#there are so many artistic similarities between the two even the cushions are decorated with oriental style

[saintgregorythegenerous]

Blackbeard as girl in the red kimono

[my-spiritualweapon-is-a-lollipop]

Family Portraits

For @fjoresterweek Day 3: Family

Read it on ao3

The walls of the Lavorre Estate are full of art of many varieties. It is a veritable explosion of colour and decor on nearly every wall. One wall however, is the favoured place of both of the owners, as it is the wall where family portraits are hung. Above a comfortable, plush couch with cushions worn in from many nights of use, this particular series of works hangs. They are all clearly done by the same artist, though the expertise improves through the newer pieces. It is a veritable art gallery display, a life's work of the history of their family.  

The first such portrait is small, set in a wooden frame, with a scratch or dent here or there. It seems as if it would be just about the right size to fit into a pocket of a well known, pink haversack. This piece features Marion Lavorre in a simple and beautiful purple gown. Her hair is down, as it often was when she was taking the evening off to spend time with her daughter and she is smiling brightly whilst leaning over the shoulder of a young Jester Lavorre. Jester smiles proudly alongside her mama. You would place the blue tiefling at about age 16, though the anatomy is not quite right in a few places and, if you look closely, you might get the sense that the artist may have faced the challenge of having to paint herself, which meant her model was ever moving. The pigments are slightly faded from time and wear, as it seems likely that this portrait was taken as a momento through a long journey, but the love in the portrait remains eternal nevertheless.

The next piece is a series of sketches that have been set together in one glass frame. The bold charcoal and ink lines on the pale parchment offer a stark contrast to the muted and worn colours of the previous portrait. There is a variety of sketches and styles that were chosen to be featured, some more formal and others more like doodles. You see Mollymauk Tealeaf in a detailed side profile, looking up to the sky. Caleb Widogast with Frumpkin wrapped around his neck, a serious expression colouring his features - likely drawn while he was identifying some item or another. A sketch of Nott and a sketch of Veth wearing similar expressions, artfully placed side by side creating a mirror effect. Next is Fjord, wearing an utterly ridiculous captain's hat with an earnest and serious expression that emphasizes the comedic effect; this one featuring a small sketched heart in the corner. There is a detailed drawing  of Yasha wreathed in beautiful flowers, it has the slightest wrinkle and smudge where a grateful tear had been shed over it. Next Caduceus, drawn with a soft smile and little doodles of mushrooms and tea bags surrounding him cheerfully. Several versions of Beau drawn with action lines and body shapes sketched through, showing the artistry of her motion as Jester had tried to capture one of her favourite martial arts sequences. Then there's Jester’s first draft design for her high priestess gown at Traveller con. Finally, Essek smiling shyly over a bowl full of soup. The pages overlap in places but if you looked close enough, one might just be able to see the inky scrawl through the page above that reads “Hot Boi likes hot soup!”. These pieces had been lovingly chosen from Jester’s sketchbook at the time, and though the works were made using simple materials, they weave together and flow to form a larger picture of the quiet acts of kindness and attention that had forged these travelling companions into a family.

Next is a large canvas that is bursting with bright colours. The Mighty Nein are wearing their highest quality clothes, once purchased for an upscale party, and posed amongst the blooming grove. The landscape itself is a masterpiece in it’s own right, but Jester has taken great care and attention to paint each of the member of their little family in all of their colourful glory to match. Every detail of the painting has been meticulously filled in with the kind of care and attention that came from at last having leisure time and wanting to commemorate a great victory.

Essek floats under the shade of a tree with a parasol still artfully posed as much for fashion as for function. He is subtly holding the hand of Caleb who appears next to him in a stark contrast to the grubby and bearded man with a thousand burdens depicted in the first sketch. This Caleb wears a beautiful set of robes, his chest is raised in pride as he poses amongst his family, and his clean shaven appearance compounded with the removal of some of his looming worries, makes it appear almost as if he had aged in reverse. Caleb has a hand placed on Veth’s shoulder who poses with her crossbow out, a hand on her hip, and a gleaming smile that displays all of her “normal amount of teeth”. Yeza is standing beside her with a shy smile, Luc raised on his shoulders with a gleaming grin that matches his mother’s. He is showing off his own crossbow as well. Next to the Brenatto family is Beau who has a snarky grin, and is holding her tie, clearly still loving her formal suit. Yasha has an arm around her and is looking down at Beau with eyes that convey just how much she cherishes the opportunity to hold her at all. Her long hair has been lovingly woven with flowers from the garden and they stand out in a bright contrast to her otherwise monochrome appearance. Jester appears gleefully next to her, surrounded by her large family and utterly glowing with joy. Fjord has an arm around her waist and appears to be posed rather comically like most captains one might see on the cover of a romance novel. It is easy to believe the artist may have taken some creative license in how he was portrayed. Filling out the entire rest of the canvas is the Clay family. Caduceus stands in the centre, looking perfectly at home with the large family around him. As they Clays didn’t own much in the way of formal clothes, Caduceus is starkly contrasted by their somewhat humble appearances but there is no denying the beautiful familial connection amongst them is more beautiful to see than any formal attire. Then at last, down in the front, lying languidly across the grass in a rather suggestive pose, is Kingsley. It seems that he was not one to miss an opportunity to be portrayed beautifully and he is posing rather dramatically with a flower between his teeth. All told this portrait is clearly the centrepiece of the space with it’s boisterous colours and even more boisterous personalities.

Next on the wall, there is a small piece of Fjord and Jester in a suit and wedding gown. It is surprisingly simple. The pair are touching their foreheads together and looking utterly content. The love is the real feature of this piece and it doesn't require much else. There is however, a rumor that there is a small dick hidden in the embroidery of her wedding gown if you look close enough, but so far only Caduceus has discovered it’s location and he and Jester have been very tightlipped about it, so the hidden dick remains a mystery to most.

