#drab-babs

[jupyt3r]

The Spare

"A tournament? Did you win?”

"Of course. What do you take me for? I am my father's son.”

Corona nodded, satisfied. "Good. That's good. I will require nothing less than the future cavalier primary for this afternoon’s activities."

"And what, pray tell, have you co-opted my afternoon for so soon?”

"You're going to train me to use a rapier.”

Babs did look at her then, hefting his bag higher on his shoulder as he turned his face up to meet her resolute gaze. “Why would I do that?" he asked, confused.

Corona held her head high, eyes shifting ahead of them. “Let's call it an academic curiosity."

Coronabeth Tridentarius, the Crown Princess of Ida, Heir to the Third House (The Mouth of the Emperor, The Shining Dead, The Procession), the more shining, golden half of the Tridentarii, was utterly sick of this shit.

She leaned against the railing of the observation deck at the docking bay, golden curls seeming to somehow billow despite the absence of a breeze, her light robes draping around her. Her violet eyes moved with singular purpose, tracking a distant set of glowing headlights through the plex dome as they approached through the subsurface ocean. She tapped one booted foot impatiently against the stone floor. A lone scratch on her cheek marred the otherwise faultless expanse of her tanned skin.

When she was satisfied with the proximity of the arriving vessel, she pushed off the railing and took the stairs down two at a time, shoving through the guards and onto the tarmac before the sub had even docked. She gave the impression of a comet as she made her way through to the hatch, gleaming hair and fabric streaming behind her. She came to a stop, hands on her hips, as the clank of the craft making contact reverberated through the metal frame. In front of her, the ramp lowered onto the concrete, a chilled gust enveloping her as the pressure equalized.

The descending ramp revealed a lean, athletic figure with a voluminous wave of honey brown hair, mussed slightly on one side as if he'd been sleeping on it. He wore soft, navy colored clothes, a rapier at his hip. It bounced in concert with his footsteps as he exited the craft, hands clasped around the strap of the bag he wore over his opposite shoulder. His hazeled blue eyes fell upon the princess, and his mouth twitched as if to smile, before he thought better of it. He did not stop or turn to meet her, instead continuing his procession to the grand marble building ahead of him. Coronabeth spun and fell easily into step with him, her lithe legs having no trouble matching his shorter stride.

“Corona," he greeted with a curt nod, not glancing in her direction. “I'd not expected an entourage. I would have dressed properly if I'd known."

“I was going to comment on that drab ensemble of yours, Babs," she replied. “I much prefer that smart little jacket of yours. I trust your studies these past weeks have gone well?"

“‘Studies’ is not the word I would use to describe it, unless a dueling tournament counts as an exam.”

"A tournament? Did you win?”

"Of course. What do you take me for? I am my father's son.”

Corona nodded, satisfied. "Good. That's good. I will require nothing less than the future cavalier primary for this afternoon’s activities."

He sighed as he pushed through the plex door, tired from his journey from the frigid South Palace and very much wanting to unpack in his room, alone. "And what, pray tell, have you co-opted my afternoon for so soon?”

"You're going to train me to use a rapier.”

Babs did look at her then, hefting his bag higher on his shoulder as he turned his face up to meet her resolute gaze. “Why would I do that?" he asked, confused.

Corona held her head high, eyes shifting ahead of them. “Let's call it an academic curiosity." 

"If it's academic stimulation you seek, I'm sure Ianthe has some theory you could read, and, you know, you really should be more familiar with–"

“I don't want Ianthe’s help. I want yours, and you'll do as I say, Tern."

He replied more softly now, chastened. “This wouldn't have anything to do with–?" He tapped his cheek in the same location as her scrape.

She crossed her arms. “It's nothing. I was sparring with some visitors and Ianthe was captured in conversation by their cav and she lost focus. A bone grazed me."

“I see," he replied, a hard edge to his voice. "I understand, but I don't think your father would approve. Swordplay is not befitting of your station.”

She rounded on him, all gilded intensity beating down like the sun. "My station ? My station is nothing more than a figurehead, a sack of meat you throw into the ring to take blows or collect praise while someone else does all the work. I don't give a damn what Father thinks because he's not going to know. I need to be able to do something . So you couldn't possibly understand because all you do are somethings, gallivanting around the planet to see this tutor and that, collecting medals and accolades.” She quieted the flames in her eyes down to smoldering, amethyst embers and placed a hand on either of his shoulders. " Please , Babs. I'm asking now, not telling. Do it for Corona, not the princess. I need this.”

And he was helpless then, captured in her jeweled gaze and putty in her hands. "Alright.”

Corona’s face lit up immediately, and she stepped forward to press a kiss to his forehead before releasing him. "Oh, thank you! I promise I'll listen well. Meet me in the training room once you've dropped off your things.”

She turned and left him standing there feeling glad that there was no one to witness the blush that colored his cheeks.

—

 

Naberius Tern entered the training room, having re-gelled his hair and changed into his smart little jacket. He'd pinned another medal to it from his latest victory.

He spotted Corona at the other end of the long piste, toying about with what he could already tell was some terribly weighted excuse for a rapier. He didn't know where she might have procured the thing, but she was doing all sorts of silly flourishes which were honestly an affront to the sport.

“Put that thing down before you injure yourself. Or your pride," he ordered.

"My my, Babs. I didn't know you were in the habit of defending my pride. I'm just having a bit of fun is all. You always look so serious when you do it.”

“I take my duty seriously," he replied seriously. "First things first, remove your robe. It will only get in your way.” In turn, he began shrugging out of the jacket which he'd only just put on.

Corona pinched the gossamer fabric of her sleeve between her thumb and forefinger. “Appearances are everything, though. If I'm caught in a real fight I'll have the robes on."

“Right. Well, just the sleeves, then," he instructed with some frustration, “those will definitely hinder you."

She shrugged her arms out of the sleeves, flipping the fabric over her shoulders like a cape as Babs strapped his glove on and looked pointedly elsewhere.

“Next. The grip," he said, unsheathing his own blade in a fluid motion, the familiar whisper of metal on scabbard ringing through the tall room. “Start with your thumb on–”

"I know how to hold it. Despite what you may think, I do more than gossip at your matches,” she said self-assuredly, holding the sword out before her, blade perpendicular to her body to show her hand position beneath the basket. She was, surprisingly, correct.

"Alright,” he said, grinning dangerously. "Let's see how much attention you've paid, then. Call.”

“Coronabeth Tridentarius," she enunciated clearly, a smile creeping over her lips to match his at the thrill of being invited to duel.

“Naberius Tern," came the reply in kind. Babs thought dimly that he really should have been ashamed to challenge someone so far beneath him in skill, given that he ranked top ten in the House, but was more concerned with the opportunity to prove his skill to the princess, up close and personal.

It was over before it began. Babs advanced like a perfect viper into her space, forcing her back. He didn't toy with her. He lunged and made a single thrust to which she had, really, an admirable attempt at a parry for one's first duel, but the sword was slow and unfamiliar in her hand. The silver point of Babs’ rapier stopped a hair's breadth from her chest.

Corona let loose a frustrated roar and threw the training sword to the ground, turning on her heel and pacing the room in a blaze of golden fury.

“Come now, you can't have expected to win that. And honestly, that parry wasn't bad. Would you rather I have gone easy on you?"

“No," she groaned, “No! But I thought I could survive longer than that. Pathetic."

He wasn't sure what to say because it was, in truth, one of the more pathetic duels he'd witnessed, but that was to be expected. And he wanted to say something comforting because he was, it turned out, in the habit of defending her pride. "You'll get better. Now we have a starting point. Come on, pick it up and we'll make sure whoever scratched up your face will be sorry the next time you meet.”

“I don't want to hurt them," she said sullenly as she crossed the room towards him and the abandoned sword.

“Well, you can use your new prowess to threaten to whip Ianthe into shape then. I don't know."

She stopped. “What?" 

"All I'm saying is, if I had been here, I wouldn't have let Ianthe let her guard down like that. It was clumsy of her.”

Corona’s face iced over. "It was not her fault.”

"Wasn't it? If she hadn't been distracted, would you be walking around with this?” He bravely reached out and laid a gloved hand on her cheek, over the angry scratch.

Corona immediately pushed it off, furious. "Ianthe is doing everything she can to keep up this ruse for me. I can't fault her for a single mistake when she's doing the work of two adepts. And she already blames herself enough as it is, so don't you dare bring it up to her when I'm the reason we have to do this in the first place."

“Corona…” Babs softened his demeanor, hand already twitching to comfort her even though she'd just swatted him away. “You know it can't be helped. You can't control the circumstances of your birth any more than the rest of us.”

