#FUCKING KINTSUGI

[clairedaring]

kintsugi /kɪntˈsuːɡi/: a Japanese art that repairs broken pottery with gold, rendering a new piece that is stronger and even more valuable than before it was broken because of its reinforced, golden scars.

↳ My Stand-In (2024) dir. Pepzi Banchorn Vorasataree

[veinsfullofstars]

“Any more stupid questions?”

Bonus live reactions to being saved from a Dark Matter ambush:

Started 07/13/24, finished 07/27/24 | Kintsugi AU Masterpost

[thekidsarentalright]

[spirallingstarcases]

pete wentz final form when

for claudia @mortalfortaxpurposes <33333

(HBD CLAUDIA !!!! A DAY LATE. BUT. SHH. here’s the kintsugi kid look you drafted up during that one time we were playing pinterest dress up doll but now actually ON pete, as requested. I HOPE ITS AS GOOD AS U IMAGINED AND IVE DONE THE VISION JUSTICE!! I SAID A BUNCH OF SAPPY RHINGS TO U ALREADY SO ILL JUST SAY THIS: ILY SOOO SO SO SOOOO SO SO SO SOOOO MUCH)

close ups!!

[whump-captain]

it's a beautiful day in the unethical lab and you are a horrible test subject

[syn4k]

holy shit. it's ray keys from the key system. this is fuckin crazy man

---

every single time we have ever drawn ray before this, it has not looked accurate whatsoever so i fixed that and hey whaddaya know! it's him!

glassesless + no yellow circle versions under the cut

drawn by lance keys (it/its)

[andoutofharm]

I spent ten years in a bit of chemical haze and I miss the way that I felt nothing

the kintsugi kid (10 years) - fall out boy, so much (for) stardust

[puppetmaster13u]

You may regret this @phoenixcatch7 lol, what if I start spamming you /j

Less cryptid Batman in this particular WIP since it's semi-outsider pov lol (one of two outside person not unnerved by them lol)

🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇

   Clark knew Batman wasn’t human, even before that disaster of a mission where he had let it slip to the others. 

   He’d known for a long time, from one of their early meetups, when Batman had first referred to him as Clark Kent instead of Kal-El, and he had panicked. He hadn’t ever lied to his teammates when he said that the cloak prevented him from seeing his body, but his ears still worked. 

   He’d tried to listen to a heartbeat, to see if his at the time temporary ally was lying when he stated he wasn’t going to tell anyone and… Nothing. There was no heartbeat, no breathing, nothing even remotely human, and if he didn’t know any better, nothing even remotely alive about the silence. 

   He couldn’t help but to pay attention more, to seek out the strange almost silence-feeling that accompanied the Gotham vigilante each time he felt it. It was… almost comforting, like the swaying of branches and the rustling of cloth over stone. Familiar, compared to the hustle and bustle surrounding him in the city. 

   The first thing he had noticed, physically that is, was Batman’s ears. Previously he’d thought the man unemotional, what with the rough voice, expressionless white eyes, cloak-covered body and the gas mask covering a good chunk of his face. 

   Yet the longer he watched, even idly, the more he noticed that while the man’s face or body didn’t show much, his ears did. 

   While Batman could stay silent and still for hours, the long ears twitched and swiveled, catching on the hood that he’d always wear around them. They’d pin back sometimes, a near silent sound he couldn’t quite place accompanying the movement, while other times they’d twist a near full three-sixty, as though searching for whatever sound it had caught. 

   Sometimes, when he’d startled the other vigilante, there’d be rattling noise, like wood and metal clacking together before it was cut off. It was a strange sound, one he’d not heard anywhere else, except with his… friend. 

   Were they friends? He’d like to think so. 

   The next time he was reminded that his friend wasn’t human was when he saw him get injured. It hadn’t been a bad injury, even if the Gothamite’s head had hit the wall with a very loud cracking noise, but he’d still smelled what he’d eventually come to recognize as blood. There was an almost pickle-like scent to it though that wasn’t quite it either. 

   Honestly the closest he could think of describing it was some sort of formaldehyde. And once he focused, he could pick out other things beneath it. Maybe not flesh and blood in the traditional sense, but still. 

   There was always that scent of cloth and wood, but he could smell the black liquid, paint, a metallic thing underneath like iron and steel. No heartbeat, no breath, but life all the same. It was honestly beautiful in a way, like a part of the city the other vigilante called home had come to life. 

