#international collection of child art
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Animals
Created by a girl from Chile, 12, in 1974
International Collection of Child Art
Milner Library, Illinois State University
#animals#watercolors#children's drawings#child art#lions#cows#trees#milner library#international collection of child art
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Propaganda
María Félix (Doña Barbara, La Mujer sin Alma, Rio Escondido, La Cucaracha)—Maria Felix is still possibly the most well-known Mexican film actress. She turned down multiple-roles in Hollywood and a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer in order to take roles in Mexico, France, and Argentine throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s. She was so famous and so respected as a dramatic actress that she inspired painters, novelists and poets in their own art--she was painted by Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, Bridget Tichenor. The novelist Carlos Fuentes used her as inspiration for his protagonist in Zona Sagrada. She inspired an entire collection by Hermes. In the late 1960s Cartier made her a custom collection of reptile themed jewels. She considered herself to be powerful challenger of morality and femininity in Mexico & worldwide--she routinely played powerful women in roles with challenging moral choices and free sexuality. But even still, years after he death, she is celebrated with Google Doodles, and appearances in the movie Coco, and holidays for the anniversary of her death.
Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.
This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
María Félix:
She's Thee Hot Vintage Movie Woman of México. She's absolutely gorgeous and always looks like she's about to step on you. you WILL be thankful if she does.
"María Félix is a woman -- such a woman -- with the audacity to defy the ideas machos have constructed of what a woman should be. She's free like the wind, she disperses the clouds, or illuminates them with the lightning flash of her gaze." - Octavio Paz
María Félix is one of the most iconic actresses of the Golden Era of Mexican Cinema. La Doña, as she was lovingly nicknamed, only had one son, and when her first marriage ended in divorce her ex-husband stole her only child, so she vowed that one day she’d be more influential than her ex and she’d get her son back. AND SHE DID! María Félix rejected a Hollywood acting role to start her acting career in Mexico on her own terms with El Peñón de las Ánimas (The Rock of Souls) starring alongside actor, and future third husband, Jorge Negrete. She quickly rose to incredible heights both in Mexico and abroad, later on rejecting a Hollywood starring role (Duel in the Sun) as she was already committed to the movie Enamorada at the planned filming time. Of this snubbing she said, quote: “I will never regret saying no to Hollywood, because my career in Europe was focused in [high] quality cinema. [My] india* roles are made in my country, and [my] queen roles are abroad.” (Translator notes: here the “india” role means interpreting a lower-class Mexican woman, usually thought of indigenous/native/mixed descent —which she had interpreted and reinvented throughout her acting career in Mexico— and what abroad was typically considered the Mexican woman stereotype, with the braids, long simple skirts, and sandals. This also references the expectation of her possibly helping Hollywood in perpetuating this stereotype for American audiences that lack the cultural and historical contexts of this type of role which would undermine her own efforts against this type of Mexican stereotypes while working in Europe) She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world of her time by international magazines like Life, París Match, and Esquire, and was a muse to a vast number of songwriters (including her second husband Agustin Lara,), artists, designers, and writers. Muralist Diego Rivera described her as “a monstrously perfect being. She’s an exemplary being that drives all other human beings to put as much effort as possible to be like her”. Playwriter Jean Cocteau, who worked with her in the Spanish film La Corona Negra (The Black Crown) said the following about her, “María, that woman is so beautiful it hurts”. Haute Couture houses like Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Hérmes, among others, designed and dressed her throughout her life. She died on her birthday, April 8, 2002, at 88 years old, in Mexico City. She was celebrated by a parade from her home to the Fine Arts Palace in the the city’s Historic Downtown, where a multitude of people paid tribute to her. Her filmography includes 47 movies from 1942 until 1970, and only two television acting roles in 1970. She has 2 music albums, one recorded with her second husband, Agustín Lara, in 1964 titled La Voz de María y la inspiración de Agustín «The voice of María and the inspiration of Augustín», and her solo album Enamorada «In Love» in 1998. Her bespoke Cartier jewelry is exhibited alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s, Grace Kelly’s and Gloria Swanson’s. In 2018, Film Director Martin Scorsese presented a restored and remastered version of her film Enamorada in the Cannes Classics section of the Cannes Festival and Google dedicated a doodle for her 104th birthday. On august 2023 Barbie added her doll to the Tribute Collection.
Julie Andrews propaganda:
"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"
"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"
"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."
"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"
"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."
"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"
"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"
"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."
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Iris Barrel Apfel, Decorator and Fashion Stylist
(August 29, 1921 – March 1, 2024)
Ms. Apfel was one of the most vivacious personalities in the worlds of fashion, textiles, and interior design, she has cultivated a personal style that is both witty and exuberantly idiosyncratic.
Her originality was typically revealed in her mixing of high and low fashions—Dior haute couture with flea market finds, nineteenth-century ecclesiastical vestments with Dolce & Gabbana lizard trousers.
With remarkable panache and discernment, she combines colors, textures, and patterns without regard to period, provenance, and, ultimately, aesthetic conventions. Paradoxically, her richly layered combinations—even at their most extreme and baroque—project a boldly graphic modernity.
Iris Barrel was born on Aug. 29, 1921, in Astoria, Queens, the only child of Samuel Barrel, who owned a glass and mirror business, and his Russian-born wife, Sadye, who owned a fashion boutique.
She studied art history at New York University, then qualified to teach and did so briefly in Wisconsin before fleeing back to New York to work on Women's Wear Daily, and for interior designer Elinor Johnson, decorating apartments for resale and honing her talent for sourcing rare items before opening her own design firm. She was also an assistant to illustrator Robert Goodman.
As a distinguished collector and authority on antique fabrics, Iris Apfel has consulted on numerous restoration projects that include work at the White House that spanned nine presidencies from Harry Truman to Bill Clinton.
Along with her husband, Carl, she founded Old World Weavers, an international textile manufacturing company and ran it until they retired in 1992. The Apfels specialized in the reproduction of fabrics from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, and traveled to Europe twice a year in search of textiles they could not source in the United States.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute assembled 82 ensembles and 300 accessories from her personal collection in 2005 in a show about her called “Rara Avis”.
Almost overnight, Ms. Apfel became an international celebrity of pop fashion.
Ms. Apfel was seen in a television commercial for the French car DS 3, became the face of the Australian fashion brand Blue Illusion, and began a collaboration with the start-up WiseWear. A year later, Mattel created a one-of-a-kind Barbie doll in her image. Last year, she appeared in a beauty campaign for makeup with Ciaté London.
Six years after the Met show she started her fashion line "Rara Avis" with the Home Shopping Network.
She was cover girl of Dazed and Confused, among many other publications, window display artist at Bergdorf Goodman, designer and design consultant, then signed to IMG in 2019 as a model at age 97.
Ms. Iris Apfel became a visiting professor at the University of Texas at Austin in its Division of Textiles and Apparel, teaching about imagination, craft and tangible pleasures in a world of images.
In 2018, she published “Iris Apfel: Accidental Icon,” an autobiographical collection of musings, anecdotes and observations on life and style.
Ms. Apfel’s apartments in New York and Palm Beach were full of furnishings and tchotchkes that might have come from a Luis Buñuel film: porcelain cats, plush toys, statuary, ornate vases, gilt mirrors, fake fruit, stuffed parrots, paintings by Velázquez and Jean-Baptiste Greuze, a mannequin on an ostrich.
The Museum of Lifestyle & Fashion History in Boynton Beach, Florida, is designing a building that will house a dedicated gallery of Ms. Apfel's clothes, accessories, and furnishings.
Ms. Apfel’s work had a universal quality, It’s was a trend.
Rest in Power !
#art#design#fashion#icon#rip#iris apfel#luxury lifestyle#rip riris apfel#style icon#iconic#trend#rare avis#women's fashion#walking closet#muse#themet#style#history#renaissance#baroque#greta garbo#dior#chanel#montana#fendi#jewellery#high fashion#fantasy#women history month
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SPY x FAMILY x CHAIR Vol 10 - 11- 12
Continuing with this series of analysis of the covers:
SxF . Vol 10 - Redacted
Unlike all the covers so far, cover 10 is the only one that does not show us a chair, but instead introduces us to [Redacted]. So we can give a little deeper analysis.
We can highlight that behind [Redacted] we can clearly see the rubble of a house of which there is absolutely nothing left, a soldier's helmet with scratches and cracks, the toy gun and a radio that apparently announced the war and the look of a child who has lost all happiness in his life and now must learn to survive with no one to take care of him.
I think it goes without saying that this is the saddest cover of the whole collection so far. But we can talk about the influence of [Redacted] on the current story.
In previous reviews I have talked about how [Redacted] is the basis for the existence of Twilight, the great spy of Westalis, the metaphorical death of this child who has lost his parents and his friends due to the conflicts of his country, and who later, blinded by hatred, would want to destroy his apparent enemies, to finally learn the hard lesson from his father of always longing for peace above all else.
From my perspective the tragedy of [Redacted] is the basis of Twilight, it's why the spy fighting for peace exists, but more importantly, it's what allows Twilight to not be entirely a living weapon serving a specific side. And while Twilight you made remembering her past "Self" is weakness, it is also who reminds her of what is truly important.
And it is [Redacted] who gives authenticity to Loid Forger, who reminds him that in the past he could experience happiness, his more vulnerable and sweet side, a child who could easily cry and wished to be in his mother's arms every night. Someone who just wished for a little love. Redacted] may never come back, but it is because of him that Twilight and Loid Forger are genuine and real.
This is a good time to dry your tears! 😭
SxF . Vol 11 - Emile and Ewen - Hill House Chair
The Hill House Chair was designed by Scottish architect and designer Charles Rennie Mackintosh in 1902 for the Hill House residence in Helensburgh, Scotland. The design has a strong Japanese influence, which Mackintosh incorporated into his work after being exposed to Japanese aesthetics during the Glasgow International Art Exhibition.
The chair is in Mackintosh's "Glasgow Style", which is characterized by straight, simple lines and shapes. The chair, along with the rest of the furniture, was designed to integrate with the architecture and décor of the building, resulting in a harmonious and balanced ensemble.
Both the Willow chair and Hill House Chair are designs by Mackintosh, which is characterized by simple lines, geometric shapes and a modernist sensibility that gives them a unique and recognizable look. In terms of style and architectural context, the chairs have important differences in terms of form and functionality. The Willow Chair is a low chair with a curved back and woven seat, while the Hill House Chair is a taller, slimmer chair with a rectangular back and upholstered seat.
Damian-sama!!
There are two very interesting details that I could highlight and the language of the objects with respect to the chair, and the characters. Unlike Damian, the proportion of the chairs with respect to both children is much more harmonious unlike Damian whose chair stands out easily and its size is huge with respect to his size, indicating that while Damian projects greatness, Emile and Ewen are the complementation, both stand out, but balance each other at the same time, and do not overshadow Damian-Sama!
It is very interesting, given that the chair selection reflects this bond of friends/followers. While the chairs have different contexts, while Willow Chiar's has a primary function, the Hill House has the function of complementing the decor. Pointing out how the personalities of Emile and Ewen is to complement Damian.
Like Becky, the reflection of each other's personality is evident, they are notorious and not hidden. While Ewen has a passion for space, astronauts and the stars; Emile is a lover of sweets and all kinds of junk food. However, in the middle of both of them there is an obvious bond for explorer adventures. Having his picture with Damian in the center, because their bond as friends is very genuine!
SxF . Vol 12 - Sylvia Sherwood - Diamond Chair
The Diamond Chair, also known as the Bertoia Chair, was created by sculptor and designer Harry Bertoia in 1952. It was originally designed for Knoll International and has become a symbol of 20th century industrial and avant-garde design.
Bertoia designed the chair because of his desire to explore new forms and techniques of furniture making. Inspiration came from his interest in experimenting with steel wires, which allowed him to create light and elegant structures.
The motive was to achieve a perfect combination of form and comfort, which would be attractive but also ergonomic and comfortable to use. The chair's curved steel wire frame allows for breathability and provides flexible support, adapting to the user's body. Its design is minimalist and timeless, as well as its versatility and ability to adapt to a variety of environments.
"Stop waiting for easy answers to fall into your lap, Rookie. Use that head of yours to find them for yourself"
Both Fullmetal Lady and Diamond Chair could be described as elegant, sophisticated and modern. In addition, the attention to detail and quality workmanship reflect a high-end personality and refinement that projects the experience Handler has in executing its work. At the same time, its comfort and ergonomics demonstrate a concern for the well-being and experience of the user, which makes it friendly and welcoming, one of the most human characteristics of Sylvia who, although she is a relentless woman, also knows how to relate to her humanity, and reminds her little spies that having a soft spot is part of them.
While the folders and surely confidential papers are shuffled and exposed, reminiscent of Handler's main role, we can see subtly hidden the family photograph that is pierced by the chair leg reflecting the rupture caused by the war of losing her husband and young daughter. For no matter the passage of time, it will always be something that will accompany her.
