So - Blog Posts
sneak peek of the animation in working on 😋
😨😨
daily reminder that matthias's ghost doesn't associate with the other crows' ghosts (because he's dead and they're still alive)
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH ༼;´༎ຶ ༎ຶ༽
I LOVE ITᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ(ﾉ≧∇≦)ﾉ ﾐ ┻━┻
@tower-of-halloween day 5: witch/ghost
@/pi-a-ia’s witch ehwa was super cute, so i decided to do my last portrait of her!
Mine is really boring
Autumn Leaves piano sheet music free
last google search, go
um. Tag four people.
what do they make sewer tunnels out of
@ncc1701ohno @affixjoy @the-magpieprince @twinkboimler
creds to @epiimetheux !!!
i kept coming back to this beautiful artwork and i got inspired by it so here you go...
(disclaimer: i haven't completed a fic in forever, let alone published one, so i'm very anxious about this, i apologise if it's a mess •~•♡ love you guys)
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tom watches from the side as his husband steps forward to his coffin. pete's head is bowed, but he can see the trembling of his lips and the coiled muscles in his jaw.
oh my love.
what i'd give to embrace you one more time.
he knew he couldn't reach his husband anymore. his time had passed.
that didn't keep tom from standing next to pete's side. keeping watch. protecting his wingman, as they'd promised to each other years ago on that fateful day.
when repressed feelings and pretentious rivalry finally made way for the unconditional love thay had never wavered once.
partnership that had lasted 33 years.
tom watched as pete took the wings off his uniform, laying them onto the smooth oak.
the gun salutes were no more than background noise, tom's sole focus lying on the man in front of him.
the moment he saw pete punching the wings into the coffin he felt an incredible warmth spread through his chest.
such a feeling had been limited to very few moments in his life.
in the cockpit of his plane, soaring above the clouds with ron at his back and pete right by his side.
the return from the layton mission.
aching and sweaty and all kinds of shaken up but alive, thriving on adrenaline and pent up energy.
they had only seen each other then.
not iceman and maverick, but tom and pete, right there on the deck, what ron had later jokingly called their "confession".
their wedding. finally being allowed to slip a ring onto pete's finger while surrounded by all their loved ones. to call him his husband for everyone to see and hear without having to fear anymore. forever and always - the ending of both of their vows.
when their son had come back to them.
pete, bradley and himself crying with relief in their kitchen as they embraced for the first time in years. pete almost losing it as bradley started called him 'dad' again, and tom almost following suit when 'pops' returned back to daily use.
in that hospital bed, when he'd kissed his husband for the last time. he had wiped the tears on pete's cheeks with trembling hands, mapping that gorgeous face he knew better than the back of his own hand.
hushed i love you's in the quiet of the room, both signed and said out loud as they held each other.
the last words he felt pressed against his forehead being 'forever and always', before he slipped away into neverland.
tom looked over his shoulder just as pete stepped back from the coffin.
the wings on his back were strikingly white. glossy and strong feathers fluttered softly in the wind, and tom couldn't help the smile that spread on his face.
i will protect you, my heart.
my wingman.
my everything.
carefully he guided his wings around pete's sides. shielding him for just a moment. providing the endless support he couldn't give in person anymore.
pete looked up towards the sky, just like the rest of the crowd, watching as the missing man formation flew by.
everyone watched the sky, but tom couldn't tear his eyes away from his husband. how the dusking sun reflected in those tender green eyes. the curve of his nose, and the sweet lips he'd kissed so very often, now being worried at between pearly teeth.
i love you, forever and always.
as if he heard him, pete echoed his words.
"forever and always, sweetheart."
hello
guess who uses freeform to draw
this low-budget loser
(please tell me im not the only one using it)
Don't know If this works but, It's worth the shot.
so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god
reblog this with your ult group + which member (of that group) you think you’re most like!! you can also include why in the tags if you want!!
amazing!!! what does the sketch say ??
The final vs the sketch :P
Got pokemon TCG pocket because I was bored and my friends had it. Opened a pack and thought to myself "this is the one that'll have arceus ex in it" as a joke.
