#pop culture canvas paintings

[joelcrisafulliart]

Website : https://www.joelcrisafulliart.com/   Address : Natick, Massachusetts, USA

Joel Crisafulli Art, based in Natick, MA, specializes in delivering original artwork inspired by nature and pop culture. A lifelong Massachusetts resident, Joel finds inspiration in New England’s natural beauty and childhood concepts. Formerly a high school design teacher, Joel now dedicates his time to creating landscapes, seascapes, and pop culture images, offering both original acrylics on canvas and hand-signed Giclee prints on 100% rag paper. His creations are available for purchase and are ready to hang, with edges painted black and the back gallery wired.

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100089333941559

Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/joelcrisafulliart/

Keywords : modern landscape painting original oil painting for sale original watercolor paintings for sale original abstract paintings for sale pop culture canvas art online artist portfolio oil paintings for sale original artist online portfolio pop culture art canvas canvas pop culture canvas wall art pop culture pop culture canvas pop culture canvas prints pop culture canvas wall art art gallery online store best online portfolio for artists pop culture canvas paintings 3d artist online portfolio canvas art pop culture canvas painting wall art pop culture canvas pop culture posters canvas postrers pop culture canvas tote bags pop culture cheap pop culture canvas art culture pop canvas handmade canvas art pop culture horror pop culture canvas large canvas decor pop culture large painting canvas pop culture money pop culture canvas pop culture canvas painting pop culture canvases gallery online store art online art gallery store buy framed modern landscape oil paintings on artist online portfolios artists online portfolio best artist portfolio online best online artist portfolio

#modern landscape painting #original oil painting for sale #original watercolor paintings for sale #original abstract paintings for sale #pop culture canvas art #online artist portfolio #oil paintings for sale original #artist online portfolio #pop culture art canvas #canvas pop culture #canvas wall art pop culture #pop culture canvas #pop culture canvas prints #pop culture canvas wall art #art gallery online store #best online portfolio for artists #pop culture canvas paintings

[tygerland]

Oil & acrylic paintings by Kiki Kogelnik: War Baby (1972) Outer Space (1964) Fly Me to the Moon (1963) and Dynamite Darling (1972).

#female artists #kiki kogelnik #style #pop #art #culture #oil on canvas #outer space #1960s #moon #70s #graphic design #painting #design #art history #feminism #vietnam #women #fashion #chaos #🌶️

[sheltiechicago]

Entering The Enchanting Realm Of Robert Burden’s Playful Paintings

Robert Burden’s Toy Box collection is a nostalgic journey through childhood memories and imagination. The California-based artist creates stunning oil on canvas paintings that combine action figures with intricate decorative motifs. These colorful characters and stories transport the viewer back to a time of joy and boundless imagination.

#robert burden #artist #art #painter #painting #toy box collection #california-based artist #pop culture #pop art #action figures #oil on canvas paintings

[partywithoutsmiling]

Another AU that has been knocking around my mind for a while XD I call it Moonlit AU

It can be summed as such: Pop Trolls are pretty wild bunch when it comes to looks, varying in colours, flocking/fur patterns, glitter, freckles, hair, you name it

It got me thinking, what sort of thing would they find attractive in prospective partner? While singing/harmonizing could be a part of it (and ngl, that did made me think of the Happy Feet movies, as silly as those were), my mind turned towards more physical attributes

Thus, this AU was born- where one of the reasons why Pop trolls like to be most active at night (to party) is that a Moon's Light also allows them to appreciate fur/flocking patterns otherwise hidden, where the complexity and style varies from troll to troll, as is thought to show one's inner self

Contrary to what one would expect from the Princess (and future Queen) of Pop, Poppy's patterns are rather simple- but striking nonetheless, firm and bold stripes, like taking a wide brush to a canvas- straightforward but chaotic in their hardly orderly fashion Poppy struts her patterns; they are unique and dominant among the general showing of swirls, polka dots and flower like spottings She is aware her stripes are not considered the most attractive of features- too similar to that of a predatory critter, too sharp for who is supposed to be cheerful queen of equally cheerful people- but she is a romantic at heart and believes that when it will be time to choose a consort, those physical features are surface-level importance at best, and this is the mentality she has going forward, looking at the glowing marks of her friends and considering them equally beautiful no matter what.

Until she manages to spot Branch one night outside under the full moon light that is.

Branch's pattern, in high contrast to Poppy, is far more complex. Symetrical but delicate in its filigree, and far more detailed than anything the Princess has ever seen before. Usually, Branch ventures out only on moonless nights, as he feels the glow of his marks are too visible, too dangerous to just show out and about, for every dangerous predator to see- and it is purely bad luck when bad weather caughts him outside longer than he would have liked, and Poppy manages to catch the sight of him while he is completely unaware he had been seen.

All her conviction flies right out of the window, as she looks at his delicate patterning and her mind just goes blank and - Oh

Usually she would have called out to him, ask him to come to a party- but she feels mesmerized, hypnotized by the elegance of the filigree, and her mind longs for a way to memorate it forever- with a photo, or a painting- and she stares at the entrance of his bunker long after he vanished inside, completely stupefied and wrong footed.

Before, Poppy hardly ever gave Branch a thought, when it came to this part of Pop Troll culture; as part of her, guiltily, sort of assumed that with his lack of colour, his patterning would be rather bland as well- and besides, it's not like he ever shown a desire to participate in courting dances.

But now she is left with sudden new, and unexpected feeling- her heart and breath going now a bit faster everytime she catches a glimpse of him from now on, her cheeks flushing and her tail wagging in excitement

(Her desk's drawer is filled with failed cut out scrapbook pieces of leaves and tiny detailed filigree, as she attempts to journal her sudden and new discover and cant get it quite right)

Tldr; Pop Trolls have fur/flocking patterns that appear only under the moon's light, and Poppy finds Branch's so irresistibly attractive she hardly knows what to do with herself

This pushes her to try and spend more time with him- just spend time with him, no trying to push him to go to parties with her or trying to get him to sing or hug

For his part, Branch is both secretly pleased his own crush is now paying more attention to him than to Creek (who is not happy with this development) but also holy shit Poppy is paying more attention to him, so it is kind of unnerving for him, freaking him out

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls fandom #trolls branch #trolls poppy #Moonlit AU #troll art

[389]

The Panther Painting Oil on Canvas, 2022 Dimensions: 66 inches x 84 inches

This painting took over 800 hours spread out over 6 months. It depicts Mallie, a black jaguar that I photographed at a small zoo in Cave Junction, Oregon. The jaguar is surrounded by over 40 different panther-related toys from various generations of pop culture. The decorative motif is primarily influenced by an illuminated prayer book from the Sistine Chapel.

Robert Xavier Burden | https://www.robertburden.com/

#robert xavier burden #painting #panther #art #illustration #jaguar #toys #pop culture #sistine chapel #u

[pinksugarscrub]

Heartstrings

Hobie Brown x Black Cat! fem! reader

Scenario: Inspired by this post by @undobutton. Thank you! I hope you enjoy :)

Part(s): 1, 2, ???

Art is a freedom of expression. That’s something that your mother drilled into your head when you were young. Your small fingers littered with paint or covered in clay as you listened to her speech for the umpteenth time. 

Before, you hated the constant lessons. English, math, science. All centered around culture and the history of man. It was unbearable until…it wasn’t. Until you saw him. His voice cracking as he sang and his fingers missing every other chord on his borrowed guitar. 

That’s when you finally understood what she meant. 

Art, is freedom.

-

The streets of Camden were always full of life. The back streets anyway. That’s where Norman Osborn’s authority ended.

Kids running around carefree as music played from a scrapped radio. It always brought a smile to your face.

