#from my childhood archives

[honeyrosepetals]

hands of a child / gentle and wild

[xenolinn]

more Daisy and Jon doodles (feat. Basira)

[goblinbugthing]

ao3 is a great fuckin website. theres just absolutely everything on there.

i can go from reading the most gut-wrenching angst ever written, to the vilest smut known to man, to the funniest crackship in existence

and i also know basic html now.

crazy how that works. i fucking love ao3.

[howtokillavampire]

just some mattimir shenanigans

read it on ao3 or here on tumblr!

Title: Foreign Language

Ship: Matt Murdock x Vladimir Ranskahov (Mattimir)

Word Count: 2.7

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

Matt has never heard of Russia. 

He’s six years old, he barely knows what a globe is. He understands that the city eventually ends and somewhere there were places like forests and mountains, but none of that mattered. 

This was his home. 

Starting today, it will be home for two new kids from Russia. 

Wherever that was. 

“Alright class, this is Vladimir. Everyone say, ‘Hi Vladimir!’” 

The class choruses, “Hi Vladimir,” in the most monotonous way possible. 

The teacher scowls but says nothing of it. She explains it’s time for Vladimir to take his seat. 

There’s only one empty seat. 

Right behind Matt.

He turns around and smiles at the blond boy. 

“I’m Matthew. You can call me Matt,” he says, holding out his hand awkwardly between the two desks. The boy takes it, smiling back. He shakes it softly.

“Vladimir, you can call me Volodya.”

“Volo-what? I think Vladimir might be easier,” Matt laughs. He’s never heard a name like Vladimir’s and wonders if his last name is just as strange. 

For the next three weeks, Vladimir tries to teach Matt as much Russian as possible, which is to say very little. All of the writing looks like scribbly squares, and none of them are remembered. Matt gets “Hi, Yes, No,” and his favorite, “What,” before it’s time for Vladimir to leave. 

“But you just got here,” Matt whined.

“I’ll be back.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

The next time Vladimir comes to visit, Matt is nine. He knows a lot more about Russia now. He still hasn’t been able to master speaking any Russian on his own, but he’s started trying to read the really big books that high schoolers read by those old Russian authors. 

It’s the same introduction all over again, only this time in front of fourth graders. 

“Hi Volodya, long time no see,” Matt jokes as Vladimir takes the seat behind him.

It was a little inside joke between the two of them. Matt always held the seat behind him in case Vladimir ever came back to visit. 

Most of the time he didn’t.

Sometimes he did. 

He visited a lot more frequently throughout that year. 

“What brings you to the States?” “Our dad.”

“Okay, well what brings him to the States.”

“Business.”

Vladimir was always cryptic. His answers to most questions were vague at best, and when Matt asks about when he’ll be leaving he gets no answer at all. 

One day he’s at school, the next day he isn’t. That’s all the warning Matt gets. 

Vladimir stops showing up at all after winter break. 

Guess he went home for Christmas.

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

When Matt is eleven, he starts to wish Vladimir won’t come back at all. He doesn’t want the Russian boy to see him like this - where he can’t see him too. 

He does, and it makes Matt angry.

“Matvey, what’s wrong? No warm welcome?” Vladimir asks, pausing in front of his desk.

“Sorry.”

“About what?”

“I can’t learn Russian anymore.”

They both know why. 

“Rubbish. You can still speak it.”

“It’s not the same.”

“You’re right,” Vladimir sighed, finally taking his seat behind Matt. He gave Matt’s seat a slight shove with his foot, “It’ll be easier.” 

They pick up right where they left off, and Matt’s even better at Russian now that he never has to try and pretend to read it. 

“But when do I get to learn the bad words?” He asks Vladimir one day at recess. 

“When you’re older.”

“But,” Matt stops himself, thinking it stupid to mention.

“I’ll be back to teach you them,” Vladimir guessed, “I promise.”

The Russian stays in town for nearly three months before he disappears. Matt tries to pretend he doesn’t miss him.

