#maybe i will practice arting and post the (horrifying) results!

[gothyanki]

Prepare for random spasms of githposting over the next few days as I try to distract myself from everything involved in immigration and two-day air transit.

[banana-pancake5]

Soooooo What's Peni's favorite.........soup? 👀

Okay but seriously for Peni:

Hobbies? "idle animation" what does she do when she's standing/sitting still? twiddling fingers, The Leg Bounce™️?? Colors she wears/favorite colors? and ofc bc this is tmnt: Signature weapon? 👀 And finally: Best way to bond with her brothers? What did she find in common (or disagreement to the point of hilarity) that brought her closer to each of the bois?

This post got way too long so it’s under the cut!

Heheh

1. She loves hiking, digital art, graffiti, and making music! She has a tablet in her drawstring bag that she often draws/animates on and it has one of those beat making apps that she uses ALL the time. Ah, and she loves Origami (she learned from the foot clan)! She tends to make little Paper cranes and write little messages in them. Said cranes will be EVERYWHERE. On Donnie’s tech telling him to hydrate or something, on the leftover pizza box claiming the last piece, in Leo’s room notifying him that she stole his left overs, etc. (and sometimes theyre just for fun and don’t have messages written in them)

2. (Love this question SO MUCH) when she is standing for awhile she’ll start raising herself up on her tippy toes then back down (kind of like a little bounce that doesn’t leave the ground) and when she’s sitting she often finds herself practicing wrist/hand exercises (half the time she won’t even realize she’s doing it). Oh and when she’s sitting and listening to music she’ll tap her fingers as if she were making the beat in one of her apps (imagine clicking arrow keys on a computer to the beat of a song that’s basically what she does [heheh I used to this all the time])

3. Hmmm I’m not sure yet? Probably a mix of darks and pastels. Also not sure on the favorite color yet! I’ll make a r colored ref hopefully son tho :D

4. At the moment I’m kind of think she wouldn’t have one… like mainly she uses hand to hand combat if she’s in a fight? Idk (oh or maybe she specializes in origami ninja stars!)

5. (Really love this question too bc I honestly haven’t thought abt it too much!)

Mikey:

ART. They both have a passion for art, and while Mikey is more of a traditional artist, the both of them end up drawing together all the time. I imagine since both of them are the shorties of the family they climb up on each others shoulders to graffiti places in the sewer they can’t reach ^-^ (also they’re both the youngest siblings, they want independence, and they don’t like being babied <- all of these things come about for Peni after realizes she’s their sister and they start treating her like the youngest)

Leo:

They bonded over cooking …and by that, I mean Leo’s lack of skills and Peni’s bizarre recipes! Peni’s favorite food EVER is gummy worms, so naturally, once she heard of a Panini she switched out the meats with tons of gummy worms and cooked it. Leo walked in on this moment of genius and was HORRIFIED. He ragged on her about what a disgrace of food that was and she would fire back talking about how Leo can’t even make a SANDWICH without something burning. It sort of became a running joke with the two of them that resulted in Leo nicknaming her “Nini” (oh and in case your wondering, Peni LOVED the gummy worm panini, and Leo tried it and was surprised it wasn’t that bad, but he would NEVER admit that)

Donnie:

They bonded over tech and music! Peni didn’t know a whole lot about it but she was the second most tech involved person in the family so it worked out great any way. It’s a similar dynamic of smarts and crafts except Peni has more technical knowledge than Mikey. Peni will occasionally hang around the lab and check in on what Donnie’s working on, give some ideas, have an awesome idea for a new project, etc. and she also is Donnie’s go to person when he needs blue prints drawn! Oh! New idea! Perhaps Donnie builds her a piece of Holo-tech (like his little holographic screens) that serves as a literal 3D art program! Of course, she also uses it to make even BETTER blueprints for Donnie. And her and Donnie both really like electronic music, and Donnie likes listening to the beats that Peni makes :D

Bonus idea! I think it would take a while for Peni to even have a chance to connect with Donnie. After the invasion, Donnie would spend a lot of time in the med bay, but he mainly stayed in his lab after that. And after everything that happened, Donnie was just not open to talking to this complete stranger that broke into his home :/

Raph:

I think during the invasion Raph would be the one Peni talks to the most (since Raph was the least injured), so they sort of just naturally became close. Peni has someeee medical knowledge but not enough to help with the more serious injuries of the others; she would let Casey jr. take care of those major injuries while she took care of the more minor things. Raph was extremely worried about his brothers and was completely lost in the medical field so Peni would also help explain how they were being treated and what was wrong (I imagine Casey would be pretty blunt abt it which would not help Raph haha). Oh! PLUSHIES. As we all know Raph LOVES plushies (I’ve seen some stuff that’s canon abt it but I definitely headcanon a corner of hid room is filled to the BRIM with them), but lil ol Peni, having lived on the streets her whole life, never owned any (tragic, I know). When Peni first saw Raph’s mounta8n if plushies she grabbed one shoved it in Raph’s face and demanded to know its name IMMEDIATELY. From that day on she loved plushies and started gathering them for her own room (though she never got nearly as many as Raph)!

Yikes sorry for the long ramble!! I loved these questions, thank you so much for sending them!!!!

If anyone has any more questions or thoughts feel free to send ‘em on over :D

[dancingamongstdust]

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 4)

Requests are still open as of this post.

Shigaraki

You hadn’t meant to cause that level of destruction. It was an accident.

But they hadn’t seen it that way.

Their words followed you even when they could not. You could hear the accusations ringing in your head whenever you used your quirk – for better, or for worse. It became easier to ignore as you slowly learned to stop caring.

Until your quirk went out of control again.

You woke up in a dark room with a pounding headache and exhausted limbs. The doctor who was looking after you (a man you were relatively certain had no actual medical knowledge) had gotten very close and asked how much you remembered. When you informed him that it wasn’t much, he had smiled.

“Well, you certainly drew attention to yourself,” he had laughed. “Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky that the heroes didn’t get to you first.”

“I guess so…”

Something warned you that this situation was more dangerous than it seemed. Your eyes drifted over the covered windows of the room and you stared at the door. “Why did you help me?”

“Well that’s hardly for me –“

He didn’t get a chance to answer before you dashed for the exit. The doctor’s quirk didn’t allow him to grab you and his alarmed shout was all you heard before you were darting down the hallway. You weren’t going to stick around and get experimented on.

You turned the corner, heart pounding in your chest. They must have given you something because you felt drowsy. The entire world was spinning.

But you had to nearly trip yourself up to avoid running directly into somebody as you sprinted down a different hallway.

This was hardly your first time dealing with villains and many of them had odd quirks, to say the least. It shouldn’t have shocked you to see somebody with a human hand on their face but maybe the medication was lowering your tolerance because it was terrifying.

“Who are you?” you snapped out, immediately on the defense. You took a step away, ready to run or fight, whichever seemed easiest.

The man didn’t seem too bothered by your snap at least; the one eye that you could see watched you steadily from behind his hand mask. “I’m sure you’re not meant to be running around here,” he said. “But you’re no hero so you must be here for your quirk. Do you still have it?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t unknown in the underground that there was a man who stole quirks he liked. Nobody knew what he did with them but it wasn’t unheard of for villains to wake up with nothing. And you would never get them back.

You could feel your quirk was still there. It pulsed under your skin like a warning.

“My quirk?” you repeated. “I have my quirk.”

You did a random gesture, summoning all of your past acting experience to appear horrified when nothing happened. Again and again you tried before looking around in shock and horror.

The guy bought it and he shrugged. “Then there’s no reason to stop you.” He brushed past you and continued walking. “Not like you could find the exit anyway.”

The moment he turned the corner, you dropped the act and bolted again. This place was a maze but you found the exit and avoided any encounters with a practiced ease. Before leaving, you looked back up at the building and grimaced, hoping to never see it again.

Toga

It was late at night when you had the strangest encounter of your life. Not that that was a bad thing necessarily but it was something that occurred, nevertheless.

You had been feeling quite exhausted from a long day of fun with your friends. They had headed off to get a cab when you had realised that you needed the bathroom and disappeared to go find one.

There was a public toilet not too far from the street though it certainly wasn’t as clean as you would have hoped. Not to be deterred, you slipped in and found a sight that, even to your exhausted mind was uncomfortable.

A girl stood in front of one of the mirrors, blood staining much of her face. It covered the counter beneath her fingers and seemed to be coming from her lip.

“Are you okay?!” you asked, panicked.

She looked up at you, startled. Her dark hair covered much of her expression but she seemed a little out of it. Maybe she got hit on the head or something.

“I –“ she paused, her voice croaky and sore. She brought her hand up to rub her throat. “I think so.”

“Just wait, let me help you,” you said. You rushed into one of the stalls and gathered up some toilet paper. “Do you need me to call somebody or?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. Thank you.”

You offered some of the damp tissue to her and she started wiping it away from her mouth. While she dealt with that, you cleaned the blood that she had left on the counter, making sure to get it out of all the cracks in and around the sink. “What happened to you?” you asked. “Did somebody attack you?”

“I slipped,” she said. “The tiles are really slippery and I think that I hit my mouth on the sink. It’s all kind of blurry.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, digging through your bag and grabbing some headache tablets. You offered the bottle to her. “Take two of those just in case. Even if it doesn’t hurt now, you don’t want to wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Do I still have any blood on me?”

“Just on your jaw,” you pointed out. “Come on, my friends and I are getting a cab. We can call one for you also if you need.”

She took one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You had forgotten your own need for the bathroom and it was for good reason also. If you had hung around for a little longer, you may have seen blood trickling out from one of the stalls. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have been so worried about this stranger hitting her head.

“What’s your name?” you asked as you looked around for your friends.

“Toga,” the girl said, though she didn’t seem too happy with having told you. The words must have slipped out without her meaning to.

You gave her your own name and went up onto your toes to look around the crowd for your friends. Eventually you spotted them and waved but when you spoke to Toga, she didn’t respond.

She had disappeared into the crowd.

You went back into the bathroom and checked but she was long gone. Just like how the blood has escaped your notice earlier, you didn’t see the blonde watching you from the other side of the street, her head tilted a little.

Dabi

It was a rare day when you found yourself alone without at least one person to watch your back. You didn’t always need the protection but sometimes, it was nice to have.

But you had given your word and it wouldn’t do to back out of this now.

The building where everything had been organised was old and crumbling – its ancient nature hidden on the outskirts of the city and slowly becoming overtaken by countless plants. It wasn’t somewhere anybody with good intentions would find themselves.

You liked to think that your work was good. It benefitted many and took only from those who could afford to lose it. Unfortunately though, rules had to be broken for the best results, and sometimes what was classified as ‘wrong’ turned out to be needed in order to achieve a goal. It wasn’t quite in line with what you believed but it had to be done.

Did working with villains make you uncomfortable? Of course. But it was hardly going to be something that stopped you from moving forward.

The two members from the League of Villains that had been sent to meet you were both men. You didn’t bother with greetings, just holding up the briefcase that you held.

“I’m looking for a specific artwork,” you said. “I’ve been told that you might be able to help?”

“An artwork?” the one asked. He wore a white and black mask that concealed most of his face and an extremely gaudy costume.

“Not just an artwork,” you explained. “It has something of mine hidden in the canvas. Normally, I would just get the police involved but if they found it, it would be quite problematic for me. The group that stole it won’t listen to many but the League of Villains, I’m afraid. They have a few good quirks and they’re extremely cocky for it.”

“We’re not lapdogs,” the other man said. “Especially not for whatever agenda you’re pushing.”

“I don’t pay lapdogs,” you acknowledged. “Consider me a sponsor.”

Flames cackled into existence in his hand, surprising his colleague enough to jump a little. “Chances are, they’ve already found your thing. Even if they haven’t, the league can hardly go around picking fights with random gangs.”

“Shigaraki did ask –“

The masked man was cut off by a glare. Blue flames sent flickering light through the air as they waited patiently for your answer.

“If it’s already been discovered or if it happens to get damaged during the process, then I don’t plan on getting anything out of our deal. It’ll simply be a loss on my side.”

The flames slowly flickered out and you allowed yourself to breathe again. Confidence was a requirement for these deals but you didn’t quite have the nerves of steel that you portrayed. It was always a fight to keep your reactions in check.

“I guess if we happen to bump into the group, we can check around for your shit.”

You knew his bluff as well as your own. The League of Villains had always worked well with those who had money. They required funding and wouldn’t say no to being able to flex their reputation around the underground. It was almost needed with the way rumours were circulating.

It was less than a week after that encounter when you found your artwork sitting outside your home. Charred on the edges, it was damaged enough to make the art itself worthless. But your items inside were perfectly unharmed.

Not bad for your first time working alongside the League of Villains. It was worth the cost… you should do it more in the future.

Twice

When you had been called in for this job, you had no idea that it was going to turn into a fight of the magnitude you experienced.

Flames tore along the streets. They melted lamps and trapped hundreds inside buildings – the screams for help becoming almost deafening as you broke down yet another wall to get civilians out. It was the third building you had had to smash into and there were more yet.

Nobody could get out and, if they remained trapped, they wouldn’t survive much longer.

When your partner and you had realised you were dealing with the League of Villains, you had immediately called in the big guns. What you hadn’t realised was that doing so would result in a brawl of sorts in the streets. The League of Villains didn’t care about collateral and honestly, sometimes you wondered if the heroes did.

You were starting to overheat. The amount of fire swirling around was getting to you, drawing the breath from your lungs and slowing your movements. Its angry blue nature hinted at its abysmal nature.

The next building’s walls took even longer to get through but you managed it and a few people scrambled out. You ushed as best as you could although it was starting to get hard to speak.

But then you noticed a dark figure lying in one of the rooms

Outside, the fire roared and smacked against the walls but you couldn’t just leave somebody there. You stepped over the rubble and made your way to the figure.

It was hard to make out details with the flames. The heat seemed to be getting worse as you approached – soon identified as being caused by the gaping hole in the wall. It radiated around the room in waves. You covered your mouth and nose the best you could, creeping forward to reach where the person was.

When you arrived, it took you no time to recognise that you weren’t saving an unfortunate civilian but rather a member of the League itself.

You hesitated for a second before hooking your arms under his and beginning to drag him away from the danger. This was the type of thing that lost reputation for heroes. Civilians didn’t like seeing villains being rescued but you honestly didn’t care.

