#snivel

[casperflashprizrak]

[kick-the-clouds]

They want us to hate each other.

It’s the oldest trick in the book: divide and conquer. Keep people fighting, and they’ll never notice who’s pulling the strings. Powerful forces—media moguls, billionaires, and political opportunists—profit from our division. They feed us lies, distort the truth, and spin every headline to deepen the cracks. Why? Because a united people are unstoppable.

But here’s the truth they don’t want you to see: left or right, we want the same things. A safe place to live. A fair shot at life. A future for our kids. Those aren’t partisan goals—they’re human ones. And when we strip away the noise, the memes, the shouting, we’re not enemies. We’re neighbors.

Yes, the problems are real. The disagreements are real. But so is the chance for cooperation. History proves it. Every great moment of progress—from civil rights to social security—happened because people dared to work together. They didn’t agree on everything, but they shared hope.

Hope is our weapon against manipulation. Hope lets us listen instead of yell. It lets us see through the lies, the fearmongering, and the labels designed to tear us apart. Hope reminds us that unity isn’t weakness; it’s strength.

The ones dividing us don’t care about your values. They care about their power. Don’t give it to them. Refuse to play their game. Stay rooted in truth. Stay open to dialogue. Stay hopeful. Together, we’re better than their hate.

[churchofnix]

The Wonder in Your Pocket

Snivel doesn’t build bridges.

It doesn’t light homes or cure disease. It doesn’t send rockets to the stars or harness the atom’s spark. Snivel grumbles, mocks, and waits for a handout. It wears the mask of wisdom but offers no answers.

And yet, look at your hand.

The phone you hold? That’s not snivel’s child. That’s the child of inquiry, of the scientific method—a stubborn thing. It asks, "Why?" when others shrug. It tests and fails and tests again. It strips away falsehood and builds truth brick by brick.

Snivel says, "This is too hard." The scientific method says, "Let’s try anyway."

Your shoes, your medicine, your morning coffee—none of these sprang from complaint. Someone measured, someone questioned, someone pursued the unseen with clear eyes. The bridges we walk, the tools we use, and the cures we trust—they are proof that the world can change when minds seek to understand instead of wallow.

The next time you see a lightbulb, a book, or a screen, remember: snivel didn’t make this. Discovery did.

So, leave snivel behind. Hold fast to wonder. And ask, “What can I build next?”

[webbyghost]

I miss you drawing casper, the ghostly trio, spooky, and poil, can you draw them again? Along with snivel and kibosh?

I have had this ask in my box for about a year. If you're still around, anon, these pencil doodles are for you!

I had so much trouble with Stinkie and I straight up gave up with Snivel lmao

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Anthony Frederick Augustus Sandys - Helen of Troy, 1867.

See the same woman, here.

Similar paintings (biting something) >> 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

[decoding-narcissism]

You Owe Me Everything

I made you. Without me, you’d be nothing.

Snivel. It’s a tool, a tactic, and a weapon. Watch how it works.

The power of manipulation lies in subtlety. A narcissist’s snivel isn’t loud; it’s quiet. It’s a whisper of weakness that forces you to lean closer. “I just feel so unappreciated,” they might say. And suddenly, it’s your job to fix it.

They pull you in with pity. They cry, but only to get what they want. They look vulnerable, but it’s a performance. The mask of fragility hides the iron fist beneath.

Take a mother who plays the martyr: “I sacrificed everything for you.” Now her children walk on eggshells, fearing her disappointment, always giving more than they can afford. She snivels her way into control.

Or the friend who “just wants to be included.” They guilt you into endless favors, never mind that your needs are ignored. Their sadness is a script, rehearsed to perfection.

This tactic works because it’s exhausting. You feel responsible for their happiness. You bend over backward to keep the peace, even as it drains you.

But here's the truth: it’s all about power. Their snivel makes you the caretaker, the fixer, the giver. And they take, always more than they deserve.

Narcissists don’t want connection; they want control. Their weakness is their weapon. If you step back and refuse to play the game, they lose.