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You can read the previous part here
#twiyor#spy x family#yor forger#loid forger#loid x yor#yor briar#anya forger#twilight#sxf#spyxfamily twilight#spy x family manga#spy family#sylvia sherwood#spy x familyx chair
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Mini Lolita Fashion History Lesson: MILK
Today, MILK is generally known as an 'otome' or 'girly' brand, and many of their modern items don't look like what modern lolita think of as lolita.
A recent MILK collection
However, in the late 80s and early 90s, MILK was considered to be one of the quintessential Lolita brands.
1990s lolita wearing MILK
In a 1994 zipper interview about the history of lolita fashion the brand representative for MILK states "I think what is now called lolita fashion is the fashion that milk has been making for a long time."
MILK was founded in 1970 by Hitomi Okawa (大川ひとみ). When Hitomi Okawa started as a designer there were not many DC brands yet and ready to wear fashion was really just starting to become more widespread in Japan. Okawa attended an art university in Kyoto because of a love of drawing that started in elementary school. She used to draw illustrations of girls and make things like paper dolls. At the age of 11, she drew many pictures of the same clothes and changed the patterns (polka dots, checks, flowers). She grew up the daughter of a doctor, in an affluent home where her mother would read magazines like Harper's Bazaar with 1950s and 1960s American fashion. She also looked at American fashion catalogs as a child, and cites this study of clothing in magazines and catalogs as her earliest sort of "studying" of fashion.
50s/60s Harper's Bazaar
In addition to drawing inspiration from the 50s & 60s Harper's Bazaar & American clothing catalogs, she also drew inspiration from military uniforms and how they have custom buttons and custom fabric and details like that, as well as current trends in London and Tokyo as the brand continued to develop. When she started however, she says that she was the only one making this sort of cute girly clothing in Japan and she felt like she had to make it because no one else was making what she wanted to wear.
50s/60s Harper's Bazaar
After graduating from Seian College of Art and Design, Department of Design, she started MILK in Harajuku. She wanted to start in the coolest place possible, so she decided on Central Apartment.
MILK Shop Front in the 70s, Central Apartment
She had come to Harajuku when she was either in High School or her first year of University and had stood in the middle of the pedestrian bridge right off Harajuku station, and she looked down at Omotesando and thought "Here is the coolest place, I want to be here!", and that's why she chose that location. The Bridge doesn't exist any more, it was torn down in 2011. She wasn't aware at the time that Central Apartment was a popular place for creators, she just thought that street was nice and that Central Apartment was modern and cool. In a 2021 interview she confessed that she sometimes still goes up to the pedestrian bridge on the Yoyogi Park side and looks at Omotesando, and when she does, she feels the same way she did when she was 20 years old.
Central Apartment (原宿セントラルアパート) was initially an apartment complex built in Harajuku in 1958 at the intersection of Meiji-dori. It was initially built for special international travelers like US military personnel. In the mid 1960s/early 1970s, the lower floors were converted into stores with offices in the upper apartment floors.
The Coffee shop Leon on the first floor was a popular spot with creative people. There were also shops like Mademoiselle Nonnon launched by designer Taro Aramaki which sold French style clothing and lots of horizontal stripes. Mademoiselle Nonnon is considered to be the source of the border (horizontal stripe) trend in Japan.
Initially, "MILK", was expensive and unrealistic for everyday wear, so it was mainly used as a stage costume for idols, however, people started wearing Milk as everyday clothing as time went on.
MILK also experimented with a Bridal line in the 70s as well.
While their runway looks were generally a bit more loud than the way the pieces would have been worn in real life, you can see some prairie revival influence their early 70s items as well as some silhouettes in the '76 collection that are starting to look more lolita-esque.
Here are a few runway examples from the 1980s, note the border print of a carousel in the 1988 collection and the knee length ruffled skirt in the 1982 one.
By the early 1990s, MILK was heavily featured in coordinates worn by young women who considered themselves lolita in magazines like Cutie and Zipper, and was also advertising in those magazines.
1990-1992 Cutie advertisements for MILK
Early 1990s looks from MILK were fairly consistent with what was on offer from similar shops like PRETTY and Shirley Temple.
MILK Coordinates from Nene magazine, 1995
Speaking of Shirley Temple, the founder of Shirley Temple, Rei Yanagawa (柳川れい), worked as a designer for MILK before starting the Shirley Temple children's brand in 1974.
As time went on, lolita fashion started to diverge from the MILK style, while MILK followed their own design concept and look more at current trends in girly fashion. Today, some iconic MILK items like their heart purse are still frequently used in lolita fashion, however, it would be difficult to walk into MILK today and put together a coordinate that would read the same as one made from items at Angelic Pretty.
While goth and punk brands typically have no issue relating themselves to goth or punk fashion, brands popular with lolita have sometimes resisted self-describing themselves as lolita, most likely in an attempt to not alienate non lolita customers, due to lolita fashion having a mixed reputation. MILK, like many other Japanese brands, especially DC brands, maintains that they make MILK style, even though their influence on what we call lolita fashion today, is unmistakable.
Past Posts:
Olive Girls
#MILK#Old School Lolita#Lolita Fashion History#Shirley Temple#90s Jfashion#80s Jfashion#70s Jfashion#Lolita History#Central Apartment#Hitomi Okawa#Mini Lolita History Lesson
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Reading a Birth Chart 101: The Complete Guide,
Part 2: Every House Has its Own Smell
glossary: the planets, planet rulership over the signs, elements (water, fire, earth, air signs), modes (cardinal, fixed, mutable signs), the houses and interpretation basics
last time, we spoke about the sun, moon and rising in all the different signs. through this, we slowly started to build an understanding of the 12 zodiac signs and planets.
today, we will learn about all the planets you can encounter in a chart.
they are:
sun- father, ego, self
moon- mother, internal reactions to external events, emotions, processing
mercury- intellect, communication, verbal expression, outward expression
venus- love, beauty, art, pleasantries, attraction
mars- passion, drive, movement, anger
jupiter- expansion, growth, generosity, the good natured father
saturn- difficulties, perseverance, hard work, the disciplining father
uranus- sudden changes, reform, activism
neptune- collective consciousness, dreams, spirituality
pluto- transformation, rebirth, power
the 12 astrological signs are ruled by these planets:
aries, ruled by mars
tarus, ruled by venus
gemini, ruled by mercury
cancer, ruled by moon
leo, ruled by sun
virgo, ruled by mercury
libra, ruled by venus
scorpio, ruled by pluto/mars
sagittarius, ruled by jupiter
capricorn, ruled by saturn
aquarius, ruled by uranus
pisces, ruled by neptune
aside from being ruled by planets, the signs can be divided into elements and modes
elements of signs:
think of what you imagine when you hear fire, water, earth or air.
fire is warm, it can be a spark or a flame, it can burn houses down or light them up.
water is fluid, it flows or bends to fit in any container, it cleanses you but also rains on you.
earth is solid, you sow seeds into it and with time it gives you results, it gives you ground to walk on.
air is everywhere, sometimes it’s the wind that blows heavily or the slight breeze that cools you down, it comes and goes.
fire signs: aries, leo, sagittarius
earth signs: taurus, virgo, capricorn
air signs: gemini, libra, aquarius
water signs: cancer, scorpio, pisces
modes of signs:
cardinal- leadership, initiative, charge
fixed- routines, stable, stubborn
mutable- adaptive, curious, dual
cardinal signs: aries, cancer, libra, capricorn
fixed signs: taurus, leo, scorpio, aquarius
mutable signs: gemini, virgo, sagittarius, pisces
The Houses: Part 1- Angular Houses:
(a/n- there are different house systems in astrology (whole sign, placidus, etc. we will get into those later). currently we will be talking about the significance of houses and the energies the planets dispose to them)
for these next examples i will be using whole sign:
remember when we talked about the rising sign or the ascendant? in astrology that will be your first house- AC, the sign opposite to it will be your 7th house or your descendant- DC, the 4th house is your imum coeli and the 10th house is your medium coeli/midheaven
imagine that the house system is a story unfolding within yourself, coming into full circle, this is how it starts:
1st house- your disposition, how you are seen, the start of your being, appearance
2nd house- your face, self esteem, your possessions, your hidden talents
3rd house- your siblings, communication, learning styles, short term travel or short distance travel
4th house- the deepest part of your chart, your home life, sensitivities, what is familiar to you, nurture and mother
5th house- your childhood, creativity, inner child, playfulness, ego, self, romance
6th house- your routines, work environment, work ethic, surroundings, cleanliness, health
7th house- shadow self, how you are when you get comfortable with people, what you seek and how you behave with partners/ people.
8th house- deeper levels of intimacy, your secrets and desires, the transformations you go through in life, shared wealth
9th house- seeking higher knowledge, higher education, spirituality, philosophy, government, law, travel
10th house- career, public image, professional environment, fame, the highest point of ur chart
11th house- working together, collective revolution, social organizations, friendships
12th house- subconscious pain, esoteric experiences, spirituality, sleep, dreams, escapism
Putting it All Together:
what happens when you first enter someone’s home? it’s different. not what you are used to. sometimes it can seem familiar.
that’s how the planets work in the different houses.
reader, you have an understand of the 12 zodiac signs, the planets and the 12 houses. now it’s time to put it all together.
here is an exercise for you.
take any planet- for example, mars. think of what it stands for.
now think of all the twelve zodiac signs, imagine how they would act according to the action of the planet. how would the dreamy pisces behave in mars? or the balanced libra? it must be easy for the fiery aries, right?
now, imagine those planets in the houses. the fiery aries mars but it’s in the homely 4th house, the compromising libra mars but she is careful with her public image, since she resides in the 10th house
what about the emotional cancer? how does she love? and if her love is in the 9th house is it emotional bonding through spiritual healing?
congrats, you have learnt the first few steps of intuitively reading a chart. you will get the hang of it!
i suggest reading blogs and posts like “venus in the houses” “pluto in the signs” or even the astro notes/observations here in the community. now that you have a basic understanding, you can further extend your knowledge!
good luck on ur reader journey, see u soon! 🤍
#astro#astro community#astro notes#astro observations#astrology#zodiac#zodiac signs#astrology notes#astrology observations#aries moon#moon#leo sun#astro houses#birth chart#natal chart#zodiac side of tumblr#cancer moon#cancer venus#libra mars#aries mars#mars in 4th house
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An Apocalyptic Manuscript Monday
This week we present our facsimile of the 14th-century Cloisters Apocalypse, published in 1971 by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. As described in the introduction to the commentary about the manuscript, “[famine], pestilence, strife, and untimely death inspired apocalyptic fantasies and movements in Europe throughout the Middle Ages” (page 9), and this environmental influence led to the popularity of apocalyptic manuscripts like this French Apocalypse. Made in the 1330s for a Norman aristocratic couple, this manuscript has a few interesting details that set it apart from other Apocalypses, especially in relation to two other manuscripts in London (British Library, Add. Ms. 17333) and Paris (Bibliothèque Nationale, ms. Lat. 14410) that share similar formats, styles, and sequences with the Cloisters manuscript.
The first unique detail is the prefatory cycle of the life of Jesus in the introductory folios (1-2 verso). Since the Apocalypse of St. John the Divine (also known as the book of Revelation) was written by a titular St. John, prefatory cycles in Apocalypses usually consist of his life, rather than Christ’s. The other aspect of this manuscript that makes it distinct amongst its sister manuscripts is the addition of a dedication page on folio 38 verso. This page shows a man and woman kneeling in front of a tonsured saint and the Virgin and Child, respectively, representing the people for whom this manuscript was originally made for.
Interestingly, this manuscript also has multiple pages added to the original manuscript. Pasted on the inside front cover are handwritten provenance notes. The manuscript also did not originally include chapters and verses 16:14 through 20:3, and pages with this text were later added to the manuscript after the dedication page.
The materials used to create this manuscript include tempera, gold, silver, and ink on parchment with a later leather binding. If you are interested in seeing this unique Apocalypse manuscript, you can either use our facsimile, visit Gallery 13 of the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Cloisters where the original is on display, or view their digital presentation of the manuscript.
View other posts on our facsimiles of illuminated manuscripts.
– Sarah S., Special Collections Graduate Intern
#manuscript monday#apocalypse#cloisters apocalypse#the cloisters#met#the metropolitan museum of art#manuscripts#illuminated manuscripts#french manuscripts#book of revelation#Revelation of St. John#facsimiles#manuscript facsimiles#Sarah S.
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Unhinged Sybelle and Benji tangent (cw references to abuse csa trauma etc)
yeah so Marius’s turning of Benji and Sybelle isn’t about whether or not that was the right decision to make and isn’t made better by their contentment living as vampires in late canon. Benji and Sybelle’s relatively happy lives as vampires are irrelevant to me. The cruelty of how he did it is made worse by the hypocritical nature of turning a kid into a vampire after so firmly insisting that turning children is morally abhorrent and smth he should’ve never done, yeah, but that’s only a small part of it.
