#I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU ACTUALLY DID IT

[springlucked]

Every time I am going further and further from my style. Also hey look! That's what you asked for(probably?)? I hate photoshop

OH MY GOOOOOOOOSH

[linkemaus]

Not to be that person, but if Kamala Harris were a white man with the exact same ideals, positions, and beliefs, it wouldn’t have even been a competition. Realising that the worst thing you can apparently be is a woman, is truly devastating.

[velvees-archive]

replaying 1-2 and it’s finally clicked that edgeworth thinking phoenix could murder mia was less about phoenix and almost entirely about him, who’d been living with the knowledge he killed his father despite loving him, idolizing him, and constructing his world view around him. edgeworth indicting phoenix for his mentor’s murder was one of the biggest signs he’d been carrying a guilty conscience for the past 15 years of his life.

[luna-the-cretar]

What if…Marius makes a comment about how pretty Lethica’s ear jewelry is (bc idk what that thing on the tip of her ears are called), and wonders out loud if he could ever pull off jewelry like that, and Lethica offers to help him pierce his ears and give him some of her extra earrings and such. Perhaps nothing too feminine, but something elegant that fits his vibe.

Am I just saying this bc i decided to draw Marius in casual wear (bc there’s no way in the Nine Hells he’s sleeping in all that armor, even in his less bulky rose armor), and decided last minute to give him earrings that are vaguely similar to Lethica’s?

…mayhaps

[corsairspade]

Halenthir scenario where they get married for tax benefits (in a platonic good friends sort of way) and fall in love long distance via sending each other letters with ideas on how to best leverage their marriage for tax evasion.

[algrenion]

ok, i will post one☝🏽(1) Graduation Photo 👩🏽‍🎓

27 years in the making, 10 of them in higher education — through literal near death experiences, a value pack of disabilities, and a high school attendance of 6% because of them… somehow…

…you’re looking’ at a Bachelor of Arts in Communication Design babieeee let’s freakin goooo 💪🏽😭💕

[unordinary-diary]

Blyke and John: the Followup

In my last entry, I pointed out the similarities between chapters 249 and 121, but I had hit the image limit and wasn’t able to embed screenshots. I got around this by linking the chapters, but this is probably my favorite parallel, and to do it justice I think I need to really put them next to each other.

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

(121) (249)

It’s the same fucking scene but backwards and in a different font.

They’re the SAAAAAAAAAAME!!!!!!!!

This was definitely on purpose. Shit like this ^^ doesn’t happen by accident.

[hanzajesthanza]

geralt and ciri and having a bigass scar on their face as a reminder of hatred and revenge ❤️ i know geralt’s scar was invented just for this book, but the fact that he hides it with his headband, oh, that nenneke gave him… like ciri tries in vain to hide her scar, combing her hair in such a way… and ciri’s scar is unable to be hidden. whereas geralt probably hides his well, since we never heard of it before ;). maybe it is because they are a vicious cat, and a calm, composed wolf…

now i just want to see child ciri, examining geralt’s face and his strange eyes on their way to kaer morhen—during which he surely took his headband off. once or twice. looking up at him with her huge child’s eyes, at his weathered face… witnesses below his hairline an ugly scar from ages ago, but doesn’t ask about it… he has so many anyways…

[concrete-3ater]

if I had a nickel for every time I was in a fandom and a child character had a breakdown and did something that accidentally hurt another character, and then the fandom all turned on the character and vilified them because they [the fandom] can’t understand that sometimes 14 year olds make mistakes when they’re going through something traumatic, I would have 2 nickels

not a lot but it really is weird it happened twice

[laurelnose]

“Just what is it that runs in your veins, Jedao?”

“You’re welcome to cut me open to find out. Knife’s on my left hip if you forgot yours.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

spent most of my Sunday on @figuwhump day 12, which dovetailed really nicely with a couple of MoE thumbnails I was saving. ‘this looks like consensual kink, is this actually whump,’ you might be asking, and to that i say, with Kujen & Jedao it can be both

[angelnumber27]

It’s so embarrassing and heartbreaking being in so much pain over losing someone while knowing they don’t give a fuck if you live or die. Your favorite person becoming a stranger is a special kind of hell.

[clegfly]

Getting REAL sick and tired of how omori TikTok views sunny.