“I just feel so… useless . I need her to keep up the lie and you to fight for me.” She turned away and sat on the bench lining the edge of the room opposite the wall of mirrors, pulling her knees to her chest. Babs had never seen her look so small before.

He lowered himself slowly to sit next to her. "Is that what this is about, then? Defending yourself if I fail you? Corona, I am sworn to you, I will never–"

She shook her head rapidly, curls tumbling around her face, and the dam of her emotions broke through in a river of tears. “I feel so powerless. I'm no use to anyone. I want to protect her ! I want her to need me too! She works so hard, and I'm just– hic– a spare, I'm n-nothing…”

Unable to restrain himself any longer at this outburst, Babs wrapped his long arms around her and pressed his face into the golden halo of her hair. “Stop. You are not nothing– don't ever say that.”

She turned into his chest and crumpled, sobs wracking her shoulders as he held her. They stayed like that until she quieted, or at least until starved breaths weren't tearing their way down her throat. Babs took her cheeks in his hands and turned her face towards him, her puffy eyes meeting his abashedly as he stroked a thumb to catch the tears which were still streaming.

“Coronabeth. You are not nothing. Just as I was born to be a cavalier, and Ianthe was born to be a necromancer, you were born to rule. You are the future of your house– don't give me that look. You're good at it, I can already tell, and so can your father. Never mind your mother, she's never happy with anything. But people like you. People want to follow you.” He paused, hesitating, before deciding that if he didn't move now then he never would, taboo be damned.

“I would follow you anywhere."

And he pressed his mouth desperately to hers, hot and wet tears between them, and for a brief moment everything was right in the world. Coronabeth unfolded herself and rose up into him and felt for the first time in a long time that she was more than nothing, realizing that the prince whom she wanted so badly to be admired her too.

But it was only for a moment. His was not the attention that she ultimately craved. With their foreheads pressed together, panting for air, Corona’s eyes hardened to stone and her expression sobered. She pulled back and sat to her full height, no evidence of her outburst visible aside from the wet streaks and flush on her cheeks.

"I think… you forget your station," she said evenly, only looking at Babs through the mirror across the room.

He met her reflected gaze, tucking a stray lock of his hair that had come loose. “Yes, princess."

He pressed his lips into a thin line before rising from the bench. He retrieved the shitty sword from where it lay on the floor, and turned back and offered the pommel out to Corona.

"Come on, then. On your feet. We'll make a cavalier of you yet.”

#the locked tomb #tlt #gideon the ninth #gtn #third house #coronabeth tridentarius #naberius tern #jupyt3r writes

[plainviewwelcomesyou]

SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT BLUEBOY

CEREBELLE RAGSDILL: Then show me what you've got!

MR. MAXPROFIT: Oh I'll show you, alright.

MR. MAXPROFIT: I'LL SHOW THE WHOLE WORLD!!!!!

He rips his suit, fur coat - everything off with the single tug of his bare hands. All this time, his formal garb was nothing but a coverup.

A coverup for ... a clown outfit.

MR. MAXPROFIT: See?! I've no need for suit and tie, Clarabelle! NO NEED AT ALL!!!

CEREBELLE RAGSDILL: That's not my name -

MR. MAXPROFIT: OH, BUT IT JUST SOUNDS SOOOOO MUCH BETTER, NOW, DOESN'T IT?! Cerebelle. Such a BORING, BORING NAME. EUGH. Too...complicated for general audiences. Hard to spell - no one's gonna even know who you are, babs!!!

MR. MAXPROFIT: But then-

MR. MAXPROFIT: Me.

MR. MAXPROFIT: Look at this COSTUMING, Clara! It's got GLITTER!~ And CASHMERE!!! Outfitting department really knocked it out of the park, eh?!

MR. MAXPROFIT: It almost makes you feel bad that they're not getting half the pay that I am. Or a millionth-quarter of the pay that I am.

MR. MAXPROFIT: Oh~ well.

MR. MAXPROFIT: That's just what happens when you're an unassuming, boring, drab nobody.

MR. MAXPROFIT: Kind of like someone I'm looking at right. Now.

(What should I do?)

#plainview

[jaggededges123]

Writing Patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there’s a pattern! Tagged by @ripeteeth, thank you teeth! <333 i do so love tag games 🥰

(i'm gonna only count fics that i wrote and posted directly to ao3, otherwise half of it would be archived tumblr fic and i don't wanna do that so i won't XD <3)

1. “Your eyes are different.” [my eye is wasted from grief (my soul and my body also), TLT, Colum Asht & Silas Octakiseron. given what this fic is, i think it sets up right from the start the lingering sense of grief and silas's general attention to detail both. i'm satisfied. it's punchy imo, if you have the context from canon.]

2. “When you asked Colum the Eighth to hang out with you, in a low husky voice and obviously implying that you’d let him bend you like a pretzel, you didn’t think it would be like… this.” [Naberius Tern: Incest Magnet, TLT, Colum Asht/Naberius Tern/Silas Octakiseron. i do think this one sets the tone quite well, right from the get go it reads very much to me like: hey. we are now entering babs's head. i feel like it's got a smidge of humor in it too, so i'm very happy with it.]

3. “You do not always wear a headband to sleep in.” [The Incorruptible Crown, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i guess the most i can say for this one is that it tells you right at the start that the star player of this fic is The Headband™️.]

4. “Silas Octakiseron was in a small room, in a small outpost, on a small moon orbiting their planet.” [it does not rejoice at wrongdoing (but rejoices with the truth), TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i love the repetition ngl, repetition is a favorite of mine to the point where i probably overuse it. idk what else to say about it, i feel like the next line is a lot more, so to speak, but that one doesn't work without this one. that is pretty common with my opening lines i feel like, that they set up a much punchier and/or more beautiful sentiment a little further on in the same paragraph or the next one, which is almost a little bit of a shame, i think.]

5. “Silas Octakiseron was entering his fifth heat ever, and that heralded exquisite agony for Colum Asht.” [by day the heat consumed me (and the frost by night), TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i like this one quite a lot, it very efficiently sets things up imo, including the emotional tone for the fic.]

6. “Silas Octakiseron can taste the sin on Capris Asht’s lips.” [Immorality, TLT, Capris Asht/Colum Asht/Ram Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i feel like this one is a bit different in that it starts right in the middle of it both in the sense of like, the act, but also the relationship. i like how this opener conveys that silas still is like. morally opposed to this, but also that he's doing it anyway which says a lot about the fic as a whole. it's v lovely to me tbh, i like this one a lot.]

7. “In the first month of the myriadic year of our Lord, Silas Octakiseron approached Colum Asht after the day’s duties had been performed.” [make no provision for the flesh, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i like the implication right off the bat that this is unusual, or it would not be remarked upon. idk, it's a sturdy sort of opener. very serviceable.]

8. “It was happening again.” [the bed undefiled, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. i'm getting a vague sense of unease and dread with perhaps a splash of annoyance, which is a great place to start this fic imo.]

9. “Colum Asht had never told Silas Octikiseron no before, let alone in the presence of others.” [The Third Sin, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. tbh i almost wish i could redo this one, i wish i has given a bit more context in the entire opening paragraph. it starts right off from canon which suits, but i wish i had added just a smidge more detail to just really settle the reader if they haven't read gtn recently.]

10. “The pews are empty, long, and wooden.” [enter not into temptation, TLT, Colum Asht/Silas Octakiseron. a short opener for a quadruple drabble! it has a particular cadence that i enjoy.]

what i'm getting out of this is i like using full names in my first sentences, i don't put the pov character's name first nearly as often as i thought i did in 3rd limited (or at least, not recently), and i have recently just gone completely off the deep end after reading htn and now like 60% of my fics will be in 2nd person lol. also i'm uh,, learning (being reminded) that i should perhaps go back around after i'm all done writing and editing and try to rework the opening sentence or two, because a few of these strike me as rather bland (because starting a fic usually requires me to not think about the opening line too much, otherwise i get stuck in blinking cursor hell) but i would like to improve my first sentence game.

<3 i'll tag: @neverhornyoneighth, @moscca, @octakiseronliker, @ilovelunatics, @monroeknoxwrites, @snarkivistfic, @theflirtmeister but only if you want!

