#mousey masterpiece

[mouse-mischeif]

In the aquarium AU, Minnow has such a shiny nest. Almost pretty enough to distract from the problem of jewelry going missing

[astraysimp]

Who is Mouse? Pt.2

hehee ....I'm back pookies-and on my laptop this time LMAO!..part two babies! I'm so happy that you enjoyed part 1! Enjoyyyyyy🫰

Warnings: Banch Chan x reader, gn!reader, fluffy , stayville is in a PANIC(not at the disco -.-)-in a good way

Summary: a week has passed since you and Channie have released y/n's first song. Stayville is in a panic trying to figure out exactly who mouse is. After putting off checking stays's reaction, you and Chan have decided it's about time...LET's GOOOOOO 🫰🫰

~A week after release date~

It had been a week since you and Chan released your song. You both had wanted to check and see how stays took it, but decided to wait- relishing on your baby and your little secret for a little while longer. Alas.....you couldn't wait forever and today.....you'd check the stays reactions. "Mousey.........it's time we check hm? The boys are stays are going crazy trying to figure out who mouse is. They like it- no they love the song! And and....stays probably love it too." He'd gently smiled at you, running an encouraging hand over your shoulder. "I....I guess so, baby. I'm just nervous is all." Y/n mumbled squishing their face into Chan's hoodie, inhaling his cologne.

Pulling his laptop out- yes the same laptop that he's had for years, holding so many unreleased songs, memories, pictures- Chan pulled your song up on youtube. "mousey, come on, it'll be okay, yeah? you can stay hidden, my little mouse." He'd whispered, gently pulling your face out of his chest, after a loving kiss was pressed to the crown of your head. "I know, baby I know. Let's do it." You'd nodded, pressing play on the song, hearing each and every crescendo, decreased, beat , note. Listening the song through, you and Chan smiled at each other, singing along gently....then 3 minutes and some odd number of seconds later, it was over and you scrolled to the comment section.

Immediately , you and Chan were overwhelmed with an abundance of positive comments, love and support. Between all of the lovely comments, you and Chan saw stays going wild, trying to figure out who mouse was. Giggling, you'd started reading some of the comments, aloud.

"WHO is mouse?!"

"I KNEW HE WASN'T SINGLE....THE INSTAGRAM PICTURES, THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HIS PHONE IN SKZ LOGS AND NOW THIS SONG?! I WANT A CHAN"

" I need to know who mouse is....so I can thank them for making our Channie so happy;')"

"Mouse.......whoever you are.....stays love you....this song is such a bop and masterpiece"

These were only a few of the comments you'd read. You hoped that stay would like the song. But, this? The level and outpouring of love, support and praise you had received.....brought tears to your eyes. "Wow......I....this is amazing." Chan could only smile, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead, feelings happy tears build in his eyes. Quiet sniffles were shared and Chan had pulled you into his side, continuing to read through the comments. "My mouse, you deserve it. You poured your love, heart, soul and passion into this song. I think you could even help me and the boys with new music. Only if you'd want to though...up to you." The last part of his comment had surprised you.....help him and his members with new music?

"baby...are you sure? I know you guys have a process to it." You'd slightly pulled away, to hold his cheeks into your hands. "Y/n, my little mouse, of course. The boys love your song and have even asked if you wanted to..." Chan had blushed, nudging his nose against yours, before planting a kiss to the area between your eyebrows, as your eyes closed. "Channie......" Y/n smiled up at him, nuzzling their face in his neck. "Hm? You can say no....but...if you do.....you can still be under the name Mouse.......just think about it?' You nodded, face still hidden in his neck," I'll think about it, baby." You pulled away from his neck, thinking about what he offered. The boys wanted your help with new music stays loved your song, you loved making music, you Love Chan, you love the boys and you generally just love music....

Maybe being a producer( and helping Chan and his members) to make new music isn't a bad idea. So, will you do it?

[g-l-o-w-y-l-i-g-h-t-s]

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog but with lesbians would have been a masterpiece btw. If you even care. "Next up: Who's Gay?"

Captain Hammer: "The Hammer is my strap-on." Big muscly woman but she's managed to build a preppy wholesome heterosexual image of herself that fits what everyone wants to see. She fits in, but not as herself, whatever her civilian name even is. She's selfish and conniving and self-serving and a fuckboy lesbian and she has become all of those things because she felt she had to. She's also just kind of a bitch tbfh. Penny is an out lesbian and Captain Hammer, seeing that many celebrities are coming out, decides to make a whole Event(tm) of coming out and dating Penny and capitalizing on selling branded Captain Hammer Pride T-Shirts. "So I thank my girlfriend Penny. Yea, we totally had sex." It's honesty, it's self-acceptance even, but it's also a PR stunt. Because at this point, anything Captain Hammer does is a PR stunt. And Penny is just a self-actualization tool and stunt prop for her. And even so, Hammer is anxious about being openly dating a woman and makes sure that everyone knows that "quiet, mousey" feminine Penny is "Not my usual, but nice."

Dr. Horrible: "There's no happy ending, so they say. Not for me anyway" Billie has never actually been able to hide her queerness. Has always been cast as a villain. The doomed, corrupting Lesbian. And, much like her extant canon hetero-male counterpart, we watch as she spirals downward and becomes a femcel. Everything is already there. The camp. The "villain"/"hero" labels as more a marker of outsider status/popularity than actual moral value. The history of queer coded villainy in exactly the kind of media that this story is riffing on. The feeling that one's story is doomed to tragedy bc that's the version of the story you've seen again and again and again. And yeah, it does make you bitter.

