#behold my child

[baasthasthezoomies]

Caught a pic of Beeps sleeping peacefully under the covers with me. 😭

Also caught her just as my neighbor started their lawnmower.

[palilious]

*shoves him in your face* LOOK AT MY SON [preesh to @yoteako for the sona/oc template]

[saucy-mesothelioma]

I am now fixing the most pressing and important problem I have on my blog.

The severe lack of Nebby pictures

[the-busy-ghost]

Alright so today was supposed to be the day I got my flooring put in but in a morning that has included a (probably false) Carbon Monoxide alarm, wherein I have probably also irritated the hell out of my neighbours (which is worse, I hate not being liked), I am desperately trying to look for the positives.

So here’s a hook:

Is it bigger than I expected? Yes. Do I now need to buy spring door stops so that it doesn’t take chunks out of the wall? Also yes. Is it even in the most useful position? No. 

But I have a hook and that is Something.

[thebrainrotsreal]

Spectra is one of my fav characters of all time, she is so evil, and I love her so much for it, so this is how I'd draw her! I think when she doesn't wanna work to feed on misery she trespasses on funerals ♡

[nubinublado]

my painted lightstick

[edorazzi]

Some Thunderbirds Are Go comics I’ve been working on over the last few weeks! Sorry to everyone but I’m completely obsessed with this show lately. Love these boys so much.

Feat. Scott getting some dopamine from Virgil, Gordon and Alan getting creative (inspired by a Distractible clip) and John forgetting how gravity works. I’ve got the scribble bug so lots more of these are on the way! 💖

[lazysunjade]

T A R Y N |

in a land full of lambs, I am, and I'll be damned if I don't show my teeth.

[chimerahyperfix]

You’re looking for something— no, someone, too, aren’t you?

(I can’t comprehend how you understand what’s going on, with your lifeless shell. Craft as you are.)

[miinteaa]

[blackestnight]

🌸 I wanna see Misty

she is lording over her domain

[cornerful]

Frodo had felt himself trembling as the first shock of fear passed. Now a great weariness came down on him like a cloud. He could dissemble and resist no longer.

'I was going to find a way into Mordor,' he said faintly. 'I was going to Gorgoroth. I must find the Mountain of Fire and cast the thing into the gulf of Doom. Gandalf said so. I do not think I shall ever get there.'

Faramir stared at him for a moment in grave astonishment. Then suddenly he caught him as he swayed, and lifting him gently, carried him to the bed and laid him there, and covered him warmly. At once he fell into a deep sleep.

This always moves me, how Faramir is so openly tender to him (and they only met this morning.) That he physically carries him when he can't stand any longer and makes sure he'll sleep warmly. There's no "oh gee...sucks for you wow" *awkward shoulder pat.* There's no self-ashamed, emotionally beaten down worry about being "uncool" or "unmanly" for showing kindness.

Poor Frodo is just exhausted from the weight of the world on his shoulders, and having to hide and hide the nature of his quest, and when he gets an opportunity to tell someone out loud the horrible truth of what he has to do, all of a sudden it's too much for him.

Adrenaline and stress can keep us going through fear and fire and foes for a long time, well past what the body can normally handle. It's when there's an island in the stream, a break, an interlude of safety from ongoing trauma that we collapse. An overtired soul will break eventually under strain, but if it is allowed a reprieve, even a short one, that is when we get some of the sweetest moments of rest.

Faramir says that he should have been chosen in Boromir's place, and that might be true. All the same I'm very glad that it was he that Frodo and Sam met in Ithilien, and not someone less wise.

And good grief am I glad that Frodo and Sam have each other. On this journey they each have only the other as confidant and true friend, paddle in the stream, reminder of what is good and true 🍀

[saints-who-never-existed]

you had quite a compelling thought going in your tags of that bridglar gifset about loving something that cannot love you back... it would be a pleasure to hear the rest of what you had to say about it

I don't know that my thoughts on this are fully formed quite yet, but I'll tell you what I'm thinking so far and I'll start on a personal note.

-

I've always been fascinated with mythology and folklore - that fascination informed my artistic practice back when I was properly practising and is a huge part of the reason that I then progressed into the field of history and heritage.

As fascinated as I was, though, I found that I didn't actually believe in any of it which got me thinking - what does inspire that kind of feeling in me? That belief? That sort of religious-level ecstasy?

The simple answer was the great outdoors, the landscape itself.

I ascribed my own personal mythology to the landscape around me and ended up pursuing a literal artistic pilgrimage through key locations in the Highlands near my home back in Scotland which culminated in climbing my own personal 'Holy Mountain'.

(That was literally a decade ago and, let me tell you, my toes still haven't fully recovered from all that hiking!)

-

Which is all to say that when it comes to the idea of loving an entity that cannot love you back, I wonder, now that I've thought more on it, if perhaps it's a matter of perspective and expectation?

