#tadao dreyfus

[thewingedwonders]

roses-of-royalty:

“Aw, haha! I imagine it already,” Aki remarked, laughing at Tadao’s re-telling of the kid’s reactions (and his very puntastic joke). “My boy is very… easily entertained. He actually likes my jokes. So I haven’t gotten to see that scowl yet, sadly.” Gasping in a sudden realization, Aki laughed once more. “Hey! I need that kind of experience for future kids. I need to know how to get the perfect, satisfying scowl that makes your kids borderline hate you,” he snickered, “maybe you could be my mentor in dad jokes. ” He could see it already–not only would he have great jokes to tell his kids, but the story of how he got his jokes from another dad. He knew that if his dad had been cooler when he was young, he would’ve hated hearing that as a kid. Another joking dad was a nightmare for many kids. But, now? He might have to change his future goals just a little bit.

Tadao beamed, a light blush on his face forming partially due to embarrassment. It could sometimes be pretty hard to assess what kinds of jokes resonated with what kids, but typically the time Aki was looking for would be during their “rebellious” phase. He put air-quotes around it because typically kids weren’t too rebellious if you just raised them with as love and respect as you could healthily manage.

That being said, parenting still wasn’t easy but nevertheless...

“Well, I would say it matters more on the type of child. It seems as if your boy likes that kind of attention from you and you may not be able to get that kind of reaction out of him for many years. I will say, however, should he marry or date or even befriend anyone... his companions, and maybe even he himself, would definitely react in the desired way! My dear little Alphonse was the same way. He would often love my jokes too, right up until he started dating. Of course, I wasn’t too happy about him dating so young, but my jokes were often PUN-ishment enough.”

[tectorius]

"You seem to push those you love so far away. Your children, your friends, your family... they're alive. A phone call away. Some of them so close, you could hold them. So why are you spending your time like this? Why are you insisting on leaving things so bitter? You have such a short life, don't waste it like this." - Tadao Dreyfus (thewingedwonders) ((ooc: oof I'm sorry for this in advance, I'm not used to writing him this coldly))

@thewingedwonders

“I don’t... It...” He sighs, a deep breath that feels so heavy. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”

He had not been the perfect father, this he knew, but... He’d only done what he thought was right. Surely no one could hold that against him?

“But what can I do? They want nothing to do with me. Only Hau...”

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Helen Frankenthaler’s Panoramas of Paint

Helen Frankenthaler, “Madame Butterfly” (2000), 102-color woodcut from 46 woodblocks on three sheets of handmade paper, 41 3/4 x 79 1/2 inches, Helen Frankenthaler Foundation (© 2017 Helen Frankenthaler Foundation, Inc. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / Tyler Graphics Ltd., Mount Kisco, New York)

WILLIAMSTOWN, Massachusetts — The dual exhibitions of Helen Frankenthaler’s paintings and woodcuts at the Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute offer a compact, revelatory, and frequently stunning look at an artist whose reputation has been all too often yoked to a single, if singular, technique.

As the story goes, and it is well known enough not to bear repeating, in 1952, when Frankenthaler was all of 23 years old, she painted “Mountains and Sea,” an epic-scaled abstraction (86 5/8 by 117 1/4 inches) now in the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. “Mountains and Sea,” a masterpiece in anyone’s book, was executed in her pioneering “soak-stain” method, which was quickly heralded — in the words of the Washington Color School painter Morris Louis — as “a bridge between Pollock and what was possible.”

Louis’s invocation of “what was possible” is as succinct an encapsulation of formalism’s diminishing returns as you are likely to get — the kind of blinkered nonsense that postmodernism, at its outset, gleefully kicked aside. Not that “Mountains and Sea,” in which Frankenthaler suffused the canvas’s fibers with oil paint thinned to the consistency of watercolor, would be any less of a personal breakthrough if it weren’t hijacked by a predetermined reductionist narrative — but it is useful to keep in mind the paradox that, in the context of the time, the “possible” was envisioned as a narrowing of one’s sights (towards an ideal of flatness) rather than a cracking-open of the pictorial imagination.

