#my muse of liberal arts

[theclassicalpoetess]

Reserve your right to think, for even to think wrongly is better than not to think at all. - Hypatia

#my muse of liberal arts #Hypatia #Ancient Rome #antiquity #liberal arts

[mooshroomgirlfriend]

holy shit i did it...... i'm transferring from my university and i finished my very last assignment!!!!!! hopefully i can finish my undergrad degree somewhere that doesn't tear my soul apart!!! and hopefully i can also find some friends who share some interests with me and like me for me. maybe i'll have time to read and write and sing and play and eat bread and maybe i'll start living!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! yeah babey!!!!!!!

#musings #moving from tiny private prestigious liberal arts school to small public regular person school #ive also cut my student loans in HALF w this decision....

[blusocket]

I've seen some people express some confusion about what Fortnight is about, why it opens the album, what's happening in the video, etc, so here's my attempt at an analysis. For the most part I'll be referring to the characters in the video with the names of the people playing them (Taylor and Post) but at times I'm going to be making direct reference to the events of Taylor's personal life and referring to the muses by their names (Joe and Matty) for the sake of clarity and simplicity.

The song itself uses the suburbia conceit as an extended metaphor for the beginning of her relationship with Matty (he's the neighbor she runs away to Florida with, Joe is the cheating husband.) For more eloquent and detailed thoughts on the narrative of the song you can check out Jaime @cages-boxes-hunters-foxes's post here.

The video is really dense, and I'm not 100% confident in every aspect of my interpretation, but I feel pretty sure that it's making extensive use of visual metaphor in order to tell roughly the same story as the song, just in a different setting. To start, Taylor wakes up chained to a bed in a white dress.

To me this suggests that she's been driven mad by being left at the altar, and is now trapped, surveilled and controlled, in a type of asylum. This represents the end of her relationship with Joe--waiting for a marriage that never came, feeling trapped, mentally unwell etc.

She then takes 'forget him' pills which reveal Post's tattoos on her face when she looks in the mirror.

This represents Matty (the "miracle move-on drug") and shows that he made a mark on her while she was still in the asylum--that is, still in her relationship with Joe. Additionally, in the wide shot where we see the mirror, its size and shape are very reminiscent of a one-way mirror, often seen in interrogation rooms and psychological experiments, further reinforcing the idea that Taylor is imprisoned here.

She then is able to go to the typewriter room and do her work, creating art about how she's feeling, shown by her repeatedly typing "I love you, it's ruining my life" on the typewriter. She's still in pain and feeling trapped. While there, she encounters Post and they create art together, which creates beauty and color in her life. The blue and gold obviously reference her writing about Joe, but the fact that her work is gold and Post's is blue may be a deliberate choice to draw parallels between Matty and Joe, as she does on numerous songs throughout TTPD.

The next scene, where Taylor's hair is down and she and Post are wearing the same black coat and pants, takes place inside her head (symbolized by the shape of the papers they're laying on.) She is dreaming about them being free and creating art together, represented by the papers surrounding them and book she's holding, which has the word "us" written on the cover. She's writing their story before it's begun.

She then reaches for his hand in her fantasy, accepting and asking for this relationship

Then we see that she's being studied and experimented on--the results of the lie detector test read "I love you, it's ruining my life." Her pain is an object of fascination.

Interestingly, Post is part of the group experimenting on her, but when the experiments begin to cause her pain, he liberates her.

This inspires Taylor to destroy the place where she's been trapped, which we see through her opening the filing cabinets that cover the walls and destroying the mirror. I also find the shot of her standing still while papers burn around her interesting and significant; I interpret this as Taylor destroying her own work about Joe. By choosing to leave, she is metaphorically burning--rejecting--the story she wrote about them.

Finally, Taylor and Post enter the dangerous outside world together; the rain echoes the lyric "I chose this cyclone with you" on the album's title track. While I do feel the meaning of Post being in the phone booth is somewhat ambiguous, the framing and the accompanying lyric--"I've been calling ya but you won't pick up" suggest that he's attempting to communicate with her but can't reach her. They are free of her prison, but still separated.

Then, he hangs up the phone and reaches for her hand, and she takes it. The final shot of the video is a close up on their linked hands, presenting us with a cautiously optimistic ending--they are lost and vulnerable in the middle of a storm, but they have each other.

I feel this is a somewhat less sinister, for lack of a better word, portrayal of the start of Matty and Taylor's relationship than is suggested elsewhere on the record, though I believe Post's character being part of the group experimenting on her is significant and the editing creates some ambiguity about exactly when and why she decides to break free. But I hope this clarifies how the video sets up the beginning of this story, the fallout of which is then chronicled over the course of the rest of TTPD.

#taylor swift #the tortured poets department #ttpd #fortnight

[pierrotsmoon]

The Lost Boys with an Artist! S/O!

warnings- fem! reader terms, a lil OOC, nothing else!

David

Being the oldest vampire in their group, David has seen artistic eras start and fade

His favorite art will always be yours though

From doodles to finished work, he enjoys whatever art you show him

David adores any work you do involving subjects of death, reincarnation and religion

If you draw him, he’ll act calm and collected, but you can see the faintest blush on his pale face

Looking through your sketchbook is like looking through a window to your soul to him, it’s like an honor

“Thank you for showing me your work, I’m so pleased you see me as beautiful enough to draw.”

Marko

He’s so giddy to have a girlfriend at all

Flexible little dude, will bend in any direction, makes for the perfect live model

If you do draw him, he’s speechless for a second before immediately jumping around like a madman

Marko has the coolest patchwork jacket, and he always goes to you for more homemade patches

You always deliver, because the look on his face whenever he gets a new patch is adorable

Probably leaves little napkin doodles just for you!

“Look at what my girlfriend made for me!”

