#colorful grainy paradise

[bowbow-the-clown]

.. and there is home ..

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.̶̢̡̧̧̢̡̢̛̫̟͇̜͚̬̲͉̥͇͓̹̙̳̖̫͙̘̳̩̪̪̤͈̲͇̭̤̥̱̮͎̱͉̤̱̗̬͎̝̾̓́̔͌̃̿̈́́͒͜.̵̡̡̧̡̛̤͕̪̗͇̮͈͉̰̹̺̮̗̺̼̹̙͉̥́̓͒͐́̂̾̎̌̽ͅͅ.̵̧̛̲̠̯̟̬̱̻̖͎̲͇̭͖̲͕̱̰͇͇̗̼̳̺͛͋̃̀̊̃͊̄̕͜͜͝͝ ̵̨̛̛̜̣̣̻̥̲̲̱̩͇̲̙̮͈̮͉̬͚͓͎͚̎̌̎̅̒͑̆̓̓̆͌͒̇̏̈́̿͛͆͗̈́͒̀̍̒̅̾̾̿͆́̋̇͗͘̚͝͠͠͝͠o̷̲̰̻̟̩̮̙̤̿̾̿̇̀̇̏̐̀̐̂̄̓͋́̓̈͌̔̃̄́͊͛̑̓͑̉̀̈̏̍͑̇̽̎́̂̿͊̃́̒̓̾͘͝͝͝Ų̵̨̝͈̯̙̙̼̱̩͇̳̯͇̳͍̝̞̣̖͖͈̜̗͚̟̼̺͍̠̠̠̻͉̺̝̤̋̓͒̄͑͆̈́̆͋͊̎̒̅̎̈́͐̂̓̅̋̈̒̀̚͜T̵̢̢̡͍͖̝̹̠͚̬̜̖͈̲͈̝̜̯̞͓̜̩͙͚̖̗̫̟̳̦͓̣̦̱̻̞͎͈̹̬̏̒́̈̂̍̅͐͌͋̐͐͐͘̕͜ͅͅͅ ̵̛͔̞̈̅̇̽͌͗̉́̎̀͑͒͋̓̿͛̈́̽̚̕͝͝͠a̵̧̡̡̹̤̼̻̻̞̲̠̩̻̙̠̤͇͕̹͈͎̹̺͍͕͆͛̉̆ͅN̵̡̥̜̞̩̳̘͈͈͖̯̼̞̮̙̼͕̳̱̥̩͔̬͚̹͖̜͚͚̯̦̾̓̍̉͗͋̅̄̋͛̉̊̉͐̌͂͒̏̄̎̍̌͋̈́̆̀̆͗͘̚̚͜D̴͚͓͔̬͉̗̰̝͕͇͊̈̆̿͂̆̈́̄͊̉̀͑̐̎̉̿͂̍̋̿̅̇̐̂́̎̒̑̓͘͘͘͘͘͘̚̚͜͠͝ ̸̢̡̨̦̻͚͙̤̤̣̠͈͈̠̩̜̪̹̹͓̲̝͕̙͉̫̮̬͇͖̭̠̳̜̩̪̼̯̿͋̀̌́́̈́́̎͂́͛͌̏̈́̆̑͆̇̃̑̅̓̍̓̈͒͆̄͆̅̌̎͊̎̆͛͘̚̚͝a̷̛̦͆̇̊̔̇͂̈̈́̔͋͂͐͛̇͛͐͐̉͆͂́̓̇̈́̑͗̿͆̄̆̓̾͐͋̿̑̕̚͝͠͠B̷̧̡͉͓̳̠̥̞͔͈͍͈̰͚̱̞͇̖̩̺͖̪͖̊̀͑̂̽̔͒̈́͑̾͑̂̉̒̇͂͋͒̀͒̉͑̆͛̈́̊͆̄̊̊̓̽͌̕͝͝͝Ǭ̵̨̡̢̢̦̝͎̲̺͔̩̳̘͖̠͎̫̮̺̬̱͈̹̺̣̠͎̰͓̪̱̳̓̿̊̿̋̆̉̊̈́̔̀͜͝͠ͅU̵̖̥̞̦͛̉̐͐̆͊͋̾͌͂̎̍̆̓̿͆̕͝͝T̵̡̨̛͙̺̭̗̥̙͖͈͈̘͈͍̘̹̮̗̉̓̔̊͊͛͆̓̊̇̊͝ͅ ̵̢̭͔̲͉̜̱̞͓̬̣̬̯̰̟̫̜̭̞͎̝̻̲̣̱̻͓̙͈̻͈̟̖̺̺̮̮̻̦͈̼̹͓̗̋̈́̅̎̎͑͛̊̋͋́̓͗̎͑̋̈́̅̉̔̑͗̔̈́͌͆̌́͂̆̾̚͜͝͠͝ͅͅͅb̷̢̢̨͎̼̻̗̰̟̰͗̈̃́̅͊̅̋̄́͌̐̇͜͝͝͝͠Ừ̵̟͔̮͈͕͖͇̼̗͎̣̹̞̘̗͕̮̳̪͓̬̯̹̻͉͍̦̝̬̦̗́̽̓̊̈́̏̾̄͗͐̾̈́́͜͜͠͠͝͠ͅT̸̨͈̙̖̯͍̭̻̉́̐̈́̎͗̊̀̏̇̐̓̔̋̏̋̃̊̿̓̈́̏̅̔̑̽̐̎̕͝͝ͅ ̸̢̛̥̝̫̟͍̺͚̇͐̇̓̎̍͑̈́̏́͌͌̓͋̆̓̏̐̔̎̏͊̉̒́͑̔́͑̊̂̔̊̅̋͌̆͛̍͑̽͗̂̚͠͝͝h̶̨̢̢̧̲̰̫̝̠̦͓̟̣͍͓̭̞̻̘̭̘̫̺̩̻̞̠̰͍̯̻̫͓̙̪̱͙̦̟͎͎̰̝̗͙̟̳͈͌̃̄̒̃͆͊̎̍͛̇̐̆͑͂̊̃̈͜͠͝͝ͅI̶̧̢̮̬͉̖̟͚̤̙̞̭͕̪̰̜̩̗̐̈́͂̍̎̏̉͗̌̾́͌̓̓̒͑͐̊̓͆̀̂̏͗̊̐̄͆̉̚͘͝͝S̷̛̛̛͖̭̣̜̙̳̥̮̪̖̱̳̹̾͌̾̏̅̉̀͗̌̌̑̃̒͛̾̓̊͂̄̈́̆̊́̾̏̕͘͘̕͠͝ ̷̧̧̛̛̛̙̺̲̻̣̞̗͖̜͎͖̝͙̻͈̮̼̼͖̤̙͖͖̙̱̙̞̭̜̲̱́̋̆̉͒͆̋́̓̅̓̈͋͂̄̈́́͑̓̀̃̿̈́̀̍́́̍̽͊͊̄̆̓̓̈́̊̌͌́̕̚͘͘̕͜͠ơ̸̧̹̪̤̝̙͉̼̹̞̘̻͙͕͔͉̬̇̓̂̊̐͆͆̀̂̇͂̐͂̋̇͊͘̕͜͝͝Ų̵̛̭̙͈̺͎̩̻̰̺̤͕͔̲̩͍̙̬̊̒̀̔̆͂̈̈́͆͌͐́̓̒̋͆̀̌̋̓̅̒͊̓̾̚̚̕͘̕͝͝͠͝T̸̛͖̹̃̄̐̒̒̇̑͑̋̽̋̇̏͐ ̷̢̢̛̣͕͇̤͙̪̱͓̤͚͍̺̦͇͖͎͇̈͂͌̽̊̅̂͑̐̀̀̽̾͊̑̀̋̎͗̿͆͊̃̾̈̄̎͑̐̀͋̌̌́̀͑͘͜͜͝ą̷̨̨̧̨̡̢̡̟̩̫͎̣̝̦͔̳̳̮̳̘̣̟̼̘̥͔̰̝̰͓̹̲̤͉̼̈̀̐̓̅̔͗̉͋̒̂͂́̔̈́̉͒͊̒̎̈́̊̿̉̅̈́͒̚̕͝͝ͅͅŅ̵̧͍̗̤̜̣͙̹̝̳̩̰̺̲͍̮͇͙͚̥̩͚̜̯̮͔̊̈́̓͒͛͌̉̈́͛̽̈́̄̎̾̇̏̅͗̑̄͐̀͛̒̈́̊̔͛̌͗͌̎̋́̐̌̀̓̓́̾̇͑̕͜͝͝͝͝͠͝D̷̨̨̢̧̢̛̛̼̙̬̳̣̥̝͚̙̪̝̺̯̱͍͈̝͙̖̮̘̭̤̬̫͇̮̼̩͈͔͎͔̯̯̮͎̦͙̮̗̰̈́̂̈́̋͆̍́́̄̉̒̊͊̀̉̊̓̉̓̏̑̈́̀̽̇̊̆̔̔̈̀̔̕͘͜͜͝͠͝ͅ ̵̧̢̡̢̛̬̫͍͓̥̲͚̣͗̅̽͆̓̄̏͠͝a̴̛͚̹̲͕̝͔̱͚̫̲͙͙̖͚̭̟͓̻̲̺̭͔͖͍̪͉̙͕̹͗̓̃̇͗̆̊͊̆͐͐̉̀̈́͜͜͠ͅͅB̵̨̧̛̞̞̹̫̞̥͉̮̱͖̰̺̰̬̈́̉̈́̀͋̅̀̂̍̍̆̉͒̓́͐̿̏̈́͑̎̀͑̈́̓͗͂̾͆̇̾͌̈̓́̌̇̍͌̐̉̆͘͘͜͝͠͠͠O̵̼͚̘͑͆̌́̀́̀̇̂́̍̔̊́̊̌̀̕Ų̸͓̟̤͋̀̈́̾̇̂̈̅̆̊̐͊̓̊̈̈̋̇̚̕̕̕͜͝͝͠T̶̡̧̢̨͎̖̟̭̮̖̱͔͓̼̠͖̪̣̜̭̞̘̤͍͍̼̤̙̦͔͔̩̜̜̞̺̟̙̰͂̓̊͛̈́̃̇͗̉̈́͑͐̈́̑̾̉̑͊̀͘̚͠͝ ̶̡̢̛̱̗̯̱͎̙͎͓͚͉̹͖̱̦͎͙̥̰̪͕̣̺̯̝͎̼͎̮̰̝̩̤̫̳̥̜̥͔̬̪͉̙͚͆̈͐̈́͌̔͌͌̈́́́͒̉͂͗̓͌͑͂͆͐̃̀͛̈́̂̔̈̈̈͐̽́̈́̇̔͑̀̉͛̾͆̉͒͜͜͠ͅͅỡ̵̡̢̝̮̞͇̭̟̯̝̳̮̳̻͇͔̭̺̻̳͔̦̺̦̬̠̪͉͈̠̝͔͔͔̬͖͕̜͙̄̉͗̈́̿̐͛̈̈́̐́̿́͛̈́͒͜͠N̴̢̛̬̮̞̳̼̗͔̘̼͍̗̟̫͕̰͔͖̞̮͖̩̺͕̫̰̙̲̯̯̞̲͙̥͍̰̺̪̗̋̃̓̈̑̆̓̀̓̓́̔͂̾̾̈̑̅̐̎̄̍̔ͅ ̷̧̨̱͔̬͔͕̤̮̝̺̯̪̱͕̻̻̣̹̯̺͎̖̺͍̈́́̂̿̈́̐̾́̈́͗̐̅̅͋͊̈́̇̽͆̈́̀̌̏̾̎̽̓̓̄̌͘̕͠͝ͅh̷̡̧̢̛̠̪͔̗̜͙̲͍͉͎̳̩̩̪̞̖͔̃͗̆͂̇̓̈́̀̇̔͊͊͂͐̉̔͑͐́̏͛͑̓͛͘̕͠͝ͅI̵̛̤͋͋̓̽̃̽̃̃̔́̈́͒̈͊̀̓̇̃̄̈̊͘̕͠S̸̛̬̦̠̥̜͇̘͔͍̜̠̮̜͉̺̻̥̗̰̙͑͂̊͑̀͑͆̈̎̀̓̂̄̃͆̍̑̎̋̐͊̓͐̍͂͐͆͋͋̀̾͐́̊̕̕͜͝͝͠ͅ ̷̡̛͉̻̱̯͙̣͚̺͓̹͎͔̲͉̹͔͓̓̋̂̈̊̃̒̍̿̄̍̏͐̒̀̏̓͐̾̌͘͠͠ͅv̶̛͖̹͉̻̠̤̅̿͒̆̍̔͆̓̊̇̏͆͊̄̎͒̃̈́̄̈́̊͗̍̍̇̌͊̅̒͆͌̀͗̚Á̸̢̧̢̡͈̘̜̠̩̮̗͍̲̦͚̙̫̹̫̯̮̝̦͇͙̝̙̼͕̖̫̫͑̂͊̅̂͆͂̆͆̔R̶̨̧̢̺̳͍̳̠̪̭͉̘̘̖͖̤̟̺̮̭̗͌̆̃̉̔̈́͆̃̆̾̃̍͐̅̍̈́̈͌̒́͑͛͝͝͠͝Y̵̨̡̰̠͇̥̟̟̦̻̯̣̱̻̖̣̺̰̣̟̝͙̭̣͍̝̳͓̦̜̰͕̩͑̾́̑̓͐̐̅͑̄̂̕͜͜ͅͅ ̸̛̘̟͎̤̖̱͓̤͖̥̝̼̯̓͆̊̃̉̀͛̾̍̾̋̐̋͌͛͂̌̔̒̏̿̽̏̀͒͗̀̏̾͂̔̈́̈́̾̃̕̕̕̚͘͝͝͝͝͝ọ̵̢̨͍̯̲͍̬̮̲̮͓̱̘̩̜͈͔͕͕̻̞͖͍̖͠͠Ŵ̵̡̢̛͎̼̼̣̱͕͔̩͊̈͐͂̿̂͗͛͒̈́̀͊̐͐̀̀̔̇̽̄́̅̿́̎̅͌̈̚̕̚͠͝͠Ņ̴̡̧̳̮̠̯̣̺̙̥̳͕̥͈̪̯̦̫̭̰̀̕͘ ̵̨̛̠͍͔̫̹̦̣͖̦̙̗͇̠̣͚̓̾̃͑̾̄̈́͌̓͑́̐̄̊̊̔̈̇̄́̍̔̋̒̓̎͗͆̓̐̇̈́̚͘͜͝͠ͅ.̵̨̤̺͔͈̎́͌̄̓͌.̶̡̝̗͖̹̝̥̠̰̭͈̹̟̼̹̞̞̽̑.̴̧̛̼̮̗̜̭̫̰͉̯̺̪͇̞̃̉̔̃̀̐͌͊̀́̾̓̅̔̑̀͌̾̀͒̈́́́͛͌̈́̆̉̇͘͝͝͝ͅ

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[intercal]

2016/06/06

I guess I like nighttime shots a lot. I didn't mess around with the color on this one in post like I did on the last photo. What you see is what you get, baby! Once again the ISO is too high, so once again it looks grainy. Since it's downscaled to Tumblr sizes, you probably won't notice it.

