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bebemoon · 4 months

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major arcana looks: THE HIGH PRIESTESS | khaite "romee" open-backed draped merino wool gown, marina eerrie "sacred" natural silk dress w/ hood, knobbly studio pearl double threader, knobbly studio silver mismatched fluted perfume funnel & holder earrings, di petsa silver metal belt, yvmin gemstone mesh fingertip rings, silver ewer (c. 19th cent.), kindred black "porphyria's lover" natural perfume, middaia "cathedrale pearl chains" necklace, schiaparelli surreal jewelry-pierced half-mask, alighieri "the ancient incantations" sterling silver bangle bracelet, alighieri "the ancient incantations" sterling silver ring, victorian silver hand mirror, laura benson "god seeds" pomegranate archival matte print

#major arcana #the high priestess #tarot #mine #request #look #outfit #marina eerie #khaite #knobbly studio #jewellry #silver #di petsa #laura benson #alighieri jewelry #middaia #yvmin #perfume #queue

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queenofcats17 · 1 month

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The Ink Demonth 17

Today's theme is Sailor.

So, uh, have ink mermaid. Her appearance is based on this Scylla design.

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Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay

Conversing with a young lass who seemed to be in pain

Saying, "William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again"

There was something that lived in the ink river.

Everyone knew it.

They could all hear the singing that came from the river when no one was around. It was a haunting sound, like nothing any of them had ever heard before. It reverberated through the cavernous underground, amplified and reverberating off of the cave walls.

"Why are you all so afraid of some singing?" Some of the Lost Ones demanded of their peers. "The Angel sings as well. Isn't her singing just as scary?"

True, the Angel's singing was an eerie sound, they all agreed about that, but her singing was nothing like the singing that came from the river. The singing from the river was... unearthly. Otherworldly. Although it was just wordless vocalizing, it seemed to touch your very core, promising experiences the Lost Ones had long since forgotten the feeling of. It compelled those who heard it to come closer, to seek it out.

But all the Lost Ones agreed, they absolutely didn't want to know what the source of that singing was. The Angel and the half-remembered stories of creatures with equally beautiful singing promised that the Lost Ones wouldn't like what they'd find.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold

However, one day, one bold Lost One decided he would find the source of the singing. Surely, he thought, such beautiful music could never come from something cruel. It should be noted that he had never encountered the Angel, as many of his peers had. The only singing he'd ever heard in the studio was the Prophet's, and the Prophet had always been kind to them. So, when all the others were asleep or occupied, the Lost One crept down to the dock and got onto one of their ramshackle boats, setting off to find the source of the singing.

The further he got from the harbor, the louder the singing became. It wormed its way into the Lost One's mind, slowing his movements and dulling his senses. He was so entranced that he failed to notice the source of the song seemed to be getting closer. There were ripples in the ink of the river as something approached. And then... a head appeared from the ink.

The head of a beautiful woman.

His hair, it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal

My happiness attend him wherever he may go

From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I'll wander, weep and moan

All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home

She had large, pie-cut eyes like the Alice in the posters, an adorable button-nose, and a small smiling mouth done up with lipstick. Her long black hair pooled around her in the water, some of it hanging over her face. She looked so... perfect. So untouched by the horrors of this place.

"Were... you the one singing?" The Lost One asked, stumbling to the side of the boat.

The woman in the ink nodded, her expression remaining a static smile.

"Do you.... live in the river?" The Lost One leaned out, trying to get closer to the beautiful woman. He'd never seen something this perfect before.

The woman nodded again, letting out a little giggle. Her lips didn't move.

"What's your name?" The Lost One reached out for her, but the woman disappeared under the ink.

"Wait! Don't go!" The Lost One looked around wildly. To his relief, the woman's head reappeared once more, a few feet away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said, approaching the bow of the ship.

The woman giggled again. A hand rose from the ink, beckoning him closer. The Lost One was so enraptured by her face that he failed to notice how unsettling her hand looked. The fingers were long, knobbly, and clawed. There was webbing between the fingers and fins along the side of the forearm. It looked far more fishlike than her face would indicate.

But, as I said, the Lost One failed to notice this. Instead, he fired up the motor to move the boat closer. However, as he began to move the boat, the woman disappeared under the ink again, only reappearing when the Lost One killed the motor.

"Why do you keep running?" The Lost One asked.

The woman raised her hand to gesture to him again.

"I want to get closer," he said, trying not to get too annoyed. "But you go away every time I turn the motor on."

The woman continued to gesture.

"Come in," she said. Her voice sounded like a gurgle. As though she were speaking from underwater. Her lips still didn't move.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold

The Lost One stopped. "You want me to... go in the ink?" He asked, his voice beginning to shake.

The woman nodded.

"But if I go in the ink, I'll go back into the puddles," he said.

The woman was silent for a moment or two, seeming to consider this.

"Follow me," she finally said. Then, she dipped out of sight, reappearing a few feet away once more.