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

“You’re wasting your time with those brail books,” Stick calls from down the hall.

Matt ignores him, moving his fingers along the bumps of a Dostoevsky novel that barely makes sense. 

“Besides, reading Russian books in English won’t teach you Russian. So let’s keep training.”

“You’ve already beat me five times today, I don’t want to go again,” Matt whines. 

“You learn from your mistakes,” Stick shoots back. “The more you fail, the easier it will be to succeed.”

Matt doesn’t reply, letting the bumps and ridges on the page consume his thoughts. 

“Why are you so hell-bent on learning Russian anyways Matty?” Stick asks, tone harsh and judgemental. 

“I just want to,” Matt snaps back. He snaps the book shut and stands up from the chair at the kitchen table. “I’m going to bed.”

Stick says nothing, but his eyes trail after the young boy as he exits the room. 

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Vladimir doesn’t return until Matt is nearly fourteen. One day the seat behind Matt isn’t empty anymore. 

“Привет, Volodya,” Matt says softly. 

“Hello to you too, Matvey. I can hear you’ve been practicing,” the boy replied with a smile painted across his face. 

“Немного,” Matt replies with a grin. Vladimir chuckles lightly. 

They spend their lunch break going over all the words and phrases Matt’s learned, with Vladimir correcting his pronunciation. 

“You’re a natural, Matvey,” Vladimir exclaims. Matt can’t help the heat that begins to rise up his neck and paint his skin with pink splotches. 

“Спасибо,” Matt manages weakly. Vladimir claps him on the shoulder. Matt busies himself by scarfing down half of his lunch to cover the blush now rising to his cheeks.

“I won’t be staying long,” Vladimir begins softly. Matt, mid-bite, feels his stomach drop. “But I’ll be back soon, and I should be staying til the end of the year,” he continues excitedly. Matt swallows.

“I’d like that,” he says.

“Of course you would, I’m your only friend,” Vladimir jokes, elbowing him lightly in the gut. 

“Something like that,” Matt replies. 

He’s gone the next day. 

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Sometimes, Matt imagines what happened to Vladimir. He never returned for the end of ninth grade. He didn’t show up at all for the remainder of Matt’s high school years. 

Sometimes, Matt would try to forget about him altogether, ignoring the tightness in his chest. 

He would practice Russian with a bitterness to each word.

College sped by in a haze of too many beers and countless research papers. 

Matt and Foggy were hanging their open sign on their practice before Matt knew it. 

Sometimes, Matt would lie on his couch and let the light of the giant billboard illuminate his features as he wondered where the Russian was now. 

– – – – – – – – – – – –

He didn’t mean to become a vigilante. It just sort of happened. He could hear the screams of the night echoing behind his eyelids and he just knew he had to do something about it.

He never thought it would get this big, never imagined the leads buried so deep in the ground that would lead him all to one man spearheading crime in Hell’s Kitchen. 

But he had to go through a few of Fisks’ lapdogs before he could get the man alone. 

Luckily for Matt, the first dog he has sicced on him is a familiar friend.

“Черт возьми, дьявол. You killed my brother,” the Russian screams. “I’ve got you now.”

The words make Matt’s blood run cold. Not because of what was said, but the voice that said them. He stood there in shock for a moment too long. 

A fist connects with the side of his jaw and an explosion of pain brings him back to reality. He automatically switches into fight mode, deflecting the blows with ease. 

“Wait - listen to me-” Matt tries to get a word in. The blows don’t stop. He kicks out a leg and causes the Russian to lose balance, toppling to the ground. 

“Playing dirty, are we?” the Russian taunts. He scrambles for Matt, grappling him down onto the rough payment. He falls hard on his back, and the Russian quickly straddles him. “Any last words?”

“Volodya,” Matt breathes out. The man falters. “Сколько лет, сколько зим.” 

“Matvey?” the Russian whispers, going stock still. 

“You never came back,” Matt says, voice raw, “Why didn’t you come back?”

