#ALSO!!! and this cannot be overstated

[canyourscienceexplainthis]

Re-watching kinnporsche and bruh Vegas and Kim are playing chess while everyone else is playing strip poker like these guys are strategizing and scheming and everyone else is just getting naked

[blueskittlesart]

Hello hi I hope you know the "aigis earnestly asking for lesbian sex" post saga lives rent free in my mind. Internalized homophobia speedrun kotone%. Also your art is so pretty

this is fr what playing the end of aigis's route for the first time felt like. I was losing my mind the entire time

[hiekka]

fuck everything else i just drew him with semi-consistent features also this is the immediate aftermath of the last sketch i posted

[suntails]

echo

[faeryton]

i'm also very curious abt this one (rbs for reach appreciated but in no way necessary :3)

[slutforpringles]

I'm sorry, can I make something quite clear. I've seen oh 'Justice for Checo'. No, I'm sorry. Sergio Perez should still have been dropped from that seat. Sergio Perez's time in that seat was over. This does not change a thing there. And, he had been given quite a lot of time. So much time. A whole lot of precious time. But also it's not Liam's fault. It's not Liam's fault that Checo got biffed at the end of last year, because the decision was still to be made as to who was going to replace him. You want someone to blame? Did Checo come up to the level that he should have done? No. Did he get enough time? Yes.

Christian Hewgill, Betty Glover and Will Buxton speaking on the Fast and the Curious podcast

via: The Fast and the Curious | Lawson out: Yuki in | EMERGENCY EPISODE with Will Buxton

[azadrithaanatheme]

I believe I have been Possessed by a Demon.

It wants me to... make Cynessa art. And monetize it.

Fortunately, said Demon could not stop me from Being Silly Cylly:

[meirimerens]

Do you have recommendations on reading sth more experimental? 👀

fair warning a lot of the experimental shit i've read i've read in art school context so i have no idea if the classmates who made it published it somewhere + it is kinda hard to recommend experimental shit by virtue of it being experimental so i'm going to rec stuff that i consider like. "mainstream" experimental as in yeah an author wrote this. also the "actually unconventional" bar is pretty low starting from the stuff i was moaning about so well also ☝ love pushing upon people books i've read + i know for a fact i've pushed them before lollll so

mainstream as it goes: House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. like you know?

unconventional in essence through shape. it is one book of ergodic literature and if you dig into ergodic literature you will find unconventionality that's kinda Its Thing. i understand by standards for "unconventional prose/pacing" get pretty high once you've put your eyes on this but like. i got more conventional in shape that still are unconventional in prose of pacing.

still mainstream-ish? if you're French? she was an author well-known and important in her time and place (she's still alive it's just that she was important as an author of the literary feminist wave in the 60s & 70s), Anankè by Hélène Cixous. i've read it in french and have no idea how it fares in english (or translated otherwise) but if you want unconventional pacing and prose you're getting unconventional pacing and prose. it is full to the brim with homonyms (hence why idk how it fares in english), of subject-to-attribute uncouplings (a verb conjugated for "I", a subject as "she"), words straight up made the fuck up through homonymy (like "téléfaune", from téléphone and faune [faun/satyr]). some sentences are 2 full pages long, reading them feels like trying to ride out an engine startle. it has no plot, it is about an internal trip, a self-actualization from girl to woman, or from chaperoned woman to free woman. you don't read this for plot, you read this to feel like you've traveled with your head through the open window, and for the imagery, god the imagery i find so very great. unlikely associations, quite sensorial. it's a short book but i've needed multiple tries to get through it because, as i've said, the long sentences feel like trying to hold onto a hand-cranked engine start. the pacing feels cyclical, like an endless stop and start, expressing the internal conflict. you have to hold onto it.