#coffeetomb #tag game #thanks again for tagging me teeth this was really fun and i have become more aware of some writing muscles i would like to stretch :D <333

[bajdeusz]

"Gdy znów do murów klajstrem świeżym Przylepiać zaczną obwieszczenia, Gdy "do ludności", "do żołnierzy" Na alarm czarny druk uderzy I byle drab, i byle szczeniak W odwieczne kłamstwo ich uwierzy, Że trzeba iść i z armat walić, Mordować, grabić, truć i palić; Gdy zaczną na tysiączną modłę Ojczyznę szarpać deklinacją I łudzić kolorowym godłem, I judzić "historyczną racją", O piędzi, chwale i rubieży, O ojcach, dziadach i sztandarach, O bohaterach i ofiarach; Gdy wyjdzie biskup, pastor, rabin Pobłogosławić twój karabin, Bo mu sam Pan Bóg szepnął z nieba, Że za ojczyznę - bić się trzeba; Kiedy rozścierwi się, rozchami Wrzask liter pierwszych stron dzienników, A stado dzikich bab - kwiatami Obrzucać zacznie "żołnierzyków". - - O, przyjacielu nieuczony, Mój bliźni z tej czy innej ziemi! Wiedz, że na trwogę biją w dzwony Króle z panami brzuchatemi; Wiedz, że to bujda, granda zwykła, Gdy ci wołają: "Broń na ramię!", Że im gdzieś nafta z ziemi sikła I obrodziła dolarami; Że coś im w bankach nie sztymuje, Że gdzieś zwęszyli kasy pełne Lub upatrzyły tłuste szuje Cło jakieś grubsze na bawełnę. Rżnij karabinem w bruk ulicy! Twoja jest krew, a ich jest nafta! I od stolicy do stolicy Zawołaj broniąc swej krwawicy: "Bujać - to my, panowie szlachta!"

[wilysigma]

GIRLS BIKER CLUB DUDE PT.3

J is taken to a backlot in the warehouse district of town,and walked in by Babs soon to be A Man Eaters club prospect.First sit and wait for the seamstress.The seamstress was a big juicy bbw,very nice and polite,she asked if there was anything special you wanted,he replied I......Babs says I need a prospect patch and a full suit,collar as well.She goes to the back Babs tells J the club will love you as a prospect we've never had a man to join,soon you'll be pleasure to all of us......... Seamstress comes out with a big box of clothing,Babs shifts thru it and grabs the leather suit,and with the patch under to be put on after the fitting.J says what are the other things,Babs says don't worry about that those will be used later,not even getting a chance to look J is wondering and Babs takes it away,telling him to get fitted I'll be back..........She returns and the suit is tight fitted on J,she smiles and says yes this is nice a good man we need for the club to work,and clean,and do some dirty work if need be.Ok good Babs says take it off so we can get the patch sewn on.J dresses in his old drab and waits for Babs to head back to the club..............The club is empty for now and soon the patch with be on the suit and tonight will be your introduction prospect.......

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, March 18

BUFFYBOT: Xander! And Anya. How is your money? ANYA: Fine! Thank you for asking!

~~Intervention~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor. Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Real Heart Throb by apachefirecat (Spike/Buffy, Dawn, PG-13/T)

Phantom Sense by TheClowniestLivInExistence (Faith/Dean, Supernatural crossover, M)

The Daily Rehash by a2zmom (Buffy/Angel, G)

Someone to Care for You by Jess_Ann_Perreault (Giles/Jenny, G)

It's You, It's Me, It's Us by Jess_Ann_Perreault (Giles/Jenny, T)

Early Morning by AJ Fields (myfanfiction) (Xander/Anya, M)

New Rhythm by kitkatt0430 (Xander/Oz, T)

His Lady Dancing by violettathepiratequeen (Budffy/Spike, T)

Trigger Warning by Telaryn (Faith/Eliot Spencer, Leverage crossover, T)

Our Gentle Sin by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Aftercare by MaggieLeFay (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Madonna by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion, Chapter 379 by madimpossibledreamer (Ensemble, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure crossover, T)

Heartless, Chapter 7 by LSquared1501 (Buffy/Angel, T)

Damned With You, Chapter 15 by Amejisuto (Xander/Spike, E)

Divide & Conquer, Chapter 16 by Removes_and_Cleans_Glasses_00 (Buffy/Giles, E)

Paper clouds, open windows, Chapter 4 (complete!) by tinkerbellamy (Willow/Heidi Barrie, T)

Knock, knock! Chapter 1 by Popsy (Buffy/Spike, not rated)

Orvieto, Chapter 1 by TuesdayGirl (Buffy/Spike, T)

Darken My Door Again, Chapter 4 by Mad Girl Love Song (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Boon, Chapter 22 by Soulburnt (Buffy/Spike, R)

where the shadow ends, Chapter 12 by disco-tea (Buffy/Spike, R)

Zoom Zoom Zoom, Chapter 4 by the_big_bad (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Kaddara Hade, Chapter 20 by hostile17 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Ties to the World, Chapter 16 by The Danish Bird (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Through the Lightning Storm, Chapter 9 by amerie (Buffy, Star Trek 2009 crossover, FR18)

A Devil in the City of Angels, Chapter 15 by AragornIIElessar (AtS ensemble, Daredevil crossover, FR15)

REMNANT : Buffy meets Batman and the Red Rider, Chapter 40 by DARandall (Buffy, Batman crossover, FR13)

We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On, Chapter 18 by VeroNyxK84 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Little Conversations, Chapters 17-18 by Chelle (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

So One of Us is Living, Chapter 18 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Make Me Stay, Chapter 18 by Grief Counseling (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Jigsaw, Chapter 18 by Dusty (Buffy/Spike, R)

Her Left-hand Man, Chapters 9-12 by sandy_s (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Now That I Saw You, Chapter 18 by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, R)

Fire Starter, Chapter 16 by Teuntje (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

30 Days of Spuffy, Chapter 18 by TheSunnySlayer (Buffy/Spike, R)

Dribs & Drabs, Chapters 14-16 by gwennie (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

March Drabbles, Chapter 12 by Slaymesoftly (Buffy/Spike, R)

Snippets, Chapters 14-17 by MaggieLeFay (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

42, Chapter 18 by Dynamite (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Belonging, Chapter 13 by honeygirl51885 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Found family ties, Chapter 18 by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, G)

The DeSoto, Chapters 18-19 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, R)

Unclaimed Property, Chapter 17 by PuckRobin (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Frosty, Chapters 9-19 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Smutlets, Chapters 1-18 by MaggieLeFay (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Club Zero, Chapters 1-5 (complete!) by MaggieLeFay (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

A Third Player, Chapters 1-11 by ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Longest Day, Chapter 18 by ashcrashed (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Trying, Chapter 17 by Pet35 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: "Everyone has them in L.A. Pepper spray is just so passé." by Babs Tarr (Buffy, worksafe, posted by sakura_drop)

Artwork: ❤️ BtVS 506. Family ❤️ by tmcarlee (worksafe)

Video: Lego Buffy - Dark Willow vs. Giles by tmcarlee

Artwork: Buffy “Every Outfit” “All the Way” by whatshisfaceblogs (worksafe)

Artwork: various low-ish effort comics doodles n memes from my ats rewatch by artsying-ifer (worksafe)

Artwork: My buffy incest map (in process) by taylorluvsstars (worksafe)

Artwork: Spike drawing on Roblox by vampywillz (0)

Collage: Buffy caressing Spike's face by silvermars (worksafe)

Comic: Paul Gadzikowski's The Hero of Three Faces by Paul Gadzikowski (Buffy and Spike, worksafe)

Fanvid: Buffy Summers || She Who Hangs Out Alot At Cemetaries by The Chrisper

Fanvid: Spike & Buffy | my tears ricochet by Fangirl

Fanvid: Buffy the vampire slayer | Only love [26th anniversary] by tatia

Fanvid: Buffy & Giles | Prepare me by TM - Twilight Moods

Fanvid: Buffy, Emma, Kara & Barry ~ Give Me Something to Sing About, Emma's Theme & Super Friend by Sarox Kingdom

Vidlet: Sneak Peek: Buffy & Dean (New Video) by nexusBOS (Supernatural crossover)

Video: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Makeup by sketchingperfection

Artwork process video: Je dessine Buffy de Buffy contre les Vampires by sanaacaballo_art (worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

Discussion of Buffy the Vampire Slayer #24 - Released 4/7/21 (Boom! Studios) continued by Taake

Discussion of Buffy the Vampire Slayer #25 - Released 5/5/21 (Boom! Studios) continued by multiple posters

"I Will Remember You" was such a beautiful, heartbreaking story 😩 by AAlmighty_Push91

Discussion: I, Robot... You, Jane (ep 8, s1) by DNASomeone

First Time Watcher S3 EP 5 Homecoming by genz9

Video: DUD or SPUD - Buffy The Vampire Slayer S01E01 - Welcome To The Hellmouth * BRIAN THOMPSON SPECIAL * by Maniacal Mac

Video: Restless | Buffy the Vampire Slayer Finale Reaction | S4 E22 by Georgia Corsby

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[incorrectbatfamquotes]

Dinah Lance: For the last mission, I had to go undercover.

