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toomuchracket · 9 months

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when i found you, much younger than you are now (flatmate/dad!matty x reader)

ten years of self-titled!! can u believe!! anyway, a little fluffy drabble about the day the album was released, and also about the day it turned ten, as voted for by you guys. enjoy!

2013

when you enter the kitchen, the linoleum floor cold even through your fluffy socks, matty is staring at the fridge. namely, at the thing pinned between two shitty manchester fridge magnets - a futile attempt by you to reduce your shared homesickness when you moved down south.

he's staring at the calendar, which under today's date reads "75 album release day!!!!" in your handwriting, adorned with as many lovehearts and stars and smiley faces as you could fit in the tiny box.

not that either of you were at any risk of forgetting the date, mind, but you thought it would be cute to commemorate it anyway. "you can keep it as a memento in the future," you had said, as you wrestled with the paper and the bumblebee magnet and the laws of physics while putting the calendar up. "when you're living in a malibu beach house in a decade, married to a supermodel, you can look at that calendar and think of the day your first album came out. and maybe also of me, back in london, or manchester, or maybe edinburgh... i don't know where exactly, but most likely on the other side of the world from you and your gorgeous wife. it'll be cute!"

(neither of you thought it was cute whatsoever, though.)

matty turns when he hears your half-shuffling footsteps, face twisting into a sleepy smile that splinters your heart. he opens his arms as you near him, pulling you into a washing powder-scented hug and resting his lips on your hair. "hi, darlin'."

"hi," you murmur into his sweatshirt. "happy album day."

"thanks," you feel matty's cheeks twitch into a smile against your head. "feels quite surreal, honestly. we have an album out. mad."

you caress the space between his shoulder blades. "i can imagine - it's insane for me to even think that my best friend in the world has an album out. m'so proud of you though, babe."

"couldn't have done it without you, sweetheart. oh, that reminds me..."

matty breaks the hug - and, in the process, your heart - to reach for one of the CDs piled haphazardly between the radio and the kettle. he hands you one with an all too familiar cover art, accompanying his "here" with a grin.

"matty, i said i would buy it!" you protest. "i want to be a part of getting you a number one."

"that's cute, babe, but nah," matty folds his arms and smirks. "there wouldn't be an album without you, because there wouldn't be EPs without you and your room at uni. so, the boys and i figured that you were the perfect person to get the first album CD actually made."

your eyes fill with tears at the ridiculously sweet, ridiculously too generous gesture. "wait, really?"

"i mean, it was my idea, of course," matty winks, which earns him a shove on the arm. "but yeah, that's the very first 1975 album disc. open it, darlin', look at the lyric booklet."

sniffling, you do as requested; your sniffles turn to full-blown sobs as you take in the "to our favourite girl. thanks for the love (and the pints) xx" dedication written on the first page, sobs which only increase in volume as you take in the lyrics, handwritten by matty rather than typed.

you gently place the CD and booklet back on the counter, and pull your sweetly-smiling best friend into a teary hug. "thank you, sweetheart. i feel very special."

"you are," matty replies, tenderly stroking the back of your head. "you're the most special, to me."

your heart jolts at that, and you squeeze matty even tighter, pull him even closer to you. but it's not close enough to satisfy you, it never is - nothing short of his skin cells grafting to yours and consuming them would stop your heart and brain and nervous system aching for him.

well, a kiss would probably do it, but that's far less likely to happen.

the painfully tender moment is interrupted by matty's back pocket buzzing, which provides a blissful relief from the thoughts about kissing your best friend that were beginning to awake from their dormancy. alas, the relief is short-lived - matty sighs in your ear, and murmurs "will you get that for me, sweetheart? don't wanna let go of you."

with a hopefully-unnoticeable gulp, you slide your hand down matty's back and into his pocket to pull out his phone. you squint at the caller ID. "s'george."

"should probably speak to him, i s'pose," matty says, planting a final (and devastating) kiss to your head before letting go of you and taking his phone. "are you gonna go and listen to the album while you get ready for the party later?"

you grin sheepishly. "already bought and listened to it on itunes."

"you're incorrigible. but i love you."

"ooh, big word! i love you too," you smile. "and tell george i love him too, and i can't wait to celebrate with you all later."

matty winks. "will do, darlin'."

you wink back and grab your CD, turning on your heel and wandering to your bedroom to begin the arduous process of getting ready for the album release dinner and subsequent party. it goes by quicker than usual, though, soundtracked by the boys, punctuated by congratulatory texts to and from ross and george and a half-hour congratulatory phone call with adam, and powered by the excitement of knowing you can be extra affectionate with matty today and it won't be weird.

it goes by so quickly, in fact, that you're almost completely finished your makeup when matty peers round your slightly-open door. "hey babe, would you mind- oh, wow, you look gorgeous!"

it's almost embarrassing how warm your cheeks get at that simple statement. you swivel to face your flatmate, smiling bashfully. "thanks, sweetheart. i was a bit worried the eye makeup was too much for dinner, but i've committed to it now, i s'pose."

"no, it's perfect," matty says softly, coming into the room and perching on the end of your bed. you're perfect, he wishes he could add - it's cliché, but god, is it true. "i love it."

your cheeks burn, and lift of their own accord. "i'm glad."

matty smiles back just as widely as you. there's a pleasant silence for a moment, reluctantly broken by you before matty forgets his train of thought. "did you want to ask me something, babe?"

"oh, shit, yeah," matty nods. "would you mind - if you have the time, that is - drying my hair for me? can never get it to sit right. but like it's cool if not, i can do it myself, i just like it more when it's you doing it and-"

"matty," you interject, before he talks himself unconscious. "of course i will. just let me do my lipstick first, yeah? then i'm all yours."

all his. christ, what he wouldn't give. "take your time, darlin'. thanks a lot."

"s'no problem," you say, turning back to your dressing table and rifling through a pile of lipsticks. matty smiles as you open a few in turn, furrowing your brow as you wordlessly narrow down your colour options; the smile is wiped clean off his face when you drop your jaw and swipe a dark pink over your lips, forming them into an O as you make sure the lipstick is applied perfectly. fuck. your mouth.

(the lyric from talk! is most definitely about you, but he'll never tell.)

after the most agonising minute of matty's life, you turn around to face him. "ok, i'm finished making myself pretty. your turn, babe."

"you're always pretty," matty says, kissing the top of your head as you stand up to let him sit in the chair; he finger guns towards his reflection as he does. "and so am i."

you roll your eyes. "maybe it's best if the album doesn't go to number one, actually. your head might explode, healy."

"best make sure my hair looks good then, babe."

"when has it not, when i've styled it? it's me you're talking to, not george."

"fair point."

with a wink to him through the mirror, you rake one hand through matty's hair and aim the hairdryer at it with the other. he closes his eyes, sinking back into the plush seat, enjoying the soothing combination of warm air and your gentle touch - your nails lightly scratch his scalp the way you know he loves, and he hums contentedly. fuck the dinner, fuck the party, fuck celebrating the album; matty would be happy just to stay like this forever with you.

you'd be happy with that too, to be honest.

matty slowly opens his eyes as you put down the hairdryer and finish shaping his hair with your hands. you crouch to get the back looking just so, then rest your chin on his shoulder and smile at him through the mirror. "beautiful boy."

tilting his head so it rests on yours, matty beams at you through the mirror. "thanks, sweetheart. we do look quite hot, don't we? we should memorialise it, i think."

"now? we're not even dressed for tonight yet," you say, as matty pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the camera.

"trust me, babe, this is just the first of many pictures i intend to take to document this very important day. and the first of many pictures i intend to take of you, looking all hot and glamorous."

"charmer. alright, take the pic."

"alright, darlin'."

2023

when you enter the kitchen, the déja vu of a moment from a decade ago practically smacks you in the face. never mind that it's a different house, with a different kitchen and a different floor (tiled, not lino, but still cold under socked feet).

just as he was exactly ten years ago to the day, albeit with different hair, matty is staring at something pinned between two shitty manchester magnets on the fridge (also different - a smeg you were embarrassingly excited about buying when you and matty moved here). rather than the calendar from before, though, it's the picture the two of you took while you were getting ready to celebrate the album release.

again, matty turns to smile at you as you near him - well, as best he can with a toddler clinging to his leg and a 7 month-old baby in his arms. you can see in his eyes that the déja vu is getting to him as well. that, and the way his smile widens as he says "hi, sweetheart".

"hi. happy ten years of your first album," you grin, moving closer to kiss him quickly. dylan lets go of her dad's leg and raises her arms towards you; when you pick her up and kiss her cheek, she giggles and hides her face in your neck. smiling, you do the same to elena, who beams mostly toothlessly at you in response. "and hello to you too, my babies! were you good for daddy while mummy was at work?"

soft curls tickling your neck tells you that dylan is nodding, an action matty copies enthusiastically. "they were perfect," he says, booping elena on her tiny nose and making her giggle - your favourite sound on the planet. "they take after their mum, of course."

you roll your eyes. "ever the charmer, healy."

"you know it, healy," matty grins, relishing the chance for acknowledgement of your shared last name, the same way he's done at any opportunity since you took it as your own four years ago. "we were just talking about mummy, weren't we, dyl? how in that photo she thought i was going to be married to somebody else by now, but daddy always knew he wouldn't marry anybody but her."

your heart glows with overwhelming love for matty and his words; it quickly begins to burn with embarrassment at your past utter cluelessness, though. "well, i genuinely didn't think you liked me in that way, the way i liked - like - you."

"silly mummy," dylan giggles, playing with the pendant on your necklace that bears her first initial, as well as those of her father and sister.

you tickle her little tummy, and the giggles increase tenfold. "silly mummy indeed!"

your toddler's giggles fade into little hums, and her tiny face turns placidly serious as she looks at the picture of her parents. "but pretty mummy."

"the prettiest," matty agrees, trying his best to extrapolate elena's tiny fist from one of his curls.

"well, maybe in a few hours, once i'm ready for the party," you say, stepping forward to save your husband's hair from his mini-me's grip. it takes you both a minute, considering you're both operating with only one daughter-less limb, but matty's curls escape mostly unscathed from your baby's possessive grasp. elena might be a matty clone, but she really is your daughter, no doubt about it. "which i really should start working on, considering everyone will be here in... three hours. will you all sit with me while i do my makeup?"

"of course we will," matty nods, holding out his free hand for you to take with your own. "lead the way, wifey."

for the second time that day, although you're sure there will be many more instances of it, there's an overwhelming familiarity to the scene in your bedroom. with the exception of dylan sitting on the vanity, copying you and pretending to put her own makeup on with one of your clean blush brushes, and elena doing tummy time on your bed and babbling away happily, the process is much the same as it was exactly a decade ago - enjoyable, quick, interspersed with excitement and texts and calls from your equally-excited friends.

the soundtrack is also different, although it's still matty singing; instead of the songs about, well, drugs and blowjobs that had scored your pampering in the past, he's doing a medley of disney songs, nursery rhymes, and... "babe, is that britney spears?"

mirroring his youngest daughter and lying on his stomach on the bed, matty glances up, eyes gleeful. "yeah! lena loves it. look - oops, i did it again, i played with your heart, got lost in the game, ooh baby baby."

true enough, elena shrieks with laughter and taps her hands against the duvet in accompaniment to her dad's singing. you laugh too, picking dylan up and moving to sit beside the other half of your family. once you're settled, you scoop elena into your arms and sit her against your knees. "you have such good taste, my girl!"

"mmm, so do i," your husband hums, looking at you with barely-concealed attraction in his dark eyes. "you look gorgeous, darling."

over ten years of matty compliments, and they still shoot straight to your knees and turn them wobbly. you lift your burning cheeks in response. "thanks, sweetheart. you're not too bad yourself."

"you think so? because i was going to ask you about fixing my hair again-"

"i honestly don't think it needs it, babe."

"really? well, in that case," matty reaches back to grab his phone from his back pocket, before rolling to a sitting position and tugging dylan into him. "scootch in, then."

dylan watches her dad open the camera app. "photo now?"

"yes, munchkin."

"but my dress!"

"oh, you're your mother's daughter right enough," matty smiles. "we'll take one picture first, dyl, and then you can go and put your dress on in time for your aunties and uncles and cousins arriving, yeah?"

"ok."

"that's the spirit," matty ruffles his toddler's head, before putting his arm around you. "say cheese!"

after his girls oblige, dylan moves round to talk to her baby sister, while matty opens the picture to see how it turned out; you lean in and rest your chin on his shoulder again so that you can look too. "oh, matty, look how cute we all are!"

"definitely fridge-worthy," matty laughs, kissing your temple. he leans back slightly to look at you, bringing a hand up to lightly caress your hair. "i can't believe it's been ten years. for both the album and the two of us. although they always went hand in hand for me, to be honest. constantly thought about you while i wrote it. and i still constantly think about you now."

you press a quick kiss to matty's lips, wiping away your lipstick stain with your thumb - matty tries to kiss it as you do, which earns him a laugh and a "matthew" from you. "i love you, baby."

"i love you too, sweetheart. here's to the next ten years."

#mads does writing #flatmate!matty #dad!matty #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty x reader #self titled 10

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alyjojo · 4 months

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February 🌠 2024 Monthly - Libra

Preshuffle: I’m getting more of this “bleh” energy I’ve been getting from you, not happy with your options, bored with what’s going on, if you’re currently in school you could be reevaluating whether you even want to go for this thing you’ve been working towards anymore. It’s a lull period, but those are necessary, that’s how we figure out what we want & need. A couple you interact with could get on your nerves, or a friend that always talks about their partner/person. It could be your own partner that irritates you 😆

Meditation: This was beautiful, there were dozens of blooming flowers as I walked up to your door, and inside was bloomin’ chaos 🌸 Empress energy 🩷 YOU were freaking out and cutting them all down! Very uptight and stressed like “omggg just more for me to do, get rid of them!!” Not seeing them as the blessing that they are. I chuckled and looked at you all stressed out before I was like…”have you ever tried boba tea?” And you stopped, looked like you were about to cry before I said “let’s go get some”, and you kinda smiled and threw down your shears to come with me.

Main energy: Knight of Pentacles

You’ve been doing “the same thing” for a long time, putting a lot of work, time, energy, into building your dreams, making everything how you want it to be. Work is emphasized. Knight of Pentacles will always get to the end goal, he doesn’t burn out, doesn’t give up, he’s kinda boring and doesn’t get out much, but he’s loyal & dedicated to making it to his goal. 7 Pentacles clarifies with Queen of Pentacles & The Empress, really nailing home that point of work even more, you’ve done so much, you *deserve* to relax 😌 Empress energy is feminine, she receives, nurtures what’s already around her, what she’s given she makes grow 10x more than it already was. What people call “a woman’s touch”. This may be showing slow progress towards embracing your own feminine nature, whether you’re a guy or girl doesn’t matter. Creative ventures, art, music, children for some, you could be trying to have a child, or realizing that’s what you want. Queen of Pentacles holds down the fort, she may be a stay at home mother or wife, works at home, or she manages to juggle both lives successfully, she is very resourceful and responsible, domestic and productive. Heavy earth energy, could be you or someone you’re dealing with. 9 Cups shows this being what you want, this is “the dream”, either to be this person, or be with them romantically, you could be aiming to work at home or have children, or after years and years of working hard you feel this is deserved. Or Spirit is telling you that it is. Page of Wands at the bottom can be a spiritual tug towards your path, that’s why you’re feeling so restless, if your current life isn’t matching up with what you *know* you want. I could have someone that’s been staying with their parents too, and you’re ready to break free & do it on your own, working towards that.

What’s going on in February:

8 Swords:

Whew a lot came out with this one, heavy Gemini & Taurus energy, but earth generally. 8 Swords feels trapped, you’re unable to talk about your desires and what you really want, or you could feel like the universe is against you and you’re not able to create something for yourself. You could have a partner that’s very different from yourself, or were raised one way and realizing *you’re* not actually subscribed to that mindset - it’s like a loving brainwashing. “Do this, be this” because they had to, or for your future security, it’s practical and “the right thing”, only to realize they’re raising a gardener and not a soldier like themselves, yanno? That’s what I’m getting. Lots of flowers, growth, Empress energy. She is beauty and grace, not kick you in the face 😆 Taurus/Libra/Venus. Everything you do or believe may be dictated by a mother figure, that’s for someone, could be a Capricorn/earth sign. Some of you may be trying to heal a relationship with a mother.

