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#its strong with these two
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finally at that age where i'm thinking i should get a tattoo. not bc i feel strongly about it, just seems like a waste not to. i've got so much skin i'm not using
#feels so selfish like. all this skin what am i saving it for?#open to design suggestions! (please make me regret this offer)#maybe some deep sea horrors. a pretty watercolor of a gulper eel#once saw a person on the subway with various Skeleton Tattoos on all their limbs#i respected their commitment to the theme#but more than that i respected how all the skeletons were engaged in Activities#dancing in a ballgown. juggling its own (and two other???) skulls. swordfighting. being a mermaid skeleton#ANYWAY. the only reason i haven't already gotten tattoos is i just couldn't be bothered#i'm old enough to know i don't have any strong-but-potentially-temporary feelings driving me towards it#aesthetically i prefer decorated to non-decorated surfaces. but i'm not artistic or thrilled with commitment#honestly it feels like sheer laziness. indecisiveness--nay. immaturity!--that i HAVEN'T gotten a tattoo yet#letting all this blank canvas go to waste. tut tut i need to grow up and be an adult and get a tattoo sleeve already.#really i've put off my responsibilities long enough#(in fairness i DID at one time have 18 different piercings)#(but i took most of them out bc they interfere with wearing headphones and/or shoving my face in my pillow during Sleep Time)#(i only kept the nape piercing bc oddly enough it ended up being the most convenient. and the least painful to get now i think about it.)#(neck piercing? no problem. normal pair of earrings? Tribulations And Suffering. i don't make the rules i just poke them with a stick.)
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special-mooon · 9 months
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Haikaveh/kavetham nation come eat this
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They make a home together Kaveh grounds Alhaitham while Alhaitham shelters Kaveh oh lord thoughts are being sO THUNK RIGHT NOW
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puppyeared · 3 days
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id fumble him so bad
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 6 months
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Been thinking about the X-Files recently. A show I have a hazy, but fond memory of.
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turrondeluxe · 1 year
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Lovers Rock
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tobermoriansass · 7 months
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The thing is, how do you claim that the sexual puritanism of a certain kind of youth comes only from having been intensively surveilled and offered very little freedom except for being online as a kid, when that same certain kind of youth also espouses ideas about what constitutes "good" / "unproblematic" values in media, that are basically aligned to the philippians 4:8 style of media criticism (whatever is good, whatever is pure, whatever is truthful, whatever is virtuous etc etc think on these things). Moreover, their entire style of media criticism is basically like when my youth pastor sat me down and tried to explain that brave new world is a sinful novel because it is depressing and lacking in hope which reflects the writer's deep hopelessness from his immersion in sin. Have we not heard similar arguments advanced against tragic/hopeless novels albeit with the language of sin stripped from it and instead replaced with the language of "necessity" and "ethics"?
In my mind, you cannot separate the sexual puritanism of a certain kind of youth from this desire for only hopeful, uplifting, "wholesome" fiction, because they come from the same instinct and root cause i.e. the ideological requirements of fundamentalist christianity which visualises a frictionless, conflictless, pure and good and virtuous utopia that is also distinctly sexless and chaste (as god intended!). A better question to ask is how did such a distinctly Christian form of media criticism and reading become the dominant strain even in ostensibly progressive spaces? And that, I think, requires a much deeper investigation of what went on in the classroom, where kids learned how to read books; a deeper investigation of how families impart knowledge and the influences that went on in there; the deliberate Christian campaigns to get back into and influence schools through being on boards etc; the ways in which certain forms of thinking spread cross-culturally across the internet (and also, imo, the ways in which conservative Christians have learned to mask their rhetoric in ostensibly progressive garb and in which liberal Christians have served as a kind of vanguard in sanitising this rhetoric). There is no grand unified theory of the puriteen, but if we have to make one, surely since they're replicating Moral Majority talkpoints, we should start by studying the people who birthed the Moral Majority?
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canisalbus · 3 months
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Just wanted to tell you that your recent art of Machete looking after Vasco while he's sick reminded me of Nights at the Villa by Gogol. Only a small fragment of it survived, probably because it's straight up author's diary about falling in love for the first time with a man who is already dying. It's such a beautiful little piece and your art really reminded me of it's vibes. Anyway, I'm mentally ill about russian literature and I love your dogs <3
The longing and lamenting quite something, poor guy.
It's not very long so I'm just going to put the whole thing under the cut ->
They were sweet and tormenting, those sleepless nights. He sat, ill, in the armchair. I was with him. Sleep dared not touch my eyes. Silently and involuntarily, it seems, it respected the sanctity of my vigil. Its was so sweet to sit near him, to look at him. For two nights already we have been saying "thou" to each other. How much closer he has become to me since then! He sat there just as before, meek, quiet, and resigned. Good God! With what joy, with what happiness I would have taken his illness upon myself! And if my death could restore him to health, with what readiness I would have rushed toward it!