mainstream-ish again if you're french, Le Corps Lesbien [The Lesbian Body] by Monique Wittig. it's one of those where if you're not on that crazy shit you're gonna get yucked, it is endlessly violent in grotesque ways that make you horribly aware of all the anatomical details of your body. it alternates horrible and grotesque neverending violence with horrible and grotesque neverending tenderness (& sometimes neverending tenderness in/through grotesque violence or vice-versa). another one of those where the english translation cannot truly do it justice because french has "elles [female plural they]" and "ils [male plural they]" and wittig goes out of her way to never use ils [french has "masculine as default" grammatical gender]. in the french text, "je" (subject "I") is cleaved in twain: "j/e". In english, they've just italicized it; i think they'd have done well to use something like the polish ł to figure it. anyways barely a plot either. cyclical destruction in grotesque ways that both are anatomical impossible and yet horrifyingly anatomically-anchored. re:the violence in this i'm sure if you've read like. "extreme horror" novels by whichever male author of the month it is you probably won't flinch but i've read this after a long streak of nonfiction & poetry.

i think a bit less mainstream because i've been told about it in art school lol after i had partaken in a collective performance and my stuff had for base a poem about a roadkill that neverendingly dies then is reborn only to die again anyways Jaguar Harmonics by Anne Waldman. closer to poems than literature-in-prose (even if it is in prose instead of rhyme) it is about/from the yagé (ayahuasca) ritual by waldman, poet & buddhist & activist who brings in the text a lot of subjects and themes (the anthropocene, colonization, environmental and feminist concerns,...). it is poetry, so technicallyyyyyyy unconventional by nature as far as literature goes, + spoken poetry at that, i know for a fact there is a bandcamp where you can listen to the poems spoken/sung.

what else. since i'm on the topic of poetry check out Guillaume Apollinaire's Calligrammes i guess

you'll hate me for bringing it up again + it's poetry also againnnn LOL but The Oresteia as transladaptated by Tony Harrison. i find it's great english it uses words that brother i've never seen used. and i loooooove a made-up compound word the people know this about me. let's liven this shit up let's make words up!

French has l'Oulipo ("Ouvroir de littérature potentielle", "opener of potential literature") with representatives such as Raymond Queneau who made a book of poems that looks like this

OH AND HE MADE "EXERCISES DE STYLE" which i quite like also (99 times the same story written with different stylistic/literary constraints)

[literallyjusttoa]

What’s better Christmas present than a bit of angst huh?

When Apollo was young, not yet a year old, he was banished from Olympus due to his crime of murder. Gaea called for his head, but Zeus shielded him.

“I will not rule as my father did,” he said “The boy can learn, he can be better.”

Apollo was sentenced to exile. Nine years, though he was not told this. No, Apollo was certain that he had lost his chance to join his family in the heavens. His father had spared his life, and as penance he now had to stay on the mortal realm for all eternity, alone.

The young god made due with what he had. He wandered through the fields of Greece, tending to the animals he found along the way. He would sing, as light and clear as the birds, and mortals would flock to the sound. Apollo was never allowed to linger long, but he fell in love with that feeling of warm comfort mortals seemed to carry with them, that joy that he could never quite reach. When he could, he worked, often for little reward. He wanted another taste, another glimpse of a less lonely existence. So he became a shepherd, a soothsayer, a musician, always a few steps away, watching but never being.

One day, in the middle of the coldest months, Apollo was hired by a farmer in the Vale of Tempe. He had a large herd of cattle and was in desperate need of a someone to care for them. Apollo traveled through the backroads and forests, making his way to the valley. When he arrived, however, he found no farmer, and no cattle. Instead, a lone man sat at the base of the river that flowed through the vale. The water was near frozen over, but the man did not shake. Instead, he turned, and smiled wide.

“Apollon,” Zeus said, “Olympus has missed you.”

Apollo was shocked. Had his father truly come for him? He dropped into a low bow, too nervous for words.

Zeus chuckled, low and warm, “Rise, son. There is no more need for humility. It has been decided you have done enough.”

“Truly?” Apollo asked, “May I truly join you on Olympus?”

“You may join me at home, Apollo.” Zeus responded, “Your home. Come, we shall perform a rite of purification in these waters, and then you will ascend to your throne.”

And so the rite was performed, and Apollo was cleansed. As far as the rest of the world knows, the two immediately ascended to Olympus, to the glorious applause of the other members of the divine court. Apollo took his throne, next to his dear sister, and began his immortal duties.