Penny: "I cannot believe my eyes. Is the world finally growing wise?" An actually relatively well adjusted normal person type of Lesbian. We know Penny has been repeatedly rejected and denied job opportunities, and it would make sense for this to be because of her being openly lesbian. Maybe Penny herself was kicked out into the street as a girl and that's what got her started working to provide homeless shelters. Unlike Hammer or Billie, Penny has not allowed this to embitter or define her. She continues fighting to make the world better and came out long ago because she believes that the more people come out, the safer it will be for everyone else. And yeah, there's a cute gay woman who goes to the same Laundromat as her and gets fro yo and they flirt quietly and there's a sense of camaraderie in being two queer women even once Penny starts dating someone else. And that someone else! Imagine finding out that your celebrity crush is gay and interested in you specifically. And then!!! There's a huge pride event and everyone from your friends to the FUCKING MAYOR OF THE CITY is Congratulating you on this part of yourself that has been repeatedly rejected by society. And you're finally emphatically able to open a homeless shelter for queer people like you who were given no other place to go. Only to then realize that even your new gf is treating you as a cardboard cutout for photo ops and she has no real sense of queer community. Brutal.

Penny: She's really pretty and I thought she was kind of cheesy at first

Billie [under her breath]: trust your instincts

Penny: But she turned out to be totally sweet. Sometimes people are layered like that. There's something totally different underneath than what's on the surface.

Billie: And sometimes there's a third, even deeper layer, and that one is the same as the surface one...Like with pie :)

Bonus points:

Moist: "At my most badass I make people want to take a shower." Moist is a "gross sweaty dyke" with a weirdly sexual name and lives happily/vaguely sleezily ever after with the towelettes (if youve seen the comics you know what I'm talking about.)

Slightly different dynamic with the chorus of 3 Hammer fans. It is now two pining lesbian fangirls and one gay guy who is just hyped for there to be a queer superhero.

[weeping-gospels]

“lethal protection” (rasknitt) :3c

ZAP!

The potent scent of charred flesh and petty magic incapacitated the lungs of anyone foolish enough to remain.

It looked to be a graveyard in the fields — mangled corpses dotted the war grounds and their guts spilled marked the trophies Rasknitt’s bloated ego had collected. An unruly sight to some — but a masterpiece in the crazed vermin’s eyes.

“ Pathetic-useless. And Heliinx calls herself a ‘Grey Seer’ , PAH!

Had-had Great Lord RASKNITT save her mousey behind! How HUMILIATING for you, I almost LAUGH-CACKLE AT THE SHAME!

Oh, wait. “

Then he cackles.

“ BOW!

DOWN ON YOUR KNEES-KNEES, KISS THE FEET OF YOUR GRACIOUS SAVIOR FOR SPARING YOU FROM THE PAWS OF DEATH-DEMISE!

Or should I smite you myself and take all that you carry, hmmmm? “

[joelles]

     *  hi  friends  ,  my  name  is  presley  ,  from  est  &  she  /  her  pronouns ,  if  you  don’t  mind  !  here’s  the  run  down  .  freak  .  virgo  on  the  verge  of  a  libra  .  college  graduate  w/  no  clue  where  she  heading  .  emergency  blunt  advocate  .  chapstick  collector  .  can  recite  confessions  of  a  teenage  drama  queen  .  needless  to  say  ,  adores  lohan’s  work  .  crystal  bible  on  legs  .  bi  af  .  so  ,  here  i  am  presenting  joelle  birsen  to  the  mix  ,  amongst  your  sexy  muses  that  i  can  tell  i  hit  the  lottery  when  applying  for  this  masterpiece  🤠   !  joelle  is  a  relatively  older  muse  i’ve  come  back  to  ,  as  she  has  parts  of  muses  i’ve  played  back  during  the  simpler  times  on  this  hellsite  in  which  i  was  drawn  back  to  ,  it  seems  .  i’ll  briefly  cover  her  below  if  that’s  cool  with  you  ,  i  do  advise  that  if  you  have  troubles  in  regards  to  hospital  stays  +  surgical  info  ,  alcohol  +  drug  use  .  .  .  you  may  want  to  prepared  . of  course  ,  i  don’t  go  fully  in depth  graphic  wise  ,  but  if  you  have  any  comments  or  concerns  ,  lmk  !

    *  to  be  directed  to  more  statistics  ,  refer  to  this  page  but  keep  in  mind  ,  it’s  under  co  like  all  the  time  !  mwah

name  :  joelle  malia  birsen nickname(s)  :  jo  , jojo  (  jojo’s  circus  bc  she’s  a  whole  clown  !  ) birthdate  :  nov.  28  1998 birth chart  :  sagittarius sun , capricorn moon, libra ascending gender  :  cis  gendered  woman sexuality  :  pansexual

    *  some  history  ,  slay  !

  conceived  for  the  result  being  that  her  body  would  only  be  a  carcass  to  surgical  scalpels  +  painful  procedures  to  her  very  sick  ,  c-word  ridden  brother  ,  emerson  ,  as  her  older  sister  ,  monica  ,  wasn’t  a  match  for  what  mapped  out  .  they  had  her  through  very  rare  circumstances  ,  joelle  birsen  wasn’t  named  joelle  until  an  amount  of  months  due  to  the  higher  risks  of  her  falling  short  of  a  first  year  ,  due  to  her  meaning  +  the  prematurity  in  which  she  was  born  under  .  the  university’s  hospital  became  her  home  ,  in  the  heart  of  london  .  .  .  her  family’s  home  being  in  chelsea  ,  a  middle  class  suburb  section  of  the  united  kingdom  .  as  the  third  born  ,  she  was  held  on  a  pedestal  by  her  siblings  from  a  young  age  ,  more  for  the  reasons  of  the  costs  of  being  her  brother’s  keeper  ,  in  which  she  only  found  out  in  her  late  years  when  coming  across  pictures  sent  to  her  grandmother  .  because  of  the  silence  her  parents  vowed  to  keep  from  their  heaven  sent  ,  they  claimed  her  first  two  years  of  life  they  were  unable  to  even  come  close  to  reaching  the  feelings  ,  the  so  -  called  love  they  had  for  her  from  behind  a  lens  .  they  loved  her  ,  for  reasons  they  were  hesitant  to  reveal  +  made  sure  it  was  reticent  until  the  time  collected  on  them  ,  like  a  meter  .

