#something new sunday

[samanthahirr]

[mi6-cafe]

July 23rd is Something New Sunday!

007 Fest is the perfect time to try something new, motivated by points rather than quality, and that’s exactly what we want you to do. And if you’re not trying something new, cheer on someone who is!

Ways to participate:

Write a new poem style

Write from a new character’s point of view

Have you never tried to fill an anon prompt? Now’s the time!

Try drawing something

Make a podfic

Make a rec list

Or whatever else is something new for you!

Tag with #007 Fest and we’ll reblog!

[flumpermergen]

[cinthgarden]

The conductor

[thatringboy]

haven’t finished Amphoreus yet but if they send Sunday down to the surface he’s literally gonna get confused for titankin with his funky clothes and halo he’s gonna get his ass beat by mydei and NOT in the way my current wip suggests

[not-so-superheroine]

[spiraling-stardust]

Monday again but I still have no tablet so this time you guys get an MS Paint doodle instead (this is very last minute, it's 10 minutes to midnight now hkfdgskdjgkj)

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Happy Resurrection Sunday, everyone.

You are much loved.

Luke 23-24

[sparticus2000art]

Sketchbook Sunday v13

Featuring some bad sans sketches and some of a fem fell sans based on my cosplay (as well as some sketches of the cosplay itself)

[petorahs]

still thinking about the very real lore implication that, aside from Jade, Sunday might be the only other person in the universe to know Aventurine's real name is Kakavasha 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

like i could b wrong sure but what else does "shortcut" and "blatantly dipping your hand in someone else's pocket" mean.... imo Sunday really did see everything Aventurine went through in the Theme park 😔

it's why:

1) Aven didnt wanna reveal stuff to his Harmony/Future self too much, never confirming nor denying until at the very end

2) why Sunday stopped ""gloating"" (if u wanna call it that) about "putting him away". notice the difference between how Sunday refers to Aventurine with Acheron+Welt (pre-Churin death) vs with Gallagher (post-Churin death). desperation and negativity coats the second convo, probably due to regret over Aventurine.

3) i still think this is Sunday POV 😭

also regarding "due to regret over Aventurine" i dont even think Aven succeeding bothered Sunday bc remember, Aven's real goal was always to reveal the truth of Dreamflux reef, something even Sunday as Penacony's political head didnt know 😭 (he was obsessing over the meme "Death" so much, and of course, Robin's "death" shook him to his core. he wouldve benefitted SO MUCH from knowing where she went after she died). they were both pursuing the same truth to the mystery, except in very different ways.

so really, Sunday is just upset Churin chose to khs over comforting but fake dreams. also Churin kinda khs LOUDLY which is a not ideal for Sunday either. bro livestreamed his suicide 😭 ofc Sunday would be horrified.

all im saying is avenday would have gone SO HARD as partners in crime uncovering the truth of penacony together 🙂‍↕️ too powerful. which is why the game had to nerf them and put them on opposing factions

(but they still end up crushing on eachother anyway despite the enemy/rival status😭)

[starleska]

i see this opinion echoed across the Doctor Who fandom: that we really enjoyed Maestro, and love the idea of The Devil's Chord, but feel like the episode was lacking a little something in the writing department. so here's my suggestion: they shouldn't have killed off Timothy Drake 👀🎶 hear me out:

