#just the ones in the greenhouse

[simgerale]

they returned from vacation to see the season's first snowfall ❄

[wyvernity]

sss day my favorite national holiday WOOOOHHHH

bonus

[oozeandgoo-art]

This is (vertically) pretty long; the rest is under the cut to save your dash.

Haven is a lot of things. An effective communicator isn't one.

This is very much intended to be Taran retelling the story of the time this happened to someone else, given the eight-thousand anachronisms and the level of comfort Taran has in talking to Haven. It's so specifically anachronistic in such a specific "I'm telling you a story and I don't want you to get bogged down in the inconvenient details" way that it got me to write 6000 words (and counting) of a stupid wip so I could justify this existing.

Bonus notes: Haven is specifically pretending to be asleep because he doesn't want to talk about the mess in the kitchen. Taran isn't remotely annoyed about that but he would like for next time Haven to come downstairs and say hi instead of putting on a shirt and then pretending to be asleep again.

[londondungeon2]

omfg it’s almost midnight here and i have to get up for work at 5 AM but let me compose at least some of my thoughts …

ok idia x robot girl! reader … hear me out 🥺

someone he creates to cure his loneliness of companionship in a tender way that ortho just cannot do; ugh i’m imagining a plain head just sitting on the desk, stripped down to the metal and skinless; him asking which eye color you like the best until it lands upon yours;

the midnight conversations as he builds a body; the pining from the reader (is it actual pining or are you just scraping the edges of desperate self perseverance so he doesn’t trash you like the other models); kind of dream-like transition between adding each body parts (like imagine yourself lying in a tub of ink — cheeks, nose, lips, a slight peel of your forehead visible — and eventually it all drains down as more and more body parts are added);

the first very touch of human flesh upon you; the cracked polystyrene blinks that you give with twitchy eyelashes; you siphon your romantic tendencies between a messy mélange of gritty 18+ hentai and victorian romance novellas; idia pours his damned and tormented soul into making you perfect for him and you pour yourself willingly into the image, designed just for one man <3

past midnight edit:

BRUH TO THIS SOnG

yeah to this fuckin banger

((past midnight edit again: there are really only two ways you can go with robot main characters: the building process or the robot being oblivious and thinking they are human (Ex Machina or Twilight Zone) i enjoy both sooo much))

[protagonist-art]

"Uh- I'm Arnold. Bennett. It's profoundly difficult to get your lifes works and studies accepted if your name isn't... yes, oh! Are you a fan of moths, sir?"

NEW RDR2 OC!! a reclusive, clumsy entomologist and bug collector; cooped up in his study of uniformed clutter

[widowshill]

— But it's almost midnight. — Oh, that's the point! At the stroke of twelve, he turns into Dracula. C'mon, Vicki – he won't bite.

pose ref.

[sugarhaii]

🥀 Gloomy Nostalgia Moodboard 🥀

this was also made with pictures of my childhood!! i had a lot of darker more spooky pictures as well that didn't fit with the last board so i made this one :3

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to adopt a 3 inch tall Kaneki so I can keep him in a small tank with several hermit crabs for roommates, I’d give him a separate food and water dish and a tall bottle cap to do his business in but I wouldn’t do anything to stop the hermit crabs from knocking it over or stealing his food. He’ll just have to deal with it

[plantanarchy]

My little guys. All 1,000 of them.

I was all emotionally set to pinch them this week but we decided to delay the pinch because it's been excessively hot so now I likely won't have to pinch this first round at all because timing wise it will fall on my day off. My boss applies a plant growth regulatant (florel) 5 days before we chop off their heads (and five days after), which promotes more branching which gives you a fuller plant in December.

But also, poinsettia round two is arriving on Monday.

[lususnatura]

burgeon employing 'natural insect hunters' which essentially means animals like bluebirds, as well as owls + frogs to control the amount of pests in his garden (which is honestly a HUGE place and has a spiral staircase + this is where you will find it most of the time) because he refuses to use pesticides is honestly... kind of iconic of him when you don't think about all of the atrocities it has committed JSJSJ i mean, because there have been studies done to show that they negatively affect other thing's besides insects themselves, such as the soil of the plants you are putting it on itself and non-target plants along with other creatures.

so you better bet that blamore has some thing's inside his garden that attracts these animals and he treats them kindly. and now that i've mentioned it, i suppose his appreciation for nature is one of the better qualities that blamore possesses — though i think it's bitterness towards humanity in general has still very much left him feeling lonely, and just having the occasional animal as company is not sustainable for it. which i think is part of why blamore has forged a bond with nico morselli because he is one of the few people who he can trust will not cringe at the sight of it / think less of it because he is vastly different from the person he used to be.

