#time to clear out my drafts...

[artbyblastweave]

I remember meeting a guy at a bar a year or so ago who told me he worked at the international consortium that does the porn parodies of all the top-grossing film releases. He said that the whole Barbenheimer situation presented his combine with some spectacular highs and lows. Because he said that with Barbie, right, the thing about Barbie is that there's already kind of a three-way ideatic, structural parallel between the curated artificiality of Barbie as a children's toy, the curated artificiality of Barbie as a mass market film, and the curated artificiality of pornography as a genre. Add on top of that that Barbie as a film is already feeling this tension, right where it's trying to be about a character graduating from the platonic sexlessness of a children's franchise to the functional-and-frank sexuality of being a living human woman, but it's also being bogged down in the "Everyone-is-beautiful-no-one-is-horny" aesthetic restrictions of any contemporary big-budget mass-market film so the two states end up looking pretty similar, he said. I mean the film itself is very aware of that tension, right, with that joke about how "casting Margot Robbie is the wrong move if you want to make that point," all that jazz. So, all that in mind, Barbie-themed pornography, he said, is in a weird way actually kind of complementary to the extant project, gesturing at unaddressed tensions and ideas, a dark mirror, the shadow self it wants to deny but can't, there's a lot of room to play in the space. He used the adjective "Lynchian" a couple of times, he seemed super stoked, he was talking with his hands. Oppenheimer, on the other hand. Oppenheimer he said presented a problem. Because obviously you can eroticize the detonation of an atomic bomb, we're all probably three mutuals removed from someone on this site who does exactly that, but obviously that's a niche market, and moreover it's a market that has a ton of overlap with high-minded thinkers who treat the historical use of atomic weapons against Japan with the level of gravity that atrocity demands. So they were stuck. They were really stuck. He told me that they'd been pulling their hair out for months trying to square the circle and all they had to show for it was a big whiteboard with the phrase "Grope-nheimer" written on it

[sableprince]

doodlin again i guess ??

scraps under the cut

[kmesons]

can you imagine what the in-universe social media posts over the course of black friday (the musical) would have been. the wiggly posts. forum threads looking into this "uncle wiley toys" company that just seemingly materialised one day. that one supernatural meme with the caption being "riots over the tickle-me-wiggly have escalated into a third world war"

[marcskywalker]

alright alright

Merlin has made a habit of laying protective charms and spells on Arthur's armor. The man is a big liability (king or not, Merlin will say it as it is). Running into danger head first, without thought or concern, is his top favorite activity.

It's what makes Arthur Arthur; his courage in the face of death.

So yes, it's become a necessity for Merlin to charm his armor for strength and endurance.

He decides to charm the King's new set of armors in his royal chamber in the middle of the day, while Arthur is away presumably listening to another one of mind numbingly boring reports from his knights.

What is a safer place for Merlin other than this room? Where else can he walk in as he pleases? Move about as he pleases? Leave a mess, jest around, lock the door and loiter as he pleases?

Within these walls, no one would dare to question him.

The King's trust is loud enough.

So, Merlin lays out all the metal on the floor and begins. He holds the cold, sharp chestpiece in his hand. Imagines Arthur under it; Arthur's beating heart and his warm, soft, breakable skin.

His magic flows out of him without command or permission, desperate to erase all the images of his mortal king bleeding and weak.

Oh, protectors of Earth and Magic! Cradle him as you would cradle your son.

His eyes are ember, words still on his lips, the shimmer of magic over the metal, when door swings open.

"Leon is one of my oldest and closest friends, but by Gods he makes me miserable," Arthur lets out a long breath, as if to blow out all the air in his body, looking right at Merlin as he does so.

The gold finally fades from his eyes but Merlin is frozen in place, his bones and breath refusing to move, watching Arthur's face scrunch in confusion, a myriad of feelings flashing through his face before settling on stern eyes and pursed lips.

"Mingling with the druids a lot now, are we?"

"Arthur, I-"

"I know, I know!" he sighs, commanding his face to neutrality, stepping over Merlin and metal towards his desk, "They are my people, too. You're allowed to trade and learn from each other."

Despite his resigned tone, Merlin knows how hard Arthur has worked to ensure a place for Druids in Camelot. Writing in stone, clear as day, that he is more than his father's son; he has claimed them as citizens of Camelot, opening the doors to courts and trade and provisions equally for all in the Kingdom.

