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littledigits · 1 month

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feeling hopeless aboot the anim industry?

I posted this on the cesspool that is linked in. I dont want to tell you that things are going to magically return to what it was like during the height of the streaming bubble - but I do want to toss this out there, because for me these are the things that will lead to a stronger industry. (hint, it all has to do with grassroots community stuff hurhrhhr)

-------------------------------------------------------------- 1) Know what you feel is 100% valid We shouldn't be normalizing the choices and broken systems that lead to times like this, and while there are always ups and downs in industry's and things out of our control, we should also be aware of what causes it. While its ok to say "Down times will happen and we need to learn and prepare for them.", it can also lead to us ignoring patterns and being apathetic towards change. Who wouldn't feel lost or hopeless ? You're only human ! But you're not alone. 2) Find Community ! Start Community ! I love being an animator, because I don't need a job to be one. The 'Industry' is one thing, but the art of animation, of film making, of storytelling is still out there. This career wasn't given to us, we CREATED it ! And while it does take time, we can still do that. There are so many people, paths and stories that you can learn in a community, and show that there are so many different ways to find happiness and success in a tumultuous industry. I see more jobs passed around in my community group then navigating on this bonkers site.(<-- referring to linked in where i posted this originally. ITS SUCH A MESS ITS FASINATING) 3) Give your time to others This is kind of part of the above, but if you're able - Give some of your time to others through volunteering. It could be a cause you support in your city, it could be mentoring a student, it could be assisting in a local festival, it could even be supporting others in their talks or presentations by showing up. (ya'll don't know how much it helps just to have audience members to help boost events) long story short is, we have so much in us to bring joy and support to others. If you're able that will pay you back ten fold, and it does bring some serotonins in these times. (please note this does not mean illustrating someone's novel for free, I'm talking about supporting causes 'n communities ) 4) Information combats fear When we don't know what's going on, when we're not sure what caused the state of things we're in or when it will change, its easy to get sucked into a spiral. This is why its so good to have community around us, to keep us in the loop. We don't want to hand away our power and just listen to the refrain of "Well this is just how it is", because that's what frogs in water that are slowly being boiled say. We cant always tell when the temperature is being turned up. This leads back to community - because this is who make up the animation industry. If the community is empowered with information, then they have the ability to make changes. Know your labor rights, know the history of your industry, know your community and you will gain so many new defenses against people who want to suck this industry dry. Its tough out there - but there is hope. If anything, times like this put us side by side with the artists that were the backbone of this career from the very beginning. They rebuilt so we can too.

#animation talk #animation industry #ngl starting a community group changed me forever #we need eachother @_@ to combat the bs together

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bloomingdog · 2 months

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Acolyte

word count: 2.7k a/n: hii i'm going through a depressive episode and this is my fic about soap with a depressed reader cos he's my babygirl. might expand on them idk i love soap i wanna keep writing for him

Johnny is a friend of Kyle’s, and Kyle is a friend of Farah, who is your friend. And Johnny, or Soap, is here because Kyle invited him since he had “nothing better to do”. And it’s alright, he’s fun and a little loud, he talks over people but always apologises. You were a little nervous to meet him, having been promised a get-together with people you were already well-acquaintances with, but the tears in your eyes, from laughing, that is, dismiss all previous nerves.

“And then he-” He’s cut off by his own wheeze, it’s been going for a couple of minutes; him and Kyle trying to retell a story about their captain, but they keep getting interrupted by their own laughter. You don’t think it’s that funny, if anything their reactions are the thing that make you all go into hysterics. It’s hard to feel sorry for all the other patrons.

You feel drunker than you really are, save for Farah, you only had two to three beers each. It’s the kind of silly drunkenness induced by being with friends. The forgotten UNO cards on top of the table shake as Johnny’s fist hits the table trying to catch his breath.

And the pub’s playlist keeps playing every top #1 hit from the last 20 years. And at some point you’re all performing a rendition of smash hit “500 miles”. And you’re getting giggly with sleep. And Farah’s driving you home. And she’s asking you about Johnny, which makes you giggly all over. And she’s telling you he’s single.

And then it’s morning. And there’s a message from an unknown phone number.

“Hey. This is Johnny.

Just wanted to let you know I had a blast last night, loved meeting you :-)”

It makes you smile trying to figure out what to write back. Why is it so hard to sound nonchalant while also a little interested in getting to know him?

“So did I!

Haven’t laughed that hard in a while lol”

That’s cool, right? It’s half a good response at the very least, since you get a response back.

“Wanna meet sometime?”

Oh, that’s good. At best, you get a little attention and maybe a lay, at worst you get a new friend. You keep texting throughout the day, you two fit like a puzzle piece: talkative, extroverted and active. He sends you a picture of a squirrel he saw earlier on his morning run, you send him a picture of your cat back with the caption “my asshole son” to which he replies “don’t be mean to him”. Those little interactions keep getting exchanged. On Monday, you send him a fun fact about a shark that had a virgin birth. Tuesday, he’s telling you about his fear of dogs. Wednesday is the perfect occasion for a picture of your cat, Gus, sleeping in a funny position. Thursday, your phone pings with a string of texts ranting about Glasgow City. Friday you’re texting Johnny that you’re at the restaurant you’re meeting at, a hole-in-the-wall that mastered the art of oily food and crispy chips, he replies he’s running late.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait.” Is out of his mouth before any greeting. “Are ye hungry?” It’s more a conversation starter than an actual question.

“It’s okay! No worries.” You’re just happy to be hanging out, not bothered by his tardiness.

The two of you sit and chat, you learn he has a tattoo of a revolver but won’t say where. He laughs at the face you make while imagining where it would be. “Don’t be dirty!” He chastises, it’s within the law that you steal one of his chips as payment for the teasing. You ask where does Soap come from.

“A’m good at cleaning.” It’s a short answer that explains enough, you’re not keen on pushing the topic any further. Luckily, he changes the topic rather quickly, it looks like he’s not a big fan of silences. “Tell me aboot Gus. How’d you get him?”

“A colleague’s cat had kittens, she was trying to find them homes, Gus was the only one left, runt of the litter you know?” He nods, listening, interested in what you have to say. “Kept pushing and showing me pictures of the guy until I caved. When I took him home he wouldn’t stop screaming, I think he might be part siamese, they’re really vocal. So, he kept me up all night, I thought he was sick or something, I even took him to the emergency vet, turns out he’s just a dickhead.” He smiles at the insult. “A very cute one, though.” You add, it’s hard not to love him even if he wakes you up at 6 a.m. on the dot.

“Can I meet him someday?” he might if you’re lucky enough.

You might as well thank every saint, divinity, and omnipotent being for your luck tonight. He accompanies you home, only because “he’s a gentleman”, according to him. The kind of gentleman that kisses you dizzy and gets invited into your flat.

You text Farah about the events of the evening before falling asleep, it’s not kiss and tell if she’s your best friend. And in the early morning you’re both woken up by an angry Gus, whose side of the bed has been stolen by a guy that almost doesn’t fit in it. You’re cuddled on his side, one leg over his.

“Gus-Gus….” It’s a groggy mumble of displeasure, you know he only wants to be beside you, but the hour doesn’t help your mood. Still, you move away from Johnny so he can jump onto your chest for cuddles.

“He does skirl alright.” That morning voice might actually be the death of you.

“Told you. He’s an asshole.” A breathy laugh makes his bare chest move as he turns to face you.

“He’s real cute though.”

“Are you not tired?” The early morning light peeks through your window, the sun isn’t even out yet and you can’t imagine anyone that is appreciative of being woken up so early.

“Naw, no’ really. ‘M used to it.”

It feels weird, good weird, to have him in your bed like that. Barely a week since you met, and he feels so close, more like a friend than a one-night stand, more than a friends-with-benefits. He checks the time on his phone before speaking again.

“Ye want breakfast?” Your eyes are closed again, hugging Gus close to your chest, hand moving up and down his fur but not doing much to pet him. His call of your name is answered by a groan, it makes him chuckle. He scoots closer to you, you can feel his arm coming up for Gus to sniff and the cat readjusts himself so his head is closer to Johnny’s. “Hi”.

Oh but the warmth dissipating from his body is to much, that and the soft noise of Gus’ purr drives you to fall asleep again. You only half dream, a mixture of images that won’t make any sense once you’re awake again, which happens rather soon as the bed adjusts and you feel a hand run through your hair.

“Can I make tea?” His voice sounds softer than earlier, you nod, opening your eyes just a smidge to look up at him.

“Biscuits in the cupboard…”That’s as much as you can muster now. “Wake me up when it's done?”

“Course.”

He left with Gus following behind, but you can’t seem to fall asleep again. That was…rather intimate. Your stomach feels hot and your chest tighter. Shooting your eyes open you’re quick to grab your phone again, Farah replied an hour ago.

“Wooo! Good for you”

“You’re gonna have to tell me everything about it btw”

“Farah”

“How pathetic is it to have a crush on your one night stand?”

Oh you don’t like that, calling him a one night stand, feels too impersonal, rude almost.

You’re getting out of bed, into your restroom and to the kitchen.

“Good morning” He leans against the kitchen counter where your meds are,he’s looking at his phone waiting for the kettle to boil, clad in his boxers from last night, hair a mess and body soft under the morning light. Even though it’s the same body it feels so different from last night, scars, bigger and small, litter his body, it’s muscular and soft at the same time, big pecs a tad too inviting and a tattoo on his forearm. Reaching for the pills would mean standing next to him, probably brushing against—no, touching him, and that makes you nervous. Oh. You’re embarrassingly down bad.

He stayed the entire weekend, Friday through Sunday. Next week it was picnic and football. You’re convinced any major team would be jealous of your 1-person teams and 5 meter field. He’s good, but you’re full of fear as he chases you for the ball, it’s the predator-prey kinda adrenaline that makes you score.

