occasionally NSFW sideblog for everything i don't watch and a few [several] other things that ended up here by accident [also: by "i don't watch" i really do mean that; if i mis-tag sg just let me know]
Project Hail Mary's been on my mind for a month-ish now, and I'm loving the book so far, so it naturally follows that I had to make a Rocky at some point. Here he is.
Made out of aluminum foil, epoxy putty, wire, and painted with acrylics. He's fully poseable, and has articulated hands. I tried to be as on-model to movie Rocky as possible.
👎👎
Fun to make. I'll probably get around to making him his party dress (bits of wire), and maybe even a ball eventually (so he not die in Grace atmosphere), so stay tuned for that.
earlier this week Twitter user ppuccin0 tweeted about a fashion article that advised against tops with large floral patterns, saying the wearer was in danger of looking like a "ロマンティックおばさん," or a "romantic auntie." the tweet went viral with many agreeing that a "romantic auntie" sounded like a very nice thing to aspire to be, and some even posted illustrations or photos tagged with the trend
illustration by Toyota Yuu (author of Cherry Magic)
illustration by 141shkw/Sora Midori (author of Beautiful Curse)
photos by Takinami Yukari (author of Motokare Mania and Watashi-tachi wa Mutsuu Ren'ai ga Shitai or "We Want A Painless Romance")
illustration by m:m (mangaka of Matataki no End Roll)
illustration by ooinuai (mangaka of Onikui Kitan)
illustration by ma2 (mangaka of The Reason We Fall In Love)
Last night I finished reading Alena by Rachel Pastan, a novel modeled on Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca (just one of many classic novels I’ve never read.) I’ve always had a special fondness for books that have their roots in other books and novels that play with well-known literary works, so even though I always gripe about books that I find out about via NPR, when I read their blurb on Alena, I immediately perked up because I was intrigued by the idea of Rebecca set as a contemporary narrative that takes place largely in and around an art museum.
When Julie, a curatorial assistant for what she refers to as “the Midwestern Museum of Art”, meets Bernard Augustin at the Venice Biennale, she is immediately intrigued. Augustin is the founder of a well-known contemporary art museum on Cape Cod - a museum that has been shuttered since the mysterious disappearance of its curator, Alena. Over the course of the Biennale, Augustin and Julie begin to see each other as kindred spirits in the art world, and Augustin spontaneously invites Julie to assume the vacant curatorial position at his museum.
When Julie arrives on Cape Cod, she is greeted by a frosty museum staff who draw endless comparisons between her and the enigmatic Alena. Naturally, Julie is always coming up short. Tasked with reopening the shuttered museum, Julie struggles to put together her first exhibition while navigating the tensions between herself and the staff and her vision for the museum and Alena’s lingering presence. Things don’t get easier when the investigation into Alena’s death is reopened in light of evidence that suggests she may have been murdered.
Alena is by no means perfect, but it was a quick, gripping read. It’s just as much a meditation on the role of contemporary art and the challenges experienced by female professionals in the workplace (uggghhhh that phrase feels gross to me, but I don’t know how else to say it) as it is a novel about struggling to find a place in the world that you feel can be truly yours.
Read it with: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. NOT. I’ve never read Rebecca, so it’s for sure not my place to tell you to read it. But do you know what I have read? Daphne by Justine Picardie. Daphne is one of those books that feels like a “creative” disseration - it got lousy reviews, but I liked it. Daphne is a novel with a handful of parallel plots - a young researcher is exploring the connection between Daphne du Maurier and Branwell Bronte while in another timeline du Maurier feverishly seeks to earn a reputation as a serious writer by working on a biography of Branwell. I read it knowing nothing about Daphne du Maurier or Branwell Bronte and enjoyed it just fine, thanks.
another goofy little thing inspired by this afternoon’s 90s shuffle. more below the cut because it’s a little longer than the last one, would be gen if not for language.
november 2024
tommy wasn’t scheduled to work thanksgiving, but fortunately he was able to switch.
he needs to keep busy.
except, when he walks into harbor for his shift, there’s a big basket of what looks like homemade baked goods, adorned with an obnoxious neon yellow card with KINARD in pissed-off sharpie block print on it.
as he gets closer, he notices a silver cd in a slim clear case with ASSHOLE MIX #52 written on it in the same scrawl.
that narrows it down a bit.
there’s an 18% chance the baked goods, even if they look delicious, aren’t laced with ex-lax.
which: is fitting. he deserves that.
he’s a bit early for his shift, so he takes the cd back out to his truck.
the familiar crush of basket case scrapes his eardrums.
yeah, he deserves that too.
he skips to the next track.
basket case.
and the next.
basket case again.
and again, and again, and again, until it’s back to track 1, basket case.
seventeen tracks, all skips, because it’s all fucking basket case.
tommy’s phone vibrates in his pocket.
it’s a text from howie: did you get it yet.
tommy snorts.
before he can reply, another text comes in.
