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queenoftheantz · 2 years

Video

"In the small town night, a young man stumbles across a hot dog vendor with a unique business model: He trades his late night food for people's souls."

I took a filmmaking class this spring, and decided my class project would be to make an animatic for the first episode of my Hot Dog miniseries-pitch!

Drawings, Writing, voice-acting by yours truly (have mercy). Thank you to Aylen for throwing ideas with me, and Poul for helping me edit! Music by Detektivbyrån

#hot dog #varmkorv #soul for a hot dog #pitch #animatic #video #art #tw: flies #idk how to say it but there's some fly body horror. pretty light though

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purrsongs · 10 months

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There’s a pool of gold in front of me, deep and rich, amber to sunshine, beautiful.

It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever smelled, flowers and sugar so strong it fills my nose and mouth, but I don’t know what to do when faced with it, such a vast lake and beautiful sensations.

There’s someone across the pool. They put their hands in, and when they take their hands out, they’re covered in honey, a perfect coating of gold.

That’s probably what you’re supposed to do.

There are fruit flies, drowned in the shallow bits, dead and suspended in the pool, eager to taste the sweetness, unaware that they suffocate themselves to do so. I don’t want to touch them.

I can’t see if the other person has fruit flies on their side. Maybe they don’t. Or maybe they do, and ignore them.

That’s probably what you’re supposed to do.

I dip my hands in, expecting warm water, liquid metal, gold to run through my fingers.

When I pull my hands out, they drip on the white floor, puddles of honey, and it covers my hands, turning me gold and amber and sunshine

But when the honey touches the air, it hardens, and becomes sticky, tacky where it stops coating my wrists, dripping onto my clothes. I’m making a mess. It doesn’t feel warm and beautiful anymore, and the sweet smell is cloying, clogging my nostrils with honey, coating my tongue with honey, coating my hands with honey.

I look across the golden lake. The other person submerges their arms in the vat of honey.

There’s flies in it. It’s sticking to my skin. It’s making a mess.

The other one pulls their arms out, and it’s like they’re turning to gold. Not a droplet splatters from them.

That’s probably what’s supposed to happen.

I like honey, I tell myself as I lean over the edge of the pool and push my arms deeper into it. It’s sweet. It’s tasty. It’s beautiful.

I bring my arms up slowly. It’s hard to pull myself out. The honey sticks to itself and weighs my arms down and sticks to my clothes and drips on the ground. I hear a fly buzz by my ear. I look across the pool.

They are already wading into the pool, glistening, amber and sunshine and smelling like flowers. Honey pools from their hands and flows smoothly back into the pool.

Okay. Okay. I take a deep breath. I will go in slower. I lean over the pool again to put my arms back in and avert my eyes from the flies and try not to think about the tacky feeling of my clothes sticking to my skin, but my arms are heavy, laden with honey, and I topple over.

Suddenly all I see is honey, deep and rich, amber to sunshine, molten gold. All I smell is honey, flowers and sugar, and it coats my mouth and nose.

It is beautiful. It is sweet. I like honey.

But there are flies and I am covered in sticky, heavy, liquid. I try to drag myself upwards, out of the pool, but I make no progress. I can’t breathe. I am going to drown like the fruit flies.

I cannot even thrash. It slows my movements. I’m stuck.

All I taste is honey.

Something grabs me, and I am pulled out of the pool. It sucks on me like it doesn’t want to let me go. I spit. It’s golden. I heave in a breath and look up.

“Thanks,” I manage to say. I need water. I like honey. It’s sweet. But it’s covering my mouth and throat.

It’s the other person. Their coat of honey is like a glowing sheen around them. They are confused, slightly frustrated, looking at me as if I missed something obvious. “Why did you do that?”

I try to swallow the honey that’s lodged in my throat. Everything is sticking to my skin. It’s in my hair. It’s dripping on the floor. “I fell. It was an accident.”

“How?”

How? How what? I fell. “I… It was a mistake. I didn’t fall in on purpose.”

“How did you make a mistake? Don’t you know what to do?”

“No,” I say.

All I taste is honey. I can barely focus. It’s everywhere, it’s on me, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. There’s too much honey. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I want a shower.

Suddenly I feel myself crying.

“Don’t you like honey?” comes the other person’s puzzled, irritated voice.

“I like honey.” “Then why are you crying?”

I am sitting on the floor, honey dripping from every inch of my body, flies stuck to me, hearing them buzz, desperately thirsty, not knowing why I’ve made such a mess or what I did wrong.

And someone is standing across from me, someone who knows what to do and why we do it and how to do it, deep and rich, amber to sunshine, liquid gold, not a drop staining the floor, looking down at me, asking why I’m crying. Asking how I made a mistake. Asking if I like honey.

