#it's just a part of his foundational vocabulary

[britneyshakespeare]

I am a very frequent offender of laughing harder than anybody else at my own jokes, but I am also a fan of the phenomenon when you tell a joke without thinking much about it and then it becomes funnier because of how much somebody else laughs at it.

Over a year ago now I was hanging out with my friends and we were talking about babytalk. Like, the way they babble incoherently before they can form basic words and it's just kind of inexplicable to a bystander by their parents know exactly what they're saying. Like a baby will be like ababasaaghaghaghaaba and you'll be like what could that possibly mean but their parent will be like "oh she just wants sweet potatoes" or something super else specific.

I said that someday my baby will be like ghaghaabababgagabgaa and I'll be like "oh he's just quoting Hamlet."

And that got like, you know, a medium sized laugh from the friends as it was supposed to, but then one of them specifically looked me in the eye and said "Wow. That was really an A+ joke" and I was like "What?" "Your baby quoting Hamlet."

"Oh. You're right I guess that is hilarious."

And I otherwise probably would've forgotten that joke but because that specific friend got such a kick out of it, I associate it with him, and every now and then I'll just think to myself: heh, that is funny. My little son quoting Hamlet.

#i think that's also a characteristically 'me' joke to make #like when a specific joke is just so fitting to one person's sense of humor it can be funnier. #i. i do quote hamlet. i quote hamlet in real life to people's faces sometimes #i don't think that's funny but who else's baby is gonna pick up the habit? no one's. just mine. #tales from diana #like my baby doesn't just grow up interested in literature and one day read hamlet. when he's mature enough to understand it #it's just a part of his foundational vocabulary #my son's first words: 'get thee to a nunnery. why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?'

[le-trash-prince]

Dean & Kenta

So I am obsessed with the parallels between these two scenes in Episode 10, and I’d like to break it down a bit.

Here we have two characters who have failed their father figures due to their involvement with Charlie's accident. These conversations both begin with physical blows.

Both Kenta and Dean deny that they intended for Charlie to die.

Tony tells Kenta not to bother coming back if he messes up again (I interpret this as a veiled death threat—does Tony ever let people just walk away?). And Alan asks North to call the police on Dean. Both Kenta and Dean are each facing exile from their families.

There is, however, a contrast in the setting for these conversations. Tony and Kenta are at Tony's house, which we know is full of people. They are even out in the open, rather than in Tony's office. But they are completely isolated, as is the standard for this home. They are standing on a black walkway with a black doorway behind them.

Alan and Dean, on the other hand, are surrounded by the X-Hunter team, by people who are directly affected by what is happening. Even though it is just the two of them talking to each other, North is literally right there with them. They are standing in a beam of light with a bright window behind them.

I think there is a lot to be said about the connection these scenes draw between Tony and Alan, although I'm not equipped to comment on parenting styles (I welcome any input). But I don't think any other part of the series has drawn such a clear comparison between these two and the roles they are trying to fill. Their emotional reactions speak a lot to the difference in their character. While both are angry, Tony is filled with entitlement—his finances have been damaged by Charlie’s, while Alan is filled with grief—his family has been broken.

One thing I’d also like to highlight is Alan’s constant use of the word “family” towards his employees throughout the entire show (I know this can be problematic irl sometimes, but it’s quite apparent here that Alan really thought of them as his family), while that word seems to be entirely missing from Tony’s vocabulary, even though these people are legally his children. X-Hunter is Alan’s family, while the Chen Foundation orphans are Tony’s property.

Family is a recurring theme in Pit Babe (insert Fast & Furious reference here), and these scenes do a great job of showing contrasting perspectives on family. "Family is not everyone's safe zone." Family can hurt, family can heal, and family can fail you.

In the end, as seen below, Tony quite literally throws Kenta away from him, while Alan lets Dean slip from his embrace.

Kenta ends the scene framed almost completely by black, but his face is bathed in light, and he is standing upright, while Dean is the opposite; he is on his knees, bracketed by light, his face entirely in shadow.

I also find it interesting how much this dialogue of Dean's feels like it could have come directly from Kenta himself.

To me, Kenta and Dean are on very similar trajectories, but moving in opposite directions. They have both been background characters, observers in someone else's story, and they're both unhappy with where they are.

Dean was revealed in his scene to be a traitor to his people, and I think Kenta’s scene is showing us that he is in the same position—without coming out and saying it directly. In my opinion, it’s some very nice visual storytelling that’s doing a great job of building up what is coming for Kenta’s arc.

#em post #pit babe #pit babe the series #pit babe meta #kenta pit babe #tony chen #alan pit babe #dean pit babe #long post

[st-juliet]

Utmost Merit, Part II

Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: Sherlock presents the Reader with a most unconventional proposal.

Content: 18+ for suggestive language (breeding kink is the star of this fic) and smut, specifically our heroine being fingered sort of in public (indoors and uninterrupted), and frank discussion of pregnancy.

Notes: I prefer giving a name to the Reader rather than using Y/N, but I hope you will make the appropriate substitutes in your imagination. And hello, I’m back!!! I lost this whole chapter in a computer disaster, and then was occupied writing for my work, but I thank you for your patience, and for all the absolutely hear-soaringly lovely comments and reblogs on Part I of this story! Most especial thanks to my darlings: @crazybutconfidentaf  @inlovewithhisblueeyes  @donutloverxo  @ghotifishreads​

Previous Chapter: Part I

The necessary legal and social arrangements were made with your brothers’ assistance, but when it came to the logistical matters, you and Sherlock had been left to your own devices, which in this particular instance meant that you invited him along for one of your early morning walks, on a beautiful sunny day, to discuss the particulars of your wedding.

“This is very peaceful,” he remarks, and you note with a pang of undeniable tenderness that he has matched his pace to yours, slowing his long strides to match your smaller steps. “I confess I am not always up before noon unless a client calls, but I’m beginning to see the appeal of the sunrise. I hope you will not cease this practice once we are married.”

“Not when it is half the reason we will be married in the first place!” you laugh. “I hope you will find some occasion to join me, when you wish to. And I think when the baby comes—” Ah, how easily that phrase has slipped into both of your vocabularies. “—I might have a little companion to perambulate with me.”

“You certainly shall. And we must spend summers on the estate—there you may walk for leagues in the woods and fields…I hardly know the extent of the grounds myself. And we might honeymoon there, as well.”

“I would be honored, Sherlock.”

“But we must of course set the date. When would you be married?”

“I see no reason to delay,” you reply, hopeful that he will not think your enthusiasm too bold.

“Excellent.” He nods approvingly. “Let us see: in three weeks’ time the reading of the banns shall be completed, so perhaps the ceremony could be held on the following Saturday? Will that give you time to caparison yourself as you prefer? I wouldn’t want to deny you the joy of your bridal provisions.”

“My gown will certainly be completed by then…and if I am a few handkerchiefs or nightgowns shy of a full trousseau, I’m sure you will not cast me aside!”

“I will not. Nightgowns are welcome…but by no means required.”

He casually glances away from you, then cuts his eyes back with a somewhat suggestive smile. Your careless joke has sparked a flirtatious tone in him that is a complete revelation to you. The Great Detective, flirtatious? Moveable by a nightgown? He had professed himself anything but a romancer, but in this moment, you thought he might not know the extent of his power…nor neither of you the extent of yours. But all these thoughts—of how you might move him yet further, of how your heart whispered that this was not just lust, not just the chance of a child, but something more, that drew you to him—are dispersed by the sensation of his hand brushing against yours, the offer of his arm, which you accept, bringing you a little closer together as you walk.

“Rosamund, let us endeavor to be entirely honest with one another.”

“A fine foundation for marriage,” you concur, trying to breathe deeply but not obviously to still your racing, reckless heart.

“Indeed. And upon that foundation, will you tell me if you are aware of the manner in which a child is conceived and borne?”

“Yes, I am. In theory. My parents were quite…quite bohemian in some respects, and thought it best I were properly, scientifically educated, for my own protection and my wellbeing in marriage.”

“I am very glad to hear it. And if you—should you have questions about anything, which I might answer more specifically or, as you say, scientifically, than your married friends, I entreat you to ask. We have nothing to be ashamed of between us.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” you say, emotion welling behind each word. You walk in comfortable silence for a moment, before remembering your purpose:

“Oh, and—pardon me, if we might return to the day of the marriage proper—I was distracted—“ You laugh a little, hoping you are not so flushed in the face as you feel. “I would like to host a wedding breakfast at my—my brothers’ home, for my friends and for yours, if you do not object. A farewell to my childhood home, and a way to bring the old and new together.”

“Excellent; I should enjoy that as well. And on a similar subject: there is the matter of our own home. We have spoken already of the estate, of course, but my business will keep me in London most of the year.”

“Then we will stay with you. You should not have to take a train to see your children.”

This brings out a particularly beaming smile. Who in the world could have ever thought this man—this vibrant, capricious, thoughtful, witty man—an automaton? Does he even know, you muse, how dearly, wonderfully human he is?

“I presently reside in lodgings at Baker Street, and will maintain the flat to serve as my office—for the sake of your safety and privacy—but I mean to purchase a home, perhaps in Belgravia, that would be more suitable for our family. In fact, I will be viewing a house this very afternoon and have some hopes it may prove ideal.”

“May I accompany you?” you ask, and he smiles in surprise, and evident pleasure.

“But of course,” he answers. “Forgive me—I ought to have asked you to begin with. I did not mean to exclude you from the decision.”

“Not at all. It is something new for both of us—to think as part of a pair and not simply for oneself. We will both need to get accustomed to it.”

“You make it very easy to do so, Rosamund.”

Somehow, it is this simple, unromantic compliment, even more than his allusive comment about your nightgowns, which truly makes you blush, and your heart sing in your breast.

He makes it easy, too.

That afternoon, you arrive together at the house, met by the current proprietors’ solicitor who takes you on a tour. Sherlock rigorously inspects floorboards, delights in a magnificent marble fireplace, and scoffs at the gauche, bird-covered wallpaper when the solicitor isn’t looking, which makes you laugh. You feel as though you learn a dozen new things about him, by virtue of what he seeks in a home, and he is granted the same insight to you: he loves the color red but cannot abide purple, you love when floorboards creak because it reminds you that you are not alone in an empty home, you would both be inclined to convert the greenhouse in the garden to a music room, neatly solving the Problem of the Midnight Violin.

