#not my info but eh

[spotsupstuff]

(hii Spot been awhile) Something I think that's interesting about the observation about how Slugcats are getting so much attention nowadays is that its almost a 180 from how things were in the pre-downpour days, iirc.

Though I am glad we're getting an AU like yours it's so interesting compared to the usual

Im eating with a fork

Yeah, the fandom was not particularly strong back then, but I think there was more Iterator content. My suspicion as to why slugcats are so much more popular now is because the general "cat appeal"*. Downpour brought in wider audience which mostly consists of people that go wild over cat videos on the internet.

Not my intention to throw shade on it, because after all what does my opinion matter to anyone, but I find the whole "cuteness cult" of the internet annoying and, when applied to Rain World, frustrating. There's a whole silent worldbuilding in basically every screen of the game and the only thing that people seem to take away post-DP is "cute sluggy go wooo :3 the Ancients were such cultist pricks Dx". Which like alright, but expand a little on the latter please? Try? There is So much fun to it when one moves past the "religion only BAD" mindset.

DP also I think didn't care much about the Ancients and the culture they left behind (and therefore the root of Iterators). "But there's Saint!" Saint is almost everything new that wasn't heard of before, can be taken as another fact of monstroid mad religion and, of course, it Has to be wrapped in a fluffy cat package. The undergrowth Echo also feels like a spit in the face to the lore/religion than an addition, to me. My *guess* would be the original intention was showing an individual who failed to ascend because of the Fifth Hindrance but it doesn't *feel* like it. If that was the intention, I think the author didn't understand why a desire to live/survive could ever, in any form, be bad

It's interesting as well in the sense that when there was only Survivor, maybe up to Hunter- the slugcats felt like a vehicle that brings the player to the story. The player saw the world through their eyes and got to experience the world's rules, abiding them- the original campaigns were still subject to the lore/religion of the world.

DP made the slugcats characters, the main focus, in some cases a rebelion against the lore/religion (forever beef against new route for Survivor and Monk). So people had an easier time latching onto them.

That is my theory at least. Fact is also when I first watched RW I almost didn't get into it as a creator because I felt like I had nowhere to hook to and work with. Characters are great anchor points for people to latch on to and then work with/through, so it's not like I blame the fandom for quite literally getting slug infested. It's natural and logical and I'm well aware of it as someone who's trying to be a writer. Still frustrating.

Either way, at least there's a vacuum for me to fill with something I'm actively actually passionate about. It's kind of a sweet bonus that people are somewhat interested, too.

[madbard]

Sanctity

A Killer Sans story.

Every child dreamed of the Angel.

When Sans was young, he had imagined it as a skeleton, beaming with all the radiance of the stolen sun. Each evening, he kneeled beside his father and whispered the poetic words of prophecy, voice faltering at first, then growing steady as the tale of the Angel settled firmly into his skull. Later, he would kneel with his brother while his father vanished into the lab. Each night, he dreamed of the moment when the Angel would tear down the barrier, at last letting the bright and deadly sunshine in.

Everything could be attributed to the Angel. If a monster was successful, it was because they had a place in the prophecy, an important role which would contribute to their eventual freedom. If a monster fell down, it was because they had failed, somehow. They were not the Angel’s chosen and would never be free.

(Did Sans have a place in that prophecy? If he was chosen, then why was he so fragile? Why would it be so difficult for him to make it to that future? Sans had asked his father that one night, after their prayer. Nothing would ever break that silence.)

When Gaster’s final experiment went up in flames, Sans imagined it made a light brighter than the sun. He imagined its light was like the palm of the Angel, taking his father with it – or casting him, finally, into the infinite darkness of the earth. He spread his father’s ashes on the remnants of the lab and then, as an afterthought, on his younger brother’s scarf. He laughed at the funeral, quietly. He shook the chill hands of fear and doubt from his soul. He had faith.

(Some monsters whispered that the prophecy had been interpreted incorrectly. They whispered that the Angel would indeed free them – that their dust would one day mix with the river and thus find its way to the ocean. Sans ignored them as best he could.)

When Sans was young, he had imagined the Angel as a skeleton. But lounging at his post one day in early adulthood, he was surprised to see it take the guise of a child. He was even more surprised when no one else seemed to see it for what it truly was. It turned to him, looked him in the eyes. Then raised a single finger to its lips.