It is a paradox because the cracking-open of the pictorial imagination is exactly what Frankenthaler’s post-stain career was about, and these two exhibitions, As in Nature: Helen Frankenthaler Paintings and No Rules: Helen Frankenthaler Woodcuts, move deftly across the decades, offering a potent overview of the artist’s ever-shifting concerns.

Helen Frankenthaler, “Off White Square” (1973), acrylic on canvas, 79 3/4 x 255 1/2 inches, from the Louis-Dreyfus Family Collection, courtesy of the William Louis-Dreyfus Foundation Inc. (© 2017 Helen Frankenthaler Foundation, Inc. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York)

In her lucidly written catalogue essay for As in Nature, guest curator Alexandra Schwartz, in an attempt to tread the slippery line between form and content in Frankenthaler’s work, wades deliberately into a now-forgotten tempest-in-a-teapot, namely the degree with which an abstract painting should be seen as referencing the world outside its edges.

Revisiting the survey exhibition Nature in Abstraction: The Relation of Abstract Painting and Sculpture to Nature in Twentieth-Century Art, organized in 1958 by John I. H. Bauer at New York’s Whitney Museum of American Art, Schwartz writes that Bauer’s “qualified, even tentative, claims” regarding nature’s “indirect” and “subconscious” influence on the artists in the show — claims that barely deviated “from the standard lines on Abstract Expressionism” — did not immunize the premise from “utter vitriol in the art press.”

And yet Frankenthaler, despite her professional and personal alliance with Clement Greenberg, seems to steer clear of the doctrinaire approach wielded by supporters of Greenberg’s formalism on one side of the aesthetic divide, and of Harold Rosenberg’s arena of psychic struggle on the other. In a passage that Schwartz quotes from the catalogue for Nature in Abstraction, Frankenthaler states:

I could say that nature has very little to do with my pictures. And yet I’m puzzled: obviously it creeps in! […] I don’t have a fixed idea about this, and I seem to find myself in something new in terms of nature. I think that, instead of nature or image, it has to do with spirit or sensation that can be related by a kind of abstract projection.

The idea of “abstract projection” rather than “nature or image,” in its precision and humility, couldn’t be farther from the nebulously teleological “bridge between Pollock and what was possible,” but it proved to be the key to Frankenthaler’s explorations as an artist — never locked into a particular path, but always probing, scrabbling, and sometimes stumbling in search of a particular pictorial truth.

I use the term “particular pictorial truth” because, of the dozen, mostly large-scale paintings on display — other than a pair of deliberately coupled (on the part of the curator) canvases from the 1990s — no two are alike.

From the earliest painting in the show, the pre-stain “Abstract Landscape” (1951), in which green, yellow, red, blue, and tawny shapes resemble floral Matisse cutouts, Frankenthaler’s allegiance to High Modernism and her penchant for a referential perspective toward nature are undeniable.

Helen Frankenthaler, “Giralda” (1956), oil on unsized, unprimed canvas, 94 x 83 1/2 inches, Helen Frankenthaler Foundation (© 2017 Helen Frankenthaler Foundation, Inc. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York)

Next along the timeline is “Giralda” (1956), a bona fide “soak-stain” oil painting whose explosive, earth-toned composition includes a sketchy depiction of the Giralda bell tower of the Seville Cathedral in Seville, Spain (here rendered as atilt as its Pisan counterpart, though it doesn’t lean in real life). Frankenthaler curiously tops the tower with an onion dome rather than the Renaissance lantern it now flaunts, evoking its original incarnation as a minaret. (A nod, perhaps, to Matisse’s Tunisian period?)

