#inspired by edward hopper... and so on

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

那些不願模仿任何事物的人，是生不出任何作品的。

Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing.

— Salvador Dalí

( thought-provoking. Is not it? Lan~*)

about AI Art

我認為沒有必要仇視和敵對於"AI Works of Art"，除非你完全不必與現代人的生活與生存環境接軌，你也不用3C/5G產品(your smartphones)，可能你需要瞭解更多的關於這新時代的事實，即使我們是仍舊用雙手在創作的藝術家們。Lan~* and 這篇文章可以參考 :

The Purity Police and AI Art By Mark Dixon 10.25.2023

I think there is no need to be hostile and hate to "AI Works of Art", unless you don't have to be in line with modern people's life and living environment, and you don't use 3C/5G products (your smartphones), maybe you need to know more about this The fact of the new era, even though we are artists who still use our hands to create. Lan~* You can refer to this article:

The Purity Police and AI Art By Mark Dixon 10.25.2023 🙏 Thanks!

Louis Servedio Morales

[mandalhoerian]

(1) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Ferrying passengers and cargo between the mainland and the outlying islands is your family's livelihood. Life at sea holds its surprises, yet the routines remain reassuring — docking and departing, tourist antics, more docking and departing...

And there's the seal of course — the local celebrity trailing the ferry each day as though he's on the payroll. You think it might have been brought about by giving into his every whim and accidentally becoming his favorite person to be around in the process. But who would’ve guessed the truth, that he's actually a selkie who's spent years shadowing you, believing himself to be escorting his chosen bride all along?

genre: fluff, comedy | wc: 4K | read on ao3

next >

note: this is inspired by the giggly leg-kick inducing selkie raf fanart here by @/beechu-beechu!!!! i adore this raf to the moon and back, and all the seal videos i've watched (crybaby learns to swim) has prepared me for this moment. i hope you'll stick around for this very un-edited mini-series!

Your chest tightens pleasantly as you breathe in deep draughts of briny air, mist clinging to your tongue and lips, sharp and salty, anticipation of yet another day with your marine friend nudging your footsteps faster over slick cobblestones that echo softly against the buildings that line the street. Dawn hasn’t quite shaken off the night, draping everything in gauzy shadows, stretching slender fingers of soft gold across the rooftops, making you feel the gentle bite of the morning chill grazing your skin in a tingle of needles against your cheeks.

Ahead, the harbor emerges from the last traces of darkness, boats bobbing lazily against moorings that creak and groan like old friends in conversation as dockworkers shuffle around, silhouettes bent under cargo, and in comfortable and hushed chatting somehow overtaken by the screams of seagulls. Among them, your family's ferry waits patiently at its berth, outline illuminated by the muted brilliance of the rising sun — a scene so delicately composed you think it might’ve been painted by Edward Hopper himself each and every time you witness it.

“Hey hey, Elias!” you call, raising a hand to greet the old fisherman, his weather-creased face somehow aging a couple more years while he picks through a tangle of nets with focus.

He lifts his head, eyes crinkling fondly beneath his salt-stained cap. “Ah, mornin’, lass!"

"Brought something with me today. I want to see if it helps with the bait bucket problem."

"Boy is addicted to easy pickings, I doubt that. Wee nyaff owes me half a season’s catch by now.” Elias's rumbling chuckles have warmth rumbling through your chest. “Can’t fault him for his good taste in company when he has treats delivered to his doorstep, though.”

“Nice try,” you say, your tone mock-stern, a smile tugging insistently at the corner of your mouth. “But flattery’s not buying you extra coffee today.”

His laughter echoes briefly before it’s swallowed by the soft slosh of water beneath the docks, and he peers out across the idly rolling tide, affection blending with mild irritation as his fingers start working faster.

"That's fine," he says. "Having you back is enough. My poor boat needed a break from all that terrorizing."

You laugh at that with an embarrassed, heavy heart.

Six months have melted away since you traded your graduation cap for the familiar sight of gulls wheeling above the docks. You’d returned home carrying equal parts eagerness and obligation, drawn back into your father’s orbit, hoping, perhaps, to ease some of the burdens he’d never openly admit were weighing him down.

Leaving for university felt like stepping aboard a departing train, thrilling and dizzying as it rattled toward a glittering unknown named the future. City life was a constant hum you were ill-prepared for — nights brimming with noise, friendships blazing bright but fleeting as sparks — but somewhere along the way, that excitement quietly dimmed, and in its absence grew a tender longing, whisper-soft, for a simpler past, back when your world was defined by the comforting cadence of the ferry schedule and the friendly bustle of seasonal visitors.

So, under the spotlight of shame, coming home felt oddly disjointed at first, as though stepping back into a photograph that had stubbornly refused to fade, preserved, untouched by time — the docks still busy at dawn, fishermen hauling in their catches, schoolkids racing, backpacks swinging wildly, the scent of fresh bread spilling from the bakery door at exactly eight sharp every morning. Life moved here in steady, predictable rhythms, each beat familiar enough to lull you into comfort, yet somehow magnifying a subtle, restless niggling deep within your chest.

Because beneath the comforting yet burdensome familiarity that's a bed of nails at night, you can't shake the quiet sensation that returning was more retreat than progress.

You feel it most keenly when whispers trail in your wake, pointed glances exchanged between curious neighbors whose mouths curve around your name like a secret. They wonder aloud — in voices just low enough to feign politeness — about how university might have shaped you, or perhaps, more poignantly, left you unchanged.

You can feel their quiet amusement, the delight in the idea of the girl who once dreamed beyond the island now anchored firmly back in place, tethered once more to the ferry ropes and her father’s stubborn pride.

Not that Dad would ever breathe a word of needing assistance. Pride is his quiet strength and silent curse, a barrier more solid than the island's rocky coastline. You'd notice him sometimes, catching fleeting moments when he believes no one was watching — rubbing the weariness from his shoulders after hefting crates heavier than he’d admit, wincing just a little as his knees protest bending to secure the moorings, lips pressing into a thin, shaky line. It makes your heart twist like a wet rag, knowing his stubbornness masked vulnerability, and you'd resolved, quietly yet firmly, that your presence would stay constant until further notice.

Besides, the arrangement came with undeniable perks — a roof overhead without rent’s shadow hanging over your head, meals rich with nostalgia’s comforting flavor, and the cradle-like sway and creak of deck boards beneath your feet. It's more than enough compensation, more than fair payment, for the small surrender of uncertain ambitions to the nonjudgmental embrace of home.

By nonjudgmental you mean the weight of being allowed to take time in figuring your stuff out inbetween all the nausea-inducing sessions of admitting to yourself you're absolutely lost and don't have the slightest idea what you're going to do next.

So, yeah. Things are going great.

Still, despite everything, there’s at least one soul whose very presence smooths away any lingering doubts you had about returning home.

Well — perhaps not exactly a person.

There he is, your seal companion of years, lounging right there on the loading ramp as though he's claimed ownership of the whole harbor, proudly blocking Dad’s path as usual.

Today, Raf’s gray coat catches the clementine of the morning sun like liquid bronze, sleek fur glistening wetly, shimmering with subtle gold beneath droplets of seawater, and tiny flecks of fish scales cling stubbornly to his whiskers, the glittering remnants of his breakfast. You try your hardest to summon a stern mask of reprimand to your face — someone needs to teach this cheeky little shit some manners before either you or Dad dive headfirst into the sea because of Raf's sunbathing spot choices — but one glance into his wide, guileless eyes instantly dissolves your resolve into warm-hearted resignation.

