#making self portraits is a way to learn about myself and i discovered i have a sliiiiiiiiight curve on my nose

[steelthroat]

I was getting bored on the bus and I remembered "hey I haven't sketched anything with my fingers in a while huh..." (years) so I said why not and decided to sketch a quick self portrait and a study of my nose

[maypop-the-dragon]

Self-Portrait, 2024-02-02

↓ Explanation and WIPs under the cut! ↓

The way I see myself has gone through various phases throughout the years, and lately I've been feeling some of those old ways of being resurface. I had the idea to create a "self-portrait" that includes several of my various "iterations" all posing together. I'll describe each thing in (roughly) chronological order.

The yellow blobs in the sky are hallucinations I used to have in the dark as a small child. I think they're related to my visual snow. I can still "summon" them sometimes if I have them on my mind. They're yellow, roughly square blobs with oblong black ovals for "eyes," resembling the flip-blocks from Super Mario World. They would sort of vibrate while seemingly moving toward me.

The background is meant to be a Minecraft snowy tundra. I am a long-time Minecraft player, and I have fond memories of snowy tundra biomes specifically for some reason. I am particularly nostalgic for the sound of breaking ice and the way the roses contrasted with the snow. I used to use the seed blank to build on MCPE, I once saw a "portal to mars" tutorial and tried to replicate it and that was on a snowy world, and I think I tried the 1.5 update on a snowy world. I feel attached to that one world for some reason. I remember there was a ravine with lapis. The silliest thing? I cared about the lapis even though I was playing in Creative Mode.

The cartoonish sleeping child is me as a child. Back in elementary school, I would draw comics a lot, and I was often a character in them. My art style at the time was influenced by Diary of a Wimpy Kid and later Big Nate. I only had access to lined paper, but I made the best of it by using the lines to measure out panels. They were each 4 lines tall, but I later changed it to 5 lines. Speaking of the comics I used to make, the new Mr. What-The is still in development.

The big green guy is an anthropomorphic "mullet dinsoaur." This long-haired long-neck boi was originally not anthro. I drew it and mullet dinosaurs kind of became my "thing" for a while, though I only managed to draw two! (I hadn't yet learned the efficient drawing techniques I know now) That character is still my profile picture on YouTube and some other platforms. At some point I would sometimes semi-involuntarily visualize myself as an anthropomorphic version if it. (This was before I decided to just actually be a furry.) Interestingly, I just remembered that I did the visualizing thing with Ord from Dragon Tales once when I cried as a small child.

The blue-gray Furret is based on a quick edit I once made of the official Furret artwork using the iOS Photos app. I also used a similar blue-gray Furret as an icon for my secret YouTube channel. When Furret Walk was popular, I had an intense Furret obsession phase. I would doodle Furret all the time, which also helped me get better at drawing fast and loose, and I still have my Furret plush. This obsession was so intense that I sometimes wished I could become a Furret and just be a wholesome creature. (Now that I think of it, I suppose I still prefer to be a wholesome creature.) I was even happy because of the specific appearance of the wrinkles on my cheeks when I smiled very wide. This phase was also when I discovered my desire to cuddle when I was doodling Furrets and drew two of them hugging and cried a lot about it.

The red, hovering, serpent-like creature is a self-insert character from an earlier concept of my website. It lives in space and its body is filled with a jelly substance that it can manipulate psychically to move its body. The scruff on its neck is an excess store of said substance, which is pushed out to extend limbs such as arms. It is actually a modified version of a similar creature I made up specifically to be easy and interesting to animate for music videos. That original creature was white and had no eyes or canonical home. Aside from that, it was the same.

The other... creature... is my current fursona. That's me, May. Me now. My character design draws inspiration from many sources that all call back to various aspects of myself and my past. You can see that it's aesthetically more feminine or androgynous than the mullet iteration, which is because I have since explored what gender expression I am most happy with a lot more. That applies to much of the design really. It’s much more intentionally constructed to represent who I want to be. I am a cute silly dragon now, rawr!!

After writing all that, I'm starting to think my personality really is just several mental illnesses in a trenchcoat.

WIPs

I heard of posting WIPs to prove you’re not an AI and I think that’s a neat idea so here you go... (The weenor is specifically planned because I don't usually draw characters with external genitalia. You can't even see the bulge in the final drawing, though. What a waste.)

[biglisbonnews]

Harper Watters Pays Tribute to His Black Ballet Ancestors Harper Watters, the first queer Black First Soloist for the Houston Ballet and a TikTok starlet who is redefining ballet’s social media presence, pays homage to his dancer ancestors this Black History Month. Last year, he recreated iconic poses from transgender dancer Ashton Edwards, Matthew Rushing, "Godfather of Vogue'' Willi Ninja and Bill T. Jones. This February, he's teamed up with photographer Maxwell Poth to reimagine photographer Jack Mitchell's legendary shots of the Dance Theatre of Harlem from the '70s and '80s.Watters discovered Mitchell’s photographs as he explored the deep waters of the internet's annals of documented Black dancers, searching for inspiration for his annual BHM tribute series. “I want this to be a love letter and thank you note to the dancers in [Jack Mitchell’s photographs] because I stand on their shoulders,” Watters tells PAPER. Collaborating with photographer Maxwell Poth, the two recreated some of Mitchell’s most iconic works in a powerful portrait series.Below, witness the side-by-side recreations made by Poth and Watters as well as a PAPER behind-the-scenes chat with Watters about his self-reflective journey into the archives to honor Black dancers.How did you and Maxwell link up for this project?I messaged him and said: “PLEASE HELP MY VISION COME TO LIFE!" Without any hesitation, he was on board. I’m lucky to know Maxwell, beyond him being an incredible photographer, as a friend. One who I met many years ago, galavanting around WeHo. It’s always fun to be able to make art with creatives, but when they’re your friends it’s even more special.Why did you think Maxwell would be the right photographer for this? Maxwell has such an incredible eye and talent for capturing the body and capturing the body in movement. His work never feels one-dimensional. There is a calmness, attention to detail, and simplicity throughout his work that always makes for a strikingly beautiful finished project. He also is dedicated to highlighting queer people and their stories. So his artistic voice and commitment to working with marginalized subjects made him an obvious choice. What drew you to Jack Mitchell’s photos for this year's edition? I discovered the work of Jack Mitchell while researching for a previous series I did on IG Reels for Black History Month. The series involved me dancing into the images of black dancers who I work with or who inspired me along my journey. This year I wanted to challenge myself to dig deeper and discover more artists who I knew less about but deserved to have their flowers. This led me to Jack Mitchell and his series of photographs for the Dance Theater of Harlem. Like Maxwell, his work captured the physicality of the male dancers so beautifully. They were so regal and stoic, I was blown away by the poses Jack was able to capture. There is this indescribable feeling that happens in dance when you just feel compelled to move, whether it be the music, the choreography or your partner. I felt that with Jack's photographs and knew I wanted to recreate them and learn more about the dancers in the images. Did you face any challenges with this shoot, either in conception or in execution? I think the only challenge I faced was realizing how talented the Dance Theater of Harlem dancers were, because despite making the poses look so effortless, they were in fact super challenging. Maxwell was able to recreate the lighting so well, and I was impressed with how he could almost sculpt me into positions by correcting the angles of my limbs to replicate the images perfectly. My hope was to carry their energy through Maxwell's eyes and my body. What did you hope to highlight in recreating these photos? I want this to be a love letter and thank you note to the dancers in the original images because I stand on their shoulders, they paved the way for me to be able to dance the way I am today. I wanted to shed light on their careers and their accolades. I had a few dancers to look up to when I was starting out, but I truly lacked the visibility and knowledge of dancers like me, which forced me to believe I wasn’t meant to be a dancer. These dancers are my fuel to keep on dancing and pushing myself to be better. What is the through-line between your work and the Dance Theatre of Harlem dancers' work? Black dancers are beautiful. Black dancers are powerful. Black dancers matter.Photo by Maxwell Poth https://www.papermag.com/harper-waters-maxwell-poth-bhm-2659447847.html

[izzysdart]

Virtual Sketchbook: Entry 1

Banksy October 9, 2013 Untitled. Spray paint, stencil, mixed media, graffiti art. Ludlow Street, Lower East Side, NYC (removed).

I learned a fair few facts about both Banksy and his Untitled 2013 work.

1. While the work itself is untitled, it would eventually join a number of Banksy's other works in a collection called Better Out Than In.

2. The work was first showcased online, posted alongside an audio clip of a group of soldiers talking. The audio itself was taken from a classified, leaked video of the July 12, 2007 Baghdad airstrikes. 

3. While a number of other pieces from the Better Out Than In collection were preserved, this Untitled work was dismantled.

4. Banksy himself is an anonymous artist. While he has been active for around 3 decades now, his identity remains unconfirmed.

5. Banksy's works are often meant to be temporary, usually graffiti done on regular buildings, and are often highly political.

