#i thought i’d post it here

[rustbeltjessie]

Poetry’s Dead (Undead Undead Undead)

Poetry & Halloween go together like candy corn & carved pumpkins because poetry is, at its heart, a haunted thing. All poems are about ghosts, even if they’re not about ghosts. They’re all haunted by the traces of memory (the poet’s own memory, but also the ghosts of history that each word carries with it). Writing a poem is a way to summon ghosts, but it can also be a way to exorcise your ghosts & demons, or at least expel them from your mind and bind them with paper & ink. (As Sandra Cisneros wrote: I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not ache so much.) Poems are also a bit like spells. Spells to conjure the past or shape the future. Spells to heal the writer/reader, or get revenge on what has harmed them. Or creation spells which bring forth something beautiful that wasn’t there before. I suppose any form of writing could be considered a spell, but poetry feels even more tied to spell-work because of its rhythm and sound. There is something inherently incantatory about it.

So, yes, all poetry fits into the Halloween season, at least in some small way. But one can make the connection even more obvious, depending on what is being written about. And that is exactly what I’m doing with both my current works-in-progress. All writers write about their obsessions. I am a giant nerd who is kinda goth, so some of my obsessions are very Halloween-y. If all poems are implicitly about ghosts, many of my poems are explicitly about ghosts. Ghosts are the overarching theme in my in-progress full length collection. Some of its other themes and inspirations include: murder ballads, urban legends, fairy and folk tales, witchcraft, monsters, and horror films. I recently completed a poem for that manuscript titled “Planet of the Monster Girls.” It’s about a group of girls obsessed with classic horror films and their stars: Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Peter Lorre, Vincent Price, and Lon Chaney, Jr. Writing that poem rekindled my own obsession with those actors. I splurged on Etsy items relating to them, and built a sort of altar/shrine in my workspace. I rewatched their films, and did internet and library searches for more information about those monstrous leading men. And then the poems came. I found myself scribbling epistolary prosepoems to Peter Lorre. (It started with him because I have a long-running obsession with Mr. Lorre that would require an entire separate essay to explain). Soon after, I began writing missives to the rest of them, too.

I have so many other things I’m working on right now that I tried to resist it at first. No way am I starting another effing book, I told myself. But the epistolary poems kept coming, and then I started doing some erasures as well, from the books and articles I’ve been reading about those men. (Because how often does one find a source text full of choice words like quirky, deviant, venom, mesmeric, dread, and menace?) After a couple weeks, I had to admit to myself that I am, indeed, working on a new book. I don’t yet know what the final form or structure will be, or whether it will be a chapbook or a full-length. But right now I don’t care, because I am enjoying the process. This project is giving me a way to discuss serious topics while paying tribute to some of my favorite actors and films. It is giving me a fun way to juxtapose the ‘high art’ of poetry with the ‘low art’ of vintage horror, noir, and b-movies. (And it gave me an excuse to decorate a special notebook in which to write the poems.)

Yes, poetry & Halloween go together like ghosts and crumbling old mansions. Yes, all poems are spells and summonings. And this year, I’m spending my Halloween season writing spells which summon the ghosts of my muses: Boris, Bela, Peter, Vincent, & Lon.

—Jessie Lynn McMains (originally published in The Poetry Question, October 2019)

[ladydisofdurin]

New Zealand’s second ever Māori queen, Nga wai hono i te po was announced as the new monarch of the Kiingitanga today on the final day of the tangihanga (funeral) of her father, King Tuheitia.

[kurocrow]

Any of yall hear about that one yuri manga

[ciearcab]

old hades piece i never finished cleaning up

[hootyhoowoo]

A little 15 min doodle but first post of the year has to be Bingqiu!

