#i love how their like art is mirrored too its cool

[mobblespsycho100]

ohh man im a leetle sad I didnt pick Stelle for my asia acct .... shes so pretty.......

SHE IS PRETTY RIGHTT

[pizza-rina]

oh yeah update guys i make th irst traps on timtok now somehow it gets views

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Bad moon rising I

Summary: After a nasty divorce, you and your family are forced to live with your Grandpa in the lovely notorious Santa Carla, California. Filled with punks, geeks, surfer nazis and apparently all kinds of creatures of the night.

Word count: 3.1k

Poly!lost boys x Emerson!reader

[1] [2] [3] [4]

A/n: This is the first time writing for the lost boys, I will let yall know if there are any major warnings in each chapters or not. But I hope that you guys enjoy reading the first chapter.

‘Don't go around tonight

Well it's bound to take your life

There's a bad moon on the rise’

Your legs were killing you. 

After hours of sitting in the back seat of the Land Cruiser, you were growing restless. And Nanook didn’t really help when the dog draped his entire body over your lap, his weight making both of your legs go numb. 

You could hear the sounds of your brothers and mom arguing over which radio station they should listen too for the rest of the drive. The occasional static from the radio making you roll your eyes. 

Maybe your legs weren’t the only thing tired from the long drive, maybe the voices of your family were starting to drive you crazy. 

“Oh,” your mom suddenly said, turning up the music that was currently on. “This one is from my generation.” A smile inched its way on your face as you watched mom dance along to the music. 

Both Sam and Micheal turned to face each other, a soft grin playing other lips as they listened to the ole timey song. “Keep going.” They said together. 

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Mom said as she switched the channel. “My music isn’t hip enough for you guys.”

You leaned forward in your seat, hand resting on Nanooks fur to keep him still. “Hip?” 

“Yeah, you know. Cool, fresh, narly.” Your mom told you, bringing her hand up to do a surfers hand gesture. 

You glanced over at Micheal, trying to see if he too was hearing what mom was describing. He just gave you a playful eye roll, and a shake of his head. Not wanting to tell mom that nobody actually used those words in real life. 

“We’re almost there.” Your mom told you in a sing song manor. 

Glancing past Micheal you saw a billboard, the words Welcome to Santa Carla read across the front, an image of the towns beach drawn on cartoonishly. 

Sam let out a gag, his nose turnt up towards the window. “What’s that smell?” He asked, quickly rolling up the glass to try and block the stench from entering the car. 

Mom closed her eyes, taking a long sniff of the outside breeze. “That’s the ocean air, baby”

“It smells like someone died.”

You snorted at your youngest brothers comment, he wasn’t totally wrong. The saltyness that suffocated the air around you was a bit much, but you’d grow used to it, you all will eventually. 

“Look guys, I know the last year has been tough.” Mom said, glancing back at the rear view mirror at both you and Micheal. “But I think your really gonna like it here.”

You couldn’t count on either hands on how many times your mother had said those exact words to you three. It always starts with the ‘I know’ and always ends in your really gonna like this place. But, if you were being a hundred percent honest you missed back home. 

All of your friends and what’s left of your now broken family is all back home in Phoenix. And you know that mom is doing all that she can to keep everything positive, but deep down you know that the divorce is hurting her just as badly as it is hurting you and your brothers. 

As the car continued to drive down the road, you watched as the sign showed the back. It was packed with graffiti art and even a couple of stickers stuck to wood. But, what caught your attention most was the five letter word painted in black and red. 

Murder capital of the world.

Upon entering Santa Carla, you’ve noticed that there is just about any type of person you could imagine walking along the streets. There were girls in bathing suits, guys with halve shaved heads, groups of tourists, the locals, nerds, jocks. Hell you even saw a dog with its fur colored pink. 

You just hoped that at night the people were better looking. 

Mom pulled beneath the cover of a food shack, allowing everyone to step out and get some fresh air after ten hours on the road. Sam leashed up Nanook and took him to the bathroom, also venturing his new home town by himself as he did so. 

You woke up your legs as you stepped out of the Land Cruiser, the nerves shooting up and down your body, you wobbled a bit on your feet before steadying yourself against the car. You felt sweat begin to form beneath your clothes, causing them to stick uncomfortably to your skin. “Holy cow.” You muttered gently fanning yourself to try and cool off a little. 

You were used to the heat from the sun, but God, the humidity is what’s gonna kill you this summer.  

As you continued to fan yourself off, you noticed all the small shops that surrounded you. They were old and kind of antique-ish looking. But, past that laid the boardwalk, were you knew you’d be spending the remainder of you summer break and nights. 

Sam came jogging back towards the car, Nanook right on his tail. He stopped before mom as he pointed a finger at the boardwalk behind him. “Mom! Mom, there’s and amusement park right on the beach.”

Instead of acknowledging the said park, you watched as mom pulled out a small wad of cash. Placing it in Sam’s hand she gestured to a group of homeless kids rummaging through the dumpster. “Sam, tell those kids to eat something. Will ya’?”

As you watch Sam walk over towards the kids, you notice a telephone pole covered from head to toe in posters. Stepping away from the car and wandering over you read a few, hoping to catch a couple help wanted ads or even just something small enough to help out your family. 

Though instead of any job listing you did find a good amount of missing children posters. Actually, it’s just about a missing everyone poster. There is a little boy that looks about six, a grainy picture of him is nailed down with staples. And beside it is a man in what looks like his mid to early fourties, his balding head and crooked teeth makes you wonder who would miss a guy like that. 

Glancing past the telephone pole, you eyed the teenagers in the dumpster carefully. For all you know these kids could go missing next, and no one would try and look for them. 

The thought made your stomach twist in a discusted knot, the idea that you or even one of your brothers could turn up missing one day and nobody would bat an eye, didn’t sit right with you. 

A car honked from behind you, turning around you noticed that your family is back in the cars AC and that they are all waiting on you. “Y/n, sweetheart.” Your mom called, poking her head out the window. “We have to go, grandpas waiting for us.”

You quickly made your way back to the car, plopping back down in your seat as mom slowly pulled out of the food shack. The feeling of cold breeze in your face cooled you off a lot more than your hand did. 

After a while the car pulled up to an old two story house, the arch way made out of tree limbs and nails made you question how sturdy that would actually be in a storm. Once the car came to a complete stop everyone piled out, the dirt road beneath you dirtied up the end of your blue jeans. The bottom of your converse’s making little patterns in the grime. 

Micheal, who had decided to ride his bike for the rest of the drive, slowly unstradled the vehicle, his eyes darting around the front yard of the house. Wood carvings of animals and an old trailer was near the back of the yard, the fence that surrounded us was slightly spaced out and cut into sharp ends. 

“This is homey.” You muttered to micheal, the backpack that you carried felt heavy on your back after hours of not wearing it. 

Micheal hummed in agreement, albeit sarcasticly. 

Glancing back at the house itself, you took in the porch, it had one too many rocking chairs and wooden tables for you to count. There were even empty beer bottles rolling across the porch floor. But, you stopped judging the home style around you when you noticed a pair of legs laid out on the ground. 

Taking erie steps, you all cautiously eyed the body. Both fear and concern bubbling deep inside of you. Fear that this would be the first dead body you’ve seen and concern over who will come and clean it. 

Mom walked ahead of you and your brothers, crouching down by the head of the body. “Dad?” She asked, swiping hair out of his face as she did so. “Dad?”

“It looks like he’s dead.” Micheal stated, eyes glancing swiftly from his mom and the supposedly dead body before them. 

Mom shook her head, gently shaking her dad awake. “No, he’s just a heavy sleeper.” 

