#Image Capture With Arsenal

[johnnyslittleanimalblog]

A Connection to Our Wilder Selves (Katmai National Park & Preserve) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: I captured this image at the Falls Platform with a view looking to the northeast at Brooks Falls while observing a brown bear in Katmai National Park. The image is of a male brown bear on top of the Falls waiting for salmon to make the jump and attempt to catch it to eat. I pulled back on the focal length to capture more of the surrounding waterfall.

[thorsenmark]

Mountain Neighborhood by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: A plane window view looking over the Yukon Territory in Canada (based on the flight information on the seat back) while on a flight out of Anchorage to Minneapolis. What drew me into this image was initially the warmth of sunlight across the snowcapped peaks. I decided to pull back on the focal length and include more of the Yukon landscape that I was watching from my plane window view. I could angle my Nikon SLR camera slightly downward to capture a more sweeping view across the mountain present.

[lyss-butterscotch]

Hello! Quick question– What is this app you've been posting about lately? Is it even an app? I'm confused help

ULTRAKILL. ULTRAKILL. ITS CALLED ULTRAKILL.

Its a first person retro shooter thats literally the mix of doom and devil may cry. You are a machine of war powered by blood descending to hell because earth has no more blood left to give.

Tldr the kind of experience you should expect :

First person shooter with smooth performance and movement

A decent sized yet unique arsenal. It doesnt have 20 million guns that does damage the same way so it doesnt overwhelm you with choice. The guns you do have can also interact with other guns you have for combos.

Devil May Cry style meter. The more stylish/creative/multi combo with multi weapons you play, number goes up

Extremely satisfying SFX

AMAZING MUSIC. LIKE HOLY SHIT GO CHECK OUT THE OST PLEASE.

It has HITSTOP. For when you nail insane combos

The levels are chapter like and short! You dont have to devote alot of time to feel its best moments!

It has minimal cutscene moments. How fast you can kill or finish levels depends almost entirely on you.

Theres almost no limitations for anything. The devs dont try to force you to watch a slow cutscene or play the game a certain way. Literally go nuts.

PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL. NO GAME BREAKING BUGS. ULTRAKILL PERFORMS EXTREMELY WELL FOR AN INDIE EARLY ACCESS GAME

[WARNING] for flashing images and alot of overwhelming action. This game is built for speedrunning in the most convoluted way. Its basically the ADHD shooter game.

I HIGHLY recommend it because it is such a unique experience to me that is able to capture the genuine feeling of satisfaction over overcoming a challenge.

[faustiandevil]

The Criterion cover for Arsenic and Old Lace is pretty iconic now with the little puppets and the purple backdrop and the artist, F. Ron Miller even did an article about how he workshopped the idea with Criterion’s art director, Eric Skillman. You can find the article right here:

[bat-mom-writer]

My Son

Reader(wife) X Bruce Wayne(husband)

Summery: Reader comes down to the Batcave to find out that her dead son of five years, Jason Todd, is actually alive.

Note: this could be a Part 1 of Not a Monster

(I do not own any DC characters)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alfrid, the aging butler with a penchant for dramatics, straightened his bow tie in the dimly lit hallway as he heard her heels tap-tap-tap on the polished oak floor. "Madam," he greeted, his voice as smooth as the whiskey he'd poured for Mr. Wayne earlier, "you're up rather late."

"Couldn't sleep," she replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Bruce is downstairs, isn't he?"

"Yes, madam," Alfred said, his gaze dropping to the floor. "He's...dealing with something rather troubling."

Her curiosity piqued, her smile grew a touch more genuine. "Oh? What is it this time?" She knew all too well that "dealing with something" was code for Bruce's alter ego facing off against the latest menace to Gotham City. It had become a familiar tune in their life together, a nocturnal symphony of vigilantism and secrets.

"It's the Red Hood, madam," Alfred said gravely. "A new criminal mastermind causing quite a stir. He's been particularly...persistent."

"Ah, another one," she sighed, her eyes reflecting a hint of concern. She knew Gotham had a penchant for producing monsters, but this one had managed to capture Bruce's full attention. "Well I think I might go down and check on him," she said decisively, starting down the grand staircase.

"Madam," Alfred called out, a tinge of urgency in his voice, "perhaps it's best if you don't. This is...different." But his words were lost to the echo of her footsteps. He watched her descend into the abyss of the mansion, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows as she approached the hidden entrance to the Batcave.

