#it's a lot more than a self-portrait i can tell you that. perhaps someone who knew me REALLY well could guess what it is

[creatediana]

Photograph of part of an in-progress charcoal drawing featuring a self-portrait, taken 12/14/2022

The self-portrait is based off of the reference sketch I posted earlier this month

[leighsartworks216]

You Have A Type, Don't You?

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Based on this post

I wrote this instead of doing any of the work I need to do! I'm gonna go do that now lol

Warnings: innuendos, minor references to sex, the barest hints of jealousy

Word Count: 1,601

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Your pencil scratched across the paper, drawing Astarion over and over again on a single page. This wasn’t anything surprising; you drew all of your companions. Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae’zel - they all had pages of their own, but it was usually only one drawing. Some had even posed for it. It was just a way to relax, and their faces always lit up when you showed them, even if they tried not to show it.

Everyone needed a break from fighting and exploring day in day out, so you decided one more day here wouldn’t hurt. As such, you’ve spent the better half of the day just drawing. At first it was little doodles of Scratch, but then you realized you hadn’t drawn the vampire spawn yet.

Most of the expressions you captured came from memory. You’d occasionally sneak a glance for quick reference, pretending to stretch or get distracted by some birds. But at some point, he’d disappeared from camp. You just assumed he’d gone off hunting.

That assumption was proved quite wrong when a voice tsked over your shoulder, almost directly in your ear.

Startling away from the sound, you whipped around to see Astarion crouched down. He wore a self-satisfied smirk and settled down into a full sit on the ground.

“It seems someone is infatuated,” he teased. “So who is it? Someone we saved from peril, perhaps?”

Oh. Right. It had completely slipped your mind.

You cleared your throat as your cheeks warmed and smiled. “Y-Yeah, something like that.”

He chuckled. “Come on, darling, there’s nothing to be shy about. Spare none of the juicy details. What’s he like?”

“He’s, well,” you stammer, “he’s interesting.”

He scoffed. “That’s hardly juicy or a detail. Or is he just another pretty face?” He leaned forward, trying to get a better look at your drawings. You wanted to pull them away and hide them, but why? All the others had drawings done of them, and you loved showing it off when they were done. Why was this any different?

“No, he’s a lot more than that,” you admit quietly. You weren’t good at lying - usually Astarion took the lead any time you had to - but maybe if you didn’t tell a complete lie… “He’s funny, charming. His laugh lights up my world. He’s had a rough go of it, but he doesn’t like it to show.”

“He must like you if you know,” he hummed. Your heart leapt into your throat as he pointed to the pin pricks drawn on the neck. “Is he a vampire, too?” He chuckled, but it sounded strained. “You have a type, don’t you?”

You scoffed even as warmth flooded to your cheeks. “No! I do not have a type.”

“No, of course not,” he played along. “Certainly not for creatures of the night who bite into that pretty little neck of yours.” Despite his smile, there was a tension in his eyes. “I don’t mind, dear. I’d be more than happy to scrounge around some nights so you may indulge your new lover.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to do that, Astarion,” you assured. “He’s not… We’re not together.”

“No?” You shook your head again. He opened his mouth to give you advice or console you, but you cut him off. It was better to end this fantasy now, before it began to hurt too much.

“It doesn’t matter. Besides, you shouldn’t be sneaking around so you can look over my shoulder. I could have been drawing something terrible.”

He laughed. “All the more reason to risk a peek. You’re so good, it would be nice to know you can be tempted.” Then he scowled. “Unless it’s something terribly dull. You deserve much more than missionary.”

If your cheeks weren’t already blazing hot…

“In any case, I was only wondering when you’d draw my portrait. You seemed more than happy to provide the others with a likeness. And…” He looked past you, seemingly far away. “I haven’t seen myself in two centuries. One gets curious, especially when you’re as vain as me.”

If he heard your heart start racing, he didn’t comment on it. Drawing him would make him realize it wasn’t some other vampire crush you were drawing. But, it had been a while since your adventure began, and you’d drawn everyone else. You swallowed down your anxiety. “Yeah! Of course! Did you wanna pose, or anything?”

He blinked and suddenly he was back in the present. A sly smirk covered up whatever emotions could be lingering on his face. “If your little vampire friend doesn’t get too jealous. I would actually like if you could draw me just,” he paused, “smiling. It would be nice to know what everyone else sees. Make sure I’m not off-putting, you know how it is.”

Once he was sitting comfortably, you turned to a fresh page and began drawing. The paper was hidden from his view, but he watched as your hand, wrist, and arm all moved in tandem like a clock’s gears to create an image. Your eyes moved between the sketch and him multiple times. Sometimes you’d glance up and draw for almost a minute. Then other times you kept going back and forth, constantly checking for reference.

Watching you work was fascinating. All your surroundings faded away. Karlach being her usual loud self, Wyll dancing, Gale cooking, Lae’zel sharpening weapons - nothing could turn your attention from him. He almost felt subconscious with the intensity of it. Your eyes studied him, taking in every single feature, and translated it to your journal. What did you see when you looked at him, he wondered. What did the world see? It had been so long, he couldn’t even remember his face. All he knew was he was attractive.

With a final few marks, brushed away to blend them into the rest, you looked down at your masterpiece. You were so caught up in the drawing you forgot why you were hesitant before, but now that Astarion stared at you from two different angles, your anxiety came back full force. There was no way out of this.

“All done, dear?”

You smiled shakily up at him and turned the journal around. His face scrunched up in confusion. When he met your eyes, he was decidedly unamused. “Darling, if you’re going to draw your fleeting fancy, don’t trick me first. I know it’s hard to see past the depraved bloodlust, but we don’t all look alike, you know.”

“No, Astarion, it’s not- I-”

While you fought to find words, Karlach picked up the slack. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted across the camp, “IT’S YOU, FANGS!”

Dread washed over you. You closed your eyes. If a merciful god was going to kill you and rid you of this embarrassment, now would be the time. A bolt of lightning, perhaps. You’d even welcome decapitation.

You risked a glance when you felt your book being tugged carefully from your hands. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open as he tried to comprehend what the fuck had just happened. Gods, now he was going to leave camp. You buried your face in your hands. He was going to pack everything up and leave before the sun even touched the horizon. And you’d never see him again. Maybe you’d go find Cazador yourself, just to kill the bastard.

“All these drawings… are me? Darling?”

You inhaled deeply and lowered your hands, but you couldn’t bear looking at him. He could stab you with his dagger and you’d apologize to him for it all. Hell, you’d let him drink you dry if it meant leaving this all behind you. “You’re very pretty,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t know how to ask, and just- You can rip the pages out, burn them, whatever makes you feel better. And if you leave, I won’t blame you or chase after you or-”

“I’m not upset.” Your head never shot up so fast. “Well, a little. You’re not subtle when you stare, you know. I thought you were just uncomfortable being around a vampire, but this…” He turned back to the portrait you’d just finished. “This is really what I look like?”

You swallowed away a small portion of the shame. At least he wasn’t running away. “As best as I can capture you, anyway. Y-You’ve got these sharp eyes, and your hair curls around your ears, and you get little wrinkles around your eyes and mouth when you laugh - and I just like drawing you.”

The page flipped over again. The page of expressions, capturing everything you described. When he smiled full and bright his fangs were on full display, accented by the laugh lines on either side of his mouth. And the puncture wounds on his neck…

“Ah, so when I said you had a type…” He chuckled, but it didn’t hold as much warmth as usual.

“Your laugh does light up my world,” you admit. His red eyes were on you in an instant, flickering over your whole face. “Just, for the record.”

He glanced at the drawings once more, contemplative. Then, he held the book back out to you. “I wouldn’t be… opposed to trying this. Whatever this is.”

You reached out to take it, but he pulled it away. “But, no more sneaking glances across camp when you want to draw me. I would be delighted to model for you again, in any pose your sweet heart can concoct.” He held the book out again. “Deal?”

You grabbed onto the book, finally relaxing as you smiled. “Deal.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @mjmygd @flsalazar @thedevilssinner @marina-and-the-memes @softempest @rebeccasship @pinkishredlemonade @faeoran

[writingforatwistedworld]

Requests are open?? May I request Lilia and Malleus from the self aware au with a player who is an artist and draws them a lot?

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsession, death, murder, hypocrisy, fire, coma, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior

Malleus Draconia/Lilia Vanrouge-Player is an artist who draws them a lot

Doesn't matter what kind of style and form of art you practice, you have a fan

Classical? Great! Realism? Wonderful! Stick-man-style? He put the picture in a golden frame (All hail the stick-man style!)

But if Malleus were to ever find out that said stick man is supposed to be him, well he would be over the moon

It was a totally normal day, a cat was choking up a hairball and some poor student fell off of his broom in flying class and was now stuck in a tree

But that is of no importance to us

What is of importance though is Malleus strolling down the path down to Ramshackle and seeing you sit on the stairs with paper and other drawing utensils

Completely normal. Peaceful even. Maybe a bit too peaceful

You see, if you hadn't been too absorbed into rubbing colored pigments into dead wood then you would have seen the tall black wall approaching you

A shadow falls over your shoulder and you scream

Is that... him? Why is the Overseer draw-oh

Malleus is metaphorically (more or less. Meh, he is probably this close to doing it also literally) frothing from his mouth after seeing himself in more than just one paper after the small stack stabilizing the paper you drew on slipped from your hands

Forgetting his manners he rips the paper from the ground, staring with eyes wide as plates onto the thinly pressed wood (granny is somewhere shaking her head)

Why would the Overseer, watcher over worlds, almighty ruler of everything, a god, draw him?

Coughing nervously you explained that you just are interested in are and liked to draw him

Later when he is back in Diasomnia Lilia is greeted with the sight of a tail-wagging Malleus (yes Malleus has a tail and I have no idea how he hides it)

“Lilia, the Overseer likes to draw me.”-moments before calamity struck and Malleus accidentally lit the dorm aflame from sheer joy

But... perhaps you shouldn't draw anyone else

Who knows? Maybe that person disappears for a while and just to be found in a deep coma (don't do it)

Whoa whoa whoa darling, let us not jump at him from nowhere with the fact that you like to draw him

After all, he is quite old and we don't know what his poor heart can still take

Now how about you tell him about your interest in art fir- ah... From your expression I take that it is too late for that

Indeed it is

One day you were just sitting there in Ramshackle, T-posing or whatever you do when you are not drawing

Remember that scene when Lilia was introduced to us? Well “How do you do fellow kids” over here just popped out of thin air

Now, that would have been nothing special if it wasn't for the stack of paper with his face on it on the table...

Lilia is staring, you are staring and the gargoyles are facepalming

Poor man has to take a seat all whilst you watch him with cold sweat running down your back

Suddenly Lilia isn't that “always energetic” guy but looks a lot more vulnerable

In Lilias mind however he is planning how to burn that one portrait of himself in the Draconia castle and replace it with your art

Or so he thought until he looked what else you drew

For goodness sake, someone call an ambulance! I think he is about to pass out!

If the situation wasn't already awkward enough for you (and euphoric for him) Lilia suddenly kneels down, saying something about being honored and him swearing to be forever loyal to you

Oh sweet summer child, how easily you told him “Oh thanks...” If only you knew what would follow...

You see, Lilia might have had seen a few too many heads being severed from their bodies but, oh well, all those students were a teeny tiny bit too close to you for his comfort

Suddenly there is an increase in missing students who get found in... uh... “not compatible with life” conditions

See? It's dangerous outside! Let him watch over you!

Says the person responsible for everything

You had shown your appreciation through your art, now it's his turn to show his

And what if a few students need to get hurt? (Yeah, “hurt”)

[thetarsier]

I would love just some good old fluff/angst moments, anything you want or think of I will be happy with. Inej or Remus have my heart but feel free to do any six of crow or marauders character<3 also welcome to tumblr!!!!

a/n: thank you for this, and thank you for the welcome! i'm liking it so far... :)

Summary: You overhear Remus talking about his crush, and it doesn’t occur to you that it might be you.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/notes: fem!reader, self-doubt and self-deprecating thoughts, drinking and being drunk, i think that’s it.

<3: remus lupin x fem!reader

You smiled as you entered the portrait that led to the Gryffindor common room. It had been a long day, and all you really wanted was to see your friends, your boys, and have them cheer you up. You knew they were in there since they rarely ever left unless they were pulling a prank, and the anticipation of seeing them made you practically giddy. 

Well, the anticipation of seeing one of them in particular: Remus. He’d been your friend since first year, but ever since you were twelve, you’d wanted something more from him. You couldn’t tell if he felt the same way; Remus was the master of mixed signals, and you, the queen of overthinking. In an effort to keep him by your side, you never spoke or acted on your feelings, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there.

“Ooh, Moony’s whipped,” Sirius laughed loudly, and you slowed your steps, “Honestly, mate, there’s nothing you can do now. You’re gone.”

“Don’t tease me,” Remus complained, “I know, I know. I just can’t stop thinking about her.” 

That stopped you in your tracks. Remus had a crush on someone. Someone that was probably much prettier, smarter, and funnier than you. Somebody who Remus hadn’t seen in her pyjamas on a Saturday afternoon, somebody who hadn’t laughed so hard she spat her drink out in front of him. A nice, ladylike girl. 

“We know, she’s so perfect,” James chipped in, “You tell us every time. I’m sick of listening to it.”

“‘Her hair, her eyes, her smile,’” Sirius imitated Remus, and you took a step back towards the portrait hole, “‘God, her laugh.’” 

You should have known that Remus would never like you back. You were quiet, and awkward, and you didn’t always like the pranks that he and the boys played on the other students. Of course, he was looking elsewhere while your eyes were glued to him. After almost five years of pining, this was how your relationship was meant to play out. 

Running from the common room, you had no destination in mind, just the knowledge that you weren’t good enough and the urgent need to find somewhere quiet to cry in your head.

~~~

“Hey, sweet girl,” Remus grinned as he slid into the seat next to you, “Sleep well?”

You smiled weakly with a small nod in his direction before you turned your attention back to Professor McGonagall, who was explaining the lesson at the front of the classroom. Remus’ shoulder brushed yours as he twisted to set his bag down, and you immediately shuffled away from him, trying to keep your eyes on your teacher despite Remus’ attention being on you. 

“Everything okay?” He asked in that kind tone that made your insides pool, “You didn’t come to see us yesterday.”

“I’m fine. I just had a lot of work to do.”

Remus let it go in favour of writing down the notes that McGongall had written on the board, and you tried your hardest to ignore his presence beside you. You used to think that it meant something, only because James and Sirius sat all the way on the other side of the room, and Remus chose to leave his friends to sit next to you. 

Now, you knew that it was nothing but pity that drove him to sit with you. 

The lesson ended with the bell, and you gathered your things without another word to Remus. His eyes burned holes into your back as you retreated, but he didn’t try to go after you, probably because James and Sirius were more important than you, or perhaps the girl he actually liked was in the class, too, and he was distracted by her. 

Either way, his silence was enough confirmation for you, and you hurried to the library in an attempt to get away from him. 

Remus spent a lot of time in the library, but you knew that he had ancient runes next period, which gave you at least an hour to study before he might find you. Then, you could hide in your dorm until dinner, where you could surround yourself with some of your other friends and act too busy to care about him. 

You wanted to be happy for Remus - he’d confided in you about how difficult it was for him to open up to people and trust them, so him having a crush on someone was huge - but the jealousy was almost too much to bear. You would bear it, though. You would bear the weight of the world for him, and the only pain you would feel would be the knowledge that he wouldn’t do the same for you.

Which was fine, of course, it was fine; you couldn’t force Remus to feel for you what you felt for him. It hurt, though. A steady, piercing type of pain that clawed down your throat and lodged itself in your heart, stabbing you every time you thought of him, or your non-existent future together.

And, oh, did you imagine. Living somewhere peaceful in the countryside, probably not very rich, but definitely happy. Baking cookies whenever you wanted, dancing in the kitchen at midnight, waking up and seeing his face illuminated by the soft sun. Having dinner parties with the other boys, drinking wine outside and watching the sunset, having him kiss your forehead as the two of you saw out another day. It was all there for you to access, yet it was wholly inaccessible. 

It had been more than your designated hour by the time you wrapped up, and as you picked up your bag to leave, you noticed Remus standing in the doorway, eyes searching the library for something. You cringed away, turning around and hiding behind the nearest bookshelf until the time came when you peered around the wood and found that the sandy-haired boy was gone. 

Only then did you leave, heading straight to your dorm to avoid Remus some more.

