#please reblog my life's work

[rearviewghost]

one thing that really fascinates me about alex is his devotion to art – and more specifically, how he chooses to get some inspiration from scientific works of what he aims to implement in his art. every time one gets to examine some of his lyrics, or even how he explains these lyrics in an interview, they can be greeted by some bits of actual scientific information. an example is how he named his taquería on the moon with the term “information-action ratio”, coined by the critic neil postman, and referenced it in the song four out of five, something that might also indicate an interesting articulation with postman's concept. the line “cute new places keep on popping up”, for example, can express his well-known sardonic discontent regarding the flood of information being generated and transmitted over and over and, as much as it seems visually appealing and does give the idea of benefiting from advanced technologies, it doesn't really add anything substantial to the receiver's critical thinking – and worse, it distances the information receiver from the sender in a communication channel, according to postman.

what i'm saying with this interpretation is, it's known that alex is enamoured with the idea of gathering a bunch of references and condensing them into a mixture of metaphors in his writing, but it's so thrilling how, at times, we can find some bits of science inside of it – and it's even more exciting, just like playing a puzzle game, to find these references and analyse them by doing a similar research to what he did to create his works.

[seyaryminamoto]

COMMISSIONS ARE NOW OPEN!

Hello, everyone! My circumstances are getting a little bit more complicated and it's been fairly tricky to find a job over the past year (aaand it's only going to get worse...), so it's time for me to fully, officially, reopen commissions. Some prices have increased since the last time I did this, mainly in the hopes that this reflects my improving skills a little better. Some options are quite costly (particularly the animations and comics) because they demand a ton more work than one might expect. Terms are also more strict than they used to be in order to ensure a more professional dynamic between myself and anyone who commissions me.

Send me a DM if you have a commission in mind, but first, make sure to read through the Read More. I want to expand on what's stated in the final picture to ensure better clarity on the terms of my services:

I'm open to working with any fandom or OC, be it one I'm familiar with or not. I'm also open to working with crossovers, as well as making book/fic/album covers, and even drawing real people as characters of a fandom of the commissioner's choice.

I am open to drawing ship/romance content but, tied directly to the next point...

I reserve the right to refuse any commissions that make me uncomfortable in any given way. This does not mean that everything besides my OTPs and the headcanons I support is guaranteed to be rejected, but it does mean that, if the behavior of the commissioner or the specific subject of the commission does not sit well with me, for any given reason, I will decline the commission. I won't work on something that squicks me, nor with someone who displeases me. No artist should.

Animals, mythological creatures, gore and +18 requests are fundamentally valid but must be discussed thoroughly first. None of these areas are my forte as an artist, as much as I've dabbled in them here and there, so, in order to get it right, I may need extra time and I will most likely modify the base price for any requests that includes these elements.

Payments will be done through PayPal or Wise. The final, full-resolution piece will not be delivered until full payment is completed. Half payment is expected at the start of the process, the second half at the end. The client is entitled to two revisions of the art process to ensure expectations are met. If a piece does not match your expectations after the revisions, the commission will be considered cancelled and you won't need to pay the second half of the expense. Any commissioner who wishes to pay upfront from the get-go does so at their own risk. Revisions are always included, but there will be no refunds if the final piece is not up to the commissioner's standards.

The commissioner is allowed to publish and share the commissioned work across social media, provided it follows the rules of each site (as in, don't post any +18 artworks on sites that do not allow it, pretty much). I can offer basic Glaze and Nightshade in order to protect the artwork from AI theft, to no added expense. Credit MUST be given to me as the artist whenever commissioned pieces are posted elsewhere.

For anyone who wants a list of fandoms I'm better acquainted with:

Avatar: the Last Airbender

Legend of Korra

Bleach

Digimon

Code Geass

Inuyasha

Dragon Ball

The Mentalist

The Dragon Prince

Disney

My Hero Academia

Dragon Age

Hades (Supergiant)

Cowboy Bebop

Hollow Knight

Star Wars

Ghibli Films

Overwatch

Full Metal Panic

Artemis Fowl

LOTR

Farscape

Haikyuu

Fullmetal Alchemist

Naruto

Stranger Things

Spy X Family

Kaguya-sama

Chronicles of Ancient Darkness

Eragon

Thor

Harry Potter

Free!