You greeted everyone you passed briefly. Blending in with the crowd easily as you weaved through the many makeshift homes.

To the government you were outcasts. But this, this was home.

You eyed one home in particular. Freedom fighters laughing as they knocked their glasses together.

Pursing your lips as you bite back a smile as soon as you spot him. His wicks give him away instantly. There were too many people around so for now, Hobie would have to wait.

Tearing your gaze away from the tall punk, you came to an alleyway. Narrow enough that you would have to suck in your breath and position your body to the side to even squeeze through. You grinned at the challenge. With a quiet huff you gracefully scaled the building. Your footsteps silent against the concrete. It was exhilarating.

Rolling to a stop you cause the spray paint cans in your backpack clink together. Your expression only brightened as you quickly tore your bag open. The familiar cat eye shaped goggles you adorned along with a black coat and gloves folded neatly inside.

Gingerly you slip the leather on before fixing the metal studded belt around your waist. Of course, you offset the intense color with a pair of jeans and chucks.

Keeping your identity was a priority. Just like that new Spiderman swinging around the city. He was a sight to behold. If you managed to catch a glimpse of him that is.

You shook your head to pull yourself from the cloud of your imagination. It was time to search for the perfect canvas.

You nodded mostly to yourself as you slid a scarf over your nose. Dropping down with a thud onto an abandoned apartment building as you scoured the skyline.

Not noticing the curious gaze on your back.

-

You popped open a can of fresh paint. The cap clattering to the ground as music blared through the walkman attached to your belt. You took a deep breath as you glanced down at the sketch in your black book.

“Here we go,”you murmur as the hiss of the can echoes through the air. The colors blending together seamlessly as you tapped your foot to the beat.

Normally, you would tag your name into any and every surface you could find. But today, you decided to go the political route. An outline of a young girl appearing on the brick. She was messy, unkept. But bright and bold against the black background.

You wanted your work to embody hope. For a better future, for freedom.

That’s why you had made it this far right? You had to have some purpose as the people closest to you passed on and left the picture of your life.

That’s what you cling to on the days you miss your mother.

You blend out of the confounds of your outline. Flicking open a can of blue paint before shaking it. It was almost impossible to find paint now that the police had caught wind of you and other artists so you had to make this can last.

Your eyes shifted every once and awhile as you kept an eye out for officers. Used to their angry shouts as they tossed objects at you. It was hilarious watching them as they doubled over, gasping for air as you mocked them from above. There was even a device in your bag in case things went south but that day had yet to come.

After what seemed like hours which was actually only a matter of minutes you were met with silence. Your hand lowered as you paused the walkman. Stepping back to critique your work.

There were some errors here and there. Places where you colored in a different color than you had intended and empty spaces but overall, you were happy. Ten minutes below your normal time.

“No expectations?”

You froze at the unfamiliar voice. Gripping the can in between your fingers as you slowly turned to look behind you. And if you were holding your breath before you were sure you had nothing left as you exhaled.

“I think I see what you’re tryin’ to say but-” The loud thud of his boots causes your skin to crawl. By the tone of his voice you assume he has a smile underneath his mask. Possibly even smug. “-be a dear and humor me.”

It takes him not one but two strides before he’s at your side. He’s so nonchalant, hands dug into his pockets as he towers over you. Spiderman. The Spiderman. You feel faint.

“What, cat got your tongue love?” Tilting his head to the side as he chuckles.

You bite your bottom lip, anxiously watching him as you resist the urge to bolt.

You did not just steal a new set of supplies only to leave them in the hands of Spiderman. Regardless of how noble he seemed. They were yours. Taken fair and square.

“What’s it to you?” Posture stiff as you eye his form for the hundredth time.

He seems amused by your response. Head moving back to its original position. He can practically see the cat ears atop your head. Maybe even a tail flicking angrily against the back of your thighs.

“You wound me love.” Shifting his weight so he’s facing you directly. “Thought us rebels had to stick together.”

You purse your lips. Casting a glance to your bag before returning your gaze to him. “Rebels are just as disloyal as cops. Save their own skin if the situation calls for it.”

He snickers at the accusation. It’s not cleverly disguised. "I hear that."

“What do you want from me?” Your eyes narrowed beneath your goggles. Beginning to size him up like a predator eyeing its prey. A cat ready to crush a nuisance of a spider.

He practically burst into laughter. Arms crossed in front of his chest as he steps back and narrowly misses the 'S' in expectations.

To anyone else he would seem entirely relaxed. But you feel the way his eyes burn into your skin. Memorizing your every move.

He knows something. Wants something out of this interaction but you don't intend to give it to him. Whatever it is.

Even if his voice has your stomach doing flips.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #spiderpunk

[write-and-buried]

Celestial Navigation

Chapter 7 - Third Quarter

(gif by the majestic @nicolethered)

Summary; it took you so long to see it. Warnings; UNBELIEVABLY TOXIC WORK ENVIRONMENT. TOXIC INTERNET CULTURE. miraculously, there is no smut in this chapter. I'm gearing up for a big one in the next. Authors Note welcome to the penultimate chapter. only one more after this! and thank you again for all the love on this story, I truly cannot express how thankful I am for each and every one of you.

Series Masterlist \\ Main Masterlist

[prev] - [next]

It’s almost winter. The morning sky threatens rain, or possibly snow, the stores now twinkling red and green as they threaten Christmas and the unending passage of time. Your alarm wakes you cold, cuddled beneath heavy blankets, warm hands wrapped around you, Dieter’s breath tickling your neck.

Sometimes you find him painting, up before the sunrise, or up still, a paint brush behind his ear as he smudges ink on canvas, charcoal between his fingers as he keeps his steps light so as to not wake you. It pulls him from dreams, dragging heavy fingers to stretched linen, to bleary eyes and a blurry vision, usually just taking shape as you wake up.

You have set your alarm early, knowing the time it takes to extract yourself from his embrace is infinite, that he would keep you pinned beneath an adoring gaze for eternity if he could. His hands follow you as you wake, stretching with your skin as you yawn, feel him press a kiss between your collarbones.

“Ten more minutes” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to get up” you reply, turning in his embrace to kiss his jaw, brushing your cheek against the stubble as he slides his hands to grab your ass.

“Already up” he grins, grinding his pelvis into you with a nip to your lower lip.

It’s worth the extra hour.

The café is busy enough that you can slip in unnoticed. The crowd still sleep rough and mostly silent as the ambient noise settles your skin. It’s Molly that notices you first, nodding to Owen as she grabs a muffin, seeing you lingering in the bead arched doorway.

You mouth a quiet thank you as she passes you a large black coffee and the still warm muffin, allowing you to slip out the front door. The lack of groaning from the rusted bell makes your eyebrow twitch. You wonder where the pieces ended up, Dieter too busy grabbing at you to notice where it landed.

You bow your head against the cold, joining the tide of others on their way to work. People in athletic wear and headphones weaving in and out of the slow-moving throng. People in suits, with scarves to protect against the cold, phones pressed to their ear with coffee in hand, you seem to absorb into the mass, letting the flow take you.

You’re early to the office, only three other interns glued to their desks, their eyes barely glancing to you as they type one handed, the other bringing scalding hot coffee to their lips, their eyes rimmed and bloodshot, evidence of an all-nighter. You begin triaging your inbox, sorting them into priority groups, reminders popping and being ignored. You click through them, adding the most important to your journal as you go, the week filling quickly.

