#decade is the fashion supposed to be based on

[dostoyevsky-official]

Struggling as a single mother in 1967 to raise a son on scant funds while teaching 10 college courses a year, Helen Vendler realized that “the only way I could make my life easier was to give up writing” — something she couldn’t face. " ‘They can’t make me,’ I said to myself in panic and fear and rage. ‘They can’t make me do that,’ " she recalled in an essay decades later. “I suppose ‘They’ were the Fates, or the Stars, but I knew that to stop writing would be a form of self-murder.” As she had done before and would do again, Professor Vendler found a path through that crisis. And soon she published the second of some 30 books of poetry criticism she wrote or edited while becoming one of the most influential and esteemed figures in her field. [...] “I believe poetry is for everybody,” Professor Vendler, who was still writing and publishing essays, said in an interview for this obituary as her health was failing. “Helen understood that all poets needed what she did so they could take the next step,” said Jorie Graham, a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet who had barely heard of Professor Vendler when she reviewed Graham’s earliest work for The New York Times in the early 1980s. “I encountered the most lucid account of what I was doing that I could ever hope for,” Graham, who became a friend and Harvard colleague, said of those first reviews. “She certainly taught me right away that there was more to a poem than I could fathom on my own.” Seamus Heaney, the late Nobel Prize-winning poet whose work Professor Vendler championed early on, once said that “she is like a receiving station picking up on each poem, unscrambling things out of word-waves, making sense of it and making sure of it. She can second-guess the sixth sense of the poem.” “I do understand, I think, what it feels like to be a poet, even though I’m not one,” Professor Vendler told the Harvard Gazette afterward. “I was born with a mind that likes condensed and unusual language, which is what you get from poetry.” [...] At Emmanuel College, from which she graduated summa cum laude, Professor Vendler decided against studying literature — taught there, she wrote, “as a branch of faith and morals.” Majoring in chemistry, she found science crucial to her intellectual development. “I think it’s the base of everything I do,” she said in a 2004 National Endowment for the Humanities interview. “You have to be exact in all your writing in science: your flow chart has to go from beginning to end with all the steps accounted for, and all the equations have to balance out. Evidence has to be presented for each step of your reason.” [...] At Harvard, Professor Vendler also taught a celebrated core course, “Poems, Poets, Poetry,” which was aimed at non-humanities majors. “I thought — and still think — that all people would like poetry if they were only brought up with it and shown how easily it is entered into and what enormous solace it has to offer,” she wrote in a 1994 essay. Poems offered vital comfort and support to her as well. “Helen needed poetry to live by,” Graham said. “She fashioned and honed her moral sense not through the church, but through the church of poetry — the whole history of poetry. I can’t imagine a poem that she didn’t know.”

Helen Vendler, a towering presence in poetry criticism, dies at 90

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄

Satoru Gojo

Pairing: designer!Satoru Gojo x model!Reader

Summary: Even though Satoru was bored of dating models, you've caught his eye. He finds himself infatuated with you... And he tends to be a bit extreme

Warnings: Obsessive!Gojo (Sort of Yanderish), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Spanking, Praising, Creampie, Stalking, Mentions of Gojo stealing dirty laundry, A glimpse of Toji

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Satoru Gojo has worked as a fashion designer for nearly a decade. He’s come across many beautiful women, so many that at one point he’s come to stop caring. He isn’t in awe when a woman resembling a goddess steps into the studio. That excitement and that blushing went away a year into the industry. Now that he’s established himself, and his name is distinguished in the industry, the models are the last thing to surprise him.

He’s gone on a couple of dates with the models, as unprofessional as it sounds. There’s undeniable attraction at times and he can’t argue with it. He just goes with what feels right. And it feels right when the only thought in his mind is physical attraction. But he’s come to realize that looks aren’t everything. It actually makes up very little in a relationship. When he finds himself bored out of his mind ten minutes into a date, he discovers that there has to be more than just physical attraction. He pays for dinner, takes them to a hotel to do them, and then swears after the most mediocre sex of his life that he won’t ask someone out again solely based on looks. Yet, he seems to forget once in a while when a drop-dead gorgeous woman steps into the room.

Although everyone in the dating pool seems tedious nowadays. He can’t complain though. He’s let many great women get away, simply because they didn’t meet the beauty standard. He finds himself regretting it everyday, until he lays his eyes on the most beautiful woman before one of his runway shows.

Satoru’s brand in runaway shows is being all-inclusive. Meaning all types of models could walk, as long as they had a convincing enough walk. Yet he’s never thought he’d be personally benefited by it until now. He’s supposed to make sure the show-stopper is perfect on Yukari, the celebrity guest, yet he wants to talk to this new model. At least he’s sure she’s new. He would’ve noticed someone so beautiful before. He walks up to her, a smile on his face.

“Hi.” Satoru greets you, and you smile at him. The makeup artist works on your eyes, so you have them closed. You have no idea who you’re talking to. For all you know it’s the assistant that casted you into the show. Although his voice sounds quite different. “Have you walked for me before?”

“No… This is my first runway show.” You answer. Now you wonder who you’re talking to, and you’re getting nervous at the thought. It must be the designer. And you’re waiting for tips. You weren’t given any instructions on how to walk other than a typical runway walk. So you wait for it patiently, but when you open your eyes, it’s just you and the makeup artist.

“Suguru… What’s her name?” Satoru questions, subtly pointing at you. Suguru doesn’t notice, too focused on making sure Yukari looks perfect since Satoru isn’t doing the proper job. Suguru doesn’t even bother looking around either.

“Stop crushing over some irrelevant model. We have a job to do.” Suguru says. Satoru is about to argue with it, but he knows better. Plus Suguru isn’t exactly wrong. In ten minutes the show starts. “We both know what’ll happen. You’ll ask her out, go on a boring date, then she’s fired. Doubt that this time it’ll be any different.”

“You’re such a bummer.” Satoru answers before he decides to actually focus on his job. As beautiful as you are, you aren’t the reason for his success and wealth. But he’ll get back to you in due time.

After the show you got the best offer in your life. An actual job instead of just a gig. The assistant to the designer went up to you and offered you to become an official model for the brand– An opportunity you couldn’t turn down. You’re doing better than what you expected.

You were asked to go to the studio early in the morning to help the designer. Although it isn’t what you expected from the job, you’re very glad for it. You walk into the studio, looking around. It seems so empty that you wonder if you’re in the right place. Until you spot a man with white hair, who you’re pretty sure is the designer and owner of this place.

“Excuse me…” Your voice comes off as weak as you walk over to him. He smiles, putting his hands in his pockets while he watches you walk over to him. You’re almost a hundred percent sure that he’s Satoru Gojo. “Am I in the right place?”

“You are.” He nods. He says your name, “That’s you, right?”

“Yes.” You smile. You look around at an empty studio. “Will there be any more models coming?”

“I’m working with just you today.” He answers. He thinks of a quick lie so it doesn’t come off as him having a crush and for you to not get uncomfortable, “I do this with our models.”

“Okay… Mr. Gojo… What would you like me to do?” You question.

“First I need you to put on this dress…” Satoru begins to look for this beautiful dress that he had begun only thinking of the beautiful model he had seen. Something that perfectly matches her skin as well as her body shape. “You can start undressing.”

“Oh… Okay…” You answer, feeling awkward and a bit uncomfortable. But this must be common in the modeling industry, so you should get used to it. You begin with your shoes, then your shirt, and then your pants. The place is rather cold, especially when you’re just in your underwear. Satoru finally walks back with the most beautiful dress you’ve seen.

“I think you’re going to have to take off your bra for this too.” He tells you, and you feel your face get warm, but end up reaching behind to unhook your bra. It makes sense since it’s a strapless dress, however, it still feels weird. You unclasp your bra and slide it off.

Satoru stares, even though he shouldn’t. He can’t raise any suspicions, but he’s not doing a great job at that. You begin to put on the dress, and your breasts are once again covered up which he finds shameful. You hold on to the dress, not wanting to pull the zipper up without instructions. He says, “Turn around.”

You do as he says, and he pulls up the zipper of the dress. He orders you to turn around once again, which you do. He looks you up and down, and he holds back from smirking. If this weren’t his first actual conversation with you, he’d have you bent over. He begins to pinch the cloth and put pins through it. “You have similar measurements to a big client of ours.”

“Oh? That’s good to know…” You awkwardly answer. No wonder you were offered a job. Satoru accidentally pinches your skin while he tries to grab the cloth which earns a cry from you. He looks at your face, finally focusing on something other than the dress.

“I’m sorry, gorgeous. Didn’t mean to do that.” He apologizes, rubbing the spot as if to give you comfort. You aren’t sure what to do as you just stand there. You want to talk but he’s so focused and you wouldn’t want to break that concentration. But luckily for you he’s the one that speaks again, “Also the fact that you’re stunning and a new face means we can have you model our clothes all year round. Don’t think we’re just using you to perfect measurements.”

“Aw, thank you.” You smile. Your face feels warm as you take in the compliment. Hearing those words from a handsome man definitely boosts your ego even more. As if it wasn’t big enough before.

Satoru stops. He grabs your hand, and pulls you so you’re forced to walk. He guides you to a platform, and you walk up to it, somewhat knowing what to do. You feel as his eyes stare at your breasts.

“What size are they?” He questions, and you tell him. You innocently think that it’s to adjust any measurements for the client. He focuses on the dress again. All his attention goes to it.

“It’s a beautiful dress.” You comment, and he smirks. You don’t notice it since you look straight ahead. Of course it’s a beautiful dress, you were the inspiration for it.

“It is.”

Work goes well. You don’t have to go very often but you’re still greatly compensated for your time. You don’t see Satoru as often, but when you do, he treats you very well. It makes you feel as if you’re some sort of star. You as well have other gigs which are paying you mediocre money, but slowly you’re saving up your money. And soon enough you might be able to move out of the shoe-box sized apartment you currently reside in.

Also, very early in the morning there’s a knock on your door. You open it and always receive a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You’ve received so many that flowers that haven’t withered yet are thrown out. You don’t have enough space in your apartment for so many flowers. The question of who’s the one sending these flowers has lingered on your mind ever since the first morning you received them. 

At first you thought it was your new work-friend. You mentioned what your favorite flowers were to her, and thought maybe she sent them to be nice. But there’s no way she has so much money to send this many flowers.

“Who even sends these anyway?” You ask the delivery man this morning. You inspect the flowers as if they aren’t the same as the dozen others that have been sent. He shrugs. He knows but the person chooses to remain anonymous. “Please– Doesn’t have to be a first name or anything. Like do you know what they look like? Are they tall? Short? Do they have any piercings?”

There’s no answer, very unlucky for you, so you end up slamming the old door of your apartment. You put the flowers down on the counter and walk back to your room. At this point you doubt these are friendship flowers. You want to know who this person is so you can form some sort of relationship with them– Platonic or romantic. They’ve spent this much money on you, so the least they deserve is a friendship.