Before Vladimir can answer, there’s a gunshot, and suddenly the Russian falls forward.

“Vladimir? Volodya? В чем дело?” Matt asks desperately. He gets no response.  He lifts a hand to Vladimir’s neck to check for a pulse. 

Still strong. 

He focuses on his surroundings once more, counting the number of approaching footsteps. He can hear the crackle of police radios, and he knows they’re fucked.

After a stunning display of Matt’s athletic abilities, the vigilante scoops up Vladimir, ignoring the blood smearing on his clothes. He starts to make a break for the nearest building to offer them both some cover, ducking inside and hauling Vladimir with him.

He tries to set the Russian down gently, but his back slams a little too hard on the concrete floor.

“Fuck,” the Russian says weakly, coughing a wet, full-body cough. It causes the pain to shoot up nd pulse through his entire left side. “What happened?”

“The cops showed up, you got shot,” Matt says point blank. “I need to stop the bleeding or you might die.”

“Not what I meant,” Vladimir replies, wincing. “What happened to you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Matt shoots back. He stands up to go scrounge around the warehouse, coming back with a roadside assistance kit. He carefully removes one of the flares and shoots a glance back to the Russian lying on the floor. “This is probably going to hurt like hell.”

“Been through worse,” Vladimir chokes out, blood bubbling up and onto his lips. He sucks in a sharp breath. “Might want to move fast.”

Matt settles down next to him again and begins rolling up his shirt. 

“Why didn’t you come back?” Matt asks again, much more gently this time.

“Are we really doing this now?” Vladimir says with a wheeze. Matt lights the flare. 

“Yeah, we’re really doing this now.”

“My dad-” Vladimir paused as another rough cough racked his body, “My dad was killed.”

“You could’ve at least, I don’t know, called,” Matt ground out. 

“I was in prison,” Vladimir replies simply. Matt lets out a breath and begins burning the bullet hole closed.  Vladimir’s hand shoots out and grips Matt’s arm, fingers digging in so hard they nearly cut through the fabric of Matt’s compression shirt. 

“What were you in prison for?” Matt asks as the stench of burning flesh permeates the air.

“Killing my dad,” Vladimir says through gritted teeth. 

“Well, that’ll do it,” Matt reasons. “Did it ever occur to you that there’s more to life than crime?” He finishes with the flare and snuffs it out. Vladimir exhales sharply.

“Playing moral high ground while I bleed out, very nice, Matvey.”

“You’re the one who decided to become a mobster.”

“Just picking up the family business,” Vladimir replies. 

“Is that why you came to visit? So your dad could make deals in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Vladimir averts his gaze, then closes his eyes as he takes deep, measured breaths. Against better judgment, Matt flops onto the ground next to him and tries to catch his own breath. 

“You’re mad at me,” Vladimir points out. 

“I’m mad at the life you’ve been dealt.”

“I chose my own path, this is my own doing,” Vladimir says.

“Did he at least deserve it?”

“Who?” Vladimir asks. Matt hesitates for a moment.

“Your dad.”

“Yes,” Vladimir says without missing a beat. “He was a vile man.” Matt nods. He stretches his arm out and his finger brushes along Vladimir’s calloused hand. They stay like that for a few moments, breathing in the smokey air of the warehouse and letting their hands linger just a little too close.

“We have to get out of here,” Matt says finally. He sits up and turns to assess his companion. “This building is directly over an entrance to the sewer,  if we can get down to it and open it then we might have a chance at escaping.”

“Lead the way,” the Russian says. 

Matt nods and stands up. He leans down and loops an arm around Vladimir, helping him stand. 

“Let me know if you need to take a break or-”

“Just get a fucking move on.”

The two men try to stealthily pick their way through the warehouse as they make their way down to the sewer entrance. The giant concrete lid is the only thing separating them from freedom. With their combined effort they’re able to lift it. 

