#i was proud of it dont get me wrong

[random-lil-illing]

quick sketch of my boy norman :]

[jerreeeeeee]

as much as i enjoy the more wholesome fantasy high parents like jawbone and sklonda and the thistlesprings there’s something so compelling and achingly real about bill seacaster that makes him my favorite. he and fabian have a relationship that is so deeply unhealthy and entrenched in distorted ways of viewing other people and parenthood and the world, and yet is so fiercely and undeniably loving. like, is bill seacaster a good dad? what does being a good dad even mean for someone like bill? bill seacaster has such unrealistic and toxic expectations of fabian and a myopic, entirely self-centered way of relating to him for most of his life, and yet, you truly get the sense that even if fabian disappoints him again and again and never steps out of his shadow and never becomes the man bill wants him to be, bill will never love him any less than completely and unconditionally. bill seacaster is a man who has built his entire life and sense of identity around doing whatever he wants and never facing consequences and never thinking about anyone else. bill seacaster becomes disappointed in his son. and he finds the idea of that so unacceptable that, instead of demanding that fabian meet his expectations, bill loves him so much that he reconsiders his entire concept of himself and the purpose of his life, and he grows. a man whose legacy and identity was based around selfishness and narcissism and unwillingness to bend, and fabian makes him change.

[sparkdoesart]

Isat siffrin and loop short animatic thing for my au~

Spoilers for the secret ending!

So much i wanna talk about with these two~

But alas, I'll keep it to myself for now,

[eir-trixa]

One thing that gets me everytime is that Stoick would have absolutely LOVED Zephyr. And Nuffink of course but I have this weird feeling that he wouldve doted non stop on Zephyr specifically. She wouldve been spoiled rotten by her grandfather, taken everywhere on top of his shoulders or the crook of his elbow. He would be reading her stories before bed. He would have learned to braid her hair and sat down with her on tea parties. He wouldve gone with her troll hunting. He would be there for her and her brother in the way he never got to be with Hiccup because the times were different now and then. He would absolutely be her best friend and Im SAD they never got to meet.

[anqaspond]

"so you like wolf of wall street but not the barbie movie?" consider this. WWS is a satire mocking capitalism. the barbie movie was conceived by, lives, and breathes capitalism, performativity, by a company that actively mocks feminists, written to cater to white feminism exclusively, all while pretending to be a sincere work for feminism. mattel has actively rejected the label "feminist" for ages now and profits off the image of feminists through history whos families have made it known they dont want their names to be sold by the company. golly gee i wonder why i dont like it maybe its guz they gentrified feminism for the white middle class to consume and give money to the conglomerate that shits on the name of feminism

[critterchitters-closedcaptions]

saw something in the fictive tag here that bugs me.

if you have exomemories thats fine. you arent "wrong" or "faking" if you remember things from your source.

also, you arent "wrong" or "faking" if you Dont remember things from your source.

can we all just live and get along please. you dont have to go at someone else's throat just because you experience plurality differently.

[ad-astra-per-aspera-1389]

Okay, since I found the pictures, I'll elaborate.

After reading The Martian, my class was given the option for extra credit. The project? A slideshow about serving in the wilderness after a plane crash. The extra credit? Build a scale model of a real type of lean-to survival shelter.

I needed that extra credit.

As expected, a few days before it was due, groups started turning in their models. A popsicle stick hut, a lego interpretation of a lean-to shelter. Several others made of various craft supplies. Could I have gone the craft supply route? Yes, yes I could have.

But I didn't.

I was not then--and barely am now-- confident with a glue gun. So, I made mine out of nature. I was also a horrible procrastinator (which I had the adhd to blame, but I didn't know that yet).

8pm: I venture outside. There's a bit of forest behind my house, but it's on a hill. It was also December, as it was the night before the end of the semester.

Crunch time.

I'm outside in rain boots and a winter coat, collecting sticks, grass, and rocks in a bucket.

Success.

Back inside I construct this monstrosity: the best I could do with what I had. It's a debris hut, made with no glue whatsoever. The only parts that aren't from outside are the cardboard base and the paper towel roll in place of a log.

(pics under read more)

I finished around midnight.

Cool, right? Yeah, I thought so, too.

I still had to get it to school. My english class was the last period of the day.

Somehow, it survived the car ride to school...and the walk to my first period class. Luckily, my French teacher let me leave in in the Language office all day.