Snivel may seem small, but it’s poison. Don’t drink it. Recognize it. Call it out. And walk away.

[you-must-be-held-accountable]

The Quiet Tyranny of Snivel: How Small Corruptions Erode Integrity and Empower the Undeserving

Power does not always roar; sometimes, it snivels.

In the ecosystem of human interaction, snivel—defined here as insidious, petty self-serving behavior—frequently slips by unchecked. Dismissed as trivial, these acts of low-grade manipulation or moral compromise often escape the scrutiny they deserve. But the accumulation of unaddressed misconduct, however small, forms the scaffolding for larger, more destructive power structures.

When accountability is abandoned, even minor moral failures metastasize. A person who skirts consequences for dishonesty in the trivial will often feel emboldened to transgress further. These acts not only escalate but also normalize, creating a culture where integrity erodes, and ethical standards blur. The sniveler learns a dangerous lesson: small corruptions, left unchallenged, pave the way to unchecked influence.

History offers chilling examples of this progression. Many figures who ascend to powerful positions built their rise not on merit but on a foundation of uncorrected small infractions. The habit of evading responsibility, once cultivated, becomes a skill—a dark art that manipulates systems, consolidates authority, and stifles dissent.

The remedy is vigilance. Accountability must not discriminate by scale; a lie told at the dinner table holds the same moral weight as one broadcast to a nation. By enforcing integrity in the small, we inoculate against corruption in the large.

The danger of snivel is not its size but its persistence. Left unchecked, it becomes the quiet tyranny that shapes the world.

[weird-things-to-think]

The Amazen Word: Snivul

Snivul. Wut is it? Why it here? Who invinted it? Lemme xplain (but I dunt no much). Snivul is wurd dat sounds like it’s cryin or sneezin. Is it gud wurd? Maybe. Maybe not.

Wut Snivul Means (I Think)

Snivul is wen sumwun iz all, "Boohoo! My cookie broked!" They cry, but not big cry. Just lil cry. U no, wif sniffles and whiney voice. Like baby but grown-up. Itz like, "Oh noooo, life iz soooo hard!" Wen really, they jus losed der sock or sumthin.

Ware Snivul Come From?

Ok, ok, so like 1,000 yeers ago (probly), sum guy was like, "Hmm, need wurd 4 cryin but not rlly cryin." So dey made snivul. Boom. Now we stuck wif it. Iz from old langwage or sumthin, like Shakespere time maybe? Who knos. Not me.

How 2 Use Snivul

Snivul iz not komplacted. U jus say it wen sumwun iz bein all sad-face but not real sad-face. Example:

Ur friend: “My ice creem falled!”

U: “Stop snivulin, Bob. Get new ice creem.”

See? Easy.

Why U Shuld Care?

U shuld care bcos snivul iz funny wurd. Say it out loud. Go ahead: Sniiiiiivuuul. Sounds like sick cat. Or sad vaccum.

Warningz About Snivul

Don’t call ur mom a snivuler. U die.

Don’t spell it rong in scrabble. U lose.

Don’t snivul about snivul. Ironik, but dum.

Finul Thots

Snivul iz wurd 4 ppl who need to chill. If u snivul, stop. If u heer snivul, say, “Haha, dat funny.” Now u kno wat I kno (which iz not much). Ur welcum.

[violence-is-literally-stupid]

Snivel is the sound of powerlessness pretending to roar. It’s what happens when someone, too afraid to act, tries to outsource their courage with words like weapons. Threats—yes, even the little ones—are violence in disguise. A hissed “you’ll regret this” at a coworker isn’t strategy; it’s intimidation. A parent snarling “just wait until your father gets home” isn’t discipline; it’s fear turned into a promise of harm. Even the sly “it’d be a shame if something happened” is just malice dressed up in a cheap suit. Threats, big or small, carry the same message: control by fear. And fear? That’s just violence with a different face.

[so-true-overdue]

The Serpent of Certainty

Certainty is a seductive lie, and its coils wrap gently at first.