ASOIAF

Shaman King

K-ON

Critical Role/Legend of Vox Machina

Dungeons and Dragons

Blue Eye Samurai

Arcane

Castlevania

Again, any fandom, character or OC is valid, but I'm far more likely to know what I'm doing and to have my own opinions, for better or for worse, when it comes to anything on this list.

If there are any further questions, feel free to DM me and we'll sort them out!

Thanks for reading so far, and I look forward to working with you!

[hyenasatanist]

Human!John brainworms...

[lotrart]

Attention Tolkien Fans!

I am excited to announce that lotrart is nearing 2,000 posts! This has gotten so much bigger than I ever could have anticipated and I'm so happy that people love this collection of fanart as much as I do.

With that in mind, this is one for the tags! If you're interested in rediscovering some of the most breathtaking, <100-note art posts from Tumblr's byegone era, please come and join me! I may be busy, but my queue is busier. this is a bold-faced lie I will reblog art from any Tolkien-adjacent anything if you send it to me - the original LotR trilogy, the Peter Jackson films, The Silmarillion my beloved, Rings of Power, and anything else you can think of - so please reach out to drop me links to your favourite art and artists! My mission is to get as much old stuff recirculating as I possibly can.

[yuckydraws]

(Click for better quality)

Healing & Growth

(gif made by my friend @robanilla-arts is below - slight warning for flashing! Thanks again, Rob!)

[six-of-cringe]

y'all ever have thoughts you want to express on tumblr dot com but you just know people will piss on the poor

[tumbler-dot-com-user]

newpipe isn't working I can feel myself withering away

[haileymorelikestupid]

The Joy of Loving with Marcus Pike

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader

Summary: Working late on a Friday night is hardly Marcus Pike’s favorite thing in the world, but if it means he gets to come home to see you soundtracked by the soft sounds of a paintbrush on canvas and even softer life advice, he thinks it might not always be bad.

Warnings/Tags: fluff like fr so much fluff, some language, no use of Y/N, mentions of marriage, not a lot of dialogue tbh just a lot of background and introspection

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: me, falling asleep last night with the joy of painting with bob ross playing to soothe me to sleep: oh marcus pike would LOVE this (this is actually what happened i came up with this idea as i was falling asleep and then it became 3000 words longer than i thought it would HA n e ways enjoy!)

Marcus wouldn’t go so far as to say that Bob Ross was his biggest inspiration when he chose a career path, but he sure loved him.

He was just a kid the first time he saw the painter with the big hair and bigger heart. It was a sick day for Marcus, an unfortunate bout of whatever had been going around his school finally making it to him. He wasn’t a kid that got sick often and he didn’t like missing school, but he supposed it was kind of nice to get to lay on the couch and watch TV while his mom occasionally kissed his forehead and made him soup. What sucked, though, was the lack of good cartoons on in the middle of the day.

There was no way he was going to spend his precious extra TV time watching boring soap operas, and he didn’t have the energy to focus on something with an actual plotline. His mom knew this somehow, without asking, in that way that moms seem to know things, especially about their sick kids. So she flipped through until she stopped on a channel where there was a man holding a palette and speaking softly to the camera as he brushed paint onto the canvas with an elegant but sure hand.

Marcus’s mom hummed in approval under her breath before running a hand through his hair and offering a gentle, “See how you like this one, baby.” He just blinked slowly at the comfort of her touch and kept his eyes on the screen as she walked out of the living room.

Up to that point, Marcus’s interest in art hadn’t been much more than what could be expected of a kid his age. He thought painting was fun when his art teacher let his class do it, and he was no stranger to sitting at the kitchen table with a coloring sheet, swinging his legs as he colored in a picture that would probably end up on the fridge when he gave it to his mom later.

