#??? i guess but very loosely

[seagiri]

can i be sad here for a moment

[amphibianaday]

day 1514

[redbuddi]

the James Somerton thing really shows how hard people are willing to go to bat for a white cis guy who seems to say all the right things and makes content they like no matter how much everyone else has proof of them being a bad person. That is, until a more popular white cis guy who says all the right things calls them out.

This isn't a criticism of Hbomberguy at all, but of everyone else for refusing to listen to the voices of the people James hurt until Hbomb made it cool. This happens all the time and is still happening and it drives me insane. Y'all need to do better.

[unexpectedbrickattack]

experimentin w shit heehee

[franklespine]

The scene at the start of All Hell Breaks Loose where Dean talks to Sam's corpse in that shack in the middle of nowhere is soul crushing to an incomprehensible level that the show hardly ever manages to reach again.

Firstly, what is revealed about Dean as he spills his heart open is devastating on a whole other level. Like there's grief and then there's this - it's like a piece of him has been torn out and he's left unable to literally function. It's not really a new idea in the series up to this point that Dean has centered his life around his family, in particular protecting Sam. As he starts off, he wishes so desperately that Sam didn't start asking questions about their family so Dean could preserve his innocence just a little bit longer. No doubt John put a lot of pressure on Dean to protect and look after Sam, but taking on this role was something that was all but written inside him, as he says, John didn't even have to tell him to do it, Sam was his responsibility. The tipping point in this scene is when Dean finally asks "what am I supposed to do" - how can he even begin to move beyond this? He doesn't care if the world ends anymore, doesn't care if Azazel wins and he never gets revenge. In asking this question Dean realises that he is incapable of letting go of Sam, of the responsibilities to his family he has built his life around like the grain of sand at the centre of the pearl, and of the crushing guilt that comes with 'failing' these responsibilities. The only way forwards is to force the laws of nature to bend for him and bring Sam back from the dead, no matter the cost.

Secondly, this is heart wrenching to me for Sam too. Here he is, 23 years old and lying dead on a dingy mattress in a shack in the middle of nowhere - the only escape from his dark destiny found in death. But the primary reason it seems that Dean makes this massive sacrifice to bring him back isn't because he's 23 and has so much of life he deserves to live, but because he is incapable of living under the weight of his guilt in failing him - that he is Dean's responsibility that he can't live with letting down. And this is not to say that Dean doesn't also bring him back because he loves and care for him as a person, but it's not like Dean was sitting there talking to Sam saying you didn't deserve this, we were so close to ending this, you deserved to go on to have a life that hasn't been built around and in grief and revenge, hell, you could've even gone back to university and had your happy ending. You know? It's like selling your soul for someone is a crazy batshit insane thing to do - the ultimate sacrifice. But same as with John, it seems that the reason behind it wasn't just pure love and desire for that person to live just because they didn't deserve to die. John needed Dean to be there to ensure Sam didn't go darkside - to kill him if he can't save him. In both cases it was out of love, but in this weird objectified way.

It's just so fascinating how this dynamic between the three Winchesters, love and sacrifice plays out in the early seasons. How supernatural finds selfishness at the centre of this seemingly sacrificial selfless act. The selfishness in martyrdom.

That's why this scene is just heart wrenching in my sad insane little head. Sam and Dean were crazy codependants before this but this scene marks a turn for the worst (in codependence) for them. This scene is like the solidification of Dean's belief that he is worthless and incapable of functioning without the responsibilities he holds to his family and solidifies that Sam is the little brother possession for Dean to protect and regulate until his time runs out and he's shipped off to hell - leaving him at the centre of his massacred family with all the fingers pointing in his direction. His mum was collateral damage to his anti-baptism by a demon, his Dad sold his soul for his brother's life to be the final yes or no in the decision of whether Sam deserves to live or not, and now his brother's gone and done the same for him. But hey, at least when Dean gets dragged down to hell it isn't with the weight of guilt that he failed his responsibilities.

(spoiler alert: he feels guilty for leaving Sam anyway and Sam spirals anyway).

[vickysaurus]

Alador: “So, Mittens, how did you and Luz meet anyway?”

Amity: “Well, I spotted her hiding in a cauldron covered in abomination goop and-”

Alador: *sighs* “How romantic, it was always my dream to meet someone like that...”

