#Twill return

[likesdoodling]

First only text post I have ever done!

This is kind of a disclaimer? Maybe? I guess?

So I started doing art stuff on here primarily to post my dsmp comic 'The Adventures of Steve and Orphan' which my predictive text still remembers perfectly btw-

I finished said comic a while ago, (like... I dunno.. Last year around March or something?) and I planned on putting it all together when I was finished to make a more cohesive read, since I definitely wrote it to be read in order.

That was before.. Ahem. Stuff happened. Like. The recent wilbur stuff, not the June 2022 stuff. Definitely wasn't going to do it straight after that,

Anyway. The main characters are Steve and Orphan because of that video Technoblade did with Ranboo where he said Steve was the real main character/should have his own series, plus him telling dream in prison that Steve was coming to rescue him. I thought this was hilarious, so that's when I started my comic thing.

(I'm kind of a Technoblade fan. Can you tell? Genuinely the only person on dsmp that I watched live, plus all his dsmp vods and YouTube videos, and no I do not have a problem, my obsession has just shifted to different fandoms)

It is of course, ✨Fiction✨ so I'm probably going to post it anyway, this is mainly just to figure out if any of my tumblr followers actually care about the dream smp, since it was mainly my Instagram folks who followed me for that stuff, since ascendance of a bookworm and bsd fans are a lot more active on tumblr.

Anyway. My main reasoning is that I want to still post Technoblade related stuff, fanart etc. Because he was the inspiration to finish one of the biggest projects I ever undertook, drawing wise, and it's the best way I can think of to try embody the 'Technoblade Never Dies' spirit. Ya know?

So expect to see the collected Adventures of Steve and Orphan soon!

:D

It's all from Steve's perspective btw

And there is a bit of a jump in quality when I took a break mid 2022 for obvious reasons. It is so weird to think that it's been nearly two years... Who knows. Maybe I'll post it as an anniversary thing or something. Eh. I probably won't bother waiting that long. I want to do a full on art piece for the anniversary if possible anyway.

Honestly, I haven't gotten more than 20 likes on a single picture on Instagram since I finished said Steve and Orphan comic, so you guys clearly have superior taste in anime. But then again, Steve had some pretty good unintentionally funny commentating skills so who knows. He thinks he's inspiring. Like Master. Orphan might laugh, but Steve is clearly a wonderful teacher.

If you don't want anything to do with the dsmp, then you probably haven't read this far honestly. I kind of doubt any of you guys are interested, but yknow. Just in case.

Doin sarcastically commentated comics was/is kind of my thing. And the Adventures of Steve and Orphan is a prime example of that.

That's it for now, cya!

#dsmp #The Adventures of Steve and Orphan #Yeye #Twill return #Soon #probably #Dsmp comic #Will be coming soon #Like #I've already finished it #But I'll post all of it in one thing #Or maybe three #There's like 60 panels #So probably more than one #But like chunks #Not tiny snippets #Ya know? #Technoblade Never Dies #o7

[fandomandangstlover]

jaushdhwjakdjejakdjw

#okay imma start watchin the newest ep now #boopin twill return soon #my thoughts #that or ah start writing again #idk #ah just woke up aa

[apple-salad]

Rose Ribbon Embroidery "Mini" Projects (for BABY NYFW) Part 1: Kumya JSK

I decided semi-last minute to attend BABY's fashion show at NYFW!

BABY had mentioned in their NYFW brand description that their newest collection would be a return to their origins, as well as presenting archival items.

You have to dress to impress for NYFW, right? So of course, I had to pull out all the stops and wear my Rose Ribbon Embroidery.

Also at the last minute, I decided to make a few extra complementing items...

A matching RRE kumya JSK, and a bonnet.

What follows is more of a sew-along/journal rather than a tutorial or guide, mainly for my own memory's sake. But if you enjoy looking at my process (sometimes sloppy), I'm happy!

Also feel free to take a look at the more romantic process video I edited.

Part 1: Kumya JSK

Part 2: Bonnet

To make a matching kumya JSK, I first had to investigate the original dress a little! This I found actually very fascinating because I had never bothered to take a very careful look at the construction details of this JSK (it was, and still is always a precious item that I am afraid will get dusty or dirty if I look at it wrong...)

I actually even found a spot where it looks like the material was torn and someone roughly repaired it by hand (laugh). I have a feeling this was a factory mistake/fix (either from fabric manufacture or sewing) because it's hidden beneath some lace ruffle and I don't really think it's something that an owner would let happen, but who knows.

So here's a few details of RRE~

Many people don't know that RRE is made of velveteen! And further, there is sometimes a misconception that it came in a "cotton" and "velvet" version. As far as I know, there is only one version made out of cotton velveteen.

So the white can get dirty and attract dust super easily :')

The bodice has a panel of 3 ruffles + upper "hashigo" (ladder) lace part with ribbon. It is also boned (BABY's crap boning with sharp edges and no channels, meh...) but obviously I can skip that for kumya.

The skirt has a trapezoidal embroidered panel, the star of the show, surrounded by 3 tiers of ruffles that extend all the way around the back. The last "tier" is not gathered and has a smaller ruffle all around the skirt.

While thinking about how to construct something similar in kumya-scale, I found it fascinating that the under-material the ruffles are attached to are cotton! Makes sense to reduce bulk, plus you can't tell when the ruffles cover it.

The density of ruffle starts out quite concentrated, and then reduces as the bottom ruffle is reached. The cotton under-material also seems to have less material gathered than the main velveteen ruffle. This also makes sense to not only reduce material usage but also because having a huge amount of gather on the bottom tier can make the skirt look too heavy.

Knowing this, I fussed out some semi-arbitrary ruffle multipliers for each tier (and lining) in my notebook. Very important to keep tabs on how many fabric strips I need and their exact widths!

Also since everything is in kumya-scale the gathering is generally reduced by a lot. Kumya doesn't need much to have a very full skirt, and with such tiny tiers the effect of the gathering can easily look like overkill. The kumya elizabeth OP gathered lace/tiers very lightly:

As reference dimensions for kumya, I have these two kumya dresses which I used lightly (mostly the sugar bouquet one because it's a JSK). I also have the babydoll kumya, but as it was out of commission for a while (on my christmas tree!😅) I didn't use it for checks at all.

The sugar bouquet "bodice" is about 3cm long. I decided to extend it one more cm to 4cm to make it easier for me to calculate for the ruffles and also leave enough space so the ruffles would be visible and not potentially buried.

I use a cotton velvet fabric and a mixture of cluny and torchon lace I have on hand. This velvet has a noticeable twill weave to it and is thinner than the velvet BABY usually uses, but the thinness is perfect for this purpose. I was originally going to just use cotton sateen but remembered I had this!

You can't see the weave from afar so I tolerate it. I wouldn't have wanted to use polyester velvet/suede-like/minky, I think.

Since the material is still a velvet and does have a thickness compared to cotton, I decided to roughly hem any ruffle edges by hand with a simple once-turned whip stitch. it kind of seals the raw edge and hems it at the same time. Note that this is not a great idea for something that would be worn and washed a lot, but this piece in this specific case won't be.

In general, when it comes to mistakes with this piece I mostly ignore them because it's kumya-scale and not only will most people not notice, but as stated above it's also not a piece that will be worn and washed often so quality of construction isn't much of a concern.

Mentally deconstructing and calculating the construction of the ruffle part was a bit of a pain. My lace was wider that I needed so I had to roughly mark out where it should be sewn into the ruffle, not always with great success.

I'm also not great with working at small scale...much respect to doll clothesmakers.

The bodice of the sugar bouquet kumya JSK is made from a front trapezoidal panel with a strip of fabric attached to the sides that extends all the way around the back, and the skirt attached to that. So I cut some slightly angular side panels to attach to my rectangular/square-ish front ruffle panel.

(I threadmarked approximately where I wanted the seam to go because I don't trust myself to attach the side panel in the right area/dimension otherwise with such a wonky panel)

Simple straps made from strips of fabric. I make these slightly thicker than a regular kumya JSK as well because I feel like RRE has thicker straps too (well, the entire construction of the bodice is a bit different, but ignoring that...)

And a facing layer of ordinary cotton is sewn to the front panel.

For the section of lace at the top, I frankenstein together 2 types of lace that I trimmed to look more like the lace used on the original JSK. It seems the original JSK also has this lace sewn through the lining layer, so the stitching is visible from the inside.

I use the thinnest ribbon I can find--some silk ribbon in this case. It actually works really well because silk ribbon is very thin/flimsy and can be tied and threaded in nicely with relative ease.

By the way, if you aren't aware already, a yarn needle works very well for threading ribbon through lace.

Bodice portion finished. This took way longer than I was hoping, an entire night. Hopefully the results are worth it.

Next I fuss out the skirt. At this point I am working out the calculations and investigations already mentioned previously. I did make a few mistakes and had to re-cut a couple tiers!

I use a different lace from the bodice for the tiers because I thought the shape of this one was closer to what was originally used (it's actually the bilateral ladder lace used for the bodice, but instead of cutting off the lace edges and using the thread-through part, it's just cut in half)

After hemming the ruffle, I attach the lace to the velveteen ruffle with a single gathering stitch (too lazy to use 2, and the thick material makes it hard to gather anyway). The under cotton layer is gathered separately and sandwiched between the cotton layer of the previous tier.

Coming along. I think the lace length for these ruffles is a bit off/uneven/less than ideal, but oh well, can't be bothered to fix it...

After the third tier, a non-gathered velveteen tier is attached with gathered lace.

I also prepare the bottom ruffle, but that will be attached to the completed skirt.

Next, the most exciting but also potentially the most taxing part must be done--the embroidery!