The portrait after this is Jester and Fjord holding two tiefling babies and one half orc toddler of varying colours and slightly different ages. The new parents are showing off their freshly adopted children with all the pride they can muster. The next section of the wall features a mix of solo paintings or drawings of the children as they have aged, interspersed with art projects that had clearly been done by the children themselves that had earned a place on the wall.

There is another group portrait of the Lavorre family that features Babadon and Marion, Fjord and Jester, and all 3 children who now appeared to be just coming into their teenage years. Though some years have passed, the pride with which Jester and Fjord display their children has not lessened.

Next there is a tall painting of a day at the beach. This painting would have taken hours of meticulous care to put together but it was clearly a masterwork. Each figure is in action, having a lovely day on the beach. It was painted to commemorate a favourite family reunion and has been captured with near perfect accuracy.

Caduceus is featured standing by the ocean’s edge with two small children climbing over him that anyone who knew Beau and Yasha would recognize as their children. He is dangling a third, that is recognizable as the youngest Brenatto, by an ankle over the water, doomed to be dunked below but laughing gleefully about it.

Fjord is nearby, playfully controlling water to splash a group of teenagers that include Luc and one of his younger sister’s Caley as well as all of Fjord and Jester’s children (Artie, Ruby and Vandran) who are laughing and raising their hands in defense. Ruby is beginning to manipulate a wave of her own, likely to return the favour. Fjord’s beard and hair are getting to be mostly grey at this point, his body taking on a little more sag than it used to, but the playful glint in his eye remains the same.

Beau and Yasha are nearby, playing a game of chicken against Kingsley and Marius (on again off again lovers) in the shallows. Beau and Kingsley are nearly nose to nose as they grit their teeth in an attempt to knock one another off.

On the sand, they had set up a large canvas tent to block the sun and in it there were various towels and chairs and snacks. A hammock is hung next to it and Caleb, long grey hair up in topknot, with his still reddish vacation beard, has fallen asleep in a patch of sunlight with a book across his chest. The many cats that he and Essek foster appear to have agreed with his idea as he has four cat’s lounging lazily on and around him, soaking up the warmth of the perfect sun patch.

Jester, much longer in the horns, and Essek, who looks much the same as he always has, are painting one another's nails in the shade and Essek is laughing while Jester appears to whisper some secret story to him.

Finally, Yeza can be seen holding Veth’s hand as she delicately dips a singular toe in the water from the relative safety of some large boulders.

It is a work of art that is destined to become a family heirloom.

Betwixt the paintings on this wall, hang other artful details. There is a cross stitch piece made by Yasha that is covered in embroidered flowers and reads “Open your heart to chaos”. There is a small, ceramic unicorn perched on it’s own tiny shelf. There is a scarf that Caleb had knit for Jester, several years prior when Essek had convinced him that knitting would be good for his anxiety, hung with care between two paintings. There is a crayon drawing of the traveller’s symbol, drawn by a child who was unwittingly inventing a whole religion on the spot. There is the green bow, once tied around the neck of a weasel who has finally been begrudgingly allowed to return to the fey wild as he is no longer needed.

Inevitably, Jester will get the itch to add another piece, and then it will be a week-long process of arranging and rearranging the wall again until it is just so. As it stands now, however, with many old friends piled onto their comfortable couch, sharing tea from a grave once more, catching up on one another’s lives, what the kids are up to, etc. this wall is indeed the perfect background for their small family reunions that are becoming more and more regular as a few of their members age.

Jester glances through their history and smiles a small smile just for herself.

“So Luc goes up to Ludines and says-”

“Jester, what are you staring at?” Yasha cuts in.

“Oh just looking at the art.”

“I still haven’t found that damned dick!” Caleb shouts standing to inspect their wedding portrait once more and the room bursts into amicable laughter and they zoom off on yet another tangent.

Yes... it is perfect.

[sarcastically-defensive17]

15 Minutes - P. Parker

So I’ve been stuck in a writing funk for so long, and I got inspired and I’ve been writing this for days until I got it just right and it made me sad and I hope y’all like it and I’ll defs get onto my requests more efficiently now!

TW: Death of loved one, torture, degrading language, abuse, sad Peter, grief, all round angst.

Original story by sarcastically-defensive-17

It was routine. Every day, three times a day. 6AM, 12PM and 5PM. He barely had the chance to recover. Psychologically. Emotionally. Physically.

The machine was cold. The dull grey of the sides reminded him of how alone he was. Deserted. Left for dead, he supposed. No word of contact from any outside source, no hope for a rescue mission. He lost count at 3 months in captivity.

Every single day he had to see her. Had to relive it all. He never once thought that he would physically be transmitted through time and space. The worst part, he knew the woman holding him hostage. One of the most intelligent people on the planet. An expert in Thermodynamics and - so he now discovered - a ruthless person fueled by grief.

A bell chimed followed by an alarm and blinding green light. The glass door swung across the machine, trapping him inside as he stood upright with no way out.

“5, 4, 3, 2...” the countdown rang out, and the green light intensified. His stomach spun, eyes clenched shut at the feeling he will never get used to.

He was back in his apartment. Clothes he hadn’t seen in a long time on his person, his hair a few inches shorter and his reflection almost a stranger to him as is stared back at him in the mirror of their bedroom.

The ringing of his phone was foreign, yet expected. Same schedule.

He lifted the device, holding it to his ear in the same way he had at least 100 times before. Including the day it first happened.

