> You’re still getting used to this stupid key and lock system. Why does every single apartment have to have its own set of locks? Why not just kindly ask a striped roar-beast to kindly guard your home while you’re away instead? Seems a lot more practical, to you, anyway.
> The door finally gives and you step inside, one, two steps, reaching up to hang your apron on the coat hooks beside the front entrance. “Anyone awake? I know it’s kinda–”
> Pause.
> You turn and look a little closer. That’s a smudge of… teal on the wall?
> You’re suddenly pulled into a tight hug, throwing you completely off balance and leaving you to now lean the entirety of your weight on whoever the fuck is holding you. It takes you a couple of seconds to realize it’s Rufioh.
> Holy fuck you’re dizzy.
“Who the hell. Where have you been? What’s going on??”
“That’s what I wanted to know,” you say with a shaky, hollow laugh. Your hand finds the back of her head and you tilt her face up towards you, eyeing the damages with a pained look. Your other thumb brushes her cheek, lightly flaking away a smear of dried blood.
“I was gone for that training thing... I thought I mentioned it, had to go out of town for. No. That’s not what’s important.” You look her in the eyes, looking for any sign of trauma, delirium; she seemed woozy, but not incapacitated. You suppose that was good.
“What happened to you? Who got in?” A flicker of anger alights a golden glow in your eyes, the corner of your mouth barely turning into a snarl. “If this had anything to do with Condy-- her and her fucked up obsession with Karkats, especially Pink-- I’m not going to let her walk away from this unscathed. Not by any fucking means.”
> Pause. Take a deep breath. You’re jumping to conclusions again, and you’d rather know what happened than get all riled up on assumptions.
> You’re still getting used to this stupid key and lock system. Why does every single apartment have to have its own set of locks? Why not just kindly ask a striped roar-beast to kindly guard your home while you’re away instead? Seems a lot more practical, to you, anyway.
> The door finally gives and you step inside, one, two steps, reaching up to hang your apron on the coat hooks beside the front entrance. “Anyone awake? I know it’s kinda--”
> Pause.
> You turn and look a little closer. That’s a smudge of... teal on the wall?
> Panic.
> Your bloodpusher skips a beat and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Eyes wide and wary, you quietly slip your keys into your pocket and take a few steps further. The hell is going on? Did somebody break in? No, lock and door frame were in tact-- could’ve come in the window, where’s Red? Where’s Riddles-- Did they already dispatch the intruder-- Did they go somewhere else--?
> You’re having a hard time focusing on any one single train of thought as adrenaline floods your thinkpan, putting an obnoxious buzz in the back of your head. You take a few more steps, peek down the hall. There’s a tiny drop of teal on the floor, headed to the bathroom. You ball your fists; you’ll clock that son of a bitch into the next millenia.
> You’re winding up the punch, shoulders hunched and fists poised. Whoever did this will be receiving the full brunt of your wrath in the next four seconds. Another silent step, and you hear a sniffle. Two more, and a muttered “ow”. One more and--
> You rear back to throw the punch, fury broiling in your eyes, you’ll make them pay, make them regret ever fucking stepping foot into your--
> Pause.
> Red examines herself in the mirror, oblivious for the most part. The better half of one of her horns is missing, and there’s a massive lump on the side of her head. Teal is smudged under her nose and down the side of her face; you think you see tears on her cheeks, but her eyes aren’t red.
> Panic.
> Your fury melts into an instantaneous sense of dreadful, overwhelming worry. Shaking fists fall loose into trembling hands and you abruptly reach out and pull her into a desperate, trembling hug. You’re not even sure she’d noticed you yet, not that it mattered, gods above what could have happened--
“Red. Oh, god. Red, what happened, who did...” Your voice waivers as you struggle to keep it in check. You can’t help but feel like you should have come home early. You really, really should have.
eveRy time you post something its eitheR a hella good selfie or some CRiptiC message fRom the oldest paRts of the inteRnet and im honestly so Confused what is youR game
All right, everyone, grab a chair and sit back because I’m going to share with you what I learned about Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel in my Art History Class.