I SAID AS A FUCKING JOKE.
Yknow this is why I got embarrassed when I played with the doors open. Sorry, I know you’d look at me weird if you saw a little girl about to hang a traitorous stuffed dog for his many war crimes with a string of cheap marti gras beads in front of the doorway with an audience, authority figures, last words rites, and all. I’ve built a society with birth, death, tragedy, relief, societial expectations, rituals, and traditions.
You wouldn’t be able to keep up. To you it’d just look weird. To me, it is the most invigorating story and I’m having a fucking blast.
Then of course they came back from the dead and have a revenge arc, because they were a wrongful convict.
Suck it, loser. I’m having fun.
(There was also this one time I made literal armor for my stuffed elephant out of ball bearings and magnets because I was obsessed with them as a kid. I was gonna make them go to war. Then the magnets collapsed in on eachother and were nearly impossible to remove because of the shear number of magnets I used. I could barely lift it to get my parents to help me. )
i love in fantasy when its like “king galamir the mighty golden eagle and his most trusted advisor who would never betray him, gruelworm bloodeye the treacherous”
...
What is life but a bus stop … living on and waiting for the bus to take us to an endless journey … one by one , leaving. Hard it is to say good bye. Tough it is to never see them. May God Have Mercy On You. May God Bless Your Soul. Rest in peace.
アチア叔父さん♡
🖤 black swan 🖤
y’all are missing out on the funniest relationship dynamic of CR2
Forget about the tangled web of love that stretches between the M9 (barring Caduceus our aroace king of staying out of drama), I would love if the love triangle between Fjord, Jester and Caleb just somehow naturally fell into a little triad all on its own.
Like no dramatic love confessions, they do that shit constantly with each other in secret little ways, but just Jester coming home to her mother like
Jester: mama I want to introduce my partners to you
The Ruby: ah yes that handsome orc boy that you kept going on about, he was so--
The Ruby: wait, partners???
Jester: lmao yeah I have Fjord, who rejected an eldritch monster he was accidentally raising to get close with Mother Nature herself, but that hobo wizard who eventually cleaned himself up and became one of the most powerful casters around is also my bf.
The Ruby, the actual sex god on this plane of existence and all others: hell yeah my daughter deserves the best, get ‘em my baby girl.
The dynamics of it are so funny as well. Like, Caleb is a highly respected wizard now under the tutelage of several powerful figures, so any time he goes to some sort of elbow-rubbing-fancy-pancy wizard event he of course brings his beaus.
And people are like??? “Ah yes, members of the iconic and world-saving group you are part of Mr Widogast, they must be of such high pedigree.”
And then someone recognises Fjord as Captain Tusktooth who had some sort of fake accent going on for years at a time (and didn’t he sleep with that Captain lady who was horny for water or something??? And then get her killed by the pirate king? There was something about a forbidden eldritch god?) and is praying that Mr Widogast’s other partner is normal--
but the first thing that Jester tells anyone is: “have y’all heard about my mother, best lay in the land? I am the daughter of the greastest sexer around and my childhood imaginary friend is my personal god, anyway how are you?”
Even better, out of the three, the tiny blue tiefling is the only one who can pick up and hoist their partners around, making the comical sight of long-cat and long-suffering Caleb being slung bonelessly over one shoulder, while a blushing Fjord is held like a football under the other as Jester parades them down the street in her cute frilly dresses.
Fucking FjordxJesterxCaleb is where the good shit is at wake up sheeple
why is this sooo goood
wild kratts knows a lot about animals, not fruits
leaving aside the already known "Aviva asks for an orange juice that is really blackberry juice"
⠀
today we present… coconut plums with purple pulp
⠀
so, this is a coconut plum
and this is what it looks like in wild kratts
ok ok.. quite similar as far as we can tell
so... could you tell… if they are white on the inside… WHY THE PULP IS FUCKING PURPLE IN THIS SCENE
WHY!?
and don't tell me that it's the peel, it's more than obvious that it's the pulp💀💀💀💀
maybe it was one that was already old? I don't know, I've never really seen the process of a coconut plum XD
but- bro?