But unlike “Abstract Landscape” and even “Mountains and Sea,” there is a noticeable degree of grit and awkwardness in this work, an indication that the artist is working against a natural tendency toward elegance and has become more willing to flirt with unresolvable conflicts of texture, color, and  shape.

That said, there is one painting in the show that matches the ecstatic — that is to say, unconflicted — content of “Mountains and Sea,” and that is “Milkwood Arcade” from 1963, one year after Frankenthaler abandoned oil paint for acrylics. Cloaked in milky green, raw sienna, ultramarine blue, and a patch of salmon against a bright yellow field, the work is a shock wave of paint poured across the raw canvas with the infatuation of a new love.

Helen Frankenthaler, “Milkwood Arcade” (1963), acrylic on canvas, 86 1/2 x 80 3/4 inches, Helen Frankenthaler Foundation (© 2017 Helen Frankenthaler Foundation, Inc. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York)

The chronology then skips 10 years to 1973, which is represented by two paintings, “Summer Harp” and “Off White Square.”  “Summer Harp” is a tall (108 by 75 1/2 inches) canvas that manages to fuse Matisse’s bright color and linear grace with the schismatic composition of Clyfford Still. But as arresting as it is, the drop-everything, must-see painting in the show is “Off White Square,” an astoundingly beautiful work that, at 79 3/4 inches tall and 255 1/2 inches wide, commands an entire wall and everything else around it.

Awash in pink, yellow, green, and blue, the painting is a monumental self-contradiction, in which the liquidity of the poured paint feels conceptually at odds with the exactitude of the red, orange, and violet streaks breaking up the picture plane like a stepped mountain range. The titular off-white square is scumbled onto the surface in the upper central portion of the canvas, lending an additional abrasiveness in opposition to the cloud-like forms, while a ghost-square, below it and to the left, dissolves into a purple haze. The tensions generated on the surface get under your skin even as you’re irrevocably seduced by the color and scale — a sensation that can only be described as exquisite irritation.

This painting, along with seven others, are from the Louis-Dreyfus Family Collection, while the other four are from the Helen Frankenthaler Foundation, which means that many of the works on display have rarely, if ever, been seen by the public, and the sense of discovery is rewarding even where the stresses piled onto the work become too much for its sometimes fragile scaffolding, as with the nasty slashes of fluorescent green that chop up the poured passages of “Jockey” (1978), or in the paired canvases from the 1990s that the curator associates with Frankenthaler’s admiration of the paint handling in the work of J.M.W. Turner and Gustave Courbet.

Those two paintings — the all-alizarin “Red Shift” (1990) and the grisaille “Barometer” (1992) — to my eye, tip the balance too much in the direction of representation (in their case, bottom-heavy Turner-esque seascapes), so that the “abstract projection” that characterizes Frankenthaler’s work at its best is diminished, losing a good deal of its metaphorical ambiguity and modernist bite.

The exhibition No Rules: Helen Frankenthaler Woodcuts is installed in a separate wing of the Clark’s dazzling Tadao Ando redesign, a distance that allows the artist’s accomplishments in one medium to sink in before plunging into another. Organized by Jay Clarke, the museum’s curator of prints, drawings, and photographs, the show covers a range of work starting with “East and Beyond” (1973), the artist’s first woodcut, which she made at Universal Limited Art Editions (ULAE), run by the legendary Tatyana Grosman in West Islip, Long Island, and ending with her last, “Weeping Crabapple” (2009).

Frankenthaler’s first prints were made by jigsawing a single block of wood into various shapes, inking the separate parts, and then running the carefully registered pieces separately through the press. The inking of these pieces was often executed in a painterly way, which resulted in an individualized character for each print. She did not attempt a run of perfect matches.

You might think that Frankenthaler’s unmitigated love of paint and lifelong practice of spontaneous innovation would leave little patience for a procedure as exacting and collaborative as the woodcut, but it turns out that her audacity and vision were more significant forces in the shaping of this remarkable body of work than any medium-specific skill set.