With a mock-exasperated sigh, you lean down, scratching softly beneath his chin and tracing scratching circles in the thick fur around his neck, and Raf immediately responds, rolling onto his side and enthusiastically clapping his flippers together like an actor performing a rehearsed trick. You feel like he's Pavlov-ed you into yielding to his desires by rewarding you with cuteness, and burst into laughter, the sound rippling sweetly across the bay.

"Hi, hi, hi, my cutie pie," you coo softly in a sing-song voice that's the usual ritualistic greeting you have for him, smile brightening as you reveal a small stash of dried salmon you'd slipped into your bag. "I didn't forget my promise."

Raf perks up immediately, twisting himself with a delighted wriggle that ends with his tail thumping happily against the ramp, peering upward, eyes large and pleading, more expressive than any puppy’s. A heartbeat later, he's flopped dramatically onto his side, one flipper thrust skyward in hopeful invitation, and your cheeks ache from the persistent grin stretching across your face, but that hardly matters.

For a few joyful minutes, you're lost in a game of enthusiastic 'handshakes,' finishing with good, thorough tummy scritches before starting to feed him.

"Keep spoiling the damn thing, and he'll forget how to fish altogether," Dad grumbles affectionately as he passes by, hoisting another heavy crate bound for one of the smaller islands. You resist the urge to tease him about who’s really spoiling whom around here — considering how easily he gives in to your own puppy eyes — and instead settle for an innocent shrug, shaking the salmon bag, unaware of Raf following the notion with his neck elongating impossibly due to his unbelievable flexibility.

"Aww, come on. Look at that irresistible face! You can't help but want to give him whatever he wants!"

"Mm'begh, egg, ggeaaaghh," snorts Raf, wiggling under your pets, and even Dad is amused enough to pause and raise his eyebrows at the silly seal before moving along.

After a minute of playful petting, you pull yourself upright and stretch, wondering how many fish in the ocean smell this fresh and clean. The scent alone reminds you of childhood summer vacations splashing around, blissfully ignorant of any underlying responsibilities or cares.

"Get your fat cat off the ramp before he trips one of us up."

On cue, Raf slaps a fin theatrically against his rounded belly, releasing a snuffling grunt that sounds suspiciously like a tiny piglet rather than a seal: "Mmpppshh."

"Don't listen to him," you reassure Raf solemnly, as though comforting a wounded toddler. "You’re not fat. You're just… well-built. Big bones."

Your half-serious tone earns you several enthusiastic thwaps of Raf’s wet flippers against your calves, making you laugh despite your best efforts to feign sternness. "UUUUAAAAAAGH!!!"

With an exaggerated sigh, you give in, bending down for another pat. "Alright, easy there, handsome. Time to get to work."

Yet Raf, predictably, sees this only as an invitation for more attention, rolling onto his back once again, flippers splayed wide, belly fully exposed in expectation of being cradled like a newborn. Maybe he just wants another belly rub. Or maybe he senses how much you cherish these little interactions, savoring the warmth of mutual affection like it's as essential as breathing. It certainly seems to keep him lively and robust — after all, you’re with him far more than anyone else. There are countless days spent sharing scraps from lunch, swimming side-by-side from island to island, or teaching him new tricks as thinly-veiled excuses for play. Even Dad has remarked (with a teasing grin that you pointedly ignore) that Raf seems more like your best friend than anyone else in town.

And really, what's the harm? Spoiling a seal who clearly enjoys your company hardly counts as indulgent. It's simply mutual happiness, a comforting addiction you've willingly embraced: the velvety smoothness of dark-gray fur beneath your fingers, the hidden strength of his sleek body, the endearing little huff he gives when your windbreaker tickles his sensitive whiskers. All of it — absolutely addictive.

"You know exactly how unfair this is," you finally giggle softly, deciding to have mercy on your heart (and Raf’s belly) for now. "Come on, buddy."

"Ppppfffrrrshh."

With a playful little bounce, Raf balances briefly on his foreflippers, wobbling theatrically before launching himself gracefully off the ramp into the calm water below, sending a silvery plume everywhere, and he surfaces once, twice, three times — each pretty leap arching through the dawn-tinted waves, always teasing, never coming nearer than a safe distance of about ten feet from where you stand as he glides easily in lazy circles around the ferry’s bow, waiting patiently for you to climb aboard.

Slowly, the bleary-eyed commuters begin filing onto the ferry, faces etched with lingering dreams and shoulders hunched beneath the invisible weight of daily responsibilities, and you greet each with energetic warmth to start off the day, offering an amiable nod and a reassuring smile as they pass.

"Coffee’s fresh if you need it, other beverage options and food are available as well in the passenger cabin's buffet," you inform, trying to be a comforting balm to their early-morning weariness. Relief flashes briefly across some tired eyes as you watch people go in and out with hands that tighten gratefully around steaming cups, savoring the warmth like precious embers that ward off the chill.

The tourists follow closely behind after your usuals, pouring aboard in a cheerful wave of bright-eyed excitement as they clutch tightly to their guidebooks, maps, and expensive cameras, animated chatter in various foreign languages floods the deck and shoos away the remnants of the sleepy calm, their infectious enthusiasm cascading over you, a vibrant hum that makes even the most mundane tasks feel fresh and lively.

A woman leans eagerly across the railing, eyes searching for something in the water, but doesn't break any safety rules. She must be a seasoned traveler. "Will we see the famous seal today?"

You cast her a self-satisfied glance, nodding knowingly toward the shimmering expanse of the harbor. "I'd say the odds are pretty high, given he's basically imprinted on this ferry," you promise, and as though summoned by your certainty, Raf’s sleek form breaches the gentle swell, fur catching the sunlight in an iridescent cascade. "Right on cue — there's our local star."

A wave of delighted murmurs and gasps ripples across the deck, the enthusiastic click of cameras rising like an orchestra chef's signal as Raf begins his performance, slicing effortlessly between waves and drawing dramatic curves through the water, slowing his movements deliberately to let the ferry glide past before starting his 'warm-up laps' again. Tourists are absolutely losing it over getting to see something like this up close, every splash and proud bob of his glossy head eliciting cheers and applause that would scare every single sea animal around the perimeter. But not Raf. He's used to it by now.

"So, everyone — meet Raf!" you call out above the enthusiastic chatter, pointing with a flourish toward the glossy head bobbing in the waves. "He's friendly enough, so don't panic if he hops aboard for a visit. But keep your distance — not because he'll bite, mind you, but because he'll bruise your ego when he pretends you don't exist. He enjoys your admiration strictly from afar. He's a star like that."

A cheerful chorus of laughter, aww-ing and agreement rings out in response.

Taking advantage of the good mood, you repeat the safery regulations and warnings before you busy yourself assisting passengers, guiding them to their seats and helping stow bags in the compartments tucked beneath. You have to announce the route the ferry will take and how long the stops will be, and then, the ferry is pulling smoothly away from the docks, leaving the harbor behind and setting course over waters shimmering brilliantly beneath the sun.

Several adventurous tourists stake out prime spots along the ferry's edge, though many soon retreat inward, driven away by sharp gusts whipping their hair into tangles and peppering their faces with chilly, sharp salt spray. You stroll leisurely between the seats, pausing here and there for pleasant banter about the scenery, local delicacies, or family holidays gone awry, keeping the conversations is easy and light, and you're met with appreciative nods and smiles.

Out across the waves, sunlight dances like scattered jewels, creating diamond-dust illusions whenever a gust scatters spray towards the sky. Every now and then, Raf's sleek form slices effortlessly through the glittering waves, drawing joyful gasps and delighted pointing from your captivated audience.

To anyone coming aboard for the first time, Raf gives every impression of being charming, approachable — even sociable. A casual observer might assume he’s perfectly at ease with human company, considering how effortlessly he weaves himself into the daily bustle around the ferry, acting every bit the seasoned local soaking up attention. At first, you’d happily fallen for the same illusion, even rejoicing a bit at the idea that he was genuinely warming up to people when he started making regular appearances.

