#so this is neato :]

[jackobbit]

U know what? I like u

*highland cows ur sun and moon*

Just a funky little magma warmup before I work on some owed art :]

[ID: A digitally drawn image of Sun and Moon from Five Nights at Freddy’s as fluffy highland cows, Sun sits on the right, Moon lays down with his head bowed on the left next to Sun, the image is placed against a solid white background. Sun is a light yellow color with even lighter yellow spots, his stomach, flank, and the insides of his ears are all this lighter color. He wears a red ribbon around his neck that leads to a large bow placed behind his head, a bell rests just under his chin, a similar set of red ribbon with attached bells is tied around his tail. Sun has an image of a cartoon sun on his flank, and has sun-like rays that surround his head. Moon lays down on the left, and is colored a light blue, he has spots throughout his fur that are an even lighter blue and a darker blue. He wears a set of ribbons, bells, and a bow identical to Sun, although he also wears a blue nightcap covered in stars. An image of a moon is placed on his flank. /End ID]

[ihatebrainstorm]

All the Dinosaur talk makes me think of Brainstorm and Percy having a date at the Natural Science museum and BS just going ham talking about fossils

Ok real fast, I read this really late at night and misread Natural Science Museum as the Natural History Museum ksdkf

Just a nice moment for the two of them :)

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Doodled an angry Gordo

[sciderman]

Yk, I hate that adaptations keep making Peter a high schooler, and not just because it means he never evolves, but because the adaptations now also include wider Marvel, whitch usually (thanks to the MCU) is at the modern day stage with legacy characters and new age teen heroes, meaning that Peter is taking up Miles' spot and you can really tell when they put him next to someone like Kamala Khan or Sam Alexander who are Miles' pals. Tho Peter taking Miles' stuff is just a modern issue overall, just look at MCU whitch just stole and re-skinned Miles' personality, characters, story-beats, even the costume to an extent and then made it worse.

agree 👏

[ashipiko]

GET CHILCHUCK’D

[ssun-showerss]

Lawsan some sort of North Blue courting ritual Law gifts Sanji ornate daggers send tweet

[hood-ex]

Question. What are some classic Hindi/Bollywood movies? Ones that are cinema staples that everyone knows or references? Also, what was a good era for Hindi/Bollywood movies? Because I love 80s American movies, but are there also some amazing Hindi movies from the 80s as well? (Recs don't need to be specifically from the 80s though!)

Signed,

A newb who just watched her first Bollywood movie today.

[redwayfarers]

house of grief and sunlight

fandom: wayfarer ship: cassander/aisanne characters: cassander inteus, aisanne bjornsdottir rating: gen words: 1625 note: this is my entry for @idrellegames' three year anniversary event! prompt i'd chosen is paramour - expected of me, i know - but i've hardly written about cass' bisexuality and i felt like it needed to be written about! excuse the ya-sounding title lmao i could not resist also, aisanne is a gw2 oc that i've ported to wayfarer. she lives over on @i-mybrunettelady most of the time :) divider credit

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s sake, I’m so tired of it. It’s summer, though, and a part of me feels like the sun will chase it away, if only for a day or two. Our house needs the sun right now. Grief hangs over it like a veil, and we don’t speak of it, but maybe the rays that come through our window each morning help. 

Or so I hope. Hope’s a stupid thing by and large, because every time I hope something happens it decidedly doesn’t, as if the gods above or whoever sits and watches this farce of an existence keeps laughing at me and says, “Add more!” But I can’t help but wish, in my heart of hearts, that sometimes, maybe one day in this lifespan that’s entirely too long for one guy, I don’t feel like a tossed out, crapped on kitten on the streets. 

It’s summer. That feels important to repeat to self. I am feeling a little less grief. The room around me is loud and messy and sounds jump from one place to another like rabbits, in a cacophony ruled over by the harmonious noise of music. Sanne’s the one behind the harp, golden under the candlelight, and if she was a different woman, she’d be singing in a Meissandic temple. 

She cares little for the traditional rites, though. She cares little for the chants I’d attended once or twice when I was a kid. She looked at me all confused when I told her how courtly, Vestran services happen, and said, in a strange tone, “I don’t understand how people like that.” I don’t understand either, and thank fuck I’m not a Vestran aristocrat anymore. 

Her place is telling stories of heroes and events long gone, to be a musical wayfarer. She’s doing that tonight. I was drunk when we first met here and she had to hold my hair while I was throwing up, apparently. Can’t say I remember that attractive trait about myself. I’m not drunk right now, however, sitting near the small wooden stage, taking small sips of my cider. The drink is irrelevant; she captures my attention more than any alcohol could. 

She’s radiant and shiny, half covered in shadows, which makes her golden crest stand out. The bright sheen of her golden hair disappears and reappears after the movements of her head. I can’t see her freckles clearly from here, but I can see the ink on her neck, the roundness of her full lips, an occasional yellow in the blues of her eyes when the candlelight reflects off them. I’m not blind to beauty, but there’s beauty in a way a finely made building is beautiful, and a way a person is beautiful. 

