Untitled

Od svih sam dizala ruke zbog tog jednog koji je na kraju od mene digao ruke

if we meet each other in hell, it's not hell

— Unknown

Deep Water 2022

Mutna voda se najbolje razbistri ako je ostaviš na miru.

Justine Kurland, Boy Torture: Love, 1999.

— Winston Churchill

Željo moja jedina kunem ti se ja zaboraviću usne tvoje

Kada raskineš sa njom

dođi ponovo da čujes kako stvari stoje...

Kada menja se vreme, zaboliš me do kostiju

Mnogo si poleteo, a moliš za milostinju

Milione ti želim i puno dobrih godina

Al' zauvek ćeš ostati bogata sirotinja.

#sad#love#story#

Masterpost of Song Comics Part I (A-K)

*Unfortunately, due to a peculiarity of tumblr, a post containing too many links will not have any of them function. Thus, the masterpost has been broken into two parts.*

Organized by musician alphabetically

Last updated on 07/18/2021

See Part II here: Masterpost of Homestuck Song Comics Part II (L-Z)

#:

A:

B:

C:

D:

E:

F:

G:

H:

I:

J:

K:

Helen slams her pointe shoe against the hardwood floor.

The crack rings across the empty practice room like a pistol shot. She lifts up the shoe with her right hand and brings it down again. Again. Again. Again.

It might look like she's venting personal feelings, but the reasoning is innocent. This is just a new pair of shoes that needs to be broken in by practice tomorrow. With the ballet recital coming up, she's been tearing through three pairs a month and the preparation process feels like second nature to her hands now. Crack the sole, soften the pointe with a few savage swings on a hard surface, and stitch on a new elastic. One, two, three. An everyday day thing.

The only thing that doesn't happen everyday, is when Seong Keiichirou pulls open the practice door and walks right in.

"Hey there~" he calls out, flashing a brilliant smile her way.

Helen looks up from where she sits cross legged on the floor. "Hey. Thought you went home."

"I'm about to." He stops an inch from her, tilting his head inquisitively. "You alright? You're really pushing yourself these days. Don't get me wrong, it's admirable, but you've got to let yourself rest too, you know?"

The perfect amount of flattery and concern, Helen thinks. Everything about him is perfect. One, his smile. Two, his silky red hair that's always effortlessly tousled. Three, his immaculate sense of style. He's changed into a pink button down shirt after practice, matching it with a sleek pearl necklace, a pair of pants that look tailored to his every measurement, and brown Derksen loafers. He's fashionable, charming, and pretty enough to break a girl's heart.

But there's something about him that isn't adding up.

"I'm alright." Helen smiles back. "And I got to play Odette, the least I can do is to earn my keep."

Keiichirou nods seriously. "Oh, and- speaking of ballet..." He digs through his pocket and brings out a small, band-aid sized box of gel strips. "Thanks for these! My ankles were really sore after practice."

She reaches out to take them from him - and is reminded again of just how flawless his whole persona is. Any other boy she's ever known would have, one, stepped in closer than he needed to. Two, he'd maybe let his fingers trail along hers as she took the box. Or third; a regular guy would have at least let his eyes trail down to the too-tight leotard she's wearing that make her breasts strain against the baby blue fabric.

But not Seong Keiichirou. No, he's perfect to a fault.

Except for in one tiny way that's been nagging at her head since practice. "Say, Keii, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

I don't have to say it. "Back there in Madame Hanako's class, you were doing a pas de deux with that girl who tripped really badly."

"You mean Mizuki?" Keiichirou asks, elegant brows furrowing in worry. "Yeah, she got hurt real bad, hope she's okay."

Helen glances down. But I know what I saw. She runs a finger over the satiny pointe shoe in her hand. "Yeah. Only she didn't trip."

There is complete silence in the practice room. She turns to look at Keiichirou, who has lost his smile. "You pushed her."

The accusation hangs in the air, souring it. Bit by bit she sees the warmth leech from the boy's eyes until they shimmer like the tundra, like an iceberg submerged in the Arctic sea. He smiles again - he doesn't look as well-meaning anymore.

"I'd go easy on the extra practice hours, Helen." says Keiichirou, his voice soft with mockery. "You're starting to see things. Mabye I should have a talk with the school counselor for you? We can't have our only Odette hallucinating on stage."

Then the moment passes as quickly as it had come, and he's all honey tones again. "Thanks again for strips, but I should be going now. See you in class tomorrow~"

Helen watches him leave, struck silent. And when the door swings shut, she feels an understanding form in her mind like it has always been waiting to be realized. Keiichirou Seong is no doe eyed Disney prince, even if he looks the part. There's something disturbing about him - he doesn't fall at all into the ordinary patterns of one, two, three, he can't be packed into a neat little equation and labelled x, y, z. He's not solvable, understandable. He can bluff like a poker player, make her second guess something she saw with her own eyes.

And he sure as hell is going to make sure that no one ever knows why their classmate is in the hospital with a broken ankle right now.

Slowly, Helen raises up the pointe shoe again. Just another borderline psychotic guy to add to this mess of a school. ....why do they all have to be so damn pretty, too?

THE BATMAN (2022) concept art / final result

Stéphane Rolland Spring 2022 Couture