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ninarobinson-author · 1 year

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Little Ashes: The Surreal Insanity of Dalí

Dalí the Dandy Villain - in the film little fascist, I mean "Little Ashes."

Warnings: nudity, fascism, homophobia, cursing, anarchy, politics, war, death (minor) +++Queer Fanfic at the end

Affiliations: revolutionary, change, taboo, disruption,

oppression, repression

art, poetry, politics

Odd, strange, bizarre, different, atypical, queer, avant garde

("Little Ashes:" Setting: Spain 1922)

Dali's World:

Dali doesn’t maintain a single and continual persona like most healthy people. Dali creates a new personality as he would create a new piece of art. It's too boring to stay the same. A person needs to switch things up every now and then to keep things interesting. Especially for creative geniuses. He is not humble; he knows that he is a genius. Dali is in fact, a self proclaimed monarch. He knows he is a king and will hold himself in high esteem. Dali is highly delusional and egocentric, but that is just how artists are, right? Dali lacks authentic emotion; he is detached from reality and chooses to live in only Dali’s world. His mannerism and gestures are like a baby in a rocking chair. He is both naive and dictatorial. Much of the time Dali seems to be staring off into space, mute, having no personality and then suddenly acting erratic.

In contrast to King Salvador, Federico Garcia Lorca is very polite, according to Luis. In Federico's poem (“The Soul of the West Wind") he writes about butterflies, thrills, and god. Luis thinks his writing is a bit too Andalusian. He thinks Federico is in danger of becoming bourgeois. He says his writing is “bloody good,” it's just the subject of his writing is lacking passion, or as they call it "duende." Duende here meaning, "a passion on the edge of life and death." Luis would prefer if he wrote something more political such as the decapitation of a "putrid priest in Zaragoza."

(Luis Buñuel and Federico García Lorca)

Luis: “What does Federico Garcia Lorca feel about all these bloody butterflies?” “What makes him angry?” “What turns him on?”

The most magical moment in the film is when Dali makes his first appearance. The audience sees a nervous Dali anxiously awaiting his first day at the art college.

(Salvador Dalí)

The spectators see an absurd creature stand before them. Lorca feels a fresh wind of change entering his life.

(Arrival at Art College in Madrid, Spain)

Dali is new and has not yet found out who he is as an artist. Whereas, Lorca is well known at the college and has made strides in his work. Having already been published and gained wider fame even beyond the college. Dali, having already been privy to Lorca’s work, looks up to Lorca and admires this writing.

(Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí)

(Federico García Lorca)

Salvador uses Federico as his muse to inspire better paintings. He sees Lorca as the pinnacle of artistic inspiration. Although in truth, Lorca may have lost his duende and seems to have hit a plateau in his creative work. That is where the fresh and intriguing Dali has come in to help. Federico is fascinated by Dali and inflamed, quite literally turned on by his presence. It seems as though Salvador is also lacking a reason to paint as he can’t put his brush to a canvas for the first thirty-eight minutes of the film. When he does have a brush in his hand he looks stressed and frustrated. Much of the time Salvador is shown to be sneaking voyeuristic glances at Federico. This is the spark that the two needed in order to produce work that is inspired and passionate. At first, the dynamic between the two is like a game of cat and mouse. This push and pull could signify the tension it takes to create, before finally giving in and creating a piece of art.

Salvador was like most any other college student, lost, unsure of himself and begging for attention. The only way to capture the attention of the famous Federico Garcia Lorca was to quietly draw him into his web. He was strategic in his methods. Making himself appear to be in the right place at the right time, not to come off as trying too hard. He wanted Lorca to view him as intellectual and artistic, just as he views Lorca. His methods were adolescent. He placed a canvas that he had already finished painting on the easel. He assumed the pose of an artist, leaving his door wide open as to be seen by anyone who happened to be passing by, and ‘accidentally’ dropping his paint brushes as Luis Bunuel was walking by. However, Luis was on to his game and commented on his “strategically placed copy of Freud.”

(Luis Buñuel)

Dali is like a spider in how he captures his prey. At first, he was unassuming, as a spider’s web is unassuming. It is only when the prey is caught in the web does it realize how insidious the web becomes when initially it seems inviting and delicately sprung. That is, until the spider encases its prey with the same means that drew it in, and devours it with pleasure.

(An unassuming Salvador Dalí)

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Dali joins a group of equally interesting and talented gentlemen and women. Dali is treated like a collected piece of art himself, as he is described as yet another acquisition of Luis Bunuel. The only ones brave enough to consider themselves genius are Dali and Lorca. The group appears to be a sort of rat pack. All sharing the same artistic airs of snobbery and frivolities. The woman called Magdalena claimed to have read eighty books over the holidays, when she had only read ten. This is just one example of the kind of performative intellectualism that goes on among these college students. This is normal behavior for this age group, as well as a common tendency of most artistically inclined people. They appear to believe that if they act as a great artist they may eventually turn into one.

Salvador, Federico, Luis, Magdalena and others

Since I am no history buff, I may not have a grasp on the details of the political nature in Spain in the nineteen-twenties. However, I can feel the spirit of revolution and necessary change that the anarchists propose. This is why I love Luis Bunuel’s commentary throughout the film. He is a no nonsense, honest type. Despite his unfortunate homophobic attitude, his commentary is bang on.

Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí

Bunuel is clearly into politics, and he holds what at that time, seems to be extreme beliefs. He wants the corruption purged from his country, by the most swift of means.

Luis Buñuel and Federico García Lorca

Lorca also shares this strong sense of liberation. Bunuel, being a part the Ultraism underground movement, takes Lorca and Dali to a low profile puppet show. The show highlights their political beliefs in a very humorous manner, but the message is clear. The pope is living in gross wealth by stealing from the people through taxation. While the people are living like peasants do, starving. They simply want freedom in their country. I can’t see why these democratic beliefs wouldn't have a wider appeal among the general populace. They have to go on about their political perspectives while hidden away in a hole in the wall.

We get another unforgettable scene in the film. At twenty-one minutes into the film, the tension is palpable. Lorca seems to have consciously discovered his admiration for Dali. In the scene, he is a little too obviously staring at Dali, yearning for him even. Then within a few micro expressions, he momentarily attempts to hide it, and finally he seems ashamed. Dali is unaware of Lorca’s staring, then he catches on, and is left equally embarrassed.

Little Ashes is perversely delightful. It inspires you to throw caution to the wind and do the things that most are afraid to do. Whether that be artistically, socially, politically, or sexually.

The funniest scene is the aftermath of this, with Federico’s realization of his desire for Salvador.

Federico García Lorca

Although both men are assumed to be straight, they experiment with their sexuality as they do their with their creative endeavors. This nineteen-twenties society doesn’t exactly welcome maricóns with open arms. Feddy is repenting for his “impure thoughts” of Salvador. He prays to be freed of this black widow spider. He continues to avoid him like the plague. There is a scene where Federico sees Salvador walking up the stairwell, and he reacts as though he has witnessed the devil incarnate himself.