I used to live in the dorms next to this parking lot, but I didn't live there when I took this photo. This dorm was quite the hike from main campus - you'd have to take over 200 crumbling log steps (I counted) to the top. I'd walk up and down that path every single day. There were multiple sightings of wildcats in the area during my year there, so that was always a fun thing to worry about during the late night hikes back from the library.

The parking lot itself was about 100 yards to the left of the top of those stairs. There was also a designated smoking area where I would smoke cigarettes and have lots of super important thoughts. Along the sides of the parking lot was a heavily wooded area, where students of decades past had bushwhacked "unofficial" trails and clearings. Those were the spots of real freedom at my university, away from the prying noses of the campus police - truly, a paradise for the distinguishing university student. Of course, none of that is in the photo. This is just a stupid street lamp over an empty parking lot in the summer.

[disinfernus]

TIMING: A few weeks ago LOCATION: The Emerald Oasis PARTIES: @disinfernus & @magmahearts SUMMARY: A lampade and an oread meet for the time but it turns sour when 'ownership' of the cave is brought up. No one leaves happy. WARNINGS: None

Two long, delicate fingers, dark in color, reached towards the rocky earth and plucked from it an azure bead. Remnants of a kingdom long passed, but not forgotten. Dīs returned to the scene of destruction in the hopes of finding more of their belongings. Their once proud and deep cavern now sat shallow and in ruin. It wrenched at Dīs’ heart to see it in such a state, but there was no choice now but to adapt — adapt and find a new home, as their ancestors once did.

Dīs carried their comically tall and wispy frame through the tight tunnels. Some of the usual pathways had collapsed, leaving a new tangle of natural corridors for them to traverse. Between pieces of bone and jewels eventually came unfamiliarity. Their curiosity had always proven difficult to manage, so they gave in to the desire for knowledge and carried on down the winding hallway. Soon, darkness gave way to thin beams of light and the scent of freshness. 

Even more confused than before, Dīs followed until a pocket of life erupted before them. Had this always been here? Their colony kept to the system they knew for centuries and rarely explored anything neighboring for fear of invasion, but surely they had known about this? The green-filled cavern felt much too immense for it to sit unknown for so long, at least unknown to Dīs who held great pride in knowing the goings-on below. They stood hunched, unglamoured and looked wildly out of place among the lush paradise.

The Emerald Oasis cave was a fun one to go to. It was attached to the cave Cass had made her home in, close enough to her ‘domain’ that she could feel it, sometimes. Not as strongly as she felt the goings on of her cave, but enough to have a general idea of what was happening there. Enough to feel when someone was there. 

Curiosity drove her through the tunnels and up into the larger cave, eyes sparkling as she surveyed the scene. The figure was tall. Very, very tall. And a faint fluttering in her stomach revealed more than that — the figure was also fae. 

Immediately, anxiety crawled up her throat. Finding another fae was supposed to be an exhilarating, exciting thing. For Cass, it often felt the opposite. She’d been rejected by every fae she’d ever come into contact with, and there was nothing she hated more than rejection. If given a choice between being alone and being left behind, she’d take the former no matter how much she hated it. But she wasn’t sure she could hide, either; if she’d felt this fae, they’d probably felt her, too.

Hesitantly, she moved forward a bit, trying to get a better look. She’d assess the situation, and go from there. That was a good idea.

Dīs’ senses were alight. They hurriedly looked to and fro with wide, wandering eyes to take in the greenery around them. For centuries they lived in the darkness beneath Wicked’s Rest and not once did they find anything like this — nothing so alive. It was beautiful, so say the least, and they felt charmed by the miniature oasis.

Amidst the wonderment, Dīs felt something else. It felt grainy, like static, and the more Dīs focused on it, the stronger it came. It was a familiar strangeness, an energy they hadn’t felt since they were very young. It sent a ripple of nerves across their body despite the present tranquility. Unnerved now, Dīs swept their bright gaze across the foliage. Insect wings and pockets of iridescence tried to steal their attention in between their search, but the familiar pulse of a fae was too strong to ignore — especially one that felt like that. 

“I know you’re here,” they called out finally and swung their head to look over one of their shoulders. Dīs ran a pointed finger across the top of a nearby mushroom. “I won’t hurt you,” came their earnest assurance.

Of course they would know she was there. Of course. Cass forgot, sometimes, that the sensation of feeling another fae was one that went both ways. She got so caught up in her own head, or in the fact that she came across other fae so rarely after leaving her aos si, that it slipped her mind. But Wicked’s Rest was different. In Wicked’s Rest, she had come across other fae left and right, in all walks of life. It might have been comforting if it weren’t so terrifying.

She hesitated as their voice rose through the cavern. I won’t hurt you. If they were fae, that meant they probably weren’t lying. Cass knew that they were capable of it, but few seemed to find it worth the consequences it wrought. And… curiosity refused to let her disappear back into the twisting caverns of the cave, even if some part of her mind was screaming at her to do so. Fae didn’t like her, fae never liked her, and this one would be no different. But she was curious. She was still curious.

So she stepped out into the dim light that was coming through the cracks in the cave, hesitant but unafraid. Cass knew she could take care of herself; she’d been doing it all her life. “What are you doing here?” She wasn’t sure if the question was rude or not. Manners had never been something she was very good at, despite her best efforts.

Dīs looked to where the voice piped up from. It was a small creature - small to their enormity - but they stood sure, defiant even, in Dīs’ presence. A pretty little thing without a doubt. They were enamored by the glow that emanated off of her but the question caused them to frown. 

What are you doing here?

Dīs pulled back slightly, as if the question alone offended them. “This,” they started and gestured to the tunnel from where they’d just come through, “is my home.” Was. After everything collapsed, it wasn’t the same.  They’d searched for months for a pocket that checked every box but came up empty handed — until now. It was a livable space, absolutely teeming with life and Dīs wanted it.

“What are you doing here?”

They were big. Cass had to crane her head to look up at them and, even then, she wasn’t sure she was really seeing their face. Dark and shadowy in a way that meant they definitely weren’t an oread — at least, not like any oread she’d ever seen. The faint glow of her lava-y veins seemed to disappear into the shadows of their body, like the darkness was swallowing the light whole. 

Not an oread, but they lived in a cave? That was interesting. Cass knew she didn’t know as much about other fae as she should have. The aos si she’d lived in had been largely made up of nymphs of all different kinds, but most of them hadn’t been particularly interested in socializing with her or teaching her anything worth knowing. She knew some things, but she didn’t know anything about this. About what this fae might be. A nymph, like her? But what kind? It might have been exciting if it weren’t so daunting.

The question being turned back on her was something she should have expected, but it still caught her off guard. Maybe she was just… a little too thrown by all of this to see anything coming, even the obvious. “This is… near my home,” she said carefully. “I’ve never seen you here before.” Not that she’d been here much, or even been in town that long, really. 

“And I have never seen you here, either,” Dīs parroted lightly and tilted their head curiously. “But I have also never seen any of this,” they gestured to the mini oasis around them. It bothered them greatly that they had spent almost all of their waking life and they hadn’t come across the green haven once. Not. Once. The solitary nature of their family proved detrimental.

“The… accident… changed a lot.” Dīs could feel their own anger boil beneath their skin. If those humans hadn’t gone and done what they did, then none of this would have happened. They wouldn’t have to dig through rock and corpses to find what belonged to them. They wouldn’t have had to leave in the first place. They didn’t want to leave, they didn’t want this change. Dīs could feel their chest grow tight as they got more upset, but they didn’t want to scare off the company, not when they needed more answers.

Dīs returned their attention onto the glow worm before them. “How long exactly have you been down here?” A self-proclaimed king of the mountain and they didn’t know what was going on beneath their very nose? Disappointing.

“Then maybe you haven’t been up here in a while.” How could they have missed this? In a way, Cass almost felt sorry for them. The idea of living so close to the wonders of the Emerald Oasis and never seeing any of it was a terrible one, and that instinctive part of her that wanted so badly to trust other fae in spite of her experiences with them screamed that they deserved better than that.

She leaned forward a little at the mention of the accident, interest piqued. “Were you here when it happened?” She’d been freshly ‘removed’ from Kuma’s house when it happened, still living on the streets near the woman in hopes that she’d change her mind and invite Cass back inside. Like a housecat expelled into the world and unsure how to cope with it.

But you couldn’t ask questions without answering them, especially not with fae. Everything was transactional, a deal to be made. If Cass wanted to know how they’d ended up here, she was going to have to answer the same for herself. “In town, or in the caves?” A careful question whose answer didn’t matter as much as it might have seemed. 

Dīs considered that for a moment. “No, I suppose you’re right.” After the main portion of their living space was destroyed, they spent a lot of their time on the surface taking care of hotel and casino affairs. It was their next grand venture, another little key to helping them figure out what exactly went on down in the mines.

They nodded, almost a little too enthusiastically, when she questioned the accident further. “I was, yes,” Dīs returned, though hesitated with what they wanted to reveal next. They mulled it over briefly, weighing the pros and cons. It didn’t feel harmful. “And I was the only one to make it out.” Their tone fell somber, quieter, at that truth — Dīs’ pointed fingers curled against their palms anxiously. “You were not, then, I take it?”

“The caves,” Dīs specified, expecting it to be obvious. To them, it mattered even if it didn’t in the long run. To them, this was theirs — the entirety of it all. There was a sense of self-importance that took a firm hold of Dīs, a strangling hold that may never let go. “Are there more of you?”

So it had been a while. There was some relief in that, in a strange way; Cass would have felt strange thinking she’d missed another occupant living in the caves all this time, especially if that occupant had been fae. She wasn’t always the most observant, but she liked to think that she at least knew enough to know when she wasn’t alone.

Oh. So there had been others here, too. Fae who had died when the mines went down. It left a strange sort taste in her mouth, a confusing twist to her gut. There was this instinct to be sad, even if more fae living in these caves and discovering her would have been a catastrophic thing. And there was this terrible relief that warred with that grief, an awful thing that came from the part of her that knew how bad that could have made things. “No,” she replied to the other fae’s question with a shake of her head. “I wasn’t here then. Were you close with them? The ones who… didn’t make it. I’m sorry, if you were.” Had it been their family? Their friends? She could grieve for them for that.

“A few months now,” she replied carefully. Vague, but not dishonest. “I’m the only one I know of living in the caves.” The only oread, at least; she thought of Teagan and Ren, wondered if the question was meant to cover all nymphs in all the town or only in the caves. Either way, her answer remained true. “Are you planning on living here again? You’ll have to stay out of mine.” A hint of defensiveness slid into her tone, uncertainty. She didn’t want them in her cave. It was hers. Nothing had ever been hers before.

“I was, yes,” came their answer, but they had to stop themself from divulging further. Though there wasn’t an affectionate family dynamic amongst the lampade clan, Dīs did miss them all terribly. They missed their presence, their routine and shared space. They missed their home — or what was left of it. They wouldn’t just give that up, mining accident be damned, especially not to some child. Though, that’s all she was, wasn’t it? A fae child, one who held the same isolation and loneliness as they did. They were of a kindred spirit, but Dīs couldn’t help the anger and selfishness that crept in.

They didn’t want a fight — at least, that’s what they told themselves but it was a lie. Dīs could feel their stomach sour at that, but they knew what they really wanted. They wanted the cave, it was theirs, theirs alone. It belonged to them. They weren’t hopeful they could change the young one’s mind, at least, not of her own will.