Dwayne

Loves having a creative lover

 Dwayne is a romantic at heart, low voiced and caring

He definitely knows a bit about art

Has a bad habit of finding you drawing and just staring

Staring for weird amounts of time

But it's because of how enamored he is with you and your talent 

He often finds himself peering at your sketchbook 

But he’s respectful, so he’ll always ask before looking through it, carefully flipping each page to avoid tearing 

When he sees you draw him, he feels so eternally tender, if he had a working heart, it would be beating noticeably faster 

“I’ll admit I was staring, but I had no negative intentions.”

Paul

My favorite airhead

Does not understand the first thing about art

But his emotional process is very easy

mmm pretty lady draw pretty pictures

Adores his gf no matter what, but creativity is really just icing on the cake for him

Paul is a fan of anything you make, especially anything he helps you with

By helps you, i mean he finds a leaf and hands it to you

Forever amazed by your talent

“Woah, you can really do anything!”

Star

Star is a naturally curious young woman, but being around only boys can get tiring

Having a girlfriend, a confidante and lover, outside of the scope of men is extremely liberating for Star

You two often draw together, she enjoys fantasy as a form of escapism, but also occasionally doodles little flowers for you

She would love it if your art scoped outside of the regular pen and paper, like embroidery or murals

(embroider her skirts with lil flowers)

Loves colorful pieces

Would be a big fan of abstract, or expressive work

“Your work reminds me of you, the essence of you.”

Michael

Micheal is, uninformed on art to say the least

 He tries his best to keep up though!

Wherever you may be drawing, he’s always peering over your shoulder, jutting his head back right when you notice

Loves to give you little gifts too, mostly candy wrappers and pressed flowers

You always keep them in your sketchbook

If you ever draw him, he’ll get really happy, and also confused

Aren't there better people to draw?

Reassure him!!!!

“I didn’t know I was ‘muse’ material.”

#lost boys #the lost boys #lost boys x reader #the lost boys x reader #david lost boys #marko lost boys #dwayne lost boys #paul lost boys #star lost boys #Michael lost boys #david x reader #marko x reader #dwayne x reader #paul x reader #micheal x reader #lost boys david x reader #lost boys marko x reader #lost boys dwayne x reader #lost boys paul x reader #lost boys star x reader #lost boys michael x reader #HOW DO I TAG THIS FANDOM OMG #reader insert

[her-penetrating-soul]

━━━━━━⚘ᥫ᭡​᭄∘˚დ━━━━━━

🤍 ‿⚘Stroking the keys of my piano, losing into each note of my lyrics. Feeling the keys beneath the keys of my frailness, my feet underneath feeling the hymns beneath me. I am whirling deeply within my oceanic soul. Did you know that I started writing for you? I had put my pen down many years ago. Did you know I started writing lyrics for you? I hadn't written lyrics. Did you know I would sing to the top of my lungs for you? You became my muse. My inspiration. My sonnets. I hadn't played my piano in so long I didn't think I'd remember. Yet when you walked into my life. I felt a lightning strike my chest when our souls merged together as one. I felt liberated through all my passions I had left a long time ago. I began to pick up those things I had so long ago left that I'm the mist of times. I began to live in you. You woke me up from the numbness I had been feeling for more than decades. I was lost in her frailness of the light. I felt for so long like I was drowning. Till my inner light brought your stillness of darkness into my world. I saw before glimpses of who I was once. A singer, a poet, a dancer, a writer. My passions that I had left so long ago. These are the things I love with an enormous passion. They are my entire definition of my entire oceanic soul. That yes, at times I whirl, I am tormented at times by all that I'm feeling. You pierced yourself into my crevices. I never knew how dead I was till you caressed your darkly moonlight into my wilted light. I knew then I had to start singing again because my voice had to be heard. I am a singer of my own frails. I elope into my words that I feel when I gaze into one of my frails. It takes me into the notion that those frails are feeling. I picked up my pen to write once more for I was born to write, to be a poet of life, love light, darkness, vulnerability, passions, purity, impurity, of those hidden desires I have as a woman. I started dancing for music flows throughout my veins. "Music for my Soul," I became again. You showed me the way to come alive again with the gentleness of your dark soul. I realized you awoke my soul, which was faintly from my pains from long ago. Yes, I have loved & lost. They tainted my oceanic soul. Of being afraid of being seen. Yet you with your words that pierced my oceanic soul. Brought me back to life. Pouring out everything I have held for more then twenty three years. I am singing again, I am playing again, I am writing again.

Tis this I owe you for bringing me to my everlasting essences of beauty, art, & poetry. I will dive into my abyss. I will raise hell to the heavens gleam even if I am viewed differently. I don't care anymore because yes, I am. "Light yet I am Darkness to at the same time. I am not afraid to be heard, seen. If I am judged. All I can say is that if you haven't walked in my footprints, then keep your thoughts to yourself. I am a strong woman resilient. The trials in life made me this beautiful woman standing before you. Only I know my own tale. I have lived in love, light, sorrow, and vulnerability. I express muse through my writings, my music, life is beautiful. I may not be loved and adored by many. Yet I am not here to appease no one! I am here to please myself. My desires are from the innocence of live to the darkest desires. This is who I am. I can be painted in the light as well as her frailness of the moonlight. I am not bewildered anymore. This is me take it or leave it. I am distinctive. I will love fiercely. This is how I love. Take me as I am. Or leave me me be. I will love life the way I see fit. Whether those around don't see my inner beauty. I was born into the Light. I walk into the Light, I am Light. Yet I was also born into the darkness, I walked into the darkness, caressing her gentleness, and I was born into the darkness. I am a distinctive soul that roars to the beauty of the constallions. Light cab bever runs fast enough to see light. Light will always encounter the darkness. Two worlds apart, yet two souls subdued into one. I am a romantic at heart. I can pierce your soul with my words. Yet my words carry meaningful feelings. You'll never be loved like I can love you. No one knows, europhia untill you've caressed the depth of my oceanic soul. You'll never experience a love so pure yet impure like mime. I'm the absent colors of White & Black and all the colors that make the rainbow. I am firece into the storms into my oceanic roaring soul for you.

