#hmmm something something….

[lengthofropes]

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x05 - “Blisters and Bedrock”

[keferon]

Empurata!Prowl tries to actually communicate for the first time

What if he wants to say something but he can’t. What if he has no voice to speak, no face to emote, no hands to write. What if every attempt to communicate a message is essentially a puzzle of wit and creativity and yet, the first thing he goes through all these troubles for. Is to say “I love you”?

Don’t ask me how did they get in this room. I have no idea. They escaped the battlefield somehow haha

Next->

[your-art-is-gay]

Yeah, yeah, Marinette being a fan of Gabriel because she wants to be a fashion designer is great and all. But I think it would be much more meaningful if Adrien and Marinette bonded over Mari being a fan of his mom.

So here's a little mini-comic about it! ^-^

[carolinanadeau]

"this female character is underdeveloped" TO YOU. I can read subtext and I know all about her backstory and her rich inner life. also she told me personally

[housederiva]

I just realized Seer Rowan greets Spite as Determination and Isabela introduces him like that in the hall of valor (and Solas refers to him as such in the last fight)

And there are several points throughout the game where Varric and Solas and others point out Rook’s determination and how they don’t know when to quit. Determination is Rooks defining characteristic and maybe that’s the biggest reason why Spite like’s them so much, because he can see what he used to be mirrored within them

[makotafi]

I blame @messymoonmad and @bigidiotenergytm for this

That being said enjoy >:3c

[omnificent-orion]

Don't ever forget. Wherever you go…

Commission Info | Support My Work

[sufficientlylargen]

Hmmm. A finger is a unit of volume, as in "two fingers of whiskey". A hand is a unit of length (most commonly the heights of horses).

So fingers per hand is actually a measure of area.

A beard-second is defined as the length a beard grows in one second (generally held to be 5 nanometers), which implies that a beard is a unit of velocity (5 nm/s).

Hands per beard is thus length per (length per time), i.e. a unit of time; conceptually one hand-over-beard is the amount of time it takes to grow a beard that is one hand long.

It follows that we can measure flow (which is change in volume over time) in fingers per hand/beard, or fingerbeards per hand (the number of fingers of fluid that pass through in the time it takes to grow a beard one hand in length).

Of course, fingers measure cubic hands, so we can cancel a hand and express flow in terms of square-hand beards - conceptually a flow of one square-hand beard means that a volume is increasing at the same rate as the volume of a one-hand by one-hand patch of beard.

Acceleration is length per time per time, so hands per square hand/beard, i.e. square beards per hand; this makes intuitive sense as the acceleration that will increase your speed by one beardspeed in the time it takes to grow one-hand beard.

There doesn't seem to be a unit of weight that's derived directly from a human body part, but we can take our cue from the ounce and use a unit of volume of a standardized substance (one ounce of water by weight is also one ounce of water by volume, modulo some details we don't care about). Using finger or hand would get confusing, though, so we should measure mass using a body-part unit we haven't used yet, the butt. One butt is therefore the mass of one butt (volume) of pure water.

Force is measured in mass * distance / square time, which for us means butt-hands per square handoverbeard, but we can cancel some hands to measure force in butt-squared-beards per hand.

The intuition for this is that one butt*square beard / hand is the amount of force necessary to accelerate a butt of water by one beardspeed over the duration of growing a handlong beard.

I think having units tied to approximations of actual human features will greatly help scientific literacy, so this units system should be adopted immediately.

[frownyalfred]

you know what one of my favorite tropes is? forced identity reveal. and not just scenes where the villain will throw some poor civilian off a building if the Justice League doesn't stand up. I mean the kind where they're forced, through magic or powers or some sort of force, to reveal themselves.

Kryptonians are immediately identified in the crowd with kryptonite. Every Lantern hisses as their rings start to flare at the same time, glowing wildly on their hands. Glamours are forcibly dropped. Like that.

[dragologist]

Nobody:

Men from the Fire Nation:

More like the Fire Baddies 💅🏻❤️‍🔥✨️

[lemongrace]

hand practice with Eluein's nasty mage grippers

[numbuh424]

ok hear me out

weird guy that's hot = L

hot guy that's weird = Light

[teddybeartoji]

it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.

it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.

so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?

or is it the fingers in his hair?

he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.

you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.

he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.

his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.

as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.

a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.

he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.

even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.

your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.

his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.

he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.

he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.

and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.

you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.

he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?

no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.

it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.

he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.

turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—

a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.

seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.

his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.

his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.

you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.

don't stop.

+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right

[zishu-arts]

for my AvA secret santa, @ellathebirb !!!!!

thank you to @avagiftexchange for organizing this amazing event !!

[almondcroissantsandink]

Talk to me, dad.