To get it to class, I had to transport it up a whole flight of stairs. Did I mention I didn't use glue? Miraculously, I get this thing to class, and everyone stares at me while I place this thing on the teacher's desk.

One guy asked, "How far into the woods did you go?" I think they were impressed. I felt a little bad about going overboard when I heard their reactions, but only because I knew that their projects were smaller and more normal, and that they paled in comparison to my overachieving-once-in-a-blue-moon ass's all natural debris hut.

Throwback to last semester when I showed up everyone in my English class with a pile of sticks...

[theworldthrukaleidoscope-eyes]

To fast food workers: "It's only meant for young people in college! Not to support a family!"

To retail workers: "The job isn't that hard. Why do they need to be paid so much?"

To CEOs: "They had to work hard to get where they are!" - Let's talk about this. A CEO of a small business (I'm using an example of someone I know personally, just so you know I'm not inflating or spewing secondhand facts) makes 350k/year. Minimum wage makes 15k/year. Do you honestly think any people/persons are capable of working over 20x harder than anyone else?? Retail workers have customers screaming at them for 8+ hours a day; fast food workers must prepare your food in a boiling hot kitchen (with customers screaming at them!) for 8+ hours a day. I could go on about waitresses, firemen, childcare, teachers! (oh but those jobs should be fulfilling enough without the paycheck...right?? Tell that to the CEO) My CEO friend doesn't work every day. She works MAYBE 15 hours a week, and complains about the days she has to drive to work to handle things in person. She absolutely does not work harder than minimum wage workers. Don't get me wrong--she used to. Before she made 350k a year. Before she made even 200k a year. Did she work hard to 'earn' a position where she makes so much and doesn't work? No. That's what we call 'retiring'. What she is doing is earning money she don't need off the labor of others. Because that's the kicker--she doesn't need this much money. She owns three houses. She travels at least 3 times a year overseas or on yachts/cruises. She buys expensive furniture (I'm talking 2 thousand dollar lamps, 400 dollar chairs) on a WHIM. She eats out for nearly every meal. She does not need this much money. People in poverty don't want to have a free ride. They don't want rich people to pay their way. They want this kind of financial imbalance to stop. Because when your friend who just spent more than you make in a year on her monthly travel expenses, and then complains that her taxes are just too high, and she has to pay way too much for health insurance, to someone who literally cannot afford health insurance (and some days, actual food)...it starts to get ridiculous.

This is a real person I know in real life. Not a billionaire. Not a famous actor, artist, or anyone you would have heard of. This is income inequality right on your doorstep.

[princekirijo]

World's most frustrating feeling: having multiple ideas and character designs but despite working on the thing for nearly 5 YEARS still being nowhere close to having a coherent plot 💀

[luck-of-the-drawings]

WWWOOOPS FORGOT I MADE THIS. drew this back at around when the hyperbolic time chamber training arc was just starting. remember that? huh? remember the hamspter??? ohhhhhhhh youll remember the haspter!!!! oh my god yknow what else i remember. williams overwhelming love for christmas. oh my god. spooky zombie boy loves the christmas.. literally the best possible thing for him...

[missazura]

Man. To survive i need to have some level of delusion huh

[sc4llywag]

Ac Tumblr fandom I love you but when I see Ezio dialogue and there's a mention of "my friend" or "oh my God" specifically in Italian, it is vital to say dio MIO, not mio dio!

That also goes for amico mio, not sure why these rules are like they are but I've established them with an Italian friend of mine and hope you guys learned some silly factoid today! Love you writers and meme makers<3

Any corrections are appreciated 👍

[oohbuggypie]

"and as he wept, he wept and said, 'Oh, my.. Oh, my.. Would to God I had died for He'"

this is fully inspired by @goferwashere 's PO!! Monster Hunter AU 🩷 depicted is Don Flamenco in his monster form being held in his last moments by Joe. the writing that describes their fight, Don's death, and Joe's regret are all below the cut as its very long. but WOW i just could not get this idea out of my head . thank u soo much Gofer for the amazing AU and thank u to the whole community for being my courage to be brave and release something a little less cutesie than usual ! 🥹 additional details i rlly want to be known::

-the tattoo on Don' torso is an altered version of that in the regular PO!! universe; the one depicted reads "COLOSSIANS 3:2" :: the verse's meaning is "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things". this is meant to reflect his disdain for humans, and how he views them as lesser