“Why is he asleep on the porch?” Micheal asked, trying to understand the older man. 

You leaned over Sam’s shoulder, taking in the supposedly dead corpse in front of you. “Is the heat from the sun gonna make his body decay faster?” You pondered out loud, ignoring the glare your mom gave you. 

“Yeah. And if he’s dead can we move back to Phoenix?” Sam added on for you, receiving the same look your mom just gave you. 

“The both of you be quiet.” She scolded. 

Suddenly grandpas head popped up, his eyes half lidded as he held a smug smirk. “Playin’ dead. And, from what I heard doing a damn good job of it, too.”

You watched as mom playfully swatted at her dad, before leaning down and giving him a good hug. Sharing a quick glance at your brothers, they both held the same expression that you did. Confused and slightly baffled at how the old man acts. 

The inside of the house looked just like the cabins from Friday the thirteenth. The floor was wood, the stairs were wood, an even the walls were wood. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the refrigerator and sink were made out it, too.

You walked through the house with a cardboard box labeled kitchen, both Sam and Micheal right behind you. Though Micheal was carrying a barbell with a couple of weights and shirts on it, and Sam had a bowl on his head with tied up comics ontop. 

“This place is straight out of a horror movie.” Sam whined, as they reached the kitchen. “I wouldn’t be surprised if their are dead body’s buried somewhere.”

“It’s not that bad.” you tried to reason, placing the box onto the counter and cutting through the tape. 

Sam stared at you bewildered, “Not that bad? Not that bad!” He started to raise his voice, setting down the comics and bowl beside you as he continued. “There’s no TV. Have you seen a TV? I haven’t seen a TV.”

You shrugged your shoulders, taking a couple porcelain plates from the box and setting them in a cabinet. “Use your imagination.”

“Imagination?” The boy raised his voice a little bit higher. “You know who else used there imagination? The Torrence family, and they ended up trying to kill each other.”

“Ok, one this is not The Shinning. And, two, you kill me I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

Micheal chuckled at yours and Sam’s conversation, “Oh, you think this is funny Micheal?” Sam asked the irritation of no TV or even MTV was starting to get to him. 

“A little.” He told his brother, placing the barbell down and walking back towards the car. “But, we’re flat broke, Sammy. Can’t afford a new TV for this joke of a place.”

You walked back and forth from the car, box after box, cutting open and placing your stuff with Grandpas. It was tiring, but, you wanted to get it done now so that you could go to the boardwalk tonight. 

Though your brothers on the other hand, weren’t as helpful as you were trying to be. 

Sam ran through the living room, swaying between the boxes that littered the ground as he sprinted away from Micheal. The said older boy was running down the stairs, he hoped over the railing near the bottom and took off after Sam. 

You were pulling out a vase from a box, tearing off the bubble wrap and placing it perfectly on the table. You took a small step back and eyed the spot, debating if you should move it one way or another for it to look right. 

But, as you stepped back, you acidently stood right infront of Micheal’s path. He collided with your side, sending you both tumbling to the ground. “Dammit, Micheal!” You shouted, quickly getting up just as your brother did. Continuing with his chase after Sam, you immediately ran after him. 

“Hey, guys, no running in the house.” Mom called out to the three of you, though no one paid her any mind as you all just continued to chase one another. 

Sam stopped before two sliding doors, shoving each of them open. You and Micheal caught up with your brother, you about ready to shove Micheal for knocking you to the ground, when you saw what laid behind the double doors. 

Taxidermy animals laid on the table in front of you, some were even hung up to the ceiling because there was no more room on the surface. The three of you stood shocked at the room, you more disturbed that so many dead animals were cut open like they currently were. 

“I think we found the dead bodies, Sam.” You told him, referring to your earlier talk about grandpa hiding dead corpses. 

Sam let out a snort, eyeing the room with interest. Micheal leaned up against your side, his elbow coming up to rest on your shoulder. Even at pratically the same height he liked to remind you which of the two was the tallest. 

“Talk about Texas chainsaw massacre.” 

“Rules.” A voice suddenly called out, bringing each of your attention to grandpa who had a cardboard box in hand. “We got some rules around here.”

He gestured with his hand to follow, which you all did begrudgingly. The old man led you to the refrigerator, and upon opening it you saw a sign that read, ‘Old fart’. You hid your amused smile behind your hand as Grandpa began to explain the rules. 

“The second shelf is mine.” He stated matter of factly, easing the sign to show a couple of beer bottles and a box of Oreos hidden behind it. He waved a finger at all three of you, “Don’t nobody touch the second shelf, ya’ hear.”

You nodded along with your brothers, grandpa then waddled out of the kitchen leaving you to trail behind him. You watched discustedly as Micheal began to shove his finger in Sam’s ear, the younger boy trying to push him away when Micheal wrapped an arm around the poor boys neck. 

Clearing his throat, Micheal directed his attention back at grandpa. “Hey, grandpa? Is it true that Santa Carla is the murder capital of the world?” He asked, refusing to let Sam go from his grasp. 

Murder capital of the world. 

Those were the exact words you’d read off the back of the billboard. You hadn’t known that Micheal had read that aswell, although he appears to be taking the towns chosen nickname more jokingly than you had. 

Grandpa slowly turned back around to face the three of you, his eyes darting across each face. “There are some bad elements around here.” He told you, though his voice seemed to be a lot more serious than anything. 

Sam finally shoves Micheal off of him, “Woah, wait a minute. You mean to tell me that we moved to the murder capital of the world?” He asked, getting close to the old man’s face. “Are you serious grandpa?”

You watched as grandpa took his time with his next words of choice. “Well- let me put it this way; if all the corpses buried around here were to stand up at once, we’d have a serious population problem.”

That did about anything but soothe your racing mind. Are we gonna get killed here? Are you actually going to go missing and nobody would care? Could Sam, Micheal or even mom turn up dead one day?

Your thoughts immediately went back to the missing posters, all the untraced people that had disappeared off the face of the earth. And not one of them had been found. You don’t think your gonna like it here all that much, you concluded. 

Mom suddenly sauntered in the living room, a stack of hats resting ontop of her head. “Oh, Dad. You’re gonna give them nightmares.” She told him, not wanting to deal with three teenagers wandering into her room at night complaining about what grandpa had told them. 

Grandpa waved his hand, dismissing her accusation. Changjng the conversation, he picked up a TV guide that sat on the end table, waving back to you and your brothers he began to explain another rule of his. 

“Now, when the mailman brings the TV guide on wensdays, sometimes the corner of the address label will curl up.” He pointed to the address label on the guide, the corner slowly thrusting itself up towards the ceiling. “You’ll be tempted to peel it off. Don’t. You’ll end up ripping the cover, and I don’t like that

He tossed the TV guide back on a different table, making his way back to the taxidermy room. He yanked the sliding doors together and they closed with a great, smack. “And stay out of here.”

Grandpa then walked away, though not before Sam stood in his pathway, excitement rising in his chest. “There’s a TV?” He asked, slightly crossing his fingers for the man to say yes. 

“No. I just like to read the TV guide. Read the guide and you don’t need the Tv.” He then walked away, leaving Sam with a disappointed look. 

“See,” you told him, walking towards a couple of boxes that were laid about the living room floor. “Now, you get to use you imagination.”

Sam pointed a finger at you, “When we go crazy, here- and we will, you’ll be the first that I kill.”

You pushed Sam out of your way with your shoulder, balancing the box on your hip. “Then be prepared for me to haunt you until the end of times, Samuel Emerson.”

