other part of why is, simply, gluttony. (Noun. Habitual greed or excess in eating. Ouch. Literally.) My side started hurting in December, and I self-diagnosed kidney stones, so upped the liquids. Didn’t get into see my family nurse practitioner until mid-January. NOT kidney stones but pancreatitis. What the…? Clear liquids for me. Who knew that there are dozens of kinds of broth. Although the pain did not disappear, it lessened, and the lipase and other lab values went down to normal when I stuck to liquids. When I eat solids again, the pain and labs worsen. So I’ve been off and on solid food for a while. Every one to two weeks, I give a couple of vials of blood and 3 hours later, my nurse scolds me. Kinda like peeing into a cup, or sucking a saliva test strip. Clean UA? Good labs? It depends on behavior.

Humbling.

A client ‘bangs’ (injects) meth. I indulge in a cookie, or three. Not equivalent, exactly. But pancreatitis is dangerous. Meth is, too.

When ‘shit happens’ to me, which includes simply a bad day, I realized some time ago that I have a sense of entitlement, of somehow ‘deserving’ the special treat of new yarn, or a Peppermint Patty. Because…. Insert self justification here…. I can imagine that some of the same justification goes on in the mind of people who use meth or pot or beer compulsively. “I’ve been good… It was a shitty day… Fuck you, bossy bitch, I’m going out… “ As I stand in the checkout line at Safeway, I’m like, I’m tired, just one Peppermint Patty won’t kill me…

Dark chocolate, ice cream, cookies. I’ve heard alcoholics say that if there’s alcohol in the house, it calls to them. Same for me with chocolate. Valerie hides it. At the moment, I think we are totally out. Which is good. (I found her stash. ‘Bye, ‘bye stash. I am a gluttonous theif.) I’ve been keeping a pile of tiny chocolates in my office for my clients. I give up. They’re all gone now. I couldn’t resist them. I’ll put stress balls in the box that held the mini-snickers and Twix. The Twix were very popular. I was especially fond of the mini-Milky Ways with dark chocolate. Val discovered Russell Stover’s sugar free peppermint patties. Oh. My. God. They are now on the banned list, even though they are sugar free. Even after I start feeling sick, I can eat 10 at a sitting. Like the rat hitting the cocaine water until he dies.

I knew someone who had a compulsion to use pornography. The idea would take root and next thing, that person would be walking into a strip club. Feeling disgusted later, dirty and depressed, the urge would diminish for a while, until the next time. My basic feeling about this whole arena is: tip the sex worker very well and be respectful. But, the compulsion, if it harms relationships with real live humans outside the club, is a problem. Not to mention how porn distorts what men think women actually enjoy.

Cravings.

Chocolate or yarn doesn’t HAVE to be a problem, but for me it is. Everything in moderation, except for me with sugar or yarn. I can ignore a wine bottle. No interest in illegal drugs. But keep sugar away from me. And no more yarn… hm… until I hit the new Willows store in Christmas Valley again. Seed planted, insert rationalization: I’m supporting an independent local business! (I think this is called ‘stinkin’ thinking’. )

What is your ‘self medication’ of choice, dear reader?

Weed, which seems to be the drug of choice for teens in Lake County is a mixed bag. Pun intended. It made me paranoid and more anxious than I already was when I used it in college. It’s legal in some states but federally illegal. The medical marijuana card is a great thing for those who need it. I’ve seen the videos with people who have Parkinson’s go from violent tremors to graceful movement. For young people, though, I’ve seen it among my kids’ friends, how all motivation seems to vanish. It is the slacker’s drug of choice. I have teenaged clients who are mandated to see me because of weed, and they pee into a cup. I want for them every ounce of motivation to get them out of poverty and do well in school, find a trade, make a better living than their parents.

Our group discussion gave me a chance to revisit my own struggles with identity, as well as my own compulsive behavior. Perhaps there is a parallel between my deep discovery in my early 40s that I am really and truly gay and my clients’ growing familiarity with their sober selves. For me, it was 2003. My husband had given me permission to figure out whether or not I was gay, bi, whatever. He’d had a serious heart attack, and earnestly pointed out that life is short. What a gift. What insanity. This journey led to the end of our marriage, which was a hard and painful process but also, to lives lived with authenticity. Thank goddess for therapists. The kids survived and thrived, and he has been with a lovely, gifted, hilarious and STRAIGHT woman for something like 10 years. I have been with the cowhand for nearly 6.