The shimmer of your darkly soul captivated mine. Not all the wines can drunken my soul. Not all the nicotine in the world can surpass all of what I'm feeling in the depth of my crevices. I feel more alive in her frailness. Even if it's a world that doesn't exist. I will make my own world of my light & darkness delights. I'll be echoed into the twilight delights. I will flourish in my own beauty. I a world full of sorrow. I am that raduate light that embarks your life's journey. I will disturb your darkness. I will raise hell. I will caress both heaven & hell. Blast this emotion I am feeling. Yes, you loom at yourself. I'm the mirror you captivated this heart of mine. I will make our own palace of endearing love. Take me as I am. For the heavens don't want me for I'd be a loud melody never heard before. Hell wouldn't want me since I'd be restricted, for I'd raise on earth just to get a glimpse of your shimmering moonlight bestowed upon me. I am fire, draped upon the firey dragons. I'm a cat gentle, mischievous, playful, and loving. I am embedded into all these emotions that roar from my inner depth. I'm not here for validation. I am here for my own bliss. My own paleness of the stillness of both the skies delights and the moonlight delights. Take me as I am for when I love. I live with an intensity. I am a hungry oceanic soul waiting to fed. To lose myself into you. Take ke as I am or leave be. I will not settle for crumbs. I tesrn for all of you. Or nothing at all. I will not be a red roses for someone who craves the attention of weeds. I solely will ge a ved of roses for the one who will only want, crave, yearn for me. Only me. If I'm not enough for your thirst, then leave me be. For the right one will hunger for only me. I will not settle for pieces of your shoes. I long to dive into your seas. Slash your seas upon the waves of my oceanic soul awaiting to he loved by you. I will wait in the mist. Till you choose me. Until then, I will rise, I will flourish, I will blossom into a mesmerizing masterpiece never heard or seen, and then, I'll be waiting for you! Ready to be loved unconditionally solely by ME!⚘⁀🤍

Written: April 6th, 2024

©Copyright Rights Reserved:

🤍༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶🤍

━━━━━━⚘ᥫ᭡​᭄∘˚დ━━━━━━

#her penetrating soul #playing piano #playing for you #lovers #love #romance #intimacy #you and me #photography #soulful #soulful beauty #soulful love #soulful expressions #soulful sentiments #soulful moments

[kronkk]

RE: Female artists "preaching to the choir"

today I read this response to a Barbara Kruger's video installation Untitled (No Comment), a video that claims that she is "preaching to the choir". The funny thing is is that usually when I see a critic claiming this about a feminist artwork its usually a man, but in this case it was a woman.

I've found a lot of things accusing feminist artists now-adays of 'preaching to the choir' with their artwork, hell, I've even had this critique of my own work. And yet the same person who asked me if I was preaching to the choir with my liberal audience say that feminism wasn't necessary anymore in the same conversation of discussing FGM and that women making artwork in response to sexual assault was essentially trite.

The idea that the art world and the audience to art is more liberal and therefore less misogynistic is insulting. I've heard from several other artists that "those women knew what they were getting into" when discussing Picasso's rampant misogyny and wife beating, chewing and spitting out younger lovers like sticks of gum before exploiting their image under the pretense of 'muse' status.

how can it be preaching to the choir when as recently as 2012 and far back as 1989 the Guerilla Girls have pointed out that women only make up 4-5% of the artists in the modern art section of the Met Museum but 76-85% of the nudes.

Is the art world and its audience somehow removed from the rest of society at large? Is the art world even more liberal when the primary patrons and purchasers are the 1%?

Ive also already made a post about this that got heat from the misogynists on this website about the amount of art depicting rape that lines the walls of the met museum. They claim that because it's fine art, that because its the masters, that its okay. That its just a historical document. But why has the scene "The rape of Europa" been done over so many times it could be the equivalent of a 'standard'? Why is it that sexual violence is so glossed over? What does making such glorified art about rape do to a population? Why are depictions of rape made by men heralded as high art?

I wonder if the connection can be made between the fact that we know violent pornography lowers men's empathy towards rape victims, making them more likely to believe rape myths, and the fact that our museums are lined with men making rape scenes 'beautiful'? And if that connection can be made, the idea that women making art about their own trauma is 'preaching to the choir' is ridiculous. Why can male artist after male artist make 'beautiful' fine art about rape but when women make 'ugly' 'visceral' 'trauma' work about their own experience with sexual violence that its no longer okay?

super corny response and shift of the original assessment these critics are making is how can that be preaching to the choir when the supposed choir is made of up crusaders from the opposition?

#kronkk art ramblings #i will probably rewrite this and beef it up #like with sources and better analysis

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Where Fate and Stars Align

Tamlin Week - Day 2/Poet -Tamlin x Reader

Tamlin and Rhysand’s sister daydream of a life of love and poetry.

Warnings: Language, allusions to sex, implied character death

A sea of green splattered with the vibrant hues of varying wildflowers rolled across the meadow in gentle waves, flattening into a soft bed of earth beneath me, my head resting on my lovers chest, bare legs winding through his muscled thighs.

We’d laid in silence for an hour, the melody of spring lulling us into a peaceful daze. I’d spent the morning weaving flowers into his silken hair, his emerald eyes not retreating from me once as I sat on his chest, fingers trailing through those golden locks I adored so.

The world saw him as another heir to a throne but to me, he was a poet, a musician, a muse. I could spend entire days admiring the sculpted features of his face, exploring plush lips with my own.