It was so awful and upsetting to me bcus of the deliberate stripping of Armand’s agency. See, we have a whole book where Armand tells the story of how throughout his entire life and childhood he was forced into the role of submissiveness and/or dependency. whether that be his childhood religious devotion that would eventually lead to his being buried alive for God or being sold into sexual slavery or Marius’s mentorship of him that ultimately intended to teach him to stay loyal and dependent on Marius’s authority to Marius’s relationship with him sexual and otherwise to the cult indoctrination, up until Lestat comes along and tilts his own view of submission and devotion as his only way to survive and function in the world onto its head.
He gives him a theater and then he gives him Louis. Armand floats around, tries to find purpose without devotion through using Louis and Daniel as tools to understanding the modern age. The modern age to Armand is possibility and independence, things he’s never had so much access to and doesn’t know exactly how to apply to himself until the devils minion chapter when he’s like ah ok I get it, life without devotion is something I’ve always been familiar with—it’s what Marius taught me! I Am The Master now with my excessive indulgence and my Boy and my sea side paradise.
But Armand is a Void™️ with no concept of self besides a collection of concepts and experiences and people he’s been exposed to throughout his existence, so rlly he’s kind of a fraud. Internally he’s still a saint who yearns for a God to follow, he’s no Marius, and this all comes to a head in Memnoch the devil when he throws himself into the sun for Jesus etc. and so TVA Armand is mixed the fuck up, he’s lost everything he’s been building for himself, he’s like an open wound, like red and gold sand art shaken around until it’s sludges of brown.
Armand believes himself to have no coherent narrative of a life, no coherent and consistent sense of self, just a collection of unrelated sequences that he draws from to occasionally preform personhood, and at the beginning of TVA he is very much just that. No thoughts only colors and pain. But he’s trying to rebuild himself as best he can, he has these young humans who he’s caring for, and through caring Armand finds meaning.
These humans are very much reflections of himself, or who he used to be, and seeing a personhood reflected back at him through these two gives him insight into his own value as an individual, as someone who is inherently worthy of having a life. So with Benji and Sybelle he tries to rebuild his own sense of personhood by giving them what he would want in there place. The conclusion he reaches at the end of his story to David is that after everything ultimately he is learning and rebuilding, gaining fulfillment and individuality he’s never had before through his empathy and care for these two people in his life. Benji and Sybelle are representative of Armand’s healing process!!! They mirror him bcus they are him!! He’s literally nurturing his inner child!! And with that there comes self care and self love etc etc. but then the book doesn’t end!!
Then after all that trauma and all that healing everything that Armand was tenderly attempting to build for his new life is stripped away ! When Marius turns Benji and Sybelle it doesn’t matttttter that they like being vampires. What matters is that when Armand finally gained agency and individuality Marius decided to take that from him! Marius decided that he actually knew better then Armand, and if Armand would just allow him to do what’s best for him then everything would be so much better and so much easier. And when Armand starts sobbing and screaming and fighting him that’s just justification to Marius that Armand isn’t capable of independence or self sufficiency, that he’s a child throwing a tantrum who can’t make his own decisions, that he should just be dependent on Marius like he used to be and trust that other people know what’s best for him.
That’s why it’s so tragic! That’s why it’s so frustrating and so sad. Armand was on the road to healing but then Marius stormed in like the symbolic representation of his past telling him that no matter what he does or the progress he makes he’s still Armand in the catacombs, Amadeo on the red sheets, Andrei waiting to be buried alive. So I don’t really give af if ultimately Benji and Sybelle are fine! It’s great that despite being a child vampire Benji is able to function independently and contently as an adult with minimal body dysmorphia and existential dread, but you know who’s not able to do that? Armand 😭😭
#tvc#the vampire chronicles#vampire chronicles#vc#armand#interview with the vampire#iwtv#the vampire armand#benji mahmoud#sybelle tvc#Tvc meta#iwtv meta#VC meta#armand le russe#armand iwtv#armand vc#This was meant to be like a paragraph of rambling wtf happened#Sorry if my tone comes off as condescending I’m just very excited about armand#And I don’t agree with the assertion that Benji and sybelle’s good lives as vampires diminish the impact of their turning
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Random TFA silly headcannons because as of writing this it is 3am and my brain is stupid
Bumblebee snores like a MF when he's overtired
Bulkhead secretly attends art classes
Ratchet LOVES telanovela shows that are super sappy and romantic
Prowl secretly wants an army of animals so he can feel like a Disney princess
Optimus really likes slapstick humor and has been caught watching The Three Stooges on more than one occasion
Megatron knows he has an almost vampire like vibe which is why he PURPOSEFULLY broods in the dark
Starscream once tried to chug some of Megatron's high grade and INSTANTLY got drunk (fuckin' lightweight)
Lugnut is as dumb as he looks and that is partially due to him not thinking before he acts
Blitzwing's Random persona sometimes will try to eat things that are not edible for Cybertronians like candies or fried human food. Hothead gets really annoyed when he fronts and his tanks hurt from Random while Icy just internally sighs and is like "just another fuckin' Monday"
Shockwave does yoga
The Starscream clones are dumber than Starscream and share a collective 'hive mind'
Sentinel’s chin is a fashion choice albeit a poor one
Elita-1/Blackarachnia has kicked Sentinel’s aft on more than one occasion
Wasp/Waspinator sometimes buzzes to himself like a child would pretending to be a bee
Ultra Magnus blushes if you kiss his servos
The Jet Twins are ticklish
Jazz sometimes wishes that Sentinel would just politely shut up whenever he rants
Thanks for reading my rambles and goodnight lol
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hi ellie!! can i get a modern au with cyno where he’s a huge geek of pokemon (because he would be) and he’s finally met his match, whom he’s interested in (the reader with she/her pronouns)? it can be either in a headcanon format or drabble, whichever is easier! thank you advance<3
໒⦂ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐇𝐂𝐒.
notes. hello anon, sorry for the delay</3 i decided on making this into headcanons, since it suits the request a bit better; anyway i hope it’s to your likings, enjoy<3
disclaimer. there were no suitable cyno gifs so i made one myself. if you use it, don’t be an ass, credit.
genre. crack + fluff
cyno x fem!reader.
⌗ this man — THIS GEEK — has been into pokemon from his days on cartoon network. he was the guy that woke up early mornings to watch the clone wars at 7am BUT STUMBLED ACROSS pokemon one day and was like “o h.”
⌗ child cyno just starring at the screen in wonder like what is this piece of art and why have i only found it now. literally asking himself why he hadn’t bought the trading cards before ( maybe because the kids in his neighborhood were always BUYING THEM UP ).
⌗ through the show, indigo league, he also saw the games being advertised and he just had to have one — to at least TRY.
⌗ he was gifted a gameboy one christmas to play mario related games, so he decided.. to give emerald a try😐
⌗ the amount of hours that went into that game for understanding it ALONE. there was so much to learn for no reason, but a fun game nonetheless.
⌗ throughout the years cyno would continue collecting cards, literally getting them at any trip to a store with lisa ( yes, yes lisa. ), and she would just giggle but buy them, anyway<3
⌗ cards were banned at school tho because they were being exchanged left and right like DRUGS LMFAO ( this happened at my school oml it was so bad ppl were sneaking them in AND SOME GOT CONFISCATED BAHAHA )
⌗ oddly, but not so oddly, he likes electric and ground types the most, despite them being each other’s weaknesses LMAO also likes fighting and dark types though.
⌗ lucario is his favorite.. i mean, come on.. for the sake of this au, I BELIEVE CYNO WEARS THE HOODIE BC OF LUCARIO
⌗ umbreon is a close second tho
⌗ dare i say.. he almost bought the four hundred dollar life size, wife snatcher, lucario plush..
⌗ tighnari stopped him lol
⌗ furthermore, when he got pokemon mystery dungeon, explorers of sky ( I MISS THIS SO MUCH IM SOBBING INTERNALLY ).. he restarted his ds 3638393927382920 times to try and get riolu
⌗ he failed, and settled for pikachu ( riolu became his partner and actually, it worked out way better )
⌗ ( spoilers ) there were tears in his eyes at the end of the final chapter after fighting dialga and descending the steps.. iykyk..
⌗ flashing forward a few years — 2016
⌗ the year he met you
⌗ there was this gym near his house when he downloaded pokemon go ( ofc he had to hop on this train ) and gurl..
⌗ for the longest time he was on TOP with that gym, never lost.
⌗ and then this girl shows up who went up in the ranks and stole his spot
⌗ he told himself not to get mad — i mean, it’s just a silly little game, there were plenty of gyms to go around, right?
⌗ wrong, he was bothered.
⌗ and if that gym was shut down, it meant you lived near — like no way you didn’t
⌗ so on the trip to the park one morning, on his way to the pokestop, he found a girl, at the top of the slide on her phone.
⌗ it was the strangest sight to him, like what were you doing up at that hour, on your phone, right at the pokestop when pogo was trending
⌗ you had to be her.
⌗ he checked the gym again to make sure, and there you were.
⌗ “judgment is upon you.” he would proclaim, pointing at you, as though declaring war of some sorts.
⌗ meanwhile you just give the most confused look ever to him. like who is this boy and who is he to complain?? and what about??
⌗ until it finally clicks.
⌗ “twilight arbiter?!”
⌗ and now cyno is speechless because he was acknowledged by the enemy.
⌗ cue the blossom of a very strong and precious friendship.
⌗ that very first day you would both find out that you attend the same high school, wondering how you hadn’t met sooner since you lived in the same neighborhood and attended the same school??
⌗ like where were you all these years? where was he all these years??
⌗ either way, you wouldn’t waste your time together now as you both ramble of your mutual interests, trade your cards — play them, lend one another games — you name it!
⌗ he especially trades when you say that he has a card of your favorite pokemon, and of course he wants to see you light up<3
⌗ he falls first asf, but you fell harder
⌗ pokemon related puns.. i don’t have to explain this one, nor do i want to😐
⌗ owns a good bit of plushes, and has also bought you a handsome amount for birthdays, holdidays, friendship-a-versaries.
⌗ random but he stumbles across pokémon showdown one day and honestly..
⌗ “HOP ON PS! HOP ON PS!” at two o’clock in the morning.
⌗ oh you’re probably wondering, how do you get together, exactly?
⌗ “are you a pokeball cuz you-”
⌗ “caught your heart, perhaps?”
⌗ silence.
⌗ he did not expect you to finish his pickup line, nor did he expect that boldness — he truly met his match, didn’t he?
notes. my pokemon knowledge is not very extensive, it’s based on what i witnessed as a kid from the sidelines and friends</3 so i hope this fulfills your request!
↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask
#— ; 🏹 ) genshin impact fics.#— ; 🏹 ) sumeru.#cyno#cyno x fem!reader#cyno x you#cyno x y/n#cyno x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin#genshin impact#gi#cyno genshin impact#cyno fluff#genshin cyno#gi cyno#genshin x you#genshin x y/n#genshin x reader#sumeru#genshin modern au#pokemon#pokemon au#cyno headcanons#genshin headcanons#cyno imagines
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Slain (Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo/Vampire!Reader)
Chapter One: No Compasses, No Signs
Synopsis: The world undergoes change. Helmut Zemo finds new residence and perspective on his journey for revenge.
Tags: Vampire!AU, Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo, Slow Burn, Blood Drinking, Manipulation, Everyone Is Morally Grey, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers
Rating: E (+18) For Later Chapters, Minors DNI
Warnings: Mild Gore, Minor Mentions of Child Death
Word Count: 9,900~
--------------
Her lips were a breath away from his neck, fangs bared, when his weapon found purchase in her heart. She settled there a while, leaning closer into him and the great bolt of wood that sat between them. He stilled as she did.
One last shuddering breath escaped her lips. “Thank you, Helmut,” It was more than that, though. A confession of love hid itself within her words.
Helmut grimaced. Not this. Not now.
Before there was even a moment to reconsider, he wrenched the stake free and brought it down again, and again, and again, and again… Better to make sure the job gets done than leave her to suffer.
He walked from that room into the daylight an untethered man. The hunt was just beginning, though.
Every inch of the floor sat soaked red in his wake.
———
Sokovia was always most beautiful in the autumn.
It was a timeless place, or at least that’s what all the brochures had said. After spending the morning exploring old-growth forests or quaint villages, a three-hour car ride could take you straight into the city, filled with modern Sokovian culture and art. The capital city of Novi Grad was bursting at the seams with theaters, galleries, museums, historical districts, and Michelin-rated restaurants serving farm-to-table cuisine: anything you craved on an international vacation, you could find it there. Students the world over chose the Sokovian National University over all others across Europe and the globe for its arts department. People thrived there.
At least they had.
