#machine sailor

[mickmundane]

A series of Mann vs Machine 10th class doodles from late October-early November 2023... Love these robots

Courierbot/Bronco - @sicc-nasti

+ Bonus sketch (c. June 5) for a fuller piece I want to make eventually

Sailorbot/Bonnie - @duskgryphon

PsychAItrist - @hazardtoons

R.A.M. - @sentrygunner

[not-with-you-but-of-you]

Everything I have to look forward to Has a pretty painful and very imposing before

Fiona Apple, O’ Sailor (2005) dir. Floria Sigismondi

[fionaapplerocks]

O' Sailor

[mirensiart]

i wonder how confused the Chain would be if one of them for example was missing a leg and for the first time had phantom pain.

all of them checking who's leg is in pain and it turns out the leg is literally gone

Hmmm 🤔

I used to know an amputee, he was a friend of my dad, he lost all his fingers but his thumb in an accident

He would tells us that he felt his fingers still, but as if they were a fist, he knew he didn't have fingers but he still felt them, and whenever he tried to make the "phantom fingers" move or uncurl from the fist, he would feel pain shot up his arm

So if say, wild post totk who's missing his arm after rauru's arm is gone, suddenly and unconsciously tries to move his phantom fingers or maybe move his phantom wrist (like he logically knows they aren't there but he still feels them, the nerves are still connected) it would send everyone sharp pain up their arms lol

The others eventually know it's wild's phantom pain, but they don't have the heart to scold him for it cause like, they know he can't help it, he just keeps forgetting he doesn't have it

[akiraidraws]

Ink Demonth Day 17: Sailor

[linipik]

art vs artist 2023✨

[sunnysynthsunshine]

My verbal stims

[owlclawstudios]

ink demonth day 15 : draft

henry was drafted into the navy in ww2 in 1943

henry had to give his wife one last kiss and hug goodbye before he goes off to san fransisco to go on the uss indianpolis for ww2 as a navy sailor.

[laboitediabolique]

Cover of movie program for Sailor Suit and Machine Gun, 1981. Scanned from my personal collection.

[princess-viola]

Sailor Suit and Machine Gun/セーラー服と機関銃

[arcadebroke]

[swdefcult]

[clammyheart]

moon bunnies scarves 💜🌙🐇 wish i could restock these for the winter but this type of knitting is soooo time-consuming and expensive! i will remember them fondly...

[skfiberartz]

Finished a bow! A bit more awkward than the scrunchies but it turned out great. Love the fabric, it looks vintage 🌹

[miksy-the-51st]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! AND MY LAST INKOBER DRAWINGS AND SKETCHES!

And sketches in honor of AntonBlast:

P FOR PEEN!!!!🗣️🔥

And one last treat before NNN starts

(Polio from Sailor Moon as the Mindflayer from Ultrakill and Mindflayer from Ultrakill)

Some of them are nice, some of them are crappy. Hope you enjoy it! And happy Halloween!

[insane-control-room]

letters to the ocean

Barley gets letters from home.

ink demonth - sailor

TBP Rated: G Warnings: None AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58729909 Length: 1000

The ocean is a tranquil, formidable friend.

Though, in the blink of an eye, it can become one's worst enemy and nightmare.

Whistling winds and careening, cascading waves; light dancing across the rippling surface as a lover winks playfully at their paramour, yet glinting as sharp as a snake's acicular, venomous tooth.

To live upon the sea is to accept one's complete and utter brevity.

Not only small in size compared to the vast depths; but starkly short lived, with a lifespan not even worth a flash of glimmering wave.

And if one were to fall into the immense abyss, within days there will be nothing left. 

Nothing, save from the remnants of what was before. 

The connections one makes with another being, no matter how far away they are. 

Such as letters and notes from home.

Collecting mail was always a momentous occasion on the rig. Sometimes it would be at a port, where a few bundles of letters were waiting at the docks; other times, it was a tanker coming to give them a fill and a scoop of the news, carrying along fragments of home.

For Barley, it was usually two to nine fragments of home.

From least to most, his aunts and uncles, those at the studio who Joey had brought close- he could count on at least one letter from at least one person each batch. There was, however, on occasion, no word from any of them- those instances typically clustered around moments when the studio was undergoing an animation or deadline crunch. Infrequent, yet occuring nonetheless.

Next, there was Linda - not that Barley's oldest sister did not care to write to him, but rather the fact that she was completely encircled by her own form of ocean: college and work, both of which were across the country as well as the sea. The rarity of her letters made them all the more touching to her seafaring sibling, who wrote back short notes and requests to learn more about her own schooling, including anecdotes of his oceanic research.

Boris wrote infrequently, oftentimes including notes in his sibling and parent's letters rather than creating his own in full. He would send recipes and reports on his culinary journey, as well as the hikes that he had taken. Usually he would write with Bendy or Alice, though at times he would join in on Edgar or Charley's letters.

Speaking of Charley... it hurt, a little bit, how sparingly his brother wrote to him. He and Charley had been close, closer than he was with his other siblings, so the distance now stung. Barley had initially been quite surprised by the lack of constant communication, though with time on the lulling ocean crests, came to accept that his brother had been hurt by his departure - as though a part of him was suddenly removed, and now that it was separate, there was a barrier that came just as sudden as the rift had appeared. Barley hoped that with time, and an effort, they would be able to communicate through the uncomfortable sloughs of water that seemed to split them apart, muffling their words and causing frustration as statements and true understanding was lost in translation. 

Bendy would write commonly- every four letters or so. In fact, now that Barley thought about it, he realized that Bendy literally wrote every four letters, precisely twice a month. Their letters were always exactly five pages long; and they spoke of everything and anything. Sometimes their letters were rather moody, but Barley felt touched that his sibling was able to confide in him. It was good to maintain the connection, to write back and silently say that he was there for them. 

More frequently - Alice. She wrote about politics, about history, about books. She would make recommendations (and often send them with the letter) and quote favorite lines. Her letters often had a dictative feel, a play by play write up of her day, interests, and proclamations. She wrote about how she was proud of their parents’ civic work, and told Barley that she was proud of him, too, for being one of the bravest people she knew. Barley wrote back that he thought that she was braver- a powerful young woman learning to navigate. He joked that he hoped that she was not taking lessons from their grandmother- to which Alice laughed through letters. 

Edgar wrote almost every time the mail came. He would send fabrics and designs he was working on, rambling of textiles and popular cuts. To Barley, the information was like a different language, something completely foreign to him. Yet it was his sibling’s interest, and he indulged Edgar in it, asking about why certain styles were fashionable and why others were less acceptable. It hardly made any sense to him, but then again, sailing made no sense to Edgar, so they were both content with sharing their passions while not fully grasping them. It was good enough to understand that their family member was happy. 

His father, Henry- he wrote every other time as well. He would check in on Barley, joke that all of his siblings and aunts and uncles had him covered in the communication aspect, and would apologize for not having much to say himself. Instead, he would ask Barley about how he was feeling, what he was learning, where he hoped to go. Barley would always enthusiastically reply to his Dad, agreeing readily to a promise for Henry to buy him a small boat as long as he’d lug around his dear old dad. 

His father, Joey… he wrote every time. His letters were awkward and clipped at times, uncomfortable with the distance and the knowledge that his son was upon the ocean. But they were always full of love, and they were always there at the next port. He often included little doodles, drawings. 

Barley collected every letter, every recipe, every newsletter, every drawing- and smiled at the thought of his home.