  her  brother  lived  ,  emerson  achieved  highest  honors  in  football  ,  even  making  it  professionally  at  the  cost  of  joelle  walking  in  on  him  cradling  various  ,  pain  relievers  addressed  to  differing  patients  across  england  following  an  incident  that  nearly  ended  his  high  school  career .  she  takes  that  to  her  grave  ,  even  beyond  .  her  sister  ,  monica  ,  followed  in  her  mother’s  footsteps  of  working  in  her  corner  ,  seamstress  business  .  her  mother  ,  julia  ,  she  wasn’t  always  the  mousey  mother  of  three  that  she  now  found  herself  to  be  ,  she  met  roger  ,  her  father  ,  when  he  was  moving  speakers  for  the  smiths  in  their  early  beginnings  +  she  was  crushing  on  the  lead  singer  .  he  claimed  to  be  in  the  band  ,  which  is  how  you  land  the  pretty  girl  ,  but  is  that  how  you  keep  her  ?  maybe  with  backstage  meet  +  greets  and  a  sentiment  of  a  grin

  you’re  probably  wondering  why  joelle  wasn’t  mentioned  in  the  excerpt  prior  ,  well  ,  joelle  was  often  forgotten  as  the  smallest  ,  turn  her  sideways  +  she  would  pass  as  a  book  spine  in  the  library  she  spent  most  of  her  time  in  .  a  day  room  off  their  living  room  ,  where  the  sunshine  would  ribbon  warmth  into  her  primary  uniform  ,  through  the  pleats  of  a  skirt  with  traces  of  julia  sewn  into  them  since  they  were  her  sister’s  hand  me  downs  !  she  stuck  her  nose  into  every  book  she  managed  to  find  ,  she  hadn’t  a  clue  where  she  found  such  adoration  as  her  father  only  read  the  newspaper  ,  only  to  use  it  as  a  fly  swatter  +  when  her  siblings  misbehaved  ,  only  on  occasion  .  her  mother  worked  late  nights  to  make  ends  meet  ,  as  her  father  was  in  between  jobs  ,  so  reading  wasn’t  on  the  agenda  .  she  also  developed  a  fascination  for  art  in  the  form  of  drawing  ,  the  back  of  her  exams  absolutely  covered  in  work  that  left  her  regular  professors  displeased  and  her  art  aimed  one  ,  excited  !  she  surrounded   herself  in  the  likes  of  reading  +  drawing  to  say  the  least  ,  a  whole  stack  of  album’s  worth  back  in  chelsea  .  at  the  age  of  twelve  ,  however  ,  she  was  another  mouth  to  feed  +  julia  +  roger  wanted  more  for  joelle

  santa  monica  ,  ca  ,  the  birthplace  of  her  mother  with  whom  she  only  realized  once  she  moved  into  her  caretaker’s  trailer  .  makes  sense  she  would  name  her  first  born  over  a  town  she  left  behind  ,  the  hidden  adoration  at  the  expense  of  liz’s,  her  grandmother’s  that  refused  to  be  called  a  grandmother,  huge  mouth  .  she  was  a  lesbian  author  who  skimmed  over  taxes  like  they  were  optional  +  lived  off  lands  for  which  she  became  inspired  in  her  trailer  ,  followed  dead  ends  worth  of  love  +  wore  a  leather  jacket  that  has  seen  many  wars  .  she  only  roused  in  the  novel  scene  to  acquire  money  for  travel  +  now  ,  it  looked  like  a  granddaughter  who  she  referred  to  as  her  roommate  .  affectionately  ,  of  course  .  joelle  was  homeschooled  ,  taught  the  basics  of  liz’s  beliefs  ,  literature  in  some  areas  ,  mathematics  on  the  pretense  on  the  cost  of  buying  an  engagement  ring  or  how  to  turn  ten  dollars  into  three  meals  ,  science  for  the  plants  to  eat  +  the  one’s  to  stray  from  +  recognizing  a  tornado  cloud  from  a  whateverit’scalled  .

  the  multiple  lovers  part  ,  well  ,  liz  fell  more  in  love  than  she  did  out  .  often  chasing  down  highways  +  deserts  to  acquire  something  to  feel  whole  .  joelle  related  to  that  ,  having  many  duos  of  organs  +  even  organs  themselves  portioned  ,  her  body  wasn’t  even  whole  .  traditionally  ,  approaching  your  teenage  years  seemed  off putting  ,  but  liz  had  a  way  of  spinning  events  to  be  more  outstanding  to  your  emotions  .  in  every  state  ,  joelle  collected  a  charm  from  locations  such  as  pawn  +  thrift  shops  ,  sometimes  even  lovers  corridors  +  that  was  kept  to  mum  .  she  wasn’t  allowed  much  as  liz’s  trailer  was  shared  between  two  +  she  gave  up  her  own  bed  for  her  granddaughter  ,  joelle  didn’t  want  to  take  up  more  than  was  given  .  that’s  her  personality  pretty  much  ,  closing  your  eyes  +  holding  back  desirables  .  she  even  learned  stick  at  the  age  of  fifteen  at  a  bar  stop  just  outside  of  houston  in  a  stranger’s  eighties  muscle  car  .  liz  +  joelle  ,  they  were  just  that  .  the  unexpectedness  in  life  ,  treasuring  what  was  around  you  versus  what  you  hoped  to  claim  .