Sans followed the Angel. He watched it navigate through each encounter with kindness and grace. He watched it befriend his brother, the captain of the guard, the royal scientist, and even the king. He watched it destroy the barrier and finally baptize his people in the all-destroying light of the sun. He felt its eyes upon him, and in that moment knew the gaze of something truly unlike himself. Come and see, those eyes said. He saw the prophecy come true.

He stood with his brother in the light of the Angel, the light of the long-awaited sun. For a moment, he thought himself in heaven.

Then he woke in hell.

That first time, he didn’t even see the Angel arrive in Snowdin. His eyelights flickered slowly as he wandered the icy streets in a daze. The air was still, and thick with a scent he refused to recognize. They had escaped, hadn’t they? After years of prayer and service, monsterkind was finally free. His mouth curved around a quiet, desperate prayer. This had to be a dream…

Just outside of Snowdin, he found his brother’s scarf.

Funny, how these things worked. Sans’ first impulse was to find the Angel. Something had gone wrong, certainly – something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. But he had seen the Angel treat his brother with kindness. It would have protected him… right?

Perhaps he already knew…

“Sans.”

Sans spun around, gripping Papyrus’ scarf. The Angel stood behind him, eyes almost as wide as its smile. A silver knife glinted in its grip. His whispered prayer froze as his eyes went dark. He stood still.

“what happened?”

“Nothing much. And everything.” The Angel stepped forward. “Give that to me.”

“where’s papyrus?”

“Free.” The Angel took another step forward, and Sans felt a chill creep up his spine. “You remember being free, don’t you?”

“i…”

“Don’t you want to be free again?” This time, Sans didn’t have time to respond. Its knife had already slashed through his chest.

The second time, Sans woke in the early hours of the morning. He took a shortcut into the woods, stepping onto the abandoned path which led to the hidden door. Even so, he didn’t quite understand. Even so, he didn’t quite believe. Fear made a nest in his ribcage.

This time, the Angel killed him first, separating his head from his shoulders, and Sans woke up back at home.

If a monster fell down, it was because they had failed, somehow. Sans fell again and again. Each time he died, the Angel would say something different, something new. It spoke of the sun’s rays, the way they warmed at first then burned and bleached and ruined. It spoke of the sins of the surface, the suffering of the Underground. It spoke of an endless loop, from which they would never be free. “Better to end it now,” the Angel whispered, wiping blood from its blade as Sans crumpled to the ground.

The loop continued endlessly. Bit by bit, Sans stopped praying.

The loop continued endlessly. He began to fight back.

The loop continued endlessly. The angel’s words changed.

“Do you know the difference between an angel and a god?” the Angel asked once, after Sans dodged its blade. Sweat dripped down his skull, and the air seemed to frost his ribcage as he gasped for breath.

“sorry. i god no idea.” The knife whistled past his ear, and a hushed “angel’s sake” escaped his mouth before he growled and swallowed the word.

“I’ll give you a hint.” It attacked once more, and this time it didn’t miss. It walked over to his dissolving form and whispered to him. “An angel is a servant. A god serves no one.” It stepped back. He died.

This time, the Angel approached him with an altogether different kind of smile.

“But what is a god without an angel?”

Sans said no in every way he could imagine. Loop after loop, death after death. He joked and danced around the question. He sent another attack. At his lowest, he pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Angels live forever.”

“when everyone else is dead?”

“Angels are never alone.”

“i wouldn’t be alone if it wasn’t for you.”

“Angels are powerful. They are beautiful and loved.”

“heh, that’s kind of a loaded comment, isn’t it?”

“Angels know their purpose.”

“what would a lazybones like me want with a purpose?”

“Gods are tireless. I can keep going forever, and nothing will ever change.”

“…”

“You were made to serve me.”

The funny thing about prayer? Repetition makes it meaningless. There is performance to it, certainly. There is what prayer symbolizes, there is the essential power of routine. But once the words become instinctive, the meaning can’t help but diminish. After enough repetition, prayer becomes little more than muscle memory for the weary. And when the weary recite it, how then can they hope to see God?

Sans kneeled in the hallway, bones aching, magic all but spent. Somewhere before this moment lay the memory of the sun, the way he had rested in its blinding light. Even before that, the echoes of evenings spent in prayer with his father, torn carpet barely cushioning his bones. Those memories were lost now, or buried. So many deaths – had there truly been anything before this? Could there ever be anything after? Sans didn’t know. Eventually, he no longer cared.

