#We could definitely have done without that!

[mechncheese]

Do you have any tips for drawing transformers/simplifying transformer designs :0?? Your art retains their 3-dimensionality without sacrificing their posability and all this while using 'simple' looking shapes, it's genuinely very satisfying to look at

Thank you ! One of the biggest challenges for me when I first got into drawing transformers was trying to keep their movement from being too stiff while keeping their design robot-like so I'm glad that it reads as fluid to people !

I'm used to drawing organic characters, working with simpler designs, and emphasizing movement and flow so this was definitely new territory for me !

I'll talk about my simplification process below !

The easiest way to go about simplifying transformer designs is reducing them to their basic shapes and then building them back up. You can see it a lot in G1. Since G1 characters are designed to be animated (and also look like toys) they can't make their designs too complex so it makes a good starting point when breaking bots down.

The comic designs are a different story. Because it's a different medium, artists can go ham with details.

IDW Thundercracker has a lot going on ! You can see all his mechanics and joints, he looks a bit overwhelming to draw !

G1 Thundercracker is more blocky and simplified, definitely less intimidating to draw, he's mostly just cubes

When I simplify transformers, I break them down and then gradually add details. I think about it like carving out a statue, you have your block of marble and you carve out details until you're happy. You definitely do NOT need to draw every detail, I always leave out a bunch of detailed parts in favor of simplicity.

Let's simplify IDW Thundercracker, if you break him down into shapes, he is also just cubes. The red underneath is my initial sketch and the blue outline is just there to show the shapes.

It also helps to have an understanding of perspective and the way 3D shapes work.

I'd say this is the base for him ! He follows almost the same base as g1, we're keeping it blocky but I do take liberty to taper parts of the body like towards the knees and or along the arms to give my pose some fluidity. Then we shove on his details bit by bit

A lot of it is just picking and choosing design elements you like about a character and finding ways to make it fit onto the design. Thundercracker's IDW design has these cool ribs that go along his torso and I tried to include that while simplifying it.

Something I try to avoid is shoving as Many details as possible onto a design. It can make the design look cluttered and busy and that might be good if that's what you're going for but it's just not for me. I find that more details make it harder to pose my robots so I keep it minimal.

Applying color also gives you a good look at how much room your design has. Here's TC colored !

I could stop here and call him done but I think he looks a bit too spacious so I'm going to add some more details. Here's where I get a bit wild and kind of just do what I want. For me, the references are a base and as I get further along down the design I add seasoning to taste. More plating, different hues and colors, bits and baubles, and artistic flare. Here's where I wind up !

I'm happy with this ! I think Anymore detail and he would be a bit too cluttered (his wings are already reaching the Clutter Point for me)

As you draw more and more designs you'll develop an eye for what you like ! The world is your oyster and you can always go back and redesign/adjust !

[l4lenthusiast]

Buttons -Spencer Reid

GirlDad!Spencer Reid x mom!reader

Warnings: Forehead kiss (I think that's it?) No use of y/n

Word count: 662

A/n This was supposed to be a short blurb but I got carried away so first real short fic!!

"No, Lottie, not in your mouth!" You took the pink crayon from your daughter and sat her on your lap. Today you and Spencer decided that crafts could be a fun idea for your freshly two year old, clearly not thinking through all the things she would try to put in her mouth.

Spencer chuckled, putting a small basket on the living room floor with an assortment of buttons, glue sticks, and colorful paper.

"C'mere Lottie." He reached out for the pant leg of her snoopy overalls courtesy of Aunt Penelope on Lottie's second birthday last month. She was spoiled severely between gifts from the team, your family, not to forget you and Spencer, who definitely went a bit over board. Charlotte gurgled something between a "no" and a giggle when Spencer pulled her over.

"Crafts are beneficial for toddlers," Spencer started, laying out the items, giving Lottie her stuffed lamb. "they foster the development of fine motor skills, hand-eye coordination, and creativity." He continued, passing you a handful of buttons.

"Activities like painting, drawing, and using handheld supplies like buttons help refine dexterity and precision." He handed Lottie two buttons, one for her and one for her lamb.

"Crafts also encourage self-expression, allowing toddlers to communicate their emotions and ideas non-verbally." He finished laying out all of the craft supplies and adjusted the white bows in Lottie's pigtails you put in this morning without much of a struggle.

"Do you know what lambs say?" He asked her with interest. Lottie smiled at him before making a "baa" sound, which Spencer greatly praised.

"Okay Lottie," Spencer spoke softly, turning her around to face him. "Why don't you go sit with Mama, and then we can start. Okay?" She nodded her head, shaking her pigtails in the process, and reached out for you.

"Hi sweet girl!" You sat her on your lap and gave her her pink sippy cup half filled with apple juice from snack time earlier.

Spencer held out his hand with a selection of colored paper. "What color do you want?" He asked her, showing off the papers.

Charlotte thought and pointed at a few looking up at you for confirmation.

"There's pink Lottie!" You told her, pointing at the pink colored paper.

"Yes!" She cheered, clapping her hands together and looking at Spencer with a pleading face.

"May me?" She asked him, Spencer had been trying to teach her proper vocabulary by using "may" instead of "can."

He smiled at her, and without putting up a fight, he handed it to her, although it did take a lot to not correct her from "me" to "I."

