Some Chili Doodles From Twitter!

somebody called argenti and boothill guns n roses and i think thats neat

i was a teenage exocolonist / Male MC (Explorer) x Dys

The sequel of last comic, but this can be seen as a standalone story.

i saw this smug zhongli edit and i couldn’t help myself lol

and i cannot stress this enough!!! lets give mic some credit

the fellas

(p.s. this is for sale in my print shop!)

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/pug.png/the-bachelors/

robin and sunday

lookin through some case files…….

Extra cling on ghost king, impossible to remove

The Yuri on Ice piano arrangement feels like waking up to a crisp snow day, like watching a thunderstorm from the comfort of a coffeeshop, like laughter on the beach and starlit skies. It’s constantly propelling you and it ensnares you in a tidal current, pulling between melancholy and euphoria.

It’s nostalgic for a future you’ve already lived and reminiscent of a past you’ve never seen. It chills you from the inside out, and yet, its touch sears your skin like the softest candlelight, blazing with sandalwood and lavender.

Hungry on a full stomach, thirsty with a quenched throat, reaching, reaching for something you’ve never had and something you know like the back of your hand.

Sad, hopeful, angry, elated, grieving, the music swells in your heart and constricts your soul and as you begin to think you can’t take it anymore, as tears well in your eyes, it finally clicks to what it is.

It’s love.

My child is autistic. He doesn’t do well with change. Even little things that would be meaningless to most people.

For example, his hairbrush was getting old and worn. He had chewed the end of it. The cats had chewed some bristles. It was dirty and dusty. But I didn’t say anything. Because it’s his hairbrush.

Finally, he said he thinks it’s time for a new brush. Ok, I say, we’ll put it on the shopping list, and get one next time we’re in town.

So we go to town and we go to the store. There are many hairbrushes to choose from. He picks one and they even have it in his favorite color. We buy it, take it home, and remove the packaging.

I go to put it on the shelf where the old hairbrush is. Can we throw out the old one, I ask.

That’s when he stops. That’s when he freezes and gets a momentary look of panic on his face. Throw out the old one? That hadn’t occurred to him.

Because here’s the thing. Hair brushing is a part of his morning routine. And not just hair brushing, but hair brushing with that particular brush. To most people, the act of hair brushing is the routine, but not the brush itself. The objects are interchangeable. But not to my child. Not to someone with autism. The brush itself is just as important as the act of brushing.

So I take a breath. I put the old brush down. Think about it, I say. Let me know tomorrow what you want to do with this brush.

He decides. He realizes keeping an old hairbrush is not necessary. But it’s still important to him. So he asks if I can cut off one bristle. To keep. As a memory of the old hairbrush.

I don’t laugh. I don’t tell him it’s silly. I respect his need. I cut off the bristle. He puts it in his treasure box, along side some smooth rocks, beads, sparkly decals, a Santa Claus charm from a classmate, a few other things meaningful to him.

He throws the old hairbrush away himself. He is able to move on, and accept the change.