  remember  the  whole  reading  +  drawing  fascination  ?  well  ,  that  came  into  use  when  she  pretended  to  be  an  illustrator  for  liz’s  works  +  even  got  published  by  the  time  she  celebrated  fourteen  .  copies  ,  along  with  some  earned  cash  ,  were  sent  to  her  family  back  in  chelsea  ,  london  ,  uk  ,  but  with  their  constant  movement  across  the  country  in  the  trailer  ,  connection  was  frail  .  oh  ,  joelle  also  didn’t  have  a  phone  that  wasn’t  attached  to  a  machine  on  the  side  of  an  abandoned  road  or  leant  from  a  stranger  until  she  was  eighteen  .  she  had  her  first  kiss  by  a  boy  who  was  neighbors  with  liz’s  latest  love  interest  ,  over  the  fence  +  all  .  she  hardly  touches  alcohol  ,  never  has  ,  aside  from  the  sting  of  whiskey  when  she  had  injuries  +  that  was  produced  from  liz’s  emergency  kit  .  same  with  cigarettes  ,  after  she  accidentally  nibbled  on  a  crumbled  nub  unknowingly  in  liz’s  ashtray  that  she  kept  close  to  her  caramel  dish  .  at  the  age  of  eighteen  ,  she  taught  herself  the  bass  guitar  when  she  came  across  a  chocolate  colored  one  in  a  pawn  shop  +  liz’s  only  requirement  was  if  they  were  going  to  live  off  grass  +  peanuts  the  rest  of  the week  if  she  purchased  it  ,  she  might  as  well  be  the  finest  bassist  the  world  has  ever  seen 

  now  ,  she  is  in  a  band  with  three  other  girls  ,  through  which  she  met  while  they  were  touring  +  their  bassist  decided  to  run  solo  .  she  wasn’t  the  songwriting  type  ,  leaned  more  on  her  illustrations  +  the  rhythm  produced  in  songs  from  the  likes  of  eighties  london  bands  mixed  in  with  liz’s  eighties  american  bands  .  however  ,  she  can  play  like  no  other  +  it  showed  for  when  she  stepped  up  that  night  ,  the  rest  is  history  !  she  also  publishes  drawings  of  tattoos  on  a  platform  for  which  she  has  gained  a  huge  following  ,  inspired  by  the  ones  on  liz’s  skin  .  she  has  a  few  of  her  own  by  this  point  ,  however  ,  they  are  in  concealed  areas  .  the  only  reason  she  hasn’t  become  an  official  tattoo  artist  is  because  of  her  fear  of  bringing  pain  to  someone  ,  so  she  collaborates  with  famous  ones  +  sells  her  works  .  she  has  come  out  to  hilton  following  the  success  of  pink  slip’s  first  album  ,  she  has  been  here  prior  in  passing  by  liz’s  wishes  ,  so  connections  are  endless  !

[touchmycoat]

some queer Taiwanese fiction / tongzhi wenxue

i listened to a lecture by Ta-wei Chi about the new American translation of his Taiwanese tongzhi novel The Membranes; he talks about tongzhi wenxue as a genre distinct from Mainland and Japanese queer fiction, of local invention. This is a short reading list from the lecture:

1. The Membranes (1995)

It is the late twenty-first century, and Momo is the most celebrated dermal care technician in all of T City. Humanity has migrated to domes at the bottom of the sea to escape devastating climate change. The world is dominated by powerful media conglomerates and runs on exploited cyborg labor. Momo prefers to keep to herself, and anyway she’s too busy for other relationships: her clients include some of the city’s best-known media personalities. But after meeting her estranged mother, she begins to explore her true identity, a journey that leads to questioning the bounds of gender, memory, self, and reality. First published in Taiwan in 1995, The Membranes is a classic of queer speculative fiction in Chinese.

(Columbia University Press)

Bonus:

Ta-wei Chi’s linktree with English translations of other short stories

Translator Prof Heinrich recommends Tsai Mingliang’s Rebels of the Neon God / 青少年哪吒 (1992)

2. Taipei People (1971)

Pai Hsien-yung is among the most important writers in contemporary Chinese and world literature. His masterpiece Taipei People is a classic of Taiwanese modernism; with an intensity of vision comparable to James Joyce’s Dubliners, it follows the individual struggles of the people of Taipei, with a mix of compassion, nostalgia, mourning, and tenacious clarity.

(Columbia University Press) (Wikipedia)

Chinese + English Translation

3. Crystal Boys (1983)

A-qing, the adolescent hero, comes from an impoverished family. His father casts him out after learning that his son is gay. A-qing drifts into New Park, a gay hangout in Taipei, and begins his life as a hustler. He meets other boys living on the street, also forsaken by their families: Little Jade, who is constantly searching for his unknown father; Mousey, an orphan and petty thief; and Wu Min, a shy tender kid, who attempts suicide when discarded by a middle-aged man. These four boys become fast friends and are taken under the protection of Chief Yang, a fiftyish gay guru in the Park. The boys begin to build a family of their own. Meanwhile, A-qing meets Dragon Prince, whose passionate and faithful love for Phoenix Boy has become a legend of the Park...

(Goodreads)

4. Notes of a Crocodile (1994)

The crocodile is a living iceberg: a great presence that hides ninetenths of itself underwater, with only eyes and nose breaking the surface. To the young university student Lazi, she and those who feel as she does must live like crocodiles, as their sexuality forces them to present a face to the world that looks nothing like their entire selves.

Qiu Miaojin, author of Last Words from Montmartre, displays her mastery of the personal voice in another dark and highly complex story of love between women in an oppressive social context – the first years after the lifting of martial law in Taiwan. A series of eight diary entries tell the story of Lazi’s relationships with others looking to find themselves as she is, and particularly with Shui Ling, a senior classmate with whom she is in love.

This book, dubbed by some as Taiwan’s best novel about sexuality and queer identity tells the hidden stories of dreamers escaping an age of enforced homogeneity. It speaks of pain in the “I” that Qiu Miaojin crafts better than anyone else.

