hi marta!

I’m a little late to the party, but I loved Mark’s Outlast 2 play-thru and no one requested anything so here you go. Hopefully I will be able to post more stuff more regularly now that school is done. I’ve got quite a few markiplier videos to go through too so there will be more like this soon. Im warning you though, I’m a little out of practice haha

Marcel Breuer and his ‘Harem’. Marta Erps-Breuer, Katt Both and Ruth Hollos-Consemüller, 1927.

The photo, taken by Consemüller, a student and photographer at the #Bauhaus, captures the junior master Marcel #Breuer around 1927. The title of the picture refers to the women standing next to him as Breuer’s ‘harem’. The women appear self-confident, with cool gazes and tousled shocks of short hair, and in modern dress. Marcel Breuer is looking at his companions sceptically, with his arms crossed. These are ‘my’ women?! © Klassik Stiftung Weimar / Bauhaus

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Marcel Breuer and his ‘Harem’. Marta Erps-Breuer, Katt Both and Ruth Hollos-Consemüller, 1927.

The photo, taken by Consemüller, a student and photographer at the Bauhaus, captures the junior master Marcel Breuer around 1927. The title of the picture refers to the women standing next to him as Breuer’s ‘harem’. The women appear self-confident, with cool gazes and tousled shocks of short hair, and in modern dress. Marcel Breuer is looking at his companions sceptically, with his arms crossed. These are ‘my’ women?!

© Klassik Stiftung Weimar / Bauhaus

evakerlitvet  asked:

hi^__^how r u Marta? so since i've got a terrible cold AND since i haven't read any sick malec headcanons yet, i'd love to talk about that! what do u think sick magnus/alec is like? which one of them acts like a drama queen and constantly nags the other to bring him some food etc.? i think alec would literally never pay attention to his cold, just bc he'd have a lot of work to do. "its just a cold, it'll go away itself soon, Magnus". And Mags obvs disagreeing and taking care of his baby :") awee

you know, i actually feel like alec would be a drama queen whilst having a cold

because his whole life he had to be this tough guy, always ready to fight demons and protect his family, he always had to take care of everyone

and being with magnus allows him to be himself. he’s okay with others taking care of him for once
(and let’s face it, we can all deal with a horrible pain but when we’re having a cold, it’s like we’re dying, right?)

so imagine this…

“maaaaagnus, i’m dying here,” alec says and sneezes a second later. “this is it, please make a beautiful speech at my funeral,” he adds and curls himself in a blanket on a couch.

magnus comes back from the kitchen, a mug of hot tea in his hand. he sits gently next to alec on the couch and puts the mug down on the coffee table.
he puts a hand on alec’s back and caresses it softly.

“it’s just a cold, alexander,” magnus says and tries not to laugh. his boyfriend can be so dramatic.

“no, this is death,” alec’s voice is muffled because he’s still hiding under the blanket.

“i brought you some tea,” magnus says and alec slowly uncovers himself.

“did you bring me a cookie too?” alec asks, looking at magnus.
his nose is so adorably red, his hair is a mess, he clearly has a fever. magnus just wants to hug him tight and use his magic to make alec feel better.

magnus snaps his fingers and a cookie appears right next to the mug of tea. “i did now,” he says and smiles.

“thank you, Magnus,” alec replies sheepishly and starts sipping his tea.

oh, and one thing that keeps bothering me, which of course i have talked about plenty of times, but i gotta again. because see, having arthur knight every single one of his friends, even dudes he knew for literal two seconds (like percival, for example, or later even mordred), but leave out perhaps most essential and oldest friend.

like that’s just sloppy writing to me. you have the original round table, you sit your servant who has been doing everything for you for the past couple of years, who has continuously filled the position of your right hand, and your advisor, you sit him by your right side  ——  and then he doesn’t sit at the official round table. then he’s still a bloody servant.

and sure, so was gwen, but everyone knew they would get married sooner or later. gwen was meant to be queen. but with merlin…  it would resolve so many things, beside the fact that he really deserved it, but it also would reduce a giant canyon of shit between him and arthur okay. i mean, sure it’s never stated, but merlin as good as comes from it anyway, and i just can’t see why the hell would you leave him where he was (besides arthur’s need to keep him there as a safety blanket).

