#a bit of a interest call i guess???

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[jakes3resin]

Modern Reincarnation AU Part 4 ✨️

Part 3

"John?"

Bucky storms past Jack into the townhouse. It's rude, but he'll apologize later. He doesn't know why he came here instead of his apartment. Old habits dying a hard drawn out death, maybe? He hadn't been thinking clearly. Hadn't been thinking at all really until he found himself waved through by his father's security detail.

"Oh, is that John?" He hears his father call out, dress shoes clicking against hardwood as he walks closer, but Bucky stomps up the stairs towards his room before he sees the man. His breaths come out in rushes as tears keep burning his eyes.

Shit, he thought he'd gotten those under control on the train.

Slamming his door, he slides down until he rests against the floor. He tosses his bag to the side wincing at the sound it makes. Hopefully his laptop survives. At some point he does actually have to do the work he went to the library to finish.

The library.

Buck and Curt.

They wouldn't, Bucky tells himself. They wouldn't. Curt was one of his best friends, and Buck loved him. They...

Fuck they were roommates! Why the hell were they talking about that shit in public? In the place Bucky considered his? Why even pretend? Why drag Bucky into this? Why?!

Bucky buries his face into his hands. His chest hitches as he tries not to sob. He doesn't want his father or Jack to worry about him. He doesn't want to talk this through.

He wants...

He wants Buck. He wants the other to pull him into his arms. To kiss him again as if today had never happened. There was something else about being with Buck, something he'd never felt with anyone else be they friend or lover. He made Bucky feel safe and wanted. Wanted not because of his family and connections but because he was himself.

Buck would know how to make him feel better.

He laughs quietly through his tears. Distantly, he can hear Jack briefing his father downstairs, the words faint but he hears his name and tears used together. His laughter is more sob than anything else. Of course, the one good thing he'd found would end up belonging to someone else. Story of his life.

✨️

There's too much work to do. At least that's the excuse Bucky gave himself for not confronting Buck and Curt immediately. There wasn't time for a confrontation and subsequent blowup of his life.

At least that's the lie he tells himself.

Bucky chews on the straw of his iced coffee as he skims yet another chapter. There's a pumpkin muffin in front of him that he swore would be his reward for getting through this fourty page reading. Midterms have come and gone, but Bucky still has deadlines to meet and research to complete. He can't sit in his room forever, as much as his father and Jack would sometimes prefer that. Better protection from whatever sent Bucky crying to his room as his father would argue. Better protection for his father's political career Jack would quip.

Speaking of protection, Bucky glanced to the side of the cafe towards his security detail. At least these guys attempted to blend in. His father must have briefed them on his track record with previous details. Bucky smirked around his straw. They'd be easy to lose come rush hour. A bit of fun even.

Bucky turned back to his reading, squinting down at the words.

"American airmen during World War II had a dismal life expectancy. It was not a matter of if an airman was going to be shot down but when. Once downed, airmen faced an uncertain 'reception committee,' as Second Lieutenant Kenneth C. Reimer noted in a drawing he made as a POW in Stalag Luft I in Barth, Germany... 'for every [ground combat] soldier killed in action, three or four others would be wounded; air combat was completely the opposite. For every man wounded, three were killed.'"

"Bucky?" A hand settles on his shoulder jolting him out of his reading.

Bucky kept his shoulders loose as he turns around. Buck stares down at him, a bright smile on his face that Bucky can't help but match despite his grief. It wasn't even something he could control. Buck smiled at him, so he smiled back. Bucky felt pitiful.

Buck's sky blue eyes are clear and happy as they dart across Bucky's face. There's no sign that he realizes Bucky overheard him yesterday.

Bucky lifts a hand to calm his detail, all alert now after Buck's friendly greeting. He sees the nearest agent settle back into their chair but knows none of them are relaxed. He darts a look up at Buck, peering at the other through his glasses to see if he'd noticed the disturbance.

Buck's gaze, as it always does, doesn't leave Bucky's face. Even when he rounds the table to sit down, his eyes are pinned on Bucky and nothing else.

"Sorry I couldn't meet up yesterday," Buck dumps his bag onto the chair next to him. Bucky's smile twitches. Buck sits down across from him. His legs tangle with Buck's own under the table, Buck's foot gently bumping his ankle.

"It's fine," Bucky chomps down on his straw. "How was your advisor meeting anyway?"

