#this was in my drafts so why not post it

[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.

[chrisrin]

all my behind-the-scenes concept work and such for the HGCZ! i had a blast working on it all.

check out my finished piece here, and check out @hotguycomiczine for the full zine!

[boringwomanwithabook]

weird woman boobs

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID in alt text, transcripts for comics also found there!]

🎉🎇HAPPY NEW YEAR!🎇🎉

Sure was a year...This is just me taking the end of year opportunity to post the various DC comics doodles that have been gathering dust in my files! Disclaimer that I'm a heathen who mostly reads batfam comics (and also a lot of. Sidekick-y stuff? Like YJ98) and these are all for fun! (Image #3 is a direct adaptation of this text post I made)

[bamboozled-distress]

was stressing over this case at like 2am and pheonix pissing me off because mayas about to DIE and he’s doing his gayass monologue over edgeworth like don’t make me mad

[lilybug-02]

Wow. That could not have turned out worse.

Part 23 || First || Previous || Next

--Full Series--

This comic will be on Holiday Hiatus this December and January! While on a cliffhanger? What a scam! >:/

[itsmespicaa]

The way I literally lost my mind when I saw them in the movie omg...after 40 years, my beloved twins are finally back together 😭🫶💖

(I spent like a good chunk of rewatches just trying to spot every single appearances of them HAHAHA- OTL i hope we DO get a sequel and when we do, hopefully the twins will be there too :"D)

[borealwrites]

I see your (general) “Kakashi expects children to be half as smart as he was at that age” AU and raise you a “Kakashi thinks children are way dumber than they actually are” AU. His only in-person experiences with pre genin are himself, a year at the academy, and Naruto.

So he’s convinced that Iruka is some kind of god for wrangling 17 half-feral children (and Naruto) into real human beings who can read and write and use chopsticks and deadly weapons. Yes, clan children probably learn a bit before, but still.

Kakashi: can’t believe you taught them almost everything they know

Iruka: I didn’t??

Kakashi: I watched you turn 18 hellions into mostly functional members of society

Iruka: most of my kids were well behaved

Kakashi: they absolutely were not, I once saw baby Shino bite Chouji and Hinata took out Gai’s kneecaps because he stood still long enough for her to catch him

[elderwisp]

[marley-manson]

[jadewritesficshere]

Grey

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Synopsis: Steve gets a wake up call from yall's daughter

Contents: talks of aging, kids being kids, references to smut but nothing explicit

Steve groans as his consciousness comes to. Something is hitting his face. Someone. Repeatedly.

Steve squints his bleary eyes open as a hand smacks him in the jaw again. A small smile appears on his face even though his jaw stings from the impact. "Morning," Steve's voice is still thick with sleep as he turns to look into brown eyes barely peeking over the edge of the bed.

A quiet voice repeats back ,"Morning," to Steve before arms reach up over the edge of the bed to try and grasp something. Small hands grab the blanket and tug it off of him slightly as the child attempts to climb up. At two and half, Amelia Joy Harrington can barely see above the edge of her parents' bed, let alone get on it.

Steve hoists Amelia up and sits her on his stomach. Steve winces as Amelia scrambles, a stray foot hitting his thigh precariously close to his crotch. Arms are thrown around his neck in a hug as Amelia lays her head against her dad's chest.

Steve feels like his heart could burst out of his chest from the joy he is feeling. A hug from his baby? The best way to wake up in the morning. Who cares if his jaw is still stinging and probably red, his little girl loves him.

Steve sighs in contentment. Steve holds his daughter close until she starts to fidget and wiggle. Amelia sits up and throws her hands in the air. "Happy Birthday!" She whispers excitedly, except she has no concept of how quiet a whisper should actually be and says it in a much too loud voice.

"What?" Steve asks, hand hovering near Amelia's side in case she slips. Amelia's eyebrows furrow as she pouts at him, a look that is an exact copy of you. Her arms slowly lower as she stares at Steve. "Happy Birthday. You old." Amelia pouts at him.

Steve blinks at Amelia in confusion but nods his head. First off, rude, he isn't that old. Steve isn't sure where she gets her unfiltered, blunt commentary (it absolutely isn't him). Second, it absolutely isn't his birthday. Not even close.

"Why uh...why is it my birthday?" Steve asks, unsure if Amelia fully understands the concept. Not sure if he can explain the idea of a birthday to a two (and a half) year old. "Grey." Amelia declares giving Steve whiplash. Before Steve can speak, Amelia points at the comforter," Blue." Steve smiles," Yes, blue."

Amelia points to her shirt," Green." Steve nods. Amelia taps under Steve's eye, lashes brushing against her finger causing him to close it. Steve hopes she doesn't attempt to actually poke his eye.