and i don’t agree it’d ruin everything. in fact, i think it’d be a wise decision, because imagine this happens, imagine the magic reveal came sooner, imagine they actually started going towards the changes, and everything went to shit anyway. it wouldn’t be fulfilled, arthur would still die anyway, and he’d die when they were on more equal grounds, and it’d sting MORE. that it began, but it failed anyway.

so, instead we have a main character who came with nothing, was given nothing, and left with nothing, and oh he also can’t die even though his position was literally terrible, and he tried his best with all the shit he got, with zero help from anyone, but everyone blaming him if shit went south  ——  so let him suffer for eternity sitting on all of that wow great choice.

Dinner with Professor Watts

by Saṃsāran

It was January of 1973 when two married undergraduates at the University of California at Berkeley Marty and Mickey Ackerman attended an afternoon lecture by noted scholar Dr. Alan Wilson Watts entitled “Nothingness and the Way of Zen”. After the lecture the two students spoke with Dr. Watts at the lectern and struck up an immediate friendship. Watts mentioned that he was headed home to Sausalito for dinner and invited them to join him. Delighted the young couple followed Watts to his houseboat on the bay. 

The boat, “The Vallejo”  was good sized, two stories in fact and quaint just as one might expect. Inside it was cluttered with books, papers and artwork. The only neat space was a writing desk with an ancient manual Royal typewriter. Dr. Watts, Alan as he insisted upon being called, introduced them to a tall statuesque blonde woman woman named “Marta” who apparently spoke little English. She offered them wine and poured a scotch and soda for Alan. In a few minutes dinner was served a macrobiotic dish of lentils and spinach. After dinner they went into the living room and shared a joint which Alan fished out of a brass urn. 

So, fed and buzzed, Alan sipped at his drink but Marta kept it always topped off, they began to talk. They talked of the Vietnam war, Nixon (Alan detested the man), the failure of the ‘60s youth movement, Alan’s upcoming European tour, his new mountain cabin and his latest book “Cloud-hidden, Whereabouts Unknown”. He spoke of the early days when he experimented with mescaline and LSD with Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert (later called Ram Dass). All the time he was courteous, jovial and animated and, despite drinking tumbler after tumbler of scotch he never slurred his words or seemed in any way drunk. The conversation wandered to his work with Joseph Campbell the great American Mythologist and Philosopher and his good friend. Finally, the night having grown late, the young couple took their leave. Alan and Marta stood in the doorway of the houseboat and waved goodbye and as a parting gift Alan gave them both autographed copies of the Joyous Cosmology and invited them to come back soon.

The young couple never saw Watts again. Soon after he returned to the United States after his European tour he died in his new cabin of complications from severe lifelong alcoholism. So passed a great teacher of the Way, who, sadly lost his way.

GARRETT ALDEN is out of place in the big city.  

Born and raised in a small country town about an hour and 45 minutes outside of Oklahoma City, the middle child between an older brother and younger sister, Garrett’s always been better with people and practical skills than anything academic.  He scraped through middle school and high school with the bare minimum requirements to graduate, and doesn’t plan on ever going to college.  (His family couldn’t afford it anyway, not after his brother’s near-fatal boating accident ate up all their savings.)  Garrett spent most of his summers from the age of six until nineteen working on his Uncle Alan’s farm.  He can fix nearly anything that break, and he can get almost anything to grow.  His Aunt Marta calls it a ‘magic touch.’ 

But choosing not to pursue an education doesn’t mean he’s not smart or uncultured.  Garrett taught himself to play guitar in sixth grade, and between playing shows and working any odd construction jobs he could find, he eventually saved enough money to take a three-month-long trip through Scandinavia, the UK, and Ireland.  Garrett has always loved history despite his apathy towards school, and had the time of his life climbing around castles, meeting new people, and getting to see more of the world than most of his hometown friends ever would.  