This is particularly evident in the later works in the show, which were made after she traveled to Japan and worked with the master woodcarver Reizo Monjyu and the printer Tadashi Toda, who were peerless in traditional Ukiyo-e methods.

After this transition, the process becomes confounding in its complexity: Frankenthaler would complete a painting on wood to be used as the design for the work, just as Hiroshige or Hokusai would create a black-and-white drawing. As many as 46 woodblocks would be carved and 102 colors deployed (as in the spectacular triptych, “Madame Butterfly,” 2000) to make the print. Every scrawl, splash and drip would be represented by the wood carver, who, according to curator Clarke, would at times sand down the block edges to simulate a stain effect, while the artist’s characteristic paint layers were recreated through the use of opaque and translucent inks.

Helen Frankenthaler, “Japanese Maple” (2005), 16-color woodcut from nine woodblocks on handmade paper, 26 x 38 inches, Helen Frankenthaler Foundation (© 2017 Helen Frankenthaler Foundation, Inc. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / Pace Editions, Inc., New York)

And yet Frankenthaler did not intend these prints to be mistaken for paintings, making a point to emphasize the wood grain in the base layer of a number of works, including the series, “Tales of Genji” (1998), “Madame Butterfly,” and the intensely red, blue, and purple “Japanese Maple” (2005) — going so far as to create trompe l’oeil wood grain where the natural impressions weren’t visible enough.

That Frankenthaler would go so far as to employ trompe l’oeil — creating the illusion of a natural artifact as the ground for the “abstract projection” of nature — is brain-teasing in the implications it holds for reality and its double. But it is also consequential as a marker in the life work of an artist who was once the poster child for pictorial flatness and self-referential aesthetics, but refused to be limited or defined.

  As in Nature: Helen Frankenthaler Paintings continues at the Clark Institute (225 South Street, Williamstown, Massachusetts) through October 9, and No Rules: Helen Frankenthaler Woodcuts continues through September 24.

Travel to Williamstown and hotel accommodations were provided by the Clark Institute in connection to the opening of the exhibitions.

The post Helen Frankenthaler’s Panoramas of Paint appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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[queen-of-the-nerdlords]

Prompt: tadao: “this is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife”

((OMG this is just like the “Patchwork Ending”!!!))

But like because he’s lost so much, in this bad timeline he actually becomes a threat to the Lumina rebellion too but because everyone has deeply grown to love him (and let’s face it we all would too, he’s a sweetie pie), they don’t kill him and instead use Jun and Sang’s newly-grown hypnos magic to create a “happy place for him”.

The happiest he’s ever been was with the second person he’d ever married. His wife, Aisha Lavick, or Lavick-Dreyfus, as she had wanted to take on his name too. Their little daughter of course had to be with her, though not by blood and he was grateful she had no chances of baring his cursed and tainted blood, Agatha Lavick. He missed them both so much.

Ever since their deaths, their sudden, stupid, unreal deaths, he’d always felt so detached from so much. It was as if his newly grown and gained humanity had died alongside them in the crumpled wet rubble of their car. But now here they were, here he’d always been. Of course it had always just been a dream. How could things ever get so bad?

But of course, Jun and Sang’s magic is so limited that they only succeed in trapping him in there, a world doomed to crumple and fall to ruin. A world destined to turn happiness into sorrow.

It takes a long while, days, months, years (in dream time of course) to figure out that everything is fake.

I love you, I love you, I love you, she says, but it’s script pouring from a machine with no heart, no chance of having a heart because it’s only going off of shades of what he remembers. She never fights anymore because that’s not what he remembers but no he remembers that she always had that fire and the potential to.

Agatha never grows older, Aisha doesn’t either. And really, that’s the kicker.

“This isn’t real!” He cries.��“Please stop this, please I’m begging you, God or anyone tell me what happened to them? What’s going on right now? Please, PLEASE!”