Neither of us were made for the courtly affairs we were born into, we had the passionate souls of creatives - and here, tangled beside the pool of starlight we were just that. Two artists captivated by the beauty of the world around us, by eachother.

Tamlin pressed a kiss to my forehead, whispering into my raven hair. “Will we be poets in another life?”

I warmed at the thought of him chasing me through space and time, living the vibrant lives that we only dared dream of, dancing the nights away, making love and art in all of its magnificent forms. He’d write limericks and play the fiddle, I’d paint and maybe even learn to play the piano.

We’d live in a studio apartment along the Sidra, sharing our art within the rainbow of Velaris. Or perhaps we’d live in one of the more liberal cities tucked away on the continent where art as a profession was respected and not seen as merely a hobby of the elite with time to spare. Another world, even, where war and grief did not exist.

My delicate fingers traced the curved ridges of his abdomen, “You’ll be the poet, I’ll be the painter. I don’t have the way with words that you and your silver tongue do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Silver tongue, yeah?”

I hummed at the implication in his tone. “Yeah.”

Turning on his side to face me, head propped on a hand he held my face gently in the broad palm of the other. “Any world where I spend my days by your side, putting my tongue to use in either lyrical or the most salacious of ways is a world I would fight for.”

“Hmmm.” I pondered, tucking a lock of golden hair behind his ear. “In our world, we get to be lovers, not fighters.”

Tamlin let out a somewhat incredulous laugh. “I think you’ll always have that wild streak in you, and silver tongue or not, I am but a mere male. I’ll surely give you plenty of reason to fight a time or two.”

My teeth found my lower lip as I considered. He wasn’t wrong. “That’s not fighting, it’s passion. We’ll turn fighting and fucking into its own art.”

Tamlin’s hand dropped from my face, trailing along my breast, to the indention of my waist, and down to the curvature of my ass. With a little squeeze he only asked, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We made love in the meadow, tumbling in the grasses, playing the passionate parts of poet and muse. It was almost- almost believable, until a male voice called from the forest. “Tamlin! Get your ass back to the manor before father has your head.”

Tamlin stiffened. “You need to go.” He pressed a desperate kiss to my lips. “See you in a few days?”

I frowned. “I have to travel with my mother to Windhaven this weekend but once I’m back, we can plan our great escape.”

He looked at me as if he were truly considering it and honestly, if he ever took me up on the idea, I’d go for it. A life of love and peace, what a life that would be.

Pressing one final kiss to my forehead he whispered. “I’ll see you soon, my love. Go before my brother sees you.”

Tamlin hurried into the forest and I could have sworn a whispered, “Who was that?” carried on the wind to me.

And now I wait where fate and stars align.

Through time

Through space

Through love eternal

My poet tried to save me.

This world was not made for us.

—————————————-

Tags: @tamlinweek

General ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

#acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #tamlin x reader #tamlin week 2024 #tamlinweek2024 #Tamlin Week Day 2 #Tamlin x Rhysand’s sister #Pool of starlight #spring court #Night Court #star crossed lovers #acotar oneshot #Tamlin oneshot #soft!tamlin #Tamlin in love #Tamlin

[bitter69uk]

Heartfelt gratitude to the attendees of last night’s Lobotomy Room cinema club presentation of Butterfield 8 (1960) at Fontaine’s! Some musings based on my introduction: Butterfield 8 is the story of the doomed love affair between a Manhattan call girl and a rich married man. (Seriously – who among us can’t relate?). Sure, the film has a terrible reputation but that’s what this film club is for - reappraising “bad” movies. I’d argue Butterfield 8 is juicy, irresistible good fun. If it’s trash, Butterfield 8 is the acme of trash. Rewatching it, I was struck by the persistent strain of melancholy throughout the film. You just know it’s all going to end tragically. The opening moments of Elizabeth Taylor waking up alone, hungover and naked in bed, donning a white slip, sparking the first cigarette of the day and prowling around silently feels like something out of a European art movie. It boasts snappy, biting quotable dialogue. Considering it was made during the Hays Code, it’s a genuine attempt by a Hollywood film to tackle adult content like adultery, premarital sex, promiscuity and prostitution. (It does what it could get away with at the time). As discussed, Taylor hated the script and only took this role begrudgingly (it was her final contractual obligation with MGM, liberating her to make Cleopatra with 20th Century Fox), but you’d never guess from the raw emotion, glamour and sensuality of her performance. Butterfield 8 captures Elizabeth Taylor at her most “Elizabeth Taylor”. She deserved that Oscar, damn it! It also gloriously captures the fashions and décor of 1960: pink marble bathrooms. Powder blue telephones. Swanky cocktail lounges with red flocked wallpaper, gilt-framed mirrors and chandeliers. Bouffant hairstyles. Cocktail dresses with plunging necklines. Full-length mink coats. (Boy, does that mink coat cause a lot of trouble!). Squint your eyes, and Laurence Harvey and Dina Merrill anticipate Don and Betty Draper of Mad Men. There’s no April film club (I’ll be attending the Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekender) but see you again in May. Now go brush your teeth with scotch and scrawl a message on a mirror with pink frosted lipstick!

#lobotomy room #elizabeth taylor #liz taylor #butterfield 8 #melodrama #lurid #sordid #vintage smut #vintage sleaze #bad movies for bad people #bad movies we love #kitsch

[agrippaspoleto]

So, I've done some art practice and this has inspired me to try to draw more backgrounds. My muses decided to cuddle on a ship (or at least that was the idea 😂 doesn't really look like it, but the waves turned out really nice) after a succesful attack on the first order. Maybe it's the palace of a governeur and they've liberated the town. Whatever the scene enjoy some Stormpilot affection!

Some progress pictures under the cut...