A few years ago, one of the friends he met on the trip had relocated to DC.  Garrett came to visit and somehow found himself a job with a small construction company; he used the remainder of his funds to buy a one-way ticket.  The job with the construction company fell through after the owner’s son had to go to rehab, and decided to become a firefighter.  After a couple years, he’s finally saved enough to move closer to the station and into a place of his own… that he shares with three other people.

 As for being a roommate, Garrett is friendly and talkative, clean, and doesn’t take what isn’t his.  He does tend to play guitar during the day when he isn’t working, but will probably soundproof his room before too much longer, since he usually plays at night.  Garrett still prefers wide open skies and smaller crowds, but he knows there’s more opportunity here than he’d ever have had back home.  So he’s here for now.

anonymous asked:

Hi Marta, I read what you posted about RotE and just wanted to say this: I have lived with depression and I know how terrible it is, so please take good care of yourself and most importantly learn to protect yourself. You become less over-sensitive so that the fate of fictional characters no longer sends you into depression, because it's not good for you! I used to be like you and didn't want to change because I thought if I felt less strongly about things I'd be unfeeling and cold.

Hello anon ! Thank you for your concern and for your message, very much!!! I wanted to reply to you privately, but doesn’t work the option :/ Anyway, I’m better. I only look tumblr for the private messege or upload a drawing, but I’m get away from the publications of the AF or fandom. I’m a bit better. I have started to draw to Fitz and Fool again (after 15 days), it’s difficult, but I feel in peace with them and already I don’t cry. This has never happened before to me and I will take care for the future. I promise you :) I don’t want to think that this was a mistake; they are important to me, I only need to rest of Hobb. Fall in love with the Fool (and a Fitz) was (AND IS) wonderful, so I don’t want to forget that :) I’m better, and i will be fine soon! I promise you!! <3 Thank you much for your words!!! It’s very important for me :)

I’ll Be There.

You are a terrible girlfriend.

Or at least that was what I was being told. I knew my boyfriend was thinking it as he sat silently beside me, mindlessly scrolling through the channels of the television which he had already done a few times previously. That didn’t stop him from continuing though. My best friend had let me know what my boyfriend hadn’t, texting my phone in dramatic capitalization how I was missing out on all of the fun being holed up in my home and not at Wembley Stadium where it seemed everyone else was that day. My brother had text me to call me an idiot. My younger sister had just asked if I could buy her a FA Cup scarf or if Héctor had one he was willing to give up.

She didn’t really care if I was a terrible girlfriend.

But I knew I was. Fuck, I knew I was and even as I sat biting harshly on my now chapped lip as I stared at my boyfriend lounging in the space beside me on the couch, he wouldn’t dare look at me. Nuh uh. Not one second. It was like he was silently telling me I was not worth his gaze and I wanted to say something to him besides the stupid one hundred congratulations I had screamed in his ear when I saw him after the match. After after the match since I wasn’t there physically.

He had accepted my words then, probably too jubilant to really care or think about the fact that his girlfriend of six months (and four days) had been absent during one of the most triumphant matches of his current season. But now? Now that anger had time to settle in and replace his happiness. Now that the celebrations were over and the confetti had settled, Héctor Bellerín seemed to despise me.

I wasn’t sure why he hadn’t kicked me out of his flat yet. In fact, I was surprised. I was sure last night I would wake up outside on his doorstep instead of in his bed but nope. There I was. All tucked and fluffed between his blankets, which I was hogging as usual, and the pillow I had stolen from him in the middle of my sleep. He didn’t complain but he didn’t cuddle me closer like normal either.

There was this harsh cold air between us and I wanted to break it. I wanted to say something but I knew nothing I really said could get him to see things from my point of view without me having to be 100% truthful to him and that I wasn’t ready for.

Couldn’t we just go another season with me not attending his matches?

“What do you want for lunch?” I randomly blurted, my reflexes immediately causing my hand to smack my forehead which was a signal from my brain that I was literally as stupid as I thought I was if I thought that would be the question or sentence to get Héctor to talk to me.

“Not hungry,” he grumbled, continuing to bypass the music channels and go deeper into the movie selection. All that was on was romantic comedies and action thrillers he had seen one hundred times over and I knew he knew that.

