luxaofhesperides

[luxaofhesperides]

the death of 8tracks made you all so bad at making playlists i fear. good ship or character playlist is max 16 songs and devastatingly perfectly crushingly curated. it should make sense musically, if not across the playlist, then at least from song to song. GRADIENTS of genre. think about this before you make a 200 song ship playlist that includes both maroon 5 and mitski. Think on it

[luxaofhesperides]

“You just want me gone because you don’t love me.” It does not afford him even a glance. “Don’t be stupid. If I did not love you, I could have dumped you at any corner of this cursed city when you were still a baby.” “Like you did with the foetuses or the dead women you took them out from?”

his mother says all the love in the world might not be enough for him.

– (1430) 1/1, friday night (also on ao3)

My mother did her best.  Once, she said     there will never be enough love in the world for you, but in the dream          she meant it fondly.

– acie clark, intoning

Rationally, Jay knows it has been just two days (or one and a half, really), yet he cannot help but check for the results. He has to press the laptop charger with a book to make sure it stays steady; otherwise, the old brick will shut down at once. Then, the website loads on forever.

And he has to refresh it right away. He refreshes the Wayne Foundation academic mobility scholarship application page twice, thrice, the screen blinking with its contents– Only for him to once again be faced with the bold red letters. His hand trembles slightly as he clicks on the mouse frantically. The same. 

He jumps to his feet and opens the door to the big room; the only appropriate name for what contains a kitchen, doubles as a living space and serves as a makeshift bedroom, the areas and functions blending into each other. He takes a breath in, fidgeting in the threshold. Despite its humble size, the room is meticulously organised, even the dim lightning coming from strategically placed small lamps instead of the main, ceiling one.

“Mom?”

“Mhm?” Sheila is seated on the sofa, engrossed in a magazine. There are rollers in her hair, and she’s dressed in a neatly ironed collared blue dress, so she might be planning to go out later tonight. Which means maybe he should have taken the initiative to make dinner himself instead of waiting for her summons. But that’s a problem for later.

“The website says the documents were not received.” 

She reads on, replying only after turning a glossy page: “Hm. Maybe they haven’t updated it yet.” She still does not look up at him: “Besides, you already got into that Star school, didn’t you?” 

The realisation sinks in.

"You didn’t do it,” he stutters, “You said not to post them because you’d bring them in person— And—" His voice catches with emotion, and he hates it, but he cannot help how the confusion blends with an immediate, raw sense of betrayal. It’s the knowledge he could have taken care of the matter himself, and yet– He left it in his mother’s hands, stupidly, because despite her undeniable lack of enthusiasm, she promised.

“It’s the better option, that Queen scholarship. The location. And even a preparatory summer school included-”

But that was plan B. The fact that he applied there first was just an issue of the application timelines- He swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He wants to stay in Gotham. He wants to stay in Gotham so badly his face gets hot all over with emotion. 

Jay blinks rapidly to prevent the tears from welling up in his eyes, not trusting himself to speak. Instead, he stumbles forward. On a drawer, there is a vase so ridiculous that the antique shop almost gave it away for free. His mother always acted like she was made for the finer tastes, despite not being born into them or being able to ever afford them. He pushes it away to access the stack of envelopes and find the one with the Excelsior’s logo, similarly ostentatious. 

He feels as immature as helpless when he slides the letter out to start tearing it. The pristine, thick paper falls to the shabby, lacquered wood of the floor. 

"We have a PDF of that, you know." Sheila's response is typically delayed and typically pragmatic, punctuated by a slight raise of eyebrows. Her calmness makes it all seem inevitable.

His throat is clenching. The accusation barely manages to make out of it:

“You just want me gone because you don’t love me.”

It does not afford him even a glance.

“Don’t be stupid. If I did not love you, I could have dumped you at any corner of this cursed city when you were still a baby.”

“Like you did with the foetuses or the dead women you took them out from?”

In the following bout of silence, Jay expects his mother to stand up. He expects it so readily that he can almost see it in real time. He expects her to slap him, because there was a time when she would, and short years have not served to prevent the sting in the cheek, even the purely imagined one. In that instant, he almost wishes it was real. 

She does not make a move. She does, however, finally look up at him.

“That was crude,” she huffs.  

He doesn’t care about crudeness. He cares about staying home.

“Dad would never-“

“And where’s your daddy?” 

“I’m going to see him,” he announces, turning to the door.

“You’re going to walk to Blackgate,” she says, unimpressed.

“Yes.” He grabs his jacket.

“At 9pm,” she adds, even though it’s barely 8. “Outside of the visiting hours.”

“Yes,” he repeats. He can’t suppress his tears anymore, so that final confirmation is more of a weep than an articulated response. Sheila’s grey eyes bore into him with the same hardened indifference they usually do the second he starts crying. It is only marginally better than the open frustration he could be met with.

He shuts the door and skips every two steps. The bottom of the stairs is cold to touch as he sits down, putting his father’s stiff denim on and curling in. The tears now fall earnestly. The corridor smells mildly of dampness, maybe even mould. It is almost silent, only muffled voices from the ground floor flats for his company, and he allows himself the first two sobs to echo, before hiding his head between his knees. 

Jay wants Dad. He can’t have Dad until next week. It makes him resent him, just a bit, just for a moment, because mom was right; he is not here for Jason; not now, nor truly ever. Bringing up Dad in a fight was no more efficient than betting on a losing dog. He always does it anyway.

