#fucking with textures and more abstract coloring???

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Ind. Sundown you are Everything to me

[tocomplainfriend]

I am mad

Yup!

Bro shut up, she is white - being Latina is not a race, is an not the same as color skin. And she is a second generation immigrant too. So like... this isn't like a Salvadorian person doing a cartoon, is a daughter of Salvadorians... That grew in the USA. Being Latino doesn't mean you aren't white, you can be any race and Latino. Still wouldn't make up for the lack of representation or the existing racism. In the piece of media that's "diverse".

Salvadorian is not a race, LMAO. That's crazy- you think someone from Argentina who is white, is not white cause of their nationality??? Being Latino and having that culture does not equal a race. It's in itself a racist thing. This Latino = Race is terrible, It also comes from the idea of the "You are not Latino because you are not brown", assuming all people from Latino America are brown by default. You know how much has that happen to me? -AND MANY OTHER PEOPLE.

(I'm Latino btw)

I already have an older post about it, but - you can really see the lack of diversity in the show a lot. (Will talk about it even more other day).

Again the main thing you get is MEN, hypersexual skinny queer men (cis). You won't get to see female characters being well written, thought all the season 1 and all the episodes we got rn of season 2. All characters are skinny and similar body types and repetitive design choices. Funny enough, shows that lack of human characters still have better race-coding that helluva. (and well in hazbin you'll get POC characters that are gray, lack all ethic features... even when they are humanoid. So that is great.)

Bro you could, you imagine a character being black and having different textured hair, and you go to hell... AND EVEN THO YOU ARE HUMANOID- your hair became straight and spiky, and you are now a light gray? If you build a world like that... it just seems like the perfect racist excuse to delete ethic features out a POC character because you don't want to draw them. "Not going to a single hint of their race/culture unless it revolves on their death"... If the character became a fucking coin with dot eyes, maybe (not really, shows with no human/humanoid characters still are capable to race-code their characters). But all of these characters are humanoid- why do none of them have their different characteristics? Also, this is about a real person in the real world choosing how to design a character.

This tweet also implies that a black character when they were a life they had ethic features, but lose them when they go to hell. Which is even more fucking stupid.

If a white person with straight hair goes to hell, and their hair remains straight (assuming it has nothing to do with their death), why wouldn't there be black people with textured hair? This is dumb. This goes back to the fucking thing of "No black people in fantasy media", In the same way, it's stupid for fantasy stories to revolve around white people characteristics in fictional species and people in that world- not including all the rest of diverse human characteristics POC people have it's crazy. The biggest problem here is why the fuck all Viv's sinners characters (main characters designed by her) that are supposed to black (or mixed like Alastor) have 0 characteristic. THEY ARE HUMANOID, THEY AREN'T EVEN ABSTRACT OR AN ANIMAL OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT. She didn't want to draw that nor change designs, and wanted to justify the whole concept of Alastor even using Voodou.

HOW ARE ALL THE ANGELS THAT VIV WANTS TO BE BLACK (black voice actors specified, or are race specified) HAVE NOTHING??? LIKE HELLO THE 'I'm such a nice angel character girl' HAS SPIKY STRAIGHT HAIR??? SHE IS AN ANGEL AND BLACK, WHY DIDN'T YOU DID HER HAIR TO BE CLOUDS- It's THE EASIEST SHIT YOU COULD’VE DONE.

BOOM! A FUCKING TROLL FROM A KIDS MOVIE WITH DIFFERENT HAIR. BOOM! THE FUNK TROLLS ARE SO EXPLICITLY BLACK CODED.

---

-

Bro, you know this whole thing of people with textured hair have to forcefully straighten their hair or wear wogs to a job... because people consider it ""Unprofessional"" cause racism? The erasure and discrimination of POC people and their features is a problem. That's why it is important to people represent all of those things:

(Marvel's Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur)

The only reason of why Alas tor is even mixed is purely cause Viv used the Voodou symbols because she thought they were creepy and edgy. It's sucks that all the angels and sinners that are supposed to be black have nothing.

[snowberrycherry]

Enchanted

warnings: fem!reader, pure smut but it’s super fluffy, simon is soft, mdni

parings: simon riley x reader

based off of this request <3

(a/n) pls ignore any mistakes 4 rn

You didn’t know how your friendship led to this and neither did he, but the abstraction was alive and breathing.

 Grappling at the soft texture, he slowly pushed off your shorts, breathing in the sight of your thighs. Compared to the rough pads of the tips of his fingers, your flesh felt like silky velvet crafted from the most expensive fabric. He watched in dismay as you let out a low whine as his fingers ran lightly over your clothed cunt, already attentive to how wet you were for him. The squeal you let out when he gently pressed on your clit, massaging his finger against you in circle-like figures edged him to continue his simple motion. Your mouth opened at the burst of pleasure, the intense pressure against the spot where you had ached for him most for the longest time.

His chocolate-colored eyes never left yours as he guided you to lift your hips, swiftly removing your panties and discarding them somewhere over his shoulder. His hands glided up to the delicate part of your inner thighs, pushing them apart to gain more access. He noticed the nervousness that swept over your face, especially the way you bit your lip in hidden embarrassment and self consciousness. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed you're safe with me”

With that, he slowly slipped his index finger inside of you, reaching spots that he thought would never ensue in this lifetime. Reassurance inundated his cause when he heard a high-pitched moan from you, a perfect melody that ever existed. He slowly started to pump his finger, solely fixated on your pleasure, listening to the sounds of your whimpers, indirectly indicating to him what to do and where it felt the best.

The exceptionally wet sounds brimmed the room, filling the air with the lewd sound of his digit firmly fucking in and out of you. You arched back when you felt his hot breath dangerously close to your cunt and your hips practically jolted when you felt his soft lips lightly kiss your clit.

He sighed when he felt your hands now tightly gripping his blonde hair. “You’re doing so well love” he planted another light peck on your clit. “Let go whenever you are ready,” he said followed by a small, delicate lick. 

The whole juncture was so overdue that the sudden rush of bliss couldn't be objected to as you roughly grabbed onto his hair while your lower belly shook. Your cum varnished on his finger, utterly coating it in your arousal. In which, Simon placed it inside of his mouth letting your sweet juices overflow his tongue, allowing himself to become addicted to you. He eagerly licked at them wanting the flavor to last for a lifetime, easily suppressing an expanded existence.

His lustful eyes went right into yours like you were the most desirable thing he had ever laid his eyes on as he made his way up your body running his rough, large hands along your curves, praising the soft flesh underneath his rough ones. worshipping your body in the most intimate way. His lips traced your neck, letting your fragrance take over all of his senses. He placed a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth, “You're so perfect” he sighed, “I don't deserve you”.

His words shocked you, the sadness seeping deep into your soul. His own conception of his own perception made your heart drop for him.

“What?” you slightly pulled away from him,” What did you say?” Simon could feel his cheeks starting to burn with embarrassment, noticeably ashamed for his previous admission. He quickly turned his head away desperate to avoid any sort of eye contact with your burning stare, instantly yearning to refute his statement to avoid any further notion. 

“You have so much love to give Simon and you deserve it more than anybody I know”, a split second passed, letting him fully absorb what you had said, “And I think you know that… but you're not letting yourself believe that it could be completely true.”

He was frozen, time had completely stopped, like every movement was is slow motion. he swears he could hear the own beat of his hearts slamming against his ribs.

Different thoughts swarmed throughout his head all at once taking each piece apart of what you murmured in tiny fragments, reaching the meaning behind the concept. But when he finally looked at you he could see your eyes slightly more glossier than normal. He knew if he were to continue pondering on what you meant his own tears would swallow him whole.

So instead he placed his mouth right on your lips. He let the relief of the first kiss wash over him as you matched the rhythm of his, letting your tongues tangle together in a passionate embrace. You could feel his body flush against yours as you wrapped your legs around his waist as he kept hungrily kissing you like he had gone an eternity without it.

“Thank you” he broke away, resting his forehead against yours, “Thank you” he repeated. Two simple words but the intention was clear, he didn't need to say anything more and you knew that.

“Let me take care of you,” you said tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. He quickly nodded willing to accept anything from you. 

Simon pulled himself off of you laying on his back against the soft sheets. He carefully watched as you swung a leg over him so your ass was pressed firmly on his hardened cock. His hips slightly jutted into you at the abrupt pleasure,

“Don't stop”

His voice seemed to be deeper, infused with desire. His fingers wrapped around your hips as he started to guide you to rock back and forth on him. You wined at the sensitive feeling of pressure hitting your clit making you even wetter.

“You’re doing so good… j-just keep grinding” he grunted out desperately. Your pace quickened at his praise eager to make him cum without even being inside of you. You gently removed his hands from your waist to your tits needing the extra stimulation.

”can I take it off?” he said feeling your warm breasts through the soft fabric of your bra. You quickly shook your head up and down, waiting for the moment for him to finally be yours. His fingers fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds before he let the bra fall down exposing your entire self to him. Simon held back a gasp absorbing all of your beauty, completely enthralled with you. His hands found their way back to your chest, kneading at your breasts ever so carefully as your grounded your pussy against him. The tips of his fingers pinching your nipples apply the right amount of pressure to emit the pleasure he craved to give you.

It mind his mind dizzy with needed desire as you spoke,“Im so close but I need to actually ride you”. Through his haed out facial expression his eyes clouded with need, “Yeah ok let me just…” he lifted you off, eagerly squirming off his pants and boxers. You sighed when he set you back down on his lap, feeling his hardened cock against your sopping cunt. He grabbed himself, allowing the tip to graze through your slit, “You feel so good” he let out a heavy sigh when you positioned yourself so he was right at your sopping entrance.

All senses were cut short when you finally sank down on his cock, letting the burning sensation take hold of every nerve, igniting a never ending fire deep in your stomach. His grip on you became even tighter, holding you impossibly close to his warm body when you slowly began to move your hips up and down.

“Oh my god” you whined out, feeling him so deep inside of your cunt it made everything blurry. Like nothing mattered or would ever matter.

”You’re doing so good” he dropped his fingertips down to toy at your clit, ”I’m right here angel you’re doing so well for me”. He watched as his cock would so easily glide in and out of you, feeling you tightly sheathed around him. Along with his feeble attempts to thrust up into you to highlight the messy delectation.