If he was left there, he was probably going to end up dying.

Though he had seemed unconscious, when you got him out of the building, he muttered something and moved. It was enough to make you jump back but he didn’t attack or anything. He just touched his face and then let his arm go limp again.

You moved back cautiously. His suit had been ripped on the one side, missing its arm and half of the torso. You checked his pulse, relieved to feel that it was still going, even if it was unsteady.

“Can you hear me?” you asked.

He didn’t respond and you reached up to remove his mask. His hand immediately snapped up to grab your wrist and you prepared to activate your quirk but all he did was push your arm away from his face.

Alright then. No touching the mask.

You bandaged the open wound on his side as best as you could. It looked like he had gotten launched through the building. Once he was as stable as he could be, you moved him to a safer area and jumped back into the fray. A ton of rescues later and the heroes had won, at the destruction of much property.

And, rather unsurprisingly, the villain you had saved was long gone.

Overhaul

There was a new drug running around the market. You had heard of a number of small-time villains taking it – most of them dying shortly after consumption. It wasn’t unheard of. If something had even the promise of a good time then it would attract thousands.

But what was a problem was that you had lost several of your newest underlings as a direct result of this drug.

Given how picky you were about hiring, this was going to be a problem.

You tracked the source to none other than the Shie Hassaikai. They were an old branch of the yakuza, sitting on the edge of a downward spiral into irrelevance. Rumors followed that their boss had fallen quite ill and now, it was only a matter of time until they fell completely on their faces.

So you didn’t feel too nervous when you approached the house that fronted their main base. Even with the members watching you from the bushes, you kept a straight line.

You weren’t unknown. It would do them a great disservice to attack you.

And they knew it.

You walked in the front door with absolutely no resistance and remained unsurprised when two masked men came out to greet you. They didn’t ask about your business or enquire as to who you were. Instead, they led you into a sitting room and gestured for you take a seat.

Instead of that, you walked around the room and picked up everything that looked interesting. Nothing was hidden around but you hadn’t expected there to be.

“Please don’t touch things without gloves on,” a smooth voice interrupted your curiosity. “Cleaning this entire house is rarely needed and I’d rather you didn’t change that.”

You turned around to find somebody considerably younger than you had expected for the head of the Shie Hassaikai. He wore their signature mask and a feathered coat, almost his entire body hidden in some way.

“Not a fan of germs?” you enquired.

“Not at all.”

You shrugged and made your way to the couch, sinking down into it. “Guess that means no drinks or anything? Oh well, that’s too bad.” You gestured for him to sit.  “So, you’re not who I was expecting.”

“You’ve never worked with our organisation before,” he said, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite you.

“No. You’re not in the same line of work as me and I don’t care too much about the Yakuza.”

“Then why are you here?”

You straightened, aware that you were about to get into the most dangerous part of the meeting. “Your drugs have been getting into my areas. Now, I don’t care all too much about how you distribute stock but it’s not just coming into possession of low-life criminals. My men are getting practically gifted it.”

His eyes narrowed. “We need to test it somehow. Besides, that sounds like a problem for you, no? Have better control of your men.”

“Keep your test tube shit out of my territories.”

A small staring contest took place – a test to see who would break first. You had been in almost a hundred of these over the course of your career. They didn’t bother you much at all in anymore.

Eventually he waved his hand through the air. “I guess we could stop supply to traders in your areas but this isn’t a charity.”

“I could kill your men.”

“But you would lose your own in the process. Wouldn’t it be easier to do this the peaceful way and maybe even establish a relationship between our two groups?”

“You have my attention. Don’t waste it.”

Kurogiri

There are those days when everything begins so well only to rapidly spiral into a situation out of your worst dreams. This was something like that.

You had gotten horribly caught in the crossfire of a battle between heroes and villains. It all occurred faster than you could have ever imagined – flashes of light and explosions of sound. People were screaming, the sound coming through a haze as you tried to get a grasp on what had happened.

Blood was trickling down your arm but you felt no pain. You slowly lifted your head. Something had hit you, you remembered that now as your brain caught up to the dull ache coming from your ribcage.

You tried to move, finding that you couldn’t. The ache became worse and a heavy, scraping sound interrupted your attempts to crawl away.

It was a piece of concrete, heavy and painful, pinning you effectively to the ground. A smaller chunk was holding it up and stopping you from being crushed. But if you moved too much…

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, nearly choking on the dust that filled the air. Maybe if you shifted slowly.

A crunching noise made you hiccup.

Alright, so that wasn’t going to work either. You strained your eyes to see through the carnage but you couldn’t make out any heroes. They would come eventually; you just had to wait patiently and try not to move too much.

The concrete seemed to get heavier still and you fought the desire to cry.

There was a crunching sound. You couldn’t just wait around.

Slow as you dared, you began to inch forward. The rough surface snagged at your clothing and made every centimeter feel like it was going to end with you crushed. Worse still, the more you moved, the more apparent the injury on your back became.

The blood that had been trickling down your arm was now creeping along your torso. It pooled in your clothes and made everything sticky.

You tried not to think about it but it made you light-headed regardless.

About half-way out, you spotted somebody nearby. It was just their silhouette but still, relief flooded your veins and you cried out desperately for help.

The figure made its way over to you, soon revealing that the man was almost entirely made of smoke. He wore a suit and tie but his body swirled as though only somewhat solid. Bright yellow eyes stared at you – any emotion behind them was completely unreadable.

His eyes traced your shape. “You’re not who I’m looking for.”

“Please help me. This thing’s going to crush me.”

He paused, the swirling darkness that made up his face shuddered as though it was unsure how to respond. “I should leave you here,” he mentioned. “You’re of no consequence to me or to my cause. If anything, I should add pressure to the piece of rubble and make sure the fatality numbers are higher.”

You caught of whimper before it could escape. “Please.”

His smoke shook again, almost as though he was struggling to keep hold of it. Then he raised a foot and placed it on the concrete.

You screwed your eyes shut and tried to imagine the best parts of life.

A loud horn blaring made you open them again and a surprised yelp escaped as you saw tires race past in front of you. People were shouting, their voices loud and nearby. Bright lights surrounded you and the air was clear once more.

The last thing you remembered seeing was a panicked nurse rushing over to you.

[adaisychain4azathoth]

daisylog iii: what was that about a minotaur?

(continued from https://www.deviantart.com/omn1p0t3nt/journal/The-Eye-of-the-Mind-Stares-Blank-at-the-Maze-Walls-921571336) i’ve come to realize a few things about both my work and myself, things that i hardly thought about, things that crawl and surface without me thinking twice. and then i think twice, and i’m like, oh that’s a thing

i’m a system, technically, though the body itself doesn’t have much of a designation. i, daisy, share the brain with my headmate celeste, who has existed perhaps longer than i lead on. celeste’s involvement in my life and endeavors has been shaky and full of strife, and her direction in the past seemed most unclear, but we have since figured things out. things are looking up for the both of us.

it’s been a heavy six years, Satan forbid the last three. multiplicity is something we’re both getting used to. you live. you learn. we’re all young in body mind and soul at the end of the day, right? that’s the problem herein, i’ve come to realize ... getting used to multiplicity, being young (though i can’t deny studying and practicing within the occult has done irreparable damage. oops!).

see, i have a system of magick and a bunch of pantheons. there’re an ogdoad i call the lurking elder princes and an infinite amount of angels i call the khaoseraphim (whose sign you see in the image above). functionally (practically?) these entities perform much like tulpas, as they are thought-forms you get acquainted with over time.

my experience with the ogdoad so far has yielded horrifying results, no thanks to a prose project on twitter i call VOIDMAW. the thing helped me get uncomfortably close to them. worse, i let them in - i activated parts of my brain that were asleep for so long, perhaps since the day i was born ... for as much sanity as i lost, i feel like shit. for myself and for others. my mental health has plateaued. downward? VOIDMAW plays a part in that. as do i.

all this and a most alluring complication: my plural headspace is volatile and prone to changing; to adding new passengers to the vehicle that is my brain and its meat mecha. or maybe our brain? ugh. still getting used to this.

i’ve wrestled with this idea for the past couple days. i’m unsure of what to do. why would kerdephexis want to become a headmate? is that his desired form of worship on my behalf? does he want to become equals? and, granted the working i performed last month allowed me to have power over him and the other princes, there is still the possibility of his presence sapping at my sanity. there are too many things to think about. them woods are a maze, son - don’t get lost. cuz if you get lost them faeries are gonna eat you alive. expect more art posts soon btw.

daisy signing out. catch you later skater! EAT YOUR FUCKING PIZZA

[jewishjon]

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself. 

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something. 

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’” 

Kill. Kill Wylan. 

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks. 

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night. 

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life. 

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow. 

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son. 

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped. 

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome. 

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down. 

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again. 

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist. 

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”

[cypaira-the-skeleton]

I wish to clear myself off and share my experience in drawing, my main inspirations, and what goes through my head.

Rough sketches are like a taboo to my subconscious.

There artists who make rough sketches and turn out amazing!

If I try that myself, I'm instantly gonna go full on perfectionist.

Let's take a more intrigued character, like Cervitaur Raven. I Seriously Cannot draw her in less than maybe...20mins? It's gonna take me even longer just to draw her deer half! For crying out loud I always end up distracting myself while drawing and makes me take even way longer!

Now I probably do that cause...I don't draw every day and even a small perfected drawing burns me out. (Or I have some sort of adhd and I have no fucking idea🤷🏻‍♀️)

My body hates Simplism! It Must make it look perfect and detailed as possible! Even when I'm roughly sketching the lighter outlines! Basically, I go full on.

Honestly, I do know I don't have to draw 24/7 to consider myself an artist, and i always take a week or less days until i come up with a new drawing.

Part of me is scared to try new things. Let's take for example Horrorartist23's Roger Willington, Victor Bellman, and the Sewer man. (Which by the way have amazing and creppy art✨☠️). Her characters, are what I consider, my challenges to interpret them in my style.

First time I drew Roger, I was absolutely nerve wrecked. He just looked so perfect despite the fact he was still new, my head wanted him to look absolutely as perfect as possible. During a reblog chain, I tried his side view, and to my amazement, I loved the outcome. Looking at him again he might have needed some more improvement but I just adored the first end result.

Victor Bellman. My God, his details scared me (not litteraly). He is obviously more different in structure than Roger, and his facial features looked very intriguing. Again, perfectionism hits, and I want to atleast replicate as much of him in my own was as possible. I was scared to try, it took me quite some time until I drew him for the first time, again, in side view (i find side views very simple for my first time) and absolutely adored the result. He...looked perfect honestly, and then I drew him again but full body, despite crouched, and loved it even more. Still believe he might needed more improvement, but I was happy and satisfied (until i drew him again in front views and loved it even more. I feel like I am improving in some way).

Last but not least, The Sewer Man. When I say I was mind blown, I surely was. I loved the story accompanied with him, and seeing his goulish appearance sent chills up my spine and...got me hooked xD ! It was like reading a creepy story, it made me want to know more. He is horrifying but yet So fascinating. He practically lives rent free in my head! So, me wanting to draw this absolute unit, I was... mentally frozen. Same thing, Perfectionism. I wanted him to look ✨Perfect ✨ (but still creepy). So I took positions, prepared my items, and took my Sweet ass time completing him. I lost the count of time but he surely took me more than 5hrs (i suppose. But i posted him late cause power went out). The result...was the cherry on the damn cake. Seeing half his frame hunched over my grown up OC, that long clawed hand looking ready to strike, the details of the arms, the ribs, and Mostly the facial features....I fell in love with that master piece, and now consider it my bestest work.

Now obviously, those three characters belong to Horrorartist23, and I am not claiming them as mine, but I love using her work as inspiration and to improve myself. I still yet have to come out of my comfort zone, but I gotta start from somewhere.

Every artist has a struggle. Mine is being perfect, become easily burnt out, distressed from imperfections, and probably procrastinate half drawing.

Despite the ups and downs I get from my self-esteem, I will somehow always come back up (even after some strong encouragements), and will do my best to improve even more. I may take it slow...but as they say "slow and steady wins the race". It might take me more years to improve, but I'm surely never abandoning my passion for art.

[internalsealpanic]

Cosmonauts

Summary: You always call Tim space related nicknames. No one knows why.

A/n: This is technically a follow up to Art Gallery Smile but it can be read on its own. This was posted on mobile so Idk how bad it got formatted. Will edit when I get to my laptop.

Warnings: mentions of panic attack and anxiety. No graphic detail but just in case. (Yes, I gave Tim anxiety. Fight me.)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“IT WAS ZOMBIE ADJACENT,” Roz protests, shoving another one of Tim’s fries into her gaping maw in a vain attempt to stop the petulant pout retching its way to her lips. You roll your eyes hard enough that your entire head follows along with their movement, taking a nibble of your own fries. Roz scowls, mouth twitching the way yours does (4 times to the left and 4 and a half times to the right) it was honestly the only way to tell that you two were related in any shape or form. 

“It wasn’t even close, you deep-fried stick of margarine,”

“It shambled, didn’t it?”

 

“So does Space Case over here when you don’t funnel enough caffeine into his system, what’s your point?” You bite out leaning back, slinging your arm over the back of the bench and over Tim’s shoulder making his breath hitch. Tim can feel his skin heat up. For once, he’s thankful for just how much Roz hordes your attention.  He’s starting to run out of excuses for the color of his cheeks. Not that you ever fell for any of it from the way you hummed every time he stammered out his excuse. 

 

Based on the way your hand flexes and not so subtly moves away, you noticed his flush but made no comment. Instead, you grin- all sharp teeth and cocksure and smug bastard- leveling your older cousin a look which roughly translated to ‘Checkmate, motherfucker’. Despite his apprehension, Tim can’t help the smile that twitched on to his lips. Your eyes flickered to him. It might just be his imagination but Tim was pretty sure he saw fondness chip away at your smug grin. Tim kind of wants to lean into your arm but instead, he leans forward pretending to pay attention hiding his smile in his hands. His face is gonna get tired from smiling too much around you. 