It strikes you. It must be a neighbor since no one at work knows where you live. You think of all of your neighbors, and immediately know who it is. It must be that Toji guy that lives a couple of doors down. You smile, and decide that you’ll be asking him out. He’s very handsome.

Satoru waits in his car, outside of your apartment complex. Mustering up the courage to go inside and ask you out. It’s weird, but he doesn’t feel as if it’s professional to ask you out at work. He’s done it a million other times with other models, but he feels that for this it’s more appropriate to ask you in a different place. As weird as it is just walking to your apartment with no invitation whatsoever. Asking you out at work is definitely more professional, and way less creepy.

He’s about to exit his car but he sees you walk out. You don’t walk out alone either, you’re with someone else. Someone else that doesn’t bring a smile to Satoru’s face. A tall muscular man with black hair. Satoru’s hands ball up into fists, and there’s this sinking feeling in his stomach. He can’t be jealous…  

He exits the car and begins to follow you around, discreetly, when he sees that you aren’t getting in any vehicle. He makes sure to stay a safe distance so if you were to turn around, you wouldn’t see your boss following you. Satoru feels weird for doing this, but he’s lost all common sense. He likes you. He’s infatuated, dare he say. He’s liked many models before but he’s never gone so far as to follow them while they’re out on a date.

Maybe it’s not a date, he tries to think. Maybe the man you’re with is a really great friend of yours. Satoru tries to think that what he’s doing is not so bad with every step he takes. He’s looking out for his model’s wellbeing, that’s all.

You walk into a cheap restaurant with the man, and Satoru takes a deep breath to control himself. Satoru has known you for a month, he can’t be acting so irrational over you. You’re nothing but co-workers. Although that thought makes Satoru boil up inside.

He doesn’t know whether to leave or to stay. He’s frankly seen enough. And he can’t have you spot him in that place. You’d surely quit. Satoru would never go to a place like that. He decides to walk back, as pissed off as he is. He’ll deal with the matter later.

Satoru is usually very sweet with you, but today he seems rather mad. This week has been pretty great with you, and you don’t really need your boss to ruin the week. He’s paying a lot of attention to the other employees… Which is fine, but usually when you’re together he acts as if you’re the only woman around. Which you like.

“Try this on, I finished it.” Satoru says, nearly throwing the dress at you. You’re about to get undressed, but he points to the bathroom. You didn’t even know that was there. You go to the bathroom and get undressed.

You wonder what’s up with him. You’ve seen him mad, at least that’s what you think. He doesn’t usually treat his employees like this, at least not you. You put on the dress that fits just perfectly. It’s seriously the perfect dress for you. Length, size, style and color wise.

You walk out of the bathroom and go to Satoru, who stares at his phone disinterested. He looks up when you’re in front of him, mainly at the dress. You twirl to show him the dress. He looks at it and feels as if there’s a couple finishing touches that are missing. “Stop moving. I need to concentrate.”

So you stop moving while he stares you down. You chew on the inside of your cheek, holding back on asking the question. It kills you inside to not ask. You’re able to keep silent for a couple of minutes before asking, “Mr. Gojo, why are you mad at me?”

“Mad at you?” He questions. It’s not like he’ll openly admit it. He’s not mad at you. He does feel a bit betrayed… But you’re not actually at fault for that because he can’t expect you to stay single all of your life while he musters up the courage to ask you out on a date. But that doesn’t really change his current feelings. “Why do you say I’m mad at you?”

“You’ve been acting weird…” You respond, avoiding eye contact with the man. He looks around the studio for a moment. There’s barely any people around, and they’re focused on their own thing. He just has to get you out of sight…

“You know… I’ve been stressed.” He lies, although could it really be considered a lie if it’s somewhat the truth? He’s been stressed because of you. Not because of work. You feel as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. “I could never be mad at someone so gorgeous.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gojo…” You answer, tilting your head to give in to his touch. You feel so much better knowing that he’s not mad at you.

“Help me pick out some fabric for a gift. My apology to you.” He says, and you nod. He grabs your hand and begins to walk to the room that’s full of shelves with fabric. Satoru is so nice to you, you can’t help but smile at that. You wonder how many models he does this to. You step into the room with fabrics and he tells you, “Pick out your favorite. I’ll make you a beautiful dress.”

You begin to look at the fabrics, unsure of what to pick. After your first date with Toji, you’re confident all will go well so you’re thinking of something that you can wear to impress the man. A color similar to this one. “Actually, come here for a second.”

You walk back to the man, and he begins to smooth out the dress that you’re wearing. His hands get to the end of the dress, and you don’t watch as his hands rip the end of the dress. You hear as the dress rips and your eyes widen. 

“Shit… I have to fix that.” Satoru says. You wonder how that suddenly happened. More than anything you wonder how that happened. “Take off the dress.”

You reach behind to unzip the dress and take it off. You let it slide down to the floor before giving it to Satoru. You stare at the beautiful dress that’s now in Satoru’s hands, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how that happened.”

“Don’t worry about it, beautiful. I’ll fix it.” He says, tossing the dress over his shoulder. You stare at him, unsure of what to do or say. He stares at you as well, but more at your body than anything, “I like that set of underwear. It’s cute.”

“Thank you…” You shyly respond. It feels weird to hear your boss saying that, but at the same time you don’t mind. He’s very handsome.

“Did you pick that out for me?” He begins, and you feel your cheeks get warm. He did infiltrate your mind when you picked it out. You don’t respond quick enough and he grows impatient, “I’d be very flattered if you said yes… But I doubt it, they might be for a boyfriend or something.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You share, and he fights back a smirk. You feel his cold hands land on your waist, while his lips go to your ear. 

“How’s a beautiful woman like you single?” He questions, his hands going to your back. You feel as his hands go up to your bra. “Are other men not convincing enough?”

“No…” You answer, the lewd thoughts that run through your mind getting the best of you. A future with your neighbor or the fact that sleeping with your boss could get you fired, are the last thoughts in your mind. Satoru’s lips suddenly land on yours, his lips feeling so soft against yours.

You’re at work, but why does that matter when he’s practically the boss? Your hands go behind his neck, while his tongue enters your mouth. He unclasps your bra and throws it aside, since it’s strapless. His fingers begin to play with your nipples while his tongue presses against yours.

“Satoru…” You whimper when he pulls away from the kiss, his head beginning to leave kisses all over your neck. One hand goes down your torso and into your panties. Your soft moans begin to fill up the room as he begins to play with your clit. He sucks on your neck as well.

He should make this fast before someone needs fabric and walks into the place, but he doesn’t want to. He’s wanted this for over a month, and for a person that doesn’t like to wait, that’s a long time for him. Two fingers run through your folds, getting them wet enough with your slick before he pushes them into your cunt.

“Shit-” You mutter, feeling his long fingers inside of you. You’ve watched him work with his fingers so many times now, but you’ve never thought about how great they’d feel inside of you. He curves them just right as he moves them in and out of you.

“You have to pay some way for the dress you ruined.” Satoru comments when his lips detach themselves from your neck. As if he wasn’t the one who ripped it. His lips land on yours again, muffling out the soft moans that leave your lips while he fingers you.

He manages to hit your sweet spot, and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. He’s making you feel so good, and this is his first time with you. He’s gotten his fair share of experience so of course he’s somewhat skilled at this. He pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You’re now moaning much louder as an orgasm builds up.

“It’s so- Good-” You’re almost out of breath. The sound of his fingers moving in and out of your pussy much louder as juices leak. He stares at your face since you have that look. The one he’s been fantasizing about ever since he laid his eyes on you. He could come right in his pants. “Fuck- Fuck–”

You’re slightly moving your hips as your orgasm approaches. It comes in at full force, a loud moan leaving your lips as you come all over his fingers. Your legs feel like jello, but luckily Satoru supports you. He takes his fingers out and brings them up to his lips. He shoves them into his mouth, tasting the sweetness(which is not so sweet) that he had been dreaming about.

“Do you want more… Sir?” You ask him, batting your eyelashes. He takes his fingers out of his mouth, and pushes you against a shelf. Your back hits the shelf and he wonders what he should do. Turn you around or watch your pretty face as you take his dick.

He ends up turning you around, and slightly bending you over while he pulls down his zipper. He pushes your panties to the side and finally gets a good look at your pussy. He bites his bottom lip as he gets his cock out and begins to stroke it. “Do you want more, gorgeous?” 

“Yes.” You answer and he smacks your ass. You feel as the tip of his cock runs through your folds. He gets it wet with your juices before he pushes his cock into your cunt. He does it slowly, hoping like this you’ll accommodate faster to the length. He does so with good reason because it’s big. Bigger than what you expected. You’re a moaning mess and he’s not even fully inside of you.

“You’re doing so great, gorgeous.” He praises you. When he’s fully buried inside of you he gives you a couple of seconds to adjust before slowly moving. Satoru is gifted at many things that you knew, but you never thought this would be one. You’ve never thought about Satoru like this because he just seemed… Unattainable. 

His cock fills you up so well and it hits every right spot. Your eyes are once again rolling to the back of your head. You feel as his palm strikes your ass and he tells you, “For ruining a perfect dress.” Yet, your mind is not processing it. 

He hasn’t fucked you for long enough for you to be turned into a mindless woman. But he’s just doing such a good job. Even the praises that want to leave your lips go unsaid since your brain can’t register any words. You just stick your tongue out as he fucks you.

His thrusts pick up more and more speed. His fingers bury into your hips for support, unintentionally digging his nails into your skin. He’s lost himself in pleasure, finding out that your cunt is way better than what he expected. He sure has thought of this scenario many times, but he never thought it’d be this good. 

Your moans are like music to his ears, encouraging him to go faster. You feel as your orgasm approaches, not being able to handle so much at once. His fingers were long, and his dick even longer… Which you aren’t complaining about. Even if you were, the way you’re creaming on his cock would tell on you.

“So fucking good- What a good little pussy.” Satoru praises while ramming into your cunt. He feels you tighten around him while you near your orgasm, and he hisses at the great feeling. He smacks your ass again, and it adds more to your pleasure. 

“Oh- I’m gonna-” You begin and before you can even finish the sentence, your second orgasm takes over you. He praises you for doing so well,

“Doing so good, beautiful. You’re taking my cock so well.” He’s so close to finishing as well. His thrusts get slower and get more unregulated. He’s making sure he lasts long just in case this is his last time doing this with you… Which he doubts. 

He ends up moaning your name before he cums inside of you. He stays buried deep inside of you until he makes sure every drop ends up inside of you. When he pulls out his cock, he watches his cum drip out for a couple of seconds before he adjusts your panties. He begins to fix himself up.

“Don’t worry about the dress.” He tells you, while you catch your breath. He grabs your bra and tosses it to you. He can’t have you walk out wearing just your underwear… That’s a sight for only him to see. “Pick out the fabric for your new dress while I get you your clothes.”

You can’t do anything other than agree in response. He walks out of the fabric room, fighting back the biggest smirk.

