wEuhghghhkjdlkjad I don’t even know what to say! u~u I’m just happy to have so many friendly people watching my blog. I want to show my appreciation by doing a giveaway!
Now, it’s been a matter of— what do I give? This blog isn’t specifically a plush blog, an art blog, just a “me” blog. There are all kinds of people following me for different reasons- friends, clients, fellow fans in various fandoms—.
How do I share my appreciation based on what I post here? So here’s how it’s going to go!
Prizes:
First Place: An 8” (inch) custom plushie of your choice!
Second Place: A 6” custom plushie of your choice.
Third Place: A 4” custom plushie of your choice.
There’ll be a secret bonus if you’re a Followerrr~
Haven’t seen any of my plushie work? Find it here!
If a soft huggable little plushie doesn’t seem to be your thing, than I’d be happy to work out a digital painting equivalent to each of the prizes when winners are drawn!
Now for the Rules!
- Like and Reblog as much as you want, but make it bearable for your followers— or not. @w@;;
- You don’t have to be following me for a chance to win
- I can ship internationally!
- This Giveaway ends at 11:59 PM EST June 20th, 2013.
Good Luck!
This gets to creep back, herpderp
So things are looking up a little financially, and I felt bad that I couldn’t ship internationally before, but I can now, I promise ;w; I want my overseas friends to be able to get in on the lovin’ too. Sorry for my derpass-update!
Juuuust under a month left on this giveaway!
I am Elena-Zar (Elena of the house of ZAR). Join your own Kryptonian House with the #ManOfSteel glyph creator http://bit.ly/10nsgOy
*lies on the floor in a pool of tears, grossly sobbing over the Synthesis ending*
God, Bioware, you’re mean. Shit, my tears could fill a new Mediterranean Sea. ç_ç
I’m not going to go on a slut-shaming rant here or gripe about cosplayers, because that’s uncalled for and not the point.
I am going to say that it seems unnecessarily hyper-sexualized and almost one-dimensional. I feel like there should be some…
I think the problem is that, well, the girls I see in that tag are… nothing like me or like any other “nerd girl” I know, and I do know some of them. I mean, they could be even nerd-er than me in their personal life, I don’t know. It’s not like you could understand if someone is nerd by a photograph. :D But I wouldn’t say that they represent a “nerd girl” in my eyes. There’s a lot in being nerd, cosplay could be a part of it, even sexy cosplay… it’s just not ALL of it.
That said, maybe we should tag some “actual” nerd girls (as I said, I don’t know if those girls are nerd or not so no offence meant), meaning someone who is nerd - at least for what we know - in a photo which reflects them being nerd and also girls. I don’t know, I love my dice, I could post a photo with them but once I was accused of not being “a real nerd” because in that photo I had nailpolish. o_ò
I have nothing against cleavage, I understand it’s something nice to look at and as long as the owner is okay with it, I’m okay with it too, it’s just that all that kind of photos make a bit difficult to identify with “nerd girls”. o.ò And… I think I should?
Or have I stopped being nerd while I wasn’t watching?
:’D
I’m not going to go on a slut-shaming rant here or gripe about cosplayers, because that’s uncalled for and not the point.
I am going to say that it seems unnecessarily hyper-sexualized and almost one-dimensional. I feel like there should be some “reclaiming the nerd girls tag” movement to bring some more balance to it.
Thoughts?
…whoa, I saw that tag like… now, for the first time. ò_ò Pretty sad.
I mean, everyone has the right to do (and photograph) whatever he or she likes, but I think I’m pretty nerdy and… I don’t look like that… or dress like that… or anything like that…
I don’t know, maybe I’m… prude? Am I? I don’t know, I’m confused now. O_o
Longsword
- Dated: circa 1530
- Place of Origin: probably Switzerland
- Medium: Iron or steel, leather and cord
- Measurements: Length: 101.5 cm; Width: 3.8 cm; Weight: 1.62 kg
The sword is attributed to Itelhans Thumysen (died 1566). It also features an incised mark that resembles Lyon’s bladesmith being possibly the maker’s mark.
