#<- adjacent ig

[alteredsilicone]

Painting

The waxflowers were blooming, filling the halls with a gentle, pleasant smell. Loid was arranging dried flowers in a vase, he was most at peace when allowed to fuss with the small things. The afternoon sun was gently dancing in his hair, creating a radiant halo around his head. He was beautiful.

Before Loid had entered his life, Albrecht never saw the worth in fragrances or decorations or the art of flower arrangement. Perhaps it was yet another fault of his - frigid pragmatism. They both agreed on the merits of the written word, yet Loid also had an eye for the visual arts, thus Albrecht had allowed him to express himself in the Necralisk. Perhaps he liked seeing little reminders of Loid everywhere he went, a selfish indulgence Albrecht allowed himself.

"Loid." The moment his name escaped Albrecht's lips, Loid turned his head, dried rose still in hand.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever sat for a painting?"

Loid smiled, then uttered something under his breath. Not offended, but amused.

"I am not nearly important enough for anyone to desire to capture my likeness. Is this about the commission?"

Not quite. The true purpose of Albrecht's question was to stay hidden, for now.

"Yes," Albrecht decided to move the conversation along. "I cannot seem to decide which artist to pursue, perhaps you could help me with that. I was thinking of either Polonia or Timofei."

Hearing Polonia's name made Loid grimace, but he quickly composed himself and returned to finishing the flower arrangement, clearly a way for him to pretend to be mulling over the question, but Albrecht knew which choice would be made before a single word was said.

"Polonia is an excellent wildlife artist. The birds she paints are one of a kind and her use of color is creative, however..." then came the truth. "Her figures are gaudy, exaggerated and occasionally lean into the pornographic. I am afraid she might take some creative liberties while painting you and then we will end up with wasted money and a worthless painting."

Polonia was an eccentric, that much was true. An old family friend of the Entratis, Albrecht kept contact with her for only one purpose - she knew people in less than polite circles, which often proved valuable when procuring reagents for some of Albrecht's more alchemical experiments. She would not ask questions and never kept a paper trail. Unfortunately, she was also an Orokin eccentric and harbored a disdain for Loid, which he was not afraid of returning.

In the name of objectivity, however, Albrecht had to weigh all the options that were offered to him.

"Timofei is the better option. He is classically trained, he has painted portraits for the Galleria before," Loid pointed at a painting mounted on the wall. "He is reliable."

Albrecht turned to face the painting Loid had pointed at. Euleria's graduation portrait. Timofei excelled at accentuating his subjects in a way that was true to life, yet also had an air of uniqueness that couldn't be captured neither by photograph or hologram. His daughter, ever the critic, tormented the painter at every step of the process, yet he endured with reserved professionalism.

Truth be told, Albrecht had no interest in being painted, yet the Galleria demanded a painting of him. His great scientific achievements beckoned to be immortalized as oil on canvas, that's what the Archimedeans told him. At least he had Loid to help him with the headache of picking an artist.

"Call Timofei. Have him come as soon as possible."

"Of course."

---

The doors to the Sanctum rumbled as the Tenno returned from their mission. Another Netracell run, with Tagfer leading the squad. Loid was already used to the routine, his assistance was not needed so he could busy himself with other tasks.

"Loid!"

He turned his head. Artemis was floating nearby and holding something that looked like a folder.

"What is it?"

"Viri wanted you to have this. Knowing her, a bunch of sentimental junk."

Loid took the folder from the Wisp and looked over it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just a standard folder for keeping documents.

"Viri was so excited to show you this. I didn't even look inside, I don't care!" Artemis declared. Loid secretly appreciated her disinterest - he had heard his fair share of snappy comments and had no interest in finding out what creative epithets Artemis may conjure this time.

"Thank you, Artemis."

"Don't mention it," she floated off, joined her squad and the Tenno left for another round of Netracells.

