#im just a bit more uneven than most so it sticks out in my drawings until i adjust them

[a-sleepy-ginger]

29/7/24

❊✺❂✺❊

Drew a bit

Hot chocolate

Listened to a lot of music

[3liza]

talking about flters and real beauty vs fake beauty and cultural standards etc always makes me think about all the victorian and edwardian novels i read, where the things that people thought about beauty were recorded at length. recently ive been reading a lot of Thomas Hardy (best known for Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure) and there’s so much discussion of the beauty of people, particularly love interests, both men and women. and these writers, and their eras, and the culture of the eras, was of course obsessed with beauty and youth and also artificial beauty (being the eras of the really transformative corsets, not to mention some of the earliest industrialized or modernized beauty products or processes), as all human societies are to a greater or lesser extent in their own ways, but the thing that sticks out to me in reading these books is how beauty is not the singular or even the most important aspect of a person’s overall attraction. if someone has a beautiful face or figure, it is mentioned, but never to the obsessive, fixated extent that physical beauty is isolated from and elevated over all other features in modern american/western culture. there are plenty of protagonists or love interests in these books who are described as not young, or not remarkable, or not pretty, or even ugly or frightening, but nevertheless compellingly sexy and attractive, or simply interesting, or worthy in some way. 

its weird that the cultural consciousness has become seemingly ignorant of non-physical attraction. like that anon that was in my inbox talking about how they were “normal looking’ and therefore “needed” filters in order to “compete” with attractive people. it’s a weirdly mercenary and capitalist view of the social economy, first of all, which absolutely is not zero-sum no matter how badly the social networks want to convince us that it is. but there was never a single mention from that person about their ability to charm or entertain or attract using anything except a fake photo of themselves. wild. im fuckin worried about them! im worried about every young person how has brain worms

when i was about 4 and starting to become aware of how much adults were obsessed with my appearance because i was dainty and blonde and could do a passable shirley temple imitation, my parents gave me a very serious lecture about what physical beauty actually meant: i didn’t work for it (yet, i mean i do a lot of work now as an adult), it was given to me genetically. and someday, maybe sooner or more suddenly than anyone could predict, it would be gone. if accident, illness, or hardship didnt get me, old age eventually would. so with that being a certainty, i had better build a life and a personality on something other than my looks. and i said, ok. every day i get older im more grateful for that advice and the fact i decided to take it to heart instead of trying to gamble on Being Hot for long enough to get job security. which is also a valid career choice but it’s a risky one. always better to have a fallback just in case.

im of an age rn where a lot of women in my peer group are starting to get a very hunted vibe about the impending end of their youth, which is valid. theres nothing foolish about it, its not their fault, theyre not stupid or somehow lacking because this is an issue in their lives. but im noticing that i am significantly less freaked out by, idk, how long ago the 90s were or whatever, because i have been expecting to get old since i was in kindergarten. and i had adults around me who were just like “hey this is what old people look like and what bodies do over time. its not a big deal. everything on tv is fake btw”. i didnt get out unscathed, ive had eating disorders and all sort of weird brain-body problems. 

my advice i guess if i have any is to go outside and really look around you. notice how almost every single woman, and most men, has at least some cellulite, even if its just when theyre sitting down or whatever. notice how everyone has blemishes and zits. most people have some dandruff. if someone is wearing makeup, it’ll be cakey or balled up or smeared or uneven or clumpy even if it’s just a bit. everyone over the age of about 20 will have stretch marks somewhere, even if they aren’t visible except in certain light. i was under the impression i didnt have many until one time seeing a picture of my butt in FULL natural light and finally saw the entire surface of both cheeks was covered in straitions, they just were hard to see most of the time because im the color of drywall and scars tend to be light. it’s really easy to spot hair extensions and wigs and fake nails and fake tans and shapewear once you figure out how to see it. and none of these things take away from someone’s character. 

there’s a strong argument to be made that when corsetry was the norm, no woman was expected to simply be the shape of the corset unless she was actually wearing it. photographs and drawings of women in the 19th and early 20th century were retouched a bit as all photos have been, yes, but they were not retouched to make naked women appear to be corset-shaped. THAT is new. people are now getting surgery to be corset-shaped. and like, i dont think anyone should not be able to look however they want if they want to have that surgery. that is one meaning of cyborg feminism, probably. what i dont want, is for anyone to ever think that’s a normal way to look (except for veryvery tiny mathematical outliers, the Barbie Hips Georg of instagram) WITHOUT surgery or shapewear. which i see a lot now. i saw an instagram fashion designer with a very obviously surgically-altered body answer a question in her inbox about how she maintained her figure with some nonsense about diet and exercise. so now some (probably young) person out there is thinking that if they just do intermittent fasting enough, theyll look like a woman with butt and boob implants, a BBL, fillers, etc. that person probably thinks that if they arent able to diet and exercise good enough, they will fail at looking that way through their own laziness and lack of work ethic or whatever. i see that mindset constantly, especially in young women.

the surgery isnt the issue. the look itself isnt the issue. the filters themselves arent the issue. the issue is that on none of these images, is there an indication of what has been changed or how. the brain damage effect of filters would be lessened, i think, if everyone KNEW which images had been altered and how. so maybe thats the answer? mandatory labeling? i dont know. what’s terrifying is that the average adult human in america cant tell from a glance what has been altered in a photograph, no matter how clumsily, because they simply dont have a template for what a real human looks like anymore. the false images have supplanted the real images, the actual memories of alive humans that you know and have met or lived with. 