Dinah Lance: To make sure I wasn't recognized, I had to wear something so drab and uninspired-

Barbara Gordon: I feel like this is gonna be a dig at me.

Dinah Lance: I wore Babs's clothes.

Barbara Gordon: There it is.

#DC Comics #Dinah Lance #Barbara Gordon #Source: Brooklyn 99

[docholligay]

What's your opinion on the Ow 2 redesigns, Tracer and Mercy in particular?

OH LORD HERE WE GO

So I salute their right to redesign the characters for the Second Coming, and its not particularly unexpected because, I mean, they want to build conversation and hype, and that's a way to build conversation and hype, I suppose.

So I DID see it coming, and I know me well enough to know that when I am terribly fond of something, I don't necessarily ENJOY the idea of change, so I've been sitting with this for a long while to get USED to it before I decide if the hate is legit or just me being a little pissbaby.

ANYWAY HERE'S THE CONCLUSIONS I'VE COME TO

In generalities, I don't even think most of the redesigns are BAD, I just think that they make everyone look a little more samey-same, less exaggerated, and more grounded. On THEORETICAL PAPER, I don't have a lot of trouble with it because it makes them look more like a cohesive team (Which is essentially the point of the fic I'm working on) but I do miss a bit of the uniqueness of the characters in the redesign and they all feel like they've been flattened a little bit. Everyone is a bit more POLISHED, but a bit less FUN. This works for me for characters like Pharah, who, because of how I see her, I could see picking something more streamlined, more together, more PROFESSIONAL, but for like, Human Representation of a Vegas Slot Machine Floor, Lena Oxton, it doesn't make as much sense.

Now on a personal level, let's get into it. I'll start with Pharah:

They darkened her skin a shade and removed her little gold bead hairthing, both of which I not only have no trouble with but out and out like. I have never cared for her silly little hairthings, and now I am at liberty to ignore them entirely, picking and choosing from canons at my pleasure. I'd have to see a better picture too, but I think her hair is longer, which I don't love, but we all know if it were up to me Pharah would have a haircut like this:

You know, sexy but also very officious, so perhaps we can't go by me.

As far as her uniform, the changes are fairly minimal

It’s basically just streamlining. The changes they made to Pharah were really minimal, which is good because I liked her the way she was, mostly, and they took away one of the things I didn’t care for, but also bad because making few changes to her seems to suggest to me that her involvement in the lore of the game will once again be minimized. But then again, who knows what they would do to her, perhaps it’s for the best. 

Winston, my poor bab, why do they treat you like this constantly? He gets hardly any change except they make his face less expressive??? Maybe in the game itself it won’t be so jarring. 

Mercy!

WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THIS GODDAMN HAIRCUT, I HATE IT SO FUCKING MUCH

a reminder of her full hair style before the redesign

She looks like a fucking soccer mom who’s complaining about Bath and Body works being sold out of individual hand sanitizers for their big sale of the year, and now how is she supposed to make gift baskets for Teacher Appreciation Week with the PTA? IT BEING UGLY ASIDE, the woman is a combat medic!! Why in god’s name would she have hair that she can’t pull back in any way, shape or form? Where does she find the time to keep something like that trimmed up?? Also, out of all the shit you changed, you couldn’t let her have a wrinkle or something? Give a bitch a break. 

As far as her actual uniform, I highly approve of putting her status as medic on her sleeve, well done, and I think the way in which they tried to make the halo thing “work” as an actual item that a human being might have a reason to wear is not totally ungraceful considering how patently ridiculous it is. 

AND NOW, MY GIRL

I went to the website and just gripped my chest. My heart! How I love her! 

So i actually really approve of how they changed her face:

They removed some ot the rim from her goggles to allow her to have more expressiveness, and actually removed most of her eyeliner! PRAISE AND FUCKING BLESS, I am forever begging for scraps at the “please let Tracer be more butch, as a treat!” table, and every once in a great while, i get it. I DO wish they had brought back her freckles, but somewhere along the second year I think it was, they dropped her little angel kisses and every time I commission anything of her I have to be lIke, “And could you please give her freckles? :)” 

A better view!! I’m love her!!

HER JACKET

HER JACKET

I HATE HER FUCKING JACKET

ALright I get that this one is actually integrated better with her CA, and that’s fine and fair, but my god it is so colorless and drab and sad???? I loved the way her old jacket paid tribute to her RAF career, and it was such a THING of hers that I feel like I have to go back and remind blizz they actually sold her fucking jacket AND her hoodie was based off it, so why are we removing it now?? This thing is dishwater-dull, some sad excuse for a moto-style jacket that just doesn’t fit her at all to me and OH MY GOD HOW MUCH DO I HATE THAT THE PATCH IS NOW JUST TRCR GOD I HATE THE TREND OF JUST FUCKING REMOVING ALL VOWELS FROM SHIT. 

Also, the clips??? WHY? If you weren’t going to connect them to anything, wjhy keep them? In the original, they clearly keep Tracer’s CA in place while she’s fucking around, and if they decided her new CA (Which is flattened and made into a more wearable thing--I approve) didn’t require that because it fit better or is integrated with the jacket or something WHY IN GOD’S NAME ARE THE CLIPS STILL THERE???

Anyway, MY Lena Oxton would not wear this, or she would, in the name of the team, but she would scowl as she put it on. 

I have no idea yet what they’ve done with DVa, so STAY TUNED. 

Small thoughts: I like that Genji gets to wear clothes! His reign of naked cyborg oppression has ended! I don’t like that they’ve removed McCree’s chaps look from the whole thing, so he looks less cowboyish. 

#Lena just like #'it's a grey jacket. why am I wearing a grey jacket?' #let's not even get into my many fears about the lore of OW2 itself #God I love overwatch and YET it's always just this #ANYWAY I KNOW LIKE FIVE OF YOU CARE ABOUT MY OW FEELIGNS AND YOU ARE THE REAL MVPs

[inklingofadream]

hey uuuuhhhh apparently in Macbeth there’s a bit that rhymes babe with drab. Which would have worked back in the day bc babe would’ve been pronounced closer to bab. anyway time is a flat circle and i use bab and babby compulsively instead of baby for completely unrelated reasons

#linguistics #shakespeare #mine #rambling #this is NOT what i should be doing lol

[askbittyerror]

Bells grins, glad to see Fresh happy- or at all. "More spawn," they agree, "three little dragon babs, beautiful little girls. and don't be put off by their soooorta," a glance at Dragon, sonewhat apologetic for the description, "drabbish colors? its uh, camo stuff- they'll get their full colors when they get older. Theyre gorgeously cute either way."

“Thats fine brah, I’m pretty drab myself when I’m tryna go incognito.” Fresh says. “Radicalness can always be added on top.”

#with-bells-upon

[thisonesawoozy]

Blue Valentine

A/N: I never thought I would post this since it has been a few months already and this is super out of nowhere but I thought... screw it. This is a Dibs fic and I love them so here we go.

Warnings: None

——————————

Barbara checked her watch once more as she drummed her fingers against the table. Another sigh was released from her mouth a third time within the 20 minutes she had been waiting there.

“Miss, would you like to order now?” a waitress questioned going up to her the second time within those 20 minutes.

“Just a bit longer, please,” she said with a smile that was more like a grimace.

The waitress had a sympathetic look on her face as she nodded, and walked away.

Barbara watched her leave with an annoyed expression, before she buried her face in her hands.

“This is pathetic,” she grumbled as she stood up from the chair.

She wanted no pity, no sympathy from any stranger.

Yet, that was exactly what was happening, and it made her blood boil. Gripping her purse, she held her head high and left the restaurant.

It sucked to be stood up on Valentine’s Day. It was even worse when it was public knowledge that you were stood up on Valentine’s Day.

And it was all his fault.

They had met somewhere around two months ago, and everything was lovely. They went to ice cream shops, walks by the harbour, sat on benches in the park, and they just talked. She admitted, he did have a sort of dry sense of humour, but he was very kind and very intelligent.

She had figured that if this date went well, they would be official. The big B & G.

Obviously, it did not go well.

Her wasted high heeled shoes clunked against the concrete sidewalk as she walked down the street by herself.

Couples she passed were holding hands. They were probably in their own little world, oblivious to the dark storm clouds invading the sky above them.

At least it was the perfect weather for her mood.

Dark? Check.