You began to fuck your self faster on his length, nearly throwing your head back in ecstasy as he filled you perfectly along with his digit rubbing on the most sensitive spot on your body. “im sorry but I’m gonna come simon” you whimpered out, moving your own hands to your tits to level out the wave of euphoria that washed over you. His voice seemed faded reassuring you everything was fine and that he needed it just as badly. The bright stars to clouded your vision, having sight to the prettiest celestial principle. When he felt your hot cunt clench around him it caused his own blinding ecstasy, purely from your own elation and joy.

As you both rode out a high, you cautiously leaned forwards so your chest was securely against simons, surrounding him in your body. You lay your head right on his collarbones, inhaling the scent of pine and sandalwood. His hands moving along your backside drawing shapes random, soaking up the complete moment with you.

“All this time i thought I was purposely avoiding… anything like this” his deep voice sliced through the silence, “but i was wrong.” You lifted your head up so your mouth was mere inches away from his, “So what were you waiting for?”

Simon cupped both of your cheeks in his palm, creating such intent eye contact consisting of love. He paused, there was so much to say, so many thoughts of various opportunities and outcomes of how he could express.

Yet only one singular word sufficed.

“You”

[miks-fantrolls]

Hey mik! what's the process you use to make lands? They all look super amazing btw

i follow this tutorial but i dont follow it word-for-word

here i can do a quick lil thang

i like to use photoshop for this, idk how to translate it to other programs

i start w a canvas 1000x1000pixels, that way u can get a lotta detail in and then it looks even better when u inevitably shrink it for whatever ur using it for

use shape tool to make a circle. hold shift + click while dragging the tool to make a perfectly symmetrical circle. (or dont im not ur mom)

merge the shape layer down onto a raster layer.

turns into

now ur basically just adding textures n shit. i like doing it Hussie Style and using google images to add texture, basically just taking that shit and bastardizing the hell out of them through fucking around w/ the contrast/exposure/colors/etc. u can also use the photoshop generative tool to generate random texture shit (i love putting in nonsensical prompts to confuse the hell out of it--my favorite results are the really shitty ones that look like terrible collages), but its the same process for each one.

lets make up a planet. Land of Horns and Thorns.

i like to use satellite images to get that planet-y texture. i try to think of a relevant land-type. thorns are triangular, so are mountains. lets grab this image

next what we're about to do is called "transformative use"

copy+paste image on a new layer

right click on the image's layer, select "create clipping mask"

this should be the result:

but its a little flat. so lets make it rounder. i use the Liquefy tool in photoshop, but im sure theres other ways of doing it.

click filter > liquefy, then make sure u have the bloat tool selected. now bloat that mfer to ur liking. its ok if it looks a bit shit right now. when uve bloated it as much as u want, click ok. now u have smth like this

now start messing w/ filters and colors. i try to ascertain the mood im going for with a planet. Land of Horns and Thorns sounds a bit whimsical, but maybe subtly dangerous? so, translating that to color, maybe it's fun and colorful, but like, in the same way those deadly poisonous frogs are fun and colorful. maybe there will be some dark pits as well. lets see what we can do

i start w/ messing around w/ contrast. go to image > adjustments > brightness/contrast. fuck around w it to ur liking. this is what it looks like now

already we're starting to get some of those dark pits i wanted. lets make the colors pop a little more by messing w the exposure.

u can also mess w/ the vibrance, hue, saturation, etc. basically all those lil tools in the image > adjustments are ur best friends now. i like to increase the saturation to get that shit-jpeg look u see in homestuck sometimes

now create a new layer. we go back to google images. im gonna look up some closeups of thorns

this works fine. copy & paste. create clipping mask. bastardize the image however u want, similar to the first one. using the liquefy tool helps to get shit into place where u want it.

made it a little more abstract.

played w/ the color settings. i dont want this one to be as vibrant b/c im going to be using the layer modes. however, i do want to posterize the hell outta this

ok i like how it looks in luminosity mode.

however, i kinda wanna change the colors of the bottom layer now. lets use a gradient map (image > adjustments > gradient map). just hit ok when the prompt comes up, we can detail it in the side panel.

if u just click the actual gradient bar itself, itll open up the gradient editor. there u can make ur own custom gradient and specify the colors n shit. theres also a bunch to choose from.

so, i think that looks pretty fucking cool. i love the contrast, but i kind of want to see what it looks like in other colors too. we head to the hue/saturation tool.

there, i like that. a bright, poisonous color with the threatening blotches of red. now lets make this mfer look like a planet. merge everything into one layer if ya want

the gradient tool is now ur best friend. i like to fuck w the gradients, one of my favorite effects is making a sorta halo gradient (basically just copy the opacity controls i have, im sure u can also google how to do it) and merge the gradient to an empty layer

and, yknow, just mess with the settings

u can add gradients to make it look more like a 3d object. mess w the colors and settings n shit

we add some clouds now. i just use 1px pencil tool. try to use the curvature of the planet to inform how u draw the clouds. think about how u want them to be formed (swirling around the center? stretched out? etc) and think about what u think the atmosphere would be like on ur planet. a completely barren planet like mercury may have no clouds at all. or maybe its like jupiter, where its nothing but clouds? also think about the anemology of the planet. how do the winds form, what directions do they go?

i think the Land of Horns and Thorns sounds like a place that would have a good amount of thunderstorms, so lets make the clouds black. mountains are pretty windy, so maybe the clouds will sporadic but dense.

fuck around w/ it til ur tired of looking at it. then make that fucker smaller (the average mspa panel is 650x450. unless ur planet is taking up the entire page, u can probably get away with smt smaller.) **make sure u have interpolation set to bicubic or nearest neighbor.

and then ur done.

side notes: literally do whatever u want tbh, u can do as many layers as u want, use whatever tools u want. thats pretty much the basic format ive got.

[homomenhommes]

STORY: Ups And Downs 26

The Reclusive Brock Archer

My time at my first art show was drawing to a close. Following the resoundingly successful auction of my sketches, I was again practically mobbed by attendees who wanted to see more of my work, have me model for them, have me sketch their likenesses, or have me drop my pants for them. Several asked me if the man in the sketches who was fucking me (Tyler) was my boyfriend. Sadly, I informed them that he was not, and that fact just motivated them more to get my attention.

Ward asked me if I wanted to grab some lunch and then go back to the hotel to pick up where we had left off the night before, but I informed him that I could not. “We’re heading back to Manhattan in a couple of hours,” I explained. “We’re going to have a late lunch/early dinner when we get back.” And I was also looking forward to Rocky’s concert that night at Madison Square Garden.

Just as Rafael was approaching us, I asked Ward when he was planning to return to the city, and he replied. “Not sure. I hitched a ride up, and I guess I’ll have to hitch a ride back.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Rafael chastised him. “We can all ride back in Papi’s limo. He wants to confer with Mr. Block before tomorrow’s session at the U.N., so he’s going to ride back on the train with them, which means we can have the limo all to ourselves.

“And when we get to our hotel, you can show me all the things you have been bragging about doing to my buddy Joe,” he added.

“Or maybe I can do them to you,” Ward smirked.

“Or maybe you and I can tag team Joe,” Rafael rejoindered.

“All right, guys,” I dismissed them. “We’ve only got a couple of hours before the show closes, and I still haven’t had more than a cursory look at the exhibits, so you guys can plot your revenge while I do that.”

Ward was still wearing nothing but his very sexy jock strap, so like the Pied Piper, he strolled through the dwindling crowd of men and enticed a couple of them to follow him and Rafael into the changing room. Imagining what they were going to do in there almost gave me another erection.

Though many of the artworks at the show had been sold, most were still on exhibit—not just the ones that had not been sold, but many of the customers had agreed to pick up their purchases after the close of the show or asked to have them shipped to them, so they were still available to view.

The exhibit was very eclectic. There were sculptures, large and small, novelty items, jewelry, carvings, and, of course, paintings in every imaginable medium and style. There were classical nudes (most with bigger-than-average dicks, of course), romantic couplings, ribald group scenes, close-ups of various sex acts, and some abstracts where I couldn’t tell what the fuck was going on. For the most part, though, the pieces were extremely good, and I was honored to have my sketches displayed alongside the works of very talented artists.

One cluster grabbed my attention above all the others. “They’re marvelous, aren’t they?” asked the gentleman who had sidled up next to me. Actually, it was more of a commentary than a question...and a very apt one at that.

“Yes, but whose work are they? I don’t see a signature.”

“They’re Brock Archer’s,” he replied. “That’s his signature right there,” he added, pointing to a stylized letter A with an arrow through it.

“Brock Archer, the writer? I love his stories.”

“I’ve heard that he is a talented writer, but I am much more familiar with his paintings.”

“I had no idea,” I commented. “Are these acrylics?”

“They’re actually prints of digital paintings. He takes photographs and paints them on a computer.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s a lot more complicated than it sounds. Each painting is constructed in layers, sometimes a dozen or more layers, and on each layer, all the variables—composition, lighting, color, texture and so on—are meticulously calibrated. As he writes in his book, Brock Archer’s Men, the entire process is one of calibration, reflection, and re-calibration until he has achieved a result—a new creative work—that is both erotic and aesthetic.”

“Wow! That’s dope,” I exclaimed. “I’m delighted to see his paintings, but I really wish he had been here himself. I would love to meet him.”

“But he’s been here the whole time,” said the pleasant stranger.

“Really?” I gasped. “Why didn’t Aaron introduce him at the reception?”

“He’s rather reclusive,” he explained. “He shies away from the limelight, but he’s here. That’s him over there,” he nodded.

I turned quickly in the direction of his gesture, where I saw Mr. Block and Woody chatting with a couple of handsome, well-dressed men by the exit. “Which one is he?” I asked, but when I turned to put the question to the man, I discovered that he had stepped away to chat with someone else, leaving me talking to the air.

I debated whether or not I should just go over there and ask which of the two men was Brock Archer, but I didn’t want to appear impolite to Mr. Block or Woody.

“I can’t believe you’ve been around him all this weekend and didn’t know who Brock Archer is,” said the man returning to my conversation space. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Suddenly the pleasant gentleman was starting to sound a bit condescending, but I ventured forth. “No, I don’t, and if you know him, I would appreciate it very much if you would introduce me.”