Now the theaters that still stood sat empty, never to play another film or host another symphony. Museums were looted, restaurants burned, and the university, with a campus several hundred years old, turned to dust as Novi Grad disappeared off the map forever. The bricks that had once built a nation came crumbling down in one final, fatal blow. In the span of one night, the history of the whole country was lost forever.
Some things still remained, though; things older than even Sokovia had been.
Helmut Zemo just had to find them.
There was no map to follow towards his prize. There had been once, an ancient thing that sat rolled up tight in a glass case on his father’s desk for all his life. It had been there, untouched, in every memory Helmut had of that office. He imagined his father and grandfather had similar memories there, looking up at the very same desk and pondering the stiff, crumbling parchment above. Not anymore, though. There would be no more young Zemos to gaze up at that sturdy oak desk. It had been found crushed beneath the rubble of their ancestral home.
In fact, there wouldn’t be any more young Zemos at all.
Carl had been found crushed in that rubble too.
It was better that way. He had met a nobler fate than most Sokovian citizens had. Still…
Sometimes it was better not to dwell on things like that.
Helmut’s father hadn’t had much time to teach him the ways of the family before his passing, but some things came with time and the rest could be gleaned from superstition.
Silver, for example, was plentiful across their vast collection of heirlooms. Those trinkets had become incredibly useful to melt down for bullets and crossbow bolts when he started to hunt. Much more helpful, though, was the fact that the furniture in their homes was often made of fine wood, and some of those handcrafted bedposts and coat racks, when twisted just so and pulled at the socket, would reveal a perfectly sharpened end hidden within.
Those stakes had come in handy.
And even if there hadn’t been any childhood lessons on how to slaughter a creature soundlessly in the darkness of the night, Helmut had learned plenty about that in the Sokovian special forces.
After months of little revelations, his preparations were long past done. Now the only thing left to do was follow his father’s footsteps.
Surviving the journey was a secondary priority.
Helmut didn’t need his family’s map to know exactly where to seek the first of his quarries. He had heard tales of her for his whole life in nursery rhymes and whispered childhood stories.
Women, children, and wandering folk with pure hearts couldn’t be led astray, but if a man with a guilty mind followed the Behnit River, he might just get lost. Thankfully, Helmut had that part covered. Once lost, the poor soul would trek through the winding Sokovian mountain passes, traveling far beyond the shadow of Mount Wundagore until he came across a forest of fog. If the man wandered the forest long enough, evading the great beasts that lurked there, he would find the castle of the Grey Lady.
Anyone foolish enough to seek her there would see the face of death.
Now, Helmut Zemo was not afraid of death. He had been intimately acquainted with it from birth as had twelve generations before him. Ever since his father’s head arrived home on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, shipped neatly in an ice-packed crate and wrapped with a red ribbon, the abyss was attached to him like a lover. Not even his wife or child could escape that cruel mistress’s clutches. Without anything left to lose, Helmut found himself in only death’s company.
Even now, as he wandered the abandoned villages and barren fields of the country he once called home in search of the Grey Lady, he spent his time slaughtering the last stragglers of Ultron’s army and putting any live victims out of their misery before they turned. Neither tended to last long once they were starved, but a few stubborn bastards held on. He liked to think of it as a mercy when he drove his stake through their skulls.
Death walked beside him like a friend, and Helmut didn’t fear his friends.
They feared him.
That suited him just fine.
To be fair, not everything was bad here. The Behnit flowed through fields of flowers and fruiting trees where all manner of soft, warm, innocent creatures slept, untouched by the horrors of modern civilization. Helmut slept among them unnoticed. He sustained himself off of their sacrificial charity.
Another silver lining: the longer he traveled along the riverbank the less it seemed to rain, which was appreciated. His coat kept him warm and the stars kept him company. The autumn leaves seemed just as beautiful as they were advertised to be in the travel brochures he used to wipe his ass on the trail.
He had pitched his tent for the night in a cluster of boulders by the pebbled shore. The greatest of the stones were still jagged from where a slowly dying glacier rended the earth and left a river its wake. Still, they were softened somewhat by moss and time.
When Helmut woke that morning, emerging from the boulder’s shadows, the once open field that had surrounded the river the night before had been replaced with more trees than could be counted. Thick morning fog rolled in from the water’s edge. Visibility was at almost zero. There were just trees and trees and trees and nothing.
It was exactly as he thought it would be.
So he packed up his tent, tucked it away in his bag, and freed his wicked, silver blade from its holster- another heirloom coming in handy. Its weight rested naturally in his hand. Then, he walked on.
Thus began the first leg of Helmut Zemo’s journey towards revenge.
———
Black blood splattered against the cobbles as my ringed fingers slammed into the younger man’s cheekbone again.
It pooled in the stones’ creases; a thick, stinking ichor that clung to my jewelry and my skin as it continued to dribble down from his face and body. I couldn’t help but lick a stray droplet from my lips.
He wasn’t quite broken yet. It wouldn’t take much longer, though. My hunger could wait until then.
The pathetic creature stood his ground in the corner of the darkened stable as his eyes darted about to search for an escape route.
There were none. I had made sure of that. There was only me and the sturdy walls behind him. Nowhere to go but down.
As expected, he sunk to his knees after just one more sharp hit to the cheek.
I allowed my hand to linger for a moment. It may have been cruel, but I didn’t care to think too much about it. “Are you ready to tell me now?”
His red eyes glinted with tears. Slowly, he nodded.
“What is your name,” I asked.
“Pietro,”
“Pietro,” I repeated the word on my ancient tongue, feeling each syllable roll over the muscle. A strong name. Sokovian. I brought myself down to his level, resting on the balls of my feet before him. My fingers danced along his skin. “How did you receive the gift?”
“Please, I don’t kn-”
His voice shuddered and stalled as one of my pointed nails slowly began to dig into the cold meat of his cheek and more sticky blackness coated my fingers.
I smiled right through it despite the growing unease in my stomach. Maybe a gentle hand would be more helpful…
“You do know, Pietro, even if you don’t think you do. Don’t you want to tell me? To get this over with?” My voice was sickly sweet. The dank stall, once reeking of stale piss and rot, began to match my cloying tone. The air grew thick with a dizzying perfume and Pietro’s stiff posture softened at the first breath of it. All at once his eyes swam with not fear, but relief. He wanted to make me happy now. Nothing would make him feel better than following my command. It almost made me want to vomit more, if I were capable of it.
The words came soft and dreamlike from his trembling mouth. “Novi Grad, at the university. My friend was a student. We were walking back from the bars to meet my sister and a man was waiting in the alley… oh god. No.” Pietro shook his head. His pulse began to speed. “I ate him. I ate Paul. The man attacked us and Paul tried to run and I- I ate him!”
His story was sad but unhelpful.
My voice stayed even despite his hyperventilation. It was best to keep him calm for both our sakes. “Who changed you, Pietro? Who was that man?”
The air grew heavy around us both, blanketing him in warmth and pleasant feelings from all sides. It was calm. It was safe. It was all a deception.
Pietro leaned into my touch like a young, blind animal searching for his mother and I hated to admit it stirred something more in me than nausea. Whatever it had awoken, and I didn’t care to find out, it was bringing out my mercy. Death no longer waited for him at the first wrong move. I sat quietly at his side, smearing dark blood across his hair as I stroked it without meaning to; a small comfort. Absent tears dripped from his empty eyes.
After a long while, Pietro decided he was ready to speak again.
“He said he was a friend of Stark… that he would change the world,”
My voice came in a low sigh. “Starks always think they will,”
I had known. Even if I hadn’t been absolutely certain, it was hard to ignore the sinking feeling his scent brought on. If I wasn’t in so much denial I could have guessed as much the second even a drop of Pietro’s blood hit my lips. He was of my own flesh in a way, however diluted by distance and time. I had tasted it in him. There was a flavor only attributable to myself under his chemical bitterness and the musk of wet dog.
Slowly, I let my hand slip away from his face and stood, kicking at a pile of rotting straw on my way up.
Pietro drooped further into the corner. His sandy hair covered enough of his face that I couldn’t tell if he was still crying or not. “I was just so hungry,” he breathed, “I couldn’t even think, I just kept eating them. All of them. Anyone I could catch. I was just… so hungry,”
“Are you still hungry,” I asked.
The stable went silent.
He nodded. “I’m starving,”
It was a huge risk, and a stupid one too. I hadn’t taken on a familiar since the 1800’s. It had been much longer than that since I’d created a thrall or spawn, and this… this was much more complex in new and different ways. He was not mine, even if he shared traces of my disease in his blood. Whatever hybrid monstrosity he was—I was almost certain he contained something other than the vampiric curse I bore—it meant he could not be controlled by force as a young spawn could. Pietro would instead need to be tamed to be trusted, much like the legacies of wolves that dwelled alongside me in my woods.
Pietro didn’t look particularly defiant, though. Keeping him leashed to my side couldn’t be that difficult. Besides, the idea of having some company wasn’t a completely unpleasant thought.
In fact, I rather liked it.
I approached him again like I would have approached a wounded animal, undoing button after button on the sleeve of my coat and exposing the smooth flesh of my forearm. It was an offering. An olive branch. He swallowed hard.
“I will not give you this gift lightly Pietro but I am in a particularly giving mood. You only need to answer one more question, and this can all be over. Do you wish to pay penance for your hunger? Or do you wish to die?”
His body trembled as the pungent reek of fear took over the room once again. My glamour had worn off well before. It was only fair to let him make this choice with all of his mind in his own hands. “What are you doing?” He asked. His accent trembled on every syllable.
“I’m offering you a choice,” I replied. “You weren’t given the luxury of choosing what you have become, but now you can choose what you do with it. We’re similar, you and I. We’ve made mistakes. I know from firsthand experience that one needs to learn to control this curse or die before it kills them in the ways that matter, and you don’t look dead to me. At least, not yet. So what would you prefer, Pietro? How does this end?”
Pietro gulped. His shaking hands were fisted in the soft cotton of his dirty AC/DC t-shirt. “I don’t want to die,”
My face relaxed into a soft smile. That would do just fine.
“Then drink,”
He attacked my wrist like a mad dog. It didn’t even feel like a pinch as his teeth ripped into my skin.
Cool, red blood flooded his mouth in an unholy communion, and, in that moment, I could have been his god.
Pietro ate like an animal.
It was clear that nobody had guided him when he was created. No one had sat at his side as he fed for the first time, showing him just where to put his teeth or how to keep things from getting messy. Of course he’d had to kill to eat. There were no lessons on where the major veins and arteries lay: which ones were deadly, which could be pierced and healed, how to heal them… It was a damn shame. He could have been so much more than an animal.
Now, blood splashed wildly from his mouth as he tried to swallow as much as he could, ripping with his new, sharp molars to try to coax more viscera into his throat. I pitied his lack of understanding. He could barely feed himself, even off of my near-endless supply.
That being said, his desperation was almost cute.
He drank his fill of me until his eyes glazed over. As a fed man, he was flushed with life again, breathing deeply and gaining color in his pallid complexion with every breath. From the looks of it, a few more hours without a meal would’ve killed him before I could. When he finally detached from my wrist there wasn’t a hint of guilt or shame or fear in his eyes. Instead, they reflected pure satiation into the darkness. His look promised gratitude. Servitude.
I released a cold huff of breath into the air. “Full?”
Pietro replied shortly, wiping his mouth with the butt of his palm. “Yeah, much better,”
“Good,”
His eyes darted to the wound he’d left. “Are you ok?” He asked. For all of his previous boldness, he now refused to meet my eyes.
It didn’t matter much to me, but I shrugged, examining the previously mangled flesh. “No harm done.”
Pietro gaped at the improvement. My skin was already knitting itself back together, though it was working a bit slower than usual. I needed to feed soon myself.
Strong with a fresh supply, his pulse beat hard enough in his jugular that I could watch it pulse from half a meter away. More thoughts sparked behind my eyes.
Well… it couldn’t hurt.
I needed far less than he did to keep myself running. It would only take one bite. One big mouthful. One swallow. I had given him far more than that, so it shouldn’t leave him wanting in the least.
“Would you do me a favor, Pietro?” Using his name was a manipulation. The air grew thick again with the scent of pear blossoms and juicy, dripping stone fruits. “The first step towards controlling your new form,”
“Anything,”
The graphic on his t-shirt was soaked with blood and bits of ripped vein.
“Give me your neck,”
It wasn’t a question. Instead, I found myself demanding access to him.
The worst part was he followed me blindly, even with his own understanding of what it meant to feed. Pietro tilted his chin to the sky as if he might begin to wail at the moon and waited. Not a muscle moved as he waited for brutality.
I didn’t quite know what to do with him anymore. He was filled with too many unexpected surprises.
This man, barely more than a boy, was an abomination, a scientific marvel, living and dead all at once. He never should have been thrust into his creation, but abomination or not he would satiate the hunger that gnawed at every cell in my body better than any other source of blood at my disposal. His blood, however tainted, was warm beneath his skin. It called to me like the predator I was made to be.