“Yes!”

“Offside! Offside!”

“What do you mean offside? There’s no one I can pass the ball to!” In fact, there’s not even a goal. You grab the ball and go back to him, looking straight into his eyes in fake defiance.

“Talking back to the referee? That’s a red card.” He looks so handsome like this, standing tall and unmovable, even if only joking, and you let him know via a quick kiss to his lips. He’s pulling you back to his lips not even half a second after, deep and slow, giggly. “Bribin’ me, huh?” You let out a soft, happy, sigh and kiss him again.

“Wanna go home?”

You tell Farah everything over a cup of tea and a piece of cake, of course. And she laughs at you, not in a mean way at all, only friendly and amused, still you hit her arm.

And the following week it’s film night. This one’s more spontaneous than the others, it’s been a tough week at work, you want a quiet evening and some company so you ask him if he wants to come hang out, he replies saying that he’ll be there in 30.

It’s the two of you, your favourite take out, Gus-Gus sitting on the back of the sofa and Fargo on the TV. He’s not paying as much attention to the film as he is to you.

“What?” You say, turning to look at him.

“Ye’r a beauty.” You smile shyly and kick him on the leg with your foot slightly. “A’m serious. I like you a lot.” A big smile grows on your face, and it’s enough confirmation for him to know you feel the same.

Or at least he thought so. There are no plans for this weekend, not for lack of trying, that is, Soap’s been trying to text you all week, it’s a big shift from your daily texting. He misses the little life updates you send him. Tuesday, he thought you might just be busy. Wednesday he stops trying to contact you, did he do something wrong? Went too fast? Are you ghosting him? What did he do that was worth the silent treatment? Thursday, he tries calling you, multiple times. Friday all rational thoughts have left his brain, did something happen to you? Are you okay? Christ, what if you’re dead? He texts Farah, swallowing his embarrassment.

“She’s okay, I think.”

“Going through a bit of a depression episode at the moment.”

“She’s going recluse, I know she wouldn’t mind a bit of help.”

“I have a spare key to her flat if you want to come get it.”

The string of texts floats around his mind, spare key in hand in front of your front door. He’s been inside before, but he was invited in, this feels invasive, but Farah trusted him, and she knew you best. He sent you a message before showing up, the last bit of chivalry he can offer before showing up in your home, it went through, and he hoped you read it even if you didn’t reply.

He calls your name upon entering, no response. Gus comes running up to him to headbutt his legs and meow, a quick look lets him know his water bowl is clean and automatic feeder full, that’s a good sign. His voice trembles as he calls for you again.

“You know where she is?” Great, now he’s speaking to the cat, and he meows in response, great, an actual conversation with a cat. Gus takes off and squeezes himself into a room with the door ajar, your bedroom. He knocks before entering, not expecting a response. The room is dark except for the light coming from your laptop, empty and half-full glasses taking up most of the space on your desk, chair full of unfolded clothes and a doughnut of blankets on the bed.

“Go away.” The doughnut speaks. His heart breaks at the sad, much softer than usual tone of your voice.

“Love.” The pet name slips from his lips, he notices but doesn’t attempt to correct himself. He walks closer until he’s sitting next to you. “Can I help you?”

You shake your head no, or what’s visible of it. “Go away, I stink.” He chuckles.

“That’s fine, smell better than the lads in base.” It’s a pathetic attempt at humour, you still shake your head no.

“You don’t have to do anything.” You don’t sound sad or angry like he thought you might, it’s emotionless, almost like an automatic generated response.

“But I want to. Want tae tak’ care o ye” He wants to make everything better, wants to fix everything, wants you happy and energetic and smiling. It’s silly how much he cares for you after barely a month of knowing eachother, scary now that he’s admitting it out loud. He pulls down the blankets for a full view of your face, his hand goes to your hair, it’s tangled, he’s careful not to pull on it. “Am gunna run you a bath.” It’s not a question, you laugh slightly and he smiles, realising what he said. “Didny mean it like that, c’mon.”

He helps you up from the bed and into the restroom. From your seat ion the toilet, you observe the way he turns on the tap and rummages through your cabinet, trying to find something to put in the water, you assume. “The orange bar in the back.” He halts, looks for a second and comes up with it, he leaves it on the sink while he turns off the water, you grab the bar and crumble a bit of it into the tub. He looks at you and gets up, you take it as your cue to undress and get in. Johnny comes back with a change of pyjamas and underwear and leaves again. You can hear him moving around and making noise, talking to the cat in occasion, while you clean yourself, when he comes back it’s to put your dirty laundry in the hamper. You don’t know why that’s the thing that makes you break and start crying. As soon as he notices, he’s on his knees next to you, softly caressing your cheeks and moving your damp hair away from your face.

“Whit’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to do this.” Is no reply to his question. “I don’t want you to have to do this.”

“M’eudail.” He starts. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” You look up at him” I’m so sad all the fucking time and I don’t want you to have to deal with that, it’s not fair to you, you know? I don’t want you to have to take care of me or put up with me.”

“But what if I want to? Wanna take care of you, wanna put up with you.” You shake your head no, looking back down.

“Johnny, I’m so much. I get so clingy and stupid.”

“That’s fine by me.” There’s no deterring him. He lifts your head up by your chin to kiss your forehead, bright blue eyes staring at you.

And you realise how ridiculous this is. You’re crying in the bathtub, your friend-situationship is on his knees next to you, again, crying in the bathtub. You let out a sigh and nod.

“Okay.”

#cod mw2 fanfic #cod x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #soap x you

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ravenmichaelisstuff · 1 year

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"Better late than never" Part 10

Painting nails

Soap’s sister was constantly sending the Scot photos of nail art, she was really excited to start her own small nail studio and wanted to hear her brother’s opinion since he was the only one, other MacTavish that was into art. Soap loved every single design he got sent, but also didn’t have anything to compare it to. He struggled with giving an honest opinion or criticism because he couldn’t compare it with anything.

He tried to paint his own nails but his right hand always looked way worse no matter how much he tried to steady his left hand. He would also scrape off the nail polish right after it dried since he liked to fidget with it. He needed a model.

His obvious first thought was Gaz since he seemed like the only person that would agree, but then Soap looked closer at the sergeant's hands and it was evident that Kyle’s way of dealing with stress was munching on his poor nails.

Asking Price wasn’t even an option. John was already walking on thin ice with the man after he found out about the mess he and Ghost made in the kitchen so he preferred not to bother the old man for a while.

He didn’t know Konig or Horangi long enough to ask the casually if they wanted to have their nails painted and he was also aware that Konig could bear his obnoxiousness only for a short period of time. He was never mad about it, Konig is always so nice to him but his social battery visibly drained faster when around loud people.

The only two remaining options he had were the cadets or Ghost, and even if he had higher chances of succeeding by asking a random rookie, he preferred to at least try to nag Ghost to let him do it.

WWWWWWWWWWWW

Soap and Ghost were assigned an evening guard in one of the watch towers around the base. For Soap it was probably the most boring duty he could get. He hated watching over the empty fields for hours knowing damn well that nothing would happen. Not that he wanted the base to be attacked, he just wished he could be doing something more thrilling.

Despite the fact that Ghost was usually rather content with guard duties, especially that as an officer he didn’t get it very often. For Ghost, it was an enjoyable task, especially with Soap. He was well aware that MacTavish was a ball of sparkling energy and sitting in one place wasn’t his dream activity. But it was nice to just have him at his side, bouncing leg and all. He wished he could put his hand on Johnny's thigh, not because it was annoying or anything like that. Quite the opposite actually, Ghost wished to feel the energy surging through his sergeant.

“Ghooost…I have a wee request fur ye” Said Soap in a small voice.

Ghost closed his eyes and took a deep breath, bracing for whatever ridiculous thing Soap had in mind. “What is it, sergeant?”

“Would ye let me paint yer nails?”

Ghost looked at Soap, brows pulled together under the mask.

“Nothing too extreme Lt. I just want to mess with nail art a bit for my sister Blair- the one ah talked tae ye aboot.”

“You talk about all of your siblings, and I counted at least 3 sisters.”

“Ye counted well.” Soap smiled at the fact that Simon actually listened to his constant family gossip. “She is th’ one opening a nail salon. I wanted to send her a photo of nails done by me and I need a model. My left hand is tae shaky.” Soap looked at Ghost expectantly. “And if ye don’t want me to take a photo- I won’t. The experience alone will be-”

“Ok.”

“-enough– Wait, come again?”

“I said ‘Ok’, what are you deaf now?”

“A little bit, yes.” Soap chuckled to himself. “But ah just thought it will take more to convince ye.”

“You want me to change my mind, Johnny?”

“Not at all, I will clam up now.” Soap focused on the field again, smiling to himself.

“I didn’t tell you to shut up, Johnny.” Mumbled Ghost after a while.

And Soap couldn’t help himself to not look at the man with sparkles in his eyes.

WWW

After Gaz and Gromsko came to switch shifts, Soap told Ghost to go to his room and wait for the Scot while he grabs all the things he needed.

So there Ghost was, standing in the middle of his own room not knowing what to do with himself and wondering why the fuck did he agree to this so quickly. It felt like his mouth had its own mind that wanted to desperately sabotage him.

It’s not like Ghost didn’t want to have his nails painted, the idea of it seemed appealing and there was a time when as a teenager he wanted to do it himself. His father wouldn’t look kindly at it so finally, he never did it.

And fuck, now his hands are scared and rough, the only thing they are good for is bringing people pain. He realized that he never took off his gloves near Soap, what if he sees his hands and thinks they are disgusting?