But there was a moment, one moment, which was kept away in that sheltered vale. Once Apollo had been cleansed, he stood at the bank, waiting for the next step. Any demand his father asked of him, he would have agreed too. But Zeus held nothing over his head. Instead, he summoned a cloak of sheep’s wool, and placed it over Apollo’s shoulders.

“A gift,” he murmured, “The golden treasures you were born with will bring you glory, but this my son… I hope this will keep you warm.”

And Apollo believed, with all his heart, that he would never be lonely again.

Time is a cruel master. As years bled into centuries that bled into millennia upon millennia, Apollo realized that loneliness would be his most constant companion. He realized that the source of this loneliness, this suffering, would often be the very man that promised to keep him warm. The fire of his father’s hearth burned everything it touched, leaving Apollo with blistered hands and a scorched heart.

But he still wore the sheepskin. When the loneliness crept into his bones. When the lightning crackled across his limbs with a burning pain, as warm as his father promised with an agony he’d never mentioned. When all seemed lost to the ground and the dust. Apollo found that wool cloak and cast it over his shoulders. Even broken promises can bring some sort of comfort. Even old sheep’s wool can bring an illusion of warmth.

I was his child once. He used to love me.

If only the bite of a king’s cruelty could be chased away as easily as the chill of a winter’s day. The wool does nothing, and the loneliness remains. Apollo shivers, and goes to rest.

[flurrin]

you've appealed to my emotionally curious nature. what else do you have to say about ladyhawke

There's really a lot like. If you want to read it from an asexual perspective, it's a VERY ace movie, with the couple only getting to kiss at the very end and kissing Mouse and Imperius as well to show this is a common gesture of affection rather than sexually motivated.

There's the costuming work where the heroes all wear black, the villains wear white, and Imperious and Mouse both wear gray because that's how they see themselves morally--Imperius thinking he's stained by an unforgivable, inescapable sin, and Mouse knowing he is a pathological liar.

There's the fact that all three leads have animal motifs and Mouse is the only prey animal--and that a mouse is in the regular diet of both hawks and wolves, to carry the idea that he's scared of both of these people at first--Navarre because he's laconic, stubborn and unfriendly, Isabeau because she's intimidatingly beautiful and walks with wolves.

Wolves were seen as the devil in medieval Europe, something the film gets across pretty well just through Mouse's sheer terror of them (and setting his introductory encounter with the wolf in a scene where he witnesses its violent capabilities firsthand helps bridge the time gap between him and the audience--like WE already know wolves were really victims in this time period, driven to extinction in certain areas).

In the original ending of the film, which i KNOW they TRIED to make but couldn't ultimately pull off for whatever reason, the Bishop was not killed, but merely turned, himself, into a mangey, decrepit, pure white wolf. That alone. I could talk about that for hours. My god.

I really love this film. The sad truth is it would genuinely benefit from a remake, if for the sake of digital effects alone, but I don't trust anyone in modern Hollywood with it.

[luckycl0ve]

i'm just now finding out that most of my sambucky art (none of which violates any community guidelines whatsoever) has been flagged as inappropriate. i have requested manual reviews of the art in question, in the meantime sorry everyone 😔

[dark-elf-writes]

Honestly I am just insanely cusius about the fall out of Bakugou in two heroes and I need to know what happens next please. A drabble of that would be beautiful. I just finished my rereading it lol

Masaru Bakugou wasn’t stupid.

He knew that he had dropped the ball raising his son. Knew that his choice to be the voice of reason between the two hotheads that were Katsuki and his wife had not been enough to mitigate the damage that had already been done both in their home and outside it. Knew that, when it came down to it, he had failed not only Katsuki but Izuku as well.

(He remembered innocent green eyes looking up at him through a sheen of tears. “Why are they so mean, Uncle Saru?”

He hadn’t had an answer then, before it was his son causing that pain. He didn’t have one now either.)

The chime of the doorbell almost went unnoticed in the cacophony of the house. Katsuki and Mitsuki had been screaming at each other since they had left the police station. Masaru was certain the only reason that their car, any furniture too large to throw, and most of the house was intact at all was the quirk suppressing cuff clamped around Katsuki’s ankle. The same cuff that would remain there until Katsuki’s trial.