Like, they view any scene of him being emotionally vulnerable, affectionate, or even just making an expression outside of just being completely neutral as “mischaracterised”. He’s not some cool, stoic, unwavering badass, he is a traumatised teenager. Don’t cry whenever he dares to give his friend a hug or (god forbid) be SAD about something??? Isn’t like. Part of the point of his development about him allowing himself to break down the repressive walls he built when he shut himself in? And being able to rely on his real friends instead of imaginary versions? And isn’t the game like. Meant to SHOW that he still cares about them despite isolating himself?

It’s really stupid to get mad at a character like that showing emotion or affection personally, especially since he’s not used to expressing it properly after so long. But that’s just me

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

dan and phil are like jesus in that they’re dramatic ass fruity men in their 30s always going like “i am making this SACRIFICE for THE PEOPLE” and everyone is like “no one asked you to do this in fact we’d all rather you just did not do this” and they’re like “IT IS TOO LATE NOW YOU HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CONSEQUENCES THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED” and we’re like “no no we didn’t want this actually and you made this decision with your whole ass adult brain you truly could have just not done this and we’d all be better off for it but now we all have to suffer because YOU refuse to say no to shit” and i think that’s ridiculous stupid annoying awful beautiful

[whinlatter]

I need to know how you think Ginny or Hp characters in general reacted to the death of Princess Diana. She died right before Ginny left for Hogwarts her 6th year. I know wizards aren’t into muggle culture but Lady Di transcends cultural barriers. Plus that trio looking for the queens purse advert is definitely canon.

i did not expect this ask, and i regret to inform you my response to it was to write the following incredibly stupid ficlet about ginny and the death of princess diana. don't ask me why i did this because i don't know!

The last day of August 1997, she comes downstairs in her dressing gown and finds Kingsley in the kitchen with a Muggle newspaper that says that Princess Diana is dead. ‘Car crash,’ he says, pushes the paper across the table. No-one’s shared news of any sort with her in weeks - the only child and non-Order member of the house, at best an irrelevance and at worse a nuisance for the crumbling wartime resistance - so she forgets about the kettle she's just boiled and sits down, snatches up the paper, reads hungrily. High speed car chase, it says, Diana and her boyfriend, in a tunnel in Paris, being chased down by paparazzi. ‘I met her once,’ says Kingsley, musingly, sipping his tea.

She looks up. ‘Really?’

‘Mmm. With the Muggle PM.’

‘What was she like?’

Kingsley thinks about it. ‘Funny,’ he says. ‘But sad.’ 

She hangs on to the paper. When she’s inevitably ousted from the kitchen by the arrival of yet more Order folk with important business and no trace of interest in her, she takes it up to her room, clears a space on the floor between the maps of the castle she's been memorising and her now dog-eared copy of The Dark Arts Outsmarted and flattens it out on the floor. The Muggle pictures of the princess, of course, don’t move. Yet Diana manages to always be in motion in the photographs, full of life, running and dancing and gallivanting, long legs stretching across roads or dangling off the end of great boats, her speeding across ocean waves on what looks like a water motorbike or down steep snowy slopes on bits of wood with poles in her hands. She's forced to hoist Crookshanks up and out of the way when he tries to paw his way across the pull-out spread of Diana in her wedding dress. 'You used to live with Muggles sometimes, didn't you?’ she demands of a squirming Crookshanks. ‘Show a bit of respect.'

She’d known about the princess before, of course. Hard to avoid her, even among wizards. The Muggleborn girls had started it, tacking up endless pictures of her many outfits on their walls. Their better-blooded peers had followed, and she’d thought even the Slytherins would be unable to deny there was a magic, a magnetism, to Diana, in  fabulous dresses one day and the coolest of boyish suits the next, all draped off of her long, lean frame with an effortless elegance that most of the awkward adolescent girls of the castle could only dream of. There was a time, in the run-up to the Yule Ball, when you couldn’t move for pictures of that dress. ‘It’s her revenge dress,’ Lavender had informed her matter-of-factly at dinner, ‘because her husband cheated on her with a married woman he’d been in love with years before.’ An off-the-shoulder slinky black number with the chunky pearl necklace, the dress had been the envy of every witch in the castle. ‘I’d definitely pull Diggory if I had that dress,’ a sixth-year girl had  lamented to her mates over the sinks in the fifth-floor girls’ bathroom the next day.

