#not even the king

[tariah23]

Oh…. Well, it’s over for Crunchyroll I guess

[kingzombear]

Happy holidays, have some Gummiguy! 🐊

And Cuckatha

[diabloku]

king of rizz™ 🥂

[kinsey3furry300]

Okay so hear me out...

BONUS CURSED CONTENT! Laios and Hunter have the same wolf Fursona:

EDIT: Following feedback, I’m changing the Willow/Chilchuck panel from “A parent in a child’s body who is just done with everyone’s shit” to “Carrying the team, Done with everyone’s shit.” I don’t want anything I produce to be hurtful or upsetting to anyone, so even though I don’t feel it’s as impactful, and least it’s not infantilising. This will probably achieve little to nothing now the meme has breached containment but it’s the least I can do. Thank you all for feedback.

[insomniphic]

What's your take on Odysseus's trauma and recovery back in Ithaca?

*looks at all the comics I made*

Lol but really, I realistically expect it to be severely rocky. He’ll have good days, mostly bad days, but what keeps him grounded is of course his family, you know?

But imagine losing your entire fleet under your command...

...only to come back to an entire population of thousands of people, expecting that you will lead them.

What if he fails again?

[millificent]

Every Nico Di Angelo fan focusing more on the background of the episode than the actual plot

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[hinamie]

morning glory

[wolxoltl]

Time really is a flat circle.

[theelvishfiddler]

Leader in Blue

This wasn't a planned illustration, I just took a sketch and had fun going overboard.

This one has sat in my drafts for a long time. I notice a lot of mistakes, the blade on Leo's katana is way too long, and I don't really want to fix it.

I enjoy saying "post bad art" and "let art be not perfect" because I love mesy art drawn with energy and passion. TBH I don't think this one is bad, I just don't like it very much. Which feels like a good distinction to make? You can put skill and effort into something and not like the end results, not because it's objectively bad, it just doesn't fit what you enjoy looking at in art.

Why did I get kinda philosophical under the read more? ┐(´～`；)┌ Anyway... I decided to post it because maybe someone out there will like it more than I do. :)

[zookie-art]

Shadows and light ~

[royaltea000]

“A thousand generations serve to praise…”

[sapphoismymuse]

rewatched aragorn’s coronation scene and i just realized you can see elrond’s heart breaking as she goes to join aragorn

like, that is the face of a man who was promised eternity with his daughter, a reunion in the west no matter what happened, only to lose her forever to love

[buggachat]

I'm so so obsessed with this absolute freak

[densewentz]

When a cunty witch beats you to death then steals your boy toy for eternal torment 😢 (based on that 'don't you miss her???' meme)

[ghostedbunnie]

mmm my brain is buzzing with an idea of knight! ghost stumbling upon a carriage getting robbed late at night. appearing like a monster that mothers warn their kids about when they misbehave, mask covering his face and after the bloodbath finishes and no one is left standing but him, he let's out a sigh before making his way to the carriage, one of the window is broken but the heavy curtains are drawn.

when he opens the door he doesn't expect to have the curtains thrown in his face and an absolutely feral maid trying to cut him with the shard of the window held so tight in her shaky hand that the other side cuts deep into her palm. something clicks in place for ghost in that moment, this little cornered thing protecting her mistress with ferocity of a tiger but with fear oozing out of her every pore.

with something that resembles a snort he knocks the shard out of her hand and pulls her out by the scruff as if she truly is just a little kitten showing her claws and he is finding it extremely amusing. the mistress is less of a fighter, he finds, it took one look at him all bloody and dark a picture straight out of nightmares and she passed out on the spot.

with the maid fighting him every step of the way he manages to bring them to his master, his king. turns out the mistress is a princess that was travelling to marry the king and for saving her life, he deserves a gift. anything of his choosing. anyone.

the maid could feel a cold sweat drip down her back when for the first time since they travelled together she heard his voice (she believed his vocabulary was made up of grunts and growls) when he pulled her in with his heavy gloved paw on the back of her neck, "I'll take 'er."

edit: full fic here