#i’m like physically incapable of drawing cats and i think this may be the best i’ve ever done

[fagidarity]

hello i have voted for etoiles if u r srs abt doing doodle requests can u pretty please draw me a cat or cat adjacent blob . i would also enjoy a friendly looking blob , whatever u want to do. thank u happy voting

i’m not sure if this counts as a cat or a blob but oh boy it sure is a shape

[aaetherius]

Get To Know The Writer!

———  BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME: Noise

PRONOUNS: They / Them 

ZODIAC SIGN: Virg.o

TAKEN OR SINGLE: I am a single parent to a gremlin cat. I also have a dog and another cat, but when do I ever talk about them sorry my fur children I should not have a favorite, but I do.

———  THREE  FACTS! ♡

I am fairly/decently tattooed (verging on heavily tattooed, I think most would argue)? I think that’s something most people don’t know or assume about me (unless you’ve seen me, then, of course, it’s the first thing everyone notices). I have a lot of tattoos so I won’t describe/go over all of them (most of them are nerdy though). But the most obvious/largest one I have is my full sleeve (entire left arm), and that one is of Ok.ami! My favorite one, though, is on my thigh because I’m biased, and it’s a decently sized heart with a scene from K.iki’s Delivery service in it/things that reference it, but Lily and Jiji (the cats from Kiki’s) are colored/drawn as my two cats instead (their names are Elise and Bella and I love them very much gfheudhg)! And my most recent one is a pretty large Sailor Moo.n (Luna) inspired one on my calf (I got it done, unintentionally, like the day before we went into lockdown here and I still think about how that’s the last time I left my house other than to walk the dog and for the essentials, obviously dshjgjfy).  

A lot of you know this already, but I sew/know how to sew (largely self taught)! I mainly do cosplay stuff for myself now, and sometimes make cosplays for friends (if I love them enough ghufdihrudk). But there was a period of my life where I was doing it professionally/as a job. I had my own business, and used to make and sell plushies (mainly at conventions, and would do several conventions in a year. Free fun fact from that, but my best con was actually in Canada, of which I am not from nor do I live in, but because of that I have a business license/Tax number in Canada. Used to get invites to events in Canada all of the time and I had to tell them I don’t live there gfudrkugfgrfdr)! 

This is so very difficult. I’m out of facts and trying to come up with things you guys don’t already know ifdshliuf. Uhhhhh, on the more personal side/less fun side I guess, but I was on a learning plan (I honestly forget the actual term for it - basically it’s for when you struggle with a certain subject and have to take extra classes for it or are given accommodations for it because it’s difficult for you) throughout most of school/prior to college for - writing, actually (believe it or not gifdljhgkgrt)! I was often told how terrible I was at it/that I would never get better at it because the school system can be awful, but I enjoyed it, and was a very stubborn child so I kept at it anyway! Eventually I was taken off of it in high school entirely because of my own efforts. So, I just want to say: never let people tell you that you’re incapable of something/can’t do something/don’t let people bring you down! If you love something, and get enjoyment out of it, you should do it regardless of what others think/believe! And be kind/supportive to creatives (including yourself - so very much including yourself, you’re wonderful and deserving of respect and praise for doing what you do). It can take so much courage to write or draw or sew or sculpt a single thing (and you should be proud of that thing, even if it doesn’t live up to what you wanted, because what really matters is that you had the courage to do it at all)! There’s often so much going on behind the scenes that you’re not aware of, and you never know where, when, or how someone started off in something (so even if something seems easy for someone now, it likely wasn’t when they started and still might not be)!  

———  EXPERIENCE! ♡

I can’t recall when I started role-playing exactly (I’ve been writing, in general, since I could hold a pen). It’s been years, but I started with OCs on forums and with friends (in high school I had a group of friends that I would trade around a physical notebook with where we would write replies - one time, for a friend’s birthday, I had owed them a reply for a really long time, so we wrapped it up and them put it in five or so boxes, all of which were also wrapped, and gave it to them. It was a good time haha. Gosh I’m so old). Before eventually moving to tumblr. Most of my older/oldest OCs are still around on my general multi (August being the oldest, but a decent chunk of the OCs on that blog are pretty old). The first canon character I wrote was, I believe, Steven St.one from P.okemon. As far as Lucifer is concerned, I’m a few days away from this blog being seven months old!

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE! ♡

I’m not quite certain what my preference is to be honest! I enjoy writing both OCs and canon characters. I tend to favor characters I’m more emotionally invested in since I tend to be on the shy/more withdrawn side of things so it’s easier for me to interact with others/reach out to others when I’m more invested in a muse! A lot of it can depend on my mood as well, certain characters are easier for me to write depending on how I’m feeling ( but there are muses I find easy to write regardless of how I’m doing). And how comfortable I feel with/on my dash also plays a fairly decent role in my preference, as well! And I enjoy running both single and multi-muse blogs, though most of my blogs are multis (but having a single muse blog is so nice). As far as archetypes go, I think I don’t favor one as much as I used to, but I still write a lot of white-haired muses haha. As far as gender goes, I tend to write male identifying muses most often.        

———  FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡    

FLUFF: I love and adore all things soft. Obviously it’s easier with certain muses than others (Lucifer lends himself well to fluff, but I have muses, like L.ucilius, who do not). I’m always down to write fluffy things, and very much enjoy it! I like and favor happy/soft content! I like seeing muses get closer, and living their lives and I’m always excited to see characters happy/finding out what they enjoy/spending time with others and learning about them/letting characters live their lives (especially in Lucifer’s case because, well, you know haha. If Cy.games won’t let him be happy I will simply have to do it myself).