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Ended up pirating all of Hazbin for the sake of my younger days (used to be a fan when I was around 14/15, before all the stuff with Viv came out) and I am so surprised by how I felt... nothing for the most part. Like a lot of the show's storylines feel like they was crammed in there with no real pacing. A lot of this should have been season 2 territory, which is a sentiment I've seen echoed around, but also... it feels as if the show is trying to be episodic while also having a long narrative thread, which just doesn't work with just 8 episodes. Especially not when paced like this. So I kinda ended up feeling nothing for the most part. All the events got a "Oh, great, so what?" reaction out of me because there was little to no buildup to most of them.

Sir Pentious was always a fave of mine so I was glad to see they kept him around and, though I think we should have had more episodes with him as a villain, I think how he ended up was fitting for what little of an arc he had. I am livid about what they did to Cherri and Mimzy.

I fucking loved Mimzy, I have no idea why they sent her away -- having someone like her at the Hotel would have been a blast considering how the others are already on the road to redemption. She would have balanced it out by being a regular sinner, someone who doesn't care about redemption and won't probably ever care unless it's in her best interests to. Plus her friendship with Alastor was quite cute, they bounce off of each other very well imo. Plus I could see her have a bit of a conflict with both Charlie and Vaggie because of her ways of acting. I'm so sorry they took that from you girlboss.

And Cherri... dear lord where WAS she? She should have been a lot more present. I used to like her relationship with Angel and I even think Cherrisnake is cute conceptually, but both these relationship had... little to no room to breathe imo.

[goldensunset]

everyone told me she was terrifying but they didn’t tell me she was so cool and nice

[annatateson]

Disco Elysium Gothic and Lolita Tea Party Part 1: Klaasje and The Smoker LET'S GO BABYYYY!!!

I saw people doing EXCELLENT drawings of Harry Du Bois in lolita dresses and I'm obsessed! But why should he be the only one who partakes? What if EVERYONE gets a makeover and they have a big TEA PARTY!

My desk is now COVERED in Gothic and Lolita Bibles. No one is safe. Things are about to get FRILLY and FABULOUS. I did Klassje and The Smoker first at a request from my friend but I have sketched out many more already 3:)

More closeup pictures underneath...

[dusadoodles]

i dont know anything about batman stuff tbh but i think the villains are neat so....... woe scarecrow design be upon ye

[paper-star-ships]

Y’all ever had a crush on a character from a source you’ve never seen or is that just me

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

I was toying with the idea of ranking adaptations based on how book accurate they are.

But honestly, more than half the entries would come down to "this is not trying to be the book" because a lot of the media that is based on the book is loosely based on it. Especially things that just want to have a vampire and Van Helsing.

A remarkable amount of Dracula media simply isn't about Dracula the book.

[blutopaz15]

rayllum week 2023

prompt: swords/coins

2k, rated t

Callum loves her.

He hasn’t said it yet, but…Rayla knows.

She doesn’t need him to say it, she’d decided yesterday. Once he’d pulled her from that pile of rubble and finally—finally—held her again, she’d known. She’d known what that urgent, unchecked rush towards her had been about, what the crack in his voice meant, what his nose buried against her neck was…and it’d only gotten more obvious from there. He’d hardly let her out of his sight back at the Spire, insisting on fussing over new bumps and bruises, on filling her water, on finding her food…and she’d known.

It’d been clear when she’d shown them all the coins too. He’d been right there beside her the whole time, his hand heavy and constant on her back while she wept…and knowing Callum loved her had made it all a little easier, at least.

Not that she’d ever stopped knowing, really.

No way could she have gone on without him as long as she did if she hadn’t been sure he’d love her still. She couldn’t have let herself believe any different—not when she’d been sobbing all over that letter she’d left him, not when hunting for answers alone had turned hopeless, not when she’d been all edge-frazzled on the outskirts of the city a week ago. Even when he wouldn’t talk to her that first night, even with how cold and snippy he’d been the whole way to the mountain, even when they’d yelled at each other in the woods…she’d known that underneath all the hurt was love.

She’d always had faith in that—that nothing she’d done could make him stop, that he’d understand no matter how hurt he was, that he’d care enough to forgive her, that his love was just as true and deep as hers—

…and he’s done nothing but prove her right since Umber Tor.

Even if he still hasn’t said it.

It’d been the same today, back in Katolis. Since they’d landed, he’d been there, constantly near…even if any affection was a little stilted still. He’d kept close in their hurried little council meeting, held her hand while Soren pried open the sealed door to the dungeon…

…given her his shoulder when pulling Runaan’s bow out from the dust had been just…too much.

And all of that is more than enough for her to be sure.

He loves her.