The Batcave's heavy doors parted, revealing Bruce standing in the middle of the cavernous room, surrounded by the gleaming arsenal of his alter ego. His cowl pulled down but his eyes remained shadowed, reflecting the myriad screens and flashing lights around him. She felt a pang of guilt for intruding on his solitude, but she'd never been one to shy away from the darker corners of her husband's life.

"Bruce," she called out, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

Bruce spun around, his cape swirling dramatically. "You shouldn't be here," he said, his tone a mix of surprise and concern.

"Alfred said it's serious," she said, stepping into the flickering lights of the cave. "What's going on with this Red Hood?"

Bruce's gaze darted to the screens, then back to her. He sighed heavily. "It's...complicated. Just go back to bed, I'll handle it."

But she was already moving closer, her eyes drawn to a particular image. "Is that...?" she breathed, pointing at a photo of a young man with a red hood.

Bruce stepped in front of the screen, his hand hovering over the keyboard to change the image. "It's nothing," he said quickly.

"Let me see," she demanded gently, her voice laced with a hint of steel. She could sense the tension in the air, thick as the dust that clung to the ancient relics lining the walls.

With a reluctant sigh, Bruce stepped aside, allowing her to approach the screen. The image was frozen on a young man wearing a crimson hood, with a picture beside it of their deceased son. The words 'DNA MATCH' scrolled in bold across the bottom, leaving no room for doubt.

"Jason," she whispered, her hand trembling as it reached out to touch the screen. The cold glass did nothing to alleviate the warmth of the hope burning in her chest. "You're...sure?"

Bruce's jaw clenched, his eyes dark as he nodded. "As sure as science can be." He turned away, unable to look at her. "I didn't want you to find out like this."

She felt the floor tilt beneath her, the room spinning with the revelation. "But he's dead," she murmured, her voice a mere wisp of sound. "We buried him."

Bruce's shoulders slumped. "Apparently not," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. "Or at least, not the way we thought."

She stared at the image, the color draining from her face. "We buried him," she said again, her voice firm with the conviction of a mother's grief. "I was there. I watched them lower the casket into the ground. I threw the first handful of dirt."

Bruce approached her, his hand reaching out to cover hers on the screen. "I know," he said softly. "But somehow... he's alive."

She yanked her hand away, stepping backward as if the mere touch had burned her. "No," she said, the word a sharp exhale that seemed to echo through the cavernous space. "No, no, no." She couldn't believe it. Her mind was a tornado of memories and denial, whipping through the moments of her son's life and death, refusing to accept this twisted reality.

Bruce watched her, his own pain reflected in the harsh lines of his face. "I know this is hard to take in," he said, his voice tight. "But we can't ignore it. He's out there, and he's dangerous."

"My son!"  her voice broke, the words ripping from her chest like shrapnel. "Died in that explosion!" The memory was a raw wound, a grenade thrown into her heart all over again. She remembered the sirens wailing, the flaming wreckage of the car, the way Bruce had held her as she'd screamed, the world spinning around them in a sickening blur of chaos and despair.

Bruce's hand tightened on her shoulder. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Look at me." She raised her eyes to meet his, the blue of them piercing through the gloom like the Bat Signal in a moonless sky. "Jason is alive, I don't know how, I don't know why, but he is. And he's not the boy we knew."

Her eyes searched his, desperation and confusion warring within her. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice a tremor on the precipice of breaking.

Bruce took a deep breath, steeling himself for the revelation that would shatter the last semblance of their peace. "The Red Hood...he's not just a copycat. His DNA matches Jason's," he said, the words heavy with the gravity of their implication. "The Joker killed him.. But somehow, someone brought him back. And they turned him into this...monster."

Her eyes widened in horror. "No," she breathed, shaking her head vigorously. She shrugged off Bruce's grip, her body stiff with denial. "My son isn't a monster."

Bruce said says her name, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and urgency, "we have to face the truth."

Her eyes snapped to the screen, her mind racing. The boy she'd held and loved was gone, replaced by this...this...monster? "But why?" she choked out, her voice thick with tears. "Why would they do this to him?"

Bruce stepped closer, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice cracking. "But we can't change what's happened. All we can do is deal with the reality of what he's become."

The world around she grew fuzzy as the gravity of the situation crashed down upon her. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold, concrete floor of the Batcave. The echo of her fall seemed to resonate through the cavernous space, a stark contrast to the silent sobs that racked her body.

