#idk i’m on a thought process

[dreamyintersexouppy]

i’m sorry for victimposting so good but i’m literally trying to get you to kidnap me and i wanna know if i’m doing a good job, could you give me affirmation preferably while wiping away my tears and shushing my sobs as i’m tied up in your arms????

[queeniehostapasta]

Brief summary: Tiny bloody,beaten gremlin man hallucinates of his future wife before he gets revived or something because why not…

Again, cannot name the painting because crediting the artist and source suck on Pinterest, but I literally thought of them when I saw this!!!

[orallech]

Okay heres the finished one! Had Lost at Sea on repeat while drawin this

[a-concert-just-for-me]

Here’s a little oneshot wip(?) for @pincushionx, who inspired me to write a little BPD Hunter character study that takes place during Eclipse Lake

TW: violence, rage, swearing, suicidal ideation, self-harm ideation

There’s no point anymore. Hunter’s done for. This was his chance to prove himself to his uncle, and he blew it.

A wave of despair washes heavy over his body as he falls to his knees. When he doubles over, the dirt is cold under his gloved fingertips, and he can barely breathe over the weight on his shoulders and the sudden, pooling rage in his stomach.

The all-consuming sensations flooding in urge him to scream, fight, and destroy everything in his vicinity just as much as they make him want to throw himself off of a cliff and smack his head against every rock on the way down.

Either reality melts a bit, viscous and toxic, or something’s shifted sideways, pixelated and fuzzy; he’s not sure which, but he does know that he’s filled with the inescapable awareness that everything is wrong. His entire world isn’t right anymore, now that he’s failed, and all he wants is for everything to stop.

He wants this rabid animal under his skin to shred his body to pieces until he’s nothing more than mutilated flesh left behind in the dirt. He wants to make his shameful face so unrecognizable that no one will ever figure out what happened to the boy behind the mask. He wants this world to move on without him, and he wants to pretend he never dared to disgrace it with his presence in the first place.

He wants to die.

He wants to die, die, die.

He pictures himself grabbing his go-to knife in his nightstand and slashing wild gashes into his thighs. He thinks about how good it would feel. How maybe, if he wasn’t such a coward, he could dig deeper and deeper until he’s lightheaded from blood loss. How maybe, if he did a good enough job, he’d bleed out on the floor and never have to face his uncle’s disappointment first-hand. How one minute, he could be there, and the next, he could be gone, leaving behind only a husk for no one but his Uncle to mourn.

The thought of Belos finding him murdered by his own hands sends a bolt of thill through his body. He can't help but fantasize about it. Belos would walk into Hunter’s room, gasp in shock at the state of his poor, beloved nephew, and try to revive him. He would watch in distress as the healers try to revive him, to no avail. When there’d be truly nothing left for Belos to do to fix his mistakes, he would feel so bad about just how much anguish he put his poor guard through. He would look back fondly on all the ways Hunter had helped him over the years and bury his nephew with guilt-ridden tears streaming down his cheeks. He would be so, so sorry, and Hunter could rest in peace knowing that he’d at least be loved unconditionally in death.

Or not.

Hunter lets out an anguished whine as he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls.

He’s only deluding himself, isn’t he?

When has Belos ever felt bad about anything when it comes to hurting Hunter? When has Belos ever wiped away Hunter’s tears without mocking him, or acknowledged Hunter’s efforts without some kind of ridicule undermining the entire whisp of praise? When has Belos ever said the simple promise of “I love you” without it having to be a reward to chase after?

Hunter understands why Uncle is so harsh. Hunter knows that Belos only wants the best for him. He wants to train Hunter well enough that Hunter will be able to survive in a world without having innate magic. Uncle’s reserving this special position just for Hunter so that the teen won’t grow up without employment. He provides Hunter with the best instructors and the best artificial staff so that Hunter can make up for his deficits. Yet despite the accommodations, Hunter spits in Belos’s face with his failures every single time.

Hunter tries so fucking hard, and for what? Nothing he does ever matters. Hunter always just takes, takes, takes, from Belos, and nothing he brings back from missions is ever enough to buy Belos’s kindness for more than a day. Hunter was born wrong; he knows he needs to earn the right to live, but he wishes it wasn’t so soul-crushing to bear the curse of an unruly body like this.

If Hunter was just good enough effortlessly, Uncle would love him more, but unfortunately, Hunter eventually has to fuck it all up. His heart always has to drop every time his Uncle sighs heavily in his direction.

It’s not fair.

He sounds like a child, he knows, and he hates himself for it, but it’s not fair.

Dirt gathers under his gloves as he scrunches his fingers to curl into fists. A revelation boils under his skin so hot and vapid that it can’t help but change the tide of rage. He grabs a handful of dirt and screams as he pelts it across the empty lake.

He hates his Uncle.

He hates him so much.

