#and like on one hand I'm proud of it

[yours-the-author]

I made an art, but I'm torn between posting it or never showing it to anyone ever.

[ultipoter]

Pokemon Legends Arceus fan comic, where Jirou has disappeared and Volo has complicated feelings about it. (And maybe figures out that there's a bit of a God in that little phone of Jirou's)

[icantdothistodaybruh]

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[mymarifae]

sooooooo when i jokingly said to myself "haha did ruan mei play aeonic necromancy on tingyun's remains or something" i wasn't expecting that to literally be the case what the fuck

[laylakeating]

And isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?

[call-me-chips]

This a piece from a bit ago (my art style has changed a bit since then) but it's still one of my favs

[lord-squiggletits]

Y'know another point on the "Pharma isn't a Functionist" scoreboard (not that I haven't thoroughly debunked that by now but whatever) is that a preoccupation with hands isn't something unique to him.

The entire practice of empurata involves removing a mech's face and replacing their hands with claws, so literally Cybertronian society has always had a sort of judgement/taboo around hands (skillful forged hands, dirty/criminal claws). Even if Pharma were actually obsessed with his hands which he has a right to bc they're part of his body and belong to him so it's less obsession and more a fear of his bodily autonomy being violated, you can't use that to immediately declare him a Functionist when there are other cultural reasons that having one's hands removed is considered terrifying/dehumanizing and was historically used as a method of punishment and visually distinguishing someone as a criminal who should be socially ostracized.

Plus Pharma is a doctor and has only ever been a doctor his entire life, everything he is or has ever done is tied to being a doctor and being a doctor relies on him having his hands. Of course he's going to be proud of his hands or be upset when they're taken away, because having his hands taken away is, literally and symbolically, taking away his identity and the thing he's best at/most proud of being able to do.

[reblog-house]

Some things can change.

[dangerousdan-dan]

No one asked but I just finished dishonored 2 with no powers, shadow and clean hands... It was hard as fuck but oh gods so satisfying and fun

[spaghett-onaplate]

depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed

[artinandwritin]

I forgot to post this haha (that's what being too busy with animation brings you oops) but anyway!! Older gussiri designs bc I think they deserved that (they did have designs in my mind but I had never made a reference for them haha)

Plus some notes on what they're up to at that age! They're so silly <333

[fashionbugster]

animal crossing x fashion dreamer | agnes

you reap what you sow.

[crow-with-a-pencil]

Moon moon moon moon moon moon

[averlym]

" just...come here. just sit here with me" (...that one scene from princess momonoke, click for better resolution)

[very-uncorrect]

I drew a human!Max design because I'm procrastinating