My voice erupted into a pleading tone. “Bellz…”

“Don’t call me that.”

Bellz was my cute little nickname for my boyfriend because ‘Bae’ was just a little too common for me. He never really agreed to this cute little nickname but I attached it onto him anyway. Most of the time he let me get away with it but when he was mad, he wasn’t up for cute little names I had drummed up.

“Héctor…”

“Don’t call me that either.”

I threw my hands down in frustration against the plush couch cushion under me. “So what should I call you? Huh?”

“Nothing. Stop talking,” he shrugged.

“Are you just going to continue ignoring me like this? Because it’s annoying and I’d rather just be in my own home if so.”

“Then go home. Adiós.”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. This was not the response I wanted. “You’re such a dick.”

Héctor chuckled then, his hand rising to his chest as he looked up at me. “So now I’m the dick? Was I the same dick who missed training to attend your graduation? Or the dick who even after a long match made time to go with you to that stupid party with your stupid drunk friends who kept asking me for pictures and autographs?”

God, he was never going to let that party go.

I sunk back into the space where I sat, mumbling, “Alright. Fine. You’re not a dick.”

“I don’t need your reassurance. I know I’m not. You are and you know you are so I’m not going to bother having this argument with you.”

“It’s not like you needed me at the match. You had plenty of people there. Including Marta. There was a great chance for you two to have a photo-op with the trophy and your matching little tattoos.”

Héctor broke out into a bitter laugh that rang about the home. “Oh so now you’re going to play the whole jealous girlfriend role to deflect from the reason we’re really arguing. Would you like to get matching tattoos too? Because if so maybe we should get one of the cup. Or do you even know what it looks like since you weren’t there to see it?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh I’m being ridiculous?” It was apparent he was getting mad now, his tone raising an octave with every word he spoke though he never reached a dangerous point where I felt like he was yelling at me harshly. “Please just tell me why you can’t come out and support me? All season long I’ve been waiting for you to just show up at a match and it’s like everyone but you has made the time to come and see me. Even your parents! And yet you find these stupid little excuses to not come and support me. Are you ashamed of me or something?”

“What?! No! That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard.”

He sighed. “So what is it because I’m getting really tired of guessing…”

I sighed myself, contemplating if I should really reveal the truth to Héctor. I don’t know why I thought I could get by not showing up to his matches but I wanted to. I wanted to so bad. “I just don’t like football.”

That was probably the most blatant lie I had ever told. I had a Fernando Torres jersey hanging up in my closet that was like my most prized possession and Héctor knew that so I wasn’t surprised at all by his response. “Let’s just stop talking.” He sunk back into the couch and continued surfing the channels.

I felt defeated then. I knew I had lost any chance to duck and dodge the truth at this point because now that was all that he was willing to accept. I leaned over, straddling my leg over his lap until I was positioned on top of him.

Héctor didn’t take delight in the position. He attempted to crane his neck around me to see the flat screen I was blocking but I simply moved my body into his way, grabbing his wrist to hold it down. “I’m sorry, okay? Would you just listen to me?”

“I did and you didn’t give me any reason to continue listening.”

“I’m sorry! Give me another chance.”

“I’m listening.”

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly he raised his eyes to meet mine and before I knew it, I was spitting out all of the information I had been holding in ever since we started dating. “There’s a reason I don’t want our relationship so public yet.”

“And that reason is…?”

“Would you let me finish? I…the press are familiar with me. At least the gossip columns are. A little bit. I went on a few dates with a player before. It was nothing serious. We just hung out a few times and I guess they didn’t have anything else to write about because they began to speculate on our relationship which wasn’t even a relationship. I knew being there with you with all the cameras, someone was bound to put two and two together and I just don’t want to have our relationship overshadowed by something that wasn’t even that serious.”

“So what? Your plan was to just hide us for another two years and then you thought everyone would forget by then?”

“No…I didn’t have a plan.”

“Who was the player?”

I bit down on my lip, afraid of what may come from his mouth next. “I’d rather not say.”

“You do realize I can just Google it for myself right?”

“Please don’t.”

“I really don’t understand you. If it’s not that serious I won’t get mad. Does he play for Arsenal?”