"It wasn't even close,"

"It was freaky looking,"

"Damn woman, you're being real judgy there,"

“Back me up here Duckie!” Roz screeches, shoulders hiking up making her look like a frazzled cat about to hiss pulling Tim away from his reverie. You roll your eyes all the way to the back of your head while Steph just snorts. Tim sighs. None of you have stopped calling him ‘Duckie’ or ‘Ducktective’ after that stint of being ‘Drake’.  Admittedly, it wasn’t his best idea but you didn’t have to laugh that hard and slap your knee. When you were done laughing, you vehemently protested the name change by wearing your precious, well-kept, one of a kind Red Robin hoodie for the duration of the ‘Drake’ thing. You had said it was to bring him back to his senses (sense of fashion).  Maybe you just wanted to fluster him. He certainly couldn’t put it past you. It worked. Oh, it definitely worked. Now, all he could think about was how nice you looked in his colors which inevitably lead him to think about how nice you would look in his shirts, in his clothes- Damn it. He’s doing it again. 

Roz clears her throat. It is loud and rough and it makes all of you wince despite the already loud atmosphere of the cafeteria. Really what does Roz expect him to say? One, Tim wasn’t fully paying attention. How could he when you two are smooshed together on a cramped cafeteria bench with you still wearing your Red Robin hoodie? Tim’s surprised he isn’t keeling over. Two- 

 

“See! Even our darling-” Tim’s brain short circuits. “Space Cadet can’t even defend your bullshit,” you laugh reaching over to Roz’s drink leaning a little too close to Tim’s face. He can almost feel the heat radiating off your skin. 

 

If I lean in just a little more, I could probably…

 

“It isn’t bullshit!”

 

“You’re right! Bullshit has more substance-”

 

“Sooooo, what’s with all the space nicknames for Tim? When do I get one?” Steph asks casually, popping another of Tim’s fries into her mouth. 

 

Has he even eaten any of his fries? It’s almost gone and he’s eaten at most one.

 

You choke making a pained noise, likely due to said carbonated drink going into your nostrils (and possibly your lungs), as you turn away. Your neck visibly red from where Tim is sitting. Based on the sparkle in Steph’s eyes, she can see it too. A manic grin spreads on Roz’s face wide enough that Tim legitimately worries that it’ll split her face wide open. A shrill sort of giggle escapes her which has you whipping your head to her direction to scowl at her. It does absolutely nothing to deter the sheer glee on her face as she sneers back to you. Some secret conversation passes between the two of you. Tim and Steph watch in slow motion as mortification creeps on to your face. 

 

Suddenly (not really), Tim’s thankful that his only sister is practically a saint. At least compared to the horror that is Roz. 

 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, you have a plethora of space-themed nicknames for him when you aren’t busy calling him whatever endearingly aggravating name Steph came up with that week. 

 

Cosmo

 

Space Case

 

Space Nuts

 

Rocket Man

Martian Manhunter

 

ET

 

Marvin (the Martian)

 

And your favorite, Cosmonaut.

 

At first, he figures it was because of his obsession love for Star Wars and Star Trek but no, that couldn’t be it since you had started calling him that long before you two ended up marathoning the entirety of Star Trek instead of working on your project. He can still remember just how engrossed you looked while watching as you hugged your knees to your chest leaning forward as you waited for the next episode to start up with bated breath. Your features highlighted by the glow of the laptop screen making it very easy for Tim to memorize the contours and angles of your expression. Yet another moment Tim really wanted to capture with a photo. You even did your mouth twitch thing without noticing.

 

 He really wanted to just keep an entire album of all the different expressions you made. Wait. That sounds weird. Does it sound weird? It probably does.

 

 Then again, maybe you called him those because of just how much of a weirdo he was. He couldn’t blame you if you did. But he found that highly unlikely. Sure, you can be mean at times (a lot of times) but you were too oblique for that. Years in customer service made sure of that. Your jabs were usually of the subtler, more needling variety. The type that makes you pause for too long.  Plus, you said every nickname with a fondness that made his heart skip a beat. It was like when you called Roz or Steph ‘Fucker’. Maybe a little warmer. Or he could just be imagining that. Probably. Hopefully not. It was hard to get the honey-sweet way you said them out of his head.

 

Maybe they were just jabs. Lighthearted one. They could have just had easily been comments on just how much he spaced out. Tim has a tendency to live in his own head and it shows especially when he’s stressed or tired or both. Sometimes he would completely shut down as a result of excess anxiety. He can still remember the number of times he had let his anxieties run rampant letting them drag him away from the moment. His breaths were too quick to back then. He felt like he was gonna faint but then you just smiled at him like you were there for him which as it turned out you were. You gently squeezed each segment of his fingers until his breaths slowed. Even when he did fully calm down, you didn’t relinquish his hand. You held them firmly in your own even as you looked entirely unsure of what to do and what to say. You didn’t whisper the usual ‘you’re ok’ or the classic ‘you’ll be fine’. No, you just sat there with him quietly. Letting his feelings ebb and flow as he needed them to. 

 

Tim really isn’t sure what he did to deserve even knowing someone like you but he would do it again and again if it meant being able to stick close to you. 

 

Roz, ever the agent of chaos, throws a conspiratorial smile around the table like a flail. You look like you’ve been hit by one.

 

“Sorry, Steph. You won’t get one,” she says glancing at you. Steph pouts before she and Tim follow Roz’s gaze expecting you to glower or snarl or get up to deck her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. You just kind of sit there frozen and mortified with a face that simply says ‘Oh. God. This is happening.’. All you can really do is mouth a ‘fuck you’. This obviously pleases Roz. Say what you will about Roz, but there is abso-fucking-lutely no denying that she is petty as hell when it comes to revenge. Nothing is sacred to this woman. Nothing.

 

“Why’s that?” Steph asks innocently, smiling around her bendy straw also enjoying this rare chance to torment you. 

 

“I’m so glad you asked!” Roz answers her voice twisting into a horrifying facsimile of a daytime talk show host. You peel your arm away from the backrest and place your arms over your head and neck as you do in an earthquake drill bracing for impact. By the way, you were shaking, you’d think there was an actual earthquake. Your reasoning can’t be that stupid. 

 

“My dear Stephanie-” Steph scrunches her nose at the overly sweet tone Roz lathers on her name but makes no move to interrupt. “(y/n) only uses space-related nicknames for people they think are- and I quote- ‘waaaaaay outta their league’,” You let out a pained groan and Steph’s face unfurls as she lets out the loudest snort, loud enough to draw the attention of several tables around them. 

 

Tim’s mind is still reeling, still trying to process what Roz just said. 

 

Him?

 

Out of your league? 

 

Excuse him, isn’t it the other way around? 

 

What the hell? 

 

“Tim, for the love of Alfred, please unhear that,” you plead wetly, parking your head out just enough for Tim to see just how red your face has gotten. “God, please unhear it or I might just die,” Tim kind of didn’t doubt that you would. Steph somehow laughs even louder at this. Roz, not one to miss pouring salt in the wound, laughs along with her. You look like you wanted to implode out of existence.  You could certainly try but Tim seriously doubts the universe is kind enough to let you escape. 

 

Yeah, Tim’s brain has officially left the building. He’ll be back at 9 o’clock sharp tomorrow. Promise. 

 

“You mean to tell me that-” Steph chokes, unable to control her laughing fit. “-You’re telling me that you’ve been watching them pine for each other for over a year now and you just let them?!” Steph wheezes still holding her stomach.  

 

Roz looks offended and makes a whiny little noise. “Weeeell, technically I offered to wingman-”

 

“YOU WERE GONNA CHARGE ME FIFTY BUCKS,” 

 

“Hey, matchmaking is hard,”

 

“It isn’t worth fifty bucks!”

 

“You’re right! It is worth so much more,”

 

“God, I hate you,” you groan into the table. 

 

“God can’t help you now, kid,”

Tim frowns, mind backtracking to dissect the information. Apparently, his brain decided to clock back in. 

 

They knew. Even Roz ‘I don’t give a shit what you do as long as it doesn’t affect me’ Andrada, noticed. Was he that obvious?

A year? Wait. No. Over a year. They knew about this for over a year. 

Lastly, what do you mean each other?! As in mutual? Mutual pining? 

As if reading his thoughts, you ask “Wait… what do you mean each other?”

 

Roz blinks at you not entirely sure if you’re being funny. When you give her a look, she slumps back in her chair. “I’m related to a dumbass,”

 

“That you are. Speaking of dumbasses-” Steph whips her attention to Tim giving him a shit-eating grin.”-You said you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask (y/n) out, right?” Steph waves her hands doing jazz hands as she points at your still dumbstruck figure. She’s smiling as if she was the world’s best wingman at the moment.

 

 Tim suppresses a groan. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured it,”

 

Roz reaches into her pocket and produces a lighter. Grabbing the last of Tim’s fries and lighting it. “There. Mood lighting. Do the thing.”

 

“Ah yes, because surely the scent of burning potatoes is gonna sweep (y/n ) off their feet,”  Tim said flatly crossing his arms. He knows he’s definitely focusing on the wrong thing but as with all things it was easier to procrastinate. This is especially true when you’re afraid of the outcome.   

 

Roz huffs, waving the fry to extinguish it and muttering something about beggars and choosers. “Trust me kid that isn’t hard to do. Besides, did you not hear the part where I quoted (y/n) about you being ‘outta their league’,” You open your mouth to protest but slam it shut when Roz gives you a lopsided grin looking like she had a mountain of dirt on you which she likely did. He was definitely thankful that she has never met his family. He’s pretty sure Gotham wouldn’t survive. 

 

“How could I possibly be out of (y/n)’s league. I- I don’t- I mean- I’m not-”

 

Your body twists his way fast enough that he’s sure you either have whiplash or a twisted spine. Your eyes are set on him glowering as if he’d said something wrong. He’s pretty sure he didn’t although he did have a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. Your jaw is set tight, your teeth almost grind. He could see the tight hitch in your shoulders. He is 100% sure you’re going to deck him. 

 

“Do you want it listed alphabetically or what?”

 

“What?”

 

“Structure it like an argumentative essay. Speak nerd.” Roz instructs, earning her the full force of your glare. Your face pinches even more. Maybe this was the part where you implode. 

 

You suck in a calming breath before turning back to Tim. 

 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are a fucking moron, and here’s why:” Taking another breath, you turn to face him fully your cheeks reddening but you press on either from pure unadulterated spite or determination. 

 

“You quite literally co-run a multibillion-dollar corporation. You’ve been doing that since you were seventeen apparently. You know several languages and you are not only fluent but proficient. You’re well versed in an insane amount of fighting styles. You are the smartest dumbass I know-” 

“Preach!” Steph jokes. 

 

“-You can basically operate any machinery I put in front of you. I have no doubt you can Macgyver one up if you fucking wanted. You could hack into any system you want just as a joke. You could probably throw the entire global economy into the toilet just for shits and giggles. Need I go on?”

 

Tim looks at you wide-eyed and speechless. You shrink a little as he continues to gape at you but you keep looking him in the eyes daring him to refute your claims. Really what was there to say? As much as he wants to come up with something witty to snap back at you, his chest is too crowded with warmth from the absolute sincerity of your voice. He knows you didn’t set out to make him fall deeper in love with you but he feels like he’s in free fall with your gravity pulling him downwards. Tim can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears. 

 

You shrink again, your mouth twitching. “I-” Another calming breath. “I said too much. But my point stands!” The infinitesimal gap he felt between the two of you practically vanished. Still, he could do nothing but stare. Words fail him in the most inopportune moments even when you look so desperate for any kind of response.  You swallow thickly looking like you think you’ve ruined everything when the fact was you haven’t. Quite the opposite really. Tim feels like he could take on the entirety of Gotham’s rogue gallery right now. Still, his brain was drawing a blank. 

 

“Mood,” His brain has short-circuited and is now beyond repair. His palm is in his face before he even sees your reaction. You give him an entire speech about how great he is and all he can say is ‘mood’. Looking over at Steph and seeing her phone on her hands, he can tell she’s already transcribing the events to the group chat. Well, It can’t get any worse. 

 

You giggle snort eyes slamming shut from the force of your laughter. Joy suffuses throughout your tense body, loosening your tense muscles. “Thank you for proving my point,” you say between gasps.  

 

Tim falls victim to the infectious smile spreading on your face. He feels the warmth crowding his chest grow fuzzy. 

 

Now’s your chance.  

 

Tim takes a steadying breath. He rolls his shoulder back to straighten his posture. He waits for you to calm yourself a bit. When you do, he asks as confidently as he can “Are you free this Saturday?”

 

“No,”

 

Oh crap. He knew he screwed up. He feels cold seep into his feet.  

 

You shake your head at his panic. “I work Saturday, ET,”

 

“Oh, I-”

 

“I have all of Sunday off though,” A hum of excitement spreads through his limbs. “Name your time,”

 

“9 AM?”

 

You give him a look roughly translating to ‘You aren’t going to lose sleep over a date, so help me’.

 

“11:30?” He corrects. You smile and hum seemingly making the oxygen in the atmosphere disappear. He finds that he doesn’t mind, not when he feels like he’s floating on zero gravity. 

 

-------------------------------------------------

Bonus: 

 

Steph: Tim’s a dumbass😌🙃

Damian: Thank you for stating the obvious, Brown. 

Step: 🙄 Do you wanna hear about it or not?

Dick: 👀We’re listening…

Steph: (Y/n) made this whole speech about Tim and all Tim could say was 'mood' cycgu9c8ychic8td 5d8fcouv9ygpuv

Jason: F

Duke: F

Cass: F

Babs: F

Dick: F

---------------

Thanks for reading!!!!!

Taglist:

@idkmanicantenglish, @batarella, @batarella-mini, @birdy-bat-writes, @anothertimdrakestan, @founduebitches , @lucy-roo

[galesh]

Wish fulfillment au of Severus who was born in Albus' Dumbledore's time. I just wanted to post it as a reply on a discord server but then it got out of hand. So

------------------

- Two clever swots duking it out... in academics!

- Debating each other of old spells and whether or not they're dark and the librarian jinxing them out of the library with hexes for being too loud

- Albus and Sev rubbing their stung bums and arguing about the hexes the librarian used

- Albus and Sev both discovering they're poor halfbloods and railing against the arswholes in charge who think they can sting their bums and get away with it

- Them stinging each other's bums because it's a fascinating body part and maybe rubbing them with a different set of hands because maybe it'll help, and they're experimental

-Albus viewing the fascinating kid with so much dark potential with new eyes.