Reality, however, quickly proved less rosy. That endearing exterior was, and still is, hiding a nasty streak you could swear was deliberate, because Raf seems to delight in luring people in, coaxing them into thinking they've made a furry new friend — only to abruptly turn aloof, snubbing them with the ease of a ghoster. It’s as if he takes twisted pleasure in watching visitors wilt in disappointment, and so you've learned to offer friendly yet firm warnings upfront: admire him, laugh at his antics, but don't get too cozy or you’re bound to wind up nursing a heartbreak.

Suddenly, there are gasps among the crowd.

Well, mostly screams at first, before turning into delighted giggles.

"Look, over there!" A child shrieks with uncontainable excitement, sprinting eagerly toward the railing at the ferry’s side deck.

Your head snaps up immediately, and a laugh escapes you before you can suppress it. You didn't think your overly confident companion could still manage to surprise you after so many months spent sharing the sea.

Raf has flopped his way onto the ferry once again. Like he belongs, the cocky little shit. Raf glides gracelessly across the deck, flippers waving with dramatic flair — almost comically bird-like — until gravity decisively interrupts his attempted elegance. His slick body careens straight into a pole, skidding downward with a recoiling thud and ending the journey facedown right beside your boots.

"Oh, so gracious of you to rejoin us, Your Majesty," you tease affectionately, nudging him with your toe. "Seems like you get lazier with every trip. Keep hitching rides like this and we'll have to start charging you."

A squeaky little noise slips from Raf's throat, quickly followed by a sneeze-snort that's frankly too adorable to handle. You can't help yourself — you adore every silly, ridiculous part of this creature with those impossibly round, innocent eyes.

A couple kids swarm over as soon as they gather confidence to approach him. "Can we pet him?"

Look at that. Like clockwork.

With a gentle hand, you stroke his back, fingers gliding down his sleek, slippery fur from head to tail, quietly rewarding him for tolerating the children's excitement. "Alright, Raf is a little jumpy sometimes, so we can only pet him one at a time, okay guys? Remember, slow and gentle. Don't spook him."

One boy bravely kneels, gingerly scratching beneath Raf’s chin, giggling when Raf playfully nudges him with an almost haughty flick of his nose. Another child, more timid, holds out her palm for Raf to sniff and squeals when Raf leans forward to bump her inconspicuously enough to topple her onto her backside. The first wave of curious kids gets the others clustering around when they see there's nothing to be afraid of, and soon enough, squeals are louder than the ferry itself as parents linger close by, protective yet smiling fondly at the playful interactions between their children and the beloved seal.

You know Raf better than anyone, how he's around people — the cautious way he approaches, simultaneously wary and irresistibly curious, how those large, ink-dark eyes study every new movement with intent fascination, watchful yet hesitant as hands reach toward his glossy fur. It speaks volumes about his trust in you that he tolerates curious bombardments of attention every day, only flinching or skittering backward when a visitor's gesture becomes too swift or unpredictable for comfort, just as he's doing right now with these children (whom he's generally more tolerating towards.)

Occasionally though, someone ends up with an accidental nip — never serious enough to break skin, usually just leaving behind a faint pinkish mark and perhaps a startled expression. But thankfully, these incidents are rare, mostly limited to times when you're not around to ease his nerves and mediate with the person who just wants to pet him and most likely (always) in the wrong about boundaries of a wild animal.

And right now, some time after with the fawning of children and parents taking photos in an unofficial queue, you recognize his signals immediately — the way he blows raspberries and starts shifting restlessly — clear indications he's becoming overwhelmed. As soon as you see him squirming to indicate he'll start galumphing away from the eager crowd any second now, you swiftly intervene, encouraging nearby parents to corral their energetic kids and give him some breathing room.

"Alright, that's enough excitement for this morning!" you call cheerfully, ushering everyone back to their seats. "We'll be reaching our destination soon — please find your places and settle in."

As the passengers reluctantly scatter back to their seats and Raf bounces away to get back into the safety and comfort of the sea without even a glance back at you like he's blaming you for his peril, one woman remains beside you, her eyes lingering appreciatively on Raf as he glides effortlessly back into the waves. "You’ve trained him remarkably well."

That comment leaves an acidic residue in your stomach. You've never thought of Raf as an animal you had to tame into shape, or that he needed to be disciplined like a dog. It isn't about interfering with wildlife and never treating him as a pet either (though you also were very well aware). He simply is a companion you were grateful to have in your life that terms like training have always been demeaning to hear pertaining to him.

"Honestly, Raf is the cleverest sea critter I've ever known," you reply with genuine affection, quickly adding, "Though I wouldn't exactly call it 'training.'"

Her eyebrows lift with mild intrigue. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, nothing formal or complicated. Mostly just treats and encouragement, getting him comfortable around us, making sure human attention is positive for him. Simple stuff," you explain, resting casually against the railing. "He took to accepting snacks from my hand on his own — didn't even have to teach him. He just picked it up naturally, even posing nicely when tourists want photos. Mind you, he used to drive fishermen mad. My friend Elias still swears Raf sabotaged his fishing line out of spite."

Her grin broadens, matching yours, and a strong gust ruffles her blonde pixie cut like fluff from a dandelion caught in the wind. "He sounds ready for the big top. You might just have yourself a circus performer," she jokes lightly. "He seems to put on a real show whenever you're around."

Your smile dims a bit — remembering those early days weren't always so playful. The faint scars on your arm still ache whenever it rains. "I wish," you admit, wrists flexing. "But Raf gets nervous fast and ultimately does his own thing. If he listens to me at all, it’s only because he's comfortable. We grew up together, more or less. Maybe he sees this place as a secondary rookery, I don't know."

She tilts her head in subtle amazement before nodding. "You must really care for him. I’ve never seen someone handle a wild animal so naturally."

"Having his trust is special," you reply earnestly, gaze drifting toward Raf as he circles alongside the ferry, rolling with the waves as though he were just another seabird drifting with the wind. "It's rare to earn that kind of bond with a creature as smart and free-spirited as him. I’m incredibly lucky."

"He really does make one want to believe in selkies," she adds, leaning back against the rail as though preparing for a lengthy conversation.

"Selkies?"

An amused little chuckle answers before words do. "Surely you've heard of them — magical beings said to be able to shapeshift between a seal and human form." Her mouth curves into an odd smile. "It's very sad actually, the stories of the female selkies. They can shed their sealskins at will and take on a human form, but if they lose their coats, they have no choice but to stay ashore forever." She lowers her eyelashes, softening her features. "And even worse — according to lore, some men claim the skins and force the poor women who already have their mates into marriage."

"That's horrible," you reply, swallowing hard. Just thinking of Raf being bound to anyone in such a violent way makes your fists clench instinctively. You may not believe in supernatural fairy tales, but the thought of him being trapped sickens you, even for pretend. "Those men ought to be taken out to sea and keelhauled till their flesh is bloody fish bait."

The image that phrase conjures definitely has her smiling ear-to-ear.

"What about the male selkies? Is the tale genderbent in their case?"

"Well... Selkie men are seducers."

"What?" you almost scream. "That's radically different than—"

"I know," she cuts you off with a reassuring tone. "True to how the society was like back then, they had a lot more freedom. Nothing about coat-stealing or anything. Just women who are unsatisfied in their lives and relationships, also lonely fishermen wives, who summon a selkie lover by shedding seven tears into the sea at high tide on a full moon. And interestingly, those selkie men truly love their human lovers and their offspring. If their genre is romance, the stories of female selkies getting forcefully married are just horror."

