#I feel so old holy shit

[halos-little-freak]

Just how fast the night changes…..

[bepoprotectionsquad]

Level 28 achieved!

[inkskinned]

kids remind me, often, of the things i've taught myself out of.

i have a big dog. he looks like a deer. he is taller than most young children. while we were on a trail the other day, a boy coming our direction saw us and froze. he took a step back and said: "i'm feeling nervous. your - your dog is kind of big."

goblin and i both stopped walking immediately. "he is kind of a big dog," i admitted. "he's called a greyhound. they are gentle but they are pretty tall, which is kind of scary, you're right. their legs are so long because they are made for running fast. i am sorry we scared you. would you like us to stand still while you move past us, or would you feel more safe in your body if we move and you stay still?'

"oh. i didn't know that about - greyhounds. i think i ... i want to stay still," he said. at this point, his adult had caught up to us. "i'm nervous about the dog," he told her, "so i'm - i'm gonna stay still." she didn't argue. she didn't make fun of him. she just smiled at him and at me and held his hand while goblin and i, with as wide of a berth as we could make, crept our way through.

behind us, i heard him exhale a deep breath and kind of laugh - "he was really big, huh? she said it's because greyhounds have to go fast."

"he was big," she said. "i understand why that could have made you a little scared."

"yeah. next time i - next time do you think i could maybe ask to touch him? when - i mean, next time, maybe, if i'm not nervous."

later, going to a work event, in the big city, i stood outside, trembling. my social anxiety as a caught bird in my chest. i took a deep breath and turned to my coworker. she's not even really my friend yet. i told her: "i feel nervous about this. i am not used to meeting new people, ever since covid."

she laughed, but not in a mean way. she said she was nervous too. she reached her hand out and held mine, and we both took another deep breath and walked in like that, interlinked. a few people asked us - together? - and i told the truth: i feel nervous, and she's helping. over and over i watched people relax too, admitting i feel really kind of shy lately actually, thank you for saying that.

the next time i go to an event, and i feel a little scared, i ask right away: wanna hold hands? this feels a little dangerous. i hesitate less. i don't hide it as much. i watch for other people who are also nervous and say - it's kinda hard, huh?

i know, logically, i'm not good at asking for help. but i am also not good at noticing when i need help. i've trained myself out of asking completely, but i've also trained myself to never accept my own fears or excuses. i have trained myself to tamp down every anxiety and just-push-through. i don't know what i'm protecting myself from - just that i never think to admit it to anyone.

but every person on earth occasionally needs comfort. every person on earth occasionally needs connection. many of us were taught independence is the same thing as never needing anything.

each of us should have had an adult who heard - i feel nervous and held our hand and asked us how we could be helped to feel safe. no judgement, and no chiding. many of us did not. many of us were punished for the ways that we seemed "weak".

but here is something: i am an adult now. and i get nervous a lot, actually. and if you are an adult and you are feeling a little nervous - come talk to me. we can hold hands and figure out what will help us feel safe in our bodies. and maybe, next time, if we're brave, we can pet the dog that's passing.

[skellagirl]

help help help I can't stop drawing gay lawyers

Trucy should be brown and I'll die on that hill

The fact that Klavier is 5'11" and Apollo is 5'5" 🥹 I love a height difference

I am convinced they drew Valant's hair Like That (tm) in-game because otherwise we would have all fallen madly in love with him

Wesley is my favorite witness in Apollo Justice, I'm so sorry for my shit taste 😔

I've drawn Godot without a mask before but I wanted to do it Again because I am still enamored with the idea of him having white eyelashes

Aromantic Miles means so much to me

I get that it's probably just the way they drew his jacket but why is Miles's little court sprite so caked though 😭

[dra-aluxe]

TRIBUTE TO HANDPLATES

Handplates comic finally ended and I can't believe it.

I started to read it (and translate it) on my last year of college and now it has been 7 years?? Damn...

7 years of reading this lil' AU, watching this guys suffering, hating Gaster as well as feeling sorry for him, seeing all their growing, their mistakes, the soft moments between the brothers and the little soft moments with Gaster. I enjoyed all that and enjoyed the silly extra comics and the AUs from this Au xd

I also enjoyed to translate this comics into spanish all this 7 years, it not only helped me with my english, it also let me meet some wonderful people and all the gratitude from those who don't know english or just want to read on their own language is amazing.