You do not see it, not as it slithers into your ears cloaked in sweetness, nor as it drapes itself around your shoulders like a warm mantle of belonging. It does not hiss, but purrs—symphonies of absolutes, saccharine and simplistic, designed to lull you into unthinking compliance. Its words stroke your ego, whispering that you alone, among the hapless masses, have uncovered truth. And in the glow of this apparent enlightenment, you believe.

Oh, how you believe.

Misinformation operates with the elegance of a predator: it preys upon your deepest desires—validation, purpose, safety. Like the most finely tuned machine of persuasion, it offers narratives so precise in their appeal that they slip past your skepticism before you’ve even donned its armor. It tells you the world is chaotic, but you are chosen to untangle it. It draws lines between "us" and "them," promising a family where questions are unnecessary because answers are already provided.

Do you hear it? The faint snivel beneath this façade?

Sniveling is the language of fear cloaked in audacity. It is the whining of ideology parading as revelation, the desperate sound of self-appointed prophets weaving webs of deceit to keep their fragile constructs intact. But here’s the rub: the louder their doctrine screams certainty, the less certain it becomes.

Cults—whether religious, ideological, or conspiratorial—are artisans of this craft. They do not knock on your door bearing blatant absurdities. Instead, they bait you with seemingly reasonable premises, luring you step by step into a labyrinth of beliefs so intricate that by the time you notice the absurdities, they feel as natural as the air you breathe.

And yet, disentanglement is nearly impossible from the inside. How do you question what you have been conditioned to see as unquestionable? The bars of the mental prison are fashioned from your own convictions; the warden, your pride.

The tragedy lies in the slow erosion of your capacity to doubt. Doubt, that messy, uncomfortable, and profoundly human gift, is what keeps us tethered to reality. Yet in the hands of misinformation, doubt is reframed as treachery. "Trust us," they say. "Doubt is poison." But let me whisper a truth they fear: doubt is not poison—it is antidote.

Breaking free begins with a single, terrifying admission: I might have been wrong. Those words are anathema to the seduced mind because they threaten to dismantle the identity constructed on shaky foundations. But they are also liberation.

Misinformation cannot survive the light of scrutiny. Like mist under the sun, it evaporates when confronted by curiosity, by humility, by the relentless questioning that cults seek to extinguish.

So, when the serpent of certainty sidles up to you, resist its caress. Stay wary of ideas that demand allegiance rather than understanding. Embrace the awkward, sniveling sound of your own doubts, for in those doubts lies your humanity—and your freedom.

And remember this: no truth worth holding trembles beneath the weight of questions.

[faith-in-democracy]

Snivel is Killing Us, and the Constitution Can Save Us—If We Let It

Snivel is everywhere now. It seeps into conversations, politics, and headlines. It’s the whimpering insistence that nothing must ever change, that the world should freeze in place, even as it burns around us. It’s not just annoying—it’s dangerous.

This country wasn’t built on snivel. It was built on boldness. The Constitution, a masterpiece of its time, was never meant to be a dead thing. It was written to grow, to breathe, to respond. The Founders knew they couldn’t predict everything. They didn’t try. That’s why they gave us amendments, progress, and the tools to adapt.

But here’s the problem: originalism has turned the Constitution into a fossil. Originalists claim they’re defending its integrity, but really, they’re strangling it. They insist that every answer lies in the minds of men who lived over 200 years ago. Men who never saw a car, let alone the internet.

This world moves fast—too fast for their frozen logic. Climate change, artificial intelligence, global pandemics: none of this fits neatly into 18th-century thinking. Originalism tells us to apply rules for muskets to machine guns, for quills to quantum computing.

And while we argue over what dead men might have meant, the real world moves on. People suffer. Progress stalls.

The Constitution must live, because we do. It must bend so it doesn’t break. Clinging to a static past in a dynamic world is like trying to pilot a rocket with a map of horse trails. It’s absurd. Worse, it’s fatal.