You feel like you can’t speak your mind, your desires, your beliefs, in order to keep the peace, which is bs but it happens, especially if you’re dealing with a parent. 6 Pentacles at the bottom can show a lack of mutual effort, could be financial, you or someone may see you or someone else as “less than” due to Empress energy. Like being a nurturing mother focused on growth is weakness 😆 Lord. That’s something being addressed. If you have someone like this, and you’re uncomfortable with it, you don’t address it. If you want to be this, and are with someone that doesn’t understand, you don’t know how to discuss these desires. Either way, you’re keeping feelings to yourself and it’s making you feel trapped, you don’t know how to get what you want in any case. You can’t change another it’s you that has to change - or you forcing yourself to go along to get along, when you actually *don’t* agree. If you’re a matriarch in your family, you may be trapped in people pleasing energy, like *that’s* your job, and it’s not 🙏 Growth is, children, money, flowers, whatever it is, The Empress plays a pivotal role in the lives & projects she manages. Who are we without that? She is the goal 💯 All four Queens combined, just as The Emperor is the goal. Either/or/gender doesn’t matter this is about feminine energy. Some of you may not have had that and are learning, either through another person, or balancing the masculine/feminine energy in yourself, 6 Pentacles rev can show you’ve been running on one for a long time without allowing yourself to healthily express the other - for most it’s the feminine, but for the people pleasers it’s definitely the masculine - taking action, speaking up. Set the standard, make the rules, take charge of your life, earn respect and lead. That’s what this whole Aries/Libra node experience is about for everyone, but especially you, through next year. They’re literally Emperor & Empress.

Temperance:

Clarified by Page of Cups, this is keeping the peace, always being happy, always smiling, never letting anyone know you actually have deeper feelings and internal conflicts going on, because you don’t want to mess up a stable happy home, relationship, job, whatever - with 4 Wands following. This is clarified by work again. You could hate your job. Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s like you want the opposite, there’s no one story here. Toxic positivity may be a thing with you. You’re allowed to have issues and desires like anyone else, you don’t have to slap a smile on your face with your mouth shut, or GO TO WAR, either extreme, like things can be mentioned, discussed, and you make a plan moving forward with whoever this involves. Libra can tend to go to extremes when they finally do explode/act, rather than address problems as they arise, by communicating. Maturely. You haven’t been. You want progress and could be feeling resentful it’s not coming or turning out how you want it, but you don’t want to rock the boat and speak up 🗣️ This could be what’s changing, Queen of Wands is here with Knight of Swords at the end of the month, fierce energy. Confident. Beautiful. But you don’t have to go to war - these are *your* issues 🙏

4 Wands:

Whatever you have currently is stable, that’s why you’re so internally conflicted over making a change, and finances seem to be at the heart of this. If you’re wanting to stay at home, or work at home, there could be less money and you could worry about independence or creating an unhealthy codependent dynamic - just because you’re worried about your well-being. Makes sense. If you’ve already been this way, you could be wanting to go back to work and using finances as a way to justify your position, needing money so you’d like to contribute. You know what you want either way, but you’re unsure you’ll still want it once you *verbalize* to someone else, so you’ve held back from speaking. You could also be wary of someone’s reaction.

Separate family stories. If you’ve been on the outs with a mother, she may not know anything about what’s really going on, you only speak good news and that’s few and far between, whereas now you could really need her help and need to be more open about what’s going on with you. There could be a child in your life that takes up a lot of resources financially and you’re needing them to get a job. Some of you are pulling away from “the grind” mentality, focusing more on family & children, and some of you are needing to embrace it, there are several energies simultaneously playing out here. Everyone can relate, we all have to balance these desires and what’s best for us - not what others think, there is no right answer. If you’re borrowing money from a parent or need to, moving in with them possibly (or trying to move out), it’s a huge burden and a lot of pressure financially.

Queen of Wands:

Someone around you, could be a friend/family, is getting married, maybe having children or starting a family, buying a home or creating their own happiness. I don’t see ick emotions regarding that, you’re very happy for them 🥳 while simultaneously, it’s putting pressure on you, your own desires, needs, life. What do you want? Is it what you’ve been doing? How do you get there, change it, or balance it all, once you figure it out? If this is you, Queen of Wands shares an energy with The Empress, of beauty 🌹 Changing your hair, getting a tattoo, losing/gaining weight whatever you prefer, making your butt bigger or something, you do you. Feeling good inside and out. Whatever you’ve been deliberating on, friends/family could really pull you out of this indecisive funk, having FUN. In the vision, it’s boba 🧋 but it’s anything that takes your mind off of *this* thing and onto *anything* else for a bit. Go have fun, feel sexy, feel magnetic, allow yourself to work with your own energy and be confident in attracting the things you want to become your reality. If you want a partner, go out with friends, tell them you need a wingman. Whether you meet someone or not, you have a good time. Spirit is saying you need to feel confident in your own desires, whatever those are. Fuck anyone that doesn’t right now, subscribe to other people that DO. You are strong, smart, sexy, and in charge of your own life! Doesn’t have to be a war, just own it, claim it, go get it 💜

Knight of Swords:

Whether you or those you’re communicating with, this Knight takes action right away, he’s very honest about his intentions, cuts right to the heart of the matter and says the things that need saying. If you’re in this powerful Queen of Wands energy, whatever is being said is done so in a way that others have no leg to stand on should they even disagree, and that’s kind of the whole point. It’s your life Libra. If you want xyz go get it. No one can stop you, it’s like you felt other people were keeping you trapped, but it’s your own indecision, lack of confidence or feeling sure in something, not wanting to rock the boat, that’s held you back from taking the actions you’ve wanted to take. Knight of Wands clarifies even further as “just do it”. You want boba, go have some. You want to doll yourself up and go out on the town, call your people. You want to take a break, raise your kids, celebrate your own feminine energy and relax for awhile, go for it. I don’t see any opposition once you speak your mind. On the contrary, I see people celebrating you, with you, or maybe it’s someone else, a fire sign maybe, but it inspires you to do the same - if so it’s meant to be. What has taken a long time is about to move A LOT faster, but only because you make it move faster and that’s all there is to it. No more indecision about this #justdoit

I’m also being told to tell you “look to Aries for inspiration”. Especially if you have one in your life, but it could be someone on social media, an influence you love. The North Node is Aries, we are *all* embracing Aries energy right now in whatever way it affects us. Aries doesn’t get stuck in indecision, they’re the opposite - more likely to not think or plan, they just do the damn thing and it usually works out, or they’ll make it work, because they don’t tend to hear “no” either, they’ll just go find a “yes”. Needing to be just like them, no, you’re you, but you can let them inspire you - and you unconsciously do the same thing for them.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Heavy earth 🌳 Taurus, Gemini, Aries, Virgo & Pisces

Oracle: ✨

6 Discernment 🤨

As spiritual, physical, and energetic beings, we oftentimes blur the lines between our energy, the energy of a situation, and the energy of another person. When we take on other people’s energy and label it as our own, we start to judge. This lowers our energetic vibrations. We then get caught up in a seemingly never-ending cycle of feeling “bad” labeling, justifying, and appropriating what is not ours to claim. The lesson here, is to simply be present, not label or judge, and let the energy/feeling wash over you. Once you do this, notice where in your body do you feel the effects of the emotion. Does your heart open up? Does your belly hurt? Does your throat get tight? Your head can lie to you, but your body never does. It is easy to become overwhelmed. Make a habit of making your first response to overwhelming energy: “Wow, that’s interesting!” instead of “What’s wrong with me?” This allows you to objectively discover how and why your body reacts in any way to a given situation or person. This card is asking you to stop looking outside yourself for answers to an issue. Instead, sit with it and listen to what your body is telling you.

We enter into February as:

Saint Apricot 😇

“I’m sorry that I have to take care of myself.”

Saint Apricot comes to you when you have been (or are about to be) freed from a situation that has you chained. This is a lesson in taking care of yourself. It’s a reminder to not give away more than you can, or it will drain you. We are not giving from a place of love if we are giving only to get. People may not like it when we focus on taking care of ourselves, but it is necessary in order to have a truthful relationship with them. If you speak the truth from your heart, then any guilt you feel is from the fear of being disliked. Feelings of shame come up when we feel we are “bad”, guilt comes up when we feel something we’ve done is “bad”. If another person no longer chooses to be in our lives, due to what’s been said or done in total honesty, it’s not our fault, it is their choice. This signifies a turn in your destiny. You are moving in a new direction towards freedom, and this opens the gateway towards more rewarding relationships in life.

What is to be learned in February:

Shrinking Violet 😥

“I don’t trust my intuition.”

Are you retreating from a situation that could bring you success? We all abandon projects that seemingly lack merit. However, Shrinking Violet indicates you may not be trusting your intuition, which is mostly likely on target. Choose three people to ask advice from, then take their advice, throw it out the window and go with your gut. There is every indication you should complete the task at hand. Block yourself off from thoughts of what will happen at the completion stage. Stay the process, don’t worry about the ending, or results, don’t be frightened. Just continue on.

Purple may be a lucky color 💜

#Libra #astrology #monthly #monthly tarot reading #february 2024 #tarot #tarotblr

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otrtbs · 2 years

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literally ahb and ur tumblr made me want to study and learn more about art history and now i am absolutely fascinated.

ik ur probably asked abt ur favorite art pieces often so if you already answered this in a way tell me about a rly unique and unknown artwork your love :) or just like anything rly. you could ramble about any painting or art and i’ll listen to all of it bc it fascinates me.

ah hi! hello! :,) <33

im going to talk about Ukeles and her concept of maintenance art bc I feel like it's not well known outside of the art world but I adore it! Under the cut though because I ramble haha

Ukeles was a full time mother and artist and she felt that her time was split in two. Half the time she was a mother and the other half of the time she was an artist (she said this because she felt that the art world was not accommodating to mothers. you had to be 100% dedicated to your craft or no one would take you seriously. she also noted that her male artist colleagues never seemed to have this problem.) Eventually Ukeles grew. frustrated and said 'this is ridiculous. i am both at once. a mother and an artist.'

She thought that the best way to demonstrate this concept was to turn the maintenance aspects of life into art. She began with washing diapers (the cloth ones) in public and dressing her children in extra clothes to 'go outside'. she's also washed the steps of the Wadsworth Museum, and gone on routes with NYC sanitation workers to clean up trash with them. by documenting these tasks and by performing them for an audience, she elevated their everyday-ness to art.

This was done to make a statement. This idea of maintenance and general upkeep shouldn't be looked at as a chore but as a vital part of how we interact with the world, ourselves, and each other. The caring of our own humanness and our natural environment is a creative strategy. The act of maintaining our wellbeing is performance art in and of itself.

She's written a 4 page manifesto about maintenance artwork and her ideologies behind it but here's a quote I particularly love:

“I am an artist. I am a woman. I am a wife. I am a mother. (Random order) I do a hell of a lot of washing, cleaning, cooking, renewing, supporting, preserving, etc. Also, (up to now separately) I ‘do’ Art. Now I will simply do these everyday things, and flush them up to consciousness, exhibit them, as Art [...] MY WORKING WILL BE THE WORK”

I love this concept so much because when I get caught up in the mundane aspects of life (doing the dishes or laundry mainly haha) i think about how i am working to maintain my own wellbeing. and all across the planet, other people are doing the exact same thing as me and we're all in on this little piece of performance art together and suddenly washing my cups and forks and folding my clothes isn't so bad. <3

#asks #happy ask hour <3 #ARH talks #ramblings

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abookclubofonesown · 1 year

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killers of a certain age | deanna raybourn | 2022

billie, helen, mary alice, and natalie are retiring after 40 years at the Museum - a extra-governmental agency formed after WWII to go after (and kill) escaped nazis. for their retirement, they are sent on an all-expenses-paid cruise and things go sideways when they clock one of the Museum’s own targeting them. the Museum has put a kill order out on them with a bounty and now they need to figure out who is after them and why - all while dealing with menopause.

---------------------------*spoilers ahead*--------------------------------

this book was fun! i always feel like with spy/assassin books that i need to suspend my disbelief just a smidge more than to i do for other books and this one was no exception. my mind just can’t wrap itself around the resources and logistics needed to successfully pull off any of these missions. so that’s my own brain getting in the way for me, but i consciously set that part of my brain aside and really just focused on the characters for this one. the plot was fine and entertaining - it hit all the spy/international-agent-of-intrigue marks.

this book uses a device that always sticks out to me as a device and like... not a free flowing narrative. there are some flashback chapters that help flush out some of the characters, but their placement is obvious. like they get to a point where they decide to kill these three dudes who they’ve work with for the past 40 years. so there is a flashback chapter featuring this dude and giving him unique characteristics that the women will exploit in the next chapter to kill him. i don’t think this takes away from the book at all, but i was definitely reading those chapters hunting for clues as to how they’ll use that info to kill him. the author, to her credit, doesn’t really handhold you through that leap at the start of the next chapter all that often, but it’s still something that i noticed.

what were the standout points for me in this book were the characters, the focus on women, and the art historical references throughout.

CHARACTERS:

while the book is focused mainly on billie, helen, mary alice, and natalie; billie is definitely the protagonist/main character. the book’s chapters are delineated by flashbacks that are told in 3rd person and present day written in 1st person from billie’s pov. i think billie was the natural choice for the narrator since she is kinda the most neutral? the other women are really Characters ™ with nat being a locksmith horndog, helen being a women struggling with grief for her late husband, and mary alice is dealing with her marriage. you could have maybe done from mary alice’s pov, but then you would have had to make her wife and their problems a bit more center stage and i don't think billie would have popped on the page if we hadn’t been inside her mind. billie is the one who got good at her job because she enjoyed it. she didn’t have the marriage like helen or mary alice and she didn’t seem all that interested in other people the way nat was. she dedicated herself to the job and was happy with that. it did mean that she eschewed a romance early on in career with another field agent, but this man (taverner) does make an appearance and you are lead to believe that they’ll rekindle their romance. i liked this pairing because they didn’t try to change for one another. they respected what the other wanted in life and chose what was best for them. and now they are at a time in their lives where what they want is the same. it’s kind of a love-at-first-sight thing going on but i think that works for what this is and the pages you want devoted to it.

the men are suitably vile and chauvinistic without it being cartoonish - a believable dickishness. the only redeemable one is taverner. martin starts off being a meek, computer geek who the women have a soft spot for and (they think) vice versa. but he turns out to be the instigator for everything after trying to launch a coup. i feel like i’ve been seeing this trend a lot with authors setting up with these men that position themselves as meek and mild to women only for that to be a guise for their manipulation and exploitation of them later. that’s not something for which i had to suspend my disbelief.

and it’s not just old women featured here, you’ve got minka (an ukrainian under billie’s wing and a tech wiz/app developer) who’s probably early 20s and naomi (a Museum agent) who’s in her mid-30s and pregnant with baby #3. my favorite parts of this book were when all of the women were interacting together. it was fun when they were killing the men together but also when they were just sitting around and talking. i find women fascinating so that helps lol.

ART HISTORICAL FOCUS:

the Museum was founded, in part, by some of the monuments men in WWII - this was a group that was dedicated to finding and safekeeping artworks stolen by the nazis. the Museum made it one of its missions to find and repatriate artworks back to the people they were stolen from. if that family can’t be identified or no living descendants remain, then the Museum retains it.

the painting at the center of this book is The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba by sofonisba anguissola. i studied anguissola in one of my classes in graduate school so i was delighted to see her name being mentioned! she’s one of the few female painters known to us from the renaissance era. she became a court painter and she is mainly known for portraits. her most famous being that of her sisters playing a game of chess. however, this painting is fictional. the author describes it so well that i want it to be real, but alas it is not. and.... not to go all art historian.... the subject matter is a little out of left field for anguissola. maybe she makes that point in the book and i can’t remember, but anguissola was more of a portrait painter of courtly lords and ladies and less of a biblical scene painter as described in the book. i’ll forgive because it’s whatever but it really just feels like who she really wanted was an artemisia gentileschi painting with a name that was more insider baseball.

tl;dr: killer old ladies from (mostly) the united states stick it to the man (a few of them, in fact)

#killers of a certain age #deanna raybourn #book review #book club #spy novel #long post #i actually made my own header image this time lol #well i edited the existing cover #i added the blood at the tip of the knife #and extended her arm

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sineala · 3 years

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Tony Stark and Arthuriana

Coming to you by special request, a very long post about 616 Tony's interest in Arthuriana, with a focus on all of Tony's run-ins with Morgan le Fay!

I feel like I should disclaim the extent of my knowledge here, which is that I still haven't managed to read anywhere near every issue of Iron Man -- at least, not yet, anyway -- so I'm just going by the things I know I've read, and Morgan le Fay's Marvel wiki entry is frustratingly under-cited, so it's very possible I've missed something relevant, but I'm pretty sure I've got the big stuff down. My other disclaimer here is that I'm not as big an Arthurian nerd as Tony is, which is to say that most of my familiarity comes from modern retellings -- T. H. White's The Once and Future King, Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon, Mary Stewart's The Crystal Cave, Rosemary Sutcliff's Sword at Sunset -- and not so much the usual classic sources on the Matter of Britain, though I've read bits and pieces of them.

(This is because I wanted to read versions of them that were as close to the original as possible but so far have not ended up finishing any of them because, well, that's hard. So I've never read the Mabinogion because I do not know Welsh. I've got the Norton Critical Edition of Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur, which is probably the best student edition if you're looking for something without modernized spellings, as I was. I've also got -- well, okay, it's my wife's but I'm borrowing it -- a relatively recent Boydell & Brewer edition (ed. Reeve, tr. Wright) of Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae (History of the Kings of Britain), which is, you guessed it, in Latin with a facing English translation. I haven't gotten very far in it because, in case you didn't know this about Latin texts, the beginning is pretty much always the hardest, so I gave up and read some Plautus adaptations instead. Anyway, if for some reason you too want to read Geoffrey of Monmouth in the original Latin I'd recommend that one, but I can't recommend any particular English translations because I've never read one by itself. I bet you didn't think you'd be getting Latin prose recommendations in this post. I mean, maybe you did; it is me, after all.)