“After you,” Matt says, gesturing for the Russian to go first. He complies and shimmies down the ladder. Matt follows swiftly. They’re greeted by two of Fisk’s hired guns. Matt takes care of them without much issue and lets their guns clatter to the ground.

“This should connect to a main line that runs all the way back to my apartment. It’s only a few blocks, so we should be able to make it before any more of Fisk’s men get to us.” Even as the words left Matt’s lips he could hear the footsteps echoing down the concrete tunnel. They’re moving closer, and they’re moving fast. 

“I think… this is where we part ways,” Vladimir says, voice thick with exhaustion. He leans down and picks up one of the discarded guns. “I can hold them off while you-”

“No.” Matt’s tone leaves no room for argument.

“Пожалуйста, Matvey,” he replies, “Let me do this for you.”

The footsteps grow louder.

“We don’t have time for this Vladimir, I’m not letting you kill yourself. Just cover us.”

In one smooth motion, Matt picks Vladimir up bridal style and slings the gun out so Vladimir can aim it over his shoulder. Then, they set off. 

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Vladimir wakes with a splitting headache and a stabbing pain in his side. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows cast a blinding glare. Vladimir has to shield his eyes to take in his surroundings. 

It doesn’t take a genius to deduce he’s in Matt’s apartment, laying out on his shitty couch. 

There’s rustling over near what he assumes is the kitchen. 

“Finally awake?” Matt calls. He stands from where he was crouched rifling through the fridge. He’s just wearing a pair of sweats, bare chest exposed to the morning air. Vladimir has to hastily avert his eyes. 

“How long have I been out?”

“The better part of three days. Claire - the woman you kidnapped - removed the bullet and stitched you shut. You owe her big time,” Matt says. He turns to the sink and begins filling a glass with water. “She left some meds to help, and suggested you take it slow on the food intake.”

Matt crosses the room and sets the glass of water on the coffee table along with a few pills. He takes a seat in an armchair opposite the couch. Vladimir sits up with effort and takes the medicine. 

“Спасибо,” he says. 

“You're welcome. You’re lucky you found me. Fisk was definitely going to dispose of you next if I didn’t do it for him.”

“About that…” Vladimir starts slowly, “How do you do all of the - the fighting and everything - if you’re blind?”

“There are other ways to see,” Matt replies cryptically. 

“That,” Vladimir points at Matt, “Is a bullshit answer.”

“What, do you want to tell me I was trained by a blind man in martial combat and learned to tune into my other sense so I could truly perceive my surroundings?”

“Well, were you?”

“Yeah, but it sounds fucking crazy!”

“So does a fourteen-year-old going to prison for killing his father, life is just like that sometimes.”

“Am I going to hear the story behind that one?”

“It is not for the faint of heart.”

“I’m not squeamish,” Matt replies defensively. 

“It’s hard to talk about, for me,” Vladimir explains. 

“Then let’s not talk about it,” Matt supplies. Vladimir offers him a weak smile. “I was thinking of making some eggs and toast. Want any?”

“Sounds great,” Vladimir says. 

Matt stands and walks back into the kitchen. The sound of opening cabinets, rustling through spices, lightly clinking pots and pans, and the steady rhythm Matt was humming fill the air. Vladimir sinks back into the couch and can’t help the soft smile that stays on his face. 

Matt knew the arrangement wasn’t perfect. He knew that one day they’d have to face the consequences of Vladimir’s actions. But for now, he could hold onto what they have, and worry about the rest later. 

[artsy-dreamer]

Archive dot org library my BELOVED

[issejj]

What do memories really look like? Do you recall posing and smiling for picture day in the fifth grade? What about eating that hotdog at the amusement park for the first time? And what about the first and last time touching sand of some beach now long forgotten? Touch, Taste, Smell, Sound. They might feel so real but what does memory look like? Looking back — does it appear in pristine condition or does it look... off? What if memories were preserved in photographs? What would they look like? (c. 2011)

this was part two of the two thesis projects shown, exploring how subjectivity in nostalgia can mold our perceptions of childhood memories. i wish i had pics of it exhibiting with the eclectic mix of frames, ranging from wicker baskets to ornate bowls, all provided by my aunts and uncles. there were 36 “episodes” in the series, all places at the bottom of the bowls and baskets on a round kitchen table with four chairs.