"It was good," Buck smiles at him, not even a hint of guilt on his face. "Real good."

Buck had told Bucky he was called to fill in a shift yesterday and that was why he supposedly hadn't been able to meet up. A lie Buck hadn't even bothered to remember. His advisor meetings were also always in the morning on Thursdays. Today was Tuesday.

Buck was still lying to him, and he wasn't even guilty about it.

✨️

"I went by your place yesterday. You weren't home." Buck swings their clasped hands through the air.

"Hmm?" Bucky glanced away from the traffic around them. His detail were staying a conspicuous ten feet back, but they were annoyingly keen when Buck offered to walk him back to his apartment.

Bucky would lose them another day.

Buck laughed, deep and airy. Bucky struggled not to lose himself in it. That was what made this so hard. Bucky still loved Buck, and Buck still acted like Bucky was his whole world and then some.

"Oh," Bucky finally processed what Buck had said. "No, I went to my dad's for the night."

"Really?" Buck squeezes his hand. Bucky hates how much comfort Buck's touch gives him.

Does Curt receive the same...? No Bucky doesn't let himself finish the thought.

"How was it?" Concern bleeds into Buck's voice. Bucky hates how genuine it sounds. He's starting to use that word more than any other. The longer he looks at Buck, the more he has to hate to save his heart.

"Fine," Bucky shrugged stepping further away as they came to a stoplight. "The usual."

"The Bucky I know wouldn't give such a short answer," Buck stepped closer eating up the space Bucky had put between them. "Not unless something happened yesterday. Come on, you okay?"

Bucky felt the words bubbling up his throat.

I saw you. I saw him. Why are you here staring at me like I'm the most important thing in the world when you have him? Why are you doing this to me? I love you. I love you so much it feels like my soul hurts. I hate you.

"Spent most of the night avoiding his staffers." Bucky lied. "Barely saw him, Jack either, yet he still asked me to move home at breakfast."

Buck nods, accepting his lies. Was that what they were now? Not a relationship, simply a lie? Bucky wasn't sure anymore. His heart thumped against his rib cage, anger and love in every other beat, but he wasn't sure which would win.

Buck had become his whole world in such a short amount of time. He thought the feeling was mutual, but yesterday showed just how stupid Bucky really was.

"How about this," Buck nudged his hip. "Why don't I stay over tonight? We'll binge a few movies, order something, and have night in. Then,"

Buck paused with a stupid grin that, despite himself, Bucky still found charming. Fuck, he was truly pathetic for this.

"I'll sweep you off your feet and take you to bed. How does that sound?"

"Won't Curt be expecting you?" The question pops out of him without meaning to. Gale furrows his brow, confusion growing in his eyes.

"Curt won't miss me tonight."

Sure, he won't, Bucky thinks bitterly.

✨️

"John," Jack's voice was a surprise. Especially considering it was his father's number calling him.

"You've gotten much better at your Jack impression," Bucky answers just to be annoying. "Does he know you impersonate him on official numbers?"

"You're not as funny as you believe."

"Ooh, you even have his disapproving tone down. I feel like he's in the room with us!" Bucky laughs. He peers around the corner. Buck's still where he left him, buried in his phone texting someone.

Bucky doesn't let himself think about who that person is.

"Your father wants to invite you to a dinner tomorrow. You can even bring that boy that walked you home. The one that hasn't left." Pages flip in the background as Jack talks. Probably governmental reports his father was supposed to read.

"You know you're not his chief of staff anymore?" Bucky leaned his hip against the counter. "You don't have to read reports or wrangle his kid to government dinners to help his image as a family man. You're his husband now, you're the family."

"You're my kid too by that logic, so wrangling you gets to stay on my resume." Bucky snorts out a laugh. "Besides, it's not a state dinner or anything. He just wants to see you."

Guilt gnaws at his heart. Buck pokes his head into the kitchen, phone no longer holding all of his attention.

"Fine," Bucky groans. "But if he brings up the apartment again, I'm walking out with my food on my plate even if it's the good plates."

"See you tomorrow at 7 then. Bring your boy." Jack hangs up without a goodbye.

✨️

It'll be me, and it'll be you, Buck.

Don't count on it.

Bucky jerks awake. His dream flashes through his head too fast for him to remember anything. Scenes superimpose over each other, words jumble together. At least this one wasn't a nightmare. Those always left him shakey and off balance all day.