A/a/n: Hello and thank you for reading the first chapter :) Now we won’t meet the boys until the next chapter, but I am debating if I should just make that chapter about you meeting them or add on. I still haven’t decided. But thank you again and the next chapter will be done as quickly as possible ;)

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi I can't see if requests are open but if they are can i have the third years plus Riddle and Jamil with a reader like Ms Frizzle? like they are very cheerful and school oriented and always willing to demonstrate something for a classmate whos struggling, and going on cool field trip like adventures. like Adeuce struggling with botany? here boys a trip to the botanic garden to study up close is in order. Epel whining about makeup? MC thinks it would help if he saw the whole process, and suddenly theyre making their own face creams for fun. they make mini terreriums with Jade to grow mushrooms and observe the growing process. you get the point. (its also a hc of mine that ms Fizzle sewed all her dresses herself, because just, theyre too cool and specific to be from a store. however you want to put that in)

Frizzle Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Yes having a classmate and lover like that would be fun but imagine a teacher. Like when the mirror brought you and Crowley just assumed you were a student, you bring a finger to his lips and laugh. “School? Honey, I haven’t been on the other side of the desk in a good while!” And suddenly you’re the newest wacky teacher on his payroll. Of course the students can’t help but adore your spunky take on science. But the ones most effected are the staff you end up educating on the art of falling in love obsessively: 

Divus Crewel

“This pack of rowdy pups hardly know the first thing about chemistry!”

“Then let’s teach them my Dear Divus! Seat belts everyone!”

“You’re insatiable.”

He absolutely loves you

He just wishes you wouldn’t reward the misbehaving pups so easily 

The way their eyes sparkle when you teach and how no one sleeps

He’s jealous

Not because they listen to you

But because they all get to admire you so openly 

He’s got a reputation to keep 

He can’t be kissing the tips of your shoes in front of everyone

So he’ll settle for letting you teach in your unorthodox way

Dire Crowley

“Actually (Y/n), I was hoping you could do these filings for me! I have this uh thing I have to–”

“Now that’s not right. A man who should be filing isn’t too good at lying!”

“What I’m not–Look if you could just–”

“I have a glorious idea! Let’s explore the molecules of a stack of papers!”

“Nooo!”

At first he hates how you drag him into adventures especially when he tries to shirk his duties onto you

But it soon evolves to him begging to be included on the adventures you take the students on

And by then it’s not just an excuse to skip work

He’s desperately trying to spend some private time with you

But leave it to the pesky roadbumps students who blackmail and threaten him if he gets too close to you

“W-w-w-ait please! I-I’m the adult!”

He’ll have to resort doing something more drastic to get you alone

[dognonsense]

Question...how do you make your patches? They seem so fuckin cool. I'm working on a vest and a jacket atm, and I'd like for them to be done by the time a pride fest rolls around next month.

Main technique I use for making patches nowadays is linocut. Its best suited for mass production of patches.

Make sure to remember your carving the mirror image so you have to flip all the text. Using tracing paper to flip the design is a good trick, as well as leaving graphite marks on side, then pressing that to the lino to leave the marks in the same spot. Another trick with pencil is to view what ur carving in negative space quickly, put a paper over your design and shade over it with pencil, darker marks will be where you haven't carved yet.

I use speedball fabric ink, it takes 1 week to set then will be fine to be washed. I have magenta, violet, turqouise, and white. They have a limited range of fabric colors at the store. I have seen gold and silver fabric paint for sale and I will investigate it one day.

I use a speedball roller, i find the smaller one to be better than the big one as I can be more precise and waste less ink.

I got a fancy handle for $40 but the screws fallen out so its broken now so just get some heavy books. I used to use a mug. Whats important is pushing your whole body weight into it.

I got a speedball carving tool with different heads I can swap out so I can cut into the lino at different deepness and widths. The heads are stored inside the tool since its hollow and has a screwable removable bottom. I use linocut or dollar store erasers for my carvings. Make sure to wash the ink off your linocuts after your done using them.

A thing to increase the lifespan of you're linocuts is to use wood glue, some cork or wood pieces, and glued the lino stamps onto them. I dont do that yet so my stamps fall appart from overuse sometime and because I cut way too deep into the lino since I hate chatter.

Chatter is the term for in linocutting when theres little messy lines and stuff. It makes the art more recognisably to be linocut. My work is very clean with no chatter which is why people don't notice its linocut usually. This is a stylistic choice, with diy styles having a lot of chatter can look really cool so experiment with leaving bits of extra uncarvered lino sticking out in ur stamp. I need to experiment and buy some more lino.

You can also use multiple linocut stamps together to make a patch. Some patches ive made have like 8 different stamps. Ive made a dog nonsense patch where each letter was their own eraser stamp. You can also use different colors between the different lino stamps on the same patch to add more color. An effect I like to do is first stamp it in color, then the next day I stamp it in white over the same spot but shifted to the right and down slightly. It makes the text have a cool border 3D effect I love doing.

If making a more detailed picture with colors, i reccomend hand painting patches. I use white fabric paint mixed with acrylics for color to get all the shades i need. Acrylic paint mixed with fabric softener works too.

If doing words and you dont want a unique font reccomend using letter stamps. If you want a unique font for that i recommend hand paint for individual or linocut for mass produce.

The positive of letter stamps is the font is neat and can be done quickly. I know from lending them to my roommate that they are very helpful if you have dyslexia and have trouble getting letters right.

A visual effect of the letter stamps is that have a nice boxy edge effect, its an imperfection that adds a personally touch to it. I have both lower and upper case stamps that I got from michaels. You can use a hair band or elastic to hold a bunch of letter stamps together to make a word stamp.

You can use other stamps than letters that you find at craft stores for example my racoon print is a craftstore stamp.

You can also find big plastic letter stencils at the dollar store that you can use to do lettering by filling in gaps with a sponge or or paintbrush. They make special paintbrushes just for using stencils.

You can also get plastic stencils in the shapes of things, i got some for children and use a horse stencil for my horse smoking weed patch. Easier than drawing a horse myself.

Another technique I use for more unique clean patches is gel plating. I haven't tried printing laserprint images with it as ive seen online a lot but I will try one day. What i personally do is use it to make imprints with chains and physical objects.

Another thing i use with gelplates are any stamps or linocuts that dont have words, or words ones that i fucked up with and forgot to mirror when carving. It flips mirror image twice with the gel plate so it goes back to being right again on the patch.

Another patch making technique is using foamboard cut into shapes glued onto cardboard. This is good for a quick test of a design and is very cheap to make. It will not hold under water so is more difficult to clean.

[fipindustries]

i already mentioned in the past that a friend of mine trained an AI on my drawings so that it could replicate my artstyle, a fun thing is that it fed it a bunch of drawings i made of myself so most of the things it creates look like self portraits i could have done

other just look like random cool guys i could have come up with

(i fucking love the guy with short hair and lipstick, he looks fucking sick, i am 100% using that design)

first of all, i cannot begin to descrive how mindfucky and trippy is to see drawing that *could have been done by me* but werent. every time i see them i have to catch my self for a few seconds wondering "wait, did i do these and forgot????"

second, because i didnt do these they are not worn on my eyes like a drawing i would have made, these are fresh images to my brain. i dont have a memory of having done every line and curve and having observed it a million times as i was doing them, thus the illusion of life is a lot more stronger for me.

so with all this is mind, this little excercise is allowing me to do something i always craved for but that i could never get. to see my own art from an outsider's perspective. to be able to appreciate my work from the point of view of someone else. how does my drawings look to others. i can do that now with these.

and let me tell you, not to sound too conceited but, damn, i really like what i see. i can now see what everyone else sees in my artstyle, its fun! its dinamic! its really expressive in a way i never noticed! and yes, the noses! oh my god the noses! and the way the lips curl and tighten.

on top of that, as i said, a lot of the overfitting in the model is directed towards self portraits that i made of myself, so the AI will tend to use many of the faces and features i use to depict myself. now you have to understand i identify quite strongly with my own drawings. i said often that i see more of my self in my drawings than i do in a mirror.

with this in mind its also super trippy that my friend basically has a fip generator.

every time i see things like this i cant help but go "OMG, THATS ME! THAT IS ME!"

