haitian créole has my entire heart

A bunch of skateboarding Woopers for fun! :D

Happy Wooper Wednesday!

choose your fighter.....

🐙🦑🦐🐠🐟🦞🐡

Cobalt Phil-rrero

@hug-bees I’m calling you out

Right back at you paizano 

it’s weird to consider that 2, nearly 3 years ago I was watching star vs and called this out to the creator of Khonjin house on his discord, which actually lead to hug-bees talking to Connor and confirming that yes in fact Gino from Khonjin House lives on as a side character in a disney princess show. That’s life for you.

*Poses awkwardly* ta daaa

Whipped this up awfully quickly to celebrate the end of Gravity Falls. I should be taking bets for how long it takes Dipper to fiddle with the stone Bill in the woods  and accidentally unleash hell. You can never escape him Dipper YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE

But I’m a huge sucker for forgiveness/redemption, so here’s my spin.

Goodbye Gravity Falls I’ll miss you <3

Man it took forever but I finally finished it!

Flux Buddies: Youth

Youth is by Daughter

Always loved this, so much, and my memories just happened to trigger when I heard this song randomly start playing on spotify. Thank you Ice for all the memories and a youth full of whimsical artistic vigor that I still to this day try to live by <3.

hell year hell year hell year hell year hell year hell year hell year hell year hell year hell year

(from a 2015 interview)

i hope she’s comfortable

Please don’t forget the best one so far^^^

another example of Koko’s humour by Jane Goodall:

Nothing pleases me more than to learn the fact that apes also will look at a thing and go “it me”

Everyone warns you about red flags in a relationship but I want to hear about green flags

So here’s some. Add your own if you’d like!

* listens to you talk when you have issues and supports you through them

* stops doing things you tell them make you uncomfortable

* compromises when necessary

* never puts you down deliberately, especially not publically

* supports your ambitions

* uses a calm rational tone during arguments

* is able to apologise when they’re in the wrong

* aids your growth process

* provides you with time and support as you need it but still prioritizes themselves first

* wants to get to know your friends

* has their own friends too

* respects your financial situation & considers it when making plans

* thanks you for speaking your mind

* acknowledges & plans for potential negative outcomes

* treats you like a friend, in addition to a romantic partner

Man this is RELEVANT

im boutta rb this every day bc these are the minimum requirements to fwm

wanda maximoff + powers/abilities

What if it was never the blood moon? What if it was never the blood moon? What if it was never the blood moon? What if it was never the blood moon? What if it was never the blood moon? What if it was never the blood moon? What if it was never the blood moon?

#I CAN SEE THE STITCHINGS OKAY GODDAMN THIS ANIMATION IS GORGEOUS

#and then you have people only going about how ~hot~ he is

because fuck, you can see the lines under his eyes and even red on the edges of the whiteness of his eyes

and frost on the edgES OF HIS CLOTHING

but^

seriously, the amount of detail and animation in ROTG is just AMAZING, I felt like I could reach out and feel the fabric of their clothes, of Tooth’s feathers and oh my god , these people are amazing.

Tooth’s feathers have this purple sheen on the lower half of her body and it’s only apparent when her knees are bent or the angle is right

And Jack has kinda splotchy skin and scraggly canine teeth and salt and pepper eyebrows

AND TOOTH HAS FLAWLESSLY MANICURED NAILS

THIS MOVIE IS GORGEOUS

DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE PARTICLE EFFECTS FOR ALL THE SAND

this is the kind of post I’ve been waiting for.

yes.

to everything.

What’s even more amazing is a bunch of nerds created that shit. I wish they got more praise for the amazing shit they do all the time.

I remember one of the guys showing me the sand tests .. he used to work for NASA.

NASA

FUCKING NASA EVERYBODY!!! 

AND AS A SIDE NOTE, PETER RAMSEY (who directed Rise of the Guardians) ALSO DIRECTED SPIDER-VERSE 

YES HE DID

a hypothetical d&d party

The bard is mute.

It’s not the first thing people notice about her, usually.  The first thing is generally that she’s young, and female, and lovely–the first thing people notice about their entire party is that they’re all young, and female, and lovely, and that’s gotten more than one would-be thief or mugger in far over their head when they haven’t noticed the the paladin’s hammer or the ranger’s axe.  It comes up rather quickly though, often enough.  Whoever heard of a bard who can’t sing?

She plays a lute, mostly, or a lap-harp made of shell and sinew, string instruments she can pluck while she smiles in secret and watches everyone around her.  She dances quick, except when she’s tired, when she’s scared, when she forgets to remember the feet at the ends of her legs.

She doesn’t tell her story to strangers, but enough of the other girls have learned to sign by now, and it’s easy enough to sketch out the outlines of the old bargain: the voice, the prince, the witch, the thousand shards of glass she walked upon on her way up the beach, the look in her sea-green eyes when they travel too near water.  The thousand shards of glass she walked upon when she left the palace, and turned back towards the sea to throw herself upon the rocks, and then made her way up the road inland, and kept walking.

