On the idea of Theseus's Ship: in the end, it's still his, isn't it?
It was known as Theseus's, and it will continue to be known as Theseus's.
Even after he has returned to the ground which grew the wood of the hammer used to nail the ship's frame,
Even after generations of new wood have rotted and the sails are rags clinging to threads,
Even after millennia,
it will still be Theseus's Ship.
Goodnight, Phosphophyllite.
570 notes
·
View notes
I want to eat your art. Now. Gimme some nice big dog martyn and jimmy. Now.
P.S. IM NOT FORCING! PLS DO T THINK IM FORCING AHHHHHHHH *PANIC HUG*
The human anatomy really really sucks in this. I just gave up sorry dont look at it for too long
(Jimmy portrayed as Eurasier, a breed that requires lots of love and affection and gets easily depressed when holed up in one space, and is a relative of a dog bred specifically to give people warmth. Martyn is a Jack Russell Terrier, a breed that is often stubborn, mischievous and difficult to train)
341 notes
·
View notes
Tazercraft mental link but make it a lil bit weird, they’ll have a conversation mostly in their heads but partially out loud which from an outside perspective is just fragments of words and half sentences, they go dead silent for hours at a time only for them to suddenly start shouting out loud, very clearly mid-argument, Pac says something but it comes out of Mike’s mouth, Mike starts speaking with his mouth and finishes speaking with Pac’s, sometimes their thoughts become so tangled that they’re unsure who a thought belongs to so they both express it at the same time like horror movie twins, do you see my vision
431 notes
·
View notes
for the ask game: ritual and rites?
"This seems," Dick points out, mild with sleep deprivation, "Like a bad idea."
"I think it's a great idea," Jason says, because he is twelve, and thinks that ghost hunting is grand adventure and not, like, tedious grunt work spent fumbling around in the dark.
Dick thinks. He makes an executive Older Kid Decision (gross) and snatches the spirit box out of Jason's hands before the kid can spirit it away (ha). "No ghosts."
"Come on!" Jason whines, peeved. He jumps, and he tries to climb up Dick's Gotham U sweater— but Dick came by his height honestly, and no shrimp malnutritioned preteen is going to make Dick give in and tussle with ghosts at three in the morning.
"No," Dick snaps, arm raised higher. The preteen is unlatched with a hand to the chest and an aggressive push with his foot. Jason grooooans, as if this is the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to a preteen, ever. "If you want to fight ghosts, wait until B is back and bother him. I need four hours sleep and an un-haunted family wing during finals week. Get out and go harass ghosts on your own time."
Jason sours like an unripe lemon. "Motherfucker," he whispers under his breath, as both the worst word he knows and as if Dick has never heard swearing before.
"Pussy," agrees the spirit box.
"Shut up," Dick decides, deciding to ignore everything that isn't a nap and his econ essay. "Or I'll send you to wake Alfred about it and tell him about your desperate need."
And then, before the ghost can chime in: "Both of you."
Jason, reasonably pale, scatters. Hopefully the teen takes the ghost with him. Dick resolves to ignore any future repercussions of whatever that was; his essay is due this upcoming noon hour, and Dick is going to wreck the class's v-shaped bell curve even if it kills him.
449 notes
·
View notes