(this final piece was actually done by me, lol)

so yeah, this has been all very illuminating

[ilovedthestars]

On System Collapse, Sanctuary Moon, and saving one another.

I said the other day that System Collapse might be my new favorite Murderbot book. The first time I thought that was in the middle of chapter eight, the chapter where Murderbot and its humans make a documentary to show the colonists what the Corporation Rim is like. The whole book was good, but that was the chapter that felt like it was reaching out to me the most.

The thing that struck me about it is how Murderbot saves the colonists with media. It was saved by media—Sanctuary Moon helped it rewire its neural tissue, process its trauma, find a place for itself in the world. And coming up with the idea of using media to convince the colonists is what drags it out of the depressive state it’s been in for the entire book up to that point, and lets it start to feel hopeful again. It literally tells us in its narration that the emotional reactions it has when it comes up with this idea are similar to the ones it had watching Sanctuary Moon for the first time. The thought of creating its own media, of finding a way to tell the truth and be listened to, of being able to keep people from being trapped in the corporate world it knows all too well, is just as much of a lifeline for it as Sanctuary Moon was.

Murderbot has been been feeling like a failure as a SecUnit for the entire book, and it finds its way out of that not through regaining its normal SecUnit competence but through art. Something it was never meant to experience or understand, let alone create, but something that shaped who it is. It takes the thing that saved it and turns it around to save others—and saves itself again, in the process.

And the other thing that jumped out at me, thinking about chapter eight, is that so many of us have been saved by media, too. So many of us have been saved by Murderbot, in big and small ways. I’m certainly one of them. Murderbot and the community of readers who love it gave me the space to stop and consider some things that (not unlike Murderbot) I hadn’t really been willing to examine. And now I get to figure myself out in a community full of aspec people who understand. Murderbot has given that opportunity to a lot of people.

Martha Wells has talked in interviews about how parts of Murderbot were based on herself. She says, in her introduction to the Subterranean Press edition, that media “probably saved [her] life as a kid,” including the kind of media that isn’t “cool” to be saved by. We’ve seen that in Murderbot ever since the very first line of All Systems Red. What we saw in chapter eight of System Collapse goes a step further. It makes me want to hold a mirror up—I hope Wells was aware, when she was writing it, that what Murderbot does for the colonists is something she’s done for a lot of others.

The colonists that Murderbot saves with its documentary are not real people. That scene, of course, is fiction. But it’s the kind of fiction that’s true in all the ways that matter.

I really love Murderbot. Not in a weird way. 💜

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

you know the saying about artists putting a piece of themselves in their works, right?

well, who says the art can’t put a piece of itself back into its creator if it’s given enough life and time?

and, well, grian’s certainly spent a lot of time on his base, and the creatures in the menagerie assimilate to their home, and the night sky starts shifting and melting around its glass case.

they say the angel of the magical menagerie is a mysterious conductor with eyes like midnight. when sleeplessness overtakes the town, the comparison to midnight suddenly seems a bit too apt. stars form on his wings and the moon itself seems to mirror itself around his head. it’s fine, right?

(aka: i am in love with the midnight alley and i think grian should get void’d by it. just a bit. just so he can look super cool. as a treat :^> i’ve never done this before i have no idea how well this translates)

.

[the-s1lly-corner]

okokokok so ik you dont take character based readers atm but could you possibly do laughing jack x reader whos like pinkie pie but like-

in the sense that theyre hair poofs and flattens to mirror their emotions?

Laughing Jack x reader who has hair like pinkie pie

My back hurts so much but I have art I gotta do

I stg ig spotify stops again imma be mad, its stopped like 3 times and keeps restarting the song

First of all before we get into the poofing/flattening part of this post

He love love LOVES your curls, he loves how bouncy they are! He doesn't care what feel or texture hair you have he loves it

Loves patting your head, too

He also gives you a bunch of cute accessories to put in your hair if you're interested; bows, clips, ribbons, stuff like that! Loads of them!

Sometimes coils a curl around his finger before letting it go so he can watch it go back into place before doing it again

Hes generally fairly oblivious when it comes to picking up on when you're sad so your hair going flat is a good and obvious indicator for him to go off of

If you're sitting down, hes going to sit with you

He might ask you what's wrong, or he might get up close to your face to the point where his cone nose is nearly poking your cheek.. or both..

He really puts the whole... clown thing out there as he attempts to try to cheer you up

The good news is that its fairly hard to ignore an 8 foot tall hyperactive clown-

The first time he sees your hair just

Fall

Hes actually curious, that's not the kind of thing you see often- even more curious when he discovers it reflects your mood

In a way he kind of relates it to his colors- I have a hc somewhere that he occasionally regains some of his color when experiencing a deep emotion, where it just flashes.. he kind of thinks it's cool that you can do that

[jakelinestradlin]

Tag yourseld where your Mars take place in your birth chart ♥ Mine is on Scorpio ♥

Aries Mars

Rawness. A strong grip. Tugging a lock of hair when it gets too much. A thin line between pain and pleasure. Nails scratching down a back because of frustration. A build up. Taunts. Deliberately causing arguments because make-up sex with you feels so good. Will you take the bait? Sex feeling new each time. A fast rhythm. Confidence. Advancing towards you. Feeling protective over you. An urge to KO anyone who looks at you for more than 2 seconds. Warrior urges instigated. Persistence got me this far in life, let me show you how it works for me.

Taurus Mars

Pressure. A slow burning warmth that licks up the body. We have all the time in the world.  Every part of the body exposed to a kiss, a touch, a breath of air. Flickering of orange flames in a fireplace. A feeling of pure, unabashed sensuality when naked. Coolness of air which brushes the hairs on the back of the neck. Rooted in sexual energy. Slow and steady wins the race. Scented massages. Starting at the base of the neck. Feeling strength. Resilience. Flavored condoms. Drunk on your love. How is it possible you taste sweeter every time? The smooth column of the throat. The shadows a sunset causes dancing. Seduction is like art to me, let me paint you a masterpiece. 

Gemini Mars

Curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, but the cat had nine lives. Opening up to try different things. Trying to do too many things at once. Falling on the floor so we stay there. A combination of arms and legs. Head cocked to one side. Observing you from a different angle. Slanted eyes. A feeling of pressure that’s quick but growing in acuteness. Busy hands. Roaming fingers. Lights on or off it doesn’t matter. I can still picture you. In my mind. With my eyes closed. You’re a permanent imprint on my psyche. My desire resides on the mental plane. Whispering all the things I want to do to you. Biting an ear lobe. Wanting to learn about every inch of your body. Tell me your fantasies and watch how fast I bring it to you in real time.

Cancer Mars

Baby. But I can take control. It depends how I feel. An emotionally charged touch. Hearts in sync. A vivid imagination. Role-playing. Wearing that outfit, I know has that effect on you. Playing coy. If I’m feeling sad, I might insist we stay wrapped in each other’s arms, just for a while. Is that OK? A stormy kind of desire. Waking up to kisses. Not wanting to sleep because this moment is all I ever dreamed of. This feels like home. Checking in with you. A sensitive kind of love. Hold me tight. So tight I can’t breathe. Only then will it feel right. TLC. Crying before, during and after sex. I can’t help it. A sudden wave of desire, greedy in nature. Strong feelings of lust. My fervor for you is bottomless, this is but a small representation of its total expression.

