Deathigner - short film
..In which the children of the gods of Death attend reaper-school.
"It means ‘people’s army’."
ok real talk: how long until someone makes an 80s gotg fanmix
*tags one post NSFW*
ASSTITTYBUTTFUCKSLUTS IS NOW FOLLOWING YOU
PROLAPSEDMILFANUSES IS NOW FOLLOWING YOU
TAKINGGIANTDICKSINMYNOSTRILS IS NOW FOLLOWING YOU
ASIANTEENCAKEFARTS IS NOW FOLLOWING YOU
LESBIANNIPPLECUNT IS NOW FOLLOWING YOU
For Nicole. Concept design for Malekith and Algrim. Sorry for some of the shiny parts on some of them, the person who scanned the pages for me had trouble handling the art book.
The bad news is, people are crueler, meaner and more evil than you’ve ever imagined.
The good news is, people are kinder, gentler and more loving than you’ve ever dreamed.
I had a friend who once squeezed her rabbit too much until it started to squeal and she thought it was kind of going, ‘I love you’, when it was really saying, of course, ‘You are the reason I’m dying.’
Slightly concerned that we’ve reached a point where Mr. Cumberbatch immediately reaches for this analogy when asked about obsessive Sherlock fans.
Or maybe the reporter asked about “rabid fans” and Benedict misheard it as “rabbit fans,” in which case never mind.
the hunger games aren’t amazingly unique or flawless or anything but I think katniss as a character is very important and i think the media misunderstands
we aren’t in it for the cute boys. we’re in it for katniss. thousands of young girls were introduced to an introverted, angry girl born into poverty and watched her become the savior of the world and the media doesn’t seem to understand that she, as a character, is important to girls. not who she dates, but her
This actually did happen to a real person, and the real person was me. I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train. I’d gotten the time of the train wrong.
I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of cookies. I went and sat at a table.
I want you to picture the scene. It’s very important that you get this very clear in your mind.
Here’s the table, newspaper, cup of coffee, packet of cookies. There’s a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.
It didn’t look like he was going to do anything weird. What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of cookies, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.
Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with. There’s nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your cookies.
You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know… But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do: I ignored it. And I stared at the newspaper, took a sip of coffee, tried to do a clue in the newspaper, couldn’t do anything, and thought, what am I going to do?
In the end I thought, nothing for it, I’ll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened. I took out a cookie for myself. I thought, that settled him. But it hadn’t because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another cookie.
Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice …” I mean, it doesn’t really work.
We went through the whole packet like this. When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight cookies, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one. Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away.
Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back. A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my cookies.
The thing I like particularly about this story is the sensation that somewhere in England there has been wandering around for the last quarter-century a perfectly ordinary guy who’s had the same exact story, only he doesn’t have the punch line.
he’ll say “are you married?” we’ll say “wow those are pretty invasive questions for a snowman”
Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance. As king, you need to understand that balance and respect all the creatures, from the crawling ant to the leaping antelope.