“That man over there—”

“Which one?” I snapped in frustration.

“Who did you come here with?” he tested my patience.

“Arthur Block and Morgan Woodward...Woody.”

“OK. Arthur Block. Repeat it.”

The guy was starting to seem like a jerk, but I did as he instructed and spoke the name Arthur Block.

“OK, now say it in reverse order, last name first.”

“Block Arthur,” I said.

“Now say it fast three times.”

“Block Arthur. Block Arthur. Block Ar.... Oh, fuck! You don’t mean...you’re not telling me that—”

“Arthur Block is Brock Archer.”

“Holy shit!”

To be continued..

+

[sibyl-of-space]

what inspired the character designs in amadeus?

What a fun question! With the caveat that specific things can't be discussed without spoilers (and therefore won't be discussed), I'll try to talk about them to the best of my ability.

Amadeus:

I made the first sketches of his design so long ago I barely remember what the initial vibes were. I do remember that his long straight hair and rich boy vibes were kind of meant to be Lucius Malfoy-ish (Prisoner of Azkaban was a huge reason I initially became obsessed with werewolves, so that's where this inspiration came from. I don't want Amadeus to have anything to do with HP beyond this, for obvious reasons; but I should admit this influence).

As far as his actual clothing, Amadeus's weird shirt-coat thing is actually largely drawn from the cape I made for a DGS Sherlock Holmes cosplay. Hound of the Baskervilles is another huge inspiration for the game, and I find it way easier to draw clothes that I have made or worked with in some way, so I drew from that.

(this is the only photo I have easily on hand, lmao)

The pants for his full design are based off of pants I made for a Lloyd Irving cosplay, and the boots kind of are as well. So well, pretty much, cosplay gave me a ton of experience interpreting weird clothes into IRL fashion and making them, so now I get to do the opposite thing where I have a ton of weird clothes I've made that I can pull from when thinking about what characters might wear.

The most iconic part of his design, the arms, well... to put this in vague terms because of spoiler reasons: that was an example of the design actually being revised to fit plot details. It has resulted in a way cooler and more interesting design, but it wasn't originally there. I had to realize some plot things before I could reflect them in the design, and now the design would be unrecognizable without it.

Solea:

Solea went under drastic revision since my first version of her, because her character also underwent drastic revision and the OG design no longer felt like her. I wrote about this a little bit in a devlog, but in order to draw a hairstyle for her that I liked, I spent about 3 hours watching Black haircare videos on YouTube to get a feel for different typical styles for her hair texture and variations on those styles, and bookmarking the ones that felt like they had the right vibes. After that, I drew a mockup and sent it to a friend who has similar hair texture to Solea, and asked "does this hairstyle make sense?" and she said "yep!" so it was a go.

In terms of the rest of her design: I'm being intentionally vague here, but there are reasons she looks the way she does, and it took a lot of tweaking to get it to feel right. My favorite part is the ugly ass gardening gloves she's got on. Without those it still felt too Disney's Hercules-esque (especially the top half - her bottom half design fixes this somewhat, but you can't see it in the talksprite). But the big ugly functional gardening glove contrasting with her pretty flowing fabrics I think results in the right aesthetic for her.

The Witch:

It came to me in a dream.

OK, not really, what actually happened was I was thinking about Amadeus while lying in bed about to go to sleep, and for some reason imagined the witch who lives in his home now descending from the second floor banister looking like some abstract weird ass orange-red creature. It was one of those things where I was just like "that's weird as fuck. Kind of creepy. ...Let's do it." I remembered the head was circular with square "petals" protruding, and the bottom was kind of triangular, but since it was all made up in my head it wasn't that concrete. So when it came time to actually draw her, I drew from the stylized and very Shaped designs in Super Paper Mario, and tried to get it to feel close to the image in my head.

...It was only after coloring it that I realized it looks very, very Homestuck. This was probably a huge subconscious influence, but not for a second did I consciously consider it. If anything I think my initial daydream was inspired by an enemy from Final Fantasy VIII.

Anyway, hope this was somewhat interesting! Thanks for the ask!

[fvckw4d]

I keep thinking about that one person on Instagram who made vapid anti Rothko pieces and more power to them I guess but after actually looking at a lot of Rothkos work and types of abstract art within that sort of genre and after trying my own hand at painting similar stuff it's clear to me that people (like the aforementioned Instagram artist) take things like color, texture, shape, and composition for granted, the same way they do in mediums like photography (the art I've done the longest).

I have some natural sense of it, but I know my limitations, my ability to command color is partially because I don't deviate from stuff im comfortable with. It's very easy to make colors muddy, especially when painting, and not contrast well against each other. It's easy to think that two rectangles on a canvas will look at good as any other rectangles and that size and position won't matter. It's easy to think texture will not change anything about a piece of art but it really fucking does.

And that unwillingness to learn fundamentals of art and experiment with them means people don't really know what does and doesn't work in a piece of art and therefore they THINK they are replicating something they are absolutely not.

And that fucking annoys me. Not because art has to be good, or complicated to be good, not because they don't understand some secret genius of The Real Artists or whatever, but because it shows they don't fucking respect or care about art as a thing in general. It's a means to an end for them. And it shows a lack of curiousity and willingness to engage, and it shows they don't respect that there are some skills they don't fucking have and don't want to learn how to have.

I used to not think very much of art, I used to think I was a terrible artist and that modern art was just other terrible artists lying to themselves, but I just didn't respect them or myself and my own creativity. I didn't understand that it could make me feel good to make something and I wasn't willing to try. And doing that gave me a different perspective and I'm a lot happier about art in general and my ability to make it than I was, even though learning about it made me realize how much I still have to learn.

And it made me realize how much a lot of that posturing is self protection. From having to try something different and potentially fail, from the things you're insecure about being something you can DO something about, from the things you don't understand still having value. How much of that is snobbery and self importance disguised as going against the grain and not the other way around. And now that I'm seeing that more, I'm seeing it everywhere, in a bunch of different places, art related or not, and it pisses me the fuck off.

[place-appreciator]

Chair Appreciation Time!!!

my favorite time of the day!

Ok so today I was in my local green house and there were a bunch of super cool chairs, also this time I REALLY used one, sat there for 15 minutes and it was so nice.

I am talking about this beauty

Just look at these, its in this little nook that not a lot of people go to. The atmosphere was just right, a lot of greenery, warm temperatures, high humidity and just quiet.

I sat on the right one (from the photos pov) and took in the vibe. There was water dripping, the sound of the ventilation, and a nice shhh sound in the background.

The design of the chair itself is also quite good, with the pleasant brown color, a smooth but still intricate texture and the detailed yet simple design. Each chair also has a sliver-gold-ish nameplate with its sponsor and i really want to sponsor a chair too one day, it might also be an important person wo sat there one day too, im not sure.

There was also another larger set of chairs on an elevated area, let me show you a video

I sat on the fourth one from the left, it wasn't quite as much of an experience as the first set, since the area is a lot more empty but still.

Allrighty, so, let's do some philosophy.

I think there is something in our primal brain that makes sitting in between plants special for us. In todays city life we are always surrounded by big weird buildings that, in the view of a stone age guy, are quite abstract. I mean think about it, what even is modern society, how the fuck did we go from crop farming to bluetooth headphones.

Anyways, sitting on the first chair was a special feeling and it was quite healing, i wasn't bored or anything, I mean frogs often just sit around and are okay with it and I think I went into that state. The whole thing was probably one of the best experiences i've ever had.

So let me just encourage you to sit down in a very plant crowded and flora area, for at least 10 minutes. No talking, no music, no stimulation, just plant. Trust me on this one.

And with that we have come to an end, thanks for sticking around.

Okay, thats it, byeeee

[dancerin-thedarkness]

Hauntology Response Week 6

I liked Everything Everywhere All At Once more than any other assigned text (is it a text?) we've covered thus far, yet I also find it more difficult to write a response to than anything else we've covered. I don't know why that is. Partially, it's likely because it's fictional. It's easy to connect abstract ideas that we find in essays to my life and my practice; it's harder to look at a fictional narrative and make those same connections. (This is, of course, hypocritical, since a chunk of my work takes its influence from fiction, especially cinema)

Anyway, something I do want to respond to is the idea that the movie has about the value of silliness and fun. This is a movie with lot of Big Themes (tm) and ideas, and it could easily be a dense, heavy movie. It wouldn't even be a bad film if that was the case (though it would be less enjoyable). Despite that, this movie chooses to be fucking hilarious. It chooses to have hot dog fingers and a lesbian dressed like lady gaga fighting people with dildos and googly eyes and existential despair represented by a giant cosmic bagel. None of those things are necessary, or conversely, they are entirely necessary, not just to the plot of the film but to what the film fundamentally is.

This, and the subsequent conversations we've had in class about this, have really prompted me to do some thinking about the role of fun and humor in my work. As I've said, a lot of my work is coming from this deep place full of trauma and heavy emotions, and it depicts things that might alternately be sad or scary or gross, and sometimes that's something that I feel insecure about. I don't want to be the angry sad lesbian making trauma art and body horror, yet...I am. I am all of those things, and yet I want my work to feel beautiful and to explore fun and joy. The main way that I strive for this is in my color choices and the aesthetic choices I make as an artist, when I make big saturated and textured pieces with neon colors and lots of brushstrokes and visual information. In a conversation with a professor during a studio visit (hi, neil!), they said that my work felt like it was trying to seduce them with color, which I think sounds fucking cool, and is also a good descriptor for my approach to color.

Moving forward, I want that push and pull to remain a presence in my art, and to become even more present. The obvious way to do this is to keep doing what I'm doing because, at least to an extent, it works, and I have fun doing it. In the same studio visit (hi, neil!) we talked about pushing the exploration of joy as a topic in my art. This is something I brush in my art-- or brush past, along my way to the Heavy Stuff (tm). This conversation did affect me and I have been bringing it to my practice lately, which is more experimental and confusing for me than its ever been, and which is putting more of a focus on positive emotions, like joy and desire.