Leo Mars

Doing it in the mirror so I can show you how beautiful you look. Don’t be shy. Rose petals on the bed. Even more rose petals on the floor. I Wanna perform for you. An effortless performance, start to finish. This is what you signed up for. Let me deliver my end of the deal. Pride in the bedroom. Forgetting about past lovers. At the moment of release, saying my name soothes the lion inside that bares it’s teeth when you’re underneath me. Aggression. Feeling royal together. Round one barely took the edge off. Leaving my mark on you. The bedroom feels like a hunting ground. Running isn’t an option. Pleasure in all its forms. Can you tame the beast?

Virgo Mars

Acting reserved in public but it’s a different story behind closed doors. Who knew? Not afraid to get dirty with you. Voyeurism. Less stress. Surrendering to pleasure and not feeling guilty for it. Peace with the imperfection of this ritual. Perfection out of the window. Lust making a direct entrance, front and center. Tasting you. And then kissing you. Tasting us. Fresh sheets. Getting equally turned on watching you get dressed vs watching you get undressed. When we’re done, cleaning you as an act of service. Submission. A routine that brings order to a chaotic life. If I tell you how crucial this is to my well-being, will you look down on me?

Libra Mars

Fluid. Fluidity in our movements. You first, then me. Close your eyes if you like. There’s no rush. I like being here with you. Who said romance was dead? Wants and desires expressed with you in mind. Sleepy sex. In the throes of passion, you still look like a masterpiece. Can’t get enough. Delicate petals of a rose. Instinctively knowing how to get you off. Licking my lips. And then licking you down there. Playing with you with finesse. How does this feel? Dressing up, just for you. A breathy sigh released in the crook of the neck. Scented candles. Not knowing where each other begins and ends. Not caring. A true union of souls. Sharing this helps me to forget about inner turmoil, if only for a little while.

Scorpio Mars

Enticement. Pupils full and unblinking. Space between us lasts for a second. Who are we kidding? Sharing oxygen. Sucking on your bottom lip. Eyes on me. That’s not a request. Wanting to watch you fall apart. A wet trail left by a tongue. Those kinds of toys. Do you trust me? Show me how much. Fingers pressed into the skin, hard. A ghostly handprint on the skin flashes on the surface of the skin for a heartbeat. Teeth tease the throb of a pulse point. Blood rushing. Be brave enough to discover the intensity of my feelings and be sucked under. Only to rise up in levels in consciousness of a spiritual plane. Love is transformational. I’m willing to show you what you do to me. Don’t run.

Sagittarius Mars

Free rein. Sex with the possibility of being exposed. Down for whatever. Bluntness. Desires expressed with no shame. A finger over the lips. Playing to win. Feeling energized when rolling around the sheets. Nothing is off limits. Fantasies coming true. No strings attached. Watch me do you. Laughter as foreplay. Relax with me. You may have tried this position before but with me it’s different. Let’s get physical. A work out. Kissing you to muffle your screams. Messy hair. Messy sheets. How did this end up in the bed? Mundane details of life losing their importance when we’re together. Feeling the strength coursing through the thighs. I would risk getting caught with you.

Capricorn Mars

A hand on your waist in public, a hand on your throat in secret. Trust me, it feels better when you wait. Limits pushed. Burning up. Debauchery. I won’t tell. It’s our little secret. Experience is a turn on. Standards are a turn on. A sense of control. Mastery. I know this game in and out. Sex is all about power at the end of the day. Soft bristles of a whip, barely brushing the spine. I know how to do this with my eyes closed. How do you feel about blindfolds? Vulnerability. Replaying these moments, we share in inappropriate places. Seductive e-mails. Legs pressed tightly together. Having power over you is an accolade I hold close to my heart, not something I take for granted.

Aquarius Mars

Electric. Electricity when our fingers touch. Permission to be one’s free, authentic self. A non-judgement zones. Non-physical forms of affection. I’m open to trying something new with you. Inviting other people into the picture but only you can make me feel this way. Incorporating technology to add a new flavor. Feeling closer to you in group sex. Conversations intermingling within the very act of sex. Noses brushing against each other faintly. Deep eye-contact feels orgasmic. Hearing soft vibrations in the air before you feel it. Swirling galaxies. My thoughts are consumed by you nowadays, but I’m OK with that.

Pisces Mars

Altered states of consciousness. The bliss that comes when feeling wholly accepted. Complete adoration. Eyes locked. A desire to merge together. Skinny-dipping under the cloak of the night. Who cares if we get caught. No restrictions. A transcendent experience. Artistic nudes. A photo album on my phone. Dedicated to you. Boundaries teased. Biting my lip to control myself but failing. Kisses on the forehead. Reverence. I can morph into whoever you want me to. Kissing you, but my eyes are open. Moments of silence. Desires expressed without words. The sweetest dreams. Every time feels like a little death, only to be reborn again.  

[multifandomfix]

Perfect Presence — Tenth Doctor

Summary: The Doctor is set on finding you the perfect Christmas present and he traverses time and space to do so, though maybe he really didn’t need to try so hard.

Word Count: 744

Warnings: None, just fluff, so much fluff

With all the swirling depths of time and space at his fingertips, the TARDIS hums with anticipation as the Doctor embarks on a quest to find the perfect Christmas present for you. The familiar wheezing sound echoes through the air, signaling the beginning of his search. He promised himself that he will not rest in his pursuit of a gift that will capture your heart, no matter how many tries it takes him to find just the right gift.

The Doctor's eyes sparkle with determination as he sets out, arriving at one of his favorite planets, known for their eclectic collections of rare and valuable objects. He navigates through the chaotic energy of the bustling alien market, many a trinket catching his eye, but none quite right. Vibrant colors and exotic scents surround him as vendors peddle unique baubles and artifacts from distant galaxies. His sonic buzzes, matching the buzz of his own anticipation, as he scans over the myriad of possibilities. The Doctor weaves through the crowds, searching for that one elusive item that will bring a smile to your face.

Turning up nothing, he decides to try somewhere and somewhen else. In a leap through time, the TARDIS materializes on the gas lit streets of Victorian London; another of his most favorite spots. He wanders for a while, recalling a shop that may have what he’s looking for. Finding it, one street over from where he could have sworn it to be, he explores the quaint shop filled with curious oddities. There, he discovers a pocket watch adorned with intricate engravings, a piece of history that might resonate with you and add a touch of timeless elegance to your collection, but then again, it didn’t quite feel like the right item.

Undeterred by the ticking clock, seeing as he could be back at your door a minute after he left, the Doctor propelled the TARDIS into the far future, landing on a planet where technology reigns supreme. In a bustling metropolis, he finds a device that translates thoughts into art, envisioning it as a canvas for your creativity. The hum of the cityscape fades as the Doctor imagines the endless possibilities of this unique gift, one that mirrors the boundless imagination of the universe. It was wondrous, surely, and he’d no doubt you’d appreciate it, but as cool as it was, it lacked any sort of sentimentality for him. Onto something else then, he thought.

Journeying through medieval castles, futuristic landscapes, and distant planets, the Doctor's quest continued, each locale offering new possibilities for the perfect present, but each coming up short in some way.

