#here's to the angels of poetry and debauchery

[thekingsofitall]

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes...

[millennial-star-gazer]

A Very Fairytail Christmas (Deck The Halls With Nalu 2019)

A Very Fairytail Christmas

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Deck The Halls With Nalu 2019 Prompts: "Baby it's Cold Outside," "Let it Snow," "O Christmas Tree, All I Want For Christmas is You," It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year," and "A Holy Jolly Christmas"(All Implied)".

Genres: Romance, Humor, Fantasy. Friendship/Family and Poetry

Characters: Natsu, Lucy, Wendy, Happy, Gray, Carla, Juvia, Erza, Gajeel, Levy, Pantherlily and Jellal

Pairings: Multi-ship with hints of Nalu (Natsu x Lucy) , Gruvia (Gray x Juvia, Gajevy (Gajeel x Levy), Jerza (Jellal x Erza), plus Cappy/ ( Happy x Carla) with a bit of Carla and Pantherlily thrown in.

Rating: K+ to T for some adult themes with mild references to alcohol, nudity, drunken shenanigans and other mature content. Recommend reading level is for teens, young adults and higher.

Summary: Natsu, Lucy , Happy, and the rest of Team Natsu along with Gajeel, Levy and Pantherlily all learn the true meaning of the winter holidays- that a day filled with warm tidings spent with friends makes for a very "Fairytail Christmas" indeed. A retelling of the main event of the Fairies Christmas OVA in the form of a poem for the @fortheloveoffandomevents's Deck The Halls With Nalu Event. This was originally an entry for the @fairies-and-christmas Secret Santa exchange 2017 as a gift for the lovely @cosmicloveoftheages Enjoy!

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A/N: Hey guys, it's your girl back again with an entry for  @fortheloveoffandomevents Deck The Halls With Nalu Event . As some of you may know, this is a retelling of the main events of the Christmas OVA in the form of a holiday-themed poem. This was originally a submission for the @fairies-and-christmas Secret Santa exchange as a gift for the @cosmicloveoftheages. Now without further ado, here's the poem. Enjoy!

(Scroll down past the cut/”read more button” for corresponding  links and the actual poem).

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Disclaimer: As you all know by now Fairytail does not belong to me, but the most honourable Hiro-sensei instead, for whom without this labour of love wouldn't be possible. 

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Read A Fairytail Christmas on FF  other platforms, and the rest of my writing here:

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1. A Very Fairytail Christmas

A. Tumblr

B. Fanfiction

I.  Primary (Main) Fanfiction (Click Here:) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13442535/1/A-Very-Fairytail-Christmas-Deck-The-Halls-With-Nalu-2019)

II. Secondary Fanfiction ( Click Here) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13143482/1/Millennial-Drabbles) 

III.  Other (Click Here:) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13246734/1/Millennial-OTP-Drabbles)

B. A03

I. Primary/Main (Click Here:) (or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21494713)

II. Secondary (Click Here:) (or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244343/chapters/43167767)

2. Master  Post of All My Writing (Click Here:)  (or here: 

https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

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"Enjoy the magic this holiday season by listening to music and enjoying the occasion with the people that you care for most."

(Source Unknown)

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It was the day before Christmas

Bells as as the divine as heavenly choir of an angels rang out

All the fairies were fluttering about preparing to deck the walls with care this way and that

For when the clock struck twelve, off to Lucy's Team Natsu's and company would go for some holiday cheer

Jubilant laughter ,clinking of glasses, jolly salutations of "Merry Christmas" filling the air

all fun and games until low and behold the girls succumbed to the mercy of far too much sake running through their veins

much to the dread of the red-blooded males , hearts stricken with terror

An firecesome Titania, demanding queen of the Fairies, an unholy she- beast of intoxicated fury An insensate sky maiden , might as well be dead to the world for throwing three sheets to the wind from all the spirits she's consumed

An overly-sentimental Juvia of the sea

tears flowing like a gushing torrent of rain ️

breathing new life into that cliched rhyme: "The rain ️ in Spain."

Arms latching on tightly to a terrified ice demon slayer.

An unusually giddy Levy,

lady of solid script magic runes, future mother of her and Gajeel's child , seemingly leaning in for a kiss .

Only to burst into tinkly peals of laughter in his face

A disgraced Happy and Pantherlily who might as well been

a pair of wild stallions for all the demanding daughter of Queen Shaggot could care

A mortified Salamander underneath a just as zany celestial mage,

And yet deep down he can't help but subconsciously find her antics to be oh-so endearing to But oh, what little could the shenanigans, the antics, the hi-jinks could compare

For how could they know what the fates would have in store

when the all too gleeful Erza, the ruthless beast,

would suggest her high-stakes round of "Master Draw"

A game so notorious, that only fools with the buzz of firewater singing through their veins would dare play

One stick, one draw, winner take all

Whoever didn't have the best would be at the mercy of the chosen's one thrall

And who would have guessed who might be the one to win it all?

Why Erza of course, low and behold!

A wily gleam in fathomless depths of violet , madness ensues Pleas for mercy, canine-like yips and barks filling the air

Random awkward embraces

An infuriated storm woman's jealous rage

Absurd ensembles,

stripping down to nothing more than underwear in the cold

A sexy dance by the Son of Igneel himself in the nude or two,

the most discomfiting lock of lips from two of the exceeds who may just keel over and die in of their own shame.

A sensation of blazing ️ wax on the poor astral mage's flesh

Three grown young men doing everything in their power to cram themselves into spaces no average human being should ever dare to fit

All this, debauchery galore and more, all at Titania's fellow wizards expense

But oh, little did she know,the time for revenge would come

The dread hour nigh, when the ice demon slayer finally drew his own stick,

For out in in the snow a scantily-clad, fiery redhead would boldly dare to go,

in spite of Gray's protests

A decision she would soon some to regret

But fear not, all is not lost, for salvation is at hand in the form of Jellal

a king finally come to take his long- lost queen home

and swathed in the warmth of his cloak,

Erza along with the rest learns right then and there

that a day of warm tidings and day spent with those she loves makes for a very Fairytail Christmas indeed.

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Fic Tag Squad: 

@fuck-yeah-nalu @fortheloveoffandomevents @nalubookclub  @fuck-yeah-nalu @nalubookclub @fortheloveoffandomevents l @fuck-yeah-nalu @nalubookclub @fortheloveoffandomevents

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A/N: Please be sure to let me know what you think by dropping me a line leaving a review/ comment. Plus, feel free to like, share and reblog. Oh and don't forget to check out the rest of my writing! Keep an eye out on my profiles for updates and reuploads of my fics too . (Corresponding Links above, in navigation bar and bio if reading this on tumblr ). Take a look at the other Deck The Halls With Nalu Entries while you're at it and thanks for everyone's support so far! All right guys, I'm off for now. Once again, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah , Yule, Kwanzaa , New Years and holidays no matter which you celebrate ! Take care!

[film-masochisme]

The Angels’ Melancholia (2009)

Directed by Marian Dora

Doomsy’s Rating: 98/100 

This is a film almost everyone on Earth will loathe, despise, detest, and hate. As they probably should. But that is merely because of the fact it is probably the hardest film to admire I’ve come across. But Jesus...... Fuck. For me? It’s simply one of the most untouchable art films ever made. 