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I did not stay with him last night. I had finally decided to stay home and sleep. Oh, how base, how vile that night and my despicable sleep were! I slept poorly, even though I had been without sleep for almost a week. I was tormented by the thought of him. I kept imagining him, imploring and reproachful. I saw him with the eyes of my soul. I hastened to come early to him and felt like a criminal as I went. From his bed he saw me. He smiled with his usual angel's smile. He offered his hand. He pressed mine lovingly.
"Traitor." he said, "You betrayed me." "My angel," I said, "Forgive me. I myself suffered with your suffering. I was in torment all night. My rest brought me no repose. Forgive me!" My meek one! He pressed my hand. How fully rewarded I was for the suffering that the stupidly spent night had brought me!
"My head is weary," he said. I began to fan him with a laurel branch. "Ah, how fresh and good," he said. His words were then… what were they? What would I have not given, what earthly goods, those despicable, those vile, those disgusting goods… no, they are not worth mentioning. You into whose hands will fall -if they will fall- those incoherent, fleebe lines, pallid expressions of my emotions, you will understand me. Otherwise they will not fall into your hands. You will understand how repulsive the entire heap of treasures and honors is that attracts those wooden dolls which are called people. Oh, with what joy, with what anger I could have trampled underfoot and squashed everything that is bestowed by the mighty scepter of the Tsar of the North, if I only knew that this would buy a smile that indicated the slightest relief in his face.
"Why did you prepare such a bad month of May for me?" He said to me, awakening in his armchair and hearing the wind beyond the window-panes that wafted the aroma of the blossoming wild jasmine and white acacia, which mingled with the whirling rose petals.
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At ten o'clock I went down to see him. I had left him there hours before to get some rest, to prepare [something] to him, to afford him some variety, so my arrival would give him more pleasure. I went down to him at ten o'clock. He had been alone for more than one hour. His visitors had long since left. The dejection of boredom showed on his face. He saw me. Waved his hand slightly.
"My savior." He said to me. They still sound in my ears, those words. "My angel! Did you miss me?" "Oh, how I missed you." He replied. I kissed him on the shoulder. He offered his cheek. We kissed; he was still pressing my hand.
He did not like going to bed and hardly ever did. He preferred his armchair and the sitting position. That night the doctor ordered him to rest. He stood up reluctantly and, leaning on my shoulder, moved to his bed. My darling! He weary glance, his brightly colored jacket, his slow steps- I can see it all, it is all before my eyes. He whispered in my ear, leaning on my shoulder and glancing at the bed: "Now I'm a ruined man."
"We will remain in bed for only half an hour," I said to him, "and then we'll go back to your armchair".
I watched you, my precious, tender flower! All the time when you were sleeping or merely dozing in you bed or armchair, I followed your movements and your moments, bound to you by some incomprehensible force.
How strangely new my life was then and, at the same time, I discerned in it a repetition of something distant, something that once actually was. But it seems hard to give an idea of it: there returned to me a fresh, fleeting fragment of my youth, that time when a youthful soul seeks fraternal friendship with those of one's age, a decidedly juvenile friendship, full of sweet, almost infantile trifles and mutual show of tokens of tender attachment; the time when it is sweet to gaze into each other's eyes, when your entire being is ready to offer sacrifices, which are usually not even necessary. And all those feelings, sweet, youthful, fresh - alas! Inhabitants of a vanishing world - all these feelings returned to me. Good Lord! What for? I watched you, my precious, tender flower. Did this fresh breath of youth waft upon me only so that I might suddenly and irrevocably sink into even greater and more deadening coldness of feelings, so that I might become all at once older by a decade, so that I might see my vanishing life with even greater despair and hopelessness? Thus does a dying fire send its flames up into the air, so that it might illuminate with its flickering the somber walls and then disappear forever.
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batcavescolony · 2 months
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I feel like people aren't getting it. In. The. Books. Perseus. Jackson. Is. An. Unreliable. Narrator. This goes for everything he thinks. Percy loves his mother, so he writes her praises. In the show we get to see what Sally does from an outside POV not filtered through a child that idolizes his mother. It's not ooc for Sally to act like she does in the show. she's a single mother raising a neurodivergent, Demigod, and she's scared that when the Gods get to him they'll corrupt him. She's not suddenly a girl boss we're getting to see her for how she is.