Okay. Right. King Arthur. Here we go.

We've got:

Flashbacks to Tony's childhood in late Iron Man volume 1

A brief discussion of Morgan's origin story and Avengers #187

Iron Man vol 1 #149-150: Doomquest

What If vol 1 #33: What if Iron Man was trapped in the time of King Arthur?

Iron Man vol 1 #249-250: Recurring Knightmare

Iron Man: Legacy of Doom #1-4

Avengers vol 3 #1-4: The Morgan Conquest

Civil War: The Confession

Mighty Avengers vol 1 #9-11: Time Is On No One's Side

In terms of universe-internal chronology, we know from Iron Man #287, from 1992, that Tony has been a fan of King Arthur since childhood. This is an issue of a fandom-favorite arc which features Tony having a lot of childhood flashbacks, including the famous "Stark men are made of iron" line (in #286) that for some reason MCU fandom decided it loved; I mean, seriously, I've seen that quoted in way more MCU fic than 616 fic. But slightly later, in #287, we get an entire page devoted to Tony's love of King Arthur.

The narration reads: "Over the next few years, I learned as my father intended. Discipline of body. Strength of character. But in what free time I was allowed, I worked my way through the school's library. At thirteen, I discovered Mallory [sic], who showed me a whole new world. A world of dedication to a cause greater than oneself. Of chivalry and honor. And the fantastic deeds -- of armored heroes."

The art shows Tony as a child sitting under a tree, reading a book labeled Mort D'Arthur by Mallory [sic] -- no, don't ask me why nobody at Marvel checked how to spell either the name of the book or its author -- and daydreaming of King Arthur, the Sword in the Stone, knights, et cetera. Just in case you somehow missed the extremely blatant hint that we are meant to understand that Tony's knight obsession heavily influenced him becoming Iron Man as an adult, we see one of his armors mixed in with all the drawings of knights. So, yes, canonically Tony is Iron Man at least partly because he's a giant King Arthur nerd, which I think is so very sweet. I love him. He's such a dork!

(This issue is currently in print in the Iron Man Epic Collection War Machine, should you need your own copy.)

This isn't actually the only reference to Tony as a King Arthur fanboy in this era of canon, either; a little later, in IM #298, we see that one of Tony's passwords is actually "Mallory." (Yeah, no, they still couldn't spell. But it's cute.)

But in terms of actual publication order, this is definitely not the first time we have seen in canon that Tony is into Arthuriana, as I'm sure you all know. I would assume, in fact, that giving Tony a childhood interest in Arthuriana is because Doomquest is one of the most beloved Iron Man story arcs of all time, and that all started at least a decade before IM #287 here was published.

The villain of Doomquest -- the one who isn't Doctor Doom, at least -- is Morgan le Fay. Yes, that Morgan le Fay. Yes, Arthur's evil half-sister Morgan le Fay. Yes, all of this King Arthur stuff is canonically real history on Earth-616. Morgan's first appearance in Marvel, per the wiki, was in Black Knight #1 (1955), which I have not read, and judging by the summary I feel like this is probably just supposed to be a straight-up comic retelling of Arthurian legends for kids; I don't think Marvel really had the whole Marvel Universe in mind as a concept in 1955, so I'm not sure this was meant to connect to anything else. I feel like this is another one of those instances of Marvel discovering that they can write comics about characters in the public domain for free -- like, I'm pretty sure that's how we also ended up with, like, Norse, Greek, and Roman mythology wedged into 616.

As far as I can tell from the wiki, the first time Morgan tangled with the Avengers (or indeed the larger 616 universe) in any way actually predated Doomquest -- it was in an early arc in Spider-Woman (#2-6) and then Avengers #187, which came out in 1979, actually right when Demon in a Bottle was happening over in Iron Man comics. If you read #187, Iron Man is not in it because he's off the team due to his drinking problem and also his accidentally murdering the Carnelian ambassador problem. So Wonder Man's filling in instead. This issue is part of Michelinie's rather sporadic Avengers run, which makes sense, I guess, considering where we see Morgan next.

Anyway, Avengers #187 is the classic issue where Wanda is possessed by Chthon, but what you may not remember from Chthon's backstory (I sure didn't!) is that he was summoned by Morgan le Fay because she was the first person who tried to wield the Darkhold to summon him. As you can imagine, this did not work out especially well for her and her followers and they had to seal Chthon away in Wundagore Mountain, which was where Wanda found him. (The Spider-Woman stuff is only slightly earlier and also appears to be about Morgan and the Darkhold; the Darkhold is not one of the areas of 616 canon I am especially conversant with, alas. It's on my to-read list.)

Doomquest, as you probably know, was a classic Iron Man two-parter in Layton & Michelinie's first Iron Man run that set up Tony and Doom as rivals; Doomquest itself was IM #149-150, in 1981, and then in their second IM run they came back and did a sequel in 1989, Recurring Knightmare (IM #249-250), and then the much later four-part sequel to that was the 2008 miniseries Iron Man: Legacy of Doom, which was also by Layton & Michelinie but generally does not seem to be as popular as the first two parts. They've all been reprinted, if you're looking for copies; I have a Doomquest hardcover that collects the first four issues and then a separate Legacy of Doom hardcover. Currently in the Iron Man Epic Collection line there's a volume called Doom, which confusingly only collects the 249-250 part of the storyline (as well as surrounding issues), because for some reason the first Layton & Michelinie run isn't in Epics yet but the second one is. So the beginning of Doomquest isn't currently in print, as far as I can tell. I'm sure you can find it anyway.

So what's Doomquest about? Okay, so you remember how Doctor Doom's mother's soul is stuck in hell for all eternity? Well, Doom's obviously interested in getting her back, and the strategy he has embarked on is to try to team up with other powerful magicians who can help him out, and he thinks Morgan le Fay would be a good choice, for, uh, his quest. Doom's quest. A Doomquest, if you will. (If you've ever read Doctor Strange & Doctor Doom: Triumph & Torment, you're familiar with the part where he later ends up waylaying Strange for this and they go to hell together. And if you haven't read Triumph & Torment, you really should, because it's amazing.)

So Doom is off to his time machine to go team up with Morgan le Fay and Tony thinks Doom is up to something -- Doom has been stealing components for his time machine from a lot of people, including Tony -- and he follows him and it turns out one of Doom's lackeys has a grudge and wants to trap Doom in the past forever, and Tony gets caught up in it. Now they're both in Camelot. Surprise! #149 is actually all setup; they don't get to Camelot until #150.

IM #150 begins with Doom and Tony thrown back into the past; there's a fandom-famous splash page of them locked in combat, only to realize that they have found themselves in Camelot.

They are then discovered by knights; Doom would very much like to attack them, but Tony, who naturally would be happy to LARP Camelot forever, persuades him to play nice. Also Doom thinks Iron Man is only Tony's bodyguard so he keeps referring to him as "lackey," much to Tony's annoyance. Somehow everyone thinks they're sorcerers. Can't imagine why. The knights take them to meet King Arthur himself, and Tony has clearly had his introduction all ready to go, as he introduces himself in a timeline-appropriate manner, says he's here to apprehend Doom, and demonstrates his "magic" by levitating Arthur's throne. Doom's response is essentially "I'm the king of Latveria," which is, y'know, also valid. So they're guests at Camelot for the night while Arthur figures out what to do with them.

We then have a page devoted to Tony alone in his room, musing sadly about how alien he feels, how he doesn't know if he'll ever get home, how he could never fit in here without his beloved technology. Then a Sexy Lady shows up to keep him company for the night, and he decides maybe it's not all bad. Thanks, Marvel. I guess they can't all be winners.

Doom is using his evening much more productively; he compels one of the servants to tell him where Morgan's castle is, because he's still interested in having that team-up. Then he jets off. Literally. He has a jetpack.

The next morning Arthur's like "one of you is still here and one of you has punched a hole through the castle wall and flown off to join Morgan so I guess I know which of you is more trustworthy." He then explains to Tony who Morgan is, because Tony professes ignorance, because clearly we had not yet retconned in Tony's love of Arthuriana. Tony offers to go fight Doom and Morgan with Arthur; meanwhile, Morgan and Doom have teamed up and Morgan has offered to help get Doom's mother out of hell if he commands her undead armies against Arthur because for Reasons she can't command them herself anymore. So that's a thing that happens.

So, yes, it's Tony and Arthur versus Doom and Morgan. Fight fight fight!

Tony tries Doom first but then decides to hunt Morgan down, and in the ensuing fight we get what I think is Tony's first ever "I hate magic," a complaint that we all know he still makes even to this day.

Anyway, Tony freezes a dragon with Freon (mmm, technology) and Morgan gets upset and disappears, so the battle comes to an end, and of course Doom is extremely mad at Tony because he blames Tony for Morgan not sticking around to save Doom's mom, because I guess Doom trusted her to keep her word? Weird. (Like I said, for the next chapter of Doom saving his mother, go read Triumph & Torment.)

Doom says if he and Tony work together, the components in both of their armors can send them both home. So Tony has to trust Doom. Which he does, because he really has no other choice. They build a time machine and Tony makes Doom agree to a 24-hour truce when they get back, so they can both get home. So it all works out okay, and they end up in the present, and Doom tells him, ominously, that they will meet again. Okay, then. That concludes the original Doomquest. It's fun! You can see why fandom likes it.

So that's all well and good, but you might have noticed that Tony's ability to get home hinged on Doom actually being trustworthy. And Doom was. But what if Doom hadn't been? What if he'd just stranded Tony in Camelot forever As you may have surmised from the form of that question, that is in fact a question Marvel asked themselves, because, yes, there's a What If about this! What If v1 #33 is "What if Iron Man was trapped in the time of King Arthur?"

The divergence point from canon, as you can probably guess, is the very end of Doomquest. Instead of Doom bringing Tony home, he deceives him and leaves him in Camelot. And since Tony cannibalized a lot of the tech from his armor to make the time machine, he doesn't have a way to go home.

This is not a story where Tony comes up with a way to go home after all. He really doesn't get to go home. But instead of drowning his sorrows in mead -- because, remember, Demon in a Bottle has already happened and Tony is sober now -- he decides he might as well just play the hand he's dealt. So with what's left of his armor, he defeats some enemies that Morgan rounds up to send against Camelot. And for his services, he's knighted. He is now Sir Anthony.

Tony acknowledges that he is both living the dream and would also like very, very much to go home.

He does end up having some fun in Camelot; it's not all miserable. But he obviously doesn't want to be there.

So if you're at all familiar with King Arthur, you know how this goes, right? Arthur fights Mordred and Mordred kills him. And that does happen in this version. Except Tony is right there, and with his dying words, Arthur asks Tony to rule Camelot... and Tony agrees.

So, yes, Tony Stark becomes king of the Britons after Arthur's death and he never goes home again. The end. Man, I love What Ifs.

Heading back to main 616 continuity, there is still more of this arc to go. The original Doomquest was only two issues, yes, but it was popular enough that Layton & Michelinie did a sequel a hundred issues later, in their second run of Iron Man, and that's Iron Man #249-250, Recurring Knightmare. (In the intervening issues were Denny O'Neil's IM run, specifically the second drinking arc (#160-200), and then Layton & Michelinie came back and most famously gave us Armor Wars (#225-232). I would have to say that Armor Wars is definitely the standout fandom-favorite arc of their second IM run; for their first one, I think a lot of people would have a hard time choosing between Doomquest and Demon.) But anyway, yes. Recurring Knightmare.

Recurring Knightmare is... well, the best way I can describe it is "a trip." It is definitely a sequel to Doomquest, and it is also definitely not a sequel you would ever have expected to see for Doomquest.

Much like #149, #249 is pretty much just setup. Fun setup, but the big action is in the next issue. We open with Doom in Latveria, on his throne, pondering which of his servants he should have disintegrated. Anyway, he's just hanging out there when a mysterious object appears. In California, Tony is suited up and entertaining the crowd at a mall opening when the same object also appears! He takes it to his lab. Please note that this is after the Kathy Dare incident, so Tony is still recovering and is walking with a cane. Doom sees on the news that Iron Man has found the same object, which cannot be carbon-dated, and he shows up at Tony's house. He criticizes Tony's taste in art.

Anyway, Doom basically orders Tony to work with him. Tony refuses, and then Doom sends some robots to attempt to steal Tony's version of the object because he thinks if he has them both he will be powerful. Doom manages to steal it, and when he puts the pieces together, both he and Tony disappear.

So where do they go, you might ask? Camelot?

Not exactly. The future! There is a great callback to the Doomquest splash page.

It turns out they are in London in 2093. Merlin brought them there. Tony still hates magic. And in the future, King Arthur is still there, except he is now a child, because he has been reborn. But he does remember Tony from Doomquest, at which point Tony kneels. Doom, of course, is not impressed. He asks why they have been brought to the future.

The answer is that things are going wrong in the future. If you do not personally remember United States politics in the 1980s, I need you to google the words "Strategic Defense Initiative" right now. I'll wait.

Back with me? Okay, so this is a future where Reagan's Star Wars program actually happened the way he wanted it to, and the satellites are still hanging around the Earth in the future and messing everything up, and Arthur and Merlin need Tony and Doom's help to stop them. Doom once again flies away with his jetpack, of course.

Tony is game to help, but he's not in an armor that can stay in space for long. This is when Merlin takes him and Arthur to the mall and Tony manages to get everything to upgrade his armor at Radio Shack. You see what I meant about this issue being weird.

Tony is out in space trying to disarm the SDI platform, which is where he runs into his future descendant, Andros Stark, who is in armor you will probably recognize from Iron Man 2020. He is referred to as "the resurrected spawn of Iron Man 2020" so I assume he's actually directly related to Arno rather than a direct descendant of Tony; Wiki confirms that Arno is his grandfather. This is all from way before Arno was contemporaneous with Tony in canon. Anyway, he's fighting Tony.

Oh, by the way, Future Doom exists. Future Doom would like to rule this future Earth and for some reason Andros would like to help him. Meanwhile, Present Doom finds out from Merlin that he can't leave except by magic and he can't leave without Tony, so he is reluctantly on Tony's side.

They need help from the Lady of the Lake, except the lake has been paved over and is now a parking lot. Merlin makes the lake come back and then of course they get Excalibur. Arthur is a kid, so he can't wield a longsword; Doom assumes he's going to take it because he is basically a king, and he's pretty grumpy when the sword picks Tony. Tony then uses Excalibur to destroy the space lasers, and I bet that is a sentence you never thought you would read. It's pretty cool. Tony concludes that magic has its good points. Tony stops Andros and Doom stops, uh, himself, and the world is saved and they get to go home. Also, Doom finds out Tony is Iron Man, but when Merlin sends them back he conveniently erases their memories, so neither of them remember anything about this and Tony's secret is still safe. And that's the sequel to Doomquest.

And if you think that's weird, wait until you see Legacy of Doom.

Iron Man: Legacy of Doom is a four-issue miniseries from 2008, also by Layton and Michelinie. Even though it's from 2008, it's set during a much more classic time in Iron Man, continuing on from where we left off in this Doomquest saga. We start with a framing story in 2008. Tony, who has Extremis now, is busy scrapping some of his older armors and reviewing his logs when he suddenly remembers that there was a whole thing with Doom that happened that he seems to have forgotten about until right now. So the whole thing is narrated by Tony in flashback.

Tony's in space fixing a satellite when a hologram of Doom shows up and summons him to Latveria. It's not really clear why Doom needs Tony's help in particular here, but Doom tells Tony that he's discovered that Mephisto would like to bring about the end of the world, which Doom finds, and I quote, "presumptive." So Doom has his Time Cube, and with it he takes Tony to hell.

(Yes, I promise this is relevant to Doomquest. There will be some Arthuriana shortly.)

Doom brings Tony to Mephisto, and it turns out it's a setup! Doom trades Tony for an item he wants from Mephisto, leaves, and Tony's going to be trapped in hell forever! Oh no! (I mean, he's not. But it's quite a cliffhanger.)

At the beginning of issue #2, we find out what the Arthurian connection is, which is that we learned that after the events of Doomquest, Morgan had been granted sanctuary by Mephisto in exchange for a shard of Excalibur that she had somehow stolen. Doom still wants Morgan's help with some magic -- he doesn't mention what it is here, but he says he needs someone of Pendragon blood, and that'd be her -- so he traded Tony to Mephisto in exchange for, I'm guessing, Morgan and the Excalibur shard.

I have probably mentioned this elsewhere, but Legacy of Doom #2 is one of my favorite issues of Iron Man ever, solely because of the next scene. We return to Tony in hell. Howard Stark is also in hell, and he is now a demon, and Tony has to fight him. Mephisto brings popcorn and watches. This is the one time in canon when Tony actually confronts his father, and okay, yes, it's a fistfight in hell and Howard is a demon, but that's comics for you. Howard spends several pages insulting Tony -- specifically insulting his masculinity, but that's a whole other essay -- until he finally insults Maria too, and that's when Tony fights back, because his mother taught him to be good. Honestly if you're a Tony fan I'd recommend this issue just for that scene.