His dreams have always been vivid, ever since he was a kid. The child psychologists he'd gone to had said it was normal and simply a sign of a well developed imagination.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair groaning when he glances towards his bedside clock. It's nearly an hour until he has to get up, but he knows that he won't be getting back to sleep before then.

Buck lays curled up next to him on the bed. Bucky reaches out to brush a hand through the other's hair. Buck twitches leaning into the feeling for half a second but doesn't stir beyond that.

Bucky sighs. Extricating himself from Buck's long limbs takes time. Somehow in the night, Buck had nearly fused them together as if even asleep the man refused to let him go. Arms layered over arms. Legs tangled together. It's an excellent distraction from his dreams but not from the problems of the waking world. If only he could forget those once he woke up like he did his dreams.

It's only when he's pouring water for his coffee that he realizes he recognizes the voice from his dream. A first for him.

It'd been Buck's.

✨️

(Not a confrontation I know, but it builds my AU lol)

[hiemaldesirae]

picked up this book called 'murder your employee: the mcmasters guide to homicide vol 1' from my local bookstore and . Hmmm. am i hearing murder academy radiostatic au... (<- delusional)

quick rundown of the books setting (time period vaguely 1950s, before 1962 at the latest) is that there's this murder academy (i say that but its closer to a uni than a boarding school which is typically what i think of when i read academy) open to applicants of all ages to train their students to murder. the admissions fee is an extremely high price, but regular people can enter in via sponsorships (like scholarships, sort of, but its more like a specific rich person sponsoring the candidate). the students don't operate on a regular year by year schedule because 1) no one knows where the school is and thus cannot always tell even what season it is much less the month 2) students are informed of their graduation basically the day of, when the faculty decides theyre ready to leave and complete their thesis project (AKA the murder). anyway its a very fun book and so of course i had to be insane about its premise

For what it was worth, Alastor hadn't meant at all to end up studying at the Hazbin Institution for Homicide Practitioners.

Which, in fairness, was just a fancier way of saying that he hadn't meant to get caught.

It had been a situation entirely out of his control. For whatever reason, that night, the swamp had been especially difficult to navigate- even alone, much less with a bloodied and battered body slung over his shoulder, he's quite certain it would have been a struggle to work his way around the place. And while that had never been a problem the few dozen or so times he'd made the trek before (granted, they were without the actual body in his hands, but it didn't make much of a difference when he'd been carrying heavy sacks of sand to offset the weight), there was an unfortunate caveat in his plan.

He hadn't banked on being seen and followed by a truly infuriating pair of 'detectives' (though surely whatever idea they'd held of a detective was truly and fully siphoned from one of those insipid moving pictures his dear Mimzy was ever so obsessed with), and he hadn't expected to be offered a spot as a student at this... interesting facility.

The smiley man sitting in front of him nods emphatically as Alastor finishes his little cajoling speech. The nametag on his black and red suitjacket reads Dean Morningstar, and a half-poured cup of brandy sits on the side of his table. Alastor eyes the alcohol with interest, if only because looking anywhere else in the room might make him lose composure and attack the bothersome man sitting across from him.

"So, then... Mr. Hartfelt, is it true that your next target was to be your father?"

Alastor narrows his eyes at the dean. The room's atmosphere seems to drop as he holds his gaze, both of them wearing smiles that convey vastly different emotions. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to."

Of course, such a lousy comeback isn't tantamount to a proper argument (unless you're the type who enjoys messing with people, which Alastor is in all moments except this one) and the dean smiles when he realizes Alastor's slip up.

"See, you have an extremely generous patron backing you on your goal... not only to take down your father, who, by the way, seems to owe you quite a lot, considering your less than stellar upbringing and childhood, so good luck with that one, but also in relation to the other bodies that have been found half-submerged in the swamp." The little devil smiles merrily. "Sorry about that one, by the way. But we had to be sure you were a good candidate for our very highly revered course list. I mean... your sponsor is paying a lot of money to see you succeed, so... we had to be pretty thorough. Again, sorry, but it's just standard protocol."

Alastor clenches his jaw, feeling his eye twitch. He'd more or less tuned out whatever else Dean Morningstar had said after he admitted to resurfacing the already weeks old bodies in the swamp- Alastor's very first targets- as a means of... assessing him, apparently. "So you're the reason the bodies have started turning up in the bayou...?"