As I moved in for the bite, though, his eyes met mine again despite the obvious effort he was taking to close them and imagine he was anywhere else. I found a new terror overwhelming him there. Something even more ancient than I was sat deep in the dilated pits of his pupils, like a pig finally understanding his purpose as the axe began to drop. I had seen it more times than I wanted to count: The looks they gave when it was too late to squeal or run. Fear, understanding, and acceptance of the end. It was the place they went when there was nowhere left to go as they waited for the slaughter. I could stomach it in animals, a needed sacrifice to sustain myself, but to see it in the eyes of one so much like me, his eyelashes wet with blood and tears… I saw my own face looking back at me.
Slowly, deliberately, I guided his head back to its front-facing position, patting his unscathed cheek with a cool but soft hand. “You passed the test, now go to the house. Find somewhere comfortable. I’ll meet you there,”
I wasn’t that hungry anyways.
Pietro sat still for a moment, eyes shifting warily from wall to wall, but as soon as he realized there were no more instructions to wait for he scrambled to his feet, bolting from the stables almost on his hands and knees until he managed to keep his balance. In a moment’s time, he was shoving his way out the door. Every few seconds, though, he would look back at me until he couldn’t manage to keep me in his sights.
He still reeked of fear.
Good. It was best for him to fear me. I would rather keep him in line with fear than with pain, and we weren’t here to make friends. Things would be better this way.
Brushing wet straw from the thick leather of my day pants, I rose to follow, leaving the bloody stall behind me. I only paused long enough to spare a look towards the piles of rotting, ichorous bodies packed into the adjacent stalls from the months and weeks before. It would need to be dealt with eventually, but not tonight. I continued into the gloom, locking the door to the stables on my way out.
There was more important work to do.
———
Pietro adapted to my solitary life far better than I could’ve expected him to.
He mostly kept himself entertained, never lingering too long in my presence, not that he should want to. There was very little of mutual interest between the two of us anyway outside of mealtimes. Still, I kept a close eye on him, from a distance of course.
The garden had become his main refuge, and that suited me just fine. It had gone neglected for a while anyway. Having a hobby would help him adapt to his new life more smoothly, and hey, a little uninformed TLC at his hands couldn’t possibly hurt the plants that had already survived generations' worth of being harvested but otherwise ignored.
When he wasn’t scrounging around the loamy dirt, Pietro spent his days patrolling the grounds. He had probably seen more of the expansive property in the past weeks than I had in the past decade. It was a stark reminder of what a homebody I’d become in the past hundred years.
Every night, when the gardening and patrolling was done, he would trot back to his seat at the dinner table, right beside my own at the head, and share his informal report on the events of his day. Once it had been news of the wolves he’d befriended, then a broken fountain that needed repair, then a deer caught in a fence. I figured this was his way of earning his keep, even if I had never asked him to. I had barely done more than feed and house him since his arrival. No progress had been made on controlling his power. His proverbial leash grew longer each day I refused to put in the time (and effort) to discipline him.
It would be so easy for him to slip away
I had no more control over him than I did over the weather. If he truly wanted to, Pietro could have run off into the mist the second I let him out of that stable, escaping to whatever fate awaited him outside the bubble of my protection. There was no glamour, no psychic energy compelling him to stay. It would be as easy as him making the choice and enacting a plan.
Still, he came back each night like a hound with a rabbit in his teeth, sometimes literally. We shared the details of his day over light, meaningless conversations each dinner time until he fed from my wrist once more and shuffled off to rest.
Despite everything, the time I spent with Pietro in the evenings was the most fun I’d had in ages.
Not that I’d ever admit that. There was still a certain air of decorum and fear-based respect that hung between the two of us and I refused to bridge the gap. He was my ward, after all. Or… manservant? No, he didn’t do enough around the interior of our home to warrant the title. Housemate indirectly threatened with death upon his departure? Whatever. The semantics of what he was to me were unimportant. What he wasn’t was a friend or equal. I lorded above him in every way: age, knowledge, sheer supernatural power. It wouldn’t do either of us any good to pretend we were closer than tentative acquaintances.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t privately relish in the meals we shared, though, and the brief bits of humanity he coaxed out of me somehow with his presence. Our quiet companionship would perfectly toe the line to keep him respectful but less fearful. At least, I hoped so.
It would be painfully miserable to be alone again now that I’d remembered what it was like not to be.
My own days hadn’t changed much, with the exception of my evening meals. Dawn was spent in the animal pens. I fed and watered the pigs and chickens and lambs before taking their offerings: the sheep were sheared on seasonal rotation, the chickens laid in the mornings, and every once in a while, a pig would grow round and tired enough to be culled. Mostly I would toss anything slaughtered and drained to the wolves to keep them happy, but on occasion, I’d leave with a lamb of my own to quench my unending thirst. Not often these days. Instead, I supplemented my diet with wine in the hopes that, eventually, I could overcome my hunger entirely. It hadn’t happened yet. I hadn’t given up hope.
Once the beasts were tended, the rest of the day was spent curled up in one nook or another attempting to pass the hours with whatever useless activity was available. If I stayed put too long, I had learned my flesh would begin to petrify, so I forced myself into monotonous, limited activities each day. Recently that meant embroidery, which made its way into the rotation once every few decades. Before that, I’d organized the library alphabetically by the author’s names (before it had been by book title), taken up oil painting until I ran out of paint, and spent a small stint attempting to design my own clothes for the hundredth time. It turned out as well as it always had. That was to say, every single design was awful and/or impossible to sew with the materials at my disposal. Even the garden Pietro loved so much had once been a time-sink to keep me from turning to stone. After almost a thousand years, though, nothing kept my attention long.
Nothing new was left to discover here. On rare occasions, a new hobby would arrive on the body of an interloper, like the Game Boy with its drained batteries that sat next to my bed, but even those didn’t take long to break or lose their novelty.
Besides, visitors had become a rarity as soon as cars and highways came into fashion.
Who would spend their days wandering down old forest paths when they could take their new vehicle down a well-mapped road instead? It was quicker, cheaper, safer- and then came the airplanes and the busses and the high-speed rails. By my nine-hundred and eighty-seventh year of immortal life, I was lucky to get a lost hiker at my door once or twice a year that the wolves didn’t shred before I found them.
Things changed for a bit after the world shook. Suddenly, it seemed as though there was a wave of new bodies wandering the wood every dusk and dawn. No companionship could be found with those maddened newborn creatures. They were like only one man-made monster I had ever witnessed, almost seventy-five years before, but they were mindless with the endless tug of their starvation, an unprecedented side effect of their disease. Always so hungry. Few retained any scraps of humanity by the time they made it to me, sunburnt and emaciated and so very confused.
After a while, though, even they became rare. It was as if they had all been sent in a great burst before whatever event that bore them was over. The whole situation concerned me. I wondered if they weren’t coming to me anymore, where were they going? There must have been more of them than the ones who had come to my door. If this hadn’t been an attack on my home, organized to finally rid me of my life, why were they created? And if so many had made it as far as my castle, what had become of Sokovia? I feared I would never get an answer.
Pietro was the last.
I couldn’t have known it when I spared him, but no more followed in his footsteps. He himself had arrived almost a month after the young man who came before, and he had taken a few weeks to find me after the one before him. Then, after Pietro, there was nothing. If he hadn’t been spared, I would never have known of Ultron, or the children he sired to prove himself to Stark, or the bomb Stark had dropped to rid the world of the vampiric plague that would descend upon it.
Maybe it was the renewed scarcity that made me pause when I first saw him stumbling through the bushes. That split second of indecision before I gutted him on sight, was it curiosity or loneliness? Or was it luck? Whatever it was, and I didn’t care to dig too deeply into any of my feelings on the matter, I was glad for it.
The pair of us kept each other company. Fog rolled in each morning and the moon glowed full each night and the world kept turning, but things were new now. The same china and linen and dining table I had stared at for hundreds of years seemed to have new detail in it every day.
We had peace.
Until the morning Pietro came wailing through the study doors with that mangled wolf in his arms.
“There’s a man!” He gasped, blood running down his front and into the deep auburn of the rug at his feet. The poor thing was long dead. From a few feet away I could tell it had gone quickly to whatever had felled it. Even still, Pietro’s eyes were wild with something more than fear at the sight of the corpse’s state. “He-“
I cut him off, rising from my chair. “Where,”
His eyes darted to the dripping gash in the wolf’s neck.
“The front walk,” he said, “I didn’t see much of him, just a shadow, but he’s armed with something bad, something that felt wrong. There are more dead too, too many to carry, but I thought she might make it. I thought I could fix her,” Pietro was babbling now, talking faster than he could even rationally think. It was evident that he had never seen a slaughter like this. At least, he had never seen a slaughter like this without a driving bloodlust that would drown out every thought other than hunger. A slaughter that wasn’t his own to make.
I crossed the room to him. “Watch the house,”
“But-”
My eyebrow raised. I was chillingly calm, tutting at him softly. “Do you think I am incapable of defending my own home?”
“No, no, but he’s just… I… how can I help you?”
Despite his fear, Pietro still so desperately wanted to do what was helpful. His moral compass was strong. I appreciated it. He was already making progress all on his own. I didn’t need him though, not for whatever awaited me in the woods. There were few people who had any knowledge of my location, and fewer still who would be able to enter and hold their own against my defenses. Knowing what I knew of Ultron, I was prepared for my feud with the Starks to come to an end. Besides, he would just be a liability, a clear weakness in my rock-solid strong persona. He was still too young.
Teeth bared, I let out a soft growl. “Like I said, watch the house. That is how you can help me, just in case someone else attempts to enter while I’m distracted,” I gestured towards the door into the greater hall outside. “Eat, then keep watch. I would only judge you if you wasted her body. If I need you, I’ll whistle,”
“How will I hear you from so far?”
“I have my ways,”
Without waiting for confirmation, I started my warpath towards the front of the house, leaving the sounds of sloppy tearing in my wake.
———
As soon as I was out the doors I could feel him at the end of the walk, but it wasn’t until he had broken the tree line, several hundred yards away, that he noticed me waiting for him.
Not a word was exchanged. That blurry body on the horizon shifted, reached back, postured, and- snap.
One soaring arrow cut through the air and found its target in my chest.
He wanted violence? I would give him violence. It had been so long since I had someone to toy with, someone who had the capability to even try to resist the toolbox of horrors that my nature had lent me. I grinned. This was a game, and I was a sore loser when my life laid on the line.
Time turned to mist in my grasp.
All at once, I was acutely aware of the bolt that had shredded through the shoulder of my coat. It stayed embedded there, the tip jutting out just below my shoulder blade, but the shaft sat too high, missing my heart by a significant margin. Stoney flesh burned all the way through the wound. When I tried to send a tendril of energy through the tunneled muscle, it fizzled out and died.
The damn tip was silvered.
This was a clever one; more than just another mindless, bloodthirsty drone in search of a throat to rip. This man had knowledge. He was a craftsman. A hunter.
My revenge awaited.
With a speed that defied the laws of the natural world, I greeted my opponent.
I moved with the wind. Every molecule of my body sang as I pulled them apart and brought them together at will, drifting over his shoulder in an amorphous cloud of smoke. Blood thrummed under his skin like thunder even if he could not actively comprehend my presence.
He was mortal.
I could feel the loose amalgam that made up my mouth almost watering at the sheer feeling of a human pulse so close to me, however slowed in the wake of my speed. Every bit of him was lean muscle, too, wrapped up in leather and military-issue kevlar. It would rip like butter under my predator’s teeth. He didn’t know that, though. In his mind, he was blissfully protected from the things that went bump in the night.
A quick scan with the looser edges of my cloudy form revealed that, despite his silver weapons, he wore none of the metal on his person.
This man may have been a hunter, but he was also a fool. He wasn’t a Stark, either. No, he smelled wrong, not a note of wolfish musk surrounded him besides the stench of dead dog in his wake. A wild card, then. Or something I couldn’t quite recognize without my nose all put together.
Plum, perhaps.
A sword, silvered like his crossbow bolts, was strapped high on his hip, but it didn’t take much maneuvering to undo the clip and send the blade clattering to the ground. Next came the crossbow itself. Taking something from the man’s hands was a little trickier, but nothing was beyond my grasp, especially when I unleashed this power. Usually, it was kept close to my chest. It was a secret truth I couldn’t even burden myself to recognize. I was ancient. I was so much more than any living soul could be forced to comprehend, I was-
The seal on the crossbow caught my eye. A badger posed regal, gnawing on the snake in its dripping teeth. My snake. Their crest.
Oh.
Oh.
The game had just become so much more fun.
I felt the air, bringing my nose together enough to sniff at it. I had to be certain. There could be no mistakes if it was who I knew it had to be. And it was: It was like a perfume I could never quite wash out, a song that always resided in the back of my head, as familiar as my own name after all of the years I had known it. Maybe, just maybe, I knew it better than my own scent.