I know that the top of the embroidered panel is basically the same width as the bodice ruffle (referencing the original dress), but the width of the bottom is a bit arbitrary (about 3x the width of the top of the trapezoid)

I mark out everything roughly with water soluble marker (the darker patches are where I messed up and used some water to erase, waiting for it to dry...)

The midlines of the panel as well as the 1/3 lines were marked because I 100% do not trust myself to make the embroidery symmetric without doing so. I'm a beginner and not nearly skilled enough in embroidery to freehand...

I carefully investigated the original embroidery and copied the locations of roses and leaves to my mini-panel. Once I have the general shape that I'm happy with, I start embroidering.

I didn't take too many progress photos of the embroidery, but I also don't think you need them. Because the scale was small, this took an entire evening/night which I think is not too long?

For the roses I use a combination of the "pinwheel" rose method and french knots (+ some additional plain stitches where I wanted more volume).

The nice thing about ribbon embroidery, I think, is that the ribbons add so much texture that even if it's a bit messy it looks very impressive anyways. Plus your mind will mentally interpret some random puffy ribbon lines as a flower anyways.

I use regular DMC 6-strand embroidery thread (split in half, so 3 strands used here) for the vines and leaves. Because I also suck at embroidery and have never embroidered a real project/learned real techniques I mostly kept the leaves simple and slightly abstract with 3 branchlike stitches. I think I currently can't fuss with making nice rounded miniature leaves without messing up every second stitch...

Finished.

I spray water to remove the marker marks and let dry.

Attach embroidered panel to ruffles. I should have double checked where the panel was aligning with the ruffles on each side since it's uneven, but whatever.

Gather bottom ruffle and attach to skirt.

I attach the bodice strip to the front bodice panel as well, and sew the straps down.

I basted the front of the bodice to the skirt by hand because I wanted to make sure they were aligned. Because I messed up sewing the ruffle tiers to the embroidered panel and they are somewhat misaligned, I tried to adjust where the top of the skirt was sewn to the bodice to compensate, it didn't work that well but eh, it's alright.

Gather the skirt and sew to the bodice portion. This was very fiddly and I had to redo some parts several times because the lace wasn't getting sewn down properly. It's still not great but I'll fix any egregious parts by hand.

The gathering is also pretty uneven, but I'm ignoring it...

Looks almost done but not yet!

There is a tiny bit more embroidery on the edges of the middle ruffle tier. I marked approximately where I wanted the roses to be and roughly embroidered them (without a hoop because it's too complicated to figure out alignment before construction, although embroidery is always easier with one).

I also add a back ribbon to simulate waist ties, a detail I notice on a few other BABY kumya JSKs. The waist ties on RRE have a slightly rounded/pointed shape to them, so I freehand this shape for the bow "tails" (because I'm getting tired and lazy, I didn't really measure although I did check that the width was approximately the same throughout). The backside of the waist tie is another layer of cotton, which reduces bulk when turning the shape inside out (the backside of the original JSK is also just lining material). I also folded a long strip over itself and basted it down, creating a loose tube shape to use for the bow part.

It's pretty hard to create defined folds in the bow with such thick fabric, but I tried my best...at least it's likely the back will rarely be seen.

I gave the dress a final allover spray with water to hopefully erase any remaining soluble marker. Also, some interior hand finishing needed to be done (mainly tacking down some unruly seams)

And finally, actually finished. The embroidery thankfully turned out decent enough to distract from any weird spots of construction and so on. It looks quite remarkably like the actual dress, so goal achieved I think!

Extra contents:

I make kumya little wrist cuffs because some of the kumya variations (such as babydoll kumya) come with them, and that's really cute.

BBD kumya seems to use a type of lace that's already elasticated, but I don't have that on hand so I just sew two pieces of the same lace used for the bodice ruffles together to make it bilateral and stitch on an additional elastic with a stretch stitch. And add on a little ribbon bow (I only have silk ribbon in this narrow width, but I think a ribbon with more body such as poly satin or cotton satin would work better)

And I also make two of those little applique ribbon thingies (you can buy them cheaply from craft stores and so on, but whatever) and stitch them temporarily to kumya's bows for an extra accent.

I'm lazy so I use the bloomers that came with the hawase kumya set underneath (I'm sure making a similar pair of bloomers wouldn't be too much work but I have no idea if these are patterned with some kind of shaping/rise and I don't want to deal with that)

This is actually yuefii's kumya that I am still hoarding for whatever reason and has its eye and mouth fur already trimmed.

And now Usakumya is ready to see the runway :)

Part 2 (bonnet making) is here.

Thank you for reading! If you ever decide to take up a similar project, I'd love to see it!

#lolita fashion #handmade #rose ribbon embroidery #usakumya #baby the stars shine bright

[shimmeringweeds]

For those interested in a sing-along: here is an English translation of the encore song from the Link Click Musical. (you know, the one one with the hug.)

The tentative title, supplied by a weibo user, is 追光者 "Zhuīguāng zhě" <- Recent lyrics call this 《追光的人》

Edit: It didn't hold up lol. Big thank you @chocolatexiaoshi for teaching me! 追光的人 means People who Pursue Light/ Chase Light/ or Seek Light . Some lyrics have been and will continue to be modified as we work on this!

追光 translates to “spotlight” in my dictionary. Literally, it means "to chase light" In this song, 追光 is personified as either 追光者 or 追光的人. Pretty cool term to use in a stage play! Google translates this as “light chaser.” I’ve chosen to go with “guiding light.” We will see how poorly that holds up to official translation ^^;

Each line punches the gut harder that the last. This song basically references the s2 ending, then ties it into the earthquake ark. It's brilliant. It hurts. Listen to the video while you read. Please enjoy :)

Disclaimer: As always, I am a novice translating for fun, because I want to sing-along and know what I'm saying. I can’t speak or read this language. If you've checked google translate, this doesn't add much extra, but! this post conveniently includes Hanzi, Pinyin, and English for you to reference + a few notes. I've primarily used Pleco, inputting word by word, with mdgb.net/google for extra clarification. I'm learning, but fairly confident that this is reliable, though not fluent. Please reach out about any mistakes you find!

link to video

link to origin lyrics: one, two , and a thank you to @sgdlr-asdfghjkl for providing them!

---

-追光者-

LG:

城市一隅寂静角落

Chéngshì yīyú jìjìng jiǎoluò

A quiet nook in the corner of the city

破旧相馆串眹你我

Pòjiù xiàng guǎn chuàn zhèn nǐ wǒ

Our shabby photo studio ties us together

目睹命运莫测

Mùdǔ mìngyùn mò cè

Witnessing unpredictable fate

难逃重蹈覆辙

Nán táo chóngdǎofùzhé <- idom follow the track of the overturned cart.

It's hard to escape the same mistakes

照片窥探他的时空

Zhàopiàn kuīchēn tā de shíkōng

Peaking at his timeline in the photograph

无人知晓真实的我

Wú rén zhīxiǎo zhēnshí de wǒ

No one understands the real me

相遇还是重逢, 他不知, 我也不能说

Xiāngyù háishì lànghuā, Tā bùzhī, Wǒ yě bùnéng shuō

Whether this is our first encounter or our reunion, he doesn't know and I also cannot say.

-

CXS:

善于洒脱遮掩脆弱

Shànyú sǎtuō zhēyǎn cuìruò

I'm good at being at ease to hide weakness

他的出现如光降落

Tā de chūxiàn rú guāng jiàngluò

He emerges like light descending

学会渥手言和

Xuéhuì wò shǒu yán hé

Learning to shake hands and make peace

释怀亲情的枷锁

Shìhuái qīnqíng de jiāsuǒ

I'll let go of the chains of familial affection.

谁都有难圆的梦不止是我

Shéi dōu yǒu nán yuán de mèng bùzhǐ shì wǒ

Everyone has unfulfilled dreams, not just me.

-

LG:

遗憾指引着赶路的我

Yíhàn zhǐyǐnzhe gǎnlù de wǒ

Regret guides me in my pursuit

CXS:

回忆温暖着迷路的我

Huíyì wēn nuǎn zháo mílù de wǒ

Memories warm me when I’m lost

-

Both CXS/LG:

绕过岁月错落, 不问值不值得,

Ràoguò suìyuè cuòluò, bù wèn zhí bù zhídé

Detouring through time scattered around, don’t ask if it’s worth it or not

打破轮回的规则

Dǎpò lúnhuí de guīzé

Break through the rules of the the time loop

Refrain:

我一次又一次全力以赴, 跨越时间的沟壑

Wǒ yīcìyòuyīcì quánlìyǐfù, kuàyuè shíjiān de gōuhè

Again and again I’ll give my all, leaping across the ravine of time

无视黑夜白昼的界限, 试图换一个结果.

Wúshì hēiyè báizhòu de jièxiàn, shìtú huàn yī gè jiéguǒ

Ignore the boundary between night and day, and attempt to exchange one outcome

经历过, 才看破

Jīnglìguò, Cái kànpò

With experience, the ability to perceive

人生剧情总独特又重合

Rénshēng jùqíng zǒng dútè yòu chónghé,

The unique sums of life’s play will coincide again <- (arithmetic language. each timeline = a sum and you add timelines together to find a solution.)