if you go into any of the shittier men’s spaces online you will find threads for posting pictures of “beautiful girls”, and it is page after page after page of teenagers in full makeup, hair extensions or wigs, circle lenses, facetuned, bodytuned, surgery, etc, and then hundreds of men yearning and fanning themselves over her “natural beauty”. dont go looking for this stuff, it will permanently fuck you up to know what a basic guy on the bus is thinking about women every day. dont do it

but i also seriously predict a backlash into “natural” looks after this current madness, similarly to how the 1960s saw the rise of the hippie girl with swingin titties, pit hair and no high heels after the consumer beauty madness of the 50s. of course the 60s beauty ideals were in some ways just as fake, but there was some authentic yearning towards a freedom from capitalist bodies as well. so when that happens send me $20: paypal.me/3liza. should be in like the next 4 years or so. thanks

[misora-msby]

night drive

rating : mature

word count : 1.9k

themes : fluff, fwb, mutual pining, implied sex, drug use (alcohol and marijuana)

notes : originally from my ao3, thought i might post it here as well :) // you can kinda imagine this is an au where atsumu’s not doing volleyball in college because this dude would definitely take care of his body better than this as an athlete lmfao

miya 🤢 : “im driving over rn. be ready in 10?”

You grimaced slightly. Atsumu always did this; he’d text late at night, insisting to meet up without giving you much of a choice.

“bitch it’s so late and i literally just finished my assignment gimme a break”

Your reply was read and within a few seconds you received a reply;

miya 🤢 : “Sorry! I’m driving right now and will reply later.”

An annoyed groan escaped you at the use of the automatic reply function. You knew he definitely read the message. It was just like Tsumu to do this.

Throwing on a light cardigan and applying a bit of lip gloss, you grabbed your phone and a little tin box you always brought along on your drives with Atsumu. After stuffing them into the pockets of your sweatpants, you double checked your appearance in the full length mirror by the door. A spray of perfume was used and you slipped on a comfy pair of sneakers before exiting the flat to wait at the entrance of the building.

As promised, Atsumu arrived and you got into the passenger seat of the car. It was a little messy and you had to dust off some crumbs on the seat but it smelt just of him and the cologne he loved to use.

“You gotta stop doing this. Especially the impromptu texting.” you muttered, leaning back in the seat as he began driving.

“But ya always agree to it anyways. And as promised, I never do it on a Tuesday, Friday, or Sunday night, just like ya asked.” he hummed while giving the smirk you hated but loved. And as much as you hated to agree, he was right.

Six months ago, you two had been set up on a blind date with each other by some friends. Miya Atsumu, known as a notorious flirt all his life, and you, a regular student just looking for a change in life. The date itself didn’t go too well but the sex that followed was incredible and so you two had continued with this agreement for the past half year.

And here you were now; on a drive to someplace out of town, a packet of cigarettes to share in the cupholder while the little tin in your pocket contained something a little stronger to smoke. And not to forget the cooler in the backseat which most likely contained at least two bottles of beer.

“Fine… you’re right.” you sighed, crossing your arms as you kept your eyes on the road to try and guess where you two were driving.

“Hey, doll. Light me a cig, would ya?” Atsumu asked. As always, you pulled out the stick of tobacco from the packet and lit it before passing it to him. He took a long draw on it before rolling down the window to breathe it out.

“I don’t get how you’re still so fuckin’ handsome after all the ciggies and drinks you take.” you muttered while taking the cigarette from his hand to have your own draw of it.

“Same goes to you, doll.”

“... T-Thanks.” you muttered while reaching back to grab a beer from his cooler.

Neither of you saw it but there may have been the slightest flush on both of your cheeks.

After that, the drive was silent for half an hour, save for the soft R&B that played and the occasional humming from Atsumu. It was always like this, and somehow the two of you had grown to like it. As much as you complained over and over about it, you enjoyed it. Enjoyed the thrill, the sex, the debauchery, and strangely, the company.

“This place looks good.” his smooth voice hummed while turning into a forest. It was dark and a little scary with how cramped it felt with the towering trees, but your pride refused to let him know that. Plus, you knew you wouldn’t be thinking about it for much longer. He parked his car in a decent spot and unfastened his seatbelt before turning to face you who was just a little drowsy from the beer you had. “There’s a real pretty place I wanna go in there. But first…” Atsumu’s eyes looked darker than ever as he placed a hand on your thigh.

No words had to be said before lips were locked and soft moans were pulled from your lips. It only took a few more seconds before you were both scrambling into the backseat, with him pushing you down onto your back as he grinded his strong hips into your more delicate self. The kiss ensued, though at this point it was hard to call it a kiss as it seemed more like a battle between lips. He groaned softly as he felt your fingers entangle themselves in his blond locks.

The two of you pulled away for a second to gaze into each other’s eyes, dark with lust and passion.

“You taste like beer,” he chuckled while wiping off a little bit of saliva from the corner of your lips with his thumb. His touch was strangely soft, contrasting the way he had kissed you just seconds before.

“Yeah? You taste like nicotine.” you replied with a slight grin on your face. He replicated that smile, a rare sight from him, before resuming your kiss.

* ･ ゜ﾟ ･ * : . ｡ . . ｡ . : * • * : . ｡ . . ｡ . : * ･ ゜ﾟ ･ *

“Think you can walk over to that place I was talkin’ ‘bout?” Atsumu asked while pulling his sweatpants back up.

“Hmm… I don’t know, you were pretty rough tonight. You might have to carry me,” you laughed while putting your own clothes back on.

The man rolled his eyes, though there was the slightest hint of endearing in them as he took the blunt you had half finished smoking earlier and lit it himself, leaning back in the seat a bit. 

As he did so, he glanced over at you - hair messy and strands stuck to your brow from the sweat, your clothes were in a disarray, and marks he had left on your skin covered your neck and collarbones. It gave him a weird feeling to look upon you, like a sort of strange pride. Whether it was because he had given you that messy look, or because he was just proud of you in general, he didn’t know.

