#w/e

[caliroxi]

50. Another falls victim to the infamous frozen pole

[dripgnoll]

they've both got.. autism.

[shreddeddescent]

p1 | p2 | p3

i dont think im doin anymore of this cuz theres a posted fic of it now but this part was funny (its rated explicit so like youve been warned)

[party2000]

[chimmaddie]

[ID: three digital drawings making up a short comic of characters from 911 on ABC. All three showing Chimney in a hospital bed and buck sitting at his bedside. In the first buck is smiling and saying to Chimney, "yeah, when I was telling Maddie about Tommy, I thought it was totally normal to check out a hot guys ass, haha." and chimney replies, "but that is totally normal," looking unperturbed.

In the next image Chimney is smiling as he says, "in fact, I've had fantasies about other men before. But I was still completely straight." Buck squints as him and says, "... yeah, that's how I thought before I came out."

The final panel is buck and chimney sitting in silence. now drawn with dot eyes to signify their surprise and realization. A bisexual flag is now the entire background of this image. End ID.]

brothers in law.... :)

[zombiemoral]

Trolls doodle dump WHO CLAPPED!?!!

[mountainsideturnip]

Actually looking back on this, I've realized the compass doesn't look very... uh. Compassy lol

[rockingthegraveyard]

They way he just protects this little girl!!!

All the while he's just so fucking scared!

With three villains after him now, one completely losing interest because he's already scared out of his mind. Meanwhile everyone is just gossiping about Batman doing something to the Red Hood that might make him an easier targets and I'm stomping Bruce to death with my hooves.

[kurbcotain]

im still learning digital art but here take a tom. i guess

[island-in-the-shadows]

Loooool I love seeing all these people going no past Devil's Minion never happened, moving on. Ok, sure, because all the little things mean nothing. Because Night Island existing in this universe (regardless if they ever make the mini series) means nothing. Because taking Armand's whole thing about turning a vampire (and how this also plays into his formative relationship with Marius) and literally sledgehammering it to a gooey pulp and making it about Louis makes sense.

If anything I started out going "oh ok nothing" and the more time has passed, the more I think the opposite. Hey maybe I'm wrong, but it would be a waste of source material that would only ADD to the complexity of the characters and their relationship in the present. And it would literally make the relationship near fucking impossible. Might as well say DM isn't happening at that rate.

[adinafay]

[theloveinc]

dabi x reader - you can't tell me this man doesn't know how to pick out jewelry, for himself or you.

(warning - no specific holiday mentioned, gn except there's a necklace <3)

happy holidays!

-

It’s the end of the night. The soft glow of the holiday lights a comfort as you wind down from your day of calling friends and loved ones, drying your mouth with greetings and kisses that won’t be matched for another full year’s time.

Decorations adorn your apartment, waiting to be torn down sometime after New Years once you recover from your holiday bliss, the expected hangover that comes with it, and all your friends get up off your couch.

Dabi had… surprisingly… joined your celebrations this year. Last year, though you were familiar with him in ways just the same, you suppose you hadn’t actually known him well enough for him to willingly stand witness to the intimacy of your friendly gatherings. Though he hardly participated in the festivities even now—preferring to hover in the kitchen over the rising bread rolls and honey whilst others decorated cupcakes and shared food—he stood beside you like a good boyfriend when it was required of him, bowed his head for any introductions, and pinched out a smile when people asked what you got each other as gifts.

Which, mutually, was nothing.

(In all honesty, you considered your gift to him the simple fact that you allowed him to stay at your apartment more often than not… and simultaneously, weren’t expecting anything from him in return. Besides, he had hardly brought up the holiday season except for a handful of times, once almost embarrassedly, if not just cold, to confirm that he wasn’t going to be kicked out from your dwelling the second someone “civilized”—your words, out of his mouth—showed up.

(The only other time it came up was when he came home with a shoplifted bag of white chocolate peppermint kisses and started throwing them at you from across the living room when you scolded him about potentially being caught.))

And you didn’t mind.