-the stab wound placement is below Don's right pectoral; this is in reflection of Jesus Christ's 5th wound he suffered whilst being crucified. additionally, it is said that what seeped from the wound wasn't only blood, but water as well; i found this very fitting for his character for obvious reasons lol

-the lyrics above the drawing are a condensed / altered version from the choral piece "David's Lamentation", one of my favorite songs ever !

phewph okay writing time ! unfortunately i have never written angst, let alone fighting OR death .. this is also being released about half an hour shy of midnight on bad sleep so proofreading is out of the question.. this is prob a hard read but I STAY CONFIDENT ! here we gooo 🩷::

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

Don hissed and swung his fist in an aimless direction, hearing the collision's result come in the form of an agonized grunt from the man near him. Blind rage mingled with fear consumed Don's body in a way God himself forbade, yet he continued to batter any flesh that came into contact with his.

Joe's entire being ached, his eye now burning from the knuckles that dug into it just moments ago. He clenched it shut and let the obscurity of his vision drive his instincts to wherever they were necessary. He aimed to return the punch with his own fist plunging to meet Don's stomach, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs. As Don's arms instinctively lowered to gaurd where his sore flesh was struck, Joe snarled and drew his left arm back to slam a fist into Don's cheek. The siren felt a coursing agony not only externally, but through his heart. He knew what would come, yet he continued to bare his teeth. He ripped apart anything which bothered him and felt no haunting ring in his mind. Though this time, he feared that the bells would toll.

Joe took full advantage of the temporary stun he inflicted upon Don and wrapped his hands around the man's throat. Joe kicked Don's ankle in so that he buckled beneath his own weight, dropping them both to meet the floor. Joe felt a shake within his bones, like the structures in his own body didn't want him to do this. He didn't want to. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Yet his body moved now without his mind, pressing his entire weight into the neck of the helpless man below him. Don couldn't stand the desperation that racked his body, and above that distaste, he couldn't bare to look up at the deathly eyes staring into his own. The man who he called a friend held less semblance to a human and now closer to a wraith, some wretched figure distorted by horror. His skin appeared a sickly gray in the darkness of the gym's room, and had his hands always been this coarse and cold? Nonetheless, for the present time Don disregarded the friend he once had and viewed him now as a step above a pet; competition.

Don snarled and thrashed beneath the body of Joe and locked his hands around the arms above. His brain felt like a searing gas within his head, but that lack of consciousness was immediately replaced by instinct. Don slid his hands down to grip Joe's wrists and ripped them outwards with a fell swipe. Joe wasn't spared a second to process the motion before his nose was slammed by Don's forehead. A pained cry was all his voice could manage before his vision flickered black.

-----

When he awoke, only seconds has passed since he blacked out. With a horrified start, Joe began to thrash his arms through the water engulfing him. His legs kicked in the same motion, his left heel slamming into an excruciating pressure seeming to bind his right ankle. The force released as soon as it felt his bruising strike against it. Joe desperately made strokes with his arms upwards, looking for any form of light to signify what differentiated the surface from the bottom. Joe felt a darkness reigning upon him as another figure trailed close behind, its presence growing heavier with each struggling wave of his arms throughout the pool.

Joe's face broke the surface. Without a second to catch his breath, he began scanning the area with bewildered eyes for the nearest edge. His loafers felt like bricks tied to his ankles, and the turtleneck he donned was quickly becoming suffocating. A short distance behind him, a splash breaking the water's tension drove Joe into fight or flight. His arms clawed in front of him with strokes large enough to leave his arms aching the next day, yet that same pain was his drive to reach the edge quicker. He gripped the ledge of the hard floor and hoisted himself above the edge, rushing into a position where his knees and one arm balanced his body upright. With his unoccupied hand, he reached where the bells tolled and the colors sank. Joe frantically patted his pocket for where the knife's sheath bulged.

Don arose from the water he resided in just seconds after his former partner. Joe ripped the leather from his pocket and reached into it, gripping the handle as if he was warding death itself away. His knuckles were white with pressure, and his wide eyes locked on the man inches from himself. Don's eyes were sickly and no longer passing as human; the bags beneath them were a bruised purple, and where the whites of his eyes should be were replaced by a glassy blue. His brows dug wrinkles into his forehead like malicious scars upon skin. And the worst of it all was the death-like frown that crumpled his entire facial structure; it drew his eyes in a downward spiral, and his lips curled against his flesh like desperate hands digging into anything for hold.