-Sev keeping an eye out for the twinkly eyed twit because it's unnerving, really, and because he always found the goodness in others fascinating. He doesn't believe he can emulate it, but maybe some would seep through him in osmosis. That's what that muggle book said anyway

- His ma always said he had a thing for redheads. He's starting to suspect her of practicing black magic

- Albus and Sev working on potions and transfig together because none of them can tell the other they're bloody brilliant and that they're fascinated, and could we just get to stinging bums and rubbing out the soreness please

- Sev visiting the Dumbledore's on summer break because his father is dead and his mother as good as, meeting the creepy girl creature because he's nosy and of course he'd look at the one room Kendra told him not to

- Abe running to Ariana's room because she screams bloody murder. It's only when he gets there that he realises that that bloody snake they let into their house is being accosted by a happily shrieking Arianna who wants to meet this strange new black haired scarecrow her brother likes

- The older one

- Sometimes, Arianna suspects

- Sev being horrified by Ariana's sad tale, and not wanting her to waste away, working with Albus to make sure she can get out

- Abe (begging to) help them because he really wants to, and because he doesn't trust the snake

- Sev learns Abe can't bloody spell after the third time.he has to squint if the bottle has fluxweed or filchweed (Dyslexia is not recognised yet, but it will be, in the muggle world) amd tries to help. It's more insulting than helpful, but he tries!

- Albus feverishly searching for a way to fix what those muggle boys and their mother's imprisonment and his neglect have wrought. Searching in the darkest grimoires, because really, what is honor and goodness if it can't even help his sister?

- Ariana getting her father's silver signet, carved with the runes of protection, family, forgiveness and renewal. They can't fix her magic, but the magic she once loved has caused her loved ones only harm, and really, it's time to stop listening to the voice inside her, who wants to rip her mother to shreds and burn the whole world down

- In the end it's abe, who comforted her when her mum looked at her with hate and Albus ashamed who puts her ring on as she says the words the runes describe. It's hard to forgive her mother and those muggle boys, but Arianna thinks they've suffered enough (it'll be years later that she realises that she left one person, but as she watches her daughter's delightful coo as she Dan's her nose with a glowing goden finger, she is only thankful that her lack of forgiveness didn't take all her magic away).

- She kisses her brother-in-law to be on the cheek, as is only proper for a member of family.

(Ariana has a very feeble grasp on social niceties. She tries, okay! You try learning everything from books while trapped in a cottage like a demented princess, with a brother who even she knows has an unhealthy fascination with goats who'd talk to her normally)

(Arianna's husband and her daughter, who she names Severus --because every universe must have a second child with a severusly controversial name -- would really come to fear her social skills, or lack thereof. Severus blames her godfather and her uncle with a the raging hate of a 10 year old who's been denied Uncle Sev's sweets)

- Sev and Albus competing for the top spot in the classes with professors and the bottom in the classes without

- Albus meeting Gellert in the evening he's supposed to leave for France and noticing the same dark charm. Severus noticing, but wanting to taint it than emulate it

- A black owl pooping on Gellert's golden hair because he Does Not Share!

- Albus sharing his plans to Change The World which would kill a girl with beautiful, uncontrolled magic and put a vengeful father in a prison of his own despair

- Sev agreeing to them and adding some rather inventive and cruel revenges he'd have on the Wankers who disowned his mother for following her heart

- Albus crossing out those points with eyes that twinkle in gentle admonishment, because really Severus, where would you even get a fully grown basilisk, and ignoring the calculating glitter he gets in return

- Abe following the idiots because Ari orders him to help the idiots and he can deny her nothing

- Gellert becoming a Light wizard after being at the wand end of a particularly dark spell (they teach *that* at Hogwarts, the light school!?!?!?!?) By a vengeful gargoyle after he drunkenly kisses*Bruder* Dumbledore

(years later, Headmaster Dippet can't figure out why his newest Dada teacher is so militant about students knowing everything about Dark magic and why some magics should never be studied, or why flinches everytime he sees a mistletoe. He has enough experience at 300 Not To Ask)

- Albus learning the most beautiful healing spell at the hands of a scowling-dark-phoenix with moist, angry black eyes after the 12th use of a dragon's claw soon after he discovered the 12th use of their blood

(Fawkes could never forgive Severus Snape for stealing it's thunder. Also he smells owl. They're the worst!)

-Severus stealing the Flamels' thunder by creating a philosophers stone after being at their home for a month.

(Perenelle suspects it's because Nicholas, who can be really old fashioned about these things, forbade their apprentice and that brilliant boy with no thoughts from rooming together)

- Severus lacing Albus' lemon drops with the elixir of life because clearly, that imbecilic martyr thinks dragon claw wounds are amusing

- Albus lacing Severus' tea with it because it would be such a horrible thing to live alone

(or without the one person who matters, no offence to his family. Oh, alright Abe, you're definitely not it!)

(the elixir of life prepared yearly mysteriously dissappears into tea and lemon drops. Albus stops worrying over Severus getting killed by vampires while he gets their teeth in exchange of galleons like a demented tooth fairy, and Severus stops worrying about Albus getting nicked by antsy Dragons or Phoenixes or Nifflers, or whoever Albus scraps with in his spare time)

- Albus putting his demented convoluted plans in motion by destroying wizarding currency through inflation. It somehow leads to a goblin revolution, equal rights for magical creatures, and the adoption of muggle currency. Don't ask

(Rumour has it that Gellert, Wizarding Britain's champion one look at the the scowling face of a Severus Snape and proposes negotiations.

Muggle currency was great, really. Made mathematical sense, easier to handle, and twinkly eyed not quite evil overlords can't dependably reproduce all the identifiers. They hope

Quite coincidentally, as Severus will assure you, all the pureblood families --including the Princes, coincidentally-- lose all their accumulated money in the resulting changeover.)

- Albus rules everything from behind the iron curtain with gentle fists and an open smile. Everyone learns to agree with him because behind him stands the spectre of DEATHOMgWatdidyoudo that you want to always keep happy)

- An excited Tom Riddle learns about magic from a charming Professor who's really interested in how he speaks, and who agrees that muggles are awful but keep it down will you?

- Tom Riddle learns to confide in and trust the person who introduced him to the magical world; and tells him when he accidentally discovers the chamber of secrets while hissing open at one of the taps in the girls loo that just wouldn't dispense water (he was under a lot of pressure okay! No, he's not a creep!)

- Tom Riddle grows up to be a politician with a particularly hard view on those muggles. Being backed by the Headmaster of Hogwarts helps. The society has made great strides in the concept of equality and democracy however, and most creatures really don't like him for some insane reason. Albus Dumbledore wins the elections by a landslide again. Tom is tenacious, and plots for when he'd get the position after the old man dies

(On his deathbed, Professor Emeritus of Hogwarts, Professor Tom, curses todgy old men with unnaturally long lifespans)

-Harry Potter, who grew up loved and a headmaster who didn't want to train him in any way, shape, or form (Harry was glad. Headmaster Grindenwald was nice and all, but he really didn't want to know all about the Dark arts and why not to use them kplzthnx). He went on to work at the ministry because his mother instilled in him values of fairness, kindness, and Get Out The House And Go To Work You Bum!

(He named

- Ariana's first kid is named after Abe. Her second is called Severus. Severus being a girl, never forgives her, and years later, when her son is born, names him Ariana with a vindictive gleam in her eyes.

(Ariana never really learned a the social niceties. They're horribly ineffective, and Abe tells her she's always charming in any case)

(Severus Smith is comforted by the fact that her godfather is a immortal wizard who gives her the best sweets)

- Severus and Albus never really fall out of love, even though they fall out of bed many times. They are a different breed of men, really. Eternal devotion means eternal devotion, as they find out. The Flamels' are happy they finally get to go on what the muggles call double dates.

- They also never stop stinging each other on the bum, but that is a rather more mature tale.

[ladyvader23]

Darth Vader, Master Hairstylist

This was inspired by @scuddington ‘s post HERE. I absolutely love Scud’s art, and this one just instantly inspired me! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Vader learned how important hair was to little children was the day Miss Laena took PTO in the morning for an important doctors appointment. 

He figured he had this. It was just one morning. No big deal. The only difference was that this morning, he’d be the one getting the kids ready for school. That wasn’t hard. He was Darth Vader, Sith, destroyer of Jedi and Rebels alike, Commander of the Imperial Navy! He could handle school. 

He scheduled his own meetings around the conflict, he’d warned the twins repeatedly that he needed them to cooperate, he’d made sure the night before that all was prepared. Bags, lunches, homework. 

Too easy. Maybe he’d reconsider Miss Laena’s salary. 

And the morning did begin smoothly. Until Leia came running to him with a brush in her hand. 

“I gotta be pretty daddy!” She shoved the brush towards him. “Do my hair!” 

Vader froze. He...knew nothing about hair. He knew his wife had been excellent at it. When had she begun to be interested in how she did her hair? He tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember a single time he’d seen her in public without perfectly styled tresses. 

“You are a child. You do not need me to do your hair. Just brush it.” 

That of course, offended Leia. She pouted and glared. “I’m a big girl daddy, and big girls have pretty hair!” 

She literally forced the brush into his hand. 

Well. He’d mastered the Force. How hard could hair be? 

Famous last words. 

First, he was apparently not gentle enough. He tried to comb the tangles that she’d acquired overnight, and each time he did she began screaming “OW!” and crying. Horrified, he decided to instead hide the tangles and figure them out later. He pulled her hair into what resembled a ponytail and stepped back. “There. Now you will be late for school. Let us leave.” 

The hair wasn’t...exactly like it should be. It was crooked, and he wasn’t sure it was tight enough to stay in, but he didn’t want to hurt her further. And he was pretty sure she didn’t want him to try again, because she didn’t argue. 

He forgot about the incident shortly after the kids were dropped off. Miss Laena came back shortly before the end of school. He was in their home’s personal conference room, doing assignments from home, when he heard the front door open and the telltale sound of children running through the home. 

Miss Laena will take care of it. He thought, focusing back on his work…

Until he realized Leia was crying. 

He hated it when she cried. Luke, he could deal with. But Leia? Absolutely not. 

Shoving the datapad aside, he went to investigate. 

“I’m ugly!” She was wailing when he entered the kitchen. Mis Laena was trying to comb Leia’s hair and having a hard time with it. “I’m ugly!!!” 

“Who told you a ridiculous lie like that?!” Vader thundered. Leia was the image of his beloved wife. Both of them were more beautiful than all the stars of the galaxy. 

But to his surprise, Leia wailed harder. “Everyone! My hair was ugly!!!” 

“Your hair does not reflect how beautiful you are. Hair changes daily.” 

Miss Laena winced. “Lord Vader...many children want to feel pretty when they go see their friends at school.” 

“Leia is beautiful already. I do not see what the problem is.” 

“...She is beautiful, but she may not feel that way when she doesn’t like her hair...and other kids might say something if it looks...different.” 

“She is five.” 

“Even five year olds want to feel pretty.” 

Vader thought it was silly. Leia could have no hair and he’d find her just as perfect as she was with it. But judging on Leia’s reaction, she very much cared about how her hair looked. 

It was something her mother should have done. Had she lived, he had no doubt Leia would never have a bad day...or even Luke for that matter (sometimes that boy needed to run a comb through his hair, if Vader was being honest with himself). 

But Padme...was not there. And it was his fault for that. 

So it was up to him to fix it. 

First, he ordered practice manikin heads, the kind hairdressers used to practice. Then, he found online tutorials on the holonet. He watched them carefully, paying close attention to the stylists finger and brush movements. It was not unlike studying lightsaber technique. Both had a certain art to it. 

He just needed to master it. 

The first many attempts didn’t work as planned. Part of it was due to his cybernetics. They were...not made for the delicacy it took to style hair. The first few manikin heads ended up either with hair ripped out, or he’d grow so frustrated when he couldn’t get a braid right, that he’d throw the manakin off the balcony, where it fell into the lower levels of Coruscant below. 

But he was determined. He would not fail in this task. He would not be so reliant on Miss Laena that he would ruin his daughter's day again like that. 

He would be the master hairstylist. 

It took months (and countless manikin heads) to get things to where he felt he could confidently and safely try working on Leia’s hair. 

One morning, before school, he interrupted Miss Laena as she was about to help Leia get ready for school. “I have no need of your services when it comes to Leia.” He informed her confidently. “I will handle it from here.” 

He did not miss the concern that flashed through the other woman, but she wisely did not say anything. “As you wish, My Lord.” 

He entered Leia’s room. She was already dressed, though her hair, thankfully, was still a mess. “Where’s Miss Laena?” She asked, frowning when he was the only one there. 

“I am here to fix your hair problem.” He announced confidently, spotting the brush and summoning it to his hand. 

Leia did not hide her nervousness. “No, that’s okay daddy, I...I can have ugly hair today.” 

“No. You will sit down and allow me to help you.”

“No--”

“If you do not let me help you, I will ground you from your dolls.” It was an unfair threat and he knew it...but he was a Sith. He’d spent an unsithly amount of time mastering the ways of the hairdresser. He was not about to let Leia stop him now. 

Leia pouted, but sat down. “Be nice to my hair, daddy.” She warned as he approached, and he felt her genuine fear. 

Carefully, he placed a hand on top of her head and smoothed her hair down in what he hoped was a soothing gesture...and began. 

He first worked out the tangles. Carefully, in a way he knew wouldn’t hurt her. Once all the tangles were gone, he began to braid. 

The trick, he found, was not to completely rely on his metal fingers. Doing so would result in failure. The trick was to use the Force for anything that was too delicate and precarious for his clumsy hands. With a mixture of the Force and his own now well-practiced hands, he managed to braid her hair into a crown. 

He stepped back, satisfied. “You look like a princess.” He told her, and he meant it. It was hair that would make any royal princess jealous. He was fairly certain that Padme would have been quite proud of him had she seen it. 

Leia looked in the mirror...and smiled. “Wow, daddy! You got good!”

“For you, my princess...though don’t tell anyone I did it.” 

Having redeemed himself, he could have stopped there. He’d mastered enough to impress any five year old. 

But he didn’t stop there. 

Leia soon decided that she’d rather have him do her hair than Miss Laena (something he was secretly pleased about, though he’d never admit it). As she grew, so too did her tastes in hair. Occasionally, she’d be interested in a style he didn’t know how to do. But if she showed him what she wanted, he’d spend what little off time he had trying to figure it out. Once he’d mastered it, he’d try it out on her. Usually he was successful. 