You have deadlines and meetings, piling on top of one another, the highest priority marked with a red star. You laugh when you look at your week, a red sea staring back at you. You can’t remember the last time you had something that was low priority. Dieter’s voice floats into your subconscious ‘If they’re all high priority, then none of them are”

The alert for an in-person meeting rouses you from your thoughts, pinging across the screen and directing you to a conference room three floors up. Your nose wrinkles at the elevator, everything smelling sterile, too clean, too white, the mirrored interior showing off the slight bags under your eyes.

Your boss sits in the middle of the row. Her boss sits beside her, bored and thumbing through his phone. Two other people you don’t recognise are talking quietly as your boss gestures to a seat across from them. You’re reminded of your final interview for this job, the nervous energy flooding back into you as though a forgotten dam had failed.

“Have a seat” your boss says, her tone clipped as she opens a file in front of her.

“This is Emma, she’s from HR to take minutes for this meeting, ensure everyone is on the same page. And Elton, he’s from the legal department. You know Mr. Taylor of course”

The man barely looks at you, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement. You barely recognise him without the ruddy cheeks, his hand squeezing his wife’s hip as he leans in conspiratorially to talk to Dieter. You were invited to his house in the Hamptons.

“I’m sure you know why we’re here” your boss says, spreading her hands wide across the papers in front of her.

“No, I’m not actually”

“This is a copy of the employment contract you signed when you started working with us” your boss says, sliding a photocopy across the desk towards you, your initials in a stamped box on the side. Scanning the document, you remember your enthusiasm, sitting in an office just like this, scribbling as fast as you could as you itched to get started.

“Okay” you say, your eyes not focusing on the paper in front of you.

“This is the media clause.” Elton from legal says. “It discusses how we expect our employees to behave if they’re ever in the public eye. Representing the company, upholding the values we embody, those kinds of thing”

You don’t answer, waiting for the rest of the sentence.

“This is you, yes?” your boss slides a photograph across the table. Dieter wrapping his arm around your waist as he pulls you into the café the night before. The image is taken from Twitter, blurry around the edges, the caption blacked out.

“And if it is?” you ask, raising your chin slightly.

Your boss nods, as Emma from HR scribbles something on the pad in front of her.

“Now, your association with people outside working hours is none of our concern. However, given the significant media attention attached to this person, we’ve been forced to take a closer look at your performance over the last few weeks.”

“When looking at your performance within the confines of these values, we’ve noticed a significant shift in your work output.” Your boss says. There’s a false ring of kindness to it, a softness that rings like hollow tin. You watch her arrange her face into something resembling a smile.

“We’re worried about you, dear” she says, half choking on the last word. “We think it might be best for you to take some time off and regroup, come back to us focused”

“I am focused.” You reply “I haven’t missed a deadline, my work has been turned in ahead of schedule, with no mistakes”

“Well, that’s not quite true is it” she replies, the smile turning icy as she pulls another document from the stack. It’s the mistake from weeks ago, the one that sent you to Dieter’s apartment, to Universal Horror Monsters and weed brownies. To the first time he hooked his pinkie into yours.

“That was rectified to your satisfaction” you say, your voice beginning to tremble as your eyes fill with tears.

“There’s no need to get emotional” Mr Taylor says, looking up from his phone for the first time. “This is just an informal chat”

“With HR & Legal and my immediate superiors” You spit.

“Let’s take a breath. We love your work, and we want you to succeed in this company. We’re very conscious of burnout and we want you to be at your full potential, and we think the best way for you to get back on track is to take some time away. Let’s say a week? Fully paid of course, this isn’t a punishment”

“Yes it is” you whisper, sneaking the words under your breath as you force the tears back.

“Honestly, we want what’s best for all involved. And given your declining output, and your recent lack of engagement in our little family here, we think this is the best step, so we don’t have to escalate these issues further” Emma from HR says, smiling at you with the same false kindness.

“Fine” you say, standing from the conference table, and turning to leave. You don’t hear their parting words, just the echoing falsehood of their kindness.

Dieter’s phone goes straight to voicemail. It got lost in the fray last night, probably kicked under the bed with its battery spilling loose. A quick scroll of Twitter still has him as the villain of the day, thousand-word articles disparaging him as a more photos of Owen and Molly splash across your feed. They’re in a frenzy over him, the speculation on the mystery woman he dragged inside the café reaching fever pitch.

“What GAP sale bin did he drag her out of?” “Some fangirl probably” “First swipe on tinder” “Best he could do on short notice probably” “Look at the way he’s grabbing her. It’s clearly abusive” “From a psych major, its clear he’s a narcissist.” “Did you see his *eggplant* tho?!” “Not worth it for that ego – you’re in danger girl!”  

Nobody cares if you cry in the corner of a Starbucks. They ignore you as easily as they misspell your name, leaving you to sit and dry your eyes with napkins until the morning rush clears. You can hear people, mums with strollers wider than SUVs, gossiping about the nude images. There’s a rumour of a whisper of a sex tape. They roll their eyes as they open their phones to search for it.

You manage to trap the scream in your chest, drowning it with croissant on coffee on coffee until the shop clears, the tables wiped by college students making minimum wage and kind enough to not glance your way. You pull your journal from your bag, looking through the week you’ve just lost, striking through deadlines that no longer matter, as if they ever did.

In the corner you see a scribbled out heart. A blotted memory of Josh and the life you were supposed to have by now. It’s almost December, you were supposed to have a joint chequing account, a photo in reds and greens splashed across Instagram. You haven’t updated social media in weeks. This weekend was supposed to see you having sex three times. You think it might have been his birthday. You can’t even remember the colour of his eyes.

You stuff an extra twenty in the tip jar before you leave, offering the barista a weak smile as she thanks you, tells you to come back soon in that same tinny sincerity, pennies down a well, hollow and insignificant. You try Dieter again, get voicemail again.

*

The rust makes a beautiful sunset. Mixed with clear Elmer’s glue he spends the morning scraping the broken bell clean until it shines. His phone is lost somewhere, probably buried at the bottom of his laundry basket with last nights sheets. He scribbles on a notepad, a reminder to call the man who runs the pawn shop three blocks over. He smelts metal in his spare time, and Dieter can’t wait to see what he does with this.

The sunset in his vision splashes over his apartment. It’s the golden light of all the places you’ve touched. The way it lays across your forehead, weaves between your fingers. The mix of colour when it hits your skin. You’re in all his work now. The abstract splash of colour on linen the way your laugh makes him feel, the bitten peach the shape of your teeth.

He checks the project in his closet. A few more days of drying before he can finish it. He lays it carefully back in place, his fingers careful on the twine, hope blooming in his chest as he imagines what it will look like finished. He’s always waiting for the finish.

The sound of boots on the stairwell makes him turn. Nobody has figured out the stairwell yet, everyone assuming it leads to the back storage, not a sneaky entrance to his apartment, the door hidden behind beads and stacks of mismatched ceramic, the merry hum of an industrial dishwasher.

“Where is your fucking phone?” Molly yells, half kicking the door in as she storms into his apartment. He shrugs, looking at her wild eyes. She looks tired, the same tiredness that engulfed him until the moment you were back in his arms. The clock on the wall says you should be back here in six hours. Seven if you have a deadline.

“Laundry, probably” he replies, grabbing her shoulder as she goes to walk past him. “What happened?”

“There’s all this crap online. About you…”

“And?” he asks, rolling his eyes at the churning machine. It will die down eventually, Molly hasn’t seen this before, has never experienced the ferocity of media. He and Eric used to hide in alleyways away from them, after the first time they were photographed drunk… after the first time the were photographed at range, a naked woman on his lap…

“And her”

He’d never seen the world in black and white. Never imagined it could drain so completely of colour, every brushstroke of existence cracking and falling from his life’s canvas as it settles around him, ash filling his mouth as it falls like rain, whiting out his vision.