That evening, her own dress from her mother had arrived. She’d sent for it, when Neville had asked her to the ball, bestowing upon her the dubious honour of being the second most pitying girl in all of Gryffindor. It’s an old one of Molly’s from the sixties. She’d always admired it on her mum in old photographs taken before she was hers, worn on nights out and parties from a past life that her mother only hints at, with a twinkle in her eye and a firmly zipped lip. Now, though, the dress looked all wrong - too chaste, too floral, not an ounce of sex appeal about it, throughly unmemorable and unlikely to catch a single eye, fresh-pickled toad-green or otherwise.

(In her bunk that night, she'd lain awake and taunted herself with cruel, self-flagellating fantasy. Imagined striding past the Boy Who Lived wearing that dress, the revenge one, making him regret he’d ever asked Cho Chang to the ball, making him forget all about her shiny hair and her pretty smile and her cool friends and her easy grace, making him notice someone else instead - his best mate’s feral little sister who is funny, actually, just not when he’s around, and whom he last seemed to have thought about when he’d hauled her off her own deathbed, and never since.)

As adolescence wore on, though, she’d soured on Diana. Too chic to be likeable, rich girl with a life of frocks and endless frolicking, intolerably poised and swan-like. The sight of her glimpsed on Muggle newsstand in the village stirred up the same feelings of eye-roll envy as her sister-in-law, which always boded ill. Looking at her now, though, she wonders if there wasn’t something she’d missed, something else to her. Diana’s set jaw looks more guarded than she remembered. The wide eyes ringed by thick smudgy black she’d once thought coquettish now look lost, full of reproach.

Dean’s mum, she remembers now, had loved her. ‘She won’t hear a bad word about her,’ he’d said, rolling his eyes. ‘Says she was the best thing that ever happened to that family.’ Ever her father’s daughter, she’d pestered him with endless questions, like she did all things Muggle: about the divorce, about the royals and succession and the Muggle press and the high drama of it all, until he’d got bored and suggested they go find a broom cupboard, get down to more serious business. Wonders how Dean’s mum must be feeling today. But then she remembers her son is, for all intents and purposes, Muggleborn in a new regime that wants him dead, and suddenly feels slightly sick. She puts the paper away, then, and gets back on with packing up her war room for the morning’s train journey out to the front.

Diana’s sons, the paper said, survive her. They’re called William, and Harry. Good names, in her book. She can't help but think of them as she packs, the boys - children, who woke up one morning to find themselves motherless.

‘It’s mayhem in London,’ says her father, that night, over dinner. ‘There’s hundreds of people outside the palace, leaving flowers and things. I’ve never seen anything like it. There'll be a big public funeral - all the royal family will have to be there, including the boys. They'll have no choice. The Muggles are heartbroken. I dread to think what would happen if there was an attack during that - Kingsley, we ought to talk more about that, actually...'

'Those poor children,' her mother whispers, though that’s nothing new, these days — she whispers that every night.

'Are they still in London?' she asks her dad, quietly, over the washing up. 'At Grimmauld? Have you heard anything?'

'No news, dear. I'd tell you if I knew.'

Lying awake that night with her trunk packed, she wonders if this has all passed them by - her brother and almost-sister and the boy who lived she knows she’s supposed to forget. She imagines them sat the table in that grungy basement kitchen, newspaper spread in front of them. Perhaps they, too, have been poring over Diana's finest outfits, in memoriam. Probably not, though — not with a murder to plot, a Dark Lord to kill, a Tom to hunt. Three child soldiers with a war to win.

Still, the thoughts persist as she tries to fall asleep. Thinks about being hunted, boys without mothers, a city full of mourners. Muggles with their tears and their flowers and their prams at the palace gates. It’s like it's the end of something, something fun and frivolous, dress-up and glamour and girlhood. One day, you're thirteen and looking at princesses in party dresses in the newspaper — and the next, you're sixteen, and the newspapers tell you that the parties are over and the princesses are dead. Something about the tragedy of the thing. The pointlessness, the waste.

artwork: diana and her nymphs hunting by paul de vos (1636)

[stuffyflowers]

*massaging my temples with an irritated expression* I am soooooooo tired of people misunderstanding starlos character

[xx-sketchy-xx]

(This isn't an ask but i thought i was following this entire time kajsdakf but since im here i just wanna say i love you and your art <3)

You and my goober woul prob get along well. Cute murder and all that.

I love you and your art aswell, it’s positively fantastic