#how do i not have a magritte tag

[painted-bees]

Hey, I've been obsessing over Hi-Note for the past two days, and I was reading meet cute part two and I noticed your tag. "I'm not a very good writer I don't paint very well with words."

I want to establish credibility for the praise I am about to heap on you: I've written a fair more than most people. There's over a million words in my Ao3, and yet more hundreds of thousands that never saw the light of day. I've friends in the editing trade who tell me I write at a publishable level. I like to think I know the craft very well.

So here's the praise: while you do have some of the marks of inexperienced writers I will absolutely contradict your self-deprecation. You are a good writer, and you have the makings of a great one.

Telling compelling stories are about so much more than mere mastery of prose. Your characters and your stories have real heart. Refined prose is far easier to learn than verisimilitude (there's a ten dollar word) in portraying the human condition.

I adore what I've read so far of Raf and Magritte, they are a charmingly tragic little duo, partially because I relate to them and partially because I am the biggest sap about that kind of dynamic of broken people initially hiding their cracks, gradually turning one another into kintsugi through affection, devotion, (and optionally, hot sex.)

If at any point you want some pointers, gently given, about how to improve your prose quality, absolutely hit me up, I am on this hellsite way too much.

Thanks for drawing and writing. You've given me much joy.

this is a lot to process haha thank you so much Q vQ♡♡♡

With all the kindness I have received about my writing, I will take care not to pre-empt future prose-y posts with apologetic sentiments regarding the quality. Self-deprecation doesn't contribute to anyone's enjoyment of the writing--and with all compliments I have received thus far, I feel it would be an insult to you guys if I were to continue insisting that the quality of my work requires tempering reader expectations upfront in order for it to be well received. I feel wholly encouraged and unstoppabley emboldened, haha!

That said, yes! I am very shiny and new to the whole writing thing! I would be very pleased to get an occasional DM or private message with any observations or tips regarding consistent/recourring mistakes or apparent gaps in knowledge that my work would benefit from having pointed out. I'll probably never revist old works to edit them, but I am keen on absorbing your wisdoms and applying the new things I learn to my future writing doodles!

Thank you so much for your kindly enthusiasm!! and for enjoying Hi-Note with me while I wallow gleefully in my self-dug little obsession pit haha♡♡♡!! Genuinely, it means a ton to me!!

[janec23]

AITA for ruining my best friend engagement party? (AITA Tag Game)

Rules: Write an AITA question and post from the POV of one your OCs

Thank you @romanceandshenanigans for tagging me! I absolutely loved your AITA! You can find it here

What is an AITA? It comes from a subreddit: Am I The Asshole? People post about some discussions or conflicts they have with friend, family etc. asking if in that case they are the asshole. Usually redditers answer with: YTA (you are the asshole) or NTA (not the asshole). I think it's great to do it for OCs as well!

I am tagging: @everthewip, @digital-chance, @rickie-the-storyteller

It's almost 2 AM, I think, I'm not sure, that old clock in the ball room always confuses me. I tried to cry myself to sleep, but to no avail, I am still ashamed and hurt by what happened. I don't think there's a solution to what I've done. But I refuse to think I'm the only asshole here.

I (18F) was invited by my best friend (BF, 18M) to spend the summer holidays at his place, as always. He's a marquise, from one of the last noble household here in Magritte, so I was very pleased when he invited me over for the second time in two years.

We met during our fourth year in college, and despite a rough start we soon became inseparable, I was surprised when he invited me the first time, since I am just a poor orphan student that has nothing to give in exchange for his generosity.

This time though everything was different, because while I was out for my fifth year, my BF met a young woman, Rosina. She's not from noble lineage, but she is accomplished, educated and beautiful. Nothing wrong with her, except that she despises me, and she ruined our holidays taking all my BF time for their dates. During this summer I also learnt that the Marquise wants to send my BF to his estate overseas to manage their business there, so he can come back as a "proper gentleman". I was shocked when I discovered that the last party before his departure was also an engagement party, so my BF can ask Rosina's hand in marriage before leaving!

During the party Rosina came to me, asking questions about my friendship with him, claiming I should not call him by his first name since it's not appropriate and that the guests were all very outraged by my poor manners, lack of education and for dancing with his sister, behaving like a "shameless orphan slut".

To make a point on how I should not be seen around my BF she poured her drink in my dress, ruining it. Laughing that I did't belong there with my sewer background.

I tried to restrain myself, but I did it. I assaulted her, I know it was wrong, and I may have called her 'bloody bitch' and other names while punching her and pulling her hair. So it was my fault, still I know she's not the right woman for him, she's a damn social climber, and she's not even noble herself! Now my BF hates me, he said I ruined his party, his future and his good reputation, since his father insisted in cancelling the engagement. I don't know what to do, I tried to explained him what happened, (he told her about my past, so it's also his fault!). Tomorrow he's leaving and he doesn't want to talk to me anymore. I don't know if I'll ever see him again, so I don't want to end things between us like this. I am heart broken. TLDR; I assaulted my best friend's soon-to-be fiancée after she threatened and insulted me. I ruined his engagement party, so their are not engaged. My friend is mad at me and doesn't want to talk anymore. AITA?

[laeteria]

MILGRAM "CAT" MV: My thoughts

MILGRAM dropped the MV of "Cat" and here are my initial thoughts on the MV:

First of all, the theme is kind of around Kazui being a magician throughout the whole MV. You see him pulling all kinds of tricks to surprise his partner. When you don't know how they pull the trick, it will always be impressive towards the viewer, so that's probably how his partner fell for him. She doesn't know what's behind the magic.

We also get a whole wedding scene in the MV, but I couldn't help but feel like everything was fabricated and everyone was just being fake af. Like tbh, everyone can feel that there's something off despite being it a happy occasion, probably because there's no real love and otherwise fake love.

You also see a lot of apples in the MV. This one scene has several apples, but they are all red except for one. The apple also appeared in Kazui's first MV "half", so this is a throwback to that as well. Anyway, green apples are often sour while red ones are often sweet. Kazui is trying to blend in with the rest, but he's not like the rest because he's hiding his true face.

It then switches to Kazui and his partner having dinner together. Kazui grabs his glass and you can see his wife through there. Normally, the vision will be warped a little because it's glass and there's substance in it. However, Kazui's partner is normal (except for the fact its mirrored). Why? Probably because she has no hidden intentions.

This scene flashes between the image of Kazui's partner and himself, except his head is depicted as a green apple. This image reminded me of something else: the son of man by Rene Magritte. This painting is one of the most well-known paintings for the surrealism movement and this is what Magritte said about it according to Wikipedia:

"At least it hides the face partly well, so you have the apparent face, the apple, hiding the visible but hidden, the face of the person. It's something that happens constantly. Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see. There is an interest in that which is hidden and which the visible does not show us. This interest can take the form of a quite intense feeling, a sort of conflict, one might say, between the visible that is hidden and the visible that is present."

I think that explains enough about what I want to say. After all, surrealism does depict reality in a not so realistic way, but rather in a sub conscious way.

The last few points for now is the end when the magic Disappears and the partner is not swayed by Kazui's actions anymore and he knows. He immediately falls back to his bad habits and his partner is horrified to see that he is a different person than she initially thought.

The dove also appears quite frequently in the MV, because not only does it fit the magician theme well, but I think it also kind of fits the tag that is used frequently in fanfics and that's "dead dove: do not eat" tag. It basically says, what it says. There's a dead dove, don't eat. It's an obvious warning, but curiosity kills the cat… and what's the title of the MV? You are right, it's "Cat". Kazui ends up eating the dove because he has fallen too much into his bad habits, even though he's aware of them being bad.

Last point is that the word "Masquerade" appears frequently as well and that can be a reference to the play by Mikhail Lermontov. Not only does it fall in line with the theme of his first MV again, the play itself is pretty dark and fitting for Kazui as well. I'm not well versed into this, so I will let Wikipedia do it's trick once again, so here's the plot from there:

"The hero of the drama, Arbenin, is a wealthy middle-aged man endowed with a rebellious spirit and a strong will. Born into high society, he strives in vain to gain independence and freedom. He lives by the laws of his society, and, in trying to defend his honor while blinded by jealousy and pride, ends up murdering his wife."

[trans-lykanthropie]

Tag Game To Better Know You! Send this to people you'd like to know better!

Tagged by @loudobjectprincess , thank you for the tag friend ^_^

What book are you currently reading?

I'm a really slow reader so I don't really get on well with books that are all text 😅 but if we're taking outside of just wordy fiction I'm finishing the first volume of Dorohedoro and I'm also hooked on my latest art book about Magritte

What do you usually wear?

Collar shirts or polo neck jumpers, trousers with braces, boots to the mid shin, and long coats of various colours. In warmer weather I'm all about boiler suits and cropped jackets. Also bandanas/headscarves

How tall are you?

Six foot

What's your star sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or historical event?

I'm a Libra, and I have no idea if anything special happened on my birthday historically

Do you go by your name or a nickname?

Most people call me Eden, but I have an adorable array of pet names from my close friends, especially the trans ones ^_^

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be as a child?

Aside from being a woman, I don't really know. I can't remember really having a job goal in mind that I ever took seriously right up until I started studying as a restorer, which turned out to be the perfect job for me. Although ideally I'd have the time, money, and sufficient mental health to be a full time painter or maybe a forger because it's way more fun

What's something you're good at vs something you're bad at?

I'm a pretty damn good shot, but I'm rubbish at virtually every other sport that exists or will exist

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what's your favourite picture/favourite line/favourite etc. from something you've created this year?

Motivation and spare time to paint has been pretty scarce these days, but I did start a study of one of the Breakdown Gang from Disco Elysium which is coming along nicely but that I ultimately need to finish

Dogs or cats?

Dogs

What's something you'd like to create content for?

I wanted in the past to start a video series looking at my favourite allegorical art pieces, I had a theme and format all planned, and there is actually a video on YouTube where I tried it out that's still viewable, but ultimately it didn't stick. I do like the video essay format when used to study paintings though

What's something you're currently obsessed with?

Battlefield 1, I refuse to apologise damn it it's fun and it cost me €3

What's something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

I dunno, the temporary exhibitions at the Kunsthalle have been pretty naff this year honestly

What's a hidden talent of yours?

Pffffttt no idea, am I good at things? Do I have hidden talents? I'm pretty good at the board game Azul, does that count?

What's something you wish to have at this moment?

Thinking utility wise, either a decent sewing machine or a Note 10 phone or whichever is the latest one that has a pen so I could make digital art on the go.