Marian Dora is a notorious underground art house splatter director who has worked with such irritating Schadenfreude-specialists like Jorg Buttgereit, Ulli Lommel, and Uwe Boll. He’s frequently accosted by the horror community as a pretentious cunt that makes slow films with the most extreme content and little rhyme or reason with an “it’s art” get-out-of-jail-free-card ready to be welded every time he releases something.. From the outside looking in, The Angels’ Melancholia isn’t a film I’d say is very comprehensible, even with the vast knowledge as I have of the classical European literature most of it is inspired by. There’s several reasons it will piss off almost every viewer that attempts to sit through it:

It’s 160 minutes long, and doesn’t have much narrative.

Its dialogue is mostly broken poetry with seemingly little sense

It is, without question, arguably the most extreme film ever made in terms of on-screen disturbing content. 

It takes a long while for said extreme content to actually turn up, which will make most people checking it for its notoriety impatient and bored. 

There is, like many of the most infamous films ever, actual animal cruelty at several points in the film (namely a cat having its throat cut for real, a pig being gutted, and what appears to be a goat giving a woman oral sex somehow, although I believe this to be a special effect). And the animal cruelty, combined with mountains of fecal matter and other bodily fluids accumulating, will disgust most viewers rather than disturb them. 

So, yes. All that into consideration, this is an extreme film and an extremely hard to respect one. 

Then why, Doomsy, does the film get a rare, near-perfect score on your scale?

The answer is simple: There’s just nothing else like it. 

First of all, it’s beautifully photographed, from the first frame to last. And for a film shot primarily on a Sony DSLR, on Mini DV on an estimated budget of $10,000, this thing looks absolutely fucking gorgeous, which is more than a lot of so-called art filmmakers can say about their works. It’s also a film that evokes an atmosphere so evil, so foreboding, but so mesmerizing that in terms of sheer formalism alone, Dora has managed to compensate for limited means with a command of tone and visual language that I’ve almost never seen the likes of before. 

In terms of its camera movements and shot compositions, the most readily available comparison, albeit a loose one, would be the drifting dream-like quick matches found in some of Terence Malick’s later work (some of the tableau vistas of the German hills also evoke Werner Herzog’s landscape poetry). It’s a film that I did initially confuse me for maybe about twenty minutes, but then I was completely swept up in its world of pure nihilism and evil. Many extreme films just seem like guys with cameras looking to be edgelords and wave their edginess around with handheld cheap-ass cameras expecting the audience to give even halfway of a shit (most of the pseudo-snuff forms of underground splatter come to mind there) but Dora realizes that to make a viewer feel something, they have to be shown something they haven’t seen. The realism of most extreme films is gone. Here only lies someone’s twisted, horrific fever dream of where the human heart sinks to in its impending doom, the violence inherent in all of men, and the debauchery that drifts around somewhere in their deepest subconscious states. 

I can’t really describe what the film did to me very well, which is surprising because as a critic, I normally watch a film and know exactly which feelings it conjures up in me. The Angels’ Melancholia isn’t a surreal or psychedelic film by any means, but it was just a visionary experience to the darkest parts of humanity that you could only ever imagine the mind going in the unspeakable horrors of a traumatic acid trip, where everything becomes scary, becomes evil, and threatens to tear away whatever good in your soul you’re desperate to hold on to. I don’t know much about Marian Dora (nor does anyone, his name is a pseudonym and his only public appearances in interviews have been conducted with his face blurred and his voice altered), but the man is undoubtedly a stone-cold psychopath. He is, just, there’s no way around it. I’ve got a lot of experience with drug use and being around some really horrible people when I used drugs (I’ve recently become sober and turned my life around) and I saw some people whose nihilism about their addictions turned them into outright monsters. But even then, Dora seems to find sober meaning not caring. And in that regard, Angels’ Melancholia had a unique effect in that maybe for the only time in my film watching career, I was genuinely in the company of something inherently evil but also stunningly beautiful. It’s as though Dora made a film no one else could ever dare touch, For that, It’s just unmatchable in the internal conflict it put in me. 

Most German art, for instance (especially in the twentieth century) has a history of human suffering, evil, and sinister intentions behind it. “Can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs” was probably the hideous rationalizations that motherfuckers like Albert Speer used in creating their architecture that would forever be associated with the worst parts of the human race. There is something of that in Dora, and I was so uncomfortable in the way that the horrible things in this film didn’t seem to bother me as much as the way the visual effect made me overlook the extreme and sadistic content. The whole movie was like a drug experience, except like nothing I’ve taken. It’s horrifying, monstrous, every sick adjective in the book, but yet, I was completely hypnotized for the whole run time. I don’t recommend this film to anyone. I don’t know what it says about me as a critic, viewer, person, whatever, but I reiterate, I’ve never seen anything like it and for that alone it gets a near perfect score for the untouchable nature of it. That being said, I’m not putting it on my Great Films list like I normally do for films with scores over 90. It just makes me too uncomfortable even putting it in the categories of those films.

Jesus, I need a fucking shower. 

[summerofspock]

an art form

for @mintly who requested historical azcrow flirtation. much love and thanks for all your support.

**

Looking despondently at his drink, Aziraphale sighed. His gimlet was getting warm. The club was nice, if raucous. Aziraphale found it easy to ignore the particular goings on in dark corners and listen to the music, watch people dance. Honestly, it was just good to see people enjoying themselves after all the grief that came with the Great War. Though Aziraphale supposed that was human nature, the tendency to find joy in anything.  

On AO3

Aziraphale had been to Club 43 a handful of times since it had opened. It wasn’t very far from his shop, but if Aziraphale was honest with himself, it wasn’t exactly his scene. He’d only come this evening because he was invited by a nice young man named Charles who he was coaching through the completion of this fantastic little dictionary. It was set to be the most complete dictionary to date and Aziraphale liked having these sorts of pet projects where he really got to enjoy the fruits of his labor without having to report back to Heaven on the matter.

Unfortunately, Charles was rather fond of his drink and his men and he didn’t work nearly enough. Aziraphale would have tried to work with the other editor of the Oxford dictionary but he was in Chicago of all places and Aziraphale wasn’t exactly interested in going to America. Certainly not.

Looking across the club, Aziraphale watched as Charles finished telling a story to a group of three enraptured men and they all burst into laughter loud enough that Aziraphale could hear it even over the steadily growing sea of patrons between his solitary corner and the bar. He was fairly certain Charles would go home with the brunette. Charles preferred darker hair.

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale,” an achingly familiar voice said from his right, as if admonishing him for not saying hello already.

Aziraphale nearly dropped his drink. “Crowley! What are you doing here?”

After the incident with the holy water, he and Crowley had barely spoken to each other. Occasionally, Aziraphale would send a letter regarding their Arrangement and even more occasionally, Crowley would send one back. It had begun to feel like they had never been friends. Aziraphale hated how the idea made a pit form in his stomach. He had thought their friendship meant more to Crowley but apparently it wasn’t even worth an apology. And here he was, years without contact, and Aziraphale had hardly expected to run into him here of all places. Though he supposed it made sense. Club 43 was known as quite the destination for debauchery and indulgence. It was only a matter of time before Crowley showed his face for some demonic business or other.

Crowley slipped into the chair beside him, looking very handsome with his slicked back hair. It was harsh and made the angle of his cheekbones even more devastating. How had Aziraphale forgotten the details of that face? The sharp lines of it, the way his nose hooked at the end.