But this. Well, this was a new level of interest and intrigue and peace all at the same time. Marcus was entranced by the way the man knew exactly how to angle his brush and the movements to make to add life to the painting. The man’s voice seemed to caress Marcus the way his mom’s hand just had, soft and full of love, and he couldn’t help but giggle with the man when he cleaned his brush off with the instruction to “beat the devil out of it.”

He made it through the episode, marveling in quiet awe at the finished painting, and was pleased to see a new episode start immediately after. His mom walked over to him on the couch as the intro music started, bending over to set a cup of water down on the coffee table in front of him and press another kiss to his forehead. She hummed again as she stood straight and asked, “Did you like it, baby?”

He nodded, the movement slightly hindered by her hand running through his hair again. He was so at peace from the gentle affection and the cozy feeling watching the man paint gave him that he drifted to sleep five minutes into the new episode.

Marcus’s love for Bob Ross never diminished over the years. In fact, the show was something that both comforted him when he needed it and led him to explore. Just like before, his mom somehow knew, and he beamed when he unwrapped the beginner’s paint set she bought him for the first birthday he had since watching that first episode. She even occasionally helped him set up in front of the TV so he could try to paint along with the episode. It admittedly never turned out quite the way he hoped it would, but his mom always helped him lay it out to dry, and the next morning he would find it on the fridge.

When he got older and was able to choose the classes he took at school, he always made sure he had room for art class. He wouldn’t say he was an absolute natural, but he loved putting in the effort to create something new. Projects where he could paint were always the ones he looked forward to the most, and he was even able to repeat his childhood and paint along with an episode for part of a senior project.

As he headed into college, Marcus knew that he wasn’t ready to let go of art entirely, but he knew he didn’t really want to turn it into his profession. He knew that art would feel a lot different if it was the thing he had to do to survive rather than the thing that made life worth living. The day he could figure out a steady job that involved art in some way, though maybe not directly, would be his lucky day. Until then, he thought, he would figure out what he could see himself doing for the rest of his life.

He was fortunate enough to find another interest in the field of criminal justice. One introductory class was all it took to pique his interest, and soon enough he knew the kind of path he wanted to take. He took enough art and art history classes for a minor, though, even if he wasn’t sure it would ever prove particularly helpful to him. He just found it all far too interesting to let go of.

Honestly, Marcus doesn’t quite remember how he found out about the art crimes unit, but he remembers the total elation that filled him, the sense of rightness that came with finding the intersection of his interests, his knowledge, his talents. He was beyond excited about it, dedicated to achieving this new dream, but he couldn’t keep the nerves out of his tone when he told his parents about it for the first time.

Not that he had a reason to be nervous. He tried to downplay how badly he wanted it, but his mom just knew, like she always has. “That sounds perfect for you, honey,” she said, and his dad even nodded along in instant agreement. Once he had that approval, he threw himself headfirst into figuring out his path to the art crimes unit of the FBI.

It was a long journey, and not exactly the easiest, but he cried tears of pure joy when he got the call that the job was his for the taking. That night, he was still buzzing but trying to wind down so that he could actually fall asleep. He turned on the TV, flipped through the channels, and couldn’t help but laugh when he found a rerun of The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross. Admittedly, the laugh turned into more tears when he discovered that it was the exact episode he watched on his sick day all those years ago.

All of these things come rushing to his mind when he walks through the front door and sees you.

He knew he’d be working late tonight and had told you as much apologetically both last night and this morning. As he always did when he had to work late, he told you not to wait up for him, that he was sorry he would miss dinner with you, that he’d make it up to you over the course of the weekend.

And as you always did, you answered with a simple okay with every intention of doing the exact opposite. You stayed up for him more often than you didn’t, honestly, even though he always told you not to, and you always, always waited when he had to work late on a Friday. He’d come home to see you curled up on the couch, and he would always sigh in fond exasperation if only to cover up how warm it always made him feel.