I don't think that there is anything wrong with people who are marginalized making art about that. I don't think that there is anything wrong with people who are traumatized making art about that trauma. This is something that has been fundamental to my development as an artist and, more importantly, to my development and understanding of myself as a person. I just also don't want to be afraid to explore my joys and desires, or downplay either the positive mental impacts of that, or the potential beauty it could bring to my art. It is time for me to stop being afraid of the happy, and to stop feeling that the things that are funny or fun are somehow less than.

[vinnival]

Alrlrlrlrksjf heres my request. Reader teaching the main 3 and torture how to draw i have been waiting for a long time and sjabehfbhc f

hello caffee. /lh

HANK

Probably noticed you drawing and just laid his chin on top of your head, rumbling slightly

"Hello, Hank" another rumble responded

You saw his large hand point to your drawing

"My drawing?"

He said "P... retty..."

Your brain went OOWOWAHAWEHWOEOWAHEYEUEEOR

Because mine would so yesss *bonk*

"Thank you... do you wanna draw with me?"

It was in this moment Hank went:

Achievement Unlocked: New Coping Mechanism

He loves drawing out his frustrations and feelings, even if it's in the form of... abstract art

Eventually you teach him about form, texture, value, etc etc

He slowly gets more and more into art and just... drawing

Since you're the only other art person in the area, he views you as extremely talented and really looks up to your work

He's surprisingly patient when it comes to learning !! He then shows off his learned skills with the next artwork he produces

When he experiences burnout, he gets kind of frustrated and nearly rips up his sketchbook in anger at why his art ideas evade him

But you manage to stop him before he does (good thing too because holy fuck sketchbooks are hard to come by in nevada)

Instead, you teach him ways around artblock, like listening to music, or looking at things from a different angle- and I mean that literally, like hanging upside down angle- and stuff like that!

He really aprreciates you for teaching him these things, and art in general

SANFORD

Definitely suddenly asked you out of the blue

"Hey can you teach me some art stuff?"

"Why?"

He shrugs, "looks cool,"

I can see him loving surrealism

Big Salvador Dali fan

His favorite thing to do is to make portraits but add a surreal twist, kind of like The Scream by Edward Munich but a bit more... prettier?

Idk he usually likes painting/drawing you <3

You can tell he's in artbloco when he's quieter than usual

In response you'll begin to hum one of his favorite songs and he'll immediately perk up and look at you

He gets struck with an idea at that and immediately gets to work, thanking you immensely after

He really likes doing clocks, Dali-style

Can you guys tell I like Salvador Dali

DEIMOS

Biiiiiig pop art vibes from him

He just likes the colors man

Though it's very difficult to get colors bc... well... no plants

But he manages to find colors n such

And even if he couldn't, he can use different tones of grey or maybe even grow his own flowers, who knows?

The way he approaches you for lessons is literally a "what are you drawing? is that me?" situation that All artists Hate

But you tolerate him bc He <3

Mfnfnfn yeah he learned about pop art and his brain was immediately like "yep. that one. can I get some more of these colorful bitches?"

His favorite pieces are the pop art ones with Marilyn Monroe, favorite artist is Kieth Haring

And yes I'll also have him do works involving you :]

Also because he likes doing robotics, I can see him as a make-statues-from-recycled-junk artist too!

He saves his garbage nuts and bolts and stuff and takes them later and builds a lil statue or smth with it

Definitely proudly shows you any of his works when he's done

"DUDE YO LOOK AT THIS I JUST MADE IT"

"THAT LOOKS AMAZING DEIMOS!"

When he's in artblock, he's also in robotics block (techblock?? idk in not a robotics fan), so he really is down in the ditch

You notice how he's struggling and approach him, trying to give him suggestions

100% one of those situations where you were like "have you tried x?" and he groans and is like, "Yeah, yeah, I've tried x, and it w- wait.... WAIT"

Grabs you and shakes you while he shouts excitedly

He got an idea !! Good for him <3

TORTURE

Probably the Hank situation but he's 5x bigger SKEK

Big man is TOWERING over you, grumbling to get your attention

His voice hurts when he talks? Too bad, he's complimenting ur drawings and skill an there's nothing u can do ab it .

Qtheres no pens or pencils designed for MAGs so you grab the thickest marker you could find find some loose paper to let him go wild

And oh boy. Landscapes. Definitely.

There's no true landscapes in Nevada, but, it's fun to imagine the terrain looking different

He's a little confused on how markers work and stuff like that

Otherwise he's really content with just sitting there, curled up next to you and gently scribbling on paper that's way too tiny for him

Definitely will go on adventures to get more art supplies just for u two <3

He'll first experience artblock and not ask you about it, he thinks it's normal that the harder he tries to will himself to draw, nothing comes to mind

You eventually notice he was deeply focusing, hunched over and holding a marker

"Artblock," you grin lightly

Tor looks at the direction your voice was in to meet you

"That's called Artblock"

"A... rrrrtt... blawk....."

You sit with him and pet him while he holds you and purrs in content

Doing this while drawing gave him a spark of motivation so he got back to drawing bc of you <3 hehe

[passivenovember]

Walking Home (v)., the  Tourniquet

For you @thursday-knight. Lysm

They’re going to let Billy out of that horrible, gray padded room on Tuesday, which Steve snorts at over the phone. 

“What, you think that’s fuckin’ funny or something?”

“No, It’s just.” It’s kind of funny. Steve wraps the phone chord around his hand. Nice and tight, like a tourniquet. “Tuesday’s weird.”

“Tuesday’s...weird?”

“Yeah.”

Steve can hear something, like. The clack of a pen. It’s a common nervous tick, a way to cope, but. Steve’s never seen any one hold a bic the way Billy does. 

Barrel in his palm. Clicking the register with his pointer finger, like. He’s pressing Reagan’s Big Red Button. The one to blow up the world.

“What’s so weird about a Tuesday release, man?”

“Ruining the start of a week by spending it in the hospital and then having to use the rest of it adjusting to life outside?”  Steve shrugs, remembering that Billy can’t see him. “They could at least give you a Friday. Then you’d have the weekend, right?”

Billy’s grin is somehow manifested in the honey drip of his voice. “Been locked up for six months, Harrington, what’s two more days?”

And that could be true.

Steve doesn’t feel like so much time has passed. The rise and fall of the moon, the turn of the seasons, the way Billy has to wear fuzzy socks with those little grips on them to stay warm in beige corridors, have been lost on Steve. 

Tainted. Wrapped in paper the exact shade of survival. Surgeries and afternoons carpooling the kids to Hawkins general, paying Barry Mildred to do Billy’s algebra homework for him, and. 

Convincing everyone.

Himself, too.

That Billy would be alright. Steve had to do everything he could to get Billy ready for the world, or.

The world ready for him.

“Has it really been that long?” Steve wonders.

And Billy laughs. “Maybe not for you, King Steve. Some of us had to spend the whole of it in one room.” It doesn’t sound as painful as it usually does.

Steve just nods again. To himself.

He remembers the leaves changing around the time Billy learned to walk again. Halloween. Bringing left-over contraband to spoil Billy’s strict diet of organic bullshit while his body healed itself. Amber leaves complimenting blue eyes as they made unsteady laps around the courtyard together. 

Steve holding his arm out time and time again, and. Billy taking it. 

Christmas. Snowball fights with the kids, crystals on long blonde eyelashes while that stubborn mouth fought to return every smile Max threw his way. Those very same lashes, wet with tears, when Billy opened a vintage copy of Cider House Rules, on Christmas Eve. 

All, you really shouldn’t be spending the holiday in a psych ward, Harrington.

But they held hands for the first time that night. Steve said, where else would I want to be?

And Billy, just. Took what he could get--nothing more.

Steve remembers a lot of things. Happiness. Rocky, at first, unearned, a slide into friendship which turned into peachy cheeks that rivaled the setting sun.

Summer, Fall, Winter, and.

February.

Steve must have missed it. All of it, while he was busy being grateful that Billy was alive. 

He checks the calendar.

“You’ll be out in time for Valentines,” He says. Because that’s important, somehow. “Got any big plans?”

“Oh, for sure.” Billy clicks his pen. One-two-three. “Got a girl waiting for me on the outside, thought we could catch a movie.”

Steve knows. 

He knows it isn’t true, that Billy’s just yanking his ridiculously short chain, but. Steve’s heart beats in time with the click of a pen. Advancing and overtaking the tempo to orchestrate a symphony of worry.

Of fear.

It used to taste like copper. Black slime and dirty snow, but now it tastes like mashed potatoes served on a hospital lunch tray. Contraband sweets. Change and forced endings and--

Steve chokes on something. A laugh that falls wrong halfway through, like a sob colored to fit summer days. “What are you doing after?”

The clacking stops. “Just fucking with you, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Was a joke, I’m not.” Billy clears his throat. “Everyone who matters came to see me while I was here.” 

Steve just nods. Frantically, because he hears words that aren’t there. Meaning that couldn’t possibly color his life in broad strokes. He thinks about what Billy’s saying, what he really means. 

Everyone who matters.

“Where are you staying? Like, when you get out,.” Steve mutters. The chord is wrapped around his hand again. He leans against the wall, wincing as the pins from his bulletin board pinch his shoulder blades. “You got a place to crash?”

Billy doesn’t say anything. 

Steve clears his throat. “You aren’t going back, right? You’re not going. Home?”

“To Neil’s?” 

And Steve gets the distinction. Feels it settle like an axe between his first three ribs. “Yeah.”

Billy sighs. “No, fuck that. Figured I’d ask around. See if there are any beds open at RCA.” Recovery Centers of America, that’s. 

“That’s in Indianapolis.”

“Yeah,” Billy says flatly. Steve thinks, distantly, that he sounds almost. Annoyed. “Owens says there’s a car. It’ll take me wherever I want, long as I stay in State.”

“You want to go away?”

“Sure,” Billy says bluntly. “Wouldn’t hurt to leave this place behind, you know. Maybe go somewhere new--”

“Stay with me.”

Steve’s heart is beating in his eyeballs.

The world falls silent. Only for a moment, for as long as it takes for Billy to drop something on the ground and then swear under his breath. His voice shakes, like strands in the wind. “What?”

“At my apartment,” Steve clarifies. He untangles the phone chord which has somehow worked its way to his elbow. “It’s small and shitty, and the couch only has three legs, but.”