却依旧不妥协不退缩, 让难题被弥合

Què yījiù bù tuǒxié bù tuìsuō ràng nántí bèi míhé

But still, don't compromise, don't cower and the problem twill be solved

-

每一次击掌后踏上旅途重返分岔的路口

Měi yīcì jí zhǎng hòu tà shàng lǚtú chóng fǎn fēn chà de lùkǒu

Every high five sets us back on the journey, we return to the branching crossroads

逆转時空的代价需要感性和理性拉扯

Nìzhuǎn shíkōng de dàijià xūyào gǎnxìng hé lǐxìng lāchě

The price of reversing time requires perception and reason's pull

追光者, 平凡者

Zhuī guāng zhě, píngfán zhě

People pursuing light, Ordinary people

不能插手为何感同身受

Bùnéng chāshǒu wéihé gǎntóngshēnshòu <- idiom: "to feel indebted as if the favor were received in person", meaning: "to feel as if it happened to oneself."

If you can’t lend a hand, why do you sympathize

任往事一幕幕 重演着

Rèn wǎngshì yīmù mù chóngyǎnzhe

Allow past events to play out, reenactor

却只能铭记职责

Què zhǐ néng míngjì zhízé

But we must bear responsibility

-

Chen Xiao and his Mom:

追光的人穿梭不同时空撕开时间的裂缝

Zhuīguāng de rén chuānsuō bùtóng shíkōng sī kāi shíjiān de lièfèng

The people who pursue light go back and forth between different times and space, ripping open cracks in time

尘埃落定的回忆激活过去与现实交错

Chén'āiluòdìng de huíyì jīhuó guòqù yǔ xiànshí jiāocuò

The memory’s dust has settled, causing the past to intertwine with present <-(激活- lit. chemical activation)

翻越着, 感受过

Fānyuè zhe, gǎnshòu guò

To climb over, to experience

不能重来的也还有更多

Bùnéng chóng lái de yěxǔ hái yǒu gèngduō

There are probably many things we cannot do over

却偏要去折叠去缝合让心结被愈合

Què piān yào qù zhédié qù fénghé ràng xīn jié bèi yùhe

But I must go fold, go suture, so this knot in my heart can heal

——

All:

追光的人圆满他们的梦抚平自己的伤口

Zhuīguāng de rén yuánmǎn tāmen de mèng fǔ píng zìjǐ de shāngkǒu

People who pursue light will satisfy their dreams and smooth their own wounds

逆转时针的能力操控宿命与现实相逢

Nìzhuǎn shízhēn de nénglì cāokòng sùmìng yǔ xiànshí xiāngféng

The ability to reverse the hands of the clock manipulates fate to meet reality.

追光者, 旁观者

Zhuīguāng zhě, pángguān zhě

People pursuing light, A bystander

轨迹从不许人失而复得

Guǐjī cóng bùxǔ rén shī'érfùdé

The trajectory will never allow a person to lose and regain

决不能任遗憾摆弄着, 让悔恨成为执着

Jué bùnéng rèn yíhàn bǎinòngzhe, ràng huǐhèn chéngwéi zhízhuó

Never can regrets be fiddled with, remorse will become attachment

-

LG:

追光者守护你救赎我

Zhuīguāng zhě shǒuhù nǐ jiùshú wǒ

People pursuing light will defend you and redeem me

让遗憾告别生活

Ràng yíhàn gàobié shēnghuó

To make regret depart from life

#link click musical #lyrics #people who pursue light #shiguang dailiren #时光代理人 #link click

[poetryincostume]

With life and a back-breaking work schedule for a couple of years - until now, thank you greedy film studios - I have barely undertaken, nevermind finished, any personal sewing projects. This meant that when Star Wars Celebration returned to my neck of the woods this year I had no costumes to wear even if I had the energy to spend a day sweating and Uncomfy. But I needed something swarsy, even if just for a minute!

That led to me bashing this jacket together so I could put together a vaguely Hera Syndulla inspired look. The franchise and I may be at odds, but my general will always have my heart. Draped on the Tuesday night, made on the Wednesday, slip-stitched the lining in on Friday night after a day at the con and worn on the Saturday. I think the end result was quite lovely!

I called this a ‘doodle’, as I was effectively sketching the idea of a jacket with only a vague idea of what I wanted to achieve: a short cropped jacket, possibly a grown kimono collar and power shoulders since I already had XL raglan pads pinned to my dress form for the Arcane jacket I’ve been tooling with for a year and a half (and finally finished a month ago.)

The drape evolved into panels as there is one thing I love: unnecessary panelling. This also felt appropriately Swarsy. To lean into that Her Syndulla pilot/70’s workwear vibe I wanted a back yoke and vent. (You can tell this was a super quick project bc it has a side seam and these days I am morally opposed to side seams.)

Some semblance of shaped achieved I dove straight into smashing a pattern together from the drape, and decided that I would work out any issues as I went.

The main fabric is a coated scoured cotton I bought several years ago for a Hera jacket (inspired by the Lego series) so it’s come vaguely full circle back to it’s original intention. Ish.

As I was cutting I decided it needing piping! Yes! Piping is very fun and rebellionish, and another of my favourite things. It adds a lovely definition to panelling whilst also adding support to the fairly exaggerated silhouette. The piping was made from a stretching cotton twill that I dyed several years ago for an(other) abandoned Hera project.

The piping led to an abundance of topstitching as a lazy way to keep all seam allowances in place, and then becoming a tribute to Jyn Erso and her topstitching.

The jacket was then lined in a brown fine grosgrain that I inherited from a job, which was quickly slipped stitched in. I faced the cuffs with the wrong side of the main fabric to have a featured turn back.

The final look thrown together at the most exhausted, low-effort Celebration. I was aiming for cool modern Hera Syndulla but the end result was much more April O’Neill.

There are a number of grain issues, particularly with the back panels and vents that I didn’t particularly bother to finesse from the drape to the cutting. But it’s fine! It’s a funky little jacket for one event, no one got what I was going for but I did get some compliments. And most of all I got the satisfaction of actually making something from beginning to end in a period of exhausted personal sewing drought.

#project: celebration jacket #project: Hera syndulla #extant projects: 2023 #media: Star Wars #media: original #cosplay #bounding #sewing #poetry in costume #project: doodle

[morningwitchy]

Hello! I saw that the out of stock twill jackets are currently on back order, do you have an estimate as to when they'll be available again? Waiting with bated breath on the return of the ginkgo jacket <3

theyre in production right now, being sewn together i believe!! so i think maybe around may ill have a release date for them

[malevolent-muse]

A Winter's Kiss - Barisi Fan Fiction

Summary: Amidst winter’s frosty grasp, Sonny Carisi, now an Assistant District Attorney, stumbles upon his mentor-turned-lover, Rafael Barba. A familiar tie, a tender kiss, and a shared warmth in the cold air set the stage for a day filled with unexpected emotions and unspoken intentions.

[←Previous Work]

An icy breeze meandered through the Manhattan streets, tugging at the edges of coats and licking along the edges of people’s ears and noses. For a January morning, it was frigid. Pedestrians darted along the sidewalks and commuters poured out of taxis and ride-shares, seeking to arrive quickly at their destinations. The exhaust from the many vehicles produced a white fog in the air, swiftly carried away by the wind.

Out into this mist of cold air strode Dominick “Sonny” Carisi, newly minted Assistant District Attorney. A long wool coat that reached below his knees complemented his tall and lanky frame. In his hand, he held a fine black leather briefcase; a gift from his boyfriend.

Adjusting his grip on the handle of his bag, Sonny spotted a familiar figure standing near the courthouse. Bundled up against the cold, the man wore a blue-gray twill coat, a patterned scarf, and a three-piece suit. With the neatly trimmed beard framing his face, Rafael Barba was immediately recognizable.

“Rafael!” Sonny called, a smile coloring his lips as he approached his boyfriend. “What are you doing here?!”

“Dominick,” Barba greeted in return. “Or should I say ‘Counselor?’ I just wanted to stop by and wish you luck today.”

Sonny blushed as he said, “Well, to be honest, I couldn’t have done it without your guidance. But you didn’t need to come all the way down here, Rafa. I think you congratulated me plenty last night.”

A knowing smirk tickled at the corners of Barba’s lips, creasing the edges of his lips and the corners of his eyes.

When a passing car kicked up cold grime from the road, the pair of lawyers walked together for a few more feet until they arrived at the base of the imposing granite steps.

Shifting from one foot to the other to stave off the winter chill, the tips of Sonny’s ears and fingers were already red from the cold. As much as he enjoyed unexpectedly seeing his boyfriend, he didn’t fancy the idea of standing outside longer than was strictly necessary.

Sonny was just about to say that they should either make their way inside or go their separate ways when he noticed the orange tie Barba was wearing.

“I like your tie,” he said. “Isn’t it mine?”

“I bought you this tie. I’m allowed to borrow it.”

“In that case,” Sonny said, rolling his eyes, “it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

Barba’s eyes glinted mischievously as he stepped closer, his frosty breath mingling with Sonny’s in the cold winter air.

“I should get going,” Barba said. “And you look like you’re about to freeze solid.”

Reaching up, the older man buried his fingers in Sonny’s short hair. With a gentle hand, Barba pulled him down and pressed a tender kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

The warmth of Barba’s affection was enough to make the former detective forget the lingering touch of winter’s icy grasp. Sonny tried to follow the caress of lips with his own, but Barba pulled away too quickly.

“Honestly, Carisi,” Barba teased, “we can’t stand out here all day making out. Now get inside. You have work to do.”