Dīs couldn’t help the sardonic laugh that escaped them. It echoed around the open cavern, its sound deep, but sickly cold as they let it pass through them. One of their shadowed hands pressed to their chest as the laugh died down, as if to steady themself from the bout of humor that just racked them. “Yours?” Again, they laughed, this time however it ended abruptly as their mood shifted with a snap. “This was never yours.” They were certain of that (though how certain could they be if they hadn’t known about the mini oasis in the first place, they wouldn’t admit). “I have been here.. for centuries.” Their voice elevated, almost booming in nature. “I will not allow you to take it from me. I have lost too much already.”

For a moment, she thought things were going well. She thought that she and this stranger could come to some kind of an understanding, that she might be able to convince them that they could get along. She’d had some luck in Wicked’s Rest, after all, with getting people to like her — even other fae. Teagan had been so kind, she’d been able to come to something of an understanding with Conor, and she thought she could make Ren her friend if she only tried hard enough. And maybe that level of success had made her stupid. Maybe she’d let herself grow naive, let herself forget the aos si that had forced her out and the reasons they’d had for doing so.

When the loud, booming voice echoed through the cave, forgetting became so much harder. 

If Cass was on edge before, she was beyond it now. She tensed, the cave rumbling beneath her feet. And she felt some sense of the very fae feelings that she often tried to avoid, because what right did they have to claim the cave for themself? What right did they have to say that it was never hers to begin with? She was an oread. And they weren’t. The cave belonged to her in a way it would never belong to them, in a way it couldn’t no matter how much they might want to claim it. She hated that part of herself. She hated anything that reminded her that she wasn’t what she so badly wanted to be.

“You think you’re the only one who’s lost things?” She snapped, the ground rumbling just a little more beneath her. “This place doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to itself. It gets to decide who stays here. And it likes me.” As if to punctuate the sentence, she stopped the rumbling and let the cave fall still. “I meant what I said. You can hang out in the caves if you want to, but you can’t come in mine. And it’s nice of me to tell you that. I’m being nice. I don’t have to be. Okay?”

Of course there would be push back. She wanted to share and to maybe live in peace — Dīs didn’t. They wanted the whole kit and caboodle to themself; they didn’t want to share. Their whole life had been one big sharable pot and they were sick of it. Anger welled up inside them, but they needed to think rationally about this. Rational? That certainly wasn’t a word most would use to describe them, but jumping into a fight without at least going through all the options would be stupid and Dīs wasn’t stupid.

The rumbling did little to dissuade Dīs from their new goal — remove the oread. Or at least, change her perspective, which was far less likely. She seemed stubborn, thus difficult to persuade. They would try, perhaps, but not then. There was some thinking to be done, plotting to be had. 

“Fine,” they snapped back, the word having been forced out through an implied clenched jaw. They didn’t want to leave; it felt too much like a loss, but they were ill-prepared for a stand-off. Mistakes would be made in the emotional haste and their home deserved better than that. “Keep your little corner.” Although Dīs had started to retreat, taking the overwhelming shadow with them, every word held disdain and heartbreak. “If I ever find you in mine, I won’t be so nice.” Any hope that they had for wanting to get to know her as a kindred fae was smothered. Their desire and need for home superseded that. Disappointed, yet determined, Dīs dissipated into the darkness.

She wasn’t very intimidating; she knew that. Even without her glamour, in all her fiery glory, she was small. Solid, sure, but small. And her youth was always far too clear in her wide eyes and uncertain tones, like a thing that didn’t quite know how to be. She had power, but anyone who looked too closely would see plainly that she was a little afraid to use it.

Still, her display seemed to convince the lampade. They backed off, and that very fae-like, possessive anger that lived in her chest no matter how much she tried to shove it down seemed to dissipate a little, dissolving into itself the moment they took a step backwards. A little burst of it rose up when they spoke again, feeling disrespected by their choice of description for her cave and the threat that followed it, but she pushed it down.

“If you ever find me in yours,” she said lowly, “you won’t have the chance.” She didn’t want to hurt them, but she wouldn’t let herself get hurt, either. She stood like immovable stone until they vanished, remained a statue a few moments after until she was sure they were gone. When it was clear they weren’t coming back, she dropped her shoulders with a sigh. She’d been stupid, assuming that other fae could like her. Just because she’d found one or two that might didn’t mean they were the rule instead of the exception. She was still who she was, and who she was was wrong. 

No matter. If the lampade came back again, she’d be ready for them. She was sure of that.

[mvvnsseul]

𝐌𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Starring: Eric Sohn (TBZ)

Naya travels to Miami for a summer holiday with her sister in hopes of bonding and spending time with her before college, where she finds herself stealing glances and daydreaming about the hot surfer she met at the beach.

➵Pairings: surfer! Eric x oc! Naya

➵Genre: romance, summer, vacation-fling

➵Word count: 0.8 K

➵Warnings: mostly fluff, a lil' suggestive, no graphic depictions of violence

➵a/n: Okay so I haven't been active fore sometime since I'm preparing for college and writing three books on wattpad so I apologize for that. But anyways I hope you enjoy this work, and if u do, then a like and reblog would be very appreciated . Also my first time writing romance so apologizing in advance for any errors and cliches.

Disclaimer: This work is fictional and does not portray the celebrities lives in any way. Please separate fiction from reality.

PART ONE

Naya inhaled the humid air, a smile forming on her lips as she glanced at the picturesque view of the coast through the balcony of her hotel room as her hands held the railing. Her heart felt giddy like it could erupt any minute. And why not, after all, she was on her dream summer getaway with her sister, whom she hadn’t met for quite some time. Staying alone at home wasn’t doing much of a favor for her, and she wanted to spice up her life before she began college in the upcoming fall.

Her older sister had been accepted into the prestigious Miami university a couple of years back, and had moved there. Hence aware of her little sister’s beach obsession and in need of a vacation herself, she aimed to book a hotel in the tropical paradise and spend some quality time together to make up for the missed days.

Stretching her body as a yawn escaped her lips, Naya realized she desperately craved a little swim before her sister came back from her restaurant-hunting expedition, especially with how blissfully blue the water looked. Buckling her sandals, she sprinted down to the lagoon, the footwear filling in with masses of grainy sand. Pulling out a band on her wrist, she gathered her hair and tied them up into a ponytail. As her hands were busy with the hairdo, the corner of her eye caught something rather interesting.

Or someone.

A colossal wave rose in the distance, carrying a relaxed surfer as he skillfully rode it, the pressure of the water curving above his head. He turned according to the rhythm of the magnificent waves, before he wiped out and swam back to the sandy shores with his surfboard. Naya could see his face clearly. The male ran a hand through his wet dark hair as he ruffled them, splashing out the excess water on the dry gravel. His bare sun-kissed skin shone in the pleasant sunlight as water dripped down his athletic body. He shoved his dark strands out of his face as he whipped his head in her direction.

Horrified, Naya turned away in a flash of a second, glancing upwards at the colorful fleet of exotic birds flying.

“Excuse me?” A raspy voice called out from beside her as she glanced at the source. It was the surfer guy, now standing inches away from her.

“Oh, uh yes?” Naya answered in a slightly trembling voice, for which she wanted to kick herself.

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

He stated, a cordial smile crawling up his face.

“Oh, me and my sister are here for the summer vacation.” Naya smiled as she replied, trying to calm her giddy heart down. It was at that moment where she focused on how bewitching his eyes were as he looked into hers.

“I see…” He clamped the surfboard under his arm. “I’m Eric, by the way.” His gaze landed on Naya, eyes not breaking the contact.

“Naya.” She answered, glancing at the alluring man before her as they gazed at each other. Everything seemed to halt. What seemed like minutes was actually seconds, as the two held their irresistible stares, when suddenly, her sister Lia’s voice echoed through the breezy air. 

“Naya, come on, time for dinner!”

Eric lightly clicked his tongue, a hand brushing the side of his neck. “Well then, catch you around, Naya.” He remarked as he shot her a wink before taking off in their direction.

There was something so enthralling about Mr. Surfer that she couldn’t explain, as pink color rushed to her face as she inhaled a deep breath, lips curving into a grin. “You too.”

In the evening, Naya laid on the couch, overlooking the balcony which showed off the breathtaking Miami night sky. Lights from stalls illuminated the seaside, which now looked rather peaceful, accompanied with the bustling city view in the far distance.

However, she didn’t pay any attention to the scenery or the stalls, as the one and only Eric devoured her mind. Her finger twirled a bunch of hair strands as she recalled the little interaction with him.

“So you’ve made a friend, huh?” Her sister asks, raising her brows and showcasing her interest in the interaction at the beach. Naya gasped, her mind flashing her soul back to reality as she cleared her throat. “Yeah. I did.” She replied, to which her sister nodded, her eyes fixed on her phone as she messaged her friends. Naya grabbed the plate of fish tacos, shoving a big morsel in her mouth.

“You know…” The older began, as Naya glanced over at her, her brows furrowing slightly. “… it’s a good accomplishment for someone who barely steps foot outside the house.”

Naya choked on the spicy seasoning as Lia patted her back, offering a glass of water, which she promptly accepted, chugging it down her burning throat.

“Calm down dude.”

Naya nodded profusely, her mind drifting off to dreamland again when her sister’s voice interrupted. “The beach is stunning at night, you know, Naya. You should go down and see.”

➵a/n (2): Hi, thankyou so so much for reading this work. Let me know your feedback through a message or reblog ;)) Thankyou 💕

[ensumo-mart]

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[reki-of-the-valley]

2006

Day 3 - Vintage

Read it on AO3 here

First | < Previous | Day 3 | Next >

---

“Mama!”

A flash of dirty blond hair comes into view, running right past the camcorder which follows the pitter-patter of the heavy, childish steps. The boy slams into his mother’s leg, arms wrapping around her knee as he looks up at her with his big, excited sky-blue eyes.

“Mama! Santa Claus left lots and lots of presents!”

“He sure did, Langa.”

Giggles fill the air as Nanako picks up the boy. He squirms in her arms as she presses kiss after kiss to his chubby little cheeks. He squirms and whines in the background as the camera pans away from the mother and child. Everything goes blurry for a moment, flashes of smudged colors filling the screen. The screen focuses and unfocussed a few times before finally catching the brightly decorated tree.

It's loaded, Christmas ornaments filling every square inch of the tree. Every decoration imaginable is found on the branches: sparkling garlands, glistening tassel, strings of colorful lights, shiny glass ornaments, glittery snowflakes, they’re all there. Every possible decoration is hung on the branches, branches that start to bend under the weight of it all. And it’s a beautiful sight, despite the grainy quality of the early 2000s video. The tree is lovely; it was clearly decorated with lots of care and love. It’s splendid in the middle of the home's living room, but the impressiveness does not end there.

The camera shifts once more, pointing down this time. It catches on the sparkles under the tree, piles of gifts resting under the colorful tree. No two are the same, each decorated so uniquely. And each one is more impressive than the last. Whoever wrapped them really gave it their all. Whoever wrapped the gifts did it with so much love and adoration. Only a person excited for the holidays would put in so much effort to add so many colorful ribbons and bows to the already beautiful and glistening wrapping paper. Only a loving person would create a child’s paradise under a tree, dozens of presents laid out around a Christmas crib.

The camera pans once more, pointing right down at the ground. Big blue eyes come in focus, the face of a chubby toddler taking up most of the screen. His pudgy little hands grip onto the filmmaker’s pants, tugging on the fabric to grab the adult’s attention.

“What you doing?”

Loud laughter shakes the camera, crackling as it comes out of the speakers. It’s much louder than the other voices that have been caught on tape, much closer to the microphone. And a voice comes out, low and filled with happiness.

“I’m making a movie, buddy. So when you’ll be big like me, you can look at this and remember your third Christmas.”

The child tilts his head, locks of blond hair falling over his eyes. His lips part for a moment, eyebrows suddenly pulled together, before being pressed into a thin line as he stares into the distance. It’s a look he’ll never grow out of, the perpetual confusion so clear on his face. It’ll never leave him but that doesn’t mean that light won’t shine in those blue eyes, a sparkle as he looks up once more.

“A movie like on tv?”

It doesn’t need to be captured on camera for the man’s smile to come through. It’s clear in his voice. He’s probably grinning as he pats the boy’s head.

“That’s right, Langa. A movie just like on tv.”

“I wanna make a movie!” His face lights up as his head snaps to the side, presumably to look at his mother who is off-screen. “Mama? Mama, I wanna make a movie like papa!”

The camera shakes once more as laughter echoes through the low-quality microphone. The focus is still on the boy, on his big eyes that glance between his parents, both laughing at him. It’s nothing mean but the child doesn’t seem too pleased. A small pout starts to form as he stares up, eyes fixated on the camera lens. His hands reach up, but the camera moves up before he can grab anything, and the new perspective makes him seem even smaller. The makeshift aerial view truly emphasizes his smallness. To think Langa was ever so tiny compared to everyone.

“Wanna try.”

He reaches up once more, pushing himself on his tiptoes as he grabs at the air. He wants the camera but he’s lifted away before he can pull anything down, anything that should not be found on the floor. And he gasps delightedly, a smile blossoming across his face as he realizes he’s in his mother’s arms. He happily cuddles against her, little arms wrapping around her neck as she whispers something to his ear, words surprisingly captured by the microphone.

“How about you open your presents, Baby?”