Anyway, we go back to the Doom and Morgan plot, and Morgan casts the spell Doom wanted, which was fusing the Excalibur shard with Doom's armor. Then Doom sends her back to Camelot rather than hell, because he's still mad that she never helped him get his mom out of hell like she said she would.

Tony freezes Howard with Freon -- yes, the same trick he pulled on the dragon back in Doomquest -- and tells him, "You're no father of mine." It is immensely satisfying.

(I had been going to mention that I thought it was a shame that neither canon nor fandom seems to have really engaged with this confrontation, and I know canon never believes in narrative closure but fandom sure does -- and then, anyway, it occurred to me that since the framing story of Tony remembering this is set when Tony has Extremis, there's a very good chance that he no longer remembers remembering it. Goddammit, Marvel.)

(If I got to retcon one canon thing about Tony, I think "the entirety of World's Most Wanted" is up there. I mean, okay, a lot of things are up there, but WMW is definitely on the shortlist.)

Okay. Tony has now engineered his way out of hell, and he's back with Doom in Latveria. Doom has Excalibur. Doom would very much like to fight him. While wielding Excalibur. You get the sense that this is going to be bad. Another cliffhanger!

Legacy of Doom #3 opens with Tony destroying Doom's lab to buy time and running away from Doom and Excalibur. I should probably mention that Doom still doesn't know Tony is Iron Man (anymore), so he thinks he is dealing only with Iron Man, Tony Stark's lackey. Meanwhile, some scientists at SI think there's something weird going on with space. Meanwhile meanwhile, Tony is in a forest taking a breather when a mysterious old man walks up to him.

It's Merlin! Surprise! Merlin wants Tony's help to stop Doom from doing whatever he's doing with Excalibur. The sword makes you invincible and the scabbard makes you invulnerable, so Merlin sends Tony to Scotland on a fetch quest for the scabbard. Doom has now magically sent the sword in search of the scabbard, so the sword flies away to meet it and Doom follows. Turns out the thing that's wrong with space is a thing that's going to hit Earth at the exact place Tony and Doom are. What a coincidence! So Tony and Doom get trapped in a stone circle and fight some stone warriors and then Tony ends up with the scabbard. And by "ends up with," I mean it fuses to his armor. Next issue!

Legacy of Doom #4 is when things really, really get weird. A giant demon made of eyes (???) appears, and this demon is apparently what Doom had been preparing to fight (because it's mad that Doom stole one of its spellbooks), and now he can't, because the sword and the scabbard aren't together. Thanks, Shellhead.

That's when Merlin shows up and says all is not lost. They can defeat the demon... if they put the sword into the scabbard.

"But I'm the scabbard now!" Tony says, uncomprehending.

"Yes," Merlin says. "You are."

Then Tony gets it.

So, yes, Doom has to, um, penetrate Tony. With Excalibur. I love comics. I love comics so much.

So that's a thing that happens.

And then Tony flies off and, I guess, resolves to never, ever think about any of this again.

We head back to the framing story, in which Tony, now having remembered all of this, flies to Britain, buys the land the lake is on, and paves it over, presumably so it will be there for Merlin to bring back in Iron Man #250. The end.

Whew.

Okay, yeah, I know I didn't have to summarize the whole thing, but Legacy of Doom here really is one of my favorite Iron Man miniseries. And I just want to share the love. Please read it. It's great.

But the Arthuriana fun doesn't end there! In fact, now we get an Arthurian-themed arc that actually isn't in Iron Man comics. It's in Avengers! Iron Man is involved, though.

(There is also apparently a Morgan arc in Avengers #240. I actually haven't read it. It seems to be yet another Spider-Woman arc. I get the impression that this isn't really Arthuriana other than having Morgan in it fighting Jess, though, so it doesn't seem quite as relevant. Morgan also apparently has some appearances in FF, Journey into Mystery, and Marvel Team-Up, but those seem like more of just basic villainy. Also, probably not involving Tony.)

Kurt Busiek's 1998 Avengers run, volume 3, is in large part the kind of Avengers run that is a nostalgic love letter to older comics. Heroes are heroes and villains are villains and good triumphs over evil. The Avengers all live in the mansion and are BFFs. I love it. It does assume that you are already a fan of the Avengers, because it starts out by summoning pretty much everyone who has ever been an Avenger and is available to the mansion, and that is... a lot of people. Thirty-nine, by my count. Also, when the entire team is magically whisked away, we are treated to the following narration, as Steve disappears: "And Captain America's last thought, as the world goes white around him, and he with it -- is that Iron Man would hate this."

The narration doesn't tell you why Iron Man would hate this, or how Captain America would know that Iron Man hates this. This is not explained later on. But if you have read comics -- or if you have read the above summary of Doomquest -- you know that Tony is absolutely, one hundred percent, thinking, "I hate magic." And Steve knows it.

The reference is not relevant to the plot; if you don't get it, you'll be fine. But that's what I mean when I say this is a nostalgia run. There are definitely Easter eggs for people who have read a bunch of comics. Busiek does this a whole lot in his work -- there's a reason you can buy an annotated edition of Marvels -- and, yeah, it happens here too. Just know that there will be references you're not getting, if you're new to comics.

Anyway. So Busiek's run actually starts out with an Arthurian arc, #1-4, "The Morgan Conquest." The name is a dead giveaway. Yes, Morgan le Fay is back. Again. For once, Doom is not involved.

The Avengers are all back from their sojourn on Counter-Earth after fighting Onslaught -- don't worry about it -- and mysterious things are happening. There are a lot of monster attacks. So pretty much everyone who has ever been an Avenger is summoned to the mansion, at which point we learn from Thor about some mystical artifacts that are being stolen. (They are the Norn Stones and also the Twilight Sword. That sounds like something from a Zelda game, doesn't it?) The Avengers go to try to stop this, end up in Tintagel, and then they run into Mordred. He wants to capture Wanda, presumably for Magic Reasons. Morgan le Fay casts a spell on all of them, reshaping reality. Yes, all of them. Surprise!

So now all the Avengers are living in a medieval castle and/or town; Morgan is their queen, and thanks to the power of mind-control they are all basically living in Ye Olden Times. The Avengers are all some variety of knight, except for Wanda, who is chained up in the dungeon so Morgan can steal her magic and use it to fuel all this reality-warping.

Wanda calls for help, and that snaps Steve (Yeoman America!) out of the mind control (or altered reality or whatever you want to call it) pretty fast, because Steve's always been very good at resisting mind control, and then Steve promptly goes and snaps Clint out of it, because I guess Steve is also good at inspiring people to snap out of mind control. "Oh, man!" Clint says. "Not another alternate reality! Not again!" (I assume he's referring to Counter-Earth? Maybe?)

So Steve and Clint go around reassembling the Avengers and orienting them as to reality. They get Jan and Monica easily, but then Steve insists on trying to get Tony because, I guess, he likes Tony and would really like to hang around Tony, who is half-naked and asleep in his bedroom, and certainly I am reading nothing whatsoever into this. Clint tells Steve it's not going to work. Tony has historically been fairly susceptible to mind control; it was only pretty recently at this point that he'd been doing Kang's bidding in The Crossing. But the more serious impediment is that this is Tony Stark and he would obviously like to LARP being a knight forever and ever. Tony, therefore, does not believe Steve, and throws him and Clint out of his bedroom and into the barracks.

"Iron Man's a good guy, normally," Clint says. "But he's waaay too into his whole nobleman/lord of the manor trip. That spell musta hit him right where he lives!"

Clint speaks the truth, clearly.

Anyway, they go around and manage to make pretty much every Avenger in the room other than Tony snap out, and attempt to rebel against Morgan while Tony is stil fighting them because he is Still A Knight. There's a lot of punching, because some of the Avengers still aren't free; they weren't ones Steve found.

The day is saved when Wanda manages to channel Wonder Man and break free. This gives the Avengers a fighting chance against Morgan and the Avengers are all lending Wanda their power when Tony finally snaps out of it and is on the side of good.

Then they take Morgan down, go home, and attempt to figure out which of these thirty-nine people should be on the active Avengers team. Hooray.

But that's not the end of Morgan le Fay showing up to screw around with Tony's life! There's more to come! Not much, but there is one that I know of, and at least one more memorable reference.

(I haven't read all her appearances or anything, but one of them definitely involves Tony; I can't swear that he doesn't appear in any of the other books Morgan shows up in, but it'd be a cameo for him, because I only know of one more arc that she's in in a book that Tony stars in.)

In a few more years, we have now entered the part of Marvel Comics history where Brian Michael Bendis writes all the Avengers books at the same time for, like, seven years running. It was sure A Time. There were a lot of word bubbles.

And the thing about Bendis is, Bendis looooooves Doomquest. If you're familiar with the very end of his tenure at Marvel where he made Doom be Iron Man after Tony got knocked into a coma in Civil War II, you have probably figured out already that he likes Doom. But he also likes Doomquest, specifically.

I mean, if nothing else, the giant splash page in The Confession where Maleev redrew the climactic Doomquest fight while Bendis had Tony talk about how deeply meaningful to his understanding of the world this all was -- and how it allowed him to predict Civil War -- was probably a big clue, right?

As far as I am aware, Morgan le Fay makes exactly one more appearance in Tony's life. And that's in Mighty Avengers vol 1 #9-11. Only one of those issues is named, so I'm going to assume the arc is named after it: Time Is On No One's Side.

You remember Mighty Avengers, right? The deal with the Avengers books at the time was that after Bendis exploded the mansion and made the team disband in Avengers Disassembled, the main Avengers book was no longer called just Avengers. Instead, the main Avengers book was New Avengers, and that was the only Avengers book. Then Civil War happened, Steve got killed, and New Avengers became the book about what was left of the SHRA resistance (i.e., Steve's side) after the war. So about halfway through New Avengers, Mighty Avengers starts up, and Mighty Avengers is about an extremely fucked-up and grief-stricken Tony Stark trying to run the official government-sanctioned Avengers team, with Carol's help. This is the comic with the arc where Tony turned into naked girl Ultron. You remember.

So, anyway, there's this Mighty Avengers arc where Doom is Up To Something (there are symbiotes and a satellite involved) and somehow Tony and the Avengers end up in Latveria, punching Doom. Also, by the way, Doom is visiting Morgan in the past because he likes her. The Avengers attacking his castle made him have to come back to the present, so he's kind of cranky. And he fights Tony, and in the course of the fight, his time platform explodes and sends Doom and Tony and also the Sentry to... the past.

This is one of those times where you should definitely look up the comics if possible because the way the past is visually indicated here is that it's colored with halftone dots the way you would expect old comics to be colored, although they have modern shading and color palettes. It's very charmingly retro.

So the three of them are stuck in New York in the past, and naturally they would like to leave. There's one person in this time who has a time machine and it is, of course, Reed Richards. Doom and Tony have a lot of banter in this arc; I think it's entertaining.

Sentry has to be the one to break them all into the Baxter Building because of that power he has where no one will remember him. So they do that, travel forward in time, and end up in Latveria in the present again except Doom is gone and also things are currently exploding where they are.

Doom, of course, has made a side trip to visit Morgan again and he asks her to help him build an army, because I guess this is what their relationship is like. So the rest of the Avengers are captured by what look to me like Mindless Ones and are in a cave in magic bondage, because comics. Jess comments that at least they aren't naked, because she too is remembering that memorable New Avengers trip to the Savage Land. Doom threatens Carol in some creepy sexist ways and eventually it turns out that Tony and the Sentry are fine and everyone kicks Doom's ass. Business as usual.

And the last page of the arc is Morgan alone, wondering where Doom is. So technically Morgan and Tony don't come face to face here, but I think she counts as being at least partially responsible for ruining Tony's day here. And then Secret Invasion happens and Tony has a very, very bad day.

There are a few more Morgan appearances after this, but, as I said, I don't think any of them involve Tony. She shows up in Dark Avengers, apparently, which was one of the post-Civil War Avengers titles I didn't read, and I know that recently, on the X-Men side of things, she's been in Tini Howard's Excalibur one, which I have only read a little of. No Tony there. Just a lot of Morgan and Betsy Braddock and Brian Braddock and the Otherworld.

If you are interested in Morgan's other appearances, you might like this Marvel listicle that is Morgan le Fay's six most malicious acts. I pulled some of the Darkhold backstory from their discussion, but it's not really focused on Morgan and Tony.

So there you have it! That's everything I know about Tony's love for King Arthur and every run-in I know about that he's had with Morgan le Fay! One of two terrible people in Tony's life named Morgan! Actually, I don't think we've seen Morgan Stark in a while. I wonder if he's alive. There should be a Morgan & Morgan team-up. I should probably stop typing and post this.

The tl;dr point is that you should all read Doomquest and its sequels, especially Legacy of Doom. They're great!

#posts i actually wrote

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dcviated · 2 years

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@sentofight sent: "Mother" a tap to Eira's shoulder "Um, can you critique my art?" fidgeting, she held her sketchbook to Eira to take. It was an attempt to draw a portrait of her mother--a side profile.

It’s a welcome change, that instead of having papers or other documents related to either the kingdom of Ylisse or the ongoing war effort she was able to hold a book in her hands. The concept of leisure was one she had always been rarely privy to growing up, thanks to her own dedication to her growing skills and similarly lofty self-imposed expectations. Was it growth, then? To say that doing things like this was happening now? A part of her mind tickles at her conscious now and then, a muttering and suggestion that she had relaxed too much, and that upon reaching a false peak she would let herself slide.

A troublesome conundrum. One that her daughter for better or worse managed to keep in the forefront of her mind. She needed to relax some, but not too much, lest that future come to pass yet again. Speaking of that lovely daughter--

“Yes?” A snap from daydreams both fictional and not. The manifested world within the pages falls away to show the real, that head of brilliant blue hair and sparkling eyes. But her smile suddenly feels more focused at the request, the nostalgia of her own past cutting across her expression like a knife to the point she almost winces.

“Oh… You don’t want me to do that, it’s your art, Lucina. Before anything else what’s important to me is that you’re happy doing it. And because you want to.” She tries to stay positive regardless, a gentle caress to the girl’s cheek before the attention is drawn to the paper. It’s still early, and amateurish (though it could be well argued that Eira’s own ability is on an ‘amateur’ level as well) but the small features were still present in the flourishes of the pen.

“I should explain myself. You see, when I was growing up I actually kept my artistic hobbies a secret from my mother. She had a future planned for me, and any attempt to grab onto something I was interested in, to embellish it, in hopes that it would keep me from pursuing my own career as a mage and knight… well, suffice to say if she knew I had a gifted ability with drawing she’d find some way to use that. Distract me and keep me busy with it. It was the same with music. All in the name of being a good wife, to be married off to another family so that the Kestrova’s may have another connection in Valm.” She bites her lip, chuckles and shakes her head.

“Perhaps I’m being dramatic myself, much as she would. That comes across as more nightmarish and authoritarian than it really would have been. Still. What matters was how it felt to me, I suppose. And it’s not a feeling that I want you to feel when you grow up. Or, well your case happens to be special, doesn’t it? Regardless… I want you to feel like you can be the kind of woman you want to, but I also want you to know that I’ll support you in whatever you decide. Do you understand? Now. If you must know about this art…” Eira’s finger traces some of the lines. She smiles.

“I’m keeping it forever. And you’re not getting it back.”

#sentofight #inbox :: answered ic #muse :: eira #verse :: fire emblem awakening #private hobby should stay private #at least for her #the more people praise her and talk to her about it #the weirder she feels #and it's not necessarily a good thing

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4evamc · 4 years

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Misha Tweets

Transcript

Ed Levine: Welcome to Special Sauce 2.0. Serious Eats podcast about food and life. Every week on Special Sauce we begin with Ask Kenji, where Kenji Lopez-Alt, Serious Eats Chief Culinary Consultant, gives the definitive answer to the question of the week that a serious eater like you has sent us.

J. Kenji Lopez-Alt: Generally, sort of like delicate leafy herbs like cilantro, parsley, basil, they tend to not be very good in their dried counterparts. Thyme, rosemary, oregano, they actually work pretty well in their dried forms.

EL: After Ask Kenji, a conversation with our guest, today in house, Misha Collins. He is, of course, an actor best known for his role as the angel, Castiel. Did I pronounce that right?

Misha Collins: Castiel.

EL: On the CW television series Supernatural, and has now written with his wife Vicki Collins, The Adventurous Eaters Club: Mastering the Art of Family Meal Time.

EL: Now it's time to meet Misha Collins. He's, of course, an actor best known for his role as the angel, Castiel?

Misha Collins: Castiel.

EL: On the CW television series Supernatural, which has had an insane run, right? It's like 2008 to 2019.

MC: Yeah, we're in our 15th season right now.

EL: That never happens.

MC: No, it doesn't. I don't know why they kept us on the air.