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#barisi #lawyerboyfriends #rafael barba #sonny carisi #fanfic #svu #fanart #fan fic art #barisi svu

[likeniobe]

My name engraved herein Doth còntribute my firmness to this glass, Which, ever since that charm, hath been As hard as that which graved it was. Thine eyes will give it price enough to mock The diamonds of either rock. ’Tis much, that glass should be As all-confessing and through-shine as I; ’Tis more, that it shows thee to thee, And clear reflects thee to thine eye. But all such rules love’s magic can undo: Here you see me, and I am you. As no one point nor dash, Which are but àccessary to this name, The showers and tempests can outwash, So shall all times find me the same. You this entireness better may fulfil, Who have the pattern with you still. Or if too hard and deep This learning be for a scratched name to teach, It as a given death’s-head keep, Lovers’ mortality to preach, Or think this ragged, bony name to be My ruinous anatomy. Then, as all my souls be Imparadised in you, in whom alone I understand and grow and see, The rafters of my body, bone, Being still with you, the muscle, sinew and vein, Which tile this house, will come again. Till my return repair And recompact my scattered body so, As all the virtuous powers which are Fixed in the stars are said to flow Into such characters as gravèd be When those stars have supremacy, So, since this name was cut When Love and Grief their exaltation had, No door ’gainst this name’s influence shut: As much more loving as more sad ’Twill make thee; and thou shouldst, till I return, Since I die daily, daily mourn. When thy inconsiderate hand Flings out this casement, with my trembling name, To look on one whose wit or land New batt’ry to thy heart may frame, Then think this name alive, and that thou thus In it offend’st my Genius. And when thy melted maid, Corrupted by thy lover’s gold (and page), His letter at thy pillow’th laid, Disputed it, and tamed thy rage, And thou beginn’st to thaw t’wards him for this, May my name step in, and hide his. And if this treason go T’an overt act, and that thou write again, In superscribing, this name flow Into thy fancy from the pane. So, in forgetting thou rememb’rest right And unawares to me shalt write. But glass and lines must be No means our firm, substantial love to keep; Near death inflicts this lethargy, And this I murmur in my sleep: Impute this idle talk to that I go, For dying men talk often so.

john donne, "a valediction: of my name in the window," ca. 1599

#john donne #texts #16

[chronicallyonlinewriter]

Bright Fire, if you please

Bright Fire is fun. I started writing it, but it just never ended up going anywhere. Basically, Ellie and Joel make it to Bill and Frank's compound, but Bill and Frank are still there. Not much has changed - Frank is still sick, but because they're still alive they (they = Frank) insist they stay for a night, and rest up before continuing out west.

Joel considers pawning Ellie off on Bill, but it's very apparent he won't leave Frank, who doesn't have a lot of time left. There is angst about Tess, of course, who was a friend to Bill, and a dear friend to Frank.

It pretty much means everything to Ellie, meeting two queer men happily in love at the end of the world.

Small snip:

“Stay there.”

For once, Ellie didn’t need to be told twice. Joel approached the fence alone, the DANGER: HIGH VOLTAGE sign zip-tied to the chain-link already enough of a warning to curb any spark of defiance. She could hear it, anyway; the low hum resonating through the air, audible over the breeze and the twills of birds in the nearby trees – and this was far from the first electric fence she’d been around, so she knew better than to get too close to it.

She watched, instead, a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach; observed him shift on his feet slightly, hesitating for only a moment before he reached out, his hand still swollen, his knuckles scabbed and puffy. His thumb tapped a keypad quickly, six beeps stinging at her ears before a deeper hum groaned from the fence, a button on the keypad gleaming green. She didn’t miss the slight sigh of relief that pushed out of his lungs when the gate unlatched itself and swung open just a few inches, or the way he rounded his shoulders before he turned to face her again.

“Listen to me,” he said, and there was just enough gruffness in his voice to draw her gaze up to him. His jaw was set, his mouth a hard line. “You stay close. Don’t talk to ‘em, don’t answer any questions they ask you – I’ll handle everything. You keep that –” he gestured vaguely to her arm, neither her bite marks nor her bandages visible under her jacket sleeve, “covered the whole time. Y’hear me?”

“Sure thing,” she responded, somewhat dully. “You got a muzzle you want me to wear, while we’re at it?”

He didn’t answer; only huffed impatiently without bothering to rise to the bait, and she scowled even as he gestured for her to walk ahead of him. The gate groaned shut behind them, the latch snapping with a finality that severed the world outside, even if she could still see it between the metal links. That persistent hum immediately returned, prickling the hairs on Ellie's neck and setting her teeth on edge.

They walked together down a wide street now, her eyes sweeping across every building that they passed. She hadn’t known quite what to expect from Bill and Frank’s, but it certainly wasn’t this – what amounted to a whole town contained within electrified metal, the houses and other buildings comprised of peeling paint and sagging siding, but still whole, standing tall. Fall gnawed at the edges of summer here, and what the trees hadn’t managed to hold onto now blew across her feet, colorful leaves swirling in the wind and catching against the curbs. Ellie had never been in a place like this before; still filled with the remnants of Before, while so open, smelling of fresh air and crisp leaves. “How many people live here?” she asked, finally noticing that she’d begun to lag behind his much longer strides, and jogging to catch up.

“Just Bill and Frank,” he replied, though his mind seemed to be elsewhere, his gaze focused on a large white house looming on their left. 

It was by far the largest one on the street, the paint a little less faded, the grass more neatly shorn. There were colorful flowers set into two large clay pots at either side of a white-painted wooden gate at the edge of the yard, and Ellie paused in front of one of them, bending down to sniff at the bright orange blossoms experimentally. “Don’t touch anything,” he called over his shoulder. Ellie, sure he wasn't looking, quickly squeezed a petal between her fingers. It gave away quickly, darkening and becoming slick against her skin, and she wiped her hand off against her jeans just as he paused, turning to look at her with an expectant expression. “C’mon.”

They didn’t even manage to make it halfway down the walkway before the door to the house burst open. “Oh, shit,” Ellie breathed, and it was instinct that made her duck behind Joel. A broad figure, his scruffy face contorted in a mask of fury, stormed down the porch steps, a shotgun clutched tight in his hands and the muzzle aimed right at them. She shot a panicked glance at Joel, expecting some decisive action, a whispered instruction, maybe even a mirror image of the weapon currently pointed at them. But he only grunted slightly, his fingers twisting over the pistol still holstered at his side but not drawing it free.

“Seriously?” he asked, clearly unimpressed. 

“The hell you think you’re doing?” the man practically barked, his eyes still squinting down the barrel of his gun. “You just show up, don’t even radio ahead –”

“Didn’t have time, Bill,” said Joel impatiently. “Put the damn gun down.”

“Who is that?” Bill demanded, the shotgun dipping momentarily towards Ellie's direction as she peered around Joel’s back. Before she could react, Joel, with unexpected swiftness, moved a step sideways, placing himself squarely between her and the barrel of the gun – and this surprised her more than she would have liked it to. “Easy, there,” said Joel, his voice edged with warning. “We’re just passin’ through. Headin’ west, figured we’d stop here for supplies. You owe me after that last run, Bill –”

“I owe you – what, is this a damn joke–”

“Bill!” Another voice echoed from within the house, laced with exasperation. The shotgun dipped momentarily, Bill's jaw clenching like a vise. He didn't relax, eyes still narrowed at them, but his shoulders slumped, his righteous fury simmering down to a grudging suspicion. “For god’s sake, Bill, will you put that thing down?” The door to the house still stood wide open behind him, and there was a heavy thud from somewhere inside.

“Frank!” Bill turned on his heel, disappearing into the house without another glance at them. They could hear him inside of the house; more thumps following a string of muffled cursing.

“Dude.” Ellie took a step back from Joel. “What the fuck. I thought these were, like…friends of yours.”

“Just…stay here,” Joel huffed, shaking his head – and then he left her, too, disappearing into the house, his hand drifting away from his pistol with every step. 

#the last of us #tlou #ao3 #fanfic #joel miller #fanfiction #Ellie

[callsignthirsty]

#17 "When I get home I expect you to be undressed and waiting on all fours for me." With Cyclone 🫣

@deadratio — come get your man Also, big thanks to @purelyfiction who helped me a whole helluva lot with this. You're the best ❤️

Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x F!Reader Word Count: 1830 Warnings: Masturbation, dirty talk, phone sex (kinda-sorta-almost), daddy Minors DNI

Smut Prompt #17

There's something about coming home to an empty home that makes you just… well. As your keys find their home on the hall tree, you fail to place the feeling that falls over your home like a shadow each time Beau leaves. Even the armchair in the living room — your usual perch, book in hand as the wall clock ticks in the background — feels wrong now as the quiet lingering and longing settle deep into your bones.

"Yearning," you mumble as epiphany strikes. You've given up on your book, having only gotten a couple of pages in before realizing that you'd absorbed none of the words.

He's been away at conferences since you'd gotten together, but this is the first time a conference has been delayed — curse the weather in upstate New York. As it is, the conference began the very day it was supposed to end, and now as the sun continues to blaze a trail through the sky, there's no time to pop open a bottle of red. You help yourself to a heavy-handed pour and check the time in New York.

7:48 PM.

It isn't even 5:00 PM on the west coast, and Beau's undoubtedly seated around some dinner table making polite conversation with some admiral or another.

Beau would've been home by that time had your time zones been the same. Khakis creased from a day of desk work, skin tacky from roasting in his office with nothing but the admin building's ancient AC unit to combat the San Diego sun. He'd slide into his spot behind you while you finished dinner. Press a kiss into the curve of your neck as his arms wrap around you, biceps testing the limits of the cotton twill as the lingering scent of his body wash lights up something in the fuzzy reaches of your hindbrain, and he towers over you. Cradles you to his chest. Praises your efforts for the day and beckons in the night.

It's hardly night now, though, as you, your glass, and your pinot finds your way to the bedroom. A sigh escapes your lips when you see how empty the bed is. It's not that you're surprised. You knew it would be empty. But it's one thing knowing and another seeing.

