#(for neat sorting)

[quixoticanarchy]

some people’s new years resolution needs to be to stop going out in public while horribly sick with infectious diseases

[ink-the-artist]

house tour :)

bonus art, lossy versions of the first 2 gifs

[illmoraineakoi]

So, I know I'm a little (very) late to the AvA stuff, but I was rewatching AvM Season 3 for the seven hundredth time and, well, I noticed something and I'm curious to know if it's been discussed before.

AvM Episode 29, Purple's story, specifically, Pink's death.

Her color changes as she dies, or is represented to have died.

It fades to grey.

Now, the question is, can we, or rather should we, use this to infer anything lore-related? Was this just an artistic choice to depict the act of becoming unhealthy/dying, or could this be what actually happens to stick figures that die over a period of time? Are their colors linked to their health?

Let's have a bit of fun with it, and presume that the fading of one's color can happen to a stick figure for health-related reasons, as the scene could imply.

This fading seems to involve loosing the saturation of one's color into grey. Saturation is how vibrant a color is, and the complete lack of saturation is greyscale.

The World-of-Alan reason for Pink's death is that she 'got sick', which is where the health connection of this theory comes from. If she did loose her color as she was dying as the notes depict, that loss of color was likely a result of her failing health rather than any other factors, like age or outside variables. A whole bunch of human body stuff are indicators for good vs poor health, including skin color (jaundice and cyanasis are good examples) so why not a stick's color for them?

What if, when they fully die, they lose all of their original color?

Now, let me propose this…

Who else do we know of who has had their color loose vibrancy?

What if Victim's color has lightened because he's ill?

[batboopp]

reading some old worlds finest comics and i noticed how much the characters changed over time

Batman's the one stargazing on roofs rambling on about his undying hope for the future. Batman is the one making adorably cheesy gestures to show how much he cares for Clark. Batman is the one making Clark coffee, the one promising to stay by his side no matter what, even when Clark pulls away. Batman is usually the one initiating effort to deepen their relationship, or at least deepen the understanding of the other (badly though, sorry Bruce, get better at words) Batman is the one asking to hear about Clark’s childhood and parents when he feels so terribly lonely. Batman is the one willing to lower his guard around him, willing to fall asleep or pass out in his arms, willing to get grabbed around by the scruff of his neck or swaddled up in Clark’s cape. Willing to let Clark see the worst in him because Clark will literally not judge, he will rationally look at the problem at hand and help Bruce in ways he knows will make him the most comfortable.

And then Superman is just midwestern apathy and built up rage and dread smothered with well practiced manners and slightly charming commentary and an undying love for human life. Superman is the one on his last fucking straw, except if he actually snaps then unlike Bruce his bones won’t break easy. Superman is the one who tends to see more of the negative side of things, at least regarding things in the long-run, but he uses Bruce to push himself to think positively. Do you know how insane that is. Superman. Using Batman, As a way to inspire himself to stay optimistic. In fact, that much hasn’t really changed.

[mavikiu]

Happy Gajevy Day! 💙🖤

[arinmoss]

Anya Mouthwashing

[chloesimaginationthings]

Shadow Freddy is in the movie?

Yes they are! Max the babysitter is seen stuffed into a shadow Freddy suit near the end of the movie

So in return, it’s fair to say she’s Shadow Freddy

[sunlight-shunlight]

attempt to deter the herald of andraste from reading an inaccurate treatise on "the magickal art of dalish fresco" out loud.

5 minutes later, deterrence successful. no one is reading anything.

ouch. anchor malfunction after closing a rift.

two elves, standing 5 feet apart, because they're Emotionally Detached Professionals™

(uhhh pretend the vallaslin is on there, it's deeply annoying to draw on a small scale without ruining the facial expressions fjfsfhg)

[twilight-good-yall-dumb]

something magical about when louis' voice is a little soft. all this time does such a good job showing that side of his voice. that song is so comforting 😭

[booart5]

Been rewatching Lower Decks and I love these guys (@daunda4 (on instagram) got ahold of my iPad while I was working on it, so that’s what’s going on with Brad under the cut),, this was INSANELY difficult bc they’re all overlapping and stuff

Progress shots, timelapse under the cut

[kiruliom]

ID in alt text

dissomei/dissodic

a term to describe an involuntary disconnect one has have between their physical self and inner self, it is against transitioning if its unsafe or can harm other people. its symbol is 🧠🚫🫀

this can be because of (but isnt limited to):

atypical dysphoria

delusions, psychosis

systemhood, headmates/facets differing from physical body

alterhumanity, nonhumanity

BIID, facticious disorders

there is no set flag template to encourage creativity, but there is community-made ones if you prefer them.

originally coined by acetrappolaswife, now deactivated. both flag and descriptions have been simplified with as much integrity to the original as possible.

this term is NOT rad//queer friendly and was made as a safer version of trans//ids for those who want to leave the community. it is, however, not exclusive to them. if youre a proud, active rad//queer and want to use this, you literally have your equivelant of the term, go away. shoo.

original coining post and flags for archival and options:

link

ID in alt text

tagging: @dissodic-archive @radiomogai

[conservethis]

NO ❌❌❌❌

YES ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅

Sometimes I walk around the library and find little problems to solve.