On the second floor, you are introduced to an especially sumptuous library. It still bears the mark of the previous occupants; though the books are gone, chairs, settees, and a substantial desk remain.

“They have yet to cart this furniture away,” the solicitor explains. “But if you like it, we might be able to arrange to purchase it with the house?”

“It is a little old-fashioned, perhaps but there is something picturesque in the antiquity,” you offer.

“I agree,” Sherlock answers. “And it would save us a good deal of trouble, to have some furnishings already provided. Sir, will you make your inquiry? The cost is not of consequence.”

“Of course. I’ll return—please do make yourselves at home in the meantime!”

The man departs, and as his footsteps down the stairs fade, Sherlock paces about, examining the library as thoroughly as if searching for clues.

“It is all very dark and dusty,” he observes. “I don’t mind the former and we can easily set right the latter—but I wouldn’t want to condemn you to the shadows.”

“These windows face the West,” you note, and with an easy tug, you pull aside the curtain to reveal an exquisite sunset, painting the drab room anew with lovely, light colors. “We may have light or dark as we choose.”

Sherlock comes to stand beside you in the streams of fading light, and you are struck again by his handsome features. It always takes you off guard, how his magnificent eyes, curving lips, and sharp jaw affect you. This is meant to be a matter of business, of family, of providing a good man with a deserved heir…but still, you find yourself somewhat giddy, playing house with your husband-to-be, and seat yourself in the chair by the window, even daring to raise your arms in imitation of cradling a baby. “And here, Mr. Holmes…a more complete picture for your consideration. What do you think of it now?”

“Well, this is in all ways ideal,” he avers, smiling at your pose, and—seemingly without thought, on a sudden impulse, he kneels beside you, looking first into your eyes, then letting his gaze wander to your posed arms with their imaginary child, and down further still to your skirts spread about you. Almost transfixed, he fingers the lace at the hem of your light walking gown.

“Sherlock…”

“Allow me to say that I have always appreciated the way you dress,” he states, his voice low and deliberate as he continues to trace the trim…and then his hand slips beneath your skirt. “It becomes you so well…soft and simple and fresh…”

His fingertips brush your ankle, your calf, your knee and you smother a gasp, but you cannot possibly pull away. Such an intimate touch sets your skin aflame through the silk of your stockings, and you find yourself pressing against his touch, encouraging the caress as his hand climbs higher.

“Tell me, has your scientific education found any practical application?” he asks, his voice calm but intent as he strokes maddeningly gentle, light circles on your thigh through the fabric of your drawers. Your blush deepens.

“As I have said before, sir, I am…curious…” you manage, and you nearly shatter in an instant as he boldly, shamelessly finds your most sensitive place and begins to circle that bundle of nerves, guided by touch alone beneath the many layers of cloth that still separate you. He huffs in satisfaction as your hips move in time with his hand, seeking more friction, more heat, more closeness.

“My god, I can feel you—you’re wet for me—why, Rosamund, was it me you thought of in your curiosity, hmm? Have you wondered what it will feel like, when I take you to my bed?”

“Yes, oh, Sherlock,” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand and glancing furtively at the door, terrified that at any moment the gentleman may return…and not for fear of your reputation, you realize, but because it means Sherlock would stop. And he cannot, he must not stop—it is too, too good—

“You want this, don’t you, Mrs. Holmes?” he murmurs, and your heart swells at the sound of your soon-to-be name falling from his lips. His sharp, keen eyes are fixed on yours as he moves his hand faster, more urgently. “You want to come for me, like a good, obedient wife and call out my name while I put a baby in you…“

You want it. You want it more than anything.

And in mere moments, you do come for him, just as he says, pressing your hand tighter against your mouth to stifle the absolutely indecent sounds that threaten to reveal your compromised state. He works you through your peak, whispering, “Good girl, good girl…”

And then, reality returns.

You stare at each other for a long moment, both of you crashing down to earth even as you tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Hastily, but not at all ungently, he withdraws his hand and stands, putting distance between you as you right your clothes and rise from the chair, both of you breathing deeply.

“Please, Miss Marlow, I must ask you to forgive me. I let my…my inclinations run away with me. I meant no disrespect—“

“I think there can be nothing to forgive!” you reassure him at once. This is a side you have not seen of the man you are to marry: he is uncomfortable, apologetic, almost shy as he glances back at you over his shoulder. “You yourself said we have nothing to be ashamed of between us, and you seek to satisfy my understanding of my own body, not any prurient or selfish desire.”

“You think very well of me,” he replies doubtfully, but his posture eases and his voice is a little less constricted.

“I have reason to, sir,” you state firmly, and this truly seems to touch him. “And it will facilitate our purpose, will it not…for me to…feel as I have just felt?”

“Yes, I have it on medical authority that it will,” he says, returning to stand beside you, all tension melting away into a your usual, familiar ease.

“Then there is utmost merit in practice.” He laughs softly, and you cannot help but tease him a little further. “Even under such daring circumstances.”

“I am somewhat wont to run into danger,” he admits.

“Then I will simply have to run after you. Sherlock.”

He inclines his head, and you tilt yours up to meet his kiss—

“You can keep the furniture!”

A voice in the doorway, the eager solicitor, interrupts you, and you draw apart, assuming a more respectable distance at once.

“Well, what do you think of it, sir?”

Sherlock glances down at you and pulls out his chequebook.

“We’ll take it.”

<3<3<3 If you liked this story, please do comment, reblog, or visit my masterlist! And here’s Part III!

#Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes fanfic #enola holmes fanfic #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock Holmes x OFC #Henry!Sherlock #Henry!Sherlock Holmes #Henry Cavill x You #Henry!Holmes #Henry Cavill Sherlock Holmes

[power-chords]

Human beings have long perceived the workings of destiny—the grand pattern of the mover of the universe—in coincidence, in accident, in the moment of perception of a problem previously unsuspected. So did Khlebnikov. Destiny was his prime concern. The category of those who study the workings of the universe is unclear—Lucretius and Dante may be scientists, just as Newton and Einstein may be poets. Khlebnikov was both. For him, the shift in sound that produces a shift in meaning was a shift in the structure of the universe. That the shift of a vowel made the Russian word for sword (mech) become the word for ball (miach) gave Khlebnikov a vertiginous sense of the power of language to influence the natural world. The shift of a consonant was all the distinguished inventors from investors or explorers from exploiters—and suddenly there appears the image of a struggle between N and S, between R and T. The movement of consonants became a metaphor for political and economic conflict.

To many of his readers this seemed, and seems, like nonsense. But we must be careful to distinguish, as he did, between nonsense and beyonsense (zaum, in Russian). The word zaum was part of the Futurist vocabulary, used by different poets in different ways. In Khlebnikov the word must be seen first as a function of its root, the word um: intellect, intelligence, reason, the rational faculty of the mind. Um implies the creation of “pilings,” the foundation of the man-made structures that must sooner or later destroy the mind’s unity with the natural world. Um also implies the separation of thinking man from the natural stuff of language: the shape, sound, and color of words. The opposite of um is magic, magic words, the part of language that contains a power inaccessible to the intellect and is always opposed to it. It is here that poetry stands—but poetry had been weakened during the nineteenth century, especially in Russia, by positivism and historicism. So Khlebnikov attempts a radical corrective: to reclaim a power for poetry by reaching back beyond (za) intellect (um), to the roots of language.

The “strange wisdom” of language perceived in this way, he writes below in the fragmentary essay “On Poetry,” “may be broken down into truths contained in separate sounds: sh, m, v, etc. We do not yet understand these sounds. We confess that honestly. But there is no doubt that these sound sequences constitute a series of universal truths passing before the predawn of our soul.” The purpose of beyonsense is to return to poetry a status as life-sustaining communication, relieved of worn-out words, those “clumps of intellect, stacks of sense, a wagon train of dead ideas.” Beyonsense was to make language ready for the future.

Charlotte Douglas, art historian, on Velimir Khlebnikov, from The King of Time, 1990, an English translation of the Russian Futurian's selected works.

#words words words #velimir khlebnikov #charlotte douglas #russian poetry #futurism #russian futurism #linguistics

[thegrimdog13]

why are people like this?

Sorry this is a long rant ( also sorry for the swearing it’s just a normal part of my vocabulary but sometimes it’s out of hand. I am annoyed about what I’m talking about but I’m not like furious or something lol)

This same thing has happened to me a couple times but yesterday and today I have been walking home. I take a 20 minute walk home about. And most of the time it’s fine. But sometimes people will just stick their head out their car and yell stuff at me when I don’t know them at all. Yesterday I walked home a bit later then I usually do same route and everything and this guy yelled out his window at me with a big shit eating smirk on his face. I always have headphones in so I don’t have really ever hear what they yell and I honestly prefer it that way.because even though the place I live is quiet and usually not dangerous at all people are just rude. Now today I was walking and this person literally stopped their car and their little kid was yelling something at me like what the heck. I don’t get parents who let their kids act up like that because I wasn’t doing anything wrong and I was just minding my business but they decided to stop their whole car to yell at me. Then they stayed there as I walked by and they kept the window open and the kid just backed his head away as I walked by because he probably didn’t want me to be yelling at him and stuff. But fortunately for them I’m pretty smart and I walked by and minded my own damn business like they should have. At times I think oh maybe I should yell back but then I realize that is exactly what they want me to do. So once I didn’t give then the reaction they wanted because they probably wanted to get me in trouble with some sort of law or something so they could sue me or some shit. They drove away. And honestly that is a trend with little fucking kids we’re I live because they will just smirk at you like a bitch or make faces at you. mind you this kid looked like he was probably in middle school. And in my opinion you should know better by then. I mean I have literally walked past elementary kids on my way home and they don’t do anything and just mind their business but middle schoolers are getting out of hand. And highschool kids that should definitely know by now also do it. So I just think it’s dumb and like I would just like to know what I’m doing wrong when I’m just walking home with my stuff and my headphones on just minding my own damn business. Also a couple years ago in the time of masks I was walking home and I still had my mask on because I didn’t want anybody I knew to see me without it. Just because of the fact that my makeup was ruined from the mask . I am a ftm but I still like at least foundation on my face because I feel ugly without it lol. But someone drove by ( mind you two grown adults) and yelled take off your mask over and over again and then drove away . Like shut the fuck up and mind your damn business. In the end the moral is mind your damn businesses if nobody is doing anything wrong. Also can somebody give me any reasons why these people would be yelling stuff at me. Like I get it with the younger kids because they might not understand or they might thinks it’s funny because they are immature but encouraging behavior like that as a parent in my opinion is not appropriate. Mind you I’ve never been a parent and never will be so who knows maybe it’s okay to raise your child to be an asshole.( that was a little bit aggressive of wording but you guys get what I mean)

#why are people like this #mind your fucking business #mind your business #mind your damn business #why do people suck #why do people yell random things at me #just minding my business #doing my own thing #people #annoying #annoying people #rant post #rant #random #random people #harrassment #bullying

[greyeyedmonster-18]

the pact (pt. 3)

read part 1 and two here

what if james had been the only one to die on October 31st? what if Lily did as he said and took harry and ran?

sirius attempts to reconcile with the weight of raising james's kid(s) and the weight of doing this life without his best friend.

cw: pregnancy and baby mentions; grief; mentions of substance use.