“Just back from the Continent,” Crowley drawled, tilting his head back so the lights flashed over his sunglasses. “Finished helping an author publish his work. Brilliant if you ask me. A travesty that no one will like it. They’ll call it too bawdy. He’ll most certainly be arrested.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and Crowley made a wide gesture with his hands as if he were imagining a marquee. “D.H. Lawrence, pervert extraordinaire.”

Shaking his head, Aziraphale finished the warm end of his drink. As nice as it was to see Crowley, Aziraphale wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Crowley to bring up the subject of their fight. Or worse, pretend it never happened at all and just hope Aziraphale would forgive and forget. Well, not this time. Aziraphale refused.

Noticing Aziraphale’s now empty glass, Crowley swept it from his hand and said, “Let me buy you a drink.”

Aziraphale tried to think of the best way to wave him off. What sort of excuse would work best? Maybe he should just leave, take the cold, lonely walk back to the bookshop, and pretend the night had been nothing more than wretchedly boring.

“What’s fashionable these days?” Crowley asked, peering around as if to see what sort of drink was in the most hands.

Sighing because he was weak—what harm was there in one drink?—Aziraphale sat back in his chair. “I’m not sure if it’s fashionable but I’ve been drinking gimlets.”

Crowley gave him a wicked smile and Aziraphale sighed again. He remembered that smile. He might not have seen it for over half a century but he knew what would happen next. Crowley would get him a drink and then another, and then they’d end up in some corner laughing about some old tale. They had 6000 years of stories to tell and yet they often recounted their favorites more than once. He liked the way Crowley snorted when Aziraphale told him about his first time trying opium. But Aziraphale wouldn’t have it! He was angry with Crowley and regardless of—of fond memories, he deserved an apology. One drink and then Aziraphale would leave. He would.

With drinks in hand, Crowley carefully wound his way back through the crowd, tongue poking out between his lips as he focused on avoiding wayward elbows. He looked ridiculous and adorable. No! Not adorable! Aziraphale did not think anything about Crowley was adorable, nor did he admire the way his legs looked in his trousers. He never, not in the last fifty years, spent time thinking about Crowley’s blasted laugh and the way it had always made Aziraphales heart do something traitorous and unangelic.

“So,” Crowley began, settling back into his chair and crossing his legs like he didn’t have a care in the world. “How’s business?”

Aziraphale took a fortifying sip of his drink. He could use it and then some. One drink and then you go. “People leave the shop alone for the most part. Which was the point of the whole enterprise.”

“Ah,” Crowley said sagely, one corner of his mouth pulling back behind the rim of his drink. “Booming then.”

“And you?” Aziraphale asked for the sake of politeness. That’s what you did when you shared a drink with an old friend. Somewhere in the distance glass shattered and was followed by a wave of drunken laughter. 

“Nothing new to report, I’m afraid,” Crowley admitted. “Though this post-war hedonism is a treat.”

Aziraphale looked across the room as Charles slid his hand around the back of the brunette and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. Crowley followed the line of his gaze and asked, “Know him, do you?”

“One of my charges, so to speak,” Aziraphale said before Charles caught his eye and winked at him. Aziraphale gave him a small smile in return.

“Charges," Crowley repeated, the word flat and heavy. “Didn’t know angels mingled with humans like that.”

Aziraphale glared at him. He was allowed to have friends. Just because Crowley wasn’t interested in putting effort into maintaining their acquaintance didn’t mean others weren’t.  “Charles and I are working together on a dictionary.”

“Well, introduce me then,” Crowley said, pushing himself up onto his feet. Aziraphale tipped back his head to look at him and from this angle, he looked austere, the lights of the club extending the shadows of his face. He looked like artwork. 

Aziraphale was about to make an excuse but the decision was made for him by Charles sweeping into the small corner with two men in tow. One was the young brunette that Charles had been whispering to and the other a lanky man with auburn hair. 

“Aziraphale!” Charles said, clearly a bit intoxicated if the way his cheeks were pink above the bush of his beard was any indication. “Who is this dashing fellow?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley who leered back. Introduce me, he mouthed and Aziraphale ground his teeth. He should have stayed home. Or at the very least, left as soon as Crowley had taken the seat beside him.

“This is Crowley,” Aziraphale said politely, still glaring daggers at Crowley who stood and shook Charles’s hand.

“Oh, Crowley. I’ve heard about you. You’ve quite the history with Aziraphale here,” Charles said with a knowing smile thrown in Aziraphale’s direction. What was that expression? There was nothing to know and he shouldn’t imply such a...such a thing.

“Yes,” Crowley said, nostrils flaring like he was trying not to laugh. “Quite the history.”

He said it like history was the most lascivious thing possible and Aziraphale felt his face burning. The gall of him! Acting like that.

“Well, this is Frederick,” Charles said, gesturing at the auburn haired man. “He’s studying literature. I thought you’d find that very interesting, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale, a bit numb and out of his body—this was not how he thought this evening would go—reached out and shook Frederick’s hand. The man seemed just as bewildered by this turn of events. Charles obviously had motives in introducing them to each other despite the fact that Aziraphale frequently told him he had no interest in pursuing such liaisons.

“And this is Sebastian,” Charles said magnanimously. “Sebastian, say hello, darling.”

Sebastian gave them both a muzzy smile and leaned closer to Charles, clearly very intoxicated.

“Has Charles been discussing his dictionary work with the two of you?” Aziraphale asked them both, not exactly expecting Sebastian to answer because he was both unbelievably drunk and far too caught up in Charles.

Frederick nodded, wide-eyed. He was a very pretty young man, straight teeth and soft looking mouth, tight curls sprouting from his head in a fashionably disheveled manner.

Crowley pressed close to Aziraphale to join the conversation. “Like words do you, Frederick? Literature?” he asked, popping each syllable in his mouth.

Frederick’s eyes grew impossibly wider—oh, he was very young—and he nodded. “I’m, er, studying poetry, Mr. Crowley.”

Taking a drink of his gimlet, Crowley pressed even closer to Aziraphale. Neck prickling, Aziraphale tried to think of the best way to put distance between them without being too obvious. His palms started to sweat.

“Any new favorites?” Crowley drawled and Aziraphale felt like he could no longer focus on anything except the warm line of Crowley’s body, the smell like juniper berries and lime juice from the gimlet.

Frederick smiled weakly, starting to look a bit nervous. “Yes, erm, Pound? Ezra Pound. American but...I don’t know. His works are wonderfully interesting.”

“Ah yes. The Cantos.”

Aziraphale shot Crowley a look. Since when had he been keeping up with the poetry scene? He remembered a time when Crowley was the one to quote and rave about the latest artistic movement. But that had been back when Shakespeare was popular. With a pang, Aziraphale realized they hadn’t been able to discuss all the wonderful turn of the century work. They hadn’t been speaking. Technically, they still weren’t speaking. And yet...

“Say I take your whole bag of tricks, / Let in your quirks and tweeks, and say the thing’s an art-form,” Crowley said, his voice lilting over the words. Aziraphale hadn’t heard Crowley recite poetry in years.

Charles laughed. “I see why Aziraphale keeps time with you. You’re as literary as he is. Did you know our boy loves to quote the oddest things? Sometimes I think he’s read every book in existence.”