Ghost rubbed his gloved hands together, squeezing and pulling on every finger in a nervous manner.

The doors to his room opened.

“Ye have no idea how excited ah am, Lt.!” Soap’s voice pulled Ghost out of his mind. Johnny looked so… cheerful. It eased the lieutenant a bit.

“I can see you are.”

Soap tossed a bag on Ghost’s bed, it landed with a clattering sound. Soap followed after the bag.

“Come on Ghost, ye can’t change your mind now.” He tapped the space in front of him on the bed.

They both ended up sitting crisscrossed on the bed, knees touching. In the space between them lay the bad with colourful nail polishes. It wasn’t a lot, but still way too much for someone who picked up nail art only for his sister.

Johnny cared so much for the interests of others.

Ghost kept his hands on his thighs, playing with a loose thread in his jeans. Soap reached out with an open hand for Ghost to put his palm in.

Soap noticed Ghost’s nervousness, he knew him long enough to see past the mask. He didn’t know the reason for the anxiety though. It didn’t matter because Soap made it his mission to make this experience soothing for Ghost, and he will cherish the moment Ghost takes off his gloves. He will cherish the trust Ghost gives him, more and more with each day they spend together. If only he will let him.

“There is no point in doing it if you don’t want to, Simon. I was joking with the ‘You can’t change your mind’. But I swear I will try my best if you allow me.”

A slightly jittery hand immediately appeared in his.

“I am not changing my mind.” Ghost whispered, looking at their hands.

“Good.” Soap squeezed Ghost’s hand and proceed to take off the gloves.

Ghost held his breath when he realized that his hands were dirty- he didn’t have time to wash them after a mission. There was dirt and blood under his nails, a couple of cuts with already dried blood. Ghost couldn’t look at Soap, afraid of the look of repulsion.

“I should go wash my hands-” He wanted to get up, but the grip on his hand tightened.

He looked at Soap and instead of disgust, he saw pure adoration in the sergeant’s eyes. Johnny looked at his hands with so much warmth he was sure he could replace the sun.

“Don’t worry about it, I have antiseptic wipes.” Soap pulled them out of his pocket and started to carefully wipe Ghost’s hands.

Simon’s hands were scared and calloused- hands of a hard-working man, a soldier. His fingers were long, and some of them crocked slightly probably as the result of untreated fractured bones. There was the tiniest beauty mark at the base of his thumb that Soap uncovered from all the mess. His hands had a slight shake to them. But what’s most important- they fitted perfectly in Johnny’s and he loved them.

He didn’t realize when he started to rub soothing circles into Ghost’s palm. Soap looked at Ghost. The man had closed his eyes, trying to burn into his memory how Johnny’s hands feel on his- gentle and caring. Ghost forgot that touching people could feel like that.

Why did whatever they did always feel so different?

“Did ye think about what ye want me to do?” Soap broke the silence.

“Just black will be fine.”

“Of course.” Soap chuckled. “What about black n’ white? Let a man go a little crazy, huh? I want to draw something.”

“Fine. Don’t you dare to draw a cock or anything stupid or I will put you on bathroom cleaning for a week.” Warned Ghost.

Soap snorted. “Not what ah had in plans at all.”

Soap got to work, he never worked on something this small so it wasn’t his best work, but he did what he could as well as he could.

“Sorry.” Simon muttered noticing that the constant small tremble in his hands made Soap put nail polish on his skin.

“Nothin’ I can’t fix, don’t worry.” Soap nudged Ghost with his knee. “Are they always this shaky? Just asking.” But Soap was slightly concerned about it, Ghost saw that.

“No just…”

It’s mostly like that because you are around, and I just don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. I am not used to touching, good touching. And now you are just here, so close. I don’t know how to deal with the constant desire to be near you.

“...Stress I guess. Happens in our line of work.”

“I get that too sometimes, but people don’t notice. I am kind of fidgety all the time as if you didn’t notice.”

“I can tell the difference.”

Soap smiled. “Of course, you can.”

When Soap was done Ghost had his nails painted black with skulls on his thumbs and middle finders.

“In case ye want to flip someone the bird, ya’ know.”

Ghost smirked under the balaclava. “It’s… nice Johnny. Thank you.” he never thought that he will be able to admire his hands again. but there he was. “Are you taking the photo for your sister?”

“You ok with that?” John perked up.

“If it’s just my hands, I don’t think I mind your family.”

Ghost is not getting rid of those nails until the nail polish doesn’t chip off on its own.

BONUS:

To Blair >:3

Soap: *sends the photo of Ghost’s nails”

Blair: No, put the nail polish away. I can’t have you out best me at yet another thing!

Soap: I just wanted to see how it is! What do you think?

Blair: It honestly looks great, better than my first attempt.

Blair:Wait- WHOSE HANDSOME HANDS ARE THOSE???

Blair:JOHN MACTAVISH WHO IS THAT???????

Blair: I AM TELLING MOM.

Soap: NO U DON’T YOU MUPPET IT’S MY FRIEND!

Blair: MHM Suuuuureee.

YOO! I might have gone a little bit overboard with this one but I got really into it. Really enjoyed it and I hope you will to. I love reading all the feedback <3 Prompt from @u5an5 <3 I would also like to thank all the amazing people that make art and expand my little stories. Makes my heart swell <333 there is a hashtag bltn soapghost fic where you should find most of the parts

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ezrisdax-archive · 7 months

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Top 5 Stargate eps, comfort movies, and Canadian foods

stargate eps

Episode 200- ha bet you thought I'd say the time loop episode first but no, even this episode won out ahead. the in jokes, the jokes at other sci fis, the whole set up, the love of it all, when I have really bad days it is my comfort episode out of all comfort episodes honestly, I can't even begin to count how many times I've watched it and every time I cry when quote Issac Asimov at the end, I am a weak person lexi you know this

Window of Opportunity - okay yeah time loop was next, let's be real I am completely predictable but this was the time loop episode that really showed me how fun they could be. like I already loved the concept cause of TNGs one but this one? it's so funny, I've had people who don't even watch stargate watch that one with no context of the characters and still find it funny. and the ending is heart wrenching, what more do you want from a time loop (pst, lexi watch it with me again, now I miss it)

Abyss - I admit I loved Ba'al as a bad guy, he was so much fun for me and the episode introducing him was so weird with Jack haunted by memories not his (what do you mean I'm obsessed with that because of star trek and ezri-) and eternally whenever I chuck a shoe too far accidentally while taking them off I just think of "I just threw my shoe through you" when Jack is talking to Daniel, like c'mon that was so funny

The Fifth Race - I loooooove the introduction of the Asgard so much, not to mention Jack getting the language in his head. once again sometimes my brain just goes "there is nothing cruvus with me!" for no reason because of that episode.

Fragile Balance - I'm just a sucker for a good cloning episode okay, and Jack and the Asgard just don't miss for me! I'm a weak person lexi!!!!!

comfort movies

Star Trek: The Voyage Home - yes it's the one with the whales and time travel, two things I love specifically because of this movie probably. no lie this movie did have me really into whale conservation as a kid though, something that's stuck with me well into later years. but like it's got everything, Spock being sassy to McCoy, McCoy and Scotty off on their own adventure, chase scenes in a hospital with Chekov on the cart like it's fucking looney tunes, time travel, whales, the crew being the crew together! mcfucking love this movie

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi - be honest, you knew I'd have this here because we've talked so many times and I've said it's my fave but like...I watched this movie every day for a year as a kid. I made my dad buy back up tapes because I wore it out on VHS. to this day I still have five copies. I want you to know I don't just love this one because Wedge appears the most here. Though that doesn't hurt. It's just about the conclusion of it for me, it does something for me where it gives me hope.

Canadian Bacon - this movie isn't gonna be known to like...anyone. but me and my best friend as a kid watched this movie like every week while we were up at my cottage and it's another movie I can quote by heart. the premise is the americans decide to fake a war on canada to boost the economy though canada doesn't know and this group infiltrate canada and I'm in tears laughing every time at the line "Aboot? it's about! about! we have ways of making you pronounce the letter 'o'" also Alan Alda is there.

Robin Hood Men in Tights - this was a movie I used to watch constantly with my siblings, we loved Mel Brooks movies but this one was the top tier for us for comedy sake and occasionally in the sibling chat we'll still send in jokes about it

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse: I know you didn't love it and me having a spider related thing on here is weird but I just shut my eyes during those points and watch the rest in peace. like this movie was just magical to me, the way it handled the multi-verse and Miles' story and the art and music, it's so good and I have no words to really describe how good it is for me, I just love it.

canadian foods lmao that's so specific but is this because I'm sending you stuff soon?

All Dressed Chips, I cannot believe americans don't have this, you guys love your weird flavours on everything else and you don't have this??? it's like the everything bagel of chips, what is wrong with you guys

Ketchup Chips, I know I know that sounds like it tastes bad but no it doesn't and if you think that get taste

Beaver Tails - tragically the place that used to make them near my place closed down ages ago but I got to have a good one when I was visiting @trillscienceofficer in Alberta this year and that pastry is so good

Smarties - once again not your kind of smarties but chocolate which is NOT like m&ms we use better chocolate

Caramilk bars - while looking things up when I messaged you I found out you guys don't have those and hey??? what the fuck???

#replies in thirty minutes or they're free #counterspelling

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watching-pictures-move · 2 years

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Movie Review | Crimes of the Future (Cronenberg, 2022)

This review contains spoilers.