However, if we have to feel gratitude for someone, that's @zarla-s

Thank you so much for making this wonderful comic!! for don't give up with it and share your art, your thoughts, your theories about the game, your shipps, even your silly puns xD I know is not easy to make something like this so huge respect for that.

Hope to see more your artwork in the future, (whether from Undertale or something original) and wish you the best!! ❤

[stinkrascal]

the person who i stopped being friends with came to my fucking house to ask me if i blocked her???? oh my fucking god lady you are 35 YEARS OLD??????

[uncanny-tranny]

When I find it hard to do certain things, I like to pretend I am a neanderthal living in a cave with my clan, and I must do The Thing in order to survive.

So, when I'm doing cardio at the gym, I'm actually chasing and tracking a mammoth, and when I need to cook, well, I'm not cooking on a stove top, I am hurdled over the first fire and watching the fat of our kill drip down onto the burning wood. And when I find it hard to crochet, I pretend that the first winter storm is coming and our clan needs me to make blankets to hurdle under and that I must contribute.

I hope whatever you do to do The Things will help. It is a uniquely personable trait to motivate yourself through pretend and stories. That's what makes this life interesting - that's what makes you feel larger than yourself 💛

[journeyman-tier-fibercraft]

Been busy enough to justify a full round up for this WIP Wednesday. The TL;DR being that I'm back to being fully lace brained.

Blanket 10 is NEARLY finished. I've started attaching the last row and just need to finish out this row and then do a border (and give him a good wash, I've owned some of this yarn for years and it smells a little dusty). The nights are starting to get really cold here so I'll be happy to have it done, I just gotta force myself to work on it.

Doily 14 (Yarn | Pattern) needs to go on a longer needle but other than that is very fun and cute. I've decided to put it down for a bit to work on the next two projects but I expect when they get boring I'll go back to this. This pattern is surprisingly simple for a Neibling as long as you're prepared for the long pattern rows. Absolutely going to have to break out the washi tape to mark off my rows for the second chart, but the first one has been very easy lace knitting.

Unnamed project aka me fucking around to see if I can freehand this sweater design. I had started with a two row lace ("Honeycomb lace" from A Second Treasury of Knitting Patterns by Barbara G Walker) but honestly didn't find it fun to knit. So I transitioned to a favourite of mine (ssk, k2tog, yo twice). It's going a lot faster now tho it looks a little weird. I'm going to knit to the underarm and if it fits, it stays. If it's too small I'll rip all the way back and redo the shaping in this lace pattern instead with longer shoulder saddles. It's unfortunate that I didn't like knitting the honeycomb lace, I really like how it looks, I'll have to try swatching it in different yarns to see if the problem is just that this yarn has zero stretch (100% cotton).

I have decided I will put short sleeves on this tho. I had planned to just add ribbing for the arms but I saw a drop shoulder vest in a similar style and did Not like it, so this just saves me from having to rip back. I also think I'm going to have to leave this cropped, I'm not a big crop top person but with this yarn being cotton, having a full length body along with the sleeves is going to have the neckline very stretched. There may be no helping it regardless but there's no harm in trying. I imagine if this is does become something I wear it'll either be in the dead of summer or layered over a button up/some sort of top anyway, so a crop wouldn't be too uncomfortable.

Last but certainly not least is Shawl 14 (Pattern | Yarn). My precious Evenstar is coming along very well, I'm actually on the second to last pattern row before the set up for the border. I know the border is going to be a slog but I'm excited for it regardless, he's huge even all compressed on the needles. My self imposed deadline for him is April, but the border is only 56 repeats. If I can do one every other day I should be right on time, which sounds do-able even tho I know I'll get bored by the halfway point.

I need to keep an eye out for patterns for this yarn, I have a whole second cone plus what'll be left after I finish this shawl. These cones staring at me will probably be the push I need to settle on an Orenburg shawl pattern. (Or possibly a large Neibling, or one of MMario's patterns.)

[sleepanonymous]

Info on this 8-bit NSP cover below the cut.

