#because I couldn't go

[sailoreuterpe]

What is each Belcher's + Teddy's episode where they are so annoying, so obtuse, so wack that it seriously makes you want to shake them + the writers? (I love pressing copy and paste lol)

(I also love pressing copy and paste which is why I sent this identical question to everyone, lol. I also apparently have a lot of pent-up annoyance in me. Feel free to ask for explanations!)

Bob: Beefsquatch; Burgerboss

Linda: Christmas in the Car; Local She-ro; Sheshank Redumption; The Grand Mama-Pest Hotel; Worms of In-Rear-Ment

Tina: A Fish Called Tina, Boywatch; Every Which Way But Goose; Legends of the Mall; Y Tu Tina También

Gene: Beefsquatch; Christmas in the Car; Mommy Boy; Worms of In-Rear-Ment

Louise: Mission Impos-Slug-Ble; The Hawkening; Wag the Song

Teddy: Beach, Please; Driving Big Dummy; Drumforgiven; Just the Trip, Sheshank Redumption

Actually, Everyone Except Bob (Including Nat, though I love her): Just the Trip

The Writers Specifically: Yachty or Nice

[lastoneout]

No shade to OP as a person but believe me, this is a sign that something is DEEPLY fucking broken. Like they announced ONE new IP out of like eight films. I genuinely think within the decade they're just gonna stop making original films all together. That's what they learned from Elemental and Wish, just don't make anything new if you can help it.

Like they've unironically turned into what people pretend Dreamworks is, a sequel mill. The real downside is that Dreamworks actually knows how to make a good sequel, Disney never really figured that one out, bar a couple of outliers, and I have no faith in them pulling any of these off. Absolutely soul-crushingly pathetic. Thank god other animation studios exist.

This is the saddest shit I've ever seen, truly.

[toodrunktofindaurl]

"Death's child"

twitter | bluesky | insta | 🔞 patre*n

[cherryfennec]

Summer Times

Hi! I'm finally back from my two week abroad trip!

[dreamyblanket]

Yearning from the nothing dimension [rambling in tags ^^]

[wishfulsketching]

The monsters are out and proud

[beauregardlionett]

i don't think you all understand how much they mean to me

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

None of our hands are clean

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[diushek]

The Shen Qingqiu who has a strong qi deviation and becomes a child of 7, 8 years old? but he talks about weird things like Pokemon, TV, internet, chocolate cookies, his brothers and where they are and where is his mom.

At this moment, Luo Binghe has already fallen into the Abyss- so, there is a bit of relief about Shen Qingqiu not mourning, but that child is a terror of nature. He goes barefoot everywhere, he has no decorum in his dress, he talks nonstop as if he had a sugar overdose- he says that Liu Qingge is pretty like a Barbie, no matter who the hell that Barbie-jie is (Liu Qingge even gets offended, has he been compared to some COURTESAN?), that Qi Qingqi scares him if she does THAT look (and finally challenge her to flex her arm muscles just to hang from them, and she is PROUD), he rejects Yue Qingyuan's hugs by saying that his clothes are ugly and stiff, but then only accepts cuddles because he says that he has puppy eyes and it's not fair. He tries to flee or attack when Mu Qingfang comes near, saying he smells like a bad weird doctor, and only lets him come closer when Mu Qingfang promises that there will be no needles involved (he also talks a lot about something called a UCI, weird operations - how the hell HAD HIS HEART BEEN REPLACED? what the fuck was a pacemaker - and how horrible hospital food is). And definitely NONE OF THEM can deal with the demanding, loud, complainer, critic, easily bored chaos that is that child.

The only one who seems to know what the hell to do with that little Shen Qingqiu? Of course, Shang Qinghua.

He sings to him in an unknown language lively songs to which the child responds by squealing with joy and following the melodies, they talk about something called Pokemon for hours, he apologizes for not having chocolate cookies (he offers him milk candies as compensation), he says they have no internet reception up there and what's the point of having a TV if they don't have good shows?? Entertains the boy for HOURS telling him about monsters and plants, both clearly made-up stories and real stories from that world. He makes him run chasing flying folded paper to exhaust their energy, and even cooks his meals making meals that none of the other Peak Lords have ever seen (much to the chagrin of disciples Ming Fan and Ning Yingying - they also want to spoil little Shizun!!! But the child only makes ugly faces when he sees white rice!!!)