Bruce rushed to her side, his heart heavy with the burden of his secret. He had hoped to protect her from this twisted reality, but the truth had a way of revealing itself, no matter how deeply it was buried. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she wept.

"We're going to find him," he murmured into her hair. "And we're going to fix this."

But her sobs only grew louder. "My son," she repeated, the words a mournful mantra. "My sweet boy, " Her hand clutched at Bruce's armor, her nails digging into his flesh.

[captain-price-unofficially]

Video published by Al-Qassam Brigades (Hamas) allegedly showing them tracking an officer in the elite Shaldag unit, Yitzhar Hoffman, before he was killed by a sniper. Hoffman is said to be responsible for the siege and storming of Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza.

Translation:

A unit of the occupation forces is holed up in Gaza City. The images obtained exclusively by Al Jazeera allow the location of the concentration to be determined. The field command center was established in a sports club, about one kilometer away from Al-Shifa Hospital, and located within the Jawazat area, which witnessed fierce clashes between the Israeli army and the Resistance factions for weeks.

This is Yitzhar Hoffman, a platoon leader in the Shaldag Special Unit. He was responsible for drawing up a plan to besiege Al-Shifa Hospital and then storm it last November. According to photos obtained by Al Jazeera, which are being shown for the first time, the Al-Qassam Brigades monitored Hoffman's movements after storming the hospital. At the end of last January, the Al-Qassam Brigades waited for the Israeli army to announce the killing of Hoffman so that they publish pictures of the operation and identify the targeted person.

The Al-Aqsa flood was not the first confrontation in which the Qassam Brigades used sniper weapons. The developed Al-Ghoul rifle that mimics the specifications of the Austrian-made Steyr rifle, caliber 12.7 mm, has the capabilities and features of an assault rifle with an adjustable system, to transform from an assault rifle into a sniper rifle.

The Al-Qassam Brigades were able to manufacture it locally and it bore the name of one of the most prominent symbols of military manufacturing in Al-Qassam: the martyr Adnan Al-Ghoul. With the rifle, Al-Qassam produced the appropriate ammunition to enhance the rifle’s effectiveness and feasibility.

The ammunition was manufactured with three specifications:

1- Training that enable the preparation of fighters within the special units.

2-Ammunition designed to target flammable materials.

3-Used to deal with the armor and fortifications used by the Israeli army.

The impact of the locally manufactured weapons is show on battlefields, in a way that the bullet penetrates the helmet worn by the soldiers and explodes after penetration. The bullet can also penetrate the protective vest, which is supported by a metal plate that shatters when hit to cause damage to the upper area of the body. It can also penetrate and disrupt devices and systems used by the occupying army.

To put the weapon into use, the Al-Qassam Brigades trained special units of fighters within its combat formations, as the photos obtained by Al Jazeera show. Training takes place after selecting fighters who have qualities that enable them to withstand long periods of waiting to capture a potential target, the ability to work under extreme pressure in difficult field conditions, the flexibility of concealment, determining the importance of the target and making the decision of execution.

The Qassam had previously used sniper weapons in field combat in battles before 2007, when it seized medium-caliber rifles like the Russian Dragunov and Brezhnev models and the Belgian FN FAL rifle. But it suffered from limited availability, scarcity of ammunition and its high cost. Then, heavy snipers including the Austrian Steyr and the Chinese M99, were brought into the Gaza Strip through supply lines. And documented operations were carried out using them.

The Ghoul rifle is the latest weapon in the resistance’s arsenal, which according to Al Jazeera’s information, recorded a verified hitting distance of 1800 meters in Al-Aqsa Flood Operation.

[mindofsombre]

2001 DALTON HIGH SCHOOL MASSACRE

Date occurred : September 15th, 2001

Casualities : 20 dead (including the perpetrators) 26 injured (24 by gunfire)

—————————————————————

This tragedy occurred September 15th 2001 in Robloxia Springs, Mason County, Colorado, when 17 year old Samuel Steven's and his accomplice, 18 year old Nicholas Colton Sieged their school With guns and other deadly weapons, Their main motive is unknown but it is suspected they wanted notoriety.

(photo taken of Steven's entering dalton high.)