“and if i said yes?”

It paused and stared at him. A chuckle started low in its throat, stopped just behind its teeth. Sans wished he could feel a twinge of anger or fear at the sound. He just felt tired.

“Just for one round. Just to try something new.”

“somehow i don’t believe you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that makes a difference.” The god stepped forward, knife glinting in its hand. Sans closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow. Instead, he felt the warm handle slide into his skeletal grip. “Go forth, my angel. Do as your god commands.”

There was a momentary darkness. He woke at the foot of his bed, hands folded. Eyes dark.

When Sans was young, he had imagined the Angel as a skeletal figure. After maturing, he discarded that image as a figment of childhood’s vivid ego. For a moment in time, doesn’t every child worship a god that looks like them?

Sans was not a god. Through the snow, the water and the flame, he became the angel of death. The flash of his knife answered prayers, scattered dust in the river that it may one day reach the ocean. He remained by his god, always. He watched, as if outside himself, as his knife found the faithful and the faithless alike. He watched his brother die.

“That prayer, in his final moments – you know, before he forgave and spared you. Didn’t you teach him that?”

“…”

“Aw, don’t be like that. It’s hypocritical when you’re the one that killed him.”

“shut up.”

“Ooh.” The god smiled and leaned forward. “But it’s new, isn’t it? Isn’t it better?”

“no. no, it isn’t.”

“Hm.” The god nodded. “Do it again.”

The funny thing about prayer? Its meaning is only found through repetition. Sans scoured through the Underground again and again, knife faltering at first, then growing steady as the path of the Angel settled firmly into his skull. He made a sacrament of death, and his god glutted itself on the dust in his path. He became something truly unlike himself – did that now make him holy?

Holy enough, he decided, waking among flowers with his soul burning bright outside his body, a strange tarry fluid dripping from his eyes. Holy enough for this.

It seemed to know what he was planning. At least, it didn’t look surprised when he brandished his weapon. Nor did it fight back. It only spoke. “You know, you were nothing before me. And you will be nothing after.”

How easy, to kill a god. In the end, how stupidly simple. The Angel laughed as he killed his god with its own gleaming knife, and it laughed too, bright blood staining its teeth.

“i killed you.” The Angel giggled. “does that make me god now?” The god lay still. Its chest had stopped moving a long time ago. The Angel finished his prayer anyway. He had to be certain. “actually, nah, not sure i like that… hey, i’ll figure it out.” The Angel rose to his feet, staggered a bit, then bowed his head. “go to hell.”

What is an angel without a god? From then on, the Angel drifted from world to world. He recited prayer as he always did, utterly divorced from meaning. His knife brought whatever his victims chose, and he learned to see the afterlife in their dimming eyes – the reflection of paradise or punishment, a final acknowledgment of the waiting dark. He laughed in the moment before a creature crumpled to dust – something about it made his soul sting, sharply. It made him feel alive.

Sometimes the Angel would glance over his shoulder, searching for his god’s approval. When he caught himself doing this, his posture would stiffen suddenly, and he would cease his prayer. In those rare moments, a victim might escape. In that way, news spread through the multiverse of his arrival – though ‘Angel’ was not the word they used.

Even to the multiverse’s darkest corners, the Angel slowly became known, and this filled certain people with a cool excitement. Gods watched on and wondered where his allegiance might fall. But this Angel had little patience for deities.

“Aren’t you just fantastic!” The Angel paused, then straightened, turning through the snow of decimated universe to face a small, skeletal figure, dressed in a stained scarf and splattered with ink. “A Sans who no longer believes in anything, but still sees himself as the Angel! A Sans for whom death has become prayer, because prayer never led to anything but death. Odd, definitely – I’d guess your creator was feeling pretty ambitious when they made you…” The skeleton tilted their head. “I’m not sure they succeeded.”

“who are you?”

“Ink! God of Creation. You see, I helped make this universe, so… whoa there, let’s not be too hasty!’ The Angel had raised his knife and taken a smooth step forward.

“god, you say?”