I'll tag @dentalhickory @sweetpuddincake @lark-in-ink @clowngirlhonkers and @dragonatioor but absolutely don't feel pressured to follow up if you don't want to

[captainswhitlock]

about for mobile

❧ What is this place?

A sideblog to collect art and photography that reminds me of the FL aesthetic, as well as a spot to dump all my thoughts about the series. This is what blogs are. This is how they are supposed to be. Most likely I will be focusing more on Skies as that's what I'm currently binge-playing. This blog contains horror elements, so scroll at your own risk.

My mobile icon and header are "Discovery" and "Le Prêtre Marié" by Rene Magritte.

❧ Who are you?

My name is Maili, I'm 25, nonbinary (they), American, and my main blog is @harvestar (this is where I will follow and reply from. Take care I do not follow you too closely. Take care you do not stop to converse with me for too long.) That's as much personal info as I feel like sharing to the internet.

I'm fairly new to the series and started with Sunless Sea a couple years ago, so I'm doubtlessly missing pieces of things or their wider context. Feel free to (politely) correct me, I'm always willing to learn more and I welcome discussion and debate.

I tag personal text posts as 'ktxt' so feel free to filter/blacklist that if rambles aren't your thing.

❧ Why am I here? What have you done to me?

@harvestar <- main blog

@daventrian <- (mostly inactive) art blog

@harvestar on Archive of Our Own

daventrian#6012 on discord (more likely to get a reply if you message me here first as I don't use it very often)

It's also said if you put two sprigs of wilted lilac before a shard of broken mirror that you might catch a glimpse of my true form, but I'd like to formally quash those baseless rumors.

There is absolutely nothing strange happening on this account. This is what Tumblr blogs are supposed to be.

Last updated 24 December 2022.

[mculibrary]

All You Need Is Love Challenge!

Love has been the topic of all forms of art throughout the ages; and for our first ever challenge, we’ve pulled together some favorites to inspire stories about our beloved MCU characters!

A very special thank you to all those who shared content that means a lot to them for us to include: @ozarkthedog​​, @thecornerlot​​, @wayward-blonde​​, @adorecevans​​, @a-little-counter-esperanto​​, and @sidepartskinnyjeans​​ - your help is so appreciated!

See below the cut for guidelines and prompts - we can’t wait to see what you do!

GUIDELINES

you do not have to follow us or be an author listed in the library to participate! all entries will be reblogged.

any character that has appeared in something from the mcu is fair game; this includes the netflix series characters and characters with cameos in recent movies!

you may choose up to three prompts - one from each section. beyond that, your setting, tropes, aus, etc are completely yours to control!

most prompts are framed around romantic love but you can take them in any direction you choose - fics about platonic love or familial love, for example, are more than welcome!

there is no cap on how many people can use a single prompt or how many times a character can be associated with a prompt; you do not need to message to claim any characters or prompts. just write your heart out!

given the library’s focus, this is a non-dark content challenge unless it’s content related to canon tropes for things like mafia aus (i.e. violence, crime, murder, etc) - in those cases, use your discretion for appropriate warnings!

both reader and oc fics are welcome. all pairings (or no pairing!) are also welcome, so long as they aren’t incestous or don’t pair underage characters with characters who are of age.

challenge end date: march 4. can’t finish by then? no worries! all submissions will be reblogged and added to the masterlist, but we will stop actively promoting the challenge after that date. we will also ask anyone who hasn’t already posted their entry to reach out to us after that date so we can keep track!

finally, be sure to tag us in your entries and include the tag “mcu all you need is love challenge” so we can find your fics for reblog. If you don’t see the fic reblogged after two days, please feel free to submit it as well!

PROMPTS

ARTWORK (titles are links)

watering flowers, wang xingwei

a foregone conclusion, lawrence alma tadema

untitled (perfect lovers), felix gonzalez-torres

a romance, santiago rusiñol

in bed, henri de toulouse-lautrec

le printemps (springtime), pierre-auguste cot

dance at series (l to r: bougival, country, or city), pierre-auguste renoir

the lovers ii, rene magritte

POETRY / QUOTATIONS / LITERATURE

“I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.” - love sonnet xi, pablo neruda

“The paper is full of every kind of blooming horror / And you sit wondering / what you're gonna do. / I got it. / Come. And be my baby.” - come, and be my baby, maya angelou

“I am not yours, not lost in you / Not lost, although I long to be” - i am not yours, sara teasdale

“I lean into the rhythm of your heart to see where it will take us. / We gallop into a warm, southern wind.” - for keeps, joy harjo

“I share my face with you / but love becomes a lie / as we suffer through split masks / seeking the other half-self.” - making it, audre lorde

“Don't leave now that you're here— / Stay. So the world may become like itself again.” - before you came, faiz ahmed faiz

“You cannot look in his eyes /Because your pulse must not say / What must not be said.” - to be in love, gwendolyn brooks

“We expect you, cat and I, bluebirds and I, the stove.” - dear one absent this long while, lisa olstein

“If equal affection cannot be, / Let the more loving one be me.” - the more loving one, w.h. Auden

“When love beckons to you, follow him, / Though his ways are hard and steep.” - on love, kahlil gibran

“In silence I have watched you / comb your hair. / Intimate the silence, / dim and warm.” - we have not long to love, tennesse williams

“my thoughts about you are frightening but precise/ I can see the house on the hill where we make our own vegetables out back / and drink warm wine out of jam jars / and sing songs in the kitchen until the sun comes up” - Sthandwa sami (my beloved, isiZulu), yrsa daley-ward

“love is more thicker than forget / more thinner than recall / more seldom than a wave is wet / more frequent than to fail” - "[love is more thicker than forget]", e.e. Cummings

“I’m a girl who’ll fall / damn near in love with gratitude and, well, he / was hot and generous and so the least/ that I could do was let him kiss me, hard / and soft and any way you want it” - bar napkin sonnet #11, moira egan

“She rolls her / eyes, but he’d once asked her / Am I your first lover? and she’d /  said, Could be. Your face looks / familiar.” - love explained, jennifer michael hecht

“Taste it once / And the spell of its enchantment / Will never let you be.”, a love song for lucinda, langston hughes

“Marriage is not / a house, or even a tent / it is before that, and colder: / the edge of the forest, the edge / of the desert” - habitation, margaret atwood

“One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.” -- the alchemist, paulo coelho

“I fancied you’d return the way you said, / But I grow old and I forget your name. / (I think I made you up inside my head.)” - mad girl’s love song, sylvia plath

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” — wuthering heights, emily bronte

”We loved with a love that was more than love.” — annabel lee, edgar allen poe

“You know how they say you only hurt the ones you love? Well, it works both ways.” ― fight club, chuck palahniuk

“I will always seek to make it summer for you.”  ― rule of wolves, nikolai lantso

“Others may forget you, but not I. / I am haunted by your beautiful ghost.”, untitled, yamato hime no okimi

“As for life’s tragedies, our love will defeat them. Love is the most effective cure. In the crevices of disasters, happiness lies like a diamond in a mind, so let us instill in ourselves the wisdom of love.” - Naguib Mahfouz

"In love there are two things: bodies and words.” - Joyce Carol Oates

"To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous." - Elizabeth Gilbert

"Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time." - Maya Angelou

"Where we love is home – home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." - Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr

"Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." - Zora Neale Hurston

“I love her, and that’s the beginning and end of everything.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald

"There is always madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."– Friedrich Nietzsche

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.” -- Anais Nin

MUSIC - find all songs on the playlist here!

1960s

unchained melody, the righteous brothers

say a little prayer, aretha franklin

i want to hold your hand, the beatles

be my baby, the ronettes

i was made to love her, stevie wonder

piece of my heart, erma franklin

i can’t help myself, the four tops

bring it on home to me, sam cooke

these arms of mine, otis redding

walking after midnight, patsy cline

1970s

let’s stay together, al green

waiting in vain, bob marley

how deep is your love, bee gees

three times a lady, commodores

maybe i’m amazed, wings

wonderful tonight, eric clapton

after the love has gone, earth, wind, and fire

ain’t no sunshine, bill withers

your song, elton john

the first time ever i saw your face, roberta flack

1980s

a groovy kind of love, phil collins

the sweetest taboo, sade

careless whisper, george michael

saving all my love for you, whitney houston

woman in love, barbara streisand

i want to know what love is, foreigner

making love out of nothing at all, air supply

ain’t nobody, chaka khan

total eclipse of the heart, bonnie tyler

we’ve got tonight, kenny rogers and sheena easton

1990s

damn i wish i was your lover, sophie b hawkins

kiss me, sixpence none the richer

i’ll be there for you/you’re all i need to get by, method man

end of the road, boyz ii men

truly madly deeply, savage garden

dreaming of you, selena

mary jane (all night long), mary j blige

iris, goo goo dolls

hey lover, ll cool j

where does my heart beat now, celine dion

2000s

somewhere only we know, keane

save room, john legend

the limit to your love, feist

untitled (how does it feel), d’angelo

diary, alicia keys

yellow, coldplay

she will be loved, maroon 5

home, edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros

pretty wings, maxwell

you and me, lifehouse

2010s/2020s

work song, hozier

light my love, greta van fleet

say it first, sam smith

slow dancing in the dark, joji

love on the brain, rihanna

little things, one direction

hold me while you wait, lewis capaldi

love galore, sza

what a time, julia michaels and niall horan

love., kendrick lamar

first love / late spring, mitski

right where you left me, taylor swift

i won’t give up, jason mraz

love drought, beyonce

leave the door open, silk sonic

as the world caves in, matt maltese

she said, dvsn

just give me a reason, pink and nate ruess

when we were young, adele

still don’t know my name, labrinth

[alreadyblondenow]

COLLAB CALL!

On the 6th of April, year 2018, I decided to stan NCT and support Lee Taeyong with everything. And I can’t remember my life before that. So to celebrate my love for Lee Bubu and for NCT in general, I just had to do something.

So because of my love for ‘FLY ART’ and Lee Taeyong, this writing collaboration or exhibit for NCT’s leader Lee Taeyong will focus on famous romantic paintings.

RULES

This may be a Taeyong exhibit, but if you wish to write for another member and join this collab you’re 100% welcome. But let’s prioritize Taeyong please.

DEADLINE will be during the month of JULY. 

If you’re a kind of person who’s prone to backing out last minute instead of finishing what you’ve signed up for, do it now.

There are no slots for members, but I will accept 10 writers only. And also no repeating of paintings. 

All fics should include SMUT but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. But as the host of this exhibit, that is my main request.

If you’re underage and you wish to write smut, the answer is no sweetie.

Minimum of 1k words and no word limit.