Lottie sat on the floor next to you, starting to color and place buttons on her page, blabbering only a few words you or Spencer could understand.

"Lottie," Spencer tapped her knee lightly. "Are you done your picture?" He asked her, looking up at you with a smile.

"Need glue." She mumbled. You could tell she was getting tired. You checked your phone to read 12:54. You and Spencer usually try to get her in bed for her nap by 12:30. He gave you a knowing look and started to negotiate with your toddler.

"Okay angel, how about we glue your buttons down, then you go have a nap so your picture will be dry by the time you wake up?" He pulls her into his arms, and she rests her head on his shoulder in exhaustion.

Lottie nods against his shoulder, already half asleep. Spencer smiles at the sight and starts to rock her while picking up some of the leftover supplies.

"Here." You grabbed the crayons out of his hand. "Why don't you go put her up for a nap? I'll clean up." You told him, looking over his shoulder to see your daughter fast asleep.

He nodded back hesitantly and stood up to bring her to bed. He turned around and pressed a kiss on the top of your head, then continued walking towards the stairs to put sleepy Lottie to bed with her lamb still in her grasp.

[camficdiner]

1.2

2.10

3.1

4.3

i think you’re gonna cook with this one 🙏🏼

☕️Cam’s Fic Diner – Order 025

Thank you for your sweetness and patience — this one’s been a journey, a fully on fluff journey, with regrets and tears,

Enjoy your meal love, its served with honey glaze

-your favorite server

⸻

💬“She Had Your Eyes”

✨ Description & Prompts

• Character: Quinn Hughes

• Prompt: Drunk marriage in Vegas, accidental pregnancy, emotional confrontation

• Word Count: ~2.1k

• Type: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family

🛼✨🧁🍒

Las Vegas was supposed to be a quick getaway. A fun escape from your routines, a wild weekend with friends, some bad decisions and blurry photos. You never expected to wake up in a luxury suite at The Cosmopolitan, your mouth dry, your head pounding, and Quinn Hughes sleeping next to you — shirtless, tangled in the hotel sheets.

And definitely wearing a wedding band.

You sat up too fast, blinking at the ring on your own finger. Your heart thudded, first with confusion, then with a growing pit in your stomach. The echo of last night’s chaos slowly filtered in — the shots, the dance floor, the neon lights, Quinn’s laughter, his arm around your waist. You remembered a chapel. Pink. Elvis impersonator. The words “I do.”

“No,” you whispered. “No, no, no.”

A low groan came from the other side of the bed. Quinn.

He looked just as wrecked as you felt: messy curls sticking up in every direction, red-rimmed eyes, shirtless. And when he sat up, he mirrored your horror as you both stared at your left hands.

“We didn’t—” he started.

“We did,” you said grimly.

You both lunged for your phones. Sure enough, your camera rolls confirmed it: a chapel, a very happy officiant, and you and Quinn grinning like idiots with glitter in your hair and rings on your fingers.

Quinn Hughes, your very complicated friend-with-benefits, your maybe-something-more-but-never-defined, had married you. In Vegas. While drunk.

You remembered the sex too. Vaguely. It had been good—scratch that, amazing. But also messy and unexpected and clearly not thought through.

Quinn freaked out.

He stood, muttering about mistakes and how this couldn’t be real, how he had to leave. You tried to talk to him, to get him to calm down, but he was already pulling on his jeans, grabbing his phone.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled.

“Quinn—”

He was gone before you could stop him.

⸻

Three days later, you stared at the two pink lines on a pregnancy test.

The silence of your bathroom was deafening.

You weren’t sure how you got there. How from a half-joking night in Vegas, a half-relationship with Quinn Hughes, you ended up alone, with a baby on the way. You hadn’t heard a word from him. Not a text. Not a call.

And that’s when you saw it. A story. A post. A girl — tall, blonde, draped over him like she belonged there. And the caption: “My whole heart.”

Your throat closed. He hadn’t ghosted you because he panicked. He hadn’t vanished because he was scared. He was with someone else.

You were just the detour. The accident.

So you did what you had to: you called your brother.

He showed up twenty minutes later, no questions asked, and held you while you sobbed. Then, slowly, piece by piece, you began to rebuild.

The months passed. The bump grew. Your brother went to every appointment with you, holding your hand while you heard the heartbeat for the first time, while you picked names, while you decorated a nursery in your new apartment.

And you tried—really tried—not to look at Quinn’s Instagram.

But you saw it anyway.

The James Norris Trophy. A clean suit, his proud smile. “Couldn’t have done it without the team.”

Then, a month later, an Instagram story from Porsche Centre Vancouver: “Thrilled to welcome Quinn Hughes as our newest brand ambassador.”

Each announcement was a dagger. Because he was out there, living his best life, achieving everything he’d ever dreamed of—and you were in the quiet of your small apartment, folding newborn onesies and wondering if he ever thought about you. About that night. About what you were now carrying.

You didn’t want him back. Not after he ran. But part of you, some deep, aching part, wished he would at least ask.

Because even if your heart was fractured, your body swollen and tired and aching, you were growing something beautiful.

And he didn’t even know.

—

The hospital lights were harsh, too white, too real for the blur of pain and panic you were in. Your fingers clenched around the side of the bed as another contraction hit, tearing through your spine. You were alone, but not lonely — not anymore. Because you weren’t doing this just for yourself.