"Brown." Amelia declares. "Thats right." Steve grins, his girl is so smart. Amelia points to his temple," Grey." "That's ri- what?! No!" Steve's mouth drops open as Amelia giggles. "Uncle Dustbin says grey is old. Birthday makes old. Happy Birthday!"

The creak of the loose floorboard in the hall notifies Steve of your approach. You peek into the doorway of the room, seeing your two favorite people. One looking aghast and the other giggling at her father's reaction.

"What's going on in here?" You ask, leaning against the doorway. "Grey. Birthday." Amelia announces, like it explains everything. And it does in her little mind.

You hum in response, looking at your husband who seems lost for words. Amelia slides off of Steve and off the bed, Steve guiding her so her feet land on the ground absent-mindedly. He would never let her fall or get hurt. Or you.

Amelia half walks half dances in your direction. A prance in her step, she stops in front of you and grabs your hands. "It's daddy's birthday," She says before headbutting your leg. You chuckle and pat her head as she dances out of the room, in her own little world.

"You lying to my kid again?" You ask once Amelia is gone. Steve sputters as he sits up," I did not- our kid- did not lie." "Uh-huh, sure," you say sarcastically. Steve rolls his eyes at you as he gets up out of bed.

Steve stretches as he rocks on his feet, back cracking, before strolling over to you. "Good morning," Steve mumbles, hand landing on your hip. You hum back as he leans in and kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. Leaving you longing for more as he pulls back.

"Love you," Steve says, fingers running along the waistband of your pants. "I love you too," you want to melt into him. Curl up in his arms and stay in this moment. Let the love and adoration fill the air around you.

"Do I look old?" Steve is the first to break the silence. Your brow furrows in confusion," huh?" "Amelia she," Steve huffs out a laugh," said I have grey hair." You chuckle as you bring a hand up, fingers threading through his hair," You have some but its nice." "Its nice huh?" "Makes you look distinguished. Handsome." You bite your lip and look up at him.

Steve knows that look. Knows it well. It's the look you gave him the first time you moved past just making out. The same look you gave him on your first anniversary. The same look you wore on your wedding night. The same look you gave before Amelia was conceived.

Steve can't help the smirk that spreads across his face. If getting old gives him that look, well, he won't complain.

"What about me?" You ask, batting your lashes. "Beautiful," Steve kisses your cheek," Gorgeous," he kisses the corner of your lips. He continues to alternate between kissing all over your face and praising you.

"My love," Steve whispers before kissing you softly on the lips. You sigh into the kiss, one hand tangling in his hair, the other trying to pull him closer.

A loud crash from the living room has you two pulling back from the sweet moment you stole. "What was that?" You call down the hall. "Nothing!" Amelia yells back, making you sigh but smile. Steve can't help but grin too. His life was a little hectic dealing with a rambunctious child, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. And he thinks, if life is like this, he can manage getting old with you. He wouldn't want it any other way.

[justaz]

merlin’s secret being a visual thing. when he is around arthur or gwen or leon or morgana or [insert whatever character here] merlin seems pale and thin, almost like a ghost or an apparition. when the sun lands on him he reflects it like a corpse, he eyes seem dark and dull. he has this ethereal beauty to him, this otherworldly visage that leads many to believe he is of fae blood. he just doesn’t seem to be 100% human. but when he is ONLY with lancelot or gaius (cough or gwaine bc gwaine DEFINITELY knew) merlin is heartachingly human. merlin shines in the sunlight, colors are brighter and more vibrant around him, and his smiles are wide and his laughs are boisterous. he takes on color and leaves everyone wanting to know him. but when other join in or interact with the two, merlin shifts before their eyes so quickly and suddenly that they aren’t sure whether or not what they saw was a trick of the light. the idea still leaves them wanting more and wanting to see the merlin who is just so full of life but that merlin only appears for a small select group of people. merlin who has a guard so high that it has an effect of other’s perception of him.

[definedvines]

based on things from the game, I have come to conclude that most of maruki's "perfect reality" is based on if traumatic events/personal suffering never happened to the characters. not what they deeply wish for, but if the things that hurt them and they mourn about never actually happened, i.e. futabas mom never died, harus dad never became a horrible parent, shiho never got horribly injured right in front of ann's eyes, ryuji's whole team fallout and injury never happened.... etc. AS INTERPRETED BY MARUKI-- these are all things he assumes deeply hurt the characters due to what they told him in counseling, and in earnestness he was mostly right. It's not what they actually wish for or want in the present, and even if so, it's based on that longing desire we have for things that are unchangeable that's so strong we don't appreciate what we have in the present.

