#isn't it lovely

[rockingego]

Man I love the new rui card

#project sekai #rui kamishiro #rui project sekai #I gave him a hello kitty gun #Isn't it lovely

[gwinverarrouz]

A little Bisig inspired by the way my cat sometimes sits on the windowsill and by the fact that I would like it if it rained, among other things :> 

#mydrawings #MyCharacters #Bisig #tried things with the colours and colouring style! #this was a very vivid image in my head #and in such cases it of course never looks how you envisioned it when you actually draw it #but now it exists! and you can look at it!! #imperfectly translated from my brain to yours #isn't it lovely

[waiting4inspiration]

Isn't it Lovely? II: The Man in the Moonlight

Summary: Practice makes perfect. But sometimes, it's good to have a bit of advice. It's not so good, however, to get that advice when you're not supposed to be out and about, from someone that could get you into a lot of trouble.

Warnings: angst, abuses, strong language, the Red Room & HYDRA are a big part in this fic btw, my best attempt at writing ballet, this isn't proofread/edited yet, check my new page break banner

Word Count: 2,000+

Isn’t it Lovely? Masterlist II Marvel Masterlist

It’s dark and quiet to prevent anyone from finding out that you had somehow gotten free of the handcuffs binding you to the bed. God knows what would happen if the guards found you out of bed, what the Madame would do. She’d probably have you fight the strongest girl in your class, a fight you’re sure to lose, and then, you’ll be dead. 

But you haven’t been caught in years. You’ve perfected sneaking around, avoiding guards and security cameras, being undetected. Like a good spy. A great spy. And all for what? 

Staring in your reflection as you hold your pose, arms above your head and legs straight, en pointe. You’ve stopped counting how long you’ve been holding this pose after a while. And when you breathe out a long breath, you come out of that pose and glance down at your feet. 

Rolling your feet, you look up at the mirror to stare at yourself again. You only have to keep doing this until the end of the year when you’ll go through your last round of tests and then the graduation ceremony. Then, you’re out of the place. 

And then comes KGB or something like that. 

Not that you have other plans. The Red Room has been your home since they found you. Before that, you had nothing. Just a little orphanage on the streets, fighting to survive. Now, you’re so close to being an assassin. And the Red Room Academy creates deadly ones. 

Swinging your leg around, you start to work on the sequence you need to perfect for the final exam. The one taught to you at the beginning of the year. It requires flexibility, something you always find yourself struggling with. Especially when you’re under pressure. 

You try to remember how you had seen the other girls doing it. The ones that were praised for their technique, and you try to replicate it. But it doesn’t look as graceful. 

Maybe if you arch your back more in the turn-

“Fuck,” you mutter when you stumble and stop immediately. 

If you did that in a class, you would have been scolded, blamed for your incompetence, and been called weak. Being weak is not an option in this place. Fucking up, is not an option. Those that do are killed. 

Walking over to the resin box, you roll your shoes in the power, just to make sure that you’re not slipping because of that. Just to be sure that it’s your own fault you’re messing up. 

You don’t know it, but as you walk back over to your spot in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror and flex one foot en pointe, a pair of eyes follows you. And when you start to dance through the air, they follow you, watching you move with what they think is grace, not seeing a single mistake in your movement. 

Until you get to a specific part. 

Stumbling again, you give a frustrated groan and grip the roots of your hair as your curse to yourself. 

“You’re overthinking it.”

You jump at the sound of a voice being with you in the room, and your head snaps to the source as your heart drops. This is it. You’re done for. You’ll be called out tomorrow morning in front of everyone. Your sisters will know of your disobedience and you’ll be killed. 

Shaking your head to yourself as you drop your hands away from your hair, you narrow your eyes to see in the darkness. And that’s when you spot a figure lurking in the corner of the room. 

When did they get in? How did you not hear them? 

“Excuse me?” you softly ask, realizing that they had said something. 

“You’re overthinking the move. I can see it.” By the roughness of the voice, you can tell that it’s a male. Perhaps a guard?

That thought only makes your blood run cold. And when they take a step forward, you take one back. “If you just let it happen, it will be smoother. More flexible,” he states. 

What do you know about ballet, you want to ask. But that would be rude. And if this is a guard, giving lip to them is never a good idea. All you can do is take the advance this man is giving you and pray that he doesn’t reveal your secrets to anyone. 

He stops walking just when he’s about to step into the light cast by the moonlight shining through the window. And when he holds out a hand to gesture for you to carry on, you make a note of the shine of metal on his hand. No, it’s his hand that is metal.  

His left hand.

Biting your lip and turning around to look at the mirror again, your eyes go to him. You take a deep breath and do the sequence again. 