You feel like a new woman after one incredibly indulgent bath and three glasses of wine. Not a less lonely one, but certainly different.

You don't bother dressing as you return to your shared bedroom and make a home for the remaining pinot on your bedside table atop a coaster. A smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush the coaster. You couldn't have given two shits about condensation rings on your furniture before Beau, but Beau had opinions. It was one of the many ticks that had you smitten with the vice admiral.

Stretched out on the duvet, you sigh again in defeat, boredom, and yearning. The wine and the bath have made everything warm, but you aren't ready to go to sleep yet, so instead, you stare at your phone's lock screen. Your finger traces over his cheek, and the phone's screen warps. You click the screen off and back on until Beau smiles back at you. This photo is a closely-guarded favorite. A side of your Beau that no one else gets to see immortalized in 4K. The Beau who stirs beside you in the early hours of the morning and rouses you with whisper-soft kisses across your shoulders. Some mornings, those kisses move in one of two ways.

Lashes flutter closed with an alcohol-fueled whine. You'd give the world to feel the mattress dip beneath Beau's weight beside you. His steady breathing at your side as he slips into one of his deep sleep sessions. To trace mindless patterns across his arms until he woke with a shiver. Until he'd gather you to his chest and roll on top of you, voice raspy as he asks if his princess needs attention.

She does, you think to yourself, blinking back to your lock screen and Beau's smiling face. It takes fumbling hands long seconds to unlock your phone and tap on Beau's contact. The phone rings, and you can see him in your mind's eye. Dressed in his service blues, a political smile, Warlock at his side.

A second ring. Your tongue feels heavy as you try to think of what you'll say past the 'baby, I miss you' that runs on a loop through your mind. Would you ask him to step outside and entertain you for a while?

"You've reached the voicemail box of Rear Admiral Beau Simpson. I am currently unavailable. Please leave your name and number, and I will return your call as soon as feasible. Thanks."

Beep.

Your lips move before your brain can catch up. "I think you know my name, Admiral," your voice sounds like velvet brushed backward to your own ears. "It sounded so pretty coming off your lips when you were unavailable with me before you left." You bite at your bottom lip even as it curls into a grin. This is different from where you thought the night would take you, but the wine appears to have both you and Beau's voicemail along for the ride. "I wish you were here with me," you confess as your fingers trace the folds of the duvet. "Beside me. Inside me."

Your cheeks heat, suddenly hot between your thighs. "Fuck," you whine, "I'm so empty, Beau." Your legs fall apart of their own accord as you roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to conjure images of his handsome face. The spark that lights his eyes when he has you exactly where he wants you. Wanton. On your back. Calloused hands inspecting every inch of your body as if he expects there to be a test later. His tongue leaving cold trails across your skin. How perfectly he melds with you, stretching you wide. The little grunts that sneak out as he husks your name into the curve of your neck.

Oh, if only he were here. But he isn't, so it's your hand that drifts to your splayed legs, your fingers that gather and spread the slickness that accumulates at just the thought of him. "God, Daddy," you gasp, "wish you could feel how wet I am. See how much I've missed you." The last word trails off on a moan, lost as two of your fingers slowly enter your aching cunt. It's nowhere near the satisfying burn of his fingers. There's simply no comparison. Another whimper falls from your lips as you try to satisfy your burning desire. "Can you hear it, daddy? How wet your baby is?" you ask as you drive your fingers back in with a wet squelch that you hope the phone picks up.

"It's not the same," you gasp, brows drawn in disappointment. "My fingers are too small." A third finger joins the two already pumping in and out of you, and your breath hitches. "They don't feel the same. Don't feel as good." Your head tips back, mind recalling pleasured snippets of past encounters, touches that continue to burn you even though he's an entire country away. Your legs tense, shaking at the recollection of endless nights, his cock splitting you apart, your own voice echoing, calling his name in the pleasured silence of memory until a quiet, desperate "Beau" slips past your lips and onto the recording.

'Look at what a good girl you're being for Daddy.' You can practically hear him, and the imagined praise has your back arching, fingers curling. 'Aww, Princess, you feel so good on Daddy's cock.'

The air in the room is thick, hard to gulp down as your fingers continue to work at your core even as a cramp builds in your wrist. Sound leaves you freely, your mind and body too loose from the wine to be self-conscious as you writhe and whimper. "Daddy," another lewd cry.

You have no idea how long you've been like this. Ear pressed to the phone as you chase your high. You don't dare pull away for fear that you'll break the spell that's fallen over you, and the ball in your stomach is so tight. "But you're not here," you say, and a breathless laugh almost leaves you at the absurdity of the situation. "Guess I'll just have to take care of myself tonight." You wet your lips with a flick of your tongue. "Sweet dreams, Daddy."

The phone slips from your hand as the call ends, and your attention narrows until you're solely focused on the pleasure zinging through your veins. Each movement of your fingers is strategically matched with a hand-picked memory from the vault in the bank of your mind. Your palm rolls over your clit, knowing that your fingers won't be able to reach the spot within you that Beau can — the one deep within you that makes your stomach flip, jaw fall slack, and eyes roll back. The way his cock pushes deep with each thrust, hips crashing into yours as if he can't stand to be anywhere but buried to the hilt in your heat.

Your legs twitch to circle his hips, desperate for it. For him. This doesn't compare. Not in the slightest. But it does the job.

A hiss and a silent cry escape into the early evening, splotches of white obscuring your vision. It's nothing compared to the heights Beau will take you to when he gets home, but the pleasure rolls through your veins all the same and makes your lids heavy.

It's sometime later that your phone buzzes from its place on the ground, and you scramble to pick it up. But it's only a promotional text.

It's 10:07 PM in New York.

If previous conferences are anything to go by, Beau's night is still going strong. And you had called him in the middle of it to desperately plead for him to come home and take care of you. Begged. Whined.

Wine.

The pinot sits where you left it on the nightstand, the glass empty but enough of a nightcap left in the bottle to carry you back to dreams of brawny arms wrapped around your waist and hot breath puffed against the back of your neck as you press your nose into Beau's pillow and breathe him in.

When sunlight spills across the bed to wake you the next morning, you find yourself refreshed. In your pre-caffeine haze, you go about your morning routine before you return to bed with a piping cup of coffee and the book you'd abandoned the night previous.

Your phone buzzes on the bedside table with several notifications. Among them is a photo of an updated ticket from ALB to SAN. But that's not all.

Daddy: When I get home, I expect you to be undressed and waiting on all fours for me.

#thirsty answers #thirsty's smut prompt list #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau cyclone simpson x f!reader #female reader #cyclone x reader #top gun smut #top gun smut prompt #user: deadratio #user: purelyfiction #no beta we die like goose #i'm running on fumes posting this #we'll all be reading this for the first time in the morning

[zaritarazi]

onwards (six of crows red dead redemption franchise au)

There’s a suspicious lull, a rare window in the time they have to finish their meal before nightfall, when business really begins. “And what about the man that’s been following you?”

Jesper points to himself, muscle-memory or habit, and when Inej shakes her head, his sort of general nonchalance turns quickly. He looks to Kaz with “You’re being followed?” 

It’s the nonresponse that makes the situation worse, Kaz pointedly ignoring the way the room’s turn to pin the light on him as he pretends to finish his meal.

“By-” Jesper offers, to fill the space. “Not by anyone important, right? Not a lawman. Right?” He tilts his head forward, a gesture that’s supposed to goad Kaz into making the next sentence. “You wouldn’t just-”

And maybe Kaz had only kept the pretense of his meal so he could toss down his fork, a gesture that makes Wylan jump. “I am being… pestered,” Kaz says, and he would shoot Wylan some kind of look of sympathy, but he first has to glare at Inej. 

It's not entirely shocking, how intensely she returns it.

“An accountant,” Kaz says, looking to his lap, tossing his napkin on his plate. “And mostly just a nuisance.”

The light above them glows too brightly, filament not spaced out quite right, and it holds the silence of the room trying to gauge where Kaz has hidden the half-truth in his statement. 

That’s the fun thing about Kaz. The lie might not be there yet- It might not come until later. He likes to hide it, likes to watch everyone sift for the story first.

“An accountant?” Nina asks. “Like a tax man?”

“A tax-man is just another word for Pinkerton,” Kaz says.

“So what, then,” Jesper says. “Like… a debt collector?”

“Who’s going to collect on Kaz?” Wylan asks. 

Kaz validates him with an errant point of his index finger. “And who would know we’re stranded up here?”

“That is a great question,” Nina says. “So what’s the answer, Kasimir?”

“You’re all so dense,” he snaps. “No one knows we’re here. I’m being lightly tailed, sometimes, by a local. Someone from around here.”

“Matthias,” Inej says. “Can’t you do what makes you useful?”

Matthias pulls his attention from the window and the darkening night sky. “What?”

“Inej wants you to beat up an accountant,” Nina says.

“Any one of us could beat up an accountant,” Inej says. “You know the area.”

“You’d like me to go through every accountant…” Matthias says. “In Fjedra?”

“I’ll draw him, if Kaz describes him,” Wylan says.

“Inej can describe him,” Kaz says, holding out his hand to her, a mockery of an offering. “Since she’s been paying such close attention.”

“I haven’t lived in these mountains since I was ten years old,” Matthias says. “How am I going to know?”

“Maybe he’s from the capital,” Jesper says.

“Matthias isn’t good with faces,” Nina says. “His memory lapses from time to time.”

“I remember everything that’s ever happened to me,” Matthias says. “What I choose to disclose-”

“Are you two fighting, still?” Jesper says. “I wasn’t sure if you were passing it off to the other two, or if you’d made up- I’ve seen him drag himself to your room right before the sun rises, but-”

“I don’t know,” Matthias says. “Nina prefers to surprise me.”