“Surely not every book,” Crowley said, smirking at Aziraphale who glared back. Would it be too obvious if he kicked Crowley in the shin? Here the demon was, acting like they were old chums but he hadn’t even apologized. Aziraphale was certainly not going to be the first to apologize. He’d done enough of that in their storied past, thank you very much.

“I try to stay informed. Unlike some people,” Aziraphale said meaningfully and redirected his attention to Frederick, idly noticing that Charles was whispering something in Sebastian’s ear that had made the young man turn very red. “Frederick, what do you plan to do with your degree? Are you also a poet?”

Frederick shook his head, making his copper curls bounce. “No, sir. I’d like to teach.”

“A very admirable profession,” Aziraphale said firmly. He moved to take a drink of his gimlet and realized it was empty. He frowned at the bottom of his glass which was plucked from his hand without warning and then Crowley was pressing both their glasses into Frederick’s hands. 

“Why don’t you get us another round?” Crowley said with an arched brow and Frederick stuttered something as he tried to handle the glasses. “There’s a good lad.”

Aziraphale watched Frederick’s retreating back and then turned to Crowley and hissed, “That was very rude.”

Aziraphale should leave. He’d had his one drink with Crowley and he should leave.

Crowley bared his teeth, an expression Aziraphale knew preceded some cutting comment, but Aziraphale was going to say his piece before Crowley had the chance to strike.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” Aziraphale said in low tones, forcing himself to maintain eye contact, “but you’ve certainly made it clear over the last several decades that you’d prefer to keep anyone’s company than mine so perhaps you’d best move along. We can speak in another century or so when you decide it’s worth your time to apologize.” 

Crowley frowned, hands moving as if to touch him and then curling into fists which fell by his sides. “Angel, I—”

It was hardly what Aziraphale expected. When he struck with his words—a rare thing—Crowley always struck back. It was the way they were. They didn’t need to pull their punches because they understood each other. Yet here Crowley was, looking faded and torn instead of gearing up for a fight.

Frederick came back with two drinks but before Aziraphale could take one and hopefully down the thing in one go, Crowley took his elbow and steered him towards the dancefloor, band starting up with a not-too subtle snap of the demon’s fingers. “Let’s dance, angel.”

Too surprised to do anything but let Crowley drag him onto the dancefloor, he found himself surrounded by the breathless crowd as Crowley drew closer. Too close.

Aziraphale stepped away “I don’t—” Aziraphale began, cut off when he had to duck out of the way of an overenthusiastic elbow. “Crowley, I don’t dance.”

Crowley plucked a bottle of champagne from someone’s hand and popped the cork with a thought, taking a pull straight from the bottle before pushing it against Aziraphale’s chest. Standing stock still because he was not going to be manhandled into dancing of all things, Aziraphale drank deep from the bottle. It was decent stuff, Crowley’s pilfering clearly depriving someone who had good taste.

“How about we stand in the dancing area and get drunk?” Crowley proposed, putting one hand on his chest and pushing him against the nearest wall. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s touch like a phosphene, bright and disconcerting, even as Crowley withdrew and slumped beside him. “Thought you could use a convenient excuse to get out of there. Or were you interested in going home with our dear Frederick? Your friend Charles seemed to think you were.”

“Goodness no!” Aziraphale said before taking the bottle back and drinking more. The bubbles popped their way down his throat, foreign as the growing sense of anticipation settling around them.

“Good,” Crowley said, yanking the bottle back. 

Aziraphale felt as if his skin was tingling, the sensation of blood rushing through his body. Crowley was jealous. Why was Crowley jealous? 

Aziraphale desperately wanted to ask but instead he said, “Why haven’t you apologized?”

“Why haven’t you?” Crowley asked carelessly, not looking at him and drinking again. Aziraphale watched the way his throat moved as he drank, the pale expanse of it like a canvas.

“I think I’ve missed you,” Aziraphale said, a rush of quiet words that he shouldn’t have said at all. He should have demanded an apology, gathered his words and hit harder. They fought and bickered and disagreed and maybe they were friends but they didn’t miss each other. That wasn’t wasn’t part of this game they played, this back and forth. Missing each other was...it was…

“Come again?” Crowley said over the renewed volume of the brass section. He leaned closer, ducking his head so he could hear Aziraphale’s words, the sharp tang of his pomade flooding Aziraphale’s nose.

“Nevermind,” Aziraphale said quickly. He shouldn’t have said it in the first place. He didn’t—he couldn’t miss Crowley. They weren’t—

Crowley peered at him but didn’t press.

Aziraphale really should leave. He was pleasantly tipsy and he felt that if he drank anymore he would make some sort of awful mistake. Something like letting Crowley drag him onto the dance floor or start thinking how the champagne would taste in Crowley’s mouth. Peering through the crowd to see if he could spy Charles to make his excuses, Aziraphale stepped away from the wall, ignoring the inexorable draw of Crowley’s presence. If he didn’t step away now, he might not be able to.

“I think I should go,” Aziraphale said, turning back to Crowley and his breath caught in his throat.

Aziraphale had thought Crowley looked like art earlier that night. Something to hang on the wall of a museum, the abstract shapes of his face coming together like a Gauguin, beautiful in its perplexing imperfections. But here, in the low light, the floor growing sticky with spilled cocktails and champagne, Crowley tilted his head just right and his face became a renaissance all its own. 

“Perhaps…” Aziraphale said as the band wound down, the dancers pausing to catch their breaths behind him. “Perhaps I’ll see you soon?”

From this angle, Aziraphale could see the edges of Crowley’s eyes over the tops of his sunglasses but then he tipped his head back and they disappeared. “Perhaps you could stay,” Crowley repeated, sibilance drawn out between his teeth.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Aziraphale said, ducking his head and stepping away. He drifted into the crowds, following the scent of fresh air to the propped open door and finding himself on the cool and winding street. Alone, he walked back to the bookshop and settled in for the night, wishing uselessly that things had gone differently. That he had let them be different for once.

[dolphin-bouillabaisse]

GO-ctober Prompt, 18

Inktober except without the ink, and with drabbles instead.

Prompt #18 - Misfit

(previous | next | beginning)

(find it all on Ao3)

(Warning: this one deals with homophobia. It’s not that hurtful and overall the story is very positive, but please consider this a trigger-warning if you have trouble with that sort of thing.)

“We don't want that kind of stuff advertised here. Sorry.” The server behind the till did not look sorry in the least. The young girl in front, letting the stack of flyers sink down in her hands, whispering a quiet 'sorry' herself, seemed far more apologetic.

Aziraphale, two people down the line to order, was not one to eavesdrop or cause a scene at a coffee shop (or anywhere in particular). Especially not with a demon in tow who was known for causing quite some scenes if he wanted to.

But seeing the polite young girl turn away with such a defeated look in her face, feeling the pain and hurt and fear of her washing over his senses almost made his blood boil. He was sure Crowley'd felt it too, at least judging by the slight squeeze his hand gave, almost involuntarily. Demons were meant to enjoy such feelings from humans, but demons were meant to do a lot of things Crowley didn't.

“Whatcha got there?” He stopped the girl in her tracks, and Aziraphale silently thanked him for it.

“Maybe I can take some of your flyers for my shop.” He held out a friendly hand towards them, but the girl recoiled. His hand sank.

“No, uhm, it's fine, I wouldn't want to cause-” she stammered, looking the angel up and down, and for once he almost cursed his rather old-fashioned dress. Her flyers, covered in all kinds of colourful flags and symbols, had told him enough – her wary look towards what she probably considered a very conservative older gentleman only made it clearer.

