#OUGH the luc...

[parasitic-saint]

🧍✌️rewatching tng

[devoursjohnlock]

I was tagged by the lovely and talented @goldenhare and @fieryphrazes to share my top 9 new-to-me movies of the year—I will definitely be raiding your lists to add to mine! Titles are in poster order, not ranked or anything. I've been working my way through a long list of 60s films this year, and had a hard time remembering any recent ones to add (you don't want to know how close I came to including Goncharov). Anyway, these have been the standouts! I'm really struggling not to write little reviews here.

Alphaville (1965) dir. Jean-Luc Godard

Anatomy of a Fall (2023) dir. Justine Triet. You'll all know this one, but it was such a pleasure to watch without any knowledge of what it was about.

War and Peace (1966-1967) dir. Sergei Bondarchuk. Yes, this was over 7 hours long, but what of it? What fascinated me about this film is that it was conceived sort of in retaliation against the 1956 American film starring Audrey Hepburn, which was a big hit. Surely the Russians could interpret this story better! And they were right, they could and did. The other thing is that the director cast himself in the lead romantic role, despite being too old for the part, because again, he was convinced no one else could do it justice. Knowing this, I assumed I would dislike his performance, but I was wrong.

Revenge of a Kabuki Actor (1963) dir. Kon Ichikawa

World on a Wire (1973) dir. Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Somehow, this film was Blade Runner a decade before Blade Runner. I always leave Fassbinder film wanting to watch it again right away, and this was no exception.

Plein Soleil (1960) dir. René Clément. This is the first film to have adapted The Talented Mr Ripley!

The Trial (1962) dir. Orson Welles.

L'Amour Fou (1969) dir. Jacques Rivette. This is not my favourite Rivette film (to date, that is Out 1), but you can see the origins of his later, more complex films here.

All of Us Strangers (2023) dir. Andrew Haigh. Ough.

I'll tag @thedoubteriswise, @featuresofinterest, @waitedforgarridebs, @cahootings, @sidneypagget, and whoever else would like to be tagged!

[puckpocketed]

he's here :))))))))

[ID: Washington Capitals forward Pierre-Luc Dubois in his practice jersey. He sits on the bench with his stick balanced in his lap. He looks very polite. /. End ID]

link

HELLO HI I HAD THIS FLOATING IN MY DRAFTS AND I FORGOR.... akljsdkla

there he is, Miss Universe.. darling failgirl... my nexus of crime.... SO excited to see where this season takes him and the capitals. ough <3

[mermaidyn]

Watched the Inazuma Gryphon movie dub w/ friends and OUGH

Shindou's voice wasnt actually /that/ bad tbh thankfully But man some of the GO Raimon kids voices tho yikes

Shindou calls Hikaru "Luc" in the dub tho thats so cute aa (Hikaru's dub name is Lucian for reference)

[clydesgod]

Cold metal against her cheek. Warm hand in her hand. Feelings Luc was often worried about, too much so. The feeling of putting someone in danger because of her. Of letting them die because she was near. Of having death hang over her like a sword, ready to drop and sever her head from her body. Intense feelings flooded around her mind as the human-

As Alex. As Alex began to get closer and closer to her face. Words from her mouth felt like honey to her brain. Like smooth caramel with chocolate wrapped around. Like a nice kebab. Luc wasn't good with comparisons, but she knew that what Alex was saying was genuine and sweet.

She felt the same way? Or was this a little game?

She remembered the party? Or was she just messing with her?

She was hovering over her lips. Her thumb made her feel safe. This was somewhere safe. Somewhere special.

"Alex..."

"You may-"

Not giving her a chance to act, Luc decided to step up her game. She leaned forward, placing a docile peck upon the other's lips. She wish she put balm on, as it felt rather rough comapred to hers. Which, comapred, felt softer than anything she had felt before.

It felt good. She felt safe.

...

She was trying her hardest not to ruin the moment with her tongue.