"Realism, I guess," you say, trying to wrap your mind around the details.

You briefly picture Raf as one of those legendary beings. Knowing he wouldn't touch any human being with a five foot pole, you imagine it would be nothing short of wishing for a genie in a bottle but summoning a trickster spirit instead.

[willbyersabyss]

Edward Creel is El, Henry Creel is Will. No seriously.

I was reading the Montauk book and well... I have evidence that Eleven is a "reincarnation" of Edward Creel. And Will could be a reincarnation of Henry.

In "The Montauk Project: Experiments in Time," we hear about a man named Duncan Cameron. He has psychic abilities much like the lab kids and was clearly the inspiration for Henry. Duncan also has a brother named Edward Cameron. They both were working on the USS Eldridge and were later involved in time travel experiments.

At some point during their time travel shenanigans, Edward decided to stay in 1943 while Duncan stayed in 1983. This caused Duncan to start aging rapidly and in order to preserve his abilities, they figured out that they carry a unique electromagnetic signature. This signature is basically their entire personhood, their mind and memories. Both Duncan and Edward's signatures were transferred onto new people, reincarnating them. The children they transferred their minds to have no recollection of who they were before the "reincarnation" process.

And I think this happened to Will and El.

As other people have theorized, Edward Creel is Henry's brother who got lost in another timeline. I think that the lab found him and his mind was transferred into El, much like Edward Cameron's mind was transferred. In Montauk, Edward was replicated through age regression, but it doesn't have to be one-to-one.

Edward and Duncan got stuck in a side time tunnel at one point and encountered aliens. This could be where the timeline split for Henry and Edward too.

How do I know they'll use this part of the Montauk experiments? Well... they already did. Edward was renamed Al Bielek after his transfer. In the play and in Eddie's book, we find out that Eddie (Edward) Munson's dad is named Al Munson. There's no way it's a coincidence that they paired up an Edward and an Al together. It's a reference to this part of Montauk.

Ok so why do I think El has part of Edward Creel's mind? First off, El and Al's names sound very similar. Hm. Their backstories also connect. Al was taken in by a family who had a baby that died young. Two of El's parental figures had children who died young. Hopper's daughter died at the age of 6. Terry was told she "miscarried" in the third trimester. Al's parents were brainwashed after they stuck Edward into their family. Terry was also brainwashed.

In the Edward Creel version of the Creel murders, Edward was found without eyes and mutilated limbs. Could be lab interference, or they could be telling us that Edward is actually dead. In Montauk, they only wanted to transfer signatures when their star subject was dying. This could be why they transferred Edward Creel's signature into El. He was killed before his time.

Edward’s version of events happened on March 21st. This is the same night Chrissy was murdered in Eddie’s trailer. The bodies were found on the 22nd, just like Chrissy. El was accused of wanting to kill Angela after the assault that happened on the 22nd. Eddie was later killed by bats. Is this another hint that Edward Creel is dead? The vampire references surrounding Eddie might also link to Edward Creel becoming “undead” through El.

Side theory that kind of relates: Was Edward the boy Henry put in a wheelchair? This could explain why the Creels have the wheelchair in their attic. Maybe they left Edward behind to stay with other relatives for his safety. Or Edward is related, but not a sibling? A cousin?

Vecna slash Henry says that there was a time when he wanted El by his side. In Montauk, Edward and Duncan (aka Henry) went back in time together to save the USS Eldridge and complete the time loop. It could be that after the signature transfer, El and Will work together to fix the time loop, so Vecna is referencing future events where they do work together, but through a different time.

There isn't much information about Edward Cameron in the Montauk book, so that part of the evidence ends here.

If El had Henry's timeline brother transferred into her mind, this could explain why Henry felt so connected to her compared to the other lab children. In the play, it's evident that he felt connected to her upon her birth! He even says she reminds him of someone he knew and while he was talking about himself here, it could be another hint at El literally being someone he knew: his brother Edward.

This isn't to say El isn't her own person, she is, but she does have the mind and memories of Edward in her too. She's both!

Now onto the Will of it all. Will has Henry's electromagnetic signature. Like, this is confirmed. They literally say so.

Seriously.

As I said earlier, the signature transfer causes the original person to lose all sense of who they were before the transfer. This is basically what the Mind Flayer did to Will when he was possessed. The lines between Will and whatever was taking over his mind were being blurred, but they got him back. Not without consequences, though. The "signature" wasn't removed, Will still has Henry in him. He is both Will and Henry.

Will and Henry's backstories are nearly identical. Henry got lost in another dimension, got possessed, and now has powers, all things that happened to Will. And we know the iconic parallel of them both being described as sensitive. Their family dynamics are also similar. Virginia and Lonnie are abusive, Jonathan and Alice are older siblings to their brothers (not to mention their dead bunny parallel), Joyce and Victor have a few similarities too. Will and Henry even dress similarly in their plaid shirts.

Will is described to have personality changes in s2, but the most significant changes we see before his possession are just extensions of himself. He became more reserved, more quiet than he usually is. Henry also seemed to be quiet, so their personalities combining exacerbated Will's behavior.

I'm not the first to point this out, but Will draws a zombie that looks very similar to Henry when he enters Dimension X. When questioned, Will says that the drawing is him and doesn't expand on why (we know why, but still). Henry is zombie boy, zombie boy is Will, Will is Henry.

And that wasn't even scratching the surface of the Henry Will parallels.

It's also worth noting that the kid Duncan transferred his signature to was 12 years old. You know, the same age Will was when he got kidnapped. Duncan was in the year 1983 (before time traveling) when this happened.

This could be why Vecna slash Henry sought out Will in the first place. Like Duncan, Henry was dying, and needed a replacement to preserve himself. Will was the perfect subject. This connects back to my theory that Henry's physical body is already dead and the Vecna we see is his soul/mind.

It's possible that Henry's soul/body is now just a puppet for the Mind Flayer, abandoned of Henry's previous traits. When Henry tells his backstory, he has no recollection of the better aspects of his personality we are shown in the play, he only remembers the dark parts. This might be because the good parts of Henry aren't with him, but with Will.

Henry’s Creel murders happened on March 25th. It’s interesting how on March 25th, we see Will burying a body in the desert. Will is linked to death on the 25th? Same scene, Mike says “It’s the number. We’ve had it this whole time (looks at Will).” Will is the number… 001.

Duncan couldn't die due to time paradoxes, which is why they transferred his mind to a new body. Maybe this is why the Mind Flayer wants to keep Will alive. Will and Henry need to live as one (haha) to keep the timeline stable. This could provide time travel scenarios in s5 where Will has to go back in time and cause future events...

Something interesting that I haven't seen discussed before is how Will's comment about Vegas actually connects to Henry. Patty, the one person Henry ever really connected to, was on the search for her biological mother. Patty found out that her mom was working at a casino in Vegas, so she left Hawkins to meet her there. Will references Vegas casinos in the van! This could be a subconscious desire from Henry's side of Will to seek out Patty. Honestly I hope Wills little reference is alluding to Patty coming back in s5 too.

One more thing, Will's relation to Henry and/or Dimension X started before 1983. Will drew the rainbow spaceship in 1979, a reference to the USS Eldridge. I think the transfer happened when Will was attached to the vine in the UD, so there are likely time shenanigans here. Or... the lab implanted Henry's mind into Will in 1979 when his physical body died, but even that doesn't align with Will's birthday ship!

Edward Cameron's memories of his time on the USS Eldridge were wiped, but Duncan still recalls the experiment. El also seems to have no recollection of the rainbow ship, but Will does. Edward didn't regain these memories until the mid 1980s. Could El begin to recall these events in s5?