Finally, in a moment of quiet reflection amidst the celestial beauty of a distant galaxy, the Doctor discovers a rare, star shaped crystal, half hidden in pink sand. Its ethereal glow reflects the wonder of the cosmos, capturing the essence of his travels with you and the magic of Christmas. With a satisfied grin, the Doctor cradles the crystal in his hands, its radiance a testament to the extraordinary journey he undertook to find the ideal gift for you.

Returning to the TARDIS, the star-shaped crystal held securely, the Doctor anticipates the joy in your eyes as you unwrap this extraordinary present he’d chosen with care and love. The TARDIS dematerializes, leaving behind a trail of stardust as it hurtles back through space and time, all the way back to you on Christmas morning.

You’re barely awake when he knocks on your door, not having checked the time, as he was too excited to bestow upon you his perfect gift. His big, goofy grin filled your tired vision as you greeted him at the door.

"Merry Christmas," he beams, pausing just long enough to reach into his coat and pull out the crystal. "This is for you, a little piece of the universe I thought you might like."

You watched the crystal sparkle in the morning light, reflecting the pure joy in his eyes. As you take the gift, he leans against the doorframe, eager to share the tale of his journey in finding it.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. But Doctor,” you began, and in that fraction of a second his smile faltered, briefly thinking that it had been the wrong gift after all. “All I really needed this Christmas was to spend it with you.” His smile returned and you invited him inside. “Now tell me how you went about finding this.”

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @nclgsticore, @ayanthegreat28, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @bitchr-mkay, @sparrowspixie

Tenth Doctor: @dancingwith-sunflowers, @riveranddoctorsong123, @randomfandomimagine, @danzalladaggers, @keepfloatingaway, @casserole-from-dads-asserole, @little-bean99, @littlefoxgirl-13, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @storytelling-timelord, @chaos-and-food, @callsigncrash, @mxacegrey, @sammus-white, @lokabrenna0801, @m-rae23, @geekyandgay98, @sassykittenjellyfish, @cardinalalignedtiefling, @magpie6322, @aceofspades0064, @thekirbishow, @scriptershifter, @kirimilliagnhalden

[pictureinme]

kinktober day x. BONDAGE - jay (okja)

word count: ~1k tags: shibari, slight d/s, cunnilingus masterlist | ao3

“You look so beautiful like this, (Y/N).”

Jay ties the final knot on the rope, tightening it to your shared liking. You gaze into the mirror behind him, seeing how the rope zigzags across your chest and abdomen all the way to your thighs– you would’ve appreciated the artistry of his work more if you weren’t preoccupied with the delicious feeling of it digging into your skin. The idea of the marks being left on your body for days to come was simply too erotic to ignore.

He had floated the idea of bondage to you fairly early on in the relationship, as you had both been very open about your sexual interests, no matter how taboo they could come across. Your thighs would squeeze anytime he would show you examples of various types, especially the art of shibari. The moment you whispered into his ear that you wanted him to do that to you, he practically threw you onto the bed– rope in tow.

You were truly restrained: the gorgeous zigzag pattern Jay had done to your chest looped around to restrain your arms at the back, and your thighs had been tied to your ankles– there was no maneuvering possible.

“How does it feel, love?” He traces his fingers over the various knots he had done.

“Weird… but comforting,” you test the rope, seeing how much you can actually move– it wasn’t a lot.

Jay grins, his excitement evident as his tracing makes its way down to your mound, “So damn pretty.”

You shiver as he spreads you open, the cool air hitting your arousal. His index finger enters you slowly, just to collect your wetness from inside. You moan gently, legs spreading wider, inviting him in further. Jay pulls his finger out to taste, humming all the while. He shuffles down the bed until he is face to face with your warmth. As his tongue flattens against you, a whimper escapes your throat– you so desperately want to rake your fingers through his hair, like you always do.

Instead, he’s able to take his time with you, savoring the tastes and each quiver of your thighs. His hands grip the rope around your legs, tugging to have it dig even further into your flesh– the balance of pain and pleasure from his actions is almost too much.

Jay begins to suck at your clit gently, humming into you– the slight vibrations increased by the inability to properly grind against his mouth. As soon as you fall into the rhythm of it, he moves away from your arousal– leaning back on his ankles to unzip his pants.

You meet his gaze as he leans on top of you, his hardness already leaking from the tip just seeing you like this– like a present for him to unwrap if he so chooses.

“Beg for it.”

Those three simple words have your brain flooding with endorphins almost instantly, “Please, Jay… I need you– badly.”

He rolls his eyes with a smile on his face, “Come on, we both know you can do better than that.”

You try to lean up to kiss him, but his hand pushes you back down to the duvet, “God, please, Jay. I need… I need your cock, please.”

He hums, taking the time to roughly fondle your tied-up breasts as he ‘thinks,’ “Your wish is my command, love.”

Placing a kiss on your forehead, he moves back to kneel at your entrance, length in his hand. Jay guides it inside, slowly– but as impatient as you are, your hips still try to meet him in the middle. His rough hands quickly grip where your thighs are tied up, holding you back from moving.

“Be still and good for me, or I’m not fucking you.”

You nod, and he fully sits himself inside of you. You expect him to thrust in and out of his own accord, but instead, he uses the rope to maneuver your hips and legs in such a way that you have no choice but to fuck yourself on him, in a way– like a toy. Your moans grow as he uses you like this, and so do his.

“God, you’re a good little fucktoy, aren’t you, baby?” He groans, moving on his hands to rub at your clit. “Just letting me use you like this…”

“Yes, fuck– Jay!”

You whine especially loud when he pinches your clit, the pain searing hot.

“Toys don’t fucking talk.”

His movements increase in speed as he now begins to thrust properly into you, gripping your hips for purchase. Jay chases his own pleasure but still rubs your clit as you cannot– he wasn’t entirely selfish. You can tell how much he loves this from the way his hair sticks to his forehead, and how his mouth is slightly agape– causing his moans to be loud and clear.

“Gonna come inside,” you mewl as you feel your own release coming on as well. “God, (Y/N), you’re so damn tight!”

You thrash against the restraints, your tender skin only becoming more so. He thrusts inside of you hard, and deep, and you hear that familiar cracked whine emanate from his throat– he came. Jay doesn’t stop using you, however, and overstimulates himself just to make you orgasm.

“Come for me, please, baby…”

His perfect rhythm circling your clit has that knot inside of you unfurl at rapid speed, especially knowing how desperate he is for you to come. You release with a cry, your body unable to do exactly what it wants in order to come like it usually does– but this simply adds a whole new layer of pleasure to the ordeal.

The two of you catch your breath, heaving and sweating against each other as he exits your body with a sigh.

“You did so damn good, (Y/N).”

[for-a-longlongtime]

On Dieter, Goya's Black Paintings, and Pedro on Talk Art 

Alright y'all, it's Saturday evening, I have nothing better to do (I actually do but I don't feel like it), so welcome to my mini TED Talk about 'how to pay too much fucking attention to the Pedro cinematic universe'. None of this is new, and maybe everybody already knew about this, but I didn't... so here's a nerdy tangent courtesy of googling/wikipedia-ing.

I was reading a Dieter!fic (this one right here by @chaoticgeminate - go read her writing!) earlier today, which refers to the 'Saturn Devouring His Son' painting - that giant mural Dieter is working on in The Bubble:

(his brush isn't even touching the wall tho, ha)

The original 'Saturn' by Goya

The fic mentioned its part of 'The Black Paintings', so I got curious and started googling. I'm no art major or expert, so please allow me to just paraphraze the Wikipedia page. 'Saturn' is part of a group of 14 Goya paintings that are called Pinturas Negras/The Black Paintings. They "portray intense, haunting themes, reflective of both his fear of insanity and his bleak outlook on humanity" --this was late in Goya's life, and was connected to several illnesses he had experienced (and the fear of relapsing) and political turmoil in Spain at the time (post-Napolean war, changing Spanish government, etc.