This time, when the Lost Ones started the engine, she didn't disappear. Instead, she led him to a dock he'd never been before, one on the other end of the river.

"I've never been here before," he remarked as he docked the boat and stepped onto the dock. "It's nice. A lot nicer than the dock at the harbor."

He looked back at the woman, who was still in the ink. Only her head was still visible.

"Aren't you going to come out of the ink?" The Lost One asked, approaching the river.

The woman didn't answer, but she did move toward him. As she did, more and more of her rose out of the ink, revealing exactly what she'd been hiding.

My name, it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair

And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year

Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be

Who love a jolly sailor that ploughs the raging sea

While up aloft in storm, from me his absence mourn

And firmly pray, arrive the day, he's never more to roam

Everything about her looked... wrong. Although she did have a humanoid upper body, she seemed more eel than person, her proportions elongated and emaciated. She had a long, thick tail where her legs should have been, the surface mottled and slimy. The thing he thought was her face seemed to instead be some sort of mask on the top of her head, beneath which was her true eel-like face.

She smiled at him, bearing a mouth full of needle-sharp fangs as she clawed her way up the dock toward the Lost One.

"What... What are you?" The Lost One stammered, stumbling away from her.

The creature smiled wider. "Hungry..."

Then, she lunged for the Lost One.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold

When Allison ventured out to the dock to check what the screaming had been about, she found nothing but splatters of ink and a trail leading back into the river, along with a single abandoned boat.

And on the wind, there was the sound of singing coming from the river.

Allison immediately went back inside, sure she didn't want to know what had happened.

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #the ink demonth #batim oc

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mje51 · 10 months

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youtube

Ian Dury & the Blockheads ~ Spasticus Autisticus (Studio version) "Spasticus Autisticus" was written in 1981 as a protest against the International Year of Disabled Persons, which Dury considered to be patronising. Dury was himself disabled by polio contracted in his youth. Fed up with repeated requests to get involved with charitable causes, Dury wrote an "anti-charity" song.Dury died in 2000 at age 57 but was able to change the world. At the opening ceremony of the 2012 Paralympic Games in London, “Spasticus Autisticus” was introduced by none other than wheelchair-using astrophysicist Stephen Hawking and performed by John Kelly’s Graeae Theatre Company of deaf and disabled artists. (The name Graeae, or “the grey ones,” comes from deformed creatures in Greek mythology, three sisters who shared one eye and one tooth among them.) This was the culmination of Dury’s singular art project where the impolite, maybe unsightly aspects of society and behavior are made recognizable — we relate, not “overstand” as in Lizzo’s tired hip-hop term. The Graeae Theatre cast acted out the song’s climax where Dury’s proclamation “I’m Spasticus!” deliberately satirizes the solidarity scene in the movie Spartacus. (Forgive me for often thinking of the song as “Spasticus Artisticus.”)I'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI wibble when I piddleCos my middle is a riddleI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI dribble when I nibbleAnd I quibble when I scribbleHello to you out there in Normal LandYou may not comprehend my tale or understandAs I crawl past your window give me lucky looksYou can be my body but you'll never read my booksI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm knobbled on the cobblesCos I hobble when I wobbleSwim!So place your hard-earned peanuts in my tinAnd thank the Creator you're not in the state I'm inSo long have I been languished on the shelfI must give all proceedings to myselfI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticusI'm spasticus, I'm spasticusI'm spasticus autisticus54 appliances in leather and elastic100 000 thank yous from 27 spasticsSpasticus, spasticusSpasticus autisticusSpasticus, spasticusSpasticus autisticusSpasticus, spasticusSpasticus autisticusWiddling, griddling, skittling, diddling,Fiddling, diddling, widdling, diddling spasticusI'm spasticus, spasticusSpasticus autisticusSpasticus, spasticusSpasticus autisticusSpasticus, spasticusSpasticus autisticusSpasticus, spasticusSpasticus autisticusI'm spasticus!I'm spasticus!I'm spasticus!I'm spasticus!I'm spasticus!I'm spasticus!I'm spasticus!Spasticus!

#youtube

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fregolicotard · 1 year

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18.06.2023

In between recordings, I open the door to the studio, inviting the lazy light to crawl inside. Just beyond, to the left, lies a grand pool shaped like a knobbly woollen scarf. I wonder if I should get a scarf. I pull the sweater closer to my body. Through the doors, faint echoes of excited children's screams playfully fill the air. Opening these doors is like opening an oven. If you tilt your head to the side, you can almost picture the handles resembling an oven handle. I suppose, on the other side, the handles should look like refrigerator ones. What I mean is that there's a 15-20° Celsius difference between the outside and inside.

#169of365

#awakethelight #lightchaser #beautifullight #whplightandshadow #lowlightleague #lightinspired #subjectlight #follow_this_light #quietlight #thewonderinglight

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lacewings · 3 years

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