“Oh, we’re talking about surprises?” Nina says.

“He’s tall,” Inej interrupts, putting her hand down on the table, looming beside Kaz. “He wears a very fine suit. Whoever he is, he’s very rich.”

“Accountants are rich,” Kaz says. 

“You should’ve been an accountant, then,” Inej grouses. 

“I’m well aware, Inej dear,” Kaz says. “But how could I deny you the pleasure of the backwater mountains of this frozen, horrible country?”

“This is a beautiful country,” Matthias seethes. “But… there are not many rich men. Not many who are very rich, I mean.”

“I don’t know how you’d like me to draw this,” Wylan says. “What kind of suit is it? Did he have a vest, or just a jacket? Was he wearing a tie? Black? Navy? What’s the twill? Single or double breasted?”

“He looked like he worked at a funeral parlor,” Inej says.

Kaz shrugs. “Maybe he has two jobs.”

#six of crows #soc fic #soc au #capinejghafa #tovezza #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #matthias helvar #my fic #this one is going to be... long. and maybe never end #anyway in this scene kaz will not tell people he's being stalked by... you know ;)

[davesbigwhirlwind]

Maturing Fast - Part 3

My dad made clear I would be punished for breaking the rules, but I wouldn't receive the punishment until the weekend - and that the severity of the punishment would depend on me not breaking ANY further rules in the meantime. I had to act - and look - like an angel. Literally. Monday night was awful. I wasn't allowed to watch TV or even change out of my uniform. Instead my dad showed me how to bull my shoes. 2 hours later and my already ridiculously shiny shoes were now reflecting my face in them. Grim. Tuesday morning and I was watched like a hawk as I was instructed on what to do. More pomade on my hair. slick it further back. Create a bounce in the quiff at the front. Put your glasses on. Make sure your tie is straight.... I sighed my reflection today hadn't improved any from yesterday. Today my parents were taking no chances - my mum dropped me off right at the school gate much to the delight of my mates. There was no opportunity to try and alter my appearance before anyone saw me, and the derision was so much worse than yesterday. Everyone was loving that this once trendy guy in front of them had been totally transformed into a four-eyed, side-parted, formally attired, nerd, who was without doubt the most conservatively dressed person in the school. Even a couple of the teachers were commenting on my very sudden dramatic change in appearance - and I'm sure I caught at least a couple of them smirking. My form teacher told me that my mum had been in touch - if there was so much as a hair out of place on my head, then this was going to be reported immediately back to my parents and I knew the consequences. The week continued like this, with the kids trying to wind me up more and more - they'd take my glasses or scuff my shoes, or see what they could get to stick in my greasy hair. But each day I was forced to turn up looking like the class joke. It was so clear that no-one in their right mind would choose to look like this, and I was now clearly under the thumb of someone much older and draconian. My appearance was no longer down to me, it was dictated by someone who thought it was a good idea to look like a 1950s throwback. My relationship with my group of mates quickly became more distanced. I wasn't allowed to hang out with them after school, and even trying to play a proper game of football was difficult in these shoes with the slippery soles and rigid construction - but ultimately, they just didn't want to hang out with a nerd. And it was clear to all, that, despite all my years of being a normal, relatively trendy guy, now counted for nothing - and my haircut acting as clearly as a light up sign placed on top of my head - I was - suddenly and totally - a nerd. I was trapped in formality. By Friday afternoon I was just looking forward to the break from the humiliation. My dad met me at the school gates and told me we were going to get some weekend clothes for me. This didn't sound good. At the shops my dad guided me round. First stop was for some check shirts in a variety of shades of creams and blues. Next stop was trousers. Some green twill trousers, blue corduroys and then a pair of fawn trousers were all selected - as if I'd wear any of this stuff? I was so frustrated. Then to cap it all off, a brown tweed jacket was added to the pile. This was like something out of an old-fashioned country magazine photoshoot. No one dressed like this. Despite my protests the items were all bought. Then it was a return to the shoe shop where a pair of very sensible brown brogues were purchased. My grandad owned a very similar pair. As did my dad. That figured.

Back home the bombshell hit me - all my old clothes had been removed. I asked where they'd gone, and was told it didn't matter - I wouldn't need them now. The old clothes weren't appropriate. I went to bed totally dejected, and absolutely exhausted. What would I need to do in order to get back control of how I look? I was woken on the Saturday morning with a call that we were going out shortly, and I was to get ready. The normal routine followed. Shower. Pomade. Comb. It was like a military process, but I did it as I just didn't want the hassle. I was broken after the week's taunts, and being haunted by the image of the boy with the slick side parting, goofy clothes and monstrous glasses. Going through to the bedroom my prescribed outfit had been set out. cream check shirt. Blue cords. Brown socks. Brown brogues. I started negotiating. Pleading. What if one of my friends saw me? Surely I'd been through enough? I'd already had to ensure the forced new look at school, surely I deserved a break. And this is the 90s, not the 70s - parents don't dictate what their children wear. My dad told me that, especially as I had yet to have my punishment I'd better do what I was told or else. I got dressed. It was horrible. The heavy cords made my legs feel weird and hot, and the brogues were really heavy and clumpy, while the shirt was the ugliest, most out-dated thing I'd ever seen. "And why aren't you wearing your glasses? You must always wear your glasses now. You need them, and they really suit you - they complement your look perfectly. You are now a formally dressed young man, and your hair and your glasses are part of that now. This is who you are. " No. Just no. Nothing about how I looked suited me. It suited an old age pensioner, not a teenager!!! The tweed jacket was thrust at me. I put it on. Yet again defeated, humiliated and angry. I looked in the mirror. The outfit looked just like one my dad would wear. That was the point, I guess - humiliation, but how long would it go on for? We were soon outside the barber again. "Time to smarten you up again" my dad said. I was bemused, as my hair hadn't had a chance to grow since the butchering of a week ago. As we went in, the barber was clearly equally bemused - though I wasn't sure if that was fully because of the lack of time since my last visit or my extreme new look. He commented how mature I looked. Yuck. My dad said that I had had some trouble earlier in the week with keeping my hair in order, so he wanted to sort it out. The barber asked if he was thinking a crewcut - "2 all over is no maintenance" was his suggestion. However my dad said no -"to be honest, if his behaviour doesn't improve, he'll be lucky not to be shaved to the bone, but for now, he's still getting use to having a more formal look, and I've made allowances for that - though I'll tolerate no more rule breaking - but I do think the side parting really suits his new look, and he'll soon grow to appreciate it. It just needs to be a bit shorter so that he can't muss it up, but so it still sits smartly and lies down as it should, especially while his hair gets used to growing in a side part." Tha barber said "ok, well how about we start with a number 2 on the back and sides and see how we go from there?" My dad agreed. How could my hair get any shorter? I already had less than about a fifth of the hair of almost anyone else in the school had. I was soon caped up - and then the barber lifted the heavy glasses off my face. The room went a bit blurry. It was amazing how quickly my eyes had adjusted to needing the glasses. Soon there was vibrating at the side of my face. The blade made its way up my head before the barber flicked outwards as he got near to the front hairline. I could just make out a dark fuzz that was left in the place of the hair. This continued around my head as the barber pushed my head forwards and ran the clippers tight up the back of my head. It was the first time I'd ever had clippers used on my head, and the vibration through my skull wasn't pleasant. Especially as it made it abundantly clear that this was going to be a really short haircut. "How's it looking?" the barber asked once he'd completed the other side. "I definitely think shorter at the bottom" my dad answered - "I'm thinking only the merest hint of hair around the hairline and then blending smoothly up to the hair at the top" I'd run out of any disbelief that things couldn't get any worse. I felt I must surely be in some sort of hellish dream that I would wake up from. The barber nodded and took the guard off the clippers. The bare blade was then run a good half inch up the side of my head. Then at the back I could feel the clippers running much higher. The skin on my head was getting really hot. Different guards and levers were then used as he worked over and over the sides of my head as he inched higher and higher. He then took his comb and started blending the top of my hair with the now skinned sides. Any remaining bulk of hair on the sides of my head had been removed leaving just a like pelt before joining the, now - in comparison - relatively long hair on the top. My dad confirmed the sides were looking much better, so discussion turned as to what to do on the top. "As the part is so far over to the side, I think we just thin it out on that side, as the hair is already much shorter now, and it's just the right length to lie down. While on the other side, I can take it a bit shorter at the front if you want - maybe down another half inch, though then it won't be long enough to flip over at the front, but it will just have to lie straight across his head, as I'll thin it out more as well, so it will have no choice but to follow the part. That was agreed and soon the thinning shears were thrashing through my hair, and then the little hair that was left at the front was brushed down once more and then cut again at the stupid angle, but this time starting about a third of the way up my forehead, rather than at my eye. He then worked around the edges with a straight razor removing the tiny hairs that had replaced the hair that I had been left with the previous week, creating once more a smart freshly-barbered edge around my head. He then once more shaved in the part line on my head, and then placed the razor at the very top of my ear and scraping downwards, removing the small tab of hair that signposted where my once glorious sideburns had been. He explained that it made more sense to remove this hair altogether, given that as I now wear glasses it looks much smarter to have the hair stop at the level of the arm of my glasses. I thought it all looked totally ridiculous. The required dollop of pomade was then vigorously applied and then a comb was used to put everything into place - however, where as last time there had been a flourish where a small wave was created across the top of my head and through the quiff at the front, this time the comb was just dragged tightly across my head creating straight lines running perpendicular from the horrid white part line that was shaved into my skull. The barber handed me my glasses and my head swam into focus. It was much worse than before. My head now looked even smaller. My face looked gaunt, while the little hair that was remaining on the top of my head was plastered down - reminding me of how an old man might have his hair fixed to try and cover his bald spot. Only I was 15 not 75. The glasses on my face now looked even larger, and were the main defining feature now, and were exactly what the balding pensioner who has my haircut would choose to wear. Then I moved my head to the side and gasped. There was a big band of white skin glowing half way up my head with only the lightest stubble which then blended lightly into the little hair that was left on top of my head. No one at school had short hair. Razor cuts were only for people in the military. The barber showed me the back - it was even worse with a sea of pale white scalp rising three quarters of the way up my head before any sort of length of hair was allowed to grow. And now devoid of hair it highlighted the strange shape of my skull that jutted out at the back. It was a freak show. My dad was delighted - "that will be much easier for him to keep, and to be honest, is probably a good cut for him to keep now summer is coming" I shot him evils. The barber commented how nice it was to see a father taking such an interest in making sure his son was properly turned out. The barber suggested that if I wanted to keep this military horror of a haircut, then I should come back every 2 weeks to ensure it didn't get too bushy and the skinned sides remained visible. My dad enthusiastically nodded. With the shorter, smartest haircut any young guy would hate to wear, and clothes that only an old man could think were wearable, it surely couldn’t get any worse - but would my parent ever listen to compromise?