On this Canada Day in the year of our Lord 2022, I decided to do my patriotic duty and support a great Canadian filmmaker. So I hopped on the subway, headed downtown to the TIFF Bell Lightbox (a theatre that's been responsible for some of my favourite moviegoing experiences, but perhaps has lost some of its luster recently thanks to increasingly boring programming choices) and handed over my hard earned Canadian dollars for a ticket to David Cronenberg's Crimes of the Future. Now, this wasn't just patriotism at work, although there is a certain national pride I feel in enjoying the work of a great director who came out of this country whose work doesn't have that stench of distinctly Canadian lameness about it. (It might be hard to explain to non-Canadians, but imagine if 90% of the film and TV output of your country was centered on the most boring, tacky signifiers of national identity. Tune in to the CBC and just drown in an embarrassing flood of hockey, Tim Hortons, "aboot" and "eh".) But there's also the fact that like many movie fans, Cronenberg's work is near and dear to me.

Videodrome was a formative movie for me during my high school years, not just because it was a cold, weird, off putting movie that also kicked ass, but because it was a kind of metaphor for my cinephilia, putting me on a quest for the weirder horizons of cinema. (So yes, I'm going to blame my embarrassing viewing history over the last two years all on this one movie.) At the time it felt like I watched something truly transgressive. A movie with this collection of plot points shouldn't exist. Snuff TV, stomach vaginas, fleshy bulging cassettes, kinky redheaded Debbie Harry? The last one may have broken my brain. Why does the singer from Blondie have red hair? Also the whole kinky weirdo angle.

In that respect, Crimes of the Future offers up two characters in the same tradition, who I suspect would have similarly wreaked havoc on my cerebral functions had I watched this at a younger age. There's Lea Seydoux, former surgeon and partner of Viggo Mortensen, with whom she does a performance art act of cutting out his organs for an audience. And there's Kristen Stewart, as a bureaucrat in a secret government agency responsible for logging Mortensen's organs who not-so-secretly is turned on by all this. (An early scene has her visibly aroused as she inspects Mortensen's organs through a camera jammed inside his stomach.) She coins the movie's key phrase: "Surgery is the new sex." (Seydoux and Mortensen have scenes together that show this concept in fairly literal terms, which kind of grossed me out but I suspect will do a lot for somebody somewhere.) The former brings an innate warmth and emotion to an otherwise cold and alienating movie (is there another actress currently who is as good at looking on the verge of tears?), and the latter has a nervy delivery that provides some of the movie's biggest laughs.

Now, I suppose I should gesture towards the overall plot, which features Mortensen and Seydoux wowing the art world with their daring surgery-centric performance art. This is in the context of a world where human evolution is leading to the growth of weird and scary new organs and a corresponding increase in aggressive body modifications. Some of this seems to be a vehicle for Cronenberg to air out his thoughts on art, and one especially funny scene has a rival artist dance to techno music while covered in ears in his self-satisfied, up-its-own-ass act. This is a funnier movie than I expected, although much of the humour is of the deadpan variety. I already mentioned Stewart's comic timing, but I also chuckled at Mortensen's outfit, which looks like something a ninja would wear, or perhaps pilfered from a Yohji Yamamato or Rick Owens collection. The wardrobe of the rest of the cast is less dramatic, aside from the rise of their pants. (Yes, yes, I'm talking about clothes again.)

But there's also a political dimension, as Mortensen is working undercover for the government to infiltrate a group of subversives, although it wasn't clear to me what exactly the ideological difference was between the two parties. The movie is not interested in political coherence, and seems cagey about the nature of the government's repression, although we do get a sense of atmospheric decay from the crumbling Greek locations, presence of analog technology (which leads to the sporadic use of different film and video formats), and scenes of political operatives carrying out grisly assassinations. (There is also the frequent presence of flies, which I found a bit on the nose.) I suppose there are similarities here to the vagueness with which Videodrome sketches out its political dimensions, but that movie at least put words to the villains' ideology, giving that element a certain charge.

"North America's getting soft, patrón, and the rest of the world is getting tough. Very, very tough. We're entering savage new times, and we're going to have to be pure and direct and strong, if we're going to survive them. Now, you and this cesspool you call a television station and your people who wallow around in it, your viewers who watch you do it, they're rotting us away from the inside. We intend to stop that rot."

I haven't seen Cronenberg's last few films, but there is a sense that he was getting more respectable over the last two decades. (I'd seen A History of Violence and Eastern Promises from that period. Both quite good, but aside from a few instances of extreme violence, fairly palatable to mainstream tastes.) So seeing him go back to the biopunk sensibilities of his earlier work, the stuff that speaks to me more directly, does make the movie pretty interesting in the context of his career, and I did mostly enjoy seeing him play around with those elements. But where movies like Videodrome, Scanners and Shivers (to take a few examples) work for me and this one doesn't is that those movies had a certain cohesion and forward momentum. You enter worlds that are fairly well defined and attach yourself to protagonists who are propelled through their narratives, all delivered with a feverish, punk rock energy. (Of those movies, Videodrome has the best leading man in James Woods, whose sleazy presence gives added queasiness to the proceedings.) This movie has no real interest in making its contextual elements cohere, and kind of ambles to its climax. Also, I appreciate that we all have different sensitivities to certain subject matter, but the fact that this movie places its dramatic crux on something as upsetting as a child autopsy completely alienated me from the final section. And that the movie closes with a scene of what looks like the worst YouTube food vlog in the world meant that I was not won back before the end credits rolled.

#film #movie review #crimes of the future #david cronenberg

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awkward-lion · 5 years

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#I was going through con's art tag and I fucking got sucked in #maci is no help bitch is dragging me in further with headcannons #no canada is not at all self indulgent what are you talking aboot #countryhumans #ch france #ch canada #ch philippines #my art #lion arts

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redheid · 3 years

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S supposed to be the most dismal fucking place you can imagine spending the holidays: cooped up in a dingey little flat wi a band of fellow smackheads who had all, completely unplanned but completely expectedly, upped and left their own different little homes aftir conveniently wanting tae go oan a Christmas eve walk tae breathe in the crisp air in an act of good health at the same time, not tae come back till the middle of the night tae whoever they’d lied to in the first place tae get oot. Tryna pass off whitever smack induced quiver they’ve taken thit’s letting them knock everything down in their war path in a nefarious attempt to act as the notorious bearded fucker thit should be climbing in through the chimney later thit night. (God forbid the ones thit go home tae a place wi kids in the house actually staying up tae try n catch a glimpse of the guy in red only tae find their brother or uncle or cousin tae be sneaking in through the backdoor in a total fuckin daze n no even noticing them and their bright peeking kiddy eyes peering oot through their bedroom doors before the fail to be santa collapses as close tae the door as they can, once they’ve made sure they’ve absolutely made it through the threshold of the house.)

The dismal place they’ve come from is dreamy tae me, probably tae the smackheads alike. The aftermath is the grim boxing day of the visit.

Swanney’s place’s got smoke stains seeped so far intae the walls you can hardly tell the colour they were painted in the first place. The respect tae the physicalities of the place went swiftly down from there, once people realised a kick in the wall by an angry punter or whoever had come storming the place was either never noticed or never bothered tae get fixed, totally left fir the dust tae gather; the place became an incoherent art installation fast.

For instance, right now ah lay sprawled oot against a wall, right in the corner, the crevice of the flat where the spiders typically gather and ah squash when ah sit oan them, where if you look up tae the other wall holding you up, just tae the side, and if you squint hard enough, you can just aboot make oot a tree oan it formed from some cunt’s handprints. If you squint harder, muck a few artificial additives intae yir system thit lets you see the wonder in the simplest things, like in a grotty little flat thit stinks of piss and farts and burning, you can pretend the weary stains oan the painted greenery are colourful little specks purposely put there as decoration. They nearly look like ornaments and you can nearly act like Swanney’s taken note of a calendar or the weather outside and dressed the place up for the festivities.

Obviously some artsy fucker came in one time thinking high enough oaf themsels tae start the handy masterpiece but no enough to finish it, it was no work of our Mother Superior, but it’s a tantalising thought tae imagine him wi a bowl of paint and a green hand. The furthest his goodwill extends for the holiday season is not booting you oot immediately once you’ve got your stuff (dependent on how many freaks and geeks had made their way to his place to score likes), not until he runs ootay walls fir the lot tae fall down on does he point tae the door and tell us tae get tae fuck.

Ah was one of the first few tae arrive, see, and ah had the cognisant joy of watching the rest trickle intae the place through a very slow set of blinking eyelids while I masel was in and oot oaf a daze. Ah was well fuckin intae ma experience n well oan ma way down when ah saw Swanney pointing at the door and talking aboot wanting the place clear.

— Ah’m no having any sleepers, Swanney sais. The only reason ah hear thit one, come to consciousness enough tae even register it as a sound directed anywhere in the vicinity oaf me, was through Sick Boy’s stinging voice next tae us near enough fucking pleading tae the fucker.

— Where’s the spirit, Swanney?

— Santy can come kicking down the chimney if he likes, Simon, but he’s no invited either,

Unfortunately, ah’m in no state tae argue, though ah had planned accordingly: tae be a sleeper during the day. Naw a dozer, actually. There was no sleeping, but the dozing state was paramount tae ma festive experience. Ma Rudolph riding time in the sky.

Ah was there at the perfect time tae ride is oot and still have a happy aftermath tae deal wi when ah was tae head back home under suspicion not at all tae be compared tae the likes of those stumbling in ruining the night when they pulled the Christmas tree and bunting, should the household be so inclined tae put it up, down wi them when they came back home and made their bed on the floor. Under no fucking circumstances would Mark Renton be found drooling intae the carpet oan Christmas morning.

Ah stand up without fuss. Simon is still rattling tae the side of me and ah nearly crumble intae the wall which is not at all of my own accord (it is in my best interest tae stay as firmly upright as ah can). Ah nod a see ya tae Swanney n mibbe mumble a happy holidays.

…

– Disnae seem fair is awl ah’m saying, Rents.

