#i'm certainly having fun

[dreamlandiasims]

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Frankie: Hello Lori, this is your daughter, calling you for the 50th time. Hope you’re doing well, because I certainly am not. If by any chance you did just hit the road without me… could you at least give me a call back? I swear I wouldn’t even be mad if you ditched me. I just want to know whether I can leave this place and never look back, or if I have to stick around to save your helpless ass from whatever situation you’ve gotten stuck in this time. Okay, well, call me back when you get this. Bye. … Love you.

Erwin: “When I die and they lay me to rest, gonna go to the place that’s the best” [humming “Spirit in the Sky”]

Frankie: Erwin! What the hell is wrong with this place??

Erwin: Oh, so now you’re interested in what I have to say. And you do know my name…

Frankie: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, my mom is missing. She went to that creepy ass lab, never came back, and now no one will tell me where she is. And on top of that, they replaced the bartender at the bar!

Erwin: They did what?

Frankie: They replaced the bar—you know what, never mind. That’s not important.

Erwin: So you think your mom is at BioSim Tech?

Frankie: Well… yeah, I don’t know. I feel like I sound crazy, but I don’t know where else she could be.

Erwin: You don’t sound crazy. Come on, I can tell you everything I know. But not here.

…

Erwin: Please, make yourself comfortable.

Frankie: This is, um, wow. Quite the setup.

Erwin: Thanks!

Frankie: Now tell me about this lab.

Erwin: I would be honored. But, in order to do so, you’ll need to understand a bit about this town’s past.

Frankie: I don’t need a history lesson.

Erwin: No no, trust me, it’ll be worth it. Now… where to begin…

[hinamie]

bunch of portraits

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

anyone else have multiple traumatic memories associated specifically with holidays/family vacations? because that is a topic I never see discussed in all the So You Had A Shitty Childhood, Now What? self-help books i've been reading. but for me, it was a significant thing. and the more i think about it the more it seems like this would be an (unfortunately) common experience. would be grateful to hear if this matches other peoples' experiences...

[missingn000]

happy halloween, everyone! big news: The Phantom Guardian's hiatus is officially over!

exactly one year after the release of the last tpg chapter, sukuna's backstory: tears of the emperor, i'm thrilled to announce that my break from the story has come to a close. i'm now officially preparing to write the next chapter and return to tpg releases on a regular basis! i've dearly missed this story and this community, and i'm so excited to be back. 

to prepare for writing this story again, i'll be doing a tpg live-react reread in the tpg discord server! come laugh at me as you watch me suffer through the suffering i put all of you through. we can chat about the story, the characters, and reminisce about what a crazy ride it's been and where we could be going from here. come join the fun!! this will also be a great way to remind yourselves of everything that's happened without having to read through all 637,000 words of this monstrosity. join the discord here!

as for when the next chapter will officially come out: i gotta get through the tpg reread first, which might take a bit, but i hope to have ch49 out sometime before the end of the year, if not very early january. i'll be hosting even more fun events and activities to bring us all back together as the next release grows nearer! i don't use bluesky or twitter, but feel free to share this news wherever. i'd love as many people as possible to join the fun!!

i love you all so much, and i can't thank you enough for your patience with me this past year. i hope you're as excited to dive back into this fic as i am!

happy halloween, everyone. we're so fucking back.

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[corvidus-fr]

super quick musings on Fathoms. i like a lot about the pose + design, but i feel like they kinda suffer from Undel Sameface when everything about their lore is pointing towards "friendly gentle ocean giants". wanted to roughly sketch Merrigan for a side-by-side comparison, and then some rough doodles of how i might push the design in a chunkier, more cetacean-inspired direction - 3 is swapping the features but keeping the overall proportions/layout mostly the same, and 4 is pushing the proportions even further

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Fishing Interlude

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[mroddmod]

happy bad batch eve here's a couple s3 tech concepts i was playing w last night !

+ some alts w his goggles

[kakusu-shipping]

Wait I don't wanna be an asshole who only posts Silly Meme Crossover ships, so REAL FAST, I don't get crossover ships much but one I HAVE been considering and I'll share it to offset the silly haha meme I just posted. Deal? Cool

Checkered King X Kinger

Both Kings in an Unreal world, both Chess Themed, Both Purple-adjacent, and both are tragic bisexuals who lost their beloved wife (Checkered King to an unspecified illness, Kinger to Abstraction)

Do I think they should kiss? Eeeeeh. Do I think they should go to the same group therapy sessions and chat? Absolutely.