~~~

Gryffindor had won the quidditch cup, and James was throwing a party in the common room to celebrate. A party which involved a lot of alcohol, music, and dancing. It wasn’t your usual scene, but you’d gone to show your support, and you couldn’t even get to the door to leave if you had wanted to. 

You were, however, pressed up against the wall, practically willing it to swallow you up as you watched Remus talking to a group of girls across the room. They were all giggling at the things he was saying, one of them even reaching over to touch his arm. Remus wasn’t yours to be possessive over, but the jealousy was rising back up your throat quicker than you could control it, fuelled by the alcohol in your system. 

With a scoff, you pushed off of the wall and climbed the stairs to your left, following them around until you came to the window, where you decided to sit for a bit, just to get a bit of air. It was a wonder that a couple hadn’t decided to stop there for some time alone, but it was all the better for you as you stared out at the hills that surrounded the castle. 

You weren’t certain how long you’d sat there staring, but it certainly wasn’t long enough before somebody interrupted you by clearing their throat. Breaking your gaze, you turned to whoever it was, not sure whether to be surprised or not when your eyes landed on Remus, hands shoved into his pockets awkwardly. 

“You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah. Fine.” You answered.

He sighed, sitting down on the window seat by your feet and staring intently at you. By the slight droop of his eyes, you could tell that he’d had a few drinks, possibly even more than you. 

“You’ve been so off lately,” He accused, his voice slightly less gentle than it usually was with you, “What’s up with you?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Did I do something? Is that what it is? Did I upset you in some way?” He reached forward and gripped one of your hands, “Please, forgive me.”

“Stop, Remus,” You tugged your hand from between his, “You’re just being mean, now.”

“Mean?” He pulled back, brows furrowed, “I’ve been mean to you.”

He said it like it was a fact. Like he was simply accepting what you’d said as the truth, and something about it felt wrong. He hadn’t been mean to you. He didn’t owe you anything, he was just doing what he wanted to do and if that didn’t include you, then that wasn’t up to you.

Shaking your head, you answered, “No, you haven’t. I’m just tired.”

“Don’t do that to me-” He slinked forward, the top of his head falling onto your chest, eyes looking right down into your cleavage. “-I don’t ever want to be mean to you.”

“You’re not,” You gently encouraged his head away from you, your hand lingering on his cheek for slightly too long, “It’s my fault.”

“No,” He pouted, “Nothing’s your fault. Nothing ever.”

You laughed, and his pout lightened into a smile, “I think I’m at fault quite a bit. Come on, you should go to bed.”

“Only if you join me.” 

Again, you laughed, standing and allowing him to lean his weight onto you as you climbed the rest of the stairs up to his dorm and into his bed. You didn’t bother helping him undress, or brush his teeth, or anything of the sort - he was far too drunk to bother with any of those things - but he gripped onto your hand, prohibiting you from leaving before he fell asleep and his grip finally loosened. 