Molly’s stronger than he thought, shoving him backwards away from the door the minute he takes a step towards it.

“You can’t. Find your phone…”

“Fuck the phone Mols, move!”

“Wait! Just… D, hold on. You have to wait for just a second, ok? Look at me” She broadens her stance, blocking his path.

“I have to…” he starts.

“I know, trust me, I know. Owen agrees. Pack a bag. Find a hat of some kind and wait, can you give me an hour? Just one hour. Find your phone and charge it. And wait.”

She backs out of his apartment with her hands raised, some parody of a hostage negotiation as she retreats down the stairs. Dieter has never been good at waiting. He shoves clothes at random in a backpack, the shirt he likes you best in, a rolled canvas with a finished painting, three sticks of charcoal and a sketchbook, the dead hunk of plastic that is his phone. He finds a woollen beanie, crams it onto his head as he paces, shoving a mason jar of weed and a bottle of Makers into the backpack for good measure.

He makes lists in his head, checking the items off one by one. He washes his hands, he brushes his teeth. He touches the spot on his pillow where you woke this morning, he traces your palm print on the door to the balcony. He searches for a phone charger, he can’t find it.

Silence falls downstairs. The constant angry hum, the background noise of angry wasps dying within the hour. The lights are off downstairs, the café completely empty. He doesn’t lock the door behind him.

He makes a list as he walks. Of all the reasons he chose this city. You, the anonymity, you, the way nobody blinks an eye at a man in a woollen knit cap and sunglasses, mismatched crocs and a patchwork crocheted jumper walking down the street, you. He buys three muffins from a cart on the sidewalk, pays with a hundred and doesn’t ask for change.

He knows where you live, has had the address stored right next to your birthday, his parents wedding anniversary, right beside the memory of his first kiss. All the shiny pieces he keeps like a crow, the parts he picks and chooses to remember, the ones that feel the most important.

Your apartment block is the same as the surrounding. They fit together like Legos, the only individuality a splash of colour on the window. The stairwell has wallpaper, it’s yellowed and peeling at the edges. He can smell cooking, trash and the barest hint of happiness as he climbs the stairs. There is no banister, just concrete to cushion the fall.

*

The knock is loud. Your landlord sometimes wants the rent early, if she’s going on vacation and wants to line her pockets a little more, extra spending money for penny slots in Atlantic City, another packet of Marlborough Lights.

“It’s not the first!” You shout, unwilling to move from the couch, your throat raw and hoarse as you grab for another tissue, wish for a heavier blanket.

The knock comes again, harder this time. It shakes a leaf from your dead plant, you watch it spin gracefully to the floor. When they knock again, undeterred by your silence, you finally heave yourself from the couch, cursing under your breath as you blow your nose.

Dieter’s eyes are frantic as he grabs you, the door half open as he pulls you to him, lifting you up so your legs wrap around his waist, mumbling apologies into your neck as you squeak in surprise. He slams the door behind him, shrugging a heavy backpack off his shoulders as you shake in his arms. He knows the way to your couch without looking, falling back on it without letting you go, wrapping his arms around your back, squeezing your neck as you breathe him in. Paint and blueberries, a hint of weed.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, pulling back to cup your cheek. “I can call Eric, he’ll call his team, I can set up an interview with someone properly. I’ll tell them whatever you want, that we’re just friends, you were comforting me. You can be my financial advisor, and I can apologise for being too handsy, give them something else to fight over?”

You shake your head, confused.

“I reckon I could get Oprah out of retirement for it. If they want, I’ll do some reunion thing for Rebel of Owls, let them poke and prod me onto a red carpet and wrap the story up. How do you want this to go?”

“What are you talking about?” You press your hand over his mouth, stifling his rambling. His hands are frantic on your skin, squeezing your hips, running up and down your spine, as though he’s forgotten the shape of you in the last six hours, as though he didn’t run soapy water over your thighs this morning, as if he didn’t map every curve with his mouth before you said goodbye.

“Molly told me” he said, taking a shaking breath as you pull your hand free. “About all the shit they’re saying about you online. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I didn’t mean to…”

You press your hand over his mouth again. His brow furrows as you feel tears well in the back of your eyes. A sob escapes your throat before you bury your face in his neck, the rush of gratitude to overwhelming to hold back. He holds you as you cry, and you remember the almost clumsy hug he gave you the first time, as though his hands didn’t know what to do with your body, as if you were made of glass and precious stones.

“I’m so sorry” he says quietly.

“They’re going to fire me” you say, hiccupping into his neck. You feel him stiffen, the way his body goes rigid under yours.

“I’ll move back to LA” he replies.

“Why would you do that?” You lean back on his lap, see that his eyes are also sparkling, tears gathering in the corners.

“So, you can properly cut ties then. It’s some morality clause, right? Eric got kicked off a few projects for being busted with coke or molly. Was bad for the studio, bad for their image. As though they hadn’t built it off his name to begin with”

“Why would you think that’s what I want?” You ask, watching his features.

“You love that job. I know how important it is to you. And you’ve got such high ambitions for it. I can’t tie myself to you like concrete shoes. It’s not fair. We attended one party together, you can reasonably say you didn’t know who I was. I’ll back it.”

“I don’t want to lie about you too” you say quietly.

He shakes his head, grunting in disapproval when you place your hand over his mouth again, cutting off his speech.

“Everyone has lied about you. Twisted you into some kind of monster. I’ve been watching it happen, the way they took five photos of you and made you into something I know you’re not. I won’t add to it Dieter, don’t ask me to. I won’t pour gas on that fire, no matter what”

You have to say it first. It’s the only rule he’s managed to not break. He pours it into a kiss instead, grabbing both your hands and pressing them to his chest, feeling the way you twist your fingers in his clothing, knowing you’re really grabbing something else. Knowing its yours for the taking.

“I have a week off work” you say, letting him dry your tears with his sleeve. “There’s a spreadsheet on my laptop of all the ones we haven’t watched yet”

“Is there a good Thai place near here?” he asks, breathing properly for the first time as you smile.

*

Derek Brown’s Present Revealed.

Molly Orbison is a no nonsense kind of girl. With beads clicking at the end of her braids we all came to attention when she stood on the counter of the No Name coffee shop and proclaimed she couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re missing the real story” was all she said, climbing down and leaving the store, her co-worker, Owen grimacing in her wake.

We followed out of curiosity, the merry band of paparazzi and reporters, scrounging and hopeful for a sound bite or a picture of the elusive recluse. Hidden from the media at least. The stories that circulated around his new alias were salacious and never ending. Top trending on Twitter three days running, beating out political infighting, a not-so-shocking loss for the Celtics, and the death of a celebrity.

We meet her in a small bar three blocks from the store. She clearly knows the bartender, a whiskey sour in her hand without a word exchanged. She pulled a file from nowhere, smacking Owen’s hand as he tried to stop her. We crowded around it, financial statements for the little coffee shop, which is aptly named No Name.

You could feel the excitement in the room, we were about to uncover something meaty and real. No more gossip on the number of sexual partners, no more second hand rumours of drugs or orgies or homosexual encounters. This was embezzlement, this was money laundering, this was something tangible and printable that wasn’t a rumour. Instead we stood confused, looking at the salaries for the listed employees.

Derek Brown - $1.

“Dig into that, you fucking vultures” was all Molly said before she turned her back on us, starting a conversation with the bartender, asking if he’d gotten around to clearing out his apartment yet.

So we did. Using the investigative chops, I’ll admit most of us had forgotten, we started digging. Dieter (as he’s been known for more than a decade) takes an annual salary of $1 from the No Name business. The rest of his income is royalties and interest, a comfortable existence. He owns the building outright, the purchase made through a legal subsidiary out of nowhere. He’s a landlord, owning a smattering of apartment buildings throughout the continental United States.

