Peter’s latest scheme is gettingJuno to eat healthier.
The pose was inspired by a Jenifer Prince comic, go check her out at @jeniferprince !
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Imma be honest. I was too busy vibing and having a fun time that I wasn’t paying attention to the beginning of the Sparky’s Diner scene, so I got the full MatPat jumpscare.
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Wish I could say I'm being productive making gifs but really I've just been staring at Eddie's profile for 15 fucking minutes god fucking dammit why is he so beautiful
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[mp100 fanart] - carried at a distance
"Never escaping this damn show"
- my friend after i showed them this one, theyre right
The Initial sketch :D
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jamie tartt really strikes me as the sort of like. big big puppy dog doesnt realize he is in fact not seven pounds. obviously he Knows the weight he's got and the Power behind it when it counts and he's throwing his weight around during a game or he and the lads are wrestling or when he certainly tackled roy to the ground during their bar fight like he Knows. i don't think he really considers it outside of these contexts tho. like. throws his whole weight into roy's lap in his chair in his office. the wheels arent locked the leaning lever isnt locked roy wasnt ready to counterbalance and they both end up backwards on the floor with jamie's full weight on his chest. roy voice "think you broke my rib." jamie, giggling "your hip, more like"
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Sometimes the Travelling Symphony thought that what they were doing was noble. There were moments around campfires when someone would say something invigorating about the importance of art, and everyone would find it easier to sleep that night. At other times it seemed a difficult and dangerous way to survive and hardly worth it, especially at times when they had to camp between towns, when they were turned away at gunpoint from hostile places, when they were travelling in snow or rain through dangerous territory, actors and musicians carrying guns and crossbows, the horses exhaling great clouds of steam, times when they were cold and afraid and their feet were wet. Or times like now when the heat was unrelenting, July pressing down upon them an the blank walls of the forest on either side, walking by the hour and wondering if an unhinged prophet or his men might be chasing them, arguing to distract themselves from their terrible fear.
“All I'm saying,” Dieter said, twelve hours out of St. Deborah by the Water, “is that quote on the lead caravan would be way more profound if we hadn't lifted it from Star Trek.” He was walking near Kirsten and August.
Survival is insufficient: Kirsten had had these words tattooed on her left forearm at the age of fifteen and had been arguing with Dieter about it almost ever since. Dieter harboured strong anti-tattoo sentiments. He said he'd seen a man die of an infected tattoo once. Kirsten also had two black knives tattooed on the back of her right wrist, but these were less troubling to Dieter, being much smaller and inked to mark specific events.
“Yes,” Kirsten said, “I'm aware of your opinion on the subject, but it remains my favourite line of text in the world.” She considered Dieter one of her dearest friends. The tattoo argument had lost all of its sting over the years and had become something like a familiar room where they met.
Midmorning, the sun not yet broken over the tops of the trees. The Symphony had walked through most of the night. Kirsten's feet hurt and she was delirious with exhaustion. It was strange, she kept thinking, that the prophet's dog had the same name as the dog in her comic books. She's never heard the name Luli before or since.
“See, that illustrates the whole problem,” Dieter said. “The best Shakespearean actress in the territory, and her favourite line of text is from Star Trek.”
“The whole problem with that?” Kirsten felt that she might actually be dreaming at this point, and she longed desperately for a cool bath.
“It's got to be one of the best lines ever written for a TV show,” August said. “Did you see that episode?”
“I can't say I recall,” Dieter said. “I was never a fan.”
“Kirsten?”
Kirsten shrugged. She wasn't sure if she actually remembered anything at all of Star Trek, or if it was just that August had told her about it so many times that she's started to picture his stories in her head.
“Don't tell me you've never seen Star Trek: Voyager,” August said hopefully. “That episode with those lost Borg and Seven of Nine?”
“Remind me,” Kirsten said, and he brightened visibly. While he talked she allowed herself to imagine that she remembered it. A television in a living room, a ship moving through the night silence of space, her brother watching beside her, her parents—if she could only remember their faces—somewhere near.
Emily St John Mandel, “Station Eleven”
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