[mildmayfoxe]

photos from home 12.26.23

[tewwor]

open starter — mutuals & nonmutuals — resident funcle of the marked ... which means he's usually the first to call when one of them are in trouble and/or mean

"Oh dear.." It's all Seojun can bring himself to say once he sees the state of things. A hand loosely covers his mouth as he stares for a moment longer. "What happened?"

[gloombog]

i have been on the brink of mental collapse for a concerning amount of time at this point and it feels like how the west coast has been due for an apocalyptically massive earthquake for years now and we're all just sitting around waiting for it to hit except in my brain and i feel like a sitting duck ticking time bomb etc i am so unwell and woefully unmedicated this just sucks dude. idk what to do except wait for it to happen but then what. LOL!

[giddlygoat]

eight hours | the stanley parable fic 

[ 2527 words • fluff, could be seen as ship or platonic • oneshot; may be continued ] 

stanley’s tired. he just wants to get a good night’s sleep. the narrator eventually obliges, even if he doesn’t fully understand stanley’s desire to lay unconscious for eight hours. 

…

“stanley, what in the world are you doing?” 

usually, the narrator could wait patiently for stanley to leave his office before beginning their new run. he would use this short period as a sort of mental refresher, preparing himself for the adventure ahead and taking a moment of quiet to himself. stanley always left eventually, often in moments, but something was holding them up. he had seemingly crawled under his desk with his back to the corner in a curled up position that could only be so comfortable. 

“are you feeling unwell? you’ve been laying there for nearly half an hour now.” the narrator recognized the similarities between stanley’s display and general human tendencies regarding sleep, although he had not seen him asleep very often at all. he knew for a fact that stanley didn’t even require sleep. 

stanley only shifted slightly, adjusting the arm folded under his head. he made no effort to explain himself, or address the narrator at all, for that matter. 

“well, as long as you’ve not contracted some sort of deadly virus or something, i suppose i can’t stop you from sleeping my precious time away.” 

stanley’s face crinkled up just slightly, just for a second. the narrator felt a small zip of amusement through him. “yes, i suppose i should leave you to it. not like we have anything better to be doing right now… like exploring the surprise i made for you.” 

stanley did not perk up as the narrator had expected. that was strange; he was certain telling people that there’s a surprise to look forward to was supposed to be a sure way of getting their attention. 

“i said,” the narrator cleared his throat for emphasis. “you’ll miss your special surprise.” 

stanley burrowed his head deeper in his arms, as if that could block out the disembodied voice. 

the narrator sighed in exasperation. “come on, stanley, work with me here. is the mystery not enticing enough for you? what about i drop hints, or we play a game of hot and cold?” 

stanley did not move. at this point, the narrator knew very well that stanley would not be able to ignore him enough to fall asleep, and he deduced that his protagonist was simply ‘playing dead’ in the hopes that the narrator would get bored and flit off as if he had better things to be doing. 

the narrator almost chuckled at the notion. he would not break that easily. 

“look, stanley - i will be straight with you. i’m not going to stop pestering you until you leave that office. i really do have a surprise for you, something new - i really think you’ll love it! but you’re going to have to move in order to actually enjoy it.” a small prick of anxiety made itself known within the narrator. even when stanley didn’t cooperate, he would always move eventually. there had never been a time that the narrator was unable to motivate stanley to move eventually, either by persuasion, reverse psychology, or brute force annoyance. 

yes, he was sure of it. stanley had never stopped moving for more than an hour or so, and even on this rare occasion, it was with some purpose or goal in mind. something in the narrator’s subconscious urged him to reassure this thought thoroughly. 

stanley sighed, sluggishly rolling his head so that an eye emerged from his pillow of arms. he blinked slowly at nothing. 

“erm… please?” it felt awfully silly to say, and the narrator decided right then that he didn’t particularly enjoy it. 

however, it seemed to convince stanley. he sighed, crawled out from under his desk and stretched out, using his chair for balance. 

“yes! i promise you will not-“ 

[i want to sleep.] stanley signed. he had an air of determination about him. though, the narrator wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen him without that hard-headed aura. 

“sleep? why on earth would you desire to exercise the most boring of human functions?” 

stanley paused for a moment to consider whether or not this even counted as ‘earth’ before deciding that topic was a can of worms he wasn’t ready to open. he also decided that pointing out that sleep could actually be fun and fascinating among a dozen other pleasant side effects probably wouldn’t be useful, considering who he was talking to. 

so instead, he signed [i’m tired.]

the narrator scoffed. “no, you’re not. that’s physically impossible; i didn’t even code natural fatigue into you to begin with.” 

stanley grimaced. he wasn’t sure how to respond to that, especially not with the newfound bitter taste in his mouth. 