You don’t wanna fuck buildings, do you? And if you do, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Others are looking at her too. That doesn’t matter, because it’s my bed who she comes to tonight. Or is it me coming to hers? Not fucking important. 

These feelings are new. For most of my life, interest like this fell to men. Part of me wonders if I’m just that desperate for any kind of tenderness in my life that my head would start making up attraction; but the way this feels can’t be anything but a solid fucking reality. Women were always beautiful the way buildings were, but now they’re flesh and bone and soul and personality and there’s something so weirdly appealing about that that it catches me off guard. 

Not all women are your mother, you dumb fuck. 

I know, but women have never been.. This. I think about Sanne when she’s away. I watch her practice for the performances, mesmerized. There’s peace and blood rushing to my face when we’re laughing in bed, or making lunch, or eating, or just existing in the same space. My insides get all twisted up, like I’m a kid again crushing on older Wayfarers. It’s like Senna again, and I simply forgot how it feels like to be crushing on someone this bad. 

Nothing will ever happen between us, however. It would be so crappy to prey on a widow’s feelings. She rarely speaks of her dead husband, but he’s not even that cold as far as dead people go; maybe a little more than us Wayfarers, but not by much. Our living together is a result of loneliness, desperation, not a desire to find a partner again. But I was dumb enough to pretend I didn't see it. 

She’s cooking, some days after her performance. Sun is shining through the window, leaving her figure in semi-shadows and catching on the ends of her shiny, metallic hair. She’s not as glamorous as she was at the show; right here is a Sanne that’s more down to earth, more solid, dressed comfortably, not worried about how she’s perceived. I’m folding clothes nearby and doing a half-assed job of it, too. It’s hard to concentrate some days over the deafening noise of all this fucking attraction confusion business. 

Every so often she turns back to look at me with a strange smile on her face. “That’s what I wore to Kiaran’s funeral,” she says suddenly. I jerk and drop my gaze to the dress in my hands. Sunlight washes away its dark color in places. There are little holes in it that I want to sew shut, but I don’t have her consent to. She’s weirdly sentimental about it. 

My Spire didn’t have a funeral, and us survivors only have ashes as funerary garb. 

“What’s this stain again?” I ask, raising the dress and jerking my head in the direction of the big, grayish blob on the skirt. “I keep forgetting!” 

She sighs and throws a full, peeled onion at me. It hits me right in the forehead and the poor plant, already under threat, pricks my eyes. “You’re horrible,” I say in mock offense. “You don’t want your dress to stink, do you?” 

“I’m not burying anyone anytime soon,” she says lowly, in a tone that implies I’m hitting a boundary. I wince and put the dress down, careful of the location of the onion. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I approach, gently placing the vegetable on the table. She gives me a hard look. “I shouldn’t have joked about the dress. It means a lot to you and I tend to joke around, right, about the things that I’m sensitive about so people don’t attack me for it first? Offense is the best defense kinda thing? And I forget that sometimes - a lot of the time - people don’t function the way my fucked up head does?”

Shut up, Cassander. You’re making it worse.

Something tightens my throat, like hands choking me from the inside out. I grip the table and swallow thickly. My stomach twists up, and the smell and feel of onion fills the kitchen and I can only focus on the dents in the dark wood beneath my fingers and the uneven pattern freckles of my hand. 

“Cassander,” Sanne says. Her tone is too much for me to analyze right now, try as I might. “Cass.” 

“What?” 

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” 

“Picking at your scar. Stop it.” 

I lower my hand from my face and grip the edges of my tunic. The edges of my braid - I need to take care of those ugly fucking ends one of these days - tickles my hand. You’re scaring people. Enjoy your lifetime of solitude, whether you’re actually into women or not. Who would want someone as shaky and deranged as you are? 

Vestra should’ve killed you, if you were so determined to go back. 

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my feet. 

“I’m not angry. If you pushed, I would’ve been, greatly so. But you didn’t. Stop shaking like a leaf.” There’s something in her tone that feels like cold water to the face. I breathe out and blink away a small selection of tears. Saltiest one always drops first! I’m imagining a little tear race now, little tear spectators cheering the racers on, tear savants testing the levels of salt in each one. The thought makes me giggle and I bury my head in my hands as I laugh. 

“I’m not angry with you,” she repeats, gentler than before. Her voice is still as steely, though. “Go finish the laundry while I make lunch.”

Without a word, I retreat to my location at the corner of the room, where still wet clothes wait to be sorted and hung to dry. I put the dress to the side and continue sorting through the clothes; sometimes, I look at her, her back turned to me, and the shaking of my hands grows for a split second. 

I try my best not to cry. Better save that energy for the worst of the shitshow that I know is yet to come.

I’ve forgotten that this is a house of grief and no sunlight can fix it. And I’ve walked over her grief in the same way I would walk over my own, but where I’m used to it, she isn’t. And even when we go to the same bed that night, seemingly forgetting what happened, and even when the sun rises the morning after, this is still a place where two grieving people decided to seek comfort because being broken together is somehow better than being broken alone. 