Watching Arthur grow into the prophesied will be Merlin's greatest pride. Even if magic is still prohibited to practice under the law, magic users aren't hunted like animals for existing. And Merlin has all the faith in his King that when the time is right, he will bring magic back into the land. Until then, he's happy to live in half shadows.

"I'm allowed to learn magic?" he can't help the skepticism and shock bleed into his tone.

"Well, no! I'm not allowing you for anything, Merlin. But I'm not stupid enough to believe that that's about to stop you."

"So," he draws out the word, unsure of how to step out of the conversation. Unsure if he should even be stepping out of the conversation. "I can learn more magic?"

"You know how I feel about this. The price I have- we have had to pay for it. If you still find yourself curious, do what-" gestures to the laid out armor on the ground, "-ever this is. I only ask that you be careful."

"I'm enchanting it. To keep you safe."

"In exchange for what, Merlin?"

"Nothing-", Merlin loses his grip on the conversation faced with the frightened heartbreak on Arthur's face; the courageous bones bending in unfamiliar ways. "I swear. Nothing. It's not any big magic. The druids do it all the time, we won't have to pay a price for this, Arthur."

"We'll see."

[tiddygame]

used to, ghost would always sleep on his side facing the door with his back almost pressed to the wall. in a room where the bed isn't in the corner? he'd either move the bed or sleep on the floor in the corner.

it doesn't take long for soap to figure out his lieutenant's sleep pattern and does his best to quietly help. the first time they have to share a bed (obvi before they're together cause this is fanfic, how else would it go) neither is really sure what to do.

the bed is in the corner, but during the typical "who takes the bed, alright fine we both will" argument, they come to an impasse. neither will let the other take the floor nor do they know the best way for both to be on the bed. either ghost has someone in the way of him and the door, or has someone at his back that he can't see.

they do eventually land on (without discussion bc ghost is a prideful bastard) soap taking the wall side, but ghost is still nervous. he surprises himself by being much more comfortable than he thought he would, it feeling less like there's a stranger right behind him and more like soap is watching his back for him, even though he knows soap is asleep. ghost himself doesn't really sleep, but that is to be expected.

something something they get together and ghost realizes he's most comfortable knowing soap is there, not to protect him cause he's still to prideful for that, but to help watch his blind spot without having to push himself against the wall.

(also ghost likes being the little spoon. hmm? what? who said that...)

[demi-pixellated]

Captivator.

new(ish) tav, Craft, that i made for a co-op bg3 play with the sib, and one day we will get back to playing it... one day...

[aroaceleovaldez]

one of my favorite recent recurring convention/cosplay things is Zagreus Hadesgame cosplayers and Nico di Angelo cosplayers excitedly referring to each other as brothers

[ulteri0rm0tives]

It's every iteration.

It's every iteration of V that will always find Johnny. Every iteration of V that Johnny grows to care about. It's every iteration of each other, in every universe, that will always find each other. They'll always become inseparable, tied together in unfathomable ways. Ways they could never truly unravel from each other in the end, no matter the end.

They'll always be destined for one another. No matter what face is worn. No matter what universe. No matter what, they're always meant to be. No matter what, the stars will always align for them, just to come crashing down from the sky.

[nevertheless-moving]

[malewifenjoyer]

- lala magazine scans

[heyclickadee]

I really appreciate that Tech needed to go talk and apologize Omega after snapping at her in “The Crossing.”

Because there’s another few ways “The Crossing” could have gone. One way would have been Hunter or Wrecker going and talking to Omega on Tech’s behalf. “You’ve got to give him some slack, he’s just upset about Echo, too,” and so on, without Tech ever having to make the effort to patch things over. Or, alternatively, it could have gone the route of Tech just being a jackass who only learns to give a shit because Omega teaches him how.

But what it actually does is neither of these. It walks a far more complicated line. Omega and Tech butt heads because they’re both grieving and dealing with it in complete opposite ways. Omega’s frustrated because she needs them to talk about the elephant in the room (Echo leaving), but none of her brothers are actually helping and they aren’t talking it out with her. Tech is frustrated because he isn’t being given any space to deal with it and things just. Keep. Going. Wrong. She starts breaking down because everything is falling apart. He snaps and yells at her because he reached the end of his tether a while ago.

But she’s a child, and he’s one of the adults responsible for her; and what I like is that while the episode is sympathetic to why Tech is frustrated in that moment, it doesn’t let him off the hook for taking it out on her and, to be fair to him, he doesn’t exactly let himself off the hook for it either. The only excuse he has for not going and talking to Omega when he’s called out is that she said she wanted to be alone, and once Hunter and Wrecker explain that that was…eh, not exactly a lie, but something like a lie, he goes to try and talk things out.

