#My king...

[xx-hail2theking-xx]

...

did you read our exchange with him?

I was able to use a couple m!a's. gave him a couple meals, and some mortal treats. and the company of a lonely star, to wear as a cloak, to help keep him warm, and be just a little less alone in the darkness.

it's blue, and purple. the colors suit him well. he agreed, when i said that, and asked us to tell you how much he loves you.

No.

I didn't. I didn't have the time.

...did he say that?

-Duke Valefar.

[todayisafridaynight]

So basically depending on if he was 54 in 06 or 92, he could be a great-grandpa. But the real question is, would he? Would he be great at grandpa-ing?

he gotta be at least sixty if kiryu's in his late-50's by LaD8 but either way Can Kashiwagi Be A Good Grandpappy i believe he can. i believe he can be a good uncle-adjacent grandpa if that makes sense

[tariah23]

Oh…. Well, it’s over for Crunchyroll I guess

[mild-goth-sauce]

An informational comic I drew last year for my Comics 2 class, reposting it to my new account (had to jump ship from the old one unfortunately) with some minor grammar changes and learned my lesson in adding watermarks! Happy early pride :)

[smoothjazzdigit]

Have you guys seen that clip

Go off Kermit

[fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow]

multilingual batkids. they learn each others languages so they can mix and match. for example:

tim in french: have you figured out how we’re gonna tell b we’re not going to that gala yet?

damian in arabic: no i thought that was thomas’ job?

duke french: me? no jason said he’d do something

jason in arabic: hey don’t drag me into this!

dick in romani: i’m gonna kill him i really i am

steph in russian: who are we killing?

dick in english: ah! nobody! wait i didn’t know you spoke romani

tim in greek: you’re an asshole

jason in english: wait my greek is rusty say it again slowly

tim in greek: you’re an asshole

jason: …. you motherfucker

cass signing: nice drawing

damian in chinese: thank you

dick yelling at bruce about something he did

jason in spanish: what language is he speaking right now?

tim also in spanish: uh all of them i think

jason: does bruce even know-

tim: no he doesn’t

[boydonegood]

hell yea man flip that mushroom !!!!!

[sabertoothwalrus]

I wanted to revisit sock princess

[sadclowncentral]

my (very white, very middle european, very protestant christian, very sixty-year old) father just dropped an inshallah in casual conversation. without precedent or without any acknowledgement. "inshallah they will send us a new internet router" he said. didn't even stutter. what did he mean by this.

[astrolavas]

a bit late for mermay but. obligatory mermaid au

[mebssann]

local old man finally gets new clothes

[xx-hail2theking-xx]

King Paimak does.

And with all respect to Azazel? They strike me as overwhelmed and confused, more than anything. Their being here isn't by their doing. They've been tossed into an unfamiliar world, with no forewarning, and very little understanding of it.

They've been a prisoner behind lies and fear and invisible bars their whole life,and never seen a court like this one. The best way for them to learn it's true nature, isn't by being told about it, but living among it's members.

Besides. It's the king's wish. And his phone is losing its signal. I don't think I can argue for denying him this.

I am forced to agree.

It doesn't mean I am eager to enjoy it.

-Duke Valefar.

[antlerdragon]

[themetalhiro]

If he had any.

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[hinamie]

morning glory