#forced haircut #nerdification #forced makeover #age progression #tf story #formally dressed

[sewercentipede]

Cold blows the wind over my true love

Cold blows the drops of rain

I never had but one true love

And in Camville he was slain

I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may

I'll sit and weep down by his grave for twelve month and one day

But when twelve months were come and gone

This young man he arose

What makes you weep down by my grave?

I can't take my repose

One kiss, one kiss of your lily white lips, one kiss is all I crave

One kiss, one kiss of your lily white lips and return back to your grave

My lips they are as cold as my clay

My breath is heavy and strong

If thou was to kiss my lily white lips

Thy days would not be long

Oh don't you remember the garden grove where we used to walk

Pluck the finest flower of them all, twill wither to a stalk

Go fetch me a nun from the dungeon deep

And water from a stone

And white milk from a maiden's breast,

That babe ere never known

Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep as quickly as you may

I'll lie down in it and take one sleep for twelve month and one day

#ween #cold blows the wind #the mollusk #lyrics #music #Spotify

[caesarflickermans]

What's sparked the rebellion? Was it Katniss' volunteering for Prim, Rue’s death, the berries, or was it before all of that?

How does many THG victors joined or being recruited for the rebellion?

Thoughts?

Thank you 😊

@curiousnonny

What's sparked the rebellion? Was it Katniss' volunteering for Prim, Rue’s death, the berries, or was it before all of that?

i'd reject the notion that there's "the rebellion". if we talk about the capitol group around plutarch (and tigris and cressida and caesar) then we inevitably are talking about people who

"[...] have been, for several years, part of an undercover group aiming to overthrow the Capitol" (CF)

but that means little to bonnie and twill, where their home district has only been plotting since the 74th games, so roughly six months at best:

Ever since the Hunger Games, the discontent in District 8 had been growing. It was always there, of course, to some degree. But what differed was that talk was no longer sufficient, and the idea of taking action went from a wish to a reality. The textile factories that service Panem are loud with machinery, and the din also allowed word to pass safely, a pair of lips close to an ear, words unnoticed, unchecked. (CF)

in mockingjay, haymitch asks during what moment katniss alone had touched the rebels. many come up with different opinions, and while i'd argue it's the accumulation, the total sum of them all, that made katniss the mockingjay, personal rebellion, the want to revolt, can start at many different times:

"[...] So, let's all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone to think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where she made you feel something real." (MJ)

The moments begin to come thick and fast and in no particular order. When I took Rue on as an ally. Extended my hand to Chaff on interview night. Tried to carry Mags. And again and again when I held out those berries that meant different things to different people. Love for Peeta. Refusal to give in under impossible odds. Defiance of the Capitol's inhumanity. (MJ)

so i'd say there's many different moments for the 74th in particular, and for rebellion in general.

but i'd like to return to the captiol rebellion, because that's my small litte niche interest, and i'd like to point to several things here:

SC: Propaganda decides the outcome of the war. This is why Plutarch implements the airtime assault; he understands that whoever controls the airwaves controls the power. Like Snow, he’s been waiting for Katniss, because he needs a Spartacus to lead his campaign. There have been possible candidates, like Finnick, but no one else has captured the imagination of the country like she has. (Collins interview, 10th anniversary)

“Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too,” I say. “You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!” I can't help laughing, really laughing, for the first time in months. Peeta just shakes his head like I've lost my mind—and maybe I have, a little. “Almost, but not quite,” says Haymitch from behind us. I whip around, afraid he's going to be angry over us watching his tape, but he just smirks and takes a swig from a bottle of wine. So much for sobriety. I guess I should be upset he's drinking again, but I'm preoccupied with another feeling. (CF)

those statements have made me develop a theory, namely that plutarch gained inspiration from haymitch's games and the first bread crumbs of a rebellion began right then and there. haymitch's backstory is given a whole chapter in catching fire, and it feels a rather purposeful decision to give so much time to the second quarter quell. outside of the obvious "haymitch's end is shown as a warning to the younger generation and serves as a warning to katniss and peeta, too" i feel like the connection with the rebellion nonetheless exists: the forcefield. using the forcefield against the capitol happens in both, an it was enough to make me think:

what if plutarch gained inspiration from the second quarter quell, and in turn haymitch's games, and began to think on a rebellion through using the arena to his advantage? he is young enough for it to aid in his ambition to become head gamemaker--a strong enough person who can manipulate and aid from the outside.

katniss and haymitch are mirrors of the other, so why not a mirror in this regard, too? after all, we know that plutarch has been waiting for a mockingjay for at least ten years--since finnick's games, as SC mentioned him--so his initial inspiration lies before that. there's no other relevant event mentioned other than the second quarter quell.

How does many THG victors joined or being recruited for the rebellion?

this, again, is my personal headcanon.

other than haymitch, the other person of note we know existed back then was caesar flickerman. he's seen interviewing haymitch. i headcanon caesar to have been in his first years of his career, and having went from excited to reserved; he's noticed there's something off, that the capitol has been manipulating their perception on the games, and he's grown to resent what they present. with a closer touch to the tributes, plutarch decides on the brave step of recruiting caesar to the cause--not without some hiccups.

together, they are the mind (plutarch) and the heart (caesar) of the rebellion. plutarch does the planning, recruits the spies, finds opportunities to exploit the system where he can. caesar recruits the victors; he's always been close to them, always been kind (katniss herself observes that about caesar). caesar is the best person to ask for propaganda on both sides; he can let tributes rise and fall, he can determine who receives attention an who does not. he can use the interviews to the advantage of the rebellion.

out of all people within the capitol, katniss is in contact with people who are directly responsible to her district. her prep team. cinna. portia. effie. outside of those, she only really is in contact with caesar. and caesar, in contrast to the other ones, knows every tribute, every victor.

if you are planning a rebellion through the arena, you'd ideally want someone on your side who can read the tributes and their potential, and who would be close enough to recruit them without making it seem suspicious.

caesar is the only one who fits that bill, and he's the best person to recruit the victors.

#thgmeta #curiousnonny #plutarch heavensbee #caesar flickerman #plutarch's rebellion #the hunger games #thg

[stasiaorleanka]

The Dying Veteran- Walt Whitman

Amid these days of order, ease, prosperity, Amid the current songs of beauty, peace, decorum, I cast a reminiscence--(likely 'twill offend you, I heard it in my boyhood;)--More than a generation since, A queer old savage man, a fighter under Washington himself, (Large, brave, cleanly, hot-blooded, no talker, rather spiritualistic, Had fought in the ranks--fought well--had been all through the Revolutionary war,) Lay dying--sons, daughters, church-deacons, lovingly tending him, Sharping their sense, their ears, towards his murmuring, half-caught words: "Let me return again to my war-days, To the sights and scenes--to forming the line of battle, To the scouts ahead reconnoitering, To the cannons, the grim artillery, To the galloping aides, carrying orders, To the wounded, the fallen, the heat, the suspense, The perfume strong, the smoke, the deafening noise; Away with your life of peace!--your joys of peace! Give me my old wild battle-life again!"

This made me cry. It is sad to look at our revolutionary boys like old people, dying.

The new generacion do not understand their feelings and THAT YOUNG MEN FULL OF LIFE DURING THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR , (who managed to survive) started to be a older people, dying from an old age, and their children were then young as they were during the war.  The new generation witnessed the death of Washington's soldiers and it all happened 200 years ago I'M CRYING AGAIN.

Link to the poem-

https://www.online-literature.com/walt-whitman/leaves-of-grass/338/

#amrev #alexander hamilton #john laurens #18th century #lams #historical hamilton #historical lams #hamliza #revolutionary war #american revolutionary war #american history #amrev fandom #poems and poetry #walt whitman #battle #crying again

[cosmicjoke]

I’m dyin’, bro.  I’m dyin’.  God damn...

So... I got to the part where Lestat returns to Gretchen in the rain forest in South America, and I sincerely mean it, I don’t think I’ve ever been more messed up by anything I’ve ever read.  This just eviscerated my heart.  Everything I’ve been saying in every post I’ve made about this book up until now seems confirmed and to reach it’s climactic, tragic conclusion here.  I’m just devastated.

Of course, this had eerie and heartbreaking similarities to Louis’ encounter with Babette from “IWTV”, when he reveals himself to her finally, after helping her for so long, and her reaction to him is one of total fear and horror.  The same exact thing happens to Lestat here with Gretchen, and it’s just... I don’t have the words.