You were about to meet the only constant that had stayed with you since that night in Vegas. And she was coming fast.

You screamed, you pushed — and suddenly, everything fell away.

The nurse’s voice filtered in through the haze. “It’s a girl.”

Your chest heaved. Your hands trembled as they placed her on your chest, slick and warm and alive. The world narrowed to a heartbeat and the softest cry.

And then you saw them.

Her eyes.

Deep blue a touch lighter than yours, with some green in it. Familiar. Exactly the same shade as his.

Quinn.

You’d spent the past nine months trying not to think of him. Trying to erase the weight of the Instagram post that shattered your heart — his smile beside her, captioned “Heart”

But now, here she was. With his eyes. The proof that Vegas wasn’t just a mistake. It had left you with someone permanent.

You named her Olympia.

⸻

Three Years Later

Vancouver in early spring was always wet and green. You’d found peace in its stillness, a small rented flat near the sea, and a part-time job at a bookstore that let you be home by three.

Olympia ran ahead on chubby legs, clutching her red balloon and squealing as the ducks in the park scrambled. Her hair curled in soft brown waves. Her laugh was infectious. She was everything.

And yet —

You still looked him up sometimes.

You knew Jack had moved closer. That his family still spoke well of you.

But you never reached out.

And then you saw them.

Two figures coming down the paved path, side by side. Quinn and Jack. Laughing about something. You froze mid-step, your heart doing a strange, sharp twist.

You hadn’t seen him in person since that morning in Vegas.

Quinn stopped first.

His eyes scanned you, then softened in surprise. His lips parted slightly, like a question was sitting on his tongue but hadn’t formed yet.

Jack said something, but you didn’t hear it.

“Hey…” Quinn’s voice was quiet, unsure. “It’s been a while.”

You nodded, tensing your jaw. You were about to reply when you heard her.

“Mama!”

Olly’s voice rang out, bright and high, and she came toddling over, arms outstretched.

You bent to scoop her up, hugging her to your hip like muscle memory. You didn’t look at him yet. Not yet.

But when you did—

Quinn’s face had changed.

His eyes locked on Olympia.

Then flicked to you.

Then back.

His expression folded inward, shock overtaking confusion. Because there, in your arms, was a little girl with his exact same eyes. The same curl in her hair. The same shape to her mouth.

His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “She’s yours?”

You didn’t say anything.

He didn’t say anything.

You saw it in his eyes before you heard it in his voice — the slow-burning panic blooming behind his irises, the sharp, silent question written in the twitch of his jaw: She looks like me. How is that possible?

Quinn stared at your daughter like she was the answer to a question he hadn’t dared to ask himself in three years. You adjusted her on your hip, her tiny hand curled around your necklace as she blinked up at the stranger. Stranger to her, anyway.

“She yours?” he asked, voice raw, cautious.

“She’s mine,” you answered carefully, but your voice cracked under the weight of truth, and you saw it land.

That hurt that bloomed over his face—it was real.

“But is she…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

You nodded once. “Yes. She’s yours, Quinn.”

His breath caught. It wasn’t relief—it was devastation, thick and swallowing. He stepped back a little, like the truth physically hit him. Jack said something behind him, but it was muffled, distant. This was Quinn’s storm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly.

You looked down at your daughter, then back up at him. “Because you left me. You ran out of that hotel room like I was a mistake, and a few days later, you were posting pictures with your girlfriend on Instagram. I found out I was pregnant the same week.”

Quinn was silent.

“You didn’t even check if I was okay,” you continued, words trembling now. “You never texted. Never called. I thought you didn’t care. And I wasn’t going to beg someone to be a father who didn’t want to be there.”

Quinn’s hands were shaking. “I didn’t know how to deal with it. I panicked. I was scared—”

“You were selfish, Quinn,” you snapped, more pain than anger. “I was terrified. I went through pregnancy alone. I gave birth alone. I’ve raised her—every scraped knee, every nightmare, every milestone. Alone.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes.

“I never wanted you to be alone,” he whispered. “I was a coward. I thought if I ignored it, it would disappear. But it didn’t. You didn’t. And now she’s here and she looks at me like she knows me and I—”

He stopped himself, choking on the weight of it all.

“I want to know her,” he said finally. “Please. Let me try.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no.

—

It started small. A text asking how she was doing. A message asking what kind of books she liked. A FaceTime where she shyly showed him her dinosaur pajamas. And slowly—like thawing ice—he melted into her life.

He came to the playground and pushed her on the swing. She reached for his hand without hesitation.

He showed up at your door with her favorite muffins and left with marker drawings all over his forearms.

The first time she called him “Dad,” he cried. Quietly. You saw it, though. And your heart cracked open.

Then came the big things.

Introducing her to Ellen and Jim. Watching Jack fall in love with her in five minutes flat. Quinn holding her on the bench of a Canucks pre-game warmup, helmet on her head three sizes too big.

And one day, he stood in front of you, nerves in his fingers, and said, “I left her. A while ago. The girlfriend. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to show up like a white knight.”

“You’re not a white knight,” you replied. “But you’re trying. That means something.”

He took your hand. Carefully. “Can we try too?”

You blinked. “Try what?”

He smiled, small and real. “Us.”

Your daughter ran between you both just then, laughing with her pigtails bouncing, and without thinking, you reached out together—one hand each, steadying her between you.