[luminique]

besides spending quiet time together in lumina square, i think dragging lighter to fun places to take his mind off things is something else that he secretly enjoys.

you don’t have to have a set plan with him. i think he’d enjoy going with the flow of things as long as it’s with you. watching movies at gravity cinema, eating hot pot together, getting teamilk before doing some shopping for the girls.

there are tons of shops there and lots of things to do. recently, teens in the area have been raving about a new photobooth place in lumina square. it gets really busy during the weekends but lucky for the both of you, it was a relatively chill weekday. it was a normal shop that had a few photobooths and many funny accessories.

you both chose some accessories for yourselves (more like you chose and lighter hesitantly agreed). a pair of heart sunglasses, cat and dog ear headbands, and a huge bangboo plushie. he personally would never do something like this alone but seeing you be so indecisive on which accessories to pick did entertain him.

you walked into one of the booths, the screen displaying clear instructions to make sure you knew where to stand and how to take a photo. lighter was a little awkward at first, he’s not the kind to be good at photos, let alone pose for one intentionally. you decided to wear the heart sunglasses first, thinking that it’d match perfectly with lighter’s usual shades. a middle finger pulling down the shades a little as you looked at the camera and he couldn’t help but laugh at your attempt to imitate him.

he did the same pose as you, wanting to show who the true undefeated champion was. backs toward each other, the camera’s shutter goes off and the first picture was taken. that helped him relax a little, not feeling as nervous or awkward as before. until you wore the headband however….

a fluffy cat ear headband was now on your head as you happily held out the dog ear ones to him. “do i really have to…?” he asked you as he hesitated taking it from you. “mhm! and i’m putting it on you,” you chirped, so eager to have him wear something completely opposite to his cool guy image.

he let out a quiet sigh of defeat. he can’t argue with you to be honest, not when you’re beaming with excitement for him to wear it. he bent down a little, letting you place it on his head. he looked at the display, seeing his reflection in it and immediately turns red. you can see the blush on his face and it was the perfect opportunity for the next photo.

two more photos left. you could almost reach your arms around the big bangboo plushie, lighter followed suit and hugged it too. his hand brushed against your arm as he buried his face into the plushie to hide his embarrassment. you seemed to be having fun though, your laugh becoming a familiar sound followed by the camera shutter.

it’s the final photo, you had to make the most of it. no accessories this time, you wanted to capture a natural moment between the both of you. “finally, just one more,” lighter thought to himself, completely unaware of what plans you had. he was unsure of how to pose, since there was no props now.

you got closer to him, wanting to do a pose that had your faces close to each other. holding his hand in yours, you clicked the button on the screen. he knew his eyes should be on the camera but it was focused on the display, on you specifically. your smile, the way your eyes also showed that happiness. this was fun, you looked cute and he’d only try it again if it was wi-

3, 2, 1, click!

the last picture was taken. just before it did, you turned your face towards him, giving a kiss on his cheek. it was captured perfectly, the surprise on his face was evident even though his sunglasses hid the blush behind them. his mind went blank, not realizing that you were picking up the accessories to return them. the screen instructed you to not leave anything behind and to take the photos outside of the machine. “lighter? hello?” you waved your hand in front of him, he quickly snapped out of it and followed you out of the booth.

two strips of pictures were printed out, all of the photos came out exactly the way you wanted them to. you gave him the other strip and he examined the pictures carefully. he looked like a flustered mess in all of them except the first one. he can’t let anyone see this, especially that last one… but you looked perfect. maybe he shouldn’t fuss over it, instead enjoy the fact that he got to spend time with you. a picture perfect memory he could always look back on when he misses you.

[buried-l0cket]

Polygun but it’s how they all see each other

i always really like in books with different narrators when how a character looks itself is unreliable narration bc they describe themself differently compared to how the other pov characters see them, and the dungeon meshi shapeshifter chart scratched that itch for me art wise and I got inspired ✨

To be more specific this is what they each picture when they think of each person 👉👈

Details under cut!!

Meryl clothing details aside because I think she’s just short and the boys aren’t looking at her traveling clothes too hard (and vash clearly likes making his own clothes with how much his overly intricate jacket design changes so ofc his version of her outfit just looks like another one of his designs 🙄) all of the clothes are based on specific parts of the manga!

A big thing with these designs was taking moments that were important regarding each characters relationship with the pov character and adding in visual nods to that to show what memories stuck with them to shape their image of that person.

The clearest example of this is everyone thinking of a different Vash coat, for Wolfwood it’s what he was wearing when he turned him over to Knives, to Meryl it’s his final fight coat, and for Milly it’s when she met him.

It may be Trimax but I will always have a soft spot for 98 millywood so those two’s impression of each other has been influenced by that, but more specifically just the idea of them both alone together, layers and walls down, hair messy from sleep. Their relationship is one I just see very clearly developing over a lot of late nights at inns and bars during traveling!