『🔧』 "... y- you mean when we kissed? Well... uhm- yeah, I-"

She stops herself the moment Luc talks on, apologising and spiralling where none of it needed to happen. She's silent, for that while, just letting Luc air her feelings and worries, only for her to feel a reflection of that same emptiness grasping at her soul. She knew the word for this, ever since she was compelled to stay. She knew this longing only too well - and she knew exactly the cure for it.

There wouldn't be another moment like this, if she walked away now.

She only smiles, her hand leaving the grasp of hers and instead joining that of her prosthetic in cupping her face on either side.

"I told you I'd stay," she coos, voice dropping to just above a whisper. "And here I am. And... I'm telling you, now, that... I- I know the feeling. I feel it too, Luc, that-... apprehension, when I think about the what-ifs and the things I wished we were casual enough to do. But... you've said it, now. It's all in our grasp. And... the world's still here, isn't it? But, even if the rest of the world fell away, and it was just us left in this moment... that wouldn't be so bad, I don't think."

Her thumbs caress her cheeks, with a tenderness that the Hells couldn't have possible welcomed, before one becomes distracted with the corner of her mouth. And her breath is so close now, their eyes still fixed on each other as her voice drops quieter, quieter...

"That time at the party... I could have done so much more. So much better. So, please, Luc..."

"Can I try again?"

[mmmairon]

WIPs

Thought it would be interesting to make a pinned post showing what I’m working on and what I plan to work on so you guys know what to expect next:) I will update this as I go

Works in progress:

King Diluc + his Royal knight, Rosaria (rosaluc), sketch. Dark Souls inspired.

Diluc and Princess (headcannoned horse) sketch

Wet and soggy Neuvillette. ough

Kaeya in pretty outfit :]c

Dadluc and his little boy (from wyvernne’s fic, PLEASE read)

Farmer!Diluc for zine, complete, posting full illustration in 2024

awealuc drawings

Hunter!Diluc Bloodborne comic, lots of panels to go

Diluc and Klee sleepover, sketch complete

Prince Kaeya, sketch complete

———————————————————————

To be started:

wanna draw more haikaveh

baseball player diluc with his ass out lmfao

more fatui hunter luc

Diluc as Mr. Darcy lol

Diluc and Kaeya animatic with “He Doesn’t Know Why” by Fleet Foxes (waiting for procreate dreams to come out)

Gravity Rush 2 redraw “Last Memory”

Diluc on a motorcycle 😩

“His heart is his greatest foe.”

“something’s made your eyes go cold.”

More to be updated

[humminghalo]

He llo my d ear love ly frien ds ! !

I apolo gize for my lon g abse nce , b ut I am so rr y for n ot be ing ab le to be the re for ever yone at onc e , n ot for my absen ce in and of it sel f .

I was car ing for my FRIE ND wwho was g oing thr ough a toug h ti me .

He is ok a y now tho ugh , he is gr owi ng as a bei ng on th is ear th and he is doin g so well and I am s oo pproud of hi m ! !

I am als o pro ud of all of y ou , my fr iend s . I am pr oud of th ose wh o hol d ou t throu gh ha rd tim es , I am pr oud of tho se who ar e happy and all ow themsel ves to be happ y , I am pro ud of eve ry sing le on e of y ou for be ing aliv e anothe r day . You are all d oin g so we ll . I am so gl a d yo u are arou nd . I wis h ever y sing le one of y ou all the luc k and happin ess in th is wworld . Thin gs ma y not alwa ys go we ll , but reme mber that you hav e a ligh t with in yours elf brigh t eno ugh to lea d you eve n throu gh the dar kest time s . You are so strong .

Go ah ead now , to be d , int o a new da y , or carr y on , wha teve r you are up to ! I know at hea r t that thin gs will be we ll even tuall y .

I lov e yo u , my ffriend s .

,.. ❤️

[brokenblondeprincess]

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!” [ lu // luce ]

Lucille’s eyes grew big as she observed the trajectory of her small snow missile. She rarely managed to get anyone hit, her shooting range was poor coming from her small frail arms. So when she saw the white splash against Lucifero’s black coat she covered her mouth with a gasp. Before the eldest could offer his angry reaction to the attack another snowball followed coming from Luc’s much more precise aim. This time the hit met Luce’s chest right below his chin, the whiteness spreading with the force also over his mouth. By the time Luce was reached by the second ball Luc already was hiding from the surely approaching revenge. The little blonde however started laughing so hard she lost her balance and sat back on the slippery snow. “Ough!” She gasped her lips curling down.