“Hm. Maybe I shouldn’t have said – wow, you’re quick!” Ink swung a massive brush through the air and the Angel’s knife skittered across the brushstroke’s obsidian surface. “Look, sloppy or not I think you came from a place of real excitement and love! I’d like to –”

Ink never finished his sentence. Blinking, the Angel darted around the obsidian shield and raised his knife to stab this god in the chest. He managed to spill a vial of red paint, so much like blood that he smirked, believing for a moment that he had already won. Retribution was brutal and swift.

The Angel no longer felt fear. His god had cured him of that, through the endless resets. Still, Ink’s rapid-fire attacks quickly had him on the defensive, constantly dodging and side-stepping to avoid strike after inky dark strike from the god’s strange weapon. Each time he brandished his knife, he was ambushed by a new attack from a new direction, all coinciding on his form as he struggled to fight back, struggled to survive.

Was this the true power of a god? Something cold settled in the Angel’s soul, causing it to fizzle. He began to seriously consider retreat.

But to where?

The Angel tried to step into another world, but Ink was on him the moment his portal closed, taking advantage of the snow’s blinding afterimage to dig a painted blade into his back. It was dark here, and cold – far colder than Snowdin ever had been. Another blow, and the Angel’s soul shuddered again. This time, he felt fear.

Was this it? Was this where he died?

Another blow.

Perhaps this was right. Perhaps this was what he deserved…

Another blow and sparks flew from his soul, igniting terror and pain. This time the Angel screamed. This time, his mouth shaped a word he’d sworn to never say again.

“ANGEL!!!”

Ink lunged forward, but before his final blow could land something warm and strong gripped the Angel’s ankle and dragged him into the infinite darkness of the earth.

When the Angel woke, he imagined for a moment that he was dead. His sockets could not focus because there was nothing to focus on – the world seemed to have vanished into a brilliant white expanse. He lay there, soul burning, weeping black, emotionless tears. A minute? A year? If the figure hadn’t spoken, the Angel might have lain there forever.

“Greetings, little angel. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The Angel leapt to his feet. Across from him stood a strange, dark figure. At first, he might have guessed that it was a skeleton – but a tarry black fluid not unlike the Angel’s tears covered every bit of the monster’s body, leaving only a single teal light to stare into his sockets. The Angel might not have recognized Ink’s power, but he could feel this monster’s strength – could feel it in the way the very air seemed to bristle against his presence. This was no mortal. This was beyond anything the Angel had seen.

“what have you heard?”

“In general? Ah, little one, that would require some time.” A fluid black tentacle slipped from the creature’s spine and wrapped around the Angel’s shoulders, immobilizing him. The Angel was still. “But you were asking what I had heard about you. So I will oblige. I have heard that you are a harbinger of death. Some have gone so far as to call you an angel, but I know better than that. After all, what is an angel without a god?”

“i already killed my god. i don’t need another.”

“I do not desire your worship. Besides, there is a title which suits me far better than god.”

“what do you want?”

“A fighter. Someone with little respect for the likes of Dream and Ink, who would aid me in destroying my enemies.”

“you want me to kill gods for you? i would do that anyway.”

“Well then, little god-killer. I have a place for you, if you’ll take it.”

“…and if i say no?”

“Then I shall leave you in the first universe that opens up beneath our feet. You will be free to cause whatever destruction you wish. But if you choose to follow me – oh, you will see and experience far greater things than you could ever imagine.”

“somehow i don’t believe you.”

“Very well. You may return to your dreary existence. But you are limited when you fight alone. You will be more powerful at my side.” The figure extended a tarry hand. “I am not like the other gods. I have no need for angels. But you aren’t exactly an angel anymore… are you?”

The god killer stared at the dark figure, stared at his extended, toxic hand. The dead grass beneath his knees felt like torn carpet. He remembered a different hand, a hollow palm. Prayer was simpler then. The words didn’t yet matter, not like his father’s cool hand on his skull, not like his brother’s chirping voice. The angel wasn’t present in that space. It was only them.

His soul flickered.

“no.” Killer rose to his feet, meeting those deadly teal eyelights. Viscous black fluid burned into his hand. “i’m not.”

The prophecy was fulfilled. The Angel was dead. And for the first time, a prayer was granted.

End credits music:

[ciphers-fragments-au]

First of four ref sheets for this blog's AU "Cipher's Fragments"

Here's Bill Cipher's ref sheet, including both younger and older form to match Stanford Pines' age throughout the AU. I like to call his skin details "deer freckles". He has gold littered around both of his designs!!