Steve closes his eyes and hopes against hope, praying to every god who has ever existed since the beginning of time and everyone who will come after, that Billy can hear every meaning, every hidden word.

“You could.” Steve says softly. “If you wanted to.”

The clacking starts up again, slow and measured. Steve can hear Billy’s breath. The ragged intake of air that sounds painful, like a boy clinging to life in smoke filled memories. Holding on to his hand, saying, I don’t want to die, Steve, please.

It plants Steve’s feet in an ambulance. It tips the string of a tourniquet, bloody and wet with slime in his hands. It makes him remember. 

Pull it tighter, kid, come on.

And.

He’s losing a lot of blood.

And.

Steve, we’re losing him. 

And.

Kid, step away from the body.

Billy clears his throat. “You mean it?” He asks, and.

Steve lets go of a breath. “Of course I do.”

“You’ll get tired of me.” Billy’s voice, it sounds like shattering windows. Steve doesn’t say anything. Can’t respond, because. Nothing in life is more impossible. 

The world falls silent.

Only for a moment, as long as it takes for Steve to close his eyes. “I can’t watch you get in that car and walk away, Billy.”

It’s nothing. Only a part of how he feels. Only a drop of what he wants, but. It sets things in motion again. 

Billy clears his throat. “Alright,” He says. “Give me the address.”

--

Steve wants it to be something other than what it is.

He buys new sheets. Fern green satin, five-hundred thread count and worth a third of what he has in savings. 

They aren’t what he’d usually go for, color or texture, but. The lady at the department store says muted colors are good for preventing overstimulation after trauma and satin is gentle on the skin. Warm, too, which is always a good thing.

Billy says it feels like winter, now. All, I’m a goddamn human snow globe.

Buying sheets on Valentines, it.

Makes Steve hope that this is something else. 

That Billy will insist on putting his new sheets on Steve’s bed instead of the couch in the living room. That they’ll sleep together here, just how they always did in Billy’s hospital bed. 

Chest to chest. 

Billy’s head tucked under Steve’s chin, but.

Mostly Steve being eaten alive by the guilt.

For feeling like this is the start of their lives. That everything before now--living with his parents, fighting monsters, feeling useless in every sense of the word...

All of it was a dream. 

Preparation for the day he would open the front door and find Billy there, waiting.

Steve takes the sheets back to his apartment. He makes up the living room, rearranging the furniture so Billy can have his own space. The couch as a bed and the coffee table as a book shelf.

Billy has a lot of books.

More than anyone Steve’s ever met, more than Robin and Nancy Wheeler combined and Steve doesn’t own any books himself, or. A place to put them. His apartment is the size of a shoebox.

He’ll get rid of the stuff he doesn’t use anymore. 

He’ll make room. 

In his apartment, in his miniscule life, so that Billy has something of his own. 

And maybe after they’re settled in and the bills are paid for the month, Steve will pick up extra shifts at the video store until he can afford buy one. 

A nice, big oak bookshelf for Billy to house his favorites. 

--

He locks himself in the bathroom an hour after moving in.

Which, you know. Throws the evening for a loop. 

He seems happy when Steve opens the front door, dropping his box of books by the shoe rack and toeing his boots off with a grin. 

His body is loose, and. Open, Like he’s comfortable. Billy pokes around the apartment, making fun of the weird shit hanging up on the walls while Steve cooks dinner.

“You gotta get some real art in here, man.” Billy says. It sounds like he’s by the record player, digging through the stack of vinyl's Steve keeps in a shoe box by the T.V. “And some real music, holy shit. How have you been living like this?”

“I’ve been living just fine, fuck you very much.” 

“You have three copies of Waterloo,” Billy snorts. As if that proves something.

He’s crouched by the mosaic of finger paintings left by Holly Wheeler, studying a particularly abstract piece when Steve hands him a glass of sparkling cider.

“Everyone’s gotta have their backup copies of Waterloo, you know, extra in case you gotta dole them out to strangers.” Steve clinks their glasses together. “Cheers.”

Billy swishes the drink around with a lift of his eyebrow. “You trying to get in my pants, Harrington?”

“It’s not alcohol.”

“Why is it bubbly?” Billy accuses, lifting the glass to sniff at it suspiciously. His nose wrinkles, like a bunny rabbit. 

Steve laughs. “It’s sparkling cider. Cherry flavored.”

“Cherry?” Billy snorts, his cheeks glowing pink like little love hearts. “That’s definitely a sex flavor.” 

“It’s a celebration flavor, you dick.” Steve chuckles again. He files through the records he does have, selecting one he thinks Billy can tolerate. “What do you think of Rumours?”

Billy’s wandered to the kitchen. “Hate the activity, dig the album.” He calls.

The sound of cabinets opening and slamming shut echo through the space while Steve figures out the settings for this vinyl, fiddling with the tiny knobs until Songbird filters through at a pace that seems right.

“Ice is in the freezer,” Steve announces, and.

Billy rounds the corner with a bag of chips, happy little smirk on his face. Steve frowns.

“I’m fixing dinner--”

“I haven’t had Doritos in almost a year, Harrington.” Billy says roughly. He rips open the bag, collapsing next to Steve on the floor by the music stand. Billy takes one and licks the cheese dust off the chip, holding the bag out, like. “Want one?”

Steve face hurts from smiling so much. “Nah, I’m good.”

Billy leans back against the wall, rolling his eyes. “What, don’t eat carbs after four p.m. or something?”

And Steve filters through a million answers, all of which make it sound like he’s trying to get laid, so. He settles in next to Billy, letting his eyes fall closed with the sway of the music.

“No, just. Don’t wanna ruin my dinner.”

Billy snorts, bag crinkling loudly as he dives in for another handful. “I could eat twelve bags of this shit and still go ape on whatever rich boy thing you whipped up.” Billy asses him, head cocked to the side. “Bet the cheese makes you fart.” He concludes.

Steve blinks at him. “You’re disgusting--”

“Processed cheese makes everyone shit their pants, man, that’s like.” Billy wipes his hands on Steve’s leg. “Common knowledge.”

Steve makes a noise like a runover chicken, wiping frantically at the trousers he bought at the Goodwill, just for tonight. 

He wets his fingers with spit, wincing and scrubbing at the bright line of orange nacho cheese that stains his corduroy flares. 

The shape of Billy’s fingers is unmistakable. “I’m starting to regret asking you to move in.”

“Thought I was just crashing here until--”

“Now that you’re here I’m no letting you leave,” Steve smiles at him, the weight of it softening when Billy’s cheeks glow pink again. He knocks their shoulders together. “You’re stuck with me.”

Billy falls silent after that.

Shoveling in handful after handful of Doritos and crunching so loudly that Steve can’t get wrapped up in the bass line on the Chain. 

“Dude, you gotta chew so loud?” Steve asks, shoving Billy’s hand away when he reaches to smear nacho dust down the length of Steve’s neck. “My god, you’re a menace.”

“You love it,” Billy giggles, and.

They stare at each other for a moment. Sort of watching the brush of eyelashes against cheekbones while the music plays. 

A backdrop to the start of something Steve doesn’t have a name for.

--

Night falls and Billy doesn’t come out of the bathroom.

The food has been stored, the dishes put away, but the light which escapes like neon strips of gold to kiss the mouth of the hall carpet never flicks off. Never giving way to rest.

Steve thinks about waiting for him. 

He thinks about going to bed, jiggling the handle to make sure Billy’s okay, breaking the door down when two hours turns to three but that seems intrusive. 

If Billy wanted company he would ask. And if he wanted to come out he would, right?

Steve feels like an idiot. 

Pacing back and forth between the living room and the hallway, trying not to make it obvious that he’s right in the thick of gut-wrenching worry. Violent, intrusive images of brain splattered tile fill his mind. 

Billy could be hurt, or. Asleep in the bathtub. Maybe he slipped out the bathroom window while Steve was turning down the couch for him, making the space comfortable.

Maybe he was never here to begin with. Maybe Steve dreamt him up.

Steve paces back and forth, back and forth, wrestling with the urge to call Dr. Owens and ask what he should do, until the clock above the stove reads 11:34 pm and he has no choice but to call it a night.

His knuckles sound like a machine gun when he taps on the door. 

From behind the oak barrier, Billy makes a noise like he was startled out of sleep. Steve can hear him moving around, when he asks, “You okay? Been in there for a few hours.”

Billy opens the door.

His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks a little flushed, like.

“Have you been crying?” Steve doesn’t want him to cry. Tears and hallow feelings, they have no place in the stretch of nightfall that Steve has built for them. 

He feels himself reaching for Billy on impulse, trying to pull their bodies together, but Billy steps back. 

Away. 

To make room for Steve in the bathroom or to make a run for it, Steve isn’t sure. He knots his fingers together for safe keeping. 

“Of course not, don’t be fucking.” Billy’s voice cracks right down the middle, like. A loaf of bread that has been in the oven for far too long. His eyes are glassy when he looks up, and.

Distant.

Steve feels like an asshole. He leans against the door jam. “I can call Dr. Owens, if you want.” 

Billy stares at him. “Why would I want that?”

“You just seem--”

“I seem like what, Steve?” Billy spits. “You gonna psychoanalyze me too, huh?”

Steve grits his teeth against the urge to. Fight back. “It’s just when I started getting the couch ready, you seemed.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words carefully. “Nervous? Afraid, maybe, just a little. Which is alright. It can be scary sleeping alone in a new place, and--”

“I’m not five years old, Harrington, I can handle a sleepover at my friends house.” Billy snarls. He pushes against Steve’s chest until there are rivers between them. Mountains and oceans.

It’s the first time since Starcourt that Billy seems.

Like himself.

The old self, the one that used his fists to keep wandering eyes from getting too close. Figuring him out. If Steve were a younger man he’d fall for it, hook and line, but. 

He knows better.

Six months and a lifetime with Billy Hargrove have taught him a thing or two. He nods, stepping back down the hallway. 

Billy’s eyes track him. Wide and nervous and so, so blue. 

“‘M going to sleep, dude.”  Steve waves a thumb over his shoulder, taking a deep, needed breath. He calls over his shoulder to give Billy some space. “Come to bed when you’re ready. I’ll leave the light on.”

Billy’s footsteps don’t pass his bedroom door until Steve is settled under the covers.

--

He’s starting to think Billy won’t show.