#stormpilot #finnpoe #poe dameron #finn star wars #agrippas art #pirates i guess #if it is on a ship there are. no windows because they were cleared for action #as any respectable and sensible seaman would do #enjoy #risque #there's a bit of butt showing

[lilyblackdraws]

198 - Plume as every class.

Musings on the choices below.

Vanguard: This one's just Plume. You know this one.

Guard: I struggled a bit to find a good subclass here. A lot of them are kinda too fancy for her. Could've gone with Dreadnought, since that's just souped-up Charger, but went with Liberator because it's interesting. Her weapon is just a Monster Hunter Gunlance. During her charge-up time she sharpens and reloads the thing and waits for Wyvernfire to come off cooldown and also recovers her stamina. She starts her skill with several big aoe blasts and then goes into regular sweeps and slams. Plume's not very strong, so I took her coat away to lighten the load a bit.

Defender: Plume's not really suited to this class. I thought about Duelist, since she's already in the "stat stick" subclass of Vanguard, but it didn't feel right. I chose Protector because it's very plain and Plume's very plain. Double up the coat, put a lil guard on the halberd and that's good enough.

Sniper: There were obvious picks in Marksman (default) and Deadeye (great eyesight makes for good long range), but I didn't have any good ideas for Marksman and Deadeye felt too fancy again. Besieger would also play into the long range aspect, but I didn't feel it. In the end I went with Flinger because I liked the idea of her throwing explosive darts.

Caster: The "physical" jobs were easy. Plume can swing a weapon around just fine, but for the "magical" stuff I had to think a bit. I played into Plume's patience with Mystic. (That was also a point for Liberator) She knows to bide her time to find the right spot to strike. I went for a very different outfit base for the green classes, because I wanted something lighter. Mystic Casters tend to wear like "high society" clothes anyway for the most part. Iris and Ebenholz come to mind. I like the look for Plume; It's like a discrete bodyguard at a party. The staff keeps parts of her halberd and the three-pronged design is just an obvious thing for Mystic. The halberd blade can be the fourth point if she gets that module. The stored casts have an arrow-like appearance, because it felt nice. Another subclass I considered was Phalanx, but I went with this. Phalanx was too "hit take-y".

Medic: Medic. This is the class Plume's the least-suited for. I think the extent of her medical knowledge is enough for her to apply first aid and field medicine stuff, not be an actual Medic. But I also think that if you handed her a light crossbow with healing bolts prepared that she could handle that just fine. She looks quite happy here, which is a bit out of character. Not that she's never happy, she just tends to have a more subdued expression. That's because my basis for her pose is the "Think fast!" thingy. It made me laugh.

Bard: She could've been mostly any kind of supporter, aside from Artificer I'd say. The most "basic" type is probably Decel-Binder, but I only base this on the fact that that's our only 3-star type. She's not big on arts. But you don't need arts to sing. Plume's from Laterano aka "I can't believe it's not Catholic" so there's no way she didn't receive some kind of musical education. Probably some choir singing. I think it's a nice image, Plume sitting there, playing her bass and singing a little song. I like it. I also wanted to draw her in an outfit like this too. The specifics of the dress and the veil all play to my tastes.

Specialist: This could've been Executor too. It was either that or Ambusher, both work. Even when she's beaten and broken, Plume will keep defending you to the bitter end. You should meet her devotion in kind.

#arknights

[healingskywalker]

Agony (Shot!Tech AU)

Hello all! I was inspired by the art of the lovely @wrenkenstein​ , who made me spiral so into my feels that I had to make a short story about Tech. Huge thank you to them again for letting me write this, and using this beautifully sad work of art as muse! (Art below)

In this, Tech has been shot by Imperial!Crosshair and is now suffering the consequences of having a permanent injury. I think the rest can speak for itself. Feedback is strongly encouraged, and I hope this finds you well. 

TW: blood, gore, mentions of depression, pain, anger, hopelessness, and injury.

Taglist: @l-lend

Things would never be the same for Tech. 

Agony slithered down his limbs, into his hands, into his fingers, and cascaded down into his soul. The pain is more than just physical. It’s more than just his body, his stomach, his spine, and his hands, it became his everything. The silent lover that he can never be apart from. It’s in his waking thoughts, his bedtime weariness, his daily routine, and it’s crushed down into every decision he makes, and every waking part of his life. 

His brothers may be free. Free from the shackles of an empire that took everything from them - their childhood, their innocence, their comfort, their joy, and twisted their livelihood into something that could be used for their gain—bred for war. A tool for destruction, doomed to a destiny of early death. In many ways, Tech never got that freedom. He never got that chance, and he isn’t free. He didn’t get that peaceful, or rather un-peaceful, moment of liberation that his brothers silently and secretly were relieved to have. 

The empire took everything from him. It stripped him bare, lying him still and cold on the battlefield, chest heaving with the effort of breathing, blood quickly exiting his body. His faith in his brothers, and the empire they once stood for, shattered in a singular heartbeat. His faith left him sooner than the blood did. 

His life was wrenched from himself, spinning out of control. There wasn’t a moment of relief. There wasn’t a moment of pause so he could breathe, collect his thoughts and feelings, and continue trooping on. There wasn’t anything else he could do except move forward and be the trooper that he was always trained to be. Accept the pain. Move on. You deserve the pain. Move forward. 

The shattering reality that things would never be the same hit him almost as hard as the bullet did. His mind never stopped, unlike his body, which hit the ground with a force unrivaled by anything he’d ever felt before. The blood started immediately. The pain took longer to kick in. 

Pain was the only thing he really felt now. It was the front focus of everything that existed in his life. Projects, people, emotions, dreams, and goals were all something that seemed to stay stuck in the past. They left him, truly left him, as he lay on the ship’s dining table, his brothers crowding around him, their frantic voices faint and muffled, as if 10,000ft deep underwater. 