Next up is Stanford Pines

When all ref sheets are complete I will create a pinned message with all of them together to have easy access on info/refs.

-@sylveon-and-velveon

[sleepinglionhearts]

Kai's Hobonichi Adventures (August-September 2024)

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Making this a separate tangent from an ask but I cannot stress enough how much I hate that the TPN wiki has this picture of a woman with a baby from the powerpoint ending under Isabella's anime gallery when we have the pictures of her with Gilda and of her sitting with Alicia, Jemima, and Yvette.

She either learned how to play the guitar to honor Leslie sometime after arriving in the human world, or she learned when she was a child at Grace Field, but we just never got to see her play it before. She didn’t have another biological child. “Oh, the lighting is different, that’s why the hair color doesn’t match”/“She dyed her hair” I just can’t fucking believe you lkdjflkds ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

What I would have given for there to be commentary from director Mamoru Kanbe in the S2 Blu-ray booklet like we had in S1’s or any interview with him finally confirming or disproving it's her.

Also hate how the wiki has fanart by tlieilt_625p in multiple galleries because their style is so ridiculously close to the anime canon’s style that you have people confusing their work with official art on quick glance all the time. (I was guilty of this when I first got into the series, too.)

They've deleted their twitter so I can't link directly to any of these, but even if you have countless people reuploading it without asking for permission or properly sourcing it (I also can't stress enough how much I fucking hate pinterest for this kfjsdk), Google search does corroborate this. Sometimes it's more obvious, but there are some pieces with nigh imperceptible differences.

tl;dr: take the wiki with a grain of salt regarding anything other than character birthdays cited in the mystic code book character profiles, character heights listed in the mystic code book character profiles, the interviews page (per @1000sunnygo in the tags of this post; see also here) and most of the release dates (though as of 17/2/24 pages like chapter 112 are inaccurate).

[l-amplights]

opening commissions for a bit vvv

i currently have 3 slots open, shoot me a message if youre interested

[floating-potatoes]

sees a poster teaching people how to use a fire extinguisher at work: just like the—

[nwarrior777]

i was a bad person and here is my big message about it

even tumblr couldn't hold this much of a post so i made it under the cut. well. i was trying to write it for YEARS sooo i guess it's a little hard to squish in something small

i am frightened of seeing your reaction on this post but. it needs to be made. i wanted to make it for years. if not now then when?

long story about one fundamental thing i deeply regret and want to leave in the past and move on, and today is the perfect time to talk about it.

so. as i told, yesterday was my 26 birthday. and it was a special one. cause i gave it concept

26 years. 25+1. for me it means that half of my life is behind me. (maybe 1/3 if i will be lucky). i decided my 26 birthday will be beginning of my new era. i will leave my past behind and will go into my. present.

the problem is that my past is soooo fucked up

i did a lot of cringe bad things, WHICH I DEEPLY REGRET ABOUT but i want to tell you about one, which is haunting me the most. i thought about writing post about it sooo much times, i tried, but i couldn't do it everytime because then i thought about it i felt soooo ashamed and just burning in selfhate so what's the thing and why exactly this thing I want to tell you about above all of the things which i regret? well because now i am totally opposite person to that mindset which i am ashamed of so! pls keep in mind that i REGRET having that mindset. i think i realized that it's something not good in my 19 years old (my 19 years old is my turning point in life in general), now i am one day 26, but it's still was hunting me!!! 6 fucking years of constant shame and hating myself!!! at this moment i got rid of this thing in my mind and actions completely, and i want to put the final nail in the coffin by this post. so!!! i.. H A D (NOW I DON’T!!!)... fat fetish :c ( * internal screaming full of fear, selfhate and realising that i can hurt someone's feeling by that * ) i almost always had complicated relationships with fatness. first anorexia, but, at the same time then i hated my body i realized that i find fat people beautiful, hot even? (mostly masculine dudes? i don't remember that i thought about others?). and then i got into my horny ~18 yeaaars and ehhhh i was exploring my horny feelings  and preferences. i was deep diving in that fat fetish content, i even made sooome drawings (I think I posted, ~2 on internet AND I HATE THE FACT THAT THEY EXIST SO MUCH). and. next thing will sound naive. but. people who do bad things are always dumb and don't realize basic shit. so. i haven't seen anything bad in fat fetish. and at this time i already had my own moral compass, which i still have AND it helped me get out of this my moral compass: if it hurts someone - it's bad. if not – then it’s fine. and my depiction of fat fetish was reversed in my head. i thought that people participating in it.. feeling sexy and validated? that it's something powerful (I DON'T THINK THIS WAY NOW!) but then i saw one post

