#man this book is wild

[teartra]

“What happened to brothers sticking together?”

“We’re not kids anymore”

Uh.. Wittebanes??

[mejkosmos]

why has 2024 literally been THE summer of toxic old man yaoi i'm genuinely tweaking rn

[creepfactors]

early valentines treat. based off that one scene from big jim begins bc it shouldve been petey instead <3

[paintedcrows-caws]

Front row seat to Alex Hirsch's InMotion London Talk!! Aaaa!! (The high quality close up photos were taken by the wonderful @stupidlittlespirit! Who was sitting with me and had a far better camera, haha)

You can watch the full thing here, recorded by the brilliant Topaz Animation!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hn_O7CMM67A&t=137s

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[bookburners]

I don’t think the upperclassmen see Neil as sad and traumatized as much as they see him as a feral but deadly cat or chihuahua that they fed a couple times and is now theirs forever.

[stealingyourbones]

Watching Loki. I’m on episode 4 and I’m trying to see what the hype was about

[disturbing-woods]

Imagine being xenophobic to the 14 years old and then he beats your ass instantly

You can still do suggestion for the next one i'm gonna draw in comments or ask !

[thelastd0mino]

“Obi-Wan stared after him. This is a test. The Force is testing me. Twelve years of Qui-Gon, ten years of Anakin, and now I get him.”

- Obi Wan Kenobi talking about Bail Organa [Clone Wars: Wild Space]

[2isted-chocol8-art]

You will get to it, eventually. But there's no rush.

-> More Outer Wilds Art!

[mejkosmos]

my every waking hour nowadays:

[butterbabyflapjack]

Just a scene from wild animals I liked where Brian opens up to you about what happened to his mother

Desperate to ignore the embarrassed heat crawling up your face, you slow past a row of different saws. The wheels of your cart dragged to a sudden halt before a vast array of chainsaws, which admittedly seem a little heavy for you to wield, seem a little much and are surely overkill, but...

Still. You’re oddly drawn to them. One hand already reaching to test the sharpness of a bright, hornet-yellow one’s row of exposed teeth.

You’re so distracted you don’t notice how Brian’s stopped his ever-incessant clever commentary.

“What do you think?” you ask, unturning, as you mull the idea of you with a chainsaw inside your head. “Too messy? Or…”

Silence, from your ever-yapping instructor. And at last you glance back at him, standing just behind you. Dark eyes trained to the blade-teeth you touch, yet as though he’s staring right through them.

As your expression becomes inquisitive, he blinks, dragged from the seeming depths that leave him lost inside his own head.

“Hm?” he asks, like he hasn’t heard you.

Your interest curiously traces what little his expression ever betrays to you. “What?” you ask of his uncharacteristic silence, though he just impassively eyes you.

“What?” he returns; innocuous, mirroring you.

Your brows furrow up at him.

“Don’t what me,” you counter. “I saw you thinking about something. And if you don’t tell me what that is, you’ll swiftly learn how annoyingly persistent I can be when my bloodhound brain grabs scent of something.”

He regards you down the length of his strong nose, seeming taller than he actually is, which is already towering. Eventually carding back his hair, dark curls tangled in his fingers with his incensed glance away. “You really are a headache, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely I am. Now tell me.”

With mild exasperation, his dusky eyes return to you. Their grief soon to fade in place of muted speculation. “I was just lost in memories. Private ones, I might add. Ones I’m guessing Dexter never told you.”

Your confusion, just like your interest, slowly rises. “What are you talking about?”

He eyes you a moment more. Unreadable. “I’m talking about our mother, Detective Nosey,” he says. Gaze assessing yours, as if searching for something there, weighing if he should tell you. And you’re not sure what he looks for, if he finds it, though eventually he continues.

