Latest Posts by pluckedchicken - Page 5

i am some sort of fey creature and my cat is the human who i have arbitrarily decided is my favorite human.

Mutiny

tumblr should have a pin comment button but shoutout to this one <3

wind turbines are so beautiful, so tall so elegant, renewable energy u r so sexy

one thing no one ever teaches you is that you can just make things nicer and more intentional- you can take your energy drink, pour it in a rocks glass over ice with a slice of lime on the rim, and sip it slow. and you'll think, "wow i am the biggest faggot to have ever lived". and you know what? you're right.

I'll unalive you

six feet deep

I am mourning

I am mourning for the person I was once

I am mourning the person I could've been

I am mourning my innocence

I am mourning for the young love I never got to experience

I am mourning the girl who couldn't defend herself

I am mourning the little girl who wanted nothing but togetherness

I am mourning the little girl who dreamt of a prince who'd one day sweep her off her feet

I am mourning the woman they would've been proud of

I am mourning the woman I should be

I am mourning

I will never stop because there is still so much I have buried

having audio processing issues is so humiliating like yeah i heard you and yeah i was actively listening but the problem is i dont know what the fuck you sayed

If you're reading this, you're on Tumblr!

‘A good tragedy is always both preventable and inevitable’ is one of my main hills to die on. It’s literally so important to me. I’m fucking correct

~~PROPERTY OF RAY SMITH~~

Memories are the foundation of what we base our perception of reality and even our own selves off of, and those memories ultimately make up who we are and how we interact with our external world. Recently, I feel that I've been forgetting many of mine. You always expect that when you forget something like a major memory, you can feel that something is missing. I've learned that often times you don't even notice you're forgetting something until something comes up to suggest that you should know what it is, but you simply don't.

Like waking up in a bedroom you don't recognise after a night out of drinking. You can remember going out to the bar with your friends, you can remember talking and laughing, and you remember this person you didn't know coming and talking to you. You know you keep drinking with them, but you don't actually remember much past that point. You can assume you slept with whoever you were talking to before your memory runs a blank, but you don't know for certain.

Next comes what I tend to think of as the most terrifying part of the process.

Later in the day you talk to the friends you went out with again, and they fill in some blanks for you. You now know you actually went to a hotel with someone else who wore an outfit absolutely blindingly neon orange, definitely not the person you remember talking to. You look through your phone, checking your camera roll and texts. You see a couple videos of yourself very drunkenly dancing with your friends and someone wearing neon orange, but there's always too much movement and poor lighting for you to recognize a their face. You also see some texts from an unknown number talking about how wild last night was, and how they are they ran into you. Based on all the information you collected, you assume this unknown number is the person who was wearing neon orange, the two of went back to the hotel and slept together, and they left before you woke up.

When you retell this story in the future you say that you were talking to this really cool person who you got bored of after 10 minutes before your friends, being the saviors they are, dragged you away from them and you all started dancing. It didn't take long after that for this really attractive person with admittedly bad clothing taste started dancing with you. One thing lead to another and you ended up sleeping with them in the hotel, giving them your number before they left.

The actual events of that night looked more like this: The person you remember talking to got wine spilt on them and left the bar in a huff. Shortly after your friends dragged you up and you all started dancing. Next, you see your brothers ex in the bar, and drag them up to start dancing too (you had always liked this ex). The two of you leave the bar together and stumble drunkenly through downtown as you talk about your brother. By pure bad luck your brother spots the two of you while driving, pulls over, astounded to see the two of you together. His ex says they have a hotel room booked, and your brother agrees to give his ex a ride there, and offer's you his couch to sleep on. By the time you get to the hotel your brother and the ex don't seem to be very broken up anymore. The ex gives you the room key, and you stay in their hotel room while your brother and the ex meant to go back to your brother's place first, but don't quite make it that far. The text you receive the next morning from an unknown number is your brother, who's number you never saved out of spite.

The human ability to completely forget memories without a trace and rewrite memories scares me more than death; more than life.

I am no author, but I need to get this written down. I don't want to forget who I am.

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

I Wish for Liberation

I sit in the dark, my thoughts a storm of fragments, and I wish, not with the innocence of a child but with the bitter clarity of experience, that you would feel the weight of every wound you gave.

do you know the sharp sting of betrayal, the cruel echo of a lie, the loneliness that wraps around the heart like a shroud?

I want you to know the hollow ache of waiting, the gnawing uncertainty that burrows deep, the sleepless nights stretched out in their endless, aching expanse.

I want the weight of your own choices to press down on you, heavy and relentless, until you understand the pressure that drove me to despair, until you feel a trace of my sorrow settling like dust in your own empty spaces.

you, who sculpted misery with your hands, who wielded cruelty like a blade, are you aware of the echoes you left? do you hear them whisper in your dreams, the ache you wove so effortlessly into my days?

i could wish for storms to ravage your calm, for the sky to crack open with lightning that rends the fabric of your peace, for the tremors of regret to shake your foundation.

yet, even as I wish this, I realize that suffering does not heal, that the flames of revenge only scorch the hands that wield them.

so, instead, I let the weight of my sorrow settle, a quiet confession to the universe that sometimes I crave for the scales to tip,

for the pain to be known, but mostly,

I wish for liberation, for the shackles of my anger to fall away, and for a heart that no longer clings to the shadows of the past.

so I let the wish drift, a bitter gust of wind that fades into the void, and I turn away, searching for a release from this desire, for a way to mend the broken pieces without adding more shards to the world’s already jagged heart.