(booksfromtaiwan.tw - including excerpt of English translation)

Bonus:

Chiu Miao-Chin (Qiu Miaojin) (Chinese: 邱妙津; 29 May 1969 – 25 June 1995) was a Taiwanese novelist. Her unapologetically lesbian[1] sensibility has had a profound and lasting influence on LGBT literature in Taiwan. (wiki)

5. Angelwings: Contemporary Queer Fiction from Taiwan (2003)

Lesbian and gay–or queer–fiction (known in Mandarin as tongzhi wenxue) constitutes a major contribution to Taiwanese literature, as evidenced by the remarkable number of prestigious literary awards won by many of the authors of the short stories presented here. Indeed, the meteoric rise of this new genre was a defining feature of Taiwan's literary scene in the 1990s. Queer fiction was also instrumental in forming self-identifying subcultural gay readerships, thus serving a significant political function. But most strikingly, this fiction has been immensely popular with general readers in Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Singapore, as well as in diasporic Chinese communities worldwide. The startlingly fresh, brave voices that speak through these stories attest to the powerful social ferment of the past ten years in Taiwan, which have witnessed a revolution in discourses on sex and sexuality in the public sphere.

Contributors: Chu T'ien-Wen, Qiu Miaojin, Chu T'ien-Hsin, Hsu Yoshen, Lin Yuyi, Lin Chun Ying, Chen Xue, Hong Ling, Chi Tawei, Wu Jiwen.

(UHPress) (Jstor)

Bonus:

Professor Chi’s article about the book (in Trad. Chinese)

Bodhisattva Incarnate in Chinese

[bl1ndbraavosi]

yes hello al loml i am here to answer your tags ;)

literally all of your fics.

swapped?? BANGER.

wrapped around your finger?? SLAPS.

divine intervention?? FUCKS.

COME AWAY TO THE WATER??????????? SCREAM.

and don't get me STARTED on aeons (and other minuscule things) LIKE WTF. everytime i finish one of your works i have to sit and stare at a wall because i cannot get over how hilarious you are and just how much fun it is to read your writing AND ALL FOR FREE. LIKE HELLO???

alsooooo

anything by mousey! and i mean literally ANYTHING. (i will never not rec her stuff. they're masterpieces and i will always be in love with her words)

mittens: specifically Sunflowers + TPWHTW

bouncy: Gravity + Tuesday of Doom are my all time favs

itsthechocopuff: currently screaming about their Cut The Head Off The Snake but they have such amazing fics i fucking CANT.

j's DOF (duhhhh) (will never not yell about this fic. i just fucking can't.)

FM: all of her stuff is amazing but my all time fav (and the one to truly get me into loving ItaSaku) is her Labyrinthine

Espoiretreves: A Tale Of Song And Ashes + Would You... (i have yet to read maria's Trails of Change but it LOOKS AMAZING.)

THEIA'S AN AFFAIR IN THE DARK. IS SO FUCKING GOOD.

anything by writer186: specifically their One Shall Find Flames series

Siuilariun: ANY OF HER NART FICS. AND I MEAN IT.

StarlightLion: For All Those Left Behind, fucking. fucks ME UP.

Luckyseven: HELLBENT. YES YES. THIS ONE.

Alphum: Kiri's Team 14 KIRISAKURA. FUCKIN. AND KISAME.

mummapaintstheblues: Konoha Files

okok that's a lot but those are my favs that came to mind first LOL

hellO LOML THANK U ILYSM i have yet to read most of these but i will ADD THEM TO THE LIST!!!!!!!!

[mariasloss]

More than meets the eye

Balem x Reader scenario

"They targeted one of the refineries." the Sargorn reported, kneeling at the feet of the Primary as he looked over documents. "they're lowly thieves, just kill them." his hushed voice poorly hid his annoyance. "Well my lord, they caused some damage and... some of the RegenerX was..." the Sargorn, terrified at Balems expression, unable to finish his report. "How much was lost?" Balem now completely focused on him. "about one fourth my lord..." he stammered, causing Mr. Night to moderately panic. You stood by the side with documents in hand, only able to stand idly by and watch as Balem exploded. Many planets were ready for harvest, which caused ameteur pirates and thieves to attempt to steal the harvested RegenerX. They usually weren't a problem, but this particular Sargorn had continuously failed to keep them at bay, as far as you could gather. "This is the last time you fail me." Balem motioned his hand, guards then appeared next to the Sargorn. "Kill him."

"NO!" you ran in front of the Sargorn, "Lord Balem please! He-" you were cut off as he stood from his chair, visibly angry. Mr. Night appeared to be having a panic attack. You quickly knelled and looked away, "Forgive me my Lord. I was out of line." He approached you, "Forgiveness?" Balem said in an eerily cool whisper, "If he had taken care of those thieves and you remembered your place, there would be no need to ask for forgiveness. And you know quite well how I treat mistakes. Stand." you shivered as you arose to your feet, awaiting punishment. "Look at me." he said, gently caressing your cheek with malicious intent. You were too terrified to, afraid of what you might see. He pulled you hard by your hair and forced you to face him. "Look at me!" he demanded, on the brink of another explosion. You looked up at him, into his eyes, and after a small silence, he slapped you so hard you were thrown off your feet. "Leave." He ordered you. You scrambled to collect the documents you dropped and left before he changed his mind or did worse. Balem ran his fingers through his hair, fitting back into place strands that had come loose from his out burst. "Kill him." was the last thing you heard as you left. You weren't here by choice. That was your fathers doing. He was like the Sargorn, he made too many mistakes, but had offered you as a mild attempt at redemption of replenishing some lost RegenerX. Instead, he was killed. For some reason however, you weren't harvested but taken as a personal indentured servant, at the beck and call of the first primary, his Lord Balem Abrasax. It was very clear, even before your now daily experiences, that he was a man of business and profit, not much else. You assumed it was due to the fact you weren't too hard on the eyes, and having a pretty toy by his side would help make deals if the intimidation didn't.  You were in your room in the servants quarters, tending to your head and face; even the lightest touch stung with excruciating pain. Why did I try to intervene? you thought, He was just another Sargorn. but you knew why. You sympathized with the poor creature, being that you were in similar states of being at the mercy of Balem. Just the mere thought of being in his shoes and knowing that mistake would be your death brought you to tears. You cried, poorly attempting to wipe the tears away. You thought you were over this, but that's what you thought every other time too. Your gross sobbing was cut short by the attention grabbing cough of Mr. Night. He's the mousey rat splice that serves as what would be the equivalent of an efficiency manager. "Lord Balem wishes to see you." he squeaked. You sniffle and hastily rub away your tears in an attempt to be more presentable then followed him to Balems personal chambers.