“I think I want to go back to Healing,” Lily said, sitting across the sitting room from Sirius, red hair cropped to her chin now, and baby bump way more visible under her dresses these days, 6 months in. “I…know it seems like bad timing given I’m going to give birth in three months, but I…if I don’t do it now, I never will and I need to do something. I need to go back. I would’ve continued if…”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, almost daring Lily to fill in the blank.

A cross-word puzzle taking out an entire page in the Daily Prophet.

If I hadn’t gone into hiding.

If my husband hadn’t died.

If I hadn’t spent the past four months trying to find some semblance of normal around here.

They had made a version of a home that was semi-functioning, the four and a half of them (though according to the baby books, they were the size of a head of cabbage), all of them bound together with Droobles gum and shoestring. A crafts project gone terribly wrong that parents had no choice but to hang in their parlor, gushing over how truly wonderful it was. Even though it wasn’t.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me,” Sirius said off-handedly.

“Because if I go back…you’ll be at home.”

“Where else would I be, Lils?”

“James and I…we just talked about it before, that he would stay home and…he wanted to,” Lily started, her voice breaking the way it always did when they tried to have civil conversations about James, usually ending with Sirius swallowing down fighting words and choosing to get up and walk away instead. His best friends name a sharp corner they brushed up against far too often even in a house as big as Number 12. The more the dust settled, the more Sirius came to the realization that Lily and Harry would both be fine, and the more Sirius gave himself permission to act on the worst of himself. Mending bridges with Remus, one brick at a time, filling in the cracks in the foundation; burning them with Lily; building them with Harry—replacing Sirius as the brightest star in the sky the way he was able to shed light on Number 12 by laughing.

Learning.

Exploring.

Sirius couldn’t have walked away, even if he wanted to.

“So then you…continue with the plan.”

“Would you be okay with that? A newborn and a todder? Harry has a few years before he starts school…I’m sure Molly Weasley would—”

“Molly Weasley can eat my trousers.”

“Be nice, Sirius.”

“I’ll be nice when she stops offering her well-meaning advice about what we should be feeding Harry or whether or not its appropriate for him to be sleeping in the bed with me and Remus…”

“She might have a point about that,” Lily absently, and Sirius rolled his eyes, already tired of an argument that hadn’t started. 4 months later, walking with a growing vocabulary, and Harry would ask to sleep in Sirius and Moony’s bed. Sometimes Sirius wouldn’t even bother trying with the crib if Harry was sleeping so soundly because sleep was better than no sleep and it felt like they had just gotten out of the crying phase. And so what if Sirius was able to fall asleep easier himself if he could feel Harry beside him, or drift off looking at Harry cuddled into Remus.

Harry in the middle now.

“And I might have a point about business and minding.”

“They still have my spot…I can come back…”

“It sounds to me like you already have your mind made up.”

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t want me to.”

“And have you that in my face every time we argue? I’ll pass, Lily,” he said and watched as Lily tapped her fingers anxiously on the table. She had never been one for diffusing bombs, not having the patience to deal with it and instead was usually the one Sirius went to when he needed someone to tell him to get it together. Sirius never though there would be a day he would have it so together—with the nap schedules and the healer appointments and a calendar in their kitchen for the life that wasn’t entirely his—he would grow to think of Lily’s love as hard. The two of them trading eyerolls and forgetting to keep civil tongues instead of playful banter, wishing the other was someone else who was no longer here. “You want to go back? Go back, go…be brilliant or whatever it is you want to be and I’ll be here.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Lily��”

“No, answer me. Because I know living in this house, with me and my kid and—”

“It’s…not you. I love you both. All three of you.”

“—without James wasn’t what you wanted. You wouldn’t be doing this if this wasn’t James’s kid, so what would you be doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“My kids aren’t a shitty consolation prize,” she said fiercely, “And neither am I by that. I know the first month wasn’t easy, it hasn’t been easy and I know you made a promise but that doesn’t mean I want you to just sit here and resent us.”

Sirius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “When does Healing start again?”

“I could go talk to someone tomorrow.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

“Sirius—”

“You should be the one person I don’t have to explain how it feels to build a life with someone else only to have that taken away. I’m glad,” Sirius ground out, “that you managed to find some…part that wasn’t built with him to hold onto but…I haven’t got that yet. You got to lie in bed for a month, maybe let me be mad for a bit, hm?”

“I don’t like you when you’re mad.”

“Me neither.”

--

A new mural was painted in the nursery, colors hand selected by an almost two year old who helped Sirius every step of the way. A dark and dingy room in Number 12 transformed into something entirely new—a fantasy of flowers and critters and handprints. Some big. Some small.

Sirius sat with his back against the opposite wall, watching the paint dry with Harry in his lap, trying to pretend he wasn’t ready for a nap. His messy black hair tucked under Sirius’s chin, hands holding onto his as he liked to do—as he had liked to do since Sirius had first held him in St. Mungo’s. Stronger grip now, and Sirius didn’t blame him.

James was always the one who taught Sirius a thing or two about letting things go and Harry didn’t have a role model for that. Harry was just learning how to hold tight. Sirius wasn’t going to complain, even if it was selfish to use a child as the one thing keeping him tied to the Earth.

“We did okay, kid,” Sirius murmured, kissing Harry on the side of his head. “I think your sister will like it…a bit different than yours was though. Merlin, I remember painting that…your Dad couldn’t draw a straight line but insisted on supervising me the entire time.”

Are you sure that’s where the mountains go, Sirius? Shouldn’t you have a reference image or something?

“Dada?” Harry asked sleepily.

“Yeah, your Dad…I might have some pictures of your nursery…haven’t looked through much of anything lately. Stupid Grief Healer Moony has me seeing tells me it might be healthy but…between you and me, I think they’re full of shit.”

“Shhhhh.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t repeat that, babe.”

“Babe.”

“That one is alright,” Sirius grinned, “Think he would like this one?”

“Mmmm.”

“I think he would,” Lily’s voice came, peering around the corner, and leaning against the door frame. “It’s beautiful, Sirius.”

“It’s…fine,” he said looking in her direction, “I’ll do the crib and furniture tomorrow.”

“Or I’ll do it by magic once this is dry, stubborn,” Lily smiled softly and stepped into the room, taking a moment to examine the colors and the painting up close before stepping back to join Sirius along the opposite wall. Her hand went affectionately to his hair, pink fingernails pushing dark curls out of his face, “He would like this one…he’d make a stupid joke about all the deer, and ask you to put glasses on the Buck so she would know it’s him…and you would tell him that was stupid because animals don’t wear glasses…and then you’d probably spend the rest of the day going through those picture books we have in Harry’s room of animals in clothes…”

Sirius couldn’t help but smile, even though he could feel another crack in his heart start to appear. Sirius could clock a lot more of those moments lately. The ones where he first noticed the tiny chips in his chest, knowing it was only a matter of time before a chip became a full break and he would find himself isolating in the bath, or else on the roof of Number 12, casting charms to keep everyone out.

“I’d probably put glasses on one of them anyway…”

“Still can.”

“I…think she’ll have enough reminders that James isn’t around. She should be able to get some kind of reprieve while she sleeps.”

“Hey,” Lily said softly lifting Sirius’s head up, “That isn’t what I meant. She is so lucky to have you, Sirius.”

“Could be luckier,” he said, putting his arms around Harry and standing up, “I’m going to go put him down for a nap…”

“No nap,” Harry mumbled, arms encircling Sirius’s neck, “You nap.”

“Do you want me to get dinner started?”

“No, it’s okay I’ll—”

“You’ve done so much today already.”

“You should rest,” Sirius told her, “Get some reading done…I don’t know.”

She looked up at Sirius now.

Positions constantly changing. Both of them trying to find even footing and always missing each other. Common ground, even before Lily knew it, had always been James.

--

“I asked you to keep him up!”

“And I told you I tried!”

“Okay, you two just—” Remus tried, caught between two wildfires threatening to merge and burn the house down. Number 12, as strong as it stood in its magical foundation, as many Blacks with explosive tempers as it had housed throughout the years, was no match for a Black and a Potter, formerly Evans, who loved and fought as siblings since the day they had met.

“It wouldn’t have been hard for you to make dinner an hour later and—”

Sirius laughed loudly, before saying something in French that Remus knew was absolutely foul, “You’re not home. How would you even know what’s hard and what’s not? You’re the one who wanted to go back to work, I’m doing my fucking best here.”

“And what do you think I’m doing?”

“Other than making absurd requests to keep a toddler up another hour when we’re fighting for naps? I’m not exactly sure.”

“Oh, fuck you, you terrific arsehole. You don’t even—”

“Why don’t we—” Remus started again, hand coming to rest on Sirius’s shoulder but it was shrugged off, the two of them a breath away from taking this to a full shouting match outside instead of in the kitchen, plate of late dinner forgotten.

“Shut up.” They said at the same time, turning to stare at Remus, identical jaws clenched, fists tight together, one of Lily’s on her lower belly.

Smoke in the air.

And then Lily laughed. Softly, eyes lighting up and she looked back to Sirius.

“What’s funny, Evans?”

“Potter.”

“Never,” he said lightly.