“I don’t know,” I say. I try to wipe my face. I smear honey across my cheek.

There are people that don’t like honey. They don’t have to come here because they can’t do this. I like honey. Why am I still doing it wrong? I like honey.

The other person walks away, content with my answer. I like honey. I must not need help.

I lie down on the floor and try not to think or feel what’s happening. I look at the pool. Flies in the pool don’t buzz and struggle.

There’s a pool of gold in front of me, deep and rich, amber to sunshine, beautiful.

It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever smelled, flowers and sugar so strong it fills my nose and mouth, but I don’t know what to do when faced with it.

So I turn away from it and let the honey dry on my skin like glue as I will myself to sleep. Tomorrow I can take a shower and try again. Some days I don’t bother washing off the dried honey. I can watch someone else walk into the honey pool. I can walk in with them and hope something changes.

A fly lands in front of me. The honey makes my arms heavy. I don’t have the energy to slap it away.

#poetry #writing #honey #tw: flies #flies #dead bugs #tw: dead bugs #dead insect #tw: insects #just in case #disability #autism #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #disabled #depression #mental health #some kind of metaphor.

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bam-monsterhospital · 10 months

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i don’t recommend fully smooshing a stout (deer/horse fly).

blood EVERYWHERE

so MUCH MESS

#tw: flies #tw: bugs #it's like swatting 20 just-fed female mosquitoes all grouped together #aaaaaaaaaa #just nasty #if you can fly-swatter it then cool #if you don't have one available and have to use a solid object like i just did?#be prepared #that fucker recently fed is what i'm saying #and i wasn't prepared for a full stout >:U

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ratcandy · 2 months

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today i had a discussion with someone on the things we call scorpions that are not scorpions . because entomologists love to call things by names they are not actually.

ended up with this little . presentation. guide. thing. there are probably many, many more, but this is what we came up with on the Spot

#could've added that scorpionflies are not even true flies since they're not in Diptera #but if we want to start listing things we call flies that are not flies then we would need a whole separate massive list #clamtalk #ok i'm done talkign for today sorry. Very talkative. Much to say #bugs #bug tw #arachnids #arachnophobia #entomology #scorpions #ask to tag #bugposting

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wolf-pearl · 2 years

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Ok so I'm taking a genetics class right now and in lab we've been given fruit flies with different mutations that we need to breed over the course of the semester.

Now, first thing I learned: fruit flies don't eat fruit. They eat yeast. They eat the yeast on fermenting fruit. They can not actually eat fruit. Their name is a lie.

Secondly, one of the two mutant lines I was given to cross are flies with the apterous mutation, aka they're wingless. I feel so bad for them, they can't do the one thing they're named for, they cant fly.

And then I realized. My fruit flies are in truth insects that eat yeast and can't fly.

Anyways, I've been calling them my yeast crawls and I am their god now.

#genetics #laboratory #fruit flies #fruit fly #yeast crawls #college #bug cw #bug tw #insect tw

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shinebrightsweetdove · 2 years

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there... is a rogue fly in my room and i don’t know how it got in here

#// loki is botherin me i s2g #tw: flies #ooc

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ghoulymadge · 7 months

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losing my mind over plushia being ejected from one of the canons at the melbourne ritual (x)

bonus:

#madge musings #ghost #ghost aus tour 2023 #the band ghost #ghost band #ghost bc #flash tw #THE WAY IT JUST FLIES

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unyazik · 1 year

Photo

funny and not so sketches with eagle flies and others <3

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #eagle flies #Dutch Van Der Linde #jack marston #rains fall #tw eyestrain #don't repost please XDDDDDD #gonna cry every time I think about rains fall and eagle flies

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tiredarts-sketchbook · 3 months

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I’ve drawn this thing more often like a bug than I have the canon design

#art #my art #ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #tw body horror #tw bug #tw bugs #tw mosquito #it makes shrill whirring noises as it flies and knuckleblasts you instead of biting #it is an insect of the most annoying caliber

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mj-thrush-gxn · 2 months

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The Split

#GRARRRRRRRGGGG #I HATE THEM ALL #am i lying?#who knows #this is crappy in a good way #the lighting is off but that’s fine #thrush draws #tw blood #only a bit #lotf #lotf fanart #lotf jack #lord of the flies fanart #lord of the flies

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daughterofcainnnn · 27 days

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Preacher's Daughter aesthetic.

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rattyexplores · 4 months

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Very large robber fly attacking a cicada. I took this photo years ago, and for some reason I just forgot about it. I don't know how considering how interesting it is.

17/11/20 - QLD:WET coastal rainforest nursery Predator - Diptera: Dolopus sp. Prey - Hemiptera: Cicadoidea sp.