Snivel wants us stuck, scared of the new. But the future is coming, whether we like it or not. It’s time to let the Constitution do what it was designed to do: evolve. To embrace its brilliance as a living document—not a museum exhibit.

The stakes couldn’t be higher. It’s not just about laws or politics. It’s about survival.

Let’s leave the snivel behind. Let’s fight for a Constitution that moves with us. It’s what the Founders would have wanted. It’s what the future demands.

[extremely-moderate]

Stand Tall, Speak Loud, Never Bow

They want you to sit down. Stay quiet. Obey.

Extreme ideologies thrive on control. They do not negotiate, they do not compromise, and they do not care who they trample. Their goal is power—absolute, unquestioned, unyielding. But here’s the truth: their strength depends entirely on your silence.

You fight back by refusing to shrink. Start with your voice. Speak up, even when it shakes. Call out lies when you hear them. Don’t let bigotry disguise itself as tradition. Don’t let cruelty hide behind the word “freedom.” Truth is your weapon, and it is sharper than their fearmongering.

Second, build the wall they can’t tear down: solidarity. Find your people. The ones who care about justice, equality, and human dignity as much as you do. Together, you are an unstoppable force. When one of you stumbles, the others will lift them. When one of you is attacked, the others will shield them.

Finally, never accept their terms. Extremists only win when you play their game—when you argue on their stage, follow their rules, or let their rage infect you. Instead, stay grounded in what matters: the facts, the values, the humanity they ignore.

The world bends toward those brave enough to push. If they won’t compromise, neither will you—not on truth, not on justice, not on freedom for all.

So stand tall. Speak loud. And never, ever bow.

[capitalism-is-a-psychopathy]

The Price of Every Crime

No one gets away with it.

A thief in the night steals a loaf of bread. The hungry stomach that drove him there never fills, for the cost is greater than the crime. The baker locks his doors tighter, raises his prices, and the community pays for one man’s desperate act.

In the corner office, a suited executive signs a contract. Hidden clauses siphon money from pensions, leaving workers with empty hands. He calls it strategy, but the cost is trust—lost forever in boardrooms and breakrooms alike.

Whether by sweat or by silk tie, every act of greed ripples outward.

The poor man who steals sees his punishment in prison bars. The rich man who cheats sees his in broken lives and shattered reputations. One pays with years, the other with a soul.

Accumulating wealth at the cost of others always exacts a price. Money rots in vaults while the world outside grows poorer. A kingdom built on stolen stones will collapse beneath its weight.

There is no small crime. The cost always comes. And it takes more than anyone ever thinks they’ll owe.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

but i crumble completely when you cry . .

katsuki comforts you

katsuki bakugou hates a lot of things

he hates people who walk slow, he hates people who chew loudly or people who talk loud in places they know damn well they shouldn’t.

he hates when people walk on the back of his shoe and he hates idiots like kaminari who talk during movies.

but most of all, katsuki bakugou hates seeing you cry.

it sparks something in him, something red, hot and so angry when he finds you in your dorm. tears running down your cheeks that show no sign of stopping. he hates it even more when you make eye contact and you curl into yourself even more from where you’re sitting on the floor.

katsuki immediately decides this is the thing he hates the most.

he’s on you in seconds, kneeling in front of you, searching around to get a peek of your face hidden in your knees. he places his hands on top of yours where they’re wrapped around your legs and his chest tightens when you flinch a little.

“ who was it ? who did this to you ?” he can’t recognize his own voice, his words come out so fast he barely registers what he’s saying.

you try to speak but nothing but more broken sobs and shaky breaths come out as you desperately try to catch your breath and katsuki realizes that you talking isn’t a priority right now.

his eyebrows are furrowed and he almost looks angry but he’s so, so worried. if anything, he’s angry at himself for being so helpless, for not being able to help you in a time where you clearly need it.

he grabs your shoulder softly and the weight his chest lightens slightly when you lean a little closer to him, before letting him pull you tightly into his arms

“breathe for me.” he utters softly, voice gruff and gravelly. he never actually talks this softly unless he’s around you, the difference is so stark it surprises him a little bit but he’s got more important things to think about. praise spills from him occasionally, muttering a “you got it. i got you” into your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple.

katsuki’s never really had to comfort anyone, he’s never felt the need to, but you’re not just anyone. your different, you’re his. his love his everything and he’ll be damned if he didn’t try his hardest for you.

you’ve calmed down a little bit, he noticed. you’re breathings calmed down a little and your sobs have been reduced to snivels. the tightness in his lungs is still there, but it’s less now.