Sneaking into your apartment when you weren’t home, stealing your dirty laundry, getting to know your interests such as the books you read and the movies you watch; trivial stuff such as the shampoo and conditioner you use. He’s done so much in so little time. He’s infatuated. Next thing he has to do is get rid of that bum that you went on a date with then ask you out on a date…

Although asking you out might have to wait. He still fears rejection, and he doesn’t want his perfect muse to leave him.

🏷 @dearsunaa @mykyoon @tojidilfs @b3ast1706 @crispmarshmallow @levismainbabe @matchabluebeiry-for-nanami @nobody289x @galactict3a @nothisispatrick300 @tojianddabisslut @katsuwhore @septembersums @tamaki-jiki @thisbicc @rumi-rants @chloee0x0 @kageyamaslittleroyal20 @dakumarauder @lovemarvel16 @lilithlunas

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #anime #smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru smut #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk satoru

[shdysders]

club heaven

pairing: jenna ortega x female reader

summary: in which jenna found herself thinking about you and where you might be.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: mentions of death & alcohol

author’s note: wrote this fully based on the song club heaven by nessa barrett, mainly because it’s currently one of my favorite songs. and i suppose it’s confusing if you haven’t read the lyrics to it, so take that into consideration while reading!

i didn’t rly like how this turned out, so please tell me if it’s too confusing and i’ll delete it. hope y’all like it!

As Jenna sat at the lavish Met Gala table, surrounded by the dazzling lights and extravagant fashion, all she could find herself thinking about was you.

It was currently the place and time of the Met Gala after party, and as sad as it sounded: Jenna was alone. Even though she was encircled by people in the same working industry as herself, she should be enjoying herself. This was people she was supposed to actually relate to.

But the thought that was stopping her from doing so, was you. You just wouldn't leave her mind. She just couldn't stop thinking about where you were, what you were doing or who you where with.

You had always liked afterparties, no matter what the occasion, so she should've known that thoughts of you would appear when she would attend them. You claimed it was the icing on the cake when it came to celebration. You wanted one after your birthday, Christmas and even on New Year's Eve.

It was something Jenna loved about you, you always felt the need to celebrate, whether it was for a new project she had finished or such small things as finishing an audition tape.

Her thinking was harshly interrupted by a strong white light flashing onto her, followed by both male and female voices yelling her name from afar.

You hated the paparazzi, despised them. It was a conversation topic you and Jenna talked about almost all the time, you couldn't stand the people that made it their mission in life to make well known peoples life a living hell: taking pictures who all looked the same, making them partly blind in the process.

A smile appears on Jennas face at the thought of your hatred towards them. The fact that you were now somewhere they couldn't go made relief wash over her, but it also made her feel worry. You wouldn't be there to protect her if they ever tried to do something, like you always said you would.

She just prayed to the gods above that you knew how truly sorry she was for not being with you, for not being able to tell you how much she loved you, how much she adored you; like you had told her everyday. She wouldn't be with you for the future years at least, maybe even decades unless she would die in any sort of accident.

Your number still lingered in her contact list, your name followed by an amount of hearts she never bothered to count.

She texted your number almost every day, every chance she got, knowing she would never get a reply from you.

She knew that your number would eventually get shut down for it's lack of using and that a new user would get it, but when it did she certainly didn't know how hard she would take it. Everything that ever belonged to you was starting to slip out of her grip, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Although the new user didn't stop her from texting the number, she didn't care if that meant for her number to get leaked. Because if it made her feel closer to you, she didn't mind. It actually got to the point where the number had called her multiple times, your number called her. But this time the picture of you didn't cover the screen, nor did the contact name she made especially for you.

Jenna tried to tell herself it was you calling her, that you were calling her to ask if she could join you up in paradise.

But she never actually answered the calls because she knew what it would be like if she did: an old lady full of frustration, telling her to stop texting her phone because she didn't know how to block the number. But in the fantasy of it being you, she tried to tell herself that she couldn't hear the signal through the clouds, just so you didn't think she was ignoring you.

The champagne in the glass ran slowly down her dry throat, her face crunching together at the scary feeling of the liquid barely making it through. The paparazzi was now long gone; probably because she didn't give them any satisfaction in posing for their worthless pictures.

Jenna stared with guilt onto the empty glass, that was just minutes ago all full of luxury exotic fruit champagne, Enrique had told her to take it easy multiple times, not wanting her to be completely out of it and not being able to make it home, but of course she didn't listen.

She enjoyed the feeling of the buzz in her head that shut out the bad thoughts in her head; the thoughts of you. She had been trying to escape them with alcohol more than she could remember, drinking all alone at night, either alone in her hotel room or in her apartment, that was once yours too. And when drinking alone got too boring, she tried going to a club.

But unfortunately, she wasn't allowed. Surprisingly enough it wasn't for her short figure or petite and short looking body. The bouncer claimed she was too well known, that she would cause a fuss by being there, crowding people around her and making people turn the attention away from the actual place.

He had told her that she would have to sign herself in as a performer or an entertainer so they had time to schedule it in. But that didn't stop her, she waited right outside every night, even trying to bribe the bouncer with an autograph or a photo, but she left there without avail; the only answer she got was "not tonight".

She hoped that you were up there somewhere, spending your time at your own club, dancing and drinking. You loved dancing, you were always the first person onto the dance floor, practically forcing or dragging Jenna with you.

She hoped that you were up there smoking some blue dream and cigarettes with your legends and idols; even though you never liked when Jenna smoked, she knew you liked to do so yourself when she wasn't around.

She could actually bet all her life savings that you were up there raising all kinds of toasts for her, telling all of the other people up there who she was, what she did, and who she was to you, so everyone else would know who she was until she would get in. To club heaven. The club up there that she prayed so deeply you were at.

And even though she was constantly surrounded by warm and kind hearted people that only wanted the best for her and her career, it never filled the void, the void of you. It was like the city was filled with beautiful angels, but it missed the best one.

She wished for nothing else but being able to cut the line, whether it was up to you or the club she was rooting so hard to get into.

It was either seeing you, or forgetting the loud and bad thoughts about you; the thoughts that you were actually gone, that you weren't with her. Of course she didn't want to forget about you forever, it was just a temporary solution for when the thoughts got too loud.

But a thought that had hit her, was the long wait. The line up towards the place where you were at weren't exactly short, and she was probably way too far back in that line. What if she would never get in? What if she can't get in at all? If that happened, how would she ever see you again?

What if she can't get in? How will she see you again?

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #club heaven #jenna ortega x fem!reader #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter

[daughter-of-sapph0]

okay so this was left on the poll asking about people's urls, and I wanna explain this

to the term "daughter of Sappho" has existed for decades as refers to a homosexual woman. it's a euphemism in the same way "friends of Dorothy" is.

however, there is a single fragment written by Sappho that may (emphasis on "may") suggest she had a daughter. fragment 98 refers to a girl named Kleïs.

My mother said that in her youth, binding your hair in a wrap of purple was very fashionable. fine embroidery from the Ionian city of Sardis. She said that hair the colour of fire should use a lighter shade when binding it. And handsome wreaths of full-grown flowers served as headbands and always fitted perfectly. These wraps, these headbands, remembered by the exiles of the Kleanactidae, reminders of the past— For you, Kleïs, I have no headband, Nor know where to find one.

now it's not outright stated, but it's heavily implied that this Kleïs is Sappho's daughter. it should be noted that Sappho also had a mother named Cleïs (which I'm spelling different only to differentiate between the two. in ancient Greek they're the same I'm pretty sure), and the supposed daughter of Sappho might be named after her. again, it's unclear. it could also be that Kleïs is lover instead of a daughter, and translators just assumed that she was a daughter based on lack of some untranslatable context. maybe Sappho simply loves Kleïs the same way a mother loves a daughter, or something similar to that. (mommy kink?) sorry

it's important to recognize that not all scholars and translaters accept the theory that Kleïs was Sappho's daughter. so much has been lost to history and mistranslated that we might never know all the answers.

some think Kleïs is Sappho's daughter. some think that she's her lover. some think she doesn't exist and the name is a clit joke, just like how Sappho's "husband" is Kerkylas of Andros, aka "Penisguyfrom Man Island". personally I think the most probable answer is that Kleïs wasn't Sappho's literal daughter, but perhaps a follower or even a servant or slave, who Sappho might have loved and treated like a daughter.

#dostxt

[lemonmaid]

I'm liking having a mental breakdown and stuffing my fatass with popeyes anyways here is...

Chick Flicks that I think the Dorm Leaders have a guilty pleasure for.

Do to that this a different world everything that is popular reference is going to be different! I don't think TWST world has guns or bombs?? So Legally Blonds JFK reference could refer to a King in Port o' Bliss (since Sam is from there, which is a reference to New Orleans). Heather's reference to the Vietnam War could be an overbolt war between kingdoms (obviously for the very very wrong reasons) and JD could've overbolted and Veronica had to kill him.

And I think TWST do have its own fairytale, Enchanted is one of them like "omg what if magic doesn't exists and someone from our world goes there!"

Riddle Rosehearts : Legally Blonde

I feel like he was forced to 'catch up' on pop culture, Cater showed him ( this world's equivalent movie). Out of all the movies he was shown, he liked this one the most.

"So what what's you're favorite part?"

"I loved the fact she proved to everyone that she wasn't a bimbo. Like, seriously? Fashion merchandising is a business school, she wasn't taken seriously because of her greek fraternity? I'm sorry that pink is "too girly" to be taken seriously".

Leona Kingscholar : Heather's

He only watched it because he crashed moive night at Ramshackle. He actually stayed awake for the musical.

"I didn't take you for someone who liked musicals"

"I don't but this moive was enjoyable. You're not supposed to cheer for the cast but to see their flaws which I understand wanting to fit in"

"So you wanna see the live performance?"

"This is on Broadway?".

Azul Ashengrotto : Mean Girls

Azul wanted more guest to come into the lounge so he opened a moive night, Mean Girls was a popular request so popular it is played every Wednesday.

"You know what Azul, you remind me of the mean girls group"

"How so?"

"Well, you're not a fashion statement but you, Jada, and Floyd are kinda of the "It" group. As in "don't fuck with us".

Kalim Al-Asim : Enchanted

Kalim has forced everyone who befriends him to watch this movie, he is obsessed with this type of romance, the very naive and the smitten serious type.

"Oh Yuu! My favorite scene is obviously the dancing in the city!"

"Aww that's so cute Kalim!"

"Yeah! I love this moive! My parents funded the company to make a second one!"

"Oh... Kalim that's .. precious"

Vil Schoenheit : Crazy Rich Asains

This is definitely Vil's favorite moive, like, we've both cried to it. Because for real best romance movie in decades.

"Vil why are you crying?"

"Shut up, you're crying too! I wished I had someone who didn't care about my appearance or my background. I wish I had someone who stood by my side untill the curtain fell"

"STOPPPP YOU'RE MAKING ME CRY MORE".

Idia Shroud : A Slient Voice

I couldn't think of a live-action Idia would genuinely liked, but this counts. Anyways, we had to show him this movie.

"Idia STOP CRYING ON ME!"