All the Peak Lords are perplexed who happens to be the only one who knows what to do after all. Apparently and thank goodness, it is temporary; soon Shen Qingqiu's qi will circulate normally and his body will return to adulthood as well as his mind. In the meantime, the sect basically leaves him in Shang Qinghua's hands - although they visit him almost daily.

And Mobei Jun, who sees much of all that because the child Shen Qingqiu - or Yuanyuan - does not leave the side of his spy no matter where he go or what he has to do, just think how much he wants to put babies in Qinghua. Many of them. He will find out how, and soon.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

going through my old journals as part of therapy homework and i'm reading a section written in the emotional wreckage of a full-on breakdown when i get hit with this line:

There is never a satisfying answer to ‘Why didn’t they love me?’

like wow babe. good fucking point

[serpentface]

The pylidaigh, a type of vampiric snow ghost, as imagined in folklore in and around the Highlands.

This is a ghost believed to come into being when a person dies in the snow and their body is not found before their soul (still trapped without its funeral rites) 'freezes' inside of it. The body then reanimates into a pylidaigh's twisted form. It looks like someone who slowly died of starvation, just a thin layer of flesh over bones. Its skin is as white as the snow itself, so pale it can blend seamlessly into a blizzard. Most of its body appears subtly stretched and lanky, save for its exceptionally unsubtle long, skinny arms, which drag on the ground behind it when it walks. After a big meal of blood, its belly swells like the abdomen of a tick.

A pylidaigh can only tread across snow and ice, and so doorways and windows are best kept clear of snowfall during the winter in order to prevent it from reaching inside. It mostly comes out to hunt during blizzards when there is little that can prevent it from catching its victims.

In spite of its fragile appearance, a pylidaigh is supernaturally strong, and can run at great speeds when it wants to. No mortal weapons can pierce its body, nor can any bonds known to craftsmen hold it in place. It is usually said that chains forged like iron but made out of ice can bind a pylidaigh and render it immobile, but this smithing technique remains tragically elusive to the average joe.

This ghost is either cast as a wildly dangerous but tragic figure, or one that is more simply malicious. In either case, it is described as experiencing nothing but bitter cold. It shivers endlessly. It retains distant memories of what it was to be alive, and it is motivated by a futile desperation to experience the feeling of warmth again.

In more sympathetic framings, it is described as using its freaky gibbon arms to capture its victims and pull them into an embrace, rather innocently trying to warm itself against their body. This inevitably fails, and the embrace becomes a bone crushing squeeze. When that too fails to warm the ghost, it rips out the person's throat and drinks their blood until the victim is as cold and drained as the pylidaigh itself.

In other cases, this more pitiable narrative of a ghost seeking warmth with no comprehension of its actions is discarded in favor of making it purely monstrous. Here it is a type of vampire with an insatiable thirst, practically a physical manifestation of the worst of winter itself. Some tales acknowledge both variants, suggesting a pylidaigh's violent attempts to warm itself may be initially devoid of malice, but turns into an act of furious jealousy of the warmth of the living after years of suffering.

The only (more or less) surefire method to permanently kill a roaming pylidaigh involves trapping it with fire. They are attracted to any source of heat, and will attempt to warm themselves with the flames (if not tempted away by a juicy living human body). The fire itself cannot kill them (as the sheer cold of their body is more powerful even than flame) but they can be trapped if kept near the fire long enough for the snow it depends upon to melt. This does not kill the pylidaigh either. The monster will remain in stuck in place (and potentially become a threat again if it snows more) for the duration of the winter. Only when the spring comes and all the snow melts does it revert into a normal human carcass (though mysteriously invulnerable to decay), at which point it can be cremated.

Pylidaigh in the wilds also revert to a human corpse during the snowless seasons, but will roam again each following winter unless it is burnt in the interim. It is of critical importance that any human corpse found in high mountain pasture is cremated- not only out of respect for the poor soul trapped as an earthbound ghost, but to prevent the threat of the possible dormant pylidaigh emerging next winter.

[lazylittledragon]

i will never have this attitude to anything else in any part of life but i did not down monster and coffee and sit in my university library all night and experience rollercoaster level anxiety on the countdown to last submissions just so people can write their essays with chatgpt

[northstarscowboyhat]

Peepaw Starlo struggles. Autism 2 autism communication struggles.