Soon, he began to savor the moments when it was just him and her. She’d sit on the chair, swinging her legs happily while he worked on her hair. Sometimes it felt like they didn’t share as many interests, but when he did her hair, it seemed like it was their own “thing.” It was unsithly, and his Master would absolutely have a heart attack if he ever found out, but he didn’t care. 

Soon though, as Leia grew into a teenager, she began to need him less and less. But instead, their time together was replaced by him teaching her how to do her own hair. He’d always dreamed of teaching his children the ways of the Force, but with Sidious suspicious of that ever happening, he knew this would probably be the closest thing he could get for Leia. 

For now. 

One day, as Leia finished braiding her hair so that it looked like a blooming flower for a Imperial youth party, she paused. “You know. I’ve never told anyone you learned how to do hair.” She said. 

“That is wise.” He tried not to think of what the media would say if they ever found out Darth Vader knew almost as much about hair as any professional hairstylist. 

“Why? I mean. You’re...you.” 

He looked at her for a long moment. She’d grown to be so beautiful, exactly like her mother. And he decided to be honest. 

“Because your mother was not here to do it for you.” He replied. “I did not want you to miss out on that experience.” 

Leia turned, taking him in for a moment. Then, with a smile, she reached out and gave him a rare hug. 

He...allowed it. This time. 

“Thanks dad.” She said. “You’re the best. I don’t care what anyone else says.” 

He didn’t understand how him being good at hair made him the best…

But he’d accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I accept PROMPTS for this or any SW AU! 

[armoredsuperheavy]

LAMB AND MARTYR by Dira Sudis

LAMB AND MARTYR by Dira Sudis

This is a delicious, super intense, juicy dead dove. 

This was originally written at the Hydra Trash Meme, for the following prompt:

The Winter Soldier was never allowed to orgasm (and was punished if he did when his handlers used him for sex/he was caught masturbating) except when he was ordered to brutally rape HYDRA prisoners in lieu of conventional torture. As a result, post-CA:TWS, Bucky can only get off in violent non-con scenarios with him as the rapist - which, obviously, he finds horrifying, choosing self-imposed celibacy over the risk of hurting a lover.Steve finds out and offers to help. Cue hardcore BDSM with Steve pretending to be the Winter Soldier's victim, crying for help and begging him to stop (the more wretched the better - but always consensually, with a safeword). Steve doesn't get off on it, but he wants to help Bucky (and while vanilla sex does nothing for Bucky, maybe he finds it emotionally soothing to be gentle with Steve before/after their roleplaying?).+1: Someone walks in on them and thinks it's real.

Hellepi generously allowed me to use their art for the title page illustration. Longtime Stucky fans might recognize it (I’m new to this fandom!) I think the picture perfectly captures the spirit of this story.

Book Design

I’m using American Captain typeface again for title and chapter headings. A little red star appears as a section divider. Main text in Garamond. 

Using a printed marble everywhere - endpapers and case. This print marble is real thin so it tends to act up when setting the block into the case. My copy is all warbly. 

This is my second try with the 3/4 binding (the black corners) it’s tricky and I need more practice to avoid smearing glue everywhere. This is fake leather so it’s a lot easier to work with than real leather.

I took a number of process shots of this one:

Sewing onto linen tapes, then cutting it free

Figure out the color combo now, by picking some paper for the endpapers and gluing it in. 

After it’s sewn it goes into the first press and gets GLUED. 

After gluing, it starts to look like a (naked) book, you can flip through it!

Measure it for its spine width and then it’s time to assemble the case and squish it once and for all in the green hot rod book press. (No pics of those steps - they are hard to interrupt for photography.)

Yeet

[hangingfire]

Yuletide 2020 roundup

This year's Yuletide fic exchange was extraordinarily busy for me, even despite the fact that my main fandom of choice these days is no longer YT-eligible. I got an excellent assignment, and then when the prompts went public, I found three that spoke to me, and so I set myself a goal: assignment, plus three treats. Somehow I did it ... and then ended up throwing myself an additional curveball at the eleventh hour.

First though, my three lovely lovely gifts:

that world as well as this by raven (singlecrow) for hangingfire (G, 1.4k) Fandom: Piranesi - Susanna Clarke12 Dec 2020 Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Piranesi | Matthew Rose Sorenson, Sixteen | Sarah Raphael, Friendship, Chromatic Yuletide Summary: It's a Sunday afternoon in December when Sarah gets a text from Piranesi. My note: Really lovely post-canon interlude for Sarah and Matthew in an art gallery, a delicate portrait of a friendship between two unusual people who are not quite at ease with the worlds they inhabit.

The Stars above the Forty-Eighth Vestibule in the Northern Halls by laughingpineapple for hangingfire (G, 2.1k) Fandom: Piranesi - Susanna Clarke24 Dec 2020 Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Sixteen | Sarah Raphael, Worldbuilding, Exploration, Far Future, Classical Statuary, Birds Summary: Sarah Raphael in a distant future, holding a lantern up against the night. My note: Gosh this is gorgeous. It riffs gloriously on the House as we see it in canon, and ends on an extraordinary, beautiful image that hit me just as hard as the ending of the original novel did.

Angel Investor by karanguni for hangingfire (T, 3k) Fandom: The Culture - Iain M. Banks,Discworld - Terry Pratchett Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Cheradenine Zakalwe, GCU Grey Area, Original Culture Mind(s) (The Culture), The Culture Citizen Known As Elon Musk, Crossover, Alternate Universe - Real World, Special Circumstances (The Culture Series), Yuletide Treat Summary: 'You look like shit,' Zakalwe informed him. 'Not so easy, is it, dragging humanity kicking and screaming towards enlightenment?' My note: Last year karanguni pretty much made my year with a Culture/Discworld crossover, and this year, A SEQUEL. I haven’t laughed this hard at a fic in ages; the image of a certain Famous Dudebro as a Culture citizen gone wildly off-piste is brilliant and kind of horrifying. I loved it.

Maybe this year I’ll actually get together a proper recs list? We’ll see.

Update: bookmarking my Yuletide 2020 recs here. 

So this year, like I said: I was really busy. Entirely self-inflicted, but I’m pretty happy with the results.

Left To My Own Devices by hangingfire for ianthebroome (G, 2.5k) Fandom: Piranesi - Susanna Clarke10 Dec 2020 Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Sixteen | Sarah Raphael, Piranesi | Matthew Rose Sorenson, Character Study, Introspection, liminal spaces, parallel worlds, Portal Fantasy, Misses Clause Challenge, Missing Scene Summary: "She distrusts high places and open plains. She loves caves, hollows, and shadows; she is fascinated by deep clear pools and flowing water." As the Smiths song goes: "There is another world / There is a better world / Well, there must be". Sarah Raphael has known this since childhood. Director’s commentary: I originally started on a crossover between Piranesi and Borges’s “The Library of Babel”. I went kind of sideways from there, started over, and this was the result. I latched onto a few details and added some of my own personal obsessions (it may be that I find Sarah Raphael intensely relatable in some ways), and here we are.

A map of the House by hangingfire for chillydown, deliarium, GloriaMundi, Gracierocket, hellseries, ianthebroome, Jenett, raven (singlecrow), Relia, Sinope, soupytwist (G, 132 + picture) Fandom: Piranesi - Susanna Clarke Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Piranesi | Matthew Rose Sorenson, Map - Freeform, Reference material, Graphics, Yuletide Treat Summary: In my Father's House there are many rooms, vestibules, halls, and statues. The Beauty of the House is immeasureable, its Kindness infinite. Director’s commentary: While I was working on “Left To My Own Devices”, I started hand-drawing a map of the House to keep it straight in my head, and being me, I decided to redraw it as a schematic that I could actually read. Then I figured, I might as well share it.

The Thing That Eats by hangingfire for chillydown (M, 2.8k) Fandom: Confessions of Dorian Gray,The Terror (TV 2018) Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Dorian Gray, Original Female Character(s) of Color, Crossover, Highly specific crossover, Horror, Body Horror, Extremely niche crossover in fact, Yuletide Treat, White dudes ruin everything, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions Summary: A hundred and seventy years after the disastrous Franklin Expedition, an intelligent woman is burdened with the shenanigans of immortal dilettante and bad-decision-dinosaur Dorian Gray. He's in over his head again and doesn't know it. But what else is new? Director’s commentary: I happen to know chillydown and that she’s also a fan of The Terror, and, well ... once the idea presented itself (along with the requirement that something super gory had to happen to Dorian Gray), the pieces fell into place very quickly. 

Professionals by hangingfire for karanguni (T, 1.9k) Fandom: The Culture - Iain M. Banks,John Wick (Movies) Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, John Wick, Cheradenine Zakalwe, Diziet Sma, Skaffen-Amtiskaw, Crossover, Yuletide Treat, Alternate Ending, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions Summary: "John had an uncanny sensation of looking in a mirror." Director’s commentary: Returning the Culture crossover favor to karanguni—when I saw the prompt “Crossover ideas: John Wick (and Zakalwe get into a gun fight?)”, the story practically wrote itself, structure and all.

Four Unrequited Loves of the Holy See, and One Fulfilled by hangingfire for Elfgrandfather (T, 500) Fandom: The Young Pope (TV) Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Mario Assente/Bernardo Gutiérrez, Lenny Belardo/Andrew Dussolier, Lenny Belardo/Esther Aubry, Sister Mary/Angelo Voiello, Sofia Dubois/John Brannox, Lenny Belardo, Andrew Dussolier, Mario Assente, Bernardo Gutiérrez, Esther Aubry, Sister Mary (The Young Pope), Angelo Voiello, Sofia Dubois, John Brannox, Drabble, Four and One, Unrequited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Yuletide Treat, Yuletide Madness Drabble Invitational Summary: Love and the Vatican: it's complicated. Five drabbles about just how complicated it is. Director’s commentary: I put in a request for TYP/TNP this year, and no nibbles, but I saw that someone else had done the same and decided that someone was going to be getting fic for that this year, even if it wasn’t me. The N+1 drabble format ended up working best, but there’s a longer, more ambitious WIP about the canonization of Lenny Belardo that can be glimpsed in the background, possibly to be finished someday.

This week on the Repair Shop: a Time Turner, a Victorian Portrait, and an antique wardrobe by hangingfire for Orockthro (G, 3.5k) Fandom: The Repair Shop (UK TV),Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling,The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde,Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis20 Dec 2020 Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Steve Fletcher (The Repair Shop), Will Kirk (The Repair Shop), Lucia Scalisi, Jay Blades, Hermione Granger, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Crossover, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Never thought I'd be interested in writing RPF and yet here we are, Yuletide Treat, Screenplay/Script Format, If you can't write ridiculous crossovers for Yuletide then when can you? Summary: Lucia turns her talents to a lost Victorian masterpiece. Will’s abilities will be tested by a special wardrobe, and Steve has an extremely unusual timepiece. Director’s commentary: So I absolutely thought I was done after I posted the previous four, and then I figured I’d chill with a little Repair Shop, since Season 3 was just added to Netflix. About halfway through one episode, I wondered idly if anyone had nominated and requested The Repair Shop. Of course they had. Writing the story in script format meant that I was able to move very quickly and stick to the essentials, and picking out the crossover objects was basically the second thing I thought of after wondering if there were any prompts in the tagset. The space for this kind of lunacy is why I love Yuletide.

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

Practicalities of Censorship

Every so often I see a thread cross my dashboard arguing about censorship with relation to AO3 - in particular people claiming that AO3 is bad because it allows basically any story regardless of content, that people are bad for supporting it, or that AO3 should implement some method by which problematic fics get taken down. These complaints are usually met with explanations around the history or AO3, why it was implemented the way it was, and why thinking that AO3 is fine the way it is does not equal being a pedophile. I want to tackle this from another angle - practicality.

Let's assume for the sake of this post that the people making these arguments are correct and that there are some things which shouldn't be allowed on AO3 (or an an alternative fic platform set up to be a better version of AO3 without all the bad stuff - I'll mostly be taking about "fixing" AO3 in this post but the same problems would apply to setting up a new and "safer" fic site). There are a lot of arguments against censorship to do with quality of works produced and whether this results is less good art when people are scared to produce things that might get banned, or whether there is artistic merit to works that display despicable actions. Let's just imagine for the moment that the whole argument is settled and the "let's purify AO3 for the sake of the children" crowd are correct. What would need to happen next? This isn't something I've seen addressed in these posts.

There are a lot of problems with censorship. Skipping over the ethical discussion of whether censorship is good or bad and in what circumstances it should be accepted, let's focus on two practical aspects: deciding what should and shouldn't be banned, and how you would implement such a ban. Let's start with problem one: where do you draw the line?

Let's assume we have some scale of rating from absolutely sickeningly awful deserving of destruction to perfectly clean and innocent with not the slightest thing wrong with it. Somewhere between these two endpoints is a line and everything to one side of it is bad and should be banned/blocked/deleted from AO3, etc. Everything on the other side of the line is fine and should be left available for people to read. Some things may seem easy to define. Fic A is incest porn, where a child is graphically raped in a way that's cleanly meant to titillate rather than horrify and the abuse is glorified and justified in text, and it's full of poor writing, spelling and grammar mistakes, and has no artistic merit as a work (how you judge artistic merit would need a few thousand words to explore as a subject on its own right). Let's stick that on the bad side of the line since that's the sort of thing that people on Tumblr are crying out to be banned. Fic B is a fluff fic where a character makes another character soup because they're feeling ill and they watch movies together. Nothing remotely sexual, just two adult characters being sweet to each other. So we'll put that on the good side of the line, right?

But the problem comes in deciding where that dividing line should be and what should be done about the things that sit close to the line. You could come up with some simple rules. Let's say, "Everything involving underage incest is on the bad side of the line." Seems straight-forward. But what if you have a story dealing with someone's recovery from incest and CSA? The story has a character who was abused in the past and the narrative deals with them getting therapy and overcoming their trauma. None of the abuse is shown in the text of the story, it all happens off-screen as it were, and the story sends a message that incest and CSA are bad but offers hope to former victims. Surely that story would belong on the good side of the line? So maybe we amend the rule to, "Everything involving graphic incest is on the bad side of the line." That would let us keep the story about overcoming the trauma on the good side but block anything that uses incest as porn. But is consenting incest between grown adults treated the same as abusive incest?