And when you get to the part you’ve come to hate, you want to do what you’ve always done, what you’ve tried to do. But, you stop yourself and just go with the feeling. You let it happen. And it feels like your cutting air. 

Coming into the finish you’ve never reached, you stare breathlessly at the man through the mirror. His advice was right. You’ve done it. You won’t be scolded in class, called out for your mistake. 

You won’t be pushed into a shining spotlight. 

And yet, the man doesn’t chuckle, laugh, or do anything. All he does is shrink back into the darkness before he turns around and walks away. 

“Wait,” you whisper, turning around to try and follow him. But the studio door closes, leaving you alone again. 

And you know that you have to get back to your room in case that was a guard. 

“Mission report.” Those words make your eyes snap open and stare ahead. Not at anything in particular. You just stare, dazed at what crossed your mind and the medical team scanned over you for any fatal injuries while your commanders head your way. 

Now, they stand in front of you, like a team of lawyers waiting for you to spit out the information you have. And when you don’t think, your mind is still in the ballet studio and the man in the shadows where all you knew was that he had a metal arm, one of the men in charge of your action - in charge of you - moves forward and stands in front of you. He breaks your stare into nothingness. 

“I said, mission report,” he firmly says, bringing back to the present moment. You don’t have to look to know that his hands grip the armrests of the chair you’re in tightly. Had it been your skin, there would be bruises later. 

And yet, his order doesn’t make any words leave your tongue because the more you look at this man’s face, the more you think about what your mission has been, you realize that you can’t do it. “They got away. I couldn’t kill-”

Your sentence is cut short when the man in front of you brings the back of his hand across your cheek, making you gasp in pain as you head jerk to the side at the force of the blow. “Did any of them recognize you?” he asks, your head slowly moving back in front of you so you can coldly glare up at him. 

There were two of them, two of your targets right in front of you that you could take out right there. The red-haired was easy. It was as if you knew her moves of attack before she even carried them out. A similar way to how you used to fight before…

Then your next target interceded before you could finish off the first. And his face. “His face…” you mutter to yourself, your eyes traveling over to the side as you recall his eyes, how you know them, even if it’s the first time you saw them. Was it the first time? And a name falls off your lips before you can stop it. “Bucky.”

That was a mistake and it earns you another slap across your cheek. The same cheek as before. And the sting is enough to make your eyes tear up so you close them to stop yourself from showing them something vulnerable. 

“Wipe her and put her on ice for a few days.” You know you can’t fight back that order even if you hate it. 

“Pierce, we have other ways to handle this situation-”

“I said wipe her and put her on ice,” the order is repeated by the man in charge of you. His say is final when it comes to you and everyone knows that. Even you. 

And when you’re pushed back into your seat, you don’t even push against the force. You cling onto the memory of the dance studio, the man into the shadows, and the shine of the metal of his left hand in the moonlight filtering through the windows. You cling onto it for just a moment because you know, in a few seconds, it will be gone. 

Normally when the Madam lifts her hand to stop the music, it’s to scold someone for being sloppy or to give a rude comment to the group in front of her. Nonetheless, whenever the music stops, it’s become natural to stop, drop the pose you’re in, and stand in a neutral position, eyes forward and hands folded behind your back. 

It’s only when the doors of the studio open, every girl fighting the urge to turn their head to see who has walked in, that you realize that this is not going to be a moment to have flaws pointed out. 

Two men walk into the room, confidence in each step and blank expressions on their faces. “Things will be different from now on, ladies,” the Madam states, standing with one leg in front of the other and hands folded in front of her as she looks over the group of orphanage girls being trained to be killers. “HYDRA will be with us until the end of your training and they will recruit only one of you. They will choose the best. It is an honor to have them with us,” she states, giving the whole group a look everyone knows all too well. 

“It is an honor.” The words fall from every girls’ mouth, including yours. 

You look to the two men. The one in front seems older than that behind him, giving you the impression that he is the leader of this project. But you doubt he’s the leader of HYDRA. “Good morning, ladies.” His greeting is responded quickly by your group and he smiles. “Please, carry on with your days normally and act as if we are not here. Our Fist of HYDRA is joining me to give insight into which one of you will be suitable for our program as he will be the one training you if you are recruited.”

Turning your gaze as the second man turns his body to face the group of girls, you take in a sharp breath - but you’re not the only one to do that. The other women in the room react because of the threatening aura he gives off, how strong he seems to be. How, they know, he could kill them with ease if he wanted. Some even gasp at the sight of the metal arm, how it has been modified, and wonder if they were picked, which parts of them would be changed too. 

But your reason for responding to his movement is different from everyone else’s. It’s that arm that you saw in the moonlight last night when you were in the dance studio when you weren’t allowed to be. And as you lift your eyes to his face that’s half-covered with a mask, you find him staring right at you. 