You left him in his bed, asleep, closing the door softly behind you. Remus was your best friend, that was all. You were going to have to get used to that before it ate you up from the inside out.

~~~

Remus found you again the next morning, hair still messy, and dark circles apparent under his eyes. He dropped onto the grass next to you, fingers immediately beginning to pick at the grass in front of him as you smiled a greeting at him. 

“Thanks for taking care of me last night.” He offered in his own greeting. 

“I just put you to bed, it’s fine. However, I did have the privilege of  listening to you ramble about how I can do no wrong, so…”

“God…” He buried his face in his hands, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I’ll be reminding you of it whenever we next argue.”

He blushed, and you failed miserably at trying to stop your heart from turning into a puddle at your feet. God, this whole ‘trying not to have a crush on your best friend’ thing was going terribly - it seemed that you were particularly bad at not being in love with Remus Lupin, it was as though nothing he could do would ever dissuade you. You just wanted to be his, even if he wanted to be someone else’s. 

“So,” You started again, “Did you talk to her at the party?”

“Who?” He furrowed his eyebrows, revealing the small dimple right above his right brow that you longed to brush over with your thumb. 

“Your crush. I heard you talking about her a couple of weeks ago, you know,” You admitted, avoiding his eyes, “If she has any sense, she’ll be head over heels for you, too.”

“I’m not so sure…” Remus trailed off, “She’s been a bit distant lately.”

“Maybe she’s just confused,” You smiled despite the fault forming in your heart, “Or playing hard to get.”

“She’s not the type,” Remus returned your smile with a slightly embarrassed one of his own, “You heard me talk about her? Do you know who she is?”

“No, I didn’t hear her name.”

Perhaps you were imagining the way his shoulders sagged in what seemed to simultaneously be relief and disappointment, but you certainly didn’t fabricate his finger brushing over yours on the prickly grass. 

“Do you want to know her name?”

You nodded. Despite the fact that you already despised this girl beyond belief, you were also sure that if Remus liked her, she had to be some kind of angel on Earth. She was probably the kindest, prettiest girl at Hogwarts, and you held your breath as though waiting to be handed a court verdict.

But you weren’t given a name. Instead, a warm hand brushed your cheek, and Remus leaned towards you, lips just a breath away from yours, waiting for you to pull back. When you didn’t, paralysed by shock and desire, he persevered and kissed you. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that played with fireworks in the back in a dramatic film, it was a soft, slow, special kind of kiss that seemed unique to the two of you. 

It was perfect. 

When Remus pulled away, hands still holding your face, the only thing you could manage to say was: “So? What’s her name?”

And all Remus could do was laugh before he kissed you again and again and again.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

(But for real this time,) how’s about Harvey Dent and how he feels about a VERY ARTISTIC and creative significant other. Portrait of two face in oils on velvet? Uncaring? Free graphic design? Inquiring minds must know.

Harvey Dent with an artistic s/o

oh yes hello Cirice let's TALK ABOUT the coin man. Your husband who likes holding hands with you and tracing your jawline with his thumb. Or you tracing his...

Tw: none

I think the fact that it's his significant other already puts them in a rather favorable position. Perhaps in line with his complete psyche devotion to duality, he struggles with self-loathing and just telling everyone who doesn't like him to go fuck themselves. This makes seeing images of himself both marred and unmarred difficult.

Which, as you can imagine, this makes his old campaign pictures a unique and confusing form of hell. Longing for his life when he wasn't a "freak." Liking the fear and power they potentially instill for him in the city. He'd never associate something YOU did with those.

No... The portraits you do for him make him feel... very uniquely human. When he looks at them, they don't feel divided. The unscarred side of his face looks soft. A peaceful remembrance rather than an ugly mourning. The detail of the other side... whether it's spot on realistic or more of an interpretation- It makes him feel a certain way. He doesn't know how to describe it.

You find this rendition that makes him feel deeper emotions. He'll stare for a really long time and you might even think for a moment that he's angry. That he's going to get huffy and run off.

"Can I... touch it? Will I ruin it if I touch it?"

When you tell him no, if it's a painting, he'll run his bare fingers over the texture. The hint of a smile ghosts over his face and he nods.

When he turns around, his hand goes to your shoulder, "You did good, kid."

The next time you see it, he has it put up in a private collection for him to see all the time. He'll do that a lot with anything you make him. He likes having reminders of you, someone who loves him, around.

Maybe he's not such a freak after all.

[testudoaubrei-blog]

Content note for discussions of eternal damnation, and all sorts of other shit that will trigger a lot of folks with religious trauma.

Before I get started I might as well explain where I’m coming from - unlike a lot of She-Ra fans, and a lot of queer people, I don’t have much religious trauma, or any, maybe (okay there were a number of years I was convinced I was going to hell, but that happens to everyone, right?). I was raised a liberal Christian by liberal Christian parents in the Episcopal Church, where most of my memories are overwhelmingly positive. Fuck, growing up in the 90’s, Chuch was probably the only place outside my home I didn’t have homophobia spewed at me. Because it was the 90’s and it was a fucking hellscape of bigotry where 5 year olds knew enough to taunt each other with homophobic slurs and the adults didn’t know enough to realize how fucked up that was. Anyway. This is my experience, but it is an atypical one, and I know it. Quite frankly I know that my experience of Christianity has very little at all to do with what most people experienced, or what people generally mean when they talk about Christianity as a cultural force in America today. So if you were raised Christian and you don’t recognize your theology here, congrats, neither do I, but these ideas and cultural forces are huge and powerful and dominant. And it’s this dominant Christian narrative that I’m referring to in this post. As well as, you know, a children’s cartoon about lesbian rainbow princesses. So here it goes. This is going to get batshit.

"All events whatsoever are governed by the secret counsel of God." - John Calvin

“We’re all just a bunch of wooly guys” - Noelle Stevenson

This is a post triggered by a single scene, and a single line. It’s one of the most fucked-up scenes in She-Ra, toward the end of Save the Cat. Catra, turned into a puppet by Prime, struggles with her chip, desperately trying to gain control of herself, so lost and scared and vulnerable that she flings aside her own death wish and her pride and tearfully begs Adora to rescue her. Adora reaches out , about to grab her, and then Prime takes control back, pronounces ‘disappointing’ and activates the kill switch that pitches Catra off the platform and to her death (and seriously, she dies here, guys - also Adora breaks both her legs in the fall). But before he does, he dismisses Catra with one of his most chilling lines. “Some creatures are meant only for destruction.”

And that’s when everyone watching probably had their heart broken a little bit, but some of the viewers raised in or around Christianity watching the same scene probably whispered ‘holy shit’ to themselves. Because Prime’s line - which works as a chilling and callous dismissal of Catra - is also an allusion to a passage from the Bible. In fact, it’s from one of the most fucked up passages in a book with more than its share of fucked up passages. It’s from Romans 9:22, and I’m going to quote several previous verses to give the context of the passage (if not the entire Epistle, which is more about who needs to abide by Jewish dietary restrictions but was used to construct a systematic theology in the centuries afterwards because people decided it was Eternal Truth).

19 Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth he yet find fault? For who hath resisted his will?

20 Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?

21 Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?

22 What if God, willing to shew his wrath, and to make his power known, endured with much longsuffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction:

The context of the allusion supports the context in the show. Prime is dismissing Catra - serial betrayer, liar, failed conqueror, former bloody-handed warlord - as worthless, as having always been worthless and fit only to be destroyed. He is speaking from a divine and authoritative perspective (because he really does think he’s God, more of this in my TL/DR Horde Prime thing). Prime is echoing not only his own haughty dismissal of Catra, and Shadow Weaver’s view of her, but also perhaps the viewer’s harshest assessment of her, and her own worst fears about herself. Catra was bad from the start, doomed to destroy and to be destroyed. A malformed pot, cracked in firing, destined to be shattered against a wall and have her shards classified by some future archaeologist 2,000 years later. And all that’s bad enough.

But the full historical and theological context of this passage shows the real depth of Noelle Stevenson’s passion and thought and care when writing this show. Noelle was raised in Evangelical or Fundamentalist Christianity. To my knowledge, he has never specified what sect or denomination, but in interviews and her memoir Noelle has shown a particular concern for questions that this passage raises, and a particular loathing for the strains of Protestant theology that take this passage and run with it - that is to say, Calvinism. So while I’m not sure if Noelle was raised as a conservative, Calvinist Presbyterian, his preoccupation with these questions mean that it’s time to talk about Calvinism.

It would be unfair, perhaps, to say that Calvinism is a systematic theology built entirely upon the Epistles of Romans and Galatians, but only -just- (and here my Catholic readers in particular will chuckle to themselves and lovingly stroke their favorite passage of the Epistle of James). The core of Calvinist Doctrine is often expressed by the very Dutch acronym TULIP:

Total Depravity - people are wholly evil, and incapable of good action or even willing good thoughts or deeds

Unconditional Election - God chooses some people to save because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, not because they did anything to deserve, trigger or accept it

Limited Atonement - Jesus died only to save the people God chose to save, not the rest of us bastards

Irresistible Grace - God chooses some people to be saved - if you didn’t want to be saved, too bad, God said so.

Perseverance of the Saints - People often forget this one and assume it’s ‘predestination’ but it’s actually this - basically, once saved by God, always saved, and if it looks like someone falls out of grace, they were never saved to begin with. Well that’s all sealed up tight I guess.

Reading through these, predestination isn’t a single doctrine in Calvinism but the entire theological underpinnings of it together with humanity’s utter powerlessness before sin. Basically God has all agency, humanity has none. Calvinism (and a lot of early modern Protestantism) is obsessed with questions of how God saves people (grace alone, AKA Sola Fides) and who God saves (the people god elects and only the people God elects, and fuck everyone else).

It’s apparent that Noelle was really taken by these questions, and repelled by the answers he heard. He’s alluded to having a tattoo refuting the Gospel passage about Sheep and Goats being sorted at the end times, affirming instead that ‘we’re all just a bunch of wooly guys’ (you can see this goat tattoo in some of his self-portraits in comics, etc). He’s also mentioned that rejecting and subverting destiny is a huge part of everything he writes as a particular rejection of the idea that some individual people are 'chosen' by God or that God has a plan for any of us. You can see that -so clearly- in Adora’s arc, where Adora embraces and then rejects destiny time and again and finally learns to live life for herself.

But for Catra, we’re much more concerned about the most negative aspect of this - the idea that some people are vessels meant for destruction. And that’s something else that Noelle is preoccupied with. In her memoir in the section about leaving the church and becoming a humanistic atheist, there is a drawing of a pot and the question ‘Am I a vessel prepared for destruction?’ Obviously this was on Noelle’s mind (And this is before he came out to himself as queer!).

To look at how this question plays out in Catra’s entire arc, let’s first talk about how ideas of damnation and salvation actually play out in society. And for that I’m going to plug one of my favorite books, Gin Lun’s Damned Nation: Hell in America from the Revolution to Reconstruction (if you can tell by now, I am a fucking blast at parties). Lun tells the long and very interesting story about, how ideas of hell and who went there changed during the Early American Republic. One of the interesting developments that she talks about is how while at first people who were repelled by Calvinism started moving toward a doctrine of universal salvation (no on goes to hell, at least not forever*), eventually they decided that hell was fine as long as only the right kind of people went there. Mostly The Other - non-Christian foreigners, Catholics, Atheists, people who were sinners in ways that were not just bad but weird and violated Victorian ideas of respectability. Really, Hell became a way of othering people, and arguably that’s how it survives today, especially as a way to other queer people (but expanding this is slated for my Montero rant). Now while a lot of people were consciously rejecting Calvinist predestination, they were still drawing the distinction between the Elect (good, saved, worthwhile) and the everyone else (bad, damned, worthless). I would argue that secularized ideas of this survive to this day even among non-Christian spaces in our society - we like to draw lines between those who Elect, and those who aren’t.

And that’s what brings us back to Catra. Because Catra’s entire arc is a refutation of the idea that some people are worthless and irredeemable, either by nature, nurture or their own actions. Catra’s actions strain the conventions of who is sympathetic in a Kid’s cartoon - I’ve half joked that she’s Walter White as a cat girl, and it’s only half a joke. She’s cruel, self-deluded, she spends 4 seasons refusing to take responsibility for anything she does and until Season 5 she just about always chooses the thing that does the most damage to herself and others. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, the show goes out of its way to demonstrate that Catra is morally culpable in every step of her descent into evil (except maybe her break with reality just before she pulls the lever). The way that Catra personally betrays everyone around her, the way she strips herself of all of her better qualities and most of what makes her human, hell even her costume changes would signal in any other show that she’s irredeemable.

It’s tempting to see this as Noelle’s version of being edgy - pushing the boundaries of what a sympathetic character is, throwing out antiheroics in favor of just making the villain a protagonist. Noelle isn’t quite Alex ‘I am in the business of traumatizing children’ Hirsch, who seems to have viewed his job as pushing the bounds of what you could show on the Disney Channel (I saw Gravity Falls as an adult and a bunch of that shit lives rent free in my nightmares forever), but Noelle has his own dark side, mostly thematically. The show’s willingness to deal with abuse, and messed up religious themes, and volatile, passionate, not particularly healthy relationships feels pretty daring. I’m not joking when I gleefully recommend this show to friends as ‘a couple from a Mountain Goats Song fights for four seasons in a cartoon intended for 9 year olds’. Noelle is in his own way pushing the boundaries of what a kids show can do. If you read Noelle’s other works like Nimona, you see an argument for Noelle being at least a bit edgy. Nimona is also angry, gleefully destructive, violent and spiteful - not unlike Catra. Given that it was a 2010s webcomic and not a kids show, Nimona is a good deal worse than Catra in some ways - Catra doesn’t kill people on screen, while Nimona laughs about it (that was just like, a webcomic thing - one of the fan favorite characters in my personal favorite, Narbonic, was a fucking sociopath, and the heroes were all amoral mad scientists, except for the superintelligent gerbil**). But unlike Nimona, whose fate is left open ended, Catra is redeemed.

And that is weird. We’ve had redemption arcs, but generally not of characters with -so- much vile stuff in their history. Going back to the comparison between her and Azula, many other shows, like Avatar, would have made Catra a semi-sympathetic villain who has a sob-story in their origin but who is beyond redemption, and in so doing would articulate a kind of psychologized Calvinism where some people are too traumatized to ever be fully and truly human. I’d argue this is the problem with Azula as a character - she’s a fun villain, but she doesn’t have moral agency, and the ultimate message of her arc - that she’s a broken person destined only to hurt people - is actually pretty fucked up. And that’s the origin story of so many serial killers and psycopaths that populate so many TV shows and movies. Beyond ‘hurt people hurt people’ they have nothing to teach us except perhaps that trauma makes you a monster and that the only possible response to people doing bad things is to cut them out of your life and out of our society (and that’s why we have prisons, right?)

And so Catra’s redemption and the depths from which she claws herself back goes back to Noelle’s desire to prove that no person is a vessel ‘fitted for destruction.’ Catra goes about as far down the path of evil as we’ve ever seen a protagonist in a kids show go, and she still has the capacity for good. Importantly, she is not subject to total depravity - she is capable of a good act, if only one at first. Catra is the one who begins her own redemption (unlike in Calvinism, where grace is unearned and even unwelcomed) - because she wants something better than what she has, even if its too late, because she realizes that she never wanted any of this anyway, because she wants to do one good thing once in her life even if it kills her.

The very extremity of Catra’s descent into villainy serves to underline the point that Noelle is trying to make - that no one can be written off completely, that everyone is capable of change, and that no human being is garbage, no matter how twisted they’ve become. Meanwhile her ability to set her own redemption in motion is a powerful statement of human agency, and healing, and a refutation of Calvinism’s idea that we are powerless before sin or pop cultural tropes about us being powerful before the traumas of our upbringing. Catra’s arc, then, is a kind of anti-Calvinist theological statement - about the nature of people and the nature of goodness.

Now, there is a darker side to this that Noelle has only hinted at, but which is suggested by other characters on the show. Because while Catra’s redemption shows that people are capable of change, even when they’ve done horrible things, been fucked up and fucked themselves up, it also illustrates the things people do to themselves that make change hard. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, two of the most sinister parts of her descent into villainy are her self-dehumanization (crushing her own compassion and desire to do good) and her rewriting of her own history in her speech and memory to make her own actions seem justified (which we see with her insistence that Adora left her, eliding Adora’s offers to have Catra join her, or her even more clearly false insistence that Entrapta had betrayed them). In Catra, these processes keep her going down the path of evil, and allow her to nearly destroy herself and everyone else. But we can see the same processes at work in two much darker figures - Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime. These are both rants for another day, but the completeness of Shadow Weaver’s narcissistic self-justification and cultivated callousness and the even more complete narcissism of Prime’s god complex cut both characters off from everyone around them. Perhaps, in a theoretical sense, they are still redeemable, but for narrative purposes they might as well be damned.