“Don't worry, dear. I've got a lot of local pamphlets and flyers lying around, I'm sure there's space for some of yours.” He gave her what he hoped was a re-assuring smile while lifting a hand for the flyers again, but she barely saw it. Her eyes wandered down to his other hand instead, tightly locked with Crowley's.

Some of the tension in her shoulders disappeared.

“Oh, ok.” She took a stack of the flyers and pushed them into the angel's hand. A quick smile flashed across her face. “Thanks. Can I- may I ask which shop you own?”

“The antique bookshop on the corner.”

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “You're Mr. Fell!”

-*-

“I'm sorry, sir.” A quiet voice interrupted his reading, more fitting for a library than a bookshop, but then again, was his bookshop not more of a library anyway? “Do you have a bathroom I could use?”

Aziraphale's eyes barely lifted off of the book, staring at the person in front of him over the rim of his glasses. “Not one for customers, I'm afraid. I believe the cafe at the end of the street has facilities.”

“Oh. Sure.” The young man played with his shirtsleeve, long eyelashes batting down in a shy look. “I just don't think they'll want me to-”

“Second door behind the Ancient History bookshelf.”

A quick 'Thank you' before he darted down the pointed direction, and Aziraphale caught Crowley with one of his rare soft smiles across the front room.

“I thought you didn't like customers rifling around unobserved.”

“He's not a customer.” Aziraphale closed the book after marking his place, picking up some of the flyers from the till to place them next to the entrance. Maybe he'd see them while leaving. “He's just a kid who needs support.”

“And a non-judgemental toilet, I guess.”

Aziraphale stared out the door's window, down the street. “That cafe is troubling, though.”

“Nothing you can do, angel.” Crowley swept his legs over the chair's armrest. “Plenty I could do, though. Want me to get health inspectors in there? Still got some rat friends that owe me a favour.”

“No, no.” Aziraphale tutted as he heard the bathroom door that hadn't existed ten minutes prior open and close. “We'll simply have to be better.”

The boy awkwardly shuffled past the lounging demon, throwing a small smile towards the angel. “Thank you, Mr. Fell.”

“No trouble at all, my dear boy.” He watched his face light up at the words.

“Tell your friends.” Crowley said and almost managed not to sound nice. “Take a flyer.”

-*-

“You can ask him. Don't worry.”

“I can't!”

Aziraphale pretended not to hear the whispers. The two kids had come in almost an hour before, and were hiding one bookshelf over. And again, he wasn't one to eavesdrop.

“Do you want me to ask?”

A quiet pause. A tense feeling giving way to some relief.

“Please.”

“Mr. Fell?” The young girl he recognised from the cafe several weeks before, who'd come to visit once or twice, rounded past the bookshelves towards him. “Do you have any books about research into different sexualities? Just to read, sir. We'll be careful.” She'd spent several hours deep into a book about queer symbolism in poetry the last time she'd come by, and Aziraphale had noticed with quite some joy that she had indeed been very careful with the book and had shown no intention to buy it, either.

The other girl was hiding a few feet away, and he pretended not to see her shaking as he smiled.

“I certainly do! They're a bit hidden, I'm afraid, the sorting system is difficult to manoeuvre. Let me show you.”

He went down several rows, the two girls in tow, pulling out a few worn and faded hardcovers.

“These, and if you're interested, I have some more recent paperbacks I can get for you.”

“I thought you only had antiques.” The asking girl kept asking, as her shy companion took the books Aziraphale had offered her.

“My husband suggested I expand a little bit, and I have to agree with him. There've been some very interesting things coming out the past few years.”

He was met with a beaming smile.

-*-

“Help me with the flag, please, dearest.” Aziraphale balanced with one foot on the stepstool, holding on to the window's frame. Crowley took one step up on the windowsill, pulled the rainbow flag from his hands and hung it across the curtain rod without so much as needing to stretch.

“You've really gotten into this, haven't you?” He grinned as he patted the side of the new, old bookshelf that had wedged itself into the front room, filled with literature and research and informational booklets. The windowsill beside the entrance was overflowing with flyers, pamphlets, and more booklets. A poster from the local youth club was obscuring the window facing down the road, towards the cafe.

“I like to help out. They have so many questions I feel incapable of answering properly. No one should be afraid to ask questions.” Aziraphale pulled on the flag's edges, making sure it hung properly. “By the way, could you set up one of those wifi-things for me? With a password, maybe? Marsha said there was a lot of resources online.”

“You can just look it up on your computer, angel, it's been working without wifi for years.”

“Yes, but...” He fiddled with the edges of the flag some more, almost pulling it down again. “I was thinking of setting up some tables, you know, Marsha brought her portable computer last time, and I imagine some of the other kids might want to do some research, and it's difficult at home sometimes-”

“Sure.” Crowley gave him another one of those soft smiles, the ones he cherished the most. “But you know it's gonna cause more and more customers coming in here, right?”

“They're not customers.” Aziraphale protested yet again, and he was right. Marsha (the girl from the cafe had introduced herself two weeks ago, after several days spent reading pretty much everything the shop had to offer with even the slightest hint of LGBT+ in it), and her friends, and all the other young people they'd told about the safe haven that A.Z. Fell's Books had become, had never tried to buy even one of his beloved books. “They're just young people who need information. And they're all very polite.”

“What if you get some in that aren't polite? What if they're a bit angry?”

“Well, I figured I'd hand them over to you.” A small grin, a tiny bit of bastard showing through. “I think you could teach them a thing or two about proper protesting and rebelling.”

“What if you get people in who aren't happy about what you're doing?”

“Well.” Aziraphale patted his cheek with a smile. “I figured I'd still hand them over to you.”

-*-

“Do you think what you're doing here is proper?”

Crowley had tried to figure out where he recognised the lady that had come in minutes ago. As she stood beside the till now, a scowl on her face as she threw the question into Aziraphale's, he remembered with fiery hatred. He'd almost forgotten her face, considering they hadn't been back to the cafe ever since that day with Marsha and her flyers.

“I assure you my business is all set up and properly done, miss. Taxes and all.” Aziraphale smiled, but Crowley could tell it was fake, how it never entered his eyes. He was gearing up to interrupt, but the lady was faster.

“Not that.” She scoffed. “That.” Her hand pointed accusingly at the flag in the window, the bookshelf beside it, the layer of flyers. “You think it's proper to harbour these kind of ideas? To spread it to misinformed young people?”

“They're not misinformed. They're excellent at research.”

“You're leading them down a path of debauchery and self-destruction!”

Crowley's hand on her shoulder was ice-cold, and his glare even from behind sunglasses was not much better.

“You're getting it all wrong. Debauchery is my job, and I've been retired for a while now.” He smiled at her, teeth bared in the way a cat would smile at its prey before killing it. “And if I catch you yelling at my husband again, I will show you a thing or two about destruction.”

She stuttered and stammered, almost looking as if she was going to start a fight, before shoving his hand off her shoulder and practically running out of the shop. Crowley's stare followed her.

“I'm calling in the rats.”

Aziraphale sighed and nodded. “Please do.”