Stormy? Double check.

She slowed her pace in front of a flower shop as she caught sight of a familiar young man. Her eyebrows scrunched together and she moved to enter the shop.

Her emerald eyes scanned the place. It had a nice, vintage feel to it that caused her to give a slight smile.

Then, she made her move to the familiar face before her.

“Why, if it isn’t Dick Grayson,” she said, standing behind him, crossing her arms. He swiftly turned her way, and gave her a surprised, yet pleased, smile.

“Babs! Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Yes, well, it seems that my schedule has opened up for the rest of the day,” she said glancing to the arrangement Dick had been fixated on.

“What happened?” he questioned causing her attention to shift to him. Looking in those baby blues always seemed to catch her off guard.

“I had a date, and now…”

“You don’t?”

“Very good, Detective Grayson.”

“Well, someone’s in a bad mood.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?” she questioned snapping her eyes shut. She just wanted to get the day over with at that point. Maybe she would go home and watch some cheesy 80’s movies. Yes, a John Hughes marathon sounded exactly like something she needed. “Anyways, whose are these for?”

“Oh, I was getting them for my friend. Her name’s Maggie. Lovely lady,” he said smiling warmly while looking at the flowers.

“You make her sound like an old woman.”

“That’s probably because she’s 87.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he responded scratching his head. “I just can’t seem to find the right bouquet.” He looked to Babs and gave her a grin. “Think you got the flower skills to assist me in these trying times?”

“I think I can help,” she said with a smile.

They ended up with a bouquet made up of baby breath, blue hydrangeas, and calla lilies.

They walked out of the shop with large smiles plastered on their faces.

“Are you positive?”

“Oh, absolutely. I can’t believe you didn’t notice that girl ogling at you,” Barbara said with a snort. “And you call yourself a detective.”

“Hey, that’s the second time you’ve insulted my detective skills. Lay off a bit, would you?” Dick said. Barbara raised her hands in defense.

“Sorry, sorry. Anyways, you got your bouquet, and I got some fuzzy pajamas at home calling my name.”

Dick nodded for a second, then he stared straight into her eyes.

“Why don’t you come with me? I’m sure Maggie would love to meet another person. She always says that the nurses always make ‘drab’ conversations, or something like that,” he said with a chuckle.

Barbara crossed her arms and looked up to the sky as she pondered the offer.

“I suppose since I have nothing else going on, I can join you,” she answered.

Dick’s smile brightened at her words, and they made their way down the street.

---

The two of them had finally reached the nursing home which housed the famous Maggie, and they made their way inside. The nurse led them to her bedroom where they were greeted with a woman whose back was turned towards them.

“Maggie?” Dick said stepping into the room.

An audible gasp came from the woman sitting in the chair. She stood up and grabbed hold of her walker. Slowly, but surely, she turned towards them.

A bright grin graced her face as she caught sight of Dick and Babs.

The woman had a slight hunch. She had olive colored skin and hazel eyes. Wrinkles were etched into her face after years of smiles and laughter. Her hair was a mixture of white and gray. Barbara smiled sweetly at the woman.

“Oh, Dick Grayson, I’m so happy to see you and- oh, who’s this?” she questioned nodding over to Barbara.

“This is my good friend Barbara Gordon, and she helped me choose this bouquet especially for you.” Barbara watched as Dick’s eyes sparkled with happiness as he, in turn, watched the expression of the older woman.

“Oh, psh, you didn’t have to do that, Dick.”

“Of course I did.” He stepped up to her and kissed one of her hands.

“Ever the gentleman, isn’t he?” Maggie asked towards Barbara.

Babs laughed lightly and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go get a vase, do they have vases here?” Dick questioned as he handed the flowers to Babs, and walked out of the room. Both women laughed after he walked out of the room.

Maggie settled into her bed with the assistance of Barbara. Babs set down the flowers on the bedside table, and pulled up a chair so she was sitting at Maggie’s side.

“So, tell me, señorita, are you two really just friends?”

Barbara laughed at the question and nodded her head.

“Yes, we are. Once upon a time, there was an us, but now…” Barbara trailed off and shook her head.

“Mmm, I see. Well, it doesn’t seem like he’s over for him. He looks at you as if you were a gift from the stars above,” she said speaking in a joyous tone.

“What?”

“Yes, every glance is so full of that, that look. You know the look.”

Barbara cleared her throat and gave a small laugh. Her eyes trailed down to her lap where her hands were clasped together.

“How, how would you know that?” Barbara said slowly, tilting her head.

“Oh, that’s the same look my husband gave to me on our wedding day. I remember it so clearly, his brown eyes fixated on me. It made me feel like I was the only person who mattered to him at that moment,” the woman said wistfully. “The look Dick gives you, well...”

Barbara was so startled by her words, she fell into a silence. Things between her and Dick Grayson were always so complicated, but why did they have to be? Why did she have to go on other dates with other people when she always compared them back to the Grayson?

Even the man she was going to see today didn’t compare to Dick.

And, apparently, he gave her the look.

Did she ever notice that before? Or had she always brushed it off?

“I don’t mean to push anything on you, mija, but if I was young like you, I would spend every waking moment with the one who gave me that look, before, well, before it would be too late.”

Barbara’s breath hitched, and she looked at the woman she had only met moments ago with astonishment.

“How could you-”

“Hello, ladies. Sorry that took a while, I was asking around for a vase which turned into this whole other thing and- well, it’s a long story. So, what’re we talking about?”

Barbara looked at him with wide eyes, then quickly turned her attention to Maggie who had a soft smile on her lips.

“Oh, nothing, mijo. Now, put those flowers in a vase and go out and have some fun. I don’t want you to spend all your time in a stuffy nursing home.”

“But, I like talking to you, Maggie. You give awesome advice,” Dick said with a charming smile. Barbara rolled her eyes at the man she had grown up with.

“I know, and this is my advice to you, go out and breathe in the fresh air. Walk around, take pictures, enjoy. If anything, do it for me, and when you come back, you can tell me all about it. And be sure to bring Ms. Gordon with you.” She looked at Barbara giving her a playful grin. Babs took in a deep breath and returned the smile.

“Yes ma’am,” Dick responded with a salute.

“Aye, muchacho, don’t call me ma’am, you make me sound old.”

With that, Dick put the flowers in a vase full of water, and they said their goodbyes.

Together, Barbara and Dick walked side by side on the sidewalk. The wind blew Babs’ fiery red locks and it tousled Dick’s raven black hair.

“So, I’m guessing you want to head home?” Dick questioned shoving his hands in his pockets.

Barbara furrowed her brow and gave him a sideways gaze. She saw what she had seen a million times before, those baby blues.

But, she seemed to notice something else. It was like a weight to his gaze as he stared at her. A weight of importance, and she felt her heart rate slightly increasing.

“You know what? Why don’t we do something?” she suggested stopping in her tracks.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” he asked turning towards her.

“Let’s take Maggie’s advice, but we can do it together.” Barbara said those words slowly, and grabbed hold of one of Dick’s hands.

He looked surprised for a moment, and gave Barbara the ‘are you sure?’ expression. She smiled, one that reached her eyes, then nodded.

Dick gave the biggest grin she had seen in a long time, and started pulling her down the street listing all the different activities they could do together.

Maybe this Valentine’s Day won’t be so bad afterall.

#batfamily #dibs #dick grayson #babs #barbara gordon #valentines #batfam #batfam fic #nightwing #batgirl

[bluboothalassophile]

A prompt where the JL is considering asking Raven to join the league and they are currently holding a meeting about it (and Nightwing is present since he's leader of the Titans). I think its a good chance to see what people think of her development at that point and what they think of her connection to Red Hood.

Hello,

Okay, I know this didn’t go how you wanted it to go but I hope you enjoy! =)

Comparisons

Dick was not the best at doing comparisons, be that sizingup people or just looking at people and comparing them. He found it a pain inthe ass.

Like Kori and Babs! God those two could drive him nuts, but,Kori wanted to know what Babs had that she didn’t have and Babs wanted to knowwhat Kori had that she didn’t have. And It Drove Him Nuts.

They were two different girls, two different personality,with only him and red hair as the common denominator. It was that simple.

Besides, Kori was WAY better for him as a lover, and Babswas WAY better for him as a friend.

Sometimes he’d entertain the idea of getting them to agreeto a polygamous relationship and just end his own misery, he was sure if thetwo girls weren’t so keen on getting him they’d get along splendidly. And therewas enough Dick to go around (pun totally intended).

Anyways, he still felt comparisons were pointless, whichbrought him to this drab meeting of the JL (of which he still was not a member,nor did he intend to become a member of it), as they looked through the filesfor new recruits.