“No…”

“National team?”

“He doesn’t live in Spain…”

“Okay so, why continue to hide it?”

I slid off his lap in frustration. “Why does it matter!? You wanted the reason why I wasn’t coming to your matches. I told you. There’s the story! It doesn’t matter. Would you like me to list the name of every guy I’ve ever kissed?”

“Yes. Let’s do that,” he said with a smug smile on his face.

“I’m sure Marta is on yours,” I spat. I wasn’t really jealous of Hector’s best friend. I just sometimes happened to make sly comments about their relationship. I still had my doubts that they were always ‘just friends’.

“Marta is not on any fucking list of mine. Would you listen to yourself? How do these arguments always deflect on me?!”

“Because I’m trying to apologize and confess and you’re making this ten times harder than I need it to be!” I yelled. I huffed, calming my tone. “Can’t we just make up like the couples in the movies? With some nice rough makeup sex?”

Hector smiled then, shaking his head presumably at my antics. “I don’t want your sex. I want your ass in a seat at Emirates Stadium.”

I smirked then, sliding back onto his lap. “So…what you’re saying is sex at Emirates Stadium?”

He folded his arms over his chest, not yet willing to fold into my teasing demands. “Only if it’s after a match.”

“So I show up to a match and we’ll have sex after?”

“I won’t make any promises but maybe.”

“You have a deal, Bellz.”

gif credit to pppper

sakura-studyblr  asked:

Hi Alvaro and Marta! TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY! So I decided to open my ask box, and then just ask me whatever you feel like it! 🌸

OMGGGG HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE!!! Hope you have a wonderful day and an amazing year!! How old are you now? Are you turning 16 today or 17? (We saw 16 on your blog but we aren’t sure if you updated it already hahahaha) Happy birthday again!! 🎉🎉

@imchangki hi marta! just here to say that you’re an angel and that you’re such a talented artist. i hope you’re having a great day and remember that i love you so much and so does changkyun 💗

Dinner With Dr. Watts


It was January of 1973 when two married undergraduates at the University of California at Berkeley Marty and Mickey Ackerman attended an afternoon lecture by noted scholar Dr. Alan Wilson Watts entitled “Nothingness and the Way of Zen”. After the lecture the two students spoke with Dr. Watts at the lectern and struck up an immediate friendship. Watts mentioned that he was headed home to Sausalito for dinner and invited them to join him. Delighted the young couple followed Watts to his houseboat on the bay. 

The boat, “The Vallejo”  was good sized, two stories in fact and quaint just as one might expect. Inside it was cluttered with books, papers and artwork. The only neat space was a writing desk with an ancient manual Royal typewriter. Dr. Watts, Alan as he insisted upon being called, introduced them to a tall statuesque blonde woman woman named “Marta” who apparently spoke little English. She offered them wine and poured a scotch and soda for Alan. In a few minutes dinner was served a macrobiotic dish of lentils and spinach. After dinner they went into the living room and shared a joint which Alan fished out of a brass urn. 

So, fed and buzzed, Alan sipped at his drink but Marta kept it always topped off, they began to talk. They talked of the Vietnam war, Nixon (Alan detested the man), the failure of the ‘60s youth movement, Alan’s upcoming European tour, his new mountain cabin and his latest book “Cloud-hidden, Whereabouts Unknown”. He spoke of the early days when he experimented with mescaline and LSD with Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert (later called Ram Dass). 

All the time he was courteous, jovial and animated and, despite drinking tumbler after tumbler of scotch he never slurred his words or seemed in any way drunk. The conversation wandered to his work with Joseph Campbell the great American Mythologist and Philosopher and his good friend. Finally, the night having grown late, the young couple took their leave. Alan and Marta stood in the doorway of the houseboat and waved goodbye and as a parting gift Alan gave them both autographed copies of the Joyous Cosmology and invited them to come back soon.

The young couple never saw Watts again. Soon after he returned to the United States from his European tour he died in his new cabin of complications from severe lifelong alcoholism. So passed a great teacher of the Way, who, sadly had lost his way.

๑ Samsaran ๑