“She’s kicking,” Lily said, reaching forward to grab Sirius’s hand, placing it on her stomach. Sirius’s face softened too. Harsh lines gone, replaced with curves, defenses dropping with his shoulders. Sirius knelt to the ground onto one knee, pressing his face close to Lily’s belly and listening as feet continued to kick, “Apparently, she also is prone to arguing with you…you’ll be outnumbered.”

Sirius lifted his face up to look at Lily, “I’ve been outnumbered by Potters for years now…” he let out a breath, “You’re a good Mum, Lily.”

“So are you.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “That’s as good of an apology as you’re getting out of me.”

“Then we’re even.”

Remus watched Sirius place a kiss to Lily’s belly, muttering something in French the same way he did to Harry who was apparently able to sleep through World Wars. A birthright of sorts.

Later that night, Remus found himself bearing the weight of Sirius’s body, in a way that was heavier than anticipated, boyfriend curled around him like an octopus, face in the crook of his neck, not speaking, not moving. He ran his fingers through Sirius’s hair on his back, over and over again, placing kisses whenever he thought about speaking knowing this was a time he'd just have to wait it out, fully prepared to fall asleep that way with the lights on and Sirius pretending he wasn’t crying.

“I think I might be a bad person,” Sirius whispered.

“Why’s that?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“I love you.”

“After this you won’t.”

“There was a moment I thought you were capable of murder and I loved you, Sirius,” Remus admitted, daring to dredge of a buried conversation that had been talked about and around and finally through over the fanciest meal Remus had ever had. Over expensive wine, the two of them raising glasses to confessions of I didn’t trust you for six months, where do we go now?

They had figured out where to go. Another bright spot was being able to kiss Sirius again after feeling once like some half-hearted kiss in their tiny kitchen was going to be the last.

“I don’t plan on stopping.”

“No one plans for anything…it’s stupid really. I fucking hate that calendar in the kitchen with the dates and the times and Lily’s expected birth date because…anything could fucking happen between then and now and…it all seems stupid.”

“Maybe it is…but it’s what you do. So you have things to look forward to.”

“I’m not.”

“The baby…?”

Sirius picked his head up, shifting his position so he could rest it on Remus’s chest instead, and Remus had opportunity to wipe a tear out of the corner of Sirius’s eyes. “Isn’t going to know James at all.”

“Sure she will.”

“Through stories. Pictures. How is that enough? How?”

“I don’t have an answer for that, love,” Remus told him. “Why does that make you a bad person though? I…think it just means you love deeply.”

“Because at least three times a day, I catch myself thinking that I wish Lily had been the one to die instead. And I don’t know whats worse.”

A life without James. Missing James.

Or a life of knowing you’d bargain with his wife to save his. Make a crooked deal.

“I still love you.”

“That might be the worse thing of all.”

#the pact #sirius black #lily evans potter #harry potter #remus lupin #cw: pregnancy #cw: grief mention #cw: baby mention #substance use

[gardenerian]

Do you have any headcannons on Ian and religion? Like do you think he believes in any god or is it just when he's manic? It seems like it might have a lot to do with fear. When he had yevgeny he was asking the cops if Jesus sent them to take his baby. I find that interesting

oh boy howdy wow wow wow hello! what a Q, what a Q. and do i have an A? i... don't know. but i sure do have some THOUGHTS.

getting my charlie kelly on under the cut:

okay. so.

ian is someone who does not do well with uncertainty, right? so much of his story is pushing and reaching and grasping for answers. in his relationships, with his sense of self, for his future.

i think he does look to things bigger or grander than himself for order and meaning, but it's not god (at first). it's things like the allegiance to serve, or the oath he takes as an EMT.

we don't seen much religion in early shameless, except for the odd (sarcastic) reference to irish catholicism or to stealing from/scamming their church. they have some (if minor) relationship with the place, and i do have a headcanon that they may have spent some time there pre-series as a place to get food/stay warm.

so when ian gets to his s5 manic episode, i think that's where the foundation of that delusion would lie, or at least, the vocabulary for what he's afraid is happening? jesus, gabriel, and demons stealing yevgeny is such a specific vision, i would think he had some religious grounding to come to that conclusion.

religious delusions are incredibly common in mania, even if a person is not particularly religious. and i totally agree with you that ian's is triggered by fear. the last thread kind of snaps in that moment. his paranoia is ramped up until it reaches the only end it really can - crashing down.

and we don't see religion for ian again until monica dies. ian turns to his job as an EMT and his relationships to help him make sense of the world. but losing mickey and monica all at once... he's lost at the start of s8. and i think the mania and religion are a little more closely intertwined in this episode. it appears far before the breaking point, and they kind of go hand in hand.

ian spends half the season looking for something to help him feel better and when he finds it, he locks in. trevor, the kids he helps, the shelter, the pastor, the religious movement - it all becomes this warped mission for ian. and it's both way bigger than him and largely self-serving. he's actively reading the bible and finding a calling that he believes is his alone.

the delusion here is less about paranoia and terror, and more about righteousness, grandeur, and sensing a calling - it's filling a void and lifting him higher than he can handle. but i will still argue there is still fear laced in it. fear is a powerful motivator for ian, it always has been.

and i think the s8 episode had a long, difficult recovery. one thing i'm always wishing we had was the mourning period - there is a grief that follows losing a delusion like that. we see it just a bit, with ian still looking for shim back at home. to have such strong conviction, only to suddenly face the reality that it was, in fact, a symptom of mental illness... that hurts. and to go to prison for it? yikes.

so i do wonder how ian let go of religion. does he purposefully not mention it again, or is this episode another victim of the show's goldfish memory? how does he explain it all to mickey? is the shame compounded by this religious aspect?

it doesn't play a role in their wedding, or ian's sense of right and wrong, it doesn't guide him after prison. so in canon.... you can say it's just gone. maybe it recedes until the energy returns? i don't know.

in my head, though... it's more complicated than that. i don't know if i think that ian actively believes in abrahamic religion. but i think there is certainly part of him that wrestles with the big questions and might find the idea of god (in whatever form) comforting at times.

i think they all grew up too cynical to think that someone is specifically listening to their prayers but... i don't know. in my head, ian at least remains sensitive to the idea of god, and won't bring himself to write it off entirely, even if he's not actively praying or searching for it.

i have rambled enough! what do you think?

#*touches ground* something happened here #idk i just think that even if he won't talk about it #or want to unpack it #it's still there ya know #i think having gone through that s8 episode might have shifted things just slightly #idk how exactly asdfkj but it's in there #someone smarter than i should write that fic #mel answers #bipolar ian #mania tw #religion

[asherlockstudy]

Rhett and Link's deconstruction, 3 years later

This is coming a month too late, but it was sitting half-finished in my drafts, due to little time and then a bombardment with other very intriguing RandL content that distracted me.

Rhett’s deconstruction:

There have been a few things Rhett and Link had said the last months that made me assume they were very slowly returning to their religious foundations or, rather, mellowing down their atheism/ agnosticism. One of them, for example, was Link bringing up Christianity with no significant reason in the Last Meals with Josh. Other examples is that Rhett and Link refer to Christianity more naturally and easily lately, unlike shortly after their original deconstruction, a period during which they avoided religious and especially Christian topics, sometimes with a vibe of internal turmoil at the mere mention of them, especially on Link’s side. Turns out my impression was mostly true although more hesitant than I assumed. To be clear, I consider this a good thing. Yes, a good thing. They still reject steadily toxic teachings found in the gospels. However, they now seem to be making their peace with religion as a concept and are able to explore it more openly and calmly, which means their trauma is healing.

Yes, trauma. While Link's trauma has been easily discernible and not really denied by himself either, Rhett also suffered from trauma, despite his insistence that he gave up Christianity strictly because things did not add up based on science and his logic. Here's the thing: when you give up on something because you realise it's dumb or doesn't make sense, then you don't waste more brainpower on it and you certainly don't have strong feelings because of it anymore. What Rhett described was full of emotional fluctuations: first a stage of outraged atheism, then hopeful abandon, then inquisition, an effort and need to reinterpret, and again to hope. If Rhett gave up on Christianity or religion in general because he thought he wasted 35 years in a dumb and illogical fairytale, then he simply wouldn't have tried to find ways the fairytale can be reinterpreted in one hopefully better - better for Rhett - way a few years later. Because even if Rhett's new interpretation works for him in specific, that doesn't change the fact that it remains a "fairytale" of sorts, that can't be backed by science. Therefore, the whole original statement that Rhett gave up on Christianity because it can't be scientifically proven and contradicts the evolution etc falls apart, and with a bang. This shows Rhett is driven by emotion, hope and his own private circumstances.

It was the first time that Rhett admitted that his alienation from his religion was in parts determined by his own circumstances as a person.

Another way to tell that Rhett too was personally traumatized was the level of abstract vocabulary he uses in this podcast. He used so many long and hard words, and such complicated sentences that I, as a non-native English speaker, had trouble following him in certain parts. He acknowledged at some point that he was speaking in code and vagaries and he needed Link's encouragement and support in a few occasions to speak more clearly and reveal more. So, this shows his emotional investment and turmoil, which does not align with strictly scientific inquiries or simply being an ally to other people. Rhett at some point realised that the religion he was practicing was harmful to himself or to someone he loves a great deal, i.e a family member or a very close friend. Or all that together.

The most interesting part in this EB was when Rhett narrated a recent event he could not explain by logic. Initially, he did not intend to speak about it but it was Link who urged him to, and his encouragement sort of visibly helped the words start rolling off Rhett's tongue. Still, Rhett was being vague enough that I couldn't exactly understand what happened so I will just write down their dialogue and what I understood.

Link: I think you can tell, I mean, just like the general principle of, like uhhh... you know, having someone getting a sense of us, like it was a new friend we made, who was like, a very gifted musician, and was able to translate...uhm... Rhett: He can translate- L: - their experience of a person or us into music improvisationally. R: Yeah. L: And it was... it was extremely moving. R: Very, and also like very specific in shocking ways to the individuals who were present, given the type, like, some of the music he played. L: Right. R: But also there was a moment in which, like, an album cover that had been created a few years ago for a moment that he had planned for in a specific month, while we were all looking at a specific thing. And then he played the music and then showed us the album cover, and it was too much for me to handle. (*barely holds it together*) As Rick Ruben says in another chapter; "There become these things that you, that randomness doesn't provide an adequate explanation for these things, and you eventually sort of acquiesce".