But there was plenty more Jason could add; for example: I would rather have Cathy than you. That, he never says. Thinking about Cathy makes his breath catch violently, and cry harder anyway. Dad’s in prison, and Cathy’s dead, and he’s running out of both tears and parental figures to turn to. 

He reaches into his pocket to take out a loose, slightly crumpled cigarette and a lighter. It tingles his throat even before he even takes a drag. The actual drag makes him cough.

“These women would rather be dead than mothers,” was what Sheila said once, right after Jason found out. Sometimes recalling that defence comforted him; it did not ease the irrational guilt, but it did mean that he, at least, was not unwanted enough for her to entertain other ideas. On other days, the easy sympathy with which these words were laced haunted him instead. He chews them over again, for what feels like forever, their taste sour.

“What did I say about stealing my cigarettes?”

He startles at his mother’s voice and nearly drops it, but Sheila quickly grasps it before it burns his fingers. She extinguishes it against the wall. It was already yellowing from all the indoor smoking anyway.

“Come eat dinner.” she says, her tone curt. Her hair is relaxed. She waits patiently for him to wipe his blotchy face and follow her back. He does. The anxiety curdling in his stomach stings as he walks upstairs, watching the elegant curve of the back of her dress. 

The dinner on the table is frozen pizza, because it’s cheap and because his mom hates cooking, and a green smoothie, to compensate for the quality and the lack of nutrition. And next to that bizarre meal there’s a transparent folder. The text on the paper is still blurry to him, letters spilling away from his vision, but he recognises them for what they are; the documents requested by the Wayne Foundation along with the application form. An unfair taunt.

“I will hand it in tomorrow morning. They will accept it,” his mother says.

“And what if they don’t?” 

“Then I will speak with Wayne himself.” 

Jason half-sniffles, half-chuckles. 

“What’s so funny, hm?” she asks, reaching to gently brush his curls out of his face. The touch is so light it’s barely there. But the coldness of her hand relieves the headache he has not yet noticed, probably a result of dehydration. He takes a sip of the smoothie first. It tastes spinachy, and strangely bitter–sweet.

“Sometimes,” his mother says, her shadow dark beside,  “I feel like all the love in the world wouldn’t be enough for you.” 

She might mean it fondly.

#dc #fic #jason..... baby jason..... #your prose is so smooth i love it

[luxaofhesperides]

first parent teacher meeting

#orv #art #fanart

[luxaofhesperides]

People often say to me: “You draw like some kind of inhuman machine.  If I eat your brain, will I gain your power?”  The answer is yes, but there is another way. The key to precise drawing is building up muscle memory so that your arm/hand/fingers do the things you want them to do when you want them to do them.  Teaching yourself to draw a straight line or to make sweet curves is just a matter of practice and there are some exercises you can do to help improve. If you’re going to be doodling in class or during meetings anyway, why not put that time to good use?

[luxaofhesperides]

Guys this tiktok did SOOOO well lmao. I’ve never animated anything in my entire life.

#cat #vid

[luxaofhesperides]

a happy tim

#dc #art #fanart

[luxaofhesperides]

In another universe Andromeda killed Perseus

#classics #art #so cool!!

[luxaofhesperides]

this one is so real.

[luxaofhesperides]

this one is so real.

[luxaofhesperides]

one of my favourite/most gut-wrenching quotes in orv. yeah dissociation really does that to you

#orv #wlaking into the sea....

[luxaofhesperides]

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[luxaofhesperides]

i think its so funny that alumni from schools like harvard and columbia that were there during the protests in the 60s-80s are expressing support for students currently protesting against the genocide in palestine, and random zionists that were NOT at these protests in the 60s-80s have the never ending audacity to tell these alumni "well thats different, what you protested was good and what they're protesting is bad." as if protesters against the vietnam war and apartheid south africa were not also demonized, arrested, brutalized, and even killed for their activism. history only remembers them fondly after the damage has already been done.

[luxaofhesperides]

i think its so funny that alumni from schools like harvard and columbia that were there during the protests in the 60s-80s are expressing support for students currently protesting against the genocide in palestine, and random zionists that were NOT at these protests in the 60s-80s have the never ending audacity to tell these alumni "well thats different, what you protested was good and what they're protesting is bad." as if protesters against the vietnam war and apartheid south africa were not also demonized, arrested, brutalized, and even killed for their activism. history only remembers them fondly after the damage has already been done.

[luxaofhesperides]

somehow the poor cops who we were told are simply too understaffed and underpaid because of Woke to deal with 'rampant rising crime' have found the strength to beat the shit out of college students across the whole country for peacefully saying "divest from the country killing innocent palestinians in the tens of thousands"

[luxaofhesperides]

newbie fic authors, shooting themselves in the foot: This fic is bad haha I suck at writing lol I am being mean to myself in the hopes that you will be nice to me but actually am dissuading anyone from even clicking on my fic because all I have done to advertise it is tell you why you shouldn't read it

me: I am King Big Dick of Fanfic Mountain and I have arrived in your fandom with the Express Intention of writing my Very Favorite Fics, which I will generously allow you to read. You're welcome.

[luxaofhesperides]

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[luxaofhesperides]

grumpy bat

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