The t.v. is on in the living room, tinny sounds of Yogi Bear filtering through the wall and Steve wonders if he made a mistake in assuming, that.

Look.

Just because they slept together, like, actually slept together  while Billy was in the hospital doesn’t mean anything. 

Maybe Billy is just scraping the bottom of his energy reserves. Maybe he’s getting to the end of the rope when it comes to his friendship with Steve, and didn’t want to move in but had to.

For lack of better options, and like. 

Income and shit--

“Scoot over.” Billy says.

Steve jumps, poking his head out from under the covers to glare wildly at him. “When did you--”

“Move over.” Billy insists, eyes burning like flame in the darkness.

Steve does, all, “Jesus Christ, you’re just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” But there are butterflies in his tummy. Gently flapping wings that turn into stinging wasps when Billy manhandles his way into the bed, yanking one of the extra pillows out from under Steve’s legs to punch into shape on his side of the bed.

Steve squawks. “I was using that.”

“It was under your knee caps, dork.” Billy mutters, bullying his way into Steve’s space like he did so many times on warm summer nights at Hawkins General, stiff as a board on his government issued mattress.

Steve’s bed isn’t anything like that, it’s like. A marshmallow. Swallowing the two of them whole when Billy presses his face into the length of Steve’s neck, legs coming up to pin him in place.

“I got weak ankles.” Steve pouts. 

Billy doesn’t say anything as he goes limp and heavy on top of his human pillow. Steve instantly feels like he’s over heating; the guy’s a fucking furnace, but.

Billy’s eyelashes are tickling his collar bones.

His breath fans out over Steve’s skin, like cool breezes on summer nights, and. When he starts crying Steve is there.

Like always, Steve sings him to sleep.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Imprisonment - Jordan

oh hey Jordan long time no see 

CW: captivity, muzzle, past starvation, past abuse, helplessness, defiant whumpee

[Other Jordan things] (he shares a masterlist with Mel)

Fourteen floors.

That’s how many where in this building; fourteen. Jordan sat on the back of the couch, looking out the floor to ceiling windows.

He was so high up, it felt like the world underneath him didn’t have anything to do with him. The cars that crawled past were like beetles, buildings and strip malls that laid around like scattered children’s blocks. It was a great view of the city, but that’s all it was.

A view.

Fourteen floors, but no one could hear him. The floor under him was storage for the building – at least that what he was told. He knew thirteen was supposed to be an unlucky number, but Jordan was convinced that fourteen was the real cursed number.

Maybe Dennin had lied. Maybe, but if there were people living undeath the studio, they had ignored his screams for weeks. He had tried everything. He had smashed stupid pretentious statues into the floorboards, screamed until his voice was hoarse, pounded on the floor. Nothing. Nothing but shards of ceramics jammed vindictively into his back, a sore throat, and wrists and ankles tapped together and secured to the coffee table.

Jordan stood, the now familiar restlessness settling in his bones. He resigned himself to pacing, up and down along the white shaggy rug. The space was so much bigger than he was used to, bigger than his own apartment, but it was wasn’t big enough. His rinky-dink one-room apartment had been more than enough because he was so rarely there. He was in coffee shops, school, friend’s houses, sketching at the park. But this door was locked, and there was no way for him to get out.

Worse than that, the only other person that he saw was him. The fucker himself; Karl Dennin. Jordan looked at the clock; still nearly ten hours before Dennin was supposed to be back. He would pester and annoy and maybe rough Jordan up a little, but he would also bring food and the key to the damned muzzle still locked around his mouth.

He was so used to wearing it at this point, but he could never seem to forget it. It was a caramel tan fabric over wire and leather. It kept his jaw shut tightly, but didn’t restrict breathing too bad. Which was good, since he had to sleep in the stupid thing.

He missed being able to hurl insults at Dennin in real time, but he was saving up the best ones for a later date. He couldn’t keep the muzzle on him forever, and when it came off Jordan would be practiced and ready for the opportunity.

He paced up and down, hands in his hoodie pouch. Same place, same things. There was nothing to do. The studio was just the bare necessities; furniture, toiletries and some linens. The kitchen was totally empty, but again, muzzle, so it didn’t really matter. No books, no TV, no puzzles or cards or anything.

Just art supplies.

At one point, Jordan might have joked that this was a wish come true. No responsibilities, no distractions; all the time and supplies he would want. But fuck that. This wasn’t how you created things; not under threat of violence and starvation.

Sighing, he sat down against the wall. Dennin was expecting something, and not delivering would earn him just that. The guy had an insanely short temper, blowing up about the smallest of things. Not paying attention when he droned on and on about his day would equal kicks to the ribs, looking at the door too long would mean having your head smashed into the wall. Heaven forbid you flipped him off.

Jordan huffed to himself. God, he wished the days of hunger had been worth it. Maybe right after the next time he ate he would do it again.

Frustrated, he ran his hands through his dark hair. He wanted out, he wanted different, he wanted freedom. Freedom to go wherever he wanted, but also freedom to create whatever he wanted. Not for someone else to turn around and sell, but to express himself. To communicate on another level. He still wanted to create, but he wanted to do it on his say.

Jordan squinted, head cocking to the side as he considered the living room wall. An idea was brewing. He jumped up, grabbing onto the bookshelf to move it out of the way.

~

Karl got back to the apartment, take out bag in hand. He whistled contentedly as he locked the door behind him, before he stopped.

An elaborate, abstract design caught his eye immediately. Colors matched together in a way that only an artist’s eye would understand, scraped and swirled and patched together. Paint dripped down, not clearly part of the design or a mistake. There was texture and dimension there, not quite lost in the frenzy of the piece.

Karl bristled. Even he could tell that this was a good piece. Something worth some money – or at least, it would have been if it wasn’t painted directly onto the off-white wall.  He turned to glare that the artist, perched on top of the couch again, infuriatingly happy with himself.

Karl swore he could see the smirk even under the muzzle.

(vague visual for what Jordan paints)

~

@whump-me-all-night-long @cupcakes-and-pain @panic-and-chaos @thehopelessopus @just-a-racoon-in-a-party-hat @starnight-whump @jo-doe-seeking-inspo

plz let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tags! 

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

hiya !! i love you lots and lots !!💖 all your writing is absolute gold 🥺💕💕💕 your answers are so detailed and sweet, makes my heart go doki doki — if you’re still taking requests & it’s not too much trouble could i ask for C U Y for mozart perhaps ? many a thank 💖💕💖💕💖💕

Hello!! Omg of course you can sweetheart, thank you for such sweet praise! I do my best, I hope you enjoy these answers for our dearest Mozart~ 💖💖💖 Ily3!! it’s always a pleasure to see you!!! :D 💕💕💕

I placed a cut before the last one because it was long, but all you need to do is click to see the rest! All wholesome, no content warnings ;)

(These are so long you can hear the Mozart stan in me OTL the limit of my Wolfie love does not exist)

Fluffy ABC Headcanons listed here for requests!

C = Cuddling (how does he like to cuddle?)

(Awwwww shit, I’m softe ;-;)

Mozart tends to be a very private man about his love, so I don’t see him cuddling too much in any kind of public space. The only exception to this rule, however, is that blasted carriage! Though he’s a little mortified he needs comforting, he will melt into MC’s arms when they have a particularly bumpy/bad carriage ride. Usually he’ll try to content himself with holding her hand, or just chatting with her--leaning his head close to her shoulder. But she seems to sense how overwhelmed he is this time; how his hands are locked together to conceal their shaking, his jaw visibly tightening. She’ll draw him into her, settling his head against her shoulder/chest--right where he can hear her heartbeat. He’ll freeze at first before he sinks into her embrace, arms wrapping around her waist. His ears are burning with color, his fair skin easily revealing a blush, but she knows now isn’t the time to tease him about it. His breathing will calm bit by bit, and he’ll settle quickly as his grip around her tightens a little. He’s pouting but it’s clear just how much he needed this, murmuring “Danke, Meine Liebe.” She just drops a kiss to the side of his head, signalling there’s no need for any shyness or thanks, she’s happy to do it after all c;

Another way I see them cuddling is at night in their bed no sexy times, get your head out of the gutter kids. Usually he’ll be doing revisions and composing well into the night, mulling over possible adjustments and melodies single-mindedly. He’ll be sitting up against the headboard, sheet music in his lap as he reviews each page. He loves it when she just climbs into bed and settles against him; whether that means fully climbing into his arms and resting against his chest, or just laying her head against his stomach/lap. He’ll smile fondly and stroke her hair, letting the smooth texture calm him into clarity as she dozes off. These are the moments when inspiration finds him most powerfully, the lovely sight of his muse working wonders.

U = Upset (how does he act when she’s upset?)

Oh my god send help, send help he needs some milk!!! 

All jokes aside, I truly think Mozart is at a loss at the sight of her upset ;-;. If he’s not the source of the distress, he immediately goes into comfort and resolution mode. He will try to calm her with all the sensitivity she deserves, offering a hanky and holding her close if she’s crying. He hates to see her cry, but he also understands that in this moment she needs to let it all out, to just feel it through before they can do the work of fixing things. He'll murmur sweet nothings--not that he wants her to stop crying--but that he’s here for her, that it’s all going to be okay and that’s a promise. When she’s ready to talk or feeling up to sharing he will listen intently, silent as a grave, until she’s communicated her feelings. 

When she feels heard and comforted, only then will he ask her to wait a moment. He’ll return with freshly made hot cocoa--only the best for Meine Liebe--and hopes the warmth will be able to help soothe her further, focusing her senses elsewhere. If she wants it, he will play music for as long as it takes to relieve any stress/crying headaches. When she manages to fall asleep from the exhaustion, he’ll tuck her into bed and hold her close. He will turn off the lights, but by no means is he going to sleep. He will spend another few hours seething with rage at whoever/whatever it was that hurt her so that she doesn’t have to see him like that (he doesn’t want to distress her further). Or, if it’s something more abstract, he will spend that time trying to puzzle out a solution.