Aziraphale hadn't said a word all afternoon. He'd pretended to be engrossed by some book, hiding in the backroom after closing shop early (the doorbell was still on, however, hidden behind a rainbow sticker outside, installed just weeks before and quietly whispered about amongst the groups seeking refuge in the shops even when the door was locked. Mr. Fell never turned away anyone who rang the bell). Crowley could tell he was not reading. He'd barely turned twenty pages in the past two hours.

“It's still bothering you. I warned you.”

“I just don't understand.” He mumbled as Crowley handed him a cup of hot chocolate. “Why people have to be so judgemental and hateful.”

“Hate to say it, but the churches your lot started haven't really helped that particular topic.”

“They're supposed to be loving. Welcoming.” Aziraphale took a sip, and Crowley leaned against the desk next to him.

“When's the last time you saw someone connected to Upstairs in any way do the thing they're supposed to be doing? Including Upstairs themselves.”

Aziraphale sighed again, staring at the cup in his hands. Crowley waited beside him, patiently. The angel was not done, but he'd give him all the time in the world to formulate what he wanted to say.

“They just want to be. And find a place where they fit in.”

This wasn't just about the kids going in and out of the shop anymore, and they both knew it. Deep down, Aziraphale had always known, and was glad Crowley hadn't pointed out the obvious yet, even if he had probably realised long before him.

They'd never fit in anywhere. They'd had to fight tooth and nail for themselves to just be. For their own side.

“You've done a great job giving them that place, angel.” Crowley's voice, soft and quiet and full of love, finally broke the silence. His hand rested on Aziraphale's shoulder, far kinder than it had been hours ago on the cafe-owners. “Don't let one stuck-up, hateful bitch get you down and ruin it.”

“Oh, I won't.” Aziraphale sat up with a determined, small smile. “It's not the first time I've had to deal with people unhappy with what I do, and with whom I consort.”

Crowley grinned before Aziraphale took his hand and carefully kissed it.

“And if all else fails, I can always hand them off to you, with your debauchery and destruction.”

“Proud to help.”

“Proud to have you.”

[theblackbook666-blog]

The Black Book Text 3: THE DEMONIC HIERARCHY

The below text details the Names and Spheres of Command of those in the highest Hierarchy of Hell, thousands more Demons reside in this dominion of morphing darkness, but those described here are the ruling Echelon if you will, the most powerful beings of the Demonic Monarchy.

NAME: Satan GENDER: Male DAY: Saturday SOURCE: Creation MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Desire, command, power, Black Magick, knowledge, wisdom, creation, intellect. DESCRIPTION:- Ram Headed, male body, legs of a Goat, cloven hooved.

NAME: Lilith GENDER: Female DAY: Friday SOURCE: Infertility MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Lust, seducing men, infertility, slaying the pious, Incubi, Succubi, temptation, desire. DESCRIPTION:- Beautiful naked woman with long black hair, clawed feet and hands, sometimes appears with wings like a Bat, often accompanied by Snake.

NAME: Beelzeboul GENDER: Male DAY: Tuesday SOURCE: Command MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Command, protection, possession, success, strength, bravery, military success. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a huge Fly, at other times the naked body of a male but with the head and wings of a Fly.

NAME: Abaddon GENDER: Male DAY: Saturday SOURCE: Isolation MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Death, torture, fetishism, perversion, destruction, misery, pain, isolation, Hexing. DESCRIPTION:- Figure clad in black hooded robe, face is pallid white and skeletal almost, black eyes.

NAME: Asmodeus GENDER: Male DAY: Tuesday SOURCE: Seduction MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Lust, seducing women, possession, protection, wisdom, virility, carnal desire. DESCRIPTION:- Horned demon of red coloured skin, sometimes fully naked at others wearing a loin cloth and cloak of brown hue.

NAME: Lucifuge Rofocale GENDER: Male DAY: Thursday SOURCE: Wealth MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Riches, finances, wealth, inheritance, money, legacy, promotion, success. DESCRIPTION:- Triple horned, top half of a naked man, the legs and cloven hooves of a Goat, sometimes wears a cloak of red and gold.

NAME: Belphegor GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Wednesday SOURCE: Invention MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Creation, invention, love, ideas, intellect, friendship, mechanics, creativity. DESCRIPTION:- A Demonic creature with two small horns and skin of a rust red hue, always appears naked, sometimes appears as a bearded male Demon.

NAME: Agaliarept GENDER: Male DAY: Monday SOURCE: Initiation MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Initiation, Occult knowledge, seership, scrying, gateways, portals, secrets. DESCRIPTION:- Figure concealed in a black hooded robe and cloak, the face is never visible but the hands are skeletal with pale flesh.

NAME: Naamah GENDER: Female DAY: Friday SOURCE: Fornication MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Fornication, seducing men, fertility, sex, nymphomania, debauchery, sin, lust. DESCRIPTION:- Naked beautiful female with long red hair, occasionally wears wraps of gossamer material white in colour, long claw like nails, deep red eyes.

NAME: Ashtarot GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Friday SOURCE: Passion MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Love, passion, reconciliation, friendship, bonds, partnerships, Homunculi, tact. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a Demon with the left side of their body black and the right side white, sometimes robed in cloak of crimson.

NAME: Unsere GENDER: Female DAY: Friday SOURCE: Fertility MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Childbirth, fertility, safe childbirth, healing, health, pregnancy, children, herbs. DESCRIPTION:- A dark skinned Demon who appears as a naked woman or covered in a long gown of russet colour, long black hair, black eyes.

NAME: Behemoth GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Friday SOURCE: Greed MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Sloth, greed, avarice, slovenliness, debauchery, envy, jealousy, luxury, pleasure. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a human sized bipedal Elephant or Hippopotamus like creature of grey/purple shaded skin.

NAME: Mammon GENDER: Male DAY: Sunday SOURCE: Business MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Money, business, money lending, riches, the rich, greed, success, foundations. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a male Monarch like figure with two curling horns protruding from his brow and garbed in a white robe and golden cloak.

NAME: Satanachia GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Monday SOURCE: Astral Travel MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Psychic/Astral protection, lust, psychic defence, warfare, tactics, fortification. DESCRIPTION Appears as an almost Angelic Demon of feminine facial features clad in a robe of purple and red, golden long hair.

NAME: Mephistopheles GENDER: Male DAY: Saturday SOURCE: Contacts MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Pacts, contracts, death, melancholy, trades, justice, revenge, sadness, hate. Appears as man garbed in expensive looking upper class clothing which varies in fashion by phases of history.

NAME: Sargatanas GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Monday SOURCE: Magickal Protection MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Astral projection/travel, Astral protection, safe travel, security, psychic protection. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a male Demon clad in a flowing red bejewelled cloak, skin is of a greyish hue, wears a crown fixed with golden horns.

NAME: Arioch GENDER: Male DAY: Tuesday SOURCE: Revenge MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Wrath, revenge, justice, karma, retribution, torture, vengeance, truth, death. DESTRUCTION:- A tall (at least nine foot) Demonic creature of reddish and copper coloured skin, large domed head bearing two small horns, clawed feet and hands.

NAME: Rimmon GENDER: Male DAY: Sunday SOURCE: Healing MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Medicine, healing, healing others, banishing malady, science, surgery, health. DESCRIPTION:- A tall Demon garbed in a long black robe, appears as a human male with long dark hair and beard.