One part of Marcus wanted you to go to bed without him those nights, if only to ensure that you got proper rest in your comfortable bed. The other part of him was endlessly pleased at your thoughtfulness and want to be right there when he walked in the door. He was never disappointed on the nights he walked in to discover that you actually had gone to bed before he got home, but he always high tailed it down the hall to your bedroom on those occasions, wanting to be near you as quickly as he could manage.

Most of the time when you waited up, you were awake when he got home. You would turn your head at the sound of his keys in the door and beam as soon as you made eye contact, a soft but excited greeting pouring off your lips and stretching across the empty space between you.

Sometimes, though, when you’d had a long day or he got home particularly late, he’d find you asleep on the couch. Those nights, there was usually some indication that you really had tried to stay awake but just couldn’t – a book spread across your chest beneath your hands, the TV on a rerun of some sitcom or another. He could never help the deep sigh that puffed his chest before it passed through his lips, totally content to watch the love of his life sleep for a moment before he woke you. He’d stroke his hand over the side of your face or lean down to press a kiss to your head, and you’d stir, his name leaving your mouth in a whisper before you’d even opened your eyes. He’d lead you down the hall and tuck you into bed before doing his nightly routine and joining you there.

This Friday night was one of the latter of these two nights. He came in the door, fully expecting to find you on the couch, and was unsurprised to see you lying there. You didn’t tend to fall asleep on Fridays, though, insisting that you had Saturday to sleep in so you could handle staying up for him. He figures you must have had a busier day than usual or something like that and toes his shoes off before making his way over to you in his familiar song and dance.

He stops short, though, when he catches a glimpse of the TV. There’s a familiar slapping sound followed by a laugh-laced voice uttering, “Beat the devil out of it.”

Marcus is standing by the side of the couch, mouth slightly agape in wonder as the same painting from his childhood sick day and the day his dream job called fills the screen.

It hits him in the chest then. He is going to spend the rest of his life loving you.

He’s known this, of course. But this relationship is the slowest he’s ever gone, and for good reason. He didn’t want to repeat past mistakes. You were special, so special, and he’d be damned if he went too fast and lost you.

The two of you had been neighbors from the moment he arrived in D.C., you having moved in a mere three months before he did. Just neighbors were all you were to each other, for a while. You seemed kind and friendly, but when Teresa never arrived in D.C., he couldn’t do anything but put his head down and work. He survived off take out and whatever shitty meals he could throw together with minimal effort, volunteered to work extra hours that needed to be worked but that no one else wanted, told himself that he would eventually find ways to enjoy himself in this new city.

He occasionally saw you coming out of your door as he went through his or vice versa and always exchanged at least a small smile, but that was the extent of your interaction. But then, in the middle of November, there was a knock on his door and he was too tired to worry much about who it could possibly be.

He opened it and found you twisting your fingers around each other. He probably could have been more polite about it in hindsight, but he was so exhausted and confused that the only thing he could muster up was, “Um, hi?”

“Hi,” you breathed, a nervous grin accompanying it, before your next words came out in a rush. “I’m sorry this is so weird but I’m having this Friendsgiving thing and I decided I needed to practice making what I’m bringing but now I have way too much food for just me to eat and do you want some dinner?”

“Do I want some dinner?”

“I’m sorry, I know I sound like some psycho because we’re just neighbors but I seriously have way too much food and I also want someone else’s input on whether it even tastes good and oh my gosh you can say no this is so awkward I’m sorry.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it, you were just so nervous to be offering him a literal homecooked meal and it was so sweet and he was still so startled and he didn’t know what else to do. He just laughed.

You seemed to get more flustered even as you giggled along with him. When his laughter died down a little, you decided to speak once more. “Sorry, I just panicked when I realized I definitely do not have enough Tupperware to keep it all as leftovers and then I thought of you and I rushed over here and now I’m embarrassed because I’m not sure you even remember my name, much less trust me enough to eat food I cooked.”

His answer was to say your name to you, having remembered it from the time you introduced yourself to him the day after he moved in. You lit up at that, and your smile was as clear in your voice as it was on your face when you said, “So, what do you say, Marcus? Dinner?”