[sarahplantarthe1st]

Also here are a few bonus doodles!

The first one is from the official classic nickelodeon magazine that I used to love as a child! (Including the nick jr magazines!!) There was an illustration that I think Rob Renzetti, the creator of mlaatr, drew of Jenny as an elderly robot woman (along with some others including characters from Rocket Power, Jimmy Neutron, etc. as old people) and I wanted to draw her standing up with a cane Nora gave her before she passed (I have a hunch that she's a ghost still pestering Jenny to save the world from great evil, even if she's too old to do anything lol). But in the official drawing she's in a wheelchair with a needle in her arm to fill her oil fluids in a bag so she doesn't get rusty. Since she's also standing up she's a bit shaky too because again... she doesn't want her head or the rest of her body to fall apart from rusting.

And in the second one, I drew Jenny in her all star brawl 2 render (her smile isn't visible, but I did a what if redraw of what she'll possibly look like in the game coming very soon!)

Btw I can't wait for all star brawl 2! It seems to me that there is a super attack that reminds me of the final smash movesets in smash bros and I can't wait to see what Jenny's final super attack will look like!

Also it's about damn time that all star brawl 2 is doing the final smash thing too!! It's not as powerful as smash I don't think but I saw spongebob's super attack with him driving in the car with Mrs. Puff so who knows if Brad or Sheldon or any of the mlaatr villains like Vexus, Smytus, Krakus, Melody, yadda yadda... will make cameos in Jenny's super attack like what Nora and Tuck did in the Tremorton Joyride stage in the first all star brawl!!

I wonder if that stage will be coming back too... or another one with cluster prime? That would be super epic!!

Annnnd idk if Janice Kawaye will be back once again to do Jenny's voice or record newer material as Jenny like in the past two games (instead of the various quotes from the show that she had to re-record as her character) as well as the other actors that lent their voices to the characters on mlaatr, minus Eartha Kitt - the greatest!! Bless her soul!! - as Vexus (Cree Summer currently does her); but I'd love to hear that amazing laugh of hers once again! Also squidward, jimmy neutron and plankton's actors will be reprising their roles in the game so... maybe there will be new dialogue recorded if they can also get the other actors too besides Jan (I call Janice Kawaye that for short) and Tom Kenny (as you know who and also dog in catdog plus many others from other tv networks that I can't list since he probably has a list of at least 1,000 voices that he's done on his imdb lol)

[universal-consistant]

milo and the one or two forevers ago poem…

i can’t remember the sound of your laugh or the tone of your voice i can’t remember your face not even your name but i know you were there.

i think i lost myself too one or two forevers ago but even if i did. i can’t remember who he was

[dongiovannitriumphant]

thinking abt how nostalgia is a completely normal futile thing to be caught up in, but whats strange for our age group right now is that internet nostalgia in specific is a. often extremely individualized due to the fragmented nature of the internet when we were growing up and b. impossible to be revisited as it has all mostly faded away. It leaves sort of a strange empty feeling. I can walk past my old school library and see kids enjoying it now, or watch a film i loved as a kid, but i can never again surf through the top 40 list of horsegirl webpages and see a new generation carefully put together their emo pixel wolves on a grotty proboards forum you know?