[galaxygermdraws]

I can't wait to rewatch LimL and watch WL so I have more Skizz quotes to violently rotate in my head. Because. These 3 quotes? live in my brain.

[vaguely-concerned]

I love getting to hear spite's comments on other spirits and magic in general. like YES my excellent little guy give me the inside scoop here I am so down for this hot goss every time girl tell me everything!!! (also the fact that spite is clearly pretty small fry as spirits go but has such potent scrappy 'HEY hey ASSHOLE yeah that's right down here pal eyes on me anyway FUCK you I'm walkin' here!!!!' energy at every turn is a gift and one I am so grateful to get to receive. a small terrier of the spirit world so ready to square up to anyone and anything right up to the dread wolf himself at the slightest provocation. I love you spite. lucanis' fight response really seceded from his soul in protest after being repressed and disrespected for like 35 years and formed the best weirdest little dude constantly going (ง •̀_•́)ง huh)

[bunji-enthusiast]

He remembers the first time he met you like it was yesterday; infallible, imperfect, and confidently coincidental. Sluggish movements, a devil-may-care attitude about what you wore, it was perfectly comical. Yet, it was comfortable.

Huddling into the caverns of your chest as if it would pertain to more warmth for your cold skin, straggling by as you went down on the items on your list — groceries for the day, or week, didn’t matter really. It was for the most part, human. Despite the capitalist regime that always seemed to sputter up and down, humanity persevered with its own quiet moments and gentle domestication. Something he more then appreciates, and does so silently (especially generously) every single day.

As a militaristic man—Old habits die hard, he notices the way you walk, how long your fingers linger on some sort of treat or item, and even how you pull down some stray scuff if your pants happen to ride up. His most favorite and particular habit most people share that he’s noticed is how one draws down their sweater if they happen to wear one, which in this particular circumstance, you were.

It was nice to acknowledge, such a simple detail. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was trying to integrate himself back into normal civilian life, his ability to notice things would’ve been far duller —that is what he felt fortunate for. In a way.

Standing there could be standoffish, he knew that, but he couldn’t help it. It was as if the light emitting from the fluorescent lights overhead brimmed with life despite the lack of greenery evident in the store, the very environment curled in on your energy, following you with hopeful eyes. You also interacted with others, sparingly, but in those few minutes you interact: they go on their day with a lighter gait. He almost felt guilty for thinking you strange, but then again, he often thought that with every civilian he came across.

Then came your voice, he remembers that the most: “Something you can’t find? Let me help you look for it.”

The suggestion seemed almost impossible at the time, but it was one and the same with his wide-open experiences in combat, only now… it was in a grocery store. How Silly.

Your tone was light, notes musical and airy. Despite the evident exhaustion weighing down your shoulders, you always mustered the energy to help others if you could. That very thing was something he could share, a trait he also admired. So in a hopeful attempt In socialization, he responds.

“Uhm, no.”

Immediately he regrets his words, feeling the boiling warmth simmering beneath the neck of his skin and ears. He felt mortified at making such an impression, but in the midst of his internal turmoil, you simply shrugged. “Okay, but you sure? You look real confused.” You asked, something small tugging at your lips.

Inwardly he jumps at the subtle change of expression, he could sense that you knew — he was socially awkward. Poor him, he was already so introverted. He just had to go be weird the moment he spoke. But it was fortunate right now, that you understood.

“S’okay man,” you replied finally, bobbing your head with a tilt. “We got our days, you military by any chance? I don’t mean to assume, but you got that look.”

He was, beforehand not too long ago that he had just gotten off a tumultuous two-month long deployment—and even before that one was long over five months. It was nice to have moments of reprieve, to rest and recuperate the old body. The guilt eats at him easily unfortunately, the unforgettable routines and memories of Senior Officers barking orders but otherwise decent enough was ingrained.

Having love for others always seemed to present itself as some sort of unfortunate event however, one way or another. But, this was a memory he experienced, where none of that happened. Being allowed to exist simply, here, long before being the man they called Slayer -- long before the bullshit that happened on Phobos. He was human, a little broken, but human. At the time, something weighed heavy on his heart. As if it were the cataclysm to events, this reminder he bore, that he had always fought for something greater.

Something simpler.

So it aches, aches heavy in his bones with every step he takes, yet with every step he continues. With both, he is not sure why, yet within the same breath. He knows.

That is something he hates, and it is something he appreciates. It's accursed, the way he remembers things. How sometimes, something flashing in the peripherals of his vision. Fractured pieces of his former life, bits and pieces resuscitating the man he used to be. The man he was before the dreadful titles, the horror he carries on the breadth of his back. But he carries it not only out of the terror he instills in his enemies, but to be a shield, a powerhouse of savagery. Something that people rely on, even if that relying meant walking on the tightrope between all those who intended him sorely for the power he wields. Himself.

The duty of Slayer was his prerogative, the god-fearing anger and justice that represents all that is humanity.

How ironic is that he himself, continues to deny such a right. He reminds himself of such a thing, once or twice, but then it gets erased. Hands easy for war, calloused by blood, the white purity stained by constant combat.

But he remembers all of it, the young and the beautiful. You, a gentle kindred, though torn down by the weight of the world and the constant expectations, was made a free spirit.

The Slayer was no longer that.