"Not entirely," Dean Morningstar shrugs, providing no further context. "In any case, this is sort-of a caught with pants down situation, I think. You don't have many options, Mr. Hartfelt. Either you stay as a student, or we let the truth out- and let your mother know first, before getting rid of you."

He grins sunnily at Alastor. "What will it be, young man?"

So, that was that.

Following that conversation (blackmailing session) Alastor finds himself being the unwitting recipient of a campus guide by the dean himself, who, despite his short stature and seemingly accomodating personality, had already managed to make himself an enemy in the form of one (1) incredibly vexed young radio host slash serial killer in the making.

"...And that's the Music Hall, where my vice-dean and most beloved wife holds her concerts and lectures on Murder, as a Fine Arts- you may notice the ingenious references there to one Mr. Thomas De Quincey, the famed opium eater of the 1800s London..." Alastor turns a blind eye to the dean as the man just kept on talking, choosing instead to focus on the surroundings instead of the urge to strangle the annoyance beside him.

The trip to the Hazbin Institution for Homicide Practitioners- a mouthful and an incredibly unnecessary one at that- had been less a trip to a school and more like a kidnapping, in which Alastor had been more or less blackmailed into going with the two detectives who'd found him in the bayou that day and then drugged to high hell from some sort of tampered liquor, then promptly deposited in front of the school gates and almost fed broken glass twice before nearly being poisoned and then having to sit through another blackmailing session with the Dean (the guy who'd tried to poison him in the first place). So... all in all, a rather unpleasant experience on his end.

Still, the scenery almost made up for it.

The campus was almost the size of his town back home, and towering gothic buildings from before his time populated the grounds. Signs in different languages were littered around the campus grounds, and exotic foliage grew in just the right places to make the patchwork of cobbled streets and oddly vintage buildings look uniform.

"Oh, Vox! How are you this afternoon?"

Alastor's attention is drawn back to the dean as the man greets a young man dressed in formal evening attire, complete with a pocket square boutonniere and sleek black gloves. The man in question has short-ish black hair, tied back into a small ponytail with a deep blue ribbon, and two striking eyes: one a glassy larimar blue and the other the deep brown of axinite gems. Alastor finds himself regarding the other while he and the dean make simple conversation. Something about him strikes him as familiar, though he can't quite put a finger on it exactly. "Going to the Music Hall, I presume?"

"That would be correct, Sir," Vox inclines his head respectfully. "Professor Leviathan asked us to dress for the occasion, since we would be doing another ballroom class."

"Ballroom class?" Alastor raises an eyebrow, and the man startles, seemingly not having noticed he was there. Rather inept for an assassin-to-be, Alastor frowns. Were these really the sorts of students they were training? Pretty-faced civilians knowing nothing of killing, who dressed up in evening gather for afternoon classes?

"A-ah, yes..." Vox looks off to the side, seemingly nervous. His cheeks redden slightly, like a child caught in the act of stealing candy. "Uh. You're new here, right? I haven't seen you around before..."

"He is," Dean Morningstar confirms, beaming. "Just arrived this morning, with a very generous sponsor backing him. In fact, he's going to be rooming at Pride House because of the sponsor!"

"Oh, is that so?"

Vox's easy confidence seems to come back to him as he turns to Alastor, seemingly mollified by the Dean's interference. Something inside of Alastor wants to see the man nervous again, if only because the uneasy approach of the man with the gemstone eyes reminded him of the shaky-footed does he would fake out during hunts. "Well, in that case, we might be roommates. It's nice to meet you, Mister...?"

"Hartfelt. Alastor Hartfelt," Dean Morningstar says before Alastor can introduce himself, smiling even when Alastor directs a glare at the man. "He's quite the upstart, I'll have you know- Hell, I think he may have set more fires on his first day here than you did!"

Vox chuckles awkwardly, a reaction that has Alastor's eyebrows raising with curiosity. "Well, I'd sure hope not. I really wouldn't want to cause Professor Leviathan any more trouble than we already have. He deserves a bit of a break from troublemakers like us, I'd say."

While Alastor is... okay, not really all that sure what exactly Dean Morningstar was referring to with 'fires started'- in his case, they were all non literal, considering his first arrival here had ended with him on the wrong end of a shotgun (its irony was not lost to him now, three hours later and standing in the middle of what looked to be a town square plucked straight out of Vienna's bustling populace despite the fact that they were in a location completely unknown to the rest of the world)... but whatever this man had done... it intrigued him, especially given Vox's reaction to it.