The doors of his house always lead to nowhere or right back to his home. It’s all very limited anyhow.

Walls crack and crumble and the sky is nothing but a glitch or echo, echo, echo. Aisha and Agatha watch on. His mind deteriorates to the point where they become nothing but background noise. Nothing but creepy decorations with eyes that follow and seem to judge and that’s everything the real versions never were.

In the end, he’s nothing more than a crying feral animal clawing at the own reaches of his mind for escape. Pleading and pleading for death.

There’s no chance of it anyways.

In this timeline, Jun, Sang, Luke, Aphrodite, Syndi, and the little human boy have been dead for countless years. Their corpses long gone and blown away into countless lands and stars and seas.

And his body lies still. To everything else, it looks like he’s sleeping peacefully.

...

Somewhere far away, a young teenage girl lies dying with a grotesque and painful rot slowly eating away at her existence. She sobs and lets out a few whispers for help before pathetically (painfully) succumbing to it and then turning to ash.

Two people sigh in the distance, seemingly holding back their tears. 

This wasn’t what anyone wanted.

A colorful-looking man winds his pocket watch.

A dark and somber woman blinks.

[thewingedwonders]

The Weaknesses of Tadao Dreyfus

Extreme debilitating fear of traditional zombies.

Very prone to self-harm and suicide, can be convinced easily.

Can be harmed by demonic ichor or "tainted blood".

Can be killed permanently using The Empress' rot.

Despite having large amounts of regeneration, can be killed by the brain being cut off from the body. (Drowning, asphyxiation, shock, massive brain trauma, etc.)

Will corrupt and turn into a demon easily if persuaded to do immoral things.

If he is caught trying to manipulate, enter, or control the mind of someone else through non-physical contact (eyesight or dreams), it is more likely that the person will be able to fend off or at the very least, see him trying to do so.

Has a soft spot for children. Will trust them and will try to protect them at all costs.

Despite possessing super strength, if you possess stones or things with strong psychic/magical energies (or just put a full-body straitjacket on him with blindfolds and earplugs), some types of magical artifacts (especially those associated with corruption, evil, or sometimes holy magic) they can apprehend him.

Tadao is not easily seduced, but his father is. His father shares a body with him and while he often does not control the body, he sometimes can out of sheer will. However, his father is only really ever swayed by beautiful women with green hair.

He is very self-destructive and often times very depressed. If he trusts you or you have captured him, you can do almost anything to him with no resistance.

If he loves someone, it is nearly impossible for him to ever physically harm them. No matter how putrid or evil they may be.

[thewingedwonders]

@unovapkmndr

Tadao grimaced slightly, wiping a small bit of blood from his brow, his body a bit dirtied from his most recent scuffle.

It really had been such a long, long time since he had been caught off-guard by a soldier of the void, much less one as weak as a scout, but he supposed he had been getting sloppier over time, hadn’t he?

This world had been quite peaceful, quite harmonious, and quite well shielded from Her atrocious armies with its surplus of magical items and creatures. Of course, that wasn’t going to stop The Empress’ little brood from searching it and eventually bringing an armada to try and ruin it, but it would be lower on the list than worlds where off-dimension creatures were easier to detect.

To his relief at least it seemed he was in one of the more remote parts of this world and most likely wouldn’t be seen by anyone. Well... maybe he’d be seen by a few of the animals that inhabited this world but as far as he could tell, they didn’t seem to be too perturbed by strange-looking things or even strange people doing seemingly strange things. He had lived here for long enough to understand that magic wasn’t uncommon here, especially noting that most of the animals used magic themselves, whether it be psionic or elemental. And humans were just like humans where he was from.

Magicless and a little bit dull.

It grew a little bit tiresome that he couldn’t just use magic out in the open, but who was he to complain?

The purple-haired man let out a deep, exhausted sigh and let his bloodied and wounded legs rest on the soft ground, his slightly bloody lepidopteran wings resting underneath him as he leaned on a nearby tree.