“if you’re just bored of the content so far, then i just offered you a solution. the surprise, remember?” 

stanley ground his teeth slowly, weighing his options. the narrator was not understanding him. this was a kind of bone deep, all-consuming exhaustion that had been due for a long, long time. his body didn’t have to ache for his mind to feel like a wet paper bag stuck to a parking lot. he was simply at his limit. 

but, he also didn’t have a lot of options. 

[if i come with you, will you let me sleep afterwards?] stanley was unsure of how to explain himself. despite the justification for anger in his situation, he felt nervous more than anything. he was desperate - he’d take what he could get. 

“sure, you can take a nap after you see the surprise.” 

stanley pinched the bridge of his nose. [no. i mean a deep sleep.] 

there was a very loud, very brief moment of silence. “…for how long?” 

stanley almost laughed. if he hadn’t already been dealing with this crap for so long, he might not have believed that he was bargaining the number of hours he got to sleep with some ignorant prick in the ceiling. 

[a night’s sleep. like eight hours.]

the narrator whistled, and stanley swore he heard the gentle shift of a rolling chair on the floor. “eight hours? that’s quite a lot, stanley. i’m not sure if i can swing that.” 

stanley made no effort to hide the obvious irritation on his face. [yes you can. you’ve swung harder for much less.] 

“well, what am i supposed to do for eight hours? i don’t exactly have a surplus of protagonists laying around at my disposable. i assure you, if i did, i would have given up on you ages ago.” 

[thanks.] stanley rolled his eyes. 

“gratitude is not the appropriate response here, stanley. that was a dig at your insufferable nature and reckless attitude.” 

stanley might have signed something in response if his hands weren’t busy holding his head. he drug them down his face, groaning in frustration. [please, let’s just get this over with.] 

“wonderful!” the narrator clapped. “right this way, stanley.” a familiar yellow arrow appeared on the floor before stanley, snaking through a newly opened door. the smile in his voice was back. stanley wished he had something to smile about too. 

“you won’t regret this. i made this just for you, you know.” the narrator continued to hype up the surprise stanley tried not to get his hopes up about. knowing the narrator, it was probably something underwhelming and useless, like another mostly infinite hole or a new closet. 

stanley followed the adventure line in no hurry. he allowed himself to fantasize about something beautiful and gratifying. the narrator occasionally rattled on about all the effort that went into this spectacular mystery gift, and how brilliant it was, and how ecstatic stanley would be upon seeing it. 

stanley imagined a stretching, open field surrounded by a horizon of trees and distant green hills. wind tickled his ears and sunshine kissed his face as he walked in the direction of his choice. no limits, no rules, no voice. 

the sluggish pace he progressed at did not escape the narrator’s notice. it either meant he was simply savoring every delicious moment of suspense or he wasn’t excited about his surprise, and something inclined the narrator to believe it was the latter. 

yes, upon closer inspection, stanley didn’t look happy at all. it then struck the narrator quite suddenly that stanley’s claims of tiredness from earlier were starkly evident on his features. he really did look exhausted. 

the narrator contemplated his surprise. perhaps the new closet he had cooked up would not please stanley as he had previously hoped. he knew stanley loved closets - there was no doubt about it, but he just didn’t seem to be in a closet exploring kind of mood. 

well, they were only paces from their destination now. the narrator had to act fast. 

“erm, hold on, stanley.” 

before stanley rose a brick wall, haphazardly slapped in last second. stanley took a step back, scratching his head. 

“let’s see… hold on, i just have to make a few minor adjustments. i realized my design wasn’t quite perfect and i really should present you with only the best.” the narrator hummed absentmindedly as he hastily constructed a new room in the closet’s place, digging through assets and arranging everything just so. 

stanley yawned slowly, unaffected. 

“right… there we go! sorry about that, right this way.” the narrator lowered the brick wall once more, and stanley followed the adventure line down to the end of a forgettable hallway. the door at the end was a deep green. stanley had to admit, the new splash of color was easy on the eyes. 

“well, what are you waiting for? go on,” the narrator urged stanley inside, anxious to see his reaction. stanley sighed, mentally preparing himself for disappointment. he twisted the knob and stepped inside. 