I have often been somewhat contemptuous of Banksy's work, not on account of subject matter or medium, but rather because they can be somewhat brash in their messaging. This piece, however, and my research into it, has granted me a somewhat begrudging respect towards him. It is one of his more layered works, with its imagery being a bit more complex than his more simple pieces. Its message regarding the US and its involvement in the Baghdad airstrikes, combined with the unofficial name of the piece, "Crazy Horse", brings to mind American colonialism, in both it classical and modern forms. While I am not always a fan of the way in which Banksy portrays the messages he wishes to convey in his works, "Crazy Horse" has allowed me to appreciate the work more for what they wish to convey than the imagery he uses to convey it.

2) Art and Writing

A painting hangs in our dining room. It has the texture of an actual painting, though I doubt any of the texturing is real. The original copy was likely painted on an actual canvas, but the one sitting in our home is likely mass produced. By all means, it is a beautiful painting. It is detailed, the colors are nice, and it helps bring a sense of warmth to the room. It is not one of a kind, but it serves its purpose anyway. All it is meant to be is decoration.

3) Writing a Self-Portrait

There is a number of things I carry alongside me when it comes to perceiving the world. I am young, only 17, though soon to be 18. I'm white, which is obvious enough from the photograph provided above. I've grown up as a woman, though I do not hold much attachment to being anything in particular. I'm queer, something that would have taken me a lot longer to discover had I not moved to the south when I was young. Right now, I do not have much going on aside from being a student. That, and being an artist, which I became interested in right around the same time I moved down south. I've always tended to excel in school despite my ADHD, though the same might not be said about my social life. I'm very left leaning, which I feel impacts my perception of most things in my life. These are just a few of the things that make up who I am, though certainly not all of them.

4) Self Portrait

Self Portait, Digital.

Though a slightly more traditional approach to a self portrait, one of the things I consider most personal to me is my art. I have been drawing for years, but I don't often make personal pieces, let alone show them to other people. Thus, I felt a slightly more stylized, digital self portrait would help convey a bit of myself. I think there is nothing truly more personal than how somebody makes their art, and this is means through which I make mine.

[k00293213]

ARTIST STATEMENT SUMMARISED:

> I examined Movement through the condition Hypermobility

> I explored Movement in sculpture, painting and printmaking

> My aim for this project was to explore how the pain of being hypermobile can be visualised through various media.

> My aim for myself through this project was to explore more ways of interpreting a common theme, I allowed myself more time to make work purely for experimental value and trial things more so than in the previous project.

> The references that i used throughout this project were compiled using my own photography, artist research, observation, peer brainstorming and the various workshops i experimented with.

ARTIST STATEMENT EXPANDED:

This project for me initially, did not come as naturally as our previous one(disrupt) did. For disrupt i grew very attached to an idea almost instantly and felt confident in exploring it, this for movement was not the case initially. For the first week in which we were gathering ideas and brainstorming, I didn’t feel attached or invested in any of my concepts. Until I thought more inwardly about movement, i myself have a tic disorder so that brought me to the concept of involuntary movement which then stemmed onto the concept of hypermobility.

Hypermobility is the concept that I settled on exploring in my disciplines for this project. I would look at the different ways of visualising it in work and bring ideas throughout the three disciplines to inspire one another.

For sculpture i did cardboard and paperwork, physically applying them on top of my body and distorting lines between them to visualise on the outside the pain that was on the inside. I experimented with fabrics and stitching which i had never done before, although I didn’t find much place for them in my project here it was very much enjoyable to learn a new medium and method. I toyed with constructing joints out of cardboard making an almost spring-like mechanism. These ideas ultimately brought me to creating a 3d piece that jutted out from a painting, mirroring a distorted limb. The work of Thomas houseago inspired many of my works throughout.

For painting, I discovered an artist that became crucial to my project as a whole, Ava Jinying who explored the monsters that we all struggle with and visualising them as entities. Many of my works across the disciplines took heavy inspiration from her pieces. My painting that i created in sculpture aided me for when it came to doing nude portraits in this discipline, i had a solid foundation for exploring values. Exploring the methods to which a portrait is made fascinates me, My final piece was a self portrait that had red detailing jutting out from my joints. This was to represent the monster and pain that comes with being hypermobile.

For printmaking, the processes were entirely new to me. Initially there were challenges with basics but these were quickly resolved with guidance. The pieces that i made in this discipline were some of my favourite and i feel encapsulate exactly what i was hoping to achieve. In sculpture I took a photo of my leg and distorted it to use as a reference for a painting. I decided to take that and apply it here in this discipline but distort it in sharper ways as to not just duplicate what was already made. This inspired the sharp edged shapes that appear in the prints of this discipline

My experiences ultimately led me to picking painting as my no1 choice elective because I feel confident in my base understanding of how to paint but am interested in how it can be challenged in years to come.

Overall i am very satisfied with the resulting work of this project, i feel i explored my disciplines a great amount and left no stone unturned when it came to trying new things.

[runnersnz]

“I have always enjoyed running. Growing up I have vague memories of running cross country and a bit of track. I was never fast enough for the sprints so leaned more towards the longer events. I may be wrong, but I have a memory of being told by a teacher when I was around 14 that I wasn’t a good enough runner to compete, or something like that. Anyways I gave up running on its own about this time and just focussed on team sports. 

I played basketball and volleyball but my main game was soccer which of course still involves running. I continued to run for personal health and fitness and to aid with my soccer. It was also just something I could do easily when I started travelling. I just enjoy the freedom of getting out in nature. I’ve also never really been comfortable with my body but the feeling I get when I’m running of being fit and strong makes me appreciate what it can do. I would run on the trails for the nature aspect and the solitude but I didn’t know that ‘trail running’ was an actual sport. 

I started to hear about some running races other than the typical road events and for some reason I decided to enter the 2018 Miner’s Trail as part of the Motatapu event. I self-generated a training plan with some on-line assistance, but really had no clue what I was doing. I ended up really enjoying the race and doing quite well considering. When my friend Katy suggested I run the Southern Lakes half marathon a couple of weeks later, I went for it and also did ok. Maybe I’d found an aspect of running that I was actually good enough at after all. I did a couple more road races and then I discovered more trail races and the world of ultra-running when I paced Katy for 50km of her first 100km race. I enjoyed figuring out a training regime that included different workouts with some speed and strength components and I enjoyed seeing the results. I’m quite competitive so running became a way to stoke that fire outside of team sports. 

In 2019 I got a coach, Lance Smith, who is a legend and was instrumental in my initial development. The last 5 years have been a constant learning path, with many ups and downs, as I navigate this sport and how to get the best out of myself. I continue to run because I still just love getting into the outdoors, enjoying the beauty of nature and exploring places at a faster pace. It’s also the time when I can completely tune out everything else in life and just feel free. I continue to race to challenge myself, to grow and develop as an athlete and also for the competition. 

I gave up soccer a few years ago as I wanted to focus on something where I was the only one accountable. However, I have since learned that although running seems like an individual sport, it really does take a support team to get me to the places I want to go at the level I want to be at. Trail running has also introduced me to a whole new community of people all around the world that I haven’t found with anything else before. I am forever grateful for the immediate team of people around me as well as the wider community who has accepted me for me. I hope to continue to race and explore my potential for as long as I can but more importantly I hope to be able to run and explore the natural world for even longer.”

Jessica @jessgriffcampbell (Christchurch) Photo taken at the Kepler Challenge – Portraits of Runners + their stories @RunnersNZ

[greek-2-me]

a little blog?

Today I attempted to develop film by myself for the first time. 

I had bought the materials I had read I would need online and prepared all my equipment. 

I created developer using Kodak D-76 powder in a plastic measuring cup, using a thermometer I bought the same day at Tesco (my last purchase to begin the process). I made up the batch and used a 1 litre bottle of Cherry Coke to story the mixture in. 

Then I left it (since the developer mix required quite warm water and I had choir rehearsal) and when I returned home, it was time to begin the actual development. I placed my equipment gingerly on the rounded top of my toilet cover and closed the bathroom door, creating a perfectly dark room.

It did not go perfectly though. 

It turns out you can take film out of the camera before going to a dark room and I completely forgot how my camera opens (there’s a lever on the bottom and then you pull off the top). It takes an embarrassing amount of time to figure that out but no matter, the roll is out. 

This particular brand had it so I could just unroll the film from its spool and the paper was just separate and so I discovered what film is really like - in the dark, by myself, on the floor of a university dorm bathroom. 

Next step was to load the film onto the reel. ‘Easy’ I thought. I had seen and watched several videos of this process and lined up the parts just as they should be and it was off to the races. But this film was wound tight! The way the reel is makes it so the film can “escape” if it wants to. And it wanted to. I spent probably around 20 minutes making the film go on this stupid and annoying reel but then: it was done. 

One, two, three, I did the next easy steps: put the reel on the spool, put the spool in the tank, close the tank with the funnel lid to make it blackout.

And now: welcome light. I poured in my developer (with correct proportions and at the correct-ish temperature) and followed the instructions to agitate and then set my timer and started cleaning up. Oops. You’re supposed to agitate every minute! I started at about the 11 minute to go mark out of my 14 minute timer setting. I think it was fine?

Before I know it, time is up! My instructions have details for repeated the process with the subsequent chemical steps but I don’t think anything of it. I pour my developer out, pour water in, swish swish swish, and it’s done!