EL: Collins is also the co-founder and board president of Random Acts, a nonprofit organization dedicated to funding and inspiring acts of kindness around the world. He's also a published poet. Very impressive dude.

MC: Thank you.

EL: And has now written with his wife Vicky Collins, The Adventurous Eaters Club: Mastering the Art of Family Meal Time. So welcome to Special Sauce, Misha.

MC: I'm very happy to be here.

EL: So the first question I always ask, in your case it's particularly relevant, is tell us about life at your family table growing up. Your family table was not exactly traditional.

MC: That is true. I was raised by a single mom. My parents separated when I was three years old and I visited my father on every other weekend for most of my childhood, but he wasn't really a cornerstone of my upbringing. But my mother and my brother and our dog were a very tight family unit, and we lived in Western Massachusetts primarily growing up and moved a lot. We were in a new home I would say on average once every nine months or so. I think I lived in 15 places by the time I was 15.

EL: So you were like an Army brat, only you were a different kind of brat.

MC: Right. An Army brat without the parents building up a pension plan.

EL: Right.

MC: Another thing I think that an Army brat family has is a cadre possibly, of other kids that are going through the same experience, and I was generally going to a new school every year and meeting kids that were in fairly stable childhoods and who knew one another and who were familiar with the school, so I was always approaching schools and new towns-

EL: You were the permanent new kid.

MC: Yeah, with a little bit of trepidation, and trying to figure out how I could ingratiate myself to the new communities and the new schools. My mother was very eccentric and iconoclastic. She talked about the revolution a lot. I was born in 1974, and we lived through a tumultuous political time in our country, and she didn't want to have us grow up being conventional young men, so she would do things like dress me up in pink tights and paint my nails and send me off to Cub Scouts. Which I think in 2020 might actually fly, but in a working class community in Massachusetts, when you show up at Cub Scouts in the boys' locker room with nail polish and long hair-

EL: Not so much.

MC: And pink tights, you're ostracized. So, I kind of had to find a way to blend in and disappear a little bit as a kid in new schools, and I think that it built a lot of character in a lot of ways, and made me more resilient and adaptable and independent than I otherwise would have been. But at the same time, there's a certain lack of stable foundation that was challenging.

EL: I had not the same kinds of travails in my own childhood, but you do become resilient and eminently adaptable, but it also has a cost. It exacts a cost that you can't deal with as you're going through it, but you almost have to deal with it at some point in order to really resolve some of the issues that came out of it, I assume.

MC: Yeah. I'm sure you've found the same thing, but I feel like I'm a 45-year-old man and I'm still discovering things and unpacking them and repairing them, I think. There are definitely things that you take away from a childhood like that that give you real strength.

One of the things that I love about my childhood is that I know that you don't need money to be happy and you can get by on just about nothing, and that gives you, I think, quite a bit of power going into the world because you don't feel beholden to the comforts of ... I don't feel beholden to the comforts of money. I'm okay with scarcity. At the same time, I don't know that I was really terribly good at connecting with people or making friends, and I probably still struggle with that.

EL: Yeah. So, you wrote this amazing piece in The Times, and you wrote that “times were often lean, but one luxury we always had an abundance was food, even if it came by the five finger discount. My mother taught me how to steal peaches from the Stop and Shop grocery store when I was four. We were stealing from the man. It was a justified rebellion against an unjust system.”

EL: So, whoa. Okay, those sentences made me stop in my tracks. That's pretty intense. I was actually thinking about this movie, Shoplifters. I don't if you've ever seen it.

MC: Oh yeah. Yeah.

EL: Because in there the father figure, who turns out not to be the father, teaches the kids how to steal so they can eat. And so, wow. I mean, talk about that. Talk about getting conflicting messages from your mother. It's like, whoa.

MC: It's funny, because now hearing you read that, it paints a portrait of a parent who was raising children without a moral compass, and I think that was not at all the case. This was righteous rebellion. We were stealing ... We would never have stolen from the local co-op, but this was from a corporate entity, and these corporations were out to exploit the proletariat. I actually felt the exhilaration of feeling like I was part of a rebellion at that point, and frankly indoctrinated into that at a really young age. At the age of four, I was aware that it was us against them. We were the little guys and that we had a justice on our side. At the same time, it's a complicated thing to be training a little four year old how to steal.

MC: I have a very distinct memory of the fruit island in the Stop and Shop, and me grabbing a peach. This was the first time that I remember ever shoplifting anything. I grabbed the peach and then I ducked down behind the island, and my mother said, "No, no, no, no, no. You can't do it like that. You have to take it. You have to be very calm. You have to not look around. You can't show that you're distressed at all or that you're nervous, and then you put it in your backpack." Then we would go up to the cash register and we would pay for some of the groceries, so that we were distracting them, and then scoot out the door.

EL: And you just, I assume, felt that there was nothing particularly abnormal about this because you had nothing to compare it to.

MC: Right. Yeah, this was my normal.

EL: Yeah. You weren't stealing from somebody or something that needed the money, you were stealing as part of an ethos. Right?

MC: Right.

EL: As part of like, this is the way we work the system to fight the man.

MC: Right, precisely. Yeah.

EL: You also wrote, and I'm going to quote a couple of more sentences from the piece because it was so beautiful, "My upbringing taught me you didn't need money to be happy, that you didn't have to play by the rules, that the whole world was just begging to be explored. But now by the hindsight of fatherhood and from the comfort of a therapist's couch, I see that while my childhood had been rife with adventure, it also had been lonely and frightening and wanting." So you were always reconciling those two things, weren't you?

MC: I wouldn't say I was always reconciling them, because as a child I struggled at times. I felt sad and lonely, but I didn't think that it was because of my childhood.

EL: Got it.

MC: I thought my childhood was full of adventure, and I was proud of my childhood. Up until when I was 25 I don't think I looked back on it and thought that there had been any damage done by that.

EL: Right, and that there was anything dysfunctional about it.

MC: Right. And on balance, my childhood was incredibly ... I think I had a secure attachment with my mother. My mother was there. She was loving. She never failed to convey that love to me and my brother. So she served as my anchor emotionally, and that was unfailing. But because the rest of our life was so fractured and so nomadic, she was my only anchor.

EL: Yeah, because as you said, how do you establish connections with any kids when you're moving every few months?

MC: Right, and when you're showing up at school in pink tights at a working class school you're also getting alienated by your peers, and so the other kids actually ended up being kind of frightening to me.

EL: I read your Wikipedia page, and somehow you escaped and you ended up at a prep school, Northfield Mount Hermon, and then the University of Chicago. What a narrative your life has been. How did that happen?

MC: Now that you're asking the question, I'm reflecting on it possibly for the first time. But one thing that I know happened as a result of my childhood and and partly as a result of feeling like I wasn't fitting in with other kids, is that I was a smart kid and I could win the favor of my teachers. So when I was in school, I did very well in school. It was like the thing I could throw myself into and be safe and get some accolades.

EL: Some positive feedback.

MC: And some positive reinforcement. So I did well in school, and we lived in the town of Northfield for a little while, which was where Northfield Mount Hermon is. They had a program that had been implemented from the inception of the school where local day students could get pretty much a full ride if they were in need, and we were in need, so I could go to a fancy high school for free as a day student. Then I ended up basically getting the same deal at the University of Chicago.

EL: Amazing.

MC: Yeah. At the time, I thought I was going to go into politics, so I was sort of on a very clear path. And that wanting to go into politics was also born of my childhood and of my mother talking about politics all the time, and making me and my brother very aware of the plight of people in need in our country and around the world. It felt like that was the right place for me.

EL: Yeah. Again, and this is the final sentences I'm going to read from the Times piece, because it gets us back to food. Which is, "I recently found an old journal in a box in the back of my closet, and on the page from a decade ago where I had taken inventory of the good and bad of my upbringing the word cooking is circled and underlined with urgency in the plus column, as if I was thinking that food had been the cornerstone of happiness in my youth." Elaborate on that. I mean, that's an amazing statement.

MC: I think as a nomadic family, we moved around and we brought with us what we could, and in terms of material objects, there was very little that was a through line. But we did bring with us from place to place the tradition of sitting down for family meals every night.

EL: Even if you were in a teepee or in a park.

MC: Right. Even if we were sitting on a log in the woods in the rain, we would be sitting down and eating together. There were no distractions. There was never a television on, and there was no coercion in getting to the dinner table. There was no question about it. Not because it was an edict from an authority figure, but because we all just coalesced around dinner and loved it.

EL: You needed it.

MC: Yeah.

EL: It was a permanent form of glue for the family, right?

MC: Yeah. It really was important to us. We would go spend Christmas with my mother's mother, my grandmother, and she was a cook as well, and food was a centerpiece of that family interaction. And for me now that I have kids, I notice that when I'm feeling like a guilty or absent father, the way that I most quickly show my affection and love for my kids is I just make them food. It's like the way that I know to convey to a child everything's safe, everything's okay, and I love you.

EL: Yeah. But in 21st century America, and maybe all around the world, it's hard to do that, right? There are lots of pressures that are forcing people not to eat together.

MC: Right.

EL: Both parents are working, kids are all over the place. But you obviously, I think as a result of your upbringing, it was important when you had a family and a wife that you made that same time for dinner.

MC: Yeah. It feels very important to me. I think sometimes I'm actually kind of maybe forcing my agenda of cooking on my kids. Like, "Come on guys, let's make something in the kitchen." A lot of times they want to go outside and I want to work in the kitchen, and I have to check myself and say, "Okay, we'll go play a little bit of soccer first before we get to canning the pears."

EL: Right. Because the act of eating a meal and preparing it is imbued with so much more meaning for you than it is for them.

MC: Yeah, I think that's true. Yeah.

EL: So you end up being an actor, and I'm just assuming that like all actors, you struggled for many years before you found yourself on the set of Supernatural. So, tell us in a few sentences the arc of your acting career.

MC: Well as I mentioned earlier, my intention after college was to go into politics. I interned at the White House and I got a job at NPR in Washington, DC, and I was really disappointed with what I saw at the White House, and I thought, "Oh God, I have to come up with a whole new plan here." I thought it was going to be the best and the brightest minds under one roof. This was the Clinton administration. And instead what I found was the halls were filled with people who were sycophants, whose parents had donated money to the campaign. They were all yaysayers. There was no real discourse about political ideas, which of course is actually what you need in an administration. You need people who are going to be in lock step and are going to support your decisions, but I was too young and naive to know that.

So when I saw it, I thought, "This is not for me." I thought, "I will try to find another way that I can have an impact." I think there's a lot of hubris in this, but I thought, "I know what I'll do. I'll become an actor. I'll get famous and then I'll parlay my celebrity into some sort of political influence."

EL: Oh, because that happens all the time.

MC: Right. I mean really, really completely naive, and totally full of myself. Then I moved to LA and I thought it was going to take a couple of years to attain a certain level-

EL: To become rich and famous.

MC: To be rich and famous. And it took a long time to become-

EL: It took a decade, probably.

MC: To become moderately comfortable and a C-list celebrity. But somewhere along the line I stopped thinking about that end goal of I'm on this path so that I can have influence, blah blah blah, and I just started becoming an actor, and I was just acting for the sake of acting and not for this aspirational, high-minded goal.

Then a couple of years ago we got a new president, and that lit a fire under me. It was actually during the campaign when I started to think, "Oh, Trump might get elected. Oh, this is serious," and then my C-list celebrity started to come into play and I thought, "All right, well I can use the platform that I have."

EL: By the way, I think it's at least B-minus, okay?

MC: Well you, as everyone knows, grade on a curve, so thank you for your charity. In a strange way it feels to me a little bit like it's come full circle, and now that the show's ending and after 15 seasons I'm asking the question, "Okay, how can I be of use in the world?" I don't know what's next for me. I don't know if I spend a lot of time on television sets after this or not. I'm trying to do some soul searching and figure out what I really want to be when I grow up. But that's, in a nutshell, my path.

EL: It's an amazing path, and you accomplished much more as an actor than almost any actor I know. To be a working actor and to have made some money doing it is actually an incredible accomplishment, and maybe it's to the resilience you discovered you had in your childhood.

MC: Yeah, I think possibly. I think obviously there's a lot of dumb luck that comes into play. It's not my fault that the show that I'm on has been on for 15 seasons or has the devoted fan base that it has.

EL: There are conventions for Supernatural. I notice this-

MC: We have conventions. There are tattoos with face on them. I mean, it's hard not to be full of yourself in this context. But yeah, we have a really, really devoted fan base, and it's quite remarkable to be a part of.

What was it? I think it was Freakonomics at one point. Maybe it was in the book Freakonomics, but they said that pursuing a career in acting is like pursuing a career as a drug dealer. It's very, very difficult to be one of the kingpins, to be successful in the field.

EL: Right.

MC: The odds are so bad that it takes a certain personality that's defective that wants to even pursue that in the first place, because 99 out of 100 people are going to fail at that and then you're just going to be a low level street corner drug dealer, or barely getting food on your table as a background actor.

EL: Yeah. Well Misha, we have to leave it right here for this episode of Special Sauce, but you're going to stick around and tell us all about your two terrific kids, West and Maison.

MC: We just say Mason.

EL: West and Mason.

MC: Yes, we anglicize the French spelling.

EL: And your wife Vicki, and your family collaboration on The Adventurous Eaters Club. Thank you for spending so much time with us on Special Sauce.

MC: Thank you so much for having me, and I can't wait to talk about the book.

Listen to the podcast here

#misha collins #vicki collins #the adventurous eaters club #misha talks #chef!misha #misha tweets #seriouseats #podcast

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some-cookie-crumbz · 4 years

Note

Finger painting with baby for TodoMomo??

YA COMING FOR ME WITH SOFT PROMPTS!!!!!! Please accept this humble ball of pure sugary fluff! Also there’s some reference to Huwumi because I have no self control so I hope you don’t mind!

Coordinating schedules was always a strenuous task but well worth it, as far as Shoto was concerned. When he first agreed to begin the takeover of the Endeavor agency nearly four years ago, he had expected his father to be a merciless slave driver about it. And for the first two years, he kind of was; it was all long hours and strict orders and tedious paperwork. Then, when Momo announced she was pregnant with their child, Enji changed a bit. He was more flexible with Shoto’s schedule, more lenient about him coming and going to accommodate for doctor’s appointments and home preparations.

And then, on June 7th, little Anzu came into the world.

And when Shoto decided to take a full three months off of work after Anzu’s birth to help take care of her, Enji hadn’t said a word against it either. It was strange, but he was grateful. Being a parent was something that Shoto had wanted desperately, but had been nervous about as well. He didn’t have the best example growing up but he was dedicated to the idea of giving his own children what he didn’t have. Once the three months were up, Momo spent another six on maternity before they had the discussion of how to proceed. Neither of them liked the idea of having to leave her with nannies or at a daycare for an excessive amount of time. Momo herself decided that she’d work half shifts while Shoto would boost his own hours a bit, taking the other half of her patrols as well as resuming his training under Enji for the official switch over. And so it became a game of shuffling schedules around to assure that, in the brief and occasional lap over where they were both at work, she was with someone else in the family. Fuyumi tended to be the one most often helping them out, as she and Keigo had four kids of their own and knew what to expect.

Plus, watching Fuyumi’s kids dote on the newborn when he dropped her off or picked her up was always a delight.

That was how things were still proceeding in the current time, with Anzu’s 2nd birthday having just recently passed. Shoto himself was basically running the Endeavor agency on his own at this point, with the official announcement planned in six weeks time. He kicked off his shoes as he walked in the door, feeling exhausted. A part of him wondered if it would be rude to take a nap before dinner but the thought was cast aside at the pattering of tiny feet tearing down the hall. He felt a small smile twist up on his lips at the excited gasp of “Dada!” he heard at the end of the hallway.

He lifted his head to be met with a bright grey eyes and a huge grin. “Hey there, Anzu. Where’s your Mama?” he asked, sliding on his slippers and moving over to her. It was then he noticed a yellow splotch on her forehead. “Hmm? What’s this?” He reached out to touch her forehead, but instead she grabbed his hand and started leading him down the hallway. He noticed other little pepperings of color along her hands as well.

“Mama here! Play!” she said happily. He chuckled before reaching down and picking her up, settling her on his hip with one arm and heading for her playroom. It was then he noticed the slightly thicker apron-esque item she was sporting over the little romper he’d dressed her in that morning. Still curious about the mark on her forehead, he carefully adjusted his grip on her to reach up with his other hand. He carefully rubbed at the yellow splotch toting the line by her hairline, blinking when it came back wet and smeared on himself.

“Is this paint?” he mumbled incredulously as he stepped through the doorway of the little playroom they’d prepared for her.

“She wanted to paint a picture for you,” Momo giggled from her spot, kneeling on the ground beside Anzu’s little easel, what he now realized was a painter’s smock draped over her as well. The little tot in question squirmed until he set her down and she tore over to the little table in the corner.

When she returned, she excitedly presented a piece of paper almost as tall as her and covered in various squiggles and shapes in a plethora of colors. “I make for Dada!” she said.