El and Will having Edward and Henry's respective signatures also explains their weird sibling connection in s1.

El recognized Will because she knew him in another body in another timeline. They were meant to be siblings because they already were. Through Henry and Edward's memories of each other, El feels drawn to Will like she's always known him, despite never meeting.

Will and El switch places with each other too many times in the series for me to even provide examples (here's one). They swap places, go through parallel yet contrasting scenarios, much like their henward counterparts. This seems to be hinting at them having a higher connection than siblings by chance.

Circling back to Montauk, this line could be referencing Will and El completing/ending the time loop together, like Henry and Edward were supposed to before Edward's early demise.

The time loop goes from 1943 when the ship disappeared, to 1983 when Will was kidnapped. I think Will is the key to time travel and this might be unlocked when he and El work together to reach it. Their powers can combine to save the world. Will and El's connection transcends time and will fix time.

[storiesoflilies]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ lily’s whimsical summer event ⋆ ˚｡⋆

have you ever dreamt of the faraway milky stars and the salt of the deep ocean, my darlings? perhaps you could sit here with me for a while, and we could dream together…

status: closed

hello my darlings! i have decided to do a little collab event to celebrate reaching over 300 followers <3

what is the theme? well… the theme is all about travelling to that whimsical universe in your head that inspires you to create wonderful things.

my all-time goal has been to write pieces that transport readers to another place, even if it’s only for a little drop in time. some of my best work is born when i listen to music that fits the vibe of what i’m trying to write or when i see artwork that inspires me.

RULES & HOW TO ENTER

᭞𓇼 this space is 18+ only! so minors, absolutely do not interact!

᭞𓇼 please do not write about/draw any characters who are minors, and no aging up/time skips!

᭞𓇼 i don’t mind dark content, so long as it doesn’t contain any of the following: r*pe/non-con, explicit physical abuse, bestiality, pedophilia.

᭞𓇼 this event is open to any fandom, and not just jujutsu kaisen!

᭞𓇼 this event is open to writers, poets, artists, and any and all other creators. you can even create moodboards or playlists if you’d like! there is no limit to what you can create here <3

᭞𓇼 send me a dm or ask to take part, and tell me what song/artwork/poem (or whatever else) has inspired you to create a new piece.

᭞𓇼 please please please tag me in what you guys create, and use the tag #Lily’sWhimsySummer

᭞𓇼 the deadline for applying is the 30th of September!

᭞𓇼 i will always reblog and add everybody who takes part to this post, so come back here to check for new content!

᭞𓇼 it would be really great if everyone who sees this could reblog and boost this post so it can reach more people to inspire! i don’t mind you guys tagging people you think would be interested in this either.

MASTERLIST

my inspired whimsical darlings:

᭞𓇼 ‘abalone’ (tojixreader) by @bungalowbear / inspired by the painting ‘lighthouse hill’ by edward hopper.

᭞𓇼 ‘strawberries and spilt milk’ (tojixreader) by @muzansslxt / inspired by a playlist and bridgerton.

᭞𓇼 ‘sugar and seaglass’ (gojoxreader) by @madaqueue / inspired by the song ‘sweet/i thought you wanted to dance’ by tyler the creator.

᭞𓇼 ‘goblin market’ (sukunaxreader) by @ffsg0jo / inspired by the poem ‘the goblin market’ by christina rossetti - coming soon!

᭞𓇼 ‘the ballad of nevermore’ (gojo/toji/sukuna/getoxreader) by @ffsg0jo / inspired by the book ‘once upon a broken heart’ by stephanie garber - coming soon!

᭞𓇼 ‘in heavy mist, in glitter dusk’ (sukunaxreader) by @pinknipszz / inspired by the song ‘girlfriend’ by hemlocke springs - coming soon!

᭞𓇼 ‘now you’re a stranger, but i’m still july’ (kafkaxreader) by @neptuneblue / inspired by the song ‘august’ by flipturn – coming soon!

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

Louis Servedio-Morales

South Bronx Art Collection

[justforbooks]

David Lynch: the great American surrealist who made experimentalism mainstream

From disturbing debut Eraserhead to his masterpiece Mulholland Drive, Lynch’s dark tales combined radical experiment with everyday Americana

No director ever interpreted the American Dream with more artless innocence than David Lynch. It could be the title of any of his films. Lynch saw that if the US dreamed of safety and prosperity and the suburban drive and the picket fence, it also dreamed of the opposite: of escape, danger, adventure, sex and death. And the two collided and opened up chasms and sinkholes in the lost highway to happiness.

Lynch was a film-maker who found portals to alternative existences and truffled in them like they were erogenous zones, moist orifices of existential possibility. He was the great American surrealist, but his vision was so distinctive that he became something other than that: a great fabulist, a great anti-narrative dissenter, his storylines splitting and swirling in non sequiturs and Escher loops. Lynch was unique, in that he took a tradition of experimentalism in movies such as Maya Deren and Alexander Hammid’s Meshes of the Afternoon and brought it into the commercial mainstream, mixing it with pulp noir, soap opera, camp comedy, erotic thriller and supernatural horror.

Who did Lynch most resemble? Maybe Luis Buñuel from the pioneering 1920s, Douglas Sirk from the Hollywood 1940s, Alejandro Jodorowsky from the counterculture 1970s. Or maybe Edward Hopper (whose painting Office at Night has something Lynchian to it) or Andrew Wyeth and his mysterious midwest tableau Christina’s World. But “Lynchian” could as well mean mainstream or even conservative. Lynch himself was not joking when he talked about his pride at being an Eagle scout in his boyhood.

And he could direct conventionally plotted (if generically freaky) films such as The Elephant Man, with John Hurt as the exploited Victorian fairground attraction, and his adaptation of Frank Herbert’s SF standard Dune – and even the emotional and gentle The Straight Story (whose title concedes its outlying quality), based on the true story of an old man who drove his lawn tractor from Iowa to Wisconsin to visit his estranged brother. Lynch was always passionate about Americana, and Steven Spielberg shrewdly cast Lynch as the western movie legend John Ford in his film The Fabelmans.

Yet with films such as his disturbing, sepulchral debut Eraserhead and (what for me is his masterpiece) Mulholland Drive, a dark fantasia of Hollywood despair, he showed that the challenge to normality was itself erotic. He underlined it with the throbbing and groaning sound design and inspired musical scores from his longtime collaborator, composer Angelo Badalamenti. I will always remember after the first showing of Mulholland Drive in 2001, all of us dizzy and jittery with how very sensual and strange it had been, how witty and how erotic.

Perhaps most remarkably of all, Lynch’s ongoing smallscreen project Twin Peaks anticipated by decades today’s cultural prestige of streaming longform television. And in fact none of today’s Sopranos and Mad Men match Twin Peaks for auteur television. Watch the first two seasons of Twin Peaks from the 90s, the story of a straight-arrow FBI man (played by Kyle MacLachlan) investigating the metaphysical mystery of a violent murder, and see how the second ends with a promise to pick up the story in 25 years’ time – and it actually did. The brightly lit, theatrically soapy look of 90s TV drama was replaced in the third season by the darker, gloomier look of 21st-century high-class TV production. But it was Lynch, through and through.

“This whole world’s wild at heart and weird on top!” wails Laura Dern’s distraught Lula in Lynch’s Wild at Heart, anguished in her wretched motel bedroom, pregnant with her lover’s child – that is, the convicted killer Sailor, a Presleyesque figure played by Nicolas Cage. It’s actually not quite a description of the world as Lynch sees it. In the macabre Blue Velvet from 1986, the world is normal on top, weird underneath, but these layers can’t exist without each other. A clean-cut guy played by MacLachlan, walking home in a suburban American utopia, finds a severed ear on the ground: a symbol, perhaps, of the director’s own hypersensitive perception of underground stirrings and the hidden America. Soon this man is to conceive an obsession with a nightclub singer: part of Lynch’s own longstanding obsession with secret cabarets and occult theatrical rituals, and his particular rapture for the red curtain, rippling and stirring with the mystery it conceals. A Freudian image, yes, but maybe Lynchian is the superseding adjective.

