#//But idc if no one sees
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
[{ 🦋 }] - "First it was crabs, now it's frogs?"
Silence follows as he glares at the button above
[{ 🦋 }] - "Why can't there be a 'click for demons' button instead?"
#Tʜɪs ɪs ᴡʜʏ I sᴛᴀʏ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʀᴏᴏᴍ... (Dᴀsʜ Cᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ)#Fᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ Mʏ OWN Fᴀᴛᴇ (IC)#//Screaming into the void as I post this atm#//But idc if no one sees#//I wanted to have him comment on this earlier but I saved the screenshot as a PSD by mistake instead of png lol#//So I'm just gonna leave this here#//I agree 100% Minato#//At least we don't need to worry about getting crabs anymore
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
you have to outlive donald trump
#you have to get ur own cat#you have to see one piece end#you have to laugh with your friends#you have to buy a stand mixer#you have to watch the sonic movie#you have to watch dunmeshi s2#etc!!!! idc what gets you through it!!!!! fucking live!!!!!!!!
99K notes
·
View notes
Text
10 years later
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fanart#jujutsu kaisen fanart#yuji itadori#fushiguro megumi#nobara kugisaki#itafushi#itafushikugi#jjk spoilers#jjk manga spoilers#least heterosexual group photo ive ever drawn tbh#u have the kings of subtle pda and their judgy lesbian third wheel#this does remind me a lot of the kind of art i used to do jhgdjghdfj#specifically that one furuba main trio piece i did forever ago. same vibe better art#anyway......i tried my best........ i tried so hard#i do not know how old they look . the goal was 25/26 but atp i've gaslit myself into thinking they look the same#especially megumi im so . throws hands in the air in defeat#but idk what else i can do cries at least i like it??? i think???????#i don't know!!! if they look younger than 25 whatever!!!!!!!!#why is it so hard fr me to make chars look older im gna slam my head against the door#maybe its fine. idc <- (lie)#in other news itfs are married fight me abt it . yuuji rockin the right hand ring fr Lack Of Finger reasons#also i am Eating nobara's fit . she might also look a bit younger than intended the more i look at her gDI why cant i have nice things#new hairstyle carrying tbh. i think she would a. grow it out and b. switch the side she parts it on to make Seeing easier#god just take it all tht really matters 2 me is low pony nobara and Rings On Fingers itfs#i did my time in yoi i know how to make wedding bands Work
15K notes
·
View notes
Text
More art for Coldshot's Called Shot by my friend @fishing-lesbian-catgirl! If you like spicy content, go give it a read!
The final piece, at least for now! Somehow I did these in reverse chronological order, but I guess it worked out in the end
Hey, if you're here, check this out!
#Author if you see this: it was really fun illustrating for the story! :3#You won't believe how many times I restarted this one... First time my file got corrupted when it was nearly finished#Second time I repainted it instead of pixel art#Third time I was just dissatisfied and redid it in pixel art#Anyway I hope y'all enjoy!#1 art for the price of 3#Jessica is standing on a box cause it's funnier that way idc how tall Coldshot actually is lol#pixel#digital art#pixel art#artists on tumblr#arknights#art#jessica brinley#Coldshot
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
#he's actually a comedian
HUGH JACKMAN as LOGAN HOWLETT // WOLVERINE
#logan howlett#wolverine#hugh jackman#xmenedit#marveledit#x men#not sorry to say he's absolutely as hilarious as he thinks he is#and dropping the 'peaceful thoughts' line during THAT scene has got to be the wildest thing about these movies idc idc#days of future past logan you'll always be the one for me#took advantage of a week long feverish haze to rewatch most of these which has got to be the best way of experiencing the fox mcu lmao#honestly didn't realize how much i missed him or seeing the entire team in action with their powers :'))#marvel#movieedit#dianagifs
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Penelope is also Athena's pet/blorbo/special little mortal/etc. and if you think otherwise you're straight up wrong.
