how is this man so pretty

george-macnicol  asked:

You honestly live the life I want.. how did it all start for you?

I doubt that man. You see what I want you to see, my daily life is way different. Yea I love the woods and spending time out in the mountains but right now I work a pretty normal job and have a pretty normal life. The key is making a priority of your free time. Weekends are what I can work with right now so I make the most of them. Start by doing day hikes, get out there. 

anonymous asked:

some guy was gushing to his friend in my ap class about his girlfriend and how pretty she is and literally wouldn't stop talking about her and his friend was not having his shit bc he looked so annoyed and done ajdjdkdjd but honestly ? i need a man like that

kfsngkj that’s so fucking cute 😩😩😩😩😩😩 when will anyone ever gush over me 😩😩😩😩

The Hunchback of Notre Ed! XD (Disney version, of course)

Got some ideasies in mind for who’s who. Let’s put the cast together, shall we? Feel free to add. ;)

Bro is Frollo. So now he’s Brollo, ha!! XD

Eddy’s Phoebus. As I mentioned before, he fits him fairly well, and since Phoebus was Frollo’s trusted soldier, well… XP Yeah.

Edd will definitely be Esmeralda! X3 I think the circle works pretty well.

I think Jonny should be Clopin… XD Although instead of a quirky hand puppet, it’s Plank.

And how about Ed for our leading man Quasimodo? :O

How about the Gargoyles? Am I missing anyone?

10

kingdom hearts appreciation week
↳day three// disney vs original worlds

A loved one not lost but remembered. 

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

2

I’m currently in the process of moving (probably will post on that another time once I settle down,) but just really wanted to get this out. Ricklantis Mixup was amazing, guys. This was awesome. Just the storytelling aspect of it was so strong and this was super serious and dark throughout. I was planning on doodling a few jokes but that didn’t work out. The newbie Cop Rick and Campaign Manager Morty are some new favorites and I kinda hoped they would meet, but guess that didn’t work out. The storyline was awesome though so no complaints.

Just a personal note, this episode gave me chills from how it really echoed what happened last year. Through personal experience working on student projects and stuff, film/tv productions don’t get made in a week, it’s usually years of planning and drawing and stuff and it gave me goosebumps to see how the episode began to sound like what had happened last year. Man, I really don’t want to get super political on this so I’ll leave it at that but it always blows my mind to see films and shows that have been in the works for years to be culturally relevant when they come out.

And SO MANY CALLBACKS!!!!! SIMPLE RICK!!! LITTLE BETH!!! EEEEEEEEEVILLLLL MORTYYYYYYYYY!!!!! Wondering if my guess post of Evil Morty collecting and army of Morty’s still stands. Maybe it might be an army of Ricks. Who knows.

I also want to say, I find the SP Ricks and the Guard Mortys pretty adorable. 

Have you seen this man?

WANTED: 

For doing bad things and akumatizing people, as well as trying to get Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses so he can have ultimate power and ??? rule the world maybe? Not really sure why he wants them.

Physical Description:

This man is not hard to identify, as you can see (it’s probably why he always wears his mask)

  • He has no ears. He has no ears.
  • He has no hair, there is no hair on his head.
  • he has no eyebrows.
  • he has a really, really long chin
  • he wears a purple suit with weird flared out things.
  • he wears a grey mask with a butterfly motif on it.
  • speaking of butterflies, he is often in the presence of them and likes to unleash evil, purple ones into the world to make people do his bidding.
  • he has a cool staff.
  • he wears a butterfly pendant.


He usually looks like this:




But here we’ve made a rendition of what he might look like without the mask. If you see this man, please ask him who he is, because we here have no futzing clue.

Thank you


(But no really, who is this guy? He looks nothing like Gabriel or anyone that we’ve seen. And it’s not just my no-good not-photoshop skills. The no ears thing is a joke. I gave him at least one and my sister told me to take it off, lol, So here you go, Papillon unmasked. Please enjoy.)


;;0

(i’m so, so, so sorry lol this is horrible i’m sorry)

10

[What do you sleep in?]  “Nada.”

amami’s real talent is actually the shsl tearista 

Now I’m no longer in the back of an Uber, some song thoughts:

Two Ghosts is such a beautiful song. He feels it when he sings it.
Sweet Creature live is a whole different experience to the studio version - beautiful - a few tears were shed around me.
MMITH - hauntingly good.
Carolina - an absolute jam. And he loves it. The shithead.
Woman - will I ever not hear that duck? Bloody brilliant. Stage Harry comes out to play.
SOTT - wow. Just wow. Chills hearing him sing this live. I could watch him sing this all day.
FTDT - Soft but powerful live. Could hear a pin drop at the end.
ESNY - man, I love this song. Everyone singing along.
Kiwi fucking rocks. He rocks. We rocked. Stage Harry at his absolute best. Prancing, dancing. The full works. He loves it too. A cheeky little ‘maybe’ when the crowd started chanting for it and then a 'let’s have that again’ as soon as he’d finished the first time!
Only Angel - pretty much as above.

And….
The Chain - the whole band absolutely tore this up. UNREAL. And this is one of my all time fave songs, so I really mean it.
Girl Crush - how have I never heard this song before? I love it. He sang it perfectly. Poss his best live vocals yet. He owned it.

andreil soulmate au

An @aftgexchange pinch-hit for @andrewjsten; I hope you enjoy!

Imagine an AU where you can’t lie to your soulmate. 

Everyone knows this.

Well, as in, it is physically possible; Neil can open his mouth and say something untrue to Andrew.

But soulmates are two people who share a soul. Two people who were meant to be one, but were torn asunder by the gods in their rage.

A soul will know the condition and the intention on its other half; for they are part of the same soul, in the end.

  • Which means that Andrew knows that Neil is his soulmate almost immediately
  • He flies out with Kevin to meet this rookie forward that Kevin’s raving about. He hasn’t bothered to watch the videos, he’s just going because they’re desperate for a new team member after the last recruit, and Kevin insists on going and Kevin won’t go alone
  • So he has the lowest of expectations when Neil comes rabbiting into the changing room and Andrew swings without thinking about it
  • His first thought is ‘what an idiot’ and his second is ‘hot tho’
  • And then Neil says something about not deserving to play on the same court as Kevin and Andrew can feel it in his bones, in his heart, in his soul that Neil is lying
  • Which makes his third thought about Neil ‘well fuck’

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