Lost Highway, in 1997, was one of his doppelganger hallucinations, in which Bill Pullman’s troubled sax player and his wife (Patricia Arquette) are terrified by an anonymous tormentor who leaves video cassettes on their doorstep with footage of the outside of their house – an idea later borrowed by Michael Haneke in his movie Hidden.

But for me Mulholland Drive is his masterpiece of eroticism and despair, a brilliant riff on how in Hollywood disillusion is a toxic-waste byproduct of the dream factory. The relationship of Naomi Watts’s saucer-eyed ingénue and Laura Harring’s enigmatic troubled woman is one of the great fraught friendships of modern American cinema.

I myself met Lynch only once, and that was online: a video-linked Q&A for the unveiling of his photographs at the Photographers’ Gallery in London. One of the questioners was someone who had been a walk-on in The Elephant Man and Lynch was instantly hugely excited and insisted on her being brought up to the platform so that he could see her face; he could hardly be persuaded not to simply make the rest of the evening his reminiscences with her. Lynch was always plotting ways to smuggle his audience into new territories of fear, desire and pleasure.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[possumspaperpals]

“Nobody Here, There’s Nobody at All!”

“I’m Doing so Well have You Heard?”

“Be Right Here and Forever You’ll Stay”

These paintings are a triptych I made in my junior year of high school as part of my sustained investigation. When I made these I had just watched supereyepatchwolf’s video on liminal spaces, and it got me thinking about how I would feel trapped in a space where I was the only person left. I ended up making up an entire scenario about this where I’m stuck in this endless building in a white empty void endlessly wandering and missing my loved one’s. I also took some inspiration from Edward Hopper’s Urban Isolation paintings

All of them use gestural brushstrokes and color to convey intense emotions with the last one also using space and perspective to do so. The first meant to capture mania, the second deep sorrow, and the last intense loneliness.

Yes all their titles are song lyrics from “Aishite Aishite Aishite”

[greenfiend]

So I finished reading The Montauk Project: Experiments in Time

(Thanks to @conflictofthemind for your post and recommendation!)

And I have MANY thoughts!!!

For context, it’s a known fact that Stranger Things as a whole was heavily inspired by the story of The Montauk Project. So much so, that the original title of the show was “Montauk”.

Here are some of my thoughts…

- “What Duncan thought of as a subjective reality would be created as an objective reality (either solid or transparent, depending on the circumstances). For example, he could think of an entire building and that building would appear on the base.” Manifestation powers…

- “The first experiment was called “The Seeing Eye”. With a lock of person’s hair or other appropriate object in his hand, Duncan would concentrate on the person and be able to see as if he was seeing through their eyes, hearing through their ears, and feeling through their body.” Whoa!!! I can’t help but feel like this could be an explanation for my “flayed Hopper” theory… could this explain the puppeteering going on?

- “The parallel universes might reach our consciousness through dreams, ESP, meditation or artificially induced mental states.” Okay wow this has to be connected with @heroesbyler posts on how El’s void visions are noticeably different than the “reality”! This is one way the parallel universes are connected!

- “According to Duncan, there was also another function of the time tunnel. About two-thirds of the way down the tunnel, one’s energy leaves the body. One would feel a big thump accompanied by a tendency to see on a broad scale.” Thump!!! A big THUMB! Something that has been referenced multiple times within the show.

- “Al has stated that age regression techniques were used to put Edward Cameron into a new body in the Bielek family. The Bielek family was chosen…” This is something I believe happened on the show. Perhaps to Alice/Holly? That’s where my mind went first.

I have a lot more thoughts but I’ll leave this for now…

[imaginetheswan]

I need to talk about House by the Railroad because it, and Edward Hopper’s other works, are so interesting and I love his style.

House by the Railroad was created in 1925 by American painter Edward Hopper, in oil on canvas. The painting was inspired by a real Victorian house located in Haverstraw, New York, only about ten miles from Hopper’s own birthplace of Nyack, New York. The house was built in 1868 and currently houses apartments.

Perhaps what the house and painting are best known for is for being the inspiration of the house in Alfred Hitchcock’s psychological horror film Psycho (1960) based off of Robert Bloch’s 1959 novel of the same name. As far as I can tell, there’s very little description of the house in the book, aside from “the big frame house on the hillside” and the description of the interior as “usually, even when a house is old, there are some signs of alteration and improvement in the interior. But the parlor she peered at had never been ‘modernized.’” The kitchen has a similar description as an old house with no modernization. Because of this description, it’s understandable that Hitchcock would use a Victorian home as the exterior.

House by the Railroad also inspired the house created by Charles Addams for his fictional family, the Addams Family.

Currently the painting is housed in the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan, New York City, New York, where it has been located since 1930.

[kicksnscribs]

I think one of the biggest draws of The Life and Times of Juno Danier to me is not the fact that it's fun to mess with Batman or explore the world and space with what is essentially a bootleg power ring but like

Gotham is just fun to explore in my head you know?

Sure there's hot superheroes in my area and and talking tiger and cool supervillains all that jazz but theres also Gotham fucking CITY dude, one of the only cities in all of fiction that is designed specifically to my tastes [so long as its the cartoon/90s movie/Arkham games its pulling inspiration from lol]

Its the comfort of Edward Hoppers Nighthawks but like, extended to the entirety of the city to me and it's so much fun to be able to make and explore my interpretation of it.

[unicornery]

"Boulevard of Broken Dreams"

today I had occasion to research the origin of the phrase "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" after I heard it referenced in a 1998 tv show episode. I was curious where it came from, in the culture. It was originally a traditional pop song from 1933! Then I found this article explaining the background on the GD one and I'm sorry but this is so goddamn funny to me.

During a 2005 episode of VH1‘s Storytellers series featuring Green Day performing and telling the story behind the songs on American Idiot in its entirety, Billie Joe [Armstrong] takes a question from a fan who asks if the “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” is a real place.

Billie Joe responds telling the story of the song’s inspiration, including a mention of how the title comes from “an old James Dean photo where he’s walking in New York,” claiming that the title is printed beneath it, and that is where he got it from.

To clarify, though, Billie Joe misspoke, combining two separate things into one. Both of these things do involve James Dean, but they are totally separate pieces of art from different time periods.

First, he refers to the famous photo shot by Dennis Stock in 1955, titled James Dean Alone in the Rain, in the Middle of Times Square.

There is a famous painting, also featuring James Dean, by Gottfriend Helnwein that is titled “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”. This painting was completed in 1985 and is a parody of Edward Hopper’s 1942 painting “Nighthawks.”

Helnwein’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” features Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, James Dean and Elvis Presley.

source extrachill.com

[shelandsorcery]

had an excuse to list a few physical books I love for furthering your art practice

so it seemed worthwhile to crosspost in case anyone else was interested!

For just getting the painting-studies-from-life fire lit under you, I recommend Hawthorne on Painting : https://store.doverpublications.com/0486318745.html -- it's a collection of lecture notes from the cape cod school of art, and there's no pictures, and that seems so counter-intuitive, but the sheer passion for light and colour that shines through honestly is really inspiring. The core concept I took from it is that a painting study doesn't require expert knowledge of anatomy, perspective, structure etc; just a passion for seeing colour, and then putting the right colour down in the right shaped mark in the right place; a simple and infinitely difficult skill to learn and a great way to get out of your own head when the subject matter feels overwhelming. It's a very affordable little pocket-sized book and you can likely track down a used version as it's been a classic for a long time.