His vision was blurred, and the only thing he could pick out was the fluorescent lights above him, streaked and blurred into shining stars that, had he been a weaker man, would have given him hope. Stars that continued to shine despite the situation he was in, but it was only his tired brain giving him the only excuse it could in order to make things feel better. Too bad he knew better than his brain. 

Too bad he knew that the chances of him surviving were low, and the chances of him coming out without significant damage were even lower. The room was muggy. His skin was pale, and the texture sweaty. His breaths left him in a flurry of quick heaving, hyperventilating, through the agony that seared his everything. 

Shivers raked through his body, pushing more blood through the gaping wound in his stomach. With each beat of his heart, his life source diminished, as did his hope. They were wasting too much time. Had he been the one doing the operation, with his brilliant mind, vast knowledge, and steady hands, things would have already been done. Leave it to his brothers to panic. They could never shut their emotions off quite like he could. 

Logically, he knew that their state of panic came from seeing him nearly dead, as well as having Crosshair be the reason behind it all. Tech’s eyelids fluttered once, twice, and then shut, squeezing them as tight as he could, brow furrowing into an expression of anguish as he felt them truly begin to work on his gaping wound. 

Somewhere deep in his mind, he thought about how much of a mess he was leaving behind on his ship, and how much of a pain getting blood off of the durasteel would be. Somewhere even deeper, he wished that he had died on the battlefield and that he had bled out quicker. The feeling of tweezers plunging into his intestines, the sharp metal stabbing its way along, attempting to locate the bullet that lodged itself into him was something unexplainable. 

Distantly, he heard a shrill, bone-chilling scream and came to the conclusion that it must have been himself. 

It had been almost a year since the incident, and remembering all the gritty details was something that happened often. He couldn’t ever forget the sound of his own screams, the smell of his own blood, and the feel of his intestines being ripped open. 

Most days he lay in bed or walked around in small circles in the Marauder, his head unable to be in the present moment. He could only handle small repairs now. Anything longer than 20 minutes, and fine motor function, he couldn’t handle. Every movement cause physical strain, and every muscle in his body would tense in response to the pain, and he was stuck with it for weeks, unable to relax or get his body to unknot itself, and no amount of baths, massage, or medicine dulled the ache. The ache physically, or emotionally. There was never a reprieve. And now? He could not longer do what he loved. 

It was suffocating. His life no longer lived in the essence of freedom, or the effort for it. Stuck in the moment where things all went wrong, and stuck in a body that will never work the same. They say you only really live once, but when things like this happen, what becomes the motivation to live? It’s not the ideal of getting better. 

There is no getting better. No amount of bacta, band-aids or physical therapy could fix something like this. 

He’s broken. 

Unrepairable. 

The stifling consequences of actions that he didn’t make. The illusion of a happy ending for him and his brothers. Because at least they aren’t being hunted anymore, right? At least not by the Empire. They don’t care enough to come after them, but Crosshair sure did. It was Crosshair’s mission to end them and hunt them down to the ends of the earth.

As much as he tries, Tech is always going to be hunted. Not only by the cursed Empire, or even the determined sniper but by the pain that surrounds his life every second, every minute, every hour of every day, awake or asleep. His dreams are haunted by the feeling and thought of the one moment that ruined everything.

He think often about the ‘how’ of the situation. 

How he should have ducked lower so that the shot hit his armor. How he should have retreated quicker, so Crosshair wouldn’t have had time to get the shot.

 How Crosshair’s chip activated, while the rest of the Batch’s remained dormant.

 How the chips existed in the first place. 

How the Kaminoans, senators, Jedi, and civilians alike regarded the Clones as nothing. 

How they all turned a blind eye to the blatant corruption, child abuse, and grooming that occurred within the Republic that raised good men to be even better killers. 

How the armor they received was more of a visual trick because the plastoid didn’t protect them from much. Certainly not from blaster bolts, and certainly not from themselves. 

How the conditioning they went through should have prepared him better for this moment and this outcome. 

He should have steeled himself for a gruesome end like this. But when you’re part of a squad that has a 100% success rate and dodging death is a daily, you tend to lose some of the fear that comes along with battle, They weren’t shinies anymore. 

They were experienced. They should have known better. Fear is a healthy thing to have in war. 

A sense of invincibility shrouds the mind and gives a false sense of confidence. He regrets that now. He never realized how much he had taken for granted. All the little things that he wouldn’t have thought twice about are now the struggle that plagued his every movement. It consumes and consumes and consumes.

 It’s never-ending, thrumming with him in every heartbeat. The heartbeat that keeps going despite every other part of himself that wishes it would all just stop (please stop, please, please, please). The heartbeat that wishes things could be different. The heartbeat that wishes he could be himself again.

#tbb #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #the bad batch #the bad batch tech #the bad batch crosshair #imperial crosshair #tbb au #star wars au #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb hunter #the bad batch au #tech #crosshair #tech fanfiction #tech fanart #crosshair fanart #art #depression #tw blood #tw gore #tw death #tw disability #tw gun violence #tw depression #skywalkerwrites

[stellanslashgeode]

💕🎨🦋🦈🚦📚💥 for the writer ask game ☺️

Thanks for the ask, @jedimasterbailey ! I’ll see if I can not be long winded because this is a lot!

💕 What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I think my best is Sundari Lament. I put a lot of polishing to make that a satisfying story and the narrative took on a life of its own. It made itself better almost despite myself.

But I think my favorite is From Uncanny to Concordance. It’s short but I loved writing it and it came out saying exactly what I wanted to express. I also have a lot of fondness for Jedi: Dropout.

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I am very happy with the art I commissioned for Sundari Lament and fan art I received for Let’s Call It Love. The one moment I would love to get fanart for that I haven’t yet is this one quick scene in Lavender and Chartreuse involving a bathrobe drawstring. I think it’s one of the most sensual things I’ve written.