ANGST: I like angst to a certain extent. I’m not into super heavy angst that has a bad/unhappy outcome, and doesn’t serve much of a purpose beyond being angsty. But angst that allows characters to develop is wonderful, and expected. And I love the recovery period. Writing muses addressing and living with their actions or learning how to cope with them - how their past or how what’s happened impacts their day to day lives and how they think/what bothers them/their actions/how it becomes a part of them, and what it takes for them to grow. Or how it deepens their relationship with another, and the comfort that comes with it. I enjoy angst that has a happy/meaningful ending. 

SMUT: It tends to be very case-by-case by with me. I may write it with certain muses (of mine) and not with others. I may be open to writing it with certain ship partners, and not with others, as well. I will/can write it, but it depends on my comfort level (and it is by no means a deal breaker if you chose to write or not write it). Generally speaking, it largely depends on how comfortable I am with the mun I’m writing with, and with my own muse that’s involved. So I might write it from time to time/it could come up, and there might be other times where I’m not comfortable/confident (and fading to black/time skipping is also a-okay with me, especially if you’re interested in exploring the aftermath/comfort that follows it, but not actually writing the smut part of that out). Though, keep in mind, when it comes to actually writing it out on my end, I’m more invested and interested in the emotional aspect that intimacy tends to bring with it/how it impacts the relationship (before, during, and after), and that does tend to be what I focus on when I write it (because I just find that part of it interesting to explore because my favorite things to write are character and relationship development). So, long story short, I’m selective with it.

PLOT / MEMES: Both are good! You’re always welcome to turn an ask or meme into a thread, and I find that it’s easier to start threads through asks/memes than it is through starters/a starter call so I very much enjoy them! But plotting is also nice, and I enjoy it! Sometimes, though, I have a million ideas, and it goes super well, and other times my head is completely empty and I have no thoughts whatsoever. But plotting also tends to make writing a starter/interacting easier, and also leads to interesting threads! So, I’m open to both!

tagged by: @cirocchio (thank you)!

tagging ( if you want to do this, but no pressure if you don’t! ): @cxffexngel, @anamnaesis, @hartblooms, @shymaidxn, @unladylikc, @whisperonn, @dcpraved, @synnthos, @caelumsaltator, @againthemartyr, @eternalwhite!

[pythosart]

A big ol 2019 end of the year update

I felt somewhat compelled to write my end of the year/decade thoughts, but a warning before you read: This one’s going to be heavy, intensely personal, and long. If you don’t feel up to reading that, it may be best to skip it. I promise I’ll go back to shutting up and posting art afterwards. I’m profoundly incapable of being concise, ever, so apologies for the length of this.

2019 was a nightmare.

Some background: In mid 2016, my mother was diagnosed with a rare form of liver cancer. She was given a few months to live. She was given weeks or months to live multiple times, for almost three years. In that time my mom was in and out of the hospital, but spent all her good days living life to the fullest, starting and finishing dream projects, and keeping all of us going despite her own situation. Even when she was bedridden, hooked up to tubes and bags and god knows what, she found time to prop up her loved ones and pursue her hobbies. She even managed to develop new hobbies and interests while otherwise imprisoned by her physical state, something I struggle to do at the best of times even in my young and relatively healthy form. If there’s anything I can make of this experience, it’s that I hope to grow into even half the woman my mother was.

I ended 2018 with my final quarter at SCAD. I spent the entire quarter terrified my mom was going to die while I was away from home. It was horrific, I barely scraped by my last few classes (bless my professors’ endless patience), and immediately left Savannah for home as soon as the quarter was up. I never had room to celebrate finishing college. Any other year it would be a huge milestone, but I barely even care.

This past May, my mother passed away, after three years of petrifying suspense. It happened in the dead middle of the night, while my best friend was visiting for a con, and it still feels like a bad dream. It’s also one of the only vivid memories I even have of this year. 

I wish I had more to say on that, but I genuinely think the drawn out suffering and fracturing of my whole world left me unable to fully unpack everything that’s happened. It’s hard to even think about for long, and at times I even half-forget she’s gone. I think of things I want to show her, or tell her, or cook with her. Just the other day I kept thinking I’d tell her how much I liked endive after she showed me how to make it. I found a historical Italian cooking channel that, every time I see it, I just think of how much she’d love it. I knew she’d love Hot Fuzz but never got to show her. Little, stupid things that shouldn’t matter, but they do. They just do.

My mother and I were close, much closer than I am with my dad. Especially towards the end of her life, we had gotten closer, and I felt like I was only just really getting to know her as an equal. I still want to share my life with her, but that chance is gone.

This holiday season has been especially rough in her absence, because not only was my mom the motivational and creative force behind a lot of holiday activities here, it’s the first everything without her. We had Thanksgiving with friends and a catered dinner, instead of spending several days cooking and polishing family silver and setting the table. I won’t be making handmade tortellini with her for Christmas like we did every year. It’s the little things like that.

We’re a tiny family, with over half of us in Italy and lacking much communication due to the language barrier. Family holidays were always small, but there’s just a huge hole how, much greater than the cold numeric value of “one fewer participant.” My mom was always a driving force and a keystone in our support networks, not to mention the main line of contact with the Italian-speaking side of the family, so now the family feels so much more scattered and isolated than ever.

My girlfriend was close to my mother too, and as she’s been living with me for years now and is practically part of the family, I think she took it just as hard as anyone. Cel saw everything I did, and dealt with many of the same uncertainties and traumatic experiences I did.