[ministarfruit]

yuri month day 5: I want you to kill me ♡

(femslashfeb prompt list)

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.

[kaiser1ns]

#. GIVE ME WHAT I WANT

featuring 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff. he allowed himself to feel something he rarely did, peace and love because with you he got everything he wants.

happy birthday to my lover boy kaiser !! and happy christmas everyone !!

More awake inside of his dreams, the loneliness suits him better as he remains the only star in this cruel world. He doesn’t know what he wants but it’s not this, these sugar-coated words don't mean anything when he says them with his lips, tongue rolling with venom when he sees the faces of despair, experiencing the depth of a person’s soul when they have been put in their place. The moment people give up and are left hopeless, desperate for salvation, sacrificing their talent for more tedious lives — they are weak, more or less dead.

Impossible. He hates and loathes upon hearing that word coming out of someone's mouth, which makes him want to prove himself even more. Nothing is impossible. He was the weak person who gave up at any given chance, curling up into a ball to disappear and become invisible, embracing what is dearest to him in all the vast space, a planet that shines brighter than any star, emitting its own light basking in the gravity of football.

I don't know what I want but I know it's not this… A blue rose on his neck traced down with chain-like intertwined thorns that made their way to the crown on his left hand. To remind himself, to never again fall into that weak mindset, a dark and deep rabbit hole that won’t lead you to Wonderland but straight to execution, and it's ‘Off with your head!���. A symbol that shows the impossible, he is the symbol itself, not the tattoo.

Was that really you next to me? It’s cold even under the blanket, it's cold because it's winter … But it’s warm when you kiss him, it’s warm when you love him. Sometimes it makes him sad when he receives a gift because he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react. It’s his birthday and he doesn’t like it. Christmas lights, a decorated apartment, food on the table, and a woman full of love. Giving him what he wants, then again who is he supposed to please?

“Don't you like it, my love? I-I can always return it if you don't…” Kaiser tried to play it off, masking his emotions behind his usual arrogance. But with you, he was different—less rude, less cold. His eyes lingered on the gift he had just unwrapped: golden rings. Promise rings, you had said with a soft smile, assuring him that nothing could ever tear you apart. Yet, your expression betrayed you—your face was full of sadness and regret. It hurt him more than he cared to admit, more than anything else ever could.

He watched as you looked down, fidgeting with your hands, retreating into yourself. You had given him so much more than he deserved. You gave him what he needed the most: a dream to hold on to.

Then, you felt it—his colder, larger hands settling gently atop yours. For someone usually so brash, the touch was rather gentle and tender. He turned your hand palm up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before sliding the ring onto your ring finger. An arrogant young man with a superiority complex, Kaiser had always been a fortress of pride and self-importance. But beneath it all, he was just a boy yearning to be loved. “I never said anything like that, Engel,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. "I’m just… not good at this stuff, okay? Birthdays and gifts, they’re not my thing. Never have been."

He tilted his head, studying your face. His usual smirk returned, but it was softer now, almost boyish. Kaiser knows you are doing this with pure intentions, he knows he has ben truly blessed not on this day, but the day he met you. And even if he hides it, you can see the little boy's eyes waiting to hear those three words.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips met his, the warmth of your touch seemed to catch him off guard, and he instinctively stepped back. You both paused, glancing up—mistletoe. A sweet kiss for the birthday boy. A loving kiss for the gift you’d received from the universe. His lips were softer than you expected, and he tasted faintly of your lipstick, a reminder of just how sweet your kisses were. He loves you too. You are everything he could ask for: pretty, smart, loving, and caring. You are his.

As he kissed you back, his hands found your waist, pulling you closer. The motion brought him off balance as he hit the edge of the bed, pulling you down with him. You landed on top of him, both breathless, laughter spilling into the space between your lips.

“Time to unwrap your other present~” you teased as you caressed his face, and he felt the golden ring pressing to his cheek.

On days like this, angels are said to come alive. But you were born one—his angel, his most precious treasure. For someone who believed the world to be cruel, who found pleasure in proving everyone else wrong, you were the exception to all his rules. You made him want to be better, not for the world, but for you. Who am I supposed to please? He asked, more to himself than to you, repeating the question that haunted him. His answer was clear now. It wasn’t about the world, the people who doubted him, or even his old self. It was you. It had always been you.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.