You looked at her. Then at him.

And for the first time in three years, you let yourself believe that maybe… just maybe… things weren’t broken.

Just unfinished.

——

It started with a question, whispered one quiet evening in your daughter’s room.

Quinn had come to tuck her in like he did now every night he was in Vancouver. She’d taken to calling him “Q” at first, unsure of what else to call him. Now it was “Daddy.” Sometimes “Daddy Q,” when she was being silly.

That night, as he settled the stuffed unicorn into her arms and brushed her dark hair behind her ear, she blinked up at him with those same eyes. His eyes.

“Daddy?” she asked, voice small. “Are you and mommy married?”

Quinn blinked. He glanced over his shoulder at you. You smiled softly, already knowing this day would come.

“Kind of,” he said, trying to be gentle. “A long time ago. But not… not properly.”

She frowned. “I want it to be properly.”

It stayed in his head all night.

And three days later, as the two of you stood on your balcony, wine glasses in hand, watching the Vancouver skyline glow like it was holding your secret, he turned to you.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to be my almost-wife. I want you to be my real wife.”

You turned to him, stunned.

He didn’t go down on one knee. He just took your hand, kissed the ring that never left it — the one from Vegas you never dared to take off — and added softly, “Let’s do it right this time.”

⸻

The wedding was small. Intimate.

Held in Vancouver, at a garden you’d always loved as a child. Your daughter wore a white dress with tulle wings sewn onto the back. She walked down the aisle holding a little velvet box, cheeks flushed with excitement, while Jack — proudly grinning — waited at Quinn’s side as best man.

Your dress wasn’t flashy. It was soft, elegant. Your bouquet was wildflowers. And as you reached the end of the aisle, your daughter took your hand and placed it into Quinn’s, the whole garden holding its breath.

Quinn looked at you like it was the first time. Even after everything — the mistake, the heartbreak, the rediscovery — he still looked at you like you were the beginning and end of his world.

“I do,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

You couldn’t stop the tears as you said it back.

⸻

The reception was simple — a long table under strings of lights, family and friends all gathered. Jack toasted to “the only couple I’ve ever known who got married in reverse order.” Your daughter climbed into Quinn’s lap halfway through the cake. He fed her the icing off his finger, kissing her temple like he’d never lost a single day.

Later, you danced to no music under the stars, her asleep in her flower girl dress in your mother’s arms.

“I always meant it,” he whispered in your ear. “Even back then. Even when I was scared. I’ve loved you every damn second.”

You pressed your cheek to his.

“Then here’s to forever.”

And in the warm hush of the garden, his lips met yours.

What happened in Vegas didn’t stay in Vegas.

It just…

Came home in time.

⸻

[ometochtli2rabbit]

BREAKING: The gangs of L.A. brokered a truce and just did more for injustice against innocent immigrants than the entire U.S. Senate has done since they discovered C-SPAN doesn’t have commercials.

Yeah, you heard me. Street crews… yes, those same folks your racist uncle thinks are the final boss in a Fox News fever dream… are now escorting immigrants to court like chivalrous vigilantes in Nike tech fleece. Because when the state decides the Constitution is optional and ICE turns into a roaming death squad with a mask and a clipboard, sometimes the only due process you get is five dudes in matching hoodies telling the feds, “Nah, bro. Not today.”

And guess what? It works. Because ICE agents will happily snatch a grandma from a church picnic if she makes a good deportation stat… but put them near anyone who doesn’t say “yes, sir” with a trembling voice and suddenly they remember they have “other priorities.” These federalized cosplay commandos without badges (but definitely daddy issues) don’t go after the dangerous… they go after the docile. Why? Because they’re not enforcers of law… they’re mall cops with militarized toys and the moral compass of a broken Etch A Sketch.

So of course ICE targets “assimilated immigrants with families.” Because God forbid we deport a white-collar CEO laundering cartel money in Miami… nah, better to rip a kid from his dad in front of the school, then call it “border security.” These aren’t agents… they’re cowards in windbreakers playing hide-and-seek with the American Dream.

And meanwhile, the gangs… yes, gangs… have done what Congress won’t: form a coalition to protect vulnerable people from a government that thinks “compassion” is a foreign threat. These guys just unionized against fascism faster than the Democratic Party could agree on brunch.

So let’s be real. If you’re more outraged that gang members are helping immigrants than you are that the government is hunting them like they’re Pokémon with poor English, you’re not patriotic… you’re complicit. You’re the spiritual lovechild of George Wallace and a Ring doorbell, screaming “law and order” while your empathy dies in 4K.

ICE isn’t about safety. It’s about optics. It’s about keeping middle America scared shitless so they don’t realize who’s actually robbing them blind: it’s not José from Oaxaca, it’s Jeff from JPMorgan.

So props to the homies rolling deep to immigration court. Because while Congress filibusters itself into irrelevance and ICE roleplays as apartheid cosplay, someone’s actually showing up for justice.

You call it gang violence. I call it community defense.

And if that scares you? That’s not fear. That’s your conscience trying to escape the prison you built out of denial. Let it out. Or stay silent… and history will remember you the same way it remembers the cowards: not at all.

If your biggest concern is how uncomfortable this rant made you, congrats… you’re officially less useful than a wet napkin at a house fire. But hey, keep scrolling. I’m sure there’s a cat video somewhere that’ll let you pretend the world isn’t burning.