He blinked before smiling and reaching out to take it, looking over the page. It looked like it was recently dried and the paper crinkled a bit but he felt his heart swell. “Aw, thank you, baby girl,” he breathed softly. His eyes swept over the depicted scene, using color association and inference to determine what, exactly, she’d drawn. “This is a lovely picture of when we went to the park last week.”

Anzu’s eyes lit up in delight and she giggled excitedly, nodding her head eagerly. She said something else in response but it was far too garbled for him to parse out exactly, despite usually being rather skilled with toddlerese. She darted over to the little shelf of supplies, shifting through one of the shelves, while he shifted to join his wife on the ground. “You were able to tell what that was?” she asked with an impressed puff of laughter.

“Well, she’s got a pretty good form for most of the details,” He pointed towards an almost-oval shape in yellow with a pink line through part of it. “Right here is the dog that the nice elderly owner let her pet while we were there. It’s collar was pink.”

“... I honestly thought that was the little swaying horse toy,” she mumbled thoughtfully. They both perked up as Anzu returned with a fresh sheet of paper. “Here, hun. Let me get this in place for you.”

“I don’t remember her having paintbrushes to work with, though,” he realized, glancing at the little tray of the easel. Instead, there was just the assorted jars of colored paint, all the lids hanging via magnets in front of their respective color.

“That’s because she’s been finger-painting,” Momo hummed. When he answered her with a blank look she cocked her head. “You’ve… really never finger-painted before, Shoto?”

He shook his head. While his younger years had a few happier memories of toys and games with his mother, Enji had always been very strict about games or toys that made too much of a mess. Painting - or any arts and crafts, really - fell under that bracket. Suddenly there was a weight on his thighs and two chubby little hands turning his head to face their daughter, a pout clear on her face. “Oh no, Dada. Oh no,” she said, shaking her head as she spoke.

He chuckled a bit at the amount of sheer sass before swooping one arm around her waist as he moved closer to the easel. “Well, since Dada’s never done this before, you can teach me. We can make a picture together,” he suggested, maneuvering her to sit in his lap instead of stand.

She squealed excitedly at that and nodded, nearly knocking him in the chin in her enthusiasm. “Oh, let me get you a smock to work with first,” Momo hummed, carefully pushing off the floor to scamper off to the supply drawer again.

He watched her go before looking down at Anzu again, who was bouncing with giddiness in her lap. “So what do you think we should paint together?” he asked.

“Family!” she squeaked.

“Our family? You, me and Mama?”

“With everybody!” she proclaimed, stretching her arms out wide and slumping back against his chest to look up at him. "With Gamas and Gampas and Aunties and Uncles and cousins!" He smiled and gently reached up to push some of her hair out of her face. She smiled up at him and nuzzled into his hand when he brought it back down to playfully pinch her cheek.

He perked up as Momo returned, a smock tucked into one arm. He made quick work of slipping it on before turning his full attention back to his little girl. “Okay, where should we start?” he prompted.

From there, it devolved into a fun little game of her dipping his fingers into the different colors and dragging them along the page, more using him like a puppet to help create her masterpiece. He couldn’t help but go with the flow of it, though, as her tiny fingers pinched at his wrist to move it this way or that. At one point, he sneezed and ended up with a smearing of red paint along his left cheek. The two ladies got a kick out of that. After sketching in Rei and Enji, Anzu dragged Momo into the work as well, repeating her process all over.

It made Shoto’s heart skip a beat, watching Momo try to modestly hide her giggles while Anzu moved a green-coated finger along the page, little brow knit and tongue poking out in determination. It was strange to think this little whirlwind of a child was theirs, but he wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

He dipped his pinkie into the pink paint and, when she turned back to him, gently pressed it to the little tot’s right cheek. “Boop,” he mused as he brought his finger up in an arch and then back around to connect it. There, standing out on her cheek, was a little heart. She couldn’t see what he’d drawn and assumed he was starting a paint fight. Momo let out a small squeak of protest as Anzu dipped a hand into the purple jar and peppered little pats of her fingers along Shoto’s cheeks and jaw. And then she squealed when she lunged for her mother next, other hand covered in light blue, and etched a crude star on her forehead.

Pictures of the trio coated in various pastel paint spots were uploaded to Twitter and Instagram, suspiciously winding up on both he and Momo’s official Hero pages.

He framed both the picture of them, covered in paint, as well as the family picture they all painted together. And he hung them in his office on his first day as the official owner and operator of the Endeavor agency.

#crumbles grumbles #TodoMomo #my fics #Hank Hill voice: I sell Soft Shoto and Soft Shoto accessories

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rokutouxei · 4 years

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you are still the sun that shines for me

part 8 of atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theo van gogh/mc | G | 3593 | [ao3 in bio]

Life couldn’t get any better. You enjoy what you do here, spending your life without regrets with the person you love the most. That is, until you meet her. The woman who still loves Theo.

CHAPTER 2

The remaining days of the exhibit pass by in a blur. Or rather, neither of you really feel quite like any of it is real, after that first day.

Theo had been so excited on the opening day, as he always is. Opening days were the most thrilling, after all: setting up the canvases, perfecting the gallery, letting people in, seeing the wonder in their eyes—Theo had hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning in excitement. The both of you left the mansion long before dawn broke just to prepare the exhibit space, to carry off the paintings out of the atelier to the gallery, hidden by pre-dawn darkness from the academie’s prying eyes.

And oh, the Academie! The time spent making sure everything was done right, that no one was going to let this out, to check the location, to clear the area of any possible Academie goons looking around… it was time well spent, now that the exhibit was opening! Months and months of hard work encapsulated into five exciting days for the organizers—the both of you—and the artists. Just like that, the rolls and rolls of gauze and a lot of hidden first-aid sessions from fistfights in the alley and the piles and piles of syrup-drowned pancakes and late nights organizing and reorganizing things to perfection has finally come to this.

It wouldn’t stand long–five days is the expected run time–but what matters is it stands. Five days was already longer than the not at all that used to be the norm when he started in this new life of his.

All of this—the excitement, the worry, the nervous satisfaction—had left Theo’s hands nervous and shaky. The sun was still out and he was fixing his tie in the candlelight, behind you in front of the mirror, with no avail. You took the chance to laugh at him (“Don’t laugh at me.” “I’m not laughing at you!” “You’re not laughing with me, either.”) before tiptoeing and pressing a kiss at his creased forehead.

Standing in front of him, just close enough to kiss, you carefully re-did his tie, humming gently. You were already mostly dressed up, with just your hair left to be done. He wanted to press a kiss at the crown of your heard and say you look so beautiful, but instead he held the words in with a thin crescent-moon smile he can feel all the way down his heart. The soft light in his eyes his unsaid I love you.

He trusted in your mind, your skill of reading him, of seeing right through his pretenses.

(He shouldn’t have.)

Because now, on the next day of the exhibit, he wishes he did. He watches you tie a ribbon onto your hair at the dresser, not meeting his eye even if he stares at you hard enough to bore a hole right through. He wishes he did, now that you barely spoke a word to him this morning, even if you’d shared a rather intimate night the night before night. He wishes he did, now that you don’t have even the heart to look back and see if he’s done his tie right today. He thinks of the way you’d pulled him down yesterday morning, his tie in your fist even though you’ve carefully tried to keep it unwrinkled at first, as you tiptoed to press a kiss on his lips, grinning wide when you got away.

Instead, the door creaks open, your hand on the doorknob; you’re not even looking at him. “I’ll just drink some water in the kitchen; I’ll see you in the entryway,” you say, rather blandly, and then leave the room.

The weight of his unsaid oh what would I do without you is painful and bitter on his tongue.

You feign sick on the day of the exhibit’s egress. Theo tucks you into bed and leaves. It feels way too easy, like Theo was also avoiding you.

You don’t know how long it’ll take before you finally get the courage to ask him—to talk to him about this. You know—the rational part of you knows things will be better, resolved faster, be easier if you’d just told him—but when your stomach goes into knots just seeing his eyes because you see them mirrored in the irises of a boy named after his brother, you are powerless to your fear.

You let the sight simmer at the back of your mind. You had thrown yourself into the business of the exhibit proper to actually think about this for the past few days, but today… today, alone in his bedroom, in the century you’d decided to stay in for him, you have all the time to think.

When he left this morning, you lingered in that goodbye embrace, not really wanting to let go.

The thoughts hang over you like storm clouds. Not wanting to be alone with your angry, paranoid inner voice, you settle for helping Sebastian throughout the day. You let yourself overthink when you’re lost in the rhythm of a chore. While hanging the laundry, you think, honestly? You’re not surprised to know that Theo had a family of his own when he was alive. As you’re scrubbing the dishes, you admire—you lament—how he’s capable, and steady, and charming, and has great passion for what he was doing. While smoothing bedsheets, you recall how quickly you loved him—you knew how easy it was to fall for a man like that.

Something green begins to seethe inside of your chest.

Theo is surrounded by patrons, in the middle of conversation with other art dealers who have come to visit (having heard of his prowess), but he doesn’t really feel like part of it. He feels like you should be there with him instead, knows you will be able to provide more interesting insights, but that was a luxury he could not bring himself to ask for.

“Monsieur van Gogh?” one of the businessmen call out to him, and Theo’s mind snaps back into place.

One of the older patrons laugh. “Tired? Forgiven, but only because we see your hard work right here.”

“Pardon, messieurs,” Theo says, fitting an awkward smile on his face. It doesn’t feel right. To smile. To act like he’s okay. “Where were we?”

“Monet, Monsieur Theodore,” a dealer named Desrosiers says. “We were talking about endorsing Monet.”

Theo nods, but only half-listens.

One of the better-kept secrets of the mansion is Sebastian’s collections of history books from the future.

Between that fateful conversation where Comte had offered to bring him back and ask him to work at the mansion and the door actually opening, Sebastian decided to do his best to prepare himself for the long-haul. A good move on his part, considering he was uprooting himself for good, into a world far into the past. Having been assured that all of the essentials will be provided to him in the mansion, all Sebastian really needed to bring with him was luxury items from the present: and he decided that a collection of history books on various topics would be the best option for a history nerd such as himself.

It was a secret (to everyone besides him, Comte, and you) because Sebastian felt like he would ultimately alter something inevitable if he had left his collection in the library, to the others’ prying eyes. The last thing Sebastian wants to do is mess with the history even more than the timeslipping of all these great figures already has.

For a moment, you consider tasting what it means to change history, returning to the sight in the gallery, but then you shut that train of thought down.

Not wanting to ask Sebastian himself about your relationship problems (as he was definitely more nosy than you’d want), you ask him, instead, if he has anything on hand about the van Goghs from the 21st century, where you both come from. At first he’s a little taken aback–you had said, “van Goghs”, and not, “Theo and Vincent”–but he quickly recovers and scribbles chapters and volumes and titles onto a sheet of paper.

(“You have it memorized?”

“Not completely, but those of relevance to the residents in the mansion, yes.”

That’s definitely more than just mere relevance, but you settle on thanking him and go find the books.)

You pore through the books with a dedication you’d never found before; the passion so strong you hardly really notice you’re doing it nearly entirely out of spite.

A book about the turn of the century has a short paragraph about the artists of the period. Gauguin (you flinch), Vincent, Toulouse-Lautrec. There’s no mention of Theo at all, much less his life. Relief floods you, but only momentarily. You put the book down.

You move to something a little closer to home: a book of influential artists across history–make a mental note to read this cover to cover the next time you have a chance to, just because of how useful it might be–and thumb to the end of the book to ‘v’ and find a short biography of Vincent. There is a mention about his having sold only a single painting while he was alive, thanks to his art-dealer brother—but then nothing else. There is no mention of his brother’s wife. You put the book down.

The last book is a biography of Vincent, lovingly annotated by Sebastian in pencil and with post-its from the future, its adhesive already giving away; you’re careful, making sure not a single one loses its place. The history fanatic has gone and marked the bits where history as you knew it diverges from the history this vampire Vincent knows. You thumb the post-it where Sebastian has written “gunshot” in his neat handwriting, carefully skimming through the page until you reach the arrow pointing at a paragraph that describes Theo’s death by what might be syphilis: worsened by the loss of his brother, weighing heavy on his shoulders, having been Vincent’s primary benefactor for the length of their lives.

The following text sears itself into your eyes.

His wife, Johanna van Gogh, worked after their deaths to establish the legacy of the van Gogh name.

You don’t really know what you’d expected to find, what you’d expected to feel when you found something, but you still are not prepared for the blow that hits you the moment you read her name.

She had no photos, no indication of anything else, but you see the beautiful woman in the gallery, so smart and proud and put-together, and you want to shrink into a small ball.

Would he be better off with her?

Well, no, because he’s left the Theo she knows, and now I have him, and she has no hold on him, you tell yourself, but your brain reminds you that you saw Theo’s expression in the young boy’s eyes and you’d caught her and Theo talking at the other end of the gallery, you just couldn’t bear to look more than the two seconds you’d seen them.

What did she tell Theo?

Did she recognize him?

What did Theo say?

What did he feel?

Why didn’t he bring this up to you?

Maybe… maybe for the same reasons you don’t bring it up to him.

Your hand, nearly on instinct, makes a move to close the book and put it away, but your heart is banging in your chest and you keep reading. Sebastian has no notes to supplement the text, just a curious “different?” written on the side; Theo has always been secretive, and it is unsurprising that the butler has been unable to unearth anything about the man’s wife. But you keep reading anyway, cautious as your mind blurs the space between history as you know it and the history you are currently living in.

You read about a night train home, Theo in a straitjacket.

You read about flowers she’d brought as a gift, and how he’d destroyed them instead.

You read about visits where he doesn’t recognize her.

You read about exhibits in Paris homes they no longer could occupy.

You read about graves.

Your heart is concrete in your chest, sinking deeper and deeper and making it hard to breathe.

You read the entire latter part of the book until there is no longer anything left to read.

Instead of full of the knowledge, the discovery, the things that make reading fun to begin with… you instead are empty, hollow. Like the text had instead carved something out of you; had taken it away.

With the vacuum of confusion sitting in your chest, you put the books back into their original places, making sure the wood keeping the wooden shelving hidden from sight is right in place.

You take the note from Sebastian and burn it on the flame of a lamp. You watch the paper slowly turns black, and drop it just before it sears your fingertips. Then you go to the garden to think.

Theo wanted the ability to say he didn’t go looking, but it was an urge he couldn’t really do much in resisting. Much to his—relief? delight? disappointment?—however, Johanna van Gogh-Bonger did not show up at the exhibit’s following four days. He confirms this fact with the logbooks, leather-bound and heavy, carrying his secrets, like how he inspects it so carefully now that you’re not around, when no one is left in the gallery, artists carrying out chairs and tables. It feels like a crime, the way he runs his thumb over her signature at the first page. It feels like going back.

And just like that, the exhibit closes without any other incident.

(Except it doesn’t really feel finished, not when Theo’s feels a hollow in his chest.)

He wonders what you’re doing back at home.

How long were they married? Was that their kid? Did Theo know? Did he choose the name? He must have, knowing him, but–

Does it make a difference about how much he loves me?

You know for a fact that the first person you should have gone to was Theo.

But you don’t, because you were too afraid to do so. Too afraid to hear the truth from him, and then maybe find something else out. Something worse. You don’t even know what that could be but it eats you up on the inside, clawing underneath your eyelids like a saltwater monster.

“Why are you looking so down, zusje?”

You hadn’t noticed Vincent coming out to the garden, lugging with him his usual art materials when he’s going out to paint. Perspective frame, canvas, a small seat, toolbox (with his brushes and paint), sketchpad, and some rouge. He also has a little gas lamp with him–so he must plan to stay out long. You’ve still yet to get used to Vincent calling you his sister.

It comes out of your mouth before it registers with you. “Can I come with you?”

“Of course,” Vincent answers after a short pause of surprise. You hadn’t answered his question, after all–and this was all so sudden. Everything is so sudden.

You take five minutes to sprint back to the mansion to tell Sebastian and to pick up a book to read before you’re walking next to Vincent. You volunteer to carry the little stool and his canvas (“it’s heavy!” “no, I swear, its not—Theo and I carry paintings all the time!”) and the two of you walk side by side. He’s on the way to the overlook, he says, to paint the city in the twilight, as night begins to fall. Now that you’re a little more knowledgeable about the art world, you get to have discussions with Vincent about art techniques, styles, and even other painters–you spend the walk to the overlook talking to each other about this and that.

It’s always lovely to lose yourself in art.

Until… you lose.

Vincent tries to steer the conversation toward talking about the exhibit, but noticing your dull half-answers, he decides not to push. He pats your head in comfort–his big-brother I’m here to listen if you need–and then returns to talking about anything else.

The both of you get to the overlook with just enough time to set up before the beautiful flaming red of twilight begins to cover the streets of Paris in a warm glow. You help Vincent set his painting materials in order and when that’s done, he helps you lay out the picnic mat he brought with him and–oh! Sebastian packed him sandwiches he eagerly offers you.

