#i didnt feel like fixing it

[rais3dheart]

i made dis gif bc i luv this image enjoy :33

[umblrspectrum]

infinitely funnier visuals in my head, likely because they werent subject to my actual skill level in art

[squidpedia]

UTMONTH24 - Day 26 - Frisk

Forgetting can be a blessing

I like the headcannon that frisk doesnt remember jacksquat before the underground but theyre so cool and balling with that. Vaguely remembers that their previous name sucked so its chill and they get to pick something they like

(Please ask for permission before reposting onto other sites or dubbing, thank you!)

[spkyart]

Dandadan???

[slavhew]

do you ever get reminded of a ship, remember a piece of fanart of it that you loved, then after a day long search realize that you just imagined it? and then try to draw it yourself?

prllb btbtt ALT VERISONS

[nxctern]

Here’s a doodle of this guy too

He’s always in a bad mood but I respect it

[alukaforyou]

ooh i wonder wat hes doing heh :3c wip

[blooodymoon]

A "RETURN of the Number of PERSONS FLOGGED in the BRITISH NAVY, in each of the Years 1845 and 1846; specifying the Name of the Ship, the Offence, the Sentence and the Number of Lashes Infficted." Parlamentary Paper, Number 661 of Session 1847

So after reading the Post about Jopsons Flogging by @handfuloftime I went down a research rabbit hole because I wanted to see if their exist sufficient & specific enough Data to accuratly compare his punishment and put it in the historical context.

I found this Website, which features the two tables from the Parlamentary Papers and their Source.

(Note: The tables on the website are incomplete and inaccurate in certain places. I compared it from top to bottom to the original source and corrected/added the informations in my table.)

I used that as a basis for my own table, where I also added Averages and Sliders so people can search the Informations!

(Apparently Sliders don't work on Mobil, and I don't know enough about Google Sheets how to fix it :/

If anyone knows or if you find a some kind mistake please let me know.)

This week I visited the University Libary, which has access to the Parlamentary Papers Online, to see if such tables also exist for earlier years but sadly 1845 was the first year where they went into such Specifics.

(I hope to add some of the Years after 1846 to the table, when I can.)

Earlier years only had these Informations per Year:

Total Number of Punishments

Total Number of Lashes

Highest Number of Lashes Inflicted at One Time

Lowest Number of Lashes Inflicted at One Time

This Information for 1839 - 1846 under the Cut.

Also under the Read More are some Graphs, Medians & Averages about Flogging for Drunkenness Alone, seperated by Seamen, Marines, Boys and Everyone!

Hope that someone find this useful/interesting !

Corporal Punishment for Drunkenness Alone

Everyone:

Lashes Sentenced Median: 32,75 (1845: 36 | 1846: 31,4)

Lashes Sentenced Average: 31,07 (1845: 31,13 | 1846: 31,02)

Lashes Inflicted Average: 30,8 (1845: 31,02 | 1846: 30,58)

Seamen:

Lashes Sentenced Median: 36 (1845: 36 | 1846: 36)

Lashes Sentenced Average: 34,37 (1845: 34,62 | 1846: 33,86)

Lashes Inflicted Average: 34,33 (1845: 34,41 | 1846: 33,86)

Marines:

Lashes Sentenced Median: 31,4 (1845: 32 | 1846: 31,4)

Lashes Sentenced Average: 30,8 (1845: 31,09 | 1846: 31,09)

Lashes Inflicted Average: 30,8 (1845: 31,09 | 1846: 30,69)

Boys:

Lashes Sentenced Median: 24 (1845: 24 | 1846: 33)

Lashes Sentenced Average: 26,22 (1845: 24,4 | 1846: 28,5)

Lashes Inflicted Average: 25,33 (1845: 24,4 | 1846: 26,5)

Years

1839:

Number of Punishments: 2,007

Number of Lashes: 59,341

Highest: 60 | Lowest: 3

1840:

Number of Punishments: 2,026

Number of Lashes: 60,302

Highest: 48 | Lowest: 1

1841:

Number of Punishments: 2,066

Number of Lashes: 61,669

Highest: 50 | Lowest: 2

1842:

Number of Punishments: 2,472

Number of Lashes: 71,024

Highest: 100* | Lowest: 1

1843:

Number of Punishments: 2,170

Number of Lashes: 63,985

Highest: 60 | Lowest: 3

1844:

Number of Punishments: 1,411

Number of Lashes: 42,352

Highest: 72+ | Lowest: 6

1845:

Number of Punishments: 1,070

Number of Lashes: 33,511

Highest: 48 | Lowest: 3

1846:

Number of Punishments: 1,077

Number of Lashes: 32,360

Highest: 50* | Lowest: 3

*By sentence of a Court Martial.