Vash is the trademarked inventor of Savior Martyr Victim complex supreme and when he thinks of everyone he sees times they’ve been let down by him. To me he’s the biggest broken gear in their dynamic because of the way he holds himself back and isolates, the ship really works in spite of him most of the time. But he also sees traces of times his desire to be by their side was cemented. His Meryl is heavily based on after she was kidnapped by the GHGs and he lost control in front of her, but her hair is longer + earrings are gone like when they saw each other again after Knives released the ark, and she has a black turtleneck peaking out from under her traveling clothes the way it did under her space suit during the final battle. His Milly has the hair and undershirt of the final battle but her outer clothes are from when they traveled together for the majority of Trimax. His wolfwood isn’t doing too well.

Meryl’s versions of Milly and Wolfwood are both pretty similar to how they looked when she first met them, wolfwoods hair is just a little longer like I imagine it being towards the end of Trimax and is very windswept, from their short first meeting in the original Trigun manga run I always got the impression she thought he looked very cool lol, she was staring up at him like ://0 the whole chapter.

I mentioned it before but honestly most of Wolfwood’s Vash is based on how he looked when he turned him over to Knives, not only do I think that moment stuck with him but I feel like it’s a good visual summary of all the mixed feelings he has towards Vash. He’s drawn to him and sees how sad he his but he also sees how inhuman he is and the threat he and knives pose for the people he cares about and prioritizes. At the end of the day Wolfwood chose the orphans over Vash twice and never went back on that, and a big part of why he broke Vash our of Knives prison was just so he could go fight Knives to the death for humanity’s sake, and I think that’s important to his character and their relationship.

Similarly, Meryl’s Vash is really just final arc Vash. She’d already developed a very strong impression of him before then but they would go weeks to even years without seeing each other and each time the way he looked and the way she felt about him would change drastically, it seemed to me like it wasn’t till she was on the ship advocating for him and the people living on gunsmoke that she knew how she felt about him and what kind of person she saw him to be. It was also a huge moment for her character wise with the way she faced her fears in the name of human connection and made the active choice to not be as apathetic and closed off as she realized she had been in the early manga.

I think Milly’s first impression of Vash was strong and accurate enough to not change much, this nice guy is Vash the Stampede and there is definitely something weird about him.

I don’t know why Wolfwood doesn’t know what Meryl’s hair looks like, what’s wrong with that guy? In general his version of Meryl is very inaccurate now that I’m looking at it, I promise he likes her

+small details that are my personal headcanon and not the characters interpretations are Meryl and Wolfwoods hair being a bit more curly/textured than canon, Milly’s eyes being green, and Meryl’s earrings being silver (gold earrings with a white black and blue outfit and silver guns?? C’mon girl accessorize properly)

[disacurveball]

The Terror is both a celebration and a warning of the certain breed of masculinity which you come into as a white man. A celebration, as a trans man, as there’s so many different narratives of masculinity to follow in the show, both adherences and rejections to heteronormativities. A warning with the hubris this certain brand of white masculinity which celebrates imperialistic thinking and ultimately dooms both them and harms the indigenous people whose home they are trapped in by their own doing. The show asks, “What is a man?” But really the question is, “What is an English man?”

The performance of Fitzjames in a faux masculinity, in his pursuit of vanity he clings to it. Only in the private, authentic moment of femininity does he see his real face in the mirror, bloodied and decaying from the scars of his imperialistic persona. The resolute marine Tozer, the paragon of masculine strength, finally breaking in composure and confiding in another man who cups his face. Goodsir, the soft academic, emasculated in physical strength, is the one to point out the imperialist lie— but he too is duped about the English man. “This isn’t what we’re like.”

No, Goodsir, this is the foundations of their masculine truth— and only to question their very structure of gender itself will save them. Or at least, be a fun little read on ao3.

[unriding]

❤︎ MOEVIE : 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓾𝓷𝓽 ࿐ . + in game voicelines! because i’ve been inspired to add lines after seeing layla’s from a while ago, as well as coco’s, vana’s, and nick’s for ppgear of course ( ⸝⸝ ◡̀ ᴗ ◡́)੭ ✧

Moze: About Evie

Evie was the one to carry me on her back when I had gotten hurt. Had I known she was coming, I would have done everything I could to avoid worrying her. As of now … I often pay her visits in my free time. It seems to make her face “light up.” That’s what Jiaoqiu said, and I agree.