"but he... and she....AHHH"

"You know this is rumored to be based off a true story but the guy actually died"

"ahhHHHHHH"

Malleus Draconia : Twilight

You wanted to try and binge watch this entire franchise with the gang one night for a goof, you happened to see Malleus outside and invited him to watch with the gang. To say he was very very interested in this series was a understatement.

"Child of man, explain to me this. Why is she choose the guy who wants nothing to do with her but stalks her?"

"Malleus, I couldn't tell you but don't be an obsessive dick who tries to have an off and on relationship. That's toxic".

"I think I see, but can you explain why the grown man imprints on a literal baby?"

"I cannot tell you".

#twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland x reader #twst leona #twst vil #disney twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #twst malleus #twst kalim #twst crack #twst #twst wonderland #vil schoenheit #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #kalim al asim #twst kamil #idia shroud #twst idia #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #twised wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu

[autumnmobile12]

Predictions for Nocturne

(some serious speculation, some silly)

Imagining that one scene from Symphony of the Night where Alucard ends up fighting the fake Trevor, Sypha and Grant (Greta.) Cause him being in a situation where he has to kill an enemy that looks, acts, and fights exactly like the people he loved three centuries ago seems suitably heart-wrenching.

Wondering if Nocturne's going to partially follow the plot of Symphony where Richter is captured and controlled by Shaft the dark priest, so Maria and Alucard are searching for him. I'm basing this solely off the female voice in the teaser (possibly Maria?) saying, "We're looking for someone called Belmont."

So Richter's character arc would be him attempting to regain his honor after all the harm he caused under Shaft's influence?

Part of me legitimately wonders if St. Germain is gonna be back. Yes, this is a nod to his Curse of Darkness design, but his clothes here are not medieval. (More Victorian than anything?)

Nocturne is supposed to take place during the French Revolution, the first of three beginning in 1789. The top hat is believed to have been invented in 1793. French gentleman wearing the latest fashion?

The series never specifically says St. Germain is from the same time period he wound up in after his first encounter with the Infinite Corridor. Is this why he knows about stuff like toilet paper and is constantly looking down his nose at all the filthy medieval people? Is he just being a whiny bitch about being sent back in time?

He tells Trevor that he knew his family. Is this because he met the descendants? (I suppose this could be his twisted reconciliation about betraying them since he's seen the 'future' and he knows the line endures and Alucard is still alive.)

This is wild speculation that probably won't be the case, but I kinda really want this to happen since Alucard's reaction to a human he thought was dead for three centuries just casually showing up out of nowhere would be priceless.

The French Revolution was the era of powdered wigs and shockingly fabulous courtly decadence and the Queen having a frickin' boat in her hair.

If we don't get at least one vampire (or Belmont) in a stupidly ostentatious wig, then what are we even doing?

Two schools of thought in my head:

Hoping Nocturne also does not include the Succubus as an overtly sexualized character in the interest of not objectifying women.

On the other hand, a discomfited Alucard looking the demon lady right in the eye and saying, "Madam, kindly remove yourself from my personal space," is a very humorous image.

On a more serious note, there is also the Nightmare scene in Symphony of the Night to consider where the Succubus shows Alucard a vision of his mother right before her execution in an attempt to trick him, so there's potential for a, "How dare you make me relive that!" moment.

Can these two come back? They did not get enough screen time in the first round.

Striga's last line to their soldiers is an order to ride west. France is west.

Also, is it really an accident that Morana's hairstyle in Season 4 is a French twist? Foreshadowing....

#castlevania #richter belmont #alucard tepes #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #st germain #morana and striga #castlevania netflix #castlevania nocturne #symphony of the night #predictions for nocturne #speculation #belmont family #french revolution #powdered wigs #castlevania vampires #shaft

[delopsia]

If Outer Range's characters truly are loosely based on the Greek Gods, then Royal is Chronos, Cecelia is Rhea, Rhett is Zeus, and Maria is Hera.

Let me explain.

The moment Outer Range's season one starts, we open up with a stormy shot of Royal and his horse, Tilly, riding in a dark field with Trevor's body.

Voiced over the shot is Royal speaking to the audience, "You know anything about a Greek god called Chronos? He carried a sickle. He used it to cut a hole. A tear in the cosmos, between heaven and earth, to separate this world from the next. To separate the known from the unknown."

Immediately, we establish a link to Greek Mythology, and this is repeated later in the episode when Autumn catches Royal throwing Trevor into the hole. Through season one, we learn that Royal has used the hole to time travel on three occasions.

To escape the shame of accidentally killing his father

When Autumn pushes him into the hole

And when he jumped back in after the hole transported him three years into the future.

Through this, it's somewhat implied that Royal is Chronos. He doesn't carry a sickle yet, but he is deeply linked to this hole; he's the only one aware of its presence aside from Wayne. The hole is consistently there when he needs it. To escape his father's death. To hide Trevor's body. To show him what will happen in three years, if he does not change fate. And it deliberately returns him to the exact time period he just left.

But that isn't the only thing.

I've seen a lot of debate on whether Cronus, God of the Harvest, and Chronos, God of Time, are the same entity. For this interpretation, I'm arguing that Royal is based on both because he shares characteristics of both of them. For simplicity's sake, I'm just going to keep saying "Chronos" since that's how they spell it in the show's official subtitles.

Royal is depicted as a cattle rancher; he's a harvester of some fashion. In art, Chronus is often depicted with a gray beard, and I find it fun that Royal happens to share this feature. Is it exact? No, but its a detail in common.

Now here's where I get to the big thing. When Royal was nine and jumped through the hole, it brought him to "present time" as we'll call it, where he was taken in by the Abbott's as their own, and lived along side Cecelia, who he later married. Technically speaking, Cecelia was Royal's adoptive sister.

What did Chronos do? He married his sister, Rhea, the goddess of the Earth. Establishing Royal as Chronos and Cecelia as Rhea.

Now that I've laid that groundwork let me get to something nifty.

Rhett is Zeus.

Here is a photo shared by Amazon Prime on their Instagram.

This photo originates from the S1E2 scene when Royal reveals what happened after Autumn pushed him into the hole (refresher: he traveled roughly three years into the future). As pictured below, it's the same outfit.

You're probably wondering what the hell an outfit is supposed to tell us. Well, I'll show you. The belt buckle.

Here's his S1 buckle compared to the one in the future.

S1:

Future:

We can assume that this is the buckle Rhett earns during episode 8, after he wins the Amelia County Rodeo Finals. It's a huge tradition that bull riders win buckles, and they wear these literal trophies with pride. With how Rhett has been chasing this dream for a decade, we can assume he's going to wear the ever-living hell out of that buckle.

But do you see that on his buckle? That, my friend, is a lightning bolt.

Who is the God of Lightning? Zeus. The lightning bolt (or thunderbolt) was his most iconic weapon.

But we can't draw from that, no no no. I have something else.

In S1E1, we are introduced to the fact that Rhett sleeps around a lot, a trait Zeus is infamous for. Who haven't they slept with? Until his childhood crush, Maria comes back into town, and he's still just as crazy about her, despite her never reciprocating his advances (until now) and telling him (in Spanish) that she doesn't usually go out with men like him.

Similarly, Zeus was enchanted by Hera, the Goddess of Marriage. (Haha, get it, Maria...Marriage...similar words...I'll stop) but she didn't want a damn thing to do with him. But as the story goes, both Maria and Hera come around and agree to be with them.

Which establishes Rhett as Zeus and Maria as Hera.

Edit: I remembered another detail, Zeus and Rhett are both the youngest sons!

I don't have a solid standing on this portion, but Perry reminds me a bit of Poseidon.

Poseidon was angry with Odysseus for blinding his son, Polyphemus. While Perry doesn't have a son, he does have a daughter, Amy. Who was "blinded" by her past and became Autumn. It's a stretch, but I wanted to share the thought lmao.

This...does partially concern me about how Rhett's relationship with Maria may be depicted in season two, but you know what? I am ✨brilliant✨at sticking my head in the sand.

#i gotta get this out of my drafts im sorry #del's tin hat thoughts #outer range #rhett abbott

[devils-acre]

Historically Accurate POTC Designs, Maybe??

Tried drawing some historically accurate Pirates of the Caribbean designs, with my best effort(s?) to keep the spirit of the original costumes!

Research rabbit holes below:

I set the clothes in the late 1720's, 1728-1731. At this time, coats were very full—almost skirt-like—with big cuffs, and the waistcoats sometimes had long sleeves!

For Will, I decided to give him just a waistcoat since most of his costumes in the movie don't have an overcoat, and it makes more sense for a blacksmith, I think! I also decided not to give him a wig since I don't think he would be wealthy enough or be able to work with one.

For (Captain) Jack, I really just wanted to give him shoes with red heels. They were popular in the 17th century, but carried over to the early 18th!  Wearing them meant you were in favor with King Louis XIV (who ruled at the time) and were rich enough to wear the color red. Since Jack is obviously none of those things I thought it’d be funny—he probably stole them. The T on his hand was supposed to be the equivalent to the P brand Jack has in the movies. Branding was a thing, just not for pirates! A T burned on the hand was for “thief.” Usually brands were like a warning, and if the offender committed another crime then they would be hanged—pirates, however, didn’t get a second chance.

For Elizabeth, her dress was hard to research. Technically the popular gown at the time was a Robe Volante, but I don’t like the way it looks so I found a different one haha :D What I could find from a few paintings was what apparently is called a “round gown” and was often worn with some sort of belt or ribbon thing at the middle. Not sure what that part is called, maybe a girdle? Technically, a mantua would be closer to the purple-red gown Barbossa gives Elizabeth, since it has fabric bunched up in the back, but I thought a different style could work too.

Elizabeth’s pirate outfit is just based off of what I could find for general 18th-century sailor’s clothes, which were difficult to find for the 1720s in particular, but didn’t seem to change much throughout the decade. However fashionable, boots (sadly) weren’t actually worn by pirates, and most sailors would go barefoot or just wear the current fashionable shoe at the time! She would also probably be wearing a knit hat, but I thought the tricorne was too iconic to take away.

And, lastly, for Norrington! He’s wearing a Ramillies wig (named after the battle of Ramillies in 1706) which was the style for people in the military, or really for anyone who couldn’t wear a full periwig (the really big curly wigs.) And for his clothes, since British Navy Uniforms weren’t introduced until 1748, I just put him in blue and gold.

And that’s it! I’m only a very amateur fashion history enthusiast and could be wrong about a lot, so if anyone knows anything about 1720-30s fashion or anything like that feel free to let me know about any mistakes or other interesting historical facts!

#potc #potc fanart #character design #18th century #pirates #historical fashion #pirates of the caribbean #james norrington #elizabeth swann #jack sparrow #will turner #18th century fashion #1720s #pirate #these literally took forever :) #I forgot how leg proportions work #my art

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Malcolm Clark

Published: Jul 18, 2023

The LGBT movement is beginning to behave more like a religious cult than a human-rights lobby. It’s not just the Salem-like witch hunts it pursues against its critics. It’s also its flight from reason and its embrace of magical thinking.