Loid was curious, yet also scared. The Netracells were treasure troves of Albrecht's most personal possessions. Things that were so close and personal to him even Loid was not allowed to see inside.

It was just a folder, Loid told himself. It was light, so probably only a couple documents inside. Maybe another collection of poems Albrecht had written and then tossed away in self-critical shame.

The Tenno occasionally brought some of Albrecht's personal affects that they deemed Loid might find interest in. They were mostly related either to him, Euleria or literature. Nothing Loid didn't know about, just things he was surprised Albrecht bothered to keep.

Inside the folder was a single page. It was a sketch - of Loid. Drawn in the middle of a motion - he was reaching for something out of bounds of the canvas. Around his figure a mixture of flowers were hastily scribbled, Albrecht was not particularly good at natural objects. Yet Loid's face was lovingly rendered, a halo was carefully drawn around him. At the bottom of the page was what Loid assumed to be the title of the illustration - three times crossed out, four times rewritten. The fourth title simply said: Loid. Unlike the previous titles, it was carefully calligraphed. The final choice.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

big fimshy. tiny keess

[randomminty]

Coloured some old e4 sketches i miss them so much

[minothtime]

The tragedy that is the Barnes family, who had to watch their only son and his best friend both leave marching towards a war that would eventually claim them, who died without ever knowing they would be alive and reunited in the far future, who died believing they would meet Bucky again yet never did...

And also the tragedy of Bucky and Steve never getting to see their family again, who have to live with the knowledge that they're still alive while Winifred or George or Becca aren't, whose last memory of them is a painful goodbye and broken promises...

Not to mention how Sarah Rogers never was more than a footnote in Captain America's story, when she probably worked so hard just to keep Steve alive and happy, who is only remembered by two (broken, lonely, sad) people, who never got to see the good her son would do...

[agentmarcuspike]

get in, losers; we're going to the wild wild fuckin' west

(yes i made two, i needed a femme version also)

ait, let's hit the hay @joelsversion @swiftispunk @tieronecrush @pedgeitopascal @softlyspector etc

[disruptivevoib]

Might color these later... but! some fun more squished-down designs of the HMS

[cursedconstellation]

I just had the absolutely diabolical thought-

After Cas died the last time, Dean just shut down. He wouldn't let Sam speak of him, he wouldn't let himself think of him, if he saw a man in a familiar trenchcoat, he'd just turn away. Any of Cas' belongings made it to an old shoe-box, stashed away so well it could only gather dust, intentionally forgotten. As far as Dean Winchester was concerned, Cas might have not existed at all.

Sam, of course, wouldn't leave it alone. Every once in a while he'd mention the angel fleetingly, only to be ignored. He tried being forward, cornering Dean and begging him to at least acknowledge a part of their life was missing. He tried being careful and gentle in his approach, trying to spot a hint of vulnerability in Dean, that momentary, blink-and-you-miss-it look in his eye when he'd hear his name. He tried to be casual, off-handedly say something to catch him off guard.

"Oh, I think this was Cas' favourite mug," off to the shoebox it went.

"Cas really liked this song," and coincidentally, he'd never hear it again.

"Cas would've loved that," and whatever 'that' was would never be mentioned again.

No matter what he said, as soon as Cas' name was uttered, Dean suddenly could not hear it. Even when it was left unspoken, as soon as it became clear who 'he' that Sam incessantly talked about was, it fell on deaf ears.

Months went by, and Sam would not give up, he'd never give up. However his attempts would become more sparse and he'd go weeks without even trying to say anything alluding to Cas. In fact, at a certain point, although he could not remember exactly when, he actively avoided the topic, just as Dean did. Some days he was too tired to confront the reality of his brother being severely unwell, and played into it, just to give himself a couple of days of false normalcy. Because Dean was 'fine'. He said so every time Sam dared to ask. So, some days Sam allowed everything to be just 'fine'.