A month after I lost my mother, I lost my cat too. Galileo was twelve years old, a spry old man who yelled instead of meowed, and just a wonderful cat. I got him when I was in 7th grade, after begging my parents for years to get me a cat. It was my mom who eventually overrode my dad’s hesitations, and from then on Leo was part of the family. He went through a very sudden decline over the course of a week or two, and we learned it was cancer. Feline lymphoma, I think. I had to make the call to put him to sleep, and it ripped what was left of my heart out.

Not that it needs stating, but fuck cancer.

A few too-short months later, I cut ties with a “friend,” which despite how fucking much it hurt, was really for the best. At a certain point one simply can no longer afford to waste energy on a certain kind of person. Unfortunately I’m a persistently optimistic idiot, and it took me too long to cut my losses before deep damage was done. Done to me, my close friends, and even barely involved acquaintances this “friend” dumped on relentlessly and tried to harass into spying on me. Really, if any part of this is unforgivable, it’s that.

All this was, however, a valuable reminder that it’s no good to have any tolerance for habitually dishonest people, even if they think they’re doing it to look “nice.” Chronic liars will gaslight you whether they know it or not, and trying to navigate that in an already damaged mental state is inadvisable. It was an important lesson in picking one’s battles, albeit one learned too late. I’m still holding out hope I can find it in my heart to forgive this person, if only for my own selfish sake so I can move on. I have a lot of experience living on spite, and I don’t want to make a further habit of it.

Naturally all of the above did little to curb my already inflamed pessimism about the state of my country and the world at large, but I need not expand on that, I imagine.

I suppose it would be unfair of me to leave it all at that and only mention the negative, though admittedly positivity is hard to muster these days. A few bright spots of note:

Graduated from SCAD with my BFA in Sequential Art (technically last year, but I did the ceremonial bit this year)

Tabled at Animazement with Woods. We barely broke even, but it was a great time and I plan on doing it again in the new year.

Spent literally an entire month hanging out with my two best friends, which was amazing and exactly the kind of healing experience I needed around that time of year.

Properly did Halloween for the first time in years. I made a costume I’m proud of and we went out on the town… for like an hour, because it promptly started pouring. But fun nevertheless

Started therapy. As of writing this, I’ve only had an introductory session, but it’s a start. Should have started six months ago, but didn’t for reasons to be addressed...in therapy

Started volunteering at the local natural history museum, where I spent like half my childhood. I’ll be doing data entry in collections, but that’s still cool as hell

Got a start on figuring out what I want to do with my life. It’ll involve going back to school for science within the next five-ish years, but it’s nice to have a goal. More of a goal than I’ve ever had, in fact.

Played some extremely good video games (shout out to The Blackout Club and Control)

Made a shitload of unnecessary yet endlessly fun and good AUs with my friends and my one (1) OC

Got an iPad Pro and started learning Procreate, which has gotten me drawing more

Learned a bit of needle felting

2019 was a year of getting much closer to my two best friends, and I genuinely owe them my life at this point. I don’t know where I’d be without them. Nowhere good, certainly.

Woods and Dross kept me talking to people, kept me creating, told me when I was being unreasonable or needed to cool it, heard me out when I needed it but always kept me honest. They helped me keep some creative juices flowing when otherwise I’d have been at a frustrated loss and might have given up for good. If it seems like I’ve kept up my usual art output at all, and if you’ve enjoyed the Lou content (or not, whoops... apologies to everyone who followed me for monster content) you have both of them to thank.

Even moreso, I owe my girlfriend a great deal for being there for me through all of this while she herself was suffering similarly. She and I have had our ups and downs, and been through a lot in the five-ish years we’ve been together. We aren’t the most outspoken couple, but I think our mutual understanding and pain mitigated a lot of the damage this year has done. I don’t think I could have handled it alone.

Furthermore, I really need to thank a lot of other friends and acquaintances I’m not quite as close with, but still talk to. These people especially were willing to call me on my bullshit when necessary, or just talk to me at all, about anything. Even if these acquaintances didn’t know it at the time, there’s a good chance they were dragging me out of one of my frequent existential despair spirals.

I also, weirdly, owe a lot to helping my hen Julia recover from her dog attack. That was around the time that my mom’s health was in its final decline, when I felt the most helpless and despairing. I think having even some tiny something I could do to help was like, the only feeling of control I had in life for a bit there. Julia’s fine, by the way. Still queen of the yard, top chicken boss bitch, etc. Julia was always a kind of kindred spirit with my mom, in a way. Little but not to be underestimated, gray, big personality and commanding presence… Not to mention, she was one of the first in our flock and was always my mom’s favorite. 

It would be too much to say I have high hopes or plans of any kind for the upcoming year, but I do have a list of things I want to try and do. Some of which will involve art, and the posting thereof.

Big if on this one, but I’ve also recently started therapy (only took me half a year to work up to making a phone call after the first failed attempt took all the wind out of my sails) and I have…maybe not high hopes, but hopes, for that doing something to help. I should have started therapy two years ago, but the second best time is now, etc etc.

I have a lot of New Year’s resolutions, beyond the usual “get in shape, drink less coffee, blah blah” that I’ll try and write up a little list of separately. Most of them are art-related, so you all will be there to watch me swing and miss I PROMISED I’D TRY TO BE LESS NEGATIVE. New Year’s resolution #1: Maybe don’t make so many self-deprecating jokes.

Anyway, I don’t know how to end any wall of text, be it an OC worldbuilding screed or something serious like this, so... I guess, love yourself, cherish your friends, know when to put your own needs first and when to put your friends’ needs firster. One of the things my mom taught me in this past year or so is that relationships are what you make of them, and that it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Be generous, be genuine, don’t be a doormat and don’t lie to people you care about, even if it seems kinder in the moment. Savor the time you have with those close to you, and spend time doing things you love. Cliché, maybe, but cliché can still be true. Happy new year, everyone. I sincerely hope it will treat us all better. 2020 may just be an imaginary change of numbers, but I like to think it really does wipe the slate in a way, and make room for all of us to do what we can to be better. Speaking of which, vote. For the love of all that is good, vote.

