Apparently much-needed reminder that reposting artists' art (by saving the images or screenshotting them and reuploading them yourself) on other platforms without the artists' expressed permission and without credit is theft and an insult to their passion and craft. You are profiting (in views, in attention, in feedback) from someone else's work and ideas, who do not get that feedback for sharing their creation.
If you are an art reposter, you are a thief and I have no respect for you.
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sometimes spite is a powerful motivator and today its motivating me to crochet
long story short I saw a cool bag on pinterest while I was looking for crochet patterns but there was no fucking pattern but one of my friends found a pattern for a similar but not quite bag so I watched an hour long video, transcribed it into text, and am now gonna make a wholeass backpack just because Sunflower Vibe
Wish me luck I guess
Also this is the bag
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2013: *fall out boy comes back*
monkey paw curls and my chemical romance disbands, leaving millions devastated
2023: *fall out boy comes back, again*
monkey paw flips off brendon urie, and frees ryan ross from having to see him continue to butcher his old band
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[Holiday Preparations]
Merry December 27th!!!... I'm late shhh, I was sleepy and busy
Based off my hc where Percy instinctively, without fail, shoots anyone on the LL who so even whispers the word "magic"
Bonus:
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I love the “Bruce is strong enough to pick up post-Lazarus Jason through sheer will and training” trope obviously, but picture:
Jason and Bruce being so heavy/muscular/fucking big, that they’re the only ones who can pick the other up.
Cue Bruce getting called in anytime Jason’s down and they need to move him. Or Jason getting pointed puppy eyes from Alfred until he sighs and picks Bruce up and carries him to bed after he passes out on the couch.
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You ever think that Crowley isn’t a bookseller and refuses to even act like one because Aziraphale doesn’t like to sell books? He won’t act like a “bookseller”, because Aziraphale doesn’t like selling books. That’s Aziraphale’s safe place and he doesn’t want to somehow mess it up.
“Are you a bookseller?” “Not even at gunpoint.”
Sitting right across from Aziraphale, he says that he wouldn’t sell books even when he was being threatened. Yes, it’s Crowley being over dramatic, but it’s also a reassurance. He doesn’t even let the books burn in 1941. He didn’t have a choice in 2019. Crowley might not run a bookshop, but he’ll keep it safe. Even if keeping it safe just means not letting anyone buy books from a bookshop
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Prompt 198
Now Bruce was not expecting to reincarnate upon his death. At least he thinks he died, he’s pretty sure he did. There wasn’t any other reason for him to be a well, literal baby. Around two he thinks, which fits well with the fact that it’s around that time that babies start forming memory recall, if he, well, remembered correctly.
But while he knew about reincarnation thanks to Shayera and Carter, he’d never exactly given it much thought towards himself. Because seriously, what were the chances of such a thing as him being given another chance?
So he was quite surprised at his situation, experimentally opening and closing pudgy hands that looked well, just a tiny bit off. He’d never been that pale before, he thinks, even back when he never went outside like, ever.
He turned his gaze towards the mobile above him with a sort of idle curiosity- a mixture of bats (ha) and other trinkets he wasn’t familiar with. It also caused him to get his first good look at his parent, asleep on a rocking chair right next to the crib.
Huh. They had the same pale skin he did, albeit in the light it looked like it was slightly tinted blue, and while their hair was white they didn’t exactly look old. They looked surprisingly well rested for raising a toddler too, unless they had a nanny or something similar… He rolled over, managing to very shakily push himself to his feet with the help of the crib.
Why was standing so hard as a toddler? And why did he have his memories of everything except how he had died anyway?
His head whipped up from where they were staring at his feet when he heard a snort, finding his parent awake and standing. Somehow silently enough that he hadn’t noticed- or he was that easily distracted by the unfamiliar giddiness bursting in his chest.
“Morning little bat,” his parent easily picked him up and held him while he inwardly sighed at the nickname. Of course his bat motif would follow him into this life. A low rumbling almost caused him to jump, his body relaxing before he could fully register the sound. The… purring?
Oh.
He wasn’t human this time around.
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