For more visual instruction, another classic-and-affordable book I have used to the point of disrepair is Jack Hamm's Drawing Scenery: Landscapes and Seascapes : https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/352897/drawing-scenery-seascapes-and-landscapes-by-jack-hamm/9780399508066 -- it starts with the bare bones of composition, but it goes into amazing detail on all sorts of elements of scenery from trees to skies to lighting and more. I keep his spread of Types of Clouds bookmarked for easy reference!

And for the fun of discovery and clear, direct instruction, I've really liked the Think When You Draw books : http://theetheringtonbrothers.blogspot.com/ -- while this isn't my personal visual style, they have such great, punchy, memorable instruction on such a huge, wide array of subjects, it's been a great tool to get me over the "okay but cars/bikes/horses/spaceships are HARD" etc threshold!

And finally for figure drawing, the book that really unlocked drawing people for me was Ron Tiner's Figure Drawing Without a Model : https://www.scribd.com/doc/103174602/Ron-Tiner-Figure-Drawing-Without-a-Model -- he covers a few different mental models of the figure to help build it from the ground up in your mind, and he connects these models very clearly to real life anatomy, drawing from life, and character design. Again, not a visual style I personally pursue, but immensely useful concepts that I still use today, 24 or so years after I first read this book, whenever I draw without a reference.

And I always recommend hitting up a used bookshop or two for some collections of art that inspires you -- even if it isn't your chosen medium, or subject matter, or style, if it gets your brain running then why not spend some time with it and see what you can get out of the book? Personally I always come back to my collections of Frank Frazetta, Rodney Matthews, Edward Hopper, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, and Caravaggio artwork, and most of those were random used bookshop discoveries.

Hope there's something interesting amongst this list for you, and please reply/repost with your favs as well!

[aemiron-main]

Henry Getting Nina’d During TFS and Why It Might Be Tied To Scott Clarke’s Absence

James and Stav and Wilbur I have been chatting lately about the idea of TFS as a NINA simulation, and I know James has made some wonderful posts such as this post regarding TFS and NINA.

And today, I have some more thoughts re: TFS being a NINA simulation.

So, first of all, I talked in this post the other day about the code on the TFS a website have “Project One” in it vs The Nina Project ans Project Talisman.

And as we know, TFS being a NINA simulation would explain Henry’s weird age during TFS- because he SHOULD be 12 in 1959, and he’s a “freshman” during TFS/closer to 15, it seems. But, if it’s not actually 1959, and TFS is a simulation of 1959 and Henry’s actually 15 in the lab, then it would explain his age perfectly, and would also explain why he’s aged up but characters like Alice aren’t- because Alice isn’t being NINA’d/she’s dead/part of the simulation/she appears as she did in 1959 in the show.

And now, I know I’ve talked about this specific TFS twitter post/promo before, but I also want to take a closer look at some of the wording of it:

“And we can’t forget, Henry Creel will be a freshman when we turn back the clocks in Hawkins to 1959.”

So, first of all here, we’ve got “turn back the clocks,” which, yes, as we know, Henward literally turned back a clock with his mind during one of the Creel house scenes that plays during Henward’s 1979 nina monologue. But also, this wording really reminds me of what Brenner said to describe nina/to ask El to go back into the nina tank:

Both lines are referring to going back in time.

And there’s even the wording of “we can’t forget” vs all of the memory imagery with NINA/references to El having forgotten during NINA/Brenner telling El to remember:

And speaking of forgetting, there’s also what I talked about in this post (and in another post I can’t find rn) regarding Eddie Munson vs Edward Creel and the idea of being forgotten:

Which, the connection between that TFS tweet’s line about “can’t forget” and the Eddie/Edward stuff is especially interesting considering that the “turn back the clocks” line from the TFS post is also connected to Edward because like I talked about in this post, the Creel boy that we see during that turning back the clock scene is likely Edward.

And also, we’ve also got the Hawkins sign scratched out to say “hell” in S3 vs Henward referring to the NINA simulation of the lab as “hell”:

And Hawkins is also referred to as “home”/is the home of the characters versus Brenner telling El that she’s “home” when she’s in the NINA bunker (and the lab is frequently tied to “home” in ST/even Hopper uses “home” in relation to it in S3):

Hell, there’s also the shot of Hopper touching the wall where the gate/crack was and saying “nobody’s home” is shot very similarly to Brenner touching the crack/wall in the lab during NINA:

And interestingly enough, too, Hopper also says “I want you to feel like this can still be your home,” while he’s standing in HNL- which, while he’s referring to Hawkins on the surface, it’s definitely an intentional choice to have him say this line in HNL & write it in a way where the use of the word “this” makes it more ambiguous regarding whether he’s referring to Hawkins or the lab (and again, on the surface, I definitely think that Hopper himself is referring to Hawkins, but I think the line is written in that ambiguous way to add subtext/create that lab-home-hawkins connection):

My point is, the town of Hawkins is frequently referred to with the same wording as NINA is, creating a connection between the two.

Which, that doesn’t prove that TFS is going to be a simulation, but the connection between Hawkins and the NINA-Simulated HNL is interesting because it’s a connection that would make sense in the context of the idea of a simulated Hawkins during TFS.

And considering that The Truman Show is on the S4 board and very much seems to have inspired nina, I won’t be surprised if Henry has his own Truman show moments during TFS and begins to realize that it’s not real/that it’s a “silly, terrible play,” which, I talked very briefly in this post about Stranger Things and the fourth wall (something I’m going to talk about more when I finish the draft about it), but I do wonder if they’re going to break the fourth wall during TFS and not just have Henry realize that he’s in a nina simulation, but also have him realize that he’s in a play.

Which makes me think about the fact that the leaked TFS audition tapes seem to imply that the characters in the play are auditioning for a play within a play- so, even if they don’t fully break the fourth wall and have Henry realize that he’s in an actual play/don’t have him address the audience, there’s still room there for him realizing that he’s part of a play re: nina and playing a role in a simulation vs also being part of the play that’s happening in Hawkins.

And something else worth keeping in mind is all of the time travel references regarding NINA/the idea that NINA itself is more than just a simulation.

So, the events of the play wouldn’t necessarily not be real/it wouldn’t necessarily be a “it was all a dream” approach, because there’s still a very solid chance that NINA itself works similarly to a time machine (and it’s worth keeping in mind this post where I talked about NINA and Lost and Temporal Displacement and about a person’s consciousness time travelling), and that Henry being in NINA could end up affecting the events of 1959.

And also, as I mentioned in the title this all makes me wonder about Scott- because it really a coincidence that Scott is missing from TFS (which is likely a NINA simulation), and is ALSO missing from S4 (the very season where NINA is introduced)?

Especially since, like I talked about in this post, Scott has scenes that are directly referencing NINA scenes.

Did something happen to Scott when Henry and/or El used NINA? Did they mess with the timeline somehow? Is that why he isn’t present in TFS OR in S4? Why does Scott know such a weird amount of information about sensory tanks and gates and general lab stuff?

Anyway! Much to think about.

[rustbeltjessie]

—salted snow turned slush on the streets of Kenosha —telephone calls from Chicago, Blue Ridge Summit; later, Istanbul, NYC —rum in the railyard, the —hats (see also: scally, fedora, pork pie) —Sinatra, Frank —Presley, Elvis ���Costello, Elvis —Waits, Tom —Terricloth, Jack —marimba, bone (I am always using that phrase)

Dear You. When you reach my age, which seems impossibly far away these days (and is in truth both much farther away and much sooner than you think), you'll wonder why you're still writing these things. You thought once you could be done with it, but it is impossible because that year (this year, still, for you) is so full. So impossibly full.