When we called, the tenants gushed about their management.

“They forgave a year’s rent during COVID. All the residents. Nobody asked, we just got a letter one day, saying no rent for a year. Haven’t heard a thing since.”

Then there’s the employees. Owen and Molly are full time, paid well above minimum wage, plus tips. Below them are dozens of names, some listed for months, others just weeks, some have been on the books for more than a two years.

They were reluctant to talk to us at first, peeking warily through door frames as we explained we were reporters. But they all worked for Dieter in some capacity. All of them had been homeless. Some were employed as night time security, others as waste management, others as cleaners.

“He asked me to watch the shop at night. Bang on the door if I thought he was gonna get robbed” Mr Richard Appleby says, sitting in the living room of his new apartment. “I thought he was a little weird, but I was sleeping in the alleyway behind his shop, so who am I to judge?”

He was shocked when Dieter gave him a paycheck the next day. And then another, the week after that, again, well above minimum wage.

“He could have just given me money. I didn’t understand why he was doing it at first. I tried to give em back. He refused, just told me to keep up the good work. I bought food, clothes. First time in winter I didn’t have socks with holes in em. Opened a bank account, deposited the cheques. And then suddenly, I had stable employment. Once you’ve got that… well its easier to get more”

The stories are the same, one after another until you find the dozen or more people he’s indirectly helped into stable housing. When you find the art supplies and art donated to public schools anonymously, the overordering of stock that’s donated to food banks.

When we return to the No Name café in the days following, Molly and Owen are rightly smug. They’re more than happy to talk to us, rub it in a little as we sheepishly post our findings.

“He’s not here. He won’t be for a while” Owen says. “And by the time he is you all will have cleared out to pick at another carcass”

“You only looked for the worst in him” Molly continued. “He’s only ever looked for the best in others. He finds it too, his girl, she’s helping me get my student loans forgiven. No other reason than she’s a good person too. And you all liked and retweeted bullshit about his ‘mystery woman’ calling her a whore. Did that feel good? Get enough clicks?”

It’s a brutal assessment, but not an untrue one. In looking through the press coverage we can all see the signs, the spiral of viciousness we all fell into, the ease with which we speculated in his absence, how we took his silence for deceit. How we used those tenants of cancellation, which can be such pillars for holding our leaders accountable, as a weapon to tear someone to shreds.

“Dieter deserves to be left alone. He’s left you all alone, give him that same respect.”

She’s right. With our sincerest apologies, we close this chapter on Derek Brown. Leaving him as a titan of the past. And as for the private life of Dieter Bravo? Well, that’s really none of our business.

HuffPo

*

Dieter’s round bed never made sense. Until you slept with him in yours. He spreads out like creeping ivy, limbs dangling free beneath sheets and blankets that won’t stay tucked in. He chases you throughout the night, pulling you both into the middle, tangling your limbs into a knot you have no desire to untie. He snores. Just a little, just enough to tickle in between your shoulder blades as you scroll through Twitter.

“I knew it.” “Cancel culture is out of control” “I knew he was a good person all along” “See, that must be the girlfriend, look at how he’s touching her, he must love her a lot” “You all should be ashamed of yourselves, thinking this was news”

You roll your eyes. The 180 on Dieter has been swift enough to make your head swim. Owen and Molly texted you a selfie, 2am drunk at a bar flipping off the camera with a smile. Their photos in the article made them look like gods, surrounded by a tornado of chaos, the only pillars of calm.

It took three days to undo it. Three days of sitting in your apartment with Dieter, arguing the merits of Baby Jane over Human Bondage, throwing pad Thai at each other when you didn’t agree. He bought a painting with him, the first one with your thumb print. It ties the room together in a way you didn’t think was possible, the stars seeming to glitter from the rolled canvas.

Your phone vibrates in your hand. Its easier to extract yourself from his embrace on a square bed, the edges more easily found. You’re wearing his favourite shirt, and you shut the door behind you as you creep down the hallway, pressing the start button on your ancient coffee pot. Your living room looks lived in. The plant in the corner a little less brown. There are empty takeout containers on your coffee table, Dieters pants on the floor, landing there when you decided against making it to the bedroom.

Your bosses voice sounds harsh in the morning. Like sandpaper on your skin as you half listen to her greeting, searching for your favourite mug in the cupboard. You hum acknowledgement that you’re listening as you wait for the coffee to finish brewing, the scent of the beans ground beans Owen dropped off yesterday filling your living room.

“As I was saying, you have been missed this week. I just wanted to touch base with you, see how you’re feeling now that…”

“Now that the tide has turned on my partner? He’s not the internets pariah anymore?” You ask, holding your phone between your shoulder as you pour yourself a cup of coffee.

You hear Dieter stir, somehow always drawn to the sound of your voice as you watch him emerge from your bedroom. His face is drawn in an imitation scowl as he walks towards you, naked and uncaring, to wrap his arm around your waist, bury his face in your neck. You feel his fingers creep up the hemline of your shirt and jump away, suppressing a smile at his mock whine.

Your boss is still talking, halfway through an explanation of corporate values as you watch Dieter, the way he squares his shoulders, preparing to lift you onto the cleared counter space. You let out a laugh when he does exactly that, humming happily as he stands between your spread thighs. Your underwear long destroyed in the days since he turned up on your doorstep.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No.” You reply, feeling Dieter’s palms on your thighs. “I’m not. And honestly, after this year with working for the company, I’m not sure why I ever did.”

Dieter stills, looking up at you with a furrowed brow. You place a hand over his mouth and continue.

“I appreciate the opportunities given to me by your company, but in using this time to reflect as suggested, I’ve decided that your companies values no longer align with my own. I won’t be returning to the office at the end of the week. You didn’t allow personal items at our desks so there wont be anything for me to collect. I’ll have my key card couriered there by the end of business Friday.”

You hear her splutter on the phone, the sharp breath to retain composure.

“Also, my sexual deviant boyfriend is pretty sure Mr Taylor has a sex dungeon. You might want to look into that if you’re so concerned with company values”

You feel Dieters laugh through your fingers, he doesn’t wait for you to move your hand before he kisses you, that same dizzy consuming feeling making you feel as though galaxies are forming in your skin, fizzing and bursting into existence, monumental in their very presence.

“You sure?” he asks, pressing his lips to your jaw.

“Very” you reply, sinking into his embrace.

Molly calls him two days later. Having finally found a phone charger he answers on the second ring. He puts it on speaker as she explains that while they’re still busy, the press has moved on, some new scandal gripping their attention, a reason to circle someone else like piranhas scenting blood.

“So, get your ass back here”

“Miss you too Mols” he says

“I don’t miss you, but bring Lou, I’ve got questions about this form”

You laugh, agreeing as Dieter shoves his clothing back into the backpack, watching as you pack your journal into your bag, neatly distributing makeup and clean underwear throughout the compartments.

He’s holding your plant when you emerge from the bedroom, keys in hand. Hoisting the thing onto his hip he holds the door open for you as you leave. You get looks as you walk towards the café. Some recognising Dieter, others just staring at the guy with mismatched crocs and dead plant.

It smells like coming home. Fresh coffee and sugared blueberries and Owen yelps at your arrival, abandoning the machine to wrap an arm around your neck in greeting. Molly doesn’t move from the counter, her leg swinging in a lazy pendulum as she throws you a smile and a subtle wink in greeting.

The sign makes you laugh. Emblazoned in bold font above her head is a crude sign

If you ask about Dieter, we will spit in your coffee

“The smiley face was my idea. Makes it more customer friendly” Molly says, reaching out with a stack of receipts to hand to you. “These are for you”

“What are they?” You ask, looking through the names and phone numbers scrawled in sharpie on the back.