That had been the beginning of your friendship. You were friends for a while; he was still healing, trying to work through his heartache rather than ignoring its existence. You understood, especially once he actually worked up the courage to tell you the whole sad story. Through it all, you were just… there, and somewhere along the way, you became all that there was for him.

But he was terrified. He couldn’t jump back in, couldn’t risk not only the heartache of screwing up another relationship, but screwing up a relationship with you. He let himself pine for far too long, but he’s not even sure that he would have acted sooner even if he’d known that you were pining, too.

And then it happened. You started a glorious relationship, communicated beautifully about boundaries and expectations and wants and fears. He was beyond relieved when you admitted that you didn’t want to go too fast either, that it scared you just the same, even if your relationship history didn’t look like his. You worked through it, and you worked through it together.

After a year together, your lease was coming to an end and it just felt right to ask you to move in with him. It’s been another year since, and it’s been magnificent. He knows that you’re it for him, knows that he’s it for you, but he’s held back from thinking too much about that next big step.

But now, seeing you curled up on the couch after falling asleep while waiting for him to come home and watching not only the show that has always radiated kindness and comfort and love and affection for him, but the specific episode that has seen some of the biggest turning points of Marcus Pike’s life?

He’s never felt like this before. Not with his ex-wife, not with Teresa, hadn’t even been able to imagine this kind of love when he pictured a nameless, faceless partner when he had no one to picture in their place. You are the rest of his life. He knows it the way he knows his own name, the way he knew that you would be waiting here for him tonight, the way he knows that his name will come in a whisper from your lips when you wake up to him there.

He squats down in front of you and just takes you in for a moment. He can feel his eyes tearing up, unable and unwilling to quash the well of emotion sitting in his chest, heavy yet somehow also lighter than air. He breathes in a sigh as you exhale one of your own before moving his hand to stroke down your cheek.

As his hand smooths over your temple and down your cheek to rest in a slight grasp at your chin, the end credits of the episode roll behind him, and the change in volume due to the end music along with the warmth of his hand causes you to stir.

Your eyelids flutter, and you whisper it before they even open. “Marcus.”

The tears bead at the corners of his eyes when he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, leaving his lips there when he answers, “Hi, my love.”

His lips trail over your face, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead, temple, cheeks, nose, chin, the corners of your mouth, and by the time he makes it to your lips, you’re awake enough to return it in full. When you pull away from each other, you catch it immediately. Maybe you see the glassiness through your sleep-bleary gaze, or maybe you hear it in his voice, or maybe you just know, because you furrow your brows a little and ask, “You okay, baby?”

You are the rest of my life. Marry me. “You watched Bob Ross without me?” he teases.

“Missed you. Reminds me of you. Comforts me.”

Marry me.

He hums, kisses your forehead again as he smooths his palm over your shoulder and responds, “Missed you, too, sweetheart. Ready for bed?”

You hum an affirmative response and let him help you sit up straight, then you both rise to your feet together, hands intertwined. He lets go only to wrap his arms around you, drawing you into his chest. Your own arms slide around his waist like they belong there because they do.

It’s not an abnormal show of affection from Marcus, but it is slightly rare for nights he wakes you from the couch. He’d normally have you down the hall by now, on his way to tuck you into bed and give you a few more kisses before he hustles through his routine to join you. It makes you ask once more, “You okay?”

He won’t ask right now. He wants to, it’s practically begging to come out of his mouth, but he wants to think of a special plan just for you and have a ring when he actually asks, so he won’t yet. He will give you something, though. “Gonna love you for the rest of my life. My love. My life. My everything.”

He doesn’t say it outright, but you know. In that way of yours, you just know. And you look up at him, a shimmer matching his reflecting in your eyes, the love of a thousand lifetimes filling his very being with light as you answer, “Gonna love you all my life, Marcus. All my life.”

[ask-iri-and-widdle]

Premonitions Part 1

[hel7l7]

I just want to see you happy again

[bassboosted-moon-chao]

God help me. I have done the impossible.