it was a person, saying, that they saw a content with fetishization of their appearance and they felt uncomfortable and humiliated by it

and i was like "wait what??? fetishes make people sad??? IT SOMETHING WHAT HURTS SOMEONE??? It's!!! It's... a bad thing!!!"

and i think since then i started to go away from it?

and it's not a second, day or month. you know that getting rid of cigarettes is hard and takes time, right? imagine how hard and how much time will take getting away from moral mindset mistake

if you do something bad it usually means that it is deep in your life

it's hard to go away from people with same mindset, your actions in the past which you thought was fine are now your shame etc etc

but!!! i've been working on myself. i don't want to hurt people, and yeah, hurting someone's feelings counts too.

sooo time was going by and it was less and less fetish content in my corner of internet. i realized that fetish is NOT something powerful and cool or sexy. representation is!!! you can draw gorgeous powerful sexy person without fetishization. actually people on fetish art... well, sometimes they don't even look like people. more like fucked up sex toys. it's so wrong, so bad and i am so ashamed that at some point of my life i thought it's something not awful

then i got into art community, more queer and bodypositive, i learned how to love my body, accepted it at 100% beat the fuck up anorexia. my feed in all the social media are now queer/bodypositive/artists usually all at once. if i see fetish blog reblogging me (i can't check every one but sometimes it happens) i ban it and

and now i don't watch any fetish content, don't have fantasies or dreams about that. now even if i see some content by accident (then you are in internet, you sometimes see shit which you don't want to see, like idk, some fetish blog relogging my art) it makes me feel uncomfortable and i don't turn on at all.

it was the last thing of this to defeat - physical desire. It’s like addiction, sometimes i wanted to watch Fetish Horny Content sooooo bad that it literally was on physicall level, and i just, well, watched and blamed myself for that after

and here is a little strange part, because one day it just... disappeared? with all my libido. aand honestly, it's fine, maybe i can't get turn on at all, but better not feeling libido at all then having it and having this shit in the head. aaaand also i have kiinda same emotions from... art. like cool art. in general. like, show me a good dramatical movie, some cool music, some touching piece of art, cool fucking made edit - i am shivering and crying tears of joy. i have this sooo, yep, it's enough for me, and i can survive loosing libido, if it's price for taking fetish from my head - shut up and take my... libido (okay that part turn out kinda goofy but like, let’s take it as lightning the mood because all the post is some fucked up dark shit)

so yeah. long story short, i was a cringe bad person and i regret that. i've done many cringe things but i decided to tell you exactly about this one because it is fundamental thing in my life and, as you can see, my art

as you could notice, all my characters are fat. and i am trying my best to draw them respectfully. goal of my life is trying to be good person (trying because you can never be sure that you are 100% right. you need to listen people and be ready to change. it's never ending road. what's why i use word "trying". you can't "be" good. only try) goal of my art is to bring people happiness by art, and representation is my method.

i feel very ashamed of that fact that i was participated in phenomen like fat fetish and now i make opposite thing - draw art, based on representation of fat people (and also queer and having other features but this post is not about that)

aaand yeah, sounds not very nice

but... i just hope that you can see that i am drawing fat people with respect. yes, a lot of time my characters presented as sexy. but i am trying to draw fat characters sexiness in respectful way. i've seen fetish art - and i am trying to draw NOT like that.

i learned my lesson. i don't want EVER draw fetish art again. i want!!! draw good things which brings people joy. i deeply sorry for that fetish thing was in my mind. but it's gone. I fought it in me for years, i won, fuck this thing. i want this thing stay in the past!!!!!