I feel, though, that this can be broken up by maruki's own selfish desires to create a perfect reality that suits him too, and then there's also the case with morgana, someone who... I guess he figured was a PT somehow and based his reality possibly on things the PTs said in counseling? in literally any case it's really difficult to figure out how exactly maruki got the idea of morgana's trauma, but at the beginning of the game morgana liked to emphasize that he believed that he was once a human and something happened to him to make him... not that. So, that still falls into the basic idea here.

Everyone who says Joker wished Akechi back into existence in 3rd semester: he literally didn't lmao. Maruki says he (Maruki) thought it was tragic what happened in Shido's palace so he decided to bring Akechi back. It wasn't Joker <3

[trensu]

It's Will that gives him the idea.

"we don't really celebrate father's day anymore," he had said awkwardly, "but I can't hang out anyway."

"why not?" Dustin demanded. He was gonna end up bored and alone because he didn't celebrate the holiday and everyone else had plans. he had been counting on Will to keep him company.

"I'm gonna get Jonathan a new record and I want to listen to it with him," he said.

"can't he get his own records? C'mon, we could go to the arcade or something."

"no, Dustin," his tone took on a stubborn edge that made Dustin pause. "He's my brother and I love him, and he's the only guy besides Bob who's ever even tried to look out for me. So I'm sorry but I'm gonna be busy on Sunday."

Dustin didn't argue after that but it did get him thinking which is why on Sunday morning he biked all the way over to Loch Nora and started banging on Steve's door.

"what do you want, Henderson?" Steve sighed the most dramatic put upon sigh Dustin had ever heard.

"you're not my dad--"

"wow you really are genius!"

"shut up, shut up, listen to me!"

"okay, geez, I'm listening."

"you're not my dad and I don't want you to be my dad. I don't even really want a dad! Lots of dads aren't even that great and my mom already has the single parent thing down. But you taught me how to do my hair and how to talk to girls - even though that advice sucked, I didn't need it to get Suzie at all - and you're gonna teach me how to drive--"

"woah, hey, no I never said I'd do that, wh--"

"--and you've saved my life but I think we're even because I've saved your life too."

"Henderson don't you have anything better to do than harass me in my own home?" Steve said. he was using that exasperated tone he got when he knew he wasn't keeping up with what was going on but didn't want to admit it.

"actually no I don't but I'm here for a reason," he reached into his backpack and took out the gift he clumsily wrapped with scraps of brown paper bags. He shoved it into Steve's hands. "You're basically the only adult male figure in my life. And I appreciate you."

Steve squinted at the gift and then at Dustin and at the gift again before he said fussily "is this a prank? If something gross explodes from this, I swear to god, I'll--"

"Just open it, Steve!"

"Fine, fine, keep your shirt on," Steve said and tore off the paper. He blinked and in a softer tone said, "Oh."

"I don't know if you even like making models but I know you love cars and this kit looked just like yours, so yeah."

Steve stared at the kit some more. Dustin started to fidget. It was always better to be honest with your feelings but maybe this was too much for Steve. Maybe Steve didn't like him as much as Dustin did. Steve was not as enlightened about these things as Dustin.

"I've never made a model before."

Dustin hunched his shoulders and tried not to feel stupid or hurt. He should have expected this. They weren't even related. This was probably too weird. He reached out to take the gift back.

"it's fine, I can return it, whatever."

Steve raised the kit out of Dustin's reach.

"Hey, this is mine," he said.

"you don't even like it!"

"I never said that! I'm just gonna need a dweeby little nerd to help me build it. You know anybody like that?" Steve asked, batting his eyes innocently.

"you're such a dick," Dustin grumbled, fighting back a grin.

"watch your language!"

"shut up, you're not my dad."

Steve laughed as Dustin shoved his way into the house. Hours later, after much shouting and ribbing and one incident of spilled paint, a small model of the beemer was left to dry while Steve forced Dustin to watch the baseball game on TV with him. It wasn't the worst thing ever, and after Steve mentioned the statistics involved, it got way more interesting ("of course you'd like the math part, you weirdo" "you don't understand the stats do you" "shut up and watch the game, Henderson"). When the paint was dry, Dustin followed Steve upstairs and watched him carefully and deliberately place the model between a couple of sports trophies.

"yeah, I guess it looks pretty cool," Steve said with exaggerated nonchalance. "Now beat it, kid. your mom's gonna freak if you're not home when she gets back from work."

"can you give me a ride?"

"ugh, fine."

Dustin grinned. This had been, hands down, the best father's day ever. From the look on Steve's face when he placed the model, Dustin was pretty sure he agreed.

[diningwiththeasquiths]

Dining’s Cobra Kai + text posts {part 14/?}

[morrowalker]

uhm umg. final showdown in stiix or somethin. ive had this idea for a while now but finally got around to drawing it

[song is Training Montage - The Mountain Goats]