Obvious people who would be joining the ranks:

-Kara

-Kong Kenan

-Tula

-himself

-Vic

-Jefferson Pierce

-Virgil

Well, one got the idea.

Not obvious picks:

-Raven

-Jason

Dick actually had been shocked by this discussion, as Jason was…well, Jason. And Raven’s epic: Fuck. You. to the JL still had sore points forthe JL. But Raven, being Raven, had raised valid points as to how his own teamsin the Titans operated.

Dick’s own Titans, Donna, Lilith, Garth, Roy, and Wally,they were seamless but they were pretty close, and great friends. Running amission with them was easy, and rarely ended in failure, the only times that ithad ended in failure was when the JL got involved.

Babs’ Birds of Prey was a group of badass women who made theJL look like pussies; and yes, he could say that with ease. Helena, Dinah, andBabs had all straight up told the JL to kiss their very fine asses if the JLeven thought to come for them.

Tim’s Young Justice team was tightknit, but then, Conner,Cassie, Bart, Cissy, and Jaime were always close. The teamwork between the membersof the YJ team was flawless. Stunningly flawless, they had a higher rate ofsuccess on their missions than most JL teams.

And then there was the disaster of Damian’s Teen Titans, afailure from the start with him kidnapping and forcing the members to worktogether. Kori, Garth, and Kaldur’ahm were all vastly unamused, Jon was too usedto Damian’s tactics, and Raven… Well, Raven didn’t put up with ANYONE’Sbullshit and Damian had learned this the hard way.

Raven was now a member of the Outlaws, with Jason, Artemisof Bana-Mighdall, Koriand’r (she’d quit right after Raven and walked onto theOutlaws again) and Bizarro. Hell, even Roy was thinking to leave for theOutlaws again; which had Dick a bit envious because when Roy talked of theOutlaws he talked of a foreign dynamic they all wanted and couldn’t get. Not tomention, Kyle Rayner, Eddie Bloomberg, Rose Wilson, Conner Hawke, and one Alicehad also joined the Outlaws recently; upping the danger factor.

The Outlaws, were just that, outlaws, but they weresomething more. Where the JL and everyone fought for the greatest good of humanity,and stood as change, the Outlaws were known to do some of the dirtiest of dirtywork; truly grim and terrible, even law breaking shit. They operated outside oflaws and were both hated and loved, a necessary evil according to Diana Prince(Wonder Woman).

“So should we ask her?” J’onn asked him which snapped Dickout of his stupor.

“I don’t think Rae will see this as an olive branch,” Vicstarted. Dick was actually inclined to listen to him because Vic and Raven werepractically siblings.

“We are asking Nightwing for his opinion as a man who hadbeen a leader on her team before.” Clark started and Dick sighed.

“No, I don’t think Raven would join this even if we offeredher a reprieve from Hell. She tried to get the JL’s help before and wasrebuffed. I know she came to you guys first, because it’s Raven and even as achild she was annoyingly realistic about her situation, and you rebuffed herbased on her demon heritage.

“She’s dangerous!” Zatanna started.

“I’m not done,” Dick snapped. “Then the JL, rather thanacknowledging that Robin was a terrible, and is still a terrible leader for ateam, proceeded to berate her and cut her down for failing to save everyone inthe city from a tsunami. Raven is powerful, more powerful than any of us here,and she’s more dangerous than all of us, and yes, that power, yes she couldhave saved everyone, or lost control and destroyed everyone, and rather thanher team being responsible, and accepting that, they dumped it all on her whilethey battled a monster.

“I’ve also heard she prefers working with Jason, and no, I’mstill not on speaking terms with Raven because she has refused to speak toanyone associated with the JL who isn’t Vic, because Jason accepts her. Asidefrom when she was on my team everyone shuns her for simply being a demon; shecan’t help it! So yes it’s a terrible, bad idea and she won’t join us. I think,like with Red Hood, you damaged the relationship beyond repair this time.”

“And you are content to leave her on the Outlaws?” Zatannasneered.

“I’m content not having a pissed of demon with the mostdangerous human come barreling up my ass. Because Hood is way more dangerousthan B ever could be, and if you think for a moment he’ll let Raven come at usalone, I’m sorry you’re wrong.”

#bluboothalassophile #fanfic #one shot #richard grayson #jayrae #redrae #raex

[impressivepress]

IN SEARCH OF MATISSE'S MOROCCO

Henri Matisse saw Tangier as an earthly paradise. The artist visited the city twice, in 1912 and 1913, in search of a new direction for his art, and found inspiration for his greatest works in the bright African light, vivid colors and languid sensuality of the Moroccan landscape and architecture, the gardens and the people.

So when I visited Morocco's fabled city on the northern rim of Africa last year, I decided to follow in the footsteps -- or rather, the brush strokes -- of Matisse. What better guide than the great artist himself? I would try to see Tangier through his eyes.

An added inducement was the upcoming exhibition -- "Matisse in Morocco" -- of paintings and newly discovered drawings executed by the artist in Tangier, which opens next Sunday at the National Gallery of Art and runs through June 3 before traveling to the Museum of Modern Art in New York. More than half the paintings are on loan from the Pushkin and Hermitage museums in the Soviet Union; some have never before been seen outside that country.

The exhibition comprises the largest group of Matisse's Moroccan works ever to be shown. That alone seemed reason enough to look for Matisse's Tangier.

Matisse did most of his paintings in Tangier's casbah, or fortress, and in the medina, or medieval walled city. "He found what he wanted there," said Jack Cowart, curator of 20th-century art at the National Gallery. "Besides, Matisse really didn't like to travel farther than about a 400-yard radius from his hotel. He always had so much baggage to move about: canvases, stretchers, paints."

Often Matisse simply stayed in his hotel room to paint. When he first arrived in Tangier in January 1912, bad weather kept him inside. He sent a grumpy postcard to Gertrude Stein informing her that for five days "it had rained incessantly." So he set a vase on his hotel dresser and painted "Vase of Irises." That work anticipated the many hotel interiors he later painted in Nice, France.

But it was the view painted from his hotel in his famous "Landscape Viewed From a Window" that I wanted most to see.

During both of his several-month visits to Tangier, Matisse stayed at the Grand Hotel Villa de France. I made my way across the Grand Socco, the bazaar area, and up the hill above the medina, through crowded streets lined with small, open-fronted shops to the old hotel. It sits apart on a promontory high above the modern center of town with its wide boulevards and smart shops.

"Guests book their rooms here a year in advance," the desk clerk told me. And the frayed luxury of the hotel's portrait-lined lounges, blue-tiled courtyards, fountains, swimming pool, long terraces and gardens thick with pink hibiscus, white trumpet flowers and spiky green cactus coiling up the dark trunks of palm trees all seemed wildly romantic to me. No wonder Matisse stayed here!

In lofty comfort he looked down on the bright white city with its deep blue bay. I had to see his room!

But No. 35 was taken, I was told, by an artist from Japan who had reserved it for one month.

"Then I'm sure she won't mind if I knock on her door," I said. A most reluctant clerk led the way.

Maria Takakuwa smiled at my request and bowed me into the rather small, simple room. It was sparsely furnished in a hard, square, 1930s style -- certainly not the decor of Matisse's time. But the same tall shutters stood open, and palettes, brushes and tubes of oil paint littered the room and covered the bed.

She motioned me into the large old-fashioned bathroom. There, on two straight-backed chairs, Takakuwa had propped the big canvas she was working on. "This," she said, pointing out the bathroom window, "was Matisse's view." Together we leaned on the sill and looked out.

Below we saw what Matisse had painted in the "Landscape Viewed From a Window": the green-tiled roofs and square white steeple of St. Andrew's English church, now nearly hidden by date palms and evergreens; the white city; the tall, square, tiled minaret; the casbah on the distant hill and the sapphire Mediterranean Sea beyond. It was a magic moment.

Later, a small boy led me through a maze of alleyways in the medina, up a narrow, steep street of shallow steps to the casbah. We entered through Bab el Assa, or lookout gate. Here Matisse had set up his easel to paint the distant view of Tangier. He used the gate as a frame, foreshortening, rearranging and adding elements to suit his composition until all that remained the same as the actual setting was the shape of the gate and the distinctively Moroccan mood in his magnificent painting, "Casbah Gate."

Next to the Bab el Assa is the wall fountain, dry now, whose brightly colored patterned tiles, which appear so often in Matisse's paintings, are still in place.