The early mornings of the massacre, the two boys drove to a local diner and enjoyed a breakfast together. Afterwards they drove their blue transporter van to Dalton high and prepared for what was to come. An arsenal of weapons hidden in their cars, wearing black trenchcoats, they observed students as they walked in. Many students stated they seen them wear trenchcoats to the school before and didn't suspect anything. Steven's took his TEC-9 in the cafeteria, and snapped a photo before walking back to the blue van. At 10:12am, Colton and Steven's headed back towards the cafeteria doors and began opening fire on students. Stevens would fire 32 rounds and Colton would fire 9.

At 10:15am, They Would walk back over to the side doors of the school near the hallways and drop their coats. Colton reloaded his rifile and uttered the words "You worthless whore" to Shayna Greene while firing 3 bullets in her head, Stevens would fire 10 rounds into locker doors, afterwards injuring Lewis Chan. Colton joins Steven and walks up to Chan as he lay prone on the ground, he would call him a “f&gg0t” before shooting him 5 times, killing him.

At 10:20am the gunmen enter the library, 35 students and 2 teachers hide among the bookshelves and tables, this is where the worst of their massacre would begin.

(bodies of students among the tables.)

Daniel Turpin, Colton calls him a “computer nerd” before shooting him in the back and shoulder. Afterwards, the pair approach Alexander Engle, asking him if he believes in god. Engle replies with, “Yes, I’m Christian”. Stevens tells him, “Good, you’re about to see him just about… now” And fatally shooting him. Colton approaches his art teacher, Ken Tanner, Colton utters the phrases, "Sorry, Mr Tanner." and shooting him in the chest and neck. 7 people and injured 4 in the library, sparing the 26 others. The gunmen leave the library at 10:41am, they would roam the halls in search of students, One survivor reported seeing Stevens fire gunfire into a classroom as she hid from the perpetrators. Mason County sheriff’s deputies have arrived at the scene and have surrounded the building, The Pair fired at swat and police.

gunmen enter the cafeteria, CCTV cameras capture the infamous image of the gunmen at the base of the stairwell. Stevens was seen at one point picking up a Bloxy Cola off of a table and drinking from it whilst shooting at inanimate objects. The duo walk back up the main hallway back towards the library. Colton tells him to use his camera to take a picture of him before he shoots himself, Stevens would snap a picture of Colton as he held his handgun to his head. Moments later, Colton would fatally shoot himself in the temple with his Walther P99. Stevens Follows not long after and fatally shoot himself in the eye socket with his Beretta 92fs. Nick Colton fired 67 rounds and Sam Stevens fired 158 rounds, 225 in total, striking 44 people in total. Sam Stevens killed 7 students and injured 20, Colton killed 10 students and 1 teacher, injuring 4 others. The massacre ended at 11:4am

(more information on this web page ↑)

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Forever thinking about the ten-minute war-documentary-style long take of the aftermath of the attack on Sietch Tabr, only a few seconds of which made it into the final cut of Dune Part Two.

Image: text from page 214 of The Art and Soul of Dune: Part Two. The text reads:

MELTING ROCK

Before the Atreides atomic arsenal is deployed, another Harkonnen attack on Arrakis further fuels Paul's desire for revenge. It's the point of no return. As he awakens to the sound of explosions, he realizes that Sietch Tabr is being bombarded. This scene echoes the extermination of House Atreides in Part One, with newly designed bombers destroying everything in their path.

What's left of the Fremen people after the air strike is heartbreaking. Wounded survivors seek refuge at the Cave of Birds, where Paul finds Stilgar heavily injured. "We'll have sixty-five to seventy Fremen, wounded families, all civilians," Denis noted in preparation for the scene. The ailing refugees within the cave were filmed in one continuous sequence that lasted ten minutes. "The extras were trained and had rehearsed what to do," recalled Denis. "On 'action,' everyone launched into the scene, creating a maelstrom of pain and chaos, through which Greig improvised shots to capture the intensity, as a war photojournalist would do."

To escape the Harkonnens' wrath, the Fremen flee to the south. And when Feyd-Rautha arrives at the Cave of Birds to witness the damage he has caused, he meets the only survivor who has chosen to stay behind and cover the retreat. Shishakli, who has killed nine Harkonnens with one single blade, will die like the birds, torched with a flamethrower.

[polish-art-tournament]

minigame VII

ORANGE be upon ye!!

tap to view full images!

Honorable mentions: Saint Moritz by Tamara Łempicka, Still life with vegetables by Rafał Malczewski, Crows VII by Krzysztof Kiwerski, Spring by Teodor Axentowicz

[mama-qwerty]

Do you think knux has a secret shrine where he mourns his tribe?