This scene is not just about portraying Federico running from his homosexuality, this scene portrays the villainous energy of Salvador Dali and says a lot about Salvador as a character. Salvador stands for everything that is taboo and different. Dali is, by nature, a rare creature. He is artistic and strangely enchanting. Salvador Dali is the villain. His very existence threatens the established order. He is a disruption to society, the art world and to the people around him. He is capable of corrupting the status quo in the most interesting and unexpected of ways. Salvador Dali is a rare gem that Bunuel and Lorca were lucky enough to collect. Dali himself is like a fine painting worth billions. Ultimately, though, unlike a piece of art, he has the freedom to walk away anytime he likes. Dali cannot simply be owned like a painting.

Lorca despite his revolutionary aspirations, comes across as still rather old fashioned in some kind of way. Lorca is well mannered and morally righteous. He is the type to pray, respect his teachers and be diplomatic. Dali is alienated from any kind of normal demeanor and disregardful of the traditional niceties of society. He doesn’t care about keeping the peace and will be downright disrespectful and rowdy at times. Initially, it was this very chaotic behavior and strange persona that drew Lorca to him. In the end, the two grew apart and became too different to coexist with each other. Lorca grew tired of Dali’s games and found him to be displeasing. Perhaps it was Dali’s new admiration for fascism that put a bad taste in his mouth. After seeing so many of Dali’s childish antics, I personally can’t take anything he did seriously. For Lorca this stood against everything he was fighting for, and was unforgivable. Dali was a man of varied and extreme tastes.

Dali is certainly queer. Although it is a matter of semantics, I don’t think Dali was truly gay or at least not looking for a real relationship with Federico. Dali is so artistically inclined that he would be willing to try anything once and will quickly move on to the next thing that captures his attention. Federico just happened to be one of Dali’s many fixations. This is shown when Dali suddenly leaves Federico in Spain and goes to Paris with Bunuel to contribute to his play and advance his artistic predilections. In defense of Dali, I don’t believe that he was truly cold hearted. He merely had a higher vision and purpose to his life. Dali lives for art. Dali creates art but he also lives by the philosophy of art. Art cannot be understood logically but it has to be felt. Dali likes to feel energized and free. He is like a bird, he may leave Lorca today to fly to Paris, but by tomorrow he will be back to share his spoils. As a piece of art may be interpreted, you must interpret Dali’s actions.

Salvador Dalí

On the surface, Salvador Dali is a villain. Indeed he is the villain. But in the same thread, he is also the absurdist hero. Despite every dastardly action of Dali we root for him anyway. For the sake of the human spirit to be free! Dali is a rich well of multitudes of colors, like a rainbow. Perhaps Dali’s sexuality was as fluid as a rainbow and not so easily defined by human words. Each day he chooses a different color that will surprise and shock. Dali is disgustingly weak and fragile and in others he is brave and inventive. His transformation from the start of college to the beginning of his fame is like witnessing a train wreck come back from destruction.

Salvador Dalí

Interestingly enough, it does not appear that Federico was gay either. As he is always shown to be intertwined with Magdalena. Unless, you consider his relationship with Magdalena a performance. There is definitely a lot homophobic rhetoric and symbolism going on throughout the film, so it is likely that both Lorca and Dali felt internalized homophobia. Especially with the pressure from the larger conservative and violent society. Even their close friend, Luis Bunuel is shown as highly homophobic and threatens violence on the maricons.

Human relationships can be ambiguous so who can truly say. Queerness and artistic persuasions are similar, in that they creatively break the norms of society. It’s a good parallel to use to understand the revolutionary emotions of the film. Political freedom, artistic expression, and sexual liberty can all be frightening and exhilarating. I don’t think the focus of the film is only about sexuality. Salvador Dali is an artist that you cannot fully capture, there is something about him that you just can’t put your finger on. That is why Federico cannot understand Dali. He is not supposed to. The film is really great at doing just that. Dali is equally mystical and insane. I use insane pretty loosely here. I should really be using the word surreal when describing Dali.

Another way you can view their relationship, is that they admire each other’s creations so much that they wanted to make their art come alive in a more “raw” expression. As Bunuel said, both Dali and Lorca are “self-titled geniuses.” Love for oneself to an extent can become narcissism. Each became fascinated with the other due to seeing the reflection of their own genius in the other. Were they truly falling in love with one another or just falling in love with their own reflection? Ultimately, falling in love with the reflection of their own artistic sentiments. Much of the ambiguous nature of their relationship can be left to interpretation and is wonderfully captured in the film.

I do think Dali is absolutely savage in all of his expressions. With the way he behaves, it's any wonder how he can practically live in the real world outside of his artistic daydreams. Understanding Lorca’s success is easy because he has every positive affiliation under the sun. You feel that he has slowly and surely built a name for himself in the standard fashion. Dali is so disruptive that the surrealists literally “expelled him from the movement.” Creativity is by nature, a chaotic and destructive thing. That is why Dali detests the art college professors from critiquing him. Giving a commendable villainous speech on how he disapproves of the professors wasting his talent and showcasing how useless they are.

Salvador: “Gentlemen, I have returned from Paris with the conclusion that the entire amount of real, artistic knowledge contained within this panel of professors is not equal to one half of this. This, my fingernail. Not one half, gentlemen. And I’ve been insulting myself, by letting your shoddy practices, your pathetic outdated theories, and questionable character shit on my genius. I hope with all my heart that you’ll realize I am right and give up this foolishness and go back to the pigsties and the haystacks where you might be of some real use.”

Salvador Dalí roasting the art professors

Dali does not need the approval of anyone. He is willing to burn any bridge that stands in the way of his creativity. That is pretty savage. It is this quality that Magdalena admires in Salvador and the very reason she invites him to her aunt’s “legendarily dull dinner parties.” When someone says party, they instantly think of Dali. An actual quote from Salvador Dali comes to mind, “I don’t do drugs, I am a drug.” She even says that it is vital for her aunt to know people such as Salvador. He is a good representation of the revolutionary ideology that her conservative aunt is sheltered from. Merely being in Dali’s presence is enlightening. This isn’t to say that Salvador doesn’t get extremely drunk at the party. As you may have realized by now that Dali is truly a walking contradiction. Not only are there conservative people attending the party but literary censors from Madrid are present as well. This uptight and stuffy dinner party is the perfect scene to make Salvador Dali shine in all of his counter-cultural glory. At the very least, you will be entertained by his antics. Worst case scenario, you are chased out of the building by civil guards. Either way, it will be a night to remember.

Salvador Dalí at Magdalena's aunt's dinner party

Little Ashes: Defining quotes:

Luis Bunuel: “All the institutions that prop up this corrupt regime must be dismantled!”

Paco: “I just think it sounds a bit extreme.”

Luis Bunuel: “But it has to be extreme, Paco. It has to be complete revolution. All the churches, all the palaces.”

Salvador Dali: “You know, when I was small there was this ruined tower near our house in Cadaques. I would sit in this tower and I’d draw, and draw and draw. I never came down. Just imagine this little shrimp of a child, half-starved, covered in piss. And I wouldn’t come down in the winter, in the summer. In the freezing cold, I’d fill this iron tub with water and I’d sit in it for days. It’s like even then I realized that if I’m going to be anything more than average, if anyone is going to remember me, then I need to go further in everything. In art, in life. And everything that they think is real, morality, immorality, good, bad, I, we have to smash that to pieces. And we have to go beyond that. We have to be brave, Frederico.”