In the casbah is the Dar el Makhzen, a former royal palace, now a museum, where Matisse presumably studied the beautiful tile work, wandered in the garden and absorbed the Islamic atmosphere. It was a new, exotic world. Its impact, according to Cowart, was "the hinge" between Matisse's earlier European fauvist style and his more original, powerful later work.

The "Moroccan Cafe"that Matisse painted has changed, however. Although men still are the predominant cafe patrons in this orthodox Moslem country, only a few continue to wear turbans or red fezzes with long black tassels. Yet most Moroccan women remain veiled, dressed in drab gray or black, their mouths covered with white cloths. Matisse probably found his colorfully dressed models, both male and female, in the souks or markets, where today Riffian tribesmen stride through the crowded lanes in striped djellabas, and Berber tribal women in wide-brimmed, conical straw hats topped with pompoms carry their babies on their backs.

Matisse painted his "Acanthus," "Periwinkles (Moroccan Garden)" and "The Palm" in the garden of a private villa owned by an Englishman. Then as now, life went on behind high walls.

For the outsider, wandering through Tangier's streets of flat facades is like being in the desert, looking at blank walls that one knows enclose lush oases. Hidden by monochrome exteriors are richly decorated interiors. Plain outside, patterned inside.

Hotels attempt to create the atmosphere of Arab palaces with thick carpets, mirrored walls, brass pots and tiled courtyards. Their rooms are large and public, however, conveying none of the intimate secretiveness of Arab architecture.

But there is a rambling, 30-room palace in the medina where visitors can get a true sense of the typical Arab palace. The Tangier American Legation building, given to the United States by the sultan of Morocco 169 years ago, is the oldest diplomatic property of the United States to be continuously owned, and is open to the public.

I rounded the corner of Rue d'Amerique in the old Jewish Quarter and saw above me, on the building spanning the narrow street, the Great Seal of the United States and a massive, wooden, nail-studded double door with another Great Seal. I pushed the bell and, stepping over the threshold, found myself in a little courtyard, complete with fountain.

The museum is a honeycomb of rooms great and small: reception rooms, secret rooms, courtyards and a Moroccan pavilion, adorned with curved marble staircases, massive fireplaces, Portuguese grillwork and carved wooden ceilings. But there is more than architecture to delight the senses. Besides many historic documents, there are fine 18th-, 19th- and 20th-century engravings, drawings and paintings. I admired a huge oil painting of a sultan with his splendid horse, a portrait of Maxwell Blake (who served as American consul general in Tangier in the early 1900s) and fascinating old photographs of the legation reception rooms when they were in diplomatic use.

I was fascinated with the works of John McBey, a Scot who lived in Tangier from the 1930s through the 1950s and who executed many etchings and watercolors of Moroccan scenes. Expertly done, they are almost photographic in their realism. As the museum's director pointed out, it is only in the context of such works that one can fully appreciate the stunning originality of Matisse's paintings.

Outside the museum, I walked through the gate of the medina and up the hill toward St. Andrew's, the Anglican church whose roofs and steeple Matisse had painted.

The churchyard, with its pleasant, slightly overgrown cemetery, sits at the foot of the Grand Hotel Villa de France's promontory. There I found mostly English graves bearing such evocative inscriptions as "Lost at sea" or "In the Zulu wars." The church is an artful collaboration of Christian tradition and Arab architecture. The Moorish archway so loved by Matisse is the design of the chancel arch. Carved around it, in Arabic script, is the Lord's Prayer.

As I left the church and walked down the winding path hedged by huge hibiscus bushes, I noticed a small structure inside the churchyard wall near the gate. It was a cubbyhole, really, just large enough to accommodate the white-bearded, robed and turbaned man who reclined inside, writing on some papers in his lap. Another Moroccan, dressed in trousers and a sweater, sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the scribe. Altogether an incongruous sight in an Anglican churchyard. As the American composer and writer Paul Bowles once remarked: In Morocco, "everything that is not medieval is new."

It was a stunning reminder of the contrasting images that make up Tangier. Through Matisse's eyes I saw a fabulous city, filled with sharp contrasts of light and shadow accentuated by the luminous blues of sea and sky. But always there was a background cacophony of drums beating, roosters crowing, church bells ringing and the muezzins' calls to the faithful for prayers, to remind me that Tangier is an ancient city, a marvelous mixture of things medieval and modern, Moroccan and European, with much left to explore.

~ Luree Miller · Mar 11, 1990.

Luree Miller is a Washington writer whose most recent book is "Literary Villages of London" (Starrhill Press).

#matisse #art article #exibition review #review #morocco #painting #washington post

[thegreatestfitzgerald-blog]

A New Direction | Solo

Finding the town had been easier than she’d expected. She’d been warned that the trees surrounding Soapberry Springs could be treacherous. That it was easy to become lost. To roam around in circles until you were spit out where you’d come in. But she’d shot straight through the trees with little effort. It was as if the forest, the town itself, could feel her desperation to find it. It was pulling her in. Welcoming her to her destiny of sorts. As she stepped out onto the road that hadn’t seemed to be there moments before, she saw the lights of the town through the early morning fog that clung to the pavement around her. She’d return to the main road for her car later. Pulling her peacoat closer around her to fight off the cold nipping at her neck, Babs started the trek into town.

It wasn’t long after she’d entered what she assumed to be the town square before she spotted the young boy, named Justin, she was supposed to be meeting. He waited for her, earbuds in his ears as he leaned against a mailbox, eyes closed and head bobbing to the music. Babs took a moment to take in her surroundings. The town was definitely small. Only a dozen or so people were in her sight this early, opening their storefronts or simply going for a morning walk.

What a drab sight. The quaintness of it all was disconcerting to her. She didn’t feel comfortable without at least one neon sign flashing around her, and the “now open” signs didn’t count. Sighing, Babs waved a hand in front of the boy’s face. He didn’t seem to sense her there, so she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes with a start, then a frustrated huff at the yelp he’d let out. Popping out his earbuds, he started winding them up as he spoke.

“You Barbara?”

“That I am. Call me Babs, please.”

“Whatever.”

Justin gestured for her to follow him. He was the son of an old friend of Frank’s. A witch named Justine. Even Babs wasn’t vain enough to name her son after herself, not that children were anywhere on her radar. He led her to a small curiosities shop tucked in a forgotten corner of the square. Inside sat Justine, her focus torn away from the arranging of crystals on a table when the two walked in.

“Babs!” Justine cried, jumping up and rushing to Babs, throwing her arms around the woman’s shoulders. Babs brought a hand up to pat Justine’s back gingerly, trying her best to wriggle away.

“Justine! How wonderful to see you!” she crooned, putting on a fake smile as she pulled away. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, sweetie! Us old women need to stick together,  you know?” The words made Babs’ blood boil, but she simply offered a tight lipped smile and a nod. “I’ve already got a room cleared for you to set up shop.” She guided Babs into less of a room and more of an oversized alcove, where she’d set up a table and a sewing machine.

“I thought you said you’d bought a second shop?” Babs asked, the tension apparent in her voice as she clenched her jaw a little. Shoved in the corner to sew…not unlike her days backstage in Vegas.

Justine inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. “Yeeeeeah, the deal sort of fell through with the place next door. This is the best I can do for now.” A pause. Another sharp inhale. “Aaaaaaaand you’re going to need to find another place to stay. Justin took over the guest room to set up his drum kit.”

Babs’ eyes fluttered with frustration, her jaw clenching. But she wouldn’t let it show. Not when Justine was her only connection in this town so far. She looked forward to the day she could cut this insufferable woman loose. “Of course. Music is a noble pursuit. I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way.” She stole a glance over at Justin, who had his earbuds back in and sunglasses on, drumming erratically to a song with his fingers.

“There’s an inn close by. It’s called the Stonefruit. Quite nice,” Justine offered apologetically.

“I’ll manage,” Babs said curtly, still offering her toothy smile. She picked up the suitcase she’d set down by the door when she’d entered and stepped back out into the square. Of course she was on her own again. Just like usual. And she would manage. Just like she always had.

#solo

[wilysigma]

GIRLS BIKER CLUB DUDE PT.2

Jack is now in a world of drunkenness,and now he is ready to go,but the girls won't let him saying he's too wasted to drive,so one of the girls offer to take him home or to her place to sleep it off,he passes out,the girls continue partying it's early.Hrs later he awakes in a backroom with one of the girls waking him up saying are you okay.Hes stunned to be still this drunk and says yes I need to go asap.......Well the Club is closed and I'm staying to clean since im a prospect so you can help me or stay relaxing.He stays relaxing and eventually falls asleep,to wake up with a few ladies there cooking breakfast and asks him to join?Okay I guess Jack says and sits,as the breakfast goes on he sobers up and what looks like the head Biker Lady comes in with her biker drab,leather pants shirt and leather vest said on the back, Man-eaters patch,she looks at him and says why are you still here,haha shut up,you want to be the only man in the club,you shall be called J.no more being called Jack and my name is Babs,if you like to be with us you'll be a prospect as well til further notice.......... There's no way out at all your our boy now,next is to get you outfitted as a prospect...........