With his chest exposed and either arms beside him as means to lift himself, Joe raised his blade and drudged it into Don's flesh.

Don's eyes fell like the world's light upon an empty room, and the sharp inhale in his throat thrummed akin to the death rattle. Despite the metal lodged deep within his chest, he managed the strength to drag himself from his home's grasp and to lay on the freezing tile below him. Joe's hands left his mouth as he let out some visceral shout that made cherubs above weep. He scurried across the soaked floor to examine the man before him. Joe slammed himself down upon the floor and struggled to lift him, eventually draping Don's being across his own. Don's arms rested against Joe's bent knees, and his head tilted into his chest with slowing breaths beating against his sweater. The remaining warmth of his breath settling on his own shoulder resembled the comfort of a blanket upon a child's cold body. Joe felt static piercing through his brain and throughout his ears.

He slid his trembling hand to grab the hilt of his blade, yanking it from between Don's ribs with a crumbling expression upon his face. Where the stab wound remained open, Joe rested his hand on its opening and let the blood seep onto his skin. He lowered them to graze the rest of Don's torso, creating an up and down rhythm almost as if to comfort him. He felt a dread in his stomach nothing in his life had ever compared to; he had killed numerous times before this, and for pettier reasons. But the understanding of what he had just done settled upon him like the smothering embrace of a rotting being. Joe lost any remaining thoughts in his mind as small, breaking moans passed the pursing lips of Don.

Don's body felt washed by shades of baby blue. His eyed fixated on an empty and quickly fading horizon. The right side of his body held a sensation that reminded him of familiarity; dripping water and warm waves caressing his flesh. Though this time, the sea seemed to be accompanied by rainfall. Don couldn't muster the strength to look up, let alone turn his head, but he felt warm droplets fall upon his hair. The fog that began swallowing his mind didn't allow him to understand where the water's source was coming from. They dropped rapidly now, dripping enough so that they slid across his own cheeks; they made up for the lack of his own tears. The air that was becoming increasingly hard to keep in his grasp now filled with a tune, a rhythm similar to those he practiced when dancing.

"Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé, oh..."

Don couldn't understand the words, couldn't sing along to the beautiful tune that seemed to hail from Heaven itself. It broke his heart a bit, seeing that one of his greatest attributes was his ethereal singing voice. But the words soothed his soul, and held this wonderous ability to make his eyes feel comfortable closing.

"Oh, mon Dieu... Oh, mon Dieu, pardonne-moi... Pardonne-lui aussi..." Joe heaved, his hands clutching the bloodied skin of Don's torso. His body shook with a might that caused Don's own body to tremor along with his.

Don wished he knew what those words meant. Don wished he could hear the voice sing in his ears forever, let the melody echo throughout the chambers of his fading mind every second of every waking moment. Don's face fell cold, and his body felt as if it was losing its occupation; but fear never crossed his mind when his vision finally began to fade. He loved the hands running up and down his body, loved the warmth cascading against his side, loved the song, he loved this moment. He let his breath soften and slip from his mind's priorities, and now focused on shutting his eyes to rest.

The last thing Don truly felt was the slipping of beads across his collar bones.

-----

Joe removed the rosary from around Don's neck and let its wooden roses slide into a pile inside his unused pocket. He vowed that the blade would make no contact with the necklace.

Joe couldn't and didn't think as he laid the body of his sweet friend down to rest away from his own. He looked once more into the drained yet softened features of Don's face; his lips looked soft against his chin, and his brows no longer furrowed in such a dreadful way. Joe stood for moments, spending minutes staring down at the body now devoid of life on the floor. The worst sight of the entire night was the wound beneath the right side of Don's chest. And even upon staring at it, running his eyes over it again and again, Joe just couldn't think deeper about it.

He turned his back from the death that loomed behind him and exited through the double doors of the room. Joe stalked off into the night, letting the world's air solidify the agonizing tears that stained his cheeks, down to his neck.

END !! thanks 4 reading if u did and thank u 2 anybody who sees this !! now im gonna go ahead and pass out it's 11:45 PM and im sick 🩷

[wrencatte]

...

meh

[francy-sketches]

lmao I found a relic of my old joanna design with emo hair (that's how her grandkids got it) but it only exists in cat form

[motherforthefamicom]

oh yea i can upload art this time uh heres a drawing from new years eve =]