[fatewoven]

Ready, he remains steady. Yet, a man can only stumble for so long before he either falls or stands straight. At this juncture, teeth grit at the pain, Lucanis reaches for the third option: he slumps. Hisses. Breathes through the necessary procedure and runs through sword stances in his head — reminding himself with some measure of success that he is not somewhere dank and stinking of ocean-rot. Incense. Medicine. And 'neath everything else a warmer scent, familiar as the quieter winter-chill of death that accompanies their necromancer on the field.

The sound of slow dripping salt water is absent, even if an echo of it remains in his mind. Instead, concentration kept on Emmrich's movements, the slow, methodical mending of the flesh, each pull of the stitch another trickle of evidence to a body wired for fight, flight, and general disorder unfitting of any patience, he tunes into the story. [Safe.] For the moment.

He breathes out, lungs fluttery from the acute usage of ice. Crude, really, to not offer any appreciation as he continues to sit, knuckles bone bleached while gripping onto the edge of control. "That's.... harrowing," he manages to bite out, noting the absence of any decorative mirrors in the room. Not that he wants to look at his reflection — vanity last of his concerns when a demon dogs at his every waking moment with his face, features barely recognizable despite knowing it's his own damned image. "An experience I can relate to as well, if you can believe." A touch of wryness, forced humour to ease past a conversation that plays mournful crescendos against their rib cage. Pardon, there's no standing ovation for the tragedy of orphans.

"You give far too many the benefit of doubt, professor." Indictment that rings truer than at this moment as Spite's presence shimmers 'neath the skin, coiling through arteries not unlike poison. As the treatment nears its end, no longer something freshly bleeding but still taut, listening to the demon's descriptions, its gleeful traverse into the necromancer's past, Lucanis pictures grabbing a scalpel and stabbing his arm as another grounding exercise. Pain. Ever a faithful companion. A slower exhale, and then he attempts at conversation once more as a person should. "I— cannot recall my parents faces clearly any longer. Merely the night of their death. My mother smelled of junipers and lindseed oil. She enjoyed growing lavender in the gardens... Beyond that," he says, unsure of the point, feeling like a broken sword that keeps stabbing at a shared wound. "Even if you took care of it, it still shouldn't have disturbed those memories." A cruel thing to taunt with when it's impossible to regain.

Standing to find his shirt, he looks over at Emmrich, at the hands stained with his blood, and realizes alarm is the farthest thought from his mind then. "You mentioned spirits reflect their nature, as well as their surroundings. Sometimes.... I forget Spite's even there when it speaks." He looks away then, a touch of contrition evident in his gaze as he pulls on the underlayer, mindful of the stitches — less so of the sharp ache. The words linger as a roundabout confession; the demon spirit only gives voice to his quietest, darkest thoughts. Nothing out of the ordinary beyond his viewpoint, expression carefully placid. "Could you banish Spite if it ever became beyond reason?"

Odd, isn't it? For an assassin to offer a writ on himself.

It was difficult to imagine a life like the one Lucanis led. It felt like something out of a storybook, even as the evidence of its reality lay bare before him. Not that he romanticized it. Some stories held truly horrifying plots. Though he didn’t have many details, he knew enough about what Lucanis had endured to understand it was nothing to be fantasized over.

Still, Lucanis’ experiences were remarkable in their variety, so far removed from his own life. Every scar must've told of some harrowing or fascinating tale. Truthfully, he wanted to hear of them all, but that would have been a bit overeager.

Even so, his gaze made a cursory study of all scars revealed to him. A purely academic inventory. His attention didn’t linger anywhere except where his work demanded it, save for the long scar Lucanis pointed out. That one, winding from rib to stomach, looked particularly terrible. Yet Spite’s judgment drew a faint smile to his lips. He loved hearing the spirit's thoughtful musings.