“People looking for help with student loans, I think? I told them I’d give them to you, didn’t say what you’d do with them though – figured you’d be pretty busy with the end of the year and the final decision on your internship”

“About that…” you start, before Dieter grabs you around the waist.

“Want you all to myself just a little longer Loulou” he whispers, biting down on your neck. You notice a few eyes skitter towards you, the tables in the café with a few turned heads. Nobody says anything.

“Molly has them well trained” Owen says, rolling his eyes as he returns to steaming milk. “You should go upstairs – that plant looks like it needs all the help it can get”

Dieter nods agreement, pulling you towards the beaded curtain as you wave a quick goodbye to Molly, your eyes on the slips of paper in your hands. There’s lots of them, names and numbers. A few have quick descriptions of why they’re looking for you. Student loans, medical debt, payday loans. You tuck them inside your bag, sliding them inside the pocket of your journal while you look at the plant on Dieter’s hip.

“I don’t know why you insisted on bringing that thing Dieter, it’s dead”

He scoffs, hitching the plant higher in his grip.

“Nothing is ever that permanent Bette.”

He must have left the TV running the day he came to your apartment. It’s blaring through the walls as you climb the stairwell, some infomercial for a kitchen gadget echoing out into the hallway. It’s not until you hear the thump of heavy footfalls that you still, turning to Dieter for his reaction.

His eyes roll as he reaches for your hand, giving it a quick squeeze. He hooks his pinkie through yours and meets your eye.

“Sorry in advance” he mutters, before leading you through the door.

“Brownies are in the oven, I ordered pizza because I couldn’t wait, where the fuck have you been?!”

There’s not much you can do but stand in stunned silence as Eric Webster, one of the most famous faces in the world, gently lifts your dead plant from Dieter’s grip before wrapping him in a crushing hug.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #the bubble #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo smut

[nicnavarrocage]

In addition to my MSPA ideas

Prison Part 2, also known as Jailbreak: Extended Play, is basically a different version of the Jailbreak adventure, including dialogue, animation, narrative shiftings from 1st person to 2nd person between characters, and even interactive pages... IF I CAN CODE THEM. Each stick figure character will be named, and some will look distinct.

This is the "Beyond Canon Mockery" adventure I mentioned on my previous post, also known as "Homestuck: Beyond Fucked Up" or "Beyond Awful." It's a changearound of Beyond Canon's story, with worsened content, but mocked in a self-aware way, has a lot of pop culture stuff, also mocks the controversy and culture around Homestuck, and introduces a character named " The Story Wizard," an obnoxious, plot fiddling, story changing, retconning, King of Town alien who's always here to make the story worse. In this adventure, John actually hates everything around him, probably just me making fun of his descent into depression, wheras in the original comic he's an emo James Rolfe, while here, he's nihilistic.

Freeplay is an adventure with no plot, no story, no gods, no masters, no author, just fun, but a few set of rules. You can do anything you want here. It's the infinite canvas of MS Paint Adventures, with loads of creativity for one simple panel.

There are a trinity of commands, however. NULLIFY will reset everything, REGRESS will revert a command that someone has submitted, and DISORDER will scramble the story you create into random, inconvenient places.

Nepal Silo was an adventure I was thinking about earlier this year. It's about a group of young researchers who live on a cold, snowy landscape, sometimes peppered with aliens and oddities. It's gonna have the same style as Homestuck, but it's not gonna have that "There's a teenager in his room and he shall be named, plus a world ending supergame" bullshit.

I was also planning to give this adventure a Kelly Bailey inspired soundtrack, obviously because of the planned influence from Half Life.

And here is one I dare to create. Adventure Boy! Planned to be an adventure about some kid (oddly looking similar to Zoosmell Pooplord) in a fantasy world that doesn't know him at all. The main, titular character is extremely joyful, almost stereotype joyful, and yet the world he's in ranges from dark to careless. Yeah, it's obviously one big trope made into an MS Paint Adventure, but I don't care.

Another one I'm thinking about is this oddball. It's a story about your favorite spider bitch doing really stupid stuff towards every other troll in the style of a Homestar Runner storybook (See: Sbemail 100 or Homestar Enters the Strongest Man in the World Contest). Later in the book, the protagonist redeems herself off of being too mean.

But least could we forget, another project in the making. It's been done before, but we'll do it again. Comedy gold, adequate. Irony, stunning.

SWEET BOR AND HELLA JYEFF VIDYA GAEM DUDES INNERACTIVE COMIC made by ya boy Dave s. with iorny

Yes, I'm doing a Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff adventure. This one is more gaming based than slice of life or adventure. Think of it as early SBaHJ.

There's also gonna be a few new "bros" introduced into this comic. One's with a green shirt whom I call "THAT DUDE," and a pink shirt named "STAN-SO-CASH." Does Geromy count as a bro? WHO KNOWS!

At last, we have this.

An MS Paint Adventures adaptation of Homestar Runner's "Thy Dungeonman." This is basically gonna be a warm-up to everything else I'll do on MSPFA, sort of a practice to see if I can actually work on what I can correctly. I ended up doing Jailbreak: Extended Play first. The command system of Thy Dungeonman would be really hard to replicate in the MS Paint Adventures format, so suggestions will be sent one by one. Or I could just do the Bard Quest treatment.

So uh, BYE!

#ms paint adventures #ideas #ms paint fan adventures #mspa #mspfa #concepts #plans

[fearfylsymmetry]

less of an ask and more of a compliment i love the way your tags are organized…”decay as a commodity” “bodies shifting in narrow spaces” etc is it your own original work or quoting from a song/poem/or something?

helloo angel and welcomee to the show, its always such a joy when people appreciate my silly little tagging system. they're all just random sentences i thought up ages ago, , just to make sense of the mess in front of you etc y'know how it gets love. i couldn't really get behind tagging things as "art" "people, faces places things" etc. i needed to inject a bit of flavour to the whole thing (let this not be read as a subtle jab towards any new york based tumblrinas , we're above that c'mon now). i wouldn't say these little phrases are "personal" by any means but they have been motifs i wanted to actively explore in the art i make so no harm putting them up here i guess haha

for posterity's sake i thought i'd just copy an explanation of my tags from an old ask

decay as a commodity : okay so i envisioned this as a way to just summarize modern living? i think of a whole blueish neon color scheme with this one. my line of thinking was,, with the world slowly rotting away and living becoming so expensive and exhausting, whats the one commodity we all share? wouldn't it be decay? aren't we all slowly fading together etc etc. i use this for images with cooler muted tones and anything with a futuristic vibe,, along with some grimey, monochrome photography

the setting dawn: this is the polar opposite of decay, i think of it as "hope beyond hope" a la Prior Walter's line in Angels in America. i know "the setting sun " might sound more natural but i think of it as,, dawn , when the sun breaks through - in this short period the world starts to wake. qs the dawn sets the day kicks in, with all its routine misery. Dawn i think, is the only time the sun is kind to you, because its still hidden away at least slightly. But the day truly starts and itbeats down on you. And yet we continue to live, past the boredom and the pain, we live past hope, past the quiet comfort of dawn. I use this for pictures with earthy tones and things on the more uplifting side

bodies shifting in narrow spaces: this has some overlap with the decay tag, im not as organized as i need 2 be. i use this for figures & portraits ill want to draw or just really any photography i like that features a human presence. think of it as people so dependent on an outside gaze they constantly try to reinvent themselves, or just, everyday people, getting less and less time to live, having to work and forcing themselves into relationships with any real connection