Anyway, the reason I like this, besides the fact that Tech’s and Omega’s relationship means the world to me, is twofold. One, there are a lot of fictional characters (mostly men) whose characterization vaguely—very vaguely—resembles Tech’s. Part of a running theme with all the rest is that they tend to be deliberately insulting, harsh, mean, and so on to everyone and anyone they can be, and they get away with it because they’re clever, funny, hiding secret insecurity, or the writer’s barely disguised superiority complex. Tech is blunt and direct; there’s a few times he’ll say something a little insensitive and catch himself too late (for example: he seems to realize how the, “more machine than man,” line sounds versus how he meant it a second after he says it and clumsily softens it with, “Percentage-wise, at least,” to explain that he’s not saying Echo is less of a person, just trying to explain why the chip programming didn’t work; the lack of follow up to, “It ate the crew,” might be another example), or be sarcastic on purpose. But the one time he really crosses a line he is called out for it and does his best to make it right. Which means his characterization takes on a very different track than a lot of other versions of the type.

Two, I think it’s important for the target audience to see a caretaker apologize and act like a young girl’s feelings matter.

[mad-as-a-box-of-frogs]

I'm here. You're not alone.

Marc Spector in The Tomb [10/?]

[thatswife]

you just might find (you get what you need) (also on ao3)

The sun is shining on Cherry Lane. On Billy, and he couldn't care less. This whole idea that the weather has any impact on your mood is total crap. Still, it's nice to get out and stretch his legs for a little bit, even if he's not wearing the pants for it. He prefers working on his torso, but this is okay, too. I guess.

At first, he doesn't stray too far from the house. Almost like he's tied to it. He nearly vomits on the sidewalk, narrowly missing his shoes. He's not hungover. Okay, fine, he's a little buzzed. He likes to keep his mouth busy from time to time. Gum can only do so much. He kicks at a pebble, grunting in frustration when the fucker bounces off his shoe and lands in the grass. Even the sun is different here. He can't explain it, which is fine. No one asks.

Hey, Billy, you okay with packing up your shit and moving to a new state? Leave behind your home, your school, all your friends? Everything you've ever known?

How do you feel about me remarrying so soon after your mom left?

Does it hurt when I hit you?

Are you used to be called a fag yet?

"Can't you just settle for humping my leg at school?" Steve Harrington sighs, leaning against the doorframe like a sitcom dad.

"Huh?" Billy startles, shutting up immediately. He clears his throat, ears and neck burning red. "Fuck."

"Fuck is right." Steve crosses his arms, showing them off without meaning to. They're almost enough to put Billy in a good mood. Almost. "I didn't even know you knew my address. How did you know where I lived, anyway? You know what, don't tell me. I don't think I wanna know. In fact, I know I don't. Sometimes being in the dark is a-okay!"

Billy just stares at him. Well, this is awkward. Sounds like I'm not the only guy with stuff on his mind. Join the club. "Took a wrong turn." He shrugs, hoping to loosen a knot in his right shoulder that's been killing him since the move. Must've pulled something during practice. There's not enough water in Hawkins. He'll take salt water over chlorine --and whatever is floating around in that pool he drove past the other day-- in a heartbeat.

"Right. Sure."

And then King Steve does something surprisingly diplomatic; he backs up so Billy can come in. Not just diplomatic, downright unrealistic.

Jesus Christ, how far did he walk?

"You might as well, since it's hot outside. Hottest on record, actually. Can't believe it's this bad in October. Vicki'll have a fit if she has to keep her party inside. She's never closed off the backyard before."

Billy stares again, long and exasperated. "Harrington," he says with about as much patience as he can muster, which is none, "I just moved here, remember? I don't know who the hell you're talking about."

"You haven't heard? Huh." Steve laughs, low and soft. A real buttery sound, somehow. "I figured Tommy would tell you. You two seem close." When Billy doesn't answer, he continues with a note of vague amusement-- or annoyance-- in his voice, "We used to be friends. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Fuck."