and brain, stop fucking hunting me with "whEn thEy wIll KnoW thEy Will Be All DissApoinTed in YoU!! ALL YOUR ART INFLUENCE WILL ZERO OUT THEN PEOPLE WILL FIND OUT!!!" these thoughts were been killing me for YEARS

so

i am deeply ashamed of having fat fetish phaze. but it's over. i learned that it's bad, i don't want to have it in my life ever again. and i don't want my drawings of fat people be part of it. i do it for different reason - to make representative art, which bring people joy, not hurting them.

i was carry this self-fight for years. and this day, my 26 birthday, seems like perfect day to finally leave this shit in the past and move on. i mean, i realised that it's a bad thing ~5-6 years ago. but my brain didn't let go thoughts about that. i am done with this. i want to break free from this shame. i hope i can have a second chance on that...

i really hope that you guys will be able to get joy from my art after that. i got rid of this shit in my mind, i promise. just. please don't turn back from me because because of this mistake. if you can.

(pls, if you have words of support, leave a comment. idea of this post was hunting me for years, and now it finally written. it's finally out of my chest. i want to get free from this. thank you)

[britneyshakespeare]

i can't believe how much this company apparently does not want my money

[lexicog]

traitor to the cause forgets national holiday every year KILL HIM

[sleeping-ocean]

FUN FACT!!!!!!!!!!!1111 did you know that COOKIE CUTTER SHARKS have GLOWING/BIOLUMINESCENT BELLIES?!!!!!!!!?????????????

that's so when you look at them from below, you can't really see them!!!

they have three little lines on their bellies too so it looks like small fish!

their teeth also completely come out, jaws and all and regrow back really fast! like dentures

they can also eat their teeth for vitamins!

they use their teeth to eat whale blubber and their teeth are shaped like they are so they can easily access whale blubber! and they leave circle shaped holes like cookie cutters leaving shapes in dough

also most pictures or documented models of them that we have are really dehydrated, shriveled, and poorly preserved models that look nothing like how they actually look underwater

info source: shark research institute, octonauts

photo source: shark angels

[clanborn]

i think i’m going to do a shorter comic in the same universe before i do event horizon i don’t want to jump headfirst into a project without some practice/understanding of the workflow.

[bubblegeon]

241007© jwparkstar IG

[trans] Five years ago today, 'Lee Woo - Breakup' was released. I never meant to... Facebook reminded me '5 years ago today'.. It's amazing.

Fun fact: Lee Woo's current song "Karaoke", was released on October 7, 2024, exactly five years after 'Breakup' was released on October 7, 2019. These songs are from the same producer M.O.T Entertainment.

[dexaroth]

ever since making a website i keep thinking about if every mutual had one and how awesome they would be.. alas it is not a hobby for everyone

[caterpillarinacave]

So you choose not to step through the door, after all why mess with nonsense when you're already in nonsense? You check the items in your pockets, your phone you shut off to conserve power, the dog tag, key and top clink together but offer no help, and when you fiddle with the walkie-talkie you manage to get it to turn on, excitedly you call out to the void but only static responds, which is disappointing but predictable, so you put the items away and hunker down for the night, looking at the sky you can see that the stars seem strange, though you're no expert, and the moon seems to have a second smaller moon near it which looks pretty cool but is a stark reminder of how not on your own world your predicament has landed you.

In the morning you begin looking through the nearby bushes and plant life taking note of anything strange, you notice the berries you had been picking before you stepped through the door are also growing around here, they look and taste the same, and some other plants seem pretty similar to the forest from before as well, although the further away from the door you go the more unfamiliar plants you come across (of course that may just be your lack of familiarity with plants) and the few animals you have noticed are bizarre in a way that you can't explain, like the people from town, they seem almost perfectly familiar, just a little off and the noises they make have you thinking they wouldn't be able to communicate with their counterparts either, brushing aside another branch you come across a strange funnel made of metal which you pocket and what looks to be a regular whistle, you wipe it down and blow but hear nothing aside from the air going through, you consider it is either broken or maybe a dog whistle, as you go to put it away you hear something big running in your direction, before you can decide how to react a large creature storms out of the bushes and stops in the clearing before you, it's huge as a horse with paws and sharp teeth it licks as it looks around and spots you, it shakes its head again reminding you of a horse, then steps closer before turning and staring expectantly, you get the feeling it's waiting on you, impatiently, and you realize it seems to expect you to get on its back. Do you get on?

Yes.

[halfdeadwallfly]

my dad just tried to explain sexism to me and then got mad when i told him not to lol