So, she’s trying not to dwell on the quiver now strapped to her back or the gold pieces tucked in her pocket. She’s trying not to think about the home she can’t ever go back to, or her torn-apart family, or the mission they barely know where to start with…and to focus on Callum instead.

He makes it easy, of course, Rayla thinks, letting his rambling about supplies soften the pit in her stomach as she watches him a pace ahead of her, halfway down the castle corridor connected to his own.

His footsteps still keep the pace of their day, never mind that they’d reached the end of their castle errands before setting out early tomorrow, but…his quick steps don’t fall all over themselves like they might’ve before. He rambles like he used to, listing off things they’ll need, still to be collected in the morning…but his voice is deeper, controlled, steady. Best of all, of course, is how he looks back at her, eyes warm and attentive and so very sweet…even if they’re a little less bright than before.

If his attention alone hadn’t made it clear enough how much he still cared, their errands all over the castle certainly had. Even when she was gone, he’d loved her, it seemed, judging by the drawings of her all over his office, his well-practiced tending to her shadowpaw in the stables, her favorites still on hand in the kitchens where they’d left Ez with Bait and Stella, this bedroom he’s leading her to that’s—apparently—specifically hers…

…that no one but Callum could’ve put together.

Rayla’s a little stunned, honestly, once Callum’s done fiddling with the lock. He steps aside, holding the door for her…and all she can do is just blink at all of it at first.

He definitely loves her.

…and she absolutely loves him, but…

He won’t say it, so what can she say?

Slowly, she steps in from the doorway, feeling Callum hovering in the entrance behind her, and turns to him, still not sure what’s going to come out of her mouth…but he beats her to it.

“I…kind of had a phase last summer?” he explains, the new steady timbre of his voice raised with nervous laughter. “I think I thought you’d come for my birthday. I wasn’t sure how we’d feel about sharing anymore, and I wanted you to have somewhere comfortable, so…”

Callum trails off with a shrug, one hand gesturing to the room he’d clearly spent so much care and effort on, the other at the back of his neck, which she’s sure burns just as red as his face…and Rayla swivels back around, setting down her weapons, still beaming and still not quite knowing where to start.

Maybe with the pictures posted up on the walls? Some of them she’d seen before—her and Callum, Ez, Bait, even that picture of her parents from up at the top of the Spire—but most of the assortment are new—things they’d done those weeks here in the castle, things they hadn’t in Xadia.

Maybe with the table in the corner? He’s set out more than he’d bought her from that shop in town they’d gone to, plus things she’d confided about longing for from home—a horn buff, those little magically stretchy hair ties that apparently aren’t a thing in Katolis…even the moonberry balm she’d thought was Silvergrove-exclusive.

Or maybe with the ridiculous monstrosity of a bed? She tries not to roll her eyes—the sheets are the same shade that Callum had called her eyes that afternoon they’d gone to the castle seamster, the open canopy dark enough to block out the sun like he’d joked she’d needed every time she’d slept late, the pillows fancy and soft and huge, and—

“Are these—” Rayla starts, unable to help the upward pitch of her giggling, pointing to the fluffy-looking rainbow row of button-eyed puff-balls arranged against the pillows.

“Giant adoraburr pillows? Yep,” Callum shrugs, flushed bright still, and, oh, it’s an effort to stifle the squeeze that all this sweetness deserves.

She can see it now: hopeful-if-still-hurt Callum channeling all that consideration and care he’d had for her here at the castle into this little sanctuary, spending weeks and weeks drawing and shopping, searching high and low for everything little thing, all for her…only to realize maybe a week out from his birthday what was obviously missing. He’d been adorable, she’s sure, all lit up with inspiration, scribbling out a rushed and messy sketch, tripping over himself to find whoever in Katolis could sew them…and fast.

Rayla picks up a yellow burr, cheeks aching from keeping her smile low and fond instead of tackling him the way she wants to.

“Like I said,” Callum goes on explaining himself, “I got a little, uh…obsessed. I wanted it to be perfect so you’d…”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but it sobers all the lovesickness anyway.

“Stay?”

Their eyes lock, level and steady, for a long second before he answers, eyelids barely fluttering over a layer of not-quite tears.

“Yeah.”

He looks away.

But…he loves her, Rayla reminds herself, finding the familiar-looking pile of folded clothes opposite the adoraburrs. He’d wanted her here, obviously—he still wants her here—and she’d only been alone because she’d left, not because he didn’t care, not because she couldn’t be here, not because he’d been taken from her.

Rayla can’t look at him either.