The man NEVER wanted to paint the damn thing. But the pope at the time “forced him to” According to my teacher. Michelangelo hated this man, I MEAN REALLY HATED HIM. So did a majority of people. The pope’s nickname translated literally means “Terrible pope”.
And the working conditions were awful. He had to work on his back with all that paint, which is filled with some toxic shit that gave Michelangelo a limp for the rest of his life.
(Also, our teacher made us get on our backs and try drawing with both hands JUST to prove how bad and uncomfortable it is.)
At the time, the ceiling was so high, you could barely see it. You need binoculars to get a good look at what’s up there, by the time people could see the paintings, there was a lot of weird symbolism that Michelangelo hid up there.
This one? The creation of the sun and moon? God is mooning you. And the pope and all others after him prayed under that without knowing.
This one? At the time, dissecting was sacrilegious and everyone found out how behind God was what looked like half a brain. blah blah, science, science, that pissed everyone off.
And also, ALLLLLLL the men and women in the Sistine Chapel are all on fucking steroids. My teacher described the women’s bodies as “Men bodies with boobs slapped on.”
And then there is this:
Now this is the back wall. Michelangelo actually wanted to paint this one after he finished the ceiling. (and there was a different pope too, I believe.) However, originally, EVERYONE in that painting was naked. And they didn’t like it. Adam and Eve naked? That’s cool. But Jesus? Now you crossed the line. So the pope at the time hired someone else to censor it and give the important figures clothes. He worked on it for 6 or 9 months before he died.
And then the symbolism in this one is great. Somewhere in the right, there are homosexuals in heaven. (No matter what, the Vatican will say “Those straight men are happy” I’ll get to that in a second), Michelangelo painted himself near Jesus, and the terrible pope is in hell with a snake biting his balls.
And if you were to point ANY of this out to the Vatican, they will deny all of it and claim Michelangelo was a catholic hero. In fact, when they discovered the symbolism around the 60s or 70s, the guy who told the Vatican was kicked out of the Vatican for life.
TL;DR: Michelangelo hated the pope and made the best “fuck you” of all time.
YO. ALL OF THIS^. Michelangelo was hella grumpy all of the time. It was fantastic.
However, as beautiful as this commentary is, I’m gonna make a little correction. The Pope isn’t the one in hell getting his balls bitten; that guy is actually the Papal Minister of Ceremonies a the time, Biagio de Cesena.
See, when Michelangelo was painting this, as you said, lots of people were uncomfortable with all of the nudity (especially because the Last Judgement [back wall mural] was painted much later when nudity in religious art was even more controversial than before), but the dude who was the angriest was de Cesena.
He was so angry that he reportedly burst in on Michelangelo while he was working (which is already a big no-no because Michelangelo’s requirements for working were mostly “fuck the hell off and leave me alone or else I quit and I will stab you in the eye with my paintbrush/chisel”.). He then proceeds to tell Michelangelo that this fresco is disgusting and obscene and shame on him etc etc. He also referred to it as “i stui di nudi”, which means “A stew of nudes” which is one of the best descriptions of a thing ever, if you ask me.
So Michelangelo, probably on the cusp of homicide is like “Thank you for the notes. Now get the fuck out,” and de Cesena reluctantly does.
Later, he comes to see the finished product and finds that Michelangelo had painted his portrait down in Hell to represent the Minos, King of the Dead. He has the ears of an ass and the above described crotch biting snake:
Upon seeing this and being enraged, de Cesena went to the Pope to demand that it be changed and that Michelangelo be punished. However, the Pope was SO incredibly done dealing with Michelangelo’s snark, tantrums, and general hatred of the world and everyone in it, that he didn’t want to do shit.
The Pope’s response to him was literally to say “As Pope, I have a lot of influence on Earth and up in Heaven, but I have no jurisdiction in Hell. You’re shit out of luck.“
And it stayed.
Michelangelo, grade A artist, snark master, and professional dick.
// Hey guys! Might have noticed a lack of activity here lately. Doing a little mini hiatus while I’m in the middle of switching jobs and working every day of the week. Be back soon!
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