Rendered Yata without even looking at a reference

what's even funnier is, this wasn't my intention, it started

AS A SHITTY LITTLE DOODLE

THEY'RE BOTH UNTITLED_55 GOD HELP ME

[ragnarockz]

Work, of fucking course, didn't pay me correctly (blaming that on the fact that we don't have a manager and it's supposedly our fault that our pay was wrong when we don't even APPROVE it ourselves but, ok)

They cut me short 2 hours of my pay ($24.46)

I hate to be fucking doing this on Halloween and shit but I was paid Friday and I've reached out to the 'head boss' and he's been avoiding my coworkers and I since our manager left October 13th.

My payp*l is: betag1013

0/24.46

[misumipyon]

please help,,

Please help a black bisexual woman move away from her abusive mother.... //tw: b*dily injury, mention of p*lice, bl**d, ab*se, ass*ult. /

/

/ Hi, if you follow me you know its rare for me to open up about my personal life at all. I mostly focus on growth here; learning to love my body, learn more about cultures i love, style, books, interior design, etc. But today I write because I'm asking for help. Please help me. I was recently attacked by my own mother physically (maybe the 3rd time in my life?). But this time it was different because she used a weapon against me and I called the police on her, fearing for my life and safety. I have never once called the police. Never. The first time I do is because my mother made me think I was honestly about to die... She struck my head with a bottle --A METAL BOTTLE, over and over and over. I have never bled so much in my life, let alone seen so much live blood gush from someones body. I was in so much disbelief I thought it was juice or whatever was in the bottle...but no....it was my own blood. Warm and unreal. Pouring out from my head, down my neck, over my torso, all over my white turned beige hoodie (I've washed it multiple times now) and all over the wooden floors and stairs which have permanent stains. One stain in particular I wont ever get out of my head are my hand prints on my bedroom door, from when I ran to get my phone to dial 911. Barely able to see---there was blood in my eyes. It was everywhere. I need to leave ASAP. As soon as my court hearing is processed (my mother was charged with aggravated assault and even though I don't want her to go to prison, the thought of living under the same room again,,,,,is not an experience I want to even imagine. I wouldn't be safe! She currently away from me physically) She can move back into that house when the law allows her, but I want to be as far away from it and her as much as possible. I frankly,,,will never look at her the same again or feel safe around her--she always made me anxious anyways. I can't have my life threatened again. I can't keep locking my bedroom door over fear I'll wake up to her hovering over my bed. She may be successful next time.... Please help me save enough to move in with my bestfriend (who has his own place) until I can be on my own two feet again. We ironically spoke about moving in together and I mentioned I wanted to be more financially independent before we did it. But i see no other option rn and he makes me feel so safe & normal.. If you are able to, please help me financially. Any amount can help soso much. tysm Venmo: @Misumimzi PayPal: @mistybloom3 Cashapp: $misumimzi

(i didnt want to include pictures from the reports as im still processing seeing my body covered in blood and the head + face injuries. I cant look at them it makes my stomach fold and i can barely eat as it is)

[rosicheeks]

You could post cute pics and get validation from strangers on the internet while you wait.

Fr tho I hope you're doing okay ❤️

What do you think I’ve been doing 😂😘

[torchwood-99]

Ok, don't reblog me and tell me that the infliction of gender roles on Eowyn was in any just, all because "well someone had to do that work even if it doesn't get praise." Don't reblog me and say that the point of Eowyn's story is that somebody had to stay behind and tend to the house and therefore Eowyn should have just accepted it, even if no one asked the same thing of Theoden or Eomer or any of the other men. Don't reblog me saying her arc is about her learning her place, and accepting her duty to toil and work and do all the stuff no one else wants to do, without any expectation of glory, while her male peers get opportunities to do so handed to them on a silver platter. Not when she reads Aragorn the riot act for giving her the same spiel.

“And she answered: 'All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.'

Yes, it's important that Eowyn learned to embrace life and healing after the war, but Eowyn was totally justified in wanting to have the chance to fight for her country in the way that suits her best, and to be sick to death of always being the one left behind against her will, because she's a woman and the house is just the woman's place.