#i'm impressed actually

[lilacs-stash]

The Balloon and Nickel sibling HC is one the most batshit crazy takes I've ever seen like it's so wrong I can't even be mad at it I just need to know if anyone who has it actually has siblings

[museofvoid]

i think men are too emotional to own websites

[yaoisquidbob]

serious gaming

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Shout out to all artists who had to work without any strong direction or instruction.

I wish you a merry “the client likes it anyways”

[stubz]

"Okay everyone floor is lava in 10..."

children scatter across the in door park.

"9..."

some leap onto nearby benches. Others climb nearby trees.

"8...7..."

the nearby safe spots become too crowded. Some force their way in while others sprint for the only place with enough room for the remaining few. The water fountain.

"6...5..."

the fountain can hold them all but is far. The slow one's won't make it.

"3...2...1..."

Some of the strong ones carry the slowest. their kindness is their downfall.

"FLOOR IS LAVA!!"

the lava takes them.

"Okay everyone on the ground is out!"

*chorus of groaning*

"So we have, 1, 2, 3...8...11...wait. Everyone hold still for a sec." the human recounts the children. And then again. And again.

"Where's Piper?"

"She was running that way!"

"Yeah towards the field!"

"The field? But there's nothing to climb there.."

"Is the floor still lava!?!"

Out in the field is Piper, sitting on top of her other teacher Kim's shoulders.

"Piper your out, you know the rules. You can't ask someone to carry you when the floor is lava."

"I didn't carry her."

"Kim no fibbing. Kids don't like it when it comes to floor is lava."

"No really I didn't. She climbed me," the woman picks the girl off her and put her down "show them Piper."

The 7 year old smiles and goes behind Kim and then starts to climb. Using the adults calves as a step she boosts her other foot to Kim's hip and then latches onto her neck with her arms. From their she shimmies herself onto her teacher's shoulders. All while Kim keeps her arms to her sides.

"...how long has she been able to do this?"

"Since yesterday."

"That's really cool."

"I know, right?"

.

..

...

"Human Kim I'd like to ask you a question about...human children."

"Yeah sure, go ahead."

"So as you know I am courting Morgan, who has 2 children, and I was wondering if it's normal for them at their age to not be able to climb me or him?"

"Climb you?"

"Yes, like that human child with blonde hair. Harrison is about her age yet he can't climb us like she can climb you."

"...Ohhh, yeah that's not a normal thing."

"Really?? But she does it with such ease and you look so, so, used to it. As if it was normal behavior."

"Piper is incredibly flexible and strong for her age, and while yes I am used to it that's because I'm used to kids climbing me while I'm sitting or helping them."

"So human children do climb their caretakers?"

"Yes."

"But Piper's climbing is not normal?"

"...yes. Wait. Hold on...So human children do climb on their family members but most of them can't climb to an adult's shoulders like that without help. Only a few like Piper are strong enough to do that."

"Ah. So I should not be concerned that Morgan's children can't do that?"

"No, you should not."

"Okay then. Humans are strange."

"That they are!"

[otome-dissection]

compilation of Hey What The Fuck Did They Mean By This

[notbecauseofvictories]

it takes years for terry pratchett's books to get consistently good. I would argue that the series doesn't really hit its stride until Feet of Clay, which means that pratchett was writing and being published for 12 years before he found his groove.

and I genuinely can't imagine that. in part because I do think that pratchett's publication calendar looks different than what's expected of writers today---he had about 2 books published per year for his entire career. he must have been writing furiously, and the publisher must have relatively quickly gotten these to press.

but also....I just can't imagine any modern-day publisher keeping an author on their list for twelve years, unless that author is a prestige get or a constant presence on the bestseller list. And what does it say about the state of publishing that you can't go on publishing someone's good-but-not-revelatory books until they figure out what story they're trying to tell?

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 96: trapped in a timeloop all by yourself, handsome?

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance Link Attack - Paw Groove

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[saints-who-never-existed]

Right, back to my usual schedule of rewatching and thinking way too much about random shit.

Do you think it means anything, the slightly differing levels of formality with which Franklin and Crozier refer to each other in their first scenes?

-

I feel like Crozier is the more distant and formal of the two, even if only slightly:

"Tell Mr. Diggle Sir John and Commander Fitzjames are coming aboard to dine tonight."