“No way, I’m tired too,” Atsumu scoffed and redirected his gaze out of the open window for a second before looking at you. His eyes softened slightly at the pout on your lips before he sighed, “Fine, I’ll do it. Help carry the drinks.”

He opened the door and carefully carried you out in a princess carry before kicking the door shut and beginning to walk. His steps were a little uneven and shaky as he was just slightly intoxicated.

As he carried you, you looked up at him, eyes tracing his sharp jawline and his blond hair. There were bags under his eyes and the scent of sex and everything you two were consuming today mixed into the cologne he wore with his natural scent. Somehow, it was still attractive.

“You’re hot.” The words left you in a whisper without you even realising it. Atsumu looked down and nearly stopped walking for a moment before laughing as he continued to walk.

“You’ve got the weirdest fuckin’ timing. But yeah, I know that.” he replied before setting you down a little later.

“Where are we?” you raised a brow at him, still holding onto his arm.

“Just take a look, would ya?”

Tearing away your gaze from his handsome self to look at the sight before you, you gasped softly.

You stood near the edge of a cliff, just beyond the fence-like barrier, there were paddy fields and the occasional farmhouse providing a small source of light. It was a pretty normal sight, but upon closer inspection, you could see the reflection of the night’s stars in the water of the fields. The twinkling stars shone in pitch blackness, undeterred by the city lights you were used to. The moon looked brighter than ever too. A cool wind blew past your face, refreshing it after the stuffy feeling of having sex in Atsumu’s backseat, carrying the faint scent of spring on it.

“You know, I think being here would feel so much better if I didn’t have your cum in me.”

“Shut the fuck up and enjoy it. You asked for it anyways.”

Atsumu flicked your forehead lightly before pulling you closer to the edge and sitting down on a log, looking out over the fields and up at the sparkling sky.

“Happy 6 months.”

“Tsumu, I don’t think anyone celebrates a fuckbuddy anniversary.”

“Eh, whatever. Fuck and drink buddy.”

“...well uh, happy anniversary!”

“Happy anniversary, doll.”

The two of you looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, slightly dazed expressions on your faces before breaking out into giggles.

“Oh! Right!” you passed him a bottle of beer and opened your own with a spare coin in your pocket. “Cheers!” you clinked your bottle against his before drinking about a third of it.

“Cheers.” Atsumu replied and took his own large gulp of the drink.

You leaned against him the moment he moved the bottle away from his lips. His muscular arm, strengthened by years of playing volleyball made him rather comfortable to lean against. You hummed an unfamiliar tune before sighing in content.

Atsumu looked down at you resting against him. He could get used to this. He realised that lately he had been opting to stay the night after the fun you had together. Whether the time contained pillowtalk or it was just falling asleep in silence, he enjoyed it. Atsumu enjoyed being around you.

You enjoyed it too. People often claimed the blond was an ass but you knew better. There were nights when after you two had sex, the worries of the day or week would catch up to you and you’d end up crying to him. It was awkward at first but he slowly got used to it and eventually would comfort you with food he ordered or a few words of encouragement. (“Yeah it’s that bitch’s fault, go fuck her up.” was probably the most commonly said thing). As the nights passed, you found yourself wanting to spend more and more time with him.

“Hey… the sun’s coming up.” Atsumu said, making you finally look up from your silence. You hadn’t even realised you had fallen asleep on him for a bit. 

As you narrowed your eyes and looked over the fields and fields of crops, you noticed he was right. The first rays of sunlight could be seen peeking over the landscape, bringing light to the sky.

“Woah… it’s pretty.” you whispered in awe.

Atsumu looked over and studied your features for a few seconds. The way your eyes sparkled and was lit by the early morning sunshine, the way your hair bounced just a little as the wind blew, and the way your feet tapped quietly on the dirt in tired excitement. He didn’t want to admit it but he realised he might’ve been falling for you for a while now.

“Thanks for bringing me here. I love it.” you grinned up at him. At the man who you hadn’t realised you had fallen for weeks ago.

“Yeah,” he replied, and in a voice just barely audible to the two of you, he whispered, “and I love you.”

This moment seemed like a perfect time to properly ask you to be his, but he figured he would just let you two enjoy it in silence for a little longer.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off

pairing: lead singer!peter maximoff/bassist!fem!reader

summary: nobody likes the opening band-- except, of course, the lead singer’s secret girlfriend, who just happens to be the headliner.

warnings: smut, oral (female receiving) they fuck on an amp and that stresses me out

notes: you literally cannot blame me for using this song its just so HORNY. also this is almost 1.8k words im Proud. This is a songfic but also at the same time not really (based off of lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off by Panic! At The Disco) 