"My Lord, _____ is here." he says after entering, then gesturing for you to enter. Your breath hitches as you try to recover from crying, passing Mr. Night as you cross the threshold. "Leave us." Balem says calmly, prompting Mr. Night to close the door behind you.

He was lounging at his desk against the circular room window just behind his bed. You weren't surprised that he worked even in his bedroom. Monetary means is the bottom line and nothing else matters. you thought as you stood a few feet away from the door, awaiting orders. "It has come to my attention that I may have been too harsh in my punishment of you." he says not even looking away from the document in his hand. "It's to be expected. I acted out of turn." you said, knowing anything else might end you up in the same place as the Sargorn. "It is not my intention nor a desire of mine to cause unnecessary damage to anything or anyone. There is nothing to gain from such acts." his voice half-hearten as he puts the document on the desk. Since when do you care? you thought. You stiffen as he approaches you, "It really does upset me when I project my rage onto you. Its unbecoming of me."  his hand caressing your cheek causing you to reflexively flinch. He pulls his hand away, "I do hope you don't hold it against me. I've grown quite fond of you." Is this his way of apologizing? It's not very good. "I've never done something like this before. Asking for forgiveness is quite a difficult task." his hand meets your chin and cradles it between his thumb and forefinger. As much as it pains you to, you understand where hes coming from. Hes a rich, handsome entrepreneur who's probably been spoiled all his life and never had to do labor let alone lift a finger. When would he have ever had to apologize in his life?

As cycles progressed, you noticed a definite attempt at softer interactions towards you when alone. You later learned from another servant that his mother was the same way as him when it came to having a mind for business and not much else. His mother huh? That explains a lot. The sky was dark as you were summoned by Mr. Night to Balems chamber yet again. As usual, you awaited what he had to say in the threshold of the room. He stood from his desk and made his way to you as leisurely as ever. You couldn't help but notice his attire: shirtless, glittering robe and pants, and his ever accompanying collar. "I hope you're fairing well." "I recently learned that you inherited your head for business from your mother." you retorted, curious to his response. His face turned dark briefly before a glint of sorrow blanketed his features. "Indeed I had. My mother was quite brilliant in regards to profit, and taught me many tricks of the trade. I quite dearly loved my mother. Why is that of interest to you?" "It would explain your behavior and difficulty with things such as apologies." your body naturally tensing as such an audacious response. "I suppose you're right. She wasn't much of a mother as much as she was a teacher." he approached you closer, "but that doesn't change how much she meant to me. tell me, how much do you love your mother?" what? why would he ask that? your face turned quizzical. "I... I love my mother. she birthed and raised me." you respond. "Your father had a hand in raising you as well. The same one who was so willing to give you up rather than face the consequences of his mistakes." You slapped him, "Only because you made him fear for his life! anyone would do something drastic if it meant saving their life!" you immediately regretted your actions and fell to your knees. "Even if it meant a loving father would have to throw his precious daughter to the wolves to save himself? Not even I am that cruel." he caressed the red mark left on his cheek. After a moment of silence, "Those refineries that cost that Sargorn his life were my mothers. That last one being her masterpiece. It would be a disgrace to her to continue letting incompetence defile her legacy." He moved towards the bed.

Your heart sank farther down. It never even occurred to you that those refineries would be anyone else's but his and that he wasn't as shallow as the bath of RegenerX that he clearly took a dip in recently. You got to your feet and slowly approached him. You couldn't completely change your feelings of his actions, but you couldn't disagree with his reasoning either. Face to face once again, you stared into his eyes, reflecting a void as dark as space, only being filled with your own visage. The short-lived moment was broken by his soft lips pressing against yours. Oddly enough, you didn't fight it as he guided you onto your back, the cushion of his bed being softer than you expected. He gave another kiss as he hovered above you, his arms supporting him. "I sincerely hope you'll let me cherish you, for I do care about you."

The morning came lazily as you drifted awake, slowly realizing that a body was closely embracing yours, draped only in silken sheets. You turn to see that body belonging to Balem, holding you from behind and resting his face in the crook of your neck. You couldn't help but admire his features in the morning light. A conflicting feeling still resting in your chest. This moment wouldn't last as the knock and squeak of a certain Mr. Night broke the silence. "Lord Balem, calculations for the recent shipment of RegenerX is here."

An audible moan escaped balems lips, "I shall see it soon. Leave me for now." he manages to say. You turn to him, astonished. "But Lord--" You're cut off as he kisses you good morning, "The only thing that matters right now, is you."

[an-actual-frickin-baby]

Wow! I can't believe I've found the cutest baby in the world! And such an artist too! I'd commission you but I'm afraid I don't have the money to buy such masterpieces! (@withered-delilah )

Com... wha?

Ta da!!! Nut mousey!!!

@withered-delilah

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A bunch of TSLTA AU doodles

Fool and Phera belong to @shadzytarts

Atria and the AU belongs to @crabas-lordes

[tedescu]

BODIES IN MOTION

Video fanatic, Lawrence (“Loopy”) La Porte, discovered that if he set his VCR to fast-forward scan, he could see his favorite movie 25 times in one day.  He made the Guinness Book of World Records for viewing Batman Returns a whopping 9,145 times in a single year.  La Porte claimed he didn't really miss the dialogue at the high speed scan because he already knew it by heart.  However, he did slow the movie down once every 5th showing in order to watch Christopher Walken push Michelle Pfeiffer through a window.  "That scene rocks!" he declared. 

Critics have praised this act of aggression as a masterpiece of modesty and good taste: insofar as Ms. Pfeiffer plummets all those stories into the street, while managing to keep her skirt perfectly in place.  No gratuitous sensuality here!  No sir, this is definitely a movie you can take your children to see! 