“Y/N,” he breathed. The only thing he enjoyed about the event was the chance to hear her voice again. The breath sigh through the receiver as she strolled through the bustling streets of New York, on his way to her.

“Hey, I cant wait to see you!” Her voice held excitement, the same he had heard over and over. It became his own self indulgent nightmare. He longed for her, he had never held her in this, but he could hear her and feel her near. He could see her laid out on the pavement...

“Me too,” he answered, feigning the joy he felt that day at the idea of her return. She had been in England for the past month and a half, working to quell a growing drug import/export ring. How little she knew that the same work she focused on would be her demise.

After all, she was an ex-cop turned badass avenger. She was known for fearing nobody.

“Im about 15 minutes away from home. I can’t wait to see you!” Peter couldn’t stop the tears from falling from his eyes as he rushed to get his shoes on.

In exactly 26 seconds, his signal would ring.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” a voice snarled in the background of the call, followed by a clattering sound and a muffled shriek.

Peter pushed out a breath, putting his phone on loudspeaker and jumping out of his window.

He had no webs, no mask, no care. He had been over this scenario many times and wasting time with the spidey gear left less time to save her. When he tried it, he was met with her body slumped on the ground, blood flowing from her neck as she choked on the crimson liquid. He didn’t even have time to do the same to her attackers before he was pulled back to the present.

The actions must be damaging to the space time continuum, but the doctor had a lethal artifact in her possession, and she was prepared to do anything in her power to change events.

His ankles painlessly cracked as his feet hit the pavement below the window and he was off. He needed a new detour. He had tried many over the months, but a new one was running through his mind.

He cut down a side alley that would lead him around buildings and directly across from the alley she was pulled into. It was broad daylight in Queens yet nobody cared to see a young woman dragged away by three men.

Peter was just thankful that Y/N didn’t have to suffer in the original telling of the story.

He cut corners by vaulting from the walls of the alley way. He jumped over fences, dodged trash cans and even ignored an elderly lady who had dropped her groceries - a mistake he made by helping her in his first run through of attempting the detours.

He reached his destination in the form of a alley way decorated by versions items of graffiti. The bright colors stood out from the grey brick in the shape of various symbols. He and Y/N had often gone to that alley to observe the work of local street artists. She adored it.

As soon as the rubber toes of his shoes hit the mouth of the painted backstreet, a gunshot rang out and Y/N’s body slumped down on the other side of the busy road.

His heart broke once again at the sight.

He barely had time to step onto the road to get to her before the green light erupted in his vision again. His head reconnected with the thin cushioned pillow in the machine as a roar tore from his throat.

“Failure, once again.” The feminine voice snapped. “Always failing!”

Peters throat was sore. He had spent far too long screaming. His head was pounding, evidence of underfeeding and the sheer transference of his body through time.

He never expected to time travel. He knew how damaging it could be to change history, but here he was. Held against his will to save a woman that he loved so desperately. Forced to watch her death over, and over, and over. To hear her voice and feel the construction of his heart with the knowledge that he most likely wouldn’t be able to save her.

The physical pain of being returned to the day it happened and the image of her dead in various way seared into his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her.

The machine slid open, and a boney hand grabbed his face. He was far too weak to fight back, even with his powers.

The eyes of the doctor glared into him, bloodshot and poisoned by grief and ferocity, “Why are you such a failure? We have been doing this for 5 months! There has been no improvement. No chance of saving her, all because you are pathetic!”

“I’m trying,” he mumbled.

The hand left his face, leaving a biting cold in its wake. They always kept him in cold rooms. Part of the torture to encourage him to do better. After all, Peter believed just as the doctor did. He deserved the pain after what happened to Y/N. He should have protected her.

A loud bang echoed through the white room. The fury in the eyes of the Doctor made him almost shrink. He already felt miniature under her gaze, but somehow, he felt worse whenever he came back empty handed.

A hiss left her lips as she cradled the bony hand, Peter assumed she had hit something. “This happened because of you, Parker. You were the one she trusted the most. You were the one who she put her life on the line for countless times on your pathetic missions. You are the reason she is dead.”

“No,” he choked. It was a wet noise, his throat constricting as the mind games took hold again. His hands wove into his hair, tugging harshly. The action had quickly became a coping mechanism of his. He would do anything to distract himself from her words. “No, no, no, no. It wasn’t me. It was them. The gang. Not me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” She hissed, the eyes staring down at him incredibly similar to the same glassy ones he saw every time he went back. “You were never good enough for her. You were always four steps behind her. Y/N deserved better than you.” The doctor stood up again, the expression on her face void of any emotion as she kept her steely gaze locked on his brown eyes. Her lips turned up at the corners slightly as she watched the tears fall down his face. Her back was straight, regaining the posture she often adopted when addressing those working for her, “Send him back again. Maybe if he does it right, I won’t need to be stuck looking at him in 15 minutes.”

“Ma’am, he needs time to rest. His body can’t handle such a short recovery time between jumps,” a random man in a lab coat told her. He - like Peter - cowered under her gaze.

“Send him back.” She growled with every word, pushing the door shut across the machine and walking back towards the other room.

The green light erupted again and he soon found himself in the same scene from before, although this time he emptied the contents of his stomach on the floor of their house.

His phone rang like clockwork, and he answered, placing it on loudspeaker and reciting the script he wrote for himself on the original date.

He slipped his web shooters onto his wrists before he left, following the same route as his last trip. Everything was the same, down to the exact way he dropped from his windows and bounded through the alley, although this time, he sent a web across the street, pulling himself forward into the alley way.

He collided into one of the men that had Y/N cornered, sending him crashing into the brick wall of the alley.