S.T. 2024

santa rosalia by roberto ferri(1978) oil on canvas

the shepherd david by elizabeth bouguereau(1895)

dancers by franz von stuck(1896)

perseus slaying medusa by laurent-honore marqueste(1903)

my singing voice is good for showers and mornings in the kitchen and drunken nights and lullabies for babies who need sleep and im okay with this

Roses without thorns Wings without horns Skin stained in color Still, I grow duller

I've painted a lot of glass wings, and now I want to explore all the possibilities with stained glass wings. What's your favorite type of stained glass? I love nature so anything botanical or starry would be my fav.

The 3 hours long process videos will be DMed on my Patreon on August 5th

Gonna sound insane but I actually rlly don’t understand the rampant obsession with becoming famous/ going viral that’s rampant in so many ppl today regardless of age. As I get older, everyday I wish to share less of myself and less of my work. I want to be alone with the people I love and surrounded by safe and loving connection. I want a life where I’ve released my burdens and my heart is full with love. I just want to come home to the man I feel at home with and make dinner before we both fall asleep on the couch. I don’t want to be known beyond that, not even on a local level.

✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨

🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋

✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨

💛✨🍋✨ MANIFESTING✨🍋✨💛

✨🍋✨happy outcomes and✨💛✨

🍋✨💛good news in August💛✨🍋

✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨

💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛

✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨🍋✨💛✨

“Home is where the trees look normal” is the sweetest, saddest, most nostalgic truth I’ve ever heard.

i think i’ve sewn my heart a little too tightly onto my sleeve

I hate this! Thanks! :D

If zombies were real, you wouldn't first be warned by the approaching horde by their smell, by their groans, not even a cloud of smoke of the dust they raise coming closer from the horizon. It would be the flies. Hordes and hordes of insects, corpse-flies laying eggs on the carcasses of people who still walk, eating the eyeballs from their sockets, climbing across their unfeeling leathery skin. And the buzzing. The inescapable, deafening buzzing. Everywhere. Like you did not just kick a hornet's nest, but the very ground you walk on was a hornet nest, and each step caused another explosion of insects.

Insects, corpse flies, the buzzing. Their swarms blacken the skies, more horrifying than their migrating meals. The deafening cacophony of constant buzzing, the horrid noise of the living who feast on the dead who feast on the living. The buzzing.

The endless, inescapable buzzing.

not to sound traumatized, but it feels unreal that someone can just miss you and want you around so often. I feel like every worry within me keeps repeating, “until when? until when?” and the people I love and that love me confirm, “as long as you’d like.”

This is in no way the best way to post it but it is the only way I could get the format to stay

You're not immune to being the bully btw. You're not immune to being in the wrong

mary oliver, upstream

Once you acknowledge the feeling it’s easier for it to fade away. Unless the feeling is gay. Ever since i realised i’m gay i only kept gaining gayness it’s like levelling up.

I bought a nice storage box at an estate sale without looking inside, and it was full of 8mm home videos.

It should be the start of a horror movie, and it kind of is, in the way that we see the past.

The films were made by a young, rural father throughout the 40s-50s filming in excessive and loving detail his baby son and homely but sweet-looking wife. The things that he chose to film belie this idea of “traditional family values” and masculinity, especially in the American and Canadian West (it’s unclear what side of the border they were living on.)

This young man was trying creative and artistic ideas with his hobby (his camera), like filming his wife doing her hair through the mirror, lots of landscapes, and flowers growing in their tiny garden.

The thing that struck me so much was the complete adoration of his family, in a way that might not be “50s Dad-Husband.” He’s spending hours of film taking care of and documenting teaching his son to garden. He sets up the camera to film himself and his wife laughing while doing the dishes. He gives her a gag gift of an apron for Christmas and she throws it at him while laughing. Her real present was a pair of hiking boots, which she is adorably delighted by.

This family was working poor, with a tiny rural house, and the home films capture warts and all. Instead of “Leave It To Beaver” dynamics, we have a family who should embody what people think of as the worst (or best) of 50s families, but absolutely do not.

The 50s weren’t the glossy advertising version that conservatives want to “return to”. This family was poor, and the camera was clearly the one hobby that the husband allowed himself. The young parents are delighted but exhausted. They are sharing housework. The homely but adorable young mother has terribly crooked teeth and wears overalls in the garden. Dinner parties include a surprisingly diverse group of friends.

I think the estate sale was after the death of the (now elderly) little boy in the films.

We can’t go back to an era that didn’t exist in the way that we assume it did. Even the 50s were full of complex and interesting people who weren’t just Suzy Homemakers and Pipe-smoking Fathers.

My point is that history is more complicated than we think. We can’t go back to a world that only existed in advertisements, and there were people living and loving each other throughout history.

I was struck by how much this young father loved his family and was so invested in his child and partner. He wouldn’t fit into any “traditional masculinity” molds, but he was delighted by his camera and capturing the things important to him. I’m so glad that I got to see his life through his eyes.

garden gnomes are old tech, i want garden gremlins. truly horrifying little rat bastards lurking in the undergrowth.

Original

Ooh! Your project seems totally cool, and I'd love to join, but is having Ao3 required?

Thank you!! I’m really glad you love it and maybe even wanna join it, but absolutely no Ao3 or even Tumblr account is required! The project itself—once we get to posting it—will be on one of my—Camila’s—existing Ao3 accounts so there is no need for it there, and including your socials/contact info to find you in other places is completely optional so you can completely choose what to include! So… yeah, an Ao3 account is absolutely not necessary!