For as long as you had known him, in sleeping together, and in dating—it was never about the material. Your heart was already full, by his doing (for a partial criminal, he was rather quite giving) and most others: your home was furnished and comfortable, your friends close and happy, and even the high quality pillows you had been wanting for ages (to which even Dabi agreed you needed new ones,) were so much of an aside that you hadn’t even bothered to ask anyone for anything.

It’s only now as the evening fades that he approaches—his face like a petulant cat waiting to be stroked, lips upturned under those glazed, knowing eyes—holding out a box you do not recognize.

No bigger than your fist, He doesn’t discard it gently in your lap. Instead, he tosses it to you nonchalantly, without concern for what’s underneath the terrible wrapping paper he made of yesterday’s newspaper, no obvious interest in your reaction.

Regardless, he lingers. First, you think to acknowledge your questioning look with a sneer. Then, when his lip is curled but he doesn’t move, you realize, to watch you unwrap the thing.

You roll your eyes, but give him what he wants… and under the newspaper find a soft velvet box. Not the right size for him to be offering you a ring, but instead the most beautiful pendant necklace: delicately chained and well-polished, it’s far superior (and more expensive) than what you would’ve assumed is his taste.

“Touya,” you say, suddenly shy with surprise as you glance up. “It’s lovely.”

He seems to balk at a response, barely shrugging when you catch his eye, as if you weren't expected to react at all.

“It’s nothing, really.”

You remove it from the box, careful not to pull too hard or potentially mar the gem, and stand to offer Dabi your neck though find that he’s already reaching in, eyes lowered, to help clasp the chain.

“Nothing? You can't say that. How'd you even pick something so...?"

His fingers are cold against the skin of your nape, though you find he’s careful not to snag any loose hairs that linger freely. He manages the hook in barely one try.

“So pretty?" he says, his voice is dry as ever as he presses you to turn and face him. "I had a feeling it might suit you. Think I might've been right, huh?"

And when you lead him to the mirror to inspect, you find that you happen to think so, too.

[nonstandardrepertoire]

Parashat Pəqudei: עָשׂוּ | asu

My very first year in undergrad, I took a course in philosophy, which impressed on me, among other things, the ease of critique compared with the difficulty of construction. Poking holes in others’ work is much less challenging than building something sturdy enough to resist such poking. Skepticism is safe: If you don’t commit yourself to an idea before you’re convinced it’s flawless, you’ll never have to commit to anything, because nothing will ever be that securely established; by never going anywhere, you avoid the danger of crashing along the way.

[I’m putting on a reading of the first act of my new opera this May! It’s got a rad cast, and I’m really proud of the music I’m writing for it. And there’s a livestream!]

ALEXII ANTEDILLUVIANOVICH PRELAPSARIANOV, the world’s oldest living Bolshevik: How are we to proceed without Theory? . . . Change? Yes, we must change, only show me the Theory, and I will be at the barricades, show me the book of the next Beautiful Theory, and I promise you these blind eyes will see again just to read it, to devour that text. . . . If the snake sheds his skin before a new skin is ready, naked he will be in the world, prey to the forces of chaos. Without his skin he will be dismantled, lose coherence and die. Have you, my little serpents, a new skin? Then we dare not, we cannot, we MUST NOT move ahead!

— Tony Kushner, Angels in America (Perestroika, Act I scene i)

My very first year in undergrad, I took a course in philosophy, which impressed on me, among other things, the ease of critique compared with the difficulty of construction. Poking holes in others’ work is much less challenging than building something sturdy enough to resist such poking. Skepticism is safe: If you don’t commit yourself to an idea before you’re convinced it’s flawless, you’ll never have to commit to anything, because nothing will ever be that securely established; by never going anywhere, you avoid the danger of crashing along the way.