Trivia fact 1: Goya actually made these paintings right on the walls of the Quinta del Sordo (so-called Deaf Man's villa) where he was staying -- so I love that Apatow had Dieter also paint right on the walls.

Trivia fact 2: while Goya was living in this villa, he actually became gravely ill (again) - not by a pandemic obviously, but it's hard to not link that loosely to the COVID period. He had never intended for these 'Black Paintings' to become public; "these paintings are as close to being hermetically private as any that have ever been produced in the history of Western art" (the murals were eventually transfered to canvas by other folks once he had moved out of the villa). Switching back to The Bubble -- I love how the tragic influence of Goya's illness(es) and art/things 'made at home away from the world, not intended for an audience' (so obviously, in a bubble) has that connection to the COVID experience and how many folks were suddenly homebound, along with the burden of illness in many ways (lord knows this all did a serious number on our mental health). In the movie, Dieter and the others do not want to go into isolation again, but that solitude is what eventually led him to painting on the walls in his room. This is not a 'grand discovery' of any kind, but I got a kick out of the parellels once I read up on it - and honestly makes me appreciate the movie a bit more, haha.

Not happy about another quarantine period.

Alright, more hyperfocusing after the cut:

Some googling led me to a post from last year by @nicolethered (gifs in this post are hers), and she included screencaps of the walls of Dieter's room (during that drug scene), which I hadn't even noticed while watching the movie. Upon taking a closer look, I noticed they're outtakes from other pieces of Goya's Black Paintings! I thought that was really cool, they sure worked on the details with that set (there's one more that's shown in a different shot but I can't exactly figure out which outtake that is):

First one is a mirror image from Two Old Men Eating Soup and the second one is basically Satan aka 'The Great He-Goat' from the Witches' Sabbath painting. Which IMO makes for fucking hilarious perfection a.k.a. trivia fact 3 -- because we all know about Dieter and his little emotional support goat, LOL. Excellent connection.

*insert sound bit from Hot Ones interview* : "Just let me love you!"

Anywaaay there's more. The Bubble was shot during Feb 22, 2021 to April 16, 2021, right? Pedro has spoken about how his input in shaping Dieter was mostly regarding his outfits (the Crocs, the robe, etc). But then I suddenly remember the Talk Art interview he had done in 2018, and how he namechecks 'The Dog' by Goya - and lo, guess which painting is actually part of the 14 Black Paintings? Yeap - the dog! So I checked the podcast and he was asked, 'if you could be any painting, what painting would you be?' by Russell. Here is the painting, and below it is what he said on Talk Art:

'The Drowning Dog' by Goya

"I think… it's a Goya. Yeah, old school. I think it's called 'Dog Buried in Sand' or something like that. It's so… I remember feeling it was such a visual representation of helplessness, in such a… come on, let's all admit that helplessness is a very recurring feeling for many of us, you know what I mean? When it comes to so many things. I guess… I was in Spain, in Madrid, and I was 20. And I went to the Goya museum. What's interesting about it is that the head of the dog is really quite small and sort of adorable, it looks like a stray mutt, and the painting - if I can remember it correctly - is very rectangular. There's so much above him, like the world just seems so big. It's quite incredible, isn't it? I know it's really sad, and sort of dark, and maybe I really like enjoy perceiving myself like..." (He gets interrupted by Russell, and then continues;) "Yeah, he's certainly not dying, it's sort of - it's a moment", (then interrupts himself with;) "Maybe he's totally dying, there's no way that dog is getting out of that. That dog is SO fucked. Anyway, that's the painting that represents my life". (All three of them burst out into laughing.)

If you're still reading this - I am impressed with your dedication to my silly little post, haha. Anyway, I just thought it was so striking that there basically is a straight line from the painting he mentioned in Talk Art to what Dieter is painting in the Bubble. Makes me wonder if perhaps he - or even Russell/Robert - had any input in that part of Dieter's backstory.

Thank you for attending my TED Talk on artistic analysis of Dieter Bravo during COVID, we now resume your regularly scheduled program for Saturday night. 🤪

(Have I been smoking because a local dispensary actually had 'Mando' bud? I sure as fuck have and I blame that for this post.)

[tiny-vermin]

I want to know more about the m9 artist au!! I remember reading a post or two about it a billion years ago (and would love to read them again) 💜

hi jess!!!! thank u for being interested hehe :")

so ever since i drew that lil thing of essek painting a frank stella inspired painting (or even before), ive been thinking of what kinds of art each of the m9 would do. essek ofc is inspired by a minimalist show that i went to here, all the big names from that movement were shown, but those really dark, sinkhole-like paintings are speaking to me. another artwork of boxes made of mirrors also seems like the thing he would do too

there's a kiln here that we visited which was huge, and surrounding it were artists' studios and some other ceramic sellers, i imagine the clay family having a place like this in the middle of nowhere amongst the trees, and caleb would do his work there

anyways because at heart im a shadowgast luver its centred around them,, they meet at an artist residency or something like that and its an incredibly slow burn that involves talking and not-talking and looking and not-looking. in the end i am but a simple wong kar wai fan so. that kinda vibes would definitely influence this, i would describe it as a quiet burning i guess?? time skipy and words that are not said

i think im gonna rant a bit more about their different mediums and styles so i'll keep it under the cut

i think caleb sculpts figures and portraits, but in a sad, kathe kollwitz charcoal vibe. maybe some funky looking animals, perhaps some pots and vases to look at the pretty glazes. he's interested in using fire to burn texture into different mediums, like ive seen it being used on shellac to make a really cool net of ink looking structure.. but yknow, just seeing the aftermath of glazed ceramic from the kiln is enough, and probably better for him to keep his distance anyways

the clay family produces most of the ceramic to sell, vases, pots, plates, cups, teapots, yknow just a whole array. and its really colourful too, depicting every family members different style. i think caduceus would do some matte glazes with a lot of different colours, theyre all a little wonky but theyre better off that way anyways. he does some really mean ink calligraphy and painting though

jester definitely does,, everything, whatever her heart desires kinda thang. she makes pastel textile installations and lighthearted cute paintings, but theyre always so contemplative and soothing. she gets m9 a lot of work cus her mom has connections, etc etc. i really love the idea of jester creating works that talk about the female body and femininity (definitely not projecting no)

beau is a printmaker and photographer who's really experimental, she loves cyanotypes and printing flowers (for yasha), idk she seems like she would put fabric and rocks into the washing machine to see what would happen. u would probably catch her in someone elses studio learning about what they do or in the library learning about what old people did

veth works in a museum as a curator, getting beau to help her sometimes with gathering artworks and artists etc. she probably organises community art projects for kids and public art installations. her house is full of m9's artworks and various other artists shes worked with.

yasha does bouquets as her post-retirement part time job, prior to that no one really knows what she did ("she probably murdered a bunch of people and is now hiding from the government"). fjord draws comics for fun but is also not a job for him, molly is a question mark for me. but these guys probably wont be in it as much anyways

im still not sure what format i wanna do this in, im actually having fun just writing it in my notebook now (digital does not facilitate the creative juices) but i do want to do some visuals like fake movie stills or storyboards. maybe they will work together well???? dunno. working on the other shadowgasty thing im doing made me realise how much easier it is to draw when there's a script already there, so im writing the script for myself

im definitely not as practiced in writing as i am in drawing, but idk im just gonna have some fun and see where that takes me, meanwhile try not to feel too bad that its fanart HAHA (very bad habit)

edit: i just saw my previous thoughts on beau being an art journalist, but i kinda like this better.. but maybe she can do both muah

[dancingonmoonbeams]

odesta week: free space wednesday

Summary: Finally free from the Capitol, Finnick thinks about his appearance. This is a scene from a longer fic I’ve had on the back burner for a while, so you may see it again once I finally finish that fic, but I love it and really wanted to share it.