This willingness to show a case where someone -isn’t- redeemed actually serves to make Catra’s redemption more believable, especially since Noelle and the writers draw the distinction between how Catra and SW/Prime can relate to reality and other people, not how broken they are by their trauma (unlike Zuko and Azula, who are differentiated by How Fucked Uolp They Are). Redemption is there, it’s an option, we can always do what is right, but someone people will choose not to, in part because doing the right thing involves opening ourselves to the world and others, and thus being vulnerable. Noelle mentions this offhandedly in an interview after Season 1 with the She-Ra Progressive of Power podcast - “I sometimes think that shades of grey, sympathetic villains are part of the escapist fantasy of shows like this.” Because in the real world, some people are just bastards, a point that was particularly clear in 2017. Prime and Shadow Weaver admit this reality, while Catra makes a philosophical point that even the bastards can change their ways (at least in theory).

*An idea first proposed in the second century by Origen, who’s a trip and a fucking half by himself, and an idea that becomes the Catholic doctrine of purgatory, which protestants vehemently denied!

**Speaking of favorite Noelle tropes

[joy1579]

self indulgent

I've been sad. so i wrote a thing to make me less sad. maybe it'll make someone else less sad too or at the very least they can laugh at my “cringe” but either way it did make me less sad so goal accomplished.

Mc and jumin organize a bookshelf jumin asks what neko girls are and MC short circuits his brain for a couple of seconds. no smut just fluff

Moving hadn’t taken long. You had opted to donate your furniture to the local homeless shelter since Jumin’s penthouse was furnished with the highest quality furniture you could dream of. Honestly most of your things paled in comparison to the lavish goods Jumin considered tawdry. Still there were a quite a few boxes you had decided to save, filled mostly with sentimental keepsakes and the few odds and ends that catered to your specific tastes. You were practically finished by noon save the three or four boxes that sat in the main room next to the larger than life bookshelves. Certainly there was plenty of room on them. You never where a fan of negative space on bookshelves but if you were being completely honest that had more to do with how many books you needed to fit in such a finite space. Jumins bookshelves had plenty of room with just enough negative space to look perfectly balanced and while you knew Jumin had told you to do whatever you wished this felt intimate. Bookshelves where holy spaces after all, housing books that change hearts and minds alike that shape the soul and … okay so maybe you just really liked books and that made them seem important to you either way this was definitely something you wanted to do with Jumin. When you heard the door rattle with Jumin homecoming you bolt towards it excited to greet him after work.

“Jumin! Welcome home!” you cried bouncing in place as he made his way inside. You smiled as you saw the creases in his brown flatten and the stress slip from shoulders when he saw you. You waited all of 5 seconds for him to close the door giving you both some privacy from the bodyguards stationed outside before you pounced, leaping upon the business man wrapping your arms around his neck. You delighted in the deep honey of his laughter as he caught your waist in kind and kissed the top of your head gently.

“darling. I’m so glad to be home. How was your day? did you get settled?” Jumin asked as you pulled yourself back slightly giving him room to loosen his tie and set aside his coat.

“everything is in its place except um Jumin there is one thing I need if you don’t mind”

“name it and its yours”

“I wanted to share your bookshelves and I was hoping that maybe you could organize the books with me?” you admitted shyly. It had seemed like such a good idea in the beginning he could show you his favorite books, walk you through his favorite plots and tell you his favorite quotes and you could do the same with him. Yet now as you presented the idea to him you worried. What if he was to tired he had worked all day after all, what if he thought you too needy, or your books to childish. what if he didn’t want your books displayed in the living room because they weren’t very pretty, all of his books where gorgeous leather bound tomes or mint condition hardcovers, yours where second hand at best many where decommissioned library books or garage sale rescues, broken in battered and bruised by years of use. It would make sense to have them put away in a back room where they couldn’t tarnish the pristine collection Jumin had on display. Perhaps you where spiraling, working yourself into a nervous frenzy in the span of a few seconds.

“nothing would make me happier love. We can call the chef to start dinner and begin emptying the shelves for rearranging while he works.” You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face or the giggle that escaped your lips. The surprise on Jumins face was evident if only for a second before it gave way to a warm sort of fondness. “had I known simple redecorating would make you this happy I would have stayed home and done it all with you” he said affectionately running his fingers through your hair.

“it’s not that I just,” you paused face flushing a bit “books are a big deal, ya know? My dad used to tell me that every book you read becomes a part of you and that you can learn more about someone by the books they love than by the words they say so I wanted to share that with you” jumins eyes where so soft and gentle in that moment you felt your breath hitch “I want to know everything about you and, and I want you to know everything about me” suddenly his lips where on yours fervent and full of passion the hand that had been in your hair now on your chin guiding you too him. The kiss was short and when you parted from him he stayed close, just a hairs breath from your face.

Jumin voice was little more than a whisper as he asked “how is it that every day I manage to fall more in love with you?” you couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him again an all too familiar giddiness bubbling its way through your soul. You loved this man more than life itself and you knew that would never change.

 “so your ‘Encyclopedia of Fairies’ should go next to the Catherynne M Valente series so we can reference it while reading agreed?” you giggled thrilled that his collection of mythological reference books slotted together with your fae fiction so perfectly. Puzzle pieces connecting to create a masterpiece.

“yes I think that’s perfect. I can’t wait to read her interpretation of such ancient mythos. I also have ‘The World Guide to Gnomes, Fairies, Elves and Other Little People’ if you’d like to add it to that shelf” he said grinning like a child at show and tell.

“oh my goodness yes! That’s perfect and your book on Romanian vampires should be near my ‘Dracula’ and ‘vittorio’ that way that shelf over there can be dedicated to the occult, hauntings, and psychic reference books”

“that sound wonderful and takes care of all the written word but we still haven’t found a place for your comics” Jumin informed glancing toward the woefully large stack of manga you had brought.

“not comic Jumin manga and yeah I think we’re out of space though. I um I didn’t think I had that many books. Sorry” you admitted not meeting his eyes. He tilted your head up to look at him.

“there’s no need to apologize it simply means that tomorrow we can go shopping for another shelf and the next day we can organize those. I’m quite curious about ‘la petite cossette’ you said these where Japanese but that is most certainly a French title.”

“oh I actually think you’d like that one a lot it’s about a man who falls in love with a woman in a cursed portrait its actually pretty tragic in the end.”

“How interesting” he mused retrieving it from the pile of books and skimming through it “the art is truly enchanting and you said that manga has its own subculture?”

“yeah from neko girls to shonen action tropes it has its own vocabulary, history and groups of people its really fun”

“neko girls?” Jumin repeated and your eyes widened at his confusion. This was definitely something he of all people should know about! You jumped up and sprinted to the closet you had filled earlier that day with the few cosplay supplies you had. At the time it had taken nearly half your pay check but if Jumin liked them right now the purchase then would be completely justified. You put on your surprise as quickly as possible before rushing back out to greet Jumin who had just made it to the edge of the living room to come find where you had gone. He froze for a second processing what you were now wearing. White cat ears that moved and twitched fairly believably and just as he was able to cope with that your made paws with your hands and tried your best “nya”. For a moment you feared you may have broken him. He didn’t move his face blank, eyes fixed on you. You tried again hoping to spur some sort of reaction from him “nya?” you said turning to the side slightly to show off the other half of your surprise a white tail complete with pink bow and bell at the base where it attached to your skirt. You tilted your head to look up at him through your lashes trying every trick in your arsenal to look as cute as possible but nothing. He was completely frozen. “Jumin? Hello?” now you were getting worried “darling are you okay?” you asked placing the back of your hand on his forehead to feel for a temperature. The second your hand touched him however his face flushed.

“neko girl.” He muttered “that’s neko as in cat” you could see him trying to calm himself. Fiddling with his shirt sleeves and attempting to stay in control. You smiled standing on your tip toes to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear.

“am I a good little kitten at least?”  you couldn’t contain your giggle as you heard him choke slightly before scooping you up bridal style.

“certainly not, in fact I think you’ve been a very bad little kitten.” He said his voice deeper than normal as he carried you back towards the bedroom.

[sprawa-przybyszewskiej]

Ekphrasis in The Danton Case, Thermidor, and their adaptations

Ekphrasis is invoking a piece of visual media into a literary piece. It can be done for a variety of reasons, from entirely pragmatic (mostly grounding the literature in reality - if the invoked piece is a real piece of art, one you could find in a museum, for example) or more poetic (drawing some symbolic meaning between the piece of art and the idea behind the text).

In Przybyszewska's plays ekphrasis is nonexistent, at least on the foreground. I don't recall any clearly established visual, given to the readers by the original author. It's not weird in any way - how many pieces of medai do you recall which refrain from its sophisticated and additional piece of subtext and iformation? Hundreds, probably. The only other artistic thing that she has weaved into her plays is La Marseillaise, which is invoked twice in The Danton Case. There are also three book references to Othello, Orlando furioso and this one book Robespierre summarizes to Saint-Just when he's talking about hatred (but of which I have no idea if it's a real one - it probably is - or not). Other than that - nothing, plus the books count only a little, forekpfrasis should be, as I said, visual in nature.

Of course, the historical aspect of her works is what grounds them in our reality, and so cleverly, too (seeing as they're not really historical plays in any way or form, but manage to fool most anybody). And thanks to her extensive stage directions, we have no need of any additional element helping us visualize the scenes, for she does it perfectly enough on her own.

However, seein as these are plays calls for a mirror ekpfrastic effect and thus theatrical and cinematographical adapations are born. And they, on the other hand, have a potential to be filled to the brim with visual refernces. Here I would like to have a look at a few, which are taken from one of the most well known staging and the famous Wajda movie (plus some). In no particular order, there goes:

This is the very first scene of a controversial theatre adaptation of The Danton Case. Instead on portraying Robespierre as a firm leader, who only in the very end collapsed temporarily under the huge responsibility he now had to bear, the director decided to portray him as someone physically weak, not in the sense Danton meant when he called him a weakling, but in the sense of somebody who already bears so much responsibility, pain, physical ailments, doubts and whatnot. Just: everything, everythin a human could possible deal with, he deals with, and has to do so in a way that doesn't make people suspiscious about his "shortcomings". There is a interesting parallel between him and Saint-Just, whose upright and unbreakeable character is symbolised by a neck braces, something which people wear after a spine endangering accidents - and incidentally, wasn't it Saint-Just who accused Robespierre of "breaking his spine"? But not in this adaptation, oh no - here their very last scene is cut extremely short and they recite the last few sentences along with some Thermidor lines as two floating heads, a vision into the future which awaits them.

Enough about Saint-Just, though, let's focus on Robespierre and Marat. I must admit I know next to nothing about him, only what some passage here and there in this or that historical study might tell me, but I know, as does everybody, that he was known as L'ami du Peuple, which is why of the reasons, I think, why the director took this image and transposed it onto Robespierre: to make him even more likeable, to show for the umpteenth time that it is Robespierre whom we should cheer on and whom we should feel sorry for. This might also be a parallel between their both's tarnished health, their premature deaths and - last but not least - the role of an icon of the Rvolution both of them play in nowadays' audience's minds. You don't have to study history to knowwho Robespierre was, you don't have to study art to know this painting. Even if you don't agree with some more in-depth explanation of linking this person to this painting, it is a good opening image. It captures our attention in a good way.

I had mention Saint-Just and there he is, in the background of the picture, symbolically assisting Danton and his clique in their last moments. Instead of shwoign them in torn shirts, the director went into another direction altogether and enshrouded them in white sheets from heads to toes, making them all look like very stereotypical ghosts, whom they will all become in just a couple of moments.

In Polish culture, the first thing that comes to mind when talking about ghosts is Dziady, an old slavic tradition that is now replaced with the Catholic All Souls Eve. Dziady is no longer, apart from perhaps some small minorities who still practice old pagan faiths, but as a ritual, they are immortalised in a play by Adam Mickiewicz, undoubtedly the greatest Polish poet ever. Everybody know this play, some scens - by heart, and they were and are being staged pretty much constantly from one point on. Needless to say, they inspire a lot of art, and I decided to show this very fmous poster by the most famous Polish poster designer, Franciszek Starowieyski…

…who is important in this case, because he played David in Wajda's movie.

Not many people know - because his other carreer overshadowed by a lot his first one - that Wajda was a painter. Who actually hated his art, some of his pieces are in the national museum of contemporary art in Łódź alongside stars such as Władysław Strzemiński (the hero of Wajda's very last movie), which is a fact he absolutely detested. I dont know, nor do I care, why was that, because what matters is his previous education as an artist at the very least helped him not only to envision the visuals of the movie, but also acquainted him with great works of art. On which he could model this or that setup. I think it's a nice little detail he catsed Starowieyski as David, a real painter acting as another real painter, it adds a layer of reality onto the movie, and presumably makes for a more natural acting in the few scenes he was in his studio (I also think they look alike).

Speaking of David's studio, I once stumbled upon a lecture which drew parallels between some scenes in the movie and some paitings, which was mostly focused on character and costume design, and truth be told didn't contribute much to the overall watching experience of Danton. However, I must admit the lecturer had a very good eye in this one particular case, in which he pointed out that this quick shot in David's studio pretty obviously invokes the Fussli's The Artist's Despair Before The Grandeur Of Ancient Ruins. I don't think it's a coincidence (or at the very least, would be funny if it were) this shot is shown during the scene where Robespierre starts to grasp at desperate measures to save the country/save his own face in the trial. It is an artist's despair, only artist of a different kind. And it is a despair when being faced with a (possible) ruin of something great, even if its greatness is not yet formed, as opposed to the greatness passed.

The very last example I was able to think of was this photo I found of The Danton Case from 1975. It is one of those old, very classical (I presume) adaptations, which are mostly filled to the brim with riddiculosly attractive people and very often deliberately drew from other sources of artistry, like the one pictured above. No matter what the real relationship between Louise Danton and her husband was, in the play it is portrayed as something atrocious, and I cringe whenever directors try to make it something else without good reasons for doing so, so I am very glad in the past at least they stuck with classicaly depicted acts of violation against women, not because it is a violation, but because in the classical stories (like the myth of Persephone shown in the sculpture above) the woman will usually get her revenge. Just like Przybyszewska's Louison did.

Thank you for bearing with me until the end, and if you have any other examples of this come to your mind, I compel you to share them with me!

List of pieces of art in the order of their appearance:

Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Marat

Franciszek Starowieyski, Dziady

Jacques-Louis David, Self-portrait

Heinrich Fussli, The Artist's Despair Before The Grandeur Of Ancient Ruins

Gianlorenzo Bernini, The Rape Of Persephone

[pineconesarecrunchy]

Pillow

Edelgard x F!Bylteh

(Byleth tries to help Edelgard sleep better at night, but things take a turn.)

Note: This is post time skip, minor spoilers for that!

...

Another day goes by means another busy day full of planning. Ever since your return, Edelgard has been excited to catch you up with everything, but being an empress has its own demanding duties. Edelgard has matured so much since your first encounter. Seeing her directing and giving orders makes you feel her power just by standing near her and being in her presence alone. Her stern and serious attitude remains as she keeps up a strong front defending her ideologies and carrying out missions in order to fulfill her end term goal. Her determination is astonishing and the front that she puts up has not changed at all over the five years. Two things haven't changed within those years, her soft spot for you and her persistent nightmares...

Edelgard's nightmares have gotten progressively worse since the last time you had discussed the sensitive topic with her before the five years of your absence. You notice recently that with each passing day that it has begun to take a toll on her. You wonder if proposing to stay by her side as she sleeps will help ease her fears.

It's a dark now, almost around midnight, and there are not many people roaming the monastery at this time except for you. You walk up to Edelgard's room door and give it a soft knock.