"Anyway..." Vox smiles once more, inclining his head in a bow. "I really do have to get going now. If I don't, I'm afraid I may be late, and Professor Asmodeus always picks on the latecomers to answer questions first."

"Ah, we won't keep you any longer, then," Dean Morningstar agrees genially. "Have a good afternoon, Mister Vanhal!"

"You too, Dean Morningstar, Mister Hartfelt," Vox bows once more, before turning off and heading in the direction of the Music Hall. Alastor regards the other man's retreating silhouette carefully.

"Is there something you want to say, young man?" Dean Morningstar snaps him out of his reverie, covering the faint smirk on his face with a gloved hand.

While Alastor wishes he could simply meet the other with simple derision, there is a question he had been meaning to ask. "What was the evening get up for?"

Dean Morningstar shrugs, but there's a glint of something Alastor doesn't quite like in his eyes. "Why don't you go and ask Vox yourself, if you're so interested?"

"...I'm surprised your staff haven't tried to murder you yet," Alastor responds shortly. He's much too tired and frustrated to entertain the man, and- well, frankly put, his mind is a little distracted at the moment at the thought of the man with the mismatched eyes.

Dean Morningstar laughs. "They're certainly welcome to try, as are you. After all, you're now a student of the Hazbin Instution for Homicide Practitioners- and we pride ourselves on our hands-on, engaging curriculum. Hopefully, your sponsor finds what they're looking for by sending you here."

"Hopefully," Alastor agrees. After all, there's nothing else to say: from here on out, it seems to be do or die.

Student Report written with input and conference from Dean Lucifer Morningstar

Student: Alastor Hartfelt, 29 years old, Sponsor

Sponsor: [REDACTED]

To the esteemed and generous sponsor of one Mister Alastor Hartfelt,

Enclosed is a report of your charge's first day at our esteemed institution. Please dispose of this report as soon as you are finished reading it for privacy insurances. We at the Hazbin Institution for Homicide Practitioners thank you for your interest and your patronage.

Sincerely, Dean Lucifer Morningstar.

[wishfuldivine]

An avid COD player hasn't touched the game in weeks.

An avid COD lover hasn't talked much about the game in weeks.

An avid COD nerd hasn't done any theories for the next game.

That's me. I'm the avid person. D:

[tompoose]

if you had to smite from the earth either nixon or garfield who would you eliminate. history will continue unchanged except if you smite nixon all the nixon memes disappear and if you smite garfield the orange cat goes with him

I would sacrifice anything that is dear to me to scrub this animal from all the veins of culture that it has slithered into. I was frustrated with the Garfield comic strip from the twentieth of August, 2024.

Jim Davis has given up trying to claw from the mud. He has drawn a cat looking at the reader and telling a wet joke. By making Garfield a mere static image to surround text, Davis has taken the work of his heart and lowered it to the level of the borders that surround a pop up window. My feelings on this topic eclipse and obliterate any other nuances to your question. If ever presented a shot at this king, I would take it.

[anotherpapercut]

I agree that drugs should be legalised and not stigmatized but you're delusional if you think "most drugs can be consumed completely safely with almost 0 risk to the user"

I think the key here is the word "can" by which I mean that if consumed in safe doses and safe environments and from safe sources etc most like mainstream drugs (I'm thinking of like mdma, LSD, shrooms, ketamine, coke) CAN be consumed safely with very little risks. I know this to be a fact #1. because I've done a lot of actual research on this where I've read numerous sources from scientists doctors and users as opposed to just say taking in the abstinence only information I received during school, reading a couple Tumblr posts and assuming I know everything there is to know about the topic and #2 I've used every drug I just listed and more and never suffered any adverse effects because I did my research, tested them for impurities when appropriate, and took other measures to ensure my safety

there are obviously exceptions and drugs that just shouldn't be fucked with (meth and heroin is what I'm thinking, but I also know people who have consumed these once or twice with 0 repercussions because that's how human experience works), but if you're actually interested in learning more about the many ways in which you were lied to about how "illegal drugs" are somehow automatically much worse for you than prescription drugs or socially acceptable drugs (like caffeine and alcohol) then feel free to either 1. do your own ACTUAL research that does not involve trusting for profit rehab centers and abstinence only educators (I'll even get you started with a couple good resources) or 2. message me off anon to have a real discussion about the mechanisms by which the most common drugs operate and the ways in which they can be consumed as safely as you can consume alcohol cigarettes and energy drinks but sending me your half cocked uninformed and unnecessarily insulting opinion on anon is not exactly productive. additionally, I'm sure you can see why I struggle to see or believe that you ACTUALLY think drugs should be destigmatized and aren't just parroting what you think the correct woke opinion is when you refuse to even take the very first step to destigmatizing drugs, drug use, and drug users and actually unlearn all the stigmatizing things you've been taught