This irrationalism is best illustrated by its recent embrace of the term ‘two-spirit’ (often shortened to ‘2S’), which in North America has been added to the lobby’s ever-growing acronym, meaning we are now expected to refer to – take a deep breath – the ‘2SLGBTQQIA+ community’.

The term two-spirit was first formally endorsed at a conference of Native American gay activists in 1990 in Winnipeg in Canada. It is a catch-all term to cover over 150 different words used by the various Indian tribes to describe what we think of today as gay, trans or various forms of gender-bending, such as cross-dressing. Two-spirit people, the conference declared, combine the masculine and the feminine spirits in one.

From the start, the whole exercise reeked of mystical hooey. Myra Laramee, the woman who proposed the term in 1990, said it had been given to her by ancestor spirits who appeared to her in a dream. The spirits, she said, had both male and female faces.

Incredibly, three decades on, there are now celebrities and politicians who endorse the concept or even identify as two-spirit. The term has found its way into one of Joe Biden’s presidential proclamations and is a constant feature of Canadian premier Justin Trudeau’s doe-eyed bleating about ‘2SLGBTQQIA+ rights’.

The term’s success is no doubt due in part to white guilt. There is a tendency to associate anything Native American with a lost wisdom that is beyond whitey’s comprehension. Ever since Marlon Brando sent ‘Apache’ activist Sacheen Littlefeather to collect his Oscar in 1973, nothing has signalled ethical superiority as much as someone wearing a feather headdress.

The problem is that too many will believe almost any old guff they are told about Native Americans. This is an open invitation to fakery. Ms Littlefeather, for example, may have built a career as a symbol of Native American womanhood. But after her death last year, she was exposed as a member of one of the fastest growing tribes in North America: the Pretendians. Her real name was Marie Louise Cruz. She was born to a white mother and a Mexican father, and her supposed Indian heritage had just been made up.

Much of the fashionable two-spirit shtick is just as fake. For one thing, it’s presented as an acknowledgment of the respect Indian tribes allegedly showed individuals who were gender non-conforming. Yet many of the words that two-spirit effectively replaces are derogatory terms.

In truth, there was a startling range of attitudes to the ‘two-spirited’ among the more than 500 separate indigenous Native American tribes. Certain tribes may have been relaxed about, say, effeminate men. Others were not. In his history of homosexuality, The Construction of Homosexuality (1998), David Greenberg points out that those who are now being called ‘two spirit’ were ridiculed by the Papago, held in contempt by the Choctaws, disliked by the Cocopa, treated by the Seven Nations with ‘the most sovereign contempt’ and “derided” by the Sioux. In the case of the Yuma, who lived in what is now Colorado, the two-spirited were sometimes treated as rape objects for the young men of the tribe.

The contradictions and incoherence of the two-spirit label may be explained by an uncomfortable fact. The two-spirit project was shaped from day one by complete mumbo-jumbo. The 1990 conference that adopted the term was inspired by a seminal book, Living the Spirit: A Gay Indian Anthology, published two years earlier. Its essays were compiled and edited by a young white academic called Will Roscoe. He was the historical adviser to the conference. And his work on gay people in Indian cultural history – a niche genre in the 1980s – had become the received wisdom on the subject.

Roscoe’s work had an unlikely origin story of its own. In 1979, he joined over 200 other naked gay men in the Arizona desert for an event dubbed the ‘Spiritual Conference for Radical Faeries’. It was here where he met Harry Hay, the man who would become his spiritual mentor and whose biography he would go on to write. The event was Hay’s brainchild and was driven by his conviction that gay men’s lives had become spiritually empty and dominated by shallow consumerism. For three days, Roscoe and the other men sought spiritual renewal in meditation, singing and classes in Native American dancing. There were also classes in auto-fellatio, lest anyone doubt this was a gay men’s event.

To say Hay, who died in 2002, was eccentric is to radically understate his weirdness. For one thing, he was a vocal supporter of paedophilia. As such, he once took a sandwich board to a Pride march proclaiming ‘NAMBLA walks with me’, in reference to the paedophilia-advocacy group, the North American Man / Boy Love Association. Hay also believed that gay men were a distinct third gender who had been gifted shamanic powers. According to Hay, these powers were recognised and revered by pre-Christian peoples, from Ancient Greece to, you guessed it, the indigenous tribes of North America.

For years, Hay had been experimenting with sweat lodges and dressing up in Indian garb in ways that would now be criticised as cultural appropriation. Despite this, Roscoe took Hay’s incoherent thesis – that gender-bending and spiritual enlightenment go hand in hand – and turned it into a piece of Native American history.

Unsurprisingly, given its provenance, Roscoe’s work is full of holes and lazy assumptions. To prove that two-spirit people combine the feminine and masculine spirits, Roscoe searched for evidence of gender non-conforming behaviour among the Indian tribes. The problem was that he had to mainly rely on the accounts of white settlers who had little understanding of Native cultures. And even when he didn’t rely on those sources, Roscoe still jumped to the wrong conclusions.

Take, for example, the case of Running Eagle, ‘the virgin woman warrior’ of the Blackfeet tribe, whom Roscoe was the first to label as two-spirit. As a girl, she rebelled against the usual girl chores and insisted on being taught how to hunt and fight. She became a noted warrior and declared she would never marry a man or submit to one.

Of course, none of this really means that Running Eagle was two-spirit, or that the tribe she hailed from was made up of LGBT pioneers. It merely shows that the Blackfeet were smart and adaptable enough to recognise martial talent in a girl and were able to make good use of a remarkable individual. Nevertheless, Roscoe’s description of her has become gospel and Running Eagle is now endlessly cited as an example of a two-spirit.

This is a mind-numbingly reductive approach. It’s based on the presumption that what we think of as feminine and masculine traits are fixed and stable across time and cultures. It dictates that no Native American man or woman who ever breaks a gender taboo or fails to conform to expectations can be anything but two-spirit. This is gender policing on steroids.

The two-spirit term also does Native American cultures a deep disservice. It assumes that 500 different tribes were both homogenous and static. As journalist Mary Annette Pember, herself Ojibwe, argues, it also erases ‘distinct cultural and language differences that Native peoples hold crucial to their identity’.

In some ways, it is entirely unsurprising that the wayward ‘2SLGBTQQIA+’ movement has fastened on to two-spirit, an invented term with a bogus pedigree. Far from paying tribute to Native American cultures in all their richness, it exploits them to make a cheap political point. Harry Hay and his fellow auto-fellators would be proud.

==

"Two spirit" is a great way of fabricating an interesting identity when you don't have one. And you can scream at people as "bigots," but without the guilt of lying about your great-grandparents being descendants of Sacagawea.

The fake mysticism goes along neatly with the notion of disembodied sexed thetans ("gender identity") which become trapped between worlds in the wrong meat bodies.

#Malcolm Clark #two spirit #pretendians #native american #native american culture #noble savage #narcissism #narcissistic personality disorder #2SLGBTQ #gender ideology #queer theory #cultural appropriation #religion is a mental illness

[themakeupbrush]

I love the content you share, but I’m curious about your username. Why are you called the makeup brush when you just post fashion? No complaints here, like I said, I love your content, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything makeup related on this blog. I’m just curious as to the reasoning behind your username.

I’ve honestly been counting to see how long it was before someone asked this I started this page over a decade ago with the intention of it being a makeup page (let’s be real: I really wanted the free makeup PR and event invites influencers were getting) unfortunately, the makeup influencer space was pretty saturated, even back then.

Over time that bled into posting backstage pictures of makeup from runway shows, then following certain models/victorias secret angels who were frequently in those pictures, and then to fashion content.

I typically try to prioritize makeup/backstage pictures, but in recent years those have become MUCH harder to find than they used to be. I don’t really delete anything from this page except personal posts, so you can actually see the change in content over the years in my archive. It became harder to find backstage/makeup pictures probably 4-5 years ago.

Should I probably have changed my username along the way to better reflect the content I post? Probably, but everything I’ve done to run this page has been setup around this username and one thing I value above all when it comes to this page is consistency so I don’t really see myself changing it. Case in point: I’ve only had 2 profile pictures on this account

From time to time people still ask me makeup related questions or for makeup content just based on my url, which I’m more than happy to answer.

TLDR: it was supposed to be makeup related, but I got distracted and content got limited over the course of 10+ years

[skrunklybf-archived]

prompt: keyhole.

pairing: eren jaeger x f!reader

warnings: minors do not interact. smut (all characters are 18+), pining, voyeurism, hate fucking(?), mutual masturbation, use of vibrator, dubcon, oral (f receiving)

Eren Jaeger had a problem.

Whatever it was, you were blissfully unaware of it, only falling victim to the blazing side eye and snarky tone he often took whenever interacting with you. For years, you dealt with his sour attitude every single time he stepped foot into your house, which felt far too often for a kid who didn't even live there. Yes, you knew Eren Jaeger -- he had been your little brother's best and most aggravating friend for the better part of a decade. You just didn't know why he hated you so much.

He knew, though. He knew it started a few years back, and he knew it was definitely something he could never tell a soul about.

Your house had always been so welcoming to him, with its old generation wallpaper and well-loved wooden floors. Some would call the decor dated, but he loved the atmosphere of it all; you even had those cool doors with the classic keyholes sitting right under the ornate knob.

It was an accident -- the first time, anyway. Eren liked to think of it as morbid curiosity getting the better of him. Sleeping over at his friend's house the night before a little camping weekend, he had no ill intentions, (honestly!) but some things, you just can't walk away from.

Eren couldn't help the way his ears pricked up in the dark of the hallway. The only noises that filled the house were the little creaks from beneath his feet, on the last leg of his journey to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Everyone was supposed to be sleeping, so what was that sound coming from your bedroom?

The brunette paused and listened, searching the darkness for the noise that had tickled his brain just seconds ago. Like the answer to a prayer, it came again, and the boy shifted to curiously stare down your door: a gasp, delivered in a hushed and muffled fashion, but unmistakable in his deathly eagerness to confirm his suspicions.

Of course, Eren found himself on his knees, peering desperately into the keyhole. The stars had truly aligned in his favor. Just barely illuminated by the fairy lights strung over the walls, he watched you, your fingers wrapped around something that you rocked in and out of yourself at a mounting pace. The memory of your pussy sucking in that baby blue dildo over and over again nearly burned itself into Eren's head -- it also became the reason Eren could no longer stand to be in the same room as you.

He wanted you. He knew he couldn't have you; not when you were his best friend's sister; not when you've seen him in all the awkward stages of his life, meanwhile you've always been so fucking stunning in his eyes.

Which is why, years down the line, he had no idea how he ended up where he was -- leaned back on your bedroom floor, legs spread, flushed cock in his hand and a gleam in his eye.

The late hour ticked on as he watched you so closely, practically under a microscope with the way his gaze tracked your every move. Soft hums punctuated your gentle moaning, the toy in your hand buzzing deliciously over your glistening clit and making your bent legs jerk every now and then. Eren squeezed his cock, feeling his balls tighten when you dip the tip of your toy into your needy hole -- just slightly, just a tease -- and a barely audible groan rumbled out from his chest. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath. Stroking from base to tip, the brunette clenched his jaw as you worked yourself, laying atop your bed like a stage just for him.