"El..." Only silence replies. She usually is awake at this hour, what could she possibly be doing? You slightly push the door open to see the room is...empty? You begin to give yourself to a self guided tour of her room. Her bed is neatly made but sitting atop of the duvet is an armored bear stuffed teddy you gave her when you first began your days at the monastery. She kept it. That thought brings a smile to your face as you walk over to her windowsill aligned with badges and medals. To the right of it is her desk, sitting on it are a stack or various papers. The one on top is a drawing of someone who looks...awfully familiar. It's not something Ignatz could conjure that is for sure, but is certainly a portrait of you. You open the desk drawer to see an uncovered box of hair pins and ribbons that she used to wear back in the day. You take one of the ribbons and bring it to your nose. It smells just like her and feels as if she's in the room.

"Professor?" You drop the ribbon and slam the drawer close almost immediately.

"E-Edelgard! You...startled me." You mumble as you examine the figure standing in the door frame. Edelgard looks disheveled and sweaty. Her white hair is up in a messy bun, but some strands have fallen and cling tightly to her face. Her nightgown clings to her damp chest and you realize how sheer her gown is and look away abruptly. "Sorry for intruding."

"Snooping are we. I never took you for a peeping-Tom, Professor."

"Byleth."

"...Byleth." She takes a step inside. "Is there something you need from me? It's awfully late."

"I just wanted to see how you were."

"Why?" She asks carefully, sounding like she already knows what you are eluding to.

"The past few days you have seemed more distracted and disorientated than usual, and I think your nightmares are the culprit. Your current state right now—"

"I am... I am not in the best appearance right now to be disagreeing with you." She says nervously. "I guess there is no use in hiding it from you. It's like you can almost read my mind." She chuckles.

"Perhaps I can."

"Then what am I thinking right now?" She seems like she genuinely wants you to guess. Her expression is curious, her thin eyebrows raised with a small smirk.

"Edelgard, you are avoiding the topic at hand. Please tell me what is troubling your dreams."

"Okay." She sighs and walks over to her bed and sits on it. she pats the empty space next to her beckoning you to join her. You walk over to her side and once you sit down she rests her hear on your shoulder. She entangles her arm with yours and grasps your hand. Your shoulder begins to feel hot form her extremely warm body. Edelgard's sweat seeps into your shoulder making your arm feel slightly damp, but you do not mind. You are fulfilling your promise you made to her all those years ago.

To be there by her side.

"My nightmares have been getting progressively worse."

"What do you think is the cause of them? Is it the next upcoming battle?"

"Yes. I...My dreams are vivid. The next battle I, I am a bit worried."

"You will be victorious; I am sure."

"That is not of my concern."

"Is it the enemy?"

"That is what I am worried about."

"Do you know who is the main target?"

"I have to fight family."

"Oh..."

"Yes."

"Dimitri?"

"Yes."

"You dream fearing fighting him?"

"I dream of being the cause to his demise. I dream of him being the cause of my demise." She squeezes your hand even harder. "I even have moments where I envision both of us living our final seconds looking into the eyes of someone we had loved and grown up with. I wish I did not have to fight him."

"You will cross that bridge when we get there."

"But, that bridge is soon."

"That battle isn't soon, it's not until about three moons or so away!"

"That is very soon for me. I — I cannot, I know it is business matters and it is inevitable, but I am so scared, Byleth. Being the reason of suffering to the one you care deeply for... It is unfair! It is so unfair!" She turns away to choke in her sobs. "Why did we have to be on opposite sides. If he had come to his senses, I wouldn't have to fight him, why is this so dastardly unfair!" She throws herself into your chest and cries, grasping onto your arms.

Edelgard's breathing is staggered and heavy. She shudders and trembles with every inhale and exhale. You can only imagine this is how she has been for every battle she has fought in the five years without your presence. You rub her back with one hand and pat the back of her head with the other. With every second passing, the clothes around your chest gets wetter with her tears. Suddenly she pushes you away and stands up.

"I should not be doing this." She says sniffling and rubbing the tear crust from her eyes and cheeks. "This, is unprofessional."

"No it is not."

"I, Edelgard von Hresvelg, Emperor, should not be crying over something so trivial as to fighting an enemy—" She sounds like she is getting upset with herself for being vulnerable. She shouldn't be.

"I would be upset too if I was in your place about to fight my brother."

"I am not upset!"

"You are being open about your worries to me, there is nothing trivial about that."

"This is so embarrassing." She groans.

"Being worried is nothing to be embarrassed or humiliated about, it is human nature."

"It is not what an emperor should do. I have to set an example and be fearless and—Why did you even come here?"

"Edelgard, I love you."

"What?"

"I love you and care about you."

"So you come here to listen to my anxieties and then confess your love to me when I am the most vulnerable—"

"I love and care for all of the people here. I simply noticed you were acting different and came to see if I could help in anyway and even stay by your side as you sleep for comfort. But, my intentions are clearly being mistaken and so I will see myself out." You head for the door. "Goodnight, Lady Hresvelg."

"Wait!" You stop midway in the door frame.

"What?" "I will take up your proposition."

"Excuse me?"

"To sleep by my side... It sounds...nice.... Hold on, come here." You turn around to see her pull out a stool from underneath her dresser. "Let me change out of this gown first." You go and sit on the stool. Edelgard goes over to her wardrobe and starts rummaging through.

"Should I turn around?" you inquire.

"Why? We have seen each other in the bathhouse before."

"Have we?" You cannot recall ever seeing Edelgard in the bathhouse before. You tend to go late at night of early in the mornings where there are no occupants. Has Edelgard seen you before, but not approached you? Edelgard...who would've thought you were one to act like that... "What were you doing this late at night?"

"I had woken up after imagining Dimitri's blood staining my gloves and axe handle; so I went for a walk."

"A fast walk I presume? You were sweating quite a lot."

"It was more of a ...run."

"Where to?"

"Just around the monastery, the bridge outside the cathedral looks stunning this time. What were you doing?"

"Looking for you."

"...Oh...What about before then?"

"I was scurrying around doing minor quests for people. Gardening, collecting items for people, returning lost items; the usual stuff."

"How helpful." You hear a final snap of her gown. "You may turn around now." The new night gown she wears is cream colored and reflects her pale skin. It is just as sheer... no even more sheer and see through than her first gown. Her messy bun is redone and her gaze rests upon her bed. She walks over to it and plops down. Propping her left arm up to rest her head upon and look at you.

"Are you going to watch me as you sleep?" You inquire.

"No." She mumbles and turns to lay on her back, starring at her ceiling.

You sit in silence for a bit. "Would you like me to blow out the candles?" You inquire.

"Yes, please." You walk around the room blowing out the candles around the room before returning back to the stool. The moonlight is now the only source of light in the room and it shines brightly through the large windows. A few more minutes past.

Then a few more.

Edelgard's face leaves a blank soft emotionless expression. Her skin looks so soft, if you were to touch it, it would probably be so smooth and smell of fresh carnations, her favorite flower. Edelgard groans.

"Is there something the matter?" You ask.

"Could you..." She pauses. The silence is deafening. "Could you get in with me?"

"Sleep with you?"

"...Yes. If it's not too much trouble." Why would it be too much trouble? That is the main reason you came here.

"But, I'm still in my outing clothes."

"It does not matter, you can borrow one of my night gowns if you so please." You hesitate. Accepting would be completely out of line for the Emperor and you as her aid. If anything it would feel awkward because a few hours ago she was yelling at you for misunderstanding your intentions. You really should not accept.

"Sure." To your reply, Edelgard quickly gets out of bed and rummages through her wardrobe again.

"This would look nice on you." She says holding up a royal blue nightgown. Royal blue is a pricey color of clothing. "Don't think about the color's wealth. Just try it on."

"It's like you're reading my mind, Lady Edelgard."

"Oh how the tables have turned and please, it's El."

"Thank you, El." you say and she smiles. You take the gown out of her hands. The two of you stand awkwardly there.

"I should... I will be waiting in bed."

"Okay."

"You can change here." She gestures to the unfolded room divider next to her wardrobe. You did not even notice its presence the first time. Maybe that's where she had changed when you were looking away.

You stand behind it and change while hearing her rustle the sheets and return to bed. You feel as if her eyes are scanning you through the paper frames in the divider, but how could you tell except for only the feeling of it. She could be watching but she could not...just like at the bathhouse. When you finish Edelgard is laying in bed facing away from you, you clear your throat to let her know you're done. She turns around.

"Byleth, it looks stunning on you."

"Thank you. Um, where should I put my clothes?"

"In the drawer next to the wardrobe, second drawer." You open the second drawer and place your neatly folded outing clothes in the empty space next to Edelgard's. The clothes there are of a deep crimson, each are neatly folded. You see a divider between the clothes and a small rectangular box. Glancing over your shoulder to see Edelgard isn't looking, you peek in the box. Then immediately close it once you see a glimpse of the assortment of lace—

"Is there an empty space there?" she asks groggily.

"Yes! Yes, I, I am coming." You say closing the drawer and joining Edelgard in bed.

You lay on your backside looking at the ceiling while her back is towards you. You were right, she does smell of carnations. She turns to face you and you cannot help but glance at her for a moment before looking away again. You feel her slender arm wrap around your waist and another one of her arms wrap around yours; pulling you closer to her. She places her head on your chest like it's a pillow. You can feel her breathe more slower than before now that she's calm. This feels nice.

What are you thinking? How this moment makes you feel is irrelevant. You are here to support Edelgard and help ease her nightmares. Only that and —She begins to softly snore.

How adorable...

...

The next few days Edelgard has been asking you to join her in her slumber to help ease her nightmares. This time you bring your own nightgown, but she insists you should wear one of hers as a thanks. You never give in though. She let you save the blue nightgown from your first night with her, but you never wear it. You keep it hung up in the front of your wardrobe as it smells of her carnation scent. Edelgard seems that she has returned to her diligent self. Working hard and focussed on the tasks at hand. You have not spoken about if her nightmares have changed. Sometimes she would start to sweat in the middle of the night and her breathing would increase rapidly. You would just hold her and tell her everything is alright and you're here for her until Edelgard ceases and calms down. She never uses the pillows in her room anymore, just your chest is a good enough pillow for her.

You can't help but wonder if the frequency of her nightmares are the same or if she's using that as an excuse to spend time with you...

Each passing day spent with Edelgard is a day closer to the reality of her nightmares...

...

SO I — Accidentally deleted the first half so it may not be as descriptive and well done as the rest because I was re writing it and not writing on the spur of the moment. But AAA my first Edelgard/Byleth fic! May/may not make this into a series lol who knows.

[bisexualklausmikaelson]

and all the magic we made (12/20)

a/n: well i had another mental breakdown :/ so here's another sporadic update for you all :) thanks for sticking through with this story!

-

Rebekah runs around, from store to store, touching and feeling every item of clothing that catches her eye.

Sparkles, sequins, furs, silks -

Kol quickly realizes how grave of a mistake this shopping trip with his sister has suddenly become.

The length of his stay in his hometown still remain indefinite - last night was a surprise, seeing his niece and not to mention his brother’s infamous Hayley Marshall was certainly something he wasn’t expecting.

If anything, their interactions serve as inspiration for his next move.

Hence the dress shopping, of course.

“So tell me, brother,” Rebekah hums, fingers grasping at a white dress, holding it against her body as she stares at herself in the mirror. “Why are we here anyway? Are we shopping for a special someone? A girl, perhaps?” She stammers on.

“Bekah,” Kol chides. “Such curiosity will bite you in the arse,” he remarks, snatching the dress away from her and placing it back on the shopping rack.

She rolls her eyes, sighing as she follows him down towards the aisle of more colourful textures and fabrics. “Oh c’mon,” she breathes. “You know how starved I am for some hot gossip.”

He doesn’t answer her until she grabs his sleeve and starts whining.

Tell meeeee!!

“Fine-” Kol huffs, shrugging her hand away.

Then suddenly, the perfect dress catches his attention.

It’s a gorgeous purple gown with a mermaid tail flair at the bottom, the sleeves are adorned with pink pearls and with dark lace details.

“It is for a girl,” he confirms, grabbing a hold of the garment. “I like her, I wanna show her how much she means to me, there, satisfied?” He holds the dress up to show it to his sister.

Rebekah smiles, admiring the beauty of the outfit. “Very much,” she nods.

After that, he takes her through even more stores - a purse, jewelry and shoes is a must for a girl so special.

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing a matching set of pearl earrings and a necklace. “Now it’s your turn,” he comments. “You and Marcel, is this thing happening again?”

She takes her time, taking a deep breath before proceeding to offer him an answer. “I don’t know,” Rebekah tells him. “I care for him, deeply, I always have. I’m just not sure he feels the same for me.”

The look on his sister’s face brings him no joy - he’s used to teasing her about her crushes, even embarrassing her about them. But, this time, Kol feels sorry for her, she loved so honestly and so carelessly.

It filled him with both admiration and pity.

“So, you’re looking for closure?” He wonders.

She raises a brow, thinking of his words carefully. “I am not sure,” Rebekah admits. “Maybe,” she whispers softly.

Kol doesn’t say anything else for a bit - he picks out a pair of heels, a small clutch to complete the outfit. His sister approves of his every choice, it comes so easily to him, almost as if he didn’t need her guidance anymore.

“If you ask me,” he finally says. “I always thought you deserved much better than a man who is too afraid to love you.”

His sentence hits deeper than she can ever imagine.

She finds herself asking when exactly did her troublesome little brother decide to become all grown up.

-

Hayley’s weekends are often spent alone with her daughter.

Normally, other girls her age are busy studying for college exams, hitting up a club or party, going on dates -

Being with Hope Marshall beats all of that, she thinks.

Even when she wants to hang out with Klaus Mikaelson.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” He smiles widely as he’s at the door - reaching over to pick up his daughter.

“Yep!” Hope cheers.

Now, her weekends are spent with him. Sandalwood scented cologne, old books in the backseat, a picture of his siblings hanging from the rear view mirror of his car -

“So this gallery,” Hayley says, sitting beside him as he begins to drive them towards their destination. Hope is all settled in her car seat, distracted by her toys. “Is this the type of date the old Klaus would take me out on?” Hayley adds on.

Klaus offers her a confused look. “Old Klaus? A date?” He asks.

She doesn’t offer him much - she simply presses her lips together until they become a thin white line. “C’mon,” she shrugs. “Don’t beat around the bush. Old Klaus did that a lot, I wanna know what this new Klaus is like.”

He hasn’t heard this allegory from her before - he supposes that it’s how she’s rationalizing their whole relationship.

You see, in Hayley’s head, there are two Klaus’.

Old Klaus was aloof, a rule-breaker, the type to get high with her on her couch, to cut class on the school rooftop, to leave without a kiss goodbye in the morning.

And then, there’s new Klaus. New Klaus is…different. He’s more determined, more direct about what he wants.

He’s kind - kinder than she last remembers him.

“Well,” at last, he stops the car, arriving at the gallery. “New Klaus likes to keep you on your toes,” he smirks, leading Hope and Hayley inside the paintings section.

“Ah,” she hums, looking around the large room. “So not much has changed,” she realizes, looking back and seeing the strangest smile on his face.

They both follow Hope into another inter-connected room where only one single portrait is hung up on the wall.

It’s a forest of wolves, tall trees, greenery - and a young Hayley Marshall sitting amongst them.

She stares at it awe, Hope freaks out, screaming and jumping up and down.

Mommy! It’s you! You’re in the painting!!

“New Klaus still likes to surprise you,” he reveals, allowing her to take it all in.

-

By the time Kol finishes his shopping, it’s basically evening.

Rebekah had gone home for a rest while he still continued his way down the street.

The trip there is quiet - his head is filled with thoughts, how he’s gunna see the girl of his dreams again, how she’s probably just eagerly waiting for him.

So eager in fact, that she opens the door for him before he can even knock on it.

“You,” Davina releases, with her hair in a messy bun, bunny pyjamas and slippers still on. “Came back,” she completes.

“That I did, darling,” Kol tells her, smiling. “Just as I had promised you, all those years ago,” he offers.

Davina thought she’d be more upset at him.

Their relationship had been a strange one - meeting per chance at the local occult club, unexpected encounters at the music store, catching each other reading Edgar Allan Poe by the marina -

They started dating soon after, and connected on every single level.

For the longest time, their relationship felt like fate.

Until, that is, Kol Mikaelson, along with all the other Mikaelsons, mysteriously left town.

(Although, granted, he did still keep contact with his lover, unlike the rest of his siblings, who were so far deep in self-hatred that they denied themselves of this).

“What do you have there?” Davina asks, noticing the large shopping bag in Kol’s hands.

He pulls out the gorgeous gown he had gotten. “It’s for you,” he informs her. “A present, if you will,” Kol specifies.

She admires the shimmering fabric, in awe of the very romance of this gesture. “It’s beautiful,” Davina releases. “Thank you,” she smiles, grabbing a hold of the garment.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he says, as fireworks go up in the sky.

They spell out the words

Will you have this dance with me?

-

The painting itself displays incredible technique - the composition, the brushstrokes, everything is so crisp and clear. Klaus’s talent has always been undeniable but, Hayley’s opinion of it has been…

“What do you think?”

A mystery.

“I’m guessing,” she starts, once she realizes exactly what she’s looking at. “This was made by old Klaus?” She presumes, looking at the date inscribed at the corner of the painting.

She stares at herself, immersed in the perfect image he had created of her.

“So it seems,” Klaus says. “However, new Klaus is the one who is brave enough to put it up in a gallery,” he informs her, taking a step closer so that he is right next to her.