“Peter?” Y/N shrieked, doing her best to fight the other men off in the same way he had seen her do so in the past. Or, other pasts.

Two of the other men launched at him, both with blunt weapon and scuffed faces. As one swung high, the other swung low. His mind was centered on Y/N and his reflexes were working in overdrive, burning him out faster than anticipated.

It all came to a halt when the two men were on the ground and the sound of a blade slicing through flesh filled his ears. Y/N gurgled on her blood, eyes full of anguish as she stared at Peter with fear on her face.

He only had time to catch her body as she fell before the light overtook him once again.

The overly sterile room greeted him, sobs wracking his body. The door slid open once again and heels clicked against the tiled floor.

The malicious eyes watched him again.

“Please, no more,” he begged, knowing he would be on his knees if not for his fear of moving out of turn. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s torture.”

The hand returned to his face, a soft touch that lifted his wet face to look at the furious glare fixed on his being.

The doctor tutted, patronizing him. “Oh, honey. You think this is torture? You should see what I’m prepared to do to you if I need to spend another month doing this.” Her smile was pure evil, but her eyes held the depth of a woman mourning. The circles under her eyes and the deepening wrinkles fold of her grief, and despite the recurring pain, he felt for the woman. He wanted to apologize to her, had she not disregarded every apology that fell from his chapped lips.

“Please...” he whispered under his breath, feeling the hand leave his face and close the door once again.

“Send him back,” she announced to the other room before turning her attention back to him. “Save my daughter, Peter. Or you’ll wish it was you that died that day.”

The green light flooded his senses once again.

Tag List: @starshonerose @mantlereid @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @another-lonely-heart

[witchy-writes]

Lancelot week: day 7 promises/commitment

@lancelotweek

Summary: Lotor and Lance get married.

Lance had been up for hours. He took a long shower, made sure his skin was clean and his hair was perfect. This was his usual routine, but today was special. Because he would be marrying Lotor.

Lotor had been the one to propose. He took Lance to this beautiful planet that had a beach just like back at home. The two spent the day there, playing in the sand, going for a swim, and then laying down, letting the sun warm them up. It was when the sun went away and the sky was full of stars, that Lotor got down on one knee, took hold of Lance’s hands and asked him to spend the rest of his life with him. As his husband.

Lance said ‘yes’.

The ceremony would take place in the Castle-Ship. Important weddings in Altea used to be celebrated in the castle and there was a huge room just for it that allowed many guests to attend. Which is great because Lance and Lotor’s guests list counted with a lot of names, even though they were just a few of the races Voltron had helped. Balmerans, Arusians, Olkari, the Blade of Marmora and others.

They had kindly requested the Olkari to take care of decorating the room. Coran would be officiating the ceremony. Hunk would be taking care of the food and the cake. Pidge the music.  Shiro would be checking to make sure if every guest had arrived. Keith volunteered to be the security and keep an eye for any danger, but Lance assigned him the role of taking pictures during the reception.

As the others were taking care of making sure everything was in place, Lance was in his room, with Coran helping him finishing to get ready.

He stood in front of a full-length mirror. Lance’s wedding attirement was a white tunic with blue stripes on its sleeves hems and collar, as well as a sash of the same color on the waist. His pants and lace-up boots were also white.

He stretched his arms as Coran helped him put on his blue silk gown. Lance had requested for the gown to not be too long, afraid he would trip over it.  

Lance observed himself in the mirror, twirling a little, loving the way the outfit looked on him. But something was still bugging him.

Allura knocked on the door before it slid open.

“Ready for makeup?”

She carried a pink box with blue laces adorning it, which no doubt must be filled with pallets, brushes and other cosmetics, and that Allura must have gotten when she was a much younger teen.

“Wow.”, her eyes sparkled as she stared in awe,  “You look beautiful, Lance.”

A little blush crept on Lance’s cheek at the compliment. Allura put down the box on Lance’s bed and wrapped her arms around her friend, pulling him into a hug.

“I’m so happy for you, Lance.”, she then pulled away, keeping him at arm’s length, her hands on his shoulders,“How are you feeling?”

“Happy. Excited.”, but then his smile dropped a little, “Nervous.”

Allura could tell something was wrong.

“Coran, could you give us a moment, please?”

“Of course, princess. I will go check on the preparations.”, he smiled at both Lance and Allura one last time before leaving.

Allura lead Lance away from the mirror and into the bed, so the two could sit down.

“Is something wrong? You can tell me, if you want.”, her voice was soft, but with the hint of concern.

“It’s just…”, Lance sighed, casting down his eyes, “What if he changes his mind?”

“Who? Lotor?”

Lance nodded, keeping his head down.

“Lance…”, Allura took hold of his chin, lifting his head, “He loves you. That wouldn’t change all of the sudden.”

“But what if he realizes he is not ready for this? Ready to be ‘tied down’ for the rest of his life with… someone like me?”, his brow furrowed as he bit his bottom lip.

Allura knew what he meant. She took hold of his hands, squeezing them gently, “I’m going to be honest with you. He can search the whole galaxy, he will never find someone better than you.”

Lance’s expression softened, “You think so?”

“Yes. And I believe so does Lotor. Besides,  if he dared to break your heart like that, I would hunt him down and make him regret it.”

Lance wiped the small tears in the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand, “Thanks.”

“No puffy eyes.”, she jokingly scold him, giving his hands one last squeeze, before reaching for the box and putting it on her lap, “Now let’s make sure you steal the show.”

Allura applied just a tiny touch of blush to Lance’s cheeks, lip salve to make his lips shine a little, mascara to his eyelashes and the most perfect eyeliner.

“Allura you’re an artist!”, Lance said as he took a look in the mirror, and Allura packed everything back in the box.

