A lil headcanon where as Amy grows stronger, her hammer also gets heavier. xD
He's shookt knowing that the pink hedgehog in front of him is able to carry a car. sksksksks
Bonus (since someone wants to see her lifting a car. xD)
As if it isn't already terrifying that she's carrying a hammer bigger than her own body. SKSKKSKS
glenn dean, landscapes of the west / user @petrichara
i’m thinking tonight about masterpieces. michelangelo looked at the sixtine chapel and saw; nothing to preserve. virgil wanted his aenid burned and forgotten; only to be saved at the behest of an emperor who thought it flattery. kafka instructed his friend to burn everything he’d ever written - too personal was it, too unfinished.
they were ignored.
instead, their work was taken and held and published and thrown to be gawked at. instead, an emperor, a pope, a friend, took from within the cavities of them their choices; their art.
tumblr rolls out post+. twitter rolls out tip jars. youtube takes half of what creators earn. on social media, there is a ko-fi or a patreon and a polished face in every bio. i show my poems to my mother and she asks if I will publish them before she says anything else. emily dickinson instructed her sister to burn her poetry.
her sister did not listen.
we are a community, says tumblr, we should give back to creators. my last poem had 50 notes. six of those were reblogs that weren’t mine. i lie in bed at 2am and stare at my bright phone screen and the way netflix’s library grows thinner and thinner. the first ad on tumblr that i can reblog is for amazon. amazon takes more than half of what authors earn.
kafka’s friend took barely finished work and hammered it into structure. he is the only reason we know of him.
my father wrote a book and a play when I was barely big enough to reach his knees. when i try to talk to him about writing, he shrugs.
no one wanted to publish it, he says. so i don’t write anymore.
i am filled with poems I have never published, books I haven’t written. There are little snippets of them scattered throughout my life. I link to my ko-fi on my tumblr.
-
asked capitalism of the artist: what is art, if not for consumption? who does art benefit, if it is not consumed? why create at all if you do not market it? who are you, frothing at the mouth about someone publishing someone else’s poems? who are you to hate your magnum opus? what is art, if not in relation to its reception? if no one sees it, how is it art?
said the artist, baring their teeth: it’s mine.
soul shenanigans
Read Part 1 here because it was getting long hahaha. Click read more to torture your dashboard even more (and I kinda accidentally put a lot of time into it).
Keep reading
Oh, but angels making nests for their human partner when they’re feeling amorous. Nests of the finest silk blankets, their own feathers, luxurious pillows and satin sheets. Angels wearing the flashiest, gaudiest garments to catch their human’s eye, polishing armour to within an inch of its life and puffing their chests out whenever they travel together, shooting glares at other angels, inviting a challenge.
Makers getting growly and possessive of their human partner. Showing off their strength to impress them, building immense sculptures in their partner’s image, even building houses for them to prove they can provide a safe, warm place for their human to live. Gigantic, burly makers utterly melting under their human’s gentle touches and feather-light kisses.
Demons positively draping their human partner in expensive jewels and golden finery. Demons spending hours sharpening their horns and claws to scare off other demons who might get too close. Touching their partner at every chance they get to leave their aroma behind, then getting huffy and frustrated with their human when they have a shower and wash the scent off.
Wong: ...
Spoilers for No Way Home Trailer
I’m in fucking tears over the fact that everyone’s been picturing Doctor Strange as the ‘tired dad’ forced to deal with all the shit Wanda, Loki, Sylvie, and Peter caused when in reality he’s an honorary member of the One Braincell Gang™️ fucking the multiverse up lmao like let’s be real they’re all just causing chaos no one is fixing anything
random bitter aspiring authors on "writing advice" blogs: Don't make your main characters super special mary sues. don't make them better than other people or more interesting. your main characters should be boring average guys with the personalities of wood pulp
the Epic of Gilgamesh: Gilgamesh was objectively the best man ever. He was the hottest, sexiest, most gorgeous hunk of pure manly awesomeness that ever lived and he used a sword that weighed 120 pounds.