Emmrich had rinsed the wound with boiled water—cooled, of course—and noted how Lucanis reacted under even the mildest touch. It wasn’t surprising. The wound, though nothing too terrible, was deep enough to be painfully sore. He soaked a gauze square in a sharp-smelling antiseptic solution, one he kept prepared for just these occasions.

“Brace yourself,” he warned, his voice calm and steady, a tone that spoke of practiced bedside manner. If Lucanis had found the water uncomfortable, the antiseptic’s sting would be far worse.

When Lucanis turned the question back on him, Emmrich took a moment to consider his answer as he worked. He had hoped to get more from Lucanis, and he did plan to continue his gentle prying. But fair was fair—he had asked first and been given an answer. Now it was his turn.

"The worst? Hmm..." He dabbed at the wound carefully, speaking as his hands moved.

"Well, there was this one which took a strange fascination with me when I was younger. It stayed a distance at first, lurking only in my periphery and vanishing whenever I tried fixing it in view. Perfectly livable. Until night fell."

He paused to take an ice pack he’d purified with magic, pressing it against the jagged edges of the wound to numb the area. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but even the toughest deserved a tender hand.

"At night, when I would travel the halls of the Necropolis alone, I would get the distinct feeling of someone running up behind me, yet when I turned—nothing save for the corridors which narrowed into darkness. And yet, each time I turned again, I got the sense it was closer and closer still."

He began his first stitch, precise and steady as he tied off the fascia layer beneath the skin, his focus sharp despite the memory.

"This went on for several weeks, until I suppose it grew bored of my lack of attention. So it began your more typical antics, slamming doors, moving items, pulling blankets as I slept. The final straw was one morning as I looked in a mirror to fix my hair, my reflection grew a particularly hideous smile without me, then shattered my mirror! Such an aggressive invasion of privacy demanded a confrontation. So I took to an empty ritual hall of the deeper Necropolis, where I attempted to summon the entity directly. And lo', it appeared."

Inner layer complete, he cut the ends of his suture short, ensuring there'd be no irritation once he closed the laceration fully. He took a beat to decide his epidermal approach... a vertical mattress stitch seemed appropriate. He began his work carefully but efficiently, threading needle through flesh and pulling it loosely closed.

"It took the shape of me. A phantom twin. I tried conversing with it to no avail. It only stood there, too still, occasionally but irregularly miming the act of blinking and breathing. Unsettled, I began to speak my incantations to banish it. That must have frightened it, as it leapt toward me with a jaw, my jaw, unhinged like a serpent's. I avoided collision barely, and we fought for a spell. A short skirmish, nothing extraordinary. What made it the worst was what came after..."

His voice quieted, as he tied off another stitch, nearing the final suture. "I resumed my incantation to banish it, and it used the last of it's power to shift form. To split form, actually. Becoming a spectre of..." He hesitated, sighed, and then continued.

"Of my parents. They self-immolated in veilfire, and as their skin melted, they screamed something ghastly and began tearing into each other, consuming their own flesh. A last, desperate attempt to unnerve me. To make me stop. But I finished the banishment..."

And he finished the final knot. With an exhale, he leaned back to inspect his work. Neat and clean.

"And it troubled me no longer."

[pposya]

Summer studies in Bard: notes

I’ve never been idealistic about American educational system, which allows you to pick up the subjects you are highly interested in. Typically it allows to raise a professional craftsmen with a limited mind.  It is as dubious as Russian practice to grind knowledge in pupil’s mind which allows to raise a well-informed and easy manipulated person.

Searching for equilibrium in my self-education, I always pay attention to helpful practices, and at Bard I’ve already learnt a lot. Especially during Alexandria Jamieson’s lessons, which help to reveal one’s creativity. Among my Russian friends this term has a very specific connotation of something exalted, but at Bard it reflects to very normal and essential thing. Here the diversified and human-oriented approach towards teaching is encouraged, so we try to practice different techniques of writing. Release your idea’s flow in free-writing. Look through the original review of Anthony Tommasini and then compare it with version whith scored adjectives so you can physically realize how to make your text descriptive and vibrant. The side-by-side work with tutors, Jackie and Luc, is awesome and very helpful. I leave here this snapshot to remind myself how much should I improve so far. ATTENTION: very R-R-R-R-ough draft.

