for where we are is hell

by モリ

held4ransom:

sculpture by Carolein Smit

“I am terrified by this dark thing
that sleeps in me; 
all day I hear its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.”
- from elm - sylvia plath

via bloodmilk

chirart:

SFEER THEORY ISSUE 1 KICKSTARTER

»> CLICK HERE «<

Special thanks to my very talented friend, Olivia Brown ( olivia.d.brown@gmail.com ), for supplying her voice specifically for this video!

Please check out the link, and help lend your support!

(Source: tragedyseries)

nekoni replied to your post: Have been out of business for the past week with…

You know I still have that pine tree joke written down in one of my sketch books with a guy shoving a flaming pine tree down his throat with his thumbs up. It still makes me laugh! Anyway I hope you feel better. (and lol, good timez at Anime North)

Have been out of business for the past week with some sort of horrible virus—I thought “flu” while I was rolling around delirious with fever for days, but now that I don’t seem to be developing a fluish death cough I think I’d put my money on “demonic possession of the sinuses”. Either way, it wasn’t fun, and I was sicker than I’ve been in years, even sicker than the time at Anime North when I had the flu and got myself high by accidentally taking over three times the recommended dose of cough medicine, resulting in the worst but also maybe best night ever.

So I’m in the recovery stage now and on the upside I’m functional and conscious but on the downside I will probably be coughing up bloody mucus for days. At least I have with me my faithful friend Buckley’s cough syrup (which has never gotten me high), and let me just tell you that the Buckley’s marketing campaign is a complete lie: Buckley’s doesn’t taste awful. Buckley’s barely tastes like anything. The reason Buckley’s is unpleasant is it BURNS YOUR FUCKING THROAT ON THE WAY DOWN. But, tumblr, as any sensible and reliable person would tell you, the feeling of flaming pine tree in one’s esophagus is not a taste.

Now it is time for me to lie down again.

iwantatophat:

[Image: King Triton and Flounder from The Little Mermaid. King Triton has a speech bubble that says “But if realism if a concern why do people always talk about female waist size and not about the talking lobster in the movie?” Flounder replies “Maybe because the portrayal of all successful, beautiful princesses as being impossibly thin reflects and is the result of a larger societal issue… unlike talking crustaceans?”]

feministdisney:

“What’s also interesting to note is that studies show that children, themselves, prefer averaged sized heroines- and some even prefer chubby ones,” Sebastian interjected as he clung to the King’s beard.  

“So it’s not true that kids only want to see- or will only relate to- a singular body size.   But anyway, I think it’s just pretty logical that the best way to actually celebrate a diversity of sizes in society (and no, a fat or chubby princess won’t be bad for young girls to see), kill some of the rampant fat shaming that exists, and to eliminate the concept that there’s a single, ideal body size for all women regardless of an individual’s health, biology history, body type, abilities, desires, and so on, is to actually show characters that are fat, thin, average, et cetera.”

http://feministdisney.tumblr.com

gingerhaze:

She only has two modes: pissed off, and homicidal.

womenfighters:

Courtesy of tinymarble, a Winter Huntress by Hannah Christenson.

diva-jjong:

Cecile Corbel - My First Borrowing

It’s finally snowed! I’ve been itching for a good walk in the snow since November (I blame Skyrim) so I am extremely pleased.

You see me here in my enormous fluffy hood because, unlike in the land of Skyrim, winter is actually really cold and it is not sensible to go gallavanting around in the snow without sleeves or pants or headwear.

picturethisbook:

    Quashing her natural curiosity to find out exactly what had happened, Sabriel folded the man’s arms across his chest, after first unclenching the grip that his right hand still had on his sword hilt—perhaps he had not been taken totally unawares after all. Then she stood and drew the Charter marks of fire, cleansing, peace and sleep in the air above the corpse, while whispering the sounds of those same marks. It was a litany that every Charter Mage knew, and it had the usual effect. A glowing ember sparked up between the man’s folded arms, multiplied into many stabbing, darting flames, then fire whooshed the full length of the body. Seconds later it was out and only ash remained, ash staining a corselet of blackened mail.
    Sabriel took the soldier’s sword from the pile of ashes and thrust it through the melted snow, into the dark earth beneath. It stuck fast, upright, the hilt casting a shadow like a cross upon the ashes. Something glinted in the shadow and, belatedly, Sabriel remembered that the soldier would have worn an identity disc or tag.
    Shifting her skis again to rebalance she bent down and hooked the chain of the identity disc on one finger, pulling it up to read the name of the man who had met his end here, alone in the snow. But both the chain and disc were machine-made in Ancelstierre and so unable to withstand the Charter Magic fire. The disc crumbled into ash as Sabriel raised it to eye level and the chain fell into its component links, pouring between Sabriel’s fingers like small steel coins.
    “Perhaps they’ll know you from your sword,” said Sabriel. Her voice sounded strange in the quiet of the snowy wilderness and, behind each word, her breath rolled out like a small, wet fog.
    “Travel without regret,” she added. “Do not look back.”

—

I think I’ve kind of decided to try and do comics for most of my Sabriel things. Not making any promises, but for now, there you go. They’re a nice way to play around with different ideas, in any case!

I also realize that she is totally supposed to be wearing skis but they just did not want to work for me. Haha, my badddd.

Also for the proper version of the comic with all the panels on a single page, click on over here.

Satan by Gustave Doré in Paradise Lost.

(Source: dead-wannahookup)