Whereas Franklin is more casual in his use of first names:

"Let Francis know James and I will be joining him for dinner."

-

Could mean nothing I suppose. Just something I noticed just now.

[triglycercule]

dusttale canon fics translated!!!

have you ever wanted to know MORE about canon dusttale/murder!sans??? heard that one of dusttale's creators wrote fics but it's in korean and you can't be bothered to translate it??? WELL BOY do i have the solution to you because I TRANSLATED THE FICS!!!

well technically i localized it because the fics straight out of translation were a bit funky and out of context in some parts. also the fics are actually not all that detailed (and idk if this is a good thing) so i added more detail and such but idk if some people would rather just the straight translation no extra flourishes

IN THAT CASE if you just wanna read the straight translation dw! if you go to the og korean version HERE and go to the comments some else will have already done a direct translation

keep in mind i do NOT actually know korean and this entire project was done with the help of google translate (god bless the camera translate feature), some research, and my sheer brainpower. if something is messed up PLEASE lmk

heartfelt message below because this is 1/2 of my thanks for 100 followers gift to the world don't open if you don't wanna read CRINGE (ew,,, APPRECIATION AND FEELINGS??? GROSS!)

when will we get more canon dust content i cry out. the delusional side of me says one day but the realistic side says never

so uhhh i hit 100 followers. WOOO YIPPEE!!! and i just wanna say tysm for following me and liking and reblogging all my posts and all that stuff it GENUINELY means a lot. like fr /srs type of meaning to me. i don't remember how and i don't really know why but the murder time trio genuinely mean so much to me and i'm glad that there are a whole ONE HUNDRED ass people that also like all the ideas and dumb stuff i come up with for them and they liked it enough to follow it. like i can't even come up with 100 people i know irl. i never knew i would actually get people to see the shit i post on here and i remember how actually terrified i was when i tagged one of my posts and it actually got interactions (i'm still scared when i post. not a thing has changed)

but ya! im really glad that there are this many people that actually care about my ideas so that's cool. someday im gonna run out of ideas and panic but that day has yet to come. i guess you could consider this the first half of my 100 followers thankgratulations because i still have my horror sans character analysis that i'm still working on and paused to work on this (a simple side quest this was). if i weren't a LAZY FUCK than maybe i wouldve done a DTIYS or something that people do for big milestones like this but like i said. i'm lazy. call me sans. comic sans

anyways triglycercule OUT! time to delete this account! jk!(fashion au)

[violent138]

Just saying if Martha Wayne was still alive there isn't any way Bruce would still be single (or single for long). Every dinner they had would conclude with Martha sorrowfully observing the lack of grandkids--

Bruce: "I have like ten children, you have plenty of grandkids--"

Thomas: "Whom we adore. Really, let's just get back to dinner, this is incredible stuff, Alfred."

Alfred: "Thank you, sir. More wine?"

Martha: "Yes please Alfred." turns back to Bruce "Kids need more than one, busy father. You need more--"

Bruce: "I have plenty."

Martha, death glare: "Oh I'm well aware, as is most of Gotham."

Bruce:

Thomas: "So, did anyone catch that game last night. Crushing defeat for Metropolis, wouldn't you agree, Alf?"

[remusjohnslupin]

I forgot to make a post about this last week (or maybe I needed time to process what I saw), but addressing my fellow Tolkien fans out there: Did anyone else feel the urge to scoop their own eyes out with a spoon after the whole 'sympathetic and misunderstood orcs who just want to stay with their families and don't want to go to war' debacle?

Misunderstood orcs. Misunderstood. Orcs. Who don't want to go to war. ORCS. They actually showed an orc baby being held by its orc parent.

Once again... ORCS.

I am so glad Christopher Tolkien died in 2020.

[oksfranta]

🌈Louis admiring the fan rainbow project in Vancouver🌈 (requested by @theirloveisgross) [x, x]

[sergle]

I noticed you weren't posting much for a while, you seem more active now adays and I hope you're doing okay! Say hi to Hugo!

omg... I appreciate the concern!! I'm not great but I am feeling better rn than I have been, and do not currently have a gun in my hand. also Hugo says hi back.