#tracing numbers

[prettydesign]

Printable Numbers Coloring & Tracing Pages for Kids: Fun & Easy Number Learning!

This set of downloadable and printable number coloring and tracing pages is designed to make learning numbers fun and engaging for kids. Featuring original illustrations of objects that represent each number, these pages include both coloring and tracing exercises to enhance number recognition, handwriting skills, and concentration.Ideal for preschool, kindergarten, and homeschooling, these printable pages provide a simple and enjoyable way for children to learn numbers in a hassle-free, interactive environment. Perfect for parents and teachers looking to help children master numbers through fun, hands-on activities!

Get your copy now from here

[cleverpaws]

it's 2 am. awful men in my drawing tab

[casually-eat-my-soul]

I lied, put your clothes back on. I’m going to explain how I think the wands in Harry Potter are tools that help the government control the population.

[theythemmer]

what have i become

[starryluminary]

*long, droning sigh* I gave in

[marypsue]

You know, for years I've been thinking "the whole half-vampire situation and 'kill the head vampire and free any half-vampires' thing in The Lost Boys is so unique, I've never seen that particular approach to vampire turning in any other vampire story, and it really fits the story well, I wonder how they came up with it" and.

It's Dracula. It's literally just what happens in Dracula. Michael Emerson and Mina Harker 'having to kill the master vampire whose blood (which you ingested) is slowly turning you into a creature of the night in order to become human again' handshake meme.

[mercilessflowchart]

For @starryeyedstray!! Happy Valentine's Day!!!!

Inspired by Trinity's PM700!

[effro01]

Born to be a teenager in the 2000s during my favourite vkei groups peak , forced to be a teen in 2024 after their disbandment

[fre4kshqw]

"Thank you for playing with me."

[hoarding-stories]

As soon as I heard it I couldn't not:

[whoopseydaisy]

just so it’s on the record my money for Suvi’s subclass is 1. evocation 2. order of scribes

[archive-z]

it’s post-yr-wip wednesday, so enjoy more scenes from my forthcoming follow-up to krapp’s last tape, this time ft. events from the viewpoint of alice molloy, 1985-1989 ✨ all yr canon-typical content warnings for disordered substance use, pregnancy trauma, AIDS crisis-related death, child endangerment, codependent relationships with multiple concerning/unethical power differentials, etc.

“What mad Nijinsky wrote

About Diaghilev

Is true of the normal heart;

For the error bred in the bone

Of each woman and each man

Craves what it cannot have,

Not universal love

But to be loved alone.”

from “September 1, 1939”, by W. H. Auden 

It’s 1986 and Alice Molloy sits on the steps of San Francisco City Hall. She has been Alice Molloy for, approximately, the past thirty minutes. She is twenty-five years old. She looks out across Van Ness Avenue, at the War Memorial Opera House. She’s never been to the opera before. She’s never been married before, either. 

She rolls the name around in her mouth: Alice Molloy, Alice Molloy, Alice Molloy. She likes it. She feels like a snake that’s shed its skin, and now relaxes on the warmth of a sunned rock. She wonders how long it will take her to forget that she had any other name before this one. 

There is another her, maybe — scared and strung out — still inside, wandering the atrium. Maybe there is another her buried in a grave in Evergreen Cemetery. 

But this Alice, the one here on these steps, in this waning late afternoon sunlight, is Alice Molloy. She is Alice Molloy, with her newborn daughter, and her new husband, and their second-floor, one bedroom apartment near Buena Vista Park.  

—

December 6, 1985. The CDC recommends delaying pregnancy until more is known about the risks of mother-to-child transmission of AIDS. As of December 1, there have been 217 reported cases of AIDS among children under age 13, and 60% of them have died by the time of publication.

In Paris, their apartment is cold and there’s black mold around the windowsill. Daniel has a persistent cough. Alice wakes up nauseous. 

Three months ago, in San Francisco, Daniel gets an advance for a novel and insists they spend it all right away. 