#percy jackson#sally jackson#“sHe sToOd uP tO gABe sHe wOuLdnT dO tHat' she did it because percy needed to get to montock so she could tell him about how hes a demigod#sally as a character will do anything for her son. gabe being abusive doesnt negate what she needs to. do for her son. in in the book the#second gabe was no longer needed she turned him into a statue and sold him to to the highest bidder. she was putting up with the abuse for#percys sake. and this is then woman that grebbed a gun and started fighting in the battle of Manhattan. shes not weak. you can be two things#she can be motherly and strong. and obviously she has her douts. she thinks shes failing. she called posiden when it was too much and he#reassured her she was doing her best and she needs to do what she thinks is best. and we are only seeing some scenes#we're seeing whats relevant to the plot and whats relative is sally preparing Percy. and she obviously cares for her son and her son for her#she has to be a good mother cus percy is literally going to the underworld to save her. just stfu about the book#ive read the books to but some of you are awful. like no adaptation is to the letter. somethings had to be cut or glossed over and some are#changed because money or that a book is a different medium then a show or movie! you cant do everything cus its impossible.#were in a completely different pov. we're not in Percys head seeing his thoughts.#pjo series#pjo#pjo tv show#percy jackson and the olympians#percy series#batcavescoloy watches the PJO tv show#batcavescolony watches
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lokh · 2 months
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drawin....
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thinking about how as Aemond’s wife you are the model of perfection. 
Your back is straight as you curtsy when you first meet him and hair neatly braided with fine jewels. Your voice is even and never waivers as you speak to him of your family and how grateful they are for this union. 
You are intelligent and beautiful, the perfect wife. 
It’s why Aemond hardly ever spends time with you. 
He bears no ill will toward you, of course. There is no resentment or hatred to his lady wife, but there are no fond feelings either. 
He knows of courting and romance, his mother taught him everything from a young age. The poor woman would hold her son’s hands tight and explain that a man must not only respect his wife, but truly cherish her. Love her in the eyes of gods and men. As he grew older he noticed the way his father would wave off her constant advice and concerns until the dreaded night where she was the only one defending him after he lost his eye.
But practice was one thing. When you were nothing but a concept. A figment of Aemond’s imagination when he was ten and marriage was only spoken of during his lessons. Before he lost his eye. Before he heard the ladies of the court whispering about his mutilation and before he watched a whore flinch at the sight of his scarring when Aegon dragged him to a brothel on his thirteenth name day. 
He learned then that no matter how much he would love and worship his wife, it would not be returned. 
Rather than attempt to force it (he was no brute and had no intentions of doing something so cruel) he simply let you be by yourself. 
Yes you were married. You sat by one another at every meal and formal event and on the rare occasion he would even ask for your hand in a dance. But Aemond’s affections toward you were few and far to find. 
But there were moments. 
Where his icy facade would weaken and you found yourself able to slip through the cracks. 
Alicent had told you of his “moments” when the engagement had been announced. The queen herself taking you by the hand as you walked through the garden and explaining gently of Aemond’s condition. 
“There are times where he feels a great deal of pain because of the-” She paused, chewing on her cheek while trying to find the most inoffensive way to describe the tragedy that befell her son. “-incident he had as a child.” 
You knew enough of it. Many rumors flew through court the day Aemond targaryen walked in with a patch on his eye after Laenor Velaryan’s funeral at driftmark. Some day it was from a sparring incident, others say it was a mark he bore from the first time he mounted the mighty vhaegar. Others say that the Rouge Prince Daemon Targaryen himself gave it to his younger cousin after crude words were exchanged behind closed doors. 
You didn’t know what was the truth. Aside from the day the princeling got his scar, was the same he got his dragon.
A fair trade, some would say. 
But they didn’t live with the attacks he did. 
Nerve damage, is what the maester’s called it when you asked them for more information. His wound may have healed years prior but the prince would continue to live his life with constant bouts of mind-numbing pain brought on by the slightest touch or too sharp of a wind to his cheek. 
“Senseless fits.” Aegon called it. When he heard about your curiosity about his brother’s condition he had all but cornered you late at night in the hall. “Anything will set him off and send him throwing a tantrum like a belligerent child. It’s quite entertaining.” 
But there’s a moment where the elder brother frowns and you see a shred of concern in his eyes. 
“He doesn’t like to be touched during those moments. It makes the pain worse. So if you’re trying to find some way to comfort him I’d recommend you do something else.” 
What was ‘something else’ you learned, was simply being there. 
Sitting by his side when he curled into himself, trembling fingers reaching out to grab yours and not complaining when his nails dig into the palm of your hand as he cries out in pain. When his breath evens out and the pain subsides, he crawls to you and presses his face to the crook of your neck. He’s far too tired to cover the gnarled scar covering the side of his face but you show no fear or disgust at the sight of it. Your fingers run through his hair, gently combing back the silver tresses and ignoring the tears that stain the shoulder of your gown. 