Allura reached her hand out and Lance took it.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then he exhaled, opening his eyes again, “Let’s go.”

—

Everything was beautiful. Leaving the Olkari in charge of the decoration had been the best decision.

The most lovely flowers sprouted from the walls, all of them with the most dazzling colours and designs Lance had ever seen.

Flowers that resembled tulips and had white petals, decorated the borders of the long red carpet that led the way down to the aisle.

Blue and purple flowers, shaped like the roses from earth, were place on the steps to the altar.

“Lotor is going to love it.”, Lance exclaimed. He and Allura were standing in one of the side doors, next to the altar, that allowed them to see the entire room where the ceremony would take place.

Guests were already in their designated sits, chatting and laughing.

Lance would be exiting through that door, walking towards the altar where Coran would be, while Lotor would be coming from the other door, at the opposite side. The curtain to that door was pulled shut, so Lance had no idea if Lotor was already there or not.

Lance stepped back, pressing his back against the wall.

“Everything will be alright.”, Allura assured him, “I have to go now. And remember, no puffy eyes.”, she kissed his forehead and walked away to go to take her place with the others.

Lance felt like his heart was going to leap out of his ribcage. He can’t remember ever being this nervous in his entire life.

He looked at Lotor’s door again and saw the curtain was still pull shut.

He tried to calm himself. Maybe Lotor prefered to keep the curtain like that to give him more privacy. Or maybe there was another reason. Lance started to overthink it, but Coran’s arrival at the altar snap him out of his thoughts.

Coran cleared his throat before starting, “Dearly beloved. Humans, Arusians, Olkari, Balmerans, Galrans,…”, he nodded his head as he mentioned each race that was attending the ceremony, earning a few smiles and giggles from the guests, “We are gathered here on this day to celebrate the union between these two lovers: Lotor and Lance. Who have willingly and happily decided to become bounded for life through this ceremony.”

Lance wondered how Lotor was reacting to this speech. Would the part of ‘bounded for life’ make him realize he had made the wrong decision?

Music started playing and Lance knew this was his cue to get there. Once he stepped out of the shadows and made his way to the altar, all eyes were on him. He kept his head up, trying not to let others see just how much of a nervous wreck he was in that moment. He catched a glimpse of Allura, who was sitting at the front row, between Keith and Hunk. She smiled sweetly at him and he could feel himself calm down a little.

He went up the steps and now stood at Coran’s right side.

The two exchanged a smile, before turning their eyes to the door where Lotor was expected to come out from.

As seconds went by, and the curtain remained shut, Lance could feel his panic rising.

He had seen a ton of movies where the groom left the bride at the altar because he either chickened out or found someone else.

Would Lotor regret having asked Lance to marry him? Would Lotor choose to walk away from all this? And leave Lance behind?

But then the curtain was pulled open, revealing Lotor.

Lance’s jaw nearly dropped as he saw him. He looked stunning in his attire. A long white coat of knee-lenght that fit close to his body and a purple sash on his waist. The collar, the sleeves hems and the buttons of the coat were also purple and he also wore white pants and boots. His long silver hair was caught in a ponytail.

As Lotor made his way to the steps, elegant as ever, Lance felt like a weight had been lifted out of him. Lotor was there. He didn’t walked out on him. And now Lance felt silly for all the doubts he had and how he had unnecessarily caused himself so much stress.

Lotor now stood at Coran’s left side and the two nodded at each other.

Lotor turned to face Lance, his indigo eyes gazing lovingly at him. He took hold of his hands and lean down a little to brush his lips against Lance’s knuckles, “You look radiant.”, he said before pressing a kiss against them.

Lance’s rolled his eyes, blushing, the guests laughing a little at that.

“You are looking incredible.”, Lance complimented him.

Lotor let go of his hands and the two turned to Coran, so the ceremony could proceed.

“The essence of this commitment is the acceptance of each other in entirety, as lover,

companion, and friend. Do you both promise to share your lives openly with one another, and to speak the truth in love? Do you promise to care for one another, cherish and encourage each other, stand together, through sorrows and joys, hardships and triumphs, for all the days of your lives?“

“We do.”, they spoke in unison and they couldn’t help but smile fondly at one another.

A tiny Arusian walked down the aisle, carrying a white cushion with the two wedding rings. The rings had been crafted with a material similar to gold, and little stones, that shined bright like stars, decorated them.

“As they exchange the rings, they will speak their vows, a way for them to declare their devotion to each other and for everyone present to witness.”

Lotor went first. His eyes met Lance’s and he had the softest expression on his face as he placed the ring on his lover’s finger.

“My beloved Lance, I never thought I would love someone as much as I love you. I promise to stay by your side, to protect you, to love you, until my last breath. I hope the life we are about to start together will be full of bliss and adoration.”

Oh boy, Lance could feel himself tear up a bit. Now he understands why his sister cried at her own wedding.

Lance picked up the other ring. He had the sweetest smile on his face as he slid the ring in Lotor’s finger and he knew Lotor was smiling too.

“Back on Earth, when I dreamed about being a pilot and hoping to one day explore space, I never could have imagined I would end up finding my soulmate. Lotor, I promise to be a doting and faithful husband for the rest of our lives.”

‘Aaaawws’ and sighs could be heard among the guests. Even when he was done with his vows, Lance continued to hold Lotor’s hand.

Once the rings exchanged was done, they turned to Coran, who was trying his best to hold back the tears.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now…”, Coran choked on a sob, “You may…you…just kiss already.”

Lance couldn’t contain his excitement as he took hold of Lotor’s face and pulled him into a kiss. Lotor’s arms looped around Lance’s waist, pressing him closer to him.