Langa squeals as his mother puts him down. He looks ecstatic as he runs to the tree. He’s clearly very excited but he’s also surprisingly patient for a child. He doesn’t grab whatever he can get his hands on as most children would. He simply sits by the tree and stares at his parents with those big blue eyes that will never change. He stares, patiently waiting for Nanako to hand him his first gift. And once he has the first box set down in front of him, he keeps staring. Suddenly, yet unsurprisingly, Langa seems lost.

“Langa,” there’s a fizzle, the voice far too close to the cheap microphone, “you can open it. It’s your present; Santa made it just for you.”

It takes a moment for the confusion to fade away from the boy’s face, but as soon as it’s gone, a grin takes over, his cheekbones high as he rips the blue paper off the box. His eyes shine as he keeps ripping, the sound resonating and creating scratches in the audio. He rips until it’s all gone and he’s left with nothing more than a box. His eyes snap up to his father, confusion suddenly overly visible on his chubby little face.

“Well, what did Santa give you, bud? Wanna show me?”

The boy holds up the box, covering most of his face with it. There’s a picture of colorful blocks on it, clearly depicting the toy contained by the cardboard. The camera has a hard time focusing on the text written on it, Langa shaking it, not knowing how to open it. He shakes it until he gives up, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth as he makes his way to his mother. The camera follows him, capturing the moment he holds his gift up to Nanako.

“Can you open it please, Mama?”

She chuckles as she crouches down to be Langa size. With a nod, Nanako takes the box from his hands and opens it with ease. And as soon as she hands him a few of the wooden blocks, Langa beams. His grin is huge as he stacks them one over the other, creating a tower that eventually crumbles. The blocks lay on the floor for a moment, the room going completely silent. It is as if they were expecting the boy to burst into tears but he doesn’t. He simply stares at his mess before looking up at his mother once more and opening his mouth. The words don’t come out right away, but when they do, there’s no hint of sadness or distress in his voice. In fact, it’s perfectly normal, his usual high-pitched and childish voice.

“Can I open another present?”

Nanako lets out a small sigh of relief as she gets up. She presents her hand to her son which he immediately takes.

“Of course, Baby. How about you open…” Langa sits by the tree once more as Nanako grabs another brightly wrapped box and hands it to him. “Open this one. It’s from me. For my favorite baby.”

Blue eyes flicker between the box on his knees and his mother’s face. Adorable confusion appears on his face yet again as his little voice is caught on camera.

“M’your only baby.”

Nanako snorts, her hands quickly covering her mouth as she excuses herself. Her laughter resonates in the distance but the focus is still on Langa who’s staring at his present. He doesn’t do anything as a muffled conversation happens behind the camera, playful bickering between husband and wife. He doesn’t react as his mother tells his father off, ordering him to stop laughing at her. But there’s fondness in her voice, a fondness that has never gone away and that will probably never go away. She may be telling him that he’s an ass for laughing at her, but it’s obvious she doesn’t mean. Or maybe she does, but that doesn’t take away the love she feels for the man holding the camera.

The laughter-filled bickering comes to an end as Langa begins tearing paper once more. The sound of ripping drowns everything out and so does the squeal as he pulls out a green plushie for the box. His little gasp is adorable as he presses the toy to his chest in amazement, hugging it as tightly as he can. He squeezes and rocks it before holding it up to his parents and to the camera.

“Is a dinonor, Mama! Like Harry! I have a dinonor like Harry!”

There’s more laughter, a sound filled with adoration and fondness. “That’s right, Baby! It’s a dinosaur! Do you remember what sound they make?”

The laughter is loud as Langa lets out a tiny roar and he seems pleased with the reaction he has caused. He seems pleased yet shy, burying his face in his new toy and swaying from side to side. He seems so happy and excited, a look that doesn’t cross his face much anymore. Or at least, it’s really this unguarded. He seems over the moon but the camera shifts away from him, Nanako suddenly coming into a view. Her smile is wide but it disappears rather quickly, the screen going back from her hand over the lens. All visuals disappear but the audio is still clear, the video not coming to an end just yet.

“Put that thing away, Oliver. You’ve had your fun, so come and enjoy Christmas with your wife and son now. No screen separating you from us. I’m telling you, you’re trying to capture so much that you’re going to end up missing most of it. So just… spend time with us and stop thinking about how we’ll feel about it in 15 years.”

There’s light laughter that hangs in the air, though it isn’t ear-shattering this time. It’s light and pleasant; it’s no wonder Nanako had fallen in love with it.

“Of course, my Love. Anything for you.” There’s a silence, only distant childish sounds being vaguely heard. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The home video finally cuts, a big replay button appearing on the tablet’s screen. Reki can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he looks at the woman next to him. He can’t help but smile softly as he catches the tears at the corner of her eyes. There’s a fond expression on her face, adoration in her eyes, but there’s also a hint of sadness underneath it all. Reki can’t tell if it’s the nostalgia getting to her or if it’s that she’s missing her late husband. All he knows is that he’s patting her hand and sending her a sympathetic smile.

The light laughter that comes out of Nanako is both beautiful and heart-shattering. Her laughter is like Langa’s – it starts out small and shy before growing into something big – but there’s something else to it. There’s an emotion Reki can’t quite name, but it’s distinctively Nanako. It’s beautifully Nanako.

“Wasn’t he just the cutest little boy?”

Reki nods as Nanako beams. She’s absolutely not wrong; mini Langa really was adorable. He had that childish charm that Reki can’t help but smile at, that cuteness that attracts him. Reki finds tiny Langa to be adorable, though it isn’t a surprise; even at 19, Reki finds Langa to be the cutest boy he’s ever laid eyes on, though not quite in the same sense. If he were to find himself face-to-face with a three-year-old Langa, Reki would most likely pick him up and press kisses to his chubby cheeks, the same way he still presses kisses to Chihiro and Nanaka’s cheeks before bed. He’d have fawned over the toddler and pressed kiss after kiss to his tiny face. But now, if a present-day Langa were to walk in, Reki knows he doesn’t just want to press innocent kisses to his cheek. There’s a little bit more desire when it comes to a 19-year-old Langa, not that Reki would ever say that to Nanako.

“It always surprises me to see how blond he was as a kid.”

Nanako sighs as she flips the tablet shut, though the smile on her face tells Reki that she isn’t annoyed. She isn’t the one who tries to dissuade Langa from dyeing his hair; she knows it’s an innocent act of independence on his behalf.

“He gets it from his father. I’m sure if he let his natural color grow out, he’d be just as pale, especially with the sun. I remember when he was still a little boy, he’d be this super light blond in the spring and all summer long, and then when fall would come along, he’d darken a little, looking a bit more brunet than blond. I never thought the sun could have such an effect on hair until I saw it on him, though I’m sure he’d be blond year-round here, given that it’s always so sunny.”

Reki chuckles as Nanako shakes her head. She says something about Langa refusing to let go of his blue but Reki can’t help but side with Langa’s stubbornness. The blue looks go so why should he change it? He looks good and he looks happy, so there’s no use in trying to change his mind. And Nanako can’t help but agree; all she wants is for her son to be happy.

“What are you two doing?”

Both Reki and Nanako turn to look at Langa who is standing behind them. He stares at them with those big blue eyes, eyes that never change. He stares with that veil of confusion that dulls their usual sharpness. He stares, searching for an answer from his boyfriend or mother.

His hair is drenched and dripping onto a towel that rests around his shoulders. His cheeks are flushed from the hot shower he just took – Reki still doesn’t understand how he can stand to wash under scalding hot water. He looks a mess but Reki can’t help but smile at him. Langa looks a mess but he’s still so beautiful. Even when he isn’t trying, Langa is quite a beauty.

“I’m just showing Reki some old video I found the other day. Do you remember the Christmas when you got your Mr. Dinonor?”

The color drains from Langa’s face at the mention of the green plush. Reki has to bite the insides of his cheeks to suppress the laughter that’s threatening to bubble out because he knows how embarrassed Langa gets about his old toys. Especially the ones he still has, 16 years later. Reki knows for a fact that the once fluffy and soft-looking green dinosaur is the same as the old stuffed animal that sits in the corner of Langa’s shelf, resting against the books that never move.

“Please tell me you didn’t show Reki anything embarrassing?”

Reki can’t help the snort that escapes him. Langa really didn’t change over the years; he’s adorable and beautiful and ever so whiny.

“Just got to see how cute you were as a kid, man. And you were really cute. I think I died a little at just how adorable you were.”

Color rides once more, the blush reappearing against Langa’s now well-defined cheekbones, though this time, it’s not from hot water. He’s red in the face as his eyes snap towards his mother, looking horror-struck as the woman simply laughs. And in that moment, as Nanako laughs at her whining son, Reki realizes just how much he loves this little family. He’s known for a while that he loves Langa, every bit of him in every way possible, but he hadn’t realized how much he had grown to care for the woman who raised the person he loves most in the world. He had never realized just how much he adores Nanako, a wonderful woman he now can’t imagine not having in his life.

[letterboxd]

The Other Bill and Ted.

As No Man of God hits theaters and VOD following its Tribeca premiere in June, director Amber Sealey talks to Dominic Corry about her Ted Bundy two-hander and answers our Life in Film questions.

Amber Sealey has been very acknowledging of the fact that her new film is one of many to center around the horrific crimes of serial rapist and murderer Ted Bundy. As she outlined in her Tribeca Q&A with Letterboxd, one way she intended No Man of God to stick out from the pack was through the use of consciously silent background characters who represent Bundy’s voiceless victims.

The structure and source of the film also help distinguish it from other Ted Bundy movies: No Man of God is based on the recordings of FBI agent Bill Hagmaier (played in the film by Elijah Wood), who was tasked with interviewing an incarcerated Bundy in the years leading up to his execution, in order to help determine whether or not he was criminally insane, which could’ve helped to remove Bundy from death row.

With many of Bundy’s victims never officially attributed to the killer, Hagmaier also sought to draw confessions, and something resembling remorse, out of Bundy, to help bring closure to those victims’ families. As detailed in the film, much of which was taken directly from transcripts of the interviews, Bundy and Hagmaier’s relationship was complicated, and the intimacy that develops between them informs No Man of God in often uncomfortable ways.

Luke Kirby and Elijah Wood in a scene from ‘No Man of God’.

Wood (also a producer on the film) and Luke Kirby turn in career-high work as Hagmaier and Bundy, respectively, while Sealey textures the film with some of the most emotive stock-footage montage sequences this side of The Parallax View. Among positive reactions to the film, Claira Curtis, in a four-star review, writes: “Perhaps one of the most successful elements lies in Amber Sealey’s uncentering of the ‘genius’ moniker that has followed Bundy through his years of infamy.” On the pairing of Wood and Kirby in the leading roles, Connor Ashdown-Ford notes that “the chemistry between them both is so authentic it’s darn right unsettling”.

Unsettling is right. Late in the film, Sealey depicts a real-life TV interview that took place between Bundy and evangelical preacher/​author/​psychologist James Dobson (played by stalwart character actor Christian Clemonson), who uses Bundy to forward his anti-pornography agenda. Throughout this scene, the camera lingers on a young female member of the TV crew (played by an uncredited Hannah Jessup) as she silently reacts to being in Bundy’s presence. Emblematic of Sealey’s aforementioned philosophy in constructing the film, it’s a moment that appears to be having an impact on audiences, as detailed in Nolan Barth’s review: “She might have one of my favorite performances of this year? She shows us fascination, guilt, disgust and fear in like only 30 seconds of screen time. Give her an Oscar. Please.”

In an awkward incident that represents a perhaps unanticipated effect of there being so many contemporaneous movies with the same subject matter, director Joe Berlinger (Metallica: Some Kind of Monster, the Paradise Lost trilogy), who recently directed both the Zac Efron-starring scripted Ted Bundy biopic Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile and the documentary Conversations with a Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes, sent an email to Sealey ahead of No Man of God’s Tribeca premiere about remarks she had made while discussing how her film differentiated itself from the existing Ted Bundy movies. He felt she had accused him of glorifying Bundy. After Sealey took the exchange public, she explained to Variety that she had never singled out Berlinger’s films in any of her remarks.

In a conversation with Letterboxd, Sealey delves into her approach to No Man of God, and talks about some of her filmic inspirations.

‘No Man of God’ director Amber Sealey.

There is really effective and creepy use of stock-footage montages in this film. Sometimes you see that sort of thing at the beginning of a film, but it’s interesting that you keep going back to them after using them in the opening credits. What was the thinking in using those montages and how did you select the footage? Amber Sealey: The thinking for those was a couple things: One, we don’t leave the prison, and I wanted [the audience] to know a little bit what’s going on outside, in terms of the cultural zeitgeist, like what’s the tone of the time? What movies are popular? What books are popular? What are people wearing? I wanted to have there be a kind of cultural touchstone outside of the prison, but at the same time I wanted it to represent potentially a little bit of what was going on inside Bill’s mind. So the story of the montages as they go on, it gets a little bit more fucked up, for lack of a better word, for Bill, inside of his head.

We were originally going to shoot the crowd scenes [of protesters outside the prison] and recreate them and then because of Covid restrictions, we couldn’t do that anymore. So then I knew we were going to be using archival footage for the crowd, and I didn’t want the archival crowd footage to suddenly jump out as being so different from the rest of our film. We’re shooting on an ARRI camera, [so it’s] not going to look like a Hi-8 from the 1980s. I needed to incorporate this look, this ’80s grainy look into the rest of the movie so that it feels like it’s part and parcel of the film, part of the storytelling.

