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#i need to be in awe
kukos-satellite · 2 months
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I’m deprived of my middle aged Klance and Zukka so hand it over, HAND THEM OVER TO ME
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suiheisen · 10 months
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"You can tell that there was a wealth of love that went into making this film so I hope people can take just a little bit of that love out with them." - Eugene Lee Yang | Go Behind The Animation for Nimona
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jingle-jangle-spurs · 8 months
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Robert House watching The Courier rip all the copper wiring out the walls of the Lucky 38
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blueribbs · 3 months
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doggy bridget
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egophiliac · 2 months
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well, I can't say I expected the new chapter to feature Idia (metaphorically) going to (metaphorical) hell, getting a pep talk from his (metaphorical) Phantom brother which helps him finally move on once and for all from his brother's death, and (metaphorically) overblotting again to fight his way back out of (metaphorical) hell, only to have his darkest fear (non-metaphorically) come true when his mom goes through his computer and finds all his secret files. but I am glad it did!
also this is all a flashback for the purpose of explaining to our group what the heck is going on (whether or not any of it is getting through is another matter)
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easyaesthetics · 5 months
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Shuake & tweets - Happy 11/20!!!
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irisbaggins · 5 months
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In rewatching the season, I'm noticing how clever Aabria and Brennan were in crafting Tula's story. How well thought out everything was.
Specifically, the bear. It's been mentioned so many times before, but with the context of the completed season, I cannot help but be in awe at the skilful storytelling at display here. The way in which the Blue is described to appear wrong only in reference to Tula and her heart, the way in which Tula talks about curiosity and and having experienced knowing someone who died because of it. Of how Aabria describes to Izzy how Tula looks when she heals the bear, of how Aabria specifically points out that Tula recognises the commonalities between herself and the bear. These breadcrumbs that mean little in the beginning, that tell everything at the end. It's amazing, stunning, masterful storytelling. I am in awe.
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the-kipsabian · 1 month
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saw a take so fucking rancid on twitter i almost deleted the entire app from my phone jesus fucking christ
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first of all ao3 is an archive site. this is like going to the library and saying "oh i dont like this" on every piece of media you find that you dislike and thinking they should be stamped with some sort of a marker just cause you didnt like it
you can always click back and leave. fic writers owe you nothing to explain themselves and their creations. if they have mistagged or miscategorized fics, then i understand, however there are report tools for that instead of yelling at the artist tbh
im not saying free works arent necessarily above criticism. but this is just. fucking wild. its common courtesy to just enjoy stuff (or fucking leave if you dont, the back button is free) and if the artist specifically asks for critiques, then give one - constructive that is, shitting all over someones work is not proper criticism, mind you
i just find it fucking wild people are treating art and archive sites as social media these days like this and everything needs to be policed and ~catered to the algorithm~ like. no. ao3 doesnt have an algorithm. you should be able to fucking tell what you like and what you dont like and steer away from that kind of content and let people fucking be with their art. they dont owe you anything (except trigger warnings i'd argue, but i know some people disagree with that as well for some reason), and imagine how much more energy you'd have if you only engaged with things you liked and spent time looking at instead of going to places where you dont enjoy yourself. let alone spending time telling other people you dont enjoy what they enjoy. what a fucking life
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 5 months
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He was just being a silly little guy!
[First] Prev <–-> Next
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leafwateraddict · 9 months
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Handful of sketches of sans inspired by @htsan’s sansnomaly (this post specifically)
Been having brainrot of the boi lately
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spacedace · 1 year
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Okay but the Justice League finds out their new baby hero teammate Phantom is the Ghost King by virtue of the Fright Night showing up while they're in the middle of a meeting, looking terrifying and such and scaring the shit out of everyone- even more so when Constantine starts freaking out over the fact that the sworn night of the King of the Infinite Realms is in the Watchtower what the fuck that's apocalyptically bad Pariah Dark is supposed to be locked the fuck up forever - but instead of trying to smite them all or yeet them into the nightmare dimension he just pulls out a space themed packed lunch??? And gives it to Phantom??
And the mildly eldritch giant murder ghost is talking about how "The Queen Mother commanded me to ensure you ate my Lord, she says you missed your morning meal."
And Phantom is just grumbling about over protective sisters and "there's a cafeteria i would have been fine" what the fuck is happening right now?
What do you mean "oops you forgot" Phantom I thought the ghost thing was just a theme!
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sableeira · 8 months
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accidentally flirts in an attempt to bully: dazai
accidentally bullies in an attempt to flirt: chuuya
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nomazee · 20 days
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“This is unnecessary.”
At Blade’s snide comment, you pull sharply at the strands of his hair in your hands. He grunts in displeasure before obediently quieting down, only a little scared of you scalping him if he annoys you any further. 
Perched behind him on the couch while he sits on the floor, your hands find themselves coming through his hair (long, smooth, untangled despite the fact that you’ve never seen him take a brush to it). Your efforts to part his hair with just your fingers are fruitless. His hair is thick on the top, so much so that you’re surprised his neck doesn’t constantly ache with the weight of it. Your hands pause, resting on the top of his head while you try and figure out how you’ll style it. 