The selection of texts for reading is dazzling. We were discussing above dozen articles related to art. Here are three of them that I enjoyed the most: 

Leon Botstein’s article Why music matters? where he proves the universal essence of music by different cases and striking philosophical conclusions.

John Cage’s Diary: Emma Lake Music Workshop 1965. Fascinating story of his staying at art residence in California, very amusing and still profound.  

Catalysis: Interview with Adriana Piper by Lucy Lippard.  Great conversation between two legendary females, the artist and the curator. I’ve never heard about Catalysis performances, so it was my personal revelatio.

During the program we are assigned to write several papers about music  – review, program note and ”umbrella” article (the last one sounds funny when translated to Russian, something like “zont-statia»). Last week, after the premiere of Dvorak’s opera Dimitrij, I have been working on review. Writing in foreign language not only provokes you to rebuild your writing skill. It shakes your mindset, makes you think about strategizing and attentive polishing your final draft. Even if imitating the New Yorks Times style of writing seems to me an impossible mission, I still can get lots of practical advises from professor Christopher Gibbs. A great specialist of Schubert, he is guiding us to a brave new world of American criticism.

A glimpse of nostalgia: informal meeting at Christopher's house. Such small-group conversations are not considered for curatorial course of Leon Botstein designed purposefully for TON students (The Orchestra Now). As the audience consists mostly of musicians, It explains the principal message Botstein is trying to transmit during the sessions. Accordingly to his philosophy, every musician should act as the agent of discovery and set up his own, distinctive repertoire to help spectators experience the spontaniety. One of his lectures was dedicated to Bard Music Festival’s ideology and mechanics, and his comprehensive explication is apparently a ready-made guide for young curators. From our first meeting in Olin I was impressed how extensive is Botstein’s erudition. I’m not flattering, this is something very inspiring I just cannot skip. With his help, I discover such cultural phenomena as festivals in Cooperstown and Aspen or significants venues like Tanglewood arena (the summer residence of the Boston Symphony Orchestra). 

Learning outside the classrom: Katia is working on her review

[puckpocketed]

somethign must be said about LA Kings media converging like deep sea creatures in the whale fall of yet another first round exit. big beautiful thinktank of kingstwt opinions and a pinch of analytics how I adore uou <3 it’s the tortured millennial (gasp!), the sarcasm in italics, the 5 stages of grief as we’re taken through the author’s dawning realisation that bobbert blake was never going to play Clarkie <3

and the date is May 4th 2024 !!! butter churning cottagecore playoffs goon Andreas Englund can’t shake the leg weight allegations !!!

death, taxes, and everyone going to war for our handful of dynamic baby forwards in the AHL (stares at Grundy fighting for his LIFE in game 5 to get ice time while they double shifted QB who was SICK at the time <3) incredible to see this on a published article and not, say, a 15 tweet thread from user Clarke for Norris !

NB: you think your NHL team is risk-averse? you think they’re stagnating ? the la kings sat on their hands during the trade deadline . the la kings are playing a system that is 10 years out of date. they were on the doorstep of elimination with back to back games where they failed to score — and still they wouldn’t call up any of their most creative prospects who’ve shown their ability to produce on the big stage <3 we are all mad about it. rob blake and jim hiller are beefing with us in the most ancient hockey language of them all: REFUSING TO PLAY OUR SPECIAL GUYS

and a bold move here to split from the pack and join the Pierre-Luc Dubois defenders — give the man a medal, Stolly <3 obsessed. obsessed (The Narratives are LYING to you Joe!!! STEP INTO THE LIGHT)

after a season of “is he engaged” check-ins during games (beloved passtime btw. i LOVE 2 hear how engaged people think PLD is after 2-3 shifts) we’re finally basing some of our takes on stats rather than vibes . ough they ate sO many rare candies theyre evolving their opinions LETS FUCKING GOOOO !!!! have we witnessed the induction of a new member into the She Can Fix Herself squad ? only time will tell <3