NAME: Verrier GENDER: Female DAY: Sunday SOURCE: Herbalism MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Vanquishing disease, renewed health, healing, herbalism, vitality, medicine. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as an elfin like Demon, pale skinned, with white hair, clad in a tunic and pants which appear to be made from leaves and grass, ice blue eyes.

NAME: Alastor GENDER: Male DAY: Saturn SOURCE: Execution MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Torture, assassination, murder, execution, death, destruction of enemies. DESCRIPTION:- A ferocious feral looking Demon of pale red skin wearing a small grey loin cloth, its wild eyes are white, its long tangled hair black, usually appears holding a dagger or axe.

NAME: Balthazar GENDER: Male DAY: Saturn SOURCE: Conflict MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Discord, unrest, pain, suicide, misery, conflict, cunning, misery, chaos, hate. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a handsome well dressed man but when enraged transforms into a reddish coloured horned Demon with glowing yellow eyes.

NAME: Delepitorae GENDER: Female DAY: Wednesday SOURCE: Scribe MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Writing, literary excellence, poetry, genius, Grimoires, creativity, Magick, books. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as naked female with white skin and long white hair, grey almost translucent bat like wings, and black sharp talons, her eyes are completely black.

NAME: Asafoetida GENDER: Female DAY: Friday SOURCE: Lust MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Seduction, beauty, glamour, feminine sexuality, seducing husbands, sin, success. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a lustful tanned skinned Demon with long reddish brown hair and large wings like those of a Bat (sometimes of an Eagle), she is naked accept from a loin cloth type garment of green hue.

NAME: Rosier GENDER: Andronynous DAY: Friday SOURCE: Love MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Marriage, love, family, home proposals, weddings, romance, obsession, partners. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a Spirit of flames, flames of red, pink and golden hues, at other times will take on the form of a serene female garbed in copper robes with long blond hair.

NAME: Leonard GENDER: Male DAY: Wednesday SOURCE: Magcik MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Magick, Black Magick, Voodoo, Charms, Hexes, Hermetics, Occultism, Curses. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a black male of African appearance, sometimes naked at other times in a long robe of grey and brown feathers, two small horns protrude from his forehead and his eyes are white.

NAME: Sonneillon GENDER: Female DAY: Saturday SOURCE: Discord MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Arguments, dividing lovers, violation, mistrust, chaos, divorce, discord, hate. DESCRIPTION:- A feral looking Demon, appearing as a naked woman of bluish tinted skin, her tongue is that of a Serpent, hands and feet are clawed, she has sharp canines and sometimes as large leathery wings of purple hue.

NAME: Mulciber GENDER: Male DAY: Wednesday SOURCE: Learning MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Knowledge, intellect, craftsmanship, skill, learning, invention, discovery, study. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a grey robed hooded figure with wings as that of an Angel only black in colour, carries a golden staff, his face is concealed although red glowing eyes can be seen.

NAME: Merihim GENDER: Female DAY: Saturday SOURCE: Malady MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Pestilence, disease, inflicting malady, plague, death, poisons, pandemics, wounds. DESCRIPTION:- A vicious looking Demon of dark almost black hued skin, naked, flowing long black hair the length of her body, large raven like wings, clawed feet, red eyed, he skin appears to be decaying at times.

NAME: Ukobach GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Tuesday SOURCE: Fire MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Fire, flames, burning, death by fire, pyromancy, immunity to fire, Hellfires. DESCRIPTION:- A small Demon of reddish coloured skin, its head appears to large for its body, its eyes are large and yellow, it is often surrounded by flames of orange hue.

NAME: Cambions GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Monday SOURCE: Gestation MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Magickal Children, Psychogones, Egregores, Homunculi, Astral Thought Forms. DESCRIPTION:- As been described as a hideous looking Demon its red flesh seeming to move upon its body, its gaping mouth drooling, two large horns turning back over its head.

NAME: Ribesal GENDER: Male DAY: Monday SOURCE: Apparitions MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Illusions, hauntings, apparitions, paranormal phenomena, rage, madness. DESCRIPTIONS:- A small dark skinned Demon with long limp black hair and a large nose, appears wearing a tunic of leather like material and a belt holding a pouch of infinite items.

NAME: Ancitif GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Tuesday SOURCE: Obsession MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Fixation, obsession, infatuation, Demonic possession, Auric Vampirism. DESCRIPTION:- A dark almost black skinned Demon with golden eyes, sometimes appears with the wings of a Moth, at other times like a feral female Demon, it has matted dark brown hair and often crawls rather than walking.

NAME: Moloch GENDER: Male DAY: Thursday SOURCE: Business MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Wealth, Pacts, sacrifice, death, trading, business, blood sacrifice, fire, death. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a man with the head of a Bull or sometimes a Ram, naked on the top half his bottom half is covered with a white gown like garment, his skin is of a brownish orange colour and he carries a staff of gold.

NAME: Agramon GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Monday SOURCE: Insanity MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Illusions, trepidation, fear, anxiety, cowardice, weakness, paranoia. DESCRIPTION:- A Demon of no fixed appearance, it may initially appear as a white skinned naked male of female with black eyes, its skin is shedding and ripped, but it will then take the form it chooses.

NAME: Cresil GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Sunday SOURCE: Impurity MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Impurity, apathy, lethargy, exhibitionism, vulgarity, vice, sin, sloth, laziness. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as an overweight Demon seated on a cushioned golden throne, it wears a copper crown and a blue cloth like garment covers its lower half, large feet and ears.

NAME: Euronymous GENDER: Male DAY: Saturn SOURCE: Misery MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Misery, suicide, disasters, loss, instability, sadness, grief, self-loathing, hate. DESCRIPTION:- A horned bearded naked male Demon in appearance, the body is that of a man but the face is Demonic with a large nose and extremely large eyes of a crimson hue, the Demon crouches and moves somewhat primal.

NAME: Nybras GENDER:  Male DAY: Friday SOURCE: Decadence MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Lust, decadence, impurity, sin, carnal pleasures, sadism, masochism, desire. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a grey skinned Demon with large pointed ears and small horns, at times he appears with crimson Snakes wrapped around him.

NAME: Verdelet GENDER: Male DAY: Sunday SOURCE: Pleasure MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Festivals, ceremonies, etiquette, finesse, culture, aesthetics, beauty, pleasure. DESCRIPTION:- Appears as a man dressed in Tudor style clothing, black beard and hair, his eyes are black and red, at times he appears as a shadowy horned figure.

NAME: Xaphan GENDER: Androgynous DAY: Monday SOURCE: Tuesday MAIN AREAS OF POWER:- Pyromancy, starting fires, flames, illumination, the Black Flame, guidance. DESCRIPTION:- A small Demon with a large head and protruding features, one single horn upon its brow, its skin is reddish brown, also appears frequently as a Demon forged from amber and golden flames.

FatherBoullan(c)copyright2017

[ajmvisualforecasting]

Historical and Cultural References: Alexander McQueen

Alexander Mcqueen takes inspiration from a huge variety of historical cultures, art, textiles, film, make-up, film and their techniques and design processes. Every one of his runway shows were a theatrical production, tributing the design work of many eras in time. A lot of his collections referenced the dark, dismal melancholic Victorian Gothic era. When I think of the Victorian era I see dark clothing, winter, taxidermy, death, the plague and poetry. McQueen embodies this, often in his Autumn / Winter collections, using exaggerated Victorian styles silhouettes and big hats, bird feathers, dramatically white make up and skulls.