+By order of the Commander-in-Chief for theft, in a shop at Chusan, and violence to the natives.

Sources: A "RETURN of the CORPORAL PUNISHMENTS inflicted in the ROYAL NAVY, in each of the Years 1839 to 1843, both inclusive, stating the highest and lowest Number of Lashes at each Time, and the aggregate Number of Lashes in each Year [ ]" Parlamentary Paper, Number 308, of Session 1845 + ABSTRACT of Total Numbers of CORPORAL PUNISHMENTS inflicted in the NAVY, and the Total Number of LASHES Inflicted, in each Year up to the 31st December 1846 [ ]. Parlamentary Paper, Number 661, of Session 1847

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Why The Ending Sucks

Ok I figured it out. Hear me out:

The entire comic has a running theme best summed up as "who is controlling the narrative, and why are we listening to them?"

Hussie plays a caricaturized version of himself that he describes as "buffoonish" and "oafish". Caricature!Hussie is well-meaning, but a dumb idiot who's incredibly biased in favor of certain characters and in disfavor of others (the most obvious example being his "love" of Vriska, but there's also the way he constantly disparages Eridan). As a result, you have to be VERY SKEPTICAL and VERY CAREFUL when approaching Homestuck's narration, because even when the "best" narrator is at the helm, he's not 100% trustworthy and incapable of giving the readers an unbiased view of the story.

I say "best" because, importantly, Hussie isn't the story's only narrator. He and Doc Scratch explicitly fight over control of the story - Doc Scratch, the child abusing predator who engineered Alternia's fascist murder society, whose shaping of its history is explicitly described by character!Hussie as "fanfic". He is then killed by Lord English, who is described by Hussie as embodying the "toxically masculine" and by extension, the patriarchy, and Caliborn explicitly takes control of the story. John even grapples with Caliborn's version of events, calling out how sexist and misogynistic and shitty it is.

So if we're keeping score: control over the narrative is LITERALLY wrested away from Hussie (who was already struggling to be unbiased) by fascists, abusers, and the patriarchy. It's stressed multiple times that Caliborn/LE are responsible for literally everything that ever happens; the reason the Game Over timeline ends the way that it does is because the alpha timeline is, in essence, the narrative LE is telling: the forces of fascism get to claim the new universe, thereby propogating itself, while friendship dies and all hope is lost.

Who's in control of the narrative, and why are we listening to them?

There are other minor examples of this, too: Aranea is an exposition fairy, and she's biased as fuck and wrong ALL THE TIME about her own teammates. Karkat's explanations and rationalizations are constantly tinged with his own self-loathing and self-blame. Sollux and Meulin are both prophets as per their Mage class, but are both so bogged down by their own emotional issues that the futures they pick out are actively harmful. So on and so on. At nearly every turn, you have to interrogate who's telling the story, what their motivations are, and what they're overlooking or deliberately obfuscating.

So given that this theme is so prevalent, and so thoroughly weighted toward "well, actually, maybe you shouldn't take narration at face value and should interrogate it and come to your own conclusions," it would be Really Weird for the story to go "actually, you can totally trust the narrative now because everyone gets a happy ending".

So, I know that it makes me sound like a conspiracy theorist, but here's my genuine take on Homestuck's ending:

The ending is shitty on purpose because the viewer is intended to take it as a dare to refute the narration and make something better.

Why are we letting character!Hussie tell the story? He's a biased idiot. Why are we letting the various avatars of LE and Caliborn tell the story? They're fascist, misogynistic, predatory assholes.

And - because Homestuck is a story about life - why are we letting idiots, assholes, abusers, and creeps dictate the story of real life? The world is full of forces that would try to take control of the story and make everyone else play along, represented in microcosm within the text of Homestuck. We cannot let those forces win.

So please go out and do something kind and hopeful and loving in the world today. Thanks for reading.

[lemongogo]

[ardate]

Every Boromir hater makes my enormous love for him grow stronger. Sorry you couldn't understand him, I get him tho and we're holding hands and the whole of Gondor is laughing at you

[soriastrider]

they deserve some time to relax

(transparent edit under the cut)

the original dirk and jake images here are pulled from homestuck (i removed their backgrounds here), i just edited them together :) and then i decided to try drawing a fake panel background lol

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[sulfies]

If I Lead (pt3)

Part 2 here

Vincesco stood true by his word.