I remove all the pieces: the watertight lid, the light-proof funnel and the reel with my film. What a beauty it is! I can already see small frames of pictures I remember taking months and months ago. Oh the train station I snapped on a snowy day! And my friends in my apartment! And finally, the last picture I took: a self portrait, just last night. 

I’ve done it! I developed film! 

I read it needs to hang dry so I grab some string and my scissors and poke a hole at the top of my film (obviously a part without a frame) and hang it in my shower. I text my dad. While battling with the roll of film and the reel in my pitch dark bathroom, I thought about him and my grandfather. There are pieces here and there I’ve picked up (my father doesn’t like to talk about him and I won’t mention any specifics) but I knew he was a photographer and that the camera I now own belonged to him. A 1930s Pupille that shoots the dying format 127 made me wonder what my grandfather would think if he looked down now and saw the grandkid he never had the chance to meet, learning his life’s trade. 

My father was surprised, I think. I hadn’t told anyone what I was doing, only a close friend knew I had impulsively bought the supplies on a random afternoon and today was the day I was doing it. But none the less he was supportive and asked a couple questions about me pursuing this. 

Oh. Oh wait. 

He asked me about getting prints and I think that’s what spurred on the thought that would prove to be my downfall.

See, the spontaneity of this project meant I wasn���t fully prepared. I knew that I was inexperienced and, not relying on my father who actually knew how to do this, I tried to compensate with educating myself. But when you don’t know the subject, it’s hard to determine the curriculum. And I missed a very important topic. 

Chemicals.

You might be thinking: what do you mean? You used chemicals! You made developer and literally successfully used it! (If you know about film developing, you might see where I’m going with this.)

I missed a very obvious plural. Film requires: a developer, to do some complicated chemical process to do with silver of the material to achieve an image (I don’t really know); a stop bath, more chemistry to essentially stop the developing the first chemicals are doing; and a fixer, to, as the name implies, chemistry to fix the process you’ve done and stabilise the film.

I had only developed. I didn’t even have any more chemicals! I suppose I had read somewhere about more chemicals and I had even considered a monobath (meaning one bath, I’m sure you can figure out what that process does), but somehow I had never come across instructions to acquire materials for the other two key components of film developing.

I’m panicking.

So I text my dad.

Long story short: I spent the next few minutes rapidly googling what this meant, how to solve this and is all hope lost. And the answer is: maybe my situation is salvageable. 

I’ve ordered fixer and hope to receive it within the next few days and, upon my father’s suggestion, I put the film back on the reel, back in the tank, fill it with water and have left in in my bathroom.

The film was exposed to light for less than an hour (most of that indirectly!) so I hope and pray that the pictures I have painstakingly learned to take on a fully mechanised camera aren’t lost. I get the feeling my grandfather is looking down on me and thinking ‘God, what a dumbass kid’.

[thekyterion]

BONES AND ALL (2015 Novel by Camille DeAngelis, 2022 film dir. Luca Guadagnino)

When I first heard a film about a cannibal love story was coming to theaters, my first instinct was to say “absolutely not”. Then I learned of the talent behind the film and my interest was piqued, as was my stomach. I am not a big fan of body horror, and knowing that the content matter of this film would likely be grisly and gross, I was ready for the nausea to sit right next to me in my recliner.

I was delighted to find out that the film was based on a novel, and I ran over to purchase it as soon as I could. I ended up reading it over the course of three days and found myself transported by the story and emotions running throughout, despite some more grisly moments. DeAngelis captures a story of growing up, discovering self and love/loss all guised under a cannibalistic backdrop in a beautiful portrait of what it means to understand one’s self. She also brilliantly weaves in the narrative of a young woman struggling to understand herself and her role in the world through Maren, one of my favorite protagonists I’ve had the pleasure of following in a very long time.

The film, unsurprising if you’ve any seen Guadagnino’s previous works, captures that perfectly. Taylor Russell leaps off the screen and once again gives a performance for the ages. I cannot wait to see her continue to grow and develop as an actress who already has so much talent and empathy at such a young age. Supporting players like Mark Rylance and Timothee Chalamet also turn in phenomenal work, specifically Rylance, who should definitely be in the awards conversation this year. He gives a performance of nightmares and he is a relentless and terrifying force, even when not on screen. Chalamet makes a great foil for Russell and the two have a natural chemistry that makes their characters incredibly believable and natural.

The crafts behind the film, especially the score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross and the cinematography from Arseni Khachaturan, are worth the price of admission alone. There are changes from the book to the film, and, like most adaptations, some work and some do not. If you asked me now which I preferred, I would have to say the book, solely because there are details from the novel that help to tie a lot of strings together and gives more closure to our characters in a way the film doesn’t (that feels purposeful in the film, however). Still, the changes that happen never take away from what we are seeing: a beautiful, messy coming of age story.

TW: lots of gore, violence, icky stuff

IF YOU LIKE BONES AND ALL:

- Raw (2016, dir. Julia Ducournau)

- Waves (2019, dir. Trey Edward Shults)

- Suspiria (2017, dir. Luca Guadagnino)

[art-h]

"Why are you here?"

"Research."

"Very Grand!"

Week 2; Module 2. Research week.

This week we have been focused on researching what inspires us to learn our chosen techniques. Having reflected on who inspires me and tried out different mediums I had settled on doing a multi-modal piece in pen & ink and pastels.

It's no secret that the two most influential and inspiring artists from my bookshelves are Da Vinci and Van Gogh, but I wanted to broaden my artistic horizons so looked to Van Gogh's contemporary Post Impressionist, Paul Gauguin. His use of colour and form in his art were considered avant garde in his day as he ignored traditional perspective and did away with subtlety in colour.

With this in mind I went to the library and found books on pastel and pen and ink techniques, and about Gauguin himself.

As I read about Gauguin's life and works, I was fascinated by his curation of his image and identity. I identified with him insofar as he shrugged off a career in finance as I have done to pursue his artistic dreams. Since reflection week made me think about my own identity and how I want my work to be seen, I wondered about the concept of taking steps to be seen in a certain way. I have never consciously acted a certain way in order to be perceived by others, but in one of Gauguin's self portraits, I certainly identified a kindredness.

In this self portrait Gauguin purposefully wore clothes considered outlandish for his time and place. Having done this myself to elicit a shock from others, I could see that he was comfortable in his image as an artist enough to alter the perception of how he wanted to be seen both in his art and as a person. Even though he is painted as wearing dark clothes, his presence pops from the canvas, serving to create the air of mystery he is trying to give off. From this I decided for my module piece I would make a self portrait in diptych in pastel a la Gauguin and a pen and ink self portrait.

That said, the more I read about Gauguin, I discovered a fascinating duality to his persona. After his travels to Panama, Martinique and Tahiti, he returned to Europe having cultivated the persona of the "civilised savage", claiming to "have learned the Polynesian creation myths from his Tahitian wife, when in fact, he had read them in a book by a french author. (Gauguin's Challenge: New Perspectives After Postmodernism (2018). Bloomsbury Academic. p 24) On learning this I saw Gauguin not as he wish to be portrayed, as the enigmatic revolutionary, having cast off western shackles in favour of a simpler life in a wild land. I began to see him as just another western colonialist, using art to cover up a wealth of sins.

I looked to other sources to uncover the man from the myth, in one essay I found online, he claimed to have taken up Primitivism in his life and works while living on, at the time, French colonised Tahiti. Even while claiming to have taken on savage sensibilities, he was still living under French rule, having western culture and laws to fall back on should any misdeeds be judged by the native peoples. It was recorded that not long after his arrival, he married a 13 year old girl. Obviously, with post-colonial eyes and mindset, this is no more than base paedophilia and should be judged as nothing less. (https://christopherpjones.medium.com/was-paul-gauguin-a-snake-or-a-saint-4b4d0a01e6e8)

After learning this my brain drew similarities between Gauguin and the fictional character of Dutch Van Der Linde from Rockstar Games' Red Dead Redemption series. In the narrative of those games, Dutch is an outlaw in the Wild West at the turn of the 20th century, claiming to be a sort of modern day Robin Hood while committing heinous crimes in the name of creating a new world order. What really surprised me, was how similar he was facially as well as in character.

Dutch even has dreams of starting a new life in Tahiti with his gang, and will rob, steal and kill to get the funds to do this. Toward the end of his narrative, he is seen not in his usual flamboyant gentleman's attire, but he ends up living in a cave, surrounded by disenfranchised Native Americans he has persuaded to take violent revenge on the American government which betrayed them and forced them to live on reservations.

From this research, I hit a moral wall. I was no longer inspired by the art of a man I knew to be immoral and cashed in on his white colonial privilege. I understand that as art students, we are supposed to separate the life of the artist from the art they produce, otherwise we will only be able to appreciate the art of those we like as people. However, when, like Gauguin, the life you choose to curate to your public is a lie to cover up heinous acts, suddenly, the art created becomes a footnote to a darker legacy. Much like the tearing down of statues of slave traders during the Black Lives Matter protests in Bristol in 2020, sometimes a legacy of philanthropy is sullied by how it was funded and created.