“Be nice,” you warn, two hands on the sides of his head tilting it from side to side, treating him as a foam mannequin on which you can project your very thorough cosmetology skills. “Your fate is quite literally in my hands. I could knock you out and shave you bald very easily.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he says earnestly, and you can’t help the way your lips twinge into a smile. “This is clearly a hassle. My hair looks fine the way it is.”
“It does,” you admit, “but wouldn’t it be nice to try something new? And at no cost to you, aside from mild scalp pain. I’m good at hair. I did Kafka’s that one time.” You fail to mention that it was only one time for good reason. Kafka said that you handle hair the same way a lobster would handle a violin—that is, with clumsy hands and a clear lack of refinement. She had to hide every pair of scissors from you in fear that you'd give Silver Wolf microbangs.
As if on cue, your fingers get caught in an unexpected snag in Blade’s hair, and you pull and tug and yank as if expecting it to untangle on its own. Blade hisses and reaches a hand back to smack you on the wrist, turning around to glare at you. 
“Watch it,” he orders, gentle but firm. There’s not enough heat in his words to scare you, and his eyes are a particularly beautiful shade of copper in the dim, flickering light of this dingy lounge room. Whatever you say, beautiful, you think to yourself hysterically. 
After a few half-willed apologies from you and some nudges of encouragement, Blade finally relaxes enough to turn back around and tilt his head back in your lap, letting your fingers play with his hair nonsensically. A braid, you decide, would look quite nice on him. One long one down the back. If you had ribbon, you’d use some to tie his hair, but all you have is one of Kafka’s tragically thin hair ties. 
“It’s a nice color,” you comment absentmindedly, pretending that you can’t see the way Blade’s eyes have shut in contentment at your gentle prodding. “It changes in the light a little bit. It looks very blue now, but I’ve always thought it was black.” You section his hair off into three pieces, loosely laying one over the other over and over again. The aged gold ornament still hangs securely in his hair, and you don’t do anything to move it. It suits him. 
“It’s natural, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he tells you, the slightest twinge of a joke in his voice. It plays at your smile and at your heart, too. 
“You say that now, but you’ll be scrambling to come up with a lie when I find box dye in your bag.” 
He only hums in response, reluctantly enjoying the feeling of your hands on him—they’re gentle, and you can imagine he’s not quite used to this. It’s an addictive feeling, to have him at your mercy, even with just your hands in his hair. There’s trust, unspoken, lingering warmly in the air and settling like condensation on your skin. You could very easily do a number of things that would hurt Blade—kill him, almost. You’ve only ever thought of it a few times, and those were all a very long time ago. 
You don’t think of it that often anymore. All you’re paying attention to is Blade and the splitting ends of his hair and how nice he’d look with a red ribbon tied in. 
“We should go shopping,” you tell him, voice close to a whisper now. You’ve secured the end of his braid already, and your handiwork is admirable. The strands are neatly crossed over each other, uniform in size with each other as they taper down into the end. “Some clips for you would be nice.” Absentmindedly, you comb through the layers of hair near his face, digging your fingers gently into the sides of his face and scratching at his scalp. 
“And where exactly would we go shopping? We’re not exactly upstanding members of society in some people’s eyes.” 
“Then I’ll make clips for you,” you say, a naive kind of dedication in your tone. “I used to work with metal, a little bit. I could make jewelry. Ornaments for your hair. I’ll put a ribbon in next time.” 
“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” Blade asks doubtfully, in steep contrast with the way he lets your hands roam along his scalp, and the way his head leans back into you as if he’s comfortable. 
“You’re a loyal customer,” you quip, “you’d never let somebody else do your hair when you have me as a dedicated stylist.” 
“I’m your only customer.” 
“I know,” and in a moment of weakness—because at the end of the day that’s what you are, weak, malleable and moveable when you’re with Blade like this—you lean down just a little bit, pressing a stupid clumsy kiss on the crown of his head. Your fingers trail down to trace the bumps of the braid, the divots and grooves in it, made by your hands, and yours alone. “That just means I can put all my effort towards you alone.” 
“You shouldn’t.” And he means it when he says that, and it hurts you, puts a sickly pang in your chest that you want to reach for and tear out before it grows into something worse. 
“But I will,” you tell him. Blade is stubborn, but not stubborn enough to keep it up. Not now, not here, not when the overhead lights are flickering and making his hair look just a little bluer, illuminating the warmer ends of his hair, glinting off the metal ornament still clipped into it. He rests between your hands, still sitting on the cold floor, pretending that he isn’t falling asleep with you like the fool he secretly is.
—°+..。*゚。*゚+.*.。.—
taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin
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loumands · 6 days
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I could feel the movement of air with his movement... his breath on the back of my neck...
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leo-bandito · 11 days
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been doin redraws as warmups w these two dorks ^^ ID in alt text!
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casinocircus · 21 days
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I'm a stiff breeze away from custom ordering my own organic fabrics and making my own damn clothes and im not joking
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