Federico Garcia Lorca: “No limit.”

Salvador Dali is excessive in his pleasures as well as his snobbery. He is self indulgent and selfish. To be fair, he needs to be selfish for the sake of his work. If Dali were not selfish, he would lose his artistic voice catering to the whims of others. It's this dastardly quality that makes Dali a villain, a villain you have to respect. Even though you hate him, you must admit that it is his unwillingness to compromise that makes him get what he wants. Dali is a fully concentrated, unfiltered can of artistic expression.

Dali can be considered a reckless trouble maker or a mischievous gremlin. Dali creates some sort of mayhem everywhere he goes. In one scene, Dali convinces Lorca to steal a couple of bicycles with him. Lorca gives in and follows Dali, throwing caution to the wind. This starts the beginning of a new chapter in their relationship. A dirty secret that no doubt draws Lorca only that much further into Dali’s web. Dali rides ahead at full speed, while Lorca can barely keep up. This is symbolic of their relationship, Dali moving forward and never looking back, while Lorca can only try to keep up with the new thing Dali is on to.

When I say Dali is a spider, I mean he has caught Lorca in his web of desire with no intention of a fulfilling relationship. I believe Lorca loved Dali more than he loved him back. You can always sense that Dali is somewhere else, that is just who he is. But you can sense the unevenness in their relationship by analyzing the scenes where they invite each other to their childhood homes. Salvador doesn’t invite Federico to his home, he says that he is coming, as if it is already a given. Federico overlooks his lack of consideration, and treats it as a forgivable child-like exuberance. Later in the film, when Federico politely asks Salvador to come to see his family, his home, and everything that he is, Salvador disregards his offer and tells him that he already sees who he is. That speaks volumes to me. It’s like Dali doesn’t care to know who Federico really is, outside of what he believes him to be, the famous and daring Federico Garcia Lorca. When Dali first arrived at college, his mind was preoccupied with art. His relationship with Lorca is purely business. Lorca serves as a muse and Dali is close to devouring him, physically and metaphysically. I think that is what is so selfish about Dali; he will use Lorca's heart if it will help improve him artistically. Dali is eccentric and almost inhuman. His artwork made him immortal in a sense. I think that is what he was going for. Dali assumed that they would live on in his paintings forever. Lorca believed that eventually they would be nothing but dust, or little ashes. There is a sensibility in Lorca. Dali always seemed to have eyes that were larger than his stomach, in terms of what he wanted to achieve. His visions were always fantastical and simply nonsensical. In art, this is an empowering notion. In real life, it is simply unrealistic.

So Federico goes to visit his family for the holiday break, alone. He writes this letter to Salvador:

“Salvador, I think of you and I’ve never thought more intensely in my life. Since our time together, everything I am has been split apart. I write in a way that I’ve never thought possible. My pen scratches the surface of things, the masks. And then it goes beyond them, right down to the bones. Down to the dark, cold jelly in the marrow.”

And he writes back.

“Federico, from the day you left, I’ve been in the studio day and night. I started to work on designs for your play. I’m doing them gypsy-style. Andalusian, like you. The unconscious mind, Federico, rises like a beast within me. I let it speak and it produces such wonders.”

Then once more from Federico,

“It’s true. I touch sea bottom in myself and my poems write themselves. I am, just as you said, raw, bloody, alive. And I, too, want to be alive.

Dali, once again, is a little thief and steals the key to Lorca’s room. He is working on the set designs for Lorca’s play. This is where the two share a kiss before they are interrupted by Luis. Before that though, Dali mentions a line from Lorca’s letter, “everything that you are being split apart.” This line in his letter also caught my attention. Federico said something similar to this when he invited Dali to his childhood home. He said “I want to show you everything that I am.” When Dali refused and he was left alone to visit, that was when he wrote “everything that I am being split apart.” Was this splitting apart triggered by the absence of Dali? It seems like a romantic notion, but it may be due to Dali’s all-encompassing influence on Federico. Dali seems to have changed Federico’s view of himself to fit the ideals of Dali. Living in Dali's world has corrupted Federico. Dali has completely disrupted his morality and his religious beliefs. For better or worse, is not the point. The point is, Dali has a hold on Lorca. Like a spider, Dali has fully wrapped Lorca in his web. Just in time for feasting on his face.

Luis asks Federico how the progress for his screenplay edit is going only to find out Federico has no idea what he is talking about. He is referring to the screenplay he asked him to write about. Federico’s excuse being that he hadn’t had much time. It’s because his world now revolves around the all-important Salvador Dali. Dali asks Feddy to “play the putrescent game,” to Luis’s confusion. Luis looks as though he is being left out of some inside joke. Dali explains that putrescent is his new word and that it means outdated, outmoded. As if to say that the friendship between Federico and Luis is outdated. The word that Dali owns seems to signify that Luis is living in Dali’s world now. The atmosphere changes as though Salvador has put a wall between Luis and that he has Federico all to himself. Luis tries to play along but it is clear that there is something special between the two of them that Luis is no longer involved in. It’s the Dali and Lorca show and Luis has become the third wheel. Federico attempts to hide the tense atmosphere by inviting the whole gang out. Dali asks Lorca what he should wear. Luis is sensing their homo relationship. Obviously, it appears like the homophobic Luis is becoming suspicious of the two. Beyond that, It once again highlights the level of narcissism in Dali and the control he has over Federico. Could what Lorca sees as a mutual relationship, really just be Dali indulging in his artistic frivolities? Dali could never have this much self-involvement in any friendship, so he uses the intimate relationship he has with Lorca to play his strange games and to self-indulge in his own egoism.

Salvador: “Federico is working on something now that will blow everything apart.”

Luis: “What’s it about? His family? Butterflies? God?”

Salvador: “Me.”

Salvador Dalí talking to Luis Buñuel

Somehow, Dali, this strange man has consumed Federico Garcia Lorca for everything that he is and has spit him back out. Lorca has turned his back on everything and everyone for Dali. Where once Dali was the fanboy of Lorca, now Lorca is a fan of Dali. Dali has truly used an Uno Reverse Card here. Does Dali share the same amount of admiration and loyalty? Not really. Dali leaves Federico behind for the opportunity of finding success in Paris. After listening to Luis talk about how dull Lorca’s work is and how he the people in Paris "wouldn’t give a fuck about his work." Dali doesn’t defend Lorca, he only talks about himself. The level of snobbery is unmatched. It only takes a little convincing on Luis’s part to convince Dali not only is Federico done for as an artist, but that life in Spain is over with.

After all of the accommodation Federico had done for Salvador, it is understandable why he would be upset that he left him. Salvador chose to work with Luis, the rageful homophobe of all people. Dali goes to Paris to pursue his art, to meet Picasso and the surrealists. Lorca quickly comes to understand that he is losing Salvador, that he doesn’t hold the same grip that Salvador has on him. Salvador was always flighty and unpredictable, but he was never this way towards him. It's as if their relationship was just another bright and sparkly object that momentarily caught Dali’s eye. If Federico was split apart before, now he is absolutely ripped apart and burned to little ashes.