Though he’s covering with bravado, Alice can tell he’s nervous. He’s never had more than a couple hundred dollars to his name, and never expected to have his sobriety tested in this manner either. 

They book two transatlantic tickets to Paris and a sublet in the Latin Quarter.

Alice wants to chainsmoke at café tables on crowded streets and imagine stories about passersby while Daniel scribbles in his notebook. She wants to go dancing. She wants to see the Mona Lisa. Alice is twenty-four, Daniel is thirty-two.

(Over the past several months, Alice has planned more funerals that she cares to count. She is perpetually in the final hospital visit-cremation-memorial service cycle. As the most junior member of the organisation, her duties tend to be administrative: making payments and filing bank receipts. By cash and by cheque, payments are made to the crematorium, the ambulance, the reception hall, to the sandwich caterers, to the company that rents the folding chairs and plastic table cloths, to the leaflet printers, and the delivery trucks. At the end of it all, someone has to fold up the chairs and turn off the lights. That someone is Alice. 

There is an impersonality to the deaths, she finds. Sometimes people with bring a framed photo of “the deceased” to the memorial service — a sister, a daughter, a girlfriend, a roommate, a friend. When there’s no photo, she often pictures Raequel. Twenty-two now? Would she look older? Or younger? Paris presents itself as a respite). 

Paris’ crisp October turns to a drizzly November and finally to a frigid December. Any argument that sparks between Daniel and Alice is swiftly resolved by swallowing one’s pride and huddling together under their singular scratchy wool blanket for warmth. 

In Paris, Daniel has coughed for three months. He’s smoking his packs twice as slowly because he has to take bone-rattling, hacking coughs after every few drags. 

In Paris, Alice throws up three days in one week. 

(They have both danced around this. It is the heavy, silent thing they neglect to mention. Daniel is sick. Alice is sick. With what — who knows? Fading track marks testify to their rich, independent histories of indiscriminately sharing needles and swapping bodily fluids with, at best estimate, one quarter of the Bay Area’s creatures of the night). 

In Paris, over dinner, Alice tells Daniel she’s pregnant. 

She tells him she’s pregnant and he says yeah. 

He’s staring at the cigarette in his hand, poised over the ashtray and Alice can see the gears turning inside his head. France permits elective abortion up to ten weeks, she can see him thinking. She can tell he’s doing the math in his head. 

She tells him she’s pregnant, and he says yeah. 

They finish their meal in silence, but Alice is too nauseous to keep anything down so throws up again in the brasserie’s toilette. After she’s finished, she presses her head against the cool metal of the cubicle door and then kicks it violently several times. 

When she re-emerges, Daniel has already settled the cheque. He’s got  another cigarette in his mouth, this one unlit, and he’s chewing on the filter, eyes still staring into middle distance, gears still turning. Alice has stuffed her jacket pocket with extra towelettes in case she needs to throw-up in a public garbage can on their walk back to their apartment. 

—

“We both could have it —“ Alice’s train of thought twists and weaves, running the alternatives and counter-alternatives too fast to keep track of until its a circular, tangled mess. “It would be born sick,” she says. 

“We don’t know if we—“  

“But we could. What if it’s born sick? If it’s— if it’s not able to grow?”

“Failure to thrive,” Daniel supplies. 

“I know whatAnd, in a heartbeat of indignation, Daniel ask, “What? What do you want? Do you expect a child to consent to being born?”

“Maybe the hospital finds out! Maybe it’s — taken away from us. Because it’s our fault. How could we live with ourselves?”

“We make a choice. We live with it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Look.” Daniel presses his hand to her cheek, and his eyes fixed on Alice’s. “If it’s wrong — does it matter?” His thumb traces her cheekbone, over the scar on her eyebrow, where it turns from dark to blonde. “All human decisions are made like this.” He kisses her eyebrow. He sounds surer and steadier than Alice has ever heard him before. “No parent knows what will happen to their kid. What does it matter if it’s wrong? There is no wrong. Just you and me. Me and you. And I want to be with you. Forever.”