I guess the designers of wild kratts like to make the fruit pulp… purple(?
THE EVOLUTION OF DON'T HUG ME I'M SCARED IS SIMPLY WONDERFUL
ㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤ
I could watch the episodes every day...
did care + probably asked + going insane in my room
Spin this wheel of ~300 AO3 tags three times.
"I like shape shifter characters!"
"I like motherly characters!"
WRONG. Slutty bitchass men with a chronically fucked up leg.
This would make a great animatic
DID TOMMY JUST CONFIRM THAT SPRACE IS CANON-
HELP, all the tiktoks about the new dahmer series made me rediscover my AHS phase, and i'm telling you the GRIPPP evan peters has on me rn is even tighter than when i used to cry myself to sleep at 12 knowing i couldn't have him
2am, sweater weather, french, books, pastel flower patterned curtains, a moonless night, warm candlelight, artwork tacked onto walls, materials strewn across the floor, grey furry rugs, white furniture with silver hardware, 3 white walls and a single sage green, antique jewellery boxes from my grandma, memory box on my bedside table, rings and chokers, earrings and necklaces, nail files, jade rollers, makeup brushes, matte lipstick
when i was younger i used to be such a disheveled mess, now i'm still a mess but at least i'm pretty
Well, I mean... I agree. With all my hate and direspect for John Walker, I’m sincerely happy for Wyatt Russell to be in MARVEL and wish him almost that popularity that in these times have Sebastian Stan or Anthony Mackie 💖💖💖
Just a gentle reminder that though we hate John Walker with every fibre of our being, we are welcoming Wyatt Russell in the MCU with open arms and lots of love.
The Ballad of the Two Travelers, Chapter Two
Chapter Two: First Steps to Friendship
Lyra was having a nightmare. She dreamed of an endless war, a pointless battle fueled by a rivalry fueled by things that should have been forgotten long ago. She dreamed of fire and lightning, clashing eternally in the heavens while the world broke. She dreamed of destruction and chaos, of decay and disease that festered and bred in the cracks of the world caused by that endless, pointless, hopeless war.
She dreamed of the cracks growing, laughing, spreading wider and wider still as hatred seeped within and drove everything further apart, a dark, tentacled miasma, reaching ever further in its will to consume all; this great evil Blight which threatened to consume the whole world.
She dreamed of the cracks already forming among her own people; the bitter, hurting wives, sisters, and daughters who in their hurt chose to hurt others, spreading their hate as they wreaked destruction upon the humans; and the few who begged for peace and were dubbed traitors by their kind. She dreamed of the great dark cavern between giantkin and humankind, a yawning abyss that would surely consume them all if they could not learn to cross it–
“L-Lyra? Lyra! Wake up, please!”
Her eyes fluttered open as she heard the anxious cries of her charge. She sat up quickly, looking around for any signs of obvious danger.
“What troubles thee, little one?” she asked after a moment. “I can sense no danger. Why dost thou cry out? Art thou hurt?”
Tristan shook his small head, and Lyra realized with a start he was quivering.
“I-I'm not hurt,” he said after a moment. “But....”
The human boy glanced at something just behind her. Lyra turned, and realized with a chill that the trees near her feet had been split and knocked over. She realized she must have kicked unconsciously in the throes of her nightmare, and had put the human boy in great danger.
“N-Nightmare?” The small voice of the human boy shook her from her disturbed thoughts. She looked down. His face held a look of such fear and apprehension, her heart nearly broke as her eyes met his.
I offer thee my most humble apologies if I have caused thee any distress. It is the duty of one such as I, who layeth claim to the role of maiden, to ensure that her charge is safe no matter what.”
She gently laid her hand in grass before him, a heavy feeling settling over her heart as he took a half-step backwards.
“Y-You don't have to apologize,” Tristan said with a smile that was clearly forced. His bright blue eyes were wide with poorly-concealed fear.
“Little one...” Lyra wanted to comfort him, to say the right words or do the right thing to reassure her little charge that she wished no harm towards him, but she could think of nothing.
