#and i had to have a look

[thisbluespirit]

From the Bristol Evening Post 13th December 1979 (p14) - an early press notice for Jeremy Northam, playing Troilus in his school's production of Troilus and Cressida.

He turns up the next year in the same paper's edition of 27 November 1980 (p1), slightly more visibly, and on wheels, at a Bristol University production:

[the-coffee-fandom]

Had to make a meme to describe me currently

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[noodles-and-tea]

Continuation of this

[chalkrub]

autumnal chill....featuring the girl

[chloesimaginationthings]

Glamrock Freddy's life is so hard in FNAF...

(Based off @/sweepswoop’s comic)

[artkaninchenbau]

Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)

It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.

Bonus:

[squeakadeeks]

bro doesnt even have the jennies (certain je ne sais quois)

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

It's just guys night talk! Don't worry about it!

(Read Tiger Tiger and shake this man awake so he can finish that thought!)

[mydairpercabeth]

season 4 is gonna hurt me i fear

[o0kawaii0o]

Ayo 😳

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[egophiliac]

since Eng is getting 7.5 soon(?), I felt motivated to go back to my Meleanor rig and make her a couple of lesson animations! ...except for alchemy, because the cauldron bubbles proved too hard to photoshop around, whoops.

maybe she just got lost on her way to the classroom...?

(credit: backgrounds are from the game, I just put her on top of 'em)

(aside from the backgrounds, this is not an edit, I drew her from scratch! please do not tag or treat as an edit!)

[pcktknife]

she could stand to be a bit more sharky

[bixels]

“America has no culture” is an inherently racist statement. Especially when talking about California, which has enormous populations (yes, plural) of Hispanic and Asian immigrants.

It’s such a self report that you see the American hegemony, the American monolith, as a singularly white entity that’s worthy of scorn. I want that person to look at the Black American NYC Miku design and tell me with their full chest that that isn’t culture. Especially when modern pop culture owes so much to Black American culture — hip hop, language, streetwear and fashion, pop music, jazz — as is actively erasing their roots, saying all of America has no culture is a dumbass statement.

Also, “all the US Mikus are dressed in generic casual street style for coolish weather.” The original Brazilian Miku is wearing sunglasses, a crop top, short shorts, a bikini, and flip flops you absolute dunce. If you’re gonna be rude at least be consistent.