Finnick’s hair was always a star of its own in the Capitol. For his first appearance in the Tribute Parade his prep team had put some kind of spray in it to make it stick up in artful waves, looking sun-kissed and windswept even though he felt as far from District Four as he could possibly get. They told him after that people were already making appointments with stylists to get hair like his, something that made him itch under his skin in a way he didn’t quite understand. 

They always kept it artfully messy, waves of bronze that fell in his eyes and made people’s heads turn. Later, when he found out what being a victor really meant, the people he met would touch it, dragging their fingers through it and leaving ice everywhere they touched. Sometimes they’d pull it, would move his head where they wanted it with a sharp grasp of the roots. Those were the moments when Finnick hated his hair the most.

People talked about it constantly. Entire television segments were devoted to how Finnick Odair’s hair would be styled, the commentators breathlessly reporting about this product or that brush they claimed his stylists used. He never knew how to respond to it, never understood why this part of him he’d never thought twice about could raise such a fervor in the Capitol. When District Thirteen had him doing propos, they tried to do the same thing–using their limited means to get his hair sticking up just right, to make him the picture of what the Capitol would expect to see from Finnick Odair. He hated it then too. Even knowing it was for the cause, that people would listen to him more if he looked the way they expected, he wished he could just let it go and not care about how he looked at all.

Now, he’s left the Capitol behind. He hasn’t seen a stylist in months and never plans to. When he and Annie got home he’d cleared all the products they’d made him keep from the shelves, tossing them in the garbage without a second thought. There are no more cameras on him, no need to make himself fit the Capitol’s expectations. 

He looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is a bit longer than they usually let it get, still shining bronze even without all the Capitol shampoos and products. It’s damp from the shower, curling up at the ends, and he twitches when it brushes against the back of his neck, a flash of phantom hands scratching at his skin crossing his mind before he forces them away. He tears his eyes from his reflection and rummages in the drawer for the scissors they keep there, feeling their cool weight in his palm as he takes a deep breath and stares down his reflection.

As he grasps a piece of hair between his fingers, willing himself to bring the scissors up to meet it, Annie appears behind him, her eyes wide as she meets his gaze in the mirror. Finnick feels himself relax at the sight of her, her presence enough to push the last memories of the Capitol aside. 

“I want to cut my hair.”

If Annie is surprised by his decisiveness, she doesn’t show it, her expression achingly tender as she steps closer behind him, one hand on her barely visible bump and the other coming to rest on his shoulder. “Do you want help?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to speak, and hands her the scissors. Her fingers brush his as she takes them and he feels himself settle under her touch. Annie’s hands have never been anything but loving, nothing like the greedy hands in the Capitol that would pull and scratch and take piece after piece of him until he was left with nothing. She gently nudges him to sit in front of her and runs her hands through his damp locks, setting the scissors down as she does. 

“How short do you want it?”

Finnick bites his lip, his eyes cast down at the chipped tile on the floor. “As short as you can get it.”

There’s a brief silence as Annie’s hands slip from his scalp to his shoulders and he feels her lips brush against the top of his head in a gentle kiss. “Okay,” she says softly, then reaches for the scissors. 

He closes his eyes at the first snip, breathing in slowly through his nostrils the way Mags taught him when he first came out of the arena and struggled to take a full breath. He feels Annie’s fingers halt, one hand coming down to his shoulder in a reassuring touch.

“You can keep going,” he tells her. She hesitates for a moment before she moves her hand back to his head. 

After a few snips, he opens his eyes, breathing slowly at the sight of bronze curls tumbling to the floor around him, splayed against the tile like seaweed washed up on shore. There’s something about it that makes him feel lighter, a weight lifting from his shoulders as Annie continues her careful movements. She murmurs instructions a few times, asking him to tilt his head to give her a better angle, but other than that the only sound is the metallic snip of the scissors, the whisper of hair falling to the floor.

Annie’s movements slow, the cuts further apart, then she stops and sets the scissors down on the countertop. “There,” she says quietly, her hands moving to brush a few stray pieces of hair off his shoulders and then resting there, her touch settling his racing heart. “Do you want to look?”

Finnick nods, blinking in surprise at the unfamiliar sensation of cool air moving across his scalp. He stands slowly and turns to face the mirror, unsure if he’ll recognize the face he sees looking back at him. 

When he finally looks, he’s surprised at how unremarkable his reflection is. His hair is mostly gone, the bronze waves scattered on the tile at his feet, his scalp more pale than he expected from years of not being exposed to the sun. And beneath it is his face, the puckered scars that travel up one side of his body, moving from his shoulder to his neck and across his cheek, angry red lines that he was told would fade with time. There are his freckles from his time in the sun, his same green eyes, the nose that’s just like his father’s. He’s still himself, just with shorter hair, lovingly clipped not by his prep team in the Capitol but by his wife in their home here in this new world.

He meets Annie’s gaze in the mirror. “That’s as short as I could go without clippers,” she says, wringing her hands. “We can borrow some if you want.”

Finnick turns and wraps his arms around her, letting out a slow breath as she returns the embrace. “I love you,” he breathes close to her ear, feeling her arms tighten around him in response. “Thank you.” 

Annie pulls back just enough to look at him, her hands coming up to his cheeks as she gazes at him with such love in her eyes that he feels like he might as well be gazing into the sun. She presses a gentle kiss to his lips and leans back in to rest her head on her chest, her arms slipping around his back with gentle weight.

[queen0fm0nsterz]

You think the Lady is someone powerful arrogant and cool. Well I happen to know her personally and intimately and I can tell you that she most definitely is not cool. If it wasn't for her shadow fairy floating abilities she'd trip on her carpets and fall flat on her ass because she forgets to pick up her dumbass books. Are they about shadow magic? Are they cringe self written essays? We may never know. I'm not sure the Lady herself knows because her dumbass cannot think the same cohesive thought for a long period of time. She made tea for herself in the Residence and fucking forgot about it like an idiot. Her attention span is a total of 2. 2 what? Seconds? Minutes? Years? Depends on how lucky you are. She has pictures of toilets in her rooms. Its modern art. Don't even bother asking why she has a picture of a bathroom and then a second picture zoomed in on the shitter specifically WHICH IS THE SAME FROM THE OTHER PICTURE. You wouldn't get it. Don't even get me started about the feet. If she wants to keep someone's fucking dogs on her wall then she will have their dogs on her wall. She cuddles her dolls because in her life she has never felt the loving hand of someone else because she is insufferable. ZERO MAIDENS AND ZERO GENTS. And her outfit? Girl? You are gonna pull up to the feast with a SINGLE LAYER OF YUKATA? What is this? This is like if Joe Biden or some other politician (I am not american) pulled up on national television with his pajamas still on. Instead of worrying about the fake ass face Mirror Man conjures up specifically to haunt you maybe you should STOP BUYING THE SAME YUKATA 700 FUCKING TIMES AND GET AN ACTUAL PROPER KIMONO. But girl I get it. You're autistic. I am autistic too. I get it. What I do not get is why you have an hidden stash of alchool behind a bigass painting. Why hide that and not, I don't know, THE PICTURE OF SOMONE'S GODDAMN FEET.

This is who she is. A girloser. The original weird girl. A reclusive femcel. I need her in my bed immediately