How dare the man string Hunter along like this? If he knew that Hunter was such a fuck-up from the start, why did he even give Hunter the time of day? Why did he breathe false hope into Hunter by saying that Hunter could ever truly achieve anything worthwhile?

Surely he had to have known this would happen. Surely he had to have known that Hunter would never be good enough. Hunter should have been killed from the start, and he hates Belos for treating him with the cruel mercy of of an unearned life.

Hunter’s not sure when he’d started sobbing.

He untangles his knees from the dirt and repositions himself to sit on his bottom with his knees pulled to his chest. From this position, he can wrap his arms around his legs and scratch his forearms as hard as he possibly can.

The sting of pain isn’t enough. He wants to flay the meat of his arms open and cause as much damage as possible. Sadly, gouging welts into ins skin with his hands isn’t as productive. There’s no way he can cut anywhere near as deep without a knife.

He looks around through blurry tears and comes to a decision. He’s already here. The Blight girl should be arriving anytime soon. If he’s lucky, she’ll be kind enough to kill him. That would be much easier than dragging himself back to the castle to do the job himself. He’s quite tired from this whole pointless endeavor, anyway. It would be good for her, too—she seems to hate his guts.

He loves a fair trade.

With a cautious serenity lifting the haze of negativity ever so slightly, he unclenches his fists and puts his hands to work, just like his Uncle likes.

It wouldn’t be fair to make the Blight girl dig his grave, too.

[krisalyce]

bsd bird au when?? ft hummingbird yosano

[paging-possum]

Perihelion is a beautiful name for a baby research transport

[pm0]

@hajimedics revealing my #anonymous self to show how ur post inspired me 🫡

ok I guess I will explain what the symbolism in this drawing means under this cut now :)

BASICALLY Rave’s tags on his art got me thinking about mutual sentience theory & the idea that who these puppets actually are does not align with what playfellow workshop created them to be — specifically, the actual desires of the puppets in whps are not the same as what playfellow thinks they should desire — and it made me think about how it might apply to Frank & Julie.

We know that neither of them fall into (strictly) binary gender labels, we know that Frank is gay, we know that Julie was confirmed sapphic in a stream — and yet we see playfellow putting them into the roles of cisgender heterosexual man & woman respectively, that they cast them to be in the roles of each others romantic love interests (see julie-rella animation cels). So I wanted to draw something based on that concept, the contrast of who they are vs who they’re “supposed” to be.

This is why I included 2 Franks and 2 Julies here, one set in my usual style for drawing them and the other being more ‘on-model’ — the former are a representation of who the puppets actually are, with their agency, while the latter are who playfellow themselves outline the puppets to be. The playfellow puppets are a ‘perfect’ version of sorts, their canonical accuracy + their sparkling appearance being extensions of how true to the script they are.

The framing of these two sets, how they interact with each other within the image, is meant to show the situational helplessness Julie and Frank share. They are stuck together in a ring of lavender flowers (do you get it. wedding rings. lavender marriage. I’m a master of artistic metaphor /j), looking to one another in worry as they’re surrounded by playfellow’s expectations. Neither of them want this, for themselves nor for each other, but what are they meant to do? They aren’t trapped by something they can just escape from, they’re trapped by their own identities; the will of their creators and the will of themselves are intrinsically linked, each at their core are answers to the question of who “Julie Joyful” and “Frank Frankly” are, to try and sever that connection is an impossible task.

The circles above each of the on-model puppets’ heads are primarily meant to be halos bc well. you know how queer religious trauma goes (there’s a ‘playfellow workshop is a stand-in for american christianity and possibly god’ metaphor in there somewhere) BUT they are also supposed to represent wedding rings too, to show yet again how playfellow likely wants them to be a couple — and not in the “a couple of bestiesss(๑>◡0)~☆” way they’d like to be

I think that’s all????? not really much else I can say here. background is black + slightly red for that whrp undersite feel and the on-model puppets are drawn in white to contrast with the primarily black background but also because they’re technically Julie & Frank’s straightsonas & black+white=straight pride flag. ok bye

[juliandrws]

Jacob saying “We tried everything to bring [Ava] back” and Janine immediately knowing exactly what they should’ve done to “cure” her vs. Jacob saying “I think it just got too hard [for Janine]” and Ava not only immediately shutting that down (because nothing is too hard for Janine!), but knowing exactly what to say to “cure” her

that’s it, that’s the post

[oldbooksandnewmusic]

my favourite thing about post-Seine slow burn valvert fics is when javert enters what I will affectionately refer to as his ‘guard dog’ phase. After he’s realised he sort of likes Valjean but he’s incapable of being nice about it so all of his care and consideration comes out as aggressive over-protection. It’s especially good when paired up with Valjean’s self destructive behaviour and end of book sickness: Valjean is so sure everyone would be better off without him and javerts like ‘no bitch - you stole my death from me and now I’m returning the favour.’

