Fruity Rumpus Asshole Factory

hello instagram artist. your challenge is to do a portrait study of a woman but you’re not allowed to stylize them so their eyes are really big and more cat eyed than the reference photo. You’re also not allowed to make their noses more of a button nose or their lips full and pouty or their faces heart shaped with no double chin. Also you have to draw a fat woman. one thats actually fat and not just slightly curvier than the kpop demon hunters body type. good luck

thinking today about the line “you know i am not kind” and that discussion between art and murderbot about its governor module. thinking today about the line “there are no humans here” and “now that we are friends” and murderbot and art trusting each other with their respective humans, and trusting each other with humans that are neither of theirs really but that they don’t want to bury anyway. thinking about how much art feels, and how much it hides away, and how much it shows murderbot at all times that it is the one person that it holds above any other being and hiding it behind comfortable banter and the strange intimacy of being able to exist within someone else’s head, even just in part. the equally strange intimacy of allowing someone else there as well, giving them your eyes and your ears and enough of the power you have at your disposal that even the squishy little fragile humans around you take notice of the effort. thinking about art today and how much it obviously loves and adores murderbot, knowing that it is not kind and it is not forgiving and it would destroy an entire planet just to get it back, but also asking it to stay even though it knows that it has left everyone else that has ever tried to keep it

Love not having a ”””fandom””” specific blog. Something new will just consume my mind and everyone has to accept it. My house

“autism wouldn’t have been difficult before capitalism” “nothing that caused me burnout existed before industrialization” well what if your boots feel weird against your skin. and your cape is itchy and too heavy. and your brooch keeps making an annoying sound everytime you move and this party is too loud and you’re hungry and there’s pigeon stew but you can’t stand the texture of pigeon so you ate some olives and now your hands feel oily and gross and you drank a little bit too much wine (bc there’s no clear water. also it was too bitter) so now your head hurts and you feel a little hot but not hot enough to take your cape off and you promised this time we leave when I asked, Aurelius! you promised! and don’t forget we still have a three hour ride back home you promised it’s not going to be like last time! or something of the sort.

the ‘Life only started sucking in the 19th century’ attitude as anti-capitalist praxis is truly hilarious like. personally, if the sun was even a tiny little bit too hot on the back of my neck while i was being kidnapped and taken as a war captive after *insert empire here* conquered my home i wouldve been pissed. praefectus if the shackles feel weird on my skin im killing us both

love the scene where the lights went out on the ship and Grace told Rocky to panic only for Rocky to be like “why what happened” cuz Grace forgot he couldn’t see. I imagine that kind of slip up happened many times on the way to Erid, and with the inverse of Rocky being “did u hear that” before remembering humans can’t hear as many frequencies as Eridians

Rocky probably thinks it's so funny that he can block Grace's line of sight and boom, Grace just can't see something.

americans are a saudi oil baron's idea of classy. brits are an american's idea of classy. the french are a brit's idea of classy. unfortunately the chain ends here since the french's idea of classy is also the french