#large sign

[archiveofaffinities]

McDonald's, I 90 near Bozeman, Montana, 1985

[cangrellesteponme]

wife

[whipitgod]

sweet god almighty i need to be put down like a broke leg horse

[gothpossums]

me? drawing something lighthearted? must be the end of times

anyways I'm back to my adamscott agenda

[spicyvampire]

Some favorite shots of Phaya's hand on Tharn's face/neck

THE SIGN (2023)

+ Bonus :

[wolves-in-the-world]

the thing about eliot spencer as a character, right. the thing about him.

(and as always your mileage may vary on my analyses so if we disagree that's cool actually)

is that he is in fact a somewhat emotionally constipated idiot who is occasionally sensitive about his perceived masculinity and gets defensive about emotional intimacy around other men (largely hardison, who's much more comfortable expressing affection and embracing a softer kind of masculinity), but eliot displays enough emotional awareness and sensitivity and respect for women etc etc that anyone who's been subjected to that era of television will put on rose-tinted glasses without even looking twice.

(and he is, don't get me wrong, incredibly emotionally aware for a professionally punchy guy with enough trauma to sink the titanic. it still startles me to see.)

on top of which we have the layers and the accessories and the excellent hair with the secret braids and the way he barely has an ego and he's good with kids and protective of his team without taking it too far, and some of us never stood a fucking chance.

[care666bear]

[shiftythrifting]

[serpentface]

Brakul Red-Dog was a decidedly handsome man, though soft featured and fishbelly pale in complexion. He was tall and thickly muscled, with a heavyset wrestler’s build that spoke to years of bodily conflict between hard labor and good eating. His hair was a striking orange-blonde, which he always kept shorn close to the scalp. His brows, beard and mustache were darker in color, bushy but well-trimmed and fastidiously maintained. He always spoke slowly and with great care, less for Wardi being his second language and more for the gap between his front teeth that would whistle, rather embarrassingly, were he not careful. He was born of the Hill Tribes, specifically a clan of farmers and cattle drivers on the north side of the Erubin river valley. If Brakul's hair and accent wasn't enough, his tattooing made these heathen origins abundantly clear. Trailing down beneath each deep brown eye was a vertical line bordered with four dots apiece. His upper arms were braced with alternating banded patterns of lines, dots, and square whorls. Most eye-catching was on the left of his broad chest, where a figure of a dog seemed to bound majestically over his nipple.  Brakul would often be seized by a nostalgic melancholy in drunkenness and set about explaining his markings to his Wardi compatriots, tracing over his skin and identifying each point in his slow, deep voice. His arms and face, apparently, contained exhaustive detail about his family tree; fathers and grandfathers and brothers and brothers-in-law and uncles and great-uncles and second cousins and so on. The nuances of how some circles and rectangles could do so always eluded Janeys.  The dog was fresher, the ink black where the rest faded blue-gray, and its meaning simpler. It was a bit of a bitter joke, a nod to his war name ‘Red-Dog’. Apparently, his people would tattoo the symbol of their clan's name over the heart upon final initiations into manhood. Brakul never got the chance, given he’d left his brothers, wife, and child for foreign causes and a foreign lad, and as such had been thoroughly disowned. The dog was the only name he had left. Janeys knew of people who oh-so-creatively derided Brakul as ‘Haidamane’s dog’ and chinmachen based on this. These were, of course, absolute fucking morons. Anyone with half a brain and the barest observational skill would know the man was completely and utterly ganmachen, ox-faced by both temperament and birthsign. Hardy in nature, placid and quiet under most circumstances, stubborn to a fault, and dangerous when pressed.  It was Janeys who was born under the dog stars, though this he kept secret, implying himself to be his dear Faiza’s twin when asked. The two of them looked much alike after all, and were born just over a year apart. It took only this small, harmless exaggeration to claim her far more auspicious birthsign as his own, which was well worth the risks of dishonesty. Janeys had enough problems - and more than enough scathing epithets - without the addition of ‘bitch-faced’ to his good name, thank you very much.

Janeys' POV introducing Brakul Red-Dog, himself, and (loosely) the Wardi zodiac system

[flowerscentedartist]

Killer: Apparently the normal houshold quantity of chocolate is 80 punds.

Dust: Really? Who made that descicion? Error?

[bamsara]

are you actually cancelling the shipment of the new laptop or was that a joke?

It's a joke but. What if I did auuugh

Making big purchases like this give me anxiety to a heavy level because low key I feel like I'm wasting money and that I don't need it because Arson, even though he's clearly not meant to last a lot longer in that shell and is corrupting and losing files, is still booting up and therefore I feel like I've done this 'too early' and that I don't deserve to get the new pc

Like I KNOW I need it and it will help me immensely but. You know

[literallyjusttoa]

Left this abandoned in the drafts (which is a bit ironic) but it's a spin on this post, where instead of Apollo just being locked in some room on Olympus somewhere, he's bound to the ruins of an abandoned Ancient Greek city. Maybe somewhere near Delphi, maybe Troy, idk.

[reddieswift]

on today's episode of small details from the IT book that are extremely important to me, LOSERS CLUB HANDWRITINGS ARE U KIDDING

[freethrows]

🚲

[cjoat-boost]

This is a Medium Friend Link of the article; so you can read through completely without being blocked by a paywall. @my-autism-adhd-blog @autisticadvocacy

IMPORTANT AWARENESS UPDATE:

@a-captions-blog

[psqqa]

okay but if we’re going to go with theatre major phoenix we need to go full fucking theatre major phoenix

like he shows up in germany the first time like “if there’s time for it i’d love to catch a show while i’m here, germany has such a vibrant theatre scene”.

and edgeworth's like “absolutely we can make that happen, i believe there’s a major schiller production running at the moment and it should have english surtitles”.

and phoenix is like “oh yeah no i’m sure it’s really solid but actually there’s a shakespeare production i’m interested in”.

edgeworth is like “okay odd choice for someone supposedly interested in the german theatre scene, but yeah who can say no to shakespeare". but they get there and it turns out it's this like peak weird experimental avant-garde german theatre production of coriolanus that’s set in a bdsm club. for like four hours edgeworth keeps looking over at phoenix like “what in the actual fuck is happening right now right now” but no matter what is happening onstage, phoenix just keeps watching it intently, finger pressed to his lips, the same pensive furrow to his brow that he gets in court when listening to testimony.

but afterwards when they're sipping their after-show aftercare tea in the lobby phoenix is waving his arms all over the place as he's like “SUCH an effective use of consent! the way they just continually wove it into everything. the almost brechtian emersion it created. the way it laid bare the underlying themes around consent of the governed. and then tying that in with the obvious angle of the performative masculinity of militarism and an audience that demands to be played to, and drawing the comparison between that and both bdsm AND theatre itself. an obvious comparison of course, but SO well done! just wow!"

and edgeworth who still hasn't quite managed to process anything beyond that first moment when coriolanus walked onstage in full leather daddy get-up and has a white-knuckled death grip on the after-show aftercare blanket wrapped around his shoulders just nods weakly and croaks out a vague “i'm glad you enjoyed it”

like he's gotta be into weird and experimental theatre. he can't have been a theatre major and NOT be into weird and experimental theatre. sure he'll go see the schiller production and enjoy it, but bdsm coriolanus is what gets his Theatre Kid blood pumping, y'know.