Knuckles climbed the stairs to his room, keeping an ear on Callie, who was on a phone call in the kitchen. She was arguing with someone regarding a recent repair to her vehicle. Judging by how animated she was becoming, it wasn't going well. She'd be there for a while.

Cresting the staircase, he moved down the hall and turned left, entering the room that had become his since agreeing to stay with the librarian. It wasn't as comfortable as sleeping outside beneath the open sky, but Callie had done her best to make it as welcoming as she could for him.

The window let in bright sunlight during the day, and it faced east so he could rise with the dawn. In the left back corner, a thick curtain hung from a hook embedded in the ceiling, forming a tent-like enclosure. Inside sat a collection of thick blankets and pillows, allowing him to burrow beneath when he felt like sleep. Strands of fairy lights circled the perimeter of the ceiling, giving off a softer light when needed. The ceiling was covered with little splotches of what appeared to be milky white paint, but at night, in the dark, they glowed like stars in the night sky.

"I know you'd rather sleep outside," she had said, "but I wanted to bring the outside in to you for when that's not possible."

He had appreciated the gesture, and in all truth, the little glowing dots did make him feel more at ease when he chose to stay in for the night.

On the right side of the room was a pair of doors that opened to a closet. He wore no clothes, so the little room within a room went mostly unused.

With a quick check on the librarian--she was still arguing, the snark in her tone becoming thicker the angrier she got--Knuckles closed the door and went to the closet. Pulling those doors open, he went to his knees and pulled a little box toward him.

Inside were a few things he'd worked on in secret. It was nothing objectionable, but these were things that were special to him, and in his time on his own in the galaxy, running from bounty hunters and evading capture for the arenas, he'd learned to keep anything that was important hidden away. If people knew something held value to you, they tried to take it from you.

Knuckles took off the lid, setting it next to him as he looked at the items inside. The box had once contained shoes of some kind--a fairly impractical design based on the picture on the front, with heels too thin and tall for practical use--but now held a few rocks and pieces of wood. He'd painstakingly carved them in the images of the people and gods of his tribe, in an attempt to keep some parts of his heritage from falling into obscurity.

Far too much had already been lost to him. His time in the galaxy, fighting to survive, had stolen much of his memories of his days in the village. He had been so young when he had left. Rituals and language and culture were fading into a fog now. Bits and pieces would sometimes float into view, but the harder he tried to focus on them, the longer he concentrated, the murkier the details had become.

He worried they too would soon melt away, and he would lose the last tether that connected him to his lost people.

As it was, he felt he had been the last for as long as he could remember. The face of his father was starting to fade. Sometimes he would stand in the bathroom, staring in the mirror, trying to imagine his father's face in place of his own reflection.

Sometimes he could see his father, with his wise eyes and proud expression.

And sometimes he could only see himself.

The last. The only living echidna.

He turned, taking in the Master Emerald, perched on its culet inside a clear case on the other side of the closet. It was deceptively vulnerable, but that was a Miles Prower exclusive design, and would trigger an entire arsenal of weaponry hidden in the closet and around the property should anyone without the accepted energy signature or DNA try to touch the case. Namely, if anyone besides the Wachowskis or MacPhersons try to mess with it. (And Wade.)

Knuckles had a . . . difficult connection to that gem. It had been his people's quest for generations. His driving force his entire life. And he felt a strange bond to it, one that he hadn't heard any mention of in the stories passed down as a child. He'd heard of priestesses pledging their service to it, but had never heard of them actually being connected to it. Feeling it the way he did. It seemed both comforting, and disconcerting.

That gem was what cost his entire species their lives. Having it now seemed a hollow victory. What good is completing his people's quest, if his people weren't here to enjoy the success?

His brow furrowed and he gave his head a little shake. No matter.

He turned back to the box.

Carefully, gently, he pulled the first totem out. A stone figure, carved painstakingly over the course of a week. It was the priestess Tikal, a long passed guardian of the Chaos Emeralds. She was who the tribe prayed to when they needed wisdom and guidance.

The next stone was the god Chaos. A destroyer of worlds, eater of those He deemed unfaithful to the true ways of the echidna. A literal boogeyman to the young, usually used to scare them into eating unpleasant vegetables.

Knuckles could still remember his mother's words when he was just a puggle. "The Lord Chaos does not strike down those who are pure of heart. Those who fight for good purpose. Keep your heart pure, and your path noble, and you have nothing to fear from him, ki'kone."