He remembers your face, you can tell. All he has to do is speak, call you out and say what you have and that you have broken a rule and everything will be over for you. But he remains silent, still staring at you as he slightly tilts his head to the side, watching your reaction as the fact hits you. 

It was him helping you better yourself, your movements last night. It was him lurking in the shadows of the moonlight. 

And now, putting his face to the voice makes it almost impossible to look away from him. This is going to be hard with him around now. Knowing that he’s seen you mess up on something, that you’re not as strong and the other girls around you make you feel as if you won’t be recruited by HYDRA. 

And it will all be because of him.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #marvel #black widow!reader x bucky #bucky x hyrda!reader #isn't it lovely

[knightofleo]

Grace Ives | Isn't It Lovely

#suddenly appeared on bandcamp in full the other day #grace ives #janky star #isn't it lovely #songs of 2022 #Bandcamp

[autodiscipline]

what do you use for scanning all of your magazines?

I use a modest little CanoScan Lide 400 from Canon,

If you're thinking about buying one for yourself, It's a good starter IMO. It does what I need it to do, though I have been thinking about buying a nicer one..

The things I'll mention is that the platen is a bit small for most magazines, so for larger prints you'll have to get used to frankensteining your scans together. It can also act weird about vast & dark solid spaces in photos- if your picture has a black background it may compress it for file size (you'll see pixeling if you zoom in), or you may get a weird crosshatching moire.

Features- The auto de-moire & showthrough filters are just ok, so expect to do your editing manually if you're an anal perfectionist & aesthete (like me).. There's also an auto crop setting, but I found the quality of my scans will noticeably suffer when it's on so, I'll do that manually as well. The UI is slightly awkward- it's tedious to adjust a setting, occasionally it will crash though that may just be my computer, jiggle the handle etc.. It is a really great price for what you get. I like that it's USB powered & lightweight so you can easily throw it around.. sometimes It's nice to take a floor vacation from desk. It also scans up to 600 dpi for the insane & detail oriented.

TLDR if you think you'll be scanning a lot in the long term, maybe invest in something a little nicer/research what will work for your needs. If you're willing to put in a little tlc & poor, it works! As long as you know your beast

#I also bought it off of the internet & shipping didn't kill since its so small & light! #Isn't it lovely

[lysguillorn]

“Isn’t It Lovely? Shelton, CT” © Lys Guillorn

#isn't it lovely #connecticut #graffiti #graffiti art

[goldiipond]

if there's anything i've learned from the current state of social media it's that this is one of the worst possible notifications you can receive upon opening an app

#skye's ramblings #i thought you guys were exaggerating how ass-ugly the discord update is. why isn't this optional. what if we all died #big thanks to discord and tumblr for both making bad layout changes to their apps in the same week. i love complaining <3

[throesofincreasingwonder]

"A story doesn't need a theme in order to be good" I'm only saying this once but a theme isn't some secret coded message an author weaves into a piece so that your English teacher can talk about Death or Family. A theme is a summary of an idea in the work. If the story is "Susan went grocery shopping and saw a weird bird" then it might have themes like 'birds don't belong in grocery stores' or 'nature is interesting and worth paying attention to' or 'small things can be worth hearing about.' Those could be the themes of the work. It doesn't matter if the author intended them or not, because reading is collaborative and the text gets its meaning from the reader (this is what "death of the author" means).

Every work has themes in it, and not just the ones your teachers made you read in high school. Stories that are bad or clearly not intended to have deep messages still have themes. It is inherent in being a story. All stories have themes, even if those themes are shallow, because stories are sentences connected together for the purpose of expressing ideas, and ideas are all that themes are.

#original post #text post #500 #1k #2k #btw i know my definition of death of the author is loosey goosey here #it wasn't the main point so i went informal with it! as ppl in the tags have pointed out it isn't exact #and i do recommend reading the wikipedia article or similar (possibly even the essay itself if you're narsty) if you want to learn more! #wasn't expecting this to take off so my apologies to my barthes-heads out there #love you mwah #5k #10k #15k #20k

[chase-prairie]

Loving reminder from your land history auntie:

North American golf courses have had 50-100 years of arsenic and mercury based fungicide and herbicides applied to their soils.

Do not eat anything that has been grown on a golf course or downstream from a golf course. I know it sounds cool and radical, but you are too valuable to poison yourself with heavy metals.

Protect each other, turn your local golf course into a pollinator garden, not a sex forest or community garden.