We got [the footage] in different ways. I have an old friend that I’ve known since I was like, two, he lived next door to me, and my cousin, they both had video cameras in the ’80s and would film everything. So some of that footage is old family footage of their family or friends. There’s a couple shots in there of my neighbors when I was growing up. Then some of it, we did a lot of research on [stock-imagery services] Getty and Pond5, just finding archival footage that we could use that really told the story that we wanted to tell with the montages. It was a lengthy process finding all of that footage for sure.

What was Bill Hagmaier’s involvement in the film? Bill is an executive producer on the film, so he was very involved. The transcripts of those conversations between Bill and Ted, we got from Bill. Bill gave us so much great stuff to work with—the newer FBI files that he was allowed to share with us and the recordings, and when the script was originally written it was written based off of those recordings, and the writer originally spoke to Bill and then when I came on board, I talked to him and then I changed the script, even more from conversations I had with him. He was just a resource.

Almost every [character] you see on screen, those are real people, and he hooked us up with a lot of those real people. I spoke with the prison guards and the wardens and all of that. Then he was just a resource in terms of like, I would ask him, “what color were your shoes?” “Did you carry this kind of briefcase or that kind of briefcase?” Because it was important to me that all that production-design stuff was really authentic. I liked to know, like, “what were your haircuts like then, Bill?” So he was available to talk about the emotional side of things, and then the real just humdrum kind of things. He’s just a lovely guy, he’s really supportive of me and of the film and he just wanted to be accessible as much as he could and he was. He’s a very humble, generous person.

Aleksa Palladino plays civil-rights attorney Carolyn Lieberman to Luke Kirby’s Ted Bundy.

What films did you watch, or cite as reference points in preparation for No Man of God? Literally hundreds and hundreds of movies. When I’m looking for my creative look, I just watched so many films, and a lot of old films. I’d have to go back and look at my look book to tell you all of them but I pull images from the weirdest places. But once I get past figuring out the creative look of the film, I don’t then like to watch the movies a lot because I try to really make it its own thing and I worry too much that I’ll be copycatting other artists and I want to try [to] avoid that.

What’s your favorite true-crime movie? Oh god, what was the one about the guy who like, went to the bathroom and confessed, accidentally? He forgot his mic was on? Do you remember that one?

The Jinx? Yeah. Even though it’s a documentary, I’m going to go with that.

What’s your favorite big-screen serial-killer performance? It has to be Luke Kirby. Luke Kirby as Bundy.

What was the first horror film you saw? My dad had me watch Cat People when I was nine. Does that count?

The Val Lewton one? The ’80s one.

Oh, the Paul Schrader one? Yes! The Paul Schrader one.

Nastassja Kinski in Paul Schrader’s ‘Cat People’ (1982).

When you were nine years old? Yeah. I also watched Blue Velvet when I was nine. Oh wow, thank you Dad.

What’s the most disturbing film you’ve ever seen? Most disturbing, hmm… Kids.

What film made you want to become a filmmaker? It was Michael Winterbottom’s Nine Songs. My first film was a reaction to that movie. I’m a huge Winterbottom fan. That’s a great movie, but also it advertises itself as being a real relationship and real sex and I watched it and I was like, well that’s not like any… it was like two models, you know? Their sex scenes were like a perfume ad and I was like, well that’s not what real sex looks like for real people. I made my first feature after that.

What’s your go-to comfort movie? Oh, so many, let’s think. The Proposal. I love Trainwreck. I really like rom-coms, like if I’m sick or something, I’ll watch rom-coms. Roman Holiday, stuff like that.

What’s a classic that you couldn’t get into or that you think is overrated? Umm. Star Wars. I’m trying to think, there’s something else that I just don’t like… everyone loves that singing movie. What’s that singing movie that when Moonlight won the Oscar, it got announced?

La La Land. Yeah. I was not into that.

What filmmaker living or dead do you envy/admire the most? Yorgos Lanthimos. Or Phoebe Waller-Bridge.

If you were forced to remake a classic movie, what would you remake? Grease.

Who would be in the cast of your Grease remake? Oh I don't even know but it would be much darker. It would still be a musical and still be funny, but much darker.

I would like to see that movie. I would too.

Related content

Diego’s list of films featuring the FBI

Boris1980’s list of films about serial killers

Follow Dominic on Letterboxd

‘No Man of God’ is in theaters and on VOD from August 27, 2021.

[per-ineptia-ad-astra]

hello all.

as you may have noticed, I haven’t been around for uh...almost five months now. I’m very sorry for up and abandoning you all like that. it wasn’t entirely intentional.

around about July my mental health took a pretty sharp and sudden downturn. I don’t know that happened when it did, there was no particular catalyst as far as I could tell except that maybe the stress of everything going on just built up too much or something. my anxiety just skyrocketed out of the blue and set off an obsessive thought spiral of the sort I haven’t had for years. I called my doctor, switched up my medication some, and figured I would just take a break from tumblr for a few days or so since being on it all the time was just making the anxiety worse. I figured I’d be back on and back writing soon, I just needed a little time to feel better.

things...did not get better. a little time turned into a lot of time and then suddenly a few months had passed and I was still stuck in the anxiety pit and hadn’t written anything or really done much of anything in all that time. and the more I became aware of how much time had passed since I’d worked on anything, the more daunting the prospect of getting back to it became, and it was already starting from a pretty high base level of daunting.

eventually, when I realized that medication alone probably wasn’t going to pull me out of this one, I started seeing a therapist. things are still not exactly ideal, but I think they are slowly improving. I’m hoping I will be able to get back to writing recaps soon. (the This Side of Paradise recap was actually very close to done when all this happened, so hopefully I can at least finish that one before too long.)

I’ve put off making this post for a while because I wasn’t really sure what to say after being away for so long. but I finally decided to do it today.

I’ve been scared every day for months, but today is definitely the scariest one. I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen tonight and in the following days. about the only thing I’m sure of right now is that it’s gonna be a real mess here for a while before things shake out some way or another. I can’t come up with anything pithy and reassuring to say even to myself right now.

but if you need to hear this tonight: hang in there. no matter how bad it looks, hang in there. if you think you can’t make it through the whole week, just make it through tonight. if you can’t make it through the whole night, make it one more hour.

here is what I know about anxiety: sometimes you have to make a seat for it next to you. make it a cup of tea. pat it on the back. it’s probably not about to go anywhere tonight, and spending energy on trying to banish it will only make you feel worse.

hug someone. if you don’t have someone, hug something. a pet, a stuffed animal if you have one, a pillow if nothing else. add some comforting stimulus to the environment you’re in--light a candle with a nice smell, wrap yourself in a fuzzy blanket, put some soothing music or white noise on. if you start feeling like you’re disassociating or your thoughts are out of control, look around you and list three things you can see, three things you can hear, and so on, and repeat for as long as you need to. putting an ice cube in your mouth or eating a piece of dark chocolate or hard candy can help too.

take deep breaths.

watch the news if you need to, check out with some funny videos or a comfort show or video games if you’d rather. watching the results won’t change them.

one way or another, we will see the other side eventually.

[ID: A grainy color photo of Leonard Nimoy and DeForest Kelley standing together on the set of the Enterprise. Kelley has his arms folded and is looking down with a fond smile on his face. Nimoy has his arm around Kelley’s back and is looking at the camera and laughing.]

[get-your-fics]

Violent Delights - Chapter Five

Nonstop

Summary: Bruce Wayne is addicted to a lot of things to distract from his dark urges, but his addiction to you might only increase them.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, stalking, kidnapping, underage drinking, drug use, torture, abuse

CHAPTER FOUR

You spent an hour and twenty-seven minutes in the bathroom of your luxury penthouse, and when you walked out, your hair was slicked back into a skilled updo, and your makeup was applied expertly. There wasn’t a hair out of place or a nick of lipstick on your teeth. It made me furious seeing how much effort you were putting in for your date with Brant. He was so self-centered, I doubt he would even take a second glance at you.

I sat in the backseat of my town car and stared down at the grainy video of you on the iPad in my lap. I had taken the time earlier before I had left your penthouse to install bugs in almost every room in your place. The tiny video cameras had been planted carefully so you wouldn’t notice them but I would still have a good view of everything you did. Now, I could keep tabs on you twenty-four seven with you being none the wiser, and I wouldn’t even have to leave my couch.

You hugged your cream-colored, silk robe close around your figure and walked over to the bed. You let it fall off your shoulders, revealing a fuchsia bra and panties. You were wearing matching underwear for him? I barely had time to appreciate your curves before you picked up the dress laid out on your bed and stepped into it. It had an open back and a plunging neckline that flaunted the swell of your breasts. My tongue ran over the healed cut on my lip I had sustained earlier. I didn’t want him to see you like this. No one should get to see you like this except for me.

You smoothed out the skirt of your dress with your hands before disappearing into your walk-in closet. When you came out, giant, cushion-cut diamonds hung from your ears, and a heavy, diamond necklace laid flat against your collarbone. It managed to cover up some of your ample cleavage. Hopefully, Brant would be too distracted by your bling to ogle your tits all night.

You slipped your feet into your Louboutins and slung your purse over your shoulder. In my hands were a pair of headphones plugged into the iPad that picked up the signal of the listening device hidden in your purse. I had snuck one into every single designer purse of yours, so no matter which one you chose, I would still be able to hear you when you went on your date tonight.

You strode out of the front doors of your apartment building and towards the town car parked at the curb. You climbed into the backseat, and I clicked off the iPad, the screen flickering to black. I pointed at your car as it teared down the road, leaving tire tracks in its wake. “Follow that car,” I instructed my chauffeur.

He merely gave me a quick nod of his head before pulling onto the street. There was no doubt he knew I was stalking you now. I mean, he was the one who drove me to your penthouse everyday where I sat and watched for hours. But I paid him well enough so he knew to keep his mouth shut.

It was rush hour, which meant we ran into a lot of traffic. Usually, I would hate it, but with so many cars on the road swerving and honking at each other made it even easier to follow you while looking inconspicuous. We followed you for a couple of blocks before your car pulled up in front of a classy restaurant. It looked like the kind of joint that you needed to reserve a table at months in advance in order to get in. Well, unless you were me.

I watched you get out of your car and strut into the restaurant. Your town car drove away, and mine took its spot. I popped the headphones in my ears and listened as you approached the hostess. The audio quality wasn’t the best, since the tiny mic in your purse crackled with every movement, but it was manageable. “Hi, I’m meeting Brant Jones for dinner. Is he here yet?”

There was a pause before I heard a faint voice reply, “Yes, he is. Right this way.”

I looked up, and through the windows of the building, I could see you being led to a table in the corner of the restaurant. I could just make out Brant’s head of slicked, brown hair as he leaned back in his chair. He was dressed in a navy blue suit with a striped tie, and he looked every part the rich douchebag who manipulated vulnerable, naive girls for his own gain. When you approached, he stood from his chair and wrapped his arms around you. You returned the embrace and rested your head on his shoulder, your eyes falling closed in bliss.

My jaw ached from clenching it so hard, and I felt like I had venom running through my veins. You separated from each other, and I watched your lips move, but all I heard through my headphones was static. He pulled your chair out for you, and you gracefully sat down with your back to me. I ripped my headphones out of my ears. I needed to get closer. I needed to be able to see your face and hear your voice, or I was sure I was going to snap from staring at Brant all night.

I popped open the car door. “Drive around the block until I get back,” I said to my chauffeur without further explanation.

I caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “Yes, Mr. Wayne,” he responded.

I hopped out and slammed the door shut firmly behind me. I listened to the sound of tires scraping against gravel as the car pulled away behind me. I tugged on the lapels of my blazer and marched into the restaurant, past the cluster of nicely dressed people waiting to see if they could get a reservation, and straight up to the hostess. I ran a hand through my raven locks and pressed my palms flat against the table separating us. “I need,” I pointed to a table that was currently being cleared by a waiter, “that table.”

The hostess arched an over-plucked brow at me. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No.” There was no waver in my voice.

“Then I’ll have to put you down on our two hour long waitlist.” She flashed me a condescending smile. “Can I have your name, sir?”

My lips curled into a small smirk as I said, “Bruce Wayne.”

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Bruce Wayne? As in, Wayne Enterprises?”

I suppressed an eye roll. “Do you know any other Bruce Waynes?” She opened her mouth to speak, and I held up a finger, stopping her. “That was rhetorical.” I reached inside my blazer and retrieved my leather wallet. “How much is it going to cost to get that table over there?”

The hostess chewed on her bottom lip and glanced around to make sure no one was watching us. “A hundred dollars,” she said in a voice so quiet I could barely hear her.

I raised a brow. I easily would have paid a grand. I looked down and opened my wallet, pulling out a hundred dollar bill. I held it out to her, and she snatched it from my hand, stuffing it in her black button-up before anyone could see.

“Right this way, Mr. Wayne.” She turned and guided me to the table I had indicated. I took a seat and grabbed the white napkin folded into an origami bird of paradise on the table. “Your waitress will be right with you.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, not even looking at her. I absentmindedly put my napkin in my lap as I stared at you across the room. I had picked a table situated a good ways away from you so it would be hard to pick me out from the rest of the high class diners, but still close enough that I could see you and Brant and listen in on your conversation.