He wondered how she could consider his path up to now. What he'd done to find the Master Emerald. Had he been noble? Pure of heart?

Would she be proud of the person he'd become?

He didn't know.

Knuckles placed Chaos next to Tikal and reached for the next stone carving. This one was his father, and he picked up another that was his mother. He'd spent more time on these two, wanting to get them just right. The length of the snouts, the quill placement, their tails. His father had lost the tip of his tail during a battle, he remembered that. The other warriors had teased him about it. It brought a smile to his face to think of it.

The last figure in the box was made of wood, a rough carving of a figure with wings spread wide.

An owl warrior.

He had to rely on his memories of the drawings from his village, as he'd never actually seen an owl warrior in person. He'd heard tales of them since he was hatched--how they were evil and cruel and had stolen the most sacred relic the echidna had ever known. How they had viciously killed so many of his kind for no reason.

Now he wondered how many of those stories were true.

This owl was to represent Longclaw, the one his tribe had fallen trying to capture. The guardian to Sonic, and the reason the hedgehog had been sent to Earth as a small child. And the last of her kind.

The echidna killed the owls, and the owls killed the echidna.

He looked to his left at the Master Emerald. Glittering and glowing under its own power. The thing that had led to the extinction of two species.

Well. Near extinction for one, he supposed.

Footsteps down the hall drew him out of his thoughts, and he hurried to put the figures back in the box when a knock sounded on his door. It swung open before he could respond, and Callie popped her head inside.

"Hey Knux, arguing with insurance companies makes me crave chocolate," she said. "Wanna head out for some ice cream?"

Knuckles attempted to shove the box back into the closet, but he pushed it with too much force and it hit the doorjamb, crumpling the cardboard and spilling the contents onto the floor. He reached out, trying to hide the little figures with his large mitts.

"I am not hungry!" he cried in a voice even he found suspicious.

Callie furrowed her brow. "What's going on? What are those?"

"Nothing!"

She came into the room fully, and knelt down to pick up the figure that had skittered across the floor the furthest from him. "Did you carve this?"

Caught. His carvings were found, and now he may lose them. It was a foolish thought, Callie had been nothing but kind to him since he arrived, but that fear of losing anything that mattered to him remained.

He sat back, casting his gaze to the ones that remained near the box. "Yes."

She turned the little wooden figure over in her hands, running a finger down the sides and over the tips of the wings. "Knuckles, this is very good. I didn't know you could carve."

He shrugged. "My father taught me."

Callie sat quietly for a moment, before her eyes went to the shoebox. "Are there more?"

Knuckles' brow pinched. "Yes."

"May I see?"

He sat still for a moment, contemplating telling her no. When she left he would take these carvings and hide them somewhere else. Where she wouldn't find them and take them away.

Stop it. She wouldn't do that.

Without a word, he reached forward and pulled the box toward him. Callie scooted forward, looking inside but not reaching in for them herself.

"What are these?"

They're mine, you can't have them!

"They are," he said instead, "totems to help me remember."

"Remember what?"

None of your business!

"My past."

Silence settled over them for a moment. Callie looked at the wooden carving in her hand, before holding it out to him.

"Will you tell me about them?"

His head jerked up at her. "Why?"

She offered him a smile that was kind. One he saw from her often when she tried to share in his heritage. "Because it's important to you, which means it's important to me. Will you show me?"

He warred with himself for a moment. The part that had denied anyone close as he traveled throughout the galaxy said NO, it wasn't her business, this was something only for him.

But the part that had grown to enjoy having somewhere safe to stay, having someone who cared and watched out for him, was eager to share. To keep his people's memory alive.

And in the end, that's the part that won out.

And so he told. He explained each carving, handing them to her as he shared memories of his people, his parents, the stories handed down. She listened quietly, turning the figures over in her hands as he spoke, asking questions to better clarify a part he may have left too vague. Callie was always respectful of his heritage, encouraging him to share his culture with her to help him keep it from disappearing to time.

He talked for a long time, and when he had finished, she suggested setting his carvings up in a more honorable way. Over the next few days they worked to create a little shrine in his closet, lit with fairy lights and little signs painted with Echidnan sigils and designs.

Over time this shrine that had started as a memorial to his people slowly turned into a way to memorialize those who were important to him.

A taller figure joined his parents, one with a carefully carved braid halfway down her back.