original sin and other contingencies: im trying to fit this in for more risque photography and maybe things on the more gory side. how do i explain this.. okay so... when there's nothing left to do you'll always have sin to turn to just yo keep yourself occupied, along with other methods/contingencies u get the jist

linen that lingers: my fashion tag nothing more 2 it

the canvas as testimony: for art that is made for the gallery or art that is held in higher regard i guess, more high culture. it includes painting, sculptures,along with architecture,, but maybe i should make an architecture tag. i think of the things here as more personal efforts

motion on a still surface: for art that is energetic and really pops off the page. includes comics, manga, fanart, animation. stuff here may be more low culture but really its not. i just differentiate these art tags as ,,one is stuck to the canvas whatever that canvas may be, while the other leaps off the page

word on a wing let me soar: books, poetry, articles, journals , all words that i adore

a conversation with the self: i wanted this to be for things that are very personal to me but i just use my other tags

angels in descent: my little funny haha tag for yknow ,,, funny haha. yknow the "devil's rejects" the movie? like its a way of saying people so horrible no even the devil would take them. okay so i thought " god's rejects " but that's lame. so i landed on this, like idk...imagine angels falling from grace

arcade shuffle: for my little viddy games lol. sorry for being a #gamergirl but yes it happens sadly ,,moving on

jet jump jive: for songs

at the pictures: for movies,, like imagine im going "cant talk im at the pictures wheee ^_^"

there is such a great distance between now and later: to track my art and writing progress but i barely use it cause it barely draw or write these days i blame the wave of despair that washeth over me

proof of concept: photos i took but there's like almost nothing here

misc that are just funny 2 me like i do it 4 a little chuckle i deserve it:

screw it posting hole - for hole the band

bowies in spaaace - for bowie, after the flight of the concords song cmon its a little funny at least cmon now

twink speaks- for twin peaks lol

#this all feels very self-congratulatory i apologise my love #but everytime i get the chance to talk i never shut up #oh well i still love and try to be loved in return #but never equal measure #scales are a precarious thing you never know when you'll find yourself on the wrong side of balance #soft whispers under moonlight #long post

[apoptoses]

💖 What made you start writing? 🧠 Marius ! And/or Pandora.

💖 What made you start writing?

wow wow make me embarrass myself right out of the gate here lmao

honestly the answer is YOU, and @hekateinhell and @rainbowcarousels. like i inhaled all you guys's fic last fall and read your meta and stuff here on tumblr and it just looked like you were all having so much fun and being creative? and then i thought maybe if i tried writing and liked it, other people would talk to me about armand and i could make VC friends. and look at us now!!

and i've always been a maladaptive daydreamer, whenever i get a new blorbo i end up playing out scenes about them in my head so i thought maybe writing would be a good outlet for those thoughts. and then instead of being a weirdo who stares into space thinking about armand getting fucked dumb i would be ~plotting~ and my adhd symptom would become something productive lmao

i wish i had some deeper, more inspirational reason but 'i wanna make friends and put my weirdo thoughts to good use' is really all there is to it.

🧠 Marius ! And/or Pandora.

okay okay marius head canons, let's go:

cat guy. like cats were highly respected in ancient rome and as a guy who likes to own fine things, he would not have been down to have pests in the house. so he's always been the type to sit out food for local strays and have a favorite or two he lets wander his home. i like to imagine him giving some philosophical monologue to pandora about how vampires are similar to cats, they're both instinctual killers and pandora being like 'are you really trying to mansplain cats to me in order to justify to yourself how much you enjoy petting the stray that lives in your garden?'

i see him being a really thoughtful gift giver. he has such a hard time expressing remorse and admitting he did something wrong, so he became great at picking out presents to compensate. and besides he just has great taste. definitely the guy everyone in auvergne wants to pull their name the year lestat insists on playing the mortal game of 'secret santa'.

i feel like it would be easy to assume he hates modern art because he's such a classicist. and maybe he did at first, he didn't get the purpose of painting with such a seeming 'lack' of technique until he stood in front of a rothko himself. and with his vampire vision he saw all the subtle variations in red that covered the canvas and he got it, he was deeply moved.

definitely went all in on architecture during the egpytian revival period and had home with a facade that replicated an ancient temple. (this didn't make akasha give him any special attention. not that he would admit to hoping for that or anything, he was just keeping up with the times, obviously)

he and daniel briefly terrorized a pub trivia night by sweeping every category every time they showed up until the owner gently requested they not come back since other patrons were tired of losing. he can't help that he's well read and his companion has a great wealth of knowledge on pop culture, okay?? mortals these days are such sore losers.

some guys are into shoes, some are into watches, we know from canon that he loves gloves and so he absolutely has a pair of bespoke leather gloves in every color for every occasion. driving gloves, white lambskin gloves for formal events, fur lined gloves for winter, he has multiple drawers in his closet for his collection. no i don't need smut with him doing obscene things to someone while wearing these gloves for kinktober why do you ask

i could go on but THERE YOU GO, i hope my niche and useless thoughts about him were entertaining at least 🥰

#apoptoses answers #vc headcanons

[jing-yuans-wife]

Ok so thank you anon. I know you were waiting for this, so here we doing the headcanons or top 3 kinks of these turtle boys~.

💙Leonardo💙

Oh boy this leader right here has these kinks:

*BDSM! [Or Shibari since he's deep into Japanese culture.] The term Sensei definitely gets him going. Call him that and he will be having you scream out that word until morning.

*Sensorplay[like using a blindfold] he wants to feel in control, this shows how he can be the dominant one. He has you in his control as he could never have that full authority over his brothers as a leader.

*Oh my, well this kink will tell you a lot about him. The praise kink. He's a leader sure, however giving him that tiny bit of praise will really get him in a mood. The praise he receives from his brothers is different to the type he receives from you.

❤️Raphael❤️

*Daddy kink. This man just screams this title and no ways can you convince him otherwise. The way he carries himself, and that soul melting smirk that will get you screaming his proudly deemed title for all to hear.

*Body worship kink. He will praise and worship every inch of your body, no matter the shape. You can have scars or even stretch marks, he will make you feel like a super model. With all his insecurities he might have, he refuses to have you downgrade yourself at all.

*Spanking kink. Oh boy, if you got booty then be ready everytime you walk around a corner and he is there. His hand will make contact every single time. This man will shamelessly spank your booty every moment in time he gets.

💜Donatello💜

Ok so his kinks are self explanatory:

* Doctor kink, he is the medic among his brothers. So the moment you call him doctor a switch is flipped. Be ready to get thouroughly examined.

*Switch Kink: When you both became physical, he was shy and has no confidence in himself to act upon his desires. You were mainly the one that takes the lead.. at first. The more you became physical, the more he has researched and soon started act upon his desires. Never knew being the dominant one could get his blood pumping.

*Professor Kink: He's a genius. We all knew this. He may teach you the statistics of science, but he will teach you how to pleasure yourself (may or may not have a kink of watching you pleasure yourself). If you don't do what you've been told, he will give a pop quiz. Fail, and you will be denied of orgasms. So tread carefully when the professor is in the classroom.

🧡Michelangelo🧡

Ok this boy is quite the charmer I must admit. So be prepared for his kinks are also self explanatory due to his position as the more extroverted of the brothers.

*Paint play, this shows his creative side. Your body is his canvas that brings him inspiration.

*Voyeurism, ok the fact hes extroverted and adventurous means he's also daring. The thrill of getting caught gets him going.

Role Play, well the guy loves videogames. If you dress as his favourite female character from that game ,then oh my you will have him go absolutely wild!.

[Apologies about my posting and taking down and posting here again!. My phone took me to wrong blog.]