No topics about BULLYING, HARASSMENT, INC3ST, HOMOPHOBIA, SUICIDE, etc. Please be mindful of your ideas.

No sci-fi, let’s stick to the real world.

HOW TO JOIN

Choose a painting in GALLERY A below. Read the descriptions carefully.

Go to my blog and submit a post to me with this format:

*Attach a photo of your chosen painting, just to make sure that we are on the same page* Keyword: Chosen painting: Chosen member: Genres & AUs: A short description of what you’re planning to write:

After submitting, please wait for me to confirm your slot and wait for me to tag you officially under the post before reblogging it.

Questions will be entertained through private message. 

GALLERY A

Please choose the painting that you wish to write for. All are personally handpicked by me, has different stories and theories and are different visually (obviously).  

The lover by Rene Magritte - The masterpiece that was painted on the canvas in 1928, beautifully captures the essence of any typical relationship. We come across a couple, with hidden faces. Even with their hidden faces, Magritte claims that ‘nothing is concealed in the painting’. Both of the individuals are embracing each other’s presence in their life. Taken by @moonctzeny

Dance on the country by Pierre-Auguste Renoir - Celebrating the love between a man and a woman, this painting appears to be a joyous reflection of them. Both figures appear too different from each other, yet choose to be together. Impression style is used to draw the intimacy between two people. Taken by @yutasgalaxy

The Honeysuckle Bower by Peter Paul Rubens - A gentle touch of their hands portrays intimacy and warmth. The painter deserves appreciation for his ability to use brilliant skills to paint dramatic and high-class clothing. The dressing plays a crucial role in letting us know that the couple is a high society couple. It also has the theme of gender and love. While the man hardly smiles, his wife seems cheerful and happy, implying the different approaches towards the love between the two genders.

The Jewish Bride by Rembrandt - Both of the subjects are dressed richly. A beautiful portrayal of emotions can be noticed in the painting. While both of them are physically close, they do not look into each other’s eyes. We see them lost alone at the moment. They are so mesmerized by their intimacy that they even forget to look at each other. Almost nothing can move them. Taken by @prettyjaems

La Surprise by Antoine Watteau - The lady is carefree and submits herself completely to the arms of her lover. Both of them embrace each other while kissing. However, the third figure is not so much in love. He is holding his guitar. Even though he is trying to play the guitar, his focus is on the passionate couple. On the other hand, a couple is unaware and carefree of his presence. They just can’t notice him playing guitar. The guy sitting alone realizes that even his music can’t reach the lovers’ ears. He is there with his tunes alone.

The Kiss Gustave by Klimt - Intimacy is shown by the way the individuals are locked with each other. The resemblance seems spiritual. A man kisses the woman’s cheek, she shies away.  The romantic painting is still present in Vienna’s Museum. With thousands of admirers flocking every year, its fame only increases. The painting doesn’t let us see the face of the dominant man but gives the spotlight completely to that of the lady. They embrace each other as if they have seized. Their embrace seems to have become eternal. Taken by @bl--ankhaeji

The Birthday by Mark Chagall - This was the painting that he painted just before their marriage and thus holds a significant value in his life. This sets out to be a wonderful self-portrait of the artist and his lover, Bella. While Bella is given full spotlight, an artist himself doesn’t really show much of himself. We can reflect on his love for his muse and how much she mattered in his life through the stage sharing in the painting.

Self-portrait as a Tehuana by Frida Kahlo - The positioning of Diego at the forehead of Frida is vital. Frida does this to depict how she can only think of her lover and ex-husband. He was a womanizer and didn’t ever commit to their marriage. Even after getting cheated on, her love for Diego didn’t reduce at all. She has painted a spider web around her head probably to signify that only Diego resides inside her body and mind. The use of Tehuana, a traditional dress worn by her in the portrait, contrasts with her emotional state. Despite her sadness, she produces various romantic paintings that earned her reputation among admirers and also critics. Taken by @jeontaeil

Le Printemps (Springtime) by Pierre Auguste Cot - It captures young love and its beauty. Young lady’s hands are wrapped around her lover’s neck, while he admires her pretty face. Her white dress signifies the purity of love. It is also the depiction of love itself is the most spiritual experience. The most unique feature of the painting can be the sunlight falling behind the couple. It is painted beautifully and is almost unreal. Taken by @alreadyblondenow

A Romance by Santiago Rusignal - This portrait shows a woman playing the piano while a man stands by her. The painting can be seen as a simple one with its domesticated setting. The woman is lost in the moment as she plays the piano while the man is lost as he listens to her tunes. Both have a calm and also composed face which shows a very relaxed environment. The love between them is music. His paintings are so moving that we can even imagine the music in a painting. 

The Farewell of Telemachus and Eucharis by Jacques Louis David - Telemachus keeps his hand on the thigh of Eucharis, while she hugs him with sadness on her face. Telemachus is the son of Odysseus, who loves Eucharis. Both are passionate lovers. However, Telemachus has to leave the comfort of his town and lover to fulfill the responsibility of being a son. He has to go on a search for his missing father. Colors are used to draw the contrast element. The red and blue dresses strike majorly with the flesh colors of the subjects. The sad but passionate romance makes us love the artistic skills of Jacques. Taken by @yutahoes

keyword: sweet potatoes

Link to my submission post: HERE

[basicjetsetter]

Part I

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Mild Language, Triggering Content

▹ Words: 4.6k

▹ A/N: Buckle in. This is going to be a long ride.

“No way!” Your friend Manda squeals. “Those were the exact words?!”

You smoosh a frantic hand over Manda’s mouth and shush her, then slightly pop up from your seat to scope out the packed bus, making sure none of your schoolmates heard her outburst. To your relief, only a few close students glance over with little interest and barely anyone in a wider radius catches Manda’s words over the buzzing clammer of other conversations. Blowing out a satisfied exhale, you turn back to your friend, removing your hand from her mouth with a teasingly reproachful frown. 

“Tell the whole world, why don’t you?” 

She giggles, “My bad. But can you blame me? This is huge!”

Thrilled warmth floods into your cheeks from her enthusiasm. She’s right. This is huge, and you might have secretly sought this exact reaction because only Manda’s trademark, earsplitting squeal stamps news with the seal of authenticity. It’s real. You heard your Destined Words.

The same jitters from when you woke up this morning skitter up and down your spine, sharpening your senses to the max, making it easier to recall the words that floated into your subconscious—words from a bodiless voice. Your Soulmate.

I’ve got you.

Your mind handles the precious words like a porcelain tea set, carefully deciphering the voice pitch and attempting to match it to a face, knowing its efforts lie in vain because the words’ owner only becomes apparent when they speak them to you.

Some inner part of you distinctly translates the words into a comforting assurance, an assurance one might receive after coming home from a long day’s work and walking into the soft embrace of a lover. It weaves itself around your mind like a consoling safety net, painting an image of a lover better than you’ve ever imagined and everything you’ve ever hoped for.

You couldn’t have hand-picked a better day than today, Midtown High’s field trip to the MoMA, to gush over the words with Manda while admiring spectacular, thought-provoking art pieces. One of the perks of going to Midtown High is their fantastic field trips. You circled this Friday on your calendar at the start of the semester because while you loved being in a school centered around technological sciences, you were excited to study artists’ colorful, eclectic expressions and how their cultural personalities materialize in the stroke of a paintbrush.

“You’re so lucky,” Manda says, trying to pull off a pout. Her vibrant smile triumphs. “Only three days after you turn eighteen, and you hear your Destined Words. I’ve got four more months before I file a complaint.”

You sympathetically rub her shoulder, her oversized, long-sleeved denim jacket rough to the touch. “It’ll come. Just don’t wait for it.”

“Oh, I know it’s coming. I just want it to be something as cute as yours, you know.” She shudders, “My cousin Alonzo said his Destined Words were ‘Sure, whatever.’ Can you imagine that? Finally being mature enough for your Soulmate and that’s the first thing they say to you? I mean, sure, he and Tanya are super cute together, but ugh. Those words?”

You snicker, “Let me guess. You’re expecting a grand gesture?”

Manda nods with a dead serious face, though she could never truly pull it off with her full lips and Cabbage Patch Doll cheeks. She’d have a better chance at getting away with murder than intimidating someone with her cute little frown. “If I don’t hear the words ‘Where have you been all my life, you breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous goddess,’ then I’m demanding a full refund.”

You blankly stare at each other for a beat before you crack, both of you laughing until your sides ache and you’re gasping for air, not caring for the teachers' hushes from the front of the bus.

“I just can’t believe I finally hear the words, you know,” you say as the laughs fade. “It’s like a fairytale come true.” You lean your head against the cool glass window, watching the placid cerulean waves come into view as the bus drives onto a bridge. “I wonder what they’re like, if I know them. If they’re nice. My mom says she already had a mega crush on my dad, so when he said the words, it already felt like they were together.”

Manda sighs dreamily. “I bet they’re cute. And super smart. Those words seem kind of thoughtful, too, so that’s a bonus. And, hey, don’t worry so much.” She gently knocks her shoulder against yours. “They’re going to love you.”

You weren’t scared that they wouldn’t love you. Everyone who finds their Soulmate never doubts that that is their person. What pins a tiny knot of anxiety to the pit of your stomach is how it will happen.

As a young girl, you spent countless nights dreaming of the sequential events leading up to the day you finally met your Soulmate, orchestrating the moment like a scene from all the rom-coms you binged. Your person accidentally bumps into you either in a hallway or on the bus or in the lunch-line, gazes deep into your dazed eyes, then declares their love for you with some cliché phrase before scooping you into their arms and planting a kiss on your expectant lips.

I’ve got you.

The sweet words drifting in your head do their best to ease away the anxiety. You have nothing to worry about. The meeting will play out the way you fantasized, if not better. All because of those words.

“We’re all gonna die!” Ned Leeds shouts from the middle of the bus.

All heads snap to the right windows. In an instant, densely packed bodies swarm from the left side to the right, sandwiching together to search for what Ned was staring at, some opening the windows and craning their necks for a better look. You grunt as someone digs their elbow in your ribcage to see more, and you tensely shove them against the back of the seats in front of you before peering out of your window.

It’s a sight no eyes could miss. A large, metal donut levitates in the clear sky, an obstruction not there mere seconds ago. You gasp in wonder, but not fear. Surely, the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes, will have this taken care of before the sun sets.

The bus driver, an old man with a smile as sly as a fox and pearly white hair, casually calls out, “What’s the matter with you kids?! You’ve never seen a spaceship before?”

“He’s got a point,” you shrug as Manda gapes at the driver with incredulous eyes, then rounds on you as you calmly sit back down. “We always get so worked up over these aliens, and nothing ever really happens. The Avengers got it handled.”