Ah nod a simple nod ah’m not at all mentally tied intae.

– Not thit ah care anyways, the cunt.

Ah nod again.

– Ah’ve got a lovely supper awaiting me.

Another fucking nod.

– Baccalà.

Again, ah nod nod nod.

– Cod. A lovely, salted cod. Not thit you’d know anything about thit wi your plea for animal rights.

– Ah’m vegetarian, Si.

– Vege-fucking-whitever, it’s no good fir yir health. Examplo numero uno, he points a cuntish finger tae hissel. Ah don’t know how he has the energy. The strained finger runs from his face and over tae me. – And you.

– Ah just dinnae like the taste.

– S no very à la Christmas is awl ah’m saying. It’s the time tae feast, abbondanza, Rents. Whit, you forcing your poor madre tae cook you thit tofu shite?

Ah don’t know how he has the appetite. Physically for the feast he’s claiming or mentally for the bothering he’s doing tae me. Ah shudder. It’s fucking freezing.

– Ah just eat around the turkey. Potatoes and carrots.

He tsks all better than. – Potatoes and carrots, fucking waste.

He continues but ah keep my arms tucked nicely around ma shaking body as we get tae the bottom of the road and ease the sound of his voice ootay ma heid.

Ah look over ma shoulder and catch a few more people heading outay Swanney’s, ah bet they’re no looking tae dae half as much talking as my solid companion, but I also suspect they’re not exactly people ah’m looking for company from, thit even if they did want tae talk as much as Sick Boy they winnae have half as much tae say. Who the fuck does?

Ah watch as the cold hits them and their arms shoot up too to cocoon themselves in a solitary embrace. Fair few have jackets oan them, thick enough ones are few and far between. Ah have oan ma bomber jacket, far too short and far too fucking thin tae do any good but make it look like ah’ve been existing from my hand-me-downs aged ten. Not so much fabric thit it would make a difference if I had ten of them oan.

The buzzing breaking through the cold turns intae a sharp prod in my arm. Ah look away from Swanney’s wi a scowl back at Si, the proprietor of said prod. – Whit? ah snap belligerently.

– Knew you were no fucking listening, fucking waster.

– Fucking cunt, ah mutter.

It disnae persuade him tae stop, disnae deter the fucker at awl. Ah let him go oan and oan till we make it tae our ain separate crossroads and head our ain separate ways. Wave a merry Christmas and he says something about the meat feast thit is Christmas day, whit his sister’s are cooking, and ah listen politely fir the fact ah cannae be bothered tae tell him how much ah could no care less until he finished up and ah stumble back to Fort Renton.

…

Aftir we got the flat off the housing department oan behalf of our Wee Davie’s various fucking various illnesses, the weeks approaching the end of December were awl aboot making solid attempts tae make it look homely, tae really work wi the tree we’ve had since Billy was born n give Cathy Renton something to focus oan other than when we were getting Davie home and if his bed was ready fir him and who was going to spoon feed him whitever they were planning tae. It was aboot showing how much the place was cared for as if people were watching (which, actually, ah suppose a good few were – the Curran’s a few doors down were hawkeyed and insisting we only kept Wee Davie in our care, living wi us like, until we got the new place tae live free of charge and shipped him oot the second we got the keys as if we’d pawn him off like thit).

This is the first Christmas there’s no really any of thit, even if ah see Mr Curran’s radge fucking face peeping ootay his blinds at us.

The measly tree dinnae go up until the 21st despite attempts from ma faither tae encourage Ma intae it n even when it did go up, she dinnae even really care thit the tinsel was looking the scraggiest it ever had. No thought tae go and get replacements.

Ma faither took the ‘good’ side of the tree n put it facing the front windae, as if people like the Curran’s were actually coming up tae ours and press their faces up on the glass tae see how we were treating the place aftir Davie’s death. Whether we were packing up tae give it up fir someone else who needs it.

Well fuck thit. Finders keepers losers fucking weepers. Ma faither’s intense need tae show the outside world our supposed love and respect fir the holidays, however, left the sight for sore eyes side of the tree fir us tae look at in the living room. He’s been squinting past the plasticy brambles and the shedding metallic tinsel thit’s covering the floor so he can watch the telly in peace fir the past two days and pretending it disnae bother him thit he has tae do it.

The good old Cathy Renton has been sitting desolate as can be oan the settee oan the other side of the room, pretending tae watch the telly and not at awl pretending tae care aboot the tree and lack of quality decor.

S fucking depressing if you ask me. Ah immediately miss Swanney’s when ah step through the door.

– Where’ve you been? Fucking Billy, doss cunt, waiting fir me tae get back. He looks like he’s been sitting in thit chair at the dining table since the moment ah left waiting for a festive confrontation.

– Last minute shopping wus it, son? Ma mother sais from the settee. Ah didn’t see her when ah came in but now thit a look at her ah see the blinking colourful lights off the tree bouncing off her wrinkled face.

Ah weakly present a facsimile of a laugh n a smile. – Something like it, yeah.

– Where’s yir shoppin then? Billy snidely remarks. This gets ma mother’s attention and ah see her brows take tae work and fold inwards at the hapless confusion.

Ah dinnae have the brain power fir this.

– Leave it, ma faither sais contritely from his chair and squints further past the tree. He also looks like he’s been firmly planted there since ah left however many hours ago ah did, glued tae the telly like he has been fir days, avoiding the sincere lack of coughing and the sound of ma mother slapping wee Davie’s back in the next room this year. Doof doof doof doof nae more.

It’s Billy’s bedroom now. The worst noise we’ll get from thit room has already been heard when Sharon, his new burd, comes over.

Fuck if ah’d ever bring a burd round tae muh ma’s house. I eye the fucker, repulsive.

– What? he says, as if he’d been up in ma brain wi ma thinking, as if he had free scope over thit domain. Ah sneer back but pretend it’s a smile because ah know ma’s still watching us outay the corner of her eye. She’s especially sentimental this year. Her two boys, her two wee yins. We’ve been partly trying tae get oan fir the sake of her this year. Course the picky fucker waits till crimbo eve till his resentment towards me rears its ugly head aftir awl the arguments we’ve ignored wi our ma in the room the past few weeks. It’s been bubbling up inside of him just like it has me and ah know he’s looking for the free second tae set up his sniper oan ma forehead.

– Boys, ma faither speaks. Ah look ovir and see he dinnae even do us the grace of looking from the tv. Ah look back at Billy who’s rolling his eyes at us, ah ball up a fist and pretend it’s just me tightening ma grip oan the shopping back ah did no at awl come back wi.

– 10am, ma da sais, – sharp. Mass, back here, dinner oan n eaten then sat back down here round the tv for 3pm.

– Aye, Billy says. The fucking suck up. Wouldnae miss the queen’s talk and a seat right next tae ma faither nodding the fuck along taw whitever the old trout has tae say fir the world. Highlight of their fucking year those ten minutes of insincere spiel wi cases and cases of gold surrounding her are. – Cannae wait.

– Aye, ah say, – riveting stuff. Ah’m always hold ma breath when she pauses fir too long case she keels ovir once n for awl. Christmas day, like, drama of it.

– S pre-recorded, ye dippit. Billy scowls at me. Ah cheer masel on in ma heid. Point Mark Renton.

– Ah know, but…

– Why yis sayin it then?

Ah scowl back. Never fucking mind.

– Please, Ma sais. She’s settled intae the flow of keeping her eyes directly on the glowing screen. Ah cannae quite bring myself tae lean intae thit, Christmas eve wi the family or no.

Ah nod an awright. Billy gets his eyes off me but not at awl before giving me the condescending nod of the century. Ah smile back thit same sneering smile from before and say – Ah’ll be going tae ma room then.

Billy tsks before anyone else gets a word in, ah glower at the side of his head but realise both of the parental figures have decided tae take the goodbye in visually and are looking right at me.

– Bed so soon? ma Da sais. – You’ve just got back.

– Excited for santy, Ma says in faux delight. There’s a dead enjoyment tae her voice thit’s got me thinking she’s been stuck on the lack of a doof doof doof doof in the next room too. Ah go along wi it fir the sake of fragility of any sense of okayness in this household.

– Aye, wanna be up early. Try and catch the man in red in the act.

This seems to appease them, Ma and Da at least. She gives a half-hearted smile and ma faither gives no outward reaction which seems tae be the best case. Billy the fucking bully looks at me fir another second like he knows where the fuck ah’ve been and ah’m sure enough he does, but he lets it settle too so ah sulk off tae the privacy of a closed door.

The locks are long gone but as long as ah act the way ah’m supposed tae when ah’m oan the other side of it, the shorter the times the door gets busted down by Billy or ma faither or wi a tentative knock from muh Ma.

Ah collapse like a lump oan the bed. Thump fucking thump, ah land. Ah close ma eyes and melt intae the fucker.

It’s no long till ah hear the tv switch off. Not too much longer till ah hear Billy slam his new bedroom door shut. Believe me, ah’m glad tae have a box tae masel now, a singular bedroom, not have to listen to the snoring fucker fart himself awake every other night, but ah despise the speed in which he claimed Davie’s room. The soil was fresh on his grave and the air in the coffin was yet to turn stale before he’d started hanging up his clothes in the wardrobe.

Doof doof doof doof doof. Thit was the sound ah used tae drift off to, Davie’s chest being knocked aboot and cleared so he could make it tae the next day. Ah was always surprised he could take such a beating. He always looked so fragile.