Two smaller figures stood in the back, one with spiky quills, and the other with two tails.

More human shapes appeared--one for Wade, Tom, and Maddie.

Soon little keepsakes joined the figures. A pretty rock he had found while on a walk with Callie. A keychain from Reno from a road trip with Wade. A little plastic trophy, won from Sonic during one of the hedgehog's annoying contests. A roughly carved image of himself, done by Tails.

His treasures. Each one meaningful in a different way.

And on nights when he wonders about his place in life, about the path that had led him here, he sits before his closet, staring at these precious items.

And he smiles, feeling as though he'd found a new tribe to call his.

[sociallyvegan]

Similar to Héloïse and Marianne’s dynamic in the first act of the film, I captured my muse without the collaboration.

The tonal shift in Portrait of a Lady in Fire, when Héloïse entered Mariane’s makeshift art studio, was a breath of fresh air. It’s a testament to the air of collaboration that could not exist when the artistic creation was done in secret. I wish I could’ve experienced that too.

Speaking of the universality of artist and muse, I have also used my muse as an inspiration to create the version that fits best my artistic image; which Marianne did too when she painted Héloïse in secret. It’s not the muse inspiring the artist, it’s the artist’s use of the muse as another tool of their craft, resulting in them becoming equivalent to another paintbrush in the arsenal. The scenario is not very unfamiliar in my artist and muse dynamic.

The only difference is that Héloïse and Marianne got the chance to create something together and I didn’t. After all, “Not everything is fleeting, some feelings are deep”.

[johnnyslittleanimalblog]

The Official Field Greeter to Katmai National Park by Mark Stevens Via Flickr:  this is chunk (bear 32.) he was the first bear seen when they turned on the  explore.org bear cams the other day at brooks falls in katmai. this pic was taken that day. I have been checking the cams constantly since they were turned on and was lucky enough to see chunk and I was surprised how fat he is already and how good he looks, bear force one ( 747 ) has also been seen in the last week before the cams were tuned on and reportedly looks great. the salmon have not yet begun to run so the bears are scarce so far but keep checking because once the salmon appear so will lots of bears and it will happen soon and quickly. I will post a link to the bear cams  ~ johnny

[thorsenmark]

Things That I Dream Of by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: A view looking across snowcapped mountain peaks of the Yukon area while flying over Canada on a flight from Anchorage to Minneapolis. I decided to zoom into this one portion and use a technique I came across a few years ago from a DPS article on the “impact of less.” The idea is to focus on a portion of an area and then let the mind imagine more beyond the image.

[clambuoyance]

Every time I see your art its like I can feel just how much you enjoy making it.

It has a lightness to it, like you're having fun and it's kinda infectious, so I get really happy too when I see it.

Oh I should probably throw a question in here: I love when you post a bunch of sketches all at once, do you plan your doodles ahead of time or do they just come naturally to you as you draw?

AAAH thank you so much! You wouldn't be the first person to describe my art as having a sort of "infectious" joy and it makes me really happy that it's what people think of when they see my art. I really do have fun making it which is why I think I've been able to avoid major art block for the most part or dwelling too much on the fact that I have a hard time getting finished pieces out sometimes

As for your question, I'll try my best to see if I can explain it lol. I guess the "planning" mostly consists of me getting inspired by something (usually a song) and it instilling a certain emotion or vibe in me that i then start to itch to capture in a visual art form.

Sometimes I'll be given a really vague blurry image in my head and go with that and decide to sketch it out with my hands to help me see that vision in my head clearly and I'll make a lot of changes etc etc ("that arm position didn't work" "let me try a different expression" "maybe the angle should be more dramatic"). Or sometimes if I want a clearer picture before I start drawing I'll listen to the song on repeat (and/or walk around in circles) until that Picture becomes less and less blurry and almost...tangible? Perfect 20/20 clarity happens very rarely tho and everytime it does I'm convinced something possessed me (and even then I still make changes on the fly) Sorry I'm explaining this so badly ToT i wish i could just show u my brain

If my mind was a library you would see stacks upon stacks of ideas I've held onto for years...some since 2016...but yeah I also tend to be spontaneous with it and draw a bunch of sketches at once before even "finishing" one --but at least it's out of my head and somewhere in the world!! And one day I'll probably go back and color it or whatever or remember I should post a collection of relevant doodles somewhere

Also one last thing maybe worth mentioning is that over the years my imagination was able to become clearer and my ability to draw what I see in my head also improved! As if the gap between worlds got smaller in a way--and this only happened because of how long I've been drawing that I've been able to build an arsenal of poses and expressions rules and have an easier time drawing. Which helped me be more spontaneous

One thing I do hope for is that I can at least sit through a few hours of learning to do bigger and neater composed pieces with backgrounds...so I can start doodling them more too lol

[schro4444]

Idk abt pained but that anon's right!! There's just something about the way you draw kaito's smiles that feels like running headfirst into a brick wall - it's great!!