It was one of those streaks, then. They'd have breakfast together and make a small talk, about anything and everything - as long as Cas wasn't mentioned. Dean would make a bad joke, and Sam would roll his eyes. They fell back into decades long routine, only occasionally broken by Sam, who would always end up coming back to the topic of the angel. He'd always try and catch Dean off-guard, even though he knew the outcome by heart by then. Dean would simply look away, the same, dark look over his eyes, and while he'd stand still, the same as before Sam said anything, he seemed miles away.

That day Sam didn't plan on saying anything. In fact, he himself forgot about it, caught in Dean's denial. It was truly easier that way, to just take Dean at face value, to ignore the fact everything he said, did, or perhaps even thought was a facade. The day itself wasn't remarkable in any way, either. It was as if the entire world adjusted to ignore the fact Cas ever existed in it.

They had their usual banter over breakfast, only to split up after finishing - Sam hid away with his laptop in hands, Dean would leave to work on Baby. In fact he worked on her so much, Sam wasn't sure there was anything left to improve. He never doubted that was in fact what Dean was doing, as he'd always hear banging and scraping of metal even through the walls. It was like that then, too. There was clanking, and music, and occasional roars of the engine. Yet-

At one point it stopped.

Sam only noticed it after a couple of minutes - the music still played, echoing through the bunker, but there was no other sound accompanying it. There was no delicate vibrations from tools being tossed onto the floor.

Perhaps it was his hunter instincts kicking in, or perhaps simple paranoia, but there was something unsettling about that silence.

Sam carefully put his computer away and followed the music up the stairs, listening in closely for any sound of distress, or even any sound at all, but Led Zeppelin blaring from the speaker drowned everything out. Once he reached the garage and the music barely sounded like any melody at all, with mild annoyance, he turned it off, for a moment relishing in the sudden silence.

Except- he heard heavy breathing, as if someone was gasping for air despite being locked in a place deprived of oxygen. It was loud, it was panicked, it was-

It was Dean. Dean, sitting with his back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest, tears streaming down his pale, clammy face. Before Sam could even move, Dean looked up at him, eyes wide and glistening, and he looked so terrified and helpless, for a moment it felt like he was just a scared kid, who saw something in the darkest corner of his room.

Between heavy, disorganised breaths, he managed to pant out,

"My ears keep ringing, and it sounds just like him."

[designedtoendure]

iDKHOW // ATL. // 03.17.2024

[godsrotart]

Horrortober

I. + II.

[lumaxramblings]

in honor of the start of stoner week, some stonathan-centric textposts for you guys

[uncanny-tranny]

I guess it's cool that I'm being served queer tinder ads but do they know they're wasting money on me...

The lights are on but nobody's home 💀💀💀

[alteredsilicone]

I remember someone saying how Bombastine seemed a bit more sinister after the full trailer reveal and yeah he wasn't that good of a guy... but less in a "secret mastermind" way and more like "he pretends to have his shit together but actually is the saltiest mf on earth" way

[twochildreninamoteldemo]

No one wants to admit kripke was correct for this. Dean WOULD consider voting for trump bc he banged stormy daniels, because Dean's not ur hashtag # ally, he's just another white man lmao. He's not a racist or anything, but he def doesn't care about politics and their ramifications. He cares more about sex than politics, kripke understood this, he CREATED dean, & the last 10 seasons of spn rotted everyone's damn brains lol.

[ace1diots]

I am normal and can be trusted with Celeste AU’s!

Go watch Avid Adventures do it do it I am in your walls.

Art close ups under the cut!

Ugwjwhiwgwiwhw auauhhhhhhhh exploding @avidyt with my mind

[torithehoshi]

I have a lot more traditional doodles right now, that I'll post when I've put those all together. For now - I do want to share this Heart I've had since the start of November. Haven't done as much digital doodles this month - gotta get back to that. Really like these still though.

[spinaroos-47]

Hairdresser royally fucked up the haircut I wanted, now I look like brown haired Henryk fskdndsf