Having been thrown a curve ball after spending so much time on research, I decided to rein in my ideas, and retreat back to Van Gogh, a man who I deeply empathise with.

[honniedonnie]

Did you know Fennec foxed mate for life? Tighnari x GN!Reader ANGST

TW/CW: Major character death, (the reader is already dead) grief, depression, faking a happy personality, hurt/no comfort, mention of intense pain, you are cremated (out of spite, rant at the end)

Pronouns: They/Them

Notes: 1(one) mention of Y/N, the rest are pronouns or pet names. (i.e. darling, my love, etc.) You and Tighnari were married. I Wrote a mini rant at the end that was supposed to be included at the beginning, but it got longer that what I thought. (that’s what she said lol)

Word Count: 675 words

EDIT: whoops, there's a part 2 (two) also part 3 (three)

Masterlist

This is going to be my first time writing fanfiction since 2017 (I was 14 years old…) The only reason I’m writing is because I’ve got MAJOR brainrot over this Prompt 

By the way if there are any grammar issues please tell me. I will fix them because I apparently have anxiety over making a grammar mistake(s). (I learn something new about myself)

“Fennec foxes are monogamous and mate for life” (source - Fennec Fox | San Diego Zoo Animals & Plants)

‘It was supposed to be a simple walk, it was supposed to be a simple walk, it was supposed to be a simple walk’ Tighnari’s mind repeated the same sentence over and over again along with the image of his lover's dead body. Tighnari looked over your urn, twisting the gold ring on his left hand. You were only cremated after a couple days of discovering your body, your cause of death was clear; you decided to go for a walk into Avidya Forest, and decided to take a nap near a patch of flowers, only to never wake up. A withering zone appeared when you were sleeping. You died peacefully, at least that is what the coroner told him. Nightmares plagued his sleep; him seeing you in pain, and there was nothing he could do except to watch you die. The same nightmare; over and over again. There was a period of time that he absolutely refused to sleep; replacing sleep with caffeinated teas. It got to the point where Collei and other Forest Watchers had to replace his caffeinated tea leaves with calming/sleeping tea leaves. It took some time for Tighnari to believe that you died peacefully, and even longer for him to stop blaming himself over your death. (even though there was nothing he could’ve done) 

Eventually he forced himself to be happy; to be his former self. Even though his former self died alongside you. While the Forest Watchers and Rangers were relieved to have their Chief Officer back, they still had to be careful whenever they mention you. Even if he’s 100 feet away he can still hear them talking; talking about you, how you were too young, how heartbroken the Chief Officer was (is) about your death, and evening wondering if he would move on! Once he heard, oh boy was he furious. How dare they even think about that. Move on from the LOVE OF HIS LIFE! His lover, his darling, his partner, the person whom he’d married! Him?! Find someone else? He still has his wedding ring underneath his gloves, for Archons’ sake! Poor Collei had to drag him away before something bad happened. 

Tighnari’s was never the same after you passed. Around the days before and after your and his birthdays, anniversaries (both wedding and death) he refuses to leave his home, spending days taking care of the memorial he had for you. Cleaning your urn, clearing the dust from your self-portrait he had commissioned for as a birthday gift. (Took a lot of self restraint to not cry at the portrait, but sometimes he fails) He does try and get better, but how can he when he wakes up to an empty spot on the bed. How can he when you’re not there to kiss him goodbye and tell him to have a great day, and to be safe! Oh, and also not to eat some random mushrooms… again. How can he when everything reminds him of you, how can he…

“Collei, who’s (Y/N)?” A certain floating companion asked. A golden-haired traveler pondered as well; who was this mysterious person? 

“Shh, lower your voice Paimon.” Collei looked all over as if she was looking for someone. Deemed it to be safe, Collei answered the question. 

“They’re, I mean they were Master Tighnari’s spouse, umm they’d passed away a couple of years ago. He’s still grieving, so please don’t mention them in front of him!” Collei pleaded with the traveling duo. 

“Wait…How did you know about them?” “We overheard one of the Forest Rangers mentioning them”

“I see… Though I’m a little bit offended you didn’t ask me about my spouse” A new voice speaks out. 

“Tighnari! Hehe, you were here! Wait, your spouse? Aren’t they, you know, dead?” Paimon insensitively asked. Only realizing her mistake after seeing the faces of the traveler and Collei. “Don’t you know? My kind, we only have 1 (one) mate for life”

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

I’m taking a wild guess that burials are the norm considering A FUNERAL PARLOR EXIST! (I know some funeral parlors offer cremation services) Also Mondstadt has a cemetery behind the cathedral. ALSO HU TAO’S VOICE LINES (2 (two) lines about coffins, and 1(one) mention of burial) (Also if Liyue, Inazuma, and Sumeru are inspired by asian countries, then CREMATION SHOULD BE THE PREFERED METHOD OVER A BURIAL (source- List of countries by cremation rate - Wikipedia)) You know what! NO YOU ARE FUCKING CREAMATED I AM DOING IT OUT OF SPITE!

[linkspooky]

You once mentioned that Dabi's symbol of rebirth is the Phoenix. Ever since I read that post of yours a long time ago, I haven't stopped thinking about it. The imagery hit me profoundly! Do you mind elaborating? Thanks!

Is Hawks more like Icarus or like a Phoenix? I'm not sure if it makes a difference or not...

It’s my theory the actual rebirth / phoenix imagery is associated with Dabi rather than Hawks. If only because death and rebirth symbolizes a change in a character. In Tarot the Major Arcana “13″ symbolizes Death as the idea of a great change being brought, and a symbolic death of the old previous life or old self, rather than just straightforward dying. 

This rebirth imagery is connected to Dabi rather than Hawks, because not only has Dabi already experienced a death and rebirth by fire - Toya burning to death, and ressurrecting from the ashes somehow as Dabi. His new name literally meaning “cremation” a death by fire. The way Dabi is written now is also meant to be a “change” from who Toya used to be, Toya was someone who at some point was eager to become a hero, Dabi is a villain dedicated to bringing his father down. All of these ideas of change are associated with Dabi, not Hawks. 

1. The Phoenix

Dabi has already committed a lot of symbolic steps that would make him a phoenix. As stated above, he already experienced a death and rebirth once, Todoroki Toya dying and coming back as Dabi. The first time we see him named in the manga, comes from his father staring at his funeral portrait wishing for him to come back. 

Hawks has wings, and Dabi does not. However, I would make the argument that Dabi is the phoenix because he’s the one whose entire character is written around change. Dabi has even done a few phoenix related things already. We’ve seen him fly. 

The phoenix is also a bird that famously burns itself. The fires it’s reborn out of are, flames of self immolation. Hawks quirk is vulnerable to fire yes, but using his quirk doesn’t actively harm him. Dabi is the one so committed to burning himself over and over again, and burning in his own flames, in the hope that he can make a positive change on society. 

Say whatever you want about Dabi (you won’t hurt his feelings, he doesn’t have any), but at least ideologically Dabi follows Stain’s ideals, he believes you have to commit a purge or in other words, burn the previous society so that a new society can be reborn from the ashes. This is also once again, phoenix imagery, rebirth from ashes. 

Dabi is a character written around the concept of change, and being a bringer of change. 

2. The Light

Okay, before I start let me say I believe both Hawks and Dabi have the potential to learn healthier behaviors and grow as people. Seeing Hawks deteriorate mentally, and fall back on worse and worse behaviors isn’t I want to happen, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s what is being shown in the writing. 

Hawks and Dabi both have the potential for great change, but we are shown Hawks being given the oppurtunity continually and not taking it. Dabi is set up for redemption, and Hawks is set up to take a fall. By redemption literally all I mean is that Dabi looks like he’s going to have a character arc where he improves in some way and unlearns his unhealthy, self-destructive behaviors. Hawks also has an oppurtunity to unlearn these behaviors, but he can’t really do it if he refuses to change himself or his beliefs in any way. 

Hawks moves towards the shadows, Dabi moves towards the light. The writing around Dabi also suggests several times that rather than putting down Dabi, there is going to be reintegration of both the Dabi and Touya personalities. 

If Dabi and Enji are truly foils, then if Enji is given the chance to learn to be both Endeavor the Hero, and also Enji Todorokit the father, then why wouldn’t the same chance be extended to Dabi? If the message of Enji’s arc is that you can at any point, turn around, and that the smallest things can chance people. If fire you thought once only existed to burn can be redefined in a much more healthier lens, then why would not that same idea be extended to his son? Enji even reflects on this, what about the future I cut short? 

The future he cut short, sounds like he’s referring to Toya. Natsuo also brings up Toya for the first time shortly before this reflection. Endeavor accepts the idea that like Natsuo said, Toya’s death was his fault. Enji expresses twice, first that he wanted Toya to return to the dinner table, and second that he never truly believed Toya was dead even after they discovered in jaw bone in the fire. 

Shoto’s words to his father as well, you can become a better person from here on out, even if you’re not forgiven from what you did in the past because small words, can change a person. 