Wake the hell up.

[igglemouse]

Week 2 ~ Across The Pitch (3.1) ~ Tuesday

My audition victory should have been the brightness of my day, it should have sent me dancing and screaming with joy this morning, but instead I wake with a call from mama and the criticism she has for me.

Checking in, she calls it, but I think we all know its more than that. Mama's love is love expressed through disappointment and most of her morning call is exactly that, a lecture with no purpose other tan to seemingly ruin whatever day I had planned.

"I just don't understand it mija, this whole acting thing. I've always thought you'd grow past it," she tells me, a conversation she's had a thousand times with me, with very little difference.

"And do what, mama? What's so wrong with acting?"

"Must we get into this again?" She acts as if she should be the exhausted one and not me, but at least the conversation shifts into something more normal. The worries of a mother who has a daughter living in another city, if I've done this, if I've done that, that kind of thing. At least its not being scolded for my life decisions.

I'd honestly would rather face these mystical and probably magical gnomes than continue conversating with mama and I have some spring cleaning to do as well. It helps clear my mind and move on from the other parent that helped raised me. She's just...I don't know, she thinks I'm on some path to evil or something. Mama is very very religious and while I understand, truly I do, I'm a believer too personally, but I feel like she is sometimes more against me than for me?

Ah, like I said, I don't want to dwell too much on it. I'll clean, feed little Bruno, and then move on with my day. There's a lot good going on for me!

My little garden also calls to me, promising its own kind of peace along with the aid of the nearly perfect weather. I tend to my flowers with care for just the reason that they deserve it. Nothing more than that.

With it being so nice outside I figured it was also the perfect time to wash clothes and there is some peace to be had there as well. Finally, my thoughts drift from mama to Marco and the moment that we almost shared along with the moment we did share. A rooftop, a hot tub, and the beautiful city of DSV below us, what could have been...what still could be.

The fantasy of that gave me more warmth than the sun...

As far as my diet I've been pretty disciplined. Strawberry kiwi salad has become a go to of mines since it is both nutritous and pretty tasty. The fact is, appearances matter in this industry. You can argue that they shouldn't, that talent is what wins out, but it doesn't. It's unfair, the demands of the business, but they are demands all the same, and so eating healthy and staying in shape is a must.

Maintaining my look is part of maintaining my craft.

Bruno meanwhile has nothing to maintain other than his joy and the energy he brings. Must be nice being a dog, such a carefree life, I would think, such simplicity! Eat, sleep, love, and play, then repeat! I do, for a moment, envy that, but I've read that pressure is a privilege and so I do not mean to back down from it!

And I am ready to handle whatever the industry throws at me and my next assignment is a pharmaceutical commercial. I'll be playing the role of a funny doctor, at least for a few seconds, as that is all that these commercials allow.

Comedy is new to me, I must admit, but it is definitely a skill that could lead to many memorable roles and so to sharpen up on it I try to write my own jokes and just study it a bit. Learning what I can is all that I can do.

A cold front sweeps through the city as evening comes, unexpectedly since it had been so nice and warm earlier in the day. That's fine, at least it came without rain because otherwise my clothes would be wet and soggy and what a disaster that would have been?

And while my day started with a scolding from mama it is my brother who brings some redemption to my family with just how excited he is to be so close to chasing his own dream. He's moved to Windenburg, I think I've mentioned? Far from home but also like me chasing fame. I think he's pretty close to it, the team he plays for has rented him a pretty nice house, by the sounds of it, and it feels like his life too is just starting.

It's funny, the women in my family, my sister and mother, are both unhinged in their own kind of way while the men, my brother and father, have been solid as a rock for me. Oh Watcher, maybe I'm unhinged in my own kind of what but I don't realize it? Let's hope not!

As my day comes to the end Bruno demands just a little more attention. It's bath time, which happens a lot for him since he seems very dedicated to gathering dirt and tracking it all through my little home. I don't mind it, he's only being himself, which is all he can be.

Sometimes, you just have to embrace the mess in life!

Index ~ Next

[thisissirius]

my dear siri, I would love a fic based on “I’m worried about you” please and thank you

your wish is my command. for you to improve the mood :)

man this should be fifty thousand words longer but have some mack and robert emotions :D

Mack is pretty sure this is gonna bite him in the ass.  “Hasn’t changed much.” “Not sure it ever does,” Mack agrees.  Tommy Merrick looks over the houses, the pub, with a passive expression. He has a casual demeanour, but Mack’s known him long enough to detect the thrum of nervousness underneath. It’s a sight to see on someone pushing fifty. Haven’t you seen everything by then? “I was four the last time I was here.” Mack whistles. “Yeah, things have definitely changed, mate.” There’s a slam of a door and then Robert storms out of Vic’s house, face of thunder. Mack doesn’t know what his problem is–it’s not like he hasn’t left Mack in the middle of nowhere before. “Oi!” Mack winces. “Hi, Robert.” “Don’t ‘Hi Robert’ me, asshole. You left me by the side of the road and–Tommy?” Robert’s anger deflates as he sees the figure standing to Mack’s right. He looks confused and, Mack thinks, a little off-kilter.  “Hi Rob,” Tommy says, lips quirking into a smile. “Been a long time.” Robert just stares.  “Oi,” Mack says, nudging him. “Say something yeah?” That seems to propel Robert into movement, and he grabs Mack’s sleeve, hauls him away from Tommy far enough they can talk without being overheard.  “Where did you find him?” “I know him. He called me when he found out I was in Emmerdale–asked if I knew you.” Robert mutters something under his breath, peering over Mack’s shoulder at Tommy.  “Rob,” Mack says slowly, “He isn’t here to cause trouble.” “You do enough of that for me,” Robert says, half under his breath. He narrows his eyes. “Why is he here then?” Mack scratches at his neck. “Well I might have said something about John.”