—Bride of Frankenstein (see also: "I hope her bones are firm!") —boys in your bed; boys in vans and motel rooms —door number 30 —trains over bridges, tunnels through mountains, rain and rivers —diners where the fries are too salty and the coffee tastes of blood —Nighthawks (at the...) —Nighthawks (painting by Edward Hopper)

Dear You. By god it's too much. You once thought you could be done with this year but at other times you're afraid that by writing it so often, it will disappear. Like each memory is a coin and by putting it down on paper, you are spending it. But each coin returns to your pocket, eventually. Maybe a little dull, a little tarnished, but still valid currency. And then the coins, the memories, that you'd forgotten! So many, like they're newly minted.

—a half-stolen switchblade —a hostel on Bank Street —M. riding shotgun, rolling cigarettes, while that road marimba... —Baltimore's rats and broken roses —Cincinnati cicadas —Ohio fireflies —"In Ohio On Some Steps" (the trumpet vines, the heat and heartache) —Milwaukee girls —a red dress

Dear You. You will think, sometimes, that part of you is trapped in that year. Like the year is a late-night diner with no visible exit, and you are one of the lonesome souls sitting under the yellow globes of light, staring into your coffee, and all now-you can do is stand on the street outside, looking in, hoping for some way to enter just like past-you wishes they could exit (though they're not making much of an attempt). And maybe that's partly true. (For this was the year of learning that so much impossible stuff was at least partly true.) But the you-outside will have to go on, spending these ever-replenishing memory coins. Writing these never-ending lists. They are the currency, and the index, of your becoming.

—Jessie Lynn McMains (from an unfinished essay-poem hybrid thing inspired by a prompt that suggested to write your own 'letters to a young poet,' so I started writing one to my younger self circa 2004, because everything I write is about that year; written summer 2023)

[saw-facts]

your post inspired me so here's who I think certain saw characters favorite artists would be with no explanation at all:

hoffman: george bellows

amanda: paul cezanne

john: osman hamdi bey

lawrence: allan kaprow

adam: marta minujin

lynn: doris salcedo

strahm: caravaggio

oh i like this!! i want to add some:

the eerie quality of henri de toulouse-lautrec's work (at least imo) feels like it'd be appealing to hoffman. along the same vein, i'd say edvard munch too. ALSO FRANCISCO GOYA. im surprised he wasn’t also painting fucked up shit on his own walls.

amanda would love louise bourgeois, ana mendieta, joan mitchell, and eva hesse. i feel like she'd also be really into fiber arts in general (tamara kostianovsky, kiki smith, raija jokinen). also we know she likes some renaissance/stylistically classical art bc she has the birth of venus print next to her bed in saw 3! i think this is more for gay reasons but i bet she'd like john william waterhouse’s mythological paintings.

i love this one for john! the obvious one for him would be da vinci as well- john's drawings actually remind me a lot of his. i think he wouldn't be into abstraction because “it lacks intellect” or some shit. probably dark, dramatic, pensive baroque art.

i feel like lawrence would be into impressionism but NOT post impressionism!!! he'd be so annoying about it. monet, degas, cassat, etc. i also think he'd enjoy botanical illustrations. probably a fan of edward hopper too.

adam would like jc leyendecker. just based on vibes. others i think he'd enjoy include john singer sargent, norman lewis, lee krasner, yoshitaka amano, salman toor, yayoi kusama... these are all over the place uhhhh i just think he'd enjoy a wide range of styles. now ofc he has favorite photographers, but that is not at all my area of study and the only one i could think of off the top of my head that would fit him is robert mapplethorpe.

for lynn, andrew wyeth makes sense to me- the lonely, empty, desolate feeling his paintings give you would probably speak to her :( agnes martin (ESPECIALLY agnes martin) and louise nevelson would probably appeal to her too.

strahm liking caravaggio is basically canon to me. like of fucking course. for one, he'd just loooove telling people that the Old Master painters are the finest of fine artists just bc he's a dick (and doesn't know shit about art made after like the 18th century). but also caravaggio was gay and killed someone and was murdered so. it fits. he'd probably scoff at rene magritte paintings but deep down he'd really enjoy them.

im obsessed with this ask and i've been drafting this response for a hot minute bc i wanted to put some real thought into it. VERY fun and a great way to procrastinate on work as an art history grad student

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

charlotte!! congrats on your milestone 💚 i would love Vigée Le Brun, mostly because i am always looking for new artists that exude the kind of ~feelings~ i like from art

i love dark and atmospheric works, my favourite artists are francisco goya, jamie (and andrew) wyeth, edward hopper, paul klee, van gogh, and théodore géricault (specifically his anatomical studies on corpses and his work with the mentally ill), and dragan bibin

it has only also just now occurred to me we haven't talked about art lol 💚

visit the art gallery

ahhhh finnie!! thank you so much for the request! you are the first visitor to the gallery and I'm so excited!!!!! 🥰🥰

dark and atmospheric art also holds an incredibly special place in my heart, and all the artists you've listed are so wonderful! I hope I can suggest something that gives you the same vibes 💙

here's a list of artists I think you might like (with more details and images below the cut!)

John Atkinson Grimshaw

Leonora Carrington

Odilon Redon

William Blake

John Atkinson Grimshaw (Thro' the Woods and Roundhay Park Lake)

I picked Grimshaw for you because he has these lovely, haunting nighttime landscapes that are both beautiful and unsettling. the darkened trees and lingering mist seem to engulf the small, featureless figures as they traverse deeper into the darkness. these are two of my favorite examples, but he has many others in this genre as well!

Leonora Carrington (The Ancestor and Self-Portrait in Orthopedic Black Tie)

on the more abstract/surrealist side, I picked Carrington. she is such a compelling yet very under-studied artist who painted in a surrealist style for most of her career. for me, surrealism is often an "I love it or I hate it" kind of thing, and I love Carrington's work. her pieces really give off that dark vibe that is kind of creepy and slightly off-putting, yet also make you want to lean in closer and figure out the story behind the images. there's that element of both horror and fascination, which is why I think you might like her art.

Odilon Redon (The Eye, Like a Strange Balloon, Moves Toward Infinity and Mystery

Odilon Redon was actually quite heavily inspired by Goya, so he seems like a great fit for you! just like Goya, he was a prolific printmaker as well as a painter, and he produced tributes to other artists like Goya and even writers like Edgar Allan Poe (the first image here comes from his tribute to Poe). he was a symbolist artist, and his art is just really fucking weird (affectionate). there's darkness, there's horror, there's weird uses of color, there's strange, indistinct spaces, featureless figures, and just this sort of nebulous floaty-ness to many of his works. not only do I think you'll like him because he was inspired by Goya, but also because of this kind of whimsy and weirdness he mixes with horror elements.

William Blake (Ancient of Days and Hekate)

although he is much better known as a poet today (he's the "tiger tiger burning bright" guy), Blake was also an artist and illustrated his own poems as well as other works such as Dante's Inferno. his work feels almost symbolist, but about 100 years earlier. he was close to being a contemporary of Goya, and I think you can definitely see some resemblances in his art. at the time, his work was considered the product of "madness" and "visions," and it certainly has an eerie, otherworldly quality to it. kinda like Redon, some of it is just plain weird. I picked Blake both because of his resonances with Goya, but also the strange, mystical, and terrifying worlds he creates in his art.

I hope this was interesting/fun/helpful and that you found a new artist or artwork to explore further!

again, thank you so much for the request! 🥰

love and hugs,

charlotte 💙