And what if you get a story that's more about the trauma but that has a handful of flashbacks about the rape that would count as graphic. These flashbacks are meant to be horrifying not sexually exciting. Would that be okay? Is it the intent of the scene that matters? But in that case, what happens if the author writes a scene that's intended to be horrifying but a reader interprets it as arousing? Would it be okay if the author includes a disclaimer in the notes saying that this is a terrible thing and shouldn't be done in real life? Is it the intensity of the scenes shown directly in the story? In which case, where do you draw the line between something described explicitly and something merely eluded to? Is it the precise terms used? Which terms? Or how many times those terms are use? Is a subtle allusion to an event okay? In which case, what happens with a slightly less subtle allusion?

The stories that are far away from the line are easy to place, but the ones close to it become a challenge. Any attempt to define straight-forward rules starts to fall apart quickly and you get to the point where you have to argue on a case-by-case basis for each story, which would involve a massive amount of time invested to check each of these stories and decide whether or not they're allowed. Once again the practicalities of "how would you enforce something like this?" rear their ugly head but that's a question we'll address later.

We also have the problem that where I might draw the line between the bad and the good might be different from where you would draw the line, and would be different from where someone else would draw the line. Let's go back to Fic B as described above, our perfectly innocent fluff story. I might think that's perfectly acceptable, but if those two characters are both the same gender, there will be some homophobic people who will say that it's wrong and corrupting innocents because it sends the message that homosexual relationships are good. Or even if the characters are different genders, some highly religious people might think it sends a bad message if those characters are unmarried and living together in a relationship, even if nothing explicit happens within the story. Or what if the characters are married but it's an interracial marriage? A KKK member might say that sends a bad message. Different people have a different idea of what counts as bad content.

In the real world, there have been cases of books that address racism being banned because they use the n word. Harry Potter has been banned by religious groups. According to the website www.banned-books.org.uk a sweet children's book about two penguins hatching an egg was banned by a lot of schools and libraries in the US because the two penguins are both male - even though this story was actually based on a true story. The book Black Beauty, about the experiences of a horse, was banned during the Apartheid in South Africa simply for including the word "black" in the title. If you look at that site, a lot of books have been banned for a lot of different reasons and a lot of good literature has ended up caught up in the censorship usually because religious groups objected to in on moral grounds.

You could say "don't let the bigots and racists be in charge of the censorship," but historically, when censorship has come into play in the past, the people who tend to end up the worst for it are minorities. LGBTQ+ groups and people of colour tend to get censored more than straight, white men. Stories about their experiences often deal with problematic issues and therefore they get banned. The groups that generally end up making decisions about what is and isn't okay tend to be the groups that have the most power to begin with, and the end result is silencing of minority voices. This is one reason I'm very wary of anything to do with censorship, because the people who usually end up the worse for it are those who most need their voices heard.

But let's imagine all of these problems are magically overcome and we come up with a perfectly clear set of rules about what counts as good and bad fic and the dividing line is agreed by good, rational people who aren't remotely bigoted and who are able to define the criteria for what should be banned in a way that will only ever block the harmful stuff.

We still have to deal with the practicalities of enforcement we set aside earlier. We've built our perfect set of rules to define good and bad fics and now we want to put them into practice to ban any of the awful stuff. How would you go about doing it?

We could try and get machine filters to do censorship by looking for keywords and particular tags or using more complex algorithms to judge what a piece of content is about, but this ends up with chaos like Tumblr auto-flagging a lot of perfectly clean content, or YouTube blocking videos that just happened to be by/about LGBTQ+ people. Any software based implementation would struggle because someone talking about a thing as a problem contains the same words as someone glorifying that thing, and machines tend not to be great at picking up tone. You would get a massive amount of errors with things being falsely flagged as bad and things being falsely let through despite breaking the rules.

And people would be sneaky. Someone wanting to include their graphic story wouldn't tag it as for over 18s because tagging something as for over 18s would get it banned, so they would tag it as something else. The terms "lemon" and "lime" used to describe fics by older members of fandoms started from exactly this sort of thing. Websites decided to not allow adult content so people continued to post adult content but they used the citrus scale for tagging it so people would still be able to find it. Which works when people know the terms to look for or avoid, but which doesn't work for people not in the know. Is a "lemon" or a "lime" fic more explicit? Do you know what a fic being tagged as "grapefruit" would mean? By their nature, these tags are coded, which is not great for clarity.

Any sort of system that just blanket bans key words or tags would result in people just not using those keywords and tags but posting the stuff anyway. It would actually make the situation worse because there would still be incest porn and the like, only now it wouldn't be tagged. As it stands on AO3, people use the tagging system very well and people who don't want to see the incest porn can do things like exclude that tag from searches, or just not open fics they see that have the tag. If there were rules in place to not allow anything with that tag, then people would stop using the tag, which would actually mean more people would see incest porn they didn't want to because it would no longer be tagged properly, or it would be tagged using code words which only mean something to the inside group. It would be much harder to avoid the things you don't like.

So let's say we don't let a computer decide what's breaking the rules. Let's say there is a system by which readers can flag a fic as being inappropriate to get it banned. Human beings get to decide, but what's the threshold? Does a thing get banned as soon as someone reports it? Or does it need to be flagged by multiple people to be banned? In which case fics written in tiny fandoms might slip through the cracks because not enough people are reading it to them flag it. This is also open for exploitation. Someone who takes a dislike to a particular person might encourage others to flag their fics as inappropriate, regardless of whether or not they are. Someone might create fake accounts or log in anonymously over proxies to spam a fic with flags.

And even if no one acts maliciously to abuse the system, not everyone will be careful about checking the precise and perfect rules defined to mark the difference between acceptable and unacceptable work. People will flag things incorrectly, based on their own viewpoints of what should or shouldn't be allowed, which we've already said is a problem because everyone will draw the line in different places based on their own beliefs.

So what's the alternative to a community-driven method for managing content? You could have specific people whose job it is to go through content and decide whether it adheres to the rules. Maybe a computer system or community flagging could funnel fics into a review channel where human beings check every one carefully. These people would understand the rules and be certain to always judge fics accurately according to the magically perfect rules defined earlier, which are guaranteed to only ever block bad fics but never block a good fic.

So problem solved, right? We have our perfect rules perfectly implemented.

Except where humans are employed to check whether content is acceptable or not, it involves a large number of people checking through basically the worst content out there. Some social networking sites do this sort of thing now and it can be hugely traumatising for people who do that work. It's not good for them mentally to have to be exposed over and over to the worst content being put up online. There tends to be a high turnover in those jobs because they burn out fast, and that's where people are being paid for this stuff.

A site like AO3 relies on volunteers so it would require a large number of people to volunteer to look at the darkest most gruesome content and decide if it breaks the rules or not. Either you have people who hate those sort of fics doing this out of a sense of duty to maintain the purity of the content, in which case they will probably struggle with having to read a load of stuff they really, really don't enjoy. Or you will have people volunteer because they really like those fics and this is the way for them to read them. And that probably defeats the point of doing this, because it means that the people who would be seeking out those stories anyway would be the ones reading them to see if they break the rules.

There are a lot of problems with censorship, both ethically and practically. Even if you are fully on the side of censorship from a moral standpoint, you have to address the practical concerns if you want to propose an implementation.

As it stands, I think the current system works. There is stuff on AO3 that I would not in a million years want to read, but I don't have to. AO3 is brilliant for its tagging system and I can look at the tags and nope past fics that are full of my personal squicks or that I think endorse something terrible. Readers can exclude tags they want nothing to do with or just not click on ones that include elements you dislike. You can curate your own experience, which actually works with the whole idea of everyone drawing a line in a different place. You and I will have different stories we want to avoid, and we can both choose to avoid them based on author's tagging for them, rather than some other person decreeing what is acceptable for either of us to see.

If you still think that AO3 should be blocking or banning certain content, have a think about how this would work in reality. Because when ideas like that are implemented in the real world, all manner of problems happen.

I think the fact that this post is still a couple of thousand words long with me skipping over several parts of the debate is a sign that this is not a simple problem that can be easily fixed.

[sebastbu]

My Top 40 Movies of the Decade

***just my opinion***this list is not set in stone either***

1. 12 Years A Slave (2013)

What Steve McQueen has managed to do with this movie in nothing short of the best thing art is capable of. He takes the horror of humanity and turns it into a heart shattering tale of the best of humanity. A film that could have sunk easily among the brutality it contains, instead soars with Solomon’s survival. It is one of the most life-affirming, uplifting works of art I’ve ever seen. It makes you cry, it makes you shout, it makes you cheer, it makes you breathless. In short, all the things movies are best at. Not just a definitive movie, but a definitive work of art.

2. The Act of Killing (2012)

This has my vote for the best documentary film of all time. What begins as a transfixing profile of the mass murders responsible for the 1965 Indonesian genocide quickly transforms into a Brechtian nightmare as director Joshua Oppenheimer somehow convinces these men to stage scenes for a fake movie reenacting their crimes. As the film progresses you can hardly believe what you’re witnessing. Horrifying, yet you can’t look away. Oppenheimer holds your attention for every second. What’s captured for film here is truly unique, ground-breaking, soul shaking. A statement about the banality of evil as profound as Ardent’s essays. 

3. The Tree of Life (2011)

Malick has reached his final form here. An organic art form, pure cinema, visual poetry, whatever you want to call it. Nothing but a movie could be this. The images he crafts here are as close to a religious experience as I’ve ever had watching a movie, and probably ever will. In exploring childhood memories, Malick’s style perfectly matches his subject manner. He use of ellipsis and fluidity mirrors the way memories flash through our heads. It is as if we are witnessing memory directly, unfiltered. This movie will move you in ways you didn’t know a movie could. 

4. The Social Network (2010)

That Facebook movie? Hell yeah that facebook movie. What Fincher and Sorkin have managed to do is take what could be a standard biopic, or dull tech movie, and made it into an epic tale of betrayal, greed, friendship, coming of age, and identity. Ross and Reznor’s score pulses, as does the dialogue. This movie starts the instant you press play and it doesn’t let you catch your breath for one second until the very end. Endlessly quotable, perfected acted. A masterclass.

5. The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

What can I say about this movie? Every shot is perfect. Every joke, beat, pan, zoom. Well, I guess I’ll say this. This movie disarms with its charm, its facade. But at its heart is a wrenching tale of loss, nostalgia, and the fleeting nature of everything, especially those we love. A jewel of a film. Anderson makes sure you’re cozy and then pulls the rug out from under you, and suddenly you’re crying. 

6. The Master (2012)

Career best performances from Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Lushly shot. Greenwood delivers another ground breaking score. PTA has made an aimless film about aimless characters that nevertheless is riveting. At the end, you may not know exactly how far you’ve progressed, but you’re sure glad you went on the journey. 

7. Drive (2011)

This is not an action movie. It’s a love story. The now famous dream pop soundtrack. Ryan Gosling doing so much with so little. Refn’s breathtaking cinematography. Diluted dreams. Crushed hopes. Silent gazes, filled with more emotion than dialogue could ever render.

8. The Revenant (2015)

An achievement of pure cinematic insanity. I still have no idea how they got some of these shots. A brutal, thrilling story of survival among nature’s cruelty. Inarritu’s camera is like magic in this film, uncovering the previously thought not possible. 

9. La La Land (2016)

A reinvention of a genre that somehow manages to have its cake and eat it too: a nostalgia trip that also subverts expectations. Right up there next to Singin’ in the Rain, in my book at least. How on earth was that only Chazelle’s second ever movie? 

10. The Lighthouse (2019)

TELL ME YE FOND O ME LOBSTER! WHYD YA SPILL YOUR BEANS? IF I HAD A STEAK ID FUCK IT. That about sums it up.

11. Parasite (2019)

Bong Joon Ho has made a beautifully twisted psychological thriller that is also hilarious, touching, and a lasting commentary on class and social mobility. 

12. The Florida Project (2017)

Baker’s approach of setting this story from the viewpoint of children makes it a glorious romp through a world of innocence as well as tragedy, and also makes it all the more emotionally impactful.

13. Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

It’s all about the cat. Alongside the Coen’s mastery of dialogue and the side character, as well as the beautiful folk music, this film acts as a deeply moving portrayal of depression, and how sometimes we are our own worst enemy. 

14. Moonlight (2016)

Expertly crafted. Expertly acted. Expertly shot. A gorgeously rendered coming of age story. I’m not really the person who should speak of its importance. I’ll just say: it is. Very. A movie that will stun you. 

15. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

Practical! Effects! Yeah, that really is Tom Hardy swinging fifty feet off the ground on a pole as explosions go off behind him. A feminist, post-apocalypse, road trip movie brought to you by the director of Happy Feet and Babe 2. What more could you want?

16. Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

A wonderful celebration of childhood and of fantasy. Anderson crafts a world you want to return to again and again. Anyone else get jump scared when they realized Lucas Hedges was in this??? 

17. Arrival (2016)

I love Denis Villeneuve’s films for so many reasons. The most important I think is that he balances entertainment and artistic depth so well. Like all great scifi Arrival is not really about aliens, it’s about us. 

18. Inception (2010)

A film that runs on all cyclinders. Smart, funny, jaw dropping, just plain fun. Nolan manages to build some surprisingly moving moments as well. 

19. Gone Girl (2014)

Ah Fincher and his twists. Rosemund Pike at the top of her game. Ross and Reznor return with another gripping score. Around the narrative, Fincher creates a fascinating portrayal of the media and marriage, one with endless twists and turns. You never quite know where it’s headed.

20. Sicario (2015)

A second thing I love about Dennis Villeneuve: he does point of view characters better than anyone else. 

21. Enemy (2014)

A third thing I love about Dennis Villeneuve: he plays with genre and narrative structure unlike anyone else working right now.

22. Incendies (2010)

A fourth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: he’s given us some of the best female lead characters this decade.

23. Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

A fifth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: he somehow managed make a Blade Runner sequel work. Here’s hoping for Dune. 

24. The Look of Silence (2014)

The companion film of The Act of Killing. Oppenheimer does it again, this time focusing more on the victims of the genocide. Groundbreaking cinema.

25. Shame (2011)

Slow clap for Michael Fassbender. Slow clap for Carey Mulligan. Slow clap for Steven Mcqueen.