You like to watch Vincent paint. The time you’ve spent with Theo helping out with his art dealership work has definitely sharpened your senses about painting and art—and, naturally, you’ve cultivated an undeniable adoration for Vincent’s painting style as well. You’ve learned so much of art history—the Classical painters, Renaissance, the Impressionists… and you’re sure Theo is right in saying that Vincent is the genius of a new generation. Rough, and hurried, as if the moment he’s painting will disappear any second now. You’re entranced by his work. You’re entranced by him working. You don’t dare interrupt him during the process.

But when he pauses to let his paint dry a little, putting down the palette and the brush and the paint, you let your curiosity get the best of you.

“Have you ever fallen in love, Vincent?”

Like waking up from a trance, Vincent’s voice is hazy. “Me?” He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Not me, you hear, in your mind, filling the blanks.

Vincent turns to you, blond hair tussled in the wind, sky blue eyes wide in concern. “Why?”

You purse your lips.

Maybe you should have gone to Theo instead. Taking it out on his brother, this is just unfair of you, isn’t it?

“Did something happen at the exhibit?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek.

Vincent watches you pensively.

“Is it Theo?”

A tear slides down your cheek without permission, without you noticing, right to the ground. Your eyes hurt.

“I don’t want to know,” you start. “Knowing makes it harder. I wish I didn’t know.”

Confused, Vincent gets off his stool to sit on the picnic mat with you, wiping his hands on his apron. “Know about what?”

It takes all your strength to look up at Vincent.

“Tell me about Johanna?”

The sun’s long out of the sky when the exhibit’s egress finally finishes, paintings and chairs and tables stuffed into rented carriages and wagons to be brought back to their home in the atelier. Some of the artists are cheering and laughing, talking about planning to drink in celebration afterwards. One of them slings an arm around Theo’s shoulders, inviting him to join them.

And Theo knows—Theo knows at that exact moment what he should have done. He should have said no, I’m going with you, should have said we’ll go drinking some other time, you baiseurs. They will forgive him; they know how in love he is with you. They respect your relationship, and they will tease, but they will let him go. Theo knows he could have done better. Theo knows he should have gone home and asked to talk to you. Should have sat you down in his room, held you in his arms, and attempted to put the constricting feeling in his throat into words.

Theo knows, but he doesn’t.

Because he doesn’t have the courage to face you yet.

So instead, he goes drinking with the artists. Tries not to think of you alone to the mansion, sinking deep into the la thermae under the light of the stars, staring at yourself with that empty gaze in the mirror in his room. If you could even stomach being in his room, anymore.

He focuses on the sight in front of him: reveling in the artists’ conversations, brightened by the successful exhibit, their dreams of the future; their ambitions glimmer a fierce gold so opposite to the flickering light of the shady bar they’d landed in.

Being able to follow his own aspirations with you next to him has felt like that, so similar, to strikingly familiar in its brightness, that he’d lost himself in its light so easily, finding himself easily tripping on wisps of darkness he hadn’t imagined were growing from the source of his light itself.

And by god, I will stumble, but I will not let that stop me.

That’s what he always tells himself.

But how does one pick oneself up after this?

What does one do?

Why did this happen?

The alcohol burns a hot stripe, like a punishment, down his throat.

Theo comes home late that night, smelling like whiskey. You smile at him as if you hadn’t spent the better part of the day nursing the bruising parts of you. Theo kisses you goodnight and rolls over to his side, facing away.

(He hadn’t left you in your bed tonight, but with his back turned to you, you feel as hollow as that night he did.)

You let your eyes wander to the moonlight leaving streaks on the bedroom wall. You think of the woman who Theo kept coming home to. You think of children.

(“Be happy, even in somewhere I don’t know,” he had said.)

You close your eyes and dream of fireflies.

---

you are still the sun that shines for me is a 5-chapter fic that will be posted daily for the next few days! catch what else is in the atelier later on in this fic. :)

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire theo #ikevam theo #fic #atelier heart #you are still the sun that shines for me

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meldelen · 4 years

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The Witcher comics - Some kind of review

Just finished the fourth volume of the newest Witcher comics and I thought I’d share some personal impressions. Of course, these being just my humble opinion from my inexperience, in general, in the comics world.

The Witcher: House of Glass (Volume I)

Nothing special, unfortunately. It’s merely one standalone adventure of Geralt of Rivia that at most could resemble a side-quest among the thousands you find in the games. The original idea - a widowed hunter stalked by the vengeful ghost of his murdered wife - isn’t bad per se, but doesn't seem particularly well written to me. I'm sure there are much better fanfics in the community.

Still, the illustrations are worse. I’m not an expert in comics but I know a bit about art and they look honestly ugly to me. The characters appear unfriendly, disproportionate... with their heads too large and their arms too narrow or long. Even the level of detail changes randomly: for example, there’s a female character, the succubus, who in her first appearance is seen with horns and wings and then is no longer seen like this anymore, appearing as a human woman.

There are many filler scenes that son’t contribute anything to the story but mere dialogue, in addition to two moments of Geralt fucking someone because of course, it is what Geralt always does, to make some woman (even if she’s a succubus) end up falling between his legs.

Otherwise, a marketable product, quite forgettable. Only for die-hard fans of The Witcher who don't mind spending some bucks to add something else to their collection. But I couldn't say I recommend it.

The Witcher: Fox Children (Volume 2)

Although essentially my review does not change much from that of the first volume, House of Glass, I give one more star to Fox Children for a very simple reason: the story is better, and it is because it’s Sapkowski's original story.

Those who have read Season of Storms, the prequel to The Witcher saga and the latest book published by the Polish author, will have realized that this story is copy-pasted from the book, with very few and insignificant modifications. However, nowhere is it mentioned that the story is originally written by Sapko - despite being recognized as the author of The Witcher - and therefore the story is good compared to the previous volume.

So it's really not true that Paul Tobin wrote this comic, because even the text is almost copy-pasted from Season of Storms. As for the drawing, it’s still as unfriendly and bland as in the first volume. Fortunately in the third volume they have already changed illustrators.

I would only recommend this comic to The Witcher fans who enjoy the story of the fox and the kidnapped girl on the boat crossing the Pontar swamp that you already know from the book. Otherwise, a fairly dispensable and irrelevant product. The cover, yes, is very beautiful.

The Witcher: Curse of Crows (Volume 3)

This third volume from The Witcher series is slightly better than the previous ones, for many reasons. In the first place, the drawing, without being extraordinary, improves considerably compared with House of Glass and Fox Children, thereby benefiting from the change of illustrator - that while still being a bit flat, expressionless and simple.

Second, the story greatly benefits from the appearance of Ciri and Yennefer. What's more, I would say that the protagonist of the story is Ciri, more than Geralt. Fans of games and books are left wanting to see more joint adventures of the two witchers, particularly on the Path, making contracts. And this is precisely what this comic brings you: Ciri and Geralt are commissioned to kill a striga in Novigrad. During this mission, they join Yennefer. We already have the complete family.

Unfortunately, the story doesn't add much quality. It seems that the author is dedicated to improvising page by page, with quite strange twists in which the characters change direction, make abrupt and unexpected decisions, abandon missions or contracts without finishing to get into other troubles. Shows lack of cohesion between the events that are happening. It looks like anything written had been drawn first and added to those images later.

The number of times Ciri takes a bath during the comic is ridiculous, it doesn't add anything to the story and it only exists with the excuse that you can see her naked, something the games never did. The number of times Yennefer bathes, as well, with the same reasons. As for Geralt, you only get to see him a couple of times bathing and well, you get to see his buttocks in one scene, but comparatively he cleans himself little - or is interested in cleaning little - compared to his adventure companions.

In the end, the story of the striga - which in the end is not even a striga - is diluted in a lot of filler scenes, without relevance, which are only to fill pages. It is a little cheeky what the author takes advantage of the original work of Sapko - as he did in the previous volume! - because a good part of the comic is based on repeating the story of the striga that he disenchanted, Princess Adda, daughter of King Foltest.

3 stars for a comic that is more sympathetic than the previous ones for a better drawing, for Ciri and Yennefer, and because it’s entertaining to see Ciri punching the men of the taverns who dare to disturb her - something she does on several occasions - . But in the end, it is neither an extraordinary illustration nor the story goes beyond the level of bad fanfic.

It is a shame that these comics are limited to being a side marketing product. With a good writer and a better illustrator they would have a much better potential. Still, I can't say I regret reading them - but I won't be running for volume 4 either.

The Witcher: Of Flesh And Flame (Volume 4)

By far the best of the four volumes that have been published so far from The Witcher saga in comic format. The previous three, unfortunately, are quite forgettable... neither the drawing - which was clearly ugly in the first volume and quite forgettable in the following two - nor the story - boring, flat and cliche, which perpetuates many sexist clichés that the original lore sometimes suffers from - motivated me to keep reading this series.

And suddenly it turns out that I see some panels of this number four and I decide, for the last time, to give it a try. And I was right! This new issue is written and illustrated by two new artists - two women - and although gender should not determine, the fact is that it does. Not only the drawing for the first time is good - beautiful, engaging, and immersive - but also the story is engaging and logical, diverse and interesting.

Most of the action takes place in Ofir, a southern kingdom to which Geralt is accidentally transported along with his friend Jaskier, the bard. Jaskier's introduction as a minor character - or rather, co-star, because he plays an essential role in the story - is a total success, and the reason why I decided to read the issue. But for the first time the character of the bard is totally useful and decisive for the plot, giving a dignity to the character who exercises a relevant function using his natural abilities - singing, poetry, oratory and his skills as a spy and conspirator - to boost the plot. The sexist and problematic elements of the lore are absent in this issue, which the two artists handle skillfully and with good taste without giving up the sensual and erotic overtones that are typical of The Witcher's universe. Finally, the story is entertaining and well spun, it has a correct development and a coherent ending, without appearing forced or a mere concatenation of situations copied from books and games, as it happens with the three previous numbers.

In short, highly recommended for all fans of The Witcher and definitely a boost for comic series. I would recommend Dark Horse not to get rid of these two authors and artists, because it was definitely what the saga needed, a refreshing and balanced new take, that treats the characters correctly without falling for clichés.

The only reason I don't give it all five stars is that some fight scene - one or two, no more - seems forced and shoehorn into you to watch Geralt cope. And the use of a couple of flashbacks of video games that, although interesting, do not contribute to the plot either. Otherwise perfect. A total success. If you continue with this team, sign me up.

#the witcher #comics #house of glass #fox children #the curse of the crows #of flesh and flame #dark horse comics #norma editorial #characters #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #ciri #jaskier #reviews #my reviews

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dank-hp--memes · 3 years

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Storytime

Hello to all of my beautiful and kind followers, I know I have been rather inactive for a while. I have been lacking inspiration to continue my writing, art, and science related posts. But I have been thinking about this thing I went through a few years ago and I just need to put it out into the world because maybe my story will help someone else who has experienced something similar not feel so alone. I am also going to put a trigger warning here because I suppose this could b potentially triggering to some people.

Also, I am not sure I will keep this post up, because I am so afraid to share this story.

--Trigger Warning--

So this was around 2 years ago, I was like 15/16. I was really really into American revolution history and shows. I watched Turn:Washington's spies, and I listened to so much Hamilton. I also had begun writing a fan fic about an OC I wrote into the time. I had started an Instagram page and posted about history. At some point, I had labeled my character to be a fictional lover of Lafayette. I ended up in this role play community, no not like BDSM role play, like storytelling esque. I dedicated my insta page to my OC and role-playing with someone from a Lafayette page. I had never disclosed my age, only stating that I was a minor early on. This person was well over 20, they were 29 I believe. They were obsessive about me replying and if I didn't reply right away they would get upset. This person was a woman. I am not tagging them or naming them, not that I believe I even know their real name. I got rather depressed. Sure I was enjoying playing out these story scenarios with groups and even getting to know some of the people who were actually nice. Not that I message any of them anymore. But slowly, the person who was my Lafayette became so much more controlling. They used to have more personal posts up like way back in their insta feed and those were suddenly gone and they were claiming to be this Lafayette reenactor. I knew the truth, but for some stupid reason I played along in private, never in a group setting though. Oh to be young and naive...

It became too much when I got a message from someone, who I will call George, who told me that this person was claiming I was their wife, this scared the shit out of me. George, who I believed to be someone around my age, told me that this person had been messaging younger girls claiming to be a semi-famous Lafayette reenactor, and that they were planning a meet up with these girls around my age (so minors). Now, after over a year of being manipulated emotionally by this person through the internet, I was done. I knew from the beginning they were a liar and that they were crazy. Why I didn't cut them off sooner I cannot explain. Actually I can, I thought of them as a friend... and they said they would kill themselves when I had previously expressed that I wanted to leave. (Can anybody say "red flags"?) I thought I needed them in my life and I did not want to have their blood on my hands. To continue, George and I ended up getting into contact with the real Lafayette reenactor via Email. The real reenactor made a post on Twitter about them never using Instagram and that this person was a fake. I posted this on my page and got messages from the toxic person begging me to take the email screenshot and the tweet screenshot down. They threatened to kill themselves and sent me videos of like a dark screen and it was just them crying. I did not take the posts down, but I did end up deleting the whole insta account after that person just would not stop trying to contact me. Even going to far as to find my personal socials and trying to follow me. I should have informed the cops then and there. I was 16 and afraid I would get in trouble. And thats where it ended. That person is still alive and still active on their little Lafayette socials. So please, everyone be smarter than me.

I know there are loads of people who have experienced things like this, and I just hope that me sharing somehow helps you feel less alone. And I hope that it helps other people understand why many of us are very very cautious and don't open up, especially minors and young adults. Also to all of the more adulty adults who have been doing the adulting for a while, please remember that if you hand young adult or minor internet friends, its okay to parent sometimes because we don't always want to share everything with our real parents. And I wish I had someone to tell me that I had to cut that internet friend off early on. But, I have lived and I have learned. I am much more cautious on the internet now, and I am much more wary of manipulation, which I have experienced way too much of, even recently, but I caught it and stopped it.

Thank you to everyone who reads this and has the energy to comment. I love knowing im not alone and I really do love every comment all of my more adulty internet adult friends leave. Yall make me feel great, and I read do also appreciate your advice and support, being a rather new adult.

#personal shit #this was hard #manipulation #childhood trauma

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kiatheinsomniac · 4 years

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G O D S A U

Defluxit Cieux (Faded Heavens)

Realm of the tragic gods, their environments reflect their struggles which have overcome many parts of themselves.

Soul for Sale

Arno: God of the arts (also mourning and justice)

In life, she had been the greatest artist: her pieces were in galleries and noble’s homes all over the world for their photo-like realism. Everyone knew her name, knew at least ten of her works. Her art graced every gallery and inspired millions.

But this came at a price.

(Y/n) had sold her soul to the god of the arts in exchange for five years to become the greatest artist history would ever see. There had been a few rules: no cheating death when it came knocking and she could only dedicate herself to art and art alone — she had sold her soul to him so no one else could have her.

She had once painted canvases but, when she died, she had painted the floor under the crushing weight of a chandelier at a venue.

The artist had been confused, to begin with. She wondered and wondered until the world faded to black, worried that she had become lost.

But, she had found herself standing in a stream of wine among the dark mist of the world between the flesh and the world of the spirit. She followed that stream, staining her skin as her feet sloshed through it, until it led her to a grand door.

Upon crossing the threshold, labouring to push the heady door open, she was greeted by slow clapping.

“Here’s the great artist at last.” A man’s voice called out with a smile.

There, seated on a throne, was the god she had sold her soul to. He wore rich clothing in deep blues and the room seemed to have a midnight glow to it. Everything looked like it had been pulled from the Baroque period and (Y/n) adored it.

She hurried over to the throne and fell to her knees at the steps, bowing her head.

“Thank you.” She whispered, voice trembling in awe, “I’ve made my home among history books.”

“And were you satisfied?” He leaned forwards to capture her chin with his fingers, raising her eyes to meet his.

A series of memories flickered through her head like the flashes of cameras she had known so well in life. Canvas tearing, paint splattering, glasses being smashed, statues’ clay faces being smeared and smothered, soft pillows and wet cheeks, hours spent sitting down in the shower.

“I was.” She replied. The god smiled knowingly and released her chin, leaning back then looking down at her.

“You can’t lie to me, (Y/n). I’ve been watching you since we made that deal.”

“All the time?” Her eyes widened. He tossed his head around playfully as he thought.

“Most of the time.” He reached for a glass of red wine which seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “You’ll be taken away for the next hour or so before we begin.”

“Begin what?” She furrowed her brows.

“We had a deal. Deals are only made when there is a benefit for both parties, non?” A french accent slipped past his lips as he regarded her with a sense of melancholy almost.

“I let you slip past my fingers once and now you’ve come back to me, bound yourself to me. I won’t let you leave again. You’ll be satisfied this time, I promise.” He reached out to cup her face, thumb caressing her cheek affectionately.

Her eyes widened slightly as she was pulled to her feet. Statues of marble, cold as snow and soft as cotton, plucked her up by her arms and began carrying her away.

“What do you mean?” She blurted out, confused.

“Welcome home.” He simply smiled. Her dark brows furrowed over her steel blue eyes, even more confused than before.