“You sure? Because that looks a little menacing.” Manda worries at her lower lip, anxiously sneaking peeks out the window. Many students stay plastered to the scene.

“Positive.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

The appearance of the metal donut effectively sullies your experience of the MoMA. None of the tour guides thoroughly explain the paintings' and sculptures' meanings or historical relevance. Instead, they string together incoherent sentences about person, place, and time as they gape at the video feeds live-streamed to their phones. Even Manda stays glued to her screen, chewing on her lower lip so hard you're surprised she hasn't punctured it.

Fifteen minutes into the tour, aggravation chafes into you like sandpaper, rubbing your skin raw. You waited months for this trip. Months! You'd be damned if a few pesky aliens took this special day away from you. You weren’t afraid. You had no reason to be.

Fed up, you take matters into your own hands and stealthily break away from the group, tip-toeing back to an intriguing wall of paintings and observe it by yourself. 

One painting catches your eye early, drawing you to the middle of the wall to study it further. Its tag reads The Lovers, René Magritte, Paris, 1928, Surrealism, Oil Painting. There are two people, a man and a woman, painted with white cloths shrouding their faces as they share a seemingly intimate kiss. You lean in closer, noting the almost murky atmosphere and how it lends to the mystery of the kiss. What did Magritte want you to think when you analyzed this piece? What questions did she want you to ask? 

You derive two: Is love mysterious and complicated as the atmosphere suggests, or is it intuitive and straightforward as the veiled lovers suggest? And, would the love still be the same once they lift the veils?

Beep. Beep. Beep. All the phones in hearing range chime out three urgent trills, nearly ejecting your soul out of your body. Clearing your head with a shake, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. You don't even have to unlock it. The news alert flashes up like a hazard light. Tony Stark Missing.

You blink. What the hell is going on?

"Are you seeing this?" Manda whispers, sidling up to your side.

You nod, at a loss for words. Iron Man is missing? How? What happened? Did it have something to do with the metal donut? 

You blink harder and take another long look at the notification, hoping it was a typo or missing a few words, words like Tony Stark Missing Iron Man Suit. Hell, even Tony Stark Missing Cheeseburgers. Anything but what's on your screen.

Somewhere in the background, Mrs. Kramer, your Art teacher, roll-calls the students to the front entrance. "Okay, guys, time to cut the field trip short."

Your shoulders sag. This can't be happening. Is it really that serious?

"Peter? Peter?" Mr. Dell calls out, clenching onto a clipboard with shaking hands. "Has anybody seen Parker? Peter Parker?" he inquired, looking over the students' heads. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead, even though there is virtually no heat in the building, and it's a breezy, 72-degree late-spring afternoon in New York City. "Where does this kid always sneak off to?"

Ned stuttered out, "He, uhm, Pe-Peter left early, sir. Family emergency."

"An emergency? Was it so important he couldn't at least notify the supervisors?" Ned bobbed his head up and down, keeping his eyes stapled to the floor in a manner that hinted at no further comment. Mr. Dell huffs, "Alright. But he's getting detention, and I have half a mind to put you in there with him, Leeds."

Ned's face screws up in a chastised grimace. "Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again."

Your eyes linger on Ned as he pulls out his phone and rapidly taps at the screen, probably sending a strongly worded text to his best friend, rebuking Peter for roping him into his antics and nearly earning him a week's detention. You don't know much about their friendship, but they appear tied to the hip at school. 

Ned's a nice guy. Reliant to a tee. You had the pleasure of partnering with him on an art project in Kramer's class a few weeks back, spending a considerable amount of time joking while diligently rendering an interpretation of Van Gogh's A Starry Night on a five-by-five foot canvass. During that time, he often complimented your paint-smeared overalls and your hair's ever-changing up-dos. He seemed like such a great friend to have.

Peter, on the other hand, is a tough nut to crack.

You only ever shared one class with Peter Parker. Spanish last semester. You remember him being too antsy for your liking, always checking his watch impatiently, answering questions too fast, bouncing his leg up and down, acting like he had someplace better to be and better things to do. His impatience never made sense to you until you heard some girls in the locker-room whispering about his Stark internship and how lucky he was to be working for the Tony Stark. 

When the internship suddenly halted, and Peter landed himself in the longest detention sentence you'd ever heard of, you started to take more notice of him only because he was around more often. He was sort of cute in a boy-next-door kind of way with his science pun tee-shirts and smooth, tousled brown hair. For a brief time, you fleetingly considered asking him to Homecoming, but the futility of such a question wasn't lost on you. He noticeably crushed on Liz Toomes, and you were confident Peter's pining for her meant destiny twined their paths.

But Liz is gone now, and there's a growing 90 percent chance Peter's set his sights on MJ. Brooding quirky girl ending up with boy-next-door, now that match made perfect sense, just like a rom-com, or even better, an 80's teen romance.

Manda tugs on your arm, her hands forming a shackle around your wrist. "Come on. They're getting back on the bus without us."

Sure enough, you two were nearly the last ones in the entrance, the remaining students filing out of the door. You rush after them and reach the bus doors right before they shut, huffing in unison. Manda doubles over and grasps her knees, heaving.

"Here," you gasp. "We're here."

Your driver tuts, swinging the doors back open. "Good thing you two made it in time. This bus waits for no one, not even me. Come on," he says, waving you inside. "Let's get this show on the road."

You trudge back to your designated seats, collapsing against the plastic covering as the adrenaline subsides, replaced with the forgotten dread of the trip's abrupt end. You lean over and peer out the left side windows when the bus rolls over the bridge again, surprise rattling ominously over your bones as you find the metal donut gone from the sky.

Where did it go? Did the Avengers get rid of it?

Your hand still clamps your phone. An annoying, slight tremble in your hands trips up your fingers as they try to type in your passcode, but you succeed on the fourth try. You scroll through your social media, hoping beyond hope that someone captured the Avengers' victory or something close to a victory, something that proves the news headline wrong. Stark's probably lying low, too beat down to show his face to the press.

The far-fetched lie makes you internally flinch. You don't know much about the guy, but you're more than a thousand percent sure Stark wouldn't hide from the press if he won anything.

A sinking horror clogs your chest as you obsessively watch clip after clip, onlookers recording some unconscious guy in a red cape being invisibly bound and trailing after the commanding hand of an elongated, greyish-blue alien. Spider-Man tries to get the red-caped guy back, swinging through the city and dodging billboards, his webs clinging to the departing ship's underside, Iron Man flying into the sky after them.

It’s bad. Oh, sweet heavens, it’s bad.

Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal. Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably nothing. The end of the videos suggested the Avengers gained the upper hand on the fight, so maybe, just maybe, the alien was fleeing—fleeing… with a captive. Hurtling off into God knows where with Iron Man and Spider-Man onboard.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

Your back flattens to your seat and your unseeing eyes meld to your phone, the thunderous beats of your heart stifling the rest of the world into silence. The air is thinning. 

Your ears are buzzing. 

A vice clenches your chest.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

The dubious mantra and vague words of your Soulmate blend into an all-consuming cacophony of words, gelling together in a chant of solace. 

It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine.

By the time the bus drops off the students at Midtown and you and Manda quietly walk in the direction of home, the mixture of affirmations fans away the panic settling around your chest, bringing back a semblance of your earlier confidence, or rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.

Outside the apartment complex, an overwhelming amount of residents’ windows glow, most of them probably stuck to their couch, replaying the recent events on any major news network and speculating the whereabouts of our mightiest heroes.

It takes a while to dawn on you that you and Manda are the only ones standing outside. On the entire block.

Nothing stirs. Even the bodega on the corner appears closed for the day.

It's five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and there’s plenty of light left.

Emptiness pours out of every alley like ink spilling from a broken bottle, blotting the whole surface of the street with the absence of human activity. A tree's rustling leaves are so startling your breath locks up and you jump. Manda doesn't say anything, recovering from the sudden noise herself.

Leaving the deserted streets behind, you and Manda glumly walk up the steps of your apartment complex and up to your residence on the third floor. The apartment is eerily silent as you toss your keys on the kitchen counter and lock the door behind Manda.

"When are your folks getting back from their honeymoon again?" asks Manda, shrugging out of her jacket and toeing off her sneakers, leaving them propped against the wall by the door.

Habit controls your body as you open the fridge, grab two Sprites, set them down on the counter, then reach for the half-finished bucket of Red Vines from the top cabinet shelf. "Sunday morning, I think. They only have the weekend off. Want some pizza? I can call up Joe's."

"Please and thank you," she says, plopping down on the couch. The old thing croaks, its springs wheezing under the unwelcomed weight.

The maroon monstrosity is a family heirloom, dating back to your grandparents' time. Mom loves it, claiming it adds the right amount of character to the drab living space, knowing fully well that anyone with fashion sense would never describe any space she inhabits as drab. Dad is adamant that it's one spill away from handing in its resignation.

Picking up your house phone, you confirm, "Extra-large cheese and olives?"

You don't know why you ask. Ever since the inception of your infamous best friend "crash-overs," cheese and olive pizza starred as the staple meal: that, and a bucket of Red Vines your dad occasionally steals from. Maybe you asked for normalcy or maybe to confirm Manda's plan to stay for the rest of the night. What you do know is you don’t want to be alone.

She hums a distracted yes, turning on the TV and upping the volume to listen to Channel 10's news reporter recount the fight between Iron Man and the alien.

Though already burned in your memory, the images douse your body in bone-chilling fear.

You turn your back and dial in the order, not at all surprised that Joe's is still up and running. Once the employee confirms your order and promises a speedy delivery, you grab the drinks and candy and place them on the coffee table, ignoring the TV.

"C-can you turn it to something else?" you quickly pipe up as you sit next to Manda, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor in your words. "I don't think I can stomach the news right now."

"Yeah, sure." Slow and reluctant, Manda switches the input and goes into Netflix. "Anything you wanna watch?"

"Teen Wolf."

Manda groans, "Again? We've seen that a million times."

"Oh, come on," you groan back, playfulness strained in your words. "It's a classic. You can't say no to a classic."

She gives you a dour frown, one that still couldn't land an inch of seriousness on her amber-colored cherub cheeks, until she relents from the weight of your puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, but only because of Michael J. Fox. Next time, I'm picking."

Neither of you really pay attention to the movie or touch the pizza when it arrives. In fact, for most of the night, Manda scrolls through her social media, watching what you can only assume are today’s events. Sometimes she’d put the phone down when you politely asked, but it unfailingly ended up right back in her hands, so after a while, you stop asking. When the movie’s end credits roll around, and you dress into your pajamas, put away the remaining slices of pizza, and call it a night, both of you climb into your bed. She is still scrolling.