26. Hereditary (2018)

Using horror to examine mental illness and family trauma. Aster has made a new classic of genre, taking it to new heights.

27. Under The Skin (2014)

How to make a movie about an alien descended onto earth in order to capture men and engulf them in her weird black room of goo? Make a very alienation movie. Chilling. Otherworldly. Haunting. 

28. Son of Saul (2015)

In making any holocaust film there’s always the risk of feeling exploitative. Nemes’s radical camera work, focusing almost entirely on the main character’s face in close up leaves this concern in the dust. The horrors enter only at the corners of the frame, while humanity is firmly centered the whole time. An important film everyone should see. 

29. Whiplash (2014)

As visceral and heart pounding as the solos performed, the film as a whole is a perfectly made portrait of a obsession. 

30. Amour (2012)

Haneke takes his unforgiving approach and lays bare a topic with incredible emotional depth. The result is deeply moving without ever being sentimental. I’m hard pressed to find another film about old age that is this poignant. 

31. Birdman (2014)

A whirlwind of a film. A high wire act. The long takes turn it into something more akin to a play. A pretty damn good one at that. 

32. Once Upon A Time In Anatolia (2011)

What’s Chekhov doing in the 21st Century? He’s in Turkey. He name is Nuri Ceylan. 

33. The Favourite (2018)

Lanthimos turns down his style and turns up his humor. The result is the best of both worlds: a dark, twisted tale of power and a hilarious parody of monarchy and British costume drama. 

34. Phantom Thread (2018)

PTA delivers again. What could easily have been another tired tale of the obsessive artist and the woman behind him is instead a fairy tale-ish ensnaring of two people’s ineffable pull towards each other. 

35. A Hidden Life (2019)

Still fresh in my mind. Malick’s late style is given the backbone it needed in the form of a relevant tale of resistance and struggle. A meditative, prayer-like film about the power of belief. 

36. Prisoners (2013)

A sixth thing I love about Denis Villeneuve: his movies have layers, but only if you look. Otherwise, the ride is pretty great as well. 

37. Manchester By The Sea (2016)

A masterclass in doing less with more. 

38. Foxcatcher (2014)

Bennett Miller does biopics unlike anyone else. That is to say, maybe better than anyone else working today. 

39. The Witch (2015)

Eggers’s first foray into historical New England horror. A chilling commentary on the evils of puritanism.

40. The Kid With A Bike (2011)

The Dardenne brothers managed to make a gut-wrenching tale of childhood, masculinity, abandonment, the power of empathy, belonging, and redemption in 84 minutes. Here’s a suggestion. Watch this movie. Then watch it again. A better use of the same amount of time it takes to sit through The Irishman. Oh wait, no you still have 30 minutes left over. 

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia: Chapter 20

My on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fan fic!  This time featuring Kimiko Ojiro! Chapters 0-19 (plus the interlude) can be found here

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 20: Kimiko Ojiro Stands Out

Kimiko was pretty sure the boredom was going to kill her.  Of course, she’d said that about the rest of the morning’s classes, but Hero Art History was probably going to nuke her brain the most.  It was not nearly as interesting as the name made it sound, being more about the art of heroing throughout history. Which was boring!

At least their teacher was hot.  Skyline was tall and blonde, with muscles that showed clearly through his sleeveless blue and white bodysuit.  The big white cape was probably a bit much though.  About half the time, he was nearly tripping over it or getting it caught on something.  For an American, his Japanese was surprisingly good.  Or maybe not so surprising, considering his father, Captain Celebrity, had relocated from America to Japan ages ago.

Even now, the boredom was seeping in, as Skyline was explaining about how, many years ago, an American Pro-Hero had nearly derailed a passenger training while fighting a Villain, which had resulted in a lawsuit that had ultimately led to more lawsuits which had led to America and several other countries (but not Japan) deciding to revoke all Pro-Hero licenses for nearly twenty years.  Boring!  Who cared about something that had happened that long ago, before any of them were even born?  Besides, Quirks were a lot less common in those days.  These days, nearly ninety percent of the population had them. They’d never do anything like that again!

One of the nice things about being invisible?  So long as she wasn’t, like, completely slumped over asleep, no one could tell if she wasn’t actually paying attention.  Well, her dad could.  But he could do the same for Mom too.  He’d had plenty of practice with invisible people.

“All right, who can tell me the name of the law that led to the re-registration of Pro-Heroes in those countries that had outlawed them?” Skyline asked.  

The hands in the front row all went up: Asuka Tokoyami, Toshi Midoriya, Shota Shinso, and Izumi Todoroki.  Skyline’s eyes scanned the room.  “Ojiro?”

Crap!  She had no idea what the answer to the question was. She’d zoned out during that part of the lecture.  “It’s, ah, um…  I don’t know, Mister Skyline.”

“Perhaps someone—someone not in the front row—could help Miss Ojiro?  No, not you, Mineta, you’ve got too much American in your background not to know this already.”

Skyline’s eyes looked over the other students again and Kimiko could tell he was making a concentrated effort to look around her, not through her, to look at the students in the back row.  Not everybody did.  She was used to it.

“Haimawari?” Skyline said. “What was the name of the act?”

“Ah, the official name was the International Hero Accord.  But a lot of people called it the Deavor-Parr Act, after the lobbyist and Pro-Heroes who were the reason it passed in the first place,” Haimawari said.  

“Good,” Skyline said. “Not many people know the other name and it’s not in your textbook.  How’d you know it?”

“My dad’s a major Hero fanboy,” Haimawari said.  “I kind of am too, I guess.”

Skyline grinned.  “That does explain your essay from last week. I was pretty sure Midoriya or Shinso had written it, until I double-checked the name.”  A soft laughter rippled through most of the class.

Just what they needed. Another nerd!  Midoriya and Shinso were too much sometimes as it was.  

Their teacher shot a look at the clock.  “Okay, almost lunchtime, so I’ll shut up for now.  Homework for tomorrow is Chapter 12 in your textbooks and one page on the repercussions of the Leopardon Act of ’78.”

Kimiko barely stopped herself from letting out a groan.

***

“Okay, Kimiko, we’re recording,” Takuma Sero (one of her total BFF’s, even if he utterly failed at being a gay best friend.  The thought of some of the things he considered fashionable made her shudder) said, holding up his phone.  “And three… two… one!”

The two of them and Kenta Sato had finished their lunches and, being barred from filming more “Will Sato Eat It?” in the cafeteria, they’d had to adjust their filming scheduling and gone with one of the projects that starred her instead.  

The irony of a video series starring someone who couldn’t be seen was not lost on her.  But she came from a long line of invisible people. Her mom was, both of her mom’s parents were, and so were several other relatives of the Hagakure side, though some were more visible than others.  She actually had a cousin who was just slightly transparent.

And sure, maybe she didn’t really know what she looked like.  But she knew who she was.  And she had plenty of friends and family that saw her anyway.  

“Hello, everyone!” she said, grinning and looking into the camera, giving it an exaggerated wave.  “Can you tell I’m smiling?  Because I’m totally smiling!  I’m Kimiko Ojiro and this is Gossip Corner!  Bringing you all the juiciest gossip straight from the student body of U.A!”

She held up her own phone, showing Takuma’s social media page and one of the selfies he had taken on his date with Tensei Iida.  “Okay, so this one is old news, but it bears repeating!  My best friend and total pink cutie pie had himself a date with this pink-haired hunk of jet-fueled hotness!  And they’re going on another one!  Let’s all wish them well and hope we get lots more pictures come beach season! Hashtag—Pinkysquared!

“But wait… there’s more!” She turned and pointed behind her, the sleeve of her uniform mostly showing the way.  Takuma followed with his phone, zooming in on the table across the room where Midoriya sat with Tokoyami, Todoroki, Haimawari, Shinso, and Sora Iida.  Iida was sitting as close to Midoriya as humanly possible, pressed right up against him.  Midoriya himself looked a little flustered, but ultimately happy.

“Yes, that’s right, it’s a two for one Iida Special!  It looks like Sora Iida is now dating Toshi Midoriya!  This one flew right under everyone’s radar… even mine! That’s right, viewers, I literally did not find this out until Monday afternoon!”

Takuma brought the phone back around to focus on her.  “How did this happen? Will they stay together?  Will she accidentally kill him testing some new gadget?  Will someone have to explain the birds and bees to them in an incredibly awkward conversation?”  She shrugged.  “That’s what makes this so great!  We! Don’t!  Know!  But I promise you all, as soon as I find anything out, you’ll all be the first to know! Hashtag—Iidagreen!”

“And just so you don’t think I’m just focusing on Class 1-A… I have it on good authority that David Togata, of Support Class 1-G…”   She snapped her fingers and pointed to a spot across the room. Takuma followed again and focused in on a tall, skinny boy with a mane of wild blonde hair, glasses, and extra-long, multi-jointed fingers, sat with others from the Support Department and also Tensei Iida.  

“…Has broken up with his Junior High girlfriend!  That’s right, ladies, he’s on the market!  Get him while you can and remember to be direct!  You know these Support Department types don’t always pick up on subtle flirting!  Hashtag—SingleScientist!”

Takuma returned the phone to filming her again.  “That’s all for today!  But remember my promise to you, viewers!  If it’s worth knowing, I’ll make sure you know it!  I’m Kimiko Ojiro and this has been Gossip Corner!  Remember to hit like and subscribe!”

Cutting the video, Takuma gave her a thumbs’ up.  “Great job, Kimiko,” he said.  “I’ll add some stuff in post and get it uploaded tonight.”

“That wasn’t a nice thing to do to David,” Kenta said, crossing his arms.  “You don’t know if he even wants another girlfriend that fast.” Sure, he was happy to go along with whatever Takuma came up with, but apparently now he had standards?

She shrugged.  “You worry too much, Kenta!  I’m just putting it out there in the wild.  I can’t be responsible for what happens after that! He’ll probably thank me for getting him out of those dirty workshops! Don’t be such a wet blanket.”

Besides, if you wanted to get noticed and you were invisible, you either went big or went home.

“She’s got a point, Kenta,” Takuma said.  “And it’s good for hits.  Besides, it’s a big school.  Dave’ll probably never notice.”

“Just for that,” Kenta said, holding up a paper bag, “I’m not sharing these donuts Dad made me.”

Horror swept over her face, but Kenta and Takuma just looked at her.  “…I’m making my horrified face, right now!  If you don’t share, I’ll… I’ll…”  She waved her arms wildly.  “I’ll never forgive you!”

Kenta just laughed. “Relax,” he said.  “I’ll share.  I’ll share.  I’ve got enough for all three of us.”

There was no way she was missing a chance at Kenta’s dad’s treats, and they were as good as promised.

“You know, Kimiko,” Takuma said, “one thing I’ve always wondered… how do you find your mouth?”

She rolled her eyes. Not that he could see it.  So she put a little extra irritation into her voice. “How do you find your mouth, Takuma?”

“I dunno. I just do.”

“Same thing for me,” she said.  “I’ve just got better proprioception than most people.  Mom and my grandparents do too.”

“Proprio-what?” Kenta asked.

“It means I’ve got a really good sense of where my limbs and body parts are,” she said.

“Oh,” he said.  “Learn something new every day.”

***

Back at the USJ, Kimiko was working with Daisuke Shoji, Tokoyami, Haimawari, Tensei Iida, and Katsumi Kirishima-Bakugo.  Having already worked with All Might and Water Spout, they were now working with Doc Clock.  So far, the results had been somewhat mixed.   While Tokoyami’s Frog-Shadow and Daisuke’s strength and Extendo-Limbs were ideal for rescue operations, and the mobility offered by Haimawari and Iida’s Quirks at least offered them good options for extraction, neither her Quirk not Kirishima-Bakugo’s was exactly good at clearing the rubble or getting into tight places to rescue someone.

Or at least, that’s what she’d thought going into this week.  She was used to using her Quirk for hiding things or hiding herself (thank goodness she didn’t have to go into the field naked like Mom did!), or even occasionally disoriented a robot or security camera.  But on Monday, All Might had suggested that she could use it to render rubble or walls invisible, letting her and everyone else see beyond them for easy visualization of rescues or finding buried people.

That had been a revelation in and of itself.  She had some memories of using her Quirk to try and look inside Christmas presents, but all she’d managed to do then was make the entire package and everything in it invisible.  But with a little coaching, she’d found she could do layers.

What Doc Clock was now suggesting was even more surprising.

“You’re like a portable x-ray machine,” Doc Clock told her on one side of one of the rescue animatronics.  She’d already put the others to work and was watching them through a small monitor, in-between offering Kimiko some instruction.  Somewhere inside the simulated city, she was sure she could hear Kirishima-Bakugo cursing about how stupid the whole thing was and how she hadn’t gotten to blow anything up in three days.

“No radiation, minimal danger of potential interactions with other Quirks, though if they’ve been really badly injured or burned, you may have trouble finding a safe point of contact,” Doc Clock went on.  “But you could do a lot for field triage, maybe a more if you went for a Hero-Paramedic’s license. A first responder who can do an in-depth assessment and more than basic first aid?  You’d be remarkable.”

Remarkable? Maybe.  She’d pretty much given herself to mostly being an Underground Hero. With her stealth and the martial arts training she’d gotten from her dad, she knew she could be formidable when the situation called for it.  But even that was at odds with the media personality she wanted to cultivate along with Takuma and Kenta.  This was something that had never occurred to her…

“Okay,” she said, “so walk me through this.”

Doc Clock nodded, looking down at the dummy.  “So the animatronics aren’t a perfect simulation, but they have enough inner workings that we can give it a shot.  If this works out and you want to keep going with it, we can find some live people for you to work on.  If nothing else, I’m sure Dad can “persuade” some of your classmates into volunteering.”

While Doc Clock—Eri—had been the unofficial Class 1-A mascot and thus was familiar to all of them, Kimiko still found it almost impossible to believe that the laid-back, cheerful doctor was their dour Homeroom teacher’s adopted daughter.  

“But what you’re going to do,” she went on, “is concentrate on just using your Quirk to make a small portion of their chest invisible.  Just enough so we can see through the top layer and see what’s inside. Give it a shot.  You can’t break it.”