What made that part of my history relevant, perhaps, to the path of the newly sober, is that I had to regroup my identity. As my children’s father put it, I’d changed teams. Not only was I on a different team, that team had a culture, a lingo, a look and feel that was perceptible by something called ‘gaydar’ which I had the beginnings of but really needed to step up. I rented every classic lesbian movie I could find, and some of them were terrible, but all of them taught me something. As a feminine-appearing gay woman, I needed to learn about femmes and femme culture since I am so not a butch. I read Joan Nestle, founder of the Lesbian Herstory Archives, and the hilarious Leslea Newman who wrote, ‘Out of the Closet with Nothing to Wear’, and the classic, “Heather has two Mommies.” I watched lesbians, especially in lesbian spaces. I learned about my own body, my own range of gender expression.

I moved to the Oregon Outback to be with my sweetie full time instead of half the year, and out here, I miss gay space (like a gay bar, community center, or Pride event), other gay people, any tiny glimpse of a gender bending queer sensibility.

We all feel this way, in each of our identities. Jewish people feel more comfortable when surrounded by other Jews. Women feel relaxed when there are no men present, and vice versa. Alcoholics can avoid the stigma when they are with other alcoholics. Ranchers enjoy the company of other ranchers.

Just this past week I met, FINALLY, another gay person who lives in Lake County. This person is married, and so now I know there are FOUR GAY PEOPLE IN LAKE COUNTY. We’ll have a tiny gay pride parade in our living room come June, with a very large rainbow flag.

For my newly sober clients, it’s an adventure to learn who they are with their families, with their wives or husbands or girlfriends or boyfriends, with their employers, at their church. To say to their children, “yes, I have messed up, and I’m getting it together. No need to be sarcastic with me. I am still your parent.” They seek out the company of others in recovery to survive. There are several twelve step meetings in the county, thank goodness. Since all of my clients started using in their early teens, there is a lot of growing up to do, all the while they have very real and heavy adult responsibility. It’s a lot to manage, in a punitive and financially strapped environment.

For the sober, a hot bath has to take the place of a beer, or a bowl. All of those strong emotions cannot be mediated by a substance. Frustration? Anger? Sadness? How does one deal with those without an upper or a downer? And if I have a rough day, I do not have to buy a Peppermint Patty.

I seek to relate to them and their stories, even while I immerse myself in online courses about substance use disorder. It’s a bit narcissistic, I know, to search for my own parallel struggle to humanize theirs. But as Anne Lamott once so wisely said, I am the turd around which the world revolves.

On New Year’s Eve, I went to Soul Collage at Toni’s house in Paisley, and made a New Year’s mandala (which I shared a picture of, two posts ago.) In the center is a primate surrounded by bananas, and around the primate were examples of embodiment, words of encouragement, and healthy foods. It was shortly into 2017 that I was diagnosed with pancreatitis. I am now FORCED by my side pain and bad labs to get my eating act together, out of the realm of gluttony. Be careful what you wish for.

I went to Soul Collage again recently, and created two cards to help me tell the story of my clients, and also my own story. They depict the journey from serious faces to happy faces, with stops at

· Know thine enemy and maybe befriend them, (the man and the skunk, the user and the dealer, the lesbian and the Trumpette)

· Find your people and cuddle up to them to rest (like a pile of kittens)

· Be creative in all things, with colored pencils or your new sense of who you can be now

· Get used to feeling your feelings including the negative ones. They will not kill you. Smoking or ‘banging’ them away is procrastination. So are Peppermint Patties.

· Do the work. No way to short cut the work. Carry the water that needs carrying and don’t be a whiney child about it. I know it’s a bitch to be a grownup and exercise self-control when other people are allowed to be such pains in the asses!!! Remember: sometimes, I AM THAT BITCH.

· Allow time for joy, for running free, for deeply enjoying pleasure that doesn’t carry guilt. Find that joy if it’s new to you, the guilt-free kind! (Salad? Sigh. Knitting with the yarn I already own? YES.)

· Make a home within yourself if not in the outside world. Make that home cozy and full of love. Beautiful and familiar. Full of life and healing. (I’m ALWAYS working at this, the finding and maintenance of home…)

The journey to sobriety, to a whole and generous life, is not a straight line, more like a circle or a spiral, hopefully forward. All the same, as Proust said,

The real voyage of discovery consists in not seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.

#sobriety recovery

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