#anyway back to regularly scheduled programming

[stevenrogered]

Dude I appreciate you getting your gifs out so fast but can they please have more than 12 frames. Cartoon ass mouths.

without due respect, fuck off

if you dont like someone's gifs, just keep on scrolling instead of going into their inbox to complain. im here making gifs and bothering no one

[toixxx-ace]

ARGH I AM SO TIRED OF SEEING POLITICS ON MY EXPLORE PAGE

POLITICAL THEORY IS HARD TO GRASP AND THERE ARE SO MANY WORDS AND DEFINITIONS AND SUBTLETIES THAT ARE SIMPLY LOST ON ME. IS IT NOT ENOUGH THAT I JUST WANT PEOPLE TO BE HAPPY AND HEALTHY??? IS IT NOT ENOUGH THAT I DONT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT ECONOMIC THEORY AND GENDER THEORY AND ALL THAT STUFF???

ITS NOT FOR A LACK OF TRYING! I TRY TO READ AND INFORM MYSELF. I AM LITERALLY LOOKING AT A BOOK ABOUT FEMINIST THEORY AND PHILOSOPHY ON MY BOOKSHELF THAT I HAVE TRIED TO READ AT LEAST FOUR TIMES AND EVERY TIME I GET REALLY CONFUSED AND TIRED OF READING. IT GIVES ME A HEADACHE! I CANT WRAP MY HEAD AROUND IT!

[officialmichaelnesmith]

sighs

there is literally nothing more exhausting than simply existing as a person with ocd, not even factoring in the exhaustion of it affecting my daily life. everywhere i look there is misinformation and at any moment i’m at risk of hearing some stupid comment reducing my disorder to pattern preference or color coding being particular about the way things are organized. i have such shitty quality of life because of this disorder and i fear that even if i were someday able to be professionally treated for it i’ll still never live the life i could be living because i’ll never be cured of it. this is truly one of the most debilitating conditions i think a person can have to live with and i really would not wish it on even my worst enemy. there’s not a single aspect of my life that isn’t completely dictated by ocd. it’s in everything i do and just about every thought i have. my life is RULED by it and it so heavily affects my daily life to a point where sometimes i can’t even function. i’ve given myself chronic pain in my hands because of the severity of certain compulsions i have. this disorder kills people and i’m often afraid that it might kill me too. i’m so so sick and tired of the jokes and the shallow understanding of what it is i need everyone to educate themselves before i have to see one more dumb “ocd moment” about straightening shit or even numbers or whatever. thankfully i feel like lately there’s been a lot more awareness of it especially from a certain tweet about the us election it seems many people are coming away from it like oh THIS is what ocd is like which i’m thankful for but at the same time god myself and so many others are suffering an already pretty silent battle and nobody even knows about it or the extent of how deep these battle wounds run . it just kind of sucks knowing those who don’t understand and likely never will outnumber those who do and can sympathize. i’m just so tired of being made into a punchline for something that suffocates me genuinely every waking moment of my day

[geomimetry]

it done

[pempempemto]

i know it’s technically not undertale but papyrus is there so i might as well release it on the anniversary

anyway ! a slightly better rework of a comic i did a good couple months ago with dialogue taken from @carlyraejepsans ‘s post for let papyrus say fuck day

[xxplastic-cubexx]

doodle while the youtube video im watching has the worst audio mixing imaginable

[hood-ex]

Dick lost Bruce but still had Alfred, and now, Dick lost Alfred but still has Bruce, which means Dick had to watch Alfred grieve over Bruce, and Bruce grieve over Alfred.

[kos-mos]

I like these two, gourm teaches arti to enjoy life without (or just a little less) violence. and in return she gets a fucked up little weird girl wife

[front-facing-pokemon]

[phoenixkaptain]

How… does Robin’s costume work?

A question long asked by everyone. But mostly by me.

Well. I’ll tell you.

First thing’s first, we’re talking about classic Robin, Dick Grayson Robin, this Robin:

There’s a common misconception that Robin’s shirt is one piece (as in a red shirt with green sleeves) and that his panties are separate. You see a lot of people refer to his outfit as having green panties. You, like me, may have heard it before many a time.

Unfortunately. Dick Grayson is not going out every night in a shirt, panties, and a cape.

He’s literally wearing a green leotard with a red vest over it.

Literally just a green leotard. He’s never been wearing panties at all. It’s been a leotard this whole time!

Also, just as a side note, I think it’s kind of funny that his mask is almost always portrayed as black, except in this panel where he isn’t wearing it and it becomes green. Is it double-sided, black and green? No, the colours in the 60’s Teen Titans comics are just funky sometimes. And, they needed the mask to stand out from the black background.

“What’s the point of all this, Kacie?” I hear you asking.

There is no point. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk-

[soybean-official]

The parts of you that support me

[glowingsand]

my cutieful :(((

[mr-avocado-man7]

did this instead of working on my past due art projects

^ this is what it’s in reference to btw please do not take this seriously 😭😭😭😭

[to-rise-above-monsters]

dear bertholdt.

Summary: Reiner left his overcoat in preparation for a meeting and asked Annie to get it from his room. Begrudgingly, she agreed. Though she immediately regrets it when a box of letters falls from the top shelf. Maybe regret isn’t all there is. She found something more.

-

CW: angst, canon compliant (so major characters death,, Bertholdt is dead<3), rba centric, can be read as romantic or platonic reibert but reibert nonetheless

Takes place post-timeskip (the second one, post-war), a few years into settling into ambassador life.