.

The warlock is beautiful and mild and self-effacing and shy, is tidy and generous and charming.  She’s small with herself in exactly the right way to shout abuse to the half of her party who knows how to recognize that same look in the mirror in the morning.  The bird on her shoulder is too small, too bright, too sweet for a real warlock’s familiar.  The knife at her belt is sharp enough for anything that needs doing, though, cooking or otherwise.

Her fae patron visits sometimes, in the quiet hours between dusk and midnight, a sweetly old godmother made of moonlight and shadow.  She’s kind to the whole lot of them in her own chaotic way, free-handed with transmutations and illusions that break halfway through the evening, for better or worse.  She once spent three hours around their campfire drinking brandy and gossipping outrageously about the Feywild and teasing the wizard into fits of laughter.

She’s never told the story of how she met the warlock’s mother, or what debt was owed there, and the warlock doesn’t know herself.  It was never meant to be a debt paid in power and violence and the deft will-sapping enchantments the warlock weaves now, but, well.  The prince wasn’t meant to be cruel, the warlock says.  The palace was meant to be warmer than the fireplace cinders in her stepmother’s house.  The faerie was meant to be saving her from her lot, not throwing her into something worse.  The power’s an apology of sorts.

.

The wizard is awkward and joyful and nervous.  She has no fear of heights or small places, which just stands to be expected, she says, after all those years in that little tower, and she’s got no skill at lying or even edging around the truth at all, which is why she isn’t in the tower any more in the first place.  She says too much or too little or the wrong thing entirely, always, but the most well-socialized member of the whole party is the ranger who walks around with a dire wolf at her hip, or maybe their mute bard, so who are any of them to judge.

There was nothing to do in that tower but read, and brush her hair, and sort through the witch’s endless stockpile of dried herbs and potions ingredients, and watch out the window as woodcutters and hunters and princes rode by, and dream.  The reading was more interesting than the dreaming, most of the time, and the witch didn’t mind it as much when she talked about it.  She never bothered to actually use any of the magic in the witch’s books until the thing with the prince and the haircut and the desert, which she’s told them all about in all the detail they could ever ask for, but most of the girls get uncomfortable when she starts talking about princes.  It’s a little easier if she just starts rambling about conjuration and abjuration and illusion theory, about the 400-year-old history of a city that doesn’t exist any more, about the proper grammatical structure of Celestial, until maybe one of the quiet ones finally answers back.

Her hair is too short.  She keeps an illusion up over it whenever she can, while it grows back slowly, tickling the side of her face and the back of her neck and leaving her head too light and unbalanced.  

.

The ranger doesn’t care about princes, which makes one of them at least.  Then again, the ranger doesn’t trust anyone, really, prince or no, not wolves or monsters or the men who kill them.  She more or less trusts the rest of them by now, mostly, when the wind blows in the right direction.

She wears bright red in the middle of the woods and it shouldn’t help her slip into the shadows half as easily as it does, but most beasts can’t see color and red’s just another shade of gray if the light’s low enough.  She never uses her axe against trees.  She doesn’t need to.  She can find a path through any brush without it.  She picks flowers when she finds them, and tucks them into the other girls’ hair.

Her wolf’s mother killed the man who taught her to use the axe, and the man who taught her to use the axe killed that wolf’s mate before that, and the mate had an old woman’s blood on his teeth when it happened.  The ranger’s blade found the wolf’s mother’s throat.  The ranger’s mother sent her out into the woods in the first place.  It’s not as though anywhere is really safe, cottage or forest, axe or teeth.  One of these days maybe her wolf will turn and go for her in return, and maybe one of these days her axe will be faster and maybe it won’t.  In the mean time, there’s flowers and berries and pastries and enough game to keep everyone sated, for a little while.

.

The paladin’s hair is raven black and her skin is chalky as a corpse.  She’s not undead, mostly.  The undead are her job.  She knows that much.

She was sweet, once (they were all sweet, once) but apples are bitter now and so is she, and there’s judgment to lay out in the world.  Her grip on her warhammer’s all wrong–she holds it like a mining hammer, but it hits as hard as it needs to.  Her armor’s all dwarven make, and her shield’s black and red and white like snow.

She was sweet once, and frightened, and when she says it quietly around the campfire in the night when none of them can quite make out the glimmer of understanding on each others’ faces, everyone still nods.  She took a bite of poison and somebody left her a full year in a glass coffin of Gentle Repose, dangling on the edge of the Raven Queen’s domain while all the other newly-arrived dead passed by and faded away.  She woke up to somebody’s lips and hands and skin on her lips and her hands and her skin.  She doesn’t like princes.  She doesn’t like necromancers.

She likes sunlight, and summer, and colors that aren’t black and white and red.  She likes the way the bard grins when she whirls into a dance, and the look in the warlock’s eye when she sets her feet to say no, and the wizard’s laughter on high with a Fly spell, and the ranger’s gentle fingers braiding flowers into everything she can touch.  

this is BEAUTIFUL

Bless you for your mercy

@endingfury