I dunno if you asked me a crossover ship I liked now I think I would say these two. It helps I consumed all of their medias in the same 24 span of time.

[notyourdaisybuchanan]

Rewatching The Bear 2x03 is actually crazy and feels so clarifying because like...

The ep starts with Carmy speaking at Al-Anon about fun, and how maybe he needs to have more of it. He acknowledges that fun is complicated for him because as a kid his family tended to ruin things for him, even though this was often unintentionally done. He says that he thinks if he had more amusement or enjoyment in his own life then it would be easier to provide that for other people. (Big note here that part of the purpose OF a restaurant is to provide amusement and enjoyment for people. Then add in Luca's conversation with Marcus in 2x04 about how the best food comes from being open and inspired, and spending time in the world. So Carmy having fun could theoretically make him better at his job.)

Anyway, Carmy gives that spiel at Al-Anon. Then we get a brief interlude of Syd looking at articles about recent restaurant closings and being stressed.

And then we're immediately back with Syd and Carmy cooking together in his kitchen. She fucks up a dish again, and he suggests they stop cooking and do a palate reset.

Like... this all happens within the first five minutes of the ep. This man has been musing about how he needs to have more fun.... and then he suggests spending the day eating in the city with Syd..... ergo that's his definition of fun. This is literally him making an attempt at doing something for amusement or enjoyment!! He planned this!! I fully believe he had this idea even before Sydney fucked up the dish. This man said I need to have more fun and you know what would be fun? Spending the day with my business partner eating delicious food. So he sends her home with plans to meet in an hour.

And then. AND THEN. Claire calls. First of all when she asks if he's busy, he looks at the white board and the very first thing on the To Do list is "call fridge guy" so like. lmao. I love foreshadowing. And he literally is busy!!! Not with unpleasant tasks to do but with something FUN. Something fun that he planned FOR himself.

And what is it that Claire asks him to do? Is it something fun? No. She asks him to HELP HER MOVE her mom. Like, the least fun task in the history of anything, the thing that people historically HATE being asked to help with. And he doesn't look excited about it! He looks torn. He looks...weird idk. Like ohhhh it's actually so crazy that Carmy bails on a truly fun day with Sydney in order to do a manual labor favor for Claire.

This is so ripe for analysis you simply cannot tell me it doesn't mean anything.

Carmy thinks about how he needs more fun, plans a fun day for himself, and then, when someone he tried to avoid asks him to do a not fun favor, he says yeah, I'll do that instead.

[kastillia]

[angeart]

a quick sketch based on my and link's most recent rp—

[justarandomlambblog]

Most of this is messy and rushed but I had fun with that single panel with a detailed pumpkin

(Part One Here)

Anyway what a sheltered world where some person starts following you around town so you just lead them home and invite them to dinner (and make them carry the heavy item your sister added to the list when your back was turned) I'm sure this kindness and trust Narinder has in the world around him won't come back to bite his entire family in the ass

Lamb: I think the Bishops might be back The Bishops: Lamb: shocked pikachu face Crown: Why are we gasping? We already knew this.

Leshy without his bandages is cursed yet also adorable. Look at that bush worm. He has eyes! He's still blind but he has eyeballs!

[retros-artandstuff]

decided to finish this drawing that I had abandoned a while back lol

theyre playing dress to impress

[radiocrypt-id]

Spot the difference!

They made a convincing try, but they're certainly just a bit wrong. Maybe outdated or rather... working with only the starter model and a few adjustments?

[galoogamelady]

What was it like first getting into freelance art as a career? Do you have any tips/tricks/advice for people who are looking to pursue this particular field in the near future (aka me...................)?

This might be depressing to hear but my personal and short advice is: don't expect to live off of it. Certainly not in the US. I moved to this country because my husband lived here and thankfully he is able to support both of us with his (not art related) full time job. If it wasn't for him, I don't think I could stay afloat in the US from my current freelancing. I could make due back in Hungary where I'm originally from, but I'm not quite sure how people over here do this all on their own without any sort of support or at least a 50-50 with a partner, friend or family. Again, I'm sorry if this is disappointing but I also don't want to lie and make it look like I'm some bigshot bringing in mad cashmoney by doing whatever I want. Most of the things we have are possible because my husband is a hard worker and we're fairly frugal and conservative with our spending.

I assume those who live off of freelance by themselves work way harder than I do and sacrifice a lot of their personal lives and health to being able to do so. I think it would be smart to ask people who have a more focused path, like animating for indie series, live off of their comic work or mainly illustrate books and covers. They probably have a much more solid advice and plan to follow.