“She was butchered with a chainsaw,” he says at last, far too casually. Reaching past you to drag one lengthy finger along that chainsaw’s serrated edge. His eyes gaining that faraway look again. “Right in front of us, when Dex was three and I was four. Dismembered limb by limb, as that engine echoed off the walls, along with her begging us not to look, to close our little eyes, and we were left in the mess of it. The blood of three addicts and our mother–two inches thick, by the time that engine finally stopped.” His finger slowly drags down the jagged length of the blade. “They didn’t find us huddled in that blood-damp, hellish dark for two days, and by then the only reason I cared was in protecting my brother.” He exhales a little laugh with zero humor to it. “Apparently that’s all anyone cared about. ‘Cause he was adopted by the first cop on scene, and I–decidedly–was not.”

His dark gaze turns to you, and you cannot comprehend what lie beyond its blackish surface.

“So, to answer your question,” he says, so nonchalant in your speechless horror from responding, “It’s not a bad choice. Though certainly messy.”

You can’t seem to think. The story he’s spun sinking a weight in you, dragging your stomach right through the floor. Left with not knowing what to say, blown away by the cruelty held within such an offhand confession.

“Brian, I'm…”

Your tone is raw. Quiet. And he smiles at you unhappily; hand falling loosely to his side.

“Don’t,” he cuts you off. “What’s done is done. Pitied apologies never help.”

“I know they don't,” you counter, voice stricken, and you swallow with the effort to make it more firm. “But that's… That's fucked, Brian. And… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

For a moment, he merely watches you. Every line of his handsome face sculpted into place, held perfectly still.

“Are you expecting me to thank you for that?” he asks at last.

You hate how vulnerable you feel, when he’s the one confessing something so traumatic that it surely formed him. His and Dex’s extracurricular pastimes make a lot more sense now.

“No,” you say, feeling stupid, feeling childish, that you’re so unwound by such a ruthless tale, while he clearly isn't. “I just had to say it.” You meet his watchful gaze, your jawline hardening. “And if I could kill the fucks who did that to your mother, I would. I’d hunt those fuckers down. And I’m not the one who should make them pay whatever price for what was done but I’d still make them pay it.”

Some part of you’s already planning how you might, how you could–if they’re even still alive, if indeed there's more than one of them–and you’re not sure if he knows how much you mean that. If it even matters, when it probably doesn’t. But he eyes you as you eye him, in drawn-out silence. Something beyond the veil of him seeming fixed on you, keen at your edges, as if gauging your scent. Toying his curious touch across your depths; those waves with unclear surface.

Eventually, he scarcely smiles, and you cannot comprehend that little glint within his gaze.

“C’mon,” he says, taking your waist again; warm hand smooth across the small of your back and he guides you further down the aisle. “We’ll save the chainsaw for next time. I’ve something more easily controlled in mind for a first-timer like yourself.”

[polysucks]

one half of the toxic yaoi ship but make it rdr2 inspired. ramsay bolton in the wild west, everyone [beat for applause]

I wish I could take credit for this one but I gotta give the award to my beloved @theeironprice for making a wild west au the new microwave I'm going to melt these characters in like so many plastic action figures before them

[pergaminaa]

Currently giggling and kicking my feet over the fact that Dorian, a mere 22 year old man, keeps calling Manon who is over 100 years old ‘witchling’. Gotta give it to him for calling her baby witch while he’s literally a mere infant in comparison

And Manon doesn’t reject it my girl is embracing the nickname because she loves Dorian THAT MUCH

[rinn-e]

Fitz & his Fool ♡ (kinda imagining this to be set somewhere in the later parts of the Tawny Man Trilogy...)

[judgeitbyitscover]

The Wild Robot, story and art by Peter Brown

Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, April 2016

Here's some of the illustrations in The Wild Robot. These are from Peter Brown's blog about the process behind creating the book.

I also love this illustration, which is one of the earliest concept pieces Peter Brown did for the robot.

When robot Roz opens her eyes for the first time, she discovers that she is alone on a remote, wild island. Why is she there? Where did she come from? And, most important, how will she survive in her harsh surroundings?

Roz’s only hope is to learn from the island’s hostile animal inhabitants. When she tries to care for an orphaned gosling, the other animals finally decide to help, and the island starts to feel like home. Until one day, the robot’s mysterious past comes back to haunt her…