On that note though - I'm absolutely obsessed with the bit "he’s got an expression of scrunched-nose focus on his face that looks, for some reason, incorrect—like it’s not how his face actually looks when he’s concentrating, but the emotion underneath is the same. A mask of a feeling to obscure the same feeling, entirely purposeless"

because like! YES! That's EXACTLY it!! Kaito LOOKS like he's super expressive, emoting with his whole face and body, and then you just - get punched in the face when you realise, OH, he feels like neither him nor anyone could ever get out of the shadow his dad casts, OH, he DOES remember the clock tower meeting, this whole ringmarole was to save it, OH, he was trying to get Aoko to act more natural, OH, he was playing the fool at billiards (I GENUINELY doubted for a moment whether he Actually sucked at billiards or just cheated for the poetic justice)

It's a bit sad, to be honest, that Kaito can never put his masks down no matter what face he's wearing - even if it is his own. He said he's a fan of Lupin but imho he'd do well to reread the first book - there is a line there about disguises and ceasing to know yourself Kaito would do well to remember, bc I very much he's taking the time to rest, eat and become himself again between disguise and disguise.

THANK YOU!!! genuinely that’s such a huge compliment ajfjdhd

THANK YOU! AGAIN!! AND YES YES OKAY—I was going to say I have an essay on this, but I think ditto IS my essay, lol

BUT IM GONNA TALK ABOUT IT MORE ANYWAY!!! I won’t get into all of it now but Gosh I think so much about expressions. kaito appears to be an extremely expressive character, and it’s not that he Isn’t, but more that it’s Very intentional, like you’re saying—he’s a magician, he lives for misdirection, he’s always misdirecting and deflecting and reflecting.

moments like these Haunt Me!! he’s very clearly Being Kaito, enough that everyone around him believes him, but he’s also just… totally lying, in every single image. I really really want to capture the energy of these panels in writing and art, lol

LIKE. how good of an acting job did he do here that he managed to convince aoko that he didn’t want to see a magic show. lol.

THE POOL CHAPTER I think about that all the time. what an establishing moment for kaito. first of all because of what it reveals about how he is

(thank you toichi)

and second of all because I was also!!! bamboozled!!

the way he is portrayed when he starts winning in this chapter is Very interesting, because I feel like it comes across as kaito more,,, like,,, settling into the role. he’s not really actively trying to do anything, he’s following what he most naturally wants to do, which is somewhere between “be silly so that people don’t look too closely” and “I’d really like to see the people around me laugh and be happy.” once he starts being able to Perform, he succeeds. and yet we as the audience are still left doubting what really happened!!! kaito misdirects the audience just as much as any of the mk characters!

oooo I really need to read the arsene lupin books. but like YEAH! EXACTLY! kaito never really made space for himself to Not be acting. the closest he gets is with Jii, and maybe his mom. relevant to my OTHER ramble about how, in deciding to become kid, kaito ended up creating a character out of himself, a character that he Has To Be most of the time. and it’s WILD, because it’s a version of himself that’s fundamentally missing a lot of who he is, but nothing that anyone would actually know to miss.

[partisan-by-default]

The images captured by Maxar on 21 September show a crater about 60 metres (200 feet) wide at the launch silo at the Plesetsk Cosmodrome in northern Russia. They reveal extensive damage that was not visible in pictures taken earlier in the month.

The RS-28 Sarmat intercontinental ballistic missile is a key weapon in the modernisation of Russia’s nuclear arsenal. It is designed to strike targets thousands of miles away in the US or Europe, but its development has been dogged by delays and testing setbacks.

“By all indications, it was a failed test. It’s a big hole in the ground,” said Pavel Podvig, an analyst based in Geneva, who runs the Russian Nuclear Forces project. “There was a serious incident with the missile and the silo.”

Timothy Wright, research associate at the International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS) in London, said the destruction of the area immediately surrounding the missile silo was suggestive of a failure soon after ignition.