Hayley looks and looks - passed the greenery of the scene, the tracks of dirt he had carefully painted on her arms and legs, big brown eyes burning a stare into her own.

“I always knew your work would go far,” she finally releases, realizing how carefully he had captured her loneliness in this painting.

And almost immediately, Klaus begins to laugh uncontrollably. “You said it was hideous,” he recalls, shaking his head.

She wonders why he made her look so sad in this piece - as if she had lost everything. And maybe, that’s how he saw it all, his betrayal and departure was written all over her face.

It’s the most honest thing she’s ever seen.

“Except this one,” she notes. “This piece is…”

“Nothing,” he intercepts, bravely placing a hand on her shoulder, catching her off guard. “Nothing, compared to the real thing.”

-

The drive home is quiet.

Hope is fast asleep in the backseat, little snores and soft breaths escaping her lips. Hayley looks back with a caring and loving gaze. Her daughter truly is an angel, she thinks.

“So then,” he whispers. “This new Klaus, is he up to your standards, as of yet?”

She pauses, catching his eye from the corner of hers. “Maybe,” Hayley remarks. “He certainly became a better driver, over the passed years,” she smiles.

He doesn’t push her any further, he knows he can get more out of her if he did but, this smile of hers was enough for now. He can deal with it - he can deal with her taking her time.

“Well, you’re home now,” he tells her, pulling over by her apartment complex.

She reaches over to shake Hope awake, she refuses though, still deep in slumber. “Looks like it,” Hayley shrugs, pulling away from her daughter. She strangely feels safer now, having the chance to speak more intimately with Klaus. “What do you think new Klaus would do if I tried to ask him to come upstairs?”

He thought that this moment would never come and, that, if it ever did - he would be in disbelief.

But oddly enough, Klaus isn’t in shock at all.

This is expected - he is, after all, charming as hell.

“I think he’d say,” he starts, and right then, he notices little Hope in the rear view mirror, opening one eye to sneak a peek. “You’ve got a restless little girl still listening in on our conversation,” he smirks.

Hayley turns to catch her daughter spying on them and pretending to go back sleep. “Hope,” she scolds. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” she sighs, finally exiting the car and taking her daughter into her arms.

Well, no use acting now, Hope thinks.

“Goodnight, little one,” Klaus tells her, ruffling her hair. “And you too, Hayley,” he lets her know, before he begins to drive off.

She watches him disappear into the night - her heart feels heavy and sinking as she notices how much she longs to see him again.

But, she is a mother first, and as much as the old Hayley would leave all her responsibilities behind and run after that speeding car - she’s not that girl anymore. The new Hayley takes her daughter, and all her old love and passion, and she walks back up to their room.

Of course, right before she enters her home, she notices a carefully placed envelope on her door.

It reads the words - Invitation for Hayley and Hope Marshall.

-

[sasa-gay-yo]

Just Us   (Chapter 1: His Eyes)

Sometime before The Fall of Wall Maria

The hum of customers seemed louder that day. Normally four or five regulars were sitting in the corner, drinking coffee and sharing baguettes, but today, it seemed most of the tables were filled. Newspapers were being passed back and forth between people and if I cared much about the news, I might have taken myself away from kneading bread to glance at the pages. Just by hearing the customers, I filled myself in on the town gossip without having to be confronted by the old ladies trying to make me marry their sons. 

“I can’t get married right now, Miss. Schmidt. There’s too much to do with the shop that I have no time to give my attention to anyone else.” Those excuses and a smile seemed to hold them off for a few days. 

“Eva! Can we get a refill of coffee here?” I looked up to the three Garrison soldiers who were hiding away from their morning watch duties. At least they weren’t drinking whiskey. Nodding, I put the dough in the oven to prove and wiped my hands. Now, I would have to talk to some people. If it made them want to come to the café more, I guess I would sacrifice a little of my sanity. 

“Here you go,” I held up my hand as they tried to slide a few more coins my way, “You already have had three, this one is on the house.” The Captain looked up and smiled at me before putting them back in his pocket. The, too, had a newspaper laid out in the center of the table. 

“Have you heard about the Survey Corps recently, Eva?” I shook my head and he held up the paper. 

“Apparently they’ve gained some recruits worth our tax dollars! They didn’t lose half of their people on the last expedition. It’s front-page news for some reason.” One of the subordinates pointed at the portrait on the front page of what I assumed to be the new commander of the Scouts. Last week's news was the retirement of Keith Shadis and the promotion of various Corps peoples. Perhaps with the promotion also came the recent success. 

“I think anyone who goes out to fight titans on our behalf is worth my tax dollars. If I recall, soldiers only pay a fraction of our taxes. In fact, I’m paying for you to sit here in my café and drink away my coffee supply. It’s hard on me to travel to the capital markets every month.” I raised an eyebrow at them and it seems the pleasant conversation they wanted to have had ended, especially with the other customers listening in. They made it a point to stand up, leave the coins on the table, and walk out of the café. 

“Finally doing their job.” I picked up the untouched pitcher of coffee and wiped down the table. They didn’t even have the decency to put their cups in the dish bin. I rolled my eyes and cleaned up after them, going back to kneading more bread dough and warming up their coffee for the next customer. 

Maybe the success of the Scouts will make the Garrison and MPs care about the people inside the walls. You can only be self-serving for a little bit before it comes to bite you in the ass.

“Delivery!” Again, I’m distracted from my bread making. This is why I should have prepped last night. I wiped off my hands, noticing how dry they’d become, and turned to get what I assumed to be my portion of flour. 

“Hi Jonas, just put it on the table here.” 

“Eva, did you hear the news?” I poured him a cup of juice and handed it to him, nodding. 

“The Survey Corps?” He nodded hard and drank it all in one big gulp. 

“You should’ve seen it when the scouts came through the city a few days ago. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people cheer for them, but this time they did. Did you watch them come by?” I took his cup and put it in the sink before turning back to him. 

“No, I was stuck in here. I did see the tops of some of their heads though, but the crowd around the window was pretty thick.” I decided to lean against the front counter and take a break from baking to talk to Jonas, one of the only people my age who seemed to come around here and stay. If you were young in Trost, you were always working. They would come in and right out of the café, never staying to talk or look out the windows. I only know a few of their names, but all of their drink orders by heart. The only ones who seemed to talk a bit when they came in were, in fact, Scouts who got a few days off. No conversation ever really amounted to anything and I didn’t take time to memorize their orders as they would always stop coming a few weeks after they first arrived. 

“How is Reeve’s doing on orders? I heard that there might be a shortage of meat soon.” He shrugged at me and I signed his papers. 

“I don’t have a clue about that. I just go where they tell me to. I mean, I haven’t been delivering a lot of meat lately. You don’t need it though, do you?” 

“No, I just need flour, coffee, and sometimes tea. I go to the capital for the last two. If anything, I’d just stop being a bakery.” Jonas pouted and pointed to the croissants in the glass case. 

“I’d fight to get those if there was a shortage. You have the best bread in Trost!” I smiled and waved my hand. 

“No, I don’t, Jonas. I kn-” 

“Tea, please.” Jonas jumped and turned around to see the man behind him. His grey eyes bore holes into Jonas who was in his way. I’d seen him before, but it was his first time into the café. 

“C-Captain Levi!” Jonas even bowed to him, slightly shaking. I tilted my head, looking at the man, no taller than me. Why was this shorty making Jonas shake in his shoes? And Captain? He didn’t seem like the type to be in the Garrison. 

When I was done looking at his form, I looked back up to his eyes which seemed annoyed that he was having to wait for his tea. They were a pretty grey but were almost overshadowed by the dark circles under his eyes. I’d seen those type of eyes...tired from death, not from lack of sleep. He was definitely a Scout.

I stood up and wiped my hands again, slightly wincing at their dryness. 

“What type of tea, Cap’n?” He didn’t seem to be amused at my abbreviation of his title and I lost my customer-friendly smile. Guess I didn’t have to play pretend around his negative attitude. 

“Black.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at his form again. Tired, strained, busted, sad even… He needed something less… anxiety-inducing than straight black tea. He needed something soothing. 

“May I make a suggestion?” He looked up again having already put the money for plain black tea on the counter. I didn’t fail to notice how when he looked up, so did everyone else in the café. Was he radiating some form of intimidating energy to everyone in this place? He didn’t look scary, just tired and stressed. I guess the darkness of his features didn’t help his cause. 

“What?” Every answer was short and low. He did have an impressive voice for being short, but it also sounded like he had a scratchy throat. A mental note to add honey. 

“Mint?” He looked at me for a few seconds, probably deciding whether or not I could ruin his tea routine, “No extra cost. You just seem like you don’t need any more caffeine at the moment. Perhaps a few more hours of sleep.” The last sentence was mumbled, but I’m sure he had to hear it. Hopefully, he heard it and took me up on it. 

“Sure.” He waved his hand and walked over to the corner table where the Garrison was sitting, staring out the window. It seemed that he was far away enough for everyone to start gossiping about him. I stared at him for a few more seconds before taking out one of the few teacups I owned. No one wants to drink tea anymore… such old taste. 

“E-Eva? How did you talk to him like that?!” I glanced over at Jonas who was crouched over the counter and whispering to me. 

“What do you mean? Why is everyone so afraid of him? He’s no taller than me, Jonas.” 

“He’s Captain Levi! Humanity’s strongest soldier. It’s said that he’s killed over 100 titans by himself! And, and, and he just joined the Corps this past year. He used to be a…” He leaned in even more and put a hand in front of his mouth like that was going to help block out this secret, “a famous gangster in the underground.” I looked back at him again and met his eyes. He quickly looked away, but I did notice he was still staring at me from his peripheral. It was the way he was sitting that made it possible to spy on me unsuspectingly. 

“He does look a bit mean, but I don’t see danger...I think he just intimidates you and you don’t like it because he’s shorter than you.” Jonas was exasperated at my comment and looked back and forth between the Captain and me. 

“But he’s from the underground! You know how dangerous those people are! Kenny the Ripper and The Sniper… he’s one of them!” I rolled my eyes again and watched the tea as it brewed. 

“You forget I was born in the underground too, Jonas.” It was a low whisper to keep gossip down to a minimum and he shook his head fast, tapping on the counter. 

“But you’re different, Eva. You didn’t live there for very long either and you were adopted by Mister Flynn. I know he’s murdered like so many people.” I held the honey jar up, debating how much I should put in. He didn’t seem like the type of person who would like something overly sweet, but his throat sounded like it needed a bit more honey. 

“So, if I wasn’t adopted and you met me on the streets, would you be treating me like you’re treating him?” He groaned again and tried to grab my hand to get me to understand his point better. I moved my arm so he fell a bit farther on the counter. 

“I’m happy that someone who knows how to kill is now killing titans. You read the newspapers. What if he’s the reason the Scouts are doing better now?” I put the teacup on the tray along with a small bowl of honey. I couldn’t decide. 

Everyone in the café watched as I walked over to his table and put the tea down. 

“Peppermint tea. I don’t know how you like your tea so there’s some honey. You should put it in.” I pointed to the tiny bowl and he looked down at it too, grunting. I guess that was his way of saying thank you. 

Something made it so I didn’t move from standing in front of him. Maybe I was just curious why everyone was afraid to meet his eye or why they thought he was so intimidating. I mean, Jonas was shitting his pants talking about him and here I stood, not feeling anything like that. I was grateful, if anything, for his service in the Corps and just how many titans he’s rumored to have killed.

“Do you have a question?” It was harsh and it woke me out of the trance while looking at him. I had to recover quickly, or it’d be a bit embarrassing to just admit I was staring at him. He really… wasn’t so bad looking either. Just short. 

“I’m waiting for you to put the honey in your tea.” A good recovery with a hard tone behind it. Hopefully, he didn’t see through it. He groaned again, taking one spoonful and making a grand gesture about putting it into the tea and stirring. I smiled when he followed my fake orders, but it was funny. The titan serial killing maniac gangster had done something that I told him. I nodded once before walking away from his table, noticing, again, everyone's eyes. It was easier to face his grey ones than it was to look at all of theirs. Annoying. 

“Jonas, get off my counter! You’re making it dirty!” 

Orders and people kept flowing in as the hour passed by, but as it reached lunchtime, everything slowed down. No one would want pastries until later in the day for an after-work snack and coffee and tea had lost their use as everyone was now knees deep in work. The only people left in my café were three older women gossiping, two men playing chess, and the Captain himself. 

He was still in the same position, staring out the window, and he slowly sipped his tea as if he was savoring it. I noted that as a victory for my tea-making skills and also noticed that he had used up all the honey I had given him. Interesting. He did like his tea sweet. Maybe he is scary and I’m just not good at judging someone’s character.  

All there was left to do was keep the bread and pastries rotating in and out of the oven and tend to the customers who came every fifteen minutes or so. When I was on downtime, I would debate on whether to go talk to him again or just let him be. Maybe me talking to him would make him more tired and a waste of the peppermint tea I gave him. Just a bag of that tea costs a fortune in the capital, but I was now glad for my decision to buy it. 

Maybe he's sitting there, try to get me to notice him and go talk to him. I can feel it when he looks at me while my back is turned. Is that a call to come over? Has my wit and good looks made him interested in me? Or, my last hypothesis, he can’t read me like I can’t read him. He is a Scout, so maybe he’s surveying me as they do. I was definitely trying to study him behind the pastry glass.

Around one, almost four hours after he stepped foot into my café, he stood up and walked the teacup and plate to the counter next to me. The dish tray wasn’t empty, so he either hadn’t seen it, or my second hypothesis was right and he had finally gotten annoyed that I didn’t approach him. 

“I don’t know where this goes.” His voice was still as stiff as ever, but perhaps it sounded a bit less scratchy. Up close again, I got to study his features. He was handsome, but not your average Trost brown-hair-brown-eyes boy. His eyes told stories the longer you looked at them. Stories of titans and death and the underground. I wish I could stare at them for longer, but he lowered his head again, pushing the cup forward. I got to see his side profile from the other side and it was the same. He was perfect and symmetrical. Sharp jaw and nose hide under strands of raven hair. Everything about him was so… not dark, but I guess the right word would be intimidating or... hard. He just seemed to be hard. Nothing would break his shell, not even small talk, but damn, did I want to try. 

“I can take that for you, Captain.” He nodded and stood there as I put the dish in the sink. He was studying me like I had when I delivered the tea. I decided to use this against him. 

“Did you have a question?” He opened his mouth to say something, probably a quick remark, but it didn’t come out. I turned, smiling, looking at his stance. He still had a blank expression, hiding any emotion, but I knew deep down that my question affected him. 

“How much is that?” He pointed to the baguette in the glass display which conveniently already had the price marked. Humanity’s strongest wasn’t very perceptive if he missed two things. First, the dish tray, now the price tag. Jonas couldn’t have been right about him… it was just a mirage for people inside the walls. For someone to kill that many titans, they had to be some sort of killing machine. They needed him to fit the narrative and his past and facial expression helped him to mold into it seamlessly. The narrative I broke out of as a child. 

“For Humanity’s Strongest? Free. Thank you for fighting the titans, Captain.” Without a word, I put the bread in a paper wrap and handed it to him. I had hoped he would say something back so I could talk to him more, but like every Scout, he just turned to walk out of the doors and probably back to the outside of Trost. 

“How long till you don’t come back, Captain?” 

                                                                                                      Chapter Two →

Chapter Masterlist

[delightfullyatomicfest]

John Lennon and Yoko Ono in Melody Maker, 20 September 1969

JOHN LENNON HASN’T had a royalty cheque for two years. 

And, believe it or not, he’s feeling the pinch. The man whose group has again been voted top in both the British and International Sections of the Melody Maker poll told me that The Beatles’ own company, Apple, has become something of a monster which is out of control. 

“The problem is that two years ago our accountants made us sign over 80 per cent of our royalties to Apple,” he said. “We can’t touch any of it, and it’s a ridiculous situation. All the money comes into this little building and it never gets out. If I could get my money out of the company I’d split away and start doing my own projects independently. I’d have much more freedom and we’d all be happier. I still feel part of Apple and The Beatles, and there’s no animosity, but they tend to ignore Yoko and me . 

“For instance, [Radio One DJ] Kenny Everett recently made a promotional record for Apple which was played at the big yearly EMI meeting. It plugged James Taylor, The Iveys and so on, but it didn’t mention the things Yoko and I had been doing. And I think that what we’re doing is a lot more important than James Taylor. Apple seem to be scared of us. They didn’t want to have anything to do with our Two Virgins film, for instance. 

“The Beatles’ wealth is all a myth. The only expensive things I’ve ever owned are my house and cars, and I just haven’t got anything else. Don’t even break even on the films we make, and that worries me.” 

I asked John about his recent evening of films at the ICA. (A selection of John and Yoko ’s films, including Ono’s Bottoms and Lennon’s Self Portrait , which detailed the rise (and fall) of his penis, were shown at the New Cinema Club, Institute Of Contemporary Arts, September 10, 1969.) Why, for instance, did he feel it necessary to make a film like Self Portrait, with its highly controversial content, when Andy Warhol did the same thing years ago with his films Empire State and Sleep ? 

“It’s not like Warhol at all. He’s negative and we’re positive. I can’t stand negative things, and our attitude is completely different. Self Portrait has vibrations of love, and it has an immediate message of humanity. 