No summer nor new kinds of sex can fix the holes in your heart. 

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s everloving and everlasting sake, I’m so tired of it.

[thedarkbringer]

Random headcannon:

You know those people who have entire rooms for their ferrets and other pets that need a lot of space to live comfortably? (One example I can think of being Jaiden Animations and her bird room for Ari and his little friend who's name I cannot remember)

Well, Copia has a rather sizeable room for his rats where it's safe for them to scurry around without any outside dangers (chewable wires, predators if anyone else at the ministry has a cat somewhere, etc. Nothing massive but certainly no hall closet in size.) And he keeps it IMMACULATELY clean. He is the ultimate rat owner and they all love him very very much in return.

[daily-starlo]

[Day 15]

happy aromantic awareness week!!!

here's the flag i used as a reference! 👍

[just-a-boxx]

Been busy recently so art’s been slow; so feel free to this moron

(Mary, They/them/any)

This ver. colored by @miniartsblog ⇧

[daylighteclipsed]

@dj-of-the-coven Same

That or — in this hypothetical scenario where Xehanort shatters Riku instead of Kairi — Eraqus would’ve popped out of Terra’s heart a little early to stop Sora from killing Xehanort bloody murder style. The Wayfinder kids + Eraqus have those magic chains that can tie up heartless, so I imagine those would come into play here… Assuming Sora could be restrained. Which… well. Rage Form can be incredibly powerful, and Sora has killed for much less.

BUT Rage Form can also kill Sora if he powers up too much without healing. It takes huge chunks of his HP away, and the blood and the broken heart shards…. Plus Xehanort is not an average enemy. And this is not the usual po’d bc Sora’s getting his butt kicked in battle. This is the loss of the person who makes up half of a heartbeat with him (Dearly Beloved). His other half. His biggest supporter and inspiration in this game especially. The strongest person he knows. I wonder if Sora would.... if his wrath/despair would kill him if not get very close to it.

Esp because. It’s obvious Nomura sees Sora and Riku as a yinyang duo. One doesn’t exist without the other. They’re either both alive or both dead. (I joke about Sora being ‘dead’ in Quadratum, but actually. There’s no scenario where one of them is alive and the other is not, and I mean that.) So it makes sense if Riku’s almost dead/been shattered into pieces that Sora would get close to death too.

All around, it would just be. A bad time. But it is fun to consider!

[sonicenvy]

one of my favorite library kid encounters this weekend was a with a little Greek three-year-old named Andromeda. She and her mom came up to get her beads for SRP, and, as is pretty common, they start telling me about what they've been reading. Friends, this child and her mother have been reading the Odyssey in Greek together. The mom and the kid chat back and forth in Greek together about the Odyssey while picking beads (and counting them in Greek), translating bits and pieces for me as they go along.

Apparently, Andromeda's favorite character in the Odyssey is Penelope, which, uh, girl I see u!!!!! Obsessed with the vibes of this toddler who read the Odyssey in Greek with her mom FIVE times this summer because that's her favorite book! GOOD! FOR! HER!

Additionally the mom was like, "yeah we also read the Iliad this summer."

no notes. impeccable. there are days when i love our kids so much y'all.

[zer0-otheactualnumber]

im so normal about computers razberry , please believe me i mean i may be attr- *gets killed by a government agent*

[do-you-know-this-adhd-character]

Do you know this (noncanon) ADHD character?

Evidence below the cut!

First submitter said:

Wei Wuxian is an absolute genius who chatters like mad about anything on his mind, flits from topic to topic, gets kicked out of class for being disruptive and talking about (forbidden) ideas that just occurred to him, doodles and gossips and slumps in his seat in class because he's bored, and invents best under pressure.

A second submitter linked to this post and this other post and said:

While it isn’t outright stated, the novel he’s from is set in a historical Chinese setting, so it wouldn’t make sense to anyway. As for why I think he is, we see him consistently butt heads with his teachers due to his inability to be still and quiet in class and the fact that he often answers questions in unorthodox ways. He’s pretty much always moving in someway, something which is carried over into the novels live action and donghua adaptations. wei wuxian is described as a genius who could do pretty much anything if he applied himself and did what he was supposed to (and haven’t we all seen that on report cards, or in parent teacher interviews?) when he focuses on a project (or like. 10 at once) he tends to lock himself away and forget to eat or sleep properly. His workspace is described as cluttered and unorganised to everyone else, but wei wuxian is perfectly fine working in it- he knows where everything is, at least. He also has a terrible memory, which could also be explained by the general terribleness of everything happening, but is portrayed in a way I personally felt was very ADHD-esque, especially with the other things I described. He will pretty much forget anything unless he has it in writing or is otherwise reminded, yet somehow remembered a tune his friend sung to him when he was delirious, injured and half conscious 13 years later. That probably isn’t everything, but I can’t think of anything else rn

[citnamora]

Lowkey (highkey) falling in love with the TLK fandom. It's so fascinating seeing everyone's interpretations of the characters and storylines like the creativity is unreal!!!