Added to a team with: Evie

Don’t worry about me and focus on keeping your distance. I’ll handle the rest of it.

Evie: About Moze

You’d think someone like Moze would be easy to spot because of the purple, but I actually haven’t caught him a single time — yet. I find that I have a better chance if I abruptly jerk my head to stare down a random shadow. You can really catch him off guard, even if just for a second!

Added to a team with: Moze

Oh, here you are! I’ll support you from over here! Don’t be hasty.

comm from puri24a on twt!

[waterfire1848]

Headcanon - In a world where Azula is blind, she’s able to interact with the world by seeing heat. Like this

[shblvd]

[simonpegglovebot]

[thetawnyowltxmblr]

POSE REFERENCE USED - CRED: mellon_soup ON PATREON // Fanart of - The Golden Palm, Tintin fan animations/characters by @professorcalculusstanaccount and @aboardthescheherazade ❤️❤️

Seriously go check out the two artists I just tagged, their Tintin characters and senarios are SO fun and I never thought I’d be obsessed with a Tintin fancomic, but here we are lmao-

I had so much fun drawing Tintin as Marlene Katz, such a bugs bunny drag situation and I LIVE for it, I love the gown and the hair so SOOO much, I’ve always loved the old Hollywood style and I just fell in love with the whole idea🖤🖤

Also I’m loving Tintin x Chang sm, holy shit, Chang as Tintin Chauffeur?!?!?!? HELLOOOO?!?!?!?!?😍😍😍

[lifesmpliar]

Boat Boys fans after seeing the tinniest interaction between Etho and Joel:

“WE’RE EATING GOOD TONIGHT!!!!”

The food in question:

[caimdrakengard]

vergil deserves to live within gmod

[adrift-in-thyme]

@kikker-oma happy belated birthday!!! Sorry it took so long for me to finish this! But I hope it proves worth the wait <333 (Also I hope you don’t mind some whump)

CW for blood and injury, vomiting, a panic attack, and a cave-in (be careful if you’re claustrophobic)

————————————-

In the wake of the explosion, Sky feels nothing. There is a high-pitched ring in his ears, spots in his vision, warm, sticky blood trickling from his nose. But no pain.

Until there is.

It hits like a claymore, cleaving through the half-consciousness he has clung to thus far. And the next thing he knows, he’s jerking upward, gasping. Only, he can’t sit upright at all.

His mind screams the panicked order, his muscles attempt it, but a weak, agonizing twitch is all he manages. Something is holding him down, something massive and heavy. His chest struggles to rise beneath its constant compression.

Sky blinks again, squinting past the tiny eruptions of light and the dust that floats, thick and suffocating in the air around him. There is nothing much to see in the endless darkness. But he can make out jagged shapes, blocky forms, the outlines of sand-covered objects.

Caging him in. Holding him down.

He’s pinned, he realizes with a streak of mind-numbing terror. And suddenly, what little air he had managed to drag in turns to nothing at all. He gasps, eyes blowing wide, as he thrashes.

Or attempts to. All he manages is to bring on a fresh onslaught of dizzying agony. It strikes through to his very bones, sending sharp pricks of static dancing before his eyes and crawling up the back of his head. And for a split second, everything goes a striking shade of black.

Then, he’s breaching the surface once more, too soon, much too soon, skyrocketing back into a world of pain and suffocation.

Sky coughs, choking on blood and tears. He has never really considered himself claustrophobic, but this experience might just change that assumption. Of all the ways to die…

But you’re not, he berates himself. You’re not dead yet, so think, think. Figure out a way to survive.

He can’t reach his pouch. The rubble piled beside him makes certain of that. It presses against him, crushing his side and tugging at the hem of his sailcloth. But if he can move it just a bit…

Trembling hands press to its jagged surface. With a sharp intake of breath, Sky steels himself and pushes.

Something shifts and for a split second, Sky dares to hope that maybe, just maybe he can get free. But then, the rubble on his lower half crawls sideways with the rest. And Sky screams.

The nauseating numbness that had begun to take root vanishes, replaced with the absolute agony that splits through his legs. He turns his head to the side and chokes up bile.