--

A little bullet list of New Year’s resolutions, because it’s nicer to look at

Try to get back in shape (of course) - That 30 days of strength thing was good while it lasted, despite my joints hating me

Learn some new recipes, preferably with fewer carbs, you Italian ass

Keep a physical calendar and stick with it for at least a few months

Learn at least one new skill by the middle of the year, whether it’s art-related or something else

Start writing more. Don’t have to share it, but try. Write down ideas somewhere other than Discord where they’re easy to lose

Either reopen Patreon or figure out how ko-fi works. Even if it’s for no money, just to have structure and goals.

Do Animazement again and try out some new product types

Go to SCAD career fair with a decent portfolio

Get better about spending, by whatever method works

Attend some art classes at the local collectives, doesn’t matter what

Play more video games. I swear I only played like three new things this year 

Read more classic literature and nonfiction, at least one book per month. I’ve been really enjoying Agatha Christie’s works and am about to start Guns, Germs, and Steel

Read more comics. Basically just consume more media

Do Halloween again, better this time

See friends in person more

Practice accepting whatever shitty thoughts show up and then letting them go, rather than dwelling on them

[kyojuuros]

I was tagged by @plisehtsky! Thank you! :D

Five Things You’ll Find In My Bag

Cell Phone

Wallet

Keys

Chapstick

...I think that’s it actually? lol I don’t carry much with me.

Five Things In My Bedroom:

My SnK Figures

Bookshelf

Bed 

Dresser

My Alto Sax. B)

Five Things I’ve Always Wanted To Do In My Life:

Travel to other countries for leisure

Take a full scale USA road trip

Own a cat

Buy my own home

Sky Dive

Five Things That Make Me Happy:

My bf and family. :)

Fiction

Big paychecks until it all goes to overdue bills

Pianos and piano-related stuff

Nice weather

Five Things On My To-Do List:

Save money

Pay off some debt I haven’t been able to focus on

buy. a. house. 

Get a second car so bf and I aren’t sharing one anymore lol

Start playing the piano again

Five Things People May Not Know About Me:

I started playing piano when I was 4 years old. I also was a band and choir geek all throughout high school. I took part in marching band, concert band, jazz band, indoor drumline, show choir, concert choir and jazz choir. It was a busy time! I miss it a lot. I also participated in the musicals we did when I was in high school (namely, Hello Dolly and Little Shop of Horrors - the latter which I had to belt out a solo!). Basically, I used to be a music nerd!

I almost had to go to the hospital due to alcohol poisoning when I was 18 - it was about a week after my grandpa had died. I had a lot of guilt for not being there enough for him... still do, tbh.

I was in two long-term emotionally abusive relationships back-to-back. Altogether was in that kind of situation for about 4-5 years. Starting a new relationship was really scary to me when I started getting to know my bf. I’m glad I did though, there has been a lot of healing.

I have recently discovered that I... might be a dom.

I’m actually really shy and inhibited to a fault. I resent a lot of things about myself because of it and feel like I’m incapable of being a fun person to be around or living life to the “fullest”. 

Name?: Heidi

Nicknames?: None that really get used. On here I don’t mind being called EJB. IRL people used to joke and call me “Moose” because of my last name... or “Heidi Moose”. Kind of outgrew that though.

Zodiac?: Virgo.

Sexual Orientation?: For simplicity’s sake, Demisexual/Aromantic. It’s a bit more complicated than that though I think. lol

Ethnicity?: White. I think mainly of German descent.

Favorite Fruit?: Pineapple

Favorite Season?: Spring and Fall are at a tie tbh.

Favorite Flower?: Yellow roses

Favorite Scent?: Rain/After rain

Favorite Animal?: Dogs

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate?: Tea!!

Cat or dog?: Generally I feel like I’m a dog person, but I’ve never had a cat as part of the family so I think I can’t actually say with certainty. 

Dream Trip?: I’m gonna sound like a weeb but I really, really want to visit Japan someday.

Number of Followers?: 24,661. It’s been declining lately tho. lol

What do I post about?: Mainly just SnK here. Occasional reblogs of other anime or Pokémon.

Do I get asks on a regular basis?: Not as often as I used to but I usually get one a day or more.

Favorite Band?: Linkin Park :’) still hurting about this btw

Aesthetic?: Being financially secure, owning my own home with a nice yard, never having to ask for help for anything, debt free. Wait... doesn’t this count? LOL

Fictional Character I’d Date?: I want to give the typical answer and say Levi but realistically I don’t think we’d actually mesh very well he’s still my husband tho I’m not actually sure tbh.

Hogwarts House?: I have no idea.... 

Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you!