The way Rhett speaks about this incident is as if there were more people experiencing it but Link’s way of phrasing it suggests it was just the three of them or the shocking part was mostly about the two of them. I have trouble understanding Rhett’s borderline incoherent explaining here but I assume the music this musician improvised for him or for both him and Link resembled very much some music that has special significance to Rhett or them both. Furthermore, Rhett talks about a mysterious album cover the musician had created at some point a few years ago and what I understood is that the image in the cover reminded Rhett strongly of something that happened to him or both him and Link around the time the musician was making this cover and Rhett couldn’t handle the coincidence. Anyway, that’s my best shot at it.

What I found a little odd was Rhett’s intent to pursue spirituality as an element of creativity. As in, a concept that the creativity itself is the manifestation of the spirit world / magic / spirituality in general in our mundane world. I will not repeat Rhett’s admission that all this sounds like “new age shit” (sike I just did hehe) but I couldn’t really get to the bottom of his reasoning. It was a little helpful though when in the end they made the seemingly out of place addition that they are now trying to accept the way fans view them (??? they don’t explain what the way is???) and they try to embrace it, by leaving the control and the worries to the employees, while they will just experience what they are receiving in the show. Now, all this together seems pretty disconnected with the themes of spirituality and creativity they were discussing but I have a theory, which might also be some wishful thinking, no objection. I believe what they say is that they come to grips with what their real strength is; the dynamics of their relationship. Instead of getting annoyed at the fans for being so much more interested in this, they choose to accept that there might be some very solid reason behind this. Perhaps they slowly start realising that they are being their most creative when they are their real selves and when they are being candid with each other. Maybe they also realise that instead of being antagonistic towards how their bond translates in their job, they should appreciate it as much as people apparently do. They will let go of worries or image making and experience in the moment, be recipient to all signs between each other and from the viewers, and this will be the road to creative success after all. It is a little wild but I also don’t reject the possibility that Rhett, in his fervour to find meaning and in his determination to receive all the signs of something superior and collective, he starts believing or hoping that their is something fateful about his rare bond with Link. And you know, maybe this ideal spiritual guidance he is in seek of views this bond in a type of positive light that Rhett couldn’t find in Christianity.

Link's deconstruction:

Link's episode starts a little differently, with Link still riding a high from the previous days. He can barely hold his excitement about whatever was so good these days. Sorry for putting this into words, but the way he was exlaiming that his day was so full of great moments "and right now, and right now, and right now, and right now" made this sound like a physical type of happiness. I am not saying this is what happened but it definitely seemed so. Rhett is torn between Link's infectious enthusiasm and a vague discomfort, but he points out that there were apparently multiple happy moments.

To make an already long story short, Link explains he is at the end of his deconstruction. No more turmoil, judgement, concern or analysis. He intends to live his life simply and fully, with love as his guide. And the simple philosophy “if it is good or beautiful or true, do it”.

He decides to live his life inspired by his beloved pets, how they live in simplicity and authenticity. He says he sees himself in Jade. He is inspired by her ability to give and receive love. Interestingly, Jasper inspires him with his "infectious enthusiasm and curiosity" while he also jokes Jasper likes to pee on things a lot, a type of joke in which of course Rhett sneaks in. From Sakka the cat, or however it is spelled, he is inspired to take the sense of finding your center, of being yourself and setting healthy boundaries to relationships. Link brings up both Christy and Rhett in this case.

Link is so tender, passionate and intense in his expression of adoration for his dogs that you can see Rhett being both amused but also half-melt on the spot.

Link then sort of reinforces what Rhett had been saying in his own episode, not way more coherently either though. He too connects a sense of spirituality in what they do and explains how they only recently started realising how their work has been healing to people. He decribes how they always strived for something ambitious without realising they had always been telling a story simply through who they were, how they evolved and what they chose to do. Here's an interesting part from Link's speech:

Link: So I think when I look at our work, I've just been able to see it with fresh eyes and it was just kind of coincidental that it happened. It wasn't planned. I just feel very fortunate that it happened. And I don't believe that it's just a - well, it is a reflection of who we are but it's more than that. Is there something else going on here? Is there something else at work? We didn't do it on purpose. Maybe so. I am open to that, you know? I kind of lean towards that being the conclusion, that there's something else at work here. You know, I hope it doesn't sound like I'm building us up as something awesome. Again, I think this is really just a conversation for me and you. If people, anybody listening-

Rhett: (half-joking, half serious) So we shouldn't release this?

Link: Well, they can do whatever they want with it. So I am hoping that people don't think of it as "Oh my God, these guys think they are saviours". I just feel that when you find that you're... - me being me and not being what I am not is a sweet spot. Only I can be me and I can let go of the things that aren't me. Some of which are you, by the way, so it's a great partnership.

I would say, they don't think they are saviours, but they do think that whatever it is that has happened with or to them (and about which they do not talk about, otherwise this podcast wouldn't need 17 academic decoders on average each time) is special and rare, and a story that perhaps should be told.

"I need to dance like nobody's watching. I need to feel the rain on my skin", Link says. Rhett shifts with a low sound, a litte affected by this.

Then something beautiful Rhett says: "I hear what you are saying and then the way that I work, me being myself is hearing the things that you are saying and synthesizing it and creating a way of expressing it, and thinking about it. That's how I sort of latch onto things and carry them forward for me personally. " That's kinda to show the tremendous impact Link has in Rhett's brain and expression as well, because many people tend to think the impact is one-sided. It is not. If you watch Rhett and Link since their beginnings and the stuff they did prior to 2012, it is unbelievable how much they have changed and grown as people, together. And it is clear Rhett's change was responsive to Link's change. I think what Rhett also explains here also explains the process behind some of their biggest projects like TLCOBC or Hazel. Rhett listens to Link and then tries to express it through art.

Much like everything they say in these two episodes, Rhett says something very vague that however gets a very enthusiastic reaction from Link. Rhett says how he's a person who wants to "understand", analyze, explain, exhaust and defend every new experience he is having but he sees how perhaps the right way forward is to just leave things unfold naturally without "editing" or "processing" them too much. Link agrees animatedly to this very vague statement, like he understood the full underlying point. However, even without being sure what this was about, I have a feeling Rhett soon retracted on this impulsive decision of the moment.

Link wraps this up by stressing again that this might be the happiest phase of his life. He's not willing to elaborate on this at all but he says it again and again. Rhett is not inquisitive at all and apparently he knows what Link is talking about. But he doesn't ask or comment on it, except to say he's happy to be here for it. Rhett does not make equivalent statements, though perhaps it would be a tad suspicious if he did. In any case, we can't know what 's the phase Rhett's been going through.

#rhett and link #randl #r&l #link neal #rhett mclaughlin #ear biscuits #spiritual deconstruction #analysis #mythical

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

hey duck! it's bug! I know I don't have a Tumblr anymore but someone told me you were doing this monster match up and I had to just swing by, support and see what I could get. I'm here occasionally as a lurker and man I miss doing stuff like this.

Onto the info!. I'm an Aries, Aries rising, pisces moon. My favorite colors are like a nice bubblegum pink or a silvery-blue-teal color. My favorite aesthetic is probably like pastel goth horror, of that makes sense. Like a blood covered pink stuffed animal. My favorite band is Depeche Mode. Songs of Faith and Devotion is my favorite followed very quickly by Music For The Masses. Personality type? Whewy! I'd like to think I'm pretty personable, if a bit overwhelmed occasionally. I'm happy to talk and be a helper, but am pretty comfortable with implementing boundaries when needed. I definitely have an occasionally juvenile humour. There's a reason a group of friends call Adam Devine my mans. All in all I give off pinky tomboy comedic sidekick vibes. Very specific I know. Uhm, I'd never wear shoes if they didn't make me, I'm sure that's a personality type. Oh and NERD!

Love and miss you buddy! I hope you're doing well and I'm excited to see you work your magic. Ill be keeping your blog open in a tab and refreshing. Much love and friendship kisses

Selkie

P.S. I know I put a picture of shoes in here but it was purely for the aesthetic

Selkies, like seals, are playful and dangerous and you never have to wear shoes when you go swimming with them! And they are super adorable, so it's a win-win. Even if you don't like swimming they will 100% do tricks to show off for you and you alone. There's a possibility you're selkie will have the same kind of humor, so once you start bouncing off each other like no tomorrow there is no stopping. Not to say your monster partner can't be serious, they can be territorial

Speaking of which, you two totally meet on a pier fair thing during the Summer. Do they still have those? Because they should. It's a whirlwind night under neon lights and flashes of scents like cotton candy and fried foods and you're making out on the ferris wheel before you even know it.

You don't find out until a little later in the relationship that they are a selkie and it's a very guarded conversation on their part because of the pelt situation. Trust comes slow but it has a strong foundation.

Artist: Depeche Mode Songs:

A Little Lemon

The selkie is gender neutral and I used female anatomy descriptions for reader.

Nothing sounds as comforting as the low crash of waves on the far off shore, the pull and drag of foamy water. It's miles away for you, the wet sand beneath the blanket you sit on in the cove steadying you.

Your selkie looks nervously at you, crouched nakedly a few feet away. The pelt sits between you, closer to them, but you could reach out and touch it if you wanted to.

You do. But you don't want to keep it, this piece of trust they offer up to you makes you flush with feelings of love (the word is new, not ready for the open air just yet) and you are honored.

You don't know what to say, so you lean forward and touch the pelt with one finger. Halting as your companion stifles a gasp, looking up to catch their gaze, and run your palm along the spotted pelt.

"I don't think it'll fit me" you smirk gently, hoping it lands right.

It must, because they bark out a laugh, release a sigh like Atlas shrugging his shoulders and lunge for you in a playful heap as they plant kisses anywhere they can reach.

"You're a menace, you know that?" they nip and suckle their way down your chest, passing over the cover of your shirt and slip themselves up and under to finally get skin to skin.

"Am not, 'm very. . . non-menacing" any sense of vocabulary flits away at the feel of warm rough lips tracing patterns across your stomach, one hand cupping a breast over your shirt and the other fumbling at your pants.

"Stupid human clothes. . . fucking buttons and- aha! Got it!"