Kimiko sucked in a breath and placed a hand on the dummy’s chest, concentrating on her Quirk. Just a little bit invisible…  just a little bit invisible…

Slowly and spreading out from her palm, the dummy’s chest began to look like it was just fading away, revealing a most of mechanical workings inside.  “I did it!”  She threw up both hands in the air in a cheer.  Of course, the second she broke contact, the invisibility went away.

Doc Clock gave her a smile.  “You did. We were all pretty sure you could, but to see it…  very impressive, Ojiro.”

“Wait,” Kimiko said, as things clicked in her head.  “…If I do that on a real person, will I see all their guts and stuff?”

“I’m afraid so,” Doc Clock said.  

Kimiko shuddered.  She hadn’t considered that.  “Eeeeewwww!”

“Most people have lots of stuff,” Doc Clock said. “And with some Quirks, we’re discovering new Quirks all the time.  You’d have to do a lot of studying to stay current.”

“Double ew!” Kimiko exclaimed.  Still… “But you think I’d be good at it?”

“You’ve got a good eye and an invaluable Quirk.  I think you’d be great at it.”

***

Kimiko fought the urge to fall asleep.  After the day’s session at the USJ, she’d actually taken up Doc Clock’s offer of some more literature to review for Quirk-Paramedics as well as some general medical texts.  While some of it was fascinating, some of it was as dusty and dry as could be.  It wasn’t something she’d ever thought of before and the thought of all those guts made her more than a little sick to her stomach… but it sounded like she might be able to do a lot more good than just sneaking up on people and smacking them upside the head.

“Hey, Kimiko!” she heard her door open and turned to see Takuma and Kenta barging their way in.

Kimiko was neither as girly as her mom, nor as plain as her dad, but her room was definitely her own.  Her bookshelves were filled with “tell all” scandalous autobiographies and saucy romance novels, and posters from romance movies and other “chick flicks” covered most of her walls.  She also did have a small sparring dummy in one corner, for when she felt like working out a little.

If Takuma had been able to see her, he would have been dead from the withering gaze she gave him.  “I told you to knock!  What if I’d been changing or naked or something!”

Takuma reared back his head and laughed.  “One, if you’re doing that, you should lock your door.  Two, I’m gay.  And three…”

Kenta put a hand on his shoulder as a warning.  “I would not finish that thought, bro. You know she can kick your ass.”

She held her gaze on him until he withered under it, even unable to see it.  “Okay, okay,” he said.  “I should have knocked.”

“Good,” she said.  “Now what’s up?”

“Gossip Corner’s only been uploaded an hour and it’s already got nearly a thousand hits!  You’re gonna be a star, Kimmy, baby!”

She let out a high pitched squeal of delight.  “All right!”

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Kenta said.  “We didn’t ask anybody if we could put them out on the internet like that.”

“Pshaw,” Takuma said.  “They’ll thank us for making them famous.  Besides, they’ll never know.  We all know all Toshi watches is Hero videos anyway.”

“This is gonna bite us in the ass, I just know it,” Kenta said.

“Relax,” Kimiko assured him.  “Besides, this is all on me and Takuma anyway.  You’re not in these.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanna see it explode in your faces!”

“You’re sweet,” she told him.  “But relaaaaaax.”

Still, as long as she had both of them here…

“Guys,” she said, “do you think I’m smart?”

Both of them exchanged a look and seemed to be trying to communicate by some form of guy-telepathy.  Takuma in particular looked like he wanted to get out of her room as fast as he could. Kenta, at least, looked inclined to stay.

“You’re not dumb,” Kenta said, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Definitely not,” Takuma agreed.  “And you’re all kinds of clever.  Who came up with the plan that got me a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Kimiko asked.  “Wait, you’re not distracting me with gossip!  Answer the question.  Do you think I’m smart?  Do you think I could be a doctor?”

“What brought this up, Kimiko?” Kenta asked.

“Just… something Doc Clock said today,” she said.  “She said I could be a great doctor or paramedic.  And that my Quirk would be perfect for it.  I’m kinda thinking about it.  But it sounds like a lot of wrong.  And a lot of studying.  It’s only been a week and a half and I already know I’m barely keeping up in class.  What if I’m perfect for this… and I can’t do it?”

“Then you’ll be good at something else instead,” Takuma said.

“Sounds like a lot of hard work,” Kenta added.  “But you put a lot of hard work into all that gossip stuff too.  If you can quote chapter and verse on film and TV, you can definitely memorize how a body works.”

“You wanna study this stuff, we can help,” Takuma offered.  “I bet there’s hundreds of videos out there to help you study it. Finally, my countless hours on the internet are about to pay off!”

She had to laugh at that.  “Your grades are worse than mine, Takuma.  But I appreciate the help.”

Later, after the boys had left, she scribbled something on top of the notepad on her desk.

The Paramedic Hero: X-Ray?

[madameocotillo]

So

I finally, consciously, realized a big reason why my drawing output has basically become zero over the last few years, or “I was a veritable teen-aged fountain of art, and now when I am a stable adult who theoretically should be in the prime of their production, have zilch to show.” 

After various life things stopped me from drawing much at all, I stopped practicing and therefore, stopped improving. Then, when I started to try to get back into it, I wasn’t happy with how anything looked. I knew the way I used to feel when I drew a face and was proud of the expression, and I had an image in my mind of where my technical ability should be that I couldn’t even come close to on paper, and those two things combined to dropkick me in the confidence.

At that point, I picked up a behavior/way of thinking that locked me into a pretty destructive cycle that I now need to work on breaking myself out of. (Under a cut ‘cause it’s a long post, but please, if the second paragraph hits close to home for you, give it a read. I can only hope the results of my introspection will spare somebody else months or years of feeling in limbo like I did.)

I started hoarding tutorials, and telling myself that I couldn’t work on fun projects until I did all kinds of practices and studies; when I did just start in on a full character illustration, I inevitably wasn’t happy with it, and it reinforced the thought of “You can’t make anything until you’ve put in hours and hours of practice, why did you think you could do this?” I mean, that’s why i’d saved all those references and tutorials, right? To practice with? Of course, because the studies were not very much fun, and as i’ve been realizing, I have mad ADHD yo, I never sat down to put in the time that I thought I had to, and just ended up being disgusted with myself for not having any discipline.

Drawing stopped being fun and started seeming like a chore, because I went in with the mindset that I would be struggling the whole time, and probably still wouldn’t like whatever I produced anyways. Viewing something that used to make me really happy, into something I saw as having to do everyday or else I would never be good enough to enjoy it again really fucked up the way I felt about drawing. Yeehaw, rinse repeat, here I am at the end of 2018, realizing that to show people art that i’m proud of, I am having to go back to 2016 at the MOST RECENT.

Wanting to improve your technical skills is wonderful, and feeling unhappy with what you’ve drawn is just the way it be sometimes, but I went so long without realizing WHY I felt this way, and was too quick to dismiss myself as just being lazy or not cut out for it. At times I was horrified that maybe i’d just grown out of wanting to draw, and I was desperately forcing myself to keep doing something i’d never be interested in again.

I feel like i’ve lost so much time due to this years-long incomprehension of why making art had just become another task to be chipped away at, but i’m trying to be kind to myself about it. Self flagellation got me into this mess, and I know it’s not the way out, but damn if it isn’t easy to just sit back and tell yourself you’re stupid when you’re unhappy about the way things have been playing out in life.

Still, a trait that i’m proud of in myself is that I have always found more value in trying than in moping, and nothing can keep me in the pits of despair for more than a day or two, so now that I can put into words what has been hindering me, I know this is a problem I can work through. What I really needed was to give myself permission to have fun creating again, and not fixate on exactly how wrong or right my pieces turn out. High school age me sure as shit didn’t, that little bugger was slapping cat ears and weird belts on all the characters, and having a fucking ball with it. Not saying that’s EXACTLY the direction I want to take my art in again, but pride in the fact that I was drawing at all is definitely a feeling I look forward to returning to.

[home-working]

Let There Be Sunlight

Holy shit it’s 2019! What did you get up to in 2018? What were your achievements, your successes? (Tumblr, I see that you have quasi-upgraded your blogging platform so I can have proper post titles AND photo layouts, congrats! Except they don’t really work!!)

One thing I did was upgrade my workspace, cause holy fuck it was starting to get depressing having my desk in a dark corner.

Welcome to Homeworking HQ (Ditmas Park) 2.0! Now I get to push pixels beside my big, bright, plant-adorned window, which allows me to bathe in all the reflected sunlight I can take and more easily spy on the people across the street at all hours of the day. In addition to relocating my desk, I got rid of another shitty table I didn’t like/need and replaced it with something useful: colour-coordinated S-T-O-R-A-G-E!

Behold!

Since apparently I don’t know how to purchase anything that isn’t red, yellow or blue, I found this not-Bisley™ wheeled filing cabinet online and then filled it with shit to organize other-shit-that-was-cluttering-up-my-apartment. There is nothing quite as satisfying as hidden things unnecessarily matching other things that are also hidden!

The only other surface I now have to eat off/do anything at is this IKEA “kitchen island” which I mostly end up standing at if I have a guest over like some awkward personal bartender because I currently only have one tall stool:

December: back on the holiday caramel-making bullshit.

Anyways, so far, it’s been a success sitting 10 feet closer to a natural light source, measurable by the fact that I really actually enjoy sitting at my desk again.

Wow, I’m sitting beside a window! Ok!

But how else does one define success? Purchasing objects to improve your quality of life is one thing, but measuring success in your career and personal life is trickier.

Warning: the rest of this post is basically me practicing long winded/unfunny/unresearched existential thought diarrhea so feel free to maybe skip it!

When I was younger and still unsure of what direction my life would take post-art school, I knew that at least no matter what I ended up doing, I wanted to be successful at it, and loosely defined that “success” as being able to make a living from it (growing up in a financially unstable household, self-sustained monetary security was of high importance). I was very lucky that I fell into a creative line of work that I not only found enjoyable and challenging, but was able to turn into a relatively fruitful career.

But the thing with a low threshold of success is that as soon as you achieve it, you need to begin rescaling your definition of it to keep moving forward: you need to embrace AMBITION.

O, ambition! What highs! I remember in my late 20s working a full-time advertising job then coming home and joyfully working a number of assorted freelance jobs. I loved it! (My then-boyfriend hated it!) I was productive! I was building a portfolio! The future! and! amount! of! work! was! limitless!

But now I’m TIRED. Thinking about work makes me TIRED. Just seeing my phone display “January” made me TIRED. Last year when I had a temporary full-time gig, with a 1.5-hour daily commute, I got home and ate take-out sushi with 13 seasons of Grey’s Anatomy and ignored my freelance work and fell the fuck ASLEEP.

And still, despite a lack of energy (vitamin B and heme iron be damned), I feel guilty every minute of the day before 10pm that I’m not working on something. Even if all my client jobs are complete, I still feel like I should be taking advantage of that rare “free time” and work on a personal project (this post itself is a direct result of the joy/guilt from staying in on New Year’s Eve).

There’s the concept of a healthy work/life balance, but who has time for that? No minute can ever be wasted, because ambition is always perched on your shoulder whispering: you need to produce MORE THINGS; you need to work HERE, or teach THERE; you need to be on THIS WEBSITE, or THIS LIST, or in THIS GALLERY, or work with THIS STUDIO, and have THIS TITLE, or give THIS TALK… or you’re not really achieving success. Even if to outside eyes it might look like you’re doing pretty damn good, when you measure yourself next to your industry peers, you’re ultimately a smidgen above average, at best.

What’s sadly comforting is that achievement insecurity pervades almost everyone. A friend that I consider to be extremely successful (owning companies, property) once confided that their own family doesn’t see their achievements to be very worthwhile. Another friend, who puts so much work into running their own small business, is realizing the energy they’re pouring in is not resulting in a sustainable existence. Yet another friend, who seemed to have achieved the whole perfect job/house/marriage/dog combo, felt inadequate for having trouble conceiving.

So what if you’re not reaching the level of success you think you should have by now? Does yearning for more keep you moving forward, or just make you feel shitty? When do you abandon ambition? As my friend Amil Niazi recently commented on the Sheryl Sandberg concept of “leaning in”, when can we just give up and “lean out”?

What I’m realising is that what possibly makes the idea of abandoning success so difficult is that I, a single woman, don’t know what I’d replace it with. As 20-somethings unburdened with families to raise or households to maintain as earlier generations were, we were instead burdened by the freedom and expectation to become who we wanted as early as we could. And if we millennial women are not trying to live our most ambitiously fulfilling lives [on social media], do we even have an identity?!

If a woman chooses to forego ambition, there seems to be only one acceptable reason for that: motherhood. (She can have it all as well, but god forbid she have neither!) But I’m not sure I want that either, and so giving up success without starting a family means I will have to decide if I not only want to let myself but also society-at-large down.

Your 30s (ironically the decade that I’ve decided is about learning to not give a shit) seems to be the ultimate reality check; either you’ve already “made it”, or you need to embrace that you haven’t, probably aren’t going to, and are too damn tired to keep trying. Do we just need to give ourselves a break at this point? Re-evaluate our definition of success yet again, instead of abandoning it altogether? Maybe the better question is WHY I feel the need to measure my own success in the first place, when everyone’s definition is different anyways... someone’s definition might be having a baby and a white picket fence; mine should be managing to survive in New York without health insurance while self-employed.

Me, exemplifying the self-satisfaction that comes with writing about yourself on social media while simultaneously exhibiting how my apartment has been reorganized.

I was recently told by an older friend that your 40s is about learning to love yourself. So I guess I’ve got 4 more years of trying to “make it” before I can officially give up and force myself to be happy with (or at least acknowledge) what I’ve achieved thus far, and worry about nothing more. Looking forward to that menial office job and craft room in the sky!

Colophon sweater & socks: UNIQLO; toque: Army & Navy; sweatpants: Alternative Apparel; mug: some print-on-demand company; glasses: Steven Alan clearance; plants: IKEA & Home Depot; couchy thing & kitchen island: IKEA; stool: Target; status candle: Diptyque; filing cabinet: Walmart.com; wall poster: Grilli Type; everything nice: probably MoMA Design Store deep discount; caramel recipe: David Lebovitz; optional subtitle: “Or, How I Never Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Hustle”; most horrifying thing I remember from a dream last night: Kylie Jenner; most stupefying thing to waste time image searching: Kylie Jenner’s teenage face transformation; best thing to snog as the clock strikes midnight when home alone on NYE: duty-free booze