He was a Zemo.
Twelve generations I had killed over that stupid attempt at a takeover to expand their barony. Twelve fathers of twelve sons, each more horrid and twisted than the last, had willingly walked into the lion’s den on the eve of their eldest son’s 18th year to fulfill their end of a bargain struck by the first of them all in the hope to spare their bloodline from total annihilation in my wake. One by one they sought me out of their own free will. Every time they believed they would improve on the failings of the last, finally besting me, but their pride was their fall. They were cocky and stupid enough to think they knew enough to defeat me.
Every single son had died for their gall.
They didn’t have to. If one had simply disobeyed or learned mercy, I would have let them go without a second thought. It wasn’t as if I could leave this forest to find them. Nothing compelled them besides their own hubris.
And now, the thirteenth was there to take his place at the grave.
This was wrong, though. An unshakeable feeling gripped my mind more than even my rage at the damned bloodline before me. Maybe not wrong, no, but not quite right either. He was far too young.
It wasn’t as if he looked exceedingly youthful. The man’s eyes held a certain wisdom that only came with time. I was sure that, if I were capable of seeing my own reflection clearly, it would be a trait we shared. His face showed age too. A thick but well-trimmed beard decorated his cheeks and chin, obscuring the thin line of his scowl. I spent what felt like hours memorizing those features— searching for hidden signs of age, of course, or other features that might give away his weaknesses.
The point wasn’t to admire him, though, or let his features become the focal point of my focus. This was not a man who had raised a man.
He had simply come too soon.
There was no reasonable explanation I could find to explain him birthing a blood son who had reached the age threshold to fulfill our bargain. To take a father from his child… the thought haunted me. Even with the acrid stench of death and dog permeating my home from all sides, with the culprit all but waiting for release in my hands, I couldn’t do it. My standards remained.
It just… wouldn’t do.
I let loose my tight grip on time, letting each shred of my body come together into its correct place like the snap of a fresh rubber band. It was always dizzying to find time’s proper flow again but I leaned into the exhilaration of my physical form’s newness. My voice escaped my lips- at last, my real lips. It was a bone-chilling whisper. To him, I seemed to appear at his back in an instant, traveling with the breeze that froze him.
“Next time, son of Heinrich, you’ll have to aim better than that,”
He went stiff at the feeling of my cold breath on his neck, like every hair on his body had stood at attention the second he became aware of my closeness. It was more than just a startle, though. That fear was genetic, bred into him by father and father and father before him. It was in every drop of blood that rushed to his face in my wake. He masked it as well as he could have. His expression remained schooled even as a freezing hand came up to brush against his neck. I knew better, though. I saw things humans could never dream of comprehending about each other.
Minutiae. Breath and pulse and scent and temperature. Predator senses.
“You were expecting me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“And you weren’t expecting me,”
Zemo laughed, a bitter thing. “Perhaps not. None of the others have been quite so… fast,”
I tossed his crossbow aside. It landed in the nearby brush and shattered as it slammed against the ground. My own strength was unknown to me. I could only pretend it had been intended. “Your father should have taught you better than this. This is a disappointment,”
“He might have,” he said, “but he didn’t live long enough. So, I believe you are to blame for his inability to mentor me in the rules of your little game.
My pulse raced even as my mind paused. His dark eyes took in the surroundings, surely searching for something to get him out of my grasp and back into the upper hand. Little did he know that uncertainly was creeping below my skin.
Men. They were all the same. They lacked the sight.
“You’re free to believe that if you choose,” I replied, “but eighteen years was plenty of time for the rest of them. If it was not enough for you, well, I can only call that greed. Of thirteen men, you are only the second to lose your weapon before even crossing my threshold. That and the fact that the first was not your father, it seems, means it is your father’s failing that he did not pass on the wisdom he had learned.”
“How long did he last?”
“He lasted more than six hours of combat before I gutted him. It’s a shame you couldn’t do the same. At this rate, you won’t survive the hour. What a bore,” Slowly, and without a wince despite the burning at my fingertips, I snapped off the end of the bolt in my shoulder and placed the silvered tip in my pocket, patting it softly through the fabric once it settled at the bottom. Extracting the rest of the solid metal rod was an easy feat from there. His eyes remained trained on me over his shoulder as it joined his bow on the ground.
Zemo, to his credit, mastered his fear beautifully.
His pulse had stabilized some, though its steady rhythm still rushed through my nostrils and into my dizzy mind like an intoxicating symphony. He was a cocktail of emotion inside his well-kept exterior. The scent of sudden horror was now morphing into surprise, perhaps even curiosity. His gaze only escaped mine to examine the blood dripping lazily from my shoulder to my feet.
“Confused?” I taunted.
He shook his head. “Not confused, no.”
“Then what are you?”
I wanted to know him. I wanted to rip the deepest secrets of his mind from his chest and devour them. I wanted to taste it. It would be so much sweeter if I didn’t have to take it, though. If it were given freely.
“Learning,” he replied.
It was my turn to be unprepared.
I stalked around him, coming to face him head-on, and he held my gaze again. His pulse stayed steady despite the fact that the space between us was near nonexistent, as if he thought of himself as a predator too, just like me. Still, those damn eyes examined me like some sort of experiment, not like prey. Questions sat unsaid between us in the fog.
What makes you different? What makes you special? What makes you tick?
Stars above, he made it so easy. It was impossible to keep from smiling just a little at the absurdity of it all as he took in the sight of my neck and the puckered scars that littered it. This was nothing like my dinners with Pietro. This was dangerous. Almost fun.
Everything I gave to him he shot right back at me in spades, almost as if he was toying with me too and deriving his own sick satisfaction from the electricity in the air. It reminded me a bit of the great bacchanals that had been thrown here in my youth, when the castle halls ran red with the blood of my victims, both unwitting and all too willing to die by my lips. I hadn’t been alone then. There were faces to entertain me around any corner. Even when the party ended and the bodies ran dry, my creator waited patiently for me in the bedroom as dawn broke each morning. It was horrifically, terribly, irredeemably fun. I wanted to forget it so badly that I almost had.
Now, though, the memories were fresh.
How long had it been since I’d really spoken to someone without their fear leaking from every pore? Since there had been someone to laugh with? To bounce off? To feed from?
My throat twitched shamefully at the thought.
Blood was a varied thing. No two feeds would ever taste exactly the same, even if they were almost interchangeably similar. Every emotion, every dietary choice, and every passing second spent aging would affect the profile as it hit my taste buds. Omnivorous or herbivorous animals tended to be brassy and harsh on the tongue, yet somehow watery. Overall, unfulfilling. Carnivores left me a bit more satisfied, but not much, and definitely not in terms of flavor. Other vampires were more substantial than animals, but bitter depending on their age. A young vampire tasted a bit like a berry that wasn’t quite ripe.
Humans, though… humans were uniquely human. There were no words to describe it. Mortals could not comprehend the kind of sensations that fresh human blood would fill me with enough to create the vocabulary to depict it properly. Some were savory, some were sweet; some were stomach-churning and heavy and some lighter than water on the tongue. They were ephemeral. Unique. Devastatingly addictive.
There was one unchanging fact about the taste of blood, though, that haunted my waking dreams on my worst nights.
However disgusting they had been in life, every Zemo had been orgasmically delicious in death from the very first.
I resisted the urge to unleash my glamour and drain him dry right there and then heroically. I was not that woman anymore. I had to promise myself that, at least, to keep it all reined in. The last human I’d fed from had been his father and before that his grandfather. It would do me no good to give in to my basest urges which I had fought so hard to suppress. He would die with honor and dignity when it was his time, and it wasn’t.
Not yet.
So, instead of ripping his throat clean out, I dragged a nail down the column of Zemo’s neck, relishing in the gooseflesh that raised at my touch.
“Do you always play with your food?” He asked.
I shrugged, playing the persona he needed from me to keep his dignity. “Only with your family. It keeps me young,”
And suddenly, that little playful light in him died. I didn’t quite know what had set him off, or how, but it was as if a switch had been flipped on his mood.
“I would appreciate getting on with whatever this is, then, if you wouldn’t mind,” He hissed. Zemo took a sharp step forward, closing the space that lingered between us in one swift motion. My nail pressed dangerously close to his jugular. “I am not your toy, nor was my family. This little game you’ve played with us is finished. It’s long past time. No more sons,” his nose was almost brushing my own as he spoke. I could taste every lick of hate in his breath. “This ends here.”
Even now, at my mercy, he was spending his last moments protecting his son from meeting the same fate. Not even once had any of the other men who came before even mentioned them. Not even in passing.
For a moment, I almost let him go.
The first of the Zemos had deserved it. The second had almost deserved it more if such a thing were possible. The generations seemed to snowball through the decades like some sort of horrid disease. Each man had found their way through the warding around my forest, and that in and of itself was evidence of their crimes in my eyes. The weight of guilt in their hearts had guided them to me like the light of the north star. Once they’d arrived too, every man had only continued to prove themselves unworthy of life. Every time, I thought maybe I could impart a lesson.
Twelve men had failed to understand their own failings, though, and until they did, I had doomed them to pay the same price, over and over, in an unrelenting loop of loss.
But I was so tired.
So, so tired.
Who could say if they’d ever learn? The blood I spilled might have taught them nothing at all, and it might never teach them. How many years would I spend alone, haunting the halls of an empty castle, waiting for them to learn?
Always starving.
Always hurting.
Even the guilt was gone. It was just…
Emptiness.
Deep down, I had to wonder if I was really doing it to teach them a lesson, or if I was just glad to have a warm meal and a conversation these days. When had it started to become less about them than it was about me and my own feelings?
Thirteen men. An unlucky number, but a prophetic one.
Maybe it was time to let go.
I took a deep breath and crossed my arms, letting my hand slip away from Zemo’s neck. “I have to admit, son of Heinrich, it takes a lot of nerve to demand anything of me,” I sighed, reluctant, “I’m impressed,”
He quirked up an eyebrow. “This sounds like the beginning of another game, vampire,”
“You might find out if you let me finish,”
Zemo stayed silent. I could almost hear the whispers daring to escape him as he licked his lips. Around us, the fog sat heavy and thick.
“As I was saying,” I cleared my throat and my stomach turned. When was the last time I’d been so nervous about something? When had I last felt anything at all? “You want to end the games? Fine. Lay this bare. Why are you here? Thirteenth son of Zemo, what brings you to me? Why risk your life, your youth, for this?”
I did not dare unleash my glamour to pry the truth out of him, nor did I need to. His words came easily from the very depths of his soul.
“Revenge,”
His eyes glossed over as he said the word. No longer was Zemo looking at me, though, even if his eyes were trained on my own. Instead, he was looking somewhere distant. A wrath that moments before had seemed so personally tailored against me and my existence now resided not within me, but far beyond me… Interesting
I could work with that.
The whole situation was incredibly delicate. One wrong move from me and he would be lunging for any remaining weapon in the vicinity. I walked the razor’s edge, the snake in Eden. But would he bite?
My voice came low like a prayer.
“Against who? Me?”
“Against all of the monsters in this world,” Something akin to madness pushed through the man’s demeanor. It smelled inky and burnt on the skin: a human crematorium. Loss. “The things that roam and kill without a second thought, bloodsuckers like you who thrive off the deaths of those around them. Mostly, though,” Zemo grimaced, “I want to put a silver bullet between the eyes of Tony Stark and every monstrosity he’s ever created,”
Tony. He had a son.
Despite the palpable tension in the air and the pang of shock that hit me at the mention of Howard’s offspring, the wrong Stark, I shrugged my shoulders, keeping up my unbothered persona as long as I possibly could. Anything to keep this moving forward. Anything to keep him talking and not attacking. Any excuse to keep him alive just a few minutes more. “You aren’t the first person to wish for a Stark’s demise,”
He stilled. “Maybe, but I will be the last,”
“What makes you so certain that you will succeed where even I have failed?”
“He killed my wife and son,”
After all the years I’d spent surviving off of the sacrifices of others, I had thought my heart was stone. That there was nothing left, just petrified muscle and dust. Somehow, though, I could feel it thump and ache for him. Ache for his wife, his child. All at once his early arrival made all the sense in the world.
There would be no eighteenth birthday to wait for.
No more sons, he’d said. Not now, not ever.
My voice shook ever so slightly in the mist. “I’m sorry for your loss,”
Zemo shook his head. Greasy, unkempt hair fell over his eyes, shading them, hiding them away from my prying gaze. “You say that now, and yet you were the one who killed my father,”
Touche.
Uncomfortable emptiness filled the air. Neither one of us made a move to continue the banter.
It would be as easy as breathing for me to put him out of his misery. I could drink my fill of him and forget. After a few decades, my imagination would stop being haunted by the chubby cheeks of a boy who would never find a calling, fall in love, or have chubby-cheeked babies of his own. Zemo could have destroyed me too, in that moment, just as easily as I could have destroyed him. He couldn’t know it, but I would have let him. It would be as easy as lunging for his unbroken sword and ending it all. I wouldn’t dodge. I wouldn’t dare. Not when the guilt I had hidden away so well was finally rearing its ugly face.