Truthfully, that's as far as you intended to go; having Eren jerk off on the floor at your feet, writhing at the sight of your naked form; but despite his petty demeanor, despite the attitude seeming to plague his very being, he was a convincing man.

Moreso, the desperate begging show he put on coupled with the fistful of his weeping cock lit a surprising fire under your ass.

Breath fanning hot over your shins, Eren had worked his way to the edge of your mattress, pupils blown wide and jaw slacked. "You can use me instead," he offered, as if it were as simple as borrowing a pencil, "my hands, my mouth. Use me to get off." Under your heavy scrutinizing gaze, the man showed no embarrassment from his words, or the fact that he stared directly into your cunt, attempting to memorize the way your pussy clenched around the faux dick easing into it. His face was so close. The smell of sex hung in the air between you both despite neither of you gracing the other with a single touch yet.

It was oddly satisfying, having an eager audience for such an act. Working the toy in and out in a steady rhythm, you hummed, mulling over the idea for just a moment before shaking your head in denial. Eren visibly deflated at your feet. You couldn't see his cock anymore, obscured by his proximity, but his arm continued to sway and stroke away in his lap regardless.

"Just let me taste you. Just a little bit."

Clicking the little button at the base, you increased the speed and plunged the toy deeper into your core, giving Eren a soft moan in tasteless reply.

"God, you drive me fucking crazy," he breathed, moving in to lean his forehead on your bare thigh. The touch was startling at first, but the fact that he was so daringly close yet just far enough away made your muscles clench down harder on the silicone. A wayward hand snaked over your sheets. It wormed its way around your thigh, coming up to rest atop your hip. A little gasp peeked out from your lips, something that only seemed to egg him on, much to your chagrin. Eren took what he could get. He pressed warm fingertips into the soft flesh, rubbed little circles with his thumb, squeezed at the plushness with hungry admiration. Even this low-level intimacy was pushing the border you not-so-clearly laid down, but as you massaged your gooey walls with this breathtakingly handsome man between your legs, the will to care was simply fading by the second.

Hormones are dangerous. So very dangerous.

Opting for a change of pace, you pulled the vibrator out of your squelching cunt and rolled it over the swollen bud sitting up top. The juices spread over your folds glistened so invitingly. Eren gnawed at his bottom lip, watching carefully as you laid your head back, eyes sliding shut with small shivers running down your form.

Amidst the horny haze, the feeling of two large hands splayed over your trembling thighs felt too welcoming -- as did the way they butterflied your legs, pulling them open nice and wide for better access. "You look so fucking good like this, all spread for me," he rasped, petting sweet circles into your heated skin.

The self-induced bliss suddenly shifted into jarring ecstasy. If you could only pry your eyes open, you'd be able to glance down and watch Eren Jaeger stuff his tongue into your cunt, lapping up the juices that gushed out of you like it was his favorite flavor. He worked the wet muscle against you with such eagerness you'd think he was being graded on it. A little yelp jumped from your throat, your hips bucking into him on their own. "E-Eren," you breathed, daring to peek. The messy brunette bun threatened to come apart at the seams. Strands of chocolate locks fell down and framed that angular face so nicely while he worked -- his eyes were closed, expression twisted up into one of deep adoration as he shoved his tongue past that ring of muscle, desperately swirling around as deep as he could manage.

It was white hot, the vibrations against your sensitive clit and Eren pressing his face into your sex just below. Half of you wanted to push him away, shut your legs, scold him for misbehaving and choosing not to listen -- the other, more depraved part of you could only whimper and moan like a bitch in heat, spreading your legs as wide as you could in search of more stimulation. He hummed into you, a pleased sound, and ran his tongue up your folds, placing wet kisses over the digits you gripped the toy with. "Cum on my tongue, pretty girl," he swooned. Eren shifted his arm to cover your hand with his own, effectively taking charge of the toy he envied. Your eyes met then, lids drooped with unbearable lust and bad decisions swimming behind them.

Eren Jaeger had a problem.

Even with how much he pretended to hate you, to push you away, to make you feel like he couldn't care less -- he was hopelessly addicted. With the very first glimpse of your perfect fucking body laid out, ripe for the taking, he knew he could never get enough. And after his very first taste, he knew he'd never want to stop trying.

#🫣 #eren jaeger #eren x reader #aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #snk #snk x reader #shinjeki no kyojin

[tortillasconsal]

Some Trenderman sketches

I'm trying to do some practice/concept sketches for Trenderman while planning his design and character and it's way more harder than I thought it'd be.

I have a very "close-minded" version of the character. Like what I think about him is that he is a very tradicional person, and despite being very focused on fashion (an aspect of humanity that is very diverse and personal and used in many ways all at the same time) he has very closed views on it and tries really hard to catter to the mainstream because his objective is to keep people on a box that he himself designs so they're easier to control and manipulate. If you see the little notes I wrote on the outfits that are crossed off you'll see how conservative he's supposed to be.

And while he understands how culturally significant and deeply connected fashion is to humans he is a very inhumane person. I want him to feel approachable and more "normal" than his family but I also want him to feel uncanny and very artificial. He is literally based on mannequins so it makes sense that he is as fake as them.

In general I don't want him to exclude a lot of personality from his looks. And I think I can also do that with his mannerisms, I feel like it could be interesting if he moved kind of robotic or stiff. Which means I have to practice some stiff poses because the ones I made here look pretty fluid and natural.

I kinda like the smallest full-body sketch and the one where he's sitting. They're not too dynamic or too stiff, they're very close to the vibe I want Trender to have.

I'm taking inspiration from preppy and casual business styles and that very minimalist and structured style that some designer collections use. I'm also using some 50s trends to have some variety on silhouettes and articles of clothing, also because the 50s is known as a very cozy and friendly-looking decade despite human rights being barely talked about during it. I also think he'd only use neutral or earthy colors and wear a lot of monochrome outfits.

I guess that is all my thought process so far

I've become more invested on Trenderman since I've started this sort of project(? I know he started as a meme and that's pretty much the purpose of his character but as a fashion enthusiast I find a lot of potential on him.

The fashion aspect of Trenderman is usually limited to a running gag or a personality quirk, but fashion and trends are such a powerful tool that are used for more than just looking good and they can lead to the most grotesque and traumatizing horror stories.

I really am getting excited with all the space I get to fill that nobody else has yet. I want to see what I come up with already.

#Trenderman #sketchbook #sketches #doodle page #Trenderman fanart #creepypasta #creepypastas #slenderbros #slender brothers #slender family #slenderman #splendorman #character design #creepypasta fanart

[evieismol]

Big Bend Chapter Twenty One - Scary Stories

Word count: 2185

Cw: angst, cursing

Chapter Twenty One: Angie

“Penelope, Easton, and I were going to go stargazing. Do you want to come?” I asked as Dave, Penelope, and I walked down the trail. My vampiric friend had arrived to visit earlier that day, and, true to character, had wanted to see Easton again. I had been meaning to invite him to do…something again anyways, so it seemed as good as time as any. Something being the operative word because there weren’t a ton of recreational things to do off work to start with, besides hiking and going to a bar. Neither of those were activities Easton could really join in on, for probably obvious reasons.

Dave paused, then shook his head. “I have to be up early.”

“Ah, c’mon, it’ll be fun,” Penelope said. “You only live once, right?”

“You did not just say YOLO in the year 2023.” Dave laughed.

“It’s practically vintage at this point,” Penelope replied with a shrug. “Like 2010s fashion.”

“That’s not a thing,” I said, frowning as it dawned on me that 2010 was almost 15 years ago.

Penelope shook her head. “It is, I saw it on TikTok. 2010s nostalgia and shit.”

“No. Just…no. Fuck, we’re getting old, aren’t we?” I said, taking that in. It felt like that era had only been a few years ago. Not over a decade ago.

“At least I know I’ll age gracefully,” Penelope replied, giving us a teasing smile. “But, yeah. We’re 24. I guess you’re turning 25 in a few weeks. Wait, Dave, how old are you?”

“25,” Dave replied.

“Dammit. Am I seriously the youngest?” Penelope said, huffing.

“Yeah, I thought vampires were supposed to be old,” I replied.

“Well, it takes a while.” Penelope laughed. “But…back to the original topic…Dave, you should come with us!”

Dave sighed, but smiled. “Alright. Fine. YOLO, or whatever.”

“Yes!” Penelope cheered.

***

When we met Easton later - this time, at the trail, as Penelope and I took my car and Dave arrived in his - the first thing Penelope did was run up to him. Dave lingered back by his car, which I guessed was to be expected at this point.

“Ok, weird question, how old are you?” She asked.

Easton paused, as if considering. “In human years or aphirial years?”

“…yes?” Penelope replied. “Is that like a dog years and human years type of thing?”

“Sort of,” Easton said. “Our days and years are roughly twice as long as yours, and I guess we have ten months, if months are based on the lunar cycle of the main moon but there’s three moons so it gets a little complicated and then we don’t have leap years which probably adds up so based on a human calendar 30-something I think, but I’m bad at math and it would probably make more sense to tell you based on an aphirial calendar anyways because that would match up with the rate we age at and stuff and-I guess you don’t really need to know all of that. Effectively, I’m 21.”

“I honestly did not follow the first part of that,” Penelope admitted. “But what I’m hearing is I’m not the youngest anymore!”

“Unless you go by our years,” I pointed out. “Then he’s the oldest.”

“Just let me have this,” Penelope replied, with faux exasperation. “Besides, from what I did pick up, human years wouldn’t be accurate for his age because it’s like how puppies grow up within like a year but humans don’t except we’re the puppies. Like, okay, Easton, when did you finish school?”

“I graduated college pretty much right before coming here,” he said. “But I did graduate a year early.”

“See? He’s the youngest, from a practical standpoint,” Penelope said.

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, fine. You’re not the youngest.”

“Is she always like this?” Dave asked jokingly.

“I heard that,” Penelope replied. “I just saw a shooting star!”

We all looked up at the sky a fraction of a second too late.

“Man, I missed it. Could have really used a wish,” Dave said, finally walking closer to us. He still stood the furthest from Easton between the three of us, and I saw him glance up at the giant nervously. I once again wondered why he had decided to join us.

“Job that bad?” I joked.

“Oh, more like my whole life,” Dave replied sarcastically.

“You guys know what we should do?” Penelope asked. Not waiting for anyone to reply, she continued. “We should tell scary stories. I mean, dark desert, middle of nowhere, it’s the perfect setting for a horror movie.”

“You have to start, though,” I said. “Mostly because I can’t think of any.”

“I second that,” Dave said.

“Thirded,” Easton added.

“Alright. I have a true one. Y’all ever heard the story of the Whistler?” Penelope lowered her voice, shining her flashlight up towards her face in the picturesque scary story telling manner.