[danothan]

tough pill i have to swallow is realizing that “getting better” doesn’t mean “getting to do more things,” getting better for me means taking better initiative in protecting myself. and THAT means making sure i do LESS things

[daddy-long-legssss]

I learned that you can make it to that kind of level and remain in tact as a human being. And I learned that Sheffield’s people are very similar to Irish people. We bumped into them at the same pub a fair few times. But I believe it goes beyond that.

— Grian Chatten from Fontaines D.C. on what they learned after touring with Arctic Monkeys [x]

[rist-ix]

https://www.tumblr.com/rist-ix/749015401700229120 not you reblogging this when you ship bloom with the man who murdered her family 😭

Bloom's into ppl who slay! Hope this helps :3

[phantomram-b00]

So I think about those evidence photos we saw back in season one, and wondered, if that was from Furfur? (Stupid question I know but bare with me)

Like I can imagine Furfur finally caught a break and want to see earth to see what was the rave about, then look and see Crowley walking to somewhere, Furfur was following to say hi or “fuck you you lucky bastard” until he saw Aziraphale there and once he saw them smiling at each other and talking. Furfur internal thoughts must’ve been like ‘no way— they’re—- noo I’m sure Crowley have something diabolical to do with this angel, let me take a picture of this to show to them’ and snap the pictures and runaway. And was going to show but then thought ‘wait a moment, we may not know how to spell….but we aren’t stupid neither I need more proof.’

Then next time period comes around, and he got another break to go back to earth, see Crowley again, and once again was probably going to say hi until he see aziraphale walking into him and they again smile at each other and talk. (Well aziraphale talk about something and Crowley listens with a smile), and Furfur raised an eyebrow and question now ‘huhhh, okay this is interesting Crowley or Aziraphale haven’t smite or smote or whatever that word is! They haven’t kill each other yet, either they’re really good at hiding their schemes or…. No no. No way they could be traitors, n-not Crowley at least. We fought along side each other’ and take a picture again and walks away. Though his gaydar was starting to go off.

Then as the next time period rolls around and this time so aziraphale all alone, Furfur was gonna try to investigate until Crowley come at him and their face lit up once again. This time Furfur was like ‘okay— their closets are made out of glass. I seriously need to show someone this.’ Once more taking a picture and runs off.

Then when Furfur try to show this to a demon, maybe Shax, or Eric or anyone else. They either shrugged saying ‘oh we kinda knew—‘ or ‘huh, who know this was Crowley’s type’. Even Shax was like “how? How? This angel doesn’t seem to be Crowley’s type at all? How is this possible?”. Overall probably wasn’t the feedback he was expecting, not in a good way anyway, so he decided to stop taking photos as there no point.

Until, 1941. He can finally bring Crowley into deep trouble, and also Aziraphale. But given Aziraphale’s magic trick that didn’t happen at all, so Furfur was back to square one. All hope was lost.

Until 2019, when armageddon is coming to a close. He realize while feeling confident in himself, ‘why not add more chaos and sent these to the angel, maybe they’ll have a better response then my side’ so skips over and send the evidence as a biggest fuck you to Aziraphale and Crowley, and once armageddon fails and they were to be eliminated, Furfur had the biggest smile to finally see Crowley get karma after all these years especially the blitz. But of course as we saw they didn’t die, Furfur once again is left baffled and was yelling after that fiasco in his office “SON OF A BITCH I CANT WIN ANYTHING!”

Bonus is that, Furfur did show the copy of the evidence to Beelzebub as a last resort for any kind of punishment. But ze can’t say anything because *cough they rizzed the supreme archangel fucking gabriel* so had to play it nonchalant like “wellllll, we actually kinda knew and you know we did try soooo-“ with a shrug. So Furfur lost hope after that.

[llumimoon]

The Talk (page 4)

Doodler AU post || start || previous || next ||

Sparrow’s turn to go “he just like me fr” with the Doodler. All the Oaks r Doodler kinnies 😤

This comic takes place shortly after the Doodler’s homunculus body was made. Lark and Sparrow try to figure out how they feel about the situation.

Dialogue under the cut!

Sparrow: Lark, what did they say?

Lark: …

Lark: It wants to try having a normal human childhood.

Sparrow: oh.

Lark: It’s not going to work. The world doesn’t work that way.

Sparrow: …Well why not?

[itspileofgoodthings]

I assigned reading homework for the weekend and was hit by this wave of irritation with the implicit lying that goes on where they act like they’ll read the homework but they never actually do and so I called them on it and started teasing them and of course they laughed but then I was like “you know my secret dream is that you go home and you walk in the door and someone wants to do something fun with you or you get a text but you hold up your hand and say ‘no no, I have to read ten pages of Beowulf’ and then you sit down and do it” and they scream-laughed at the idea but I like to think it at least presented it to their minds as a possibility

[kathybluecaller]

Finally got around drawing Aioros :D