Naw, fuck this. Ah’m sooner gonna hear the footsteps of the immortal creep from the north pole tiptoeing across the roof delivering good and peace tae the Renton’s than the doof doof doof again. Ah shut ma eyes tighter, consider moving fir a few minutes tae organise masel enough tae put oan a record, but ah unfortunately spent all ma energy oan behaving as acceptably as possible when ah had entered the home. The rest of it had been spent making a dig at the queen tae piss off Billy in his suck up time wi our Da, who the fuck’s acting like the queen’s speech is the best part of a Christmas day anyways? Fucking idiot.

Ah ball ma hands up and shove them intae ma sockets till ah see stars. Ah have a headache coming oan. Ah let the balled fists fall down ontae the duvet either side of me (thump thump) and ah squint at the far end of ma room and ma green tinny locker turned closet. Ah reckon if ah asked Billy nice enough and gave him the lock fir it, he’d wait fir me to climb in and lock me in there till the 24th turned to the 25th to the 26th. If he were feeling especially nice he’d let me stay in there till the new year passed and he’d simply slide me the odd plate of dinner tae sustain me; let me wither away, but give just enough tinned whatever tae stay alive till ah had some kind of clarity and stopped hearing the doof doof fucking doof reverberating through my skull thit’s no fucking there.

Dear the red man thit would be climbing through our chimney if we had one, may you bring me somewhere cosier and more isolated fir the holiday season. Mibbe tae an undiscovered island, nothing too fancy: a few rocks, a couple palm trees and a coconut fir me tae drink outay. This year may you give me a bit of peace and fucking quiet. Leave me a note tae say yir coming and ah’ll slip outay ma room and leave the windae open a crack fir you tae sneak in through. Kind regards, Mark Renton.

#tbt #this was fun and it ends abruptly ish but it was still fun so idc:)#its like 3300 ish words ?#good job ive decided to write the next instalment in the trainspotting series ur welcome irvine welsh

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missiodine · 4 years

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Some DS9 Ships and Headcanons

There’s a lot of posts out there already aboot this stuffs, but I will contribute too. @rosegardenofeden and I were discussing this all not too long ago.

Kiradax: Isn’t it obvious?

Garashir: Most obvious.

Julian/Miles(/Garak): They like each other and Keiko approves. Miles and Garak don’t quite like each other, but they love Bashir so at least they bond over something.

Sisko/Dukat: Dukat constantly writes enemies to lovers fanfic about Sisko and himself, but Sisko does not return the feelings (with good reason too; no one likes Dukat).

Odo/Quark: “I have my eye on you Quark.” *smirks* and “I’m the closest thing Odo has to a friend.”

Kasidy/Keiko: Probably have lunch together and vent/talk about their bfs.

Jake/Ziyal: A little shy at first, but they hit it off soon after. They bond a lot over art and writing.

Morn/Everyone: Morn is pan. Morn loves everyone. Everyone loves Morn. Who doesn’t love Morn? Sure, he never shuts up, but he’s the sexiest, coolest guy around.

#DS9 #headcanons #Morn #garashir #kiradax #I’m silly

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starzie · 7 months

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I wish I could talk about my stories more, but I'm just too secretive.

Been thinking about it lately because I'm feeling inspired to work on them.

I have about six stories; The first five used to be one story, that I kept changing and reworking until it kept getting divided. Been working on that since I was 16. Had to come up with working titles for all of them, to keep my files sorted. Let's see:

Oni Story

Shadow in Red

Madness

Ivy Vines

? (this one is blank I don't remember why)

Rearrange each first letter, and you get MISO. Whenever I write scenes that are use more than one story/world, I call it the MISO AU I really need to write the actual stories....

The original story that each one stems from, took place in three different times: The Backstory; The Journey; And The Epilogue. The plot revolved around the "main character", (Avasa), going missing in a pocket dimension. The Backstory was about how she got there; The journey involved her various friends and loved ones trying to find her, and befriending each other in the process; The Epilogue, they did find her, and now she has to live in a changed world.

Back then I really didn't know how to write for it. The character sheets, writing, and actual comic were always three different things too.

So I kept simplifying it, changing things around, and going in different directions until I ended up with so many different stories.

Ivy Vines, although an anthology, would be the closest one to the original story; Only it's about following the main character into the pocket dimension.

But the protagonist from Madness, (Bayla), is the most similar to Avasa.

edit: I just started talking about my stories from here lol

Madness is a romance series, about a starseer, Bayla, often hired for divinations. Although she's a(n unofficial) matchmaker, any romance of her own is doomed to tragically fail. Usually from the same things.

A little comic I made a while ago for fun ;p Small crossover, since Scarlett is there

Oni Story, is an adventure comic about two vagabond Oni, Joshua and Damien. Damien, the blue oni, suffering from amnesia, has forgotten his birthplace and family name. With the help of Joshua, the red oni, the two set out to find answers. (Haven't been working on this one lately, because it requires research on Japan-- Which I just haven't had time to do--)

Drawing from 2016. I had these characters for a while

Shadow in Red follows our protagonist, Scarlett (Himura), as she navigates her various relationships, while being haunted by a cursed mask. A supernatural action series with heavy drama.

I've been working on this series the most. The drawing on the pink paper, I did last week. Plus some concept art, for the mask villain. If you squint your eyes, the face changes. Scary

So that's all the stories that stemmed from the one I wrote when I was 16. None are finished, but I'm working on them. At a snail's pace 🐌

But! Aside from that, I'm also working on a new story, that has nothing to do with the other ones. Shoot. I've been working on it since the inital lockdowns. So about 3 years now.

My sixth story is called:

6. 3lone Prompt*: *Pronounced However

In 3lone Prompt, our protagonist is a clone of The Original Sorceress. Her body, made out of the remains of her body. She is, and is not The Original Sorceress. Our protagonist has no name of her own, but goes by [6], (Pronounce it however you want).

[6] encounters remnants of The Sorceress's past she must resolve; While unraveling the mystery that is The Original Sorceress's life story.

Collected a few sketches/doodles of [6] and cleaned them up. She has an ocean theme.

Oof. Didn't think I'd take this long to make this post. Finally at the thing I wanna talk about

3lone Prompt was largely inspired by RPG video games, in a meta sense

What do you do when you finish the story? All the bosses are beaten, peace is brought to the land-- What if someone else opens your file to play it? This someone has never played the game before, doesn't get a lot of what is being referenced; But can sort of piece it together. What if it was you but you forgot everything

(Was thinking about this the other day.) Around 2007, I played Pokémon Pearl, and finished it. I loved the game a lot, so even when the story was over, I explored the areas again. And again. One thing that stood out was the villain's headquarters. It's in Veilstone City, and the grunts still curse your name whenever you show up. You can climb the floors, and use the teleporters, but you really have no business being there anymore.

There's something really quiet about that kind of setting. You have everything you need, to travel wherever you want to go, but nothing you must do. Almost like a forgotten world. The story's over but the music still plays

For 3lone Prompt, I tried to build on that thought. (But it's not literally a video game, just a high fantasy setting.) The story focuses on past lives, and what could have occurred during.

In this meta sense, [6] would have "spawned" near the end game, with all the items. Meaning she has all The Sorceress's abilities; but no idea how to use them. She doesn't even know what her main objective is.

Can she piece together the clues? Let us find out!

#starzoc #starzie #my art #my stories #writing #talking aboot my art #long post #like really long this is your warning before you click read more

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disaster-magnet-runner-five · 4 years

Text

aboot me

❣ mission status: secret. ❣

Tags!

#me - general life stuff and abt me.

#run talk - chatter about run plans and missions

#babble - miscellaneous blather

#my art - what it says on the tin!

#alex!five - the tag for my runner five, alex.

#runner pile - yes i did make a tag for this.

#reblog - reblogs!

#others art - for reblogs of other folks’ art specifically!

#lmao - funny stuff reblog tag

I also tag individual characters, episodes and spoilers ( i.e. #s2m23, #zrs2, #zrs2 spoilers, #zr spoilers, etc.)

#pinned

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dzamie-oc · 4 years

Text

Smaugust 05 - Sea

A man meets up with an online friend of his to explore the uncharted parts of the sea. I mean, that's what "hic sunt dracones" means on old maps, so that must be what they're doing, right?

Cedric looked up from the picture he had printed out. He looked again, just to be certain he had the right guy. The sailor he had sought out was, in fact, right there. Rough-looking, stocky, and sporting a face with an impressive beard and the scars from a lifetime of battling the weather, the sea, and even his boat herself. Still, from his chats with the man, Cedric knew him to be kind at heart. Despite that, he was slightly nervous as he approached.

"Hey. Zilch, is it? I'm Cedric." He offered his hand out, and Zilch took it in his meaty paw and heartily shook with such spirit that it left Cedric a little sore.

"Aye, Cedric, I'm glad yer coming along!" Zilch said in exactly the loud, booming voice the younger man had guessed he'd have. It was warm and strong, and Cedric figured he could hear it half a mile off it the sailor so wanted. "Have ye looked over the itener- itinor- our planned route yet?"

Cedric smiled. "Of course, damn near first thing I did." He turned over the picture of Zilch he'd brought along to show a map. Hand-drawn, but the land was very accurate, and it noted the currents likely to show up in that time of year. And, one more, curious, feature. "Though, I've gotta ask. Mapmakers of old used to do that whole, 'hic sunt dracones,' thing because it was uncharted territory. It's... no longer uncharted. I looked up a satellite photo; aside from some rocks, it seems just like any other darker patch of sea."

Zilch beamed at him. "A scholar through and through, my lad. But, tell me, what does hic sunt dracones mean in English?"

This earned him an odd look from the younger man. "It means, 'here be dragons,' or 'here there be...' but that was generally also an excuse for the cartographer to doodle some-"

"Aye," the sailor cut him off, jabbing a thick finger right where the words were written, "and there, there be dragons."