You're also wrong if you think Athena only likes Penelope because of Odysseus and/or Telemachus. As if Athena didn't see a young Penelope pull some shit and immediately think "Oh! Another mind to mold! C'mere you! Let's do some riddles and weaving!". Athena was happy that two of her favorite pets have met and fell in love!
#maybe even Athena introduced them! idk#I mean c'mon. Pen is KNOWN for her weaving AND her Cunning and she basically knew that was Odysseus that was in disguise#Athena had to make Penelope go to sleep because she was sad AND she would've figured shit out.#Idc who Athena favored first but Athena definitely favored Penelope even before she was married. I will die/kill on that hill#everytime I see someone minimize/erase/devalue/etc. Penelope I want to bash my head against the wall.#*bangs pots and pans together in rage*#I think some of you only like Penelope because Odysseus likes her :') not all but... enough that it makes me sad.#like I've noticed some people only like my odysseus posts and not my Penelope ones. and oof. ;~; that tells me a lot😞#like yes. she's a bit of an enigma...AND THAT'S THE POINT. She's so intelligent that she's tricking the narrator/audience AND Odysseus!#Mad rambles#penelope#penelope of ithaca#penelope odyssey#penelope of sparta#Water Wife#odyssey#the odyssey#greek mythology#tagamemnon#athena#epic the musical#shot by odysseus#essay
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
original post by tubbo3091
#i have had the clearest image of this post in my head for the longest time and i finally decided to attempt to exorcise it from my brain#dream smp#dsmp#ctubbo#cranboo#thats all im tagging idc#if ur in the tag and u see this. this is a one off pls dont follow me ajkdsfkja#im just a doozer#my art
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
thinking about katsuki finding out about that little crush you had on shouto since seeing close-ups of him during the televised sports festival—you were in high school then, too.
he shouldn’t care about it because it doesn’t matter, it was so long ago and shouto’s always been marketed as the pro-hero pretty boy—consistently top 3 most handsome, the front cover of magazines, all that.
this is to be expected, it’s what everyone’s been tempted to react like.
but since finding out, he’s been stewing in… in whatever this bubbling, throbbing feeling in his head means. he’s snappier than normal, face scrunched up more than usual.
and every time he sees shouto he wants to strangle the hell out of him.
#a jealous katsuki… IS THIS WHAT MY DREAMS ARE MADE OF?? *gulps* idc if this is ooc i just want to see him so jealous it ruins his day#he holds u tighter and hugs u more at night LOL he becomes SO aggressive with his affections. possessive almost.#when he brings u as his date to one of the hero galas and shouto comes up to talk to u he’s hyper analysing ur ENTIRE interaction#and he knows hes being SO unreasonable and irrational bc it was a silly old crush!!! but he cant help the way he feels!!! hes so ANNOYED#bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#shotorus.bubble#UGHHHHHHH I NEED THIS IN MY LIFE
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
been really normal about @interstyx ‘s fic kenosis as of late, really great character study + made me feel things. huge thx to @drowninginfelines for the rec
#i was gonna draw more but i got lazy#uzi doorman#murder drones#glitch productions#murder drones fanart#murder drones v#i think this is the first time ive drawn her actually#this fic is probably one of the best ive read and im picky#serial designation v#vuzi#?#not technically ship but u can tag it as that if u want idc#i see them w more of a sisterly bond tho#my stuff
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
my starbee obsessed ass shaking of joy when this scene happened i will take any crumbs for my blobors
#BEE LIKED TO BE KNOWLEDGE BY SCREAMER I SEE THIS AS A WIN#bumblebee#starscream#tfone#starbee#tf one#transformers one#tf one bumblebee#tf one starscream#they should have argued more idc...
