#i'll go back for those probably

[altruistic-meme]

ok. i think the brainfog has maybe cleared enough to continue the bsd watching/studying. onward!

[emberglowfox]

closing time

[todayisafridaynight]

no ones ever gonna understand how much i love daigo doin this stupid shit after dissolving the tojo

[sergle]

After your reduction are you gonna change how you draw self portraits? Idk if you’re gonna get phantom boob syndrome but it’ll be funny if your hand defaults to big booba during drawing.

I was just thinking abt this!! I think by force of habit I'll prob default to drawing my Old Boobs lmao. chances are I'll have to intentionally, manually, change the way I see myself in my head and the way I draw myself

[shannonsketches]

lays on the floor do you guys ever think about how in ResF Bulma falls for Vegeta's fake-out with Freeza and both she and Yamcha are worried about Vegeta's villain fake-out strategy in Champa and Beerus' mini tournament and how it's only been a couple of years since the Buu saga and how Vegeta straight up stopped using that strategy after that tournament

[loregoddess]

*slaps the roof of Unicorn Overlord* This game can fit so many self-loathing characters, tragic siblings, siblings with complicated relationships, children with complicated feelings towards their parents and/or parental figures, parents mourning their dead children, and characters who are generally a little bit fucked up but doing their best in it.

[skeletalheartattack]

so for like, a decade plus, i've been searching for a youtube video i remember seeing back in 2007, and i've finally managed to make some headway:

good news: i've found it

bad news: it's lost media

[varjopeura]

.

[ndostairlyrium]

*gestures vaguely* I guess we're serious about this

[magentagalaxies]

sometimes being the director of the buddy cole documentary is an emotional rollercoaster for reasons entirely unrelated to actual controversy with the character

basically. this morning paramount took down the comedy central website and made every link redirect to paramount plus (which i do not have). previously you could find clips from every time buddy cole was a correspondent on the colbert report for free on the comedy central website, but not only are those free clips no longer up, paramount plus doesn't even have the colbert report.

so even if this craven attempt to get people to pay ransom subscribe to their streaming service worked, they didn't even take the clips with them!!!

so i was in mourning for a solid few hours this morning bc like if i'd known this was going to happen i would have at least screen-recorded each of the segments even if it meant the audio sync was a little off. but i had no idea this was going to happen and now yet another piece of buddy cole media was lost forever. and i'm used to having gaps in my timeline. stuff like scottland and the lowest show i've only been able to watch bc bellini happened to have a dvd he could digitize. and stuff like the buddy cole funny or die clips, out on the edge, and the ctv royal wedding special i may never see. but when something like this happens in real time after i've already dedicated myself to preserving and documenting the works of buddy cole, it really stings

i know i shouldn't feel like i somehow "failed buddy" for not preserving these episodes. i had no idea comedy central's parent company was going to throw out so much of their content, we're just in a literal hellscape with regards to how corporations value art. but i can't help but feel a little protective of buddy - not protective in terms of controversy, per se, controversy is a natural reaction to everything scott does with buddy cole and i don't always have to agree with everything the character stands for. i've already gotten a taste of being in my own buddy cole controversy, and it was horrible but it also felt like this is what's supposed to happen because we're now able to have this conversation. but being completely forgotten? that doesn't feel natural one bit even though it keeps happening to so much of this character's timeline.

anyway, i pasted the links into the wayback machine and even tho it could load the interface it couldn't load the videos. i found a record of each episode on the internet archive but they're all chopped into 1-2 minute clips, there's an option to "borrow" full episodes and have them mail you a flashdrive but i have no idea how that works and if i'd then be allowed to copy the episodes onto my own computer. i eventually found the colbert report is still available to purchase on itunes for $1.99 per episode - i'd need four specific episodes so that would be more like $8, which isn't too bad, but still stings just on principle. plus, what if that iTunes interface goes down someday? the only colbert report dvds are "best of" and even if i think buddy cole is the best part of anything he's in, the people making the dvds probably don't.

[fragmentedblade]

I think I've become an official HI3 player. I check the HSR leaks hoping for iterations of HI3 characters now

[cellbitupdates]

🟩 Dos mods do Cellbit/🟥 From Cellbit's mods/🟨 De los mods de Cellbit:

🟩 Voltaremos quando o Cellbit voltar de Los Angeles/🟥 We'll return when Cellbit gets back from Los Angeles/ 🟨 Volveremos cuando Cellbit regrese de Los Ángeles ❤️

🟩 O que provavelmente será amanhã ou no final desta semana. Na segunda-feira ele mencionou que poderia tentar entrar no QSMP para conhecer o novo criador coreano Jungryeok, mas ele não disse nada definitivo.

🟥 Which will likely be tomorrow or later this week. He mentioned yesterday that he might try to log onto QSMP for the new Korean creator Jungryeok but didn't say anything definitive.

🟨 Que probablemente será mañana o más tarde esta semana. El lunes mencionó que podría intentar entrar el QSMP para conocer al nuevo creador coreano Jungryeok, pero no dijo nada definitivo.

[byanyan]

thinking tonight about how byan hasn't ever really travelled anywhere and basically hasn't ever left the city they were born in. like, okay yeah, they did go to south korea to meet their adoptive parents' families once, but they were two and have no memory of it. they don't even realize they've been there, that's how little memory they have of the time. and yeah, they've also been on field trips, mostly back in elementary and middle school, but the farthest those ever went were maybe to a neighbouring city if they were really lucky, and it only ever lasted for a few hours, so does that really count?

they've never been able to leave the city of their own volition and explore another place, never even stayed in a hotel, and that's something they kind of hate because they'd love to see and experience new places. ...and also cause some trouble there but shhhh

[sysig]

Gotta sweep up all this Dust (Patreon)

[dancedance-resolution]

i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

---

Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

---

Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

---

The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

---

The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

---

There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

---

Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

[ragsy]

you don't know what you've got (long unbroken string of video games i pick up with no prior knowledge of them and are absolute bangers all the way through) til it's gone (just had two duds in a row and i'll never love a video game ever again)