The crowd stood up, cheering and clapping. Coran wiped his tears with a handkerchief that he had in his pocket.

When they broke the kiss, both had the biggest smiles on their faces. They held hands as they walked down the steps and made their way down the aisle, the guest throwing petals at them.

The rest of the celebration would be spent eating Hunk’s delicious food, drinking and dancing. A day full of happiness and joy.

[micaramel]

Artist: Stephen Prina

Venue: Museo Madre, Naples

Exhibition Title: English for Foreigners

Date: May 15 – October 16, 2017

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of images, press release and link available after the jump.

Images:

Images courtesy of Museo Madre, Naples. Photos by Wolfgang Günzel, Gunnar Meier, and Simon Vogel.

Press Release:

English for Foreigners is the first solo exhibition in an Italian public institution by Stephen Prina (Galesburg, Illinois, 1954), one of the most seminal and influential contemporary American artists. In his research – which involves visual elements, sound pieces and performative acts – Prina explores the legacy of the conceptual artistic practices of the sixties and seventies, analyzing their historical matrices as well as their possible transformations. The exhibition, which comprises an entirely new body of work realized for this occasion, was conceived by the artist as the ideal follow-up to the two exhibitions galesburg, illinois+ devoted to his hometown and presented in 2015 and 2016 at the Kunst Halle Sankt Gallen (Switzerland) and the Museum Kurhaus Kleve (Germany).

In his exhibition at the Madre the artist goes indeed back in time to relive the journey that led his father to travel, in the first half of the twenty century, from Fascist Italy to the United States. The artist writes: “Peter (Pietro) Prina, my father, played clarinet for the local band in the Comune di Canischio, in the Piedmont region of Northwestern Italy. One day the Black Shirts arrived and demanded that the band perform the anthem of the Italian National Fascist Party. This event convinced him it was time to emigrate from Italy — immigrate to America— at the age of 17 in 1923.” Second Book in English for Foreigners in Evening Schools by Frederick Houghton (American Book Company, 1917), is the title of the book used by the artist’s father to learn English in his new country: handed down to Prina, among many other objects of his father, it became the starting point for this exhibition in which individual dates and events are connected, from 1917 to 2017, telling a personal story which, however, reflects the stories of many other fathers and sons.“My father wrote notations on the endpapers of the book and on the pages of the book, lists of words and phrases, highlighted passages, or simply circled page numbers”: Prina scanned each double page of the book containing at least one of these notes, making eighteen digital prints of equal format and a tryptich that record at least one of these notations. In this way, these prints retrace the learning process of his father in his new language (English) after his arrival in his new country (the United States). The text of the book also contains fortyfive images and a frontispiece which, even without captions, provide a model guide for turning the immigrant into a “perfect citizen”. For example, it displays his ideal domestic life, while he is dealing with plumbing problems, or coping with an attack of diphtheria or while learning about the history of the United States. This sequence of illustrations, transposed by the artist into a portfolio of the same number of etchings installed on wall, represents the various phases of the gradual acquisition of a new public identity by Peter/Pietro Prina, as well as the radical change in the history of his family. But it also provides a possible critical engagement with the permeability of the seemingly dichotomous models of “ideal citizenship” which have marked, in the opposition between totalitarianism and democracy, the political, social and cultural history of the 20th Century itself. The artist sets up in this way the exhibition as a journey through time which, on the one hand, is structured like an analysis of 20th Century history and, on the other hand, like a story of a family and of the relationship between a father and son.“In 1968, when I was 13 years old, I tried to make a smaller scale copy of St. Joseph, The Carpenter by Georges de La Tour“. Based on a reproduction of the painting in the volume 100 Masterpieces (1964) – the same used for his first attempt – Prina has made another copy of the painting especially for this exhibition. It is the same size as the original (137 x 102 cm) but made in the form of a diptych (137 x 204 cm). The diptych so refer to the monochrome serigraphic matrix of Andy Warhol’s early portraits (such as the ones of the actress Elizabeth Taylor exhibited by Lucio Amelio in Naples in 1971) and is presented as a pair of works, a replica of the original painting – appearing identical to the original, even if a closer inspection detects  different pictorial techniques from the original Baroque ones – and a monochrome panel of the same size, painted in burnt umber, from which the same composition emerges like a mirror image. Prina has also scanned and made a digital print on vinyl of two sections of the copy of the first work done by him in 1967: these two sections, which portray a wood chisel and a spiral of wood shavings, represent the artist’s favorite details from the original painting. One of them – the wood shaving fall on the floor, at the feet of Jesus intent to observ his father at work, is represented in real life on a table-altar at the centre of the exhibition, in the three versions (cypress, cedar and pine) that, according to an interpretation of the Gospel, would correspond to the three wood types used to chisel the martyrdorm crux. A complex process of recreation that explores the affinities between different artistic practices, even though extremely distant in terms of time, as well as the affectionate proximity between a father and his son.The exhibition also includes a musical component, presented by the speaker display developed for the series The Second Sentence of Everything I Read is You (2006-in progress). Several compositions are played through a speaker grid. For the cover of Giovinezza (“Youth”), anthem of the Italian Fascist party, Prina reinterprets it as an instrumental version with the vocal part played on a clarinet (the same instrument played by his father in the band in Canischio). It merges with a song composed by the artist himself incorporating words and phrases of the notes compiled by his father in the book Second Book in English for Foreigners in Evening Schools, and two covers of Bella Ciao, the Italian Resistance anthem, and Sabato Sera, a song by Bruno Filippini that the artist’s parents brought him in 1964, as a present from their first trip to Italy together, and the first his father has made since his escape in 1923.