#i am over here worrying about all you kiddos #also please dont forage on railway corridors either #love yourselves protect yourselves #lmao at the replies saying 'but why not sex forest anyway' #you do you kids #im personally a no thank you on the lead arsenic mercury sex forest personally #if you havent seen it there's a popular book about making golf course a sex forest #that isn't a random pull

[jowbokitten]

"I don't condone hitting women, but I never said anything about strangling bitches." -Lucifer (probably)

#these bitches can never coexist in a room #love that for them #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin alastor #fem!alastor #fem alastor #galastor #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin charlie #charlie morningstar #this isn't rly ship art #but this can be read as radiobelle or radioapple if you so choose #my art

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

zany to me how these um actually nihilists like to pretend that "um actually love/friendship/cooperation/kindness isn't real bc we evolved that way to benefit ourselves as a species..." um YES? that's also where tool use comes from? that's where cooking comes from? am i supposed to think social bonds & tool use & cooking aren't "real" because they evolved over time instead of appearing fully formed from the ether?

sorry u can't enjoy things. im a superior being twirling a fork in my bowl of delicious noodles whilst staring in adoration at the world

#'love isn't real it's a chemical reaction' #hon i got news for u about chemical reactions and the nature of existence #'we evolved social bonds to benefit ourselves' so you agree? #you agree that social bonds are helpful and important enough that they literally shaped the history of human evolution? #i do not think u are saying. what u think u are saying.

[noknowshame]

why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

#instant conversation enders for my multiple youth pastor cousins #don’t say it (I’m gonna say it) #The Child is The Price #but i mean come on #as someone who isn't actually even christian the real-life historical version of this is still cursed as fuck #i mean we know that jesus was a person who existed. whatever circumstances he was born in #its terrifyingly ominous to imagine being so unaware of the affect your child will have on the future of humanity #time itself will one day be counted around your birth of him #and all because he will suffer an excruciatingly painful death that you will not be able to prevent #not only that. but regardless of his or your intentions #regardless of whether there is a god #for millenea unfathomable millions will have blood spilled and will spill blood in his name #atrocities will be committed that you cannot even conceive of #and all on his and your behalf #you love your child. its beautiful. but there's horror in what you've done. because everyone else will love him too #and what's more dangerous than that?

[gideonisms]

I LOVE being alive so I can be mediocre at SO many different hobbies

#this isn't sarcasm at all i love to try different tasks i get mediocre at a new thing every year #i love to learn about other people's hobbies!! #i am having a great time #there are so many things to do who can blame me for getting distracted from life tasks that are boring when there are all these fun ones

[pangur-and-grim]

Pangur fanart is always so fun to receive, but I do giggle sometimes at the yassification

#pangur #she has ears that dish forward and an oblong skull and a Weiner dog body #silly creature #I hope this isn't taken as a dig at anyone! I really do love seeing the drawings people make!

[ao3feeddestiel]

Isn't It Lovely

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/u8zifEa by Mikaelsonbich25 After Tony gets revived, he's thrown right back into another battle. A young captain from another world (Theo Mikaelson-Winchester) has convinced everyone he wants to help them. Tony is convinced otherwise after hearing some of his backstory. But perhaps he's suffering just as much as the others. Tony struggles with the desire to help Theo and the choice to kill him. Maybe he should've stayed dead this time. Words: 1463, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Family Lines Series Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Originals (TV), Supernatural (TV 2005), Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/F, M/M Characters: Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Adam Milligan, Castiel (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural), God | Chuck Shurley, Metatron (Supernatural), Balthazar (Supernatural), Peter Parker, Wade Wilson, Thor (Marvel), Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Mikaelson Family (Vampire Diaries), Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar (Hallucination), Hope Mikaelson, Jack Kline, Wanda Maximoff, Lydia Martin, Loki (Marvel) Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Klaus Mikaelson/Sam Winchester, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov, Keelin Malraux/Freya Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson/Thor (Marvel) Additional Tags: Tony Stark is a Winchester, Parent Tony Stark, Mental Link, Theo Raeken Loves Liam Dunbar, Theo Raeken is a Mikaelson, Adult Peter Parker/Adult Wade Wilson, Lydia Martin is a Stark, Angst and Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort, Shameless Smut, Past Child Abuse, BAMF Tony Stark, BAMF Peter Parker, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Family Issues, Mental Health Issues, Manipulative Relationship, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Tags Are Hard read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/u8zifEa

#IFTTT #Isn't It Lovely #Mikaelsonbich25

[joycrispy]

Zepotha will never be Goncharov because when it comes down to it, tumblr culture is collaborative, while tiktok culture is merely iterative, and those are not the same thing.

#also because tumblr has a very specific way that it interacts with the media it loves #like make no mistake; when we made Goncharov we were a little bit making fun of ourselves #and the way we project high emotion and significance onto even the smallest details #(also the way we want everything to be gay) #tiktok isn’t doing that. they think the joke is the fake movie itself. but the fake movie isn't really the point. #the point is the fake FANDOM #goncharov