Apologies for any ooc, I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic in Annie’s perspective/focus,, I also haven’t written on her before and also haven’t written and posted in general for forever

(This was meant to be a comic and is so clear in my mind but I don’t have the time nor talent to execute it 😔)

Happy Birthday Bertholdt can’t believe ur dead ♥️

-

Reiner told her to get his coat. What that asshole didn’t tell her was how ridiculously high his coat hangers were. It shouldn’t have loomed over her the way it did. It was almost taunting, mocking her with its impossible height. They had probably raised Reiner’s closet bar for his big, hulking self and possibly lowered hers as some sort of unspoken courtesy. Annie sighed deeply, already regretting being here. Sure, tell the short girl to get your big ass coat from your tall ass closet. Embarrassingly, she jumped; she jumped a few times. If a glare could kill, there'd be holes burnt into the pockets.

Fuck off.

The stupid coat was simply out of reach. She could usually manage by grabbing the shoulder and lifting it from there but even then she couldn’t manage. She kicked the closet door in frustration, hard enough to make it rattle, and looked around for reinforcements. Somewhere nearby had to be a stool or something, anything, to make this easier. 

She found a tall chair and dragged it over with a bit more force than necessary. The legs scraped against the floor and that sound annoyed her even more. 

Finally, she lined it up, climbed up with a huff, and snatched the coat off the hanger in one triumphant, final fuck you. But as she jumped off the chair with her prize, she heard something else fall. A clatter, a shuffle, the distinct sound of things spilling. She grumbled and turned around.

If I have to do one more thing, I’m killing someone.

She cringed when her eyes fell onto the mess. Her jumping and kicking and overall exasperation now had a bunch of shit spilled on the floor from the top shelf of the tall closet. An old box, the size and look of a shoe box, had lost its lid and scattered papers everywhere. She at first started to snatch them up without discretion, just trying to stuff them back in. But a name caught her eyes.

Bertholdt.

Her fingers froze. She didn’t want to snoop. She would have killed anyone who went through her stuff like this. She tried to cast out the memory of seeing the name. She quickly tried to collect them all and put the box, along with this moment, far back into the closet. But there it was again, unmistakable.

Bertholdt.

Something came over her. An overwhelming wave, pulling her under before she could even name it. It felt so sudden, so heavy, all-consuming. She held the pages in her hands, her grip tightening unconsciously. 

The small, trembling pool she had collected seemed insignificant against the sheer ocean of papers spilled out before her. They spread across the floor like a map of emotions she wasn’t sure she wanted to navigate. And each one… each one bore the same familiar name.

Dear Bertholdt,

Her chest tightened, an ache spreading in places she thought she’d long since numbed. With a breath, she carefully placed them in the box one by one. It blurred past her, the same line repeated over and over. Her eyes couldn’t help but snag on the same arrangement of letters, the same handwriting. There were a hundred, maybe even more, all addressed… and dated. She paused.  

They had an order. 

Written at the top of each of them was a date. Everything was spilled all over the floor and each one was supposed to be neatly tucked away in order. She bit the insides of her cheeks.

Forgive me.

Dates flashed by. She tried to put them in order without reading any of its contents. It felt impossible, especially when there were letters that seemed to be multiple pages long. She tried to group them to the best of her abilities, organizing them by date and putting them in piles face down when she found the correct order. But words blurred past, recognizable phrases, handwriting that got shakier, years and years and years, consistent dating on every one.

“I miss you.” “I’m sorry.” “If I could go back…” “I wish you were here.” “I can’t forgive myself.” “You deserved better.”

Her breath hitched, the edges of the pages almost cutting into her fingers as she clutched them tighter. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat, but it only grew heavier with every second she spent kneeling there, surrounded by years of unspoken… emotions; emotions she never knew she had.

When did I start crying?

A tear fell from her cheek and nearly hit the precious paper. An aching feeling had creeped into her body. Emotions she never really thought were there seemed to spill. She couldn’t name it. It felt like a sudden burn in her nose, the need to swallow a bitter taste, eyes blurring. She was drowning. 

30.12.854

The letter she held was dated shakily at the top. She’d seen that same date come up again and again. For a moment, she tried to remember if maybe New Years or any holiday around that time meant something to them; as warriors, they didn’t really celebrate holidays, let alone religion. 

She took a breath and put it in the 854 pile. She looked at the stack. 854. That would have been… that would have been the year of the rumbling. It would have been the year everything changed. 

And he never got to see it.

She looked at all of the piles she’d now made, how each represented a year. She tried to push any judgements or perceptions away from her mind. But some years piled higher than others. Three piles in particular. She gathered the final loose letters. 

Her mind drifted to her time in the crystal. The silence had been maddening, a suffocating void she couldn’t escape. She had been awake in that void, terrifyingly, agonizingly awake. The only light that had ever pierced through the endless dark had been Armin’s voice, Hitch’s chatter. Their persistence had saved her, kept her tethered to something beyond the emptiness. But it always puzzled her why they did it in the first place.

I know.

She placed the final letter. The paper felt different; crinkled and messy, rough and smeared. 30.12.850; old, the oldest one. She finally gathered all of them, stacking them neatly away in the box.  She stared at the box in front of her, now neatly packed, the letters arranged in quiet, solemn order. The shoebox felt heavier than it had any right to be. There was only paper within it. Something else weighed it down. 

I know.

She exited the room quietly, holding the coat tenderly in her hands. She gave it to him when they met in town without a single complaint. She never spoke about what she had found to Reiner or anyone else for that matter. 

Their now shared secret lay in a small box that once held shoes for a warrior.

[strawberriesatan]

I loved drawing this but I was fighting for my life with Laxus, why is he so ugly I heart him so

[hurrakka]

Violet Mizutsune Leon and Thunderlord Chris

Every time I'm at that cutscene in RE6 all I could think of are the monster hunter turf wars and this has been eating away at my brain so uhhhh ye had to get it out of my system lol