“When Yoko showed me her Bottoms film I thought it was ridiculous, but she explained it to me and I was convinced - I don’t remember how. I think it was the humour of the film, and that’s what we try to keep in our films. If we’re going to get these films shown, we’ve got to get into the scene. We’d like to make a film that wasn’t so underground in concept, but we wouldn’t do something like Barbarella or 2001 - although that was a lovely trip. 

“Films are moving ahead so fast - much faster than music or anything else. We’re hoping to have talks with a big production company which I shouldn’t name - oh well, why not, it’s United Artists - who seem to be interested. We’d like to get on at the West End.” 

Yoko, who was sitting by John’s side, chipped in, “We don’t know how to go about it. We’re sussing it out at the moment.” 

John continued, “It’s not like films, it’s more like TV. Dylan was right - it should be less important. Our films, and the Beatles and Stones albums, shouldn’t have so much noise made about them. The process of production is so slow. We’d like to speed the process up, and get a new album and film out every month. For instance, we haven’t been able to get our Wedding film out yet. And the trouble is that people will say we copied Jane Birkin on one track, but we didn’t. It’s just that we couldn’t get ours out fast enough. 

“Most of our films are like portraits. For instance, Smile is simply a portrait of me sending out love vibrations to Yoko, who’s on the other end of the camera. People say it’s boring, but they’ll look at Van Gogh, which doesn’t move at all, and they’ll have it on their walls.” 

I suggested that perhaps the audience at the ICA had been dissatisfied because the environment was wrong. 

“Yes, it would probably be best if people had the film at home and could show it on their walls and look at it when they felt like it. The ICA night was too long- but they asked for five hours of film and that’s what I gave them.” 

Wasn’t the work of John and Yoko coming to resemble an open diary, I asked? And don’t most people keep their diaries in their desks at home? 

“Yes, but who doesn’t like to read other people’s diaries? ” he replied. “That’s exactly what it is-but you must realise that The Beatles’ albums, and Dylan’s for that matter, are all diaries. We’re just bringing it out into the open and making it more honest.” 

Does this theory inevitably lead to disposable works of art? 

“Yes, that’s what we’re aiming at,” said John. “Yoko’s having her book of poetry, Grapefruit, reprinted and at the end there’s an instruction to the reader to eat the book.” 

Yoko added, “When you keep things they become tombstones. The world would be clogged up with useless objects.” 

Have they any new ideas for their well-publicised campaign for peace? “There’s this Peace Ship plan,” said John, “which is very strange because I recently read a book which contained almost exactly the same idea. There was this bloke in a white ship from which he broadcast peace messages, and then when I’d read the book a real guy came to me with the plan for doing it. Someone’s also given me some ideas for doing things in Nigeria and Biafra, but I can’t talk about it at the moment.” 

Does this suggest a more direct involvement with war and peace? “Not really, because I think that what we’ve done already, like staying in bed for peace, has been very direct. It wouldn’t do any good, for instance, if I was to go to Vietnam and get shot. That proves nothing, but it’s what people are always telling me to do. 

“We’re after people’s minds. If we go to see Nixon, for instance, it wouldn’t make him down tools, but we think we could find out what he thinks and tell other people. We’d know where he was at. 

“You can’t change anything by violence. You have to be aggressive, that’s part of everyone and I’m aggressive, but we have the machinery to challenge it. We don’t have to get involved in other people’s games, and I think that all the killers should be allowed to take their tanks into the desert and kill each other off. But I don’t want any part of it, and we’ve got the power to do something about it.” 

With two albums in the can Abbey Road and Get Back [sic] - would there now be a lull in The Beatles’ recording schedule? 

“The trouble is that we’ve got too much material. Now that George is writing a lot we could put out a double album every month, but they’re so difficult to produce. After Get Back is recorded in January, we’ll probably go back into the studio and record another one. It’s just a shame we can’t get more albums out faster.” 

Richard Williams

Source

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

sorry if this is oddly specific but could I get some headcanons for Lau and/or (separate) Hannah slowly falling for an eccentric artist they come across one day? someone who doesn't care much about etiquette or opinions, they just do their own thing. either way, thanks!

hey, oddly specific is never a problem! :D

honestly I love this, ROCK ON YOU FUNKY LIL ECCENTRIC ARTIST THESE TWO ARE CRUSHING ON

HANNAH

As far as she’s concerned, Alois tends to attract eccentric types, so she’s not surprised that a person like this managed to cross her path. It’s strange that she just… found them one day, in the garden, drawing the flowers, and Alois just invited them to afternoon tea like it wasn’t odd. At the very least, they don’t seem to be bothered by the earl’s behavior, and he isn’t bothered by theirs. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so judgmental about it.

Should she ask them what they’re drawing? Is that polite? Probably not. She’s just done it anyway, though. She’s curious about humans, and about this human in particular. Human art isn’t quite like demons’, so it’s piqued her interest. When they shamelessly show her that they’ve drawn her, she’s… flattered. Oh. What’s this sudden heat that’s risen in her face? She likes it; that they’re creating art of her.

She might have to help them if they manage to get on Alois’ bad side. Someone who has no interest in etiquette might be right at home with Alois, or they might piss him off. It depends what mood he’s in. Regardless, Hannah teaches (Name) how to fake manners — not for the sake of Alois’ opinion, but for the sake of keeping them safe when he’s in a mood where their lack of propriety might be the thing that tips him into treating them cruelly.

Almost like a child mimicking an older sibling, she begins to paint with her fingers when she has nothing else to do. It’s an absentminded distraction, something to keep her occupied, something that this person who’s captured her interest does. Her paintings are simple, the sky as she sees it outside the manor, or a rendering of a piece of jewelry. Should (Name) see them and compliment him, she gives them a soft, genuine smile, something she does so rarely she can barely remember the last time it happened.

They don’t care about etiquette, do they? So they shouldn’t have any complaints about her acting on her feelings. By, say, cornering them in the hallway, pressing them up against the wall, and stealing a kiss. She adores them and is experiencing an attraction to them like she’s never felt before, and… she just couldn’t go on without doing something about it. God help (Name) if they kiss her back; the relief that floods her whole being is enormous.

LAU

Out of the many things Lau has seen in his life, he has to wonder… who the hell comes to an opium den for anything other than to smoke opium? That’s not the only strange thing about this person, but they don’t seem like they’re any kind of law authority. (He has protection, anyway, so he’s not actually worried.) They seem to just be sitting there, surrounded by smoke… sketching one of the decorations. Or one of the ladies? Well, the angle he has and his own high makes it impossible to tell. The thing he knows for sure is that they’re interesting.

Oh, no. Are they coming back here regularly? Just to draw? … Ah. Shit. Now he’s fully intrigued and he can’t just not go talk to them! Really, he doesn’t even know what he wants out of them. Conversation? Business? A kiss? Fuck. He talks to people regularly and is a very good manipulator, and yet… this is kind of different. It’s not often that he feels a pull to people like this, so he’s a bit more awkward or quiet than he normally would be. When the two of them begin to talk, he starts to feel more at ease, and even though he’s still very much fascinated with them, he’s back to his usual self.

Teases them a lot that they should draw him. After all, they’ve surely been contemplating making a portrait of his handsome face, right? He likes to pester them as a way to flirt, the subtext being that he thinks their art is so good he wants to see how they render his appearance. They… might not get the subtext.

He offers them pretty odd things in hope that they might take him up on it so he can spend time with them. Things that they don’t have or aren’t mainstream in England, well, that should interest someone who’s eccentric, shouldn’t it? New experiences like acupuncture, which naturally he’d perform himself. If they take him up on it, he’s over the moon and will make sure it’s relaxing for them. It secretly excites him to do something like that, because very few people want Lau to stick needles into them, and he thinks of it as a kind of bonding activity. (Name) trusts him not to hurt them, they’re in a quiet room away from other people, and it’s just… nice.

It’s possible they might have to make the first move. He’s not exactly shy, but what he is, is unused to opening up. While he’s had a good amount of purely sexual relationships in his life, the number of romantic ones is… something he can count on one hand. He doesn’t like being vulnerable, and they make him want to be vulnerable, so he doubles down on keeping things in. If they make the first move, though, it’s almost a guarantee he won’t be able to keep that up.

[madsthewordclown]

Fire Lily Pt. 2

warnings: none

Eventual Zuko x Reader, ~1.8k words

summary: Y/N’s new beginning starts with a job at a tea shop in Ba Sing Se. She’s surprised to learn her coworkers are familiar acquaintances. 

Yay for part two, friends! I’m trying to get some later chapters done in advance, but in case you couldn’t tell, I’m kind of improvising? But isn’t that what all writing is? Enjoy!

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5

“Papa, Papa, Papa, look at what I can do!” Y/N ran over to her father as fast as her little legs could carry her. Bihun followed closely behind her, matching her enthusiasm.

“Look at what Y/N can do, Dad!”

Their father chuckled, setting down his ink brush and pulling out his desk chair to let his children sit at his feet. “What do you have to show me, sweetheart?”

Bihun pulled out a candle he had been hiding behind his back, excitement clear on his face, eyes wide in anticipation.

Ba Sing Se was grander than Y/N could have ever imagined. The wall was even more magnificent than the stories made it seem. It stretched on as far as her eyes could see, and it was taller than she had pictured. It was taller than her family home—maybe even taller than the Fire Nation’s watch towers.

Y/N was thankful to have found accommodations in a small room above a tea shop. She didn’t even have to sell her cup for it—the owner of the shop offered to let her stay on the condition she worked in the shop. It seemed that they were pretty short-handed.

Y/N awoke early for her first day on the job, feeling intensely grateful for having a warm bed to sleep in. She hadn’t realized how much she missed having her own bed, her own room. Sure, her new home wasn’t nearly as grand as her old one; the floorboards creaked, and it was just large enough for a bed long enough for her to sprawl, but she had a door with a lock, and a roof over her head, and a window overlooking the streets below. It was the best she could’ve hoped for.

Pao handed her an apron and began explaining her duties. “Here is a list of our menu items,” Pao said. “I advise you to learn it. Take customers’ orders and report them back to me, and then serve them their tea on a saucer. Prices are on the menu. Just try to be pleasant, please?” Y/N got the sense that Pao’s previous employees hadn’t done very well with the latter request.

Y/N heard the bell on the front door jingle. She and Pao both turned their heads. To her surprise, she saw Mushi and Lee. Only one of them was smiling. She had assumed she wouldn’t see them after departing the ferry. They hadn’t sat near her on the train into the city, and it was so large she figured the odds she’d see them again were low. Jet had promised to contact her, though.

“Ah, our two newest employees!” Pao clapped with delight, grinning widely. “This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Mushi and his nephew, Lee.”

“Actually, we have already met.” Mushi smiled at you. Lee’s grimace never left his face, but his did make eye contact with you for a moment. “I’m excited to be working with such a delightful young woman.”

“Thank you, Mushi.” Y/N couldn’t help but to like Mushi. How could she not? “I could say the same about you.”

Pao proceeded to give Mushi and Lee the same speech he had given her as Y/N tied her apron around her waist and looked over the menu Pao had given her. The overload of information made her head spin, but she didn’t have much time to process as the bell chimed once again.

“Our first customer of the day!” Pao announced. “Let’s get to work!”

The day went by faster than you had expected. The work was a little bit exhausting, dealing with entitled customers and being on your feet constantly. But you found that having Lee around to help made it a bit easier.

He wasn’t exactly the greatest server, as he couldn’t seem to stop acting like a grump, but it was fewer customers for you to deal with, and his social blunders provided a few moments of comic relief. You were both still learning the ropes, and he seemed to be as fast of a learner as you are, but he wasn’t exactly as socially inclined, and it seemed like he got irritated with customers fairly quickly. You were sure he was about to pour a steaming hot cup on a poor fellow who couldn’t quite pronounce ‘ginseng’ correctly.

“Great work, team!” Pao closed the door to the tea shop with a smile as the sun sunk lower in the sky. “I’ll see you all again bright and early tomorrow. Feel free to make yourself a cup of tea before you go if you’d like!” With that, Pao walked across the shop and briskly closed himself into the back room.

“It was wonderful to work with you, Y/N,” Mushi said pleasantly.

“Likewise,” Y/N smiled.

“Perhaps you and Lee could go explore the city in your spare time,” Mushi suggested. Y/N didn’t miss the glare that Lee sent his way. “I’m sure there’s plenty for young people to do.”

“Maybe we can sometime,” Y/N agreed. She wouldn’t mind having someone to walk around with, and she couldn’t deny she was curious about the boy. It was clear he had been through a lot. He was a refugee, and someone had to have given him that cold exterior. And that scar.

Lee wasn’t done glaring at his uncle, it seemed. His mouth had formed into a defined scowl. Mushi finally seemed to take the hint.

“Perhaps some other night,” Mushi amended. “I’m sure you are tired from your first day.”

“Have a wonderful evening,” Y/N dismissed them politely, giving a small wave as the pair turned to leave.

“See you tomorrow!” Mushi called as the door shut behind them.

Y/N sighed as she took off her apron and hung it on the hook by the back wall. Despite the ache in her feet, she didn’t feel like going up to bed just yet. The sun had just barely set, and she could feel her little knife tucked securely into the waistband of her green Earth Kingdom dress. If all else failed, she could defend herself.

Y/N checked to make sure she had the spare key Pao had given her. She had tied it into a necklace on the end of piece of string—she had always had trouble keeping track of things. After once again assuring she had her key, and her knife, Y/N opened the door of the tea shop, and stepped out onto the streets of Ba Sing Se.

Ba Sing Se was somehow both more and less intimidating at night, Y/N realized. The city had been practically bursting with activity when she’d arrived, and the sheer number of people was terrifying. The massiveness of the city was enough to turn your stomach.

Ba Sing Se at night was more peaceful. The lanterns illuminated the streets beautifully, but even so, there were plenty of dark alleys and corners, and the faces Y/N could see weren’t exactly pleasant. Even if the city was praised as a haven, Y/N had already seen plenty of people struggling. She noticed a scrappy-looking man standing under a street lantern, his eyes shaded by a wide hat. She kept a hand over where her knife was tucked as she walked by.

“Hey,” a voice called. Y/N jumped, pulling out her knife as she whipped around. She recognized the black eyes and the shaggy brown hair.

“Oh,” Y/N sighed in relief. “Hi, Jet.” Jet raised an eyebrow at her and smirked.

“Is that how you carry a knife?”

Y/N looked down at her hand. The knife was a bit awkward to hold. She adjusted her grip self-consciously.

“I could teach you how to properly use that, if you wanted. Or we could get you something better,” Jet offered, plucking the knife out her hand. “But I don’t have much money,” he admitted, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“I have a job,” Y/N felt herself blushing as Jet carelessly flipped her knife between his hands. She had almost cut herself when she pulled it on him. “But I’m working for a place to stay. The only money I take is from tips from customers.”

“Look at you,” Jet smiled. Y/N wondered if it could be considered a smile; all the boy could seem to do was smirk. “Got everything figured out and it’s only your second day in the city.”

Y/N shifted on her feet. “I would really appreciate it. If you could teach me, I mean.” She thought about the meager pile of bronze pieces she’d received during her shift. “I can’t pay you, though.”

“I’ll come find you tomorrow after work, then,” Jet nodded, finally handing the knife back to her. “See you then, Y/N.”

“I can’t pay you,” Y/N repeated, but Jet was already walking away. He turned his head back to look at her.

“Who said anything about paying me? Anything to help out a friend.”

Y/N made her way back to the tea shop without incident, and the spare key was still secure around her neck when she got to the door. She went through the back room to the little staircase that led up to her room. She nearly tripped as she climbed the stairs. Her feet almost cried in relief as she finally leaned back onto her bed.

Y/N turned over and leaned over the side of the bed to pull her pack out from under it. She set it on the bed next to her and reached her hand in to take inventory of her belongings. She felt the cold metal of the gold cup and lifted it out of the pack.

Bihun held the candle, arms outstretched to keep it far from his face. Y/N’s brow furrowed, her gaze not leaving the candle’s wick. Their father watched on.

Concentrate, Y/N had thought. She took a deep breath—a deep, warm breath, and lifted her hand, pointing her finger at the candle.

The feeling in of the emerald in her hands reassured Y/N that the cup was still intact, but she couldn’t see it in the darkness. It was silly; the cup was fine, and even if it wasn’t, it retained plenty of value without the jewel. But she wanted to read it, the name that was above that jewel.

The letter from the Earth King’s palace sat open on her father’s desk. A partially filled scroll sat beside it. A portrait of their family—her father, her mother, Bihun, and Y/N all smiling widely in their best clothes. Matching eyes. Matching robes.

Concentrate, Y/N thought again. She took a deep warm breath and lifted her hand. The flame she produced was small, but she could still see it. She ran her eyes over the engraving on the cup—her family name, over and over and over.

Y/N breathed out, and the tiniest spark shot from the tip of her finger. The candle held the flame as she jumped up in delight. “Papa, papa, I did it!”

“You did, sweetheart,” her father said, blowing out the candle and pulling his children into his chest, hugging them tightly. “You did.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. The letter he had been writing was tossed into the fireplace.

Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5

[tomhollandstrash]

Spiderman the Matchmaker

Please enjoy this classic friends to lovers trope! 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Artist!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2k