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

Barriss is my muse so she’s up there. I also love writing for Satine Kryze. She’s so inspiring. I also love writing Anakin and Padmé, which is weird because you’d think it would be so hard since Star Wars can’t seem to sell it well. I love writing undervalued characters like Raffa and Trace Martez and Tepoh.

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

One I haven’t yet written for: Luthen Rael. I have a scene in my head and a lot of the dialogue. But Andor is so well written I am intimidated. How can I do better that the “I have made my mind a sunless place” speech?

🚦What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

I kind of like ambiguous endings best. Who knows what happens after The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Barriss Offee? Even some of my happy endings can expand. I’m sure things remain rocky after Heart of Kyber, for instance.

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

I know so many good writers! There’s @jedimasterbailey @airlockfailure @kalevalakryze @machinerismsx @greenflower21 @archduke42 @kaaragen and @frogblast-the-ventcore is just starting out. As far as fics Across the Frozen Sea is very sweet and influenced my work a lot, especially Jedi: Dropout. the moments when we smile and those in between is maybe my favorite fic so far. Tum Durare Solum/ How the Earth Began to Harden is very good and I want to read where it goes. And of course @bluedeedeedoop ‘s fabric store Barrisoka AU Me and you and awkward silence...

I quietly have a thing for Foxiyo and Playing in the Perception Pool and Invictus are my favorites in that department. Invictus really inspired my fic Inferno. I know I’m leeaving writers and good works out rn, too! Coming Home to You is so good as is Body and Soul by @morose-magnetrix

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

Look, I’m a simple fan. I just want to know what happened to Barriss. If she was executed right after The Wrong Jedi ended I’ll say that sucks and move on but at least I’ll know. I’m glad Dave changed the original ending where she blew herself up. That would have been too far with the character assassination. And would have made even more mess in the Legends canon since she already had an established death in 2013. If there’s not going to be any more Barriss content just tell us and we’ll write it. I just want closure.

#ask game #fanfic writer asks

[bungoustraypups]

@daught3rsofcain i made a separate post for this, btw, to respect creantzy and (try to) keep any more unnecessary fighting off of their posts, however i feel this needs to be addressed given how it caused issues over on twitter and i wanna make my stance clear as well as make it clear that this kind of comment is unacceptable

tl;dr for anyone who doesn't wanna/can't/doesn't have time to read my whole rant/already agrees with me and doesn't need to be convinced on why you should shut the fuck up if you see fanart/fanfic/other fan shit you dislike or that mildly bothers you but is otherwise harming no one online: curate your online spaces, block liberally and without question, do whatever you need to do to be comfortable, but never demand that other people bend to your will just because you personally think something is disrespectful to you

i'm gonna keep it brief: don't say this shit on someone's art.

you might think it's disrespectful and "disgusting", but that doesn't actually make it so. i implore you to do a little googling into the history of romantic jesus depictions, because if you do, you'll quickly find that people have been doing this very thing for literal centuries.

yes, they had pushback even back then, as most artists who make any kind of art esp religious art often do no matter what they're depicting, but obviously the fact that people continuously do it and that most christians either don't give a fuck or at the very least ignore it and move on.

if you were truly so incensed upon seeing silly fanart of bsd fyodor dostoevsky and a very historically inaccurate depiction of jesus christ based off of leonardo da vinci's gay lover (yes, that is where this very popular depiction of jesus comes from, while there's some debate over who exactly was the muse as leo had a few gay lovers, most people agree the depictions of white or fair-skinned jesus today that are similar to the ones da vinci made are based off of someone he was in love with whether they were in a relationship officially yet or not) you simply could have blocked OP or the post or simply ignored it, and yet you chose instead to do this, which is why i bothered responding

people threatened creantzy on twitter and sent death threats to them over this, for much the same reason as you claim to have left this thoughtless, hurtful comment. even if creantzy doesn't care and can brush it off, which is a fair and valid response, the way people online feel entitled to force everyone they interact with to only produce material they personally agree with is childish, immature, cruel, entitled, and quite frankly, shitty behavior.

it would be one thing if this artwork depicted, for example, a marginalized religious figure, but considering Christianity is not just a major global religion, but is the current dominant global religion with approximately 2.4 billion followers worldwide, and most countries have no discriminatory laws against the practice of christianity or against christians themselves, when the same cannot be said for literally every other religion on the planet right now to varying degrees (if you live in the USA, for example, we may not explicitly forbid the practice of other religions, but hate crimes are rising, especially antisemitic and islamophobic hate crimes, and the perpetrators of those crimes are largely either atheists who were formerly christian, or current christians; and almost all of our major holidays are centered around christian religious holidays, even if the marketing no longer reflects this, that doesn't make it less true)...

basically you're causing a fuss over a non-issue. my grandma is very christian and thinks this art is pretty and even though she doesn't get it, has no real issue with it considering christians themselves have been doing this for... almost since christianity began, arguably. your opinions don't dictate what people should or shouldn't post online.

block, move on, and live your life. stop harassing artists.