—————

The Gods were less divine than they wished to seem. They were immortal, powerful, yes. But they were always victim to their own emotions. Fear that she would leave had devoured him, longing for her to return had tortured him and regret for ever letting her go in the first place had haunted him for nearly three decades.

But she was back now and he wouldn’t lose her again.

So, she sat at his feet. Black silk pooled around her, the dark colour a striking contrast against her pale skin. Sterling painted a thin layer around her ankles and wrists, the thinnest and strongest of chains connecting her to him, phasing through whatever object she may try to break them with.

A silver band, encrusted with glittering garnets decorated her ring finger.

In the flesh that came with new life, she had forgotten who she had been in spirit: the goddess of desire and fixation. She had been married to the god of the arts but, being the divinity of desire, nothing was ever enough. She had snuck away from him to lead a life among living mortals, leaving behind everything in search of more. But she hadn’t been able to change her nature of fixation: art. It was her passion.

In flesh as in spirit, she had been willing to do anything to harness the most beautiful art that the world had to give. To begin with, she had collected it. But it wasn’t enough. She began to create her own art, but it wasn’t good enough. She eventually began to pray to the god of the arts, hoping he would bless her with all the skill she needed to be the very best.

This is how he had found her again. For years, he had been grief stricken by the disappearance of his wife, mourning her and longing for her to return. She had left him as so many others had. However, in finding her, he had come up with a new idea: to trick her into binding herself to him so that she would never leave him again.

Everything had gone to plan and the only catch was the five years in which he had to wait for her. But she was here now. And she wouldn’t leave.

Her head fell against his knee and he reached down to stroke her hair affectionately. She hummed and turned her face to him. Her hair had grown a lot since she had died to be with him again: it now fell to her waist in loose curls and she realised that her new desire was him. Her chin became propped on his knee while she looked at him over the thick book on his lap.

The pages were battered and worn: as old as the first play, the first note of a song, the first sign of art.

“I’m tired.” She mumbled against his leg, feeling him smile, even without looking up. She could hear the pages of the book close before he leaned down to pull her onto his lap, her silk skirts pouring over the both of them like black gold.

She rested her head against his shoulder while her hand went up to gently caress the side of his face. He pushed her hair back behind her ear and smiled softly at her as she nuzzled her face against him.

“I want to start writing plays.” She hummed as he lifted her up bridal style and carried her out of the throne room.

“No you don’t.” He chuckled softly, allowing servants to open any doors that stood in his way while his wife leaned against his chest. He knew that if she started writing, she wouldn’t be able to stop and it would consume her. “Why don’t we get you some more paintings?”

She smiled contentedly at the idea of this, “I want ones with flowers and women in pretty satin dresses.” She mused as he sat her down on the bed and delicately slid the dark dress off her body, the midnight silk slipping over her creamy skin, leaving her in deep burgundy lace.

She sat there patiently, picturing what paintings she could add to her vast collection while Arno undressed himself.

(Y/n) was often mistaken for the goddess of art, leaving people to believe Arno was the god of theatre and music. But this misconception was created by art being the fixation goddess’s very fixation. She sat and pondered over how many people still believed it. She felt the mattress dip and turned over to cuddle up to her lover, feeling his large hands splay down her back soothingly, pressing her against his body.

She laid there, in the comfort of their romantically lit room, thinking. She was adorned in rich fabrics and fine jewels every day but she wanted more, needed more, desired more. Yet she also desired nothing more than him at once. It was a complex balance which she was yet to figure out.

“Arno?” She murmured against his chest. He tilted his head down to show that she had his attention. (Y/n) shifted slightly to prop her chin on his chest in order to meet those dark brown eyes. “Why did I leave? All I want is you but all I want is more? Why did I leave you behind?”

He let out a thoughtful sigh as his eyes closed in order to piece his mind together. They had already established that she could recall nothing of her previous life with him, just the life which she spent as a mortal.

“Because you’re difficult to please, chérie; and it’s not your fault. Your desires and fixations are at war — they go perfectly yet clash at the same time. I failed to give you my attention: I neglected you, failed to show my love to you, failed to even give you more than an hour of my time per week. With your desire gone, your fixation took over and you left to chase a life of art.”

He watched her (e/c) orbs fill with tears and her lower lip tremble. “I’m sorry that I left you for all those years. I didn’t know.”

He pushed her hair behind her ear, coaxing her to lay her head against his chest. His fingers glided down her arm to the silver cuffs that were melted onto her immortal skin — no latch nor key could open them.

“Don’t apologise. It’s ok now because I won’t repeat my mistake. And I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

—————

The story varies from here: some say that they continued to live happily, others say that he had put her in a trance so that she wouldn’t leave and some even say he killed her after that moment. Only the gods themselves know.

#arno dorian #arno dorian x reader #arno dorian imagine #assassins creed #assassins creed unity #gods au #au #assassins creed au

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islcreyes · 4 years

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[ cindy kimberly . twenty . cis female . she/her ] just saw ISLA REYES dragging their suitcase up the steps to CABIN 2B . good luck living with HER , i hear that that they’re UNORGANIZED , IMPULSIVE , EFFERVESCENT & AMICABLE . Apparently they’re the WINGER LEFT . let’s hope the upcoming season doesn’t affect their JUNIOR year of ART ADMINISTRATION [ marci, twenty-one, she/her, est ]

hi everyone ! i’m marci and i’m super excited to share isla with all of you. i didn’t have enough time to flesh out her character so excuse my limited detail of her. if you like what you see though, like this post or message me so we can plot together !

stats !

FULL NAME ― isla reyes NICKNAMES ― lala, reyes BIRTHDATE ― november 12th, 1999 AGE ― twenty years old ZODIAC ― scorpio GENDER ― cis female PRONOUNS ― she/her ORIENTATION ― closeted bisexual

background !

isla was born to mateo and amaia reyes on november 12th, 1999. her father is a mechanic at a family owned auto body shop, while her mother worked as a secretary in some law firm the last time they saw her. isla was only two years old when amaia reyes abandoned her family, leaving a crumpled note in her absence explaining why she left. isla’s father was absolutely heartbroken, more so for his young daughter than himself, devastated that isla would lack a maternal figure in her life.

because of this, mateo made a great effort to compensate for his wife’s neglect by dedicating as much time as he could towards isla. with the help of his buddies from the auto shop and their families, isla grew up feeling more love and care towards her than most children do. mateo’s tremendous dedication towards his daughter resulted in the pair growing to become the best of friends. to this day, isla loves and appreciates the relationship she shares with her dad knowing it took a great deal of love and sacrifice to raise her alone. she often admits to him being her first love and places him in the highest of pedestals.

it’s actually because of her dad that isla became such a great soccer player. following his buddies’ advice, mateo signed isla up for a local kids soccer league in order to give her a distraction. isla had a great affinity towards the sport and was a natural at it too. her father noticed this and quickly began to pour all of his energy into making sure isla had everything she needed to become the best player possible. their mutual goal was to get her noticed by recruiters so that she could receive a full ride to college, which they accomplished through hollis university.

extras !

-- isla got into drawing and art in general from spending days at her dad’s shop just doodling away. because he couldn’t afford a babysitter for her, isla often just tagged along with him at work and kept herself busy by drawing. she would often draw the cars that were in the shop and “pimp” them out, until she grew out of it and began to draw the people who were in the shop instead. aside from soccer, drawing is one of isla’s favorite hobbies and the reason she’s majoring in art administration. she often dreams about owning her own art gallery someday.

-- growing up isla was a bit of a tomboy due to her dad not really knowing what little girls liked. he would try his best to dress her up and do her hair, but eventually gave up when isla saw his struggle and asked him to stop. it wasn’t until she befriended a few girls in high school that isla learned to be a little more feminine. these girls proudly took her under their wing and taught her the ways of being a “girl”. she soon learned how to apply makeup properly and shop for clothes that accentuated her body instead of hiding it. this transformation garnered attention from boys who use to see her as nothing more than their friend and gave teenage isla a tremendous boost of confidence.

-- since being accepted to hollis, isla can at times forget that her position on the team isn’t permanent. although she isn’t a slacker and takes school seriously, isla is extremely unorganized and often makes impulsive decisions regarding her social life that affect her negatively on the field. all the pressure that’s put on the players to succeed this year frustrates isla and leads to her forgetting why she even participates in the sport. if it weren’t for her natural talent, isla would have been benched already; however, if she doesn’t get her shit together soon she’ll lose her starting position.

connections !

click here to find my wanted connections page. please don’t feel limited to these though, we can come up with anything together !

#hollis.intro #hi hi hi hi hi !!#if u wanna plot hmu ;)

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magnoliawhetstone · 4 years

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task eight - high school never ends

Let’s start with the simple stuff first. what classes did you take in high school? which ones were you most and least excited for? did you have a favorite teacher that made the days more enjoyable?

Lia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Talking about high school--especially after Jack and her’s conversation--was not her idea of a good time. The blonde played with her fingers and took a deep breath. “Classes? Uhm, well--I took all the usuals. Math, Biology, History--oh, English.” A smile slowly unfolded over her face. “English was always my favorite. Mrs. Buchanan--she was the kindest woman. I always thought I might end up like her one day. She had such a way of pulling you into the story. I remember one day, we were reading The Great Gastby and the way she was asking us to think about the story really...put me there. Like I was in the car with Daisy and Gatsby. I could feel the anguish they felt over Myrtle, the panic and the fear. It was...spectacular.” Lia shook herself out of her memory and cleared her throat. “I also took French mais ça n'avait pas de sens puisque ma famille n'est jamais allée en france.” She giggled slightly. “Ah, still have it. I didn’t much like math--I wasn’t really good at it. That had always been more of Bennett’s thing.” A sigh passed through her lips and she looked down. “I wasn’t going to college, so my momma and dad didn’t much care if I took harder classes or not, so I didn’t do many honors or AP. I convinced them to let me do English though--at the time I thought I could also convince them to let me to school for it too.” That fight still seared in her memory, the embarrassment of having to be reminded her place still hot in her heart. “Favorite teacher? Mrs. Buchanan. She’s a special lady--I hope she’s doing well.”

and now, outside of the classroom. did you participate in any extracurricular activities like sports, band, or other clubs? were you apart of the prom planning committee or did your parent always sign up to chaperone field trips? or did you bolt home or to work at the end of the day?

Magnolia let out a hearty laugh at this question. “Extracurriculars--no ma’am. The Barnes don’t do extracurriculars. At least, not me. In fact, I do believe my momma once said that school was my extracurricular. Because if I wasn’t at school, you’d better believe I’d be practicing baton twirling, question and answers, pageant walks, doing some sort of philanthropy for the local community--anything that made me look more of a queen material. I’d practice for hours a way twirling that stupid...” She blinked, realizing the aggression that had taken over her voice. “I mean, no--no time. Momma said that a pageant queen has to be motivated and dedicated to her craft, so I spent a lot of time practicing.” Another smile found its way to her lips. “But, when I did have free time, I was usually hanging out with Jack. Maybe riding horses or learning to cook from his momma or--if Jack wasn’t around--hanging by the old oak tree behind our houses on the tire swing, just thinking. i couldn’t get a lot of thoughts out inside my house, so i had to find a place to do it outside. I loved that old tire swing, she and i had some mighty good memories.” She felt a few southern saying slipping in to her words and she took a deep breath. “But no, I wasn’t involved in high school very much. I mean, it was hard to be involved when you left halfway through, right?”

a night to remember. did you go to prom? if so, did you have a date or fly solo, and was it a good time where you danced all night, and what were you wearing? if not, did you have an ‘anti-prom’ party, or why else did you decide not to go? what about other school dances or pep rallies?

Lia swallowed thickly. She did not want to think about prom right now. Her mind flew to the pale blue dress in her closest and she closed her eyes. Prom. Prom was supposed to be the thing. Their thing--Jack and Lia’s. How much time they had spent coordinating colors, figuring out small little things, even way before they were even allowed to go. Lia had always been a planner and she had kinda pulled Jack in on the whole ‘planning from prom early’ train. She never showed him her dress though--partly because she was embarrassed she had even ordered it so early but also because she wanted it to a be a surprise. She hadn’t even told him she had gotten it yet. Lia had pages filled with ideas for what her hair could look like, shoes could be and even what kind of make up she’d do. The blonde was so meticulous at making sure prom would be nothing like the pageants she had been attending her whole life. Not a single thing matched the pagaents--her dress would be completely different, her hair? curled and loose--and no tiara at all. she wouldn’t even attempt to submit herself for royalty--she just wanted a night that was just...simple and fun. She wanted to enjoy music and dancing and just be a teenager for one four hour experience before she had to go back to the world she lived in.

The day she learned she’d be leaving--and not coming back, a part of her snapped. It wasn’t dramatic and it wasn’t explosive, but lia had changed that day. Her father had packed up her room, and already driven off to FedEx to have it shipped off. He didn’t seem to notice or care that the large garment bag was doing in her closet. It all just..went. No questions. No conversation. Her mother was stone cold like she always was. “I will not have a daughter who is bent on grabbing the wrong kind of attention in my household. Do you understand what it might look like if this got out? That your little charade could cost your father the speaker of the house, even. Do you know how that would make us all look. Perhaps Bennett will lose his full ride? Do you want that? How would you feel knowing you cost your brother Princeton? No, no that just won’t do. London will be perfect, no one will know you there and you can start over. Maybe chose to leave the dramatic’s behind? No one needs to know why you left, Magnolia. No one. Don’t cause any more damage than you already have. I’m tired of cleaning up your messes.” Lia closed her eyes, biting her lip at the memory of that day.

“I didn’t go to prom.”

Some more of the hard hitting q’s. who did you sit with at lunch? did you keep the lock off your locker or decorate it? were your headphones always snaked through your sleeve? was cutting class a normal occurrence or would you never dare? did you ever get detention?

“Freshman and sophomore year, I ate lunch with Jack, Sarah Beth, Hannah and Lila. Probably some other people, and those girls kinda rotated in and out as they pleased, but Jack and I usually ate together for the most part. When I moved, I liked to eat alone. In my room mostly, probably reading a book or something. By the end of boarding school I had started eating lunch with Bex, which was nice. She didn’t like to talk a whole lot but neither did I. Though, in our small conversations, I learned she liked to blow glass and create really cool art pieces. She always promised to show me but we just never got around to it.” Fingers tapped on the table. “I was a boring high school kid--never skipped, never got detention and when I did go to the headmaster’s office, it was because I had gotten a good grade or impressed my teacher.” There was a time though, when she was asked about applying for colleges. Lia had told her teacher she wasn’t going and it had sent a wave of concern through the older woman. So Lia had gotten called to the headmasters office and she had to explain that she wasn’t to go to college, her parents wouldn’t pay for it and she knew her grades were good, but not scholarship level. Her headmaster kept telling her she had potential, but on the day that she was sent away, she had stopped really believing what people said about her, at least in that way. She didn’t think it really mattered. It was such an uncomfortable conversation because the tables had been flipped--but Lia was firm. College wasn’t meant for people like her. Luckily, she had found a job with Mr. Worthington shortly after graduating--and sometimes she thinks she’s learned more in her personal assistant role than she would have at school.

upward and onward. what did you want to be when you were sixteen? was there a career path in mind, a certain college, another route worth taking? were you excited to see your high school in the rearview mirror or was moving on bittersweet? if you graduated, was it scary or exciting or a mix of both? did you end up where your younger self expected you to?

What did she want to be when she was sixteen? “What did I want to be or what did my mother want me to be?” A humorless laugh escaped her lips and she felt herself lower her guard for a moment. “I wanted to be a writer. Or an English teacher--I really loved Mrs. Buchanan. But really, I wanted to write. Poetry, a novel, a screenplay, it didn’t matter. There was nothing I loved more than putting pen to paper and letting the words flow right out of me. It was so...” thereapuetic? “relaxing. But Momma wanted me to be a wife--even had a whole plan to get me there.” Her laugh was different this time--softer, more gentler. Her mind went to when Mrs. Barnes told Lia that she had already picked out the person she was going to marry. Lia had just come home from school, running up the stairs to throw her practice clothes on before her mother could yell at her for running late. But instead Momma stopped her before she could make it to the stairs, and pulled her in the kitchen. Lia tensed--kitchen talks were never good. When she had heard that her mother had picked out her future husband, Lia felt a rare sense of fight arise in her and she was ready to go off...until her mother expressed who it was. “Jack?” She blinked, completely thrown aback. “Like--lives right next door, rides horses and is like a cowboy, my best friend Jack?” What shocked her the most was how...well, how much she wasn’t bothered at all by the idea? Perhaps there was more to that then what she understood at the time, but for the first time in a long time--she wasn’t mad that her momma had made a choice for her. “Y’know, I think that was the one thing Momma did right.” She said softly, running a hand through her hair. “But no--I mean, college wasn’t in the cards for me and when I got sent away, it was up to me to figure things out. And looks like neither one of those futures really worked out, huh?”

and last but not least. if you could tell your younger self one thing - what would it be?

“Say no and don’t you dare get in that car Magnolia.”

#malnatitask #[[homecoming queen?; headcannons]]#well that was...fun

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