Robert rubs at his face. “Why?”

“I’m worried about you,” Mack admits. “Since the roofie thing, the way you and he interact–I don’t like him either, but the way he looks at you, well, he’s bad news. We both know it. Figured you could use every person in your corner I can find.”

The expression on Robert’s face is one of shock, confusion. Mack wants to punch everyone who’s put it there, though that might also mean punching Aaron, which would be a shit show all around. “He doesn’t know me.”

“You spent four years living in his house,” Mack points out.

“Then stole half his money and ran off,” Rob admits, self-deprecating smile in place. 

Tommy snorts from where he’s sidled closer. “I don’t care about the money, Rob. Just that you’re doing well.”

“You’re about ten years too late,” Robert says. “Could have done with those well wishes in prison.”

Mack sighs. “Rob.”

“What? Just figured we should all be on the same page about the kind of person I am,” Robert says, and it doesn’t carry the anger Mack’s been told to get used to–just bitterness. 

“Murder, assault, almost going on the run,” Tommy lists off. At Robert’s expression, he sighs. “I’m sure there’s a ton of other things I’m forgetting, but I’m still not leaving.”

Robert opens his mouth to respond when he sees a couple of other people on the street, and even Vic’s poked her head out of the house. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the Mill. I’d rather catch up,” his expression twists, “without anyone else overhearing.”

Tommy seems only too willing, though he adds, “Ashamed of me?”

“Don’t be daft,” Robert says, too quickly to be a lie. “I don’t really have a lot of fans right now and I’d rather avoid you being told to leave me alone, or take me with you when you leave.”

A dark expression crosses Tommy’s face when he looks at Mack, who shrugs. “I told you.”

“Told him what?”

“I’ll tell you about it in the–Mill?”

Rob nods, though he looks between Mack and Tommy. Finally, he relents, narrowing his eyes at Mack. “We’re talking about this later,” he warns.

Mack shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Rob mutters under his breath, probably cursing Mack’s father, which is fine. It’s not like Mack hasn’t done the same. 

“Who’s that, then?” 

Aaron’s drifted out of the pub, hands in his pockets, and nods at Tommy. 

“Rob’s brother.” At Aaron’s expression, Mack grins. “Yeah, another one. Thankfully, not a drop of Jack Sugden’s blood in him.”

Aaron doesn’t seem to know what to say. 

Mack leaves him to it. He pulls out his phone, bringing up Sandy’s number. Might as well see how she’s doing while he’s at it. 

<3<3

[gingersnapwolves]

Hello friends I’m back from vacation with a lot to say! I’m going to do two posts, so I can put the pretty pictures which actually look good in a photo post and then contain my ramblings and selfies to this post LOL.

So last year while we were talking about vacations, my wife said we should go to Iceberg Alley so we could see icebergs. You know, sorry to the optimists in the audience but who knows how long we’ll still be able to do that? So I planned a trip to the Canadian Maritimes.

First thing you need to know about me and my wife is that neither of us like to fly. We do road trips. We’ve done tons and tons of road trips. When we lived in Arizona, we road-tripped to pretty much everywhere in the western United States. Fun fact about us - one of the things that first made us such good friends twenty-five (twenty-five?!?!?!) years ago is that we both like to drive around a lot and look at pretty scenery and just vibe. So I planned us a road trip. It pretty quickly became apparent that we couldn’t do both Nova Scotia and Newfoundland in one road trip because there’s just so MUCH to see. So we focused on Newfoundland for this trip for iceberg reasons. We did stop to see some things along the way, obviously, because the key to a good road trip is to try to break it up with cool shit.

The first day was basically driving (though we did stop at a No Kings protest in Maine for a while because we couldn’t miss that). Then across the border we went. Lupine everywhere! Tim Horton’s! Metric system! (My wife: is the speed limit really 110 mph? lmao no it is not.) 

First stop! Joggins Fossil Cliffs! It was very cool, we will have to do this again and take the guided tour because I’ve learned I couldn’t find a fossil if you put a gun to my head. Let the selfies begin!

We stopped a few more places on the way but forgot to take selfies (whoops) and then got on the ferry to Newfoundland. We had a little cabin because it’s a 16 hour ride to the east side of Newfoundland.

Once in Newfoundland, we went to Salmonier Nature Center, which was very cool. A lovely, beautiful walk through the woods and fen. My biggest disappointment was on this outing because I really wanted to see the lynx, and we waited a while outside the enclosure, hoping if we were quiet it would eventually come out, but it never did. On the other hand, caribou are magical.

On to the east side and St. John’s! We went to the Petty Harbor Mini Aquarium, which is a seasonal catch and release aquarium with an awesome touch tank.

Cape Spear, the eastern most point in North America.