You smile, chuckling at the goofball currently feeling you up and down.

"Hey," you thump them on the back of the head as they nip the curve of your left breast "not here, I do not want sand in my pants" you intone the last word, hoping they catch your drift.

"But we're on a blanket" they say earnestly from beneath your shirt, fingers slipping over the crotch of your swimsuit bottoms.

You hadn't meant to release a sigh at the feeling, pushing your head back into the blanket. The fingers disappear just as fast.

Such a tease.

"How about in the water?" they suggest, pushing upward, catching the hardness of your clit and rubbing just enough to have you clenching your jaw.

Considering.

"Yes, yes okay just put your fingers in me now" you grump and then gasp at the speed with which you are filled.

"Thank you" they whisper, half whimper, into your bosom and begin to thrust their fingers slowly, testing the slickness and rubbing along your walls.

The exploration is tantalizing, pushing you away and out to sea in a haze, gripping the blanket and their shoulder do nothing to steady you.

"Fuck there, there" you rasp when they hit your sensitive spot head on, legs clamping around them like a vice, falling under the waves of sensation.

You never want to resurface.

#dear anon #BUG OMG HIIIII! #i missed you!!!! #how are you? are you doing good?? #monster #monster lover #selkie #duck did it

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for the Wedding of Finlay O’Duffin & Chineze Agbu

Prov 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31; Matt 7:21, 24-25

Solomon, who wrote much of the book of Proverbs, valued a good wife beyond precious pearls, but the Nigerians, I’m told, are much more pragmatic. Pearls, after all, can’t be eaten or put to much practical use, so instead of pearls I’m told that goats are preferred for one’s Ime ego – goats, after all, can provide milk, cheese, and if necessary can be served up as a fine Isi ewu. However, it doesn’t have quite the same romantic resonance to say: “A perfect wife is far beyond the price of goats”, does it? Although… in the Song of Songs Solomon does say that his beloved’s “hair is like a flock of goats” (6:5) which has always struck me as an unusual image! 

But the image that has stood out for me today – and not just because I have recently been reading several books on the history of textiles and role of fabrics in civilisation – is that of the good wife who spins, and weaves cloth: “She is always busy with wool and with flax…. she sets her hands to the distaff, her fingers grasp the spindle.” (Prov 31:13, 19) Many of us are probably unfamiliar with the complexities of the production of cloth these days, even though the vocabulary of cloth-making still pervades our languages. To this day, the image of making cloth speaks of order, wise arrangement, and civilisation; textiles combine mathematical precision, the skilful engineering of delicate threads into something durable, and creative beauty. Each of these qualities are necessary in a marriage: both husband and wife, Finlay and Chineze will need to work together with wisdom, organization, co-ordination, co-operation, artistry, and virtue in order to weave the fabric of their marriage. 

What does one do with the fabric that one makes? Chineze told me that a quilt or a blanket was part of her dowry, found in her hope chest. And this image has stayed with me because to me the quilt speaks of warmth, cosiness, homeliness, and the fact that Chineze brings it with her into her marriage is a sign that she and Finlay hope to create a home together. And one thing I do know about O’Duffin homes is that they are places of warmth, cosy hospitality, and much love, so this hope is well founded.  

The image of textile and fabric also came to mind today because if we look at a Scots wedding, we know that that distinctive fabric, the tartan, is ubiquitous, and likewise if we look at the Nigerian side, we will see sumptuous fabric piled on the woman’s head; a gele [gay-lay], I believe it’s called. As a fabric the tartan strikingly illustrates the warp and weft that constitute all woven textiles. The warp refers to a set of threads held firm along a loom; it forms the skeleton of the cloth. The weft is the second set of threads, the skin of the cloth, that is interlaced and threaded at right-angles, over and under the warp threads. In the Gospel today, we have the image of the house built on rock which withstands all storms and floods. Christ and his authority – his words, his teaching, his example of charity – is, of course, the rock on which your household must be built, Finlay and Chineze. However, if we think of your marriage as a fabric that you weave together, then let it be woven with Christ as your loom, and with one of you becoming the warp, the firm foundation for the other; and then the other becoming the weft, the softer, more flexible pattern and arrangement that together creates a thing of beauty. Both of you, at different times and in different contexts will have to be warp or weft in your marriage, but at all times, you will depend on Christ your loom, your firm foundation on which the fabric of your marriage depends. 

Looms are essential for weaving any kind of fabric, and a loom is essentially an implement for holding the waft taut. One of the earliest kinds of looms used the weight of a person’s body to create tension. So, in every marriage there will be moments of tension and difficulty, but this is necessary in order for you to weave something stronger, more beautiful, something born of sacrifice that is essential to love. However, remember this image of the early loom, and so do not let the tension weigh down your marriage, but rather, let Christ bear that weight for you so that, with him as your loom, you can weave your marriage with virtue and love, and hope, and faith. So, let your tensions be resolved by Christ, borne by his Body. As a household of faith, therefore, go to Mass together, and receive the Body of Christ in a state of grace; pray together always, work together and speak together, listening to the other, but above all give your worries, your fears, your tensions to the Lord. For God’s grace is sufficient for you, his power is made perfect in weakness (cf 2 Cor 12:9), and so in moments when you feel weak and are at snapping point, or you feel you’re unravelling, turn to the Lord and seek his mercy, his love, his saving grace.

The image I like to evoke here is of our Mother the Church holding us together and healing us through the Sacraments. For she is the perfect wife, the spouse of Christ, who is “busy with wool and with flax”, spinning us back together when we start to unravel with the distaff and spindle of the Sacraments of Reconciliation and the Eucharist; holding out her hand to the poor or opening her arms to the needy, that is to say, she reaches out to us and offers us the consolation and grace of the Sacraments; the Church offers us her Beloved Bridegroom, Jesus Christ himself. The aim of God’s grace is to beautify us – sanctify us, we say – by making us beautiful as Christ is beautiful. 

My friends, sitting here in this beautiful church, which is dedicated to God’s fairest creation, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and wrapped up in beautiful textiles on this fine day, we aspire to this beauty, the beauty of holiness. The world is in need of such beauty – not merely a thing of superficial splendour or ostentatious finery but true beauty, the kind that is the product of sacrifice and hard work, the kind that is fabricated and woven by love. So, today, Chineze and Finlay, you undertake to create a textile of genuine and authentic beauty: your married life, with, I hope and pray, many children. A Christian marriage weaves together a brave witness to lifelong mutual fidelity; loving sacrifice as you daily give yourself to each other; trust in God’s providence to sustain your union; and a friendship with Christ into which you will lead your children. These are the warp and the weft of your marriage, and with Christ as your loom, your rock, your foundation on whom you depend, I know that you will weave together something beautiful for yourself, for God, indeed, for the common good. 

We who are gathered here today pledge ourselves to support you in this work. For weaving and sewing and cloth-making has always been communal affair. So, we are here today, not merely to enjoy your hospitality nor only to celebrate with you, but we promise to support you and pray for you both in your married life: may it be as enduring and sturdy and storm-proof as Scots tartan, and may it be as beautiful and lovingly woven as Nigerian Aso-Oke (top cloth)! 

#wedding #weaving #weft #warp #loom #Christ the Loom #faith #foundation #beauty

[imaginewereinlove]

Hello? Hello? Danganronpa self shipper? Please share the F/Os and S/Is I crave this content bestie

Okay, so you asked this like, weeks ago (I’m sorry) but I am now officially not too stressed to enjoy anything other than Pokémon Legends: Arceus. I also had to write this in two sittings. So let’s go :3

My S/I is literally just me plopped in there. A tiny trans-guy being neurodivergent and trying his best. Like, I sometimes play with more backstory of me finally being able to study abroad in Japan and visiting Hopes Peak (except I’ve graduated now without ever studying abroad, thanks COVID :,3) and y’know, shit hits the fan. after those Sneaksy Twins™ start putting plans into action that involve one of them “disappearing” Mr. Jin Kirigiri was like “shit, need to find another one to fill in the gap so that we can have adequate pairs of Make Babies just in case everyone else dies. YOU. ASSIGNED FEMALE AT BIRTH.” :/ Which leads to survival, which leads to Future Foundation being like “hey can you babysit these guys on an island for us real quick” which justifies in my head my participation in the first two games. It also forces me to think dialogue in Japanese, which I desperately need to practice. But that’s all very messy and I generally don’t think about it too hard. That is for “canon” timeline anyway.

I do prefer non-despair AUs though, and also the “before everything went wrong” part of the anime. My idea there is that (by means I haven’t bothered to figure out) a woefully unqualified me is able to sneak into class 77 after stealing a Main Course uniform. Any time someone asks about my ultimate talent the answer changes which eventually leads to “haha, guess and I’ll tell you if you’re right ;)” My S/I does not have an ultimate talent, which does lead to angst. Yes, you already know where this is going, but let’s start with THH.

Oh, just so that I don’t have to name quite so many, I adore almost all of the characters platonically. There are, of course exceptions, but I think only Junko and Hiyoko, do I really dislike.

So in Trigger Happy Havoc, the only character I really ever desired romantically/intimately was Leon Kuwata. Much to my chagrin, he is a fuckboy. That’s okay though, it started out as a “hey if we’re all going to die, why not a little hedonism? I don’t wanna die a virgin, you game?” Alas ._. Anyway, we’re more fuck-buddies than anything, or we were because now I’m in a more committed relationship :3

Let’s hop over to V3 for juuust a sec before I absolutely gush on my SDR2 babes. ^^

So, either kinning Shuichi led to f/o-ing him, or f/o-ing him led to kinning. One or the other. My best friend kins Kaede, so go figure. Either way, I love him ^^ That said, I’m also a simp for Kaede, she’s such a good girl. I like to think of the three of us in a polycule.

I also love love love Kiibo so much!!! He’s such a good boy and he’s trying his best! I like to think of us becoming closer in my Japanese daydreams because I rely on him to translate some of my more complicated thoughts (trials) when I don’t have the vocabulary to communicate them in Japanese.