In the first half of the film, we witness the transformation of Dali from a meek thing into a loud and daring man. With the inspiration of Federico Garcia Lorca, Dali was able to transform from a novice artist into a genius artist from the tales of some fantastical myth. By the second half of the film, Dali has once again reinvented himself, this time without the presence of Federico. When Federico sees Salvador for the first time since he’s arrived back in Spain, it is like he is meeting an entirely new person. Dali is ever changing, like the moon has many phases. Sadly, Federico was caught in a phase that couldn’t come true. Dali has left a mark on Lorca’s heart, though it doesn’t seem that Dali has been affected at all. Can he really brush off all that has happened and begin a new life just like that?

When Dali returns to share his exploits, including the naked photo of a woman called Gala. Lorca is not so happy with Dali’s cavalier attitude. He doesn’t want to be considered as just another one of Dali’s fascinations or thrilling conquests. He wants to matter, but not in the way Dali thinks he matters, as the famous Federico Garcia Lorca. Wasn’t their relationship more personal than that? Were the sentiments they shared merely just artistic thrills? Did any of that actually touch Dali’s heart? It definitely touched Lorca, “down to the very cold jelly in the marrow.”

Federico had grown tired of Dali’s games. He wants to know who Dali really is, not just who he pretends to be. Dali plans to start what he calls his “real life.” This makes Federico feel like nothing more than an old pair of tattered shoes. Salvador now made it sound like the time he spent with Federico was nothing but a dull and tortuous thing of the past he had to endure. Not only is Dali physically different, but the change in Dali’s character is totally unrecognizable to Federico. He feels alienated from the man he once felt so close to. After the time spent in Paris, it is clear that Luis has become Dali’s new compadre, as he begins to recite the same homophobic rhetoric back to Federico in the most hypocritical fashion.

Dali: “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

Dali: “You’re a selfish fucking maricon.”

Salvador Dalí with Federico García Lorca

Again, it is a shame the homophobic rhetoric will paint Salvador Dali's actions as purely evil. Instead, if we just look at the situation in terms of pursuing artistic endeavors, we will see that Dali's actions are quite necessary to the success of his artistic ambitions.

Speaking of Luis and Dali spending their time together in Paris. The film they were creating strongly references to Lorca, it is called “An Andalusian Dog.” It looks like it was Dali and Bunuel's intention to mock Lorca.

Federico García Lorca with Magdalena

That is some truly despicable backstabbing. What did Lorca ever do to you Dali? It seems like the only way Dali could come to terms with his own internalized homophobia was to blame Federico for his feelings. Spending time with Luis was not a positive influence on the highly influenced Dali. Being that his identity is so flexible. Federico may have brought out the best in Dali, both artistically and emotionally. Whereas Luis brought out the worst in him.

Dali stopped all communication and affiliation with Lorca. Not responding to the letters that Federico had written to him. Federico was completely pushed out of Salvador Dali’s life.

Federico: “It’s as if nothing ever happened. Sometimes I think we never even met.”

By the time Federico catches up with Dali for the final time, Dali has been fully transformed into a caricature of the man he once knew. He is sporting a ridiculous mustache, no matter how fashionable it may be. His speech is full of metaphors and he speaks in an odd accentuated manner. By some impossibility, his clothes and surroundings are somehow even more pretentious than they were before. Dali comments that Federico looks the same in contrast to Dali whose identity changes like a revolving door.

Salvador recites Wait Whitman: “All this time. The dark unfathomed retrospect. The teaming gulf. The sleepers and shadows.”

Salvador introduces his wife Gala to Federico and seems to be trying to create some sort of ménage à trois scenario.

Dali: “The only viable solution to surrealism is the world war. A cleansing. Cut through all this dead wood. Purge the weak elements. An era of enlightenment.”

Salvador Dalí with Federico García Lorca and Gala

Lorca: “Are you saying you actually support the fascist? You used to be an anarchist.”

Federico García Lorca with Salvador Dalí and Gala

Dali: “Oh Federico, you’ve become so liberal. What with your government schemes and your theatral little people.”

Lorca: “Listen, this country is on the brink of something terrible and here you are siding with the people who could destroy everything we stand for. I know you are not through but you must see there’s been no freedom of speech. Anyone who is different, who strays from the norm would just be wiped out.”

Dali: “Would that be a bad thing?”

Lorca: “You’re joking.”

Gala explains that Dali is not interested in politics. That doesn’t mean he should mock Federico and his beliefs. Salvador knows the severity of the situation but instead makes light of it and turns it into a joke.

Federico recites his poem of Dali and wants him to recite his ode, telling of his olive-colored voice. Once again highlighting Dali’s egocentrism. Lorca says Dali always has a plan for everything. Dali claims he can guess the actions of Lorca. This is because Dali is a spider and spins his plans like a spider would its web. Like a spider can sense the vibrations on the web when its prey moves, Dali always knows the next move of the people trapped in his web. Dali proposes that Federico pack his things and come with him to conquer America. Another attempt to pull Federico back into his web of control. After suggesting a ménage à trois situation, Federico is not into it and leaves pretty quickly after that. The sad thing is that Dali had deluded himself into thinking that Federico truly had nothing better to do than to wait around for the great King Dali.

Federico returns to his home town of Granada only to be targeted by the civil guard and abducted. Federico has made a name for himself after his political views became a threat to the established regime. The punishment for freedom of speech is death, apparently. After Federico Garcia Lorca is executed by the civil guard, Salvador Dali loses his mind. Salvador Dali's sanity was already questionable, but this time he’s really lost it for good. I’m sure Salvador was feeling latent regret.

Takeaway: Salvador used Federico as a muse and his personal fan. He had no real feelings. Salvador used him as training wheels before he outgrew him. Federico sees Salvador’s growth as a negative instead of a natural process and change of life. Let the bird fly and if it comes back to you it was meant to be. By the time Salvador came back, Federico had also grown and moved on. Both men pursued their creative work. Having had the beautiful experiences and inspiration from the other to move forward in their careers.

Bonus for the romantics:

If you care to view Dali the way I believe Lorca sees him, feel free to read the inner dialogue I wrote of Federico Garcia Lorca below. Warning: Federico is a total simp for Salvador.

Federico García Lorca staring at Salvador Dalí

Federico García Lorca STILL staring at Salvador Dalí

Someone who is interesting from head to toe. Strange hair style and an avant garde fashion sense. Everyone notices you when you enter the room. You take with you a universe of dreams. Your sturdy yet fragile ego. The nervous tremor in your hand is what makes you all the more fascinating. How can someone as strong as you be nervous in simple situations such as this? It’s humanizing, you who was untouchable might just be like me in a way. If I could be similar to you I would be flattered. The piece of hair tucked behind your ear. Although you look like a nervous mess and a bundle of nerves I sense that you hold a stronger power than you confess. The intensity emanating from the darkness in your light colored eyes. I see who you really are behind the mask.

Someone who is more interesting on the inside. Whose powers and abilities are seemingly endless. Wanting to look deeper into your soul but getting lost in an endless abyss. The odd remarks you make. Your delusional imagination of the past and future. You have a grandiose self image that carries you forward at an unstoppable rate. You are extraordinarily impressive when you do what you really want without approval from others. The way you disregard the standards set by our society. You yell, mock, vandalize and oppose the established order.