I know that it's a lot easier just to port over all the things you've learned from dubious sources that you trusted implicitly because they claimed to be an authority and not actually do the work required to achieve the goals you claim to support, but easier doesn't mean right

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Kill Your Darlings

a depressed author struggling to finish the last book in her bestselling fantasy series lucid dreams into the protagonist in the midst of the narrative and can't get out

she uses her omniscient knowledge to help them win the war and survive, despite not having any of her protagonist's magic powers - but when she starts to change things she can’t predict, and starts to forget her life before, things get more and more chaotic

explores mental health & suicidal ideation

ace MC

[sketchy-tour]

Wonder what I should specifically draw to go about testing my lining brush. I need to make some kind of drawing to finish that's easy before I go tackling my bigger pieces again.

🤔 hmmmm Yall got suggestions?

[sideblogdotjpeg]

i feel neutral about this drawing i just wanted to posit callie alexandrite to the people

[littledesertfox]

Kinda thinking about whether I should post some of my art on here should I find the time to draw again ... on one hand I think it'd be nice to share it, but on the other hand I'm worried that somehow, people who know me from my regular account will stumble across this one and recognise my art style, and I'll be called out/cancelled because they probably won't understand this community🤐

[secondjulia]

Lord Morpheus' Curls: A short film

Happy holiday, friends! Have you had the opportunity to appreciate Tom Sturridge with curls yet?

From Effie Gray (2014).

[nightmun]

Hope y’all enjoy some incredibly cursed RD edits I’ve done

Also I specifically saved these to post on a Wednesday because of this image

[princessconsuelapark]

Interviewer: And what do you think about efforts that have been made through technology, through artificial intelligence, to recreate the early Beatles, making your voice sound younger, bringing those voice back, well, from the grave, really?

Paul: Hmm. Well, it’s a very interesting thing, you know. It’s- It’s something we’re all sort of... tackling at the moment, you know, and trying to deal with, what’s it mean, you know. Um. Yeah, people- I don’t hear that much, cause I’m not on the- on the... internet that much. But people will say to me, oh yeah, there’s a- there’s a track where, you know. John’s singing one of my songs. And it isn’t. It’s just AI, you know. So all of that is- is kinda scary. Um. But exciting? Cause it’s- it’s the future. And we were able to use that kind of thing when we did, when Peter Jackson did the film, Get Back, where it was us making the Let It Be album. And he was able to... extricate John’s voice from a ropey little bit of cassette, where it had John’s voice, and a piano. Um, he could separate them, with AI. They could do- they tell the machine, that’s the voice, this is a guitar, lose the guitar. And he did that. So he has great uses. So when we came to make what will be the last Beatles record, it was a demo that John... had, um, that we worked on, and we just just finished it up, it’ll be released this year. We were able to take John’s voice, and get it pure, through this AI, so then we could mix the record, as you would normally do, you know. So it gives you, it gives you some sort of leeway. So there’s a good side to it, and then a scary side. And we’ll just have to see where that leads.

- Paul McCartney interviewed about Eyes of the Storm for BBC Radio 4 with Martha Kearney │released 13 June 2023

Thought I’d transcribe the (supposedly? I mean what else can it be?) Now and Then related question. Tried my best to stay true to Paul’s speech patterns, meaning there is a lot of ‘you know’s in there. Question starts at 29:30, the interview should still be available for another month on the BBC website. The rest of the interview itself has nothing groundbreaking, although Paul has some nice stories, and there’s a lovely bit where he reminisces a little about his and John’s Paris trip.

[killjoy-prince]

Is this update just Pe.nac.ony Cult 2: Electric Boogaloo????

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

//

[pocketramblr]

Who knows what Gerudo culture or fashion would have evolved into by 'Rule's time but it's nice to think about him getting to experience a bit more of it in another universe... Before BLYGanon sours it for him... Also been thinking about that Great Fairy of the desert...