I was worried that I had missed something vital, but it seemed like you had only had time to order drinks and receive them. I was surprised to see that neither of you were drinking alcohol, not even Brant, and had opted for iced teas instead. “I miss you,” Brant said with a tender look in his eyes that was so unlike him.

“I know, I’ve missed you too. I’ve just been so busy recently, it’s crazy. I swear, it’s like I’ve been running from meeting to meeting to meeting nonstop. I hardly sleep anymore.” You laughed, but then you leaned on your elbows and rubbed your temples, and I could see the exhaustion in your eyes. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to bundle you in my arms and rock you until you fell asleep.

“It sounds like you need a break.” He tilted his head to the side.

“You never really get a break as a fundraising chairman. It’s a full-time job.” You gestured with your glass in your hand as you spoke. “I work around the clock. No one really understands how much effort goes into the stuff I do.”

“I do. It’s why I don’t get to see you as much,” he teased.

You took it seriously though. “I know,” you reached for his hand on the table and intertwined your fingers, “and I’ll try to make more time for you.”

“It’s not me you should worry about. Your mom misses you like crazy.” There it was, your mom again. What was the deal with her?

You scoffed. “Oh, please. All that woman wants to do is take me to the salon or to the mall. No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“Well, what’s that?” He quirked a brow as his eyes scanned over you. “A new dress?”

“Hey, I have to look the part.” You rolled your eyes. “High society needs to know they can trust me to send their money to the right places.”

“Well, you look nice.” His lips curled into a genuine smile. “Really, you do.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

I snapped my head to see a petite waitress hovering over my table. “Uh...” I pretended to glance at the drink menu. “I’ll have a glass of whatever your house chardonnay is.”

I grabbed the menu and pushed it into her chest before looking back at you. I could still feel her presence, the wheels in her mind turning as she contemplated whether or not she should card me. After a second, I heard her murmur a quick, “I’ll be back,” before she scurried off like a scared, little mouse.

I tuned back into the conversation. “You really should try to relax every once in a while, though. The stress can’t be good.” The concern in Brant’s voice was evident. “You do a lot of great things for the community, but we can’t have you breaking down. Sometimes, I think you’re a little too addicted to giving back.”

“There’s worse things to be addicted to.” You shrugged. Brant’s demeanor slightly fell. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

“No, it’s okay,” he insisted.

“How is your recovery going, by the way?” You messed with the cloth napkin in your lap. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is good. I’ve been clean for about two months now.” He smiled proudly. “But don’t try and change the subject on me. You’re not off the hook yet.” He laughed. “Can you at least try to unwind a little bit every now and then? Even if it’s just to have dinner with me?”

A giggle tumbled out from between your lips. “Okay.” You nodded firmly. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” His gaze was filled with pure adoration. “I love you.”

The corners of your lips tugged upwards into a small smile. “I love you too.”

He rubbed circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, and my stare burned a hole into his head. I love you? How could you say you love him? He was worse than me! When I knew him, he snorted coke and visited strip clubs and paid for prostitutes. This was all obviously some type of act, some show he was putting on to deceive you. How could you fall for it? How could you not see through it as easily as I could?

I clenched my fists so hard that my knuckles turned white and my nails dug into my palms. I wanted to split his skull open, to see the fear fill his eyes as I raised a knife only to bury it in his gut. I wanted to skin him alive and chop off his head and put it on a spike and display it in my front lawn as a warning. A warning to all the people who thought they could take what’s mine, and I wanted you to be there to see all of it.

“Here’s your drink.” The waitress set down a glass of greenish yellow liquid, breaking me out of my trance. She stood up straight and clasped her hands in front of her. “Have you decided what you want to order?”

I rested my head against my hand. “Actually, I’ll just get the check. Thanks.” I dismissed her with a wave, and she hesitated a moment before scampering away. I was losing my wits with you. All the dark urges I’ve tried to suppress with all the clubbing and the drinking and the drugs were surfacing again because of my obsession with you. I needed to stop, needed to distance myself from you before I completely lost control. You might not know when to take a break, but I certainly did.

I heard laughter drifting over from your table, and I looked down at my hands in my lap. I uncurled my fists to see eight little cuts dripping scarlet blood down my palms, staining my pale skin red.

-

I trudged into Wayne Manor, my head slightly spinning from the glass of chardonnay on an empty stomach. For once, Alfred didn’t immediately bombard me on my way in, and I prayed to God I wouldn’t run into him for the rest of the night. I turned into the living room, prepared to drown my sorrows in whiskey and marijuana until I felt another presence in there with me. My body tensed, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on edge.

“Hi.” Grace stepped forward shyly. “Alfred let me in. I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by.”

Goddamn that fucking butler. “No, not at all.” I walked over to the mini bar and grabbed a bottle of dark liquid. “Would you like a drink?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

Did I even have to ask? I set out two glasses and twisted the cap off the bottle. I tipped it and poured the whiskey into the crystal glasses. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” She smiled sheepishly. “You were acting really weird that night a couple weeks ago at the Towers, and I haven’t seen you since then.” “Yeah, sorry. I got kind of busy.” I put the bottle back and held out a glass to her.

“Thanks.” She took it from me and sipped the liquid. She pulled away and made a face before regaining her composure. “I understand that lifestyle can be too much sometimes. I don’t blame you for taking a break from all of that. Sometimes, I need a break myself.” She huffed.

I nodded like I understood, but I couldn’t remember an instance where she had ever declined going out on the town with us. “Right. Well, it was really sweet of you to check up on me, but I’m okay, so...” I put my hand on her shoulder to lead her out.

She grabbed my hand and spun around so she was facing me. “I have to admit, I also missed you.” She batted her eyelashes up at me.

I swallowed my repulsion. “We sure have grown close over the past couple of months, haven’t we?”

“Mmm, very close,” she purred and ran a hand down my chest. “I know you’ve been struggling a lot recently, and I probably can’t relate to what you’re going through, but I’ll always be here for you. No matter what, okay?”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. “Thanks, Grace.”

“Of course,” she whispered. Without another word, she wrapped her fingers around the lapels of my blazer and pulled my face down to meet hers. She connected our lips in a rushed kiss. My limbs froze in surprise, and my eyes widened. But after a second, I closed my eyes and kissed her back. Maybe she could help me finally get you off of my mind.

I grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her up. She pulled away from me as an excited giggle escaped from her lips. She folded her legs around my waist and draped her arms over my shoulders, resuming the kiss. Her heels dug into my lower back until they fell to the floor with a clatter. I carried her out of the living room and down the hall, kicking the door to my bedroom open with my foot.

I dropped her onto the bed with a bounce, and she laughed. She sat up on her elbows and spread her legs, revealing a glimpse of the lacy underwear she was wearing. I climbed on top of her and crashed my lips against hers. I pushed up the skirt of her dress over her hips and hooked my thumbs under the fabric of her panties. She slid a hand in between our bodies and palmed me through my pants.

As hard as I tried, she just wasn’t doing it for me. Nothing about Grace excited me or turned me on anymore. Without realizing it, my thoughts filled with the images of you undressing as I had watched from inside your closet unbeknownst to you. I thought about how smooth and soft your skin looked, how badly my hands ached to feel your curves. I could feel my growing erection straining against the confines of my pants.

I tugged Grace’s underwear down her tan legs and tossed them to the side. I sat back on my heels and stared down at her. “Turn around. Get on your hands and knees.”

She blinked. “Okay.” She did as I said and turned over, sticking her ass in the air.

I unzipped my pants and pushed them down along with my boxers in one fell swoop, freeing my hardening cock. I pumped my length in my hand a couple of times before lining up with her entrance. She wiggled her hips, pushing back against me impatiently. I gripped her hips before thrusting into her almost to the hilt. She was so wet, I entered her easily. I moved my hips back and impaled her again, setting a slow pace.

“Fuck, Bruce!” she moaned. “That feels so good!”

My eyes snapped open. Her voice was too high-pitched, too whiny. It was like the sound of nails on a chalkboard or a cat’s scratchy howl. Yours was the complete opposite. It was husky and sultry and smooth as silk. I leaned forward and clasped my hand over her mouth. “Shut up. Don’t talk,” I panted as I continued to pound into her.

She whimpered, but the sound was muffled by my hand. From this angle, I couldn’t see her face, making it easier to pretend you were the one I was fucking instead. I increased my speed and felt pleasure rising in my gut. My hand slipped from her mouth as I held onto her hips again, my fingers digging into her flesh as I thrusted into her.

“(Y/N),” your name spilled from my lips involuntarily. “God, (Y/N).” It was barely more than a whisper, but Grace’s head perked up. “Wha... what?” she managed through breathy moans.

My eyes flashed with fury, and I buried a hand in her tangled hair. I yanked her head back. “I said don’t talk!” I grunted.

She let out a sharp yelp. “Bruce, you’re hurting me!”

I growled and shoved her face down into the pillow. She started to cry or mewl. Which one it was, I couldn’t tell because the noise was stifled by the pillow. And  I didn’t care. I was too enthralled in chasing my own pleasure and the image I had of you locked into my brain.

I remembered I still had your ruined panties in my pants pocket, and I dug them out. I brought them up to my nose and inhaled deeply. Your scent combined with my own release triggered my orgasm, and my hips snapped against Grace’s one last time before I spilled my seed into her. I grunted as a wave of ecstasy washed over me. I pulled out of her and collapsed limp onto the bed next to her, my body coated in a sheen of sweat and your panties dangling from my fingers.

I guess my break hadn’t lasted long.

CHAPTER SIX

[kewltie]

“It’s still not too late to make a run for it,” Heechul suggest slyly, his elbows resting on the table because he has absolutely no manners.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and elbows off the table, please. How many times have Lady Haine had to yell at us about that already,” Donghae says snidely. He doesn’t have the time to entertain any of Heechul’s silly ideas, not anymore anyway, instead, he looks out toward the sky garden—lushes green, hanging waterfalls, and an endless stretch of blue that opens up above them. It’s a picture of serenity and quiet beauty painted with an array of sweeping colors from flowers at bloom.

If Donghae can ignore the shadow of Serpentine guards close by keeping an eye on him, one part deterrence and the other his jailer, it’s almost perfect.

Heechul scowls but removes his elbows from the table anyway because even when their wetnurse is currently buried seven feet under in Terra, the fear she had instilled in their younger selves is good enough for Heechul to complied even now.

Donghae lets the silent settle comfortably between them once more, they had known each other too long to have the need for words to bound them together, contents to relish this rare peaceful moment while they still have it with each other. Heechul’s presence here in Donghae’s wedding party is unnecessary; he isn’t Jeongsu who is master of diplomacy and negotiating or Kangin whose skilled on the battlefield will assure Donghae’s safety and that the wedding will go on unscathed but Donghae is quietly pleased that his cousin is here all the same. 

Let Jeongsu and the rest of the Avian’s council work out the diplomacy of having to arrange a hotly controversial marriage, while Donghae and Heechul enjoy this beautiful view out here without any of the thinly disguise politic hovering over them.

A gush of wind blows past time, ruffling Heechul’s hair and causing Donghae to shiver. Despite the beginning of spring’s spirited step into the region, the open air is cool and biting up here on Orion forcing Donghae to pulls his winter cloak closer. Heechul, annoyingly, remains unbothered as he pats his hair down again despite the natural inclination of their race toward heat and warmer weather.

Everything is different here in Orion, from the strange weather and stranger creatures that inhabit this space that Donghae is supposed to call home. He doesn’t know if he can get used to it, to look up and see the sun or moon above them, to plant his feet on the soil and know that this piece of land isn't anchored to the earth, and to look upon one of the shadows and see distinctly human figures with giant wingspan upon it. All of this while Donghae is several hundred miles above ground.

But even higher still, massive flying behemoths circle the floating islands that made up the Sky City of Orion—the living heart of the mighty and fierce Avian’s kingdom.

Donghae had only seen the legendary city in the old pages of history books and tall tales told to children to warn them to behave. “Be good my dear or a winged beast will swoop out of the sky and take you to their holy city where you will never be seen again,” Lady Haine said to the five years old Donghae, who looked so horrified by the thought of that he’d made sure to eat all his greens for that week.

Orion is a part myth and a cautionary tale, a paradise made by the terrors of the sky. But for all its beauty and allure, when Donghae close his eyes he sees the dim figure of a city cloaked in darkness and build in the belly of the earth.

Terra stands in stark contrast to Orion with it stone pillars that hold up the earthy roof over their head, the underground lake and rivers that are the lifeblood of their city, and their only form of light comes from the artificial fuse created by thousands of lamps that line their city and the living light gave off by the luminescence bugs. Terra is dark and grainy but life flourishes unrestrainedly and it is home to Donghae; he will miss it dearly.

Heechul suddenly perks up, eyes alight with another idea and Donghae knows he is already dreading what comes next. “We can steal one of their cute flying rodents—”

“They're called aroo and they’re not meant to ride on,” Donghae corrects because the journey to Orion took four and a half days even by the standard of their fastest komodos so he had plenty of free time to waste. Jeongsu had prepared a stack of books on Avian’s lore and customs for Donghae to read lest he offend his new in-laws by blinking or smile the wrong way but it was the long hours and idle curiosity that eventually led him to devour all the books he had in his possession.

“Whatever,” Heechul says, rolling his eyes. “If we leave now we can make it to the closest human town before sundown.”