Although you look like a pathetic chicken standing on his only leg, you are absolutely dazzling. It’s almost entertaining to see what you’ll look like tomorrow. You are so dynamic I can't wait to see what happens next. Meeting you was like unfolding a story. You change your identity daily. You don’t care if you’re mad. You boldly lie about who you are. But I actually believe your lies. The lies you tell are still a part of who you are, inside. You can imagine things that others can’t, you imagine a different world, turned upside down on its ass. I’ve found myself wanting to trust in your lies over reality.

All I need is to follow you, no matter where it leads me. The world is just the world but the world changes when you’re in it. Even when you do things that I can not find myself to begin to forgive you for. You don’t sacrifice your dreams for anyone, not even me. I’m okay with that. I know that I am just another chapter in the grand story of you. I just want to stay in the plot for as long as I'm useful. You seem to always know where you’re going. You have a mission in life. Your life has a purpose unlike most. You are my messiah. Your brain thinks twice as fast as mine. Your imagination is endless. I’m on a ride and I don't want to get off. It’s exhilarating and I pity those whose lives are completely stationary going round and round on the same orbit.

This has been a creative review of "Little Ashes" 2008 Film, Starring: Robert Pattinson, Director: Paul Morrison, Screenplay: Paul Morrison, Philippa Goslett

youtube

I highly encourage you watch this film if you haven't already.

Article written by Nina Robinson, author of novel "Villainism", via villainism.com

#robert pattinson #salvador dali #little ashes #robert pattinson fanfic #little ashes fanfic #robert pattinson ff #queer stories #villainism #Youtube

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littlelovelore · 9 days

Text

Finding Comfort in Chaos:

Summary: Astarion has a tender morning ritual that helps him prepare for the day ahead

Word count: 322

Genre: fluff

Astarion x Ashe

Every morning, without fail, Astarion reached for the same worn blue mug perched on the kitchen counter. Its surface was chipped and faded, a testament to years of faithful service. Half way down an indent started to wear from where his thumbs rested so frequently, leaving the old cup a bit lopsided. Yet to Astarion, it was more than just a crooked vessel for his morning brew—it was a cherished companion, a silent witness to the start of each new day. The familiarity of the cup was welcomed as his life has proved quite chaotic, and when you live forever you needn't be wasteful. Ashe watched with a fond smile as Astarion filled the mug with steaming hot tea, the fragrant aroma filling the air, leaving a small layer of condensation on his face from breathing it in. She knew the significance of that simple ritual, the way it grounded him in the present and anchored him to the familiar."You never seem to tire of that old thing," Ashe remarked, her voice soft with a slight hint of humor. Astarion shrugged, taking a sip of his tea and savoring the familiar taste. "Call me a creature of habit," he replied with a toothy grin. "Or perhaps just sentimentality."

Ashe leaned against the counter, her gaze lingering on his profile as he cradled the mug in his hands. There was a quiet beauty in the way he savored each sip, as if every taste held a memory all its own."Whatever it is," Ashe said, reaching out to brush her fingers against his, "I'm glad you found something that brings you comfort."With a small smirk, Astarion turned to her, his red eyes soft and filled with admiration. "As long as I have you by my side," he said, "I will never lack comfort again my love."And with that simple declaration, they shared a quiet moment together, the mug soon forgotten on the counter; until tomorrow.

Tag List: (tysm 🖤) @skittleabyss @herdarkestnightelegance

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doom-dreaming · 4 months

Text

High Flakes Combat

“Blue Lead,” Linda’s whisper cuts across TEAMCOM, crisp and several degrees colder than the icy landscape. “Hostiles approaching your position.”

Fred, tucked behind the trunk of a towering pine tree, exhales a slow, measured breath. Waiting. Listening. Without his motion tracker, only the crunch of footsteps in the snow—and Linda—could tell him when their opponents were closing in.

There. Fifteen meters out. He motions to John, positioned behind an adjacent tree. On my signal.

…ten meters…

Cover me. Go high.

…five meters…

John nods. Fred tightens his grip on his weapon.

Now.

As one, they pivot, breaching cover. Fred drops to a knee, attacking swiftly, before their adversary has a chance to retaliate.

The snowball hits Ash directly in the center of his chestplate. Active camouflage flickers briefly, then recalibrates, as the young Spartan crashes dramatically to his knees before sprawling backward, motionless.

Fred doesn’t let the theatrics distract him. The other two had to be nearby and the round wasn’t over until— A snowball whizzes past his head, followed by a sharp curse—out loud, close. He catches a shimmer of white on white as Olivia leaps to find cover and “reload,” but John is faster.

The snowball hits her thigh before she can complete her maneuver and she slides to a dejected halt in a snowbank. “Dammit! Mark!” she calls out. “You’re on your own!”

Fred doesn’t hear a verbal response. He knows he won’t, Mark’s too good to give away his position— Thwap. Fred’s vision goes fuzzy and white as Mark’s snowball connects with his visor, splattering on impact. Fred groans and flashes a red status light across his team’s HUDs. He’d be out until the next round.

“He’s on the move!” Linda barks over the comms.

Fred folds himself cross-legged into the snow and wipes his visor clean just in time to see Kelly bounding over a nearby ridge, clutching a snowball in each fist.

“I’ve got him!” She goes streaking across the snow toward a barely-visible figure—also sprinting.

Mark wouldn’t be able to outrun Kelly—a fact Fred knew the S-III was well aware of—but he was certainly trying his best.

Kelly nails Mark with both snowballs, one in the shoulder, the other in the back. He stumbles just enough that Kelly’s momentum sends her into him at full force. The clack of their colliding armor echoes like a shot as both Spartans go tumbling to the ground, sending up a minor flurry in their wake.

“Aaaaaaaand match!” Roland’s voice rings out over the simulation deck, followed by a buzzer. “Blue Team takes the win!”

“Again,” Olivia grumbles, pushing to her feet and dusting snow off her armor.

“It’s three against four,” Ash reminds her, still lying on his back a few feet from Fred.

Olivia crunches her way over and offers him a hand. “Can we make Kelly sit out the next round?”

“If you’re not having fun, leave,” John quips.

“Or maybe you should switch Kelly to our team and see how it feels,” Livi bites back, helping Ash haul himself to his feet.

“Fighting over me?” Kelly rejoins the group with Mark close behind. “I’m flattered.”

Fred chuckles. It was good to see Olivia trading barbs with John. The Gammas had warmed up to him quickly—and he to them—and it wasn’t hard to understand why. Fred was sure the S-IIIs had given him some new streaks of gray hair, but at the same time, they made him feel younger. He hoped they were having the same effect on John.

“So…” drawls a familiar voice, raised just loud enough to carry, “this is the reason my fireteams can't train today? A snowball fight.”

Every Spartan in the simulated snowscape whips toward the entrance. Commander Palmer stands at the far edge of the scene, arms crossed. She looks odd and out of place, a lone figure in a techsuit against the stark white surroundings, but no less intense than usual.

“Thought we’d try something different from the typical drills, ma’am,” Fred coughs. He’s not sure why he feels guilty; they’d requested the time and blocked out the schedule and followed protocol…even if they hadn’t said precisely what they’d be doing…

Before anyone else has a chance to speak, a snowball goes sailing over Fred’s shoulder, on a collision course for Palmer. She’s too far away to hit, but the aim is dead-accurate and it lands with a wet plap several yards directly in front of her.