One of the distinctive features of the project is as well the textile design, with the repetition of the same decorative pattern, devised by the artist as an additional memorial palimpsest of the exhibition: the front and back cover and the spine of the Second Book in English for Foreigners in Evening Schools, a sober brown design, is re-contextualised in a scheme that records, in red, the words “Pete’s Meat Can’t Be Beat”, the slogan of Prina’s father’s grocery in Galesburg. The same fabric pattern is used to line all the exhibition materials of the various works on view: the glass display case containing the original book, together with other objects and documents, the speakers and the cushions placed on the crate in which they were transported, and it appears as image-frame in the scans of the book, the snapshot of Canischio and the portfolio of etchings. The exhibition space and the whole corporate identity rather use the Pantone Color of the Year 2017, Greenery, as a main color and reference to the temporal placing of the exhibition itself.

Eventually, during the preparation of the project the artist discovered a snapshot of Canischio taken by his brother Gary in 1973 when he went to visit his father’s native town four years after his death. It is a square photograph, with the letters “MAR 73” (March 1973) printed on the white edge. The photo, which has faded, shows a clear blue sky, snow on a mountain range in the background and a desolate winter landscape in the foreground. The original image has been scanned, printed digitally on vinyl and blown up to a monumental scale, like a similar image of the Harbor Lights Supper Club in which the two galesburg, illinois+ previous exhibitions culminated. Placed at the end of the exhibition in scale with the room, the image of his father’s small town – upon what the film Fortini Cani (1976), by Jean-Marie Straub and Danièle Huillet, is projected – becomes the horizon of the exhibition, taking on an atmospheric quality, not only in terms of spatial depth but also in terms of a memorial one. Inspired to the book I cani del Sinai, by the laic Jewish and communist intellectual Franco Fortini, the film show views of other towns and villages (Marzabotto, Bergiola, San Leonardo), by overlapping the Resistance attestation of September ’44, that took place there, with contemporary matters as the Shoah, the Israeli-Palestinian issue or the perpretation of different forms of racism.

By setting all these autobiographic details within a more general context, Prina also refers in this project to the Italian writer Cesare Pavese. In La Luna e i Falò (“The Moon and the Bonfires”, 1949-50) and to a film directed by Danièle Huillet and Jean-Marie Straub inspired by the Italian writer. In La Luna e i Falò Pavese tells the story of an emigrant (only the character’s nickname, Anguilla – “Eel”, is given) who leaves Italy to seek his fortune in America and returns after the Second World War, driven by an inextinguishable sense of belonging: “a town means not being alone, knowing that in the people, the plants, the soil, there is something of yourself, that even when you’re not there it stays and waits for you […] one needs a town, if only for the pleasure of leaving it”. This text – in which, like Prina’s project, the past and present are inextricably intertwined – along with some passages from Pavese’s collection of short stories Dialoghi con Leucò (“Dialogues with Leucò”, 1945-47), provided to Straub/Huillet the inspiration for the film Dalla nube alla resistenza (“From the Cloud to the Resistance”, 1978). A panning shot of a monument to the Italian Resistance – shot starting from its base, with its dedicatory inscription, and proceeding along the central obelisk to reach the top – is the inspiration for various artist’s drawings. The themes developed in these narrative works and films – through their examination of the intricate ties between sedentariness and migration, the affirmation of identity and its uprooting, monumentality and intimacy – are brought back as vinyl writings on the wall, sprinkling the gallery and outspeaking the emotional and conceptual roots of Prina’s project at the Madre. A full-blooded account with images and sounds, which, from the story of a father and son, becomes an exploration of the statute of the work and the exhibition as a source of multiple references as well as an analysis of the dynamics of memorials and of the relations between personal and collective sphere, between stories and History.

Stephen Prina (born in Galesburg, Illinois, on November 3rd, 1954; lives and works between Cambridge, Massachusetts, and Los Angeles) is Professor of Visual and Environmental Studies at Harvard University. Solo shows have been devoted to him by some of the leading international museums such as the Museum Kurhaus Kleve (2016); Kunst Halle Sankt Gallen (2015); LACMA-Los Angeles County Museum of Art (2013); Wiener Secession, Vienna (2001); Kölnischer Kunstverein, Cologne (2011 and 2009); Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis (2010); Centro Andaluz de Arte Contemporaeno, Seville and Bergen Kunsthall (2009); Staatliche Kunsthalle Baden-Baden (2008); Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts-Harvard University, Cambridge and Cubitt, London (2004); The Art Institute, Chicago (2001); Museum für Gegenwart, Berlin, Frankfurter Kunstverein, Frankfurt and Art Pace, San Antonio (2000); MAMCO-Musée d’Art Moderne et Contemporain, Geneva (1998); Museum Boijmans-van Beuningen, Rotterdam (1992); The Power Plant, Toronto (1991); The Renaissance Society, Chicago, Los Angeles Municipal Art Gallery and P.S. 1, New York (1989). Among the biennials and periodic exhibitions whom he participated to: Time Crevasse. Yokohama Triennale and Whitney Biennial, New York (2008); SITE Santa Fe Biennial (2001); Documenta IX, Kassel (1992); 51st Carnegie International, Pittsburgh (1991); APERTO – Venice Biennale (1990). The artist has return to exhibit in Naples more than thirty years since the collective exhibition Rooted Rhetoric. Una Tradizione nell’Arte Americana, presented at Castel dell’Ovo in 1986.

Link: Stephen Prina at Museo Madre

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from Contemporary Art Daily http://bit.ly/2kHXeTL

[halsteadproperty]

Montauk’s best beach house is in a trailer park

As seen in the New York Post

By Lauren Steussy

It’s hard to imagine high-powered NYC real estate broker Louise Phillips Forbes falling for a vacation retreat in a trailer park. But Louise, her husband Christopher and their two kids — all avid surfers — are currently reveling in their fourth summer at mobile-home oasis Montauk Shores.