This one felt different. He was like nothing I’d encountered in all of my long, miserable years of life. Maybe he was even more needed than Pietro had been.
If I were to end my empty existence at his hand, I could die happily.
The idea came clear.
It had been foggy before, a half-assed imagining. I could overpower him, control his fragile mortal mind, and keep him tucked away somewhere where I could covet the feeling of his resistance against me, all to ease the endless, aching loneliness I still felt every day. He didn’t need to come willingly. Just like Pietro, I could break him to my will. If I could do it to another vampire, how hard could a stubborn mortal be?
Now, though, I saw a different path through the darkness. It was a terrible idea. Self-destructive. Awful.
The worst part? It might just work.
“Howard Stark stole something from me too, once”
Zemo scoffed in disgust. “Your wealth?”
“No, my blood,”
My deepest secrets flew plainly from my lips like they were nothing more than facts. We lapsed into momentary silence once again.
“So those creatures in the countryside…”
“Are a part of me, yes,” I mindlessly fiddled with the hem of my coat pocket, feeling the weight and heat of the silver within. “I have regretted trusting him every day for the last seventy-two years,”
Zemo stepped back and I let go of the breath I’d been holding for what felt like decades. Finally, someone else knew. The jig was up. In its wake, he seemed pensive. Thoughtful. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he seemed lonely too.
This mess was my fault, that much was plain. I hadn’t set foot outside of this damned forest since 1943 and yet, somehow, the choices I had made back then had led to the destruction of my mother country. No amount of solitude could pay the penance I owed for the crimes I had committed now, no matter how desperately I had tried.
The worst of it all was that so much was still unknown. If so many of those hybrid spawn had made it here to my home, how many more had ended up elsewhere? Was it just Sokovia that was overwhelmed by them? Who made it out? How many women and children had died at the hands of my own blood?
I rid my head of the poisonous memories as best as I could, shoving down the growing pool of guilt and regret that had been threatening to boil over for longer than I thought I could have swallowed.
One thousand years of death was finally here for its vengeance, and it was fast approaching; finally catching up to me. It was poetic, though, for it to come from him.
“I am willing to listen to your proposal,” Zemo said. “Let’s get on with it,”
“Alright. I’m offering information about the Stark family; everything I know about their affliction, my affliction, their plans to use it, the weaknesses of the monsters that will stand in your way. Anything you want, anything I know from all of my years in this life, is yours for the taking,”
He replied plainly, eyes suspicious. “I won’t spare your life,”
“Did I ask you to?” I stepped towards him. We were nose to nose again. “You can’t kill me. It wouldn’t even take a second for me to snap your neck and leave you here to die in paralyzed agony—it would be so easy—but I’ve decided against it. I’ve already had my fun for far too long, so stay here and learn all you must know from me for as long as you’d like. If you ever manage to learn enough to kill me, we shall duel honorably as your forefathers did before you. Either you will die here a failure, or you will leave here with all of the information you need to become the deadliest hunter in history. Once that’s completed, your revenge will be all but guaranteed,”
Ever the skeptic, he tilted his head to the side. “But what do you gain from this? Why would you decide against getting rid of me before I become a threat?”
“Companionship, stimulation, absolution; take your pick,”
“A meal?”
“Not until you die. Not unless you ask,”
Stroking his beard, Zemo took a step back and looked me over with a discerning eye. He had examined me intensely before, but it was like a canine scoping out its prey. Now, though, he searched me for signs of verity, any reason to distrust the suspiciously beneficial deal I had all but laid at his feet. Around us, the world seemed to pause for him as it might have for me.
“As soon as I have the power to kill you, you’ll be dead,” he muttered.
And so my final deal was struck.
“I look forward to you trying,”
--------------
Thank you for reading! Once completed, the next chapter will be linked here.
This work has been crossposted to Ao3
#zemo#helmut zemo#baron zemo#zemo x reader#helmut zemo x reader#baron helmut zemo x reader#daniel brühl#fanfiction#fanfic#vampire au#vampire hunter helmut zemo#pietro maximoff#marvel x reader#x reader#marvel fanfiction
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Two Penguins
Created by 5-year-old girl (comment: "Penguins like to eat fish.")
International Collection of Child Art
Millner Library, Illinois State University
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Propaganda
María Félix (Doña Barbara, La Mujer sin Alma, Rio Escondido, La Cucaracha)—Maria Felix is still possibly the most well-known Mexican film actress. She turned down multiple-roles in Hollywood and a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer in order to take roles in Mexico, France, and Argentine throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s. She was so famous and so respected as a dramatic actress that she inspired painters, novelists and poets in their own art--she was painted by Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, Bridget Tichenor. The novelist Carlos Fuentes used her as inspiration for his protagonist in Zona Sagrada. She inspired an entire collection by Hermes. In the late 1960s Cartier made her a custom collection of reptile themed jewels. She considered herself to be powerful challenger of morality and femininity in Mexico & worldwide--she routinely played powerful women in roles with challenging moral choices and free sexuality. But even still, years after he death, she is celebrated with Google Doodles, and appearances in the movie Coco, and holidays for the anniversary of her death.
Vyjayanthimala (Madhumati, Amrapali, Sangam, Devdas)—Strong contender for /the/ OG queen of Indian cinema for over 2 straight decades. Her Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award came not a moment too soon with 62 movies under her belt. Singer, dancer, actor, and also has the most expressive set of eyes known to man
This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Vyjayanthimala:
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María Félix:
She's Thee Hot Vintage Movie Woman of México. She's absolutely gorgeous and always looks like she's about to step on you. you WILL be thankful if she does.
"María Félix is a woman -- such a woman -- with the audacity to defy the ideas machos have constructed of what a woman should be. She's free like the wind, she disperses the clouds, or illuminates them with the lightning flash of her gaze." - Octavio Paz
María Félix is one of the most iconic actresses of the Golden Era of Mexican Cinema. La Doña, as she was lovingly nicknamed, only had one son, and when her first marriage ended in divorce her ex-husband stole her only child, so she vowed that one day she’d be more influential than her ex and she’d get her son back. AND SHE DID! María Félix rejected a Hollywood acting role to start her acting career in Mexico on her own terms with El Peñón de las Ánimas (The Rock of Souls) starring alongside actor, and future third husband, Jorge Negrete. She quickly rose to incredible heights both in Mexico and abroad, later on rejecting a Hollywood starring role (Duel in the Sun) as she was already committed to the movie Enamorada at the planned filming time. Of this snubbing she said, quote: “I will never regret saying no to Hollywood, because my career in Europe was focused in [high] quality cinema. [My] india* roles are made in my country, and [my] queen roles are abroad.” (Translator notes: here the “india” role means interpreting a lower-class Mexican woman, usually thought of indigenous/native/mixed descent —which she had interpreted and reinvented throughout her acting career in Mexico— and what abroad was typically considered the Mexican woman stereotype, with the braids, long simple skirts, and sandals. This also references the expectation of her possibly helping Hollywood in perpetuating this stereotype for American audiences that lack the cultural and historical contexts of this type of role which would undermine her own efforts against this type of Mexican stereotypes while working in Europe) She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world of her time by international magazines like Life, París Match, and Esquire, and was a muse to a vast number of songwriters (including her second husband Agustin Lara,), artists, designers, and writers. Muralist Diego Rivera described her as “a monstrously perfect being. She’s an exemplary being that drives all other human beings to put as much effort as possible to be like her”. Playwriter Jean Cocteau, who worked with her in the Spanish film La Corona Negra (The Black Crown) said the following about her, “María, that woman is so beautiful it hurts”. Haute Couture houses like Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Hérmes, among others, designed and dressed her throughout her life. She died on her birthday, April 8, 2002, at 88 years old, in Mexico City. She was celebrated by a parade from her home to the Fine Arts Palace in the the city’s Historic Downtown, where a multitude of people paid tribute to her. Her filmography includes 47 movies from 1942 until 1970, and only two television acting roles in 1970. She has 2 music albums, one recorded with her second husband, Agustín Lara, in 1964 titled La Voz de María y la inspiración de Agustín «The voice of María and the inspiration of Augustín», and her solo album Enamorada «In Love» in 1998. Her bespoke Cartier jewelry is exhibited alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s, Grace Kelly’s and Gloria Swanson’s. In 2018, Film Director Martin Scorsese presented a restored and remastered version of her film Enamorada in the Cannes Classics section of the Cannes Festival and Google dedicated a doodle for her 104th birthday. On august 2023 Barbie added her doll to the Tribute Collection.
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Ok, I finished Chaos Rising last night and here are the highlights (except cracky) that I've tried to keep in chronological order (ish).
Thrawn: *does something*
Samakro behind him: *swearing under his breath because the thing he's doing is fucking NUTS*
...
Samakro: Nobody is allowed to be mean about Thrawn.
Samakro: *thinks mean thoughts about Thrawn*
Samakro: nO. This is Bad. I am no better than the others-
...
Thurfian and Zistalmu: We're coming in
Ba'kif, Ar'alani, and Thrawn (internally): FUCK OFF
...
(From one of the memories chapters. It's very Barbie and Ken lmao)
Ziara (Cadet version of Ar'alani), looking at the gallery: I thought we were doing something different tonight.
Thrawn: ???Like what?????
Ziara: Ohhhh this wasn't a date date, was it?
Thrawn: *thinking hard*
Thrawn: OH.
Ziara: Do you see why I might have thought so when you pitched this to me as a night of mystery and excitement?
Thrawn: Yes.
Thrawn: What did you think we were going to do?
Ziara: ...
Thrawn: oh :)
Ziara: Doesn't matter. Tell me about the forks :3
Thrawn: *vibrating with excitement because she's going to let him tell her about ART* OKAY
***
Ilparg: *complaining*
Ar'alani: Shut up
Ilparg, outraged: Excuse me?!
Ar'alani: This is my ship and it goes where I say it goes if I think that the data at the place we're going to is worth collecting. Now, be quiet.
...
Ilparg (about Che'ri): This sky-walker-
The entire Vigilant bridge crew: *side eyeing Ilparg because anything more would be insubordination*
Thalias, sick of this mf being mean to her little bestie: SQUARE UP-
***
Ar'alani and the Vigilant's bridge crew: *doing their jobs and getting the ship out of trouble*
Ilparg: *screaming*
...
Ilparg: *dramatic exit from the bridge*
Wutroow once he's gone: *copies his last dramatic gesture toward the viewport* And that's how it's done.
Thrawn: *intrigued brow raise*
...
Nikardun Dreadnaught: *appears*
Everyone on the bridge: oh no.
...
Ar'alani: ok we can go now.
Thrawn: wait, I have one more experiment.
Ar'alani: fine.
Thrawn, over comms with the Lioaoi: It's me, Senior Captain Thrawn, Ilparg's diplomatic supervisor. We regret that we can't speak with you right now but will maintain contact later on. We'll be leaving now.
Ilparg: MY WHAT-
The fighters: *spring forward*
Ar'alani: Oh, they don't like you, do they?
Thrawn, aware they're both about to be sarcastic (for once): Can't imagine why.
Ar'alani: Couldn't be that ship you captured the other week.
Thrawn: Nah.
...
Ar'alani: Ok I need you to think of someone to look after Che'ri while you and Thrawn go undercover.
Thalias: I choose you.
Ar'alani: Oh. Okay.
...
Che'ri, distraught: THALIAS AND I ARGUED BEFORE SHE LEFT AND NOW SHE'S GONNA DIE
Ar'alani, internally: FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK-
Ar'alani: Che'ri, she's going to be fine. This isn't a sad film-
Che'ri: HOW DO YOU KNOW?!!
Ar'alani: She's with Thrawn! Thrawn will keep her safe!
Che'ri: Oh ok.
Ar'alani: yEah. Right. Bath and dinner for you now, I think.
...
Thalias: He's on board.
Thrawn, unbothered: Right-o.
Thalias: RIGHT-O?! The guy trying to kill us is nearby and all you're going to say is RIGHT-O?!!!
Thrawn: We'll be fine.
...
Zistalmu: You can't run a ship and look after a child.
Ar'alani: Watch m-
Ba'kif, cutting in: We'd be happy to have your wife aboard as Che'ri's caregiver until Thalias is back!
Ar'alani: Yes. Absolutely -_-
(I think Ar'alani could have managed it tbh).
...
Zistalmu's wife: While I'm aboard, I'd like everyone to call me Nana.
Ar'alani, internally: Do you think that you might have only lasted two years as a caregiver because you insisted on stupid shit like this?
...
Ar'alani: Sky-walker Che'ri, are you ready?
Nana: She is.
Ar'alani: I asked Che'ri. Not you.
Che'ri: I'm ready! <3
...
Zistalmu: *opens his mouth*
Ar'alani: Shut it.