You try and force yourself into REM sleep, keeping your eyes shut until you hear Manda’s heavy breathing beside you. The clock on your nightstand reads 9:53 p.m.

Yawning, you curl up into a tight ball on your side of the bed and wish your mom and dad were here to help you get out of your head. Manda can’t do it when she’s so caught up in hers, and you don’t think you’d be able to tell her how scared you are. It’d only scare her more.

Tony Stark is missing. Manda would have screeched her head off by now if anything changed.

I’ve got you.

Yeah, but Tony Stark, the freaking Iron Man, is missing.

I’ve got you.

You can’t possibly understand how bad this is.

I’ve got you.

You audibly huff against the reassuring words, but they eventually do the trick in temporarily pushing the worry away, allowing you to fitfully slip into dreamless oblivion.

Seven hours later, you wake to a text from your mom. The sunlight is so bright in your room you lower your phone’s brightness all the way down, squinting at the small letters.

-Coming home early bbygrl. Dad says hi and he misses you lots hunny bun. xx

A titanic-sized weight lifts off of your shoulders—something you hadn’t even known was there until you re-read your mom’s text and verify the timestamp.

They’re on their way home, where it’s safe and you can all keep an eye on each other. Niagara Falls is just a six and a half-hour drive from here and Mom texted two hours ago, so they’ve got a couple hundred miles left. You don’t care about the distance. As long as they’re coming home, you’re fine. You can wait.

The morning’s activities in your residence pass into a weird déjà vu of last night. Manda is awake before you, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap and the TV turned on to Channel 10, the volume slightly lower from last night. A bit peeved, you ask her to switch it to some cartoons while you pour yourself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

She goes back to scrolling on her phone, sparingly taking bites of her soon-turned soggy cereal. You perch on the arm of the couch, far away from Manda's screen, and munch on your cereal in silence. This whole situation sucks enough without Manda’s constant doom-scrolling, but her utter silence is wearing your nerves thin.

Three full episodes of SpongeBob play on before you heave tempered sigh and set your finished bowl of cereal on the table and face Manda.

“Do you have to do that?”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Do what?”

Unbidden anger flows through you like magma spewing from a freshly erupted volcano, flaming into your veins and flaring your heart rate as you yank her phone away and toss it behind the couch.

Manda stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. She may be partially right.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

You scoff, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I like talking to my friend once in a while. Maybe it’s mentally damaging to watch the same thing over and over and over again, and I was just trying to save you from brain rot.” You stand up and cross your arms over your chest, letting the rage propel your words. “Seriously Manda, give it a damn rest.”

“Why?” Manda crosses her arms too, glowering up at you, close to achieving a convincing frown. “Because you’re ‘positive’ nothing’s going to happen, right? It’s just aliens. No prob.”

You hold your tongue, waiting for her to air out all her frustrations because she’s right. She’s right to throw your words back at you. Yesterday morning you were totally sure of the Avengers, and not much has changed. You still firmly believe they’ll win whatever this fight is with the aliens, but you know scrolling through your phone for updates won’t do anything but boost your anxiety, like it’s doing to Manda.

When you think the coast is clear to speak, you lowly say, “I get it.”

“You get it? You get it? No, mama, you don’t get it. Because, see, if you got it, my phone wouldn’t be collecting dust behind your couch!”

“You needed a break, Amanda!” You shout back at her. “That phone’s never left your hand since you got here.”

She snaps her fingers as if she reached an epiphany. “Attention. That’s what it is. I haven’t given you enough attention today and you’re feeling left out of the spotlight. Newsflash, hon, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other things are happening besides you hearing your Destined Words.”

“Wh-what?” you balk. “That… no, that’s not what this is about.” You’re not even sure where she even came up with the conclusion that you needed something as stupid as attention right now. Did she think you were that self-centered?

She cocks her eyebrow challengingly, “Alright, then tell me what it is. I’m all ears.”

“Me hearing my freaking soulmate has nothing to do with this! Nothing! And I’m not some attention-starved lunatic. Christ, Manda,” you roll your eyes, letting your hands fall with a slap against your sides. “It’s about you watching the news all day like… like this is the end of the world or something. We’ve gone through this. New York has gone through this. Alien attacks are nothing new, and I’m tired so sick and tired of you…”

You slow down, raising a soft hand to your chest—strange, tugging sensations sprout somewhere deep, deep down within you. So deep you're not sure it's actually there.

“Sick and tired of me what? What?” Manda pressed, the almost-frown lessening as your head tilts. “What’s wrong?”

You gradually shake your head. There’s no conceivable way to articulate what’s happening to you because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel… tingly, like every single hair follicle on your arms and legs rise, standing on high alert.

“Something’s not right.”

The tugging intensifies dully. You gasp against it, desperately clawing at the front of your shirt with the pads of your fingers, seeking to protect something tangibly nonexistent. It’s like someone’s fingers pinch a taut guitar string inside your chest, pulling on it with increasing pressure, pulling it further and further until it can’t move an inch, holding it the apex in a deathly promise that, with one final tug, the string will give.

I’ve got you.

Everything happens within a second.

You whimper out an anguished yelp as the string abruptly snaps.

Manda leaps to her feet and grasps your shoulders, begging to help.

Then, right before your eyes, Manda’s body begins to dissolve.

“M-Manda...? Amanda, wait! NO!”

She falls away into a pile of ash on your floor.

You drop to your knees, screaming.

And so does the rest of the world.

...

Part II

[le-fils-de-lhomme]

Finally got around to it and I was tagged by @mariacallous

1. why did you choose your url?

It’s taken from the painting by Rene Magritte. One day they’ll see the apple has moved because I ate it and find out he has no face.

2. any side-blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

I have a music blog where I wrote about music and I stopped updating it when I realized I didn’t know much about music. I now know a little more. I may reblog from it if something interesting crosses my mind and I think other people might be interested in it.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

Since 2011. I have seen some things.

4. do you have a queue tag?

I do indeed and it gets a lot of use.

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

I had friends who were interested in different fandom stuff and I couldn’t see it because I didn’t have an account.

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

It is a cropped photo of Jacqueline Bisset taken by Ewa Rudling. I like that she is looking off to the side at something that can’t be seen. 

7. why did you choose your header?

I find it funny when people wear sunglasses indoors and I find it doubly funny when Lou Reed does it.

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

Probably the one about why you shouldn’t make memes out of conspiracy theories. 0/10 would not recommend, my mentions were filled with insane people.

9. how many mutuals do you have?

Several and they are all beloved and I’m sure we’d have an awesome potluck.

10. how many followers do you have?

Enough to make a B-movie on a budget of $0.

11. how many people do you follow?

A lot. 

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

Yes, but how funny they are depends on what you can tolerate.

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

There’s no winning this question. We are all here.

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

Yes. As one does. No one really wins a fight on the internet because people on the internet are not here to be convinced.

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

I don’t like them. Your message is not made more urgent by making that type of appeal. I scroll past them.

16. do you like tag games?

Absolutely! They’re very fun especially when you get questions that are really thoughtful and make you think.

17. do you like ask games?

See above answer.

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

No one is tumblr famous in 2021. You’ll have more luck trying to become a beauty guru or a politics twitter account.

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

No. I don’t get crushes on people I know from the internet.

20. tags?

@paulinekael @uncahier @blossominribcage @thebreakfastgenie @nicollewallace @quantum-dragon @dhaaruni @thiswaycomessomethingwicked

[lux-i-fer]

Tagged by @adragonstale (thanks!) and I'm on spring break so why not

1. Do you make your bed?

Haha that's a big no

2. What's your favorite number?

6! It's very nice to write.

3. What's your job?

So currently I'm a full time student and am on long term leave but I've worked at a dog kennel/hotel for about 1.5 years 🐕

4. Can you parallel park?

I can but it's not pretty. I didn't even have to do it for my driver's test.

5. A job you had that would surprise people?

Probably my current job working with dogs. I'm a cat person and also a very clean person and if you know anything about the pet care industry you know that it can get dirty very quickly.

6. Do you think aliens are real?

Sure why not

7. Can you drive a manual car?

Nope

8. What's your guilty pleasure?

Fried chicken, shitty rom-coms, and slut anthems

9. Tattoos?

Yes! I have a beautiful black and white rendition of René Magritte's The Lovers II along with the Erin Morgenstern quote "the finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones."

10. Favorite color?

Purple 💜

11. Things people do that drive you crazy?

-Slow walkers

- PDA couples

-When they don't cover their coughs

12. Any phobias?

Yes. I was medically diagnosed with emetophobia (the fear of throwing up) when I was 15. I'll never 100% overcome it but I'm really proud of how far I've come since then. Before therapy I could barely leave my house and now I can make plans on the fly and be fine with it.

13. Favorite childhood sport?

English horseback riding. I quit because it's an extremely expensive sport to do if you're not competing but I really enjoyed it and would love to go back.

14. Do you talk to yourself?

Too much 😉

15. What movies do you adore?

Rom-coms!!! Especially ones similar to 10 Things I Hate About You

16. Do you like puzzles?

Aw yeah! I have an 1000 piece one in my closet

17. Favorite kind of music?

Early 2000s pop punk, classic country, and Hozier just to name a few

18. Tea or coffee?

Tea

19. What's the first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up?

A veterinarian. I'm working with animals now so I guess I half made it?

I tag @pixelbypixelfanfic @titconao3 and whoever else wants to do it

[vaulties]

LOVE YOURSELF CHALLENGE

Tagged by @tarberrymentats​, thank you!!

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc. ) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

For various reasons 2019 was a bit of a dead-end creatively for me, but 2020 has been much better so far!

1. Consider the Lilies - I couldn’t have a list without this on it! This fic is really my baby: I hadn’t really written anything for quite a few years so I was nervous about putting it out there, but the response from people has been so lovely. Thank you all for putting up with my sporadic update schedule!

2. NCR Propaganda Posters - Inspired by a set of vintage propaganda postcards I found while clearing out my flat! It gave me something to work on in a difficult period in my life, and though I’ve since learned slightly more Photoshop tricks, I’m still quite happy with how they turned out. Also available as stickers on Redbubble ;)

3. F:NV Letterkenny AU - Possibly one of the most niche memes I’ve ever made, but I love this sketch so much, it kills me every time I watch it. It is spectacularly lazy Latin however, so apologies to those who paid more attention in class than i did...

