Latest Posts by stabbing-stars - Page 5

hi i have seen your jacket! im keeping it though

Ok awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope You get tetanus!!!!!!!!!!! And i mean that I think !!!!!!!!!!!!! G

If someone beats you up for being "cishet white male" and nothing else, is this okay? Did you deserve it?

what if the world was made of pudding

A break from art to bring you:

unbearably sad beast

feminine urge to Know Everything and speak 12 languages

You think I’m not a goddess? [inspired by x]

cabinet duo but they’re witches and they run a little magic supply shop send tweet

girl help i got transported to a modded minecraft server 

we can have a little steampunk beeduo. Asa treat

ghost towns and apology bouquets

The aftermath.

As a final goodbye, Blue Sky Studios came together and gave Scrat a send off on their own terms.

He finally got his nut.

do you vividly remember the moment you listened to The Fall by Lovejoy for the very first time and heard the drop and then wilbur started doing that speech and your entire body ascended to the next dimension or are you normal

quackity & george at the exact same time: is this the bit where you're not funny

So I went to an art exhibit recently, a collection of Native American art from pre-colonial times to the present. As you might guess, there were a few pieces whose artist was lost to time or erased. But instead of the usual “artist unknown” credit, the curators instead chose to label the artists as “Name Once Known”.

I think that’s amazing. It says, “we don’t know your name any longer; we’ll never know who you were, exactly. But you were a person once, and you mattered. You had a name, and you were loved, you had a life, and you made this art. And that means something. Your name was once known.”

Keep reading

A few months ago, I said on this blog that in my head PJO is an anime with a badass opening credits. I meant it quite literally, like I can actually picture this OP in my head, with all the shonen tropes like Percy walking around pretty backgrounds, cool fighting scenes with lots of camera movements and huge statues of the Gods standing ominously in the background, Nico standing in the rain till Reyna and Hazel and Jason come for him and a ray of sunshine breaks throught the clouds and light hits his hopeful face, GIMME ALL THE TROPES hahaha. Doing the whole opening would be impossible for a single person but I really wanted to try one big “shonen” group shot, so here you are !!! This actually took me AGES, I’m not kidding, the folder for this on my computer is named “batshit crazy ” for a reason, it may not look like it if you don’t know animation but a really huge amount of work went into this. I think it’s actually the biggest thing I ever did for a fandom. I can’t say how many hours I spent on it since I didn’t count, but let’s say I started this in September and spent a lot of week ends and most of my Christmas holidays on it, and I just finished it this week. I had a lot of fun though !!! And I learned a lot too, this was my first time trying to animate japanimation style, with not many in-betweens and ultra dynamic poses. So yeah, I hope you guys will like it !

I want to thank fimyuan and bisexualjason for keeping me motivated with their lovely comments through the project, even when I was complaining about my own decisions to animate friggin’ skeletons, hahaha. Another big thank you to my friend Wekake who went through the animation frame by frame and spotted all the little compositing mistakes that remained ;p

A few words on the process : I animated and colored everything in TV Paint, drew the background in Photoshop, and composited everything in After Effects. The song is an extract of the Yowapeda opening “Reclimb” by Rookiez is Punk’d because I wanted something very distinctively shonen but no lyrics, and I like that song ^^ I animated directly without any model sheet references which is definitely not how you should do it, hahaha, hence the design inconsistencies, but honestly even my madness had its limit and I didn’t want to spend more than a year on this thing ;p

based off this text post 

ctommy cquackity interactions come home

arranging paintings on a scale from joanna karpowicz to andrew wyeth and edward hopper is right in the middle

before we cut to Alexandria (Manberg era cabinetduo)

1.

Between you is a desk and, an hour later, a wall, and your brother- let’s call him your brother, because you do not have to like your brothers, but you have to have them. And he is here, your brother.

2.

Between you and your brother is a desk and on the desk, paper that you pass over the distance, seventy centimeters, ten seconds each to write until the things you say to one another to hide what you really mean fill the page from corner to corner, side to side.

3.

Learning how to read between the lines is a lot like learning how to make bullets, or how to stop a baby from crying, or how to stop your friend from crying when he looks like he’s about to: you don’t, really, but one day you find yourself just doing it, probably doing it wrong. I’ll keep you safe: I’ll (I) keep (will) you (fail) safe.

4.

Here's your brother sitting on the windowsill with his heels tucked in, staring at the smoke he blows into the wind like he wishes that were him. He does, but it's just one of hundreds whispered into dandelion seeds that will invariably land on barren asphalt. Your brother is someone whose wants are countably infinite and does not realize it.

5.

You know three ciphers in total. One's for babies, one you teach your friend, the last you show your brother. It's numbers all the way down, signaling lowly your prevailing existence. Three, one, seven, eight. Shadows in the hallway. Five, five, four, nine. Shift. Lights under the door.

6.

Your brother finds a radio. Has a radio. Had, a radio. It’s yours on Sunday mornings and in the afternoons on weekdays. You spin the dials until you’re sure there’s only static, then you take it all apart, slowly. The sound travels through the air, unseen and unfelt. You leave a whisper in the transmitter.