I dedicate this fic to my dear friend @kitwalkers who’s honestly an icon and you should go check them out

~~~~~~~~~~~

            You could see it in his eyes and the mischievous grin on his face. He sauntered over to the stage, his hips swinging just a bit more than usual. He said something to the drummer before approaching the microphone. His hand slides down the mic stand, his finger caressing the cold metal as he adjusted the high. The opening performance. This was only the opening performance. All you had to do was get through his set and then you could do your own-- you just had to make it through a couple songs. Yet somehow, Peter Maximoff managed to drag out his set as much as possible, his intentions obvious. He was trying to get you worked up before the performance-- Peter had a habit of teasing you before big events. 

            Eventually, the last song rolls around and the end is in sight. His eyes met yours, the dark pupils obviously blown out more than usual. He was either high or horny-- probably both. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, but it lingered for a second, flicking a corner of his mouth before he gave the signal to his bandmates. The bassist had barely played a note but you already recognized the song-- Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off. Your stomach dropped and Peter smirked, satisfaction written all over his face as his queue approached. 

            “Is it still me that makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed? When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you’re sliding off your dress?” His voice is low and sultry, his eyes still locked with yours. His hands move along the mic stand slowly, his actions and the fiery look in his eyes immediately traveling to your core. You press your thighs together and Peter grins. “Well then think of what you did, and how I hope to god he was worth it. When the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch your skin.” Your bandmate leans over to whisper in your ear.

            “He’s, uh, quite the showman,” She chuckles. Her eyes trail upland down Peter’s body and you can’t help but clench your jaw. Sure, no one knew about you and Peter, but that didn’t stop you from getting defensive. 

            “I heard he’s got a girl-- somethin’ secretive.” You add slyly, your eyes not leaving Peter’s. 

            “Lucky gal,” Your bandmate quips. You nod absentmindedly. Peter seems dissatisfied with the loss of your attention, his movements becoming more and more suggestive by the second.

            “Girl I was it, look past the sweat. A better love deserving of exchanging body heat in the passenger's seat-- no, no, no, you know it will always just be me,” He nodded slowly, leaning forward with the mic stand, the long metal pole tipping between his legs. “Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster! Faster!.” Peter tore his eyes away from yours as the bass and guitar blares, his head shaking to dishevel his hair. Peter takes the mic off the stand and begins to move around the stage with more energy than usual, his voice melodic and breathy and so incredibly hot, it makes your bones vibrate. 

            With every strum of the guitar and crash of the symbols, Peter was becoming more and more frustrated. He was hot and sweaty and so horny he felt like he was about to shout-- he was the opener, he was only the opener. He tugged off his jacket, tossing it to the corner of the stage before he returned to singing. He had to get through the song-- just the one song then he could run backstage and jack off in some closet and he’d be fine. You were not helping Peter’s situation; your unyielding gaze and slow gestures making Peter’s jeans feel much tighter than before. Yes, Peter understood he started it-- he chose this song because he knew it would get you going, but Peter did not realize the consequences. He didn’t show it, though. He kept up his smug facade, shooting a wink your way as he began the final chorus. 

            Peter grunted in confusion as you walked away before the end of the song, his eyes following you around the corner. He glanced back at his bandmates as the song closed, allowing them to adjust their instruments and discuss the performance as he sped off. You were standing outside of the venue, the cool winter air soothing your hot skin-- Peter’s appearance startled you. 

            “Why’d you run off, doll? Did ya not like the song?” Peter teased as he pressed his palms against the brick wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you in place. You weren’t necessarily complaining, though; it was nice to have Peter this close. Although you had a feeling he’d get a lot closer in the near future. 

            “Eh, it was okay,” You quipped, a smirk stuck on your face as Peter began inching closer.  “I hope you’re aware that I blow your bass player out of the water; the poor kid had no control over his fingers.”

“Oh yeah?” The silver-haired man leaned close, his lips brushing your ear and his hot breath on your skin as he spoke softly. “Well unlike him, I actually know how to work my fingers.” He drags his pointer finger along your jaw causing a shiver to run down your spine.

            “Prove it.” You purr. Peter hastily pulls you inside the venue and into the first empty room he could find; he was pleased to see that you ended up in the equipment storage closet. He was on you in seconds, his hands gripping your waist as he slammed his lips on yours. You gasp, and Peter takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He grinds against your thigh, a quiet whimper falling from his lips. Frantically, he manages to lay you on top of one of the industrial sized amps in the corner. Sure, if they were to break the both of you would probably owe thousands of dollars, but neither of you cared at the moment. 

            “You’re on in 20 minutes,” Peter says as he nibbles on your earlobe. “I’m sure we’ll make good use of our time until then.” He winked before making his way down your body, stopping at your hips. His hands make quick work of your jeans, tugging the tight fabric off along with your underwear. Peter glances up at you with faux innocence in his eyes before he pulls your legs into his shoulders, his hot breath fanning over your cunt. After what feels like an eternity, he finally jerks forward and buries his head between your thighs and drags his tongue over your clit. You stifle a moan as Peter moves quickly, his lips encapsulating your clit as he plunges two of his fingers inside of you. Peter’s fingers are long and calloused and he curls them in just the right way. Immediately, your fingers are tangled in his hair as you attempt to pull him closer to you. You pull just a bit too hard and a low groan emits from Peter’s lips; Peter can feel you tighten around his fingers every time he moans into you. Your hips jerk forward as Peter speeds up, adding another finger as he does so.  You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood as you spasm around his fingers, a breathy whimper escaping your lips. Peter laps up the last of your juices before crawling on top of you.