#me #my voice #discourse #harassment #fandom discourse #fandom #cio.txt #cio.org

[naturallyadventured]

anabeldelaforet

earth as mirror 🪞 can you hold life loosely, but also dearly? can you see that which you clutch the tightest, is that which you're meant to let go of first? can you trust that love liberates, and never again let it be tainted by your fear of loss, when even the Sun will one day burn through His last flame? can you drop the noose of your expectations, so life has more room to breathe? can you burn down your hopes and fears again and again, until all that's left is an unshakeable trust that life itself knows exactly where it's going? 🕊 - Allie Michelle My muses ~ earth, water, air, fire, willing friends. Thank you for creating art with me Mariah 💦

[softkult]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ♱ ⠀𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝒀 𝑰𝑵 ⠀𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⠀ + ⠀𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜 ⠀ + ⠀ 𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝘆 ⠀+ ⠀𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 ⠀+ ⠀ 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 ⠀⠀──── ⠀⠀𝗹𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙚 𝙄'𝙢 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 ⠀ ♱

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Adrian (Hadrianus) Bidelspach was born and raised in the decaying and isolated town of East Cleveland, Tennessee, where the weight of religious fervor hangs heavy in the air. His childhood was dominated by the oppressive presence of his father, a stern and unwavering priest deeply rooted in the town's religious traditions. The strict religious doctrines, leaving little room for individuality or questioning.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ To escape the suffocating grip of his hometown, Adrian and his closest friend Sean turned to music and drugs as sole outlets of rebellion and liberation. In addition to this, Adrian discovered a passion for capturing the essence of his surroundings through analogue photography. Armed with an old, weathered camera, he skillfully composed images that showcased the desolation and decay of their town. Adrian aimed to expose the hidden beauty and tragedy within the crumbling structures, seeking to evoke a sense of profound impact through his art. He sought to shatter the confines of his existence, if only for fleeting moments.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ An abandoned house on the outskirts of East Cleveland was rumored to be haunted and therefore a magnet for drunken teenagers. Albion (as the house called itself), not compassionate, not sane, stood ringed by a tangled forest, holding inside, however messily, its overpowering ideology; it had stood so for a hundred years. Before the House was built, it existed. The ground that they grew it on was all wrong. Far beneath the earth, corpses lay which were older than God, and so when they raised the House it was already there in a way, fully formed, ready, ravenous. No live organism can continue to exist compassionately under conditions of absolute fascism, even the birds in Italy under Mussolini were observed to take part in rallies and violence. Adrian and Sean were drawn to the houses dark allures and so they spend one night within its walls and when they managed to escape, they weren’t the same anymore.

OOC: minors do not interact; open for plotting and conversations; if we don't vibe, we don't vibe; hey/how are you/your account is fascinating will be ignored, I put quite the effort into my muse and his story, there's a lot we could talk about instead. Conversations in English and German. Credits Profilepicture.

#Userfakevz #⠀♱ ⠀⠀𝐴𝐷𝑅𝐼𝐴𝑁

[drsilverfish]

Dean’s Soul in the Bardo -   The Art of Dying 1x06 The Winchesters

Catching up British-time, so a bit late to the party as usual, and coming to it fresh, as I like to do, without jumping into the time-line first. 

Screeches a bit because I am overwhelmed.

This episode suggests that, on one level, we can read every character in The Winchesters as manifestations of Dean’s consciousness, as he hovers in the “bardo”, the liminal realm in Tibetan Buddhism, between death and reincarnation. 

Mary - the leader and hunter who wants to get out of hunting; John - filled with wounded rage, Daddy-issues and violence; Carlos - the fabulous bisexual who dares to get into therapy and to go after the men he wants; Lata - the abused child who manages to chose love over violence - ALL OF THESE ARE ASPECTS OF DEAN WINCHESTER’S being, his experience/ soul/ desires <sobs a little because it’s beautiful>. 

Now I’m back on my meta, I’ve previously mused on The Winchesters as a reparative narrative told by Holy Ghost Dean Winchester; a counter-point to the traumatic narrative of Supernatural.

1x06 The Art of Dying offers further illumination and elaboration on that concept, namely:

The episode title, “The Art of Dying” is a George Harrison song, the right time-period for The Winchesters (1970), from his album All Things Must Pass. 

The Beatles, in keeping with the hippie counterculturalism of the time, were interested in Eastern spirituality, particularly Hinduism and Buddhism, and this Harrison song was inspired by his reading of Timothy Leary’s The Psychedelic Experience: A Manual Based on The Tibetan Book of the Dead (1964). 

Harrison’s lyrics are about the religious philosophy of perfecting the soul through cycles of reincarnation:

“There'll come a time when all of us must leave here There's nothing Sister Mary can do, will keep me here with you As nothing in this life that I've been trying Can equal or surpass the Art of Dying....

There'll come a time when most of us return here Brought back by our desire to be a perfect entity Living through a million years of crying Until you realize the Art of Dying “

A theme which fits well with the Ouroboros (serpent swallowing it’s own tail as it ascends) narrative of latter-day Supernatural, which drew on Jung and esoteric alchemy to manifest the Winchesters’ journey as the journey of the soul towards God.  

The Tibetan Book of the Dead is the Bardo Thodol, which means “liberation through hearing in the intermediate state”. It is a 14thC esoteric text (or possibly older but that’s when the written text we have dates from).

John, Mary, Lata and Losy all struggle with pain, parent-induced and violence-induced and hunting-induced trauma, but they are able to communicate their feelings to one another in a way which is strikingly and remarkably different from the enormous struggles with emotional articulation which animated Supernatural, which we watched Dean suffer with throught his life. 

So we can read The Winchesters as Dean’s revelatory hallucinations in the liminal state between death and liberation (or rebirth) - his revelatory sexual and emotional healing soul-dreams (in which, and what could be more Freudian, he returns to the scene of his parents).

And look, Lata is teaching John, who surived being possessed by the vengeful spirit of abused-as-a-child and violently out-of-control Mac, how to meditate and achieve higher consciousness (with an image of a globe in the background):

And isn’t it interesting that the rare type of vampire which Mac’s vengeful spirit first possesses is called a “soucouyant”, which means (incongrously, one would think) “carefree” in French. But not so incongruous if The Winchesters is about the journey of Dean’s soul to liberation, to bliss, to being “carefree”...

#Supernatural #The Winchesters #The Winchesters meta #SPNWin 1x06 #The Art of Dying #Holy Ghost Dean Winchester #I am in love with this concept #The cycle of death and rebirth #Ouroboros narrative #The Tibetan Book of the Dead