Basilica of St. John the Baptist (we are the opposite of religious but my wife loves the architecture of churches and stained glass windows).

Memorial University Botanical Gardens

Johnson Geo Centre

Then we took a boat tour to go to Gull Island and see puffins! I didn’t get any good pictures here unfortunately. The puffins on the island were too far away to photograph clearly, and although I could see them fly and sometimes land in the water by the boat it was impossible to get a good shot of them. They were soooooooo incredibly cute though. My wife also saw a minke whale (I did not lol).

Driving inland, we went to Terra Nova National Park but I forgot to take a selfie until we were back at the car.

Interior Newfoundland is profoundly empty. Anywhere in America, if I pass a gas station with a quarter tank of gas, I can think ‘no big deal, I will definitely hit another gas station before I’m close to being out of gas’. Not so much in Newfoundland. I didn’t run out of gas but boy was I sweating a few times.

Can’t go to Canada without having Tim Horton’s! Sorry for the thumb. Uh, it was very early. I prefer Dunkie’s but TH had VERY good chocolate chip muffins and my wife loved their donuts.

Icebergs! Icebergs! Icebergs! (Pics to follow in my photo post.)

Chilling on Twilingate Island

On our drive around Twillingate, a bald eagle flew out over our car and flew alongside/above us for about five seconds and it was SO cool. Sadly we didn’t get any pictures of that because we were too busy being in awe.

Stayed at a nice little bed and breakfast

West we go! The Insectarium!

And then on to Gros Morne!

Now this was a trip. On one day it was eighty-five and sunny, then the next it was fifty, occasionally rainy, and very, very windy. I have rarely experienced wind that is actually difficult to walk against, but I really feared for my safety occasionally. We had booked a boat tour on Western Brook Pond, which is a glacier carved valley. To get to the pond is a 3 km walk and my wife is disabled (and in this weather, I wouldn’t have wanted to walk 6 km either). There were shuttles but very limited seating so we got there about 90 minutes early. When we got there, they said they were waiting on the captain’s decision on whether or not we could go out in this weather. Eventually we did, but . . . possibly shouldn’t have LOL. The water was rough. There was a ton of spray. We both got soaked about three minutes into the trip so we were freezing the whole time. I asked my wife to please not divorce me since I took her to see icebergs. 

Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful and awesome in the original sense of the word, but holy shit. On the way back, the weather got even worse. Dense fog and even higher wind. We had to zig zag to get back to dock because of how strong the wind was, so it took quite some time. My teeth were actually chattering (we had dressed appropriately for the cold and wind but had not anticipated getting wet).

For obvious reasons, the tour after ours was canceled, which meant there was an entire boat full of people besides ours who wanted to use the shuttle, so it took a while to get one and I was basically frozen solid by the time I made it back to the car. Good times!

We got on the ferry on the western side of the island back to Nova Scotia, which is an eight hour ferry. We took the overnight, but there were no cabins when I booked, so we had reserved, reclining seats. No big deal, right? But the sea was still very rough. 

Now, I don’t get seasick. Carsick, yes, but I’ve never had a problem getting seasick (unless I try to read, so I don’t). Even on the cruise, when we were out on the open ocean, I was fine. Y’all. I got sick sick. Our seats were on the top deck, at the front of the ship. Worst place to be during rough weather. The staff kindly took me to a better seat but holy crap was I sick. The sea finally calmed down and I felt better but I probably didn’t sleep more than an hour. It sucked.

So the next day we just drove a little while on some back roads, looked at nice scenery, until I couldn’t stay awake anymore and we crashed at a motel and I passed out.

Me somewhere in Nova Scotia: I'm not sure I'm still safe to drive

Some fuckass deer: //runs out in front of my car//

Me: //screeches to a halt and avoids a collision//

Me: Okay guess I'm still good for a little while.

The next day, we went to Reversing Falls Rapids in St. John

And to Irving Nature Park

And then we were on our way back home!

On the whole it was a very enjoyable vacation, though a really tiring one haha. I think we need to take an easier one next. I'm also definitely forgetting at least one or two things but that's life, maybe I will update later if I think of them.

Quote of the trip: "Oh, yeah, X/99 ... got us obsessed with toxic gay relationships and the rest is history."

Honorable mention: "How is it?" "It's not ... bad ..." "Oh?" "Well, it's bad in a new and interesting way."

[maxdibert]

The thing that gets me about that one post is where they said Snape *needs* to be straight and white because his reasons for bullying Harry are petty. Like, what does that even mean?? If James truly bullied Snape because he was already a blood purist and death eater like they claim, then what does it matter if he's black and gay? If it really was just a rivalry over Lily's attention, then there shouldn't be a problem right? Why are Snape's actions petty if he's white and straight, but somehow more legitimate when he has a different race and sexual orientation? Is pettiness only a white, straight trait? Are other people not allowed to be petty? Are white, straight people not allowed to be traumatized by bullying? They can only acknowledge it was traumatizing if its done to a marginalized group? Lmao I need their thought processes explained to me.