            “I’m still not over how good you are at that,” You pant. Peter slams his lips on yours, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth-- you can taste yourself on his lips, but you don’t really mind. “Time?”

            “We got 10 minutes,” You smirk.

            “Perfect.” You shimmy out from below Peter, falling to your knees in front of him. He melts like putty in your hands as you pull off his jeans; Peter’s cock was throbbing and stiff by the time you took it in your hand. He groans, his hips snapping forward in an attempt to get more friction. You press kisses to his lower abdomen, intentionally neglecting his rock-hard dick while doing so. You kiss your way back up his body, chuckling as Peter tries to grind into your thigh.

            “C-C’mon, we’re gonna run out of time.” Peter whines. He quickly repositions himself so he’s on top of you, his hands holding himself up. “You ready, babe?” You nod, and Peter grins.

Peter’s hips snap forward, pushing his cock into your throbbing cunt. He stretches you deliciously, a pleasurable burning sensation spreading between your hips as Peter begins to move. 

            “Fuck-- you’re tight,” Peter huffs, his thrusts becoming quicker and more rhythmic as the time passed. Your nails dig into Peter’s back as he thrusts harder, the sound of his skin slapping against yours filling the small room along with your moans and gasps. Peter pulls your leg onto his shoulder, allowing him to thrust deeper than before.

            “Oh-- fuck, Peter, you feel so good--” That seems to spur Peter on, his head dipping down to meet your lips. He moans into your mouth, your teeth clashing together as your lips move sloppily. The man above you is panting, his hot breath hitting your face as he pounds into you. He’s sweaty, his silver hair sticking to his forehead. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as Peter brushes the spot deep inside of you that makes your toes curl, a strained moan leaving your lips. Peter’s thrusts become uneven and you can tell he’s close-- you are, too. 

            “You gonna come, baby?” You ask, and Peter can only nod. Your hand grapes the back of his neck, tugging him down so you can whisper in his ear. “Come for me, sugar,” He does exactly that, his hips rapidly snapping into yours as he emptied himself inside of you. Peter’s orgasm triggered your own, your cunt tightening around him as you threw your head back. 

            You’re both sweaty and disheveled by the time you both came down from your climaxes, both you and Peter decorated by dark red hickies. You chuckle quickly at Peter’s blissed-out smile, his lips pressing small kisses along your jaw. He whines as you get off the amp and begin pulling on your clothes.

            “Stay with me,” He pleads. You press a kiss to his forehead before you button up your jeans.

            “I wish I could, Maximoff, but I’m on in 5.” You turn to leave, but not before speaking up one more time. “For the record, Maximoff, you were right. You are pretty good with your fingers.”

[ask-joeydrewstudios]

Family Sticks Togehter

@phoena12 submitted: a quick fic i wrote for Angst War 2k18, hope you enjoy!

It had been a peaceful day or as peaceful as the studio could get, the occasional pipe bursting and sending tidal waves of ink in every direction, the sounds of pen scratching onto paper as the widening grin of Bendy takes shape. Sammy had taken to shouting as of late, much to Wally’s and some better un named interns glee, as Bendy plays prank after prank on the poor music director. Their footfalls soon heard as bendy comes screeching out of an ink stained office with a peeved (and soaked) Sammy Lawrence, insults spitting from his mouth. It takes Wally a few minutes to stop his cackling.

Sweet melodies combined with a twirl of angelic singing comb through the halls of the studio, a few employees stopping briefly by the recording studio to catch the sunny tune. Susie making the bass vocals as Alice leads with the main part, the two lost in the joy of it. Jack leans to one side of the recording booth, scanning over the lyrics and hums along to the instrumental parts.

Down below, where memories breathe a little more life than ought to be, sits Shawn, tinkering away with his bendy plushies. A careful eye analysing each and every aspect of the doll he has in hand. Satisfied, he smiles and places the doll down amongst others. A comforting hand is placed on his shoulder as Lacie asks a genial question. Shawn shrugs, stands and gestures at an oil smudged Lacie to lunch. She scoffs but heads for the elevator nonetheless, making a joke that Shawn’s eyes were looking a little green today. He laughs. He usually forgets to take his goggles off.

Several floors above, Joey sketches out various ideas to put forth for the next cartoon strip, various doodles of Bendy pulling pranks or just getting into mischief. Alice being the voice of reason and Boris the lovable antagonist. Notes are hastily scribbled at the sides, some a little indecipherable in his haste to have the picture make sense. He was sure Henry and the others would love them. At least, he think they would if not for the shouting that interrupted Joey’s thoughts. It sounded like Sammy and Bendy were at it again. He heaves a sigh, pushes up from his chair and begins a casual walk out towards the racket. Oh sure, he was gonna give them hell when he caught them but why waste that energy now. Joey waves a hello at passing co-workers.

“I’m gonna ring yer damn neck ya imp!!” Sammy all but screeches.

“Ya gotta catch me first!” Bendy snickers back as he quickly rounds a corner, only to bump into his father figure, Joey.

“I got ya now twerp!” Sammy hollers as he catches up with Bendy and grabs him by the scruff, “oh yer in for it now” Sammy spits. Failing to notice Drew but we’ll just blame it on the fact his face is covered in ink and not the overriding frenzy that has him worked up instead.

“I don’t think that is in your best interests Sammy” Joey speaks up. An audible gulp can be heard as Sammy snaps his neck to meet the cold blue eyed gaze of his boss, dropping Bendy in the process and eliciting an “oww” from him.

There’s a slight pause from both demon and music director before Bendy wraps his arms about Joey’s legs and whimpers a “he started it!” How very convincing and certainly Joey would be had he not had to deal with this same situation time and time again.

“You know damn well you started it ya pest!” Sammy glowers down at Bendy, “he flooded my office again” this he says to Joey, firmly holding his gaze. Joey could have guessed that by the state of his appearance alone.