Cedric's smile grew into a small chuckle as he shook his head as playful as he figured Zilch was being. "Okay, so we're going whalewatching. That's fair enough, but why not just say that?"

"I say we'll see dragons, and we'll see dragons." He walked towards his boat and beckoned Cedric on. "Now come on, lad, at worst you'll get to see the beautiful ocean and talk about Mage And Demon Queen with me in person rather than through a screen!"

"Fair, can't argue with that." Folding up the paper and stowing it in his pocket, Cedric nodded and stepped onto the boat. It was a rather small sailboat with a motor in case of no wind. Could probably take along four men, though outside of rough weather, Cedric had no doubt Zilch captained it just fine all by himself. The boat rocked with the light waves lapping at the pier, and Cedric found himself leaning on the railing a bit harder than he thought he'd need.

Zilch, who was busy unwinding the rope anchoring the boat to the dock, gave him a glance and a nod. "Yer sea legs'll come in, don't ye mind. Can just take a wee bit if yer not used to her like I am." He coiled up the rope on the deck, then secured it so it wouldn't slide all over, and started raising the main sail. "So," he said, as his powerful, seafaring muscles made easy work of the task, "ye got any questions about the dragons afore we get to see them? Or are we getting to the weeb stuff early?"

Cedric looked around, seeing if there was anything he could help with. "Eh, I still think you're pulling my leg on that, so I'll have to think of stuff to throw at you along the way. But in the meantime..." he said, pausing to mime pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose before resuming in a nasally voice, "um, ackshually, the word 'weeaboo' refers specifically as a derogatory of 'otaku,' and as such does not apply to a work of art as truthfully deserving of proper respec-" He had to stop as a grin split his face, and he and Zilch shared a laugh at the joke.

"Well, if the wind is good," the sailor said, letting some rope out to catch said wind, "ye've got a couple hours for that. So, did ye see snek waifu save Generic Isekai Dude in the recent episode?"

"Oh, did I ever. I was surprised she could deflect Vel's bolts, seeing as..."

---

"Okay, I thought of a question."

"Aye?"

"Really broad one, but no teasing on how long it took for me to mention it."

Zilch shrugged. "Ye had more important matters on yer mind. Like lamia in stockings."

Cedric assumed a mock-regal pose. "A true gentleman's interest, to be sure."

His friend smiled and wagged a finger at him, saying, "och, them's fighting words. Call me a gentleman one more time, see what happens."

Cedric opened his mouth and inhaled, as though about to do just that, then shook his head. "Ah, but really. So, the dragons. What do they look like?"

"Oh, there are so many of them, lad. Blue, red, brown, green, and in all shapes and sizes. A lot of them spiky, some of them... less so. My favorites be probably this family - least, I assume they're family - of real sleek, black and white beasties. The leaders are an elegant blue-white, almost ethereal girl. Well, I think she's a girl. They haven't corrected me on it. Anyway, this white lass, and then her mate, black as the night sky, with gorgeous green eyes. And then there's the rest, kids and grandkids, I reckon, all black and white in areas. I see them the most."

"Never corrected you?" Cedric asked, still skeptical."

"Well, only time they set me on fire was when one of them sneezed, so either I'm right, or... well, they probably can't speak English." Zilch shrugged. "I don't know a thing about what goes on between a dragon's legs-"

"Malori, hopefully," Cedric interjected.

"In more fanfics than ye could shake a stick at, aye," the man agreed, "but I mean in real life. Not that I particularly look, mind ye."

A thick mist washed over the boat. It was easy enough for the two men to see each other, but Zilch immediately trimmed the sails and watched carefully off the bow for incoming rocks. "We're getting close now. If we're lucky, we'll catch 'em flapping aboot to enjoy the air outside of their hole."

"They do that?"

"Well, mostly the family. I see the black one the most. Occasionally there's a spiky blue dragon, or a red two-legged one... what's the name, wyvern. But aye, it's generally just the black and white fellers."

Cedric squinted through the mist, trying to see whatever Zilch thought was a dragon. "You seem pretty familiar and, uh, normalized isn't quite the right word, but... used to them? Yeah. Surprised you haven't named any."

Zilch spun the wheel to dodge a water-worn rock, then readjuste to keep his bearing. "Oh, I have, but I'd lose ye if I just started saying stuff like, 'I was watching a couple of The Dragon Torches sunbathe the other day when a Pinchicken started yelling at them' or 'a Loud Fucker kept harrassing me last week so I left early.' So, colors." He pondered for a moment, then added, "oh, but I do think I figured out the big black one's name. Said it after he showed a trick he does when being all friendly, and he responded real well to it."

"Pinchicken, huh? That sounds kinda funny." It's not that Cedric had stopped being skeptical, but at the least, he could enjoy his friend's thoroughness with the whole dragon thing. "Too bad of all this fog, gonna be hard to see a dolphin, let alone a mythological creature. So, what'd you name the bl-"

He was interrupted by a loud THUMP! on the deck behind them. Cedric and Zilch grabbed for the railing to avoid falling over, and the sailor, naturally, recovered faster, walking towards the sound. Cedric turned, and his eyes grew wide.

Standing on the deck was a sleek, black, scaly figure, easily fifteen, maybe twenty-five feet in length. It stood on stubby, lizard-like legs with leathery, bat-like wings on its back as it looked around. It spotted Cedric, then Zilch, and turned its broad head back and forth before deciding to approach the sailor. Cedric was so caught up in seeing an actual, living, flying dragon, that he barely registered that Zilch was about half a second from touching a wild animal. But before he could voice his concern, Zilch placed his hand on the creature's snout, and it pressed its head against him, burbling and crooning softly.

"Ah, hello again, Toothless."

#dragon #writing #smaugust #smaugust 2020 #how to train your dragon #toothless #night fury #text #writers on tumblr

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blessthejets · 6 years

Text

1. Put your music player on shuffle. Give me the first 6 songs that pop up.

1. One more light - Linkin Park

2. Love story - Taylor Swift

3. Thunder - Imagine Dragons

4. New man - Ed Sheeran

5. A thousand miles - Vanessa Carlton

6. Treat you better - Shawn Mendes

2. If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

Rick Rypien, that’s for sure. If he was still on this earth, though...

3. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17:

“fuckin god, wis aboot aw ah could pick ootay the horrible sound. She collapses oantae the threadbare couch.“ - Trainspotting. In English. I mean, “English”. haha

4. What do you think about most?

Overthinking things I can’t really do anything about.

5. What does your latest text message from someone else say?

My ex boyfriend from the USA: “nope not at all”

6. Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

With my clothes. It’s so COLD!

7. What’s your strangest talent?

I think my facial expressions. People say they like it haha.

8. Girls…. (finish the sentence); Boys…. (finish the sentence)

Girls are equal to boys. Boys are equal to girls.

9. Ever had a poem or song written about you?

Nah. I don’t think. I mean I can relate to a LOT of songs or poems, mostly about brokenhearted girls or depression, but that’s not directly about me.

10. When is the last time you played the air guitar?

When I got the guitar at the age of eight? I think? So it would beeee... about thirteen years ago now.

11. Do you have any strange phobias?

Spiders. Clowns. Heights. Tiny holes. Balloons. Slugs. Insect. Yes, nothing strange.

12. Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

WTF lol

13. What’s your religion?

SCIENCE.

14. If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

Walking my dog ♥

15. Do you perfer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Behind.

16. Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

Imagine Dragons, hands down.

17. What was the last lie you told?

“Sorry I didn’t reply, I fell asleep.” hahah

18. Do you believe in karma?

Of course!

19. What does your screen name mean?

blessthejets? It’s just my blog dedicated to the Winnipeg Jets. And it rhymes which I like hehe

20. What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

Weakness - dogs. Any kinds of dogs. Strenght? Courage, I guess.

21. Who is your celebrity crush?

There’s million of them. But my favorite of all of them will always be Mr. Kurt Cobain.

22. Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

Naaa. I’d love to though.

23. How do you vent your anger?

I don’t really get angry very often. When I do, I try avoid people because I don’t want to hurt them by saying something inappropriate.

24. Do you have a collection of anything?

Yup. Ice hockey stuff. Cards, scarves, jerseys etc.

Do you perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

mhmm.. probably talking face to face.

26. Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

I’m suffering with serious mental health issues. So I’m trying to be a better person every day. So far so good.

27. What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

Hate - morning alarm haha. Love - my dog barking out of excitement when I get home.

28. What’s your biggest “what if”?

What if I realize I didn’t live my life as I wanted? And now it’s too soon to do that?...

29. Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

YES. YES.

30. Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

Right - Coca cola zero. Left - nothing.

31. Smell the air. What do you smell?

Um. Air

32. What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

Psychiatrics at Prague, Bohnice.

33. Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

Of where?

34. Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

KURT COBAIN!

35. To you, what is the meaning of life?

FOR ME - it’s definitely dogs. Shelter dogs. Helping shelter dogs, teaching people to adopt and not to support backyard breeders.

36. Define: Art.

Everything.

37. Do you believe in luck?

Yes.

38. What’s the weather like right now?

End of the February. Sunny but god damn COLD.

39. What time is it?

12:33 pm

40. Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

No I don’t drive. Because I don’t want to get in a car crash :P

41. What was the last book you read?

Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh.

42. Do you like the smell of gasoline?

Yash!

43. Do you have any nicknames?

Yeah. My name is Adéla. I get called Dee, Dede, Adel, Ady, Addie. Also a giraffe. haha

44. What was the last movie you saw?

The Gift. It was well wrapped..

45. What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

I don’t know if it’s considered as an injury. But probably when I overdosed with pills on purpose. Spent 13 hours in a coma, woke up in hospital, was transferred to psychiatrics.

46. Have you ever caught a butterfly?

Yes, when I was a little. Now they kind of scare me.