The path forward is not destruction, but reintegration. In a jungian sense that means accepting both sides of yourself, both the conscious mind (the light) and the unconsious mind / repressed self (the shadow). In terms of character, it would be Enji being able to view himself both as Enji Todoroki the man who failed his family and Endeavor the hero. It would be Shoto being able to accept both his fire and ice sides. It would be Dabi being able to accept both Toya the hero-hopeful, and then Dabi the villain. You notice how all three of them are split down the middle in this way, all three of them experience a split self that they need to reintegrate. 

Self destruction doesn’t work. Enji tries to burn his past self when he kills the High End and what does everyone in his family say to him. None of us forgive you just because you beat up a hero on the television. You haven’t done anything yet to change yourself. 

Enji attempts to just kill the past and move forward and that doesn’t work for him, as Dabi himself says so, the past never dies. If Dabi insists that the past never dies, he has the same immortality as the phoenix. 

Hawks is someone when given the oppurunity to change his mind, just doesn’t do it. He has someone who sympathized with him and trusted him and offered him a path forward that he didn’t take. Let me put it simply. If Hawks is Twice. If Hawks wants to be like Twice. If Twice is Hawks path forward, and then Hawks kills twice what does that say? 

If Hawks kills the guy he wants to be like - if he sees himself in Twice then murders him then, what does that say about the way Hawks views himself? I’m not reacting to whether or not Hawks is a good or bad person, but the framing. Hawks is framed tragically, Twice even says this out loud, it’s sad, pitiable that Hawks can’t make friends or trust people. That he’s so committed to doing everything all alone. 

Destruction isn’t the path forward, but reintregration. If Shoto’s ultimate desire is to learn to love himself, and be at peace with himself, then why would he hunt down and kill the person he views as the same as himself?

“I was also burning”. I agree that Dabi does not have an arc. Rather, his arc hasn’t begun yet. That’s because we’ve only been introduced to Dabi as a character when the Touya reveal happened, before that he literally was just a mystery lingering in the background. 

However, the set-up with Dabi points to this arc of change and rebirth. All of the foreshadowing around Toya is “we want Toya to come home” and “Dabi reflects the part of myself I needed Midoriya to save me from”. Dabi and Hawks both have the potential to change, however, if you look at the framing Dabi is framed with the chance for redemption because the idea of change is written into the center of his character, whereas Hawks is someone who tragically stays the same. It’s been brought up several times, Hawks is the bird who stays in his change, who does the same things over and over. 

The bird stays in his cage because he can’t survive out of it. Dabi is the phoenix because he symbolizes both this change to society, a change in endeavor that has to take place in order for him to be there for his family, and a change in himself he needs to make in order to continue living. Hawks is icarus, because he’s set to take a fall. His inability to change in time, his desire to keep flying towards the same sun will only lead to his fall. 

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Being Fake Soulmates with Dr. Chilton (Part 6)

<- Part 5

Frederick Chilton x Reader | The Good Place crossover

Final chapter! Warning: The Good Place spoilers, and a timeline that makes perfect sense because Jeremy Bearimy, baby. 

2,800 words

“No way. It’s too dangerous!”

“I thought you said we were in this together?” Chilton quirked a brow, eliciting a petulant grumble. You crossed your arms.

“Or maybe you think I’m expendable, so you’re willing to take risks with my life. Afterlife. Whatever.”

Frederick Chilton, who was not, as originally advertised, your soulmate, nonetheless clasped your hand with gentle tenderness. I would never do anything to hurt you is what a normal person would say in that moment, and perhaps his eyes said it, somewhere deep in their searching pools of green. But Dr. Chilton had a repressed way about him, tending toward overly clinical just stating the facts (or the sarcasm). Anything but genuine, vulnerable, sentimentality.

He guided you by your hand to sit down beside him on the baroque loveseat in one of his many living rooms, studies, and salons. After you settled yourself on the velvet cushion, he leaned his shoulder against yours in that quiet way he showed affection.

“After reviewing the town records,” he said, “I believe we may be the only two humans in the neighborhood. Some of the residents are far too dull—Chidi Anagonye, the moral philosophy professor who spent his life writing a single manuscript, Jianyu the silent monk—while others are too perfect—Glen, that one who is constantly volunteering, Tahani, the philanthropist. Real people have flaws, secrets, hobbies. I can only be certain of myself and you.”

“How’d you figure out I’m real?”

“I didn’t. I simply refuse to accept the alternative,” he said with a sad smile, and you began to think Dr. Chilton was sentimental after all.

***

Their voices were muffled even with your ear pressed to the door of Michael’s office—not that it mattered much what they were talking about. You were just waiting for the signal, and at that moment, it came. Their footsteps and voices grew louder as Frederick and Michael approached, and the door handle clicked.

“—which is why cannibalism loses more good-person points than defenestration but fewer than chewing loudly on a crowded bus.”

“Fascinating. I never thought about it that way,” said Chilton, looking genuinely disturbed.

You flattened yourself against the wall next to the door, thinking thin thoughts as the pair exited the office. A tall houseplant barely disguised your presence, and if Michael had any kind of peripheral vision, he would see you standing there plain as day.

But Dr. Chilton spoke animatedly, fixing him with a challenging laser-stare as he asked a probing follow-up question. Locked in Chilton’s eyes, Michael failed to notice the movement just behind his left shoulder as you slipped through the closing door before it could latch shut.

Safe.

Michael’s office was quiet and filled you with serenity in much the same way a teddy bear is filled with stuffing: forcefully and by no will of your own. Like the welcome room with its happy green plants and happy green words on the wall assuring you everything is fine, the office peeled your defenses away. Cream-colored walls yawned out around the perimeter, punctuated with bright windows, a portrait of Doug Forcett (a stoner from the 1970s who guessed, on a mushroom trip, how the afterlife really worked), and various artifacts of humanity enshrined like museum pieces, despite seeming perfectly mundane.

At the top of the room was a large mahogany desk.

Yesterday, Chilton watched Michael put away files in the desk that he wouldn’t let him look at. Chilton was certain they were the key to unraveling the mystery, so he suggested working together—he would distract Michael while you sneaked in to find the files. It was risky, but it might have been your only chance of discovering what was going on, and if there was a way to escape.

You began poking through the desk and found stacks of papers in an unreadable alphabet. The only thing you could read were lyrics to a genuinely terrible song Michael was writing titled “Love Train to the Cosmos.”

The last drawer wouldn’t budge.

Yanking the handle didn’t work. Banging on the side with your fist failed to unstick it. It was locked. Locked drawers were suspicious. The answers had to be in there.

You eyed a mountain of paperclips lovingly displayed on a pedestal labeled “Human Things.” Snatching two off the top, you unbent and re-bent the stiff metal wire, and inserted it into the lock. Faint clicks sounded as you turned and finessed the paperclip, feeling each pin in the tumbler slide into place. Then you gently turned it, and—pop. The drawer opened.

A single manila folder stamped TOP SECRET in threatening red letters rested inside, as if waiting to be found. You picked it up and opened it, and your breath caught. They were reports on “The Good Place.” The Good Place in quotation marks. Reports about you.

A pleasant bing sounded.

Janet materialized in front of the desk. For once, she was not wearing a cheery smile.

***

Frederick Chilton had always been a selfish man. Any opportunity that could advance his career and put him in the spotlight, he would take it no matter who it hurt. “Unorthodox therapy,” he called it in his private chats with Dr. Lecter. They bonded over their shared interest in unorthodox research before he learned Dr. Lecter was a cannibal. That would have been a clue to anybody else that it was time to change his ways, but Dr. Chilton spent the rest of his years just as selfish and petty—more so, even, as his disfiguring injuries gave him more reason for spite.

He could never accept himself as he was.

By the time he died, Chilton was an intolerable asshole who paid back the world’s cruelty with his chronic foul moods and acerbic sarcasm. He kept everyone at a distance.

And yet, here, in death, he found himself worrying over someone else.

The sun was shining in the ever-blue sky, dappled by lush green foliage before reaching the two men as they strolled the neighborhood below. Michael was built like a sapling with longer legs than he knew what to do with, making Chilton nearly jog to keep pace. He had a warm smile and an outgoing demeanor—always flattering Chilton’s ego and asking for his guidance. But something malignant hid behind those smiling eyes, and Chilton’s mind kept rushing back to you, hoping you were OK.

He hoped that you were safe. Not that the plan was going smoothly. That you were safe.

There was a difference, and Dr. Chilton noticed right away that his twitchy nervousness was not wrought of self-preservation. It was a new type of panic—worse than fear for himself, which he never thought possible considering the amount of terror he had experienced on his own behalf.

To distract himself, Chilton threw himself into the role of Michael’s assistant, focusing on his task of supposedly identifying psychological issues causing problems with the neighborhood.

“Our interviews should go in alphabetical order, under the pretense of a survey—a sort of afterlife census—to avoid suspicion. It should be feasible, with only three hundred residents—”

“We know,” Michael said coolly. His voice dropped from the usual friendly, flattering demeanor, slipping off like a mask.

“You know how you are going to handle the interviews? It is imperative the subjects do not suspect they are being studied.” Chilton swallowed, knowing full well that he was talking to the real Michael for the first time.