Yes, it's sad to think of how much those men would've loved the sea itself and how the sea did not, could not love them back. How it was the sea itself that doomed them, at least in part.

I think a lot about how they possibly could have reconciled that but then I remember my own experiences in the landscape, the love I feel for it and the joy it continues to bring me. And I think perhaps that you just don't and shouldn't love something of that magnitude in the first place for anything else but what it is or with any expectation that it'll love you back.

As I touched on in the tags of that earlier post, most of those men would have been at sea since their childhood/youth and built their entire lives around it, would've known it intimately.

So yes, while the sea is a cruel mistress who could not love them back, I think that there's perhaps a more positive spin to be found here.

That there's perhaps something quite beautiful and profound and, dare I say, holy, in the notion that they would've known full well the unloving, cruel, and capricious nature of the sea and that they would've carried on loving her regardless.

-

I've waffled on long enough now so I'll end on a more historical/Terror-specific note and say that I think there's also a really interesting conversation to be had about colonialism/empire vs the sea/landscape.

Though the men don't love the empire itself per se, their lives have been defined by it and everything they've done within their careers has served it in some way. Yet at the end of the day, it is just another entity that, for lack of a better phrase, doesn't love them back, doesn't care for them at all.

The key distinction to be made here, I think, is one of 'can't' vs 'won't'.

It's sad that the sea doesn't love or care for you, yes, but that's only because the sea is a natural entity that cannot love or care for anything. Think of how, despite it all, the love still endures for Peglar and there is at least something approaching closure for him as result. Even as he's dying he still loves Bridgens and he still loves the sea, even after all it's put him through.

To live your life, however willingly, in service of an entity like colonialism/empire is another thing entirely though. That's a man-made entity that doesn't care for you not because it can't but because, quite frankly, it doesn't fucking want to. An entity that had the choice and the power to care for you and chose not to. Think of James Clark Ross, for example, and the way his face drops when he realises that, despite everything that's happened and everything they've given in service of it, the Admiralty and the Empire still care more about finding the Passage than finding the men lost to it.

Now that's a tragedy!

[xbcrafted-daily]

family outing :)

[unwisemagi]

Parent Scrybes Au PT 2

Did I mention I forgot a lot of names? Because I forgot a lot of names lol. I am continuing this because.... Why not?

Grimora

The scrybe of the dead was fond of children. She enjoyed their energy and their perspective of the world. They saw things in a different light, much like herself.  Despite being fond of children, she never entertained the thought of parenthood. To raise a child was a monumental task, not to mention the effects being exposed to death could have on young ones. She understood that exposure to the things she saw were not great for a developing mind. The scrybe of the dead only became a parent due to your unexpected arrival.

During the night, one of her trusted ghouls came rushing down the corridors. The ghoul approached her in a panic with a strange bundle of blankets in his arms. He left her no time to question his state, and frantically started speaking. He stumbled over his words and talked so quickly Grimora nearly thought he was speaking another language. She waits until he is done with his erratic ramblings before asking him to start again, calmer this time. The ghoul gave a sheepish nod before starting again. 

He had been tending to the lower crypts. This particular ghoul was tasked with watching over the oldest area of the lower crypts. Due to the age of these areas, they needed to be checked for any structural issues and occasional flooding. During his usual checks, he spotted a flickering light at the end of a corridor. Light was not very common that deep in the crypts since very few were even allowed down there. And he knew for a fact he was the only one in this particular section. He did not fear any harm seeing as he was already dead, so he was quick to investigate the out of place light. What he found had been the greatest shock in his life . . . well unlife.

The source of the light was an array of candles. The candles were arranged in a circle around a pile of withered bones. In the middle of the pile was a bundle of carefully wrapped blankets. He was shocked of course. This hadn't been here yesterday and the only way for a ritual to be performed this deep in the crypts was by Grimora herself. It was not possible for any townsfolk or citizens to reach these depths so he was left completely lost on how and what this was. He had to show Grimora this oddity, but he was curious of the blankets left in the circle. He just had to take a peak and when he saw what it was, he ran to the crypts master.

Grimora frowned at the tale and gently scolded the ghoul for messing with the scene. It was reckless considering he had no clue what it was. After her scolding she asks to see the bundle he had been so panicked about. She held it carefully and appraised it with pale eyes. It seemed the bundle had been wrapped as securely as possible and was in great condition. How odd. Eventually she pulled back a corner of the blanket and gasped in shock.

The little bundle of blankets was you. You were peacefully sleeping, unaware of the world or the scrybe that held you. You had markings on your face that mirrored Grimora's and possessed a ghoulish appearance. She knew from a glance you were not just a lost child. No, you had somehow been born like that. She could not speak words as she stared at you. You broke her trance when you wrapped a boney finger around her own and yawned. She grew attached near instantly and smiled softly. 

“My, aren't you just marvelous.”

By the end of the night, Grimora had given you a name and was sewing little clothes for you. A marvelous little ghoul such as yourself had to look their best now.