She skims over the smooth, stitched, red towers she’d worn instead, embroidered over the heart of his borrowed pajamas.

“Those might be a little small now,” Callum adds, his voice lowered again, less likely to crack like before.

“They were a little big then,” she shrugs, knowing that if she turns back to him like this, there’ll be tension she can’t take.

So…she flops down on the bed instead.

“Uh…you alright?” Callum asks, his footsteps shuffling farther into the room as she unburies her face from the adoraburr pile.

“Just getting reacquainted with freeloading off my favorite fancy-pants royal family,” she smiles, hoping that maybe rehashing a joke from back then will melt the icy mood.

He doesn’t tease her back though…he just gives her the look that that bit had always ended with. Callum tilts his head, brow lifted, looking at her through his lashes, and he doesn’t have to say any of it—that she’s their guest, that this is her home if she wants it to be, that she belongs here.

She knows.

He loves her.

Rayla pushes up to her elbows.

“Thanks for all this.” Rayla looks all over again, smiling softly; Callum thaws even more. There’s even a little swell of satisfaction glimmering in his eyes…and Rayla’s heart squeezes in her chest.

“No big deal,” he shrugs, and it’s not tension anymore—not that kind of tension, at least—in the silence that follows, she thinks, seeing how he blushes and fidgets in the quiet, shifting his weight, not quite looking at her.

He breathes in a sharp breath, like he has more to say, and…it’d fit, she thinks, to say it now—

“What is it?” she asks, letting herself ask but not quite letting herself hope.

“I just wasn’t sure if maybe you wanted to…talk?”

…and Rayla deflates.

But only just a little: this was its own Callum kind of love confession, anyway.

“The past few days have been kind of a lot, and—” Callum pauses. He knows—of course he does—the reason for her kidding around, obviously. He knows what she’s avoiding. “It doesn’t have to be big feelings time for us, Rayla. Just…for you. If you want.”

She’s never answered as automatically as this: they’re big big feelings, but…he’s right that she should and she’s missed even what she used to chafe at.

He loves her, and…she hasn’t had this.

“That’d be…nice,” she nods.

“Really?” he cracks again, and she expects the way his eyebrows bolt upwards, expects the renewed flush that settles across his cheeks when she rolls to her back, expects how his steps stutter closer when she pats the spot beside her…and, clearly, he realizes the reason she’s given in so quickly to big feelings time like this too. “I mean—good.”

Callum settles at her side, their elbows alone touching, and all of that melted tension from before is a flood now—wetness flowing down her cheeks, confusion and hurt and doubt coming in waves. All that she can manage to keep welled up is how much loving him has to do with it all—having him and him alone to rely on, having risked that—and she trembles long after she’s through talking.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly when she’s done, voice small—not that customary I hear your feelings that hardly ever seemed to actually be his answer.

“Thanks.” Her voice shaking, she stares at the purple silk above their heads, hand over the pouch in her pocket…until Callum shifts beside her, rocking up to an elbow.

“No, I mean. I’m sorry.” His brow is furrowed, the light sheen of not-quite tears over green again, and Rayla matches him, confusion mirroring his apologies. “I didn’t believe you back then and I kept pushing you to move on, and…maybe things could’ve been different.”

She’s shaking her head and sitting up before he’s even finished speaking, and then he’s upright too.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Callum. I just…didn’t want to lose anyone else.” She twitches to touch him, but…stops. She…shouldn’t, so she bunches her knees up instead, busying her hands with holding them in, to her chest. “I had to keep you safe. You especially.”

“...I know.”

Callum breathes, and she can’t bear to look at him, sure she’ll find the space between them just as strained as before…but then—

“Rayla? Can I…? If it’s not too weird?”

His hand lands on her shoulder, his other arm open too, and—

“Oof.”

Rayla whispers an apology but nuzzles in against the crook of his neck anyway, and he sighs, wrapping her up tighter as she loosens—only a little—the loop her arms make around his waist.

He loves her.

“We’re going to figure out how to fix this—all of this—okay?”

He doesn’t have to say it.

Rayla knows.

[betweenlands]

hey guys uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh what's. whats going on over there

[draagu]

my friend got me into demon slayer, be scared (this anime is really cool I like it a lot)

[solradguy]

Testament scythe part H7 is on the bed. Cura's ETA was 12 hours, but the Ender's saying it's nearing 50% after just 3 🤔

This is the same Overture PLA Pro that I used for the Outrage. It's strong with some flex, which makes it great for huge props like this.