376 notes
·
View notes
Text
#married.
bonus:
#LISTEN.#i just love them#ted lasso#tedlassoedit#coach beard#work husbands romantic husbands idc how you see them#ted leaning over to tell beard that is so funny like he really is so comfortable talking w beard that he keeps doing it#ted messing with beard is one of my favorite things#this is just a silly little edit#jason sudeikis#brendan hunt#tedlassogifs#tedlassosource#tvgifs#tvedit#appletvgifs#uservalentina#userrobin#tuserliliana#tuserhan#trueloveistreacherous#smallscreensource#televisongifs#nessa007
678 notes
·
View notes
Text
there’s not enough lizzie ldshadowlady appreciation in this fandom and frankly I think we need to rectify this
she acts terrified of absolutely everyone except her husband, whom she is increasingly exasperated by. she and ren were rivalling dogwarts with their interactions. she was boogeyman twice in two different seasons and essentially did the exact same trap, that failed in essentially the exact same way, and somehow she still managed to get the kill because the person was too confused to process the fact they were being stabbed. she’s a fairy. she’s the shadow queen. she’s totally definitely pearl, she just has an amnesia cold. she spends half her time complaining about her husband, and the other half flirting with him in front of people. her dogs were named dragon, ogre and taxes so they’d be intimidating. ‘and so I left this world how I entered it: confused.’ she griefed the server. jimmy killed her.
#i’m bad at this kind of post but idc#I love her#yes she was only in one and a bit seasons so what#mumbo was only in one season and he gets more love#lizzie deserves so much more attention than I see on here#not traffic life related but she mADE A WHOLE MUSICAL#I FEEL LIKE THATS IMPORTANT TO NOTE HERE#she’s an icon#I love her and I need her in the next season and I need her to team up with pearl because I think they’d be incredible together#lizzie ldshadowlady#ldshadowlady#trafficblr#traffic smp#traffic series#last life
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
canis major
adler x bell!reader
summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3
tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k
a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')
Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.
Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.
The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.
Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—
The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.
The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.
But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.
He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.
Not like Arctic air. Not like—
The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.
But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.
The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.
He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.
And you step out of the car.
A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.
Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.
He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.
And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—
Bell.
It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—
—you feel someone watching—
—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—
Open the door, Bell, open the door—
—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.
The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.
There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.
You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.
Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.
The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.
And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.
You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.
You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.
Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.
But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.
And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.
But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.
Maybe, then, he’s a fool.
But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.
(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)
The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.
Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.
#im so nervous but like whatever 3 people are gonna see this so idc#i wanna write more for this but hhhh no pressure so prolly short snippets#just feels good to write something im proud of again after so long!!#my writing#my fics#one shot#adlerbell#adler x bell#russell adler x bell#adler x reader#russell adler x reader#adbell#cod x reader#cod cw#cod bocw#call of duty x reader#cod bo6#cod cold war#call of duty cold war#call of duty black ops#black ops 6#black ops cold war#russell adler#adler
210 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dad always said I was like him
Meijack and Chilchuck Tims Dungeon Meshi, Ryoko Kui
^ 1: Moony moonless sky, Fatima Aamer Bilal / 2: Bug like an angel, Mitski / 3: Woodtangle, Mary Ruefle / 4: The Third Hour of the Night, Frank Bidart / 5 & 6: FROM THE MAKERS OF "TWO-MOM ENERGY DRINK," IT'S "LET YOUR FATHER DIE ENERGY DRINK,", Daniel Lavery & Cecilia Corrigan / 7: Batman: Year Three (1989) / 8 & 9 : FROM THE MAKERS OF […], Daniel Lavery & Cecilia Corrigan / 10: Wilt, CJ the X / 11: How Do We Forgive Our Fathers, Dick Lourie / 12: Milk and honey, Rupi Kaur / 13: And My Father's Love Was Nothing Next To God's Will, Amatullah Bourdon / 14: Moony moonless sky, Fatima Aamer Bilal / 15: Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong, Ocean Vuong / 16: untitled, Joan Tierney v 17: Drunk, The Living Tombstone / 18: unknown
When your father tried his best to provide for you but he worked all the time and even when he was home he was either tired or stressed and he’s always liked to get drunk to relax and cheer up. When you know he values work ethics and respectability so you grew up to be capable and quiet. And when he says you’re like him you’re sort of puzzled, does he really know you so little, or does he know himself so little? But you like the feeling of your father ruffling your hair so you accept it, and still you stand next to your mother just as silent and just as stoic as her during family gatherings. He leaves again and again and when your mother leaves him nothing changes, really. You wonder if it’s more telling that you know him better than he seems to himself or that you don’t know him as much as you wish you did, or that you don’t think about him all that much these days. Out of sight, out of mind. And he’s never really been there, even when he was there, after all.