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7" or taller

I wear glasses

I have at least one tattoo

I have at least one piercing

I have blonde hair

I have brown eyes

I have short hair

My abs are at least somewhat defined

I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people

People tell me that I’m funny

Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me

I enjoy physical challenges

I enjoy mental challenges

I’m playfully rude with people I know well

I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it

There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing

I can play an instrument

I can do over 30 pushups without stopping

I’m a fast runner

I can draw well

I have a good memory

I’m good at doing math in my head

I can hold my breath underwater for under a minute

I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling

I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch

I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports

I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else

I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else

I have learned a new song in the past week

I work out at least once a week

I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months

I have drawn something in the past month

I enjoy writing

FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION

I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss

I have had alcohol

I have scored the winning goal in a sports game

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting

I have been at an overnight event

I have been in a taxi

I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year

I have beaten a video game in one day

I have visited another country

I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship

I have a crush on a celebrity

I have a crush on someone I know

I have been in at least 3 relationships

I have never been in a relationship

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them

I get crushes easily

I have had a crush on someone for over a year

I have been in a relationship for at least a year

I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”

I live close at my school

My parents are still together

I have at least one sibling

I live in the united states

There is snow right now where I live

I have hung out with a friend in the past month

I have a smartphone

I have at least 15 CD’s

I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced

I know a person named Jamie

I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce

I have dyed my hair

I’m listening to one song on repeat right now

I have punched someone in the past week

I know someone who has gone to jail

I have broken a bone

I have eaten a waffle today

I know what I want to do with my life

I speak at least 2 languages

I have made a new friend in the past year

Hmm I’ll tag @sluttttysurveycorps, @kyojinofbraveos, @all-my-ships-are-snking, @lampurple, @perfectfearsomebeauty, @writer-person, @corporalmizuki, @aurieackerman, @lolakasa, @annieleonhardt, @happymikasa, @raelis1, @kenken-chan... I think that’s good for now ^^’

[nextgennews-blog1]

Frida: Be Yourself by Allyson Elliott

Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderon: if you somehow don't know her name, I'm sure you know her face.

Frida was born July 6, 1907, and has become one of the most iconic figures of our time 110 years later, predominately in the feminist movement. How, do you ask? She believed in the equality of all sexes and classes. She interpreted and portrayed shamelessly not only many intimate moments of the female condition but of the human experience as a whole. Regardless of actual fact she insisted on claiming July 7, 1910 for her true birth date as to be unequivocally aligned with the birth of the Mexican Revolution, one of the lesser ways she determined the truth of her own life.

“They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.”

She had an undeniable tenacity in the face of a life filled with a myriad of physical pain and emotional turmoil. At the age of 6 she was diagnosed with polio leaving her with a limp she would carry the rest of her life. She experienced a nearly fatal trolley accident at the age of 18, which she survived but suffered numerous injuries. The severity of which would incite over 30 surgeries through the course of her life and rendered her incapable of bearing children. Heartbreaking as it is, we can thank that fateful accident for instigating Kahlo’s love of painting. She was confined to a bed in a full body cast for months with nothing to do but consume herself in her art. “I was Born a Bitch. I was Born a Painter” and no one dare combat her on this or any front. She died at the mere age of 47. In her brief lifetime she received acclaim though nothing compared to the persona she now embodies.

She loved herself as all of us should. Never giving way to conventional standards of beauty by plucking or shaving a single hair on her body. She boldly broke convention and never drifted away from who she wanted to be; you could take it or leave it. Her first painting was of herself: "Self-Portrait in a Velvet Dress."

On the back of the canvas Frida wrote in German “Heute ist immer noch,” meaning “Today is always.” She lived in the moment and mostly for herself.

“The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.”

Her passion for painting was spurred by her need to express and vent her frustrations making it challenging to separate Frida’s personal life from her artwork (not that it necessarily should be.) Many artists often return to beloved themes, Frida’s most beloved was herself. An oeuvre containing 143 paintings, 55 of which were self portraits. “I am my own muse, I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to know better.”

One of Kahlo’s most famous and brutally honest works is that of “The Broken Column”

“My painting carries with it the message of pain.” Depicted here crying in anguish from the injuries she had endured. She is split in two with her stable spine replaced by decaying stone. She experienced chronic pain the entirety of her life but never hid behind it. She embraced those cracks as part of who she was and only became stronger for it. Nails pierce her body and face, and yet despite her tears she gazes straight at the viewer as if to defy any weakness.

However, her vulnerability manifested in a similar manner to that of many women today: a man. I am not by any means a man hating feminist and neither was Frida, I say this as for many years she was overshadowed and seen only as the wife of renowned muralist Diego Rivera. Frida and Diego’s marriage was tempestuous to say the least. “There have been two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.” Countless affairs were had on both sides, Frida with both men and women, neither party exerted much effort to conceal their infidelities from the other and yet with this quote she seemingly views herself as the victim. Perhaps it is due to Diego’s most monstrous betrayal. That of a lustful love affair between him and her sister, resulting in their subsequent divorce.

As a result of this deception one of Frida’s greatest masterpieces was created. “Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird”

Multiple interpretations are seen in many of her works through symbolism born intensely in her imagery. This particular composition has a slew of interpretations in and of itself. Bearing an unraveled crown of thorns as a necklace drawing blood as they penetrate her flesh dripping to a pristine white frock presents her in a martyr like fashion. It may be a wit hypocritical, as she too had her fair share of lovers. She was duped by both husband and sister. I’d say there are worse things she could do than claim no fault in the matter. The hummingbird indicative of freedom, luck in love, sometimes war, and perhaps even emblematic of Frida herself, dangles lifelessly. A fervent picture of her soul, no doubt. The Monkey on her back (both literally and figuratively) was a personal pet, and gift from Diego (literally and figuratively.) Also symbolic of the devil and animal sexuality. Sitting opposite a black cat, symbol of bad luck and death. Is this a representation of Good vs. Evil? If so which is Good, which is Evil? Feasibly, The Spirit vs. The Flesh? Which side should she choose? Maybe neither. The Butterflies have been said to represent her own resurrection. Considering this and the fact that the couple remarried only one year following their divorce, I believe she chose the path of forgiveness and she knew she would all along. The heart wants what the heart wants and the pain of losing Diego possibly was worse than the pain caused by his scandalous acts. “At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.”  Diego might have been her biggest weakness but she loved him and it took great strength of will be able to accept these facts and move forward. Embracing the life she wished to lead against the judgement of others.