“oh, isn’t it just beautiful?” the narrator said dreamily. 

stanley had to pick his jaw off the floor. it… really was beautiful. he found himself in an expansive greenhouse surrounded by big leafy plants and frosted glass panes on every side. the floor was laid with swirling patterns in red brick and white stones. 

what caught stanley’s eye the most, however, was the enormous bed in the center of the greenhouse. a circular sheer curtain shrouded the bed in a hazy green. stanley was moving towards it before he could think.

“look, i’ve thought about what you said, and i think perhaps… i haven’t been the most accommodating. let me make it up to you.” the sheer curtain rolled back before stanley’s eyes, and he realized the comforter was fashioned to look like a lush moss carpet. he reached out and pet the fluffy surface, unable to believe what he was seeing. it felt marvelous. 

“you can have eight hours in here. oh, and i almost forgot-“ stanley only realized it had been silent when suddenly the sound of rain on the roof swelled around him. he looked at the foggy windows to see the color of the sky had darkened to a pleasant dusty purple. 

“there we go! perfect sleeping conditions. now, wasn’t that surprise worth it?” the narrator waited for stanley to move. he just stayed there frozen, his hand in the shaggy fluff of the comforter. 

“…stanley?” this was unusual. something about the situation inspired a prick of anxiety within the narrator. 

but sure enough, stanley’s taut shoulders softened, his hand retracting from the blanket. he looked around the greenhouse slowly, letting his eyes snag on every little detail among the abundant plant life.

had the narrator really created all of this just for him? just for this occasion? stanley gulped, inhaling deeply. the air felt richer and damper. his eyes stung. 

he didn’t bother signing. he unbuckled his belt, pushing off his slacks, and unbuttoned his shirt enough to pull it over his head and throw it unceremoniously to the floor. then he dove under the covers, eagerly wrapping himself up in the heavenly softness of the comforter. 

the narrator sputtered quietly at the sudden display, clearing his throat. he supposed that was a yes. “well, i suppose i should leave you to it, now.” he said rather awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. 

stanley’s eyes washed over the ceiling, watching the rain patter and roll on the glass above him. he finally worked up the determination to pull his arms out from under the covers once more in order to sign. [what are you going to do?] he asked out of curiosity more than anything. 

the narrator hadn’t expected stanley to say anything after all. to be perfectly honest, he didn’t have a clue. and in the vein of honestly, he didn’t particularly want to leave. he had just put this place together; it would only make sense to stay and admire it. just a bit longer. 

[are you there?] stanley signed after a moment. the narrator realized he had not responded. “ah, yes, of course. uhm… i was actually just contemplating that. i think i rather like this place, and i’m not particularly anxious to leave yet - if that’s quite alright with you.” 

a small smile grew on stanley’s face. the narrator studied it closely. [it’s very nice. thank you.] as if to prove his point, stanley gathered up the bunched up comforter in his arms and snuggled beneath it. the narrator studied this closely as well. stanley looked so… content. he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that. 

“you’re very welcome, stanley.” he smiled despite himself. maybe stanley would finally understand that the narrator had his best interest in mind after this. yes, surely he would take a lesson from this.

somehow, watching stanley burrow into the cozy cocoon of his blanket made the narrator feel inclined to keep those sentiments to himself for now. 

several moments passed by, and stanley’s eyes had closed, the rise and fall of his chest slowing. the narrator had to admit, the sound of the rain was quite relaxing. he knew if stanley wasn’t asleep by now it was only a matter of time, and then it would be eight hours of nothing. 

perhaps the narrator would leave at some point to work on new areas or flesh out his story. but until then, he found that he wasn’t bored. quite the opposite, really. watching stanley sleep was fascinating. seeing him at peace was a rare thing. 

maybe the narrator had been too harsh on him. what good is a protagonist who’s sick of his own story? the narrator toyed with the idea of allowing stanley to visit this place regularly. it could be good for morale, and give the narrator ample time to perfect his new ideas. yes, he would certainly consider it. 

until then, stanley was fast asleep, and the narrator suddenly had no one to talk to. he’d never understood the appeal of sleep, as it just eats up valuable time, but seeing stanley in this state inspired curiosity in the narrator. it looked cozy. he found himself wondering what that might feel like. 

these thoughts would zip through the narrator’s mind as he flitted around his maps, making improvements to his plots here and there. eight hours would pass slowly and quietly, and the narrator found that his pondering kept the inherit bore of it all at bay. 

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

when youre trying to live alone out in your field lab but then these two yahoos follow you out there and now they wont leave????

[whenthegoldrays]

Green Card (1990) is not a particularly good movie, but my god it’s so pretty. Who was the cinematographer. I need them filming my future Mansfield Park adaptation.