If she’s only mildly upset, he’ll call Schelm to the balcony and hope the fluffy friend will be able to take her mind off of things. He’ll hug her close and rock her gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, waiting until she just relaxes against him. As mentioned before, he’ll make hot cocoa, play music, ask her about the flowers she’s tending; just about anything he knows will make her perk up in an instant. He’s pretty simple and straightforward, but it’s because he pays attention to what works and he’s sincere--he’s very consistent in his affection. From afar it’s obvious he’s concerned because he will smile very gently at her, and whenever she turns around his face drops to his neutral/thoughtful expression; you can hear the cogs in his brain moving. It would be funny if the poor guy wasn’t so worried HAHA

Now then, here comes the real doozy. While it happens less and less the deeper they get into their relationship (their understanding of how the other works solidifies into trust), now and again Mozart pulls a stupid. He will know immediately when he’s fucked up because her expression tightens and shuts down, concealing every feeling from him. (She's hyperaware that she can sometimes be more irrational than him, so she locks down her thoughts and emotions.) 

She’ll walk away because she doesn’t want to explode and needs a moment to just calm down, reassess. He knows she needs time--and so does he to figure out a proper way to apologize--but fuck if those few days don’t make him wither in self-loathing. He hates it when he says things he doesn’t mean, things that were remnants of a bygone era because they were sentiments that deserved to die. He hates that when he gets stressed out he is prone to verbally lashing out; and he needs to learn how to work at a reasonable pace instead of doing too much and hating every second of his life. He needs to find balance, both for his own sake and because he can’t stand that look. The look that says “not you, too. Please, don’t.” You want the quickest way to gut Mozart? There you have it. Part of it was that she had given him that same look when he first yelled at/intimidated her in that first week at the mansion, and it’s still something he deeply regrets doing. He shouldn’t have frightened her when she was already scared out of her wits and threatened by Arthur.  The mere prospect of stooping to that level makes him nauseous and angry he would ever act with such indiscretion; he expects better of himself and he intends to be better than that. He may be a vampire now, but that doesn’t give him grounds to be a monster.

He doesn’t know squat about how to love someone, and maybe he doesn’t even deserve to be with her--but he’ll be damned if he hurts her without trying to amend what he’s done. When she’s calmed down she’ll return to him and try to apologize for the distance, but he won’t let her. He’ll tell her if anyone needs to apologize it’s him, and that he really does feel horrible about what he said. He’s going to promise to be more careful about his workload from now on, since that tends to be what makes him snap. But more importantly, he’s going to try to amend the behavior regardless of that. Anything that hurts her isn’t worth doing; he firmly believes that.

MC doesn’t worry too much after the few times it happens because he crushes the behavior in its tracks very, very quickly in the aftermath.

Y = Yes (how would he propose to her?)

Honestly? Mozart is the type to be a classic romantic when it comes to proposing to his beloved. While one can argue he really only takes music seriously, the same can be said for the person he has chosen to hold dear to his heart. He will spare no expense--no extravagance--in the process of wooing her. He believes that he needs to offer a proposal worthy of her and nothing less if he should seek to secure her hand in marriage. 

He pulls out all the stops. He plans it all out to the minute. Buys her the perfect dress, rouge and assorted accessories, and tells her to prepare to enjoy herself all night--no other plans. She agrees easily, though she’s a little flustered by how much he’s spoiling her. When the time comes for them to head out he enters her room with an enormous bouquet of roses, and she’s just speechless as she seeks to soak them in a vase before they go. Dressed to the nines, he escorts her to a lovely restaurant where they dine together. She’s sparkling in her attire, nothing short of dazzling; it’s not just the champagne that’s bringing a light blush to his face. He spends most of that night psyching himself up, working to seem normal, and losing himself in her beauty. Not that he doubted his course of action before this moment--it just strikes him even more deeply how precious she is to him. He would never be here, smiling and laughing and enjoying himself, if it wasn’t for her.

And more than anything, he doesn’t want to give her up to anyone else. He wants to be the one to spoil her like this, wants to be the person she goes to first when she needs something. He wants to be the only one to know her most intimate thoughts and desires. He wants to be the one to make her smile like this, to make delight shimmer in those eyes--to be on the receiving end of such excited chatter. Every part of her is so very dear to him; the mere thought of giving her up makes him feel like he’s been hollowed out.

After dinner, he takes her to a concert hall he had rented out for the occasion. He plays a moving collection of pieces that she inspired (only the best) since coming to the mansion, since she filled his life with so much color. She’s already in tears at this point, and his heart aches at the sight of her eyes glistening--as moved as he is by music, one of their greatest commonalities.

He dries her tears gently with a hanky when it’s over, rising from the bench and coaxing her up with him. When she gazes at him in question, he drops to one knee and reveals the ring that has been heavy in his coat pocket all night. He considered a more extensive appeal, but something about rehearsing a proposal felt wrong, felt too wooden. Instead, he went with the words that were resounding from deep within his heart, the feeling that had brought him to this moment.

“Meine Liebe, you are the only reason my music can continue to thrive. But more importantly,” he presses a light kiss to her hand, squeezing it gently, “You are the only reason I can thrive as surely as my music does. I spent so long lost to myself; I had forgotten why I loved what I did in the first place.” His eyes are lowered, remnants of a surpassed shame lingering in his features. “If not for you, I suspect I’d still be ripping up half-filled scores, half-mad with frustration.” 

“Wolf…” her voice is soft, but full of sympathy. It was that tender heart that saved him, that made him really able to live again.

“The prospect of life without you...I can’t imagine it anymore. I want to be the one to make you smile for the rest of your life, to ensure that these tears can only ever be happy ones. Will you make me the happiest man alive in return? Will you marry me?”

Needless to say MC goes straight back to crying after managing a breathless yes, and Mozart sags with relief before pulling her tight into his arms. He slips the ring onto her finger with no shortage of pride, as perfect on her hand as he’d imagined it would be. 

Following his proposal, Mozart is even more smitten than ever. Whenever he wakes up before she does, he’ll gently take her left hand and marvel at the sight of the ring throwing rainbows in the morning light, sighing blissfully. When MC stops by to bring him Rouge/Blanc or coffee and a snack during the day, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the sight of it. “It’s nothing, MC!!! Composing is just...going well today...” Somebody help him his uwus are spilling everywhere

Mozart be like: look at me. serotonin is stored within the MC.

[lascapigliata]

i have ppl who hire me (often friends) who know that clients can be frustrating and then apologize for being That Kind Of Client and by and large that’s never the case bc the basic considerateness leading to that nearly-always-unnecessary apology, understanding that i am a human and you are a human and this is a transaction between two humans, inherently stops you from being that client. anyway here’s a very long story of That Client that’s not even over yet

i spent days. DAYS. feverishly #ideating on ambiguous and confusing mixed messages to come up with … image…treatments… but also kind of book covers bc we have to do 3 “ebooks” [AKA LANDSCAPE ORIENTATION PDF] by feb 8? but also kind of just textures bc we need to establish those first? but also kind of just “jumping off points” bc That Client always wants Just Jumping Off Points? for this company. halfway through we found out that we weren’t allowed to use their ONLY secondary color and had to suddenly come up with a color palette. and even when we finally were like ok fine we’ll make these into covers so we can at least get started with the piece of this project that we’re actually supposed to be working on, half the client’s team are the PRODUCT DESIGNERS who want things PRODUCT DESIGNY and whatever and the other half of the team is the woman who actually hired us (who by the way looks like my dad’s dead mother, the death of whom i haven’t even processed yet much less having this woman who my brain has decided is her doppelganger being frustrating) who wants to use duotoned photos and thinks that the abstract options we were working with are bad. 

the clients’ design team mood board, which APPARENTLY come to find out later the woman had nothing to do with and hadn’t seen:

my work wednesday afternoon through thursday night, then friday morning’s rather aggressive selection (unfortunately the friday AM status which had... significantly more is lost to time):

(PS like, guess which of those are the two i sorta had to include of my boss’ bc i can’t hate every single thing he does. the last two! the rando texture slapped over their faces and on its side! the full color rando lines! the horrible color palette! i guess that’s subjective but... ew! what the fuck!!!)

i had a fuckng breakdown in part due to this stress and pressure last week and he had the CHUTZPAH to tell me that “well don’t worry bc we have the weekend to work” like how about fuck you,,,

and meanwhile. my boss has been working all by his lonesome to make like little ID tags for collateral types which have nothing to do with what i’m doing - not color, not concept, not anything - and he shows these ON COVERS!! RANDOM COVERS!! that i can’t even tell if HE thinks are actually like “Designed Covers” or not bc they look terrible and shitty but maybe he likes? or maybe they’re just placeholders? but either way like - we have to show ALL covers with the ID tag or NONE of them, we can’t be like well here are our designs and only half of them are complete. i managed to talk him down from including the photos on the covers but like he kept a texture on two of them and no matter HOW many times i tell him that you can’t show half-baked design they will think it’s just design he WILL not listen to me. but also like... so you want to do a lozengey title frame. is that meant to go on ANYTHING i did or are you just like sneaking in an extra few covers here??? (reference below and again check out his... let’s say 90s color palette)

like she didn’t even understand After We Told Her that the dark blue background here was a PLACEHOLDER like literally she thought that we wanted to just do a dark blue cover with no imagery whatsoever. grow a brain!!! so NOW bc they SAW these on his covers-that-aren’t-covers-but-they-thought-were-covers i have to use that like just-mesh-wave that he loves that in this context just looks like Every Other Company Ever. which i told him! and he said do it anyway!

and to be clear like i do not CARE that a lot of mine got rejected. i do not CARE that my boss and i have very different styles. i do not CARE that he was working on an ID system and we have to smush them together. that’s the nature of the beast sometimes, it’s honestly fine. i did good work (once i got some distance and stopped crying). i do not like being FORCED to make BAD work. i do not like when my boss is passive aggressive - just tell me to add your covers! i do not like when clients contradict themselves and i can’t figure out who’s in charge. i don’t like when they ask for completely unreasonable deadlines and then basically won’t even let us work on that project until we do a million other things first.