#It’s ok they do get in touch again and he prob at least lives to 40#Alright I’m ready to be normal about chilchuck again#Spoilers#I guess?#dungeon meshi#chilchuck tims#meijack#chilchuck’s family#meijack chils#Web weaving#alcoholism#cw alcohol#webweave#A couple more i liked are like a rearview mirror we’re not as close as we appear line and this french one from#Kristina Gauthier-Landry that goes like hands full of trout running up to you / look what i caught look / how much you love me#And this other one about chocolate coins that a dad arriving from work in middle of the night gives the happy little daughter running up#And it’s so anticlimatic and about transactional relationships and oughh ough it’s a good book#I am Chil is a complex absentee father truther sorry. Idc go see my analyses if you want don’t argue w me here#posts for which i am the target audience#Oh oh another one : So were we close? Or was it just the big things that held us together and the small things that let us fall apart?#The word father rotted in my mouth#Bc it’s left there to rot get it get it………..#Sigh. Like father alike daughter#I’m a truther that she’s more like her mom demeanor wise
434 notes
·
View notes
Text
One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)
We all start somewhere!
#picked these cause they're in a similar pose lol. i mean not at all. but sort of... more than my other art at least...#oh fuck im so tired im saving this to drafts and coming back later#my anxiety meds wipe me the fuck out so im trying not to take them in the day#and they're like legit borderline a sleeping med for me. i take one and in 30 mins im OUT.#so I'm. i mean i was already only taking 1-2 in the day and then 2-3 at night#anyways it makes me sad when people say they dont have an artistic bone in their body#and especially when they say they could never draw like me :(#dont put yourself down to lift me up! i don't want my art to be used for you to be mean to yourself!!!#lots of experiences of people comparing themselves to me and being mean to themself...#feels bad. it's okay if you're slow it's okay to be learning it's okay!!!#I'm me and you're you and we're here to learn from each other. i just wanna hang out..#y'know what I'm just gonna post without saying anything i WILL forget I made a draft#i have so many things i intend to post and then forget#it's a wonder I post anything#i only do it when i get bored. and run out of stuff to scroll through#like whelp. guess if i want a post I have to make one myself.#also the second one is really good idc that it's a study i still drew it#art growth#this was in 2010 btw#i started highschool in 2011#I've grown a lot and you can too.#also I've never really been one to dislike my old art. like idk I was trying... if it's bad I just won't look at it whatever#like i wouldn't be mean to someone else who made that so i don't get a free pass to be mean just cause it's to me#man my thoughts are bungled. okay sleep time#if my phone made typos you didn't see it
212 notes
·
View notes
Text
the emotional rollercoaster that is the magnus archives (graphed)
#pretty sure this is only funny to me but idc#based on that one “its so over” graph I keep seeing everywhere#tma#the magnus archives#tma shitpost#tma spoilers#the magnus archives spoilers#spoilers for everything tbh#tma memes#the magnus archives memes#i really only post for myself here anyways#melanie king#sasha james#jane prentiss#tim stoker#jonathan sims#jon sims#the archivist#martin blackwood#mag 160#mag 200#the eyepocalypse#peter lukas#jonmart#jmart#possibly the most esoteric thing I've ever created tbh#1k notes
1K notes
·
View notes