Historical - Victorian Gothic, 1800s Cultural - Edgar Alan Poe Social - sadness, death, social class Environmental - dark, decaying, victorian london streets

Following this will be pictures of how the Victorian Gothic era has inspired McQueen throughout the years and my essay on how historical art movements inspired Alexander McQueen.

There are a lot of fashion designers who are looking for uniqueness in futuristic and contemporary designs. In contrast to this, Alexander McQueen is recognised as being original and outrageous for looking back in time. This iconically British designer was passionate about art and more often than not applied historical fine art, print making, makeup and sculpture to his designs. McQueen is inspired by a huge spectrum of art and historical art movements ranging from renaissance paintings from as early as the mid 1400’s to cinema in the mid 1900’s. “Angels and Demons”, McQueen’s Autumn/Winter collection, is the very last collection he started to create before committing suicide in 2010. This collection takes great inspiration from artists from the 16th Century, using art movements such as the Renaissance and Classicism which depicts classical, religious scenes. One piece of art to mention in particular is titled The Temptation of St Anthony (1501) by Hieronymus Bosch. This triptych painting depicts the mental and spiritual torments endured by St Anthony throughout his lifetime. Each third shows unending scenes of demonic debauchery, the temptation of luxury and violence. In his Angels and Demons collection, McQueen created a few different garments inspired by the medieval artisanal textiles of the 16th century, like gloves and traditional style dresses with a modern twist of using the painting, which was digitally printed, blown up over the fabric of the garments. One garment in particular is a traditional corseted dress showing a specific scene of Saint Anthony being assisted by three others crossing a bridge, in a state of complete exhaustion, after being beaten by the devil. Here he uses deep, blood reds, earthy browns and black, portraying darkness and hell on earth. In choosing this piece of art, with its torment and darkness, it is argued that McQueen was trying to reflect his own turmoil. This unfinished collection was a way to free his mind and open up to the unending sense of suffering he was feeling at the time.

In contrast to this, he also created more garments in his Angels and Demons collection depicting another triptych by Bosch titled The Garden of Earthly Delights (1510.) These three panels show the story of Adam and Eve and the sacrament of matrimony, a dreamlike portrayal of earth, and humans succumbing to temptations in hell. Although there is still a dark undertone in the last third of this triptych, a skirt McQueen has designed portrays a scene of earth with naked women and animals playing whimsically and un-shamefully in a fountain. Here he uses a multitude of bright colours, including grassy greens, crystal-like blues and pale pinks, portraying a glimmer of hope and regeneration. The word ‘renaissance,’ in French, means ‘rebirth,’ this could be what McQueen was trying to do with his name in the fashion industry. This collection is unlike any other he had designed before. The colours he used were very different to any other of his past collections which often held colour schemes of black and grey. It is very clear that he has captured both of the paintings’ opulence and embodied that into his creations with the use of his colour scheme and the use of the paintings themselves printed onto the fabric. There is a contradiction of emotions demonstrated through the scenes depicted in this collection, from the chaos shown through The Temptation of Saint Anthony to the tranquility of The Garden of Earthly Delights, quite like the contradictions between angels and demons.   

Alexander McQueen also took inspiration from the British Arts and Crafts movement of the 19th century. William Morris’ designs were typical of the arts and crafts movement which paved the way for traditionally British looking wallpaper and fabrics, featuring repeated images of traditional English flowers in muted polychromatic colour schemes. Both McQueen and his fabric designer Simon Ungless loved the designs by William Morris and created fabric using continuous floral shapes which was the leading fabric in his Autumn / Winter 1995 collection “Highland Rape.” This collection featured torn lace dresses made in traditional Scottish textile design. The not-so-perfectly symmetrical and intricate designs by Morris were digitally printed onto sheer lace fabric, this was manipulated and ripped, representing violence and to show the intimate skin of the models. The Highland Rape collection was wildly misinterpreted by the media, denouncing McQueen as a misogynist who was glorifying rape. Whereas, in actual fact, McQueen used the torn fabrics of famous British designers in traditional Scottish textile design to signify England’s violation with Scotland.     

After McQueen’s death in 2010, the continually innovative designer shocked once again with the help of the brands current creative director, Sarah Burton. Through the grief of losing Alexander McQueen, Burton reincarnated the heritage of the man and the label, designing an Autumn/Winter 2011 collection and the wedding dress for the Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton. This collection took influences from the fine art paintings of the Victorian Gothic period. One painting in particular titled Critics in Costume (1880) by John Callcott Horsley. This painting skilfully portrays two women who are dressed very regally in white silk dresses, completely covered in white embellishments. One dress in particular is almost an entire copy of a dress in the painting with its pale colours but intricate design and embellishment, transcending harsh regality and soft femininity, a perfect way to style royalty on their wedding day.   

In 1996 Alexander McQueen designed a collection for Givenchy titled “Romantic Exoticism.” When referring to the collection, McQueen once said “As a designer you go through every nook and cranny to find inspiration. I get more inspiration from the personality of a region than the actual ethnic origin.” This collection’s inspiration derived from many, many different cultures around the world ranging from, Africa, China, India and Turkey. Japan’s traditional fine art was a particularly significant inspiration in the collection. Magpie on Viburnum Branch by Genga is a painting of a bird sitting on a tree branch from the historical, traditional, Japanese art movement Muromachi (1336-1573.) This painting features on the arms of a kimono McQueen designed in the Romantic Exoticism collection. The painting was embroidered onto the fabric of the arms, so when the arms were folded you could view the whole image as one. McQueen believed that “Fashion can be really racist,” so by incorporating a traditional painting to the garment, he also wanted to use elements of traditional Japanese embroidery and craftsmanship to really appreciate the craft of Japanese textiles and fine art working together to create something breathtaking.    

McQueen’s Spring/Summer 1995 collection ‘The Birds’ is a complete mix up of design, patter and colour but complies with one conjunctive theme of birds. Not only was Alexander McQueen inspired by historical fine art, he was also inspired by graphic design. Maurits Cornelis Escher created optical illusion designs based on reflection, symmetry and geometry. His drawings were very dark, scary and confusing. McQueen adapted many of Escher’s pieces, for this collection including drawings such as Day and Night, Sky and Water I and Liberation, which depicted continuous patterns of birds. These drawings were digitally manipulated onto the fabric to create a geometric houndstooth design that grew in to images of flying birds. This collection really elaborated on McQueen’s eye for art and fashion working together, creating extraordinary fabric designs with the use of graphic design.   

The Spring/Summer 1995 collection also derived inspiration from Alfred Hitchcock’s film The Birds which was created in 1963. Alfred Hitchcock was an English film director and is widely regarded as one of the most influential filmmakers in cinematic history. This film depicted a world infested with killer birds. McQueen was inspired and created a beautiful dress, which was a similar pale blue colour that Tippi Hedren wore in the film, with a typical 1960’s silhouette. To give the dress a McQueen twist, the neckline is adorned with real bird feathers and it looks like the dress is being devoured by the bird. ‘The Birds’ collection is a fantastic example of how many different art movements Alexander McQueen was inspired by.    

Through my research I have learned that every detail of McQueen’s collections, from when he was in university to after his death, yield connotations of destruction which he portrays through his love of fine art and textile design. He has purposefully explored a vast array of historical art movements and by doing so has given him the title of the world's most prolifically innovative and outlandish designers.