“That fact is very evident, Sammy, what im most concerned about is the level of noise and destruction (at this he looks pointedly down the hall the two had come cavorting through) that you two have caused”. If looks could kill, Sammy would have dropped dead right there on the floor. “And Bendy” Joey begins with that parental tone that brooks no space for argument, “how many times have I told you not to flood Sammy’s office?”

Bendy idly rubs his forefingers together, a petulant frown showing, “26 times?” he tries but it doesn’t yield any form of a smile from the older man. Bendy gives up his childish act and goes to stand by Sammy, the both of them looking like disgraced children.

“47 actually” Joey sighs out. He wishes Henry were here instead. “Bendy, you’re not allowed in the animation department for the rest of the week”

“What!? But Joey-“Bendy squawks before being cut off.

“No.” it’s harsh but Bendy needs to learn. “As for you, Sammy, your coffee intake will be reduced” that might be pushing it but it’s the only way Joey can really reprimand Sammy.

“Fine…” Sammy grouches, unwilling to fight further on the subject with his boss. He supposed, as well, that he had caused a bit of havoc for the rest of the studio, especially for Wally.

“Good, I shall leave you two to-“

“But what am I meant to do for the rest of the week!” Bendy suddenly pipes up, his hands fisted slightly and looking none too happy about the arrangement made.

“You can draw or you can go play in the other departments” Joey tries.

Bendy grumbles under his breathe, looking about as mad as a dozing kitten, as he stalks off, stomping his little feet every now and then. Sammy nods a curt farewell as he goes to clean himself off. The both of them, Joey concludes then and there, are like spoilt children. Ah well, they would get over it sooner or later and besides, a week wasn’t a long time and Sammy could live without coffee. It might even do his health some benefit.

~~0~~

He was mad.

No!

He was fuming!

He was…he was….what was that word Sammy always used?

Pissed! Yeah that was it, Bendy was pissed as all hell. He’d show Joey, he could find plenty to do without sitting with Henry and watch him draw out each careful line of his beloved cartoon. Nope, Bendy wouldn’t miss the soft scratch of pen to pristine paper, or the gentle mutters of the other animators or the lulling hums of Henry as he zoned out.

Nope!

Nu-uh!

Bendy wasn’t gonna miss any of it. In fact it would do him wonderfully to get away from such a dull place. Think of all the pranks he could pull on everyone else! Oh, Joey would regret this decision. Not that Bendy ‘cared’.

Except his plans hadn’t, well, gone according to plan at all.

Wally had caught on to all of Bendy’s pranks and even alerted the rest of the studio to any other of his shenanigans (the gall!), so pranks were swiftly thrown out the window.

Even Alice and Susie wouldn’t put up with him. They had welcomed him into their conversation but the little demon soon lost track or sense of the conversation and after asking the 40th or so question pertaining to “why a guy’s butt looks good in dress pants, compared to overalls”, both women had kicked Bendy out of the conversation. If you asked Bendy, guy’s butts looked better in skirts!

And Lacie and Shawn were no help either. Lacie pretty much kept Bendy at an arm’s length whilst she worked on some mechanical thing and when Bendy had inquired as to what it was she was working on (and god did he ever regret that question) she had shown him a metallic doll that looked like him.

Except it was missing its eyes.

And some of its teeth had fallen out.

Oh and there was oil coming out of its eyes which was not ok?

Bendy had promptly fled the room screaming and hid beneath a stack of dolls.

Another dire mistake because today was filled with those apparently.

Shawn just had to pick him up out of the stack and Shawn just had to stick a needle dangerously close to his eyes. To Bendy’s amusement, Shawn did scream when finding it to be the real him but, you know, having a needle that close to your eye?

That’s not such an amusing thing.

So, Bendy had booked it outside the studio and yes, he was always told never to go outside the studio but the place was beginning to get too stifling and the fresh air and cooling wind felt good. The sky was blue with thick fluffy clouds, like out of a picture book. It was serene. Nice. Bendy inwardly thanked Joey for giving him a reason to go outside. What Bendy failed to know was that for a toon, stepping outside was a death wish.

He didn’t hear their footsteps or their murmured voices, only the flash of a camera and the shocked cries of humans. He didn’t recognise the voices. He didn’t recognise their faces either. Oh but they recognised him for sure.

Bendy had darted back into the studio, the people shouting and causing an uproar now. They banged against the door. His heart fluttered once and then began an uneven beat. Fast and unrelenting. Oh god, what did he do?

With tears welling in his eyes he runs to the one person who could sort out this mess.

Henry.

He knows, he shouldn’t go anywhere near the animation department, the building anxiety of Joeys disappointed features tearing at the young toons heart. Bendy felt as if he would burst.

As he reaches Henry, he’s a crying mess, ink and tears dripping heavily to the floor. No doubt a puddle would form. Henry is instantly on his knees.

“Hey,hey, what’s wrong buddy?” with a soothing tone that has Bendy bawling even more, the other animators coming to see the ruckus.

It hurts. It hurts so much because bendy is crying and sobbing and begging. “Im sorry, im sorry” and “please forgive me Henry” over and over again. His voice goes hoarse and cracks and god, does he feel like he’s gonna burst. There’s too many people and as Henry picks up his shaking form, Bendy burrows his face into his shirt, staining it in tears and ink.

~~0~~

The next day is even worse when the newspapers arrive. A picture of Bendy standing just outside the studio door, a soft and surprised look on his face, on the front page. He cries as Joey stares blankly at the page, eyes widening as he reads each word.

“Drew studios conducting experiments?” one reads.

“Famous star, Bendy, seen outside Drew Studios in freak photo!” another states.

And on and on such titles go, the wonder and mostly horror, at the favoured cartoon being alive.

It was a scandal to be sure.

The studio is silent that day, nobody works.

Henry holds Boris close, as Susie links hands with Alice. The silence a sharp and stabbing pain.

Bendy resigns himself from the chatter but Joey picks him up and holds him close.

“We’ll figure this out” he promises. Bendy cries and hopes that he does.

~~0~~

He’s not sure how many days have passed now.

The newspapers have grown less restive and in response to the heated media, the public takes a stand and protest outside of Drew studios.

It’s horrible and noisy and it’s all his fault.

Bendy doesn’t cry anymore. Just weak shudders and the occasional whimper.

Alice had yelled at him. Screaming. Throwing her hands about in wild gesticulation. Then she had stormed off and Bendy hadn’t seen her since. Susie assured him that she had calmed down but knew that wasn’t the case. Alice would never forgive him. She would hate him forever.