47. Do you have any obsessions right now?

Ice hockey, dogs, travelling, dogs, ice hockey, Swedes, blondes, dogs.

48. What’s your ?

What’s my what?

49. Ever had a rumor spread about you?

Yes. But no fucks were given during any of those times.

50. Do you believe in magic?

Yes. Harry Potter for the win.

51. Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

Just for a while. I always try to give a second chance. And the third. And fourth. Until I’m fucked up again.

52. What is your astrological sign?

Gemini.

53. Do you save money or spend it?

Trying to save. But usually just spend. :D

54. What’s the last thing you purchased?

A lunch at my lunch break at work.

55. Love or lust?

Both.

56. In a relationship?

No. Who would be with a psycho like me?

57. Are you a virgin?

No.

58. Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

I can.

59. Where were you yesterday?

At work and outside with my dog. Also at home.

60. Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

Yeah. My hand cream on my desk.

61. Are you wearing socks right now?

Yes. I’m AT WORK!

62. What’s your favorite animal?

Fox, dog.

63. What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

Hahaha haahha if I knew I would actually had a boyfriend by now.

64. Where is your best friend?

She moved from our street just a little bit away. She’s with her newborn babygirl and her husband so she does not really have much free time.

66. What is your heritage?

Czech and Bulgarian. But I prefer saying just Czech because my parents got divorced when I was three. I have never even been to Bulgary. I don’t really want to, anyway.

67. What were you doing last night at 12 AM?

Doing a birthday card for my coworker who has her birthday tomorrow.

68. What do you think is Satan’s last name?

I don’t know what’s his last name but I know his kid. It’s my dog.

70. Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

Sometimes yes. I laugh a lot and I have a great sense of humor I think. I love to laugh. But on the other hand I suffer from depression. I’d probably want to help myself and get caught into this infinite circle.

71. You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

I help the dog and call my boss. If they tell me that I’m being fired anyway, I don’t care. I wouldn’t want to work for someone who doesn’t care about a dog’s life.

72. You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live.

Well... I’d say thanks? Or what am I supposed to do? I tried to kill myself three months ago so I don’t really know what’s going on with my life right about now.

a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die?

No.

b) What do you do with your remaining days?

I would try to find a new lovely home for my dog. Make sure he’s okay. I would probably just won’t talk to any of my friends. I wouldn’t want to talk to my family either. I would just be stuck inside my brain, my mind. Thinking about what it’s gonna be.

c) Would you be afraid?

No. Not at all.

73. You can only have one of these things: trust or love.

Trust. I have trust issues so... that would help me mentally a lot.

74. What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

All Star by Smash Mouth (;

75. What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

4373 (:

76. In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

Trust. Communication. Tolerance. Laughter. Dreams about future spent together.

77. How can I win your heart?

Make me laugh. And understand please that I have some issues I need to deal with. You don’t have to, but once you win my heart and we are dating, you would have to deal with it whether you want it or not. It’s not my fault. Please understand it.

78. Can insanity bring on more creativity?

Yes. And depression brings the most beautiful thoughts - ironically.

79. What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

Adopting my dog. We rescued each other.

80. What size shoes do you where?

39 in Europe, 6 in UK, 8 in US.

81. What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

"Offline” lol haha. No. Probably something like “I told you I was sick.”

82. What is your favorite word?

Probably “cencúl”. It means icicle in Slovakian.

83. Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word: heart.

Broken.

84. What is a saying you say a lot?

Everything happens for a reason.

85. What’s the last song you listened to?

A world alone by Lorde from Pure Heroine.

86. Basic question: what’s your favorite color/colors?

Blueee

87. What is your current desktop picture?

WINNIPEG JETS. Both on my PC at work and my laptop at home.

88. If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

I wouldn’t.

89. What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

I’m pretty open. I would answer anything. Truly.

90. One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?

Mummies don’t scare me. I would just ask them what to do to become like them.

91. You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

Telekinesis. That way, shit will still get done when I’m having a lazy day.

92. You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

When I saw my dog for the first time. When we met. When we went for our first walk outside the shelter.

93. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

My very first relationship.

94. You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

Well, since Kurt Cobain is not here anymore, I would choose... Lorde. Or Avriel Kaplan. Or Daniel Platzman.

95) You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

Gothenburg, Sweden.

96) Do you have any relatives in jail?

Not relatives. Just my very best friend.

97) Have you ever thrown up in the car?

Yes. But it wasn’t caused by the ride. It was caused by alcohol. And it wasn’t really in a car, I told the driver to stop, then I opened the door and threw up there. Hahahahah

98) Ever been on a plane?

Not yet.

99) If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

Step 1 - Breathe in

Step 2 - Breathe out

Step 3 - STOP! HAMMERTIME!

100) Give me your top 5 favorite blogs on Tumblr.

Nah I don’t have any.

#100+questions

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magnoliasandbeardedtooth · 5 years

Note

talk to me aboot 20th century art movements pls.....

I hope you like vaguely informed, opinionated distaste cause I have a whole lot of it

20th century art movements are all about a break from tradition, right?? expressionism, cubism, futurism, the whole idea of modernity is to develop past or break away from established, classic rules and standards of the art world. Some chumps made some exclusive art club and the people who made art that differed from that club’s standards weren’t allowed in. So they said “fuck it” and made their own clubs

except NOW, they get to have their OWN set of crazy strict rules and exclusive clubs, which is the EXACT SAME ENVIRONMENT they were trying to dismantle in the first place. Now THEY get to be at the top, and suddenly all those standards and the exclusionism is just fine. Now that they’re at the top, THEY get to be the ones who make the rules, get famous, and sell their art of exorbitant prices. They didn’t dismantle or destroy the establishment they hated, they just replaced it

And when you’re at the top, leading the art world, what’s the point of trying to “break tradition?” NOTHING. Because now YOU’RE the tradition. There’s nothing “revolutionary” about following whatever art movement is popular at the time. Like, honestly:

Not to mention that a lot of art, the “best” art, is some of these movements is ugly as fuck. I recognize that making it look like they do takes skill, but that almost makes it worse. Matisse spent over a year making that painting with the red figures dancing in a circle. Over a YEAR to paint 3 colors, no depth, and anatomy as lumpy and discordant as possible.

I think that, before anything, before any meaning or strange purpose, art should look pleasing. Maybe not to the person, but at the very least, to the eye. Art should be made, to the best ability of the artist, to be fun to look at. That’s the WHOLE POINT of art, to be LOOKED AT. If its not meant to be nice to look at in some way, what’s the point?? The only reason for art to be purposefully UNpleasant is for the discomfort value, but again, the discomfort value doesn’t mean ANYTHING if that art is the popular standard.

I saw a post recently about someone who’s daughter was making art by splashing paint over some paper. They showed her Jackson Pollock (not from 1920, but relevant), and said “This guy paints like you do, and he’s really famous.” And she looked at it, thoroughly unimpressed, and said “My colors are prettier.” And you know what??? That little girl was correct.

I don’t know who they thought they were fooling, but using nothing but the boldest, blockiest colors don’t look good. Neither do clay orange, swamp teal, and patchy purple. Like, what is supposed to be good about this????

Which brings me to another thing, abut how AAAAALLLLLL of the nudes are women, and despite being lumpy and awful the artists still SOMEHOW managed to make them idealized. HOW IS IT that while their arms and legs look like playdoh, they still have perky boobs and pretty crotches????

I stand by the idea that most art is just glorified pinups, but like, at least when the anatomy looked less grotesque, they could pass it off as being a “tasteful nude.” In these movements, its just so obvious how much they wanted to paint naked women.

I know my tastes are my own, and I think most of this is because I’m in a required 20th Century Art class where I’m forced to appreciate this shit. Plus, after having taken a couple other classes with this professor, its pretty obvious that this art period is his favorite. The way he teaches this class reminds me of the awful philosophy teacher I had once, teaching all this subjectiveness as gospel that will enlighten us all. This class is the only one where I have to write more than one paper. This class is the only one where we actually read the writings of the artists (from a book he said he has to keep replacing because he reads it just that often), and the only one where the exam format is different because he is including those texts in his exams.

And lemme tell you, those writings are a fucking trip (warning for nasty imagery and solid racism):

“I had hardly spoken these words when suddenly I spun around with a drunken lurch like a dog trying to bite his tail, and there all at once coming towards me were two cyclists, wavering in front of me like two equally persuasive but contradictory arguments. Their stupid dilemma was being disputed right in my way … . What a nuisance! Auff! … I stopped short and–disgusting–was hurled, wheels in the air, into a ditch … .

“Oh! Maternal ditch, almost to the top with muddy water! Fair factory drainage ditch! I avidly savored your nourishing muck, remembering the holy black breast of my Sudanese nurse … . When I got out from under the upturned car–torn, filthy, stinking–I felt the red hot iron of joy pass over my heart!”

-F. T. Martinetti, “The Foundation and Manifesto of Futurism,” 1908

Like????? What the fuck???????? I guess this is about the development of futurism, but these are the kind of ideas I need to respect and revere all of a sudden?????

So now I have to write 2 papers on art I don’t like to look at, from artists I hate, for a teacher who had a PhD in liking this stuff. Papers, might I add, that are around the length of this post, but can I write about how I don’t like this entire movement????? No!!! I have to pick out of this pile, study how to see anything redeemable in it, and slog out pages of consideration and praise.

Which, by the way, is another thing I hate. If your art is so mentally inaccessible that people have to write books on how to SEE A PAINTING because they aren’t looking at your art right, maybe that art isn’t as awesome as you think it is

I’m tired of having to analyze the stuff that is so incredibly fake deep, I’m tired of struggling to look at paintings. I just want to look at some art and enjoy it

#speaks #Anonymous #I'm just #so upset

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