The three of us shook our heads. She grinned. “Perfect.” She took a deep breath, before starting the story.

“There once was this guy who loved camping, so one spring break, he and his friends all decided to go someplace they’d never been before. Big Bend National Park-“

“Oh, come on,” Dave interrupted. “Isn’t that a little too convenient?”

Penelope glared at him. “Don’t interrupt!”

“Okay, sorry,” Dave said.

She continued. “The trip ended up being three of them - let’s call them James, Ben, and Peter. The three planned a camping trip that was supposed to last for a week. They were all experienced backpackers and shit, so this wasn’t something that was out of the norm for them. The trip slowly drew closer, and before they knew it, they were off.

When they got to the park, it was already dark, so they ended up setting up for the first night by flashlight. Nothing really happened that night, and the three of them got up early the next morning to start hiking. They made pretty good time throughout the day, and by the time they set up camp that night, they were all exhausted. James was certain he’d pass out almost as soon as he was in his tent. But that didn’t happen.

Instead, James found himself unable to fall asleep, despite how tired he was from the day’s journey. Something kept nagging out his mind, like some long forgotten instinct warning him of danger. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was off. It was then that he noticed the desert had gone silent. No coyotes, no crickets, no toads, nothing.

And then he heard it. It was faint at first, so faint he could barely make it out. As it drew closer, though, he realized what the sound was. Someone was out there, in dark expanses of the desert. Whistling. It was a tune he didnzmt recognize, one that gave him the same feeling of wrongness that had been seeping into his mind all night. The whistling grew steadily louder. James fought to make sense of it. It didn’t make any sense for someone to be out in the desert this far from anything, not in the dead of night. He was certain he would have heard Peter or Ben leaving their tent if it had been them, too. The whistling was close now - whoever it was had to be feet from their campsite. James held his breath, a primal sense of dread washing over him. He somehow knew he couldn’t let the whistler know he was awake…”

As Penelope continued the story, I felt a shiver run down my spine as I stared out at the desert. I felt like I could almost convince myself there was some sort of strange creature lurking out there, whistling an eerie tune. I glanced over at Dave. His expression was neutral. Glancing up at Easton, I couldn’t help but find it a little ironic that he looked the most unsettled about the story. Given that he probably had the least to fear even if the Whistler had been real. It was amusing in the same sort of way that seeing him wearing oversized t-shirts and sweatshirts was, and also an always surreal reminder that he came from a world where he wasn’t a giant.

Penelope finished the story by declaring that the Whistler was said to still lurk out there to this day, looking for more victims. I heard Easton let out a breath.

“Personally, I would simply whistle back at the Whistler.” Dave broke the silence, adding some much appreciated humor back into the evening. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“So, who’s next?” Penelope asked, looking between the three of us. I wracked my brain for a story that seemed suitable to tell. It dawned on me that there were actually more than a couple of campfire stories about aphirials. I quickly crossed those off as possible options, settling on a somewhat generic ghost story and volunteering. We didn’t actually get to telling another story after that, the conversation instead shifting to whether or not ghosts were real.

Dave glanced down at his phone at some point, announcing that he had to get going to get some sleep. Penelope made a brief attempt to convince him to stay, but he shook his head and wished the remaining three of us a goodnight. He seemed ever so slightly more comfortable around Easton towards the end, which I decided to count as progress. I wondered idly if Penelope had picked up on any of the tension between the two of them as I watched his headlights grow smaller in the darkness.

The three of us continued talking for a bit, watching the stars up above. I eventually felt myself growing tired. A sentiment that Penelope didn’t seem to share - not that she ever did.

“We should probably head back soon,” I told her.

“I guess some of us do need to “sleep occasionally” or whatever,” she replied jokingly. She glanced up at Easton. “Wait, if your days are twice as long, how does that work with sleeping here on Earth? If you even need to sleep - don’t want to assume.”

“I wish I didn’t need to sleep,” Easton replied with a small laugh. “It’s been an adjustment. Which is why I’ll agree with Angie on it getting late. Thank you for inviting me, by the way.”

“Hey, I said we should hang out outside of work more and I meant it,” I replied. I stood up from where I had been sitting. Penelope did the same. She suddenly froze, looking off into the desert, before shrieking,

“Shit! It’s the Whistler!” And jumping back.

Despite it being the most Penelope move ever, I still jumped too, my heart skipping a beat.

As did Easton. He flinched back at Penelope suddenly jumping back towards him, her status as a vampire allowing her to move far faster than any humans and managed to catch even him off guard. His hand landed a bit closer to my car than I would have liked.

“Don’t do that!” His tone was far more abrupt than I’d heard from him before. Enough so that Penelope and I both froze. She stopped laughing, the realization that trying to scare someone the size of a skyscraper was a poor choice finally hitting her.

“I’m sorry.” Easton’s tone immediately softened upon seeing our reaction as even more regret filled his eyes. “I-that-I didn’t mean for that to come out so strongly. Or to move so quickly. I’m so sorry, I was just surprised-“

“It’s fine,” I said, interrupting him. “I think Penelope would agree that that was maybe not the move?” I looked over at her expectantly.

“Yeah. Um, sorry. I didn’t really think that through,” Penelope admitted.

“I still shouldn’t have - I should have been being more careful and I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I’m seriously so sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to scare you guys or come off as-“

“I can’t speak for Penelope, but I was less scared and more…surprised? I don’t think I’ve ever even heard you sound annoyed before,” I said. That was the truth - I’d only actually seen Easton express an emotion besides “polite friendliness” once, which was when he had been crying after that one man had yelled at him. The whole event was a poignant reminder that he was not, in fact, just some concept of a giant, but also very much a person. Seeing the way he’d tried to backpedal so quickly for something like sounding slightly upset over a prank made me feel a wave of sympathy for him. That same remark, coming from me or Dave, would have probably just gotten a “my bad” in response followed by laughter.

I frowned, Penelope’s earlier point about how he was technically the youngest of the four of us coming back to me. Not that 21 wasn’t also an adult, but just that there was some twisted irony in how he also had to be the most mature in spite of that. I glanced back up at him.

“Seriously, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Next chapter

#g/t #giant/tiny #gt #sfw g/t #gt writing #g/t writing

[twilightmalachite]

Raison d’être - A Premature Burial 3

Author: Akira

Characters: Shu, Mika

Translator: Mika Enstars

"By the way, Oshi-san, I know it’s a lil’ late t’ask, but how come I’m bein’ brought with to yer family home?"

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: The Itsuki's House (Exterior)

Noon the following day. At the Itsuki family villa, the building where Itsuki Shu was born and raised…

Shu: What a nostalgic house of mine.

Hmph. Although the building itself remains to be a half-hearted and unbecoming Western-wannabe. I envy that dreadful Tenshouin only in that respect.

Mika: Nnah, ya sure like the Western style, Oshi-san.

Shu: Japanese style is tasteful, but it needs to be just that. Nothing should be done by halves. I find the Rokumeikan[1] to be a disgrace upon Japanese history.

Though I suppose some art is borne from the chaos of transitional periods too.

Well, it’s fine. You know the house plenty well already, you can leave your luggage in the room that you used to occupy.

I was told the room has been left untouched as nobody’s had to use it.

In the meantime, I will greet my parents and the rest.

Mika: Ah, lemme come with ya. I’ve stayed here under their care fer a while, so I’d like to greet yer household as well. I’ve brought some souvenirs and stuff too!

Shu: Hm. It appears that you’ve learned some social etiquette as well.

Mika: This past year, I’ve been exposed to society to an extent—

By the way, Oshi-san, I know it’s a lil’ late t’ask, but how come I’m bein’ brought with to yer family home?

Shu: You’re asking this only now? And to correct you, this is not my family home.

The main residence of the Itsuki family is in Kansai. This is nothing but a villa built in Tokyo, built by a former head of the family several generations ago.

It is just a foothold; a frontier base used to advance into the Tokyo area, so to speak. Also called a vacation home.

Our main residence is a very old-fashioned Japanese-style building, in terms of convenience, it’s technology much is much more inferior than modern day—

My family moved here out of consideration for Grandfather’s poor health with the building made with a barrier free design.

Mika: So it’s kinda like a nursin’ home for yer grandfather, huh?

Shu: Yes. This was before I was born, however, so it would not be incorrect to say that this is my “family home where I was born and raised”.

And our grandfather, who had worried those around him for years saying he was dying, continued to live on for more than a decade.

Likely just an excuse so my western-minded grandfather could live in a modern, western-style building.

Mika: Nah, there’s no way…

Shu: As much as I hate to say it, Grandfather would do that.

To you, he might be nothing more than an “emaciated sick man” that you visited alongside me…

But for us in the Itsuki family, Grandfather was like the eye of a typhoon. A disaster, a windstorm that would destroy everything on a whim.

Since I was a child, Grandfather has been causing us all sorts of trouble time and time again.

No one could complain, though. This was my Grandfather, the head of the family attributed to the restoration of the Itsukis, they were dealing with. But everyone was tired of it.

And this time too, it’s likely just another of his “usual episodes”. Judging from the way Nii-sama spoke, at least.

Mika: (Ah, so looks like Oshi-san expected as much too. Thank goodness~, hopefully “Ryuu~-kun”-san and Nazuna-nii were right, then.)

(That the news that Grandfather passed away was just an inappropriate lie, or joke, and that he’s actually still alive and well.)

Mika: (And unlike what I’d heard from “Ryuu~-kun”-san, Oshi-san seems to be relatively calm…)

(Right, he’s no longer a kid that panics anytime somethin’ would happen, ain’t he?)

Shu: …What is it? Wipe that condescendingly affectionate and unpleasant look off your face at once!

Mika: Nnah~, my baaad? I dunno what t’say, when I’d lived in the house I never asked questions to try t’be considerate.

So I’m happy t’hear about your house among other things this time, Oshi-san! ♪

Shu: Hmph. Though if you hadn’t held back and asked, it wouldn’t have bothered me at all. You’re already my family, in many senses.

Well, I was rather unstable at the time, I suppose I would unreasonably yell back no matter what you had asked.

[ ☆ ]

← prev | story directory | next →

1. A large diplomatic building in Tokyo built to house diplomats and other guests from overseas. It stands as a controversial cultural symbol of the Meiji Period's Westernization policy. The Rokumeikan was done almost entirely in the western style, and notably does not mix Japanese and Western elements; Shu is likely referring to its status as a symbol and the westernization policy. See a photo of it here!

#raison d'etre #raison d’être #shu itsuki #mika kagehira #event #translation

[sleepymarmot]

Bright Young Things (2003) / Vile Bodies (1930)

Yes, yes, of course I watched this for young gay Michael Sheen.

For real, the main entertainment factor of this film is embodying the Leo pointing meme every time a familiar face shows up on screen. At some point a certain someone appeared in an incidental role for a few seconds in a close-up next to Tennant and I completely fucking lost it. The UK can’t possibly have so few actors!