“And what’s going to happen to the wedding then?” Donghae asks, deciding to humor Heechul’s madness this time around. “Who is going to replace me? Because Kangin is not going to be pleased if he has to chase us down the night before my wedding.”

Heechul hums thoughtfully. “We can offer up Kyuhyun instead,” he suggests, face completely serious.

Donghae raises a brow. “You think Kyuhyun will readily accept marriage to a stranger and live among a group of people we have hated and been at war with for over several hundred years? Nobody in their right mind would do it.” 

“Well,” Heechul says, stretching out the vowel pointedly as he stares at Donghae, “don’t we have one right here who did?”

Donghae makes a face. “I’m just finishing what Donghwa started. He’d always wanted to see this war come to an end and now that we have it, I want to cement that goodwill between our two races.”

Heechul slam one of his palms against the table harshly because he clearly hasn’t outgrown his dramatic flair since they were children. “It doesn’t mean you have to marry him!” he hisses. The glamor on his face breaks with his emotional outburst and sleek black scales appears around the corner of his left eye and stretches down to his cheekbone.

Donghae pointedly taps at his cheek to clue Heechul in and it takes a couple of seconds for Heechul to regain his composure again and for his scales retreat and human skin once more take over. He at least has the grace to look chagrin about having slipped his fine control and fall upon such animalistic instinct; they’re not like Avians who gave into their beastly side and shamelessly untethered their wings, showing exactly how different the two race view the other side of their humanity. More beast than human so are the Avian but the Serpentine hadn’t come this far to go backward. They cling to every visage of their human self because the Avian can sweep their wings across the sky and others would turn their eyes to it and call it beautiful but a glimpse of a Serpentine’s scale is akin to a demon.

Heechul mustn’t forget that and neither can Donghae.

Heechul coughs awkwardly. “Thank you,” he says, scrunching his nose and before Donghae can open his mouth and reply, Heechul plows through any further interruption and continues his lecture. “Anyway, he had terrorized our army for five years and kept Kangin and the Dragoons on edge and so paranoid that they only spoke his name in hush whispers and dying prayers. Donghwa was the only one who managed to keep him in check all these years but,” Heechul pauses, casting a keen look at Donghae, who now had carefully don a blank expression over his face to not give away any of his true feelings on the matter, “since he no longer here we were afraid he was going to finally make his way to Terra and raze it to the ground. Instead, he’d chosen to let the centuries-old grudge and infighting be buried and peace is now within our grasp. The King and Elders are all too happy to eat up this peace treaty knowing if they continue with the war we’re only going to lose but I don’t buy it for a second. It’s too easy, there must be more to this.”

“I think,” Donghae says slowly as though he is speaking to a small child, “after several centuries of war and seeing the people you love die in a conflict that you didn’t even start but you inherited from past generations, I would be tired of it as much as anyone and any mean to end a war that had plagued our people for so long is a small price to pay for everlasting peace. I know it may seem bizarre to you right now, even I can’t fathom the stalemate that we have, but quite frankly you worry too much. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Of course I can’t help but worry, you ignorant brat!” Heechul says viciously, nearly jumping out of his seat but the words that come out are lace with familial concern. “In what world is it sane and normal to see your favorite cousin is marrying the man who killed his brother?! That shouldn’t be a prerequisite for peace!”

Donghae’s eyes light up as the corner of his mouth twitch. “I’m your favorite?” he asks.

“You knew that already,” Heechul snaps but his anger is already deflating as he settles back down in his chair.

Donghae really did, but, “It’s nice to hear a verbal confirmation anyway,” he says, tucking a small smile between the pressed of his lips. Donghae was practically raised by his wetnurse and Donghwa when their parents died in another Avian’s raid, but Heechul was a strong presence in his childhood memories growing up. He was always there like an overgrown fungus but as much as Donghwa had held up Donghae’s world, Heechul had shaped it greatly. He is one of the few people Donghae will miss with an aching clarity when this is all said and done with.

Heechul sighs, sinking further down into his seat. “Tell me you want really want this. Tell me you’re not doing this to further your own agenda,” he says, and it almost sounds like a plead at this point. The crack of his cool armor reveals itself to Donghae. “And most importantly, please tell me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

Donghae blows out a heavy breath. “I won’t,” he insists.

Heechul gives Donghae a considering look, scrutinizing every movement he makes and every facial expression he wears as though he can reach out and rip Donghae’s mask off and see through all the lies and plans he has been hiding. If it was anyone else Donghae wouldn’t be afraid and let them really look because Donghae’s secret is locked and stowed away deep within his ironclad heart. The only person who had the key to it is dead. Nobody can read him, nobody can touch him now but Heechul knows him.

Heechul knows him well, a little too well and he must not have forgotten the early months of Donghwa’s death when Donghae had locked himself in Donghwa’s room for days on end and refused to come out for nothing and nobody. Despair and anger had been his sole companions those two months as he was swept up in the grief for the beloved brother he had lost. He had cried and cried, cursed the name of the man who had taken his brother from him and sworn vengeance until his throat gave out.

Heechul had seen it all. He’d saw Donghae at his lowest point when hatred had burned itself deep in his heart because as a much love and entitled child of the Serpentine Royal Family, Donghae’s love is a heavy thing and Donghwa carried it effortlessly. Having lost his parents at young age, Donghwa had been Donghae’s everything. His parent, his brother, and his best friend all wrapped up in one singular being and Donghae knew love as it existed in a person and not within his heart. And in turn, Donghwa had spoiled him religiously and gave him everything he wanted and wish for.

For all the moment since Donghae has been alive, Donghwa had been with him every step and every breath. He had never known what it's like to exist without Donghwa by his side until now and as he found out it was a lonely and empty existence. 

He’d eventually come out of his catatonic state of mourning just in time for the King to select someone to consolidate the peace between their two kingdoms by marrying off one of their own to the Great Hero of Avian-Serpentine War, Lee Hyukjae. Donghae was the first to volunteer himself for the marriage much to the surprise and delight of everyone involved.

The spoiled and much useless nephew of the King had finally grown up and was now ready to fulfill his duty to his people and kingdom with a subdued maturity and a willingness to see peace bear fruit between two enemies. But the hatred wasn’t gone completely, it was only honed and sharpened as a blade that will bring Lee Hyukjae closer to Donghae.  

“I wouldn’t dare to jeopardize our hard-won peace for something as selfish and petty as revenge,” Donghae says solemnly, painting a carefully hurt and weary expression on his face as he wring his hands under the table. “I thought I have shown you and the Council these past few months that I have matured and outgrew my childish anger. I know Donghwa wouldn’t like to see me obsessing over his death so all I want to do now is to fulfill Donghwa’s last wish for peace and let his death be the beginning of something new and good for us all.”

Donghae had practiced his speech many, many times over the last few days but going up against Heechul’s keen eyes won’t be easy.

Heechul is silent and for once the silence between them is agonizing and suffocating as Donghe waits to be judged, then finally a drawn-out sigh leave Heechul’s lips and Donghae knows he had won the battle. “At least make sure to come back and visit us sometimes,” Heechul says, a tender and sad smile makes its way to his face. “Donghwa may be gone now but no matter where you are, you are always a Serpentine and a part of the royal family. You are always welcome in Terra.”

“I know and I’ll definitely come back to Terra one day,” Donghae says, and it’s another lie added to the larger pile still that Donghae had collected ever since he stepped out of his room, walked straight toward his uncle, and said, “I want peace.”

If it all goes well as planned then this will be the last time he’ll share the same space with Heechul before tomorrow night because since the moment Donghae had agreed to marry Lee Hyukjae, he knew it won’t ever stepped back to his home soil again. Even his family can’t save him from his crime of treason against the kingdom.

“Tomorrow will be a memorable day for us all,” he says, thinking of Lee Hyukjae and the dagger tucked deep in his wardrobe chest that he had taken from his family treasury; it’s a family heirloom that had passed down from generation to generation as a protection charm but this time Donghae will use it for another purpose.

On his wedding night, Donghae will betray Donghwa’s greatest wish and shattered the fragile peace that they all had been fervently wishing for in order to avenge his brother murder. He won’t ask for forgiveness because knows it’s too heinous of a crime to ever hope to be forgiven for but at least he hopes Donghwa will accept this final last selfish act of his willful younger brother.

[alexmorrall]

Out on the Waves in the Night

The night was a thick, hazy black, stars shrouded in darkness. An iron screw steam ship crossed the roiling seas, a white sliver on a plane locked in motion. The crew clung to their bunks for some sense of peace, but the walls kept moving. Its floor rattled in protest as Poseidon did his best to make an appearance. Trying desperately to poke through, the watery king of old drove his spear against the ship’s belly. A young woman of eighteen laid on the cargo hold floor. Every minute or so, Caroline’s head was knocked by swells. She ached, stung and sore, but she did not move. It was deserved, God willed her pain. Setting her neck against the floor beneath and biding her time, she took each blow, dreaming of a safe place.

White sands stretched out before her, caressed by equatorial rays. Her toes found respite beneath the sun-roasted surface. She turned over, her fiancé lying close.  Neil’s breathing was slow and relaxed as he gazed up, bowler hat over his eyes. As she laid her fingertips on his skin, she felt his heat inside. Wanting nothing more than for this to last forever, she sighed, lying back. Their time together in the sun melted away as he rose, shaking off the sand. He adjusted his hat, before striding away across the beach. Rising heat boiled the white plain as he walked away, fading into the jungle.

Enraptured in the ever-present aura of warmth, her mind looked back and inward. She saw herself as a child of four, playing in a sandbox. When she viewed her future, she never envisioned lying on a beach in Fiji. She saw herself as a cowgirl roaming the saloons for bandits, a revolver on both hips. With small hands, she built an Old West town. She walked its streets with undaunted swagger.  A cowgirl in the sand, she marveled at the monument of her dreams, until a gust of wind swept through. In an instant, hours of work reduced to a few random clusters of sand.

Woken from her reverie, she heard languid footsteps growing nearer. Resuming occupation of a severely sun-burnt body at the waters’ edge, she peered up at Neil. He had emerged from a shady grove that stood over freshwater streams emptying into the Pacific.

“Darling, I found the most remarkable crab. He had more colors than the sun, and the flowers here! They are magnificent, not to mention the palms, so many varieties…”

He had captured the flora and fauna with his Eastman Kodak, which he packed up. Deeply proud of his photographs, and the newly purchased camera, he too hoped to hold onto this forever. This was the vacation they’d scrimped, saved and longed for. Caroline had seen his pictures, all black and white and grainy. It would retain nothing of the trip’s true beauty, its legacy lost to time.

It would all be over too soon, and their carefully laid plans erased. She remembered the Ford they’d rented on the road to Paradise outside Glenorchy. It chugged up the cliffside for a rainbow glimpse, spilling over a lakeside waterfall. Alas it was but a mere vision, taking up a brief second in their lives. 

The memory-laden camera fell into his hat as he dropped it into the sand. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her neck, which stung with burns. She groaned, which he mistook for arousal.

“I’m burnt to a crisp. I need to get inside, and some aloe on my skin.” They picked up the towel, the hat with the camera in it, and went on their way back to the resort.

It drifted into the recesses of her buffeted brain as another wave rocked the steam-powered vessel. A scuffling sound from a shadow in the ship’s belly made her peer to the left.  Glad to focus on something beyond memory, she locked eyes with a bright-eyed boy. His hair was jet black, skin a deep chestnut and eyes shone a disarming blue.  He sat small as a mouse, silent as one too.  His eyes, like sapphires in the night, begged recognition.

“Where did you come from?” she asked, “I didn’t see you when I came down.”

“I snuck in from the sea,” he yawned, stretching bronze legs. He wore green trunks. “There’s a hole in this ship, don’t you know? There is with most things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Things don’t always add up. There’s always something you can’t account for, something that can’t be controlled. Something always gets lost or doesn’t turn out the way you expect.  How does one explain a lost stocking in the wash?”

“Is that what you are? You’re nothing more than a lost stocking in the wash?”

“Aren’t we all?” he chuckled.

“What’s your name?”

“Geoff.  What’s yours?”

“Caroline.  It’s nice to meet you, Geoff.  How old are you?”

“Six.”

“Six?  You look at least ten.  Are you a Fijian?”

“My father is. My mother is French.”

Caroline recalled Neil’s promise they would honeymoon in Paris. They laid out their futures so precisely. After making love in a Rotorua hot spring, they decided to name their first son after her father.  That would bring him back into her life, she told herself.  She always wanted to make him happy, but she knew he wanted a son. A grandson could have sufficed but not now. The thought made her bite back her tears.

“Oh,” Caroline swallowed, bleary-eyed, “how did they meet?”

“My mother was on vacation here. She hiked to a waterfall one day and my father was her guide. He told her of his life, growing up in Fiji, and she fell in love. My mother decided to stay in Fiji, sharing the shelter of his single bed. She’s the one who taught me proper English, but that’s enough about me. Everyone onboard is Fijian merchant marine. Who are you?”

“My name is Caroline. I’m from Auckland.”

“The City of Sails! Is that where we’re going?”

“Why, yes. Shouldn’t you know? Well, my fiancé and I came to Fiji after he came into inheritance. Then… the only way back to New Zealand on such short notice was on this old cargo ship.”

“This isn’t just any old ship. It’s haunted.”