7.

And there’s a memory, his lanky arms tucked between his knees, head against the open door of the van with a cigarette between his teeth; this other not-brother of a man who has never promised safety in so many words as the walls he built says I don’t do it inside because it’s not good for the baby. Says you (I) keep the (don’t) bad shit (want) outside (them) the walls (to) because it’s (see) not good (this) for who you love.

8.

Between you and your brother and the desk and the walls is not enough space. Too dark, too hot, choked out and the wallpaper too sticky. Too many shadows without form nor sight. You know, I don’t care if you smoke inside. He definitely doesn’t. The sunlight in the window feels solid, like it could hold your brother when he shrugs, stubs the cigarette out on the stone exterior, and looks down like he’s thinking of jumping.

9.

He won’t do it, you know. Your brother doesn’t look at you, looks at where the smoke has disappeared, wishing he could be like that: something with less of a heart and not so much desire. Something that doesn’t hit the ground when it’s thrown out a window. He won’t jump, even though he’s always thinking about it. You have to push him. Or better yet, leap and watch him dive after you.

10.

You conclude the fear comes from the lack of escape, because everything else has begun to slide over you. A boy holds the door open. A man. Whatever. On paper your brother draws a blueprint you can’t understand. He draws the lines tender, the way you make a bed when you’re waiting for someone to come sleep in it. Slides it over. The pen he holds out is an open question.

11.

We can have something better than cheap takeout every day and we can go out to eat on our lunch breaks and you know, I can always learn how to cook and teach you, too. It’s a good thing to know.

12.

Is it love? Do you throw someone from two stories up and watch their bones break below you and shout at them I love you? Do you need to? Don’t they know? Looking up at you. They know. They know. The only difference is who of us got here first.

13.

Say the building's on fire. Say the doorknob's melting. Say you take to the heat better. There’s a hand in yours, paper crumpled in your palm. Take it, smooth it out, do the math in your head. One, two, three, four, nine. I struck the match. I’m sorry. Suddenly it’s just you, and the window is gone.

14.

He turns the bitterness over, splits it apple-seed white at the core. Did you notice he’s no taller than you? Not even a little bit. Between you is a desk, and you trace the ring of water damage on its surface and wish you were the type of person who could crack it. For a long moment that is your only wish. Place your fist in the center of the ring. It fits. Now imagine swinging.

15.

It’s a summer night and you can’t hear the buzz of the flies in the room over all the shouting. It’s summer, so there’s always flies. You don’t even know where they come from, just that when you’ve finally managed to kill the two there’s a third hanging around your leg. Like they know where the rot is. Like they’re born here, young larvae chewing their way out of the wallpaper, tasting blood.

16.

He’s your brother, which you are comfortable with because you do not have to like your brother. You do not have to love him, and neither he, you. You have to have him. You have to not blow smoke at babies (who can bear nothing). You have to buy food when there’s none and you have to make the necessary phone calls. You have to be quiet, and be loud, and quiet again. You have to lock doors, turn off the lights except the one in the hallway. Until you don’t. Until you’re gone.

17.

One more thing. If you jumped, he'd jump after you. And if you walked through the front door?

Wake up every midnight for three years straight to unlock the front door. Wake up every morning at six to lock it. Wait until it gets unbearable, then wait until the unbearable becomes easy, becomes nothing. This is how we survive, long past the moment we think we should have.

18.

Your brother has one leg over the windowsill and he leans back, telling you to come look. Look at the wide ledge jutting from the side of the house. The air is so still. He holds your hand when you follow him onto the ledge. Streetlights start to come on. You can see all of them, signals pointing to far and distant places. Further than your sight goes. There’s a car downstairs and soon there will be nothing between you, and that car. What (where) will (will) you (you) do, (be?) then? Your brother is on your left.

This, this is what I can give you.

cabinetduo is literally so underutilized it’s criminal

nuclear fusion, all the bonds that couldn’t break us!

there is something so bittersweet about being 18 while 12 y old percy jackson has just been announced. i wont get to grow up with him this time, but i’ll get to watch him grow up and i think that’s enough

No one seems to be talking about the head hurting community

Tonight i,m sitting on a different porch. In a different place in the same cold. ...Erm.. I have a lot of thoughts i dont know how to say. But, Its one thing to live in a haunted house,.and its another to live in a house haunted by someone you know very very well. My kid doesnt care..Me, Well I dont know. Self reminder: Work tomorrow at 8:45

[ tmw ur prisoner gave u nothing again n your malewife is clingy af ]

Band member who doesn't play any instruments or sing, he's just There (They're a lovejoy cover band.)

To be clear: Ranboo is NOT a manager, songwriter, or tech. He is on stage for every performance. Sometimes he drinks 7up through the mask directly into the microphone.

Shout out to fanfic writers who write their favourite characters into incredibly specific niches like complex academic studies or horse taming or the intricacies of the fashion industry or historical politics just because they love it. I do in fact want to learn about your niche interests disguised as a slash fic, thank you

officially diagnosed with bed too cozy disease