4. My appalling take on Magritte’s ‘The Art of Living’; I used this picture in a university presentation (much to the delight of my lecturer, who took it completely seriously) and also have it on a t-shirt. As you can surmise, I am a serious academic.

5. Desire is No Light Thing - Bit of a random one for the end here, but I don’t make as much stuff as some of you lovely people! this is a playlist I made for @napally​‘s wonderful fic The Sun and the Moon, and it’s on here because I’ve been listening to it a lot recently. I don’t like to toot my own trumpet, but this slaps.

Tagging: @napally​, @antonsokolov​, @quickscribe​, @nukasoda​ and anyone else who wants to do it! 

[astronomyparkers]

Silence {VII}

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Vigilante!Tom Holland x reader

Word count: 3k

A/N: so it’s been a hot minute since I last updated, but I have a very good reason, which is school has been killing me. I swear to god, this semester wants me dead.  this semester is an evil sea witch that wants my voice. literally. I lost my voice the week before my recital.  but anyways, before I head into two weeks of non-stop papers, studying, and exams, here is an update on Silence.  I hope you enjoy! please drop your theories into my inbox because I l o v e hearing them!! and as always, thank you to @harryrholland for my header and please note I DO NOT HAVE A TAGS LIST!!!!! THE REASON WHY IS IN MY FAQ!!!! ANY/ALL MESSAGES REGARDING THIS WILL BE DELETED!!!!

{masterlist}

{silence: a mixtape}

Sleep didn’t come easy to you that night.  As you lay in bed, listening to the rain pour down, you replayed Tom’s words and abrupt, out of character exit over and over.  You couldn’t understand what had made him react that way; was he really so offended that you didn’t like PDA at work?  Why had that been such a big deal?  

Whatever the answer was, it didn’t come to you.  It was clear that you were exhausted when you made it to work, and you stayed hidden away inside your office for most of the day, answering emails, researching exhibits, and doing whatever you could to avoid human interaction.  You instructed Felicity to keep all humans away from you that day, saying that you had important research to do, and couldn’t be disturbed.  Really, you just couldn’t handle the thought of interacting with people.  All you wanted to do was stay in your office, secluded, and not deal with any stress from the outside world.

However, that didn’t stop people from trying to disturb it. You could almost swear that your phone was ringing more than usual, with crisis after crisis popping up, and everyone seemed to depend on you to solve them.  You felt bad for poor Felicity; you remembered what interning was like, and with the amount of work and scheduling getting pushed onto her plate, you were considering getting her an intern of her own when your phone rang again. You stared at it in distaste for a moment before answering with a sigh.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Holland is here to see you.” Felicity’s voice rang through the phone. “Shall I send him in?”

You sit up straighter in your chair.  Why would Tom be here?  After all, he was the one who told you to have no contact with him.

“Um, no.” You said after your moment of confusion cleared. “No, I…I’m busy.  I don’t have time to talk to him.”

“Are you sure?” Felicity questioned. “He says it’s important—”

“No.  Whatever it is, it’s not important.” You said flatly, remembering how he had stormed out of your apartment last night. “And please add Mr. Holland to the list of people I don’t want to take calls from anymore.”

You hung up the phone before Felicity could respond, sitting back in your chair.  Why on earth was Tom calling after what he had said last night?  What could be so important?  He must know you had no desire to see him.  Yet here he was.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, pulling you out of your thoughts.  You got up with a frustrated groan, pulling the door open wide.

“Felicity, please, just tell Mr. Holland to leave before—” You cut off abruptly as you looked up into Tom’s warm and worried brown eyes.

He was dressed in his usual suit and tie, his Rolex watch and T ring visible on the hand that was pressed against the frame of your door. His curls were slicked back as they always were, save for one stray strand hanging down in front of his face, as if he were frazzled.

“Why do you want Mr. Holland to leave?” He asked in a confused voice.

You huffed at his words. “Jesus, Tom, I don’t want to do this—”

“Did I…” He cleared his throat. “I-I’m sorry—”

“You should be!” You exploded, losing your composure for a split second.  Taking a calming breath, you pulled Tom into your office and shut the door behind him. “After what you did last night…Look, you know I’m not comfortable with PDA. My job is important to me, and I can’t have rumours about me dating museum donors flying around.”

“Of course.” Tom nodded quickly. “And when you said that, I…reacted poorly?”

His phrasing of the sentence made you pause.  It wasn’t so much a statement, but a question.  As if he couldn’t remember his exact reaction. You looked at him, confusion beginning to tinge your features as it did his.

“Yes, Tom.  You reacted poorly.” You cocked your head to the side. “Do you not remember…?”

“Of course I do.” Tom grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him. “And I sincerely apologize, darling.  I was…stressed yesterday.  I took it out on you.  I overreacted.  That wasn’t right.” He gave you his signature charming smile. “Forgive me?”

“You really…you really hurt my feelings.” You said slowly. “A quick apology won’t make that better.”

“Of course not.” Tom agreed, squeezing your hand once. “No, I…I came here with an invitation, actually.  A peace offering.”

You bit your lip, hesitant but curious. “What…sort of peace offering?”

“I’d like for you to join me at my childhood home for dinner tonight.” Tom said in a confident tone. “All my brothers will be there, as will my mother…my father might even make an appearance, if work permits.”

Your head snapped up. “Your father?”

“Of course.  It is his home, after all.  And I am his eldest son.  I want you and him to get along.” Tom tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Is that alright?”

The truth was, it wasn’t alright.  Something about it didn’t sit well with you.  If Tom was trying to undermine his father’s business, expose his dirty dealings with Corewell, why would it matter if you got along with him?  Wouldn’t he expect you not to get along with him?

Your eyes flickered to the T ring on Tom’s hand again. Something about this wasn’t adding up, but you couldn’t place your finger on what it was.

“Y/N?” Tom interrupted your thoughts, chuckling. “I’m kind of waiting on an answer here…?”

“Alright.” You agreed faintly. “I’ll…accompany you to dinner.” You cleared your throat and looked back at your desk. “I just…I have some work to finish up, alright?  Will you wait?”

Tom nodded. “I can bring the car around, or—”

“Or,” You interrupted, an idea forming in your mind. “Why don’t we meet…where we first met?  Do you remember where that is?”

Tom laughed. “Of course I do.  I’ll never forget it.”

You nodded. “Right, so…I’ll meet you out there in a bit, alright?  I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Tom pressed a quick kiss to your lips before leaving. The moment he was gone, you quickly strutted to your desk and grabbed your laptop, closing it and tucking it in your bag.  The gun from the first assassin was still in your bag as well, and it clicked against the laptop.  After what had happened to you in the last few days, you hadn’t felt safe leaving it at home.  Once your computer was secure, you went to your filing cabinet and opened the H drawer, thumbing through the files until you reached “Holland.”  You pulled out the file hastily, and tucked that in your bag as well, glancing over your shoulder as you did so.  If there was something strange going on, you were certain the answer was in these files.  It had to be.

You grabbed your jacket and slipped it on, slinging your bag over your shoulder.  Locking your office behind you, you began to make your way to the back alley where you and Tom first met, when he was the Silence.  When he saved your life.  You tried to sneak out without being noticed, but you were never able to walk through the museum without someone flagging you down.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” One of the interns called out to you. “Do you have a moment to answer a question for me?”

You sighed in frustration internally, but pasted a smile onto your face.  It was important to you that younger employees felt like they could rely on you. “Yes, Michael?  What is it?”

“I was looking at one of the paintings in the East wing earlier, and I think one of the info cards is incorrect?” Michael said nervously. “I—I don’t mean to say you made a mistake, but—”

“It’s okay, Michael.” You laughed a bit. “I’m human. I make mistakes.  Can you show me?”

Michael sighed in relief. “Yeah.  Yeah, I can.  Follow me.”

Michael led you down the hallways, past guests and various paintings. “It’s just up here, on the left.  It’s an impressionist—”

“Y/N!” You heard Tom call you from across the room. “There you are!  I’ve been waiting!”

You frowned in confusion as Tom smiled at you.  Your eyes flickered between him and the painting he was standing in front of—The Lovers II by Magritte.  The painting you met him and his brothers in front of at the investor’s gala.

Your suspicion that something was wrong increased.  Why would Tom come here, and not the alley? This wasn’t the place you first met. Maybe he meant the place you really met him, as Tom?  Somehow, you didn’t think that was true.

“Michael, I have to go.” You said quickly, pulling your bag closer to you. “Sorry, I—go find Angie, alright?  She’ll be able to check that for you.”

You quickly made your way to Tom.  He smiled and pressed a kiss to your cheek once you reached him.

“Here, love, let me take that for you.” He tried to grab your work bag from you, but you kept a hand on it.

“N-no!” You said urgently.  Tom gave you a strange look at your reaction, and you laughed it off, albeit nervously. “It’s—it’s alright, Tom.  Don’t worry.”

“Well, alright.  But if someone tells me I’m not being a gentleman, I’m blaming you.” He laughed, taking your hand.  “Come, darling.  The car is waiting.”

 The entire drive to Tom’s family home, you were anxious. You couldn’t stop feeling like something was off, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what.  You felt like you were missing the bigger picture, and you weren’t used to it.  You hated it.

When Tom pulled into the driveway of his home (which was huge, of course.  It was expected), he turned the car off and turned to you. “Alright, darling.  What’s wrong?  Are you really so scared to meet my family?”

“A-a little.” You said, taking the excuse. “I just…don’t understand why it’s important for me to meet your father.  Isn’t he…evil?  He’s working with Corewell—”

“My father isn’t evil.” Tom cut across you, his voice sharp. “He’s a good man.  And he’s done a lot for me.”

“I’m sorry.” You said hastily.  Tom immediately looked closed off. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” Tom cleared his throat. “Just…come on.  Come inside.”

Despite your reservations, you followed his instructions, allowing Tom to take your hand and lead you inside the house.

He opened the large double doors with ease, and your eyes widened as you took in the interior of the house.  It almost seemed like a modern Versailles inside, with large pillars and marble floors.  There was so much art on the walls it made your art historian heart skip a beat. You could pick out a few different famous artists from just a quick glance, and despite your reservations about art by such iconic artists being kept privately, you were impressed.  

Your heels clicked against the shiny floor as Tom led you towards a grand staircase, two steps ahead of you.  He began walking you up the steps, and you looked up at him in confusion.

“Tom, where are we—”

“Thomas!” A voice called from the bottom of the stairs. “Who is this?”

You turned around and saw a middle aged man in a suit waiting at the bottom of the stairs.  Glasses were perched on his face, and despite his unassuming appearance, Tom paused, his shoulders tensing at the voice. “Father.” Tom turned around, a smile forming on his face. “Hello.”