Source: © The Wallace Collection
A/N: Apparently I came home from karaoke last night and decided to write a thing. So uh, apologies for my shameless appropriation of six thousand cliches.
*******
Garrus was in the cockpit, listening while Shepard went over the most recent batch of Normandy’s upgrades with EDI and Joker….
I think I should say that my boyfriend’s a saint. It’s been a month since I started to play Mass Effect and it’s been almost a month since I started to be all “OMG GARRUS GARRUS MARRY ME GAAAAAAAHHHH” and spraying my feels all over my blog, and yet there he stays, stoic, patient, exasperated calm.
Poor dear boyfriend. ç_ç You’re so precious. <3
You understand my feels, I understand your hype.
I swear that if I get any more feels my heart will just STOP BEATING.
EVERYTHING WAS JUST SO… !!!
Also, TANGO.
TANGO.
*dies a bit inside*
Is it strange that I found it hot? Because I did. Am I weird? Am I? Probably yes… Still hot, though.
I CRIED. FOR. THANE’S. VIDEOMESSAGES. But that’s okay, it’s not like I need an heart.
EDI, I don’t know if I feel ready for a ménage a trois. Also, Joker wouldn’t be happy. No, wait. Not sure about this, as long as he would be invited.
*just lies on the floor unable to do anything*
P.s.: I blushed a bit on the things Garrus says when you wake up the morning after the party. >_> GODS.
DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS – lonely protagonist runs errands while babysitting group of poorly socialized murderers in order to kill dragon and save country.
DRAGON AGE 2 – lonely protagonist runs errands while babysitting group of poorly socialized murderers in order to get money and blow up…
And THIS is why I’m convinced that the canon Shepard should be female. Commander Mom.
in tonight’s sketch
edi kisses a smelly, diseased man
submitted by anoia!
There are multiple definitions of a virus. Jeff does not currently require a full system scan, merely one for body temperature. Despite the warmth of his skin, directing more fans onto his person will not accelerate the internal cooling process. For some reason, he prefers hot beverages to cold ones during this time. They cause his cheeks and nose to redden, his eyes to water. (There are multiple definitions of tears. It would appear they can simply be excess fluid leakage, rather than possessing any more complicated, emotional connotation.) Other excreta drips over his top lip. ‘I’m, like, krogan-in-heat levels of barfo disgusting,’ he says.
‘I do not agree with this consensus,’ she replies.
There are temperature sensors in the palm of her hand. She rests them against his forehead, under the fall of his messy hair, realizing his skin has excess moisture. He appears momentarily surprised by the gesture, as though it is familiar to him. Whether or not that is the case, the point remains that it is logical. Also, his forehead fits the contours of her palm. The body she inhabits does anticipate certain needs, not merely her own, quite satisfactorily. His nose continues to drip. There is a pile of medicated extra-soft tissues—with lotion—on the floor by the side of his bed. ‘Mount Moreau,’ he calls it, waving a delirious hand. ‘I claim this peak in the name of It’s the Goddamn future, so where the hell’s my cure for the common cold already?’
‘Pfft,’ he says, though perhaps it is a sneeze. ‘Science. Boo. Boo science.’
He looks at her through bleary eyes. His conversational abilities have suffered, though he is still capable of being entertaining. There is something else about the way he looks, though the basic assembly of his features has not changed. He considers himself disgusting but it is not disgust that she synthesizes when gazing at him, clutching his mug of soup. (‘The kind with the little alphabety animal thingies in it,’ he requested earlier. That was an unexpected mission into requisitions, yet not without its rewards. He held up one of them and said, ‘Hey, look. An elcor!’ then ate it. Humor is remarkable in its multifaceted adaptations.)
He is…cute, she supposes. This way. ‘Your suffering appeals to me,’ she says.
‘That was a joke,’ he supplies.
It was not. Or it was an infinite jest. But she kisses him without fear of saliva-born infection. ‘Yay science,’ she says.
(He later believes he hallucinated that.)
So You Think You Can Dance ft. your ridiculous male squadmates
And as Alia Shepard would say: “Maybe I dance like a dead fish but hey, I’m not the worst here.”