Pushing that thought away, Masaru walked through the swath of destruction his family left in their wake and opened the front door.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to see the mismatched trio of pro heroes on the other side of the door, but he still felt his stomach sink when he saw the rage in their eyes.

(Rage he understood. Rage he could feel in the pit of his own gut. Rage for a child that had almost died only hours ago at the hands of his son.)

“Bakugou-san. We would like to speak to you and your family about what is to be expected moving forward.” The principal of UA said with deceptive calm. Masaru didn’t fall for it. Not when the rage in the mammal’s eyes burned brighter than the explosions that had nearly cost him a student on live television.

Something shattered deeper in the house. Masaru’s eye twitched.

“Please, come in. Don’t bother removing your shoes.” Knowing Katsuki and Mitsuki, there could be broken glass anywhere at this point. "I would offer tea, but I'm sure you are all very busy." And he wasn't certain that any of their drink ware had survived the war going on behind him.

They didn't give any of the polite deferring that was expected of guests. Masaru couldn't blame them. He was clinging to years if ingrained manners with little more than his fingernails, and with each shout and crash from behind him his grip wavered. If anything the woman, Midnight, if Masaru remembered correctly from the packets that had been sent out when Katsuki had been accepted to UA, seemed to be trembling with barely contained rage.

She had been there, he suddenly remembered. She had been the closest to the field. It was her hands that had caught Izuku when both children had been knocked unconscious, leaving Katsuki to hit the dirt on his own.

(He was a terrible father, he knew. What else could it mean when he was grateful she hadn't caught his son.)

"We should speak to all three of you at once," Nezu's voice was soft compared to the carnage in the house, but it rattled Masaru all the more. He would have preferred him to scream. To roar at him like his own thoughts did for being so blind.

Masaru nodded, leading the three of them to the living room swerving around broken glass and shattered pieces of the life that had once filled their home.

Katsuki and Mitsuki were facing off around the couch. Both of them red faced as they screamed curses at each other. Masaru had grown so used to the noise he hadn't even noticed when he had led the heroes in. Neither of them so much as looked in their direction, so lost in their fury.

Something sparked in his chest. White hot and with all the force of one of Katsuki's explosions.

"Enough!" He roared it at them, cutting through their shouts with a single word.

(He had never raised his voice to either of them. Never in all the time Katsuki had been alive. Never since he met Mitsuki in high school. Both of them looked at him with slack expressions, struck dumb in their shock.)

"Enough," He repeated at a normal volume but the iron in his voice made them both blink. "Both of you, just, enough."

It struck him then that he couldn't offer Katsuki's teachers a place to sit. Even with the couch still mostly in tact, the glass from every picture once the walls and the small fiddly blown glass figures Masaru had so adored was scattered over every inch of their living room. Like a bomb had gone off in their home.

(Like they had raised the bomb that would destroy them.)

None of the heroes seemed like they were much inclined to sit anyway. Midnight dropped back to lean against the farthest wall from Katsuki while Aizawa, with Nezu on his shoulder, stood in the center of the room where the mammal could keep his dark eyes on all three of them at once.

"We have come to inform you that Bakugou Katsuki has been formally expelled from UA as the result of an assault on one of his fellow students," Nezu kept his voice soft, so terribly soft.

Katsuki, however, did not. "The fuck do you mean expelled you fucking rat! Deku fucking—!"

"Katsuki!" Masaru's voice cut through the argument as well as any explosion. "I said enough. You will listen to your… to the heroes, and you will do so silently." It was probably the shock that made Katsuki listen more than any respect for Masaru as his father. Masaru didn't much care as long as he was quiet.

From all Nezu reacted, it was like neither of them had spoken at all. "He will be expelled with a black mark on his record and a personal note from myself attached listing my… concerns should he be accepted into another heroics program. We take the safety of our students seriously at UA, and we know that all of our fellow schools across the world feel much the same."