from the start, we're introduced to Timothy Drake as a deeply talented individual, and one disgruntled with his position in life. his passion and genius have been squandered, and he's been relegated to teaching his craft to disinterested schoolboys. but we learn he has a darker interest...Timothy is a scholar as well as a composer, and he decides to spice up his day by telling his pupil about the lost Devil's Chord. and then, Maestro erupts onto the scene...and they are everything that Timothy has never been able to be. Maestro is loud, and flamboyant, and unreservedly powerful: every glittering gem on their body screams you will look at me, and you will listen. and while Timothy's polite-society conditioning and time-typical bigotry are his initial response, we can tell that Maestro intrigues him. in return, Maestro doesn't just talk to Timothy, oh no. Maestro all but seduces the man, by speaking aloud all of Timothy's most private thoughts: that he's a misunderstood genius, and that it isn't his fault he never got that break. in this way Maestro manifests as a Devil figure, luring Timothy into an unspeakable Faustian bargain. here he is, wasting his life and talent and songs away in some stuffy school...when he could have so, so much more. like Maestro, he could be powerful. he could be who he wants to be. and most importantly: he could make people listen to him. i would've loved a version of The Devil's Chord where Maestro manipulates Timothy Drake into drawing out the music of others, thereby killing them, and feeding Maestro in the process. perhaps there could have been a caveat to Maestro's power: as the Essence of Music, it could be that Maestro has to operate through a living being, much like a demonic muse. not only could Timothy get all of the attention he ever wanted, finally being recognised for his musical brilliance...but he could exact revenge on those who said he'd never make it. wouldn't this have been a fascinating parallel with The Beatles? what if we'd seen an increasingly power-mad Timothy Drake, rising to stardom in an alternate timeline where everyone is devoid of musical inspiration, leaving him as the sole musical genius in the world? what if the Doctor and Ruby's horror at a devastated world included the theme of creation for creation's sake, as opposed to the manic pursuit of adoration which Timothy so clearly desires? perhaps i have lost my mind. perhaps i am reading far too much into the way Timothy looks at Maestro in the latter half of the clip above. but i think the terror of Maestro would have come through even more if they'd kept Timothy Drake around, and trapped him in a Phantom of the Paradise-esque doomed narrative with Maestro whispering in his ear and helping him take control of his destiny 🎶🔥

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[minnieposting]

ughh im thinking about sunday. specifically about the person he used to be and the person he is now. that confident person with a twisted, unhinged side to him?? guy who definitely enjoyed putting aventurine in his place and causing harm to him. from that, to this almost...meek individual harboring so much sadness and guilt. i think a lot about the fact that he severed his halo in order to feel pain to keep himself in his place. to feel grounded, to feel closer to...humanity?? i guess? i never really know how to describe how exactly i interpret this, but it makes me feel something in my gut just aahhhh. i think the symbolic fusing between him and wonweek was very beautiful, and due to a similar experience i had during a self-introspective moment, i really do relate to him and love him so much. sunday canonically has ocd, and at some point i realized that i shouldn't see my ocd as something separate from me. it is still me, it is still my brain. i decided that working alongside it in a way would be more beneficial as well as treating that side of me with kindness and love instead of hatred! and yes, it isnt just an ocd parallel. i just decided to read into that aspect at the same time. i just think sundays a really beautiful character and i care him so much! i think him being part of the express is such a good decision, and even though stellaron hunter sunday would've been awesome, this is definitely the best path for him. someone pointed out that if he had been in the stellaron hunters, following a script wouldn't benefit him at all. he deserves to spend time in the real world now with people around him who care about him, and i am looking forward to seeing his development with the express in the upcoming amphoreus story. im also...quite terrified. the story is going to hurt so bad...i can just feel it already.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

The Doctor: Yeah I haven't had kids yet

Lance Parkin (and the 27ish kids he wrote the Doctor as having): Excuse me what

[guqin-and-flute]

"Y'know, this is easily the most homoerotic thing to happen to ever happen to me."

"Wei Ying."

"Wei-xiong, I don't think 'going to the ER because you've been stabbed' is more homoerotic than literally being married to a man."

[foreverchangingfandomsao3]

Six Sentence Sunday

This is from another of my Codywan week works @codywanweek and I'm enjoying writing crack for once!

It seemed pointless. They were stuck in a gunship, barely close enough to the planet’s surface to be considered out of orbit and the Separatists were in a bunker with a single entrance. They had no intel, no time to prepare, and no knowledge about Obi-Wan’s condition. “You know, that truly is an awful beard,” Obi-Wan said, his voice coming through the unit almost perfectly clear, the words ever so slightly slurred which made him suspect a sedative, but also free of pain. It was also the same tone that he used in the med bay when he eventually got straight answers out of the man, polite but also a little exasperated. “You’re doing no favours to yourself by letting it grow.” “I did not bring you here to discuss my beard.” “You should have.”