“Don’t play dumb.” Michael smiled an entirely different type of smile, twisted and clever with no warmth in it. “We’ve been watching you, Dr. Chilton. We knew you would figure it out eventually. It was only a matter of time before you saw through a psychiatric study.”

Chilton’s interest piqued at the same time his blood went cold. He wet his lips. “Is that what all this is, then?”

The pair came to a stone bridge that arched gracefully over a reflection pool. Michael stopped midway across, leaned one of his long, pointed elbows on the railing, and cocked his head at Chilton.

“You haven’t figured it all out yet? That’s disappointing. You humans really are so dense.” His tone was so mean that Chilton took an unconscious step back. Michael only laughed and told him there was no point in running away. “But I think you’ll want to hear what I have to offer,” he promised.

Most of what you had been told about the afterlife was true, Michael explained. There was a real good place, and there was a real bad place where bad people were tortured for all eternity. But the bad place had a problem: it was boring! Humans get used to physical pain after the first few centuries, no matter how creative the punishment.

“Once you’ve flattened a thousand penises, you’ve flattened them all. I’m trying to do something new here. Innovate!” said Michael with an energetic swoop of his hand. “Emotional torture can cause the same level of discomfort, but in a more sustainable and (more importantly) entertaining way. That’s what this neighborhood is for—to study you humans and find out what makes you miserable.”

And then he offered Dr. Chilton something that grabbed his attention. The opportunity to design bad place neighborhoods.

“You are asking me to help implement psychological torture?” Chilton turned over each word cautiously.

“Oh,” Michael scoffed, “Don’t tell me you’re concerned about the ethics? Doctor, I’ve read your file.”

Chilton winced. He had done truly amoral things in the name of discovery—things it made him sick to be reminded of. Strange, though. In the past, he would have been proud to be treated as a peer by a psychopath. Not ashamed.

“Think of it, the glory, the prestige. You would be designing the afterlife for billions of souls. You will be remembered throughout eternity as the man who reformed the bad place!”

“And my soulmate?”

Chilton blurted it without thinking. It sounded so childish and naive, and sure enough, Michael shook his head and had a long chuckle at his expense.

“There’s no such thing! I thought you knew,” Michael slapped his knee. “I made it up so you would torture each other! But once again, I underestimated the human libido. You people all think with your genitals, it’s—it’s gross. Humans are gross.” He made a face. “That’s why I need your help to design a better system. With your understanding of the human mind, we can make condemned souls miserable for thousands of years.”

Chilton couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for this plan, and Michael frowned.

“If it makes you feel any better, consider this the humane option. The alternative is going back to scooping eyeballs out with melon ballers and replacing them with live bees. What do you say, doctor? Join my team.” Michael extended a hand, and Chilton eyeballed it.

“Can my soulmate—”

“Not a soulmate.”

“—come with me?”

“This offer is only open to you.”

“So they will be tortured? Alone? For eternity? In a system I help design?”

“Nothing you can do will change that. They are going to be tortured—the only person you can save is yourself, if you decide to help me.”

Frederick’s brow knit together. He thought about refusing. He really did. Abandoning you seemed unthinkable, especially after your promise to each other to stick together. But he was a selfish creature, and choosing to be punished wouldn’t protect you. If he was lucky, by teaming up with Michael, he could design a more comfortable torture for you one day.

“Maybe this will help make up your mind,” Michael said. “Hannibal Lecter.”

“Lecter?”

“He’s here. In the bad place. So far, he has been especially resistant to traditional torture. I thought you might have a personal interest in taking a crack at him?”

***

On a floating, room-sized projection screen, Frederick Chilton shook Michael’s hand. Your head fell forward, shoulders slumping. The screen flicked off and dissipated into the office air.

“This is the 764th time he has failed,” said Janet, giving a sympathetic simulation of a sigh. “We were sure he was going to make the right decision this time.”

You shook your head. “Fame and glory? Revenge? He’ll never refuse those. Trust me—he died because of them and still never learned his lesson.”

“That is what we’re afraid of. Some people never pass their tests. Fun fact!” she perked up, “Hannibal Lecter’s test is working at a Burger King where he can only cook Impossible Whoppers, and his 19-year-old manager calls him pee-paw. He gets reset every time he eats a customer. His longest record is twelve hours.”

When Janet found you snooping in Michael’s desk, you expected to be dragged away, never to see Frederick again. Instead, she explained everything to you—the truth.

A long time ago, the bad place was exactly how Michael described it—a place where souls were sent to have their orifices filled with spiders for eternity. Then he decided to try something new. Originally, he paired you with Dr. Chilton hoping you would drive each other crazy. But no matter what happened, you kept falling in love. You kept supporting each other, and taking care of each other. The same happened with his other human test subjects—they kept improving and becoming better people than they were on Earth. Eventually, Michael changed, too.

He redesigned the bad place to be a test—a chance for human souls to earn their way into the good place. At the end of each test, you either pass and go to the good place, or your memories are erased and you start over again.

“So, what happens to me now?”

“You passed. You can go to the good place now, and spend the rest of eternity in paradise. The real one.”

“And Frederick? He’ll be alone?”

Janet nodded.

“Put me back in. Reset me, and make me his soulmate again.”

“Are you sure?” Janet asked.

“I’m not going without him.”

“He would leave you behind. You just saw that.”

“That wasn’t fair. Anyone would accept that deal. I would accept that deal!”

“No. You wouldn’t,” Janet said. “You passed your test a long time ago.”

For a while, a heavy silence fell between you as you processed this. Finally, you thought of the only question worth asking. “How many times have we had this conversation?”

“762.”

“Well then,” you said. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“I do. But you retain a vague sense of your memories from previous tests. At a subconscious level, you might realize you’re tired of this.”

You smiled. A big, genuine one that balled your cheeks and creased the corners of your eyes. “That’s not how I feel at all. I think I love him more every time.”

Janet nodded, but gave one last warning before erasing your memories again. “If he never passes, you could be stuck here forever.”

“Stuck falling in love with that insecure jerk over and over again for thousands of years? Sounds like heaven to me.”

“I thought you might say that.”

***

The first day, you really wanted to punch his pretentious snobby face for thinking he was so much better than you.

The first time you laid eyes on Dr. Frederick Chilton, he was waiting behind a mahogany desk with an ancient hardcover book in his hands. Not reading it—waiting, posed deliberately to be discovered that way, and give the impression of intellectualism.

“This is your soulmate,” said Michael, introducing you.

Chilton took a step back after shaking your hand and looked you up and down critically, as if he were appraising livestock. And right away, you knew there had been a terrible mistake. Who the fork did he think he—

Fork. Fork! Why couldn’t you say fork?!

***

Bright light streamed in through the open bedroom window. The weather was always perfect here, except when some glitch made it rain caviar and jelly beans. Or that time Frederick had a vivid nightmare, and organs began falling from the sky. Every day, something horrible seemed to go wrong in the good place. Things that challenged you and pushed your soulmate to his limits.

But most mornings were like this. Quiet. A time just for the two of you.

Your fingers lightly stroked his chest, delving into the soft hairs that rose and fell with his steady breathing. You pressed a soft kiss to his skin, then another, tracing a line of them lower, over a jagged, raised line down his abdomen. His scars let you know he was waking up. This was the good place—he didn’t have to let them show. Usually, he chose to appear as a younger version of himself, before all the indelible trauma. But on peaceful mornings like this, he would let them show just so you could soothe them. He never thought he would be that comfortable with anyone. That he could trust anyone so much.

Every day, you both knew you could overcome anything, so long as you were together.

[gwynrielendgame]

Apology one shot

We all know this is the apology that should have happened! Why did Amren get this big long apology where Nesta kneeled to her while Feyre barely got an “I’m sorry” mumbled to her. Feyre was robbed!

Something that should have happened in acosf

Nesta knew this had to be done. That didn't mean she wasn't nervous. She felt she could throw up the entire contents of her stomach she was so nervous. She had to say all of it though. Finally, she would explain everything to her sister. Why she hated her for so long, why she treated Elain so differently, and why their relationship still seemed strained after everything. It was not for a lack of love because Nesta truly did love Feyre, but reality made their relationship so much more complicated, so complicated that it took Nesta this long to explain it to Feyre. It wasn't Feyre's fault that Nesta was this way. That despite Nesta saving her, Rhys, and Nyx's life that Nesta still felt uncomfortable around her youngest sister. Nesta hated herself for it. Hated that she couldn't move past aspects of their childhood.

"Do you want any tea?" Feyre was pouring herself some while standing across from Nesta. Nesta assumed they were in Feyre's personal office. The high lady was standing by her desk while Nesta sat across her on a beautiful velvet green couch. Nesta kept staring at the portrait hung behind the desk. It was of Feyre, Rhysand, and Nyx. It was a lovely portrait that Feyre had drawn. The love in their eyes was almost too much to bare. Feyre had proven to be the best mother even before her child was born. Nesta couldn't help but think how everyone compared herself to their own mother. A mother that was terrible and unloving to her children. It made her panic to think she would be the same. It was almost destined to be that way. For Nesta to be exactly as awful and horrible to her own children as her mother was to her. She would admit she had nightmares from it all.