Due to her brutal and unforgiving honesty Frida redefined the personal as political and believed to be painting ‘Revolutionary Realism’. Her Cultural Nationalism is reflected in her "Mexicanidad" (love of things Mexican). Placing an emphasis on Pre-Columbian traditions in an effort to purify the effects of colonization in Mexico and reclaim lost traditional values of the civilization. Yet the intensity of her personal life frequently eclipses the profoundly intelligent woman, utterly brilliant technical painter, and devout Communist/Stalinist that she was.

Fridamania first struck, hard, in the mid 1980’s but over the past few years there has been a definite resurgence in her popularization. Her image is plastered indelibly on every style of merchandise you can imagine. Posters, shoes, coasters, bags and inspiration from her styling expanding further everyday. Numerous exhibitions have surfaced not only of her works but of artists directly inspired by her paintings and personality as well as recreations of her home and belongings. Just last spring she joined the ranks of the top 10 highest selling female artists when one of her paintings sold for 8 million dollars at auction. She undoubtedly deserved every inch of this praise, still how is it that in a day an age where information is at the beck and call of our fingertips Frida’s love of herself had been trivialized with proclamations titling her “Queen/Mother of the selfie”. Outwardly her body of art is once more dwarfed by her personal life when they truly they are one in the same and should be viewed and appreciated side by side. However, because she embodied self-empowerment, if her image or artwork has reached and resonated with you in one way or another I believe she would want me to leave you with this final thought. “I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me, too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you.”

[doomsteady]

I thought I might start sharing new fic chapters here before they get posted on ao3, while I wait for beta-reader feedback. If you’ve not already caught up on The Cat & The Fox, you might want to skip these posts. But if you’re a reader of that fic and can’t wait for more updates, then these posts are specially for you. <3

Some additional editing may occur before they get officially posted. But by and large, what you see is what you’ll get.

Also, I’ll keep it mostly under the cut. I don’t want to flood your dashes. Ta!

Chapter 30

25 years ago

“Mikey! You forgot your lunch!” Sherlock waves the brown paper bag aloft as he runs to catch up with his big brother. Mycroft hauls his suitcase up the steps of the coach before turning to meet him.

Mycroft smiles down at him, taking the bag from his hands and wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders in a tight hug.

“I’ll miss you, Bumblebee. Be good for Mummy and Daddy while I’m away, won’t you?”

Sherlock huffs into Mycroft’s coat collar, beating a small fist on his back. “I’m nine. Stop calling me that stupid baby name.”

“You still are a baby,” Mycroft says fondly, grinning over his brother’s shoulder when Sherlock gives him another answering punch in the arm and wriggles out of his grasp. “And don’t go into my room while I’m gone. I’ll know if you do.”

“No you won’t.” Sherlock pouts, but his ire is quickly forgotten. “Will you write to me?”

“Of course. Every day, if I’m able.”

“Mycroft, dear, don’t promise him such things. Imagine the temper if a letter arrives late?” Mummy steps forward to encircle Mycroft in her arms, speaking quietly in his ear. “He’s going to miss you too, very much. We all will.”

“I will write, Mum. I promise.”

She squeezes him for a moment before stepping back, her eyes shining with tears. Daddy approaches then, taking Mycroft’s hand in a gentlemanly shake. “Good luck, my boy. Knock their socks off, eh? We’re proud of you.”

Mycroft promises to do his very best.

In the Holmes family tradition, all boys strive for a career at MI5 from an early age. At sixteen years old, they’re taken into London for their introductory application. It has always been this way. His father worked for the government, as did his grandfather and great-grandfather, all the way back to the very formation of the Secret Service Bureau.

Even before then, there has always been a Holmes involved in the country’s governmental operations. It is a closely held family secret that during the Revolution of 1688, it was a Holmes ancestor that convinced the Commons to allow both William and Mary to take the throne of England after the defeat of King James II, despite opposition within Parliament. It was the result of King William III’s subsequent governance that directly influenced the drawing up of the United States Constitution 100 years later.

This lofty legacy should be intimidating, but Mycroft has embraced it with zeal and ambition. He dreams of a position of power and authority, and a responsibility to his country, to protect and serve her from all who would do her harm. Of all the careers a boy of his sharp intellect might have chosen, this offers everything he could ever desire.

As he looks over at his family’s tearful smiles one last time, he wishes he could stay with them just a little longer. Especially Sherlock. Mycroft worries so much for him. His little brother has never shown any interest in his world of kings and spies, and the only knights that inspire his imagination are those who ride into the hills to challenge mythical beasts atop their piles of gold. He has already set out on a different path, and it will take more than gentle coaxing to bring him back. Perhaps, after Mycroft’s training, he will be better equipped to change Sherlock’s mind about what future he would rather pursue.

A sharp tap on the shoulder tells him it’s time to leave, and Mycroft boards the coach. He finds an unoccupied seat next to the window, and waves as his family recede into the distance.

At last; this is the beginning of a new life. He can feel it. He’s not there yet, but it won’t be long now. Everything he’s worked for, everything he’s studied towards. It all comes down to this.

The trials ahead will be difficult. They will test his mental acuity, which won’t pose a problem, he is certain. But the physical training might require him to dig deep into his reserves. No matter. He is officially one step closer to his dreams. Whatever it takes, he is ready and eager to begin.

Across the aisle, a boy leans over and taps him on the shoulder, interrupting his reverie.

“Hullo. Mikey, is it? Sorry, overheard the kid say it.”

“Mycroft. Hello.”