“Who is this?” Tom’s father repeated as you began walking down the stairs. “You know it’s proper to introduce your company to your parents.”

“Right.” Tom cleared his throat. “Father, this is Y/N Y/L/N, the assistant curator at the MoMA.  Y/N, this is my father, Dominic Holland.”

You swallowed hard, extending a hand out to him. “Hello, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ms. Y/L/N.” Dominic shook your hand.  His touch was cold, and his handshake hard. “I’ve heard…so much about you.  The pleasure is all mine.”

Something about his greeting unnerved you.  Maybe it was because you knew how he really made his money, but it felt as if it was more than that.  It felt like, as much as you knew about him…he knew as much about you. That made you uneasy.

You just smiled again, trying to hide your feelings.  Tom cleared his throat again.

“Y/N will be joining us for dinner, Father.” Tom said, looking down.  Around his family, his demeanor changed than from what you knew. “But first…may I have a word with you about business?”

Dominic glanced at you again but nodded. “Of course.  Let’s head to my office.”

Tom leaned down and kissed your cheek, but it felt so much colder than it ever has before. “Why don’t you head to my old bedroom, hm? I’ll meet you there.  Just wait for me, alright?”

Your smile faded. “Wait for you?”

“Yeah.  Just wait.” Tom walked past you to his father and walked off with him.

 You watched as they disappeared around the corner of the stairs.  What could they need to discuss?  You pulled your bag tight against you, so aware of the information that was inside it. For some reason, you knew that you needed to keep your bag tight to you all night.

Still, you walked up the stairs and down the hallway, searching for Tom’s childhood bedroom.  As you walked, you realized that for all the priceless art all over the wall, there was not one photo of Tom, the twins, or Paddy, let alone William.  Why would there be no photos of the child who went missing?  The longer you were in the Holland house, the more you felt like you were walking into some sort of elaborate set up.  Everything was too perfect.  Like it had been carefully manipulated to look that way.

At the end of the flawlessly decorated—and flawlessly cold—hallway, you found two doors parallel to each other.  Both doors were monogrammed, the one to the left with a W and the one to the right with a T.  Your hand reached for the door with a W first, but paused just before touching the handle.  Walking into the bedroom of a dead teenager…you felt like that would be crossing a line.  Instead, you turned around and opened Tom’s bedroom door.

As you walked in, you were struck with the same impression that the rest of the house gave you.  Everything was immaculately decorated, expensive looking, and without any rough touches.  It was heartless.  There was nothing in here that gave any personality.  There was no hint of Tom in the grey bedspread or curtains hanging around the four poster bed.  There wasn’t even a speck of dust on the desk.  It was like the bedroom hadn’t been lived in, like it was just a showroom model in a furniture store.

You sat down on the bed, almost frightened to crease the sheets.  You had no idea how Tom could’ve bore growing up in a house that was built like a museum. Granted, he was away at boarding school a lot, but home should be home.  Not a catalogue picture.

As you looked around the room, you noticed one difference in Tom’s bedroom from the rest of the house.  Sitting on his bedside table was a picture of him and William. Judging from all the photos of William that you’d found online and in news articles, the picture was taken close to the time he disappeared.

You picked up the picture frame, smiling to yourself.  Tom and William had their arms around each other’s shoulders, and they were both wearing jerseys with their boarding school’s crest in on the shoulder.  Their foreheads were sweaty, and their curls messy.  You guessed the photo was taken after one of their soccer games.

But the longer you looked at it, the more something about the photo, like the rest of the house, seemed off.  You lifted the photo closer to your face, examining its every detail. What was it?  What was strange?

Finally, you found the needle in the proverbial haystack. In the photo, neither Tom nor William had a scar at the top right corner of their lips.  When you pulled the mask off Tom, right before you kissed him for the first time, you noticed the scar.  Because there was no scar in the photo, it meant he got it after the photo was taken.  That wasn’t what alarmed you.

What alarmed you was that you finally realized why you always thought Tom looked different when you didn’t see him as the Silence.  It wasn’t because of his aura, or his attitude, or his clothes.  What made him look different was the lack of a scar on his lip.  A small detail, easy to miss when you weren’t looking for it. But now?  It seemed so obvious.  Someone was lying to you.  Someone wasn’t who they said they were.

You thought back to your fight with Tom, how he appeared to have no memory of it the next day, the words he said to you before he left your apartment.

“I’m not Tom.  I never was.  Not really.”

You dropped the photo onto the floor, the glass shattering as the frame hit the ground.  Your hand went to your mouth as your mind raced, and you grabbed your bag, reaching to pull out the Holland file.  Before you could grab it, however, you heard a noise outside.  You ran to the door and locked it before turning back to the bed. But the noise didn’t disappear.

The knock came again, and with a shudder, you turned back to the only other place it could be coming from.  The window.

And you saw the masked face of the Silence staring back at you.

{part VIII}

[cleoselene]

tagged by @swiftjolras ty bb

!!Rules: answer the questions, then add one of your own! Tag 5 people to do it too!

1. Who’s your idol(s)? my mom probably.  but aside from her?  Hillary Clinton probably?  She is far from perfect but I was 13 years old when she burst onto the national scene and she meant a lot to me as a kid.  I was ambitious and wanted to be the first female president back then, and I loved that she spoke her mind, didn’t want to stay home and bake cookies, and I was protective of her since the world seemed to hate her for being a woman with an opinion.

2. If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go? Rome as always been my dream.  idk if I could endure the travel at this point in my life but maybe like, a transatlantic cruise to Rome.  That sounds lovely.

3. What decorates the walls of your room? lots of stuff.  Cubs memorabilia, blacklights, pictures of friends and family and dogs, some artwork (I have a Magritte and a Monet print in my room at the moment), pics of me and faves from cons, a couple autographs.  I have a really big  bedroom haha.

4. Favorite color combination? black and red

5. What’s on the top of your bucket list? I have some concerts I’d like to see.  Vienna Teng, Taylor Swift, Don Mclean.  Also I’d like to see an MLB playoff/World Series game live.

6. Height? 6′0″

7. Favorite animal? dogs

8. What’s the last song you listened to? The greatest by Lana del Rey

9. how many/what kind of pets do you have? one dog, Big Ern, a Havanese.  My roommate has a little Yorkie who is a tiny creature of pure rage lmao

10. last movie you saw in theatres? oh god I never go to the theaters.  Probably Mission Impossible; Fallout and I saw that at the cheap theater lol

11. comfort food or favorite food? coconut shrimp

12. why did the chicken cross the road? because she had places to be, btiches

13. do you wear socks in bed? god no

14. what’s your favorite piece of clothing you have? I think I wear my Ron Santo vintage shirsey the most.  It’s so comfortable.

15. what piece of media (book, movie, song, poem) do you wish you had written? oh gosh I don’t know.  Something that still rakes in the royalties? lol no.  Pride and Prejudice, maybe.  Or AOIAF so Game of Thrones could have ended the way I wanted it too lol.  Dany would be Queen in my version, and Jon Snow would be the dead one because fuck him.  Also, Tyrion would be dead too because the only good Lannister is a dead Lannister.  And Brienne would have ended up with Tormund because he at least thought she was amazing and didn’t spend multiple seasons negging her into a romance.  Braime is the worst sort of “boys that are mean to you do that because they like you” bullshit and she deserves better than a child-defenestrating sisterfucker.

16 (my addition) name five artists you really want to see in concert

tagging @ravenlights @mariacallous @nyx4 @corkysherwood @rubyknoby

[filmjrnl365]

#112 Funeral Bed of Roses (1969)

Director: Tashio Matsumoto

Director of Photography: Tatsuro Suzuki

Japan

Gerow: While you eventually ended up a filmmaker, I heard that you originally wanted to be a painter. I wonder if you could talk about the relation between cinema and painting and why you decided on a career in film.

Matsumoto: Well, I loved painting. I had been painting since middle school, but Japan was very poor at the time I was about to enter college in the early 1950s. To do painting meant you weren't going to eat. Even so, I wanted to paint, but my parents were bitterly opposed to me going to an art school and said they wouldn't pay for art school examinations or tuition. In those days, there weren't part-time jobs around like there are today, so there was no way I could have done it on my own. So I gave up on art school and entered the medical course at the University of Tokyo because I was interested in the brain and problems like schizophrenia.

But even though I didn't necessarily grow to dislike that, I thought I had only one life to live and I wanted to pursue art. Without telling my parents, I changed my major half-way through to art and art history in the literature faculty. Tokyo, however, didn't really have any classes teaching you how to paint, so I studied art theory and history in school and learned painting on my own. In my studies, I learned for the first time that there was an avant-garde cinema in Europe in the 1920s that visually was deeply related to contemporary art--a fact that struck me like a bolt out of the blue. Though I couldn't see these films in Japan, I was strongly stimulated by foreign books and articles about them. I felt that this, an area where issues of art and cinema overlapped, was what I had been searching for.

Of course, I loved movies and went to see them a lot from the time I was in middle and high school. I was even treated like a juvenile delinquent and was arrested twice by the Shinjuku police because I skipped school. Well, I was that much in love with film, and I asked a friend of mine who had a stock holders pass--his father was in the theater business--to lend it to me, telling him I'd return it whenever he wanted to go. I'd go to school until noon and then go straight to Shinjuku where I'd see one movie after another, going into every first-run theater in Shinjuku from one end to another. To see all the first-run films in Shinjuku meant that I was seeing almost all the releases.

Source: yidff.jp: Matsumoto interview with Aaron Gerow

I’m not going to reconstruct the plot, because it might be more helpful for a first time viewer to reign in their expectations. So here’s my shopping list of divergent visual cues / associations that I encountered in this film:

Andy Warhol’s factory, Twiggy, Psychedelics, Victor Moscoso, Stanley Kubrick, Oedipus, Slasher films, Dada and Surrealism, Transvestites, Cinema verite, Pop art, Porn movie sets, Yukio Mishima, William S. Burroughs, David Lynch, Kitsch, Men as Geishas, Drug culture, and acid rock / carnival soundtrack.

Now, splice all this up into a non –linear narrative, and capture it in great black and white cinematography, and that’s what you’re going to get hit with for the duration of the film.  Funeral Bed of Roses is an unforgettable movie on several levels.

One: This is a movie way ahead of its time. As a film that puts homosexuality front and center, this movie was half a century ahead on a topic that has only now made it safely into mainstream media, the fact that it emerges from Japan, is in some ways more startling. True, Japan does have a rich artistic tradition of merging sexuality, violence and the grotesque, but it is also known as a very traditional and highly repressed culture. Japan was also a culture struggling to artistically re-identify itself after being leveled by the fire bombings of World War II. Japan had to come to grips not only with its own past cultural heritage, or what was left of it, but also come to terms with its immanent and rapid post-war modernization.