Okay! Now for SDR2! I could honestly make a separate post just for them. I’ll put the meta in this post and make a separate post for my canon ^^

Alrighty, so I think that my first boyo was Kazuichi Souda, Mr. shark teeth himself. It was real quick, I don’t remember exactly when, but I do remember commenting to my friends that I wanted to kiss him on the mouth pretty early on though. It became a running joke ^^ Pretty simple though, I thought he was attractive and had almost exactly the same personality type as Leo Valdez a la Percy Jackson, who I also had a huge crush on back in the day.

Next, chronologically and in terms of how complicated the route to understanding the feelings, is Fingers-In-His-Ass himself, Nagito Komaeda. So in the beginning I thought he was a pretty decent guy, but 1. I’d been on the internet long enough, and 2. My friend who had played the DR games before had a <_< attitude about him, so I knew something would happen. After the first trial, my pre-played friend was like “yeah, never really liked him. I thought he was pretty annoying” and my friend who was playing for the first time with me was like “lmao wtf” and despite everything, I couldn’t find it in me to hate him. I was kinda confused about it, but hating him didn’t feel right, despite the awful things he did. It wasn’t until I was contemplating after waking up at 3am or something, that I realized I couldn’t hate him because he was just like me. When my depression gets real bad, my self loathing monologue is his self deprecating monologue almost verbatim. From there, I was more inclined to sympathize with him and try to defend him. There… there was a little bit of an “I can fix him” thing going on, I’ll be real. But he doesn’t need to be “fixed” if it’s a non-despair AU and everything is fine anyway!

And finally, the MOST CONVOLUTED WAY TO CATCH FEELINGS EVER. Ft. Teruteru Hanamura :3

So, a little about me: I just graduated college with a bachelors degree in Japanese language. The school I went to required a senior thesis to graduate, for a Japanese degree that meant writing a 25 page paper about something related to Japan/Japanese language/culture. My topic of choice was the localization of Japanese video games for US audiences.

Actually, the whole reason I stumbled upon this topic was with the help of Teruteru and Miss Lotta Hart, from the Ace Attorney series. I wondered why in these two games (that I played in English) both had a character that spoke with a US southern accent, when the original games were written in Japanese. Obviously this had been a choice during localization, but why? How did they talk in the Japanese versions, and what’s the connection between their characters?

Well, for Lotta, she speaks with and Osaka dialect and portrays a character trope for loud, direct, and headstrong characters. Osaka characters are a character trope, pretty cut and dry. Teruteru doesn’t really fit into that, and only speaks with an accent near the end, so what does that mean?

I ended up writing a 7 page section titled “The Fascinating Case of Teruteru Hanamura”. I studied his dialect usage during the trial—it is not the same as Lotta’s dialect—I studied the way that he talks before he slips into that dialect, compared the stereotypes associated with the dialect that he uses and a US southern accent, and finally did an analysis of his character, why and how he masked where he was from, and why localization did a good job of conveying that character arc. Yeah, I did a lot of researching and thinking and writing about Teruteru.

And thesis? It’s stressful. I had a good many breakdowns over the course of the semester, but the only way to make myself less stressed was to do it. The trouble is, I have a really hard time organizing my thoughts on paper, but I can speak them really well. So in true self-shipper form, I found myself talking out my thoughts and planning my writing with fictional characters. And who’s the fictional character who was always on my mind? Teruteru. I ended up talking to him a lot, I got stressed a lot.

And ya know what? I think he’s exactly the f/o I needed to support me at that time. When I get super stressed, I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to go somewhere on campus to get food where people can see me falling apart. But it was a lot harder to skip meals when he was right there to bug me about it. “Honey, when did you eat last?” “Nah nah nah nah, I don’t think so. C’mon sugar, let’s go find something for you to eat.” “I’ll come with you, it won’t be so scary.” <3 <3 <3!!!!!!

So eventually my interest in him could not be considered solely academic any longer ^^;;;

So yeah, Souda-Pop, Teru Chan, and Nagito are my main polycule. I adore them. But this post is a novel as it is, so I’ll make a post just for them to continue gushing ^^

#superstar: leon #key to my heart?: shuichi #serenade: kaede #X0X0: Kiibo #problematic feelings: nagito #souda pop: kazuichi #everything nice: Teruteru

[yegarts]

“I Am YEG Arts” Series: Darrin Hagen

Speak less and listen more. It’s one heck of a resolution, and one Darrin Hagen made decades ago. His reason? You don’t learn much while you’re talking, and Hagen wants to learn. Consequentially, as pandemic fate would have it, he’s had more time than ever to work on that. While some of us were perfecting our sourdough, Hagen spent his hiatus taking comfort in his first love: music. He’s been writing about it, composing it, producing videos, and learning how to share it all digitally with the world. If that isn’t exciting enough, you can also look forward to the two plays he’s bringing to this years’ long-awaited Fringe Festival. Writer, performer, composer, and listener—this week’s “I Am YEG Arts” story belongs to Darrin Hagen.

What keeps you choosing Edmonton as your place to live and work?

I arrived in Edmonton four decades ago and never intended to stay, but good things keep happening to me here. Edmonton has always opened doors to experiences I never could have had anywhere else. It’s also a big anniversary year for me: 40 years living in Edmonton, 35 years since Guys In Disguise made its debut at the Fringe Festival, and 25 years since the publication of The Edmonton Queen.

Tell us about your journey as a storyteller of queer history and where you hope it takes you next.

I never try to predict or anticipate what’s next—and I think that’s the secret to moving forward. I didn’t write The Edmonton Queen 25 years ago to be political or to fulfill an agenda. I just wrote what I had experienced and what I was feeling. We are all the authorities in our own lived experience, and for whatever reason, I’ve lived through some pretty unique circumstances, and that’s given me a distinct outlook on the world around me.

I’m a history nerd and love research, so I’ll just keep digging and expanding my knowledge of what the Queer population of this province has endured. It’s important for the young Queers to understand the struggles of prior generations in order to fully appreciate and protect the privileges we now enjoy. And it’s important for the elder Queers to know that their pain and their efforts were not in vain.

I recently did a Zoom call with the gay seniors group and told stories of the many moments where I was in drag, dealing with the media that not only didn’t understand my gender fluidity, but didn’t even possess the vocabulary to describe it. The session was a blast and made me realize that I have many more stories to tell. I do feel a shift toward creating documentaries, though. Again—that’s not something I ever could have predicted—but it began to happen, and I am very open to it!

What’s your favourite part of the creative process?

I love that moment when you stop trying and just allow the art to happen—the moment where effort becomes effortless. It doesn’t always happen, but it’s so good when it does. After I’ve composed some music, my favourite part of that process is spending a few hours just listening. I also love that moment on stage when you’re in the last seconds of a play, and you can feel that it worked.

What does community mean to you, and where do you find it?

My answer to this has changed many, many times over the years. For a long time, it was in the club scene—the world of Flashback both saved and inspired me. Then it was the world of activism that was my foundation. Then for years it was the theatre scene. But I think through all of that, the people who enjoy my work and honour it by spending time with it are the community that means the most to me. My creative output is a conversation between them and I, and some have been on this journey with me since the days I was spewing Life cereal all over the Flashback stage in the early 80s. They’ve allowed me to grow, and struggle, and sometimes triumph.

The pandemic years have also shown me that my world has gotten very insular as I devote my time to solo creation. I think that’s a natural progression, as I morph into an artist that’s newly intrigued by digital dissemination.

What has surprised you most over the course of your writing career?

I don’t think I was ever really meant to be a writer, so everything I write is still a surprise. I’m surprised by some of the advances around Queer equality—most of the activists I knew couldn’t have predicted how quickly things could progress. I’m also surprised at how quickly language has changed in my lifetime. That kind of change used to take centuries, didn’t it?

It is said that to be an activist is to speak, and to be an advocate is to listen. You’re known for both. How is each reflected in your current work?

I made a New Year’s resolution decades ago to speak less and listen more. Anyone who knows me can tell you what a struggle that can be for someone as verbose as I. But I say it to myself every December 31: One doesn’t learn much while one is talking. I want to learn.

I have also spent decades interviewing people—first for Outlooks Magazine, then for HelpTV, then many, many interviews with Queer elders for the many Queer history projects I have been working on. It’s important to leave room for people to speak. As I get older, I get less and less interested in being the one speaking. When I do, I want it to be measured and thoughtful. That’s why I hate social media.

Metronome at Workshop West, directed by Heather Inglis.

What excites you most about the YEG arts scene right now?

I’m intrigued to see what new art and which new voices will emerge from the darkness of the pandemic. I had a very productive time composing music and learning how to edit video, and am about to start releasing music I made during the hiatus. I’ve already seen and heard some brilliant things. Society experienced something huge. The ripples will never stop.

Tell us about the importance of mentorship throughout your career and what it’s taught you.

Working with other writers makes me a better writer. I had some inspiring and generous minds that gave me early encouragement/advice. I feel a duty to pay that generosity forward.

The Queer community is in a situation now where a lack of mentors has created an impasse, or a gap, between generations. This has resulted in a population unaware of the struggles that came before. We should be building bridges between the present and the past. The more Queer history work I do, the more important that seems.

Describe your perfect day in Edmonton. How do you spend it?

A perfect Edmonton day is spent in my garden with a friend or two.

You visit Edmonton 20 years from now. What do you hope has changed? What do you hope has stayed the same?

In 20 years I will be 78. What I hope to see is a provincial government that has finally stopped fighting Queer equality. I also hope I see seniors’ homes for the Queer elders who changed the world for the rest of us. I hope the river valley is still natural and unspoiled. I hope the Edmonton Arts Council is still helping Edmonton artists contribute to the vibrancy of our city.

Want more YEG Arts Stories? We’ll be sharing them here all year and on social media using the hashtag #IamYegArts. Follow along! 

Visit Darrin Hagen’s Vimeo to discover his digital catalogue of new music and art, and be sure to catch his upcoming Fringe 2022 plays: Crack In the Mirror (Varscona Theatre) and Pansy Cabaret (the Roxy).

About Darrin Hagen

Darrin Hagen is an award-winning playwright, author, composer, and Queer historian whose plays have been produced across Canada, in the US, and Europe. Since The Edmonton Queen (published by Brindle & Glass), he has created art that is a unique window into gender and history. During the pandemic, he turned his attention to creating video art and has done a deep dive into Queer history research, including many hours working with MacEwan’s Edmonton Queer History Project.