“what’s goin’ on with you, hm ?” you’re grip tightens on his arm and you shove your head deeper into his chest. he moves his head away from your shoulder so he can place two small kisses on the top of your head

“talk to me, baby. needa know what’s up with you.” he pleads into the crown of your head. you sigh before speaking up.

“ i don’t know what’s up with me i just- it’s nothing bad i’m—” you’re desperately searching for the right words to use so what you’re about to say makes sense. “i just don’t—feel like myself today. i don’t know why, i just feel really bad today.” you let out a humorless chuckle and your voice dies out when you finish “m’sorry if i worried you” you sniffle.

he shushes you, his grip on you tightens when he hears you whimper “don’t..don’t fuckin’ apologize to me, got no reason to.” he spits. he sounds angry, and he is, why should you ever feel the need to apologize for feeling some type of way around him ?

“s’okay for you to feel that way..i do too, sometimes, you know ?” he knows you do. he knows you do because there are times where he comes to your room in tears, shaking and panicked. completely and utterly lost from the nightmares that had plagued him minutes before but knowing he had to come see you. you were there for him every time, gently soothing him and assuring him that he’d be okay. he owed it to you to do the same for you.

“s’okay to feel like shit sometimes, happens to the best of us.” he whispers “ but you can always come to me when you do, can deal with it together. an’ don’t go thinkin’ yer ‘bothering’ me either.” he says, parroting what you had just told him. “we’re together for a reason, dummy.” he’s soft spoken and his voice is so mellow despite his harsh little nickname for you, you could’ve missed it if he wasn’t sitting so close to you, it makes you a little dizzy and a little weaker in you’re already mushy knees.

he grabs your shoulders gently to get your eyes on him. they’re still a little glossy but they’re a little less dull when he looks at you “ we’re in this together, always have been, always will be, got it ? “ he asserts, waiting for your response. and then you smile at him, it’s faint but it’s there and katsuki feels like he can breathe again. he smiles back softly at you when you respond with a soft “okay.”

you suddenly grab onto him and pull him into you tightly, locking him in a tight embrace and squeezing like you’re pressing a lemon. it throws him off for a second before he’s squeezing you just as hard, pressing your body against his.

“thank you, katsuki. you’re the best” you hum. he presses a long lingering kiss to your temple as response, before squeezing around your waist “ course i am.” he gloats. the smirk on his lips grows when you snort in response “what’re you laughing about, hah? don’t think so? don’t think i’m the best ?” he jests, using this as an opportunity to tickle you mercilessly. you kick and squirm but it’s no use, katsuki doesn’t stop until you’re a heaving , giggling mess. tears in your eyes as you plead and beg for him to stop but he doesn’t let up even when you’re laying on the ground with him on top of you.

“ i ain’t hearing what i wanna hear, you know what i want from you, baby.” he chuckles at the way you desperately gasp for breath, choking on your own spit in the process.

“y-you’re the ! the best, ‘suki ! the b-bestest of the best !” you gasp out, pushing blindly at his face to get him away from you and he finally let’s you go. “felt nice enough to let you off with a warning, won’t end well for ya if you try me again.” is what he says, playfully warning you and waving his finger around in your face. you’re completely out of breath, there are tears in your eyes again but they’re happy tears this time and you still can’t stop smiling and giggling as you try to bite at his finger and katsuki is more than happy with this.

because katsuki’s favorite thing is your smile.

[leap-0n]

Screenshot draw-over from SoD, Rest In Peace man 🫡