It was as good as the death of the dream Katsuki had held since he was a toddler. A black mark from UA. A personal condemnation from Nezu. There was not a single hero school in all of Japan that would stand against that. Not a single one in the world if Masaru were to make a guess.

Not that he would have tried to look.

Masaru bowed, a perfect ninety degrees, and kept his voice on the shattered glass under his feet when he spoke, "Thank you for taking the time to inform us. With consideration to what happened, I had already decided to pull Katsuki out of UA, and was already looking for an online program unrelated to heroics that would take him in spite of his… rather televised faults." If he wasn't convicted of attempted murder, Masaru couldn't help but think as he caught sight of the quirk suppressing cuff around his son's ankle from his position.

"What?" It spoke to just how stunned Katsuki was that the word had come out as a strangled whisper rather than a roar.

Masaru straightened, not daring to look at his son when he spoke. Instead his eyes caught on a patch of wall brighter than the rest where a picture had once resided.

(Izuku's smiling face had once looked back from that picture, where they were clinging to their mother's arm. Katsuki and Mitsuki had both also been smiling for once. A rare moment of peace caught on camera now crumpled and shattered on their floor.

He wondered what it said about all of them. Surely nothing good.)

"I have been too lenient toward the problems in your behavior for too long, which resulted in another child being hurt. I refuse to make that mistake again. It is my greatest shame that it took me this long to see."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Midnight's head dip in a nod. Confirmation and damnation in the movement. Her hands might have been the ones stained with Izuku's blood, but the ghost of that blood rested on Masaru's soul. He should have known, should have seen the warning signs, but he had not. Now he had to live with that failure for the rest of his life.

(It would be so easy not to. To run as far as he could. To leave nothing but signed divorce papers and a broken home full of rage and guilt behind him.

But Masaru had taken the easy route too much already, and he, frankly, didn't trust Mitsuki to keep Katsuki under control.)

He nodded back at Midnight, a message received and understood. "I apologize for the harm that Katsuki has done."

It wasn't enough, and he knew it.

It would never be enough.

Masaru had to say it all the same.

None of the heroes accepted the apology. None of them would lessen his guilt. None of them so much as bowed before showing themselves out of his home. Masaru was grateful for it, was grateful for the stunned silence that they left in their wake even more so.

[winepresswrath]

apple tv is so funny because they spend so much money to promote the morning show and the morning show only, even though it is probably the worst in their slate of very expensive star studded dramas that actually look good. slow horses is so much fun. every single MI5 agent we meet is some kind of craven fuckup except for the one who refuses to do any work because he hates the rest of them so much. i cannot wait to watch diana the evil gilf girlboss gaslight gatekeep a white supremacist into power because she is self interested and petty. every episode it does psychological warfare against viewers with daddy issues. no one has had gay sex yet but i'm holding out hope.

[reegis]

Your UDAD art looks even better in person 😁

Will you do any posters for the other albums? bc i WILL buy them

OH I NEVER REALLY GET THE CHANCE TO SEE ANY OF MY ART IRL AAAAAAAAAAA(???!!!!!!!!!!!???!!)

IM SO HAPPY IT LOOKS OK 😭😭😭

im working (slowly but surely) on the layout for a TBI one rn, and hopefully have plans to do the HNOC & OUTIS in the future!!!!!

[everchased]

next round of art fight, kyrien for @hiridraws and xavier for @snejkha!

[valyrfia]

Red bull just posted a video of max on tiktok about the inchident on the race

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSNB72XRd/

Thank you so much dear anon for bringing this to my attention. I have to flag how this fits into the whole Max and Charles PR narrative we're seeing RBR starting to build. Charles has featured or been mentioned or alluded to on RBR social media in the past 24 hours almost as much as Checo himself, the actual RBR second driver. For all intents and purposes, RBR social media are not treating Charles like a rival competitor, rather they seem to be happily reminding us all of Max and Charles's shared history, and complimenting Charles right, left, and centre. There is no reason for RBR to give this PR to a driver of a rival team, there's no such thing as free advertising. So the question remains, why is RBR building a Charles social media campaign? And why are they building this idea of Max&Charles in the heads of their audience?