The next morning your husband would wake in your arms and takes a moment to watch your peaceful expression and the way the morning sun kisses your skin. 
That day Alicent notices her son sits closer to you at breakfast, speaking softly to you of something she cannot understand. But when she sees his hand reach out and grasp yours, she smiles. 
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oceanwithouthermoon · 1 month
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ive come to realise that i dont actually hate kubokai, i just hate the way people write them
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Is Gustavo even shorter than peppino if he is I’m gonna die
he is !! hes a little gnome !!!
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ganondoodle · 7 months
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i often really do feel like an .. unwanted part of the fandom, i dont draw beautiful landscapes, i have unpopular but strong opinions im constantly annoying about and rarely change, dont like/dont draw the pretty young popular twinks and hot gurls to fanboi over nor do i turn characters into one, the opposite moreso, draw only one ship no ones heard of really, got little energy to interact with the few people that are nice to me and send me asks so it probably looks like im ignoring everyone and unfortunately but still rarely get so stressed i get overwhelmed and emotional about pehaps seemingly minor things and spiral almost into a breakdown feeling super embarrassed about it afterwards but the damage is already done and i look like a freak or agressive weirdo
#ganondoodles talks#also probably sounds like self pity#but this feeling hits everytime i see a super popular artist be the popular cool artist#i am a little weird i know that and thats not somethign bad i think#but the internet never gets to see that much of me#i tend to write posts when i am at my worst bc it has to go somewhere#so the image it tells people is that im a weirdly strong opiniod freak that gets breakdowns over nothing#i also dont feel like im otherwise -cool tm- enough to balance that out#i dont think my art is as stylized or as inventive as others nor am i cool to interact with bc idk how to be cool to interact with#i feel double bad when i misstepped with someone i used to talk to bc of something stupid ... or just dont know what i did wrong#im guessing its especially when i am in that spiraling state of mind where i really am not myself tbh#it still feels very bad bc i feel like i can never make it up to anyone again#sorry i acted like a jerk my brain was exploding in emotions in a desperate attempt to deal with something idk how to deal with-#-and made me not act like myself but now i feel really dumb about it#doesnt sound like a good excuse#... i want to thank those that do stick with me#even if i acted strange sometimes- even if i disappointed sometimes- even when i couldnt keep a promise#there are little things that still make me angry at myself#like that one time i asked in the tags whod read as long as the end of them and if someone did shoudl send me an ask so id draw a lil thing#and i got two#and i kept trying to remeber oh shit i need to do that and forgetting again/not having energy for it in a loop#i still feel like a jerk about it but now its probably too late#i wish i could answer all asks i get but man my energy for that is always rock bottom#no matter how much i enjoy the ask#and i love getting asks!!!#im sorry :((
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puppyeared · 4 months
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its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously
#I have an assignment that was due a week ago and I really really dont want to do it. I have to but i dont want to#im probably making it worse because my brain has built a wall around it so now i can’t do literally anything else until thats done. but#because I don’t want to do it I’m just kinda stuck. turns out this is what they meant when they said emotional regulation is part of#exec dysfunction.. I’ll have a thought like if I get a little bit of it done now i can get it over with. I can just submit something#and then not even 5 minutes later itll be like ugh but I have to draw all the assets out. I have to write things and make spreads ugh#and its just flopping between those two things. i hate it when ppl are like well how much time do you need to work on one thing#because BOY id love to know too. I’d love to know exactly when my brain wants to cooperate with me and work around that but I cant#even my period can’t decide when it wants to punch me in the stomach. which is kinda funny in the grand scheme of things but still#its so weird im just lying on my bed thinking abt all this like damn.. the time will pass anyways no matter what I decide to do.. damn….#if I submit that assignment now and take the L I literally won’t die. it’ll just be a deduction on an assignment nobody will ask me about#I know this but I’m still stressing myself about it so my thoughts aren’t really connecting to my body. weird#maybe its because Im having a hard time looking forward to things. theres definitely a lot I should be living for but I don’t really feel#a strong attachment to it I guess? it’s been like this for a while with holidays and meeting with friends so I just don’t#I kinda figured its because im pretty passionless and its more like passing interest. but it’s not very fun when it feels like I’m going to#be living distraction to distraction for the next 70 years or so lol#idk it kind of feels like slowly bleeding out. which is funny because I actually did experience blood loss this week#had a 30 minute nosebleed and literally could not stand. also it felt like someone was pinching the back of my brain which was interesting#yapping#does this count as vent#vent#Ive just been making an oc carrd and contemplate changing my blog header for the past 3 days honestly
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still thinking about that stat chart....mhin fight back against the weak allegations omgg
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