#the hundred packs

[canisalbus]

HIII I’m a little shy and very nervous to show this arts BUT I LOVE YOUR CHARACTERS SMMM they’re my current hyperfixation 🤧🤧

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[violetsorengail]

fourth wing ch. 16

everyone else was cut off and then there's sgaeyl just mocking xaden the whole time. the dragons are like... having an emergency business meeting yet she still has time to whack his ass #girlboss

[finzphoenix]

Example use for the new pumpkin brush that's going to be uploaded on Patreon ^-^ 🎃🎃

[lotus-pear]

i think you guys are onto smth..

i unironically got invested in this HELP

[gaymaramada]

‼️ EPIC: VENGEANCE SAGA SPOILERS ‼️

I have no clue how I would interpret 600 strike as an animatic if I could but I at least have an idea of the final confrontation:

⚠️TW: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE⚠️

First off, Poseidon is NOT as helpless and just letting Odysseus torture him — in fact, he does try to fight back, but he’s still reeling from Odysseus’ power move (whatever that would be), and it doesn’t help that, once Odysseus stabs him and knocks him down, he takes out his legs immediately. I don’t mean just stabbing them or breaking bones — I’m talking TEARING THEM OFF ENTIRELY.

If a god is going to be bested by a mortal, there’d better be a healthy serving of gore. Odysseus isn’t just stabbing him over and over — he’s going for the heart, then the throat, then the stomach. He’s shattering Poseidon’s ribs as he tears through his lungs, causing them to flood with blood. He’s twisting the trident where it’s lodged inside his abdomen, gathering his intestines. He’s stabbing ALL THE WAY through his neck so it juts out from the other side, nearly beheading him. Odysseus is mutilating him.

And Poseidon? Oh, he is furious. How could he have let himself be bested by this arrogant, self-righteous, unapologetic rat? And more importantly, why is he still fighting? Has he not broken already, even after all this time? He should be begging for death! He should hate everything about himself! He shouldn’t be fighting for his life! He goes as far as to call Odysseus a monster not out of horror, but in the hopes that it will reach under his skin and make him falter. It doesn’t.

To me, Poseidon’s pleas aren’t frightened, they’re frustrated. Him saying, “Enough, stop, stop!” is more akin to an adult losing their patience with a child having a tantrum. It’s annoyance with the screams, cries, and destruction to the point that he’s throwing his hands in the air like, “I give up!” Or, more accurately, grabbing the trident’s blade with bloodied hands before it can land another blow and yelling, “ALRIGHT!”

But Odysseus doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop pushing the trident forward into Poseidon’s chest. He’s glaring at Poseidon with such vitriolic hatred, but there’s also another look in his eyes — an expectant look.

Because Odysseus wants to hear the god beg.

And so — tired, frustrated, and beaten — Poseidon bites the bullet, gritting his teeth through his humiliation and fury as he says, barely audible, “Please…”

The sky clears, and finally, Odysseus drops the trident.

I just really vibe with the idea of Poseidon not cowering before Odysseus, but more behaving like a predator would with difficult prey — bro is angry, humiliated, and bleeding from like EVERYWHERE. Shit ain’t worth it. If he wasn’t tired when Odysseus asked earlier, he sure is now.

[17panicattacksinatrenchcoat]

Oh sh--

Deadline adrenaline is here gotta make the most of it while it lasts go Max GO GO GO GO GO

[ns2dstudios]

I honestly didn't wanna do 600 strike but the moment an idea on how to deal with the jetpack issue wormed its way into my head, I couldn't shake it off so I'm putting this out there. This way, no one can accuse me of copying or sumthin hahahaha

[ur-ghostgirl]

i need to do things today but my brain doesnt wna do things today

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

No one:

Eddie DMing a campaign combat that’s lasted upwards of two hours with no end in sight: Okay whoever gets your DM a beer right now can use fireball to end this whole battle.

[motliez]

IG: @Motliez

[daftpatience]

IM NEARLY DONE!! ALL ORDERS WILL BE SHIPPED BY SEPT 6 AT THE LATEST!!!

it's been a long time and a lot of roadblocks and delays but i'm finally almost caught back up!

[humberg]

This is home

[m00nveil]

did NO ONE want to tell me that the drop rate for the robes in the decaversary hoard pack is absolute ASS or was i supposed to find it out myself

[chlorine-and-daisies]

just a tiny christmas special from the dowling years

Somehow when Crowley is done cleaning up torn wrapping paper and discarded Legos, he ends up next to Aziraphale in the Bentley. Neither of them have any intention of driving. It’s stuck on Queen again, playing a single Christmas song on repeat. While Crowley fiddles with the CDs, Aziraphale rummages around in his bag of gardening tools and pulls out a tartan flask.

“Drinking on the job, Angel?” Crowley says, impressed. 

“Well, it is Christmas,” Aziraphale protests, though he has that gleam in his eye, that look he gets when he thinks he’s being naughty. Neither Heaven nor Hell look kindly upon human celebrations, so he could very well be right. He takes a sip, and offers it to Crowley. “There’s hardly anything for me to do today.”

“Really? I’ve got loads to do. Very professional, first-rate nanny, me.”

“Perhaps not professional, but you are excellent with children,” Aziraphale says earnestly, though the effect is somewhat spoiled by his false teeth. “Warlock was so delighted to show you all his new toys this morning.”

Crowley grimaces. A demon can get in a lot of trouble for celebrating Christmas, and he certainly doesn’t want to be reminded of their work. Warlock is already ten and the world is all heading to nothing. Like those trains circling Christmas trees for no reason. 

Aziraphale actually set up one of those trains in the Dowlings’ drawing room. He’d been frantic this year, overstepped his role as gardener. He filled the estate with little candles and garlands and baubles, made wreaths by hand out of pine branches and the dried seed pods of love-in-a-mist. When Crowley said he’d outdone himself, he looked rather pleased. He’s quiet now, though.

Something about the day has gotten to the Bentley, which has changed the music, which in turn has affected their drink. When it touches their lips, whatever cheap vodka was inside turns to wine and goes all warm and spiced.

Crowley fiddles with his glasses, his sheer tights. Aziraphale is right there beside him. Even with that awful hat covering his white curls, he still looks just like an angel who could appear from on high. And Crowley thinks of all those holidays past, of the end times, of taking whatever power he could from Hell and just letting this moment go on. Resting forever. Just the two of them.

“Angel?” he says. He doesn’t know where he’s about to go. The song’s about to end. Freddie says something under the music. “D’you remember. When Mary and Joseph and that whole pack of shepherds were running around in the dark all confused, and you got the baby to stop crying? And when you did, whatever you did, with King Wencelas’ footsteps? When you wore face paint and skirts for the Christmas panto, now that was a good year. And all those times you made Christmas pudding, flaming like anything. How you like to strike your matches? Like, a magician, with, y’know, flair? Remember any of that?”

Crowley takes one last sip of wine. Marking the flask with bright pink lipstick before handing it back, but he can’t find it in himself to be sorry. 

“Happy Christmas, Crowley,” Aziraphale says softly. He doesn’t really answer. He takes another drink.

[sskk-manifesto]

Next time we should just skip over ep 3 and do a chapters 84-87 reread

[uncanny-tranny]

Yet another thing I didn't expect from crochet: I have stitch markers in my car, my bed, they are even being run through the washing machine because I didn't see them while loading my laundry. I think I'll drown in them