 Desmond didn't even need to use most of his skillset which he was happy about. He took it easy and dodged when he needed and accepted some punches when It seemed like he was going overboard. He was not trying to climb the ranks in a race and make a name, he just needed to be off the training wheels. And It had worked. The young lad looked a bit pissed off about not winning against him but Desmond didn't care much about it.

The next day he was given instructions and pocket money to get himself some gear that fitted him. Now equipped with warmer clothes and shoes that actually fit he was faring better. 

Marsilio also was paying him quite a good amount of money for basically doing nothing but walking around and swinging his sword to train every now and then…. He really couldn't understand why the mercenaries complained about Ezio cutting their wages since he became in charge, just how much Mario was paying them before?

A month passed in this new lazy routine.

He made home in his guard tower. He was used to sleeping outside and wasting money on rent seemed unnecessary when he had little to no belongings. He bought himself some extra blankets to cushion the stone ground and shield from the cold wind at night. His lodging was enough for him.

He was rarely in it unless he was sleeping anyway.

He would wake up before dawn, bathe in the stream right outside the village a few minutes away if he needed, and then he would make his way to the barracks.

It was peaceful really…

He was terribly bored.

There was not much for him to do, sometimes he would get called to patrol outside the woods to see if any bandits were camping around but they have yet to see one since he has been here. Every now and then he would group with some people for training, but most of the time he was left alone as long as he reported to the barracks first thing of the day.

He had taken hunting as a hobby, going out around mid-noon to catch some small game to bring to the butcher. It gave him food and some extra savings money. He wanted to save enough to buy a horse so he could travel without problems, taking detours if he needed but horses were expensive. 

The barracks stable had a few but they all had their owners and the ones that did not were there if the need arose.  Also, he really wasn't looking to be known as -the horse thief-.

Sometimes Vincesco would call him over to go for a drink at the tavern, each time he would accept with the guilt eating him from inside out. He was not supposed to lay around and get drunk. He had people he needed to get back to, people who he was to guide but he could not refuse his bosses.

So he would drink a mug or two of the piss-tasting beer, the cheapest money could find as slowly as he could till the rest were drunk enough for them to not realize he was faking his stumbles on the street. Once everyone parted he would climb up to his den and force himself to sleep.

He was going mad.

Desmond wasn't used to being this useless. He was used to waking up and having a mission to complete.

Find us a new water-source Desmond, We need food Desmond the field has yet to yield any, Desmond help us move this rocks over so we can prepare the shelter, Desmond climb up the mountain to see if there is anything that survived

and he did it all without complaints.

He travelled for days or months to see if there was anything new, he noted down any new changes he could see. He helped Shaun with whatever he needed his strength or body for. He helped Rebecca gather whatever supply she was going to need to make their lives easier. That was his job.

He was there to calm the people down, remind them that gods had not forsaken them but they had been given a new beginning. To not panic but have hope so humankind could survive long after them.

It was all bullshit really, to keep the leftover people from going mad. 

In the darkest times, religion was most of the time the home of hope they needed to shelter in. But it had worked.

They had a functioning farm, bushes that yielded berries, small huts that gave lodging to people. They were actually seeing growth after 20 years, grass was filling the land and young trees were growing taller. They were finally getting somewhere so Desmond had left on a new expedition to find some more survivors further back from the camp to see if anyone was left.

And then he was here.

Lying on his blankets he watched the stars, tracing the groups with his eyes trying to remember the names Shaun taught them, the ones he couldn't remember without his books, Rebecca had made up stupid nicknames for.

He missed them terribly nowadays… Even his father.

William had died just three years ago. The grief lingered more than he had expected. All the issues they had before seemed so small after the flare, they never patched things up but they didn't fight like they used to. Desmond knew he bore some guilt about convincing him to not go through with the shields. They all did.

They each had their turns to cry, shout and laugh crazy about it then cry some more. The three blamed themselves which in turn made Desmond blame himself more. It was an endless cycle they decided to put behind themselves to focus on the now. 

Desmond turned to his side, inhaling deeply, his hair tickling his neck from the wind. He listened to the nocturnal birds and closed his eyes. He hoped they were safe above all else. 

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

Two weeks passed by fast and Desmond's routine did not change. Wake up, bathe, barracks, busywork, hunt, do something… anything… then sleep. He had taken to sharpening the unused swords and upkeep of them for today's activity since no one else was bothering to do it. 

Near a clearing around the stable, he was sitting on a stool, sharpening one sword after another with a whetstone on his lap, adding them to a pile. 

“Actually working for your coins Domenico? You should join the others inside for a few cups.”