I’ve never even heard of the book this was based on, or was aware this was an adaptation before being informed in the opening titles, but it’s very noticeable. The script frantically jumps from plot point to plot point just like in any other feature film that tries to cram a novel in less than two hours of runtime. A bigger problem is that it’s not very clear to the viewer whether they should even try to make out a plot out of this string of scenes, or it’s a narrative that operates on vibes only. (I had to quickly leaf through previous scenes because I’d put a name to a wrong face, all while wondering if correcting myself was even worth it.) The film has a boisterous beginning, then slows down for a long time, then is given a shot of energy when James McAvoy’s character does a certain big thing halfway through (I cheered. Then I went “Oh man :/”). The plot does get a bit more coherent after that.

The ending caught me by surprise: I didn’t realize it was that late in the thirties. The radio announcement was a real “Guess he’ll die” moment, and it was immediately followed by a scene where the main character and his love interest seemed to poetically die on the same day… And then both of these were swiftly undone. The final scene was so conspicuously set during an air raid in a room filled with burning candles that I kept expecting the final frame to be a bomb hitting the building, or someone knocking over one of the candles — either way, with the pair being set ablaze just like the rediscovered manuscript. But no, it was just… a happy/bittersweet melodramatic ending? Instead of a neat destructive one? But I had already given up on the emotionally involved melodramatic mode of viewing because I’d written off the characters as unlikeable empty shells whom you study like a bug instead of rooting for! The girl didn’t even seem to like the boy and the boy sold her, what kind of emotion was their reunion supposed to evoke? And what happened to Agatha and Miles during/after the war? According to the summary on Wikipedia, the original novel’s ending is entirely different in content and tone, and much more in tune with the detached cynicism of the story up to the war, which makes me wonder even more about the adaptation’s intent.

It was nice to look at all these pretty people in fashionable clothes, and get a glimpse of a foreign historical setting. “Watching a random mildly obscure production because you’ve heard about it online and/or some star was in it” is a familiar, semi-forgotten experience, and that felt pleasantly nostalgic.

---

Of course, I couldn’t resist immediately reading the original book to compare, encouraged by a review saying that it’s actually not that long. I found a public domain version somewhere and read the bare original text without commentary, even though I’m sure it’s a terrible way to consume century-old satire.

I was surprised to discover that the book is from 1930 — and still ends with a great war (fictional, I assume). No wonder the adaptation moved the setting a decade forward!

My impression that the characters and their stories were supposed evoke curiosity and contempt rather than compassion was confirmed. I now find the shoehorned sappy ending even stranger. The film version turned out to be very faithful otherwise: the unimportant events and characters are condensed well, and the weird pacing and disjointedness that I perceived as a trait of sloppy adaptation were actually true to the source material.

The last chapters of the book feel different not because of the sudden bleakness, but because the scope is rapidly narrowed to the few main characters, and most of the secondary subplots are dropped. The book, unlike the adaptation, puts a definite end to Agatha’s story (and her life), and there’s an entire subplot about a fictional film that didn’t make it to the real film, but what about the Prime Minister and his unsuccessful courtship of a Japanese noblewoman, or Miles’ brother and his rejected proposal? I thought these were going somewhere.

What a shame that the misunderstanding about “shooting” didn’t make it to the adaptation — it’s one of the few passages in the novel I found genuinely funny. Speaking of dialogue, I thought the “parties” monologue in the film was very unnatural and theatrical, and sure, in the novel it’s not said aloud but belongs to the narrator.

The minor character who hosted the fateful party was in the novel actually, uhh, a major character from the writer’s previous novel who made money via human trafficking?? That would have been very confusing for the movie’s audience, so I think it was pretty clever to throw all that out and make her Miles’ mother instead. Too bad a more serious take on Miles warranted a new surname: “Miles Malpractice” is a great name.

Miles’ role was expanded a lot for the film, which I think we all agree was a good choice. Most of his lines in the movie, including the tearful goodbye, aren’t in the book at all! So that’s another thing that was made more dramatic for the film. You win some (Miles), you lose some (the ending). The moral of the story is… Stephen Fry is better at writing a gay character than a straight romance? No wonder; the question is why he even bothered with the latter.

#i have a disease called ''if i watch an adaptation i have to read the book'' #bright young things #literature #liveblogs and reviews #blah blah blah #btw tumblr doesn't have a tag for the novel. straight up redirects to a search #the only explanation i see is that this combination of words is considered obscene and censored #which is very funny considering the inciting incident of the story

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #7:

Old Ways

A couple of years back my son had a big announcement after a week of summer camp counseling: they "were in a relationship."

Young love, isn't it sweet? I still experience it daily: Neil Young love, that is.

My son and this other kid were cute together, but most importantly their relationship led me to my copy of Neil Young's utterly mediocre 85 country record Old Ways.

Here's how it happened: my son's new love had a younger brother with a record collection. That brother saw my own hoard one day and took note of all my Neil Young. A few hours later he told me, quite smugly, "I've got a Neil Young record you don't own."

You're not supposed to swear at young people, even when they make dumb comments. So I chortled. Chortling is not swearing, but it stood in for a tempting retort based on a male cow's capacity for defecation.

"Listen, young one," I replied sagely. "I own every Neil Young album on vinyl between 66 and 89 with just one exception, plus Weld, Sleeps with Angels and a few other of Neil's titles besides, including several of the most important bootlegs in history. Either you are pulling my aching, middle-aged leg, or you own the only copy of The Monsanto Years anyone ever bought, which would be weird, or you are experiencing a momentary lapse in reason which adults call confusion."

Did I actually say that? Of course not; I don't live in a poorly written Wes Anderson film. I just chortled, heartily, and said, "yeah, right. Which one?"

"I don't know what it's called," said the kid. "But it's not in your collection. There's an old guy on the cover walking down a road, out in nature or something. I've never actually listened to it. I love Stephen Sills, and I don't think he's even on that record."

We were driving when this conversation occurred. I gripped the wheel in rage, and asked if the record was called Old Ways. That was the only hole in my collection prior to the 90's and on its cover Neil Young, not an old guy, (he was way younger than I am now in 85) does indeed walk down a country road.

The kid thought Old Ways sounded like the title. I controlled my breathing in Jedi fashion, setting aside envy and rage: the dark side that way lies. Then I demanded explanations. Where had he got it? Why? With whom? Wherefore? Was he sure he really owned Old Ways? I'd been searching for that record for years. For god sake, how much has he paid? Four dollars!!! Holy freakin' baby jesus.

Once I'd calmed myself down I started to wrestle with how to ethically steal the record from the kid. There was surely some way to do it without winding up a Sith lord. After all, I'd been patiently waiting to stumble across Old Ways for decades. I'd passed up Japanese import CD copies throughout the 90's and cassette versions in record store pickle barrels ever since. But the moment I learned some punk ass kid owed it I (very covertly) freaked out.

(He was not actually a punk ass kid; he was actually pretty cool; we'll chalk up his Stephen Stills preferences to the innocence of youth; after all, his prized possession was a reissued version of Buckingham/Nicks and when he told me that Lindsey Buckingham was the greatest guitar player in history my chortles turned to snorts, then resolve. The poor kid needed my help.)

"Listen, Harold," I said to him. (No, of course that wasn't his name. This was like four full years ago: I have no idea whatsoever what he was named.) "Old Ways is not a record you need in your collection. It's reserved for people like me who already own all of Neil's other records. He made it in the 80's during a midlife crisis. You should really listen to everything else he's ever made first. Well, except for those records he made with Promise of the Real."

(The kid got excited when I mentioned Promise of the Real Salami; he'd heard they were, like, totally the new Dead.)

"Listen," I told the kid, calculating madly. "I'll do you a favor. Let's swap: I'll give you a few vital records I have from Neil's catalog in exchange; I've got stuff you gotta hear. It will get you past this Buckingham / Stills phase in no time. Don't worry, I've got you covered."

I found this to be the greatest, most benevolent offer in the history of fathers dealing with their children's significant others' baby brothers. I was proud of myself, and as soon as we got back to my house I settled down before my altar of Neil and began pulling a few titles for Hubert, all the while inwardly drooling at the prospect of finally owning one of Neil's least important records.

I came up with dollar bin duplicates copies of Time Fades Away, Harvest and, for good measure, a truly battered Sergeant Pepper. After all, young Hank needed all the help he could get. Then, in a fit of outrageous generosity, I added Fairport Convention's double album greatest hits package, Chronicles, to the stack. Why merely be generous, I reasoned, when I could literally change a young man's life in a fundamental, uplifted fashion? I was like the messiah of white, male, teenage record collecting. God was surely nodding, impressed. And Obi-Wan. And Neil.

Harvey was floored. "You really don't want any of these?" he asked. "Wow! I've never even heard of Fairport Convention. There's no way this Richard Thompson guy you talk about is as good as Buckingham or Stills, but I'll listen; I will. I'll give it a real chance. Wow. Thanks mister!"

"No problem, young Heath," I replied stoically, all the while trembling with my own covert vinyl expectations. "And when we get back to your place you can give me that copy of Old Ways. You don't need that record taking up space on your shelf."

It was at the moment that young Haribald showed his teenage genius, his adolescent savvy, his young spunk.

"Oh yeah, about that," Handy murmured. "I think I want to hang on to that record, you know, give it a listen. But thanks for all these great new titles!"

When you are a grizzled old man like me, your bald spot shimmering and your days old stumble ashen in color, and what's more, when you are a high school teacher and principal, you are not allowed to throttle the young. It's simply not allowed. Nor can you renege on deals involving records you didn't really need in the first place. So I swallowed my rage, held all my force lightening unfurled within me and received nothing from Hedwig in return for a true treasure trove of vinyl.

And so, right now, as we speak, young Harrison is probably grooving to Illegal Stills, his copy of Old Ways long forgotten midst the flotsam and jetsam of a teenager's existence. And me? I'm at home listening to the overpriced copy of Old Ways that I broke down and bought on Discogs after that whole grim affair.

But, hello, you ask, what is there to know about the album? I suppose I owe you some thoughts on the actual record. Well, it is just as unimportant and marginal as I claimed to begin with. Like I told young Henrik, it's an album you only need after you've got everything else in the Shakeyverse up to the year 2007 or so.

But I suppose to deserve something more than that after reading all this, so here you go:

In the 80's Young wanted to make a straight country record; in 85, on his second attempt, Young did so. 7.4 million different musicians appear on the record. David Geffen seethed as a result; everyone else shrugged. You should listen to the live album from the era instead, entitled A Treasure. It's alternatively silly, bizarre and awesome: pure Shakey.

There's just one track from the record that is consistently interesting. It's about people like me, like you, like Shakey: you know, Misfits:

Young Hue's sibling no longer dates my son. But those two kids are good, and I hope you are too. And I sincerely hope you are not like the poor lady Neil's wacko song, who receives care from a hotel doctor, with nurse and stethoscope, after a sneezing attack. That sounds rough. And weird. For her there's no hope.

What's more, I hope you never get shafted by some savvy teen over a copy of Old Ways. It's a record only a few of us need, at all costs, on our shelf.

Cheers everyone.

#neil young #stephen stills sucks #shakey sundays #Youtube