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

update im ditching Arari's prefix he's just Ari now~

[taniushka12]

Fellas i downloaded that old pinball onto my laptop life is great

[atvie]

[meejijis]

Suddenly wanted to go look for my cringey comic I've made way back in 2010 when I was in my weeb phase so I went onto smackjeeves, hoping to find it, only to find out that apparently I'm a few years late learning that smackjeeves SHUT DOWN on December 2020........ That. Really sucks. A lot. What the fuck 😭😭😭

[radicalrobotz]

i miss bitstrips but only cuz the comic builder was fun to fuck around in

[k-atsukibakugou]

tw: sfw, childhood best friends, mutual pining, w/c: 0.6k notes: uh I was slapped in the face with this scene so here u go; I wuv domestic bakugou, idc how bad this is it was haunting me

the tips of bakugou's hair droop ever so slightly at the moisture in the air, the blond growing darker in the steam. he adjusts himself in the bathtub, getting as comfortable as he can in the empty porcelain tub in front of your shower, the discomfort of the hardness against him the last thing on his mind as he listened to you talk, unconcerned by discomfort, or the steam settling on him, the feeling of his clothes sticking in the humidity. you're animated, he can see even that through the steam, the way your hands wave about wildly, one at your face as you scrubbed it, the other gesturing passionately behind the glass.

you swipe the condensation from the frosted glass in front of your eyes, "you know?!"

you’re incredulous, your brows down in a scowl as you gossip about someone he probably doesn’t even know the name of. he hums his agreement, content listening to you rant and rave all about the most recent news in your life, and watching your blurred silhouette.

“okay, close your eyes, im gonna get my towel.” your voice is light, not a trace of apprehension, this habit like second nature to you now. bakugou obeys, grunting when you’re safe to climb out of the shower.

he can feel you near him, the heat and steam radiating off of your skin, the clean scent of your soap entering his nostrils, clouding his head more than the steam. you're close enough to brush your wet skin against his, the softness of your towel fluttering against his forearm when you wrap it around yourself.

“hey, are you home this weekend? the old lady keeps asking about you.” he doesn’t care he interrupts your story of the latest episode you watched. hearing your lips part and close, his ears prick, waiting for your gentle hum to reach his ears.

“depends, what are you going to make me for dinner?” you sit down at the edge of the bathtub, reaching to poke his face, one cherry red eye cracking open, then the other. he’s met with your smiling face, a strike of adoration hitting him in the heart at your pretty features, as damp as his from the steam, a droplet running down the side of your throat to the top of your towel tucked into itself at your chest.

“whatever you want me to make.” his voice is softer than he wants it to be, his adam’s apple nervously bobbing in his throat, his mouth dryer than it had ever been with you this close, he��s had you closer; pulled into tight hugs when you were 5, closer again at 9 when you wrestled with him in the mud, his heart starting to race at 15 when his parents made him shuffle ‘closer, katsuki, you guys are friends,’ when you graduated lower secondary school together. every moment since then turning out like this, his eyes darting back and forth between yours, the air shifting the longer you stared at each other, his chest about to touch yours when you respond, your breath fanning over his cheeks at your proximity, “yeah, i’ll be there.”

he deludes himself for a moment, thinking you sound as nervous as he does, thinking your pupils dilate ever-so-slightly the longer you stare at each other, thinking maybe your lips pucker when your gaze falls, when you lean a touch closer, years of tension about to break between you both.

"i'll get out of your way." you clear your throat and stand back up, water still dripping from your body, katsuki jumping back like he was electrocuted by your sudden movement, muttering an agreement, a foreign anxiety settling in his stomach even as he sheds his shirt; sparing one last glance before you latch the door, katsuki catches your wide eyes once more and wonders if they mirror the adoration in his.

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost or recommend my work on other platforms or translate my works, i do not give permission for my works to be bound and sold. 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

[nosleeppotions]

_Cyped's- The Archivists of Nowehere's favorite dads before they were together_

Rowan: *thinks whatever he's feeling is purely platonic *

Anatole: ah, so back when we were kids one of your hair clips fell into my bag and I never got to giving it back because we already moved when I found it... so... here *puts a hair clip with a little tiny bow stuck to it in Rowan's hair *

Rowan: uh ... *💘 *

Rowan: thank you.... *hides face that's changing color * I uh... haven't needed them in a while but, thank you for keeping it safe. I think.

Anatole: *smiling brightly *

Rowan, thoughts: AAAAAHHHH!