He looked at the voice that was calling him. Angelo, one from Marsillios circle. He gave a polite smile back. “Not much to do and I don't like drinking while the sun is up, gives me issues at night.” 

“Smart man, keeping your soldier ready for when it's needed.”

Desmond made a face at the joke, He never stepped a foot in the brothel. A lot of the recruit's freshly earned coins ended up in there almost the day they gained them… then trickled back into the economy. He did not want to think about the amount of STD’s circulating around. Even if everyone was magically clean… sex had been the last thing on his mind for a long while.

“Please, If the wife learned I even dared to breathe next to one of the honey pots she would have my head.” 

“Oh come on, how would she even know?”

He hummed in answer and smiled “Trust me she would… and I like to keep my manhood intact till I die”

Angelo laughed and walked near him. Eyeing the swords lying on a pile on the side, the ones that were ready to be polished.

“Needed me for anything?” 

The other man shifted his weight “Marsillio wanted me to let people know to be extra sharp the next few days, actually do what he says and whatnot… not that you need a reminder.”

“Why is that? Is Ser Mario coming to check the barracks again?” He had seen him a couple of times, the man usually looked around for a few minutes then joined the backroom to talk about what he needed to.

“Nah, the actual big boss is coming back any day now. Sent in a word with his bird, arrived just an hour ago to the villa.”

Desmond's whole body tensed in a second. It was not hard to figure out who the nickname belonged to.

Ezio was coming back.

He forced himself to relax. “A-ah… so we need to be on our best behaviour?”

“Mmhm. You might be asked to go to the training grounds a bit more and longer than you are used to, we need to look busy lest we want more budget cuts. The young master has already been bleeding us dry…”

Desmond gave a nervous chuckle and placed the sword in his hand on the pile. “Alright, no problem for me but I know a lot of the kids are going to groan and moan about it”

“Yeah they already are, Vinchesco is not happy about it so I'm sending you up next to him for morale.” A soft pat landed on his shoulder “Think yourself as second in charge. A small promotion with no pay raise”

Angelo left his side with a smile.

“Great”

Not great… he couldn't even hide next to the recruits as they trained.

He might visit the church just to pray and hope that Ezio doesn't give a shit about the training area and just passes by it. 

Maybe he could fake a stomachache or the plague… ask for a toilet break as soon as Ezio stepped foot through the gates…

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

For two days Desmond’s every limb was aware of every movement and talk around him. They were patrolling a lot more and training a lot longer. 

He wished he was just given the duty of cleaning around the barracks but Vincheso liked him for some reason enough to ask him to stick by his side.

“If I have to hear any more whining I might actually have them train till sunrise…”

Desmond shrugged his shoulders and he listened to him complain, not much different than the recruits. He figured it out the second day while Vinchesco’s job was to babysit the newbies, Desmond’s job was to babysit him. “You know if you guys were more strict from the get-go they wouldn't feel this comfortable crying about it.”

“And make my own job harder? Training doesn't teach a man how to swing a sword anyway, they actually need to fight to become man is what I think. I sure didn't learn how to kill from stabbing these stupid straw dummies couple times a day.”

“I'm not sure just charging into the enemy will teach them much is all I’m saying… well other than dying.”

Vinchesco leaned back onto the railing “Meh, I send the ones that show promise to the others that actually put them to work.” he waved his hand around “All this is just, keeping the meatshields sharper.”

Desmond sighed, what a way to raise an army… Ezio really needed to keep tighter reins around these bunch and overhaul the system… but he rather Ezio do that once he got to Venice and away from here.

“You are way too uptight Dominico. It's good here. We get coin, we get food, we drink then we fuck and then we sleep. Living it up like nobles almost… you should enjoy it more, I’m sure you fought plenty of battles in your youth but this is not a battlefield and we got Ser Ezio behind us if else happens. The man is his own army.”

Desmond's jaw clenched, old memories of the fall of this Monterriggioni flashing in his mind. No wonder no one was alerted till it was too late… he always thought the Village was captured way too easily.

“Mmhm… I'll try” he smiled back with a strain “Old habits die hard, that's all… the guard schedule back in Florence was way more strict.”

“More the reason to-”  “HE IS BACK! SER EZIO IS BACK”

A shout cut off Vinchesco’s word, The messenger ran towards them. 

Desmon felt the anxiety boil in his gut

“Shit…”

[buwheal]

Not sure if you ever mentioned, but what IS your favorite flavor? I can't tell from looking at the cake.

[fagdykemuppet]

had a moment of "someone needs to draw this. wait i can draw". they also gave him a neck reduction surgery.