Notice too, Batman enthusiasts, that Michelle's character doesn't die here. Rather, all the cats in the neighborhood rush to her aid, lick her wounds and nurse her back to life.  How strangely reminiscent of the dogs lapping the blood of the slain king, Ahab, in the Old Testament—except, of course, that the evil king never returned to life.  But because Pfeiffer’s character is essentially a kind, likeable creature at heart (not to mention gorgeous), the writers and producers gave her a second chance.  Behold, therefore, she is suddenly transformed from a mousey, victimized broad, to the dynamic and fearless Cat Woman, who sets out to wreak vengeance on Christopher Walken and all the other predatory males who have oppressed her.  Meow!

Once again, parents can feel safe in exposing their kids to this clean, upbeat movie where, in spite of all the violence perpetrated on the people and the city of Gotham, nobody really suffers.  Even after whacking the pavement at full velocity, Ms. Pfeiffer experiences no impairment.  Instead, she undergoes a miraculous regeneration for which no explanation (however delightfully fantastical it might sound) is ever attempted.  What’s more, the producers pull this stunt off seamlessly.  No patronizing admonitions to children (or challenged adults) NOT to attempt this stunt at home.  No disclaimer during the closing credits stating: "Women who fall from windows do not really turn into pussycats."  Besides, you and I both know the studio paid good money for Michelle Pfeiffer, so they’re obviously not going to kill her off this early in the movie.

La Porte denies there’s a “message” to be gleaned from all this mayhem, or with his peculiar fascination with it.  Says he simply enjoys seeing bodies in motion.  “Especially if them bodies are wearin’ skirts.” 

His next project will be to comb the video stores for movies featuring similarly clad victims crashing through windows several stories high, or tossed from rooftops.  (“'Ceptin’ for dogs,” he said, “with or without clothes.”)  Then he plans to paste all those scenes together into a continuous loop, which he would watch at fast-forward scan 10 hours a day for a year in hopes of winning a new world's record.

“Hey look, I’m as humane and well-balanced as the next guy,” La Porte insisted in an interview.  “Watchin’ people hurlin’ though space is an incredible stress reliever—as long as them people ain’t me!”

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: What Lies Beneath: Carl D’Alvia’s Buried Meanings

Carl D’Alvia, “The End Is…,” (2007), resin and paint, 27 x 20 x 28 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

I laughed out loud the first time I saw a sculpture by Carl D’Alvia. On a pedestal sat a forlorn, four-legged creature (a kind of rodent/hominid hybrid) slouching on his haunches. Made of cast resin, the little guy had a thick coat of mousey-brown fur the diameter of spaghetti, which covered his face (including eye sockets), hands, feet, tail — and even the rectangular sign, stuck on the end of an equally furry pole, that he wielded, weakly, in his right hand.

It is titled “The End Is…” (2007), and I laughed again when I saw it at Regina Rex, where it presides over Endless, an exhibition of D’Alvia’s work of the last several years. More of Endless — three new works — is at Nathalie Karg Gallery. This knockout, two-venue show — D’Alvia’s first solo outing in New York since 2013 — demonstrates the absurdist humor, masterful craftsmanship, and elliptical thinking of an artist for whom working at apparent cross-purposes is an end in itself: embracing irresolution, the banalities of existence combine to form imponderable conundrums.

Covering things with the texture of fur (or visually related surface treatments, such as hair, grass, scales…) has been a go-to strategy for D’Alvia for some time now.

Carl D’Alvia, “Robot” (2007), bronze, 21 x 36 x 36 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

In many cases, the thing itself resists recognition, or suggests several things at once. At Regina Rex is “Robot” (2007, bronze), which looks like a small, boxy vehicle with one mechanical arm that, having crumpled to the floor some time ago, is now just a heap of junk overtaken by moss or crabgrass. But emerging from the useless wheels and belts, eclipsing this suggestion of time having passed, is a humanoid face, with jug-handle ears and a wide, urgent grimace.

The title of “4:20” (2012, painted resin) is a reference to smoking pot, and sure enough under all that purple sculpted hair there’s the same weird rodent/hominid guy, taking a hit off an enormous bong, which emits a (similarly hirsute) purple cloud of smoke. Another puff appears in “Puff” (2013, painted resin), but this is otherwise one of those inscrutable pieces that, for me, defies rational comprehension: an elongated wedge protruding between a pair of rubbery, cartoon-like legs, bent at the knee. Everything is covered with a pattern of little leaves. (It could be that I just don’t know enough about the varieties of bong design.) The sculpture is slightly too big for the pedestal, a nice touch.

Carl D’Alvia, “4:20” (2012), resin and paint, 18 x 8 x 18 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

The 34-item checklist at Regina Rex is retrospective in scope, reaching back to 2001. A major treat is the broad selection of the artist’s exquisite drawings, many of which are in ink or ballpoint pen. “Carburetor” (2005) is an “exploded view” of that device, apparently appropriated from an auto parts manual. Devoid of labels, the unidentified components swarm in formation, floating in pictorial space. This unassuming little work implies that an unintentional vernacular surrealism, by means of which the familiar is made strange, fuels D’Alvia’s larger project.

“Engine” (2005), a drawing of a stripped-down 12-cylinder engine set on end, looks like a fetish object from a patriarchal, power-obsessed civilization. (Hmm.) Other renderings display curious uses of familiar materials, such as a box made of wood slats (“Untitled,” 2016) with a 45-degree bend at the middle, designed to hold — well, who knows what? (“Puff,” maybe?)

Carl D’Alvia, “Puff” (2013), resin and paint, 16 x 31 x 11 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

D’Alvia’s drawings of his sculptures, such as “Eagle” (2015), apply a chiaroscuro treatment, straight out of Caravaggio or 1940s film noir, to these often comical objects, plunging them into incongruously melodramatic raking light and deep shadows. It is as if the artist wanted to see what one of his characters would do, what it would become, in an unfamiliar situation. The source sculpture for “Eagle” resembles an out-of-shape Maltese Falcon with a toucan’s enormous beak, tipped slightly backward on its base; it’s hard to tell if the creature is recoiling in terror from the inky void, or just dozing off.