The thought was a punch to the gut.

Intern after intern had been laid off too, seeing as the mobs were getting rowdy and demanding entrance to the studio. Someone had been hurt, a long and nasty gash down their head. Bendy could still smell the blood.

Joey had even taken an interview stating that there were no living toons and such an idea was foolish. Clearly, the public hadn’t believed it.

It was all his fault.

It was all his fault

It was all his fault!

Hisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthi-

Well-toned arms had picked him as impossibly more tears slipped down his broken features, swaying him back and forth and murmuring soft words.

Henry.

Henry was here and standing at his side was Boris and Joey, both looking worried and aged beyond their years. Alice appeared from nowhere and placed a reassuring hand upon Bendy’s quivering self, a small smile telling she had forgiven him.

“Oh, Bendy…” Henry begins, softly, “no more tears, we’ll figure this out, ok?”

“b-but I… I hurt everyone…” Bendy hoarsely whispers, his eyebrows drawn tight and lip quivering.

“Ya certainly caused a mess, imp, but were used ta cleaning up yer messes” Sammy chips in, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I think ya mean I’m more used ta it, I’m the janitor ‘ere” Wally quips as he shrugs past Sammy. Sammy rolls his eyes in response.

“Oh would you two stop! The boy is clearly upset!” Lacie scolds from the end of the hall, her boots thudding as she makes her way to the growing group, Shawn trailing behind.

“We’re in this together” Alice murmurs as she rests her head on Henry’s shoulder.

“A family that works together, sticks together, is what I always say” Joey supplies, hands on his hips in a triumphant manner.

“Since when have you ever said that?” Susie drawls, earning a few snickers.

“W-well, just now!” Joey replies indignantly. Everyone giggles.

A family that sticks together, huh?

Yeah, Bendy had a whole family at his back that loved and cherished him.

Everything would work out in the end.

((OHH IT STARTED OUT REALLY CUTE BUT THEN GOT REALLY SCARY IN THE MIDDLE AND GOT CUTE AGAIN,,,, i love that... thats some Good Stuff. and they’re a family. they’re calling each other family. ohhhhhh my weakness, my biggest weakness-- thank you for the fic!! ; o ;))

[moosecustomizations-blog]

Its all in the twist

So I decided to make a tumblr. Maybe its the paint fumes getting to me but since I’m not really working on YouTube content any more, I wanted a place to kind of just talk about what I’m doing. Also since I’m a quote-unquote artist now it seemed like the proper thing to do since the only good art I’ve seen on the internet has come from here. That and horribly designed pages that take 85 clicks to get to the actual content. Let’s just call my previous experience with tumblr as “mixed” and move on.

So I mentioned being an artist earlier. Well unfortunately while I have always appreciated art and loved doing it casually, I have absolutely no talent whatsoever. Like seriously look at my logo. Its from years ago but it still looks like shit but its the best I could do. Drawing, sculpting, making fancy pancakes that look like pokemon, I can’t do any of that. But where I lack technical talent, I make up in understanding and feeling. Not that emotional bullshit; but rather I have a knack for knowing not only what looks good or bad but also the nuances behind WHY it looks good or bad. So I’m more like a judge of art than an artist. Arrogance at its finest.

However recently I realized that I can take that understanding and apply it to my art, and holy shit I can actually make something that doesn’t look like autism incarnate! I wanted to start flipping video games and came upon a very sad looking gamecube as one of my first flips. Pretty sure the guy I bought it from immediately bought meth with the money I paid him but hey it was a fucking phenomenal deal. 

I took that little gamecube home and cleaned him til he almost sparkled. I spent about 8 hours cleaning dirt, stickers, possible excrement and dead bugs out of this gamecube and enjoyed every minute of it. But even with my ludicrous time investment into something as worthless as a crappy old gamecube I still wasn’t satisfied. 

Poor Jorge (that’s the gamecube’s name) still had many battlescars that, despite my best intentions, I could not get rid of. Even cleaned I knew that nobody would want him, he wasn’t hardly worth the shipping it would cost to sell him. So I decided to make a great sacrifice and attempt...ART. The only way I could truly make Jorge presentable again was with a fresh coat of paint. But not black like he had been all his life, but beautiful bright RED. Seriously how did Nintendo not make a red gamecube officially? It seems so obvious. 

Being the self appointed judge I am though, I knew that most attempts at painted peripherals looked like shit. Overly glossy, uneven hand painted designs, sprayed on stencils, horrible color choices. So many good intentions, very few successes at least at the amateur level. I was determined to not let Jorge become one of those rejects. So I began to research and learn. I had officially become a student of the arts.

Scrapping the idea of a paintbrush entirely, the obvious best way to paint Jorge that didn’t involve any voodoo hydro-dipping magic was to spray paint him. Ejecting a high speed cloud of paint and hoping it lands on what you are aiming at seems precisely the kind of painting I could accomplish since it didn’t involve any fine motor skills. But it did require technique, and could go very wrong very quickly. I didn’t want to reimagine the gamecube or paint the Mona Lisa’s ass on the top, I just wanted him to look nice and red, and in the end that was/is the secret to my success: simplicity. I chose paints based on what I thought would not only give me a good color but also give me a realistic tone. Why is everyone obsessed with shiny gloss? High gloss looks like shit, and lasts a week; that’s why nearly every gaming that still looks good to this day has had a matte finish. And so would Jorge.

Squatting over a box on my back porch, I nervously went through the process of painting Jorge. Primer>Primer>Paint>Paint>Clear Coat>Clear Coat. I couldn’t believe it, Jorge looked brilliant. 

He had a nice, matte finish that closely resembled the original Gamecube’s look. Granted the paint wasn’t completely even and I was a bit more passive during the painting process than I probably should have been but he looked like something unique and proud. And not the kind of unique and proud that makes your parents embarrassed to acknowledge your existence to their friends. Jorge went from abused and abandoned to a glorious representation of what a man and a can are possible of. 