He has been Artistic Director of Guys In Disguise since 1987, has received 7 Sterling Awards for his work in Edmonton Theatre, and an AMPIA for his broadcasting work. Other plays include, Tornado Magnet, BitchSlap!, Witch Hunt at the Strand, Buddy, The Empress & The Prime Minister, Metronome, and the upcoming Pansy Cabaret.

Together with his collaborator, Trevor Schmidt, he has created a decade’s worth of hit Fringe comedies, including Flora & Fawna’s Field Trip, Flora & Fawna Have Beaver Fever, Dragula, Psychobabble, Prepare for the Worst, Puck Bunnies, Don’t Frown at the Gown, Klondykes, and the upcoming Fringe hit, Crack In The Mirror.

Hagen has been named one of the 25 Most Influential Alberta Artists in the Past 25 Years, as well as one of 100 Edmontonians of the Century.

#yegarts #edmonton #IamYegArts #ArtistFeature #yegtheatre

[ohmytamara]

Ok let's get back to those first months after that short distraction of the present.

I was kind of translating Master's foundation statute, while she and him were preparing to meet with their Slovakian partners and lawyers whom they found on the internet. Like, makes sense, right, if you want to do big business in Slovakia and you need a partner fluent in local laws, partner with first result of googling "lawyer Zilina". I learned that's how they found that dude later, when it was way too late for any "seriously, what, you're asking to be fooled?".

At that point, like I mentioned, I was unable to be the person to ask that question though. She kept my mind on serving and avoiding punishment. Eyes down and on my knees was my position, eating from a plate put on the floor, if standing, only to clean the house or shower myself. Still digesting what I considered betrayal of trust and thinking about leaving, or actually if that's even possible while she has a hard financial chokehold on me. All that, and while their business plan seemed half baked, I still could presume there's all details I am not told about and they were both so confident it will bring them wealth.

Anyway, while reading documents in Slovakian and realised our sweet Slovakian partners wrote it very in their favor (as in no real ways to ensure they do their part of the deal) and I told that to both her and Master. That was aupposed to be important point in their next meeting.

I really wonder how these meeting looked like. Master knowing only Italian and rudimental English, her with bad English, them with bad English, presumably her and Slovakians communicating in Russian, her translating all onto Italian, oof.

Anyway, while they are away she suddenly writes to me than they are at the meeting and Master will call me and I am to pretend I am his very important FIFA lawyer friend and to confirm to all gathered at the conference what we said about statute in private.

Let me add, just in case, I am not a lawyer, I never had anything to do with FIFA, my English is good but I surely lack professional law vocabulary, and there I was in my slutty fishnets, on the phone, pretending to be big fat cigar smoking lawyer.

Fast forward to way later. Fuckers whose involvement in this thing was to have Slovakian citizenship to esily register Foundation in Slovakia and got a lot of money for that, they disappeared with that money, never registered shit, and never again answered any phone calls or emails.

He was so depressed. She was so surprised and angry.

Anyway, we never ever spoke about Zilina again. But soon after there were talks about moving to Bratislava for Mistress to start her professional domme's career there.

#year of living dangerously

[lorei-writes]

Hello I hope sincerely not to bother you with my question 🙏🙈 but I want to let you know I adore your writing style and also your drawings they are so rich of details 😍😍 and this led me to this How did you learnt to draw ? Do you have any advice you feel like giving regarding drawing and writing too ? Any book blog channel that helped you find your own drawing style that may be useful ? Thank you so much for the patience 🤗 Have a wonderful day 😘

Hi, Julie!

I'm really flattered you think that way! Thank you!

Since you've asked about drawing and writing both, let's split it up. I'm not sure whether you'll find anything of it useful, so allow me to try and make it more universal.

Basic Writing Advice from the perspective of a non-native language speaker

English being somebody's second (third, fourth, etc.) language naturally influences how they wield it.

First of all, my personal priority is to ensure that the reader can understand me. The primary focus is grammar, even at the expense of embellishments. The most beautiful word soup is still just a word soup, not a story. Work on vocabulary alongside it.

Solid foundations are a must. I'd suggest adding on top of them only after that is more or less covered.

This connects to perhaps a rather controversial point: Comments saying that your work is good do not necessarily need to match the actual state of affairs.

Fandom has a specific comment culture (that is another topic I am not even touching). You do not express feedback in public comments.

If you want for somebody to be absolutely honest with you? The person you need is a skilled and reliable beta-reader. Somebody who will act with your benefit in mind, who understands how to deliver constructive criticism, and who will not hesitate to share their mind. "Great" is not useful when you want to improve.

Establish your boundaries (what would you like to receive feedback on, etc.) and what should be the preferred work mode for you both. Ready yourself for criticism, but also remember that you can't do everything all at once. That is fine. One step at a time.

--

Now, regarding vocabulary, because this is something I'm personally trying to improve: read, but read with intent. Even if you can gloss over words that you aren't exactly familiar with, do not do it. Go back to them, translate them, underline them. Every. Single. Time. Check how to pronounce them. Repeat until they're stored in your memory.

Similarly, if you see an interesting sentence? ANALYSE IT. Look at the tenses, at its structure, dissect it until you can tell you know why it works, why it hit you. Pay attention to punctuation!

--

I'd say one may develop their natural writing style as they learn and simply discover all the new tools and techniques. Being open to experimentation and challenges may be the key.

Drawing Advice (? Am I even qualified to give that?)

I am not sure whether I am qualified to speak much on the matter, but you've asked, so you must find some sort of worth in my works. And that is enough. So!

First of all, use references. There's no shame in that. Again, good foundations make for good results -- work on your ability to sketch first. In my experience, colour and rendering tends to highlight all the places in which the sketch was wonky.

That is likely rather obvious, but all objects can be broken down into simpler geometric figures/shapes. Practise it! Make lots of sketches, complete and incomplete ones. Look up the basic proportions for human body. Work with them, with anatomy, make marks on top of pictures to see how body parts work together; essentially, build up a data base.

Try different tools, however, remember not to assume that "grass is greener somewhere else". All things take practise. If you constantly switch between different mediums, how are you to ever become skilled in any particular one?

--

About me and my style... Well, I've started learning to draw in 2014-ish, although I did draw before then. I would do traditional art, after some time (years? I don't remember) I was drawin realistic portraits. (I was aiming for photorealism and I suppose I took some steps in that direction). I did mostly pencil sketches, however, I would also doodle with markers and later introduced coloured pencils. I enjoyed painting with acrylic paints, but never gained much experience in it.

Due to health reasons, I had to quit drawing in 2019. It wasn't certain whether I'd be allowed to ever pick it up again, but I was able to resume it in summer 2022. I've been slowly relearning things ever since while also expanding on some of them. Very. Slowly.

All that considered, I'd say style is very much a journey. There's no rushing it. See what you enjoy seeing, what works for you, what speaks to you, what you enjoy doing, and try to go in that direction. But how? I don't know. I'm a noob.

--

Oh, and if you want to learn things about colour theory, I think Saki from @wordycheeseblob may be the person to approach.

#answered #queengiuliettafirstlady

[greyeyedmonster-18]

My Year in Fic

thank you for the tag @sequinhaze the tumblr user formerly known as battlehamster. i am not going to make lines about all the fics i wrote here for tumblr, just the ones for AO3 <3

January:

ten reasons (to go to michigan) (muggle AU wolfstar)

You make me…you remind me of who I was before the world chewed me up and spit me out. 

Fault Lines (AU divorced wolfstar)

When the crack in the foundation first appeared, Sirius ignored it, naming it grief and deciding it was just going to be something else they were going to have to live with. 

March:

No Matter the Wreckage (canon hogwarts wolfstar)

Sirius cocked an eyebrow at him, and it made Remus want to keep his hand there for the rest of the evening, “Are we going to kiss now? Can’t just go grabbing me like that and not deliver, Moony, sends the wrong message,” he teased. 

June:

1% inspiration, 99% perspiration (one-shot moonchaser)

But the sweet words, the kind words, the poetic words would vanish, and Remus was left hearing just do it. A muggle campaign slogan James had seen once, and now it was part of his bedroom vocabulary. A coitus colloquialism.

August:

postcard from paris (magic-AU moonchaser)

Because Remus had a wishbone where his backbone should’ve been and would cave if James so much as looked at him for too long.

i think i can be proud of myself for this small in quantity but mighty load. the theme for this year is "dr. grey writes when they're on break from school" *gesturing to the figures written in summer and winter*.

tagging @femme--de--lettres my bestie.

#a year of fics

[art-h]

Since May, I have been working part time with local Blacksmith, Jeremy Cash, based in Mawnan Smith in Cornwall. Since finishing my Foundation year, my time spent at the forge has been a saviour of my mental health.

Working alongside Jeremy, learning an entirely new vocabulary of skills, techniques and tools has been an absolute gift and to be paid for the privilege was just the icing on the cake! I have said from the beginning I would have done it for free!

The biggest project I have contributed to during my time at the forge was a commission for a garden gate to be hung on a property in Mylor Churchtown. From drawing it out in chalk on a work-surface to scale it up to rudimentary tasks beyond. In the sawing, drilling & tapping of various parts of the making process, my work seemed very arbitrary in nature. However, as the process wore on, things started to make sense. Especially when I had worked up in my training towards using the forge itself. Even today there are still times I feel unsteady, but Jeremy is great teacher - patient and methodical in his approach.

I worked on all of the components in the above pictures, from the linked loops to the forging of the bluebells for decoration. I even did most of the first coat of spray-painting; something I had never done before, but am now moderately proficient at.

I even helped in preliminarily fitting the gate in its final position, (see above photos). I find it remarkable how that a year ago I was filled with trepidation about not being up to speed in my learning about artistic practice - I would never have dreamt of working with my hands so much as I have in the past year, but now I have a rudimentary understanding of traditional metalwork. Alongside my previous experience in woodwork and hopefully a future rudimentary understanding of stonework too, I am hopeful to have a strong founding in becoming a sculptor of traditional practice.

I must be honest here; I have recently undergone a bit of an identity crisis. I am so far away from the person I used to be. Sometimes I find myself looking the mirror and not recognising the person I have become. I hope one day to be closer to the artist inside myself I know I am.

#drawing #sculpture #blacksmithing #jeremy cash #personal journey #creative life #identity crisis #materials #metalwork #gate