She retracted her hand and laid on her side awkwardly, aware of an uneasy silence between them now. Again she wished she knew what to say, how to overcome the inevitable fear and anxiety on the small boy's part, but but her lips remained shut, and she remained silent.
It had been a little over a week since their meeting in the Misted Vales, and they'd made some progress on their journey. They were a day or so away from a human settlement Tristan had pointed out on his map, at which Lyra hoped to speak to the locals and tell them of their quest. She had hoped that Tristan's presence would inspire a call for peace, but she had to be sure that Tristan really trusted her, which had proven to be easier said than done.
Tensions were high on both their parts. Despite the lack of confrontation from either of them, there was a constant sense of disquiet between them both, a fact which maddened Lyra to no end.
It didn't help that traveling alongside a human was somewhat difficult, at least in the physical sense.
Tristan had at first tried to walk alongside Lyra as they made their way, claiming he was quick enough to keep up (he was not) and nimble enough to keep safe (he was not). Lyra, unconvinced, was therefore constantly on edge, afraid that she'd take one wrong step or careless motion and crush her little charge underfoot. She'd insisted upon carrying Tristan as they traveled, either in the palm of her hand, upon her shoulder, or within her pockets, much to the little one's chagrin. Though Tristan concealed his fear whenever they spoke, Lyra could tell he was just as nervous as she was, if not more. She could see it in the way he cast furtive glances whenever he thought she wasn't looking, and in his high-strung, stuttering manner of speech.
Lyra couldn't blame him. Tristan was barely the size of her middle finger, and was somewhat small and slight in build even for a human. To him, every little movement she made must have been terrifying, let alone the sight of her reaching for him, leaning close, or inspecting his body for wounds. Lyra herself felt nervous whenever her fingers brushed against the human's warm skin, feeling for broken bones or bruises. How easily she could bring him to harm with little more than a thought.... it frightened her just as it frightened him.
Lyra understood it would take time for her companion to get used to her, regardless of how desperately she wanted to connect with him. She would be patient, and gentle, and reassuring, as she always did, but she couldn't help but wonder if too gentle was a thing. Lyra had caught a few embarrassed looks and flushed expressions from Tristan as well as the nervous glances. She had considered that Tristan fancied her, and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. To be sure, she found feelings of a kind blossoming towards Tristan; his small size concealed a kindhearted, curious spirit and a recklessness that seemed rather disproportional to his height (it was a miracle Lyra had only found him with a broken arm, she thought. Only four days ago had she caught Tristan attempting to steal the eggs from a blight-touched vulture, nearly falling from a withered tree at least thrice before running towards her screaming as the monstrous bird swooped down at him). All of this was wrapped up by a cute face framed by dark curls and a smile that, even when marred by fear, melted Lyra's heart every time she saw it. She'd come across many humans in her travels before, but Tristan was the cutest by far.
It was a bit of a conundrum for Lyra. On one hand, it was completely normal for a hero and a maiden to share feelings towards each other (if Tristan held any feelings for her at all, that is). Yet it was certainly unusual for a maiden to be able to pluck up her hero between two fingers and cup him in the palm of her hand. What's more, she wasn't sure she had a crush on her little companion, more of an admiration or appreciation. How desperately she wished to get to know him, for their companionship to become a true friendship!
Yet instead they sat in silence, a bridge of unease between them and neither of them brave enough to take the steps to cross it.
Well, Lyra thought. If I am to change anything, I must take that first step.
Tristan looked so small to her; even as she lay on her side she could have rolled over and smothered him with her waist alone. But she had to try.
“Um,” she said in a quiet voice, as not to scare the boy too badly. “Tristan.... I would ask something of thee.”
The human boy glanced at her but said nothing. Lyra took this as a cue, and pressed on. “Um....well.... if we are to be companions on this journey, I would hope that there would be no tension between us. Thou countenance has been laden with fear since we first met,” she said in a gentle tone as a shadow came over Tristan's face. “I would hope to relieve thee of thy worries as we travel on–”
“Have I been being weird?”
The outburst startled Lyra a little, but she smiled when she saw the bashful expression on Tristan's face. The question confused her a bit, however.