Here, at the easternmost edge of the Long Island enclave, the Forbes’ 1,100-square-foot prefabricated digs are nestled among 200-odd other residences, with the Atlantic Ocean just minutes away. The Forbes and their neighbors watch out for each others’ children, who roam freely through the rows of retro crash pads in between jaunts riding the waves. No one locks their doors.

“It’s a step back in time,” says Louise, 54, who works for Halstead Property.

“When we eat, people just show up. We’ll have homemade pizza and, all of a sudden, I’ll have 12 kids sitting at my table. We’ve never had a TV. We just hang out, walk on the beach, roast hot dogs and have bonfires. This is what it used to be like 40 years ago — you didn’t need much.”

Louise learned to surf recently, after Christopher, a 56-year-old tech entrepreneur, and sons Douglas, 13, and Kenneth, 11, took up the sport. Now it’s an obsession that has come to dominate not only her rigorous exercise regimen but also the décor of the family’s ipe wood-paneled haven. Think ocean-themed works collected from local artists, a sprawling couch that acts as a splayed-out beach towel and a multicolored surfboard hanging from the wall.

The foursome’s journey to their beachy hideaway started years ago. Based in Bridgehampton — and the Upper West Side the rest of the year, which is still the case — they would drive out to Ditch Plains Beach near the park to surf. They fantasized about living in the park itself, even if it meant downsizing.

“We came to realize it was a lovely community of people, all really socioeconomically diverse,” Christopher says.

But patience was required to nab a place of their own just for part of the season.

“It took us three years to penetrate getting a rental,” Louise says. “It was all word of mouth [then].” Then, in 2013, Christopher found a three-week opening at one of the park’s older trailers on Craigslist for $6,000.

While Douglas and Kenneth ran off to befriend the other kids, their parents dealt with rundown conditions and black mold, then added new appliances and clean linens.

The close quarters reminded Louise of her own childhood; one summer, her family piled into an RV and drove from her native Tennessee to California.

“We decided to embrace it,” she says. “Because this was more about just being together.”

In the summer of 2014, a coveted Montauk Shores lot went on the market. The couple seized the opportunity, buying it for about $567,000.

Because new homes basically have to be wheeled in — any stationary residences are grandfathered in — the Forbes purchased a double-wide prefab for about $200,000 from Indiana-based Hi-Tech Housing.

They could simply raise up the prefab structure as a precaution against flooding. It was also easier to customize and decorate a ready-made home than a trailer. So Louise turned to interior designer friend Cortney Novogratz for help.

Louise and Novogratz bonded over functional solutions for families. Take the beds in the boys’ shared room, which are Ikea trundles Novogratz wrapped in soft fabric to avoid accidental injuries while roughhousing.

Despite the home’s cookie-cutter origins, there are personal touches everywhere.

Groovy wallpaper with hand-drawn waves lines the hallway, which is blanketed in natural light from the open kitchen. On the walls, there are collages of surfing journal pages by Montauk-based artist Tony Caramanico. In the same vein, a Massimo Vitali aerial photograph of a beach, bright and sun-drenched, holds pride of place in the master bedroom.

A similar photograph by Debby Hymowitz greets Douglas and Kenneth when they wake up in their shared nook across the hall. There, a bookshelf houses a throwback lava lamp and a stack of antique Surfer’s Journal magazines. Mounted above their beds is a decorative surfboard, while flanking them are framed photographs of waves. “It’s what I want my boys to feel — calm, ferocious, fun,” Louise says.

She calls the spacious kitchen with vaulted ceilings “the nucleus of this house.” Lucy bar stools from Bend Goods are padded with polyurethane cushions — the same material wetsuits are made of. “I spend my days saying, ‘Get off the couch, you’re wet!’ But I don’t have to say that anymore,” Louise says. “We can just focus on having as many meals as possible together.”

Other custom touches reflect Louise’s joyful — sometimes rule-breaking — nature. She loved the porous, matte underside of a black granite countertop more than its shiny surface, so she had the slab honed and installed upside down in the kitchen.

Popping out of the black counter and white cabinets is a bright orange Big Chill stove with a $3,795 price tag, one of a few indulgences in the otherwise minimal home. Other splurges, and favorites of Christopher’s, are the two giant Flos pendant lights by Marcel Wanders that descend over the island. Imported from Italy, the $2,500-per-piece fixtures are lined with an intricate etching that looks like it could be porcelain — “quite expensive, if you ask me, for a trailer,” Louise jokes.

Outside on the deck, orange upholstery pops in front of an ocean view. On winter days when the waves are as tall as 12 feet, the family can see them break from the couches. The table nearby has extra bench seating to accommodate the many last-minute guests.

The part of the surf shack Christopher and Louise love most isn’t their own design but rather the tight-knit community at Montauk Shores. Everyone congregates by the shared pool, a few short blocks from the Forbes’ plot. There’s also free breakfast on summer weekends at a clubhouse, where neighbors also gather for potlucks and yard sales.

Their boys run with a pack — the East End’s very own “Lord of the Flies.” It’s rare freedom that the city-dwelling Forbes family can appreciate.

“All the kids here can bike to town, go surfing or swimming, basically do their own thing,” Christopher says. “Kids don’t have that in a large urban center, that independence to run around and just be kids.”

All four of them are dreading fall, which brings a return to Manhattan and less time hanging ten. “We don’t like to talk about that now,” Louise says. “This is our paradise.”

To read the full article online, click here.