"No thank you." Nesta replied tight lipped. The unpleasant expression on her face had Feyre bracing for the worst which only made the nauseas feeling worse.

"Is everything alright, Nesta?" The concern in Feyre's voice almost had the oldest archeron sister crying. She had been much more emotional as of late and found that she could not bare Feyre's sympathy.

"I'm sorry." She blurted out before she could change her mind about the whole situation. Feyre took a seat at her desk chair with a perplexed look on her face.

"For what?"

"Everything." Nesta was prepared for the rambling that was about to ensue from her own lips. "I've been struggling to find a way to tell you. It's hard for me to talk about anything with you." Nesta was picking at her nails instead of making eye contact with her sister.

"Why?" It was clear from that question that Feyre was hurt by what Nesta had said. Dammit. She hadn't meant to hurt Feyre's feeling. It did seem that Nesta was extraordinarily good at it though.

"It's nothing to do with you. It's me. I was so angry with father when everything happened. Mother dying, losing the money, his knee. The anger was so consuming that it was all I felt every day. It only got worse when he was prepared to let us starve to death rather than go out and hunt for us. I thought it served him right to watch us die after he failed us so miserably." She paused to take a breath, risking a glance at her sister. She was intently listening, but her facial expression gave nothing away, so Nesta continued.

"But then you went hunting. You kept us alive and I decided I was angry at you for doing that. It wasn't fair of me to be angry at you, but I was. Next thing I knew, you were good at hunting and I just thought what was the point of learning when you were already so good at it. I stopped being angry at you for keeping us alive only to discover I was angry at you for the disgust I felt for myself. Every time I looked at your face I saw how I failed you over and over and over again. The anger I felt was all-consuming, but it was nothing compared to the guilt and self-loathing I felt for letting you down. I decided that I couldn't protect you, I couldn't be the protective big sister for you, but I could for Elain. I put everything into protecting and saving Elain. I thought if I could do that for her then in some way it would make up for what I didn't do for you." Feyre interrupted her sister before she could continue.

"It was never your responsibility to take care of us, Nesta. I know it seems that way since you are the oldest, but it was father's responsibility. He failed all of us. Elain could have helped me too, but she didn't. You should not bare the burden of what happened in the cottage on your own." Feyre was earnest. She truly believed her big sister had no more obligation to go out into the woods than Feyre herself. The words were too kind, Nesta did not know how to respond, so she only shrugged before continuing.

"I love you so much, Feyre, I want you to know that. I have always loved you, but looking at you, even today, fills me with such hatred and disappointment for myself that I take it out on you. It isn't fair, but it's the truth. I don't want you to doubt my love for you because it's there I promise. Feyre, I'm so sorry for all the cruel and wicked ways I treated you. I don't mean to keep doing it. I'm still working on myself and my happiness and I hope that the day I finally accept the ways I've failed you and forgive myself that you'll still want a relationship with me." When the rambling finally ended, Nesta took a peak at Feyre. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and the next thing Nesta knew was that Feyre was crushing her in a hug. Nesta returned the embrace just as fiercely. A weight had lifted off her and she finally felt as though she could breathe. The embrace lasted awhile as the two sisters cried in each other's arms. Eventually, Feyre pulled away to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"I love you too, Nes."

[perpetuallyfive]

Schnee Week, Day 3: Weiss Ships

So I don’t actually have a finished fic or even a chapter to share today because until my sudden burst of creativity on Monday evening, I have been primarily focused on the next three chapters of Dishonored. (Roughly 31k words written so far across two chapters. It’s coming!) But one little thing I’ve been planning for a long time is on the back-burner and I thought I’d share an excerpt.

Way back at the end of 2019, pretty shortly after we met, @catalyswitch showed me a sketch she was working on of a Schneekos modern day AU and asked me for my thoughts. 

This is the beginning of the fic I’ve been wanting to write since then.

                                                               *

Winter drives her (and her things) to campus, but Weiss moves in on her own. There’s some kind of important meeting — lots of covert messages on a blackberry, which is a thing these kinds of people still use — and Winter can’t delay any longer. It’s not like Weiss expected anything else.

Maintaining low expectations for others and high ones for yourself are sort of the Schnee motto. It saves a lot of disappointment in life, in general.

She decorates her room just fine on her own. Minimalism is another thing she’s grown accustomed to in the mansion mom gave up on renovating in between her fourth and fifth trip to rehab. Call the abandoned projects and clutter in the attic a metaphor for something, if you’re inclined to such dramatics.

Weiss has never had any need for those kinds of abstractions or distractions.

She hangs a single picture on her wall.

Unlike the family portrait that hangs in the dining room, this is casual. While that is carefully composed and well lit, this shows Weiss and Whitley amidst of a mess of wrapping paper, faces lit up with excitement and the soft glow of the lights from their Christmas tree. Winter is in the background, distributing the gifts. Mother sips some unknown liquid from a coffee mug.

Father is nowhere to be found, and the photo was surely taken by Klein. That’s clear enough in Weiss’s smile, which is confident and unrestrained.

Her posture is straight. Her eyes are bright.

It’s as if her past self was looking right out into the future, smiling at the person she is today.

First day of orientation, and she’s ready for anything.

                                                              *

Correction: the one thing Weiss Schnee was completely unprepared for is her roommate.

The girl is a whirlwind of chaotic confusion, and so is the rest of her family. At least, Weiss has to assume this mess of (noisy) people is somehow this girl’s family. None of them look alike. The two loudest (by only a small margin) are blond with smiles as big as their biceps.

None of them have really stopped talking since they burst into the room and began hanging all kinds of things from the walls on the other side of the room.

“What—” Weiss begins, but she has no idea where the question is going.

What’s there to ask?

“Yes, hello!” the person who is probably Weiss’s roommate — but looks much too young for it — shouts from just beneath the mattress she’s managed to get stuck underneath. One of the blondes lifts it off her, and she darts back out, flailing. “Hi! I am your roommate, Ruby. If that’s what your what was.” She stands at attention, hands on her hips, as if that justifies any part of this. “I’m the what’s what, if you were wondering.”

Weiss barely has time to catch her breath. She’s not sure this even counts as caught. “… what?”

“Exactly!”

The two blondes exchange looks and both laugh, but Weiss doesn’t think it’s very funny.

“You must be Weiss,” the man who technically looks old enough to be someone’s father says, holding out his hand to shake.

The other blonde keeps her arms folder over her chest. “Weiss Schnee, wasn’t it?”

She says it in the same way that everyone says it. As in, are you one of those Schnees, as in they know her father. As in they’ve turned on the news sometime in the past eight years. Everyone knows the Schnee family name; father hasn’t exactly been under the radar.

But all she says is, “That’s right,” while shaking the man’s hand. Firmly.

Always shake firmly. Father taught all of them that.

“Your father sure has his hands in a lot of pies.”

“He doesn’t, actually.”

“Doesn’t—”

“—know the first thing about cooking.” Another early lesson: know when to make your exit. Weiss stands abruptly, her stack of books completely forgotten on the bed. “Well I,” she begins, but she’s already made a fatal error.

Because the new roommate is noticing the books. “Oh, wow, are you majoring in political science?” She’s suddenly much too close to Weiss’s personal space, though for what reason is unclear. It’s just happening, and Weiss is along for the ride. “That’s so cool! I guess it makes sense, huh, because of your dad and everything.”

There’s the elephant in the room. The very large (very republican) elephant. “I chose my major for myself, actually.” It was not an easy or a quiet conversation, and certainly not one Weiss cares to repeat to these total strangers. “As I was just going to say, I have somewhere to be.” Somewhere far away from here, that is. Literally anywhere else. “It was lovely to meet all of you,” Weiss continues, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that she has learned absolutely none of their names.

                                                              *

The first place Weiss finds to hide that she doesn’t think her roommate will find her is the coffee shop. It’s clear from her demeanor that the child — very obviously too young to be at college, so perhaps some kind of prodigy which would explain the hyper active behavior and poor socialization — is in no need of further caffeination.

Coffee shops are also a useful place to disappear. It’s easy to blend in to a crowd of people all looking closer at their cups than they are each other.

Except of course for the table of jocks nearby. Weiss has absolutely nothing in common with any of them.

Even if some of them are aesthetically appealing.

                                                              *

On day three of avoiding her room and her roommate, Weiss discovers that said roommate — her name is Ruby, a fact Weiss intends to immediately forget again — does in fact require even further caffeination.

If she cared about this particular annoyance at all, she might be concerned about the state of her heart.

As it is, she’s more concerned with her own social standing being seen in public with an infant who only stops talking long enough to consume even more coffee.

“So anyway,” Ruby gasps, practically gargling her last gulp down. “What about you, are you excited for your first day of classes?”

Since Ruby is studying something else — what that is, Weiss can’t recall, although she’s probably repeated it more than once — and will come nowhere even close to a political science course, the answer is very obviously yes. Weiss tempers her excitement, somewhat, just for the sake of kindness. 

“I’m overjoyed,” she says, almost neutrally.

“Yeah, me too.”

The jocks are there again today. They’re always there. Maybe the field they train on is nearby? Maybe they come here to study?

No, that doesn’t seem likely.