“Jim.” The boy extends his hand. Mycroft takes it cordially. He seems young, several years younger than Mycroft, at least. “Brother of yours?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. His name’s Sherlock.”

“And he’s James,” Jim says, jerking his head at the identical twin in the seat next to him. James nods once before turning away, visibly disinterested. Jim’s enthusiasm seems unaffected. “Brothers, eh?” He grins toothily.

Mycroft thinks he spots a missing molar. He returns a polite smile, but can’t think of much else to say. Socialising with other children has never been one of his stronger suits. Jim releases their handshake and relaxes back in his seat, throwing his arms over the backrest.

“Well, pleased to meet ya, Mikey. Don’t confuse us like the rest of these idiots do, and we’ll get along famously.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you,” Mycroft replies. He glances furtively at the other one before turning his gaze back to the window. Some discreet minutes later, he rubs his hand on the seat beside him.

Mental note: Jim is the one with sweaty palms.

——

Four months ago

“John, wake up. We have a case!”

It startles him awake, one hand already scrambling behind the headboard. For a blind second his mind is operating on pure instinct, a soldier’s training, lingering PTSD and an unfortunate array of half-obscured memories of being kidnapped at night. In a hot second, John is staring down the sights of his handgun at a very surprised looking Sherlock. His mind catches up a moment later.

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock.” The stiffness in his arm melts, falling to the pillow with a soft thud. John rubs the sleep from his eyes and peers over to squint at the alarm clock. He groans. “Do you have any idea what time it is.”

“Yes! It’s exactly the perfect time to catch him in the act,” Sherlock says, his eyes already lighting back up with excitement. “I’ve been tracking his movements all week. I know exactly where he is at this very moment, and this time, he won’t be getting away.” Sherlock straightens, lifts his weight off the mattress with aplomb and claps his hands together. “Come on, hurry up. Get dressed. We need to get downtown before he’s done looting the exhibit.”

John has no idea who Sherlock is talking about. It’s a feeling he’s been growing used to, being left behind, mentally speaking. Moments like this, Sherlock tends to skip over the necessary step of filling him in on the basics, his mind ever locked ten steps ahead of everybody else in its obsession with the intricate details of his deductions. It leaves him virtually incapable of conceiving of the idea that John doesn’t just already know everything he needs to.

It can get a little annoying. And more than a little dangerous, when he decides to spring into the room like an over-excitable greyhound and nearly give John a heart-attack in the process. As John sees it, when they work together from the beginning they automatically fall into sync. He may not have the deductive powers of his genius lover, but he can usually keep up with him as he explains how his mad version of logic leaps from point-A to point-B. But sometimes he wonders if Sherlock doesn’t even realise it when he starts a new case without him. He has caught him, on more than one occasion, carrying on a conversation with himself as if John was already in the room.

Sherlock had been out all day today, and yesterday. The house was still empty when John came home from his shift that evening. An abandoned mug of tea sat on the kitchen counter, the only evidence of Sherlock’s presence there for breakfast that morning, however fleeting his appearance. That night John waited up, just in case, but Sherlock often got too caught up in his own little world and was still offering unsure, one-word answers to John’s texts by the time he gave up and turned in at around midnight.

It hadn’t been more than a couple of hours since John had climbed into his side of a cold bed. Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, then, that Sherlock chose the exact moment he entered his first REM cycle to magically reappear and summon him up for an adventure.

John presses his head into the pillow and scrunches the sides up to his ears with both arms. “You know I’d love to. But I have an early shift tomorrow. Can’t the police handle a simple break-in?”

Sherlock scoffs. “There’s nothing simple about it. That’s why it’s so interesting. None of the thefts appeared connected, until last Wednesday when he made one of the most elementary errors you could imagine—”

“That’s great, Sherlock. Really, I’m happy for you, but that doesn’t explain why you can’t just call the police. You’ve done your bit, yeah? It’s their job to catch the guy now.”

“But… Where’s the fun in that?” John opens his eyes again. He recognises that tone. ‘But Jooohhhn,’ whenever Sherlock feigns utter ignorance of why he isn’t getting what he wants at any given moment. Sherlock stands rigid and buzzing with energy next to the bed, already dressed up in his Sherrinford clothes for the world beyond their front door. Seeing him like that, looking so different and yet still so quintessentially Sherlock, is another thing he’s slowly getting used to. Though, the hair is still a little weird for his tastes.

“You could just join me in here. I’d make sure there’s fun in that.”

In the light of the open doorway, John catches the unguarded smile that slips into place before Sherlock can school himself. He reaches out a hand in silent offering, and watches the internal struggle play out like theatre in Sherlock’s eyes. But eventually he shakes his head slowly, presses his lips in an apologetic smile and employs his most effective puppy-dog eyes. John can already feel his resolve wavering. That really shouldn’t be as effective as it is on him.

“Come on, John. The other day you were saying how much you enjoy it when we’re working cases together. You said we didn’t do it often enough.”

“I did, but—”

“And I agreed with you, and promised that the next time a really big, interesting case came along, we can do it together. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember, but—”

“Well?” He spreads his hands wide. John has visions of sleepwalking through his next surgery and accidentally sewing somebody’s leg to the table. But he is right. These opportunities really don’t come along as often as he would like, they’re always both so busy. He misses Sherlock every moment they aren’t together.

If only it wasn’t the middle of the bloody night. Sherlock’s timing is impeccably awful. But John couldn’t go back to sleep now if he wanted to, knowing that if he let him go alone, Sherlock would be off tackling a potentially dangerous criminal without any backup. There’s no stopping the man once his mind is set.