Dang, he really was getting old. Maybe not in body, (never in body unfortunately) but definitely in spirit if he was so easily exhausted.

Tadao tilted his head upwards, and gazed at the sky. It was such a beautiful blue, and it was made even more beautiful by the trees surrounding it, the light illuminating the leaves in an almost ethereal way. Where was he again? He couldn’t remember the name of the region...

Ah, well. He was sure it’d come back to him soon. He just needed a bit of a nap.

His wounds weren’t deep at all, and he was pretty tired from not only fighting that creature, but trying to find a way back into the city, any city. Maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt, and by the time he woke up, his cuts and bruises would heal.

Basking in the warm sunlight, Tadao let himself drift into sleep, unaware that he wasn’t exactly accurate about the area being remote.

[thewingedwonders]

Tadao: "Hey so guess what I just found out?! So I scrumbled together some vodka and beer, mixed it with some egg nog, accidentally spilled some sriracha in it and it turns out it was super delicious!!"

Luke: "No, also, fuck you and You are Banned from Alcohol."

[thewingedwonders]

@sagelyliberation

Finding traces of magic always took a bit of time. That was just how it always was.

It would always be like that for any person, angel or no. Through every world and every dimension, there was always a field of magic that would be different from the last in some way, so sifting through all the leftover energies and signals would always be difficult.

Luckily, this world happened to have legends and myths that were almost always accurate in some small way.

And that was how Tadao Dreyfus currently found himself wandering around in Pinwheel Forest, the name of which he only remembered because of his current objective, and because he always used to love pinwheels as a child.

After slowly scanning his way through multiple books, he had been able to trace the location of what was known to the locals as a “legendary pokémon”. 

Virizion, was their name. 

He knew that humans were most likely not welcomed by this deity, and as he thought of this, he gave a slight chuckle. This was the only time in a long time where he was thankful in any way for existing as he did.

He didn’t mind how long it was taking, nor that the deity was probably aware that he was here, he actually quite liked the thick, unkempt, foliage surrounding him, and the multitude of trees stretching on and on past the visible horizon. In fact, it quite reminded him of his own home.

But he couldn’t spend the entire day just leisurely taking a nature hike.

He needed to gift Virizion with a small token, a quaint little charm not much bigger than a cherry. As long as it was held by a being of great power, his charm would help shield and hide this world from a malevolent watcher, countless beings and worlds that would gladly burn this harmonious little world to ashes in mere minutes.

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” He had thought to himself. 

And it wasn’t that he was overly prideful, it’s just that he had already done it with a few legendary pokémon located here, albeit from different regions, but still.

Negotiating with deities wasn’t new to him. Even if they were aggressive or ill-intended, those ones never really liked the visions he shared of the countless dying worlds he had seen, and then after that they were always willing and eager to do the simple thing he asked of them.

Humans were much harder.

They couldn’t see much beyond their world, and for good reason. They’d only be living in it for about 90 years? He couldn’t fault them for that, but they always wanted to make things complicated, make him out to be some villain or a shady, untrustworthy, menace when all he has ever wanted was for everyone to simply not die. To make matters worse, he could never find it in himself to be anything but gentle with humans, which led to him being a doormat to quite a few people.

And he couldn’t afford to do that forever.

Tadao’s thoughts came to a sudden halt. He blinked and when he focused on his surroundings, he found himself in a part of the forest that he didn’t recognize.

He considered that it was most likely the deity, trying to keep him away from their sacred grounds like any other intruder or lost human, but he knew that he most likely just got lost in his own head, and wandered around without putting much thought into where he was going.

Slightly frustrated with himself, he let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his forehead. Reaching back into the small backpack that rested on his shoulders, he pulled out a long, slightly-glowing, amber-like stone. 

It was a makeshift magical compass, and while he supposed that it was good enough for his first try at enchantment and transmutation, he wished he could fix it and make it work a bit better.