Even at this distance, Fred sees her eyes narrow. The vague guilt solidifying in his gut crystallizes into ice. He knows who threw that and he’s already, reflexively, preparing for the necessary damage control—and for Linda, no less. Kelly he was used to, but Linda?

Palmer shifts her weight and fixes the seven of them with a hard stare that lasts long past the point of being uncomfortable. “Don’t go anywhere,” she eventually orders, leveling a finger in their direction. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Without leaving any opportunity for rebuttal, she turns on her heel and swiftly disappears from the deck.

Immediately, Linda’s status light starts blinking rapid-fire green across Blue Team’s HUDs. Kelly follows suit.

“Really?” Fred grumps over TEAMCOM.

“Can you blame her if it worked?” Kelly retorts.

“Yes! You’re making an assumption and setting a bad example.” He switches to his helmet’s speakers. “Gammas, don’t throw things at your commanding officers.”

“Unless you’re sleeping with them,” Kelly adds, with enough tact to keep the comment on Blue Team’s private channel.

Another green light from Linda.

Fred willfully ignores both of them.

“...we’re not in trouble, are we?” Ash removes his helmet and shakes out his hair. “To be honest…I don’t know what just happened.”

Kelly seats herself on a tree stump, legs akimbo, smugness oozing from every seam of her armor. “Palmer’s getting suited up to come play with us.”

Ash seems unconvinced but Mark shrugs. “She’ll balance the numbers. We might even start winning.”

Only Blue Team can see—and appreciate—the red light John flashes in silent response.

**********

As threatened, Palmer returns exactly ten minutes later, fully armored aside from the helmet tucked into the crook of her arm. “Okay, here’s the official story.” She strides up to the group. “We’re running an unorthodox but fully sanctioned training exercise all day.”

“I’ve cleared the schedule and put out an open invitation,” Roland chimes in. “As requested.”

Palmer nods her approval. “Figured I’d let you have your fun on the condition that the rest of us could get in on it too.” She raises an eyebrow. “Sound fair?”

“Fair enough,” Fred answers, echoing the array of green lights on his HUD. “Alright. Ground rules—we’re running blind for this, Commander. No motion trackers.”

She looks pleased. “I like a challenge.”

“If you get hit, you’re out for the round,” he continues. “Once you’re out, you can’t help anyone still standing. Round ends when a whole team goes down.” Fred nods toward the ceiling. “Roland’s keeping score.”

“Huh,” Palmer hums. “So you knew about this, too, Roland?”

“I…was informed the exercise would require a scorekeeper instead of a handler,” the AI answers, somehow managing to achieve the verbal equivalent of tip-toeing. “And I volunteered a mere fraction of my copious attention to the task.”

Palmer just rolls her eyes.

Ash clears his throat and steps forward. “If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am, we’d greatly appreciate it if you joined our team.”

“They’ve been wiping the floor with us,” Olivia adds, somewhat ruefully.

Palmer looks back and forth between Blue Team and the Gammas with a hint of a smirk. “Well.” She slips her helmet on. “Allow me to level the playing field.”

**********

And indeed, the tide began to turn. Quickly. It wasn’t that the Gammas couldn’t hold their own, but Palmer was a different flavor of ruthless and even numbers did make a difference.

Kelly, as Blue Team’s sole survivor, was in the midst of a valiant stand, but she was up against Palmer and Olivia and they were going in for the kill. Up to this point, Kelly had been relying on her speed to evade them, but Fred doubted that would be able to carry her any further.

Palmer and Livi split around the back of the snowbank Kelly had hidden behind, falling into synchronized step with each other, timing their paces perfectly. Palmer’s boots fall heavier and louder, covering Olivia’s near-silent glide around the other side.

The strategy is obvious, at least from Fred’s position of passive observation—Palmer would draw Kelly’s attention, Olivia would come up on her flank and take her out. And it would work, too…on anyone less observant than Kelly. Fred has a feeling she’ll see right through it. But one of them was going to hit her either way, so it didn’t really matter as far as the outcome was concerned.

Surprisingly, a third option presents itself. Fred realizes after a few seconds that he’s been holding his breath, expecting Kelly to explode out of the snow and make a run for it, but…she doesn’t.

Palmer reaches the other side of the snowdrift and slows, confusion evident in her body language. She paces around the area, making sure not to stay still for too long, obviously reluctant to let her guard down completely. Fred can see the hazy mirage of Olivia’s SPI suit still moving in with careful deliberation.

There was no way Kelly could have moved. She hadn’t had enough time. More importantly, she would’ve been spotted if she’d tried to flee, so why couldn’t—

Palmer disappears. One second, she’s standing on the other side of the snowbank, visible from the waist up, and the next second she’s gone. Fred can’t see much of anything, but there are sounds of a scuffle and the blur of camouflaged armor as Livi sweeps in to assist with whatever the hell had just happened.

Barely a breath later, Roland announces the end of the match. “And Gammas-Plus-Palmer emerge victorious! …or should I say Olivia, specifically, seeing as she is the last Spartan standing. You know, you really oughta come up with a better name for your team—”

There’s a burst of indignant exclamations and flustered cursing from Palmer. She reappears only to rip her helmet off and kick some snow back in the direction from which she’d escaped.

Olivia removes her own helmet; Fred is surprised to see her laughing. “She got you good!” There’s a giddiness in her voice that Fred’s never heard before, but she seems to remember who she's talking to a moment later. “...ma’am.”

Kelly pops up beyond the ridge. She remains helmeted but Fred knows there’s a shit-eating grin on her face just from her posture alone.

“What happened?” He shouts the question out loud.

“She buried herself in the fucking snow and pulled my legs out from under me,” Palmer growls as she trudges over.

“And then I hit Kelly point-blank in the face!”

Olivia’s gleeful comment is backed by Kelly’s laughter over TEAMCOM. “Worth it.”

“Hey!” A different voice cuts into the conversation, once again pulling everyone’s attention toward the entrance. “Heard there was some kinda free-for-all goin’ on in here?” Gabriel Thorne stands flanked by the rest of Fireteam Majestic, all in full Mjolnir. “Got room for another team?”

Palmer waves them in. “Come on up, Majestic. We’ll get you briefed on the rules.” She sighs and fits her helmet back on. “Hope you’re ready to get your asses kicked.”

**********

An hour later, after Majestic had carved out a few victories of their own, Crimson shows up. Rules are recounted, home bases are realigned, play resumes. Within another two hours, there are four more Spartan fireteams on the field. Alliances are formed, both openly and secretly. Several hours are devoted to building snow forts. Play evolves. Forts are defended and captured, sabotaged and reinforced.

And then Lasky arrives.

“Captain on deck!” Roland bellows.

The silence that blankets the simulation deck is instantaneous and absolute. Nobody moves. If the snowballs already in flight could have frozen in midair, they probably would’ve. Instead, they land in a chorus of muffled thwumps.

Lasky stands there for a few seconds, small and unimposing by the distant doors, sporting his trademark expression of beleaguered amusement—presumably at being called out. “Don’t stop on my account,” he eventually says. “I just wanted to watch. …unless there’s a team looking for a liability,” he jokes with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Everyone on the field exchanges glances and shrugs. A sea of status lights blink across Fred’s HUD—most amber, some green. Finally, someone from Crimson waves Lasky over. “We’ll take you, Captain!”