They’re all laughing (loudly) at something a boy with blue hair just said. Hopefully it was about something other than fashion decisions.

“Weiss?” Ruby says, as though she’s just repeating herself after perhaps even several attempts to get Weiss’s attention.

But all Weiss will offer in return is vague non-commitment. “Hm?”

“I was asking if you know them.” She points at the table that Weiss was very covertly staking out and Weiss slaps her hand back down. But Ruby just repeats the gesture with her other hand. “I only ask because you stare at Pyrrha a lot, and I was wondering if you wanted me to introduce you.”

“What, I do not,” Weiss answers without having any idea who Ruby’s even referring to.

At least.

Unless she means the redhead, because then yes. Weiss has been watching her off and on for the past three days, but surely so has everyone else in the cafe. They all have eyes after all.

Even if Weiss’s are currently bugging right out of her skull as Ruby jumps out of her seat. She can see what’s coming, but it’s already too late. “Pyrrha!” Ruby calls, her voice a clanging shriek.

Weiss recoils so hard from the sound that her eyes temporarily close. It’s such sweet relief safe in this darkness that she is reluctant to open them.

When she does, the redhead is there, at her table.

Her smile is confident but carefully contained. Her posture is relaxed and casual. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, with curls carefully framing her face.

“Oh,” Weiss breathes, before she can think better of it, before she can think at all. “Oh, hi.”

Years later, Weiss will wish she could remember what Pyrrha said next. But she doesn’t. She only remembers the way that smile pushed firmly into her chest, opening up an empty cavern of want that she had never known existed before.

The space inside, the empty need, felt almost limitless. It should have been awful.

But the one thing Weiss can remember from that exact moment is how much she was smiling.

[frivolouslyethereal]

“Regardez-moi”

okay so this has been on my mind for way too long and i just feel the strong need to put it out otherwise i will never know peace... It is not going to be a dissertation about the movie because A LOT of people have already done that in the most brilliant ways. If you do not care about what this movie means to me you’re more than welcome to stop reading right here :)

When we were in lockdown (i think it was april ? ) one night, after having casually seen a scene that looked intriguing,  i watched Portrait of a Lady on fire all by myself not knowing a single thing about Cèline, Adèle or Noémie.  Just like many of us, i was struggling a lot to find some peace of mind and i was also desperately trying to keep floating while being submerged by those hateful events we all know too well.  

I went for it, and little did i know how deeply it was going to affect me. 

I am not the kind of person who usually writes about movies, i like to keep the sensations to myself, worrying that if i do expose them then nobody would ever understand why it touched to that extent, making my efforts vain and letting it all be just a huge disappointment.  But with this one i simply cannot keep everything closed together and hidden inside myself because even if a lot of months have passed (and a few re-watch) i am still here struggling to comprehend and articulate my feelings about it. 

Never have i been so profoundly and intimately and intensely shaken by a movie before. By a sequence of images that just fit perfectly into myself and can speak so truthfully and so genuinely about my intimacy. 

I remember saying to myself: “how does this woman know how i feel and how i want to be portrayed?” 

“I have no idea of who she is, and neither does she of who i am and YET she has the audacity to paint my inner-self like that, fully exposing it to the world”.

It turns out that of course she did know everything about it. Because she does know everything about women and love and intimacy. And how to put them on screen in the exact same way as we women think we should be shown. And therefore she knows everything about what i look for in a person, this horizontal exchange of looks and this sharing of ideas with the purpose of enriching and lovingly challenging one another. She knows how sacred and joyfully painful it is to remember what we had when it is no longer part of our daily language and conversation. And at the same time how precious and rare it is to give our heart to somebody who does not put us in a box but rather feels immense pleasure in watching us being eager and curious about the world. She knows everything about letting a person go without resentment after years of being together, because cherishing the exchange and growth and everything in between we had together is infinitely soothing. In fact if it was true love we wouldn't be holding a grudge, what we mostly care of is our former lover’s happiness.

Céline Sciamma looks at us with fondness and affection and admiration and warmth and love -obviously- and does not take a single thing from us that we do not want her to have. She has this pure and magical touch - i would say a superpower- that brings us an intimate relief and makes us feel part of something delicate and gentle and welcoming. 

The sorority that exudes from is so liberating and reconciling because we are never ever shown like that, simply basking in each other’s presence and being truthfully nice and caring towards one another. Instead we’re often show in dark and twisty or hostile situations when placed among other women. Which clearly isn’t the truth or at least not always. And with each elegant and rhythmic brush stroke it’s almost like she is saying “i came here to save you, but i do that on my own terms”. And that involves -of course- art, beauty, tenderness and pure love.

In all honesty I think that discovering Céline Sciamma was the most overwhelming shok I had this past year, because from that first solitary watch on that dark night of April everything that came later was then affected by it. I discovered what feminism and being around women really are, and how to carefully choose what truthfully reflects who I am and what is a pale and hollow imitation instead. 

Actually, the list of things i learned from Portrait and everything Portrait-related that came afterwards is infinitely long but after all i am a private person so I will stop right here.

Just know that after a few days of complete emotional devastation, when i put the pieces back together what came out was an utterly different puzzle. And for once I was happy about it. 

[cloudmyweather]

A Small Guide to Munimún’s Discography: Part one, the high school years

First of all, hi. I’m Muni, also known as moonlordress. I used to have a blog here, but then I migrated to Twitter after adult content was outlawed. I did however miss the efficiency of this website in hosting multimedia content... so after a couple of years, here we are again. The old blog still exists, I think, but I forgot the password and don’t feel like retrieving it.

So... fresh start. If you’ve never heard of me (first of all, how did you find me?), you might be delighted at all the new content I’m willing to post here, along with new stuff, of course. I want to treat this place as a sort of ongoing zine, which is what Tumblr was meant to be for anyway. I mainly involve myself with the arts of drawing, painting and music composing. On very rare occasions I also write.

I’d like to first take my time to disclose about my musical output (most of it available for free at this cool link). At 23 years old, I’m still too young to really make any sort of masterpiece, as I am mostly self-taught and don’t really play any instruments. If you’re put off by the fake digital sounds, I don’t blame you - but I feel I’ve gotten better at taking advantage of the aesthetic.

I’ve made music on FL Studio for almost 10 years now. My first experiments were mostly misguided attempts at creating rock music without any real instruments or band members - I am a tad embarrassed by the results, after all who wants to listen to music by a 14-year-old, but I feel like I’ve struck gold a couple times... I’ve always wondered if I could remake some of this music with my current sensibilities.

Anyway, the name of my project at the time was World Destroyance, also the name of my first album before I just decided to use my real name (also a bad decision). I hate all the music on that album and don’t currently know if there’s any way to listen to it. That was done in 2012, I’m pretty sure. Also in 2012 I made two more albums, slightly more interesting than the first - Magic (an album about My Little Pony characters, although instrumental), and [untitled] (a kind of self-portrait). I refer to these three as “the 2012 albums” and I don’t advise anyone to seek them out, but I’m sure they’re out there in a Mediafire link or something. I don’t remember deleting those.

WORLD DESTROYANCE – mid-2012 MAGIC – August 2012 [untitled] – December 2012

In late 2012/2013 I started getting very bitter and angry about real things, instead of the things children get angry about. I had been falling in love for some time, and hating every minute of it. I was rapidly losing all self-confidence and my self-esteem to this day has not recovered. So naturally my musical ideas were getting more abrasive. I learned about distortion effects but not how to use them. And most importantly, I discovered the Residents. The result was Friendly. I don’t particularly like it either, but I think this is where my stuff got deliberately weird instead of unwittingly.

FRIENDLY - July 2013

Highlights: “The Screaming Worm”, “Life after Death”, “Susan’s Story”

After a couple smaller projects (coupled with my questioning of the idea that anyone should even bother to hear what I make), I finished Tolerance Songs in 2014. I was still in love, but this was the first album I actually considered to be “good.” Still many embarrassing moments. I also started using vocals here and there. I never really liked my voice though.

TOLERANCE SONGS – July 2014

Highlights: 

“Hey There”, “Song for Samantha”, “Gingerbread Lovesong”, “Bloodclot”

After a while I decided that five albums and a couple Leftovers was enough material for a “best of” compilation. Just so people wouldn’t have to sit through such immature music to get to the interesting stuff. So I put together Harsh Reality in 2015, drew up a digital booklet as a gift for downloaders, and from then on decided to focus on simply making a lot of music and eventually collecting it when enough material surfaced.

also: LEFTOVERS – September 2014 Collecting unused stuff from the year spent making Tolerance Songs. The Tolerance Songs sessions... how professional that sounds... and neat!

HARSH REALITY – October 2015

Collecting highlights from the first five albums + misc. projects. Around 3 years’ worth of some autistic teenager’s bored meanderings on break from high school.

also: CANCEROUS DEVOTION – November 2014 Soundtrack for a school project. Secretly a love album.

YOU ARE MY SWEETEST DREAM – July 2015 Mini-album meditating on “Sweet Dreams are Made of This” for some reason. I just wanted to be a Resident.

All of this with virtually no audience in sight. Talk about wasting time (and words).

Continued on part two.