He idly strummed it with his fingers, and it hummed in response, telepathically it confirmed that yes, he was still in the place he needed to be.

Normally, because of prying eyes and listening ears, he wouldn’t use magical items out in the open, as people always got suspicious and sometimes murder-y whenever he used them. But seeing as no one was out too deep in the forest, he figured it would be okay just for a quick second to re-trace his steps and continue onward.

It was such a shame, however, that he was wrong about that.

[thewingedwonders]

❤ *wiggles eyebrows at* ;P

For a single moment, Tadao forgets what he was doing and accidentally rams into and knocks over a small table he was walking past. He stammers out an apology to the Professor in particular and tries to form his words while scrambling to place the table back in its proper position.

“Y-You’re a very beautiful woman, M-Ms. Professor Juniper. It has been such an honor and a delight knowing you and getting to be on good terms with you!!” He started, his face blushing slightly. “But um, despite that I am unsure of how I feel about you. I do like you, but I would rather... take more time for that kinda thing. I would never want to mess anything up by rushing on into any kind of relationship...  If-If I’m making any sense at all, ahaha!”

[thewingedwonders]

jun, sang, and persey with syndi: mcdonalds! mcdonalds! mcdonalds! syndi: there’s food at home jun, sang, and persey: i fucking hate this family jun, sang, and persey with luke: mcdonalds! mcdonalds! mcdonalds! luke: [pulls into drive thru] jun, sang, and persey: [cheering] luke: one black coffee please jun, sang, and persey with tadao: mcdonalds! mcdonalds! mcdonalds! tadao: mcdonalds! mcdonalds! mcdonalds!

[thewingedwonders]

Tadao but As a Nyan

[thewingedwonders]

BOLD ANY FEARS WHICH APPLY TO YOUR MUSE.

ITALICIZE WHAT MAKES THEM UNCOMFORTABLE.

the dark. fire. open water. deep water. being alone. crowded spaces. confined spaces. change. failure. war. loss of control. powerlessness. prison. blood. drowning. suffocation. public speaking. natural animals. the supernatural. heights. death. dying. intimacy. rejection. abandonment. loss. the unknown. the future. not being good enough. scary stories. speaking to new people. poverty. loud noises. being touched.

tagged by: @unovapkmndr tagging 10 people: @mangaislit, @ayaka-the-fad-follower, @roses-of-royalty

[thewingedwonders]

“Ah~! It’s not often I see marriage being talked about so openly amongst so many... It makes me... well, it makes me a little bit wistful. I sincerely hope everyone finds a significant other that perfectly suits them.”

It’s a genuine hope, but personally he doesn’t know whether or not he truly feels much happiness at all anymore at the mention of love.

[thewingedwonders]

The Characters’ Favorite Songs

Tadao Dreyfus: Most Favorite Least Favorite (WARNING - Horror Song)

Luke Jimata: Most Favorite Least Favorite  (WARNING - Horror Song/Flashing Images)

Glacia Queensland: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Aphrodite Kchloven: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Syndi Sweets: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Jun-Ha Wangche: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Sang-Chul Wangche: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Yuki Noir: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Khrimsa: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Krystal Burgenheim: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Jimothy Kchloven: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Kaisame: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Marionette Meister: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Lisette DeMarquis: Most Favorite Least Favorite

Mortimer Smith: Most Favorite Least Favorite

[thewingedwonders]

💪 || TADAO!!! xDD Again, she's not capable but she will certainly try!

“!!!”

That was pretty much the entire summary of how Tadao felt and all of his thought processes when he suddenly was lifted into the air by someone unknown. Maybe it was due to the slight blood loss he was facing or maybe he was just tired, but when he looked over to see who it was he recognized it as Professor Juniper.

“A-Ah… I’m sorry… again for this…” He said apologetically. “You don’t have to worry about me too much though, that arm’ll grow back…”

[thewingedwonders]