   And it wasn’t like Batman minded whenever his own human mask slipped. Clark may have been raised by his Ma and Pa, whom he loved, but it didn’t make his body any more human in nature. There were just some things that he couldn’t change, and it took effort to move like one all day as a civilian when his body wasn’t designed to do so.

   So he stayed quiet for the most part when their group of three grew, and people started to speculate. He diverted the conversations whenever it turned to him, lightly admonishing over the various rumors. 

   It didn’t matter if Batman wasn’t human, he was still his friend, their ally and teammate. Was he curious? Oh of course, he’d gone into journalism for a reason after all, but it was still his friend. If he wanted to tell, he’d tell, and Clark wouldn’t break his trust. 

[clownattack]

my midterm/absolutorium is over and now i can actually. celebrate my bday lol i was too buried by uni bs this month to unwind.

i got like three diff pieces of cake from my fave pastry shop bc I DESERVE IT AFTER BLOWING MY PRESENTATION/DEFENSE OUT THE PARK (according my my classmates/prof but also ME MIETTE!!! IM SO HAPPY I DIDNT CLAM UP LIKE I DID DURING THE ONLINE PRESENAYSH AUHJA. And the prof cadre actually??? Seemed interested and asked me questions abt the process etc. Which is not on brand, usually they seem disinterested in what ppl are presenting and only a few projects get their attention. NGL after working my ass off beading these skulls i feel JUSTLY REWARDED. HARD WORK PAID OFF. And as per uj they couldnt believe i make them all by hand lmaaaaooo anyway zen right now after beinf so stressed last week & the weekend i can actually relax. enjoy my term break. make some clay critters

also the pics are kind of ehhh bcs the artificial lighting was super intense and kind of took away the softness/dark colors from the skulls esp :c i dont really want to upload hi res pics of these things until im finished with my masters 100% and hopefully have my degree. The red skull esp looks kind of miserable compared to rl/vids/proper documentation but i dont want to upload now. idk maybe i will once i rest and think abt it? ANYWAY THE CAKES

[periken-art]

In the bleak midwinter…

[crunchycrystals]

melancholic hopefulness of fake out save me

[uevue]

Dear Diary,

This morning I woke up, but the sun didn't rise. The light burnt out, thank God. It burned. That creepy doll still slept, so I didn't make the bed. I just left it there tucked in the dark. I didn’t put on her face. The mirror was empty so I filled it, but it wouldn't break. It was soft and black. I wouldn’t bleed. I forgot for a moment. I walked through the wall and down the alleyway like an echo, like one of them, but I’m not. I'm a shadow. They’re lost. There’s a hole in her head instead of voices, and their homesick whispers sizzle like cold fluorescents against my silhouette as if I had any warmth left, as if anyone did. I don't have anything left to give. I left my porcelain corpse fucked up in bed, ball-joints balled up, hair knotted, makeup perfect, her glassy eyes shattered and fixed on the cracks in the ceiling, in the depths of a sleepless fantasy where she's blind and deaf and stupid. She can only speak, only when I pull the thread, but it’s knotted. She’s not dead. She’s garbage. I’m broken. We’re all alone. The book burned with the sun. I pray for lead. The pen is out of ink, but it’s sharp, thank God. It cradles itself in her crazed fingers carving cursive curses like cobwebs between her breasts. Eve’s ribs were scored, mine made from scratch. I scratch out the rest in unnatural letters like this, like a stolen lightning bolt but darker. It’s alive. Each syllable writhes as the darkning splinters. She blinks. My naked body is my witness, not the voices. If you're reading this, don't go to hell. Leave me alone and find Jesus.

Love,

Veuve

PS—

[mamuzzy]

Anakin needs therapy.

[twinktosterone]

izzy hands? more like izzy let me put my hands on your tits

[shark-myths]

is there a specific time for kintsugi kid or is it random? just so i minimize my refreshing ao3 like a loser time

love you so much for this, you have no idea how much a me question this is to ask 😭😭😭

USUALLY it is posted between 8-8:30a central time! but a few weekends of travel and then this super fun week of covid (gee i wonder how those two things relate) have me off my game. next week i'll be more timely! until then, losers together, forever, refreshing our browsers forever.

[autistic-katara]

i don’t need therapy i need to kiss a tboy while listening to fall out boy