"Sounds like you need someone to talk to," Billy remarks gruffly, although he doesn't mean to. Not totally, anyway. Talking just isn't his thing if it's all heart to heart, and shit. Definitely didn't think he'd find Hawkins' Fallen King in this state. Maybe it's the heat. Gets to the best of us. Or the worst, in Steve's case. In both their cases. Thankfully, Steve doesn't press the mildly obvious open wound he let into his house. Just gets up and walks into the kitchen to get a beer. Comes back with two. One for him, one for Billy. Feeling like he should say something to fill the silence, because it's starting to feel very hot in here, he adds, "I can take a lot of things, but that... that cow shit drives me crazy."

Steve just laughs. The kind that sounds rich, but not far away. Too goofy to be taken seriously. "The what? I haven't noticed."

"Perks of living here your whole life, then?" Billy says dryly. Steve rolls his eyes with a snort.

"I guess it might take some time getting used to, especially if you're used to California."

Billy grins widely at that. "Trading sunny beaches and sand for miles and miles of hickory dickory? Yeah, you can say that again. How'd you know where I moved here from? You stalking me now, Harrington?"

"Pft, you wish." Steve chugs the rest of his beer. "People talk."

"About me, huh?"

"It'll all die down soon, once they see you're not all that."

Well, ouch. Billy sits up straighter. Now he's the one crossing his arms. They're bigger, and he knows it. He's spent a lot of time on them. "That so?" You were doing so well. I was actually starting to like you.

"Believe me, it's a good thing. Might not sound like it, and it's not like you're gonna fade into obscurity or whatever. You're... memorable." Steve doesn't seem all that swayed by Billy's change in demeanor, except maybe a mixture of earnest and mischief in his big, brown eyes.

He's poking back. And dammit, it's kind of getting Billy going. Half of him wants to kick Steve in the ribs, but the other half, the other half... wants things he can't say or think too hard about. "Memorable," he repeats, going over each letter to drag the word out, give Steve time to realize it sounded fucking gay. Or maybe Billy's just got dick on the brain. And ass. God, Steve's ass is fantastic. Focus, Billy, focus.

"Uh huh," Steve says, unwrapping a blue lollipop to suck on it. Billy automatically crosses his legs. "Any douche playing music that loud while driving isn't gonna go away anytime soon."

"At least it's music," Billy grumbles, "not the fucking song from Risky Business. Guys wanna f-wanna be Tom Cruise so bad. It's actually painful to watch."

"Ha ha." Steve turns on the tv, and look at that, Risky Business is on. "Have you ever actually watched it?"

"... Heard people talking about it. Can't be that good."

"I figured you of all people would like Bob Seger."

My mom liked him. "He puts me to sleep," Billy says instead. "I should really go." Despite trying to give himself an order, he can't-- won't-- get up. What's waiting for him at home? A father who can't stand him? A step-mother who tiptoes around every fucking thing? A step-sister he didn't ask for? A mother who's only in his head and that box on his shelf, tucked away safe and sound? I've got time. Fuck it. "You ordering a pizza or something? I'll stay for that."

[maybeimamuppet]

karen: gretchen overthinks a lot and she seems really unhappy.

karen:

karen: so i decided not to think at all

[rosetta-draws]

hamilton hair redesigns/headcanons

theatre is a beautiful but limited medium. for all that differences in hair are important in hamilton, the actual changes are the equivalent of tiktokers putting a towel on their head.

so here are my ideas for how hamilton characters would style their hair (in a modern au I suppose).

lafayette: cornrows that go into long braids so he can tie his hair up. when it's too short for a ponytail he gets beads at the bottom and greatly enjoys clicking and clacking w every step.

mulligan: close cropped hair that he dyes into funky patterns. (examples)

peggy: microbraids‼️

eliza: a bob near the beginning of the story, grows it out during act 1, ties it up in act 2. then she cuts it again after burn

angelica: jumbo box braids, for when she lives in america/in act 1.

alexander: he tried curtain bangs before submitting to the receding hairline. lost a bet in uni and dyed his hair red; one of the worst decisions of his life (which is saying a lot!!)

bonus burr: Bald. can't change that sorry. it's professional and personality-less, yet common enough that he only stands out compared to the expressively styled revolutionaries. perfect, thematically.

if there's anyone i haven't mentioned its cuz i like their hair as it is in the play/don't have anything to add 😌

[woahtherebuckerino]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64310068

Summary:

The food here is… strange. Obviously with the years spanning between them, it is understandable that dietary customs have changed. Vegetation adapts over time. It would be silly to presume that they all eat similar foods. Still, Sky had not expected something to be so unrecognisable. ----- (aka wild cooks meat and mushroom skewers for dinner. unfortunately, sky does not come from from a time where meat consumption is a regular practice)