@dilucsflame33 thank you for been such a special friend. Enjoy this ask and im taging others now!

@fyreball66

@mistyroselove

@turtle-babe83

@thelaundrybitch

@leosgirl82

@raphsweapondealer

@skeezpyuff

@bombergrrl

@tangledredstringsoffate

[sheltiechicago]

Entering The Enchanting Realm Of Robert Burden’s Playful Paintings

Robert Burden’s Toy Box collection is a nostalgic journey through childhood memories and imagination. The California-based artist creates stunning oil on canvas paintings that combine action figures with intricate decorative motifs. These colorful characters and stories transport the viewer back to a time of joy and boundless imagination.

#robert burden #artist #art #painter #paintings #toy box collection #pop culture #pop art #california-based artist #oil on canvas paintings #action figures #batman

[jamieroxxartist]

Good Morning Social Media! Today’s featured #Spotify #Playlist is: This Is #TheClash ; Mei Ling and I feature a new playlist daily. It’s what I have on here in the studio while I Paint and work. You can Listen as well, for FREE, both here at the Link and on the Pop Culture BLOG at my website: www.JamieRoxx.us enjoy :)

#SpotifyPlaylist 🎧: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/37i9dQZF1DZ06evO2fKbHG

🎂 Happy Birthday. Today, Dec 15, 1955 – #PaulSimonon, English singer-songwriter and bass player (The Clash and #Havana3am) was born.

#PunkRock, #NewWave, #PostPunk, #Reggae, #AlternativeRock, #RockandRoll

Featured here: A #Painting I painted a few years ago:

‘#Boots’

2009, acrylic and oil blend on canvas, 18"x24" by @ArtistJamieRoxx #JamieRoxx ( www.JamieRoxx.us ) This Sold Painting is Not Available.

#PopArt #Punk #Stilllife

. . . #Blog #Art #LifeattheBeach #ArtistsLife #BestFriends #SharPei #Painter #NeoNoir

#The Clash #Spotify #Playlist #Art Studio #PunkRock #NewWave #PostPunk #Reggae #AlternativeRock #RockandRoll #Blog #Art #LifeattheBeach #ArtistsLife #BestFriends #SharPei #Painter #NeoNoir #Jamie Roxx #Painting #Pop Art

[abwwia]

Deborah Kass, 12 Red Barbras (the Jewish Jackie Series), 1993, acrylic and screenprint on canvas, 60 x 54 x 2 inches.

Photo : Courtesy the artist and Kavi Gupta, Chicago. Deborah Kass (born 1952) is an American artist whose work explores the intersection of pop culture, art history, and the construction of self. Deborah Kass works in mixed media, and is most recognized for her paintings, prints, photography, sculptures and neon lighting installations. Via Wikipedia

#Deborah Kass #art by women #art #palianshow

[visit-new-york]

The Mall

Here are a few attractions and activities associated with the Central Park Mall:

Horse-Drawn Carriages: Visitors can often spot horse-drawn carriages offering rides along The Mall and other parts of Central Park. It's a charming and nostalgic way to explore the park while taking in the scenic beauty.

Public Art Installations: Central Park frequently hosts temporary art installations, and The Mall is no exception. These installations can include sculptures, art exhibitions, and interactive displays, adding an artistic dimension to the natural surroundings.

Cherry Blossom Season: In the spring, The Mall is a popular spot to admire the blooming cherry blossoms that line the pathway. The delicate pink and white blossoms create a stunning contrast against the green canopy of elm trees.

Wedding Photography: The Mall is a favorite location for wedding photography. Couples often choose this spot for its romantic ambiance and picturesque setting, with the tree-lined path providing a dreamy backdrop for their wedding photos.

Historical Lamp Posts: The Mall features distinctive cast-iron lamp posts with decorative scrollwork. These historic lamp posts contribute to the park's old-world charm and are especially enchanting when illuminated at night.

Birdwatching: Central Park is a haven for birdwatchers, and The Mall is no exception. The combination of trees and open space attracts a variety of bird species, making it an excellent spot for birdwatching.

Summer Performances: During the summer months, The Mall often hosts outdoor performances, including concerts, theater productions, and dance recitals. These events are a delightful way to enjoy culture in a natural setting.

Community and Social Gatherings: The Mall is a gathering place for various community and social activities. From picnics to group yoga sessions, it's a space where people come together to enjoy the outdoors and connect with one another.

Fall Foliage: In the fall, The Mall transforms into a canvas of vibrant autumn colors as the elm trees change their leaves. The sight of golden, orange, and red foliage makes it a must-visit destination for leaf peepers.

Quiet Reflection: Amidst the activities and events, The Mall also offers moments of quiet reflection. Many visitors come here to find solitude, read a book, or simply enjoy a peaceful pause from the demands of city life.

Accessibility: The Mall is wheelchair and stroller accessible, making it a welcoming space for visitors of all mobility levels. Its wide, paved pathway allows for easy navigation.

Winter Village: During the holiday season, Central Park often sets up a Winter Village near The Mall. This festive area includes an ice-skating rink, holiday market, and seasonal decorations, adding to the charm and festivity of the park during wintertime.

Educational Opportunities: The Mall's natural setting and historical significance provide opportunities for educational programs and guided tours. Visitors can learn about the park's history, ecology, and the significance of its design.

A Venue for Proposals: The Mall's romantic atmosphere and beautiful surroundings make it a popular spot for marriage proposals. Many couples choose this location to pop the question, creating lasting memories amid the natural beauty.

Historical Preservation: The Central Park Conservancy and other organizations are dedicated to the preservation and maintenance of The Mall and its surroundings. Their efforts ensure that this iconic feature remains a captivating destination for generations to come.

Artistic Inspiration: Artists and writers have long been drawn to The Mall for its inspirational setting. Many have found creative inspiration while sketching, painting, or writing beneath the canopy of trees.

Cross-Cultural Appeal: The Mall's design and ambiance transcend cultural boundaries, making it a beloved place for people from diverse backgrounds to appreciate nature and find solace in a bustling city.

Central Park Tours: Various guided tours of Central Park include stops at The Mall, providing participants with insights into the park's history, design, and natural elements.

Iconic Views: As you stroll down The Mall, you'll encounter several vantage points that offer stunning views of Central Park's landscapes, including the picturesque Bethesda Terrace and the Central Park Lake.

Recreation Opportunities: Beyond leisurely strolls, The Mall provides space for activities such as frisbee, yoga, and picnicking. It's a versatile location where visitors can engage in a wide range of recreational pursuits.

The Mall in Central Park continues to be a beloved and ever-evolving destination within this iconic urban park. Its ability to offer a unique experience in each season and its appeal to a broad range of interests make it a cherished and enduring part of the Central Park experience. Whether you're seeking natural beauty, cultural enrichment, or a tranquil escape, The Mall delivers an enchanting experience in the heart of New York City.

In conclusion, The Mall in Central Park is a multifaceted destination that caters to a wide range of interests and experiences. Its natural beauty, cultural significance, and seasonal transformations make it a beloved and enduring part of Central Park's charm, providing both New Yorkers and visitors with a tranquil and enchanting urban escape.

#The Mall #New York City #new york #newyork #New-York #nyc #NY #manhattan #urban #city #USA #buildings #visit-new-york.tumblr.com #Central Park

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post) so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2023 or future years to help inspire you.

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Single-page and multi-page comics

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Stained glass/suncatcher

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks

Sculptures

Ceramic mugs and other items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls)

Tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog toys

Artbooks and paper doll books

Hand dyed yarn skeins

DIGITAL

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr layouts

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game coding

WRITING

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 30, 11:59 PM ET.

#marvel trumps hate #mth 2023 #announcement