He seems genuinely surprised by the invitation, but begins the trek across the snow. “Try not to kill me, alright?”

That draws laughs from most of the Spartans, but it’s John who actually banters back. “No promises, sir.”

#halo #my writing #halo fanfic #s2blueteam #sarah palmer #fred 104 #ash g099 #olivia g291 #kelly 087 #just tagging characters with the most screen time bc Everybody is here #also don't ask me when this takes place #bending the timeline to my will #everyone's here at the same time and that's what matters #mainly i just wanted to write something cute and let them have some playtime #this was somewhat prompted by the exchange in the fall of reach that haunts me #where kelly mentions snowballs #and john gets salty because she puts rocks in them #IMPLYING THEY HAD A SNOWBALL FIGHT AT SOME POINT #can you imagine mendez like 'you know what these little war machines need? Snow Time'#anyway happy holidays #also yeah. yes. the title is a shitty pun #that's the kind of person i am #and yes this takes place somewhere in the PSEU (palmer sandwich extended universe)

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leiawritesstories · 14 days

Text

and the water creeps to my chest

oh no i got really into Mumford & Sons during finals and accidentally wrote some slight angst for @throneofglassmicrofics 😂🫡

basic premise: canon AU where fae/mythical creatures don't exist but magic and arobynn do ;)

Prompt: "Deep End" // song: "Thistle & Weeds"

word count: 574

warnings: slight angst

enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fire wouldn't come.

Aelin knew it could, and she knew that it had, and it wasn't. It wasn't coming. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many breathing or grounding exercises or how many mental doors she unlocked, her fire would not come.

Perhaps it sensed the danger lurking in the red-haired man across the training yard and refused to bend to the cold cunning in his eyes.

Aelin had been sixteen years old when Arobynn Hamel became the weapons master, and he'd been trying to train her in magic ever since, even though he had no magic and knew nothing about the finicky, delicate art of magical training. He'd seemed content to put the Crown Princess of Terrasen through grueling physical training instead for the last four years.

Until he got too greedy.

Until the whispers started.

Until the Crown Princess unexpectedly became Queen and the whispers broke into shouts.

"It's simply...not budging," Aelin called across the training yard, weariness weighing down her voice.

Arobynn's lip curled in badly veiled disgust. "Disappointing, Aelin. Simply disappointing." Ordinarily, the insult would be enough to push her into a tidal wave of wildfire, but all it did was drop heavily upon her weighted shoulders. "Disappointing." He left, boots clicking against the stone steps.

Aelin let her sword tumble to the ground with a dull clang and made it a few jerky strides before she crumpled to the ground, her back flush against the sun-warmed stone of the far wall. Dark, shadowy clouds obscured the sunlight, and the summer air thickened to bursting, becoming heavy with the coppery scent of a storm.

She didn't have the strength to move.

Fat, lazy raindrops dripped slowly from the sky, plopping against the worn gray stones and sand of the training yard and the sweat-soaked material of Aelin's tunic and pants. She cupped her hands, catching the drops, overpowering grief crashing into her as she remembered her mother teaching her to catch the rain.

You may not have all of the water gift, my Fireheart, but anyone can hold the rain.

The queen tipped her head up to the sky as the rain thickened, its rapid patter splashing onto her face, mingled with the tears that slid down her face like the summer shower. I miss you, Mum. So much.

Eyes closed, the storm soaking through her clothes, Aelin felt the darkness close in on her, battering the wavering shreds of her faith. First the crown, now the wildfire--everything was being ripped from her fragile grasp. Even though it was late summer, even though the rain could barely touch the sand and stones before it soaked into nothing, she felt like the water was creeping up her chest, inexorably pulling her into its dark depths.

She was so...alone.

Unbidden, unprompted, heat rose up through Aelin's cupped hands, tiny sparks dancing around her fingertips. She cracked open her heavy eyes, released half a shuddering breath, and watched as the sparks kindled into tongues of flame, tiny dancing flickers of light and color amid the pouring rain. We are always with you, Fireheart, whispered a pair of voices in the depths of her heart.

The wildfire brightened, dancing higher, stronger, mirroring the hope that the queen grasped ahold of as she tugged herself to her feet, flames wreathing her hands and her brow, and picked up her sword.

She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.

And she would not be afraid.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

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julescarstairs · 9 months

Text

I have a whole lineup of characters to give my heart to and yet all my love is pooled into a silly little guy with platinum blonde hair and a metric fuck tonne of problems

#and by problems I mean trauma #without sounding like a walking promo poster you can check out this silly little guy and his family #in my best friend and I’s tsc fanfic over on Instagram!#it’s called That Which is Precious and Lost 🫶#the dark artifices #the wicked powers #the shadowhunter chronicles #ash morgenstern #dru blackthorn #morgenthorn #tagging morgenthorn because the silly little guy in question happens to be one of our headcanoned sons for them

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sapphicseasapphire · 9 months

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Work in progress for a comic I’m making! Still just sketching, so pretty much every thing here is subject to change. (Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the writing later!)

This is a scene from @illegiblehandwriting1 ’s amazing LU fanfiction: The Chosen and the Champion, chapter 15, in which Wild is a good friend and Sky is Not Vibing.

I haven’t drawn Sky’s scars yet. Or Wild’s. And to be honest, I’m pretty new to LU so I’m not entirely sure about their designs? So I just drew them pretty close to how they look in their respective games. (Please don’t come after me for that one, I’m trying my best haha!)

I still haven’t even gotten to the best part…

#fanart #my art #the legend of zelda #linked universe #sky linked universe #wild linked universe #lu sky #lu wild #fanfic related #fanficton #my comic #fan comic #wip #tloz fanart #help me #i’m so nervous #i relate to Sky just a little too much #chosen and the champion #smoke & ashes

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anonymousdandelion · 10 months

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My love for When the Angels Left the Old Country has lead to the inevitable consequence: soft fanfiction. (The first in the AO3 tag for the book!)

This first foray is a 500-word ficlet, featuring nothing but fluff.

“Ashel,” Uriel murmured, though they’d been sitting in comfortable silence for a few minutes now and it had not quite realized that it was about to speak. “Ashel, do you remember the dance hall?” “The dance hall? What dance hall?” Little Ash looked at Uriel. “You mean, the one where we went spying?” “Yes,” said the angel, only it had not been thinking about the spying at all. “We never got to dance, that night.”

#dandelion fics #fanfiction #when the angels left the old country #wtaltoc fanfic #uriel federman #little ash

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thefanficmonster · 1 month

Note

Can you do something about the Clarke kids (Little Hope) getting a pet? I love your writing so much btw!