Yeah, so, there’s something really messed up going on with all this, because what they’re saying has like two layers, two different readings, and both are pretty disturbing if you actually stop and think about it. On the one hand, what they seem to be implying — without saying it directly but definitely suggesting it — is that someone who isn’t white and/or straight can’t do bad things. Like, that’s the takeaway. According to this weird logic, if you make Snape queer and racialized, suddenly nothing he does matters. He could literally be Voldemort, he could turn into a serial killer like Ted Bundy, and somehow he’d still be… untouchable or something, because that’s the unspoken rule. Since he belongs to a historically oppressed group, his actions automatically stop being questionable. And that’s incredibly dangerous, not just because it’s essentialist to the core, but because it basically means you're assigning ethical or moral capacity based on who you sleep with or how you look in the mirror. It's completely fucking absurd on every level.

But the second point is even more fucked up. What’s being implied —almost unconsciously but very clearly— is that if a white, straight, working-class person like Snape is humiliated, bullied, stripped in public, and subjected to systematic psychological abuse during his teenage years by a bunch of rich, powerful kids —because let’s remember, James and Sirius weren’t exactly struggling— then suddenly it doesn’t matter. Apparently, according to these people, that kind of abuse only counts if it happens to someone who fits into a particular identity category they’ve decided is worthy of empathy. In other words, trauma is only valid if the victim is part of an oppressed group. But if the victim is a white, straight dude, then he had it coming, right? Then it’s not bullying, it’s not trauma, it’s not something that could scar you for life or mess you up psychologically.

And that’s where it all becomes a complete mess. Because if we start from the idea that only certain people have the right to be hurt, to suffer, to have trauma, or to react badly to the things that happen to them, then what we’re doing is accepting a worldview that’s incredibly dangerous, one where morality is distributed based on identity categories instead of actions or context. And I’m sorry, but that’s not social justice, and it’s not fighting oppression. That’s just swapping one arbitrary system for another equally unfair one, just dressed up as progressivism.

And finally, what pisses me off the most about all of this is how deeply dehumanizing it is. Because denying someone the capacity to do wrong just because they’re not white or straight is just as absurd as denying someone the capacity to suffer because they are. Both things reduce people to symbols, to archetypes, to puppets in some ideological narrative. And that, to me, is the most dehumanizing thing of all. Because every single one of us has the right to be complex, contradictory, vulnerable and yes, sometimes petty or even cruel. There’s no identity that automatically makes you a better person, and there’s no skin color or orientation that exempts you from doing horrible things or from experiencing horrible things.

So yeah, I’d love for these people to explain their thought process, because either they haven’t thought it through at all, or —if they have— then where it leads is kind of terrifying.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

after finally playing scarlet witch long enough to get this icon ive decided that you really have to love wanda to get this icon

anyway Bonus cause Heh....... Fam.....

[sydney-carton-of-sour-milk]

The Many Illustrators of A Tale of Two Cities 15: Charles Keeping

Keeping This One Brief

Our second in the spooky subseries is a set by Charles Keeping, a famed English illustrator, children's book author, and lithographer who, among his many other accomplishments, illustrated the entirety of Dickens's work for the Folio Society.

This set is unique among all those we've seen so far, both for its recentness (call its publication date a Bowling for Soup song the way it's "1985"🤪) and for its source:

Rather than being from a large public resource like the Internet Archive or from my own personal scans, these are all coming from the personal blog of Derrick J. Knight, a fellow netizen who just so happens to have scanned the illustrations of the book he was reading and uploaded them to the Internet for all to see.

Out of gratitude and respect for giving these precious rarities of illustrations to the public, I'm going to keep this post simple and straightforward, with no post-notes.

Here they are (fair warning, a couple of these are pretty gory):

That's it! Thank you, Charles Keeping and Derrick J. Knight!

& the standard endnote for all posts in this series:

This post is intended to act as the start of a forum on the given illustrator, so if anyone has anything to add - requests to see certain drawings in higher definition (since Tumblr compresses images), corrections to factual errors, sources for better-quality versions of the illustrations, further reading, fun facts, any questions, or just general commentary - simply do so on this post, be it in a comment/tags or the replies!💫

[formulafics]

[cabeswaterdrowned]

agents of shield s7 really was a shockingly good conclusion to something I like… like on it’s own it’s a good season but I don’t really realize how highly I think of it overall (it’s not agents of shield s4 who’s praises I’ll sing any day of the week) until I think about how many concluding seasons or books of shows or series I love could have been better if they were more like it in a variety of ways…

[crochetpiece]

DRAGON IS DONE I think that took all of the crochet energy out of me for the next few weeks so this will probably be my last crochet project for the year. Took me 4 days and I kinda wish I gave myself more time especially because the body kinda looks a little wonky when working in continuous rounds. I might go back to working on my needlepoint or sewing projects soon though. Also Niki nui for scale and also all the update photos I posted privately in various discords included him so they feel like a package deal. My coworker will not be getting a Niki nui as part of the gift.

If you want to make this little guy for yourself you can find the pattern here!

[sebdoesthings]

It's wild to me how so many things people call out as being a telltale sign of AI art I would, without thinking, categorise either as "non-pro/intermediate artist mistake" or "feasible stylistic choice"

Like I've made some of the mistakes that people are saying "just aren't what someone would do if they actually drew/were an artist" and it kinda... hurts?

Don't get me wrong, I hate AI as much as the next guy, but the way we talk about spotting it I think can be damaging to people who are not at a professional level of making art.

[doomdoomofdoom]

So like. Anyone in academia gonna write that paper or do I have to

happy werewolf transgenderism wednesday

[smirnoffpasta]

Here's a feet pic