For the first time outside of YouTube I felt like I had accomplished something artistically that wasn’t in the A-for-effort category. By keeping Jorge simple and sticking to the original design scope of the gamecube, I had come up with a winning strategy that suited both my skill level and my standards. So naturally I had to do more.

That’s where this tumblr begins. In the time between now and Jorge’s redemption I’ve purchased another 5 GameCubes that are all being painted in unique styles, investigated into decaling (which is a bitch and is preventing my AWESOME Pokemon themed cube from being done), set up partnerships with upcoming gaming events to present/sell them locally, and made an etsy shop to take commissions. Seriously go commission one, it would make my day, I’ll even name it for you, no extra charge. Basically its become my life, outside of, you know, regular people stuff like going out at night, working, and finishing my degree. I even have a painting shed now that ensures I increase my risk of cancer 10 fold every time I step in there. So follow me on my journey to not only become tumblr artist #9384839, but also someone who isn’t going to accept pity praise as an acceptable level of artistic quality. Because for the first time I feel like a real artist, and won’t accept anything but the best out of myself considering how critical I’ve been to others.

This is the part where I come up with something meaningful that ties back to the title involving twisting the idea of what constitutes good art to something that doesn’t involve precise wrist movement. Seriously I had a plan here but its 4am so Im bailing on that.

[redesigningthemundane]

Making Process

This was the first experiment I did before I began anything. I was experimenting how a pre-made clay tile would react with stoneware slip. The workshop only had stoneware slip but didn't have any stoneware clay, so I was curious to see if it work. Except when I dried, the slip began to crack because it didn't stick. If it did work it meant it would save me time having to make everything from scratch. Im glad however that it didn't work out, because I learnt tips and procedures that will most likely be useful throughout my university years and later.

This is the equipment I used to make my tile from scratch. I looked at youtube videos to find a way to make my tile but I ended up using an old container I had to mould it. I believe the clay I used was earthenware but it didn't say. I used the knife to cut out my clay from the block and the ruler was used to smooth and sharpen the shape of the tile. It was obviously also used to measure it’s dimensions. 

At the beginning I thought I had removed too much, but I realised I had to use some to create some slip anyways.... I still cut out too much. Next time I will remember to measure the amount I used for future reference.

This was the outcome of my attempt to make tile. I was quite happy and pleased with how it turned considering I had never made a clay tile before. Did i underestimate the difficulty of this? Hell yes I did. It took a lot longer than I thought, because I didn't take into consideration that I had to refine and smooth it out. It also made me realise that pottery is very particular and requires a lot of skill to make a polished and aesthetic object. It can be seen that the tile isn't entirely flat, and on the bottom there were still lines from where the clay was attached together. 

Before I could begin my surface treatment I had to make my slip - liquid clay that is used to decorate ceramic objects while also protecting it and making and stronger. Again, I used youtube to find a process to make it, and I was successful but unfortunately they didn't provide any measurements so I had to experiment myself. I was quite proud of myself because I made a really smooth consistency the first go, BUT I forgot to write my ratios down...TWICE! That’s okay, another lesson learned for the future. 

I began drawing out the basic outline of my pineapple. Once it was done I had found a few minor errors. 1) it was off centre and 2) it just looked too plain. So I added the shape of the spikes in the background to give some more jazz. It looked real dodgy but I thought I would continue with it anyways because drawing is a bit different to painting, especially painting with slip. This was my beginning and I just couldnt decorate it fine enough and it was stressing me out so I thought I would start again and do something else. I painted over it with slip and let it dry.

After a lot of thinking and wasting the slip I subconsciously came up with this design and though the thick and uneven application of the slip was quite beautiful. It reminded me of crashing waves and so I thought I would retreat back to my original idea of the wave motif and continued with this. I left it to dry and continued to added the same type of layers.

I noticed when the slip was drying it had small air bubbles in it. This made me realise that the slip must not have been blended properly and air must have slipped through. In the videos I watched they used electric mixers but due to a low budget and being afraid of ruining my nan’s tools I used a thick dowel and mixed it in various motions extremely quickly. I am still determined to figure out what made it like this.

My nan then suggested to add some colour to the pattern as it looked real boring. I came up with the idea of mixing some food colouring in as it is a type of dye and it successfully worked.

I experimented with a marble effect however when i applied it with a brush it faded. I contemplated pouring it, but the form was not thick enough to still hold its structure with the slip’s thick consistency. So I just applied the slip the same I did previously.

A lot of food colouring was required to make the colour but when it was added it seemed to have faded quite a bit. There was still evidence of the previous layer but I liked it because it added some depth to it. When it dried it had faded even more and some aspects of the test were almost translucent, As shown below.

The design was not bold enough so Trent suggested to think more about making a more psychedelic pattern next time or making the slip thinner to do so. I thought I would give it a crack and try it out.

I made the colour a lot darker because it fades when it dries. I also added more food colouring but didn't mix it in so I could make that marbly pattern again. So far it was successful. When I poured it it damaged the form. I didn't like it and I tried replacing the form but it didn't look at pretty. I wish I didn't try it but I liked it when it was wet. I added food colouring directly to the tile and played with it then and there was a nice mixture of tone in there.

When it had dried the food colouring had ran and looked like a big stain. I think that was because both the slip consistency and dye was really thin and there was not much for it to stick to. Next time I may try applying the food colouring once the slip was a bit drier. At the same time however, I think it wouldn't be able to be manipulated as nice as the slip may be damaged if its dry.