Two: As an example of taking a somewhat bizarre and unorthodox approach to a classic myth (Oedipus), it’s not the first work of art to excavate this ominous Greek tragedy, but certainly one of the more unexpected adaptations you’ll ever see. The Oedipus translation emerges more clearly toward the end of the film, but our main character, Eddie (Pita) has issues with his condescending / abusive mother and his absent father. Because of the collage format of the film, these connections at first appear as abstract visuals with no context, but the story slowly gathers the fragments together into narrative cohesion.

Three: Stylistic treatment. From the opening visual, and really through to the finish- the cinematography is excellent. It is strong in terms of image, tonality, composition, cropping and graphic innovation, where it puts its black and white palette through a strobe -like psychedelic montage. If that wasn’t enough, there are passages of film where the male / female actors are interviewed about their homosexuality, and how they fit into this rarified part of Japanese subculture. These passages are quite beautiful, and rather disarming when we hear the blunt and deliberate answers to probing, personal questions. But these narrative and stylistic breaks add to the overall variety of visual texture in the film. Additionally, the movie is a joy to watch when it spills out onto the Tokyo streets, camera in tow. The reactions of bystanders as transvestites are filmed in a mock gang fight adds yet another unique layer to an already bizarre scenario.

Four: Picturesque eroticism. While not straightforward in its graphic representation of sex as a film like Realm of the Senses ( #31), it does treat the theme of eroticism and obsession in a visually alluring manner. Making sexuality and its accompanying psychic impulses into a visually intriguing confrontation has been with art forever, but in this film, its close stylistic counterpart is Surrealism. Literary stories like Georges Bataille’s Story of the Eye, or the sexual juxtapositions of the paintings of Rene Magritte, or Marcel Duchamp, come to mind when viewing this film. I’m not sure of the weight Matsumoto’s gives to his visual references, but whether he was channeling them or not, the Surrealists would have embraced this film immediately. They would have loved it, not only for its taboo subject matter, but for its cut-up compositional methodology.

The onset of the twentieth century saw the artistic avant–garde in both Europe and America taking the position to critique industrial culture, conservative institutions, and adapt the language of the machine age to explore emotional / sexual /psychic territory that culture uniformly tagged as forbidden. Abrasive content and uncomfortable depictions became the means for modern art to divest itself of sanitizing its messages in nineteenth century classicism, and confront its audience, however small, with some of the tangible and psychic brutalities of the modern era. With Matsumoto’s initial calling as a painter, for a film like Funeral Bed of Roses to emerge during the 1960’s makes perfect sense. At the last half of the twentieth century, two world wars, and conflict in Asia provide perfect conditions for this avant-garde film to freely pull from the file cabinet of counter-cultural iconography to piece together its unique contribution. The fifties and sixties saw the emergence of counter-culture and drugs making their way into mainstream consciousness, and this film is clearly a byproduct of this phenomenon. From its cinematic, self-referential passages to its historic allusions, it is in many ways a fledgling product of post modernism. This category /term would have been in its infancy at the time Matsumoto made this picture, but the historical and stylistic earmarks are there. Andy Warhol is often cited as the first post-modern artist. One who consciously adapted to and utilized images from commercial mass media, not merely as process, but in terms of content as well. They are very much products of the advertising / television age. Funeral Bed of Roses comes across in much the same manner, a transvestite geisha on a street corner as traffic speeds by serves as a very modern study in contrasts. Scenes of drug use and sexuality form a good deal of footage, topics and images that only a few decades prior would have been met with stringent censorship.

We get comfortable with certain expectations we have from movies. We want them to deliver certain things in certain ways, and to break these expectations is to invite scorn from the audience, or even worse, all out neglect. This is not always an easy movie to watch. Many won’t like the subject, many won’t like the treatment, many will be confused, some won’t even be patient with it being in black and white. But, this film is unique and certainly has more than its share of kooky and beautifully alluring visuals. It might be better to see it while you’re on psychedelics, I’m not really even sure about that, but that’s yet another layer this quirky film has to offer.

One of a kind.

https://filmjrnl365.tumblr.com

[boxjellyfish87]

I was tagged by @dagneyrobertson

Rules: Answer all the questions, tag however many people you want. Maybe add a question if you want! It’s that simple friends!

How did you come up with your blog name? OK, so I have this strange fascination with jellyfish, these ancient and graceful beauties carried by the ocean currents. I love the fact that they are 95% water, transparent, having only their tentacles to protect themselves. I like other animals, too, but jellyfish is the one resembling me most perfectly. Having that in mind, box jellyfish is the deadliest one - combining still this watery innocence with the poisonous venom in its tentacles. 87 comes from the year I was born - 1987.

Why did you make your blog? To inspire myself with beauty in thought, form and colour.

How long have you had it? Since Nov 23, 2014

How many followers do you have? 297

What do you share/post about most? Quotes (prose and poetry), spirituality, art (Roerich and Magritte), music (classical/indie/alternative), photography (Iceland, trees, mountain peaks, deserts, waves, interior design, animals - jellyfish, elephants, snakes, bears, seals)

What do you share/post about the least?

Our impact on the environment (I need to fix this!)

What do you think your followers think of you?

Probably they think that I am wiser than my age; kinda crazy - who likes jellyfish?!?; interesting, otherwise, why have they been following me?

Add a gif or photo and explain why you chose it.

In the water, where all started, two opposites collide - a man and a woman. A love story.

I tag @gerardwrite, @yogi-moni, @abiding-in-peace, @soulreserve, @spiritualevolution1111, @brahman-god-oceanoflove and everyone who wants to do the tag.

[scull-dog]

Ghouli.net Analysis: “the map Is not the territory”

I’ve been dissecting William’s blog and I have a few things so far. Under the cut since the blog might have spoilers. Keep in mind this is a lot of inference and speculation.

@K/OMoUsE has two posts. Both are tagged steganography. I’m trying to figure out how to decode these two images (if there is anything to decode) but they’re both .jpg files and steganography uses .bmp or .gif files. The tag might just be referring to the codes.

A K/O Mouse (or knockout mouse) is a mouse that has a gene removed and replaced with a bit of filler DNA. Obviously William’s DNA is a huge deal, both because of his questionable parentage (let’s be real tho Mulder’s the daddy) and because of the *sigh* alien DNA. Maybe the reference to the K/O mouse somehow indicates that William either a) was a normal baby but had some DNA replaced with alien DNA, or b) was an alien baby but had alien DNA taken out and replaced with human DNA. Additionally, creating a knockout mouse requires breeding with a chimera, which has been used as a plot device before.

The French: 

je rêve, rêverai, rêvais. cette message est pour vous. n’oubliez pas le Refus Absurde. faire un rêve, @Rever! Ceci n’est pas une pipe!

translates to:

I dream, (will) dream, dreamed. this message is for you. do not forget the Absurd Refusal. to make a dream, @Rever! This is not a pipe!

So obviously “Rever” (which we can assume is what William’s handle is) is French for dream.  K/OMoUsE asks where the accent circonflexe should be in his name, which would change the tense of the verb. Dream in the present tense, dream in the future tense, or dream in the imperfect, implying that William’s dreams are interrupted by something else.

I can’t find anything about the “Absurd Refusal” as a proper noun, but if I had to guess I’d say this refers to philosophical absurdism, which is “the conflict between the human tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life and the human inability to find any.” The wiki article goes on to specify that “absurd does not mean logically impossible, but rather humanly impossible.” The meaning of life, humanity’s purpose, and similar themes have been used in the alien invasion plots. If we follow the whole “ancient aliens” plot device they’ve used before, the meaning of life could be the same as the alien’s reason for invading.

“Ceci n’est pas une pipe!” is a reference to this painting by René Magritte.

It’s called The Treachery of Images. The text reads “this is not a pipe.” Magritte used this painting to convey the idea that a representation of a thing is inherently not the thing. This painting is often used as an example of scholar Alfred Korzybzki’s work in semantics. Korzybski’s example was “the map is not the territory,” which has a similar meaning. The map is a representation of the land, but it is not the land itself. Finally, if you look at the post, the submission is titled “the map Is not the territory.” The one thing I can’t figure out is why the I in “is” is capitalized. Might be significant, might be a red herring. 

The next line of text:

and what have you learned about the philosophy of science? Of a certain man’s death in 1626, which came from pneumonia after he sought to discover how long a chicken would remain preserved if it was stuffed with snow?

The man mentioned is scientist Francis Bacon. Bacon is known for his advocacy of the scientific method, which William mentions in one of his posts. But most importantly, this is a hint to decode the message at the bottom of the post. Francis Bacon is also known for creating the Baconian cipher. 

First line of message:

BAABABAABBBABAAAAABBBBAAA BAABBAABBBAABAA ABBBBAAAAABAABABAABB ABAAAAABAB BBAAAABBBABABAA BABBAABBBABABAAABABBAAABB AAABBABAAABABABABAAAABBABAABAA BAABBAABBBAABAA AABABBABAABAABBBABAABAAABAABAA 

A Baconian cipher uses A and B as the 0s and 1s in binary. Each letter is five digits. For example, the first five ‘digits’ in the message are “BAABA,” which translates to the letter S. Lucky for us, “Elizabeth” already decoded the message in the comments, but pasting the full text in a Baconian cipher decoder will give you the same result:

STUDY THE PAST IF YOU WOULD DIVINE THE FUTURE PROJECT CROSSROADS IS PERTINENT TO YOUR HISTORY THE REWARD OF TRUTH AND ENLIGHTENMENT AWAITS DIG DEEPER AND YOU WILL BE LED TO THE DOCUMENTS 

Immediately, the phrase “PROJECT CROSSROADS” stands out. Operation Crossroads was the first nuclear weapons test since the bombing of Nagasaki. There’s potentially a lot to decode here. However, skipping ahead to the next post reveals the following decoded message:

crossroadswasonceanatombombandnowitisyou

Crossroads was once an atom bomb. The radiation of atom bombs is known to cause deformities in genetics. Someone named Knockout Mouse, which is a lab-created genetic anomaly, is warning William that he is now Project Crossroads.

William Van de Kamp is a genetic experiment. Maybe even the first of its kind following a major world event related to genetic manipulation (similar to the Crossroads nuclear tests) that could be related to the aliens. He is a success in the wake of a revolution (depending on which side of history you’re on), he himself is a weapon, and Mulder and Scully need to get to him before someone with more nefarious intentions does.