Later, Daniel proposes and she says no. Things are falling apart. She doesn’t trust that the centre will hold.

On their last day in Paris, they go to the Louvre. Alice wants to see the Mona Lisa. 

—

San Francisco, 1989. Alice Molloy is twenty-nine. 

A week after the World Series Earthquake, Daniel’s mother calls him from Modesto to deliver the belated news of his father’s passing, the post-script to his unattended funeral. Daniel interrupts the daily pre-school drop off routine in order to purchase a self-obliterating quantity of heroin. 

It’s thirteen hours before Alice finds him. When she finally does, he crawls to her on his hands and knees. He clutches her legs, sobbing, shaking, and high. She says nothing to him, and her cool and implacable assessment of the situation is this: I take care of you, I’ve always taken care of you. I love you, I’ve always loved you. You and me, me and you. Daniel would not die here. Their dance would not end like this.

Her fingers grasp his matted curls, and she gently forces his head back to meet her gaze. With a thumb, she carefully wipes his grimy, tear-stained cheeks. She whispers to him: I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. How could you doubt such a thing? I have forgiven you of everything before now. I would forgive you every time, even this. 

And Alice knew this: Daniel was hers. And he would never runaway from her again. 

Outside, Lena is asleep in the backseat of the car. She is three years old. 

[akemi-snow]

t'was her desk

original scene

Tokubetsu + chunin squad shenanigans but make it The Office

also I'm not an artist, I'm tracing with the fabulous app kleki so don't judge me there just take the joke lmao

[justworthlessreblogs]

workshopping out the characterizations for the riochika swap au is making me realize just how good of a dad genichirou usami is. i think we should stan him

[theokusgallery]

For a little while now the only thing about Sanders Sides I ever saw was artwork of hot characters you post to this blog. Today I decided to actually look up what this series was, with the hope of finding more things related to sexy snake people in cute outfits. So imagine my shock when I looked it up and found that it's all related to that guy from Vine that I watched YEARS ago. It's certainly not what I was expecting but after watching the first two videos in that series I have come to find that it actually a little bit interesting. So thanks for getting me to look into this further

Anyway, I also wanted to say that your art is great. Whether it be characters in interesting fits, ship art, or the cute daily basil posts, your art is always such a joy to see even if I don't know the characters. So keep up the great work.

Oh, I should probably actually ask something uuuuhhhhh…. how did you find out about Sanders Sides?

Hi ! First of all I am so sorry. I'm SO sorry. Picture me groveling at your feet apologetically here. I'm SO SORRY. That I gave you the impression that SaSi was about sexy snake people in cute outfits. Getting into Sanders Sides and being surprised that Thomas "that guy from Vine" Sanders is the one making it is a near fandom-wide universal experience I think.

Also— glad you're enjoying the series!! The first few episodes are very old and my two favorites are two of the latest canon episodes (which still means they're old but whatever), and seeing as you said you only watched the first two, I do want to say: sexy snake guy is real. He doesn't look like that, obviously, he looks just like the rest of them but in another outfit, but he is 100% the hottest one of them. To me. In my very very unbiased opinion. It DOES get there and he's the best character and he's very important to my two favorite episodes. If you end up watching more, please please please feel free to tell me your thoughts, I want to hear all about it.

And thank you for the compliments on my art, I'm glad you enjoy it! <3 I've been moving from fandom to fandom a bit fast lately so it's really nice to know there are people out there who enjoy seeing it regardless. I've definitely done much more ship art for "SaSi" (read: KTSAWTG) than I have for most of the other fandoms I've ever drawn for, lmao.

To answer your question: I have no idea!

[kelpywheat]

TOMMY BOY!!!!!

Hear me out. Tommy’s also a grad student. He’s studying anthropology. He lives with Gibson, Hartnell, and Manson in a house off campus. He works at a coffee shop. His boyfriend works construction. He’s usually hanging around Sol and his friends. Y’know, when he’s not at the library with Hartnell.

Hope y’all like the davechella inspired playlist!