I'll be honest I utterly forgot it was Friday and I didn't have a Lost Media post in my drafts. I threw this together at 12:30 in the morning and I'm too lazy to convert the video into an MP3. I'm also too lazy to re-edit the screenshot to crop out the half link (it doesn't work anyway/is incomplete). Sooo... here's this 😅 Also look at those views omg 👀

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Mods are asleep, post Valery in his suspenders

[thencomethecherryblossoms]

Just found out Phil Lester is 37 years old, what the everliving fuck

[toxooz]

i Need to take up embroidery now rIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[unknownarmageddon]

cross stood a bit awkwardly, his brow furrowed as he stared at this mess of... things before him.

killer's goofy grin wavered just the slightest, and there was barely visible dip in his arm before he collected himself again.

"tadaa," he repeated, just as cheerful as the first time.

cross glanced at the little box in his hand, and glanced away nervously. "uhm."

killer's left eye scrunched a bit, confusion on his face as he lowered the small wooden box he was trying to give cross, "what's wrong?"

cross was looking everywhere but killer, his eyes focused on a nearby broken window, and he gripped his arm, frowning. he couldn't tell if this was one of killer's skits or not. the way it looked was striking cross oddly, and he didn't quite know what to do.

killer was kneeling, holding up a little box, and their campsite was set up vastly different than normal. it looked like... some kind of set up for something important, but he didn't know which option was the right one, or one he was okay with.

"...what's all this about," cross finally asked, and killer's head tilted, his grin going lopsided, one side ticking downwards at cross's less-than-enthused response.

"i dunno, i thought it'd be a nice surprise?"

"what kind of surprise," cross said back, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. it wasn't that he hated how much it looked like killer was proposing, no, perhaps if it were.. in a different time, he'd be less... averse.

"huh?" killer glanced back at the neat, comfortably made spot he'd set up in the backseat of a car, and then at the box and back at cross before his eyes widened and he started shaking his head, "wait- oh-- wait, no, shit okay-"

he stood up, dropping the box and reaching for cross, who took a half step back, his eyes narrowed, and killer let him go, his fingers curling in the air before he pulled his hand back and clasped them together, pressing his knuckles to his teeth as he hissed quietly, his brow furrowed.

cross crossed his arms, and frowned at the floor, not sure why he was reacting this way to the concept, the implications. killer let his hands fall as he started, "i wasn't-- i know what it looked like, but it wasn't-- i wouldn't. or i? w-would, but-"

killer looked increasingly embarrassed, or stressed?? as he fumbled with his words before finally blurting out, "valentines!"

cross blinked, and echoed, "valentines???"

killer slumped a bit, and groaned quietly, rubbing at his neck with a slightly pained expression, and he leaned down, picking up the little box and cracking it open, presenting it to cross.

rather than a ring, it was a little carving. the stray thought crossed his mind that killer was getting ridiculously good at carving. it was a small cat with an even smaller heart in it's tiny paws, as if it were playing with it.

cross's tense shoulders eased, his expression softening, and he reached forward to run a finger over the little carving, his eyelights trailing upwards to killer's crooked grin.

he looked apologetic, but sincere, hopeful even, and cross sighed as he shook his head, taking the little box and shutting it, setting it in his pocket as he muttered, "you fucking idiot."

killer's expression brightened, and he lit up, "do you like it?"

cross snorted, and pressed into killer's space, nosing his way into the warm space between killer's neck and his messy jacket fur, sighing as he embraced his stupid stupid companion.

"how did you even know if it was valentines or not?"

killer's arms slid around him, returning the hug tightly. cross could feel the chuckle in killer's chest, the echo of relieved joy cast from killer's soul, the organ hovering safely within cross's ribcage.

"i didn't. but, i figured, we should have one still. for, uh. for old timess sake."

cross squeezed him tighter to himself, and hummed. old times sake.

"...were you really that-"

"no."

"if-"

"yes."

killer's hold tightened, and cross could hear the smile on his voice. "where'd you wanna go, for the honeymoon?"

cross snorted and leaned back, knocking his forehead against killer's as he murmured, "i hear the backseat of cars are popular these days."

killer let out a delighted bubble of laughter, cackling and giggling even as cross nosed his way back to the crook of killer's neck to plant an affectionate kiss to his neck.

-p :]

if it were a different time, a different world, it would be someplace in the mountains.

AUGHHHHH????? AUGH??? AUGH. WAILING

[going-to-superhell]

I was today years old when I found out that people don’t feel their veins or blood flow or their heart beat. What the fuck. Like I know everyone CAN feel their heartbeat but I thought it was a constant thing. Like your telling me people don’t constantly feel their heartbeat, blood flow or pumping????????