That one moment seems to last forever, pain dancing along his body endlessly. He lies there, limp and gasping, gazing at the blurred splotches his vision has been reduced to. And the waves wash over him, stealing the air from his lungs and turning his thoughts into incomprehensible things.

Needles streak up his neck, bringing with them unnatural heat. His eyelids flutter, eyes preparing to roll back in his head and plunge him back into the painless deep.

“Sky!”

A hand finds his, desperate in the way it grasps at him. Sky inhales sharply, jolting back into some semblance of awareness.

He had thought no other heroes were near the blast. He had thought they were all clear of the area. So, why…

Wait.

Memories crash back into his mind like waves on the sea. Memories of a building crumbling behind him and a boy by his side, running, running away from the collapse, away from certain death. Memories of the fiery knowledge that had situated itself firmly in Sky’s gut, the knowledge that he must protect him, protect the hero who came after him.

Protect the hero who was the first to feel the brunt of his failures, no matter the cost.

His hands fly out on instinct to shove the small figure in front of him through the doorway. Echoes of a terrified voice in his mind as he leaps, meaning to follow, wanting to.

Only for darkness to catch him before he can.

Four. Sky’s breath hitches, a sob of relief and agony catching in his throat. Four is here with him. Four is alive.

And he came back.

“Sky, can you hear me?”

The Skyloftian focuses all his strength. Weakly, he squeezes Four’s hand. The smithy blows out an audible sigh of relief.

“Thank the goddesses. We’re gonna get you free, okay? We just need a minute. If we move anything now…”

Though he trails off, the words left unspoken weigh on the Skyloftian even more heavily than the rubble. He drags in a thin gasp, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

“But I need you to stay awake until we can get you out,” Four continues, forcing a lighter tone into his voice. “Can you do that?”

“Yes,” is what Sky means to say. “Hurts,” is the croaked cry that comes out.

Four’s grip tightens. “I know, Sky. I’m-I’m sorry.”

Sky closes his eyes. The darkness there is safer, more comfortable than the dusky dimness floating around him.

“Not your fa-fault.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed me.” The voice is grim and drenched in guilt. Though it aims to sound accusatory, Sky feels that it hardly meets the mark. “‘There was time. We could’ve both gotten out. We could’ve…”

“K-kept you safe.” It is hardly a croak. The word burns in his throat. “Smithy…I w-wanted to…”

He drags his eyes open, stares into the expanse of floating nothingness. He still can’t breathe.

“It’s the least I…could do.”

Four is silent for a long moment. Then, his fingers constrict just slightly. Their warmth is welcome in a world of cold darkness.

“You’re going to get out of there, Sky,” he murmurs and there is something in his tone that Sky cannot identify. Maybe he could if he wasn’t so tired. Far more than usual in fact. This exhaustion drags him down like a leaden weight, pulling at the remaining scraps of consciousness.

“Just hold on,” the smithy says, and Sky pushes back against the endless deep.

Hold on.

He can do that. He can…

“T-tell me about y-your Hyrule,” he croaks.

And Four does. The smithy has many secrets, perhaps, even as much as the old man, and yet, he tells him. Of his grandfather, of Dot, of his home and his world and the tiny creatures known as Minish.

Sky clings to every word that tells him more about the hero who followed after him and the land he fought to protect. He clings to the sound of his voice, the warmth of his fingers, the painting he paints of his life…until his brothers come.

And then, finally, finally, the world is opening back up and the sunlight is streaming in and he can drag in thin gasps of fresh air and…and Four is right there, still holding his hand but gazing down at him now. Concern gleams in his multicolored irises.

Sky offers him a weak smile. “‘M okay now, smithy,” he murmurs, every word agony. “T-thanks for…for staying.”

Four’s face splits into a grin. A teary one, but an expression of joy nonetheless. “I’ll always stay. It’s the least I can do for the person who paved the way.”

There is respect in those words, Sky realizes dimly. Respect and something else…A connection, perhaps, that is stronger even than their bond of brotherhood.

He deserves neither.

But as he lets his eyes slip shut, as the voices of his family swell around him and arms lift him with a gentleness that belies their strength…he is glad to know about their place in the timeline. He understands the look in Time’s eye a little better now, when he gazes upon Twilight.

He is proud of his successor too.