...
Thrawn: We're going on a trip. Hopefully.
Thalias: What do you mean hopefully?
Thrawn: I have a meeting with Ba'kif now.
Thalias: Oh. ok.
Thalias: Wait lmao-
...
Thrawn: I'm so glad you didn't bring up the extra pressure of me having to think about what this would do to your career.
Ba'kif: That's because you need to focus on getting out of your insane quest alive and leave MY career to ME.
Thrawn: k, love you bye.
...
Thurfian: Get in loser, we're going to my office.
Thalias once they're there: Get back in loser, I'm not telling you shit about Thrawn. I'm gonna go take the Trials.
Thurfian: Bold move.
...
Thrawn: Do you still want to come with me? It's going to take ages if I go alone and the Ascendancy doesn't have that time.
Che'ri, internally: Adults do this all the time where they allude to vague threats and consequences that may befall us if I don't do what they ask. *peers at Thrawn* This guy's got no clue how to play the game RIP. He's just being straightforward.
Che'ri: Sure...
Thrawn: You have a question.
Che'ri: Yeah, am I allowed some graph markers?
Thrawn: Don't worry. I had two new packs and a couple of binders loaded with our essentials. You may draw to your heart's content.
Che'ri: NICE.
...
Thalias: *hiking as part of her last trial*
Thooraki, the Mitth Patriarch, appearing from nowhere: Yo, I'm not supposed to even be up here but let's talk about the future of the Mitth family and the Ascendancy if we don't keep an eye on and guide Thrawn, hmm?
Thalias: sure man.
Thooraki: You passed btw.
Thalias: eyyyyyy
...
Thurfian:
Thalias: Suck that.
Thurfian, bitchily: Get in Trial Born, we're going back to Defence Force HQ.
...
Thrawn: You dream of falling because you cannot fly. Your art suggests that you might wish to learn how. I can teach you now, if you'd like
Che'ri: *slightly pissed with Thalias for sharing her SKETCHBOOK* Okay.
(THALIAS WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT kdfhskdhflshfld. THE SKETCHBOOK IS FORBIDDEN TO OUTSIDERS UNLESS THE ARTIST SAYS OTHERWISE).
...
Anakin: *tells them his name*
Thrawn, hitting the mute button and looking back at Che'ri: Interesting.
Che'ri: He might just suck at Meese Caulf.
...
Thrawn muting their mic every so often to ask Che'ri's opinion and her being like, "I'm nine and a half what could I possibly say that's of value to this conversation?" and Thrawn being like, "I won't know until you tell me. Everyone usually has something," and just generally treating her like a person instead of a 'stupid child' and helping her form the confidence she needs to go through the rest of her Sky-walker career/life in general.
...
Che'ri: General Skywalker's got a ten minute head start. I'll never catch him.
Thrawn: Yes you will. You're better than him.
Che'ri, competitive streak engaged: HELL YEAH I AM
Thrawn: Hunt him down, girlie. You've got this!
Che'ri: OKAY!
(Che'ri beat him by a few minutes xkfksdj)
...
Anakin, after several back and forths: That's what I said. Mitth'raw'narodeo.
Thrawn: No. Mitth'raw'nuruodo.
Che'ri: *wheezing in the background*
...
Thalias: How was your trip?
Che'ri: Thrawn taught me how to fly the ship and we did some cool stuff on Mokivj
Thrawn: :D
Thalias, in shock: Oh, that's nice
Ar'alani: Thrawn. She's nine and a half.
Thrawn: She also did very well and I am very proud of her.
Che'ri: :D
...
Thrawn: *tells Ar'alani his new plan at getting info on Yiv/taking him down*
Ar'alani: That's illegal in three different directions.
Ar'alani: I'm calling Ba'kif. You get everything ready.
Thrawn: I knew you'd agree.
...
(At the witness table in the Convocate Hall during the Syndicure's emergency meeting probably)
Ba'kif: Welcome to the chaos.
Ja'fosk: This is more than chaos. You lot owe me a drink after this.
Ar'alani: This is hopefully the worst thing we'll have to do in our careers.
Ba'kif: Wishful thinking, Admiral.
Thrawn: Definitely.
...
Thurfian: *hears about the current Yiv situation*
Thurfian: OH SO NOW HE'S [Thrawn] ALLOWED TO COMMIT TREASON?
***
(In the fighter on the way to the Vaks)
Che'ri, flying the fighter Thrawn stole the other month: You trust Thrawn, you just don't trust yourself. I trust you, though. We'll be okay.
Thalias: oKAy <3
...
Qilori: *being a snake*
Thrawn: I know what you've done. I could have you ejected from the Pathfinder's Guild.
Qilori: oh shit.
...
Ar'alani: Springhawk, keep that third dreadnaught busy.
Samakro, eyeing it up: Holy fuck.
Kharill: At least she's not expecting us to destroy it.
Samakro: Yeah, but look at the fucking size of it!
(It was giving this)
...
(Word for word)
Yiv: You and all the Chiss will DIE
Thrawn: Then come and take me.
...
Thrawn crashing into Yiv's viewport, sealing off the breach, and then swooping in to save Thalias and Che'ri. That was very good. yep. I'm so normal about that scene and the undoubtedly gentle (we all know how Thrawn's voice sounds) "Are you alright?"
...
Yiv: *about to attack*
Thrawn: *squirting him with Tava gas like one would squirt a cat with water.*
...
(The last memories chapter)
Thrawn: I don't get it. I don't get how I missed that!
Ar'alani: It was politics.
Thrawn: But it's all just a different form of tactics and warfare! I should be able to read it!
Ar'alani: I know, but it's not as straightforward as war.
Thrawn: I need to master it. I need to learn it.
Ar'alani with the gut feeling that he might never achieve that & willing to have his back on this: That would be helpful.
(Their friendship is very dear to me oh my gods).
#thrawn#ba'kif#ar'alani#thrawn ascendancy: chaos rising#thrawn ascendancy#hydro rambles#che'ri#thalias#samakro#thurfian#zistalmu#anakin skywalker#wutroow
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Pitaloosie Saila
1942-2021
"I remember how Inuit used to live, thinking of them back then, my relatives. I also recall how the clothing was made; that is what I base my drawings on when I draw people."
- Pitaloosie Saila (from “Kinngait: Riding Light Into the World; Producer: Site Media; Director: Annette Mangaard)
Pitaloosie was born in 1942 on the southwest coast of Baffin Island near what is now the community of Cape Dorset. She spent her childhood years in various hospitals in Quebec and Ontario for treatment of tuberculosis. She learned
English during this time, and recalls the difficulty she experienced in relearning her native language upon her return to Baffin Island in 1957. She is now one of the few of her generation who speak both English and Inuktitut fluently.
Pitaloosie began drawing in the early 1960’s, and quickly established herself as a versatile and intelligent graphic artist.
Over the years, she has become a familiar presence in the Kinngait Studios, and her work has been included in annual
print collections since 1968.
Since the late 1960’s, Pitaloosie has made frequent trips to southern Canada to attend exhibitions and conferences. In 1967, she spent several weeks in Toronto while her husband, the well-known sculptor Pauta Saila, participated in an International Sculpture Symposium. Subsequently, she has visited Halifax, Toronto, Ottawa, Kansas City and Vermont. Her work has been featured in solo drawing exhibitions, and in 1977, Canada Post issued a stamp depicting her print, Fisherman’s Dream. Her 1985 lithograph entitled In the Hills represented the Northwest Territories in the centennial celebration of the National Parks of Canada. Amnesty International, the international human rights organization, selected a drawing by Pitaloosie entitled Mother and Child to use for their 1990 Christmas card. She was also one of nine featured artists in the acclaimed exhibition Isumavut: The Artistic Expression of Nine Cape Dorset Women, which opened at the Canadian Museum of Civilization in the fall of 1994 and continues to travel to other venues. Pitaloosie’s husband, Pauta, passed away in Cape Dorset in June of 2009 at the age of 93. In 2004, both she and Pauta were appointed members of the Royal Canadian Academy of the Arts, in recognition of their life’s work and contributions to Canadian art.
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Okay so I've been thinking a lot about what I want to draw cause I really really want to art but I've found myself in an inspiration drought after Inktober. And I was like, "I want to draw stuff from me and @ch4rl13-ch40s's AU but I don't think people on tumblr would love that" and then I realized that I should take my own advice and draw what I want dammit!
Zeph's Human Bill AU: A Summary
I will provide context for each individual drawing, but here's a summary of the AU beneath the cut. I've made it as brief as possible, but it is long please read it I spent hours on it. It's also BillFord stuff, I know this is primarily a FiddAuthor blog.
TW for religious trauma, child abuse/neglect, and drug use/addiction.
Part I: Bill's Backstory
William Cipher was born in the year 1951 in middle of nowhere Oregon. Shortly after entering kindergarten in 1957, Bill received an autism diagnosis (or what was autism in the 50s) and his mother was distraught, especially so because the local pastor told her the autism was caused by a demon possessing him.
Bill's mother quickly pulled him out of kindergarten to "home school" him and broke his leg to keep him from leaving the house. Bill would spend the majority of the next 7 years alone in the attic, reading old books left from the house's previous owners, favoring the thick and dusty math textbooks over the rest. Any time he got to leave the attic, he would collect things - anything to call his, random objects like bottle caps, spare change, pieces of thread, rocks - a habit that would later develop into kleptomania.
Bill grew extremely malnourished with a leg that never healed right. His father rarely interacted with him, but his mother made sure that Bill understood he was corrupted and needed to heal the only way anyone could - through Catholicism. Of course, as time passed, Bill didn't get "better" so his mother got angrier and angrier while Bill's anxiety got worse and worse, his religious rituals developing into crippling OCD. Triangles and the number three in particular became something of a holy symbol of the trinity to him. Arranging objects into threes, drawing triangles on himself and his possessions, counting by threes during panic attacks...
One day, Bill lashed out after his mother discovered the items he'd pilfered from downstairs and tried to take them away along with his precious books. As punishment, his mother splashed acid on his face, an injury that blinded his left eye. In his anger, out of pure impulse, Bill started a fire, fully intending to burn the house down with his parents inside. But while he waited outside, hearing their dying screams, 14 year old Bill realized too late that he regretted it. The police and firemen discovered him nearly catatonic outside the smoking building.
Part II: Backupsmore
After being passed around the foster system, Bill finally graduated high school. Grade school had not nearly been the utopia Bill was hoping it would be, but he still had a little bit of hope left that college would be a bit better. Though he didn't remember much from his childhood, his memories teaching math to an old teddy bear inspired him to declare a major in mathematics education.
Although Bill initially regarded his roommate warily, it didn't take long for him to find common grounds with Stanford Pines. The two bonded over being labeled freaks as children and found comfort in the strange new experience of being understood and seen. Eventually, after battling some internalized homophobia, the two started a secret romance
Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Summer separated the two lovers and in the terror of being alone, Bill turned to hard drugs to cope. Although he was happy to see Ford again their sophomore year, hiding his budding addiction became a constant anxiety. And to add to his paranoia, Ford made a new friend out of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Bill despised the skinny blonde southerner immediately, terrified that Ford would replace him. After months of tension and open hatred between the two, Bill's homicidal impulses reared their ugly head again and he broke Fiddleford's arm. He would have done more, but Ford was able to separate the two. Naturally upset, Ford initiated a roommate swap as soon as he was able.
Part III: Gravity Falls
Bill graduated college out of pure spite and moved back to Oregon since it was familiar. Bill's students there had very mixed opinions of him. Sure, he was a little creepy and his dark humor wasn't for everyone and everyone had a different story to explain his limp and his eye patch, but one thing was undeniable: if you wanted to learn complicated mathematics, he was the best teacher you could hope for. Students from several small Oregon towns took his class for college credit.
After four years however, Bill's teaching career would come to a screeching halt when an accidental meth overdose landed him in the hospital. Unable to find any family or valid emergency contacts, Ford was contacted. Though it was not his initial plan upon being summoned without warning, pity and the softening of memory over time drove Ford to pay Bill's bail for drug possession and take him in with the hopes of keeping him clean.
It only takes a week for Ford and Bill to fall back into their old romantic patterns which come with mixed feelings; Bill is terrified of being abandoned again and Ford is worried about being let down again. Things go quite well for them for about a month or so - and Ford buys a cat for Bill which he names Pythagorus - until a familiar face fresh off of divorce proceedings arrives in Gravity Falls.
After Ford broke up with Bill in college, he and Fiddleford had a brief fling before Ford admitted he was just trying to get over Bill. Fiddleford arrives with the hope of getting back together with Ford, but is horrified to find Ford right back in Bill's "evil clutches." Fidds gets more and more unhinged as his memory gun usage ramps up and Ford tries to keep things civil between the two men.
#gravity falls#bill cipher#stanford pines#human bill cipher#zeph's human bill au#billford#gravity falls au#fiddleford mcgucket
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