CALL HIM FOR FUCKS SAKE
and another, mimicking the barrage of basket case: our freezers are FULL it’s YOUR TURN
freezers? tommy manages to sneak in before howie continues:
the baking. THE BAKING!!! and the—EVERYTHING
and: i know youre an ASSHOLE tommy but could you at least give the guy some closure hes not haunting your apartment this time he is haunting MY COUCH and MY KITCHEN PLEASE FIX IT
tommy’s consciousness swirls back to a sun-dappled gravesite and our people are what make life worth living and—
he’s a better man than i, howie writes. he didn’t put any SURPRISES in the goods. tho he thought he was making them for my precious daughter, not an ASSHOLE
there’s a story there, tommy thinks, and all of a sudden he yearns for evan.
howie sends him the shia leboeuf DO IT gif.
before his brain catches up with the rest of him, tommy fires off, in a different thread: can we talk?
within seconds, evan replies: tomorrow after shift, the place with the pistachio scones?
and, seconds after that, from howie: YOU HAVE TAKEN FIVE YEARS OFF MY LIFE
add it to my tab 🥰, tommy replies.
i will, you absolute fucker, howie zings. btw you should try the cherry chocolate chunk muffins. he cried about you into the batter
tommy startles when there’s a knock on his window.
“you good?” donato asks, concern creasing her forehead. distantly, tommy registers that basket case fm is still playing loudly from his speakers. repeatedly. all basket case, all the time.
tommy’s feeling a lot, actually. a lot of big things, not the least of which is a boatload of shame as he pictures evan crying over a mixing bowl because of tommy.
but: evan readily, quickly, agreed to meet, almost like he wants to see tommy, even after—after.
and tommy’s very curious about the bounty of sneak-laxative-free baked goods waiting for him in the station.
he nods and turns off the radio and opens the door of his truck. “i will be,” he says, quietly but sure as he stands tall and rolls his shoulders.
“fuck yeah,” donato says as she punches him lightly in the bicep. “there he is.”
“why do some fanfic writers write non-con fics when it’s for the sake of smut and romanticized?”
some victims and survivors use dark fiction to cope and heal from their trauma, because in their fics, they are in control of what happens. they can turn the table and turn what happens into something that’s not traumatizing. and they can do that because they don’t owe you anything.
it’s a kink to some people, even though they were never victims. people can enjoy it and find it hot because at the end of the day it’s just a fantasy. it’s not real. they don’t owe you anything.
it’s cathartic and/or therapeutic to some to see their favorite fictional characters suffer. that’s why whump is such a popular trope; people love putting their fictional little guys through hell. non-con is a part of whump. and these people don’t owe you anything.
fanfic writers can write whatever they want, however they want. they don’t owe you anything.
I also suggest that you look up cnc kink and why so many couples are into it.
there's a delicate balance between "seeing something on my dash so often i end up caring about it unexpectedly" and "seeing something on my dash so often that it gets added to the blocked list with extreme prejudice"
Okay but imagine being the team of Eridian scientists tasked with keeping Erid's Only Human alive for as long as possible while the whole planet's environment is literally trying to kill him. And then Rocky shows up and is like:
“Grace says he would like half of dome to be water.”
“Oh, is necessary for humans to have large amounts of water question?”
Small Eridian equivalent of a sigh. “No. Not needed for life. In fact Grace will die if he falls in water and does not get out.”
“Tell him we give him water in containers that won't kill him. Lots lots lots of water on Erid for Grace to drink.”
“No. Grace say he want water on ground. Also want it with excess sodium chloride compound so it will be unhealthy for drink.”
To celebrate Erid getting their sun back on track, Grace asks for some alcohol. There's a small amount left from the Hail Mary and Rocky offers to take it to the science Eridians to see if they can synthesise more.
“Grace want this liquid for celebration.”
“Of course.” They scan it. “You have wrong liquid. This contain compounds which are poisonous for humans.”
“Yes yes yes. Grace say humans like feeling of being slightly poisoned.”