And it’s just one night, John supposes. He has pulled all-nighters before. He’s not overly keen on coffee, but a few extra cups during the day will keep him going. Sherlock looks ready to bolt out the door.

“Alright,” John sighs, yawning and flinging back the duvet. “You win. Give me a sec to throw on some clothes.”

—

An hour later, the pair of them are pelting down a side-street in pursuit of their fleeing target. John is a few steps behind, keeping pace, his Sig pressing into the small of his back. At Sherlock’s signal, he’ll know when to break off, to duck down an adjacent alleyway and come around the other side of their route, trapping their quarry in a pincer movement. It’s a tactic they’ve already used to great effect in the past, so in-sync with each other’s movements that the coordination comes naturally, works beautifully. They were born to do this.

This was an excellent decision, John thinks. Better than sex, in some ways. Or, perhaps this is sex, just in a different context; he feels alive, every instinct and muscle tuned to the thrill of the chase, and he knows Sherlock must be enjoying this too, just look at him. Flying across the ground on long, powerful legs, black denim jacket flapping its wings behind him like a bat in his wake. The open collar of his shirt revealing a long expanse of creamy neck, tendons thick and straining with effort. Feet thumping rhythmically against concrete as he rounds another corner, lithe as a fox chasing a rabbit through an urban forest. John can’t help stare at him as he follows the thief’s trajectory up onto some bins and vaults over a fence in one graceful movement— a stunning, sensual creature, revelling in his element.

Out of sight, there’s a dull crack and a yelp of surprise, and John’s heart hammers in his chest as he sprints forward, yanking the gun from his waistband and flicking off the safety. He sees the thief disappearing down another alley as he makes it over the fence a little less gracefully than his partner. Sherlock scrambles to pick himself up from the floor a few steps ahead.

“What happened? You okay?” John says, panting to catch his breath. He jogs up to where Sherlock is wobbling to his feet, and has to grab his arm to keep him upright.

“Bastard was waiting for me,” Sherlock says, grimacing, brushing dirt from the back of his thighs. “Slammed my head into the wall. I’m alright, though. Come on. I’ll take that way, you head around—”

“We’re doing nothing of the sort. Come on, let me take a look at you.”

“I said I’m fine,” he insists, but John digs a pocket torch out of his coat and flicks it on, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s dyed-blond hair in search of a wound. Sherlock rants his frustration, his voice echoing off the narrow alley walls. “I should have anticipated it. Stupid! We had him, John. He knew he was about to be cornered.”

“Yeah, he did. Hey, sit down for a minute.”

“There’s no time for that! He can’t be far, we can still—”

“I’m serious, sit down, love. You’re bleeding.” John rubs his wet fingertips together in the light of the torch. Sherlock waves it away.

“It’s just a scratch. Head injuries always look a little over-dramatic, you know that.”

“That’s true, but I still want to be sure. Sit, please?” John puts on his most persuasive smile, urging him gently down with his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. Reluctantly, Sherlock eases himself down to sit, grumbling and touching the back of his head for personal confirmation. His enthusiasm for the chase gradually deflating.

“Let’s not take any chances with that magnificent brain of yours, eh? I think you should get that looked at down at the A&E. You might have a concussion.”

“Oh for god’s sake, John.”

“Colin,” John corrects, casting a wary look above to the windows overlooking the alley. “Sherry… Please? For me. I’ll worry if you don’t.”

“I don’t need a hospital, I was just dazed. It’s already passing. See? It’s nothing to worry about. I feel fine.”

“Then will you come home, then, and let me dress it? You can’t just leave it like that.”

Sherlock casts a wistful look in the direction of his lost quarry. John crouches by him and squeezes his hand. He understands the sense of loss his mad, brilliant lover must be feeling, to have come so close to the prize only to have it slip through their fingers. Just as Sherlock trusts him to know when to cut their losses and take care of what’s more important at the moment. He eventually nods, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, and they make their way out into the open streets.

—

John fusses at the tightly wrapped bandage, making doubly sure of the quality of his handiwork as Sherlock stares glumly across the kitchen. Bloodied clothes lie discarded in the laundry basket in favour of a flannel dressing gown and slippers. Satisfied with his work, John steps back and checks his watch.

“Right, you should go get some rest. I’ll check on you every half hour. I need to call into work and tell them I won’t be in today.”

Sherlock brushes shower-damp curls away from his eyes. He looks up at John. “You were right. It would’ve been stupid to keep chasing him. I’m glad you were there to stop me.”

A soft smile crinkles his eyes, and John leans down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Sherlock hums appreciatively, wrapping his arms around John’s waist and drawing him closer to sit on his lap.

“Me too, love. That was a lot of fun. Much rather be running around Tok Town with you than pulling another TV remote out of someone’s arse, any day of the week.”

Sherlock bursts into giggles. The effect is contagious.

“I’d prefer that too, if we could afford it.”

“I assumed we could, until I saw our bank balance.” John’s eyes fall to the stack of bills on their kitchen counter. “If we ever go back to London, I’ll have a few choice words for that brother of yours. He promised enough to keep us comfortable for at least a year.”

“Well, you know Mycroft,” Sherlock replies, laying his head on John’s chest. John strokes his hair absently. They sit in comfortable silence for a while, holding each other in a moment they recognise has become too rare, too precious.

“Speaking of your brother…” John begins.

“Let’s go to bed,” Sherlock says, lifting his head, and John dearly wishes he could read such guarded expressions.

“Still no word?” he tries, but Sherlock doesn’t say anything else, just kisses him on the lips and slowly lifts them to standing, and John allows himself to be guided back to bed.

—

When John wakes again some time in the early afternoon, Sherlock is already gone, his side of the bed cold once more.

—