Carl D’Alvia, “Eagle” (2015), ballpoint pen on paper, 22 x 30 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

Though he wears his scholarship lightly, D’Alvia is adept at the semaphores of 20th-century sculpture. One fairly obvious reference: actual fur is of course prominent in historical Surrealism’s best-known sculpture, Meret Oppenheim’s 1936 “Object (The Luncheon in Fur)” — a teacup, saucer and spoon lined with the stuff. (Fun fact: it’s Chinese gazelle.)

“Worm” (2014), a long, rectangular form, segmented and hairy-looking, holds its head-end erect, alert. Despite its right-angled infrastructure, the work is as animate-seeming as its title suggests and recalls Tony Smith’s penchant for metaphor disguised as Minimalism. (‘Literalist’ art’s Trojan Horse?) A nearby drawing, possibly hypothetical, of a similar but much smaller, single-segment work, is titled “Kiki” (2001).

Carl D’Alvia, “The Birds” (2016), bronze, five pieces 18 x 50 x 6 inches (courtesy Regina Rex)

Perched on a plinth, “The Birds” (2016) consists of five bronzes about six inches high, abstract but distinctly avian in character. Four of them continue in D’Alvia’s modus operandi of ornamenting an essential underlying form with obsessively detailed (in this case, feathery) surfaces; in contrast, the central piece is smooth, burnished to a high sheen. The latter channels Constantin Brancusi’s “Bird in Space” (1923) and “Mademoiselle Pogany II” (1925), with a nod to “Princess X” (1916) for good measure.

The Romanian master is the primary link between the two installations. Of the three works at Nathalie Karg, the largest by far is “Endless” (2016, resin and aluminum) which, shoehorned into the gallery’s far-from-cramped space, is endlessly frustrating to photograph. That’s not only because of its scale, which is better suited to an outdoor site, but because the camera can’t really deal with the work’s elongated, rhomboid volumes with their optically confounding angles.

But in person, it’s a blast. It refers, of course, to one or more of Brancusi’s “Endless Column” variants. (The public, 30-meter-long version in Târgu Jiu was erected in 1938, but Brancusi made the first prototype at least twenty years earlier.) Flat on the floor rather than upright, it stretches to almost 60 feet in length. Three feet high, it is a series of discrete rhomboids — imagine a cube stretched at opposing corners, so that every side is a parallelogram.

Carl D’Alvia, “Endless” (detail) (2016), cast resin over aluminum armature, 8 rhombus sculptures (each 36 x 87 x 38 inches), 2 half rhombus sculptures (each 36 x 57 x 38 inches)

“Endless” has eight such sections, plus a half-rhomboid at each extremity. (You can imagine the beginning picking up where the end leaves off, like Finnegans Wake.) These elements are aligned corner-to-corner, so that the acute angles are just a few inches apart. They are physically discontinuous, but the gaps between the volumes are too narrow and steeply angled to allow you to pass through easily. You have to walk around “Endless” to really see it; outdoors, I expect, its resemblance to a barrier would be less conspicuous.

Carl D’Alvia, “Endless” (detail) (2016)

The funny thing is that it’s made of “boards” of cast resin (from clay originals) marked by deep wood grain and knots, here and there, that look a whole lot like eyes. The boards are obviously faux, once you look closely, but the many screw heads dotting the surface are real — surprise! — and attach to an aluminum armature. Gallery information has it that every element is unique because, while the constituent boards are themselves multiples, they are assembled differently in each section.

Carl D’Alvia, “Lith” (2016), aluminum, 96 x 48 x 31 inches

Eight feet high, smooth of surface, and painted a semi-gloss black, “Lith” (2016, aluminum) is in the spirit of the Modernist, public-scale, vaguely anthropomorphic sculpture of Clement Meadmore, who gave elongated geometrical volumes — typically square in cross-section — all manner of twists, curves, and curls. “Celestial” (2016), an eight-foot-diameter circle of nearly 50 sections of unglazed black earthenware extruded in rope-like thicknesses, recalls Richard Long’s floor-based disks made of shards and chunks of slate.

“Endless” takes center stage, though, and seems the most conceptually expansive. Brancusi designed his masterpiece in tribute to fallen Romanian soldiers who defended Târgu Jiu against the advance of German forces in WW1. Might the barrier-like “Endless” refers to a certain proposed border wall, and the seemingly infinite xenophobia that prompted it? Farfetched, maybe, but these days, an artwork’s implications, however latent they may be, migrate from the margins to the center of this viewer’s interpretive imagination. Forms attract associations like iron filings to a magnet. Walls and barricades, like the color orange and the word “nasty,” signify differently than they did just a year ago.

Carl D’Alvia, “Celestial” (2016), unglazed black earthenware, 81 x 81 inches

You don’t have to be a fan of affect theory (I’m not) to be aware that unintentional or supplemental meanings accrue to the reading of an artwork according to contexts, both spatial and temporal, and contribute to the viewer’s emotional response to it. Absent explicit narrative or other interpretive guides, content can be fickle, changing with the daily headlines. What we see depends on what we see with — the cognitive mechanisms we bring into the gallery. Looking at “Endless,” you’re on one side, or you’re on the other. You can’t pass easily between the gaps, but if you really wanted to, you could. “Endless” may be difficult to breach, but not impossible.

Carl D’Alvia: Endless continues at Regina Rex (221 Madison St, Lower East Side, Manhattan) and Nathalie Karg Gallery (291 Grand Street, Lower East Side, Manhattan) through February 19.

The post What Lies Beneath: Carl D’Alvia’s Buried Meanings appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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Just a few of the stickers available currently in the shop

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A tulip siren I haven't named yet

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Updated mlem comic for Moonfall's updated design

Moonfall belongs to @crabas-lordes

[mouse-mischeif]

Minnow has a request