This phenomenon is hardly limited to the ether of academia. You may well have encountered it yourself on social media: people whose accounts seem solely given over to pointing out the failures and limitations of this or that proposed solution to some crisis or other of the many in our current moment. Nothing goes far enough, nothing runs smoothly enough, nothing accounts fully enough for the immeasurable complexity of the world. These people are often not wrong — their points are often incisive and rigorously argued — but they leverage their truths not in the service of making the next action better targeted, the next legislative bill better written, the next change more systemic, but instead in the service of rejection, condemnation, inaction. All human action is imperfect, and thus all human action is open to critique; if you refrain from acting until the perfect, un-critiquable action presents itself to you, you will never act. In smug, skeptical stasis, you will be immune from the failures of flawed attempts at bettering the world, but also you'll never better the world. Prelapsarianov would be proud.

This week, the Israelites finish making all the stuff for the Mishkan: כֵּן עָשׂוּ בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל אֵת כׇּל הָעֲבֹדָה׃ | Kein asu bənei Yisra’eil eit kol ha’avodah | “So the Israelites made the whole service” (Shəmot 39:42). Asu — “made” — is plural here; this was a group effort that the whole community made happen together. And also, asu is not necessarily a verb of completion or perfection. At its heart, it is a verb of doing, of acting and making a change in the world. The Israelites didn’t just think about the Mishkan, they didn’t wait until everyone was perfectly ideologically aligned; they just made things for their most sacred structure.

It was probably not perfect. Mosheh’s instructions are, in places, somewhat bewildering, and even where they make sense, there is always a gap between design and fabrication — an uneven stitch here, a splinter of wood there, an impurity in the bronze tucked away on the back out of sight. It was certainly not permanent. If the Mishkan even ever existed to begin with, it’s been about three thousand years since it was replaced by the First Temple and then lost to time. In all likelihood, the spinners didn’t really understand what the metalworkers were doing, and neither would have been able to do the woodworkers’ tasks. They may all have had their parts to play, but that doesn’t mean they all got what everybody else was doing. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed in a bare minyan where everyone agreed exactly about the nature of G-d, prayer, and Holiness; it seems hard to fathom that all two million of those the text places at Mt Sinai had no points of dissension between them. (And, indeed, we’re not that far past the Golden Calf incident, hardly a high water mark of social and theological agreement.) But they built a sacred structure anyway.

This is, I suggest, a useful model for us. We are in a moment when much needs to be done. It’s easy to come up with reasons not to do things — many of the available courses of action for most of us are limited, flawed, insufficient, uncertain of success. It’s risky to try any of them, because trying opens up the possibility of failure. Much safer to hold out for a sure thing.

But there will never be such a sure thing, such a perfect action. There will only ever be the partial, the faulty, the human. It’s that or it’s nothing. We must act with what we have, as we are. If it was good enough for G-d’s dwelling, it’s good enough for our moment too.

This isn’t to say there’s no room for critique. If we want to be most effective, we have to learn from how past and present efforts fall short. If we want to do the best we can, we have to be open to learning how to do better. But there is a difference between critique for the sake of improvement and critique meant only to silence and stop action. If we want to get anywhere, we have to heed the former while setting aside the latter.

Perhaps no one will ever be able to look back and say of us, “So they made the whole world good”. But only by acting, however imperfectly, will they be able to say we made any of the whole a little better at all.

Even without Mosheh’s divine instructions to guide us, we have to spin the thread and hammer the silver and plane the wood and build the structures we need, however flawed, however patchy, however human. The work waits; let’s get to it.

[This has been an installment of one-word Torah. You can read the full series here.]

[shreddeddescent]

HOKAYYYYYYYYYYYY you guys are crazy this is your faults for letting me do this.

decided to put kirby and venus in the cloaks id described them being in when they were first spotted in the dark. kirby should have a sword but like i didnt give the guys their weapons so thats okay. and jennika is like...... well she vibes too well in civvies to not draw em.

and a height chart w the original just for reference. i think the colours might be off from how i describe stuff but also my gamma on my tablet was fucked so whateverrrr im sick of lookin at it

and the turtles are actually a year older but like i fuckin copy pasted the image so w/e

the fucking. art style ive chosen is very uhhhhh tonally weird for this. but ehhhh it was the fastest

BUT THERE YOU GO. okay. god. im sorryyyyy

[pistachiozombie]

im so confused what yall like anymore the algorithm is so mixed and i keep losing and gaining followers lmao??