You grinned at Peter as he danced around your room wearing the ridiculous meowing cat sweater one of your relatives gave you for your birthday. The way he wiggled his hips and kept squeezing the cat’s nose to make it meow made your shoulders shake in laughter. Moments like these with Peter were your favorite. The way he looked so worry free made your heart soar. This care-free version of Peter is one you often found yourself missing these days. 

“Pete, stop I’m going to pee my pants if you keep doing that,” You said through your laughter, wiping away a tear that escaped the corner of your eye. 

“I can’t, I’m enjoying this way too much,” Peter said, letting out a loud laugh as he set off the sweater’s obnoxious meowing again. “I just can’t believe they bought this for you,” 

“It’s the thought that counts,” You said, feigning seriousness before breaking out into another fit of laughter. “Okay, okay I can’t even say that with a straight face. It is kind of a wild sweater choice,” 

“You could say that,” Peter chuckled, out of breath from dancing. 

He flopped down on the bed next to you and let out a sigh of contentment. You looked at him over your shoulder before looking back to the sketch in front of you, tilting your head as you examined it. 

“What’re you working on?” Peter asked curiously as he sat up to look at your sketchbook over your shoulder. 

You blushed slightly because of Peter’s close proximity. You would be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little attracted to Peter. Not only was he a fantastic friend, but he was more than easy on the eyes. The way his eyes would twinkle when he smiled and his messy brown curls made your heart beat a little faster every time you saw him. 

“Oh, you know... It’s nothing much,” You said absentmindedly. 

“Are you kidding? Y/N, you’re the best artist I know!” Peter gushed, pulling the sketchbook out of your hands despite your protests. 

“Peter! I’m not done with that yet!” You tried to grab the book back from him to no avail. Peter was too good at blocking you. You bit your lip as you carefully watched him as he looked at the sketch. 

“Well?” You asked tentatively, bringing Peter back to reality. 

Lately, you’d been trying to practice more self-love. You decided to start by drawing a self-portrait. No better way to practice loving yourself than by drawing yourself. 

“Y/N, it’s beautiful!” Peter said, looking at you with his heart stopping smile. “Can I have it?” 

“What?” Your cheeks turned a deep crimson color as your eyes widened to an almost comical size. 

Was Peter Parker calling you beautiful? You shook your head and looked everywhere except for at him, rubbing your arm shyly. He couldn’t have been meaning that he thought you were beautiful, he had to have just been talking about the drawing. 

“Do you really want that?” You asked, looking at him holding the sketchbook. 

He nodded enthusiastically, holding the sketch close to his chest. You could never quite figure out how to say no to him when he pulled out the puppy eyes. You sighed and nodded. 

“Sure, you can have it,” You chuckled gently and put your hands out, gesturing for him to hand you your sketchbook. 

“Will you sign it?” He handed you the book and crossed his legs. “I want to make sure I have it when you’re famous” 

“Sure, Pete,” You smiled softly, taking your favorite teal pen out of your pencil bag. You opened the pen and put it to the paper, signing your name in the corner of the drawing. Tearing the sketch out of its place in the sketchbook, you turned to Peter. “Here ya go. One Y/N original,” 

Peter took the sketch out of your hands, admiring the details of your face on the page. 

“I love it. Thank you,” He smiled brightly. 

--

It had been a few days since you’d seen Peter last. Something about him needing to help May out around the apartment, and needing to do some extra work for his internship. While you two would usually hang out after school and into the evening, you hadn’t been seeing each other as much lately. It wasn’t that Peter was pushing you away, it just seemed like he was busier than usual. You were happy that his internship was going well, and you always wanted to support him in everything that he did. He was your best friend, so you couldn’t help but miss him a little bit. 

You wandered the winding path in the park before settling on a nice looking bench. A sigh left your lips as you let your bag drop into the spot next to you as you sat down. You pulled your sketchbook and pencils out of your bag. Shivering slightly as the cool autumn air brushed past you, you opened the book and started to draw. You weren’t sure at what point your brain decided to draw Peter, but when you looked down at the sketchpad, you blushed slightly. Were you really so hopelessly in love with Peter that now you were just drawing him without thinking about it? Apparently, so. 

As the sky began to turn purple and the streetlights turned on, you packed up your things and began the walk home. You could have taken the subway, but you decided you could use the fresh air. Caught up in your thoughts, you yelped when someone tried to grab your bag from you. 

“Hey! Let go!” You shouted, pulling on your bag with all your might. 

You saw a flash of red and blue in the corner of your eye and suddenly, you found yourself on the ground with the contents of your bag strewn about the sidewalk. 

“Ouch,” You pouted as you looked around. When you looked up you saw Spiderman.

“If I would’ve known they were going to let go like that, I would’ve tried to catch you,” Spiderman chuckled lightly and offered you his hand to help you off the ground.

“It’s okay,” You said and grabbed his hand, surprised at how effortlessly he helped you up. “Thanks for showing up, I’m not sure I would’ve made it out of here with my stuff if you hadn’t,” 

“It’s my job,” He said. You swear you’ve heard his voice somewhere, but you weren’t sure where. It must’ve been on the news or something. 

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as he helped you pick up your things. You were about to grab your sketchbook when you noticed Spiderman looking at its pages. 

“Oh! Um, I’ll take that, thanks for grabbing it,” You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, and gently took the book from him. 

“You’re really good, you know,” He complimented. “Who’s that guy you’re drawing?” 

“That’s Peter,”  You smiled as you pulled your bag over your shoulder. 

“He’s good looking,” Spiderman chuckled. 

“He is,” You nodded and smiled, trying not to give too much away. 

“Can I walk you home?” He asked. 

“Uh, sure! I’d appreciate that,” You said and began walking toward your apartment. 

The two of you walked quietly together for a bit before Spiderman broke the silence.

“So are you two together?” He inquired, nodding toward the sketchbook in your hands. 

“No, we’re not,” You blushed deeply, looking at the ground. 

“Why not?” He pressed. 

“I mean, he’s my best friend. And as far as I can tell, he’s not really interested in me like that,” You explained, glancing in Spiderman’s direction. 

“I mean, you never know, he totally could be. Are you interested in him like that?” 

You sighed and looked back at your feet, the ground suddenly the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. Were you really about to confess your feelings for Peter to Spiderman? You weighed your options before deciding there was no harm in it. What were the odds that you’d see Spiderman again? Besides, it’s not like he would tell Peter how you felt. 

“Yeah, I mean, Peter’s wonderful. He’s so sweet and fun to be around. Not to mention extremely cute,” You said, pausing for a moment. “I mean, I didn’t mean to fall for him. It’s kind of typical right? Falling for your best friend,” 

Spiderman went silent for a moment, almost like he was thinking. You looked over to him, worried that perhaps you’d shared too much. 

“Sorry, maybe that was too much,” You added. 

“N-no! Not at all!” He said, sounding somewhat surprised. “I was just thinking. If I were Peter, I would want you to talk to me about it, and I’d honestly probably feel the same way,” 

You were going to respond, but saw your apartment building coming into view. 

“Thanks for walking me home!” You said before quickly slipping into your apartment building. 

Spiderman had given you a lot to think about. 

--

“Hey, y/n. What’s going on?” Peter said, slightly breathless. 

In the past week, you couldn’t stop thinking about Spiderman’s words. You decided you would talk to Peter and you would tell him how you felt. Peter was one of your best friends, and you didn’t think he’d make it weird if he didn’t feel the same way. So, you called Peter and asked him to come over one afternoon, hoping he was free. 

“Can we go to the roof?” You asked, pointing toward the fire escape. 

“Sure!” He chirped, leading the way to the roof. 

The whole way up your heart was pounding. You were nervous but feeling somewhat hopeful. Although you weren’t sure if he would feel the same way, you wanted to believe that he did. 

You shoved your hands deep into your pockets and looked at Peter. 

“So, I asked you to come over because I have to tell you something,” You began. 

Peter’s ear perked up, his heart racing. He had to try to keep the smile that was forming. Peter had been thinking about the night he, well- Spiderman, walked you home. He’d been in love with you for the longest time. The way you lit up the room, your incredible skills as an artist, how kind you were to those around you, the list of things he loved about you could go on forever. You were everything to him, and he was just hoping that you would feel the same way too. 

“I don’t know how to say it, so I guess I’ll just do it...” You took a deep breath and shut your eyes tightly. “IreallylikeyoualotIthinkyou’rereallywonderfulandIthinkImightbeinlovewithyou” 

You opened one of your eyes to gage Peter’s reaction, shoulders relaxing when you saw him chuckling. 

“Peter,” You whined, covering your face with both of your hands. “I shouldn’t have said anything,”

“Y/n,” Peter said, walking over to you and taking your hands away from your face. “I love you too,” 

“You do?” You blinked a few times, finally having the courage to look him in the eyes. 

“Yeah, I’ve been in love with you since the day you accidentally broke my bike,” He said, placing a warm hand on your cheek. 

“Did I mention that I’m really sorry about that?” You chuckled, cringing at the memory. 

“Yes,” He laughed, his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way. 

The two of you stood there on the roof looking into each other’s eyes, feeling so much joy and love. 

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, breaking the silence. 

Peter didn’t say anything, instead pressing his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. You sighed happily into the kiss, happy that you decided to tell him how you felt. You could have never imagined that Peter felt the same way about you. When the two of you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a smile on his lips. 

“I love you,” He said again, grinning ear to ear. 

“I love you too, Peter,” You said going in for another kiss. 

The night went on sharing sweet kisses and warm embraces. You were so grateful for the night that Spiderman walked you home. You’d have to remember to thank him. Peter would eventually tell you that he was Spiderman, but that was a confession for another day. 

--

[mediaevalmusereads]

Matrix. By Lauren Groff. New York: Riverhead Books, 2021.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Cast out of the royal court by Eleanor of Aquitaine, deemed too coarse and rough-hewn for marriage or courtly life, seventeen-year-old Marie de France is sent to England to be the new prioress of an impoverished abbey, its nuns on the brink of starvation and beset by disease. At first taken aback by the severity of her new life, Marie finds focus and love in collective life with her singular and mercurial sisters. In this crucible, Marie steadily supplants her desire for family, for her homeland, for the passions of her youth with something new to her: devotion to her sisters, and a conviction in her own divine visions. Marie, born the last in a long line of women warriors and crusaders, is determined to chart a bold new course for the women she now leads and protects. But in a world that is shifting and corroding in frightening ways, one that can never reconcile itself with her existence, will the sheer force of Marie's vision be bulwark enough? Equally alive to the sacred and the profane, Matrix gathers currents of violence, sensuality, and religious ecstasy in a mesmerizing portrait of consuming passion, aberrant faith, and a woman that history moves both through and around. Lauren Groff's new novel, her first since Fates and Furies, is a defiant and timely exploration of the raw power of female creativity in a corrupted world.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: blood, violence, gore, childbirth, threats of rape

Overview: As a medievalist, I’m admittedly a little picky when it comes to my historical fiction set in the Middle Ages, but because this book was about Marie de France, I decided to give it a go. While I do think that Groff is a talented writer, I ultimately felt let down by Matrix; when I think about Marie de France, I think of her lais and the magic she weaves into them (not literal magic, mind you, but things like the power of women, courtly love, lush atmosphere, etc). This book, by contrast, contained very few of the themes that make Marie’s work so memorable, to the point where the less you know about the real Marie de France, the better. Instead of exploring the mind of the woman who wrote such wonderful, magical tales, we get the story of a nun who brings an impoverished abbey to prosperity. It’s a fine story, don’t get me wrong - it’s just not one I’d associate with Marie de France. Honestly, I think Groff would have had more success writing about her own original character, taking inspiration from mystics like Julian of Norwich or Margery Kempe. Thus, this book only gets 3 stars from me.

Writing: Groff’s prose is beautifully crafted with evocative imagery that is also easy to read. Everything flows well and moves at a quick pace, so readers won’t feel bogged down by details such as the day-to-day work at the abbey or some such. This book also uses present tense to narrate the story, and while I’m not usually a fan of the present tense, I think Groff made it work. The narrative feels energetic and grounded, and I think it combined well with the technique of using run-on sentences from time to time to convey the feeling of being caught up in the moment or lost in thought.

Plot: The plot of this book mainly follows Marie de France as she is yanked from her life at the French court and placed in charged of a poor English abbey. We follow Marie as she rises through the ranks and brings the abbey to prosperity, all while wrangling unruly nuns and doing her best to convince Eleanor of Aquitaine to come for a visit.

I think I would have enjoyed this plot more if the protagonist were someone other than Marie de France. As I said in my intro, the story isn’t an exploration of the inner workings of the mind of a (female) medieval poet; rather, it’s a story about a woman obsessed with her own power and reputation within the Church. The lais themselves get only about 3 pages of mention, and it felt like none of the themes that we associate with Marie’s real-life lais made it into this novel. While I did appreciate the little nods to history here and there (for example, the description of one of the nuns sticking a paintbrush in her mouth and getting lapis lazuli in her teeth), there wasn’t enough in this book to made the story feel fresh or new. Perhaps Groff was working with the theory that Marie de France was Marie, Abbess of Shaftesbury, but even so, the lack of attention to the lais and how they’d complicate our expectations or assumptions about the life of a medieval nun was baffling to me. Personally, I think Groff would have had more success if the book was “about” Marie, Abbess of Shaftesbury, or about an original character, inspired by female mystics such as Julian of Norwich or Margery Kempe.

I also wasn’t enthusiastic about the way Groff chooses to present her “feminist utopia” of an abbey staffed with only women. Despite the desire for Marie to protect her nuns from male violence and power, not much work is put into describing the abbey as a haven. Instead, Marie imposes her own will onto others and replicates the power hierarchies that she is (supposedly) so desperate to escape. I think I would have liked this book better if the author could have looked for the ways in which abbey life could have been a solace to the women. For example, maybe the daily routine provides comfort for those struggling with the chaos of the outside world. Maybe the queer nuns finally find a place that feels safe for them to express their affection for other women. Anything that complicated our modern assumptions about medieval Christianity would have been welcome; instead, I felt like I got a lot of “barbaric Middle Ages.”

I guess I’m being harsh in that Marie explicitly says that she thinks women are only safeguarded by their reputations. Thus, all of her actions are in service to cultivating a particular image of herself and the abbey (imposing, impregnable, protected by magic, etc). I think this could have been more satisfying for me if A.) again, we weren’t reading a story about “Marie de France,” or B.) the novel was very self-conscious about the fact that Marie was manipulating the perspectives of others.

Characters: Marie, our main protagonist, is confusing and difficult to like. Originally, she’s too cool for school; she arrives at the abbey more than a little skeptical of Christianity, and she judges the other nuns around her rather harshly (even though some deserve it, but still - there was this “not like other girls” vibe that I didn’t like). The novel tells us that she was a child crusader, which seems odd for one not invested in Christianity, and then never really does anything with that except use it to instill fear in people who are uncomfortable with her “imposing” demeanor. After a few years, Marie becomes devout to the point where she’s having divine visions, like e medieval mystic. The switch felt fairly abrupt, and Marie’s ruthless pursuit of power and prosperity was admittedly a little tired at times. The only things I liked about her were her queerness and obsession with Eleanor of Aquitaine. Queerness is fairly commonplace, which is refreshing; even though Marie struggles with the idea of whether it is a sin or not to have carnal desires for other women, I did appreciate that wlw relationships were everywhere within the abbey, not just between Marie and a single other nun. Marie’s obsession with Eleanor was also interesting in that it bordered on erotic obsession and made manifest the pains unreciprocated love, mirroring courtly love in real medieval literature. I liked how Marie strove to please Eleanor in everything that she did, and loving the Queen from a distance put an interesting spin on courtly love between two women.

Eleanor, for her part, was intriguing because she was something of a mystery. We mainly saw her though Marie’s eyes, which meant that she was held up as a paragon - of beauty, of intelligence, of courage, etc. When we do finally see Eleanor in the flesh (so to speak), she doesn’t quite live up to Marie’s hype, and I liked the conflict between reality and the lover’s image of the beloved.

Most other characters blurred together for me. There are many nuns at the abbey, and most of them have quirks or jobs that make them unique. In that respect, I liked how Groff made each nun feel like an individual, and that they all came together to form a community. What I didn’t really like, however, was how they always seemed to be in conflict. Aside from a couple characters, it didn’t seem like any of the women had any close relationships; rather, I felt like the women were frequently in conflict or at least consistently incompatible in some way or another. If Groff really wanted to paint the abbey as some kind of haven or utopia, I think having more of the nuns find emotional intimacy with one another would have gone a long way. Even if some of the women didn’t get along, I would have liked to see more positive relationships rather than negative or impersonal ones.

TL;DR: Matrix is ultimately a compelling novel about running an abbey, but a poor imagining of real-life poet Marie de France. While there is much to admire about Groff’s prose and the book would have been a fine work of historical fiction if written about, say, the Abbess of Shaftesbury, the narrative is unfulfilling for those who are familiar with the lais of Marie de France, primarily because none of the core themes from the medieval poems play major roles in Groff’s novel.