[joulethieves]

found family drabble in which balthier’s been flying all across ivalice avoiding coming to terms with vaan (again, probably age 25) and the orphan girl (age 4 or 5) in rabanastre - until finally a heist gets the best of him and he breaks a leg, pretty badly. fran flies them back to rabanastre where he is bedridden for quite some weeks. insert vaan and orphan bab - who i’ve temporarily named cisne - taking care of him. which means a whole lot of cisne being adorable and working through the many walls of balthier’s resolve. this also does wonders for the gap cleaved by balthier’s hand  between him and vaan. throughout the weeks the tension slowly works away until nothing is left but everything unsaid. will balthier stay? will he go? vaan needs to know. ty @kujicoo for talking with me randomly about it until we asploded into headcanons and bs. idk why this shit is like candy to write. *POINTEDLY AVOIDS OTHER FIC OBLIGATIONS WITH THIS SHIT*

across the room, vaan sits upon the tired velvet chair in a slump and wrings his hands. “balthier,” he begins, voice quiet and taut, “i know that i’ve...been putting this off-- for a while.” boy, his hands sure are interesting. “but cisne, y’know, she’s nuts about you more than ever now. and i think--i think you like her too.” vaan allows himself a ghost of a smile here as he stares down at his hands and recalls the last few weeks, watching the sky pirate slowly fall victim to her whims. it’s been, truth be told, wonderful to see. he wants to see it every damn day - vaan knows this is what he wants. and this is why he’s here. “look. i know this isn’t really ideal for you, i mean--” a laugh, almost self deprecating, “i pretty much have you trapped here in a room with a broken leg. but, i can’t keep her in the dark any longer. she... she wants to know if you’ll stay.”

it’s harder than it should be, to drag his eyes from his hands to meet the sky pirate’s gaze across the room, but vaan manages. balthier’s eyes bore straight into his, unreadable and stoic, but the dalmascan says it anyway - 

“and so do i.”

predictable silence stretches between them, a thread across the room vaan can practically see. he wants to grab it between both fists and pull until it snaps and everything between them unsaid can make sense again. balthier has always been a puzzle of a hume that vaan's had no qualms accepting with all his unclear, jagged pieces; he’s been content to leave the mismatched image as is, if balthier is happy enough with the picture he’s composed thus far. but that was then, before cisne... and whatever chasm grew between him and balthier during these months.

now, vaan needs answers, and there’s a guilt that digs through the very centre of him in asking balthier to hand them over. but it’s not just his heart on the line anymore. it’s another orphan’s too, and vaan won’t keep her waiting any longer. he sees her falling in love with balthier, every day more that they spend together,

just as he sees himself falling more in love with him as well.

in the dim light of the inn room, balthier’s tired features are soft. the shadows curve along his cheekbones to dull his edges, and all that stands out in the warmth of the room is the crisp white of his tunic and the rumpled sheets pooled around his waist. vaan’s hands tighten with his throat as the silence pries at him. and then balthier moves, suddenly, shifts on the bed with a stiffness that he cannot hide - he winces, sucks in a breath through his teeth, and slides from the center of the bed to one half.

and then he expectantly pats the spot he just cleared.

“come join me on the bed, would you? you’re awfully hard to reason with from across the room.”

vaan’s feet carry him before his mind can catch up, and soon he’s stretched alongside balthier on the cozy mattress certainly not meant for two men. still, they manage, and balthier is quick to wrap and arm around vaan to bring his blonde head to his chest. vaan obliges the motion, and lets out a long sigh through his nose as he settles against him.

“i’ve been giving it much thought myself, as of late. i’ve certainly had the time for thoughts,” balthier offers, still maddeningly full of pretense. vaan wants to shake him and he would were balthier not already bedridden from his heist-induced injury - instead vaan finds his impatience smoothed down as the older man runs his hands through the mess of vaan’s long hair, working out the knots between the strands, and between them both. “she’s infectious, the girl. much like another once-orphan i know. hm,” a fond hum warms the room further, and balthier presses his lips to the crown of vaan’s head. “i admit you have quite a knack for mussing my script about in ways i’m ever hard-pressed to make sense of. and now indeed you have me trapped like a hare, with both yourself and cisne having at me mercilessly; show’ring me in affections, tales, company alike that makes these drab days in this wretched sickbed seem almost tolerable. pleasant, even,” he adds, and vaan can hear the very rise of his brow as he speaks.

“i did tell her to be extra sweet to you,” vaan grins, “but she took her own liberties and then i couldn’t stop her. i created a monster.”

“don’t give yourself so much credit,” balthier snorts, “you know i’ve a way with the ladies in such a manner i can’t even begin to make you understand.”

vaan swats at him dismissively, and balthier’s rich chuckle makes him want to smile. talk about infectious. 

“cisne is special; i’ll give you that, certainly. i was skeptical at first, lending most of your good word to that irrepressible heart of gold you’re ever-cursed with.” vaan smiles against balthier’s chest and recalls their conversation many months ago about her where he said just that. “but it would seem your affections are well-warranted. i can see why you’re so enamored - whatever spell she has you under has, damnably, spread to me.” here, vaan wants to preen - he knew she’d pry her little fingers into his heart if they could just get him to sit still long enough to pull it off. this broken leg business really ended up being a boon for all three of them.

“but vaan, the sky is no place to raise a little girl.” 

the reality slices through vaan and his smile drops like a marionette with severed strings. balthier continues.

“she’ll do well to be raised here in rabanastre, what with your flat and all that can accommodate her and yourself both.”

rabanastre. home. rabanastre has always been that, whether vaan is in the heart of it or thousands of miles away in a sky he’s never known. home has always been here. outside the inn, the sounds of the royal city still weave through the streets below as night settles in, a richness vaan cannot hope to unearth in any sort of treasure.

but he cannot make balthier see this. 

distantly, amidst the white noise filling his head and heart with trepidation, vaan can feel balthier’s fingers run through his hair again - though the knots have given to his ministrations and they slide through the flaxen tresses with ease.

“there are, as you can imagine, a multitude of issues with this.”

the dalmascan sighs in defeat and screws his eyes tight, tight, tight - here it comes. the answer he’d been dreading. he told himself not to hold his breath, told himself not to, damn it all. but he couldn’t help it. it was all too good to imagine, again, infectious - to picture a life where the past few weeks, barring the injury, could be a way of life for all three of them.

vaan knew it was too good to be true. but he’d hoped nonetheless. that’s what orphans do, and he’ll always be one at heart - a foolish dalmascan boy who hopes for a family again, one that he can keep this time. he moves to rise from balthier, the bed, this room, this very place--but balthier keeps him pressed to his chest as he continues.

“first thing’s first, that bed of yours in your flat is terribly small. i’ll not be sharing it with you unless we replace it with something suitable. if that means i have to go purchase one myself and haul it up the stairs then so be it.”

vaan’s head shoots up so fast he nearly clips balthier’s chin. suddenly the white noise in his head switches to a ring, but the pirate continues, as if he hadn’t just said the start of an absolute game-changer.

“secondly, she’ll need to be placed in schooling. proper schooling, mind. surely our dear queen has implemented some arrangement these many years to rebuild your once less-than-stellar education programs.”

the ringing grows louder and vaan’s heart is in his ears as balthier drawls on.

“third, we’ll need some breed of proper documentation for this. now i know you, by technical terms, stole this homeless child from the very streets of rozarria and smuggled her across several borders, so don’t fret; believe it or not i’m not terribly against forgery. just don’t tell dear fran, heaven forfend. her fragile disposition won’t hold out on the shock.” 

vaan feels dizzy. that heartbeat thrumming in his eardrums has taken over his very pulse and he comes alive on the bed to wrap balthier in his arms, and vaan presses his face against the man’s neck to hide the wetness of his eyes. “balthier,” vaan breathes out, and he curls his hands around the man’s soft hair like a child would, “d’you mean it?”

there’s no use hiding, vaan knows this. he lifts his head from balthier’s throat and locks eyes with the older man, whose gaze looks back at him this time with no walls; a puzzle rearranged in such a way that vaan can see the picture clearer now, one where they both fit, this time with no jagged edges.

“i do.”

#this is the worst #help #bv foundfamily #i'm sorry #why are you reading this