“I-I've been trying to get used to it, I really have,” Tristan said, his voice nervous and shaky. “I know we pledged ourselves to the quest, and that I've been an awful companion, and I'm sorry, it's just so strange to have spent so much time alone on a quest everyone said was a foolish endeavor and a naive, stupid dream, and boom, suddenly someone shows up out of the blue and not only says she'd like to accompany you, but actually wants to serve as a maiden? And I know I'm starting to ramble but really, Lyra, this has been a very strange few days for me, especially because you're a – well, you're a....” Tristan suddenly paused, and Lyra noticed a slight blush come over his face.
“A giantess,” she prompted.
“Yeah,” the human said, nodding hastily. “That.”
There was something in his voice, something he was hiding, but Lyra chose not to pry. She had gotten him to open up a bit. That was promising enough.
“Do not feel ashamed, little one,” she said in a comforting voice, slowly moving her hand closer towards him. “This has been strange for me as well. The path of one who pursues hope is always fraught with uncertainty and confusion. To encounter one such as thee, a human of such young age who would willingly leave his home and all he knew, and would willingly travel alongside the age-old enemy of his people, is astonishing to me. I consider myself blessed to have encountered thee, little one.”
Slowly, gently, she brushed her index finger down his tiny back, figuring it was the best she could do for a reassuring pat. She felt Tristan's body tense up, and her heart froze. Did he still feel such fear, even now? But then, to her joy, she realized Tristan was slowly relaxing, his shoulders slumping and his breathing slowing. Their eyes met, and Lyra saw fear, yes, but also a quiet sort of hope, peaking through all fear and uncertainty.
“Blessed?” he asked quietly, and Lyra's heart sang as a tiny, shy smile came over his lips.
“Yes,” Lyra replied quietly, nodding earnestly. “Blessed, little companion of mine. So please, do not be afraid. I swore an oath, to protect thee and guide thee. I would not let any human come to harm in my presence. Especially not thyself.” She allowed herself a grin. “Thou art mine, in a sense. My companion, my partner.... my friend.”
She gently rested her index and middle fingers over the boy's shoulders, figuring it was the best she could do for a comforting embrace. A warmth spread through her as she felt Tristan reciprocate, hugging her fingers against his cheek.
“Friends,” he said after a moment. “I... well, I like the sound of that. Friends.”
“Tis a simple sort of beauty in the word, no?” Lyra agreed.
They remained like that for some time, enjoying each what little touch of warmth they shared against the coldness of the Misted Vales. Then, Lyra sat up, and gently laid her palm out before him once more.
“Come hither,” she said. “Let us embark once more.”
Her hand was at least twice as long as Tristan was tall. Lyra still marveled at how there could be an entire race of beings that were so small. Yet Tristan had hesitated once more, his eyes looking downward at the palm and fingers that dwarfed him.
There was a moment of silence, long enough that Lyra had just resolved to retract her hand, cursing herself for moving too fast – then Tristan took a step forward, meeting her gaze with a excited sort of nervousness upon his face.
His steps were light, almost imperceptible against the flesh of Lyra's palm. It almost tickled her, but that may have merely been her excitement tickling her instead of the sensation of little feet walking against her hand.
Tristan slowly bent down until he sat, neatly snuggled in her palm. She had an entire life, in the palm of her hand... and what was more, that little life had placed himself there willingly. She hadn't scooped him up hastily, she hadn't plucked him up despite his protests, no, he had taken his life, and placed it Lyra's hands – literally.
She felt a soft tapping sensation upon her palm, and looked directly at the little traveler, forcing herself from her thoughts.
“If we're to be friends,” Tristan said, now wearing a mischievous grin, “I'll have to teach you to speak like a normal person. All those thee's and thou's are giving me a headache.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow, and lightly prodded him in the ribs, but she was smiling all the same.
“We shall see, little one. I am happy to see that thou hast developed a sense of wit in learning to trust me.”
Tristan grinned. Lyra grinned back, and she felt it in her spirit, something ancient and unknowable. She couldn't explain it even if she tried. But there was something in sharing a smile with a friend, something that she would protect as fiercely as she would protect the little life she held in her hand.