Caroline remembered a dream from an afternoon long ago, sitting in her grandmother’s attic.  A haze of musk hung over cedar boxes filled with books from the nineteenth century.  Each yellowed page was a relic to her, as she inhaled the scent of forgotten knowledge.  In the dark corners of the attic, a creaking sound resonated, carrying along the walls and causing her to lift her eyes to follow its passage.  Puffs of sawdust leaked through the walls.  Caroline broke into a coughing fit. When she opened her eyes, she saw yellow handprints spreading across the walls.  Spreading from the far wall, they inched their way until the attic became a prison of light.

She hadn’t eaten much then, and she wasn’t eating now, not since the accident.

“Is that right?” Caroline shivered in the hold of the ship.  “There are ghosts on board?”

“They are all around,” Geoff whispered, eyes darting left and right.

“I came here with my fiancé, hoping to add memories to the life we were planning, and now he’s dead.  Maybe his ghost is here too.”

“What happened to your beau?”

“We canoed beyond the reef, and he broke the blade of his oar. It started to sink, and he reached for it. He… fell into the ocean.” Caroline paused, her eyes watery green now.

“The people at the resort told us to never go beyond the reef, and he learned why.  The undertow carried him out. I watched him go. There was nothing I could do.”

“You couldn’t reach him with your canoe in time?”

“I… didn’t try. It was horrible. He was gone so fast. He was too big. He would have pulled me in with him. Then we both would have drowned.”

“That is very sad. I am sorry,” Geoff nodded silently, his black hair bobbing in the dark. “How long will it be until you love again?”

“I do not know… I still feel the pain. I must feel it. You were right, it was my fault. I let him die. I’ve been punishing myself but its right. I need to suffer.”

A loud crash was heard from above and Caroline looked up to see the Fijian captain descending a ladder.

“We’re going to make it,” he said, “the storm has passed.”

She turned back to the shadows and looked for Geoff, but he had vanished.

“Geoff?” she called into the darkness.  “Geoff, are you there?”

“Who is this Geoff now?” asked the captain. He carried a bowl of stew, nearly dropping it as the ship rolled. “Is there someone else down here?”

“Yes, isn’t there a boy of six named Geoff on this ship?”

“No, there’s no boy named Geoff,” the captain frowned, offering her the stew. “Now, you should eat. You’ve not eaten since we picked you up in Suva three days ago.”

“My fiancée is dead. I cannot eat. Now, Geoff, I did see him, I know it.”

“Perhaps you were dreaming. How anyone could sleep right now, I cannot say.”

“But I told him everything. It must have been real.”

“I have seen the limits of the Pacific, the greatest expanse on earth,” the captain began.  “I have seen the glory of this world, and I know if you can see it in your mind, it already exists. We humans live more in our minds than in flesh. Out on the waves, I dream much. I’ve come to think dreams are just as real as waking life. I’ve never felt more than in a dream. Who is to say we are more real than they?”

“I’ve had enough dreaming, good captain,” Caroline sighed. “I’ll sleep now. When we return to Auckland, I’ve got some letters to write. I’ll have to write Neil’s mother, inform her of his passing. It will break her heart, but I will make it up to her. Perhaps it is for the best. I always liked his brother better.”

“Let’s start with dinner,” said the captain, handing her the stew. This time, she took it.

[bowbow-the-clown]

... A ThE sMaRteSt ButTerFly AFicIonAdO Out ANd ABout ...

.. and a the not a nonsensical Butterfly aficionado not so out and about ..

[typhlonectes]

Ironically, the fish themselves are far from ugly. The sand-poopers are brightly colored parrotfish, in hues of electric pink and turquoise.

They graze on slime that would otherwise smother reefs, and incidentally bite off chunks of coral too, eventually defecating grainy plumes. Not only do parrotfish poop gorgeous beaches. They also beautify the tropics by keeping reefs clean, and just by existing in such splashy colors.

Most of the sand on a tropical beach is ground-up coral, mixed with pulverized clam and urchin shells and other crumbled bits of once-living things. Not all of that is poo. Pounding waves and other sources of erosion can also grind fine sediments. 

But parrotfish are the most obvious source. “You just see them pooping out sand constantly,” said marine biologist Katie Cramer of The Scripps Institution of Oceanography in San Diego, California. One 2010 study found that some large Hawaiian species can grind up to 990 pounds of coral a year...

[havokangel]

could you do an ocean Drabble w/ scoot (it was on one of your lists and it just said ocean so idk dude)

yes !

scott + ocean

@alexsunmners @madelyne-pryor @mvximoff @paperclipmac @rax-writes

The smell of salt water and the feeling of the soft, grainy sand between your toes brings you back to the days of when you and Scott were young and full of life; staying out past curfew and whispering secrets under the night sky, feeling like the two of you could conquer anything the world threw at you.

It was at this very beach he told you that I’m gonna marry you one day. You had laughed and pushed him in the water and said, yeah right, Scott. But instead of getting revenge by splashing you, he said with hope in his eyes, I will. Trust me.

And he was right. God, he was right. You got married at the beach you would frequent as teens, and throughout the years, this beach became your little slice of paradise. As the years passed, you brought your children here and watched them grow. You watched your son reflect the mischevious smile Scott had as a teen and you watched your daughter channel Scott’s bravery as she’d dive under the water.

Now, as you watch your son and daughter with their children frolic and laugh on the soft waves crashing against the sand, you and Scott have lived lives only people can dream of. Sitting on the sand, Scott is looking at you with awe and fondness that’s rare between couples your age.

And suddenly, Scott isn’t seeing the gray that threads through your hair. He’s seeing your hair morph into the color it was years ago, and he’s looking at the person he fell in love with all of those years ago.

And all at once, he’s never felt more at home than now; here, with you, watching your grandchildren play in the sand, just like how you both did.

[tharakoekenbiergraduation]

From a lush bed of verdant green leaves, bright wildflowers spring forth, animating Jeff Koons’ Wall Relief with Bird (1991). Emanating vibrant hues of red, pink, white and yellow, these wondrous flowers appear to take on a life beyond their polychromed wood material; their petals reach outward and seemingly bloom before our eyes. At the center of the relief, the viewer observes an idyll of nature: a happy hummingbird flutters about the large white blossom, sipping of its nectar. Indeed to see a hummingbird—one of the animal kingdom’s most nimble and brightly colored members—is joyous, and in this instance the bird’s presence effortlessly completes Koons’ utopian image. Here, the natural world is an idealized paradise, and in turn, life and abundance are clearly celebrated. Koons further explains, “In Wall Relief with Bird there is a bird pollinating these large flowers. The imagery to me is about penetration. It’s also about fertility and pollination, and the eternal.” (Exh. Cat., New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Regarding Warhol, 2012, p. 197) As such, Wall Relief with Bird is underscored by an omnipresent sense of sexuality. These seductive flowers are more than just brightly decorated and lively sculptures—they welcome pollination, opening outward from the wall to entice the viewer to move closer; they embody what author Daniel Pinchbeck rightly calls “an uncanny aliveness.” (Exh. Cat., New York, Gagosian Gallery, Jeff Koons Andy Warhol Flowers, 2001, p. 6)

Though Wall Relief with Bird thus stands on its own as an impressive and engaging work of art, it is all the more desirable for its inclusion in Koons’ famed body of work, Made in Heaven (1989-1991). This large, overtly sexual and often unapologetically graphic series grew from a simple seed when the Whitney Museum of American Art invited Koons to create a billboard for the 1989 media and contemporary art themed exhibition, Image World. Focusing on the pornography industry, Koons enlisted international porn star Ilona Staller as his collaborator, and the resulting billboard (a steamy movie advertisement featuring the duo) served as the inspiration for what became a prolific creative endeavor. Unveiled in its entirety at Sonnabend Gallery in 1991, Made in Heaven juxtaposed explicit sexual images of Koons and Staller—male orgasm, oral penetration and genitalia close-ups, to name but a few—with cheerful, brightly colored neo-kitsch statues of puppies and flowers. Three Puppies, Yorkshire Terriers and Large Vase of Flowers were, like Wall Relief with Bird, crucial and friendly counterpoints to the X-rated escapades detailed throughout the rest of the exhibition. The overall effect, needless to say, was shocking, and exhibition attendance skyrocketed.

More than that, with the Made in Heaven series, Koons successfully blurred the lines between art, life and media—and he did so to an extent far beyond that of any of his predecessors. His real life romance with Staller, most notably, was highly publicized as it grew from an artist-muse relationship to an eventual marriage. When they married in Budapest, the nuptial ceremony was covered by news meida globally in more than one thousand articles. Curator Scott Rothkopf succinctly reiterates this point by writing of Koons, “He responded to and helped shape the zeitgeist by abrading the distinction between the content of his work and the media spectacle it inspired.” (Exh. Cat., London, Tate Modern, Pop Life, 2009, p. 44)

Meanwhile, the zeitgeist of the '90s was also deeply defined by the transgressive agendas of Koons’ contemporaries in the face of political conservatism. Robert Mapplethorpe, for one, provoked outrage in the early part of the decade when he exhibited the homoerotic photographs of X Portfolio; Andres Serrano’s Piss Christ (1987) likewise met scandal when it was shown in 1989. But whereas Mapplethorpe’s and Serrano’s art faced censorship as a result of its taboo content, Koons’ Pop culture aesthetic at once differentiated his work and sidestepped political controversy. Art historian Katy Siegel explains, “The props, colors, and sentiments of Made in Heaven all speak of the middle class. The images were not rendered in voguish grainy video or artsy snapshots, but rather in high production-value craft media like glass and carved wood, as well as oil (inks) on canvas. And they were accompanied by super-saccharine sculptures of floral arrangements and dogs, looking as if they had wandered in from a Disney movie.” (Hans Werner Holzwarth, ed., Jeff Koons, Cologne, 2009, p. 310)

Wall Relief with Bird is no doubt one such sculpture. Not purely Edenic, but in actuality skewed by mass media, commercialism and artificiality, this relief ultimately displays what curator Mark Rosenthal calls, “a kind of unnatural glitz.” Like Andy Warhol’s flower paintings before (which Rosenthal considers to “have a kind of false exquisiteness in comparison to any flowers from life”), Koons’ floral relief similarly conveys a sort of synthetic lushness. (Exh. Cat. New York, Op. Cit., p. 135) This falsity, it can be argued, has also infiltrated our cultural reception of sex. Koons’ decision to contrast cartoonish pets, birds and flowers with images of raw sexuality therefore functions as commentary on our naïve relationship to sex—this is a dramatic clash of fantasy and reality. Curator John Caldwell clarifies, “Sex, probably more than any other element in our culture, exists for us today as an amalgam of what we know from experience and what we know from the image world of television, advertising and the movies.” (Exh. Cat., San Francisco, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Jeff Koons, 1992, p.140)

Of course, Koons’ romantic portrayal of sexuality and love is not entirely a contemporary phenomenon. On the contrary, it is informed by rich artistic traditions rooted in the Baroque, Rococo and Romantic periods. The atmospheric green, white and pink palette of Wall Relief with Bird specifically calls to mind the blissful gardens of Fragonard’s lovers. Its evocation of the Rococo masterpieces is so powerful that it comes as no surprise Koons began to work with genuine living flowers (notably the critically acclaimed and monumental Puppy of 1992) directly after creating Wall Relief with Bird.

[lalitdeshmukhphotography]

Perseverance In the year 1999, my wife and I had made a birdwatching trip to Central Oregon desert. On my way back I saw a tree in the middle of the lake surrounded by water. Spring clouds had filled the sky and a small window let the sun illuminate just the water and tree. It was just my wife and I, watched that scene in amazement. My picture was grainy with the cheap film I used. Yet that scene has imbibed on me forever. . . 20 years later, I visited this Wanaka lake in the evening. Morning before sunrise when I reached this place with my son, the place was flooded with photographers at least 100 of them. Mostly Chinese with super expensive equipment. Every inch was taken at the popular angles. What a contrast!! Of course this was in a popular town called Wanaka in New Zealand. Shutters banged, drones hummed above, positions changed, words exchanged...for a landscape photographer this was a paradise minus this air filled with obsession of taking the same picture someone else has printed on a postcard moreover posted on the Instagram. There was heavenly light and after that moment of light on the tree and a little hint of it on the mountain tops, strangely everyone dispersed and then I had so much space for myself with just a few others lingering around. The sun came out for a brief minute and made the mist golden, it's reflection compounded it from the lake, the autumn colored trees were blazing in the alpenglow. . . Beyond photography, I learned my lesson about how to separate myself from everything around and just connect to the nature directly one on one, to convey something special together 😘 #newzealandnatural #wanaka #worldtraveler #visual_heaven #natgeoadventure #earthexperience #ig_divineshots #earthofficial #earthfocus #natgeoyourshot #discoverglobe #landscapephotomag #newzealandvacations #beautifuldestinations #splendid_earth #natureaddict #igersmood #keepitwild #adventurethatislife #fifty_shades_of_nature #natgeotravelpic #landscapelover #ilovenature #marvelshots #epiccaptures #earth_portraits #nature_sultans #stayandwander #ourplanetdaily @travelandlife @worldbestshot @bestnatureshot @beautifuldestinations @purenewzealand @airnz (at Lake Wanaka) https://www.instagram.com/p/B2ElNVhJ310/?igshid=r13jsrlpv3bx