Hi dear! Thank you so much for the adorable request! I hope you enjoy 💌

Fandom: The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, Domestic Fluff

The Clarke Family Adopting a Pet

It was Megan's idea, let's get that straight right off the bat

Like any kid, she'd go to her friends' houses and see their adorable pets and want one of her own

Much to her dismay, however, her parents always said no

To her favor, though, her persistent asking and negotiating wore down her siblings

Mostly Anthony and Tanya

Dennis took a bit of convincing - not really, he just wanted to appear unbothered - but they got to him in time

Just in time for Megan's birthday when the three of them went behind their parents' backs and came back to the house with a puppy in their arms

Megan's joyful squeals and cheers could be heard for miles

It's safe to say Anne and James weren't happy

The matriarch of the family was a lot quicker to warm up to the adorable creature

She even helped brainstorm some names for the cutie

The Clarke family rarely finds common ground and the name picking process was no different

Until they did eventually agree on the name Leo

James was a lot less accepting toward the new member of the family

He even gave his older children the silent treatment for a good week

He tried to keep up the ruse longer but it wasn't effective

Especially not after they found him sitting on the living room floor, playing with the puppy with upmost joy lighting up his face

In the end, Dennis, Tanya and Anthony took silent credit for bringing this new light into their home

Megan got the pet she'd been begging for for years

And James and Anne found great enjoyment in spending hours with the pup, ultimately bringing them closer

Seems like getting a pet really does solve plenty of problems

We're gonna ignore the carpet they had to throw away because of Leo's 'accident'

And all the chewed up shoes

It's all a small price to pay for all the smiles and laughter he's brought into the Clarke home

Tagging: @hopeveon

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pokemonislanderprincess · 1 year

Text

“...so, you wanna be my Valentine?”

Misty slowly looked up from her sandwich and shot Ash an unimpressed look. “Seriously?”

“What?!” Ash cried, straightening up. “I asked, didn’t I?!”

“Yeah, like Pikachu was about to thunderbolt you if you didn’t,” Misty scoffed. “I’ve heard you have more enthusiasm over a commercial you like coming on the TV in the Pokémon Center!”

Ash scowled. “Any other complaints?”

“You asking me while I’m in the middle of eating lunch is also pretty lame.”

Rolling his eyes, Ash got off the bench and began stomping away from his girlfriend. “Fine! I’ll do it over!”

Misty watched him go in silence, her own eyes ever so slightly narrowed. From the tree behind her, Brock poked his head out, shaking it with clear disappointment. “I told him not to do that.”

“Well, you know Ash: he doesn’t listen,” Misty sighed, putting her sandwich down. Raising an eyebrow, Misty looked over her shoulder and asked, “how long have you been hiding back there, anyway?”

“Long enough,” Brock vaguely replied, fully stepping out into the sunlight.

Huffing, Misty placed her head in her hand. “What if he never grows up?”

“It’s highly likely,” Brock answered far too quickly for Misty’s liking. Before she could snap at him, however, Brock continued, “but he does love you. That’s not even a question. So, you might just have to live with him making a few mistakes along the way.”

“I guess,” Misty grumbled. “Although, I think calling it a ‘few’ mistakes is pretty generous.”

Brock chuckled, and when he saw Ash returning with a far more mellow expression, his smirk managed to widen. “Ah, look who’s back!”

Ignoring the Pokémon doctor, Ash approached Misty, avoiding plopping himself down on the wooden bench this time around. Holding his hand out towards her, Ash politely asked, “will you please follow me?”

Misty hesitantly looked over at Brock, but he was busy pretending to stare up at something in the sky. Groaning, she turned her attention back onto Ash, who was still waiting quite patiently on her. Unable to fight the little smile that was playing on her lips, Misty giggled and placed her hand in Ash’s. “Sure.”

Excitement managed to break through Ash’s gentlemanly demeanor, and he grinned almost wildly as soon as Misty intertwined her fingers with his. With his newly increased fervor, Ash pulled Misty up from her seat, causing her to yelp in surprise as he tugged her away from the picnic table. As Ash’s laughter and Misty’s pleas for him to slow down grew more distant, Brock finally lowered his head, watching in amusement as his two younger friends flitted further and further away.

“She’ll learn. Not today, but eventually.”

Ash didn’t have to drag Misty much further before he reached their destination. Misty still wasn’t pleased about being dragged along like a toy on a string, and she had every intention of letting Ash know that. The comment died in her throat, however, once she saw where Ash had pulled her to.

In front of a large, crystal clear lake were both his and her Pokémon, with Pikachu front and center, gathered around a very impressive bouquet of flowers. Psyduck was even sporting a crown of them around his head, looking very confused about the whole situation and causing Misty to giggle.

“Is this better?” Ash asked.

Misty snorted. His question seemed genuine, like he really wasn’t sure if it was or not, but he still had that big, dorky grin on his face. Misty could never be fully sure when he was being wholly naïve or playing dense on purpose.

For whatever reason, she found that to be one of his most endearing features.

“Yes, this is better,” Misty confirmed, deciding it wasn’t worth it to test him on it. “Actually, it’s perfect! Where’d you manage to get these flowers from? I know you didn’t just manage to gather all these up in the last 10 minutes.”

Ash sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah, I’ve been putting them together for a little while. I kind of knew this was what I was gonna surprise you with the whole time, to be honest.”

Misty furrowed her brow. “Hold on. If this was the plan, then what was with the weird ‘wanna be my Valentine’ question before?”

“I thought you’d be more mad if I interrupted your lunch, so I tried something simpler,” Ash reluctantly admitted. “Brock told me not to do that, but...”

“You didn’t listen,” Misty concluded when Ash trailed off, guiltily poking his fingers together. “That’s what he meant!”

“Guess I was better off just starting with this, huh?” Ash muttered.

Misty smirked and strode forward, grabbing onto Ash’s hands. “Yeah, you were. But that’s okay! You’re learning.”

“Heh, I guess so,” Ash laughed nervously. “Really, really slowly, but - “

“Still learning,” Misty cut him off, leaning in to give him an innocent kiss before pulling away to smile at his delicate blush. “And I really appreciate it.”

#A little Valentine's Day drabble for you all since I wasn't able to finish my usual one shot!#Pokeshipping #Pokeshipping Fanfiction #AAML #AAML Fanfiction #Ash #Misty #Writing #Brock #Pikachu #Psyduck #Pokemon Fanfiction #Pokemon Fanfic #Pokeshipping Fanfic

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giveamadeuschohisownmovie · 8 months

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For anyone interested, I’m writing a choose-your-own adventure fic set in the Dark Pictures Anthology universe! To determine where the story goes, make sure to comment which of the choices you prefer the most.

Story summary: The legend goes that legendary blues musician Robert Johnson, who tragically passed away at the age of 27, had sold his soul to the devil at a local crossroads to achieve musical success.

To most people, it's just an urban legend. But five individuals are about to discover that there's nothing fictional about this ghost story. Will they survive their encounter with the devil? It's up to you to guide them to salvation...or damnation.

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ashyronfire · 9 months

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Do Not Go Gently || Chapter 13: unneeded

Title: Chapter 13 - unneeded Rating: T Characters: Ghost, Grimmchild, The Hollow Knight, Hornet Warnings: Post-Embrace the Void Ending, Sibling Bonding, Found Family, Angst & Healing, References to past trauma, references to past torture, Rebuilding, complicated families, Unrequited Love, Everyone lives, (except those dead prior to canon), Happy Ending

Summary:

Pale Ore. For a nail large enough for an adult vessel. Yours is but a little knife. Suits. But sibling-large, too small in hand.

Author’s Notes: I am once again reminding people this fic isn't dead, I'm just slow when I have no buffer to protect me