so whatever finally we race to put together an entire design system for multiple kinds of collateral AND an ebook design all within basically a few hours and then present it today, which is always stressful and shitty when i’m not happy w the work i’m presenting - i FOUGHT for one of my original designs to be included bc the woman kinda liked it of all the geometric options and he was even resistant to that (which like - spoiler, that that was one of the only ones they liked (: almost like i am a younger designer with a better sense of how to design for tech (: ) (our systems presentation below:)

just to find out that actually they DO want the secondary red color included and they DON’T want abstract mesh waves (DUH), and i also have to sit there while their product designer shows their diagram design which, sorry to be rude but, looks like every single dribbble product design diagram i’ve ever seen bc product designers literally know how to do one (1) thing.* and their lead designer wasn’t even there! so NOW he’s sending email comments now like “did we explore this option?” NO! bc we had 3 HOURS and the feedback we got was that they didn’t like that option! why don’t you talk to EACH OTHER?

oh because you need all this work done by the first week of february... right. that’s why.

as a kicker, we found out that the text for the ebook we were working on isn’t actually finalized so we need to completely pivot and reflow the whole thing with new text:)

*sorry this is mean. if any of my followers are product designers your job is very tough I GUESS since you get paid vastly more than me but everything yall make looks the same and also it’s ruining design and that’s that

[skywitchmaja]

i haven’t seen too many posts about soul yet so i’m gonna link this article and also this earlier interview with kemp powers but i’ll put my own thoughts under the cut (spoilers)

aesthetically, i think it’s a beautiful movie. the animation is jaw droppingly gorgeous. the contrast between the textures and lighting in new york that looked soooo real it made me think of claymation at times, but keeping with intriguing and appealing stylized character designs, all to contrast the soft, abstracted art for the hypothetical “great before” dimension. one of my favorite designs were the startling black and white of the ‘great beyond’, which is so startling in fact, that we jump back along with joe whenever he’s faced with it. and with the main character, joe gardener (jamie foxx), being a jazz musician, music is a huge part of the artistic mood and the story itself. i don’t know much about music and especially jazz piano, but whenever joe played, it was easy to feel him getting lost in ‘the zone’

the first time we see into the ‘hypothetical’ is before joe dies— while he plays piano in a jazz club with one of his idols and gets into ‘the zone’ where we see deep blue streaks of light with touches of magenta, an abstraction of the night club spotlights, and joe feels like he’s floating along with the music. this reminded me of another of my favorite moments from a pixar movie— the scene in ratatouille where remmy shows emile the beauty he finds in food, taking a bite of cheese and a bite of strawberry and closing his as as the colors, flavors, textures swirl together in harmony. both moments serve to show the protagonist’s profound connection to their art, and how it appears to alienate them. emile the rat can almost slow down enough to appreciate the intricate tastes of food, but in the end, he best loves food for its life sustaining value, rather than the culinary art remmy loves. in the jazz club, joe comes out of ‘the zone’ a little embarrassed, to amazed stares from his idol and his former student. they’re musicians too, so they appreciate joes music more than emile appreciates remmy’s food, but he’s still alone in ‘the zone’. before that, we see one of his current students, a trombone player named chloe, get lost in ‘the zone’ while joe watches, inspired. we don’t follow her to the blue and magenta lights but we see how excited joe is to see another artist experiencing jazz the way he does. we later find out that ‘the zone’ is a place connected to the ‘great before’ where living people float in blue and magenta clouds of light when they get into the flow of music, sports, sign twirling, or whatever they’re passionate about. even though they go there in their own little light/cloud/bubbles, there’s a sense of connection in that everybody can achieve a similar feeling.

in abstract, the story itself is beautiful too. the dual protagonists compliment each other in interesting ways. joe’s goal is to get back to his old life where he is just about to make it as a jazz musician, while soul 22 (tina fey), who has yet to live on earth, agrees to help him, so when she “finds her spark”, the final step in getting ready for life, he can take her place on earth and she can stay in the “great before” as she has for millennia. both undergo character arcs and change their goals as they become more of themselves, but before any of that happens, there was one plot element that didn’t sit quite right with me...

when the trailer for soul was first released, people were excited for pixar’s first black protagonist, but disappointed because like the princess and the frog, the first black disney princess movie, it seemed like the black protagonist would NOT spend most of their time being a black person but instead as a floaty turquoise blob or a frog, respectively. well, that’s not what happened in soul. but what did happen might be worse. in attempt to get joe back in his body, a sign-twirling, pirate-ship-piloting hippie opens a portal over joe’s body in a hospital bed. but because that would be toooo easy, joe’s soul lands in the body of the therapy cat on his lap, and soul 22, voiced by tina fey of all fucking people, lands in joe’s human body. yes, both the black character model and the black  voice actor spend a majority of the movie on screen, buuuuuut the black voice actor is voicing a cat (which everyone but soul 22 hears as meows) while the actual black character is voiced by. tina fey. a middle aged white woman who’s sitcom 30 rock featured not one but three instances of blackface. there are still some beautiful moments with jamie foxx’s voice in joe’s body, including one towards the middle where joe, as the cat, begins to coach soul 22 in his body through a conversation with his mother, but as joe lets out his heartfelt words, we hear jamie foxx’s voice coming from joe’s body. i can’t say whether these moments make up for the egregious hi-jinx, especially so because i’m white, but all this to say it’s complicated. 

(biggest spoilers) as the story moves forward, both joe and soul 22 change their understanding of the world, and their goals become incompatible. soul 22 finds her “spark” while living joe’s life, and decides she may want to try a life on earth after all. the last act of the movie teeters between joe selfishly keeping his life, denying 22 of her spark and her own time on earth, and joe selflessly sacrificing his second chance so 22 could try out her first chance. part of the reason joe was so desperate to get back to his life was because he hadn’t yet “made it” as a jazz musician, and since he saw that as his “spark”, his “purpose” he believed his life would be meaningless until he did. but when joe does go back to play a show with his jazz idol, his “big break”, it’s beautiful, powerful, but it doesn’t automatically fulfill his “purpose” in life the way he was expecting. it isn’t until he’s back at his apartment, playing piano with the souvenirs 22 has collected while inhabiting his body lined up along the music stand, that he draws back on the wonderous little moments of his life-- the first time his dad brought him to a jazz club, teaching a student drums, but also smaller moments that have nothing to do with what he thought was his purpose-- his toes in the sand at the beach, moments of connection with his family, and some of 22′s memories-- looking up at the sky and watching a maple seed twirl into joe’s palm. joe realizes that his life has always bean meaningful, that he’s always had purpose, in every little moment that connected him to the world. he’s playing piano and he’s in “the zone” where he learns from the sign twirling hippie that 22 has become a “lost soul”, now that she’s found her spark and then lost it. now at peace with his own life and purpose, joe is ready to leave the rest of his life behind to get 22 her spark back. this is a little too self sacrificial to be a satisfying ending, even though joe has lived life with purpose, we still want to see him get back to his life with a newfound appreciation, in the tradition of other “near-afterlife-experience” movies like it’s a wonderful life. luckily, we get the best of both worlds-- the “great before” supervisors are so impressed with joe finding 22′s spark, they offer him a second chance at life on earth. we don’t see anything of what 22′s life will be like (though she appears to be hurtling towards the himalayas), and we just catch joe opening the door of his new life, but we trust them both to be alright, having found and understood their “spark” 

[emmalily]

The color story in The Return

So in the Before the Shadows episode this week, Harvey Guillén had on  Amanda Neale who is the costume designer for the show. Highly recommend you watch it, it’s absolutely fascinating. She mentions that she designs Guillermo’s looks in mind to complement Nandor’s which speaks volumes, doesn’t it? I never really paid close attention to their outfits (other than “i want all of his sweaters and all of Nadja’s gowns”) but I definitely sat up and took notice this episode, and wow.

I have some Thoughts about the color story in this episode and I’m sharing them because fuck it, I can. Also, this should be self-evident, but spoilers ahoy.

Putting this under a cut because it got long...

***Full disclosure for the images, I bumped up the brightness in a few of these to make the details easier to read but I didn’t manipulate the colors.

First of all, Nadja & Laszlo’s outfits are consistently matching. From the opening scene to the bat fight, their looks clearly come across as a united front. They both have similar details & textures across their outfits.

It’s difficult to tell, but they’re both wearing some kind of bow, their sleeves are ruffly/puffy, and most obvious of all, the color palette matches.(Also those chairs. omg. I need a set of mint green wingback chairs)

Here again when Simon is asking about Carol, both their looks are similarly textured, they’re both wearing a cravat/bow, and I’m pretty sure that there are flashes of red(?) underneath Laszlo’s collar and across the front of Nadja’s dress.

They are also shot in the same lighting. This is relevant because when we get to Nandor & Guillermo, the colors in their outfits and the lighting used contrasts against each other.

Here, Nandor is dressed in primarily warm colors, while Guillermo is in cooler ones. Nandor’s tunic(?) is decorated with very ornate, organic shapes and while Guillermo’s sweater has some abstract shapes, they’re slightly more rigid. Nandor is off towards the light, while Guillermo is in the shadows.

When Simon reveals his trash bat, the lighting really sets Nandor & Guillermo apart.

Nandor is lit, strangely enough, in warm colors, while there’s a blue backdrop to Guillermo’s side. This difference is very prevalent throughout this episode.

HOWEVER. When we get to that scene, they’re both wearing cool tones.

This is the moment that could drive them apart and yet, Nandor comes to Guillermo’s aid. You can read his motivations many different ways, but I choose to believe he is afraid, not just of Guillermo, but for Guillermo. He immediately chooses Gullermo over the household. It would be safer, better, for him to throw Guillermo out of the house and yet Nandor chooses to keep him (for now). He’s not even angry with Guillermo, even though he has every right to be. This scene mirrored the part in the Trial when Nandor confesses to killing the Baron to save Guillermo from getting eaten and I am here for it.

Don’t mind me, I just wanted to throw this heartbreaker in here

Even when Guillermo’s instincts take over and they are truly pushed apart, the lighting and colors still tie them together.

Then, when Simon starts asking about Carol, their division is highlighted again.

Guillermo’s sweater is again blue & green, with geometric shapes, while he’s also in a darker, greener light

vs Nandor, dressed in reds and leathers (almost like armor?) and bathed in warmer lighting. 

The sewer scenes were harder to capture because it’s so dark, but again, Nandor is in this red & black leather getup and Guillermo is in what looks like a blue or black wool coat with reddish plaid underneath.

It ends with Nandor’s suspicion of Guillermo continuing to grow, so it’ll be interesting to see how this influences their outfits moving forward.