This whole scene is such an awful, breathtakingly sad affirmation for Lestat of all his worst beliefs about himself, this affirmation for him of his monstrosity, of his evil. 

The way it plays out, with Lestat once again having visions of Claudia, laughing at him, telling him how he’s going to hurt Gretchen, and him begging her to leave, swearing he doesn’t want to hurt her at all, it feels genuinely like Lestat is suffering from post traumatic stress.  The way he keeps seeing the hospital he took Claudia from so long ago, the way he keeps seeing Claudia herself, and envisioning her laughter and her condemnations of him, it’s like shell shock, like he’s suffering flashbacks of this traumatic moment, haunted by his own sense of guilt and horror at what he’s done, at what he is, at this thing he’s chosen to once again become. 

But just... Gretchen’s reaction to Lestat, the way he tries to tell her who he is, to implore with her to believe him, that he was telling her the truth, and just to see her recoil from him, and call him a liar, just this total, horrific rejection from her of him, I just... can’t believe how tragic this was.  Because it’s like the confirmation of this belief in Lestat that to be what he is, to be who he is, is to be unloved.  That to be who he is is to be alone.  She sees him in his true form, and she hates him, she reviles him.  He had this woman’s love, and now she’s utterly repulsed by him, and terrified of him, and sees him as a demon and a devil.  It’s so fucked up.  It so fucking sad.

The imagery of Lestat holding out the money to her, trying to give it to her to help with her mission, was one of the saddest, most heartrending visuals I think I’ve ever read.

“I’m here, Gretchen.  I’ve come to thank you.  Here, let me give you this for your mission.”

Stupidly, I reached into my pockets; I withdrew the lucre of the Body Thief in thick handfuls and held it out, my fingers trembling as her fingers trembled, the money looking soiled and foolish, like so much rubbish.

“Take it, Gretchen.  Here.  I twill help the children.”

And then this fucking part, after she keeps questioning him again and again as to who he is, despite him trying over and over to tell her...

“Lestat, whom you nursed in your own house, Gretchen.  Gretchen, I’ve recovered my true form.  I came because I promised you I would come.”

I could scarcely bear it, my old anger kindling as the fear intensified in her, as her shoulders stiffened and her arms came tightly together, and the hand clenching the chain at her neck began to shake.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, in the same strangled whisper, her entire body recoiling though she did not even take a step.

“No, Gretchen.  Don’t look at me in fear or as if you despise me.  What have I done to you that you should look at me that way?  You know my voice.  You know what you did for me.  I came to thank you-”

“Liar!”

“No, that’s not true.  I came because... because I wanted to see you again.”

Lord God, was I weeping?  Were my emotions now as volatile as my power?  And she would see the blood in streaks on my face and it would scare her even more.  I could not bear to look in her eyes.

And then she starts really railing against him, and again, this whole section just screwed me up man

“Gretchen, don’t be afraid of me.  In the name of truth, look at me.  You made me promise I would come.  Gretchen, I didn’t lie to you.  You saved me.  I am here, and there is no God, Gretchen, you told me so.  From anyone else it wouldn’t have mattered, but you said it yourself.”

Her hands went to her lips as she drew back, the little chain falling loose so that I saw the gold cross in the candle’s light.  Oh, thank God, a cross not a locket!  She stepped back again.  She could not stop the impulsive motion.

Her words came in a low faltering whisper:

“Get away from me, unclean spirit!  Get out of this house of God!”

“I won’t hurt you!”

“Get away from these little ones!”

“Gretchen.  I won’t hurt the children.”

“In the name of God, get away from me... go.”

“... Go out of this house.  God himself protects it.  He protects the children.  Go.”

“In the name of truth, Gretchen,” I answered, my voice as low as hers, and as full of feeling.  “I lay with you!  I am here.”

“Liar,” she hissed.  “Liar!”  Her body was shaking so violently, it seemed she would loser her balance and fall.

“No, it’s the truth.  If nothing else is true, it’s true.  Gretchen, I won’t hurt the children.  I won’t hurt you.”

And then finally, when Gretchen bolts out of the hospital past him, and Lestat again sees the apparition of Claudia, and she says to him

“I told you you would hurt her.”

This almost violent rejection from this same woman whom Lestat had spoken so deeply with on philosophy, on God and goodness and redemption.  Her telling him there is no God, and him saying to her here how it only mattered because a person as good as her would say it, to give him that kind of hope in goodness without God, without there needing to be a larger purpose than the act itself, this same woman who cried at his parting from her before, who wanted so desperately to see him again.  And now when he shows her his true self, she just flat out calls him a devil and a liar and wants him away from her.  She turns once again to God to save her from him.

Like, damn, just the rejection upon rejection upon rejection Lestat goes through in this story is really, really hard to take.  Because with each instant of it happening, you can see it sinking him further and further into this belief of his own monstrosity, his own unworthiness of love, his own evil.  It’s almost obscene to watch him go through this level and this amount of rejection, especially when you know, more than anything else, that it’s Lestat’s loneliness and isolation that hurts him above all, that it’s that very loneliness which drove him to such reckless actions throughout this story to begin with, this awful, overwhelming belief of his that he’s this monstrous, unlovable thing, that the very nature of him, of what he is, drives everyone he loves to despair, or destruction, to to simply leave him... it just... it’s so painful.  It’s so, so painful. 

And this negative self-image that just keeps getting over and over ground into him by seemingly everyone he loves, we see manifested too in Lestat’s thoughts as he observes Reglan James, before he recovers his body from him.  That he shows so much compassion for this person who took so much from him and put him through so much suffering is in itself heartbreaking.

The creature took no notice of me. Indeed, I soon realized he was taking no notice of anyone.  There was something almost poignant in the way he sat there, face slightly uplifted, apparently enjoying this dark and fairly ordinary and certainly ugly little place.

He loves it here, I thought.  These public rooms with their plastic and tinsel represent some pinnacle of elegance, and he is silently thrilled merely to be here. He does not even need to be noticed. He takes no notice of anyone who might notice.  He is a little world unto himself as this ship is such a world, speeding along so very fast through the warm seas.

Even in my fear, I found it heartbreaking suddenly and tragic.  And I wondered had I not seemed the very same tiresome failure to others when I was in that shape?  Had I not seemed just as sad.

He was looking heavenward as he stood there, and once again he seemed lost in pride and in contentment, loving the wind and the darkness, perhaps, and swaying just a little, as blind musicians sway when they play their music, as if he relished every ticking second in that body, simply swimming in pure happiness as he stood on that spot.

The heartbreaking sense of recognition passed over me again.  Did I seem the same wasteful fool to those who had known me and condemned me?  Oh, pitiful, pitiful creature to have spent his pretanatural life in this of all places, so painfully artificial, with its old and sad passengers, in unremarkable chambers of tawdry finery, insulated from the great universe of true splendors that lay beyond.

Only after a great while did he bow his head just a little, and run the fingers of his right hand slowly down his jacket lapel.  A cat licking its own fur had never looked more relaxed or self-indulgent.  How lovingly he stroked this bit of unimportant cloth! It was more eloquent of the whole tragedy than any other single thing he had done.

Peace to the happy Queen Elizabeth 2, I thought, and than again, I knew why the Body Thief had loved her, and hidden himself within her, sad and tawdry though she was.

After all, what is our entire world to the stars above?  What do they think of our tiny planet, I wondered, full of mad juxtaposition, happenstance, and endless struggle, and the deep crazed civilization sprawled upon the face of it, and held together not by will or faith or communal ambition but by some dreamy capacity of the world’s millions to be oblivious to life’s tragedies and again and again sink into happiness, just as the passengers of that little ship sank into it- as if happiness were as natural to all beings as hunger or sleepiness or love of warmth and fear of the cold.

I rose higher and higher until I could no longer see the ship at all.  Clouds raced across the face of the world below me.  And above, the stars burned through in all their cold majesty, and for once I didn’t hate them; no, I couldn’t hate them; I could hate nothing; I was too full of joy and dark bitter triumph.  I was Lestat, drifting between hell and heaven, and content to be so- perhaps for the first time.

Lestat too of course has always tried to drown out his loneliness and pain through indulgence in finery and luxury and experience, has tried to express his love through bestowing wealth and gifts upon those he loves, only to again and again face their rejections.  Within the first few nights of him becoming a vampire, he gave Nicki and his own family wealth and comfort.  He poured money into the theater he had worked at and later on, gave as much money as requested to Armand and his coven.  He splurged and spoiled Claudia endlessly.  And here, again, he tries to give Gretchen money as an expression of his love and gratitude.  And in every single one of these instances, he’s faced, it seems inevitably, with their rejection, with their hatred, with their disdain. 

This last line of chapter 24

“Good-bye, Gretchen,” I whispered.

And then I was gone, free and alone, into the warm embrace of savage night.”

This says it all, really.  Free and alone.  Lestat couldn’t sacrifice the freedom of being himself.  But to be himself, to be free, again, means to be alone, means to be forever without companionship.  He thinks of himself a wasteful fool, and a tiresome failure as he looks upon Reglan James in his own body, his own form.  He thinks that must be what he seems like to the others whom he’s loved.  That what he sees when he looks at Reglan James must be what others see when they look at him.  

Someone said in the tags of one of my last posts that this story is a study in self-loathing, and that’s exactly what it is.  It captures all the anguish and tragedy of what it is, to hate oneself.

And the loneliness Lestat experiences from that feeling can only be described as profound.

#Lestat De Lioncourt #The Tale of the Body Thief #The Vampire Chronicles