i will never not reblog this
Dr. Seuss was a racist. He wouldn’t attach his words to an interracial romance. Here are seven racist cartoons he made about Japanese-Americans during WWII.
He also later apologized and wrote Horton Hears a Who! to illustrate his remorse for his previous way of thinking
A request I got from xjapanda to draw Loki wearing Avant Garde clothes. I am not sure if this is what you wanted, but I tried ;_;
Background from here.Jesus this is fantastic!! I love everything about this - the colors, the way Loki looks like a surreptitious assassin from the 1920’s. I’m crazy about the way he’s covering his mouth, like he’s trying not to show emotion, or maybe stop himself from revealing something. The outfit is amazing and his physique is just ugh! The fingerless gloves and black fingernails remind me of a wicked cult order… I could go on forever! Thank you sooo much!! I feel like I need to pay you for this lol
(a distant semi-related follow up of this drabble)
Loki was going blind.
He could see the corners of his vision blur and darken, as if the world was shrinking, the universe was collapsing. Colours were dulling—Loki couldn’t tell the difference between his seidr and the Infinity Gem anymore. He was going blind, going dumb, going deaf—all he had left was the wrenching pain as his energy poured out of his hands, his knees shaking under his weight, the pain in his chest that made it too hard to breathe.
Thor’s voice was so distant, Loki wondered if perhaps he had imagined it. His eyes stung. He couldn’t turn his head to find Thor, couldn’t look away, and he didn’t know if he would ever see Thor before the end.
His breath left first. His lungs were battered, ripped from the exertion. Loki hadn’t the strength to draw another breath.
Thanos stumbled back, limbs shaking. Loki would have been relieved, invigorated, determined, if his sight didn’t leave next.
Blackness ate his vision. He would have thought that he was already gone, if he still wasn’t in agony and still couldn’t hear the roar around him like a hurricane, or Thor’s voice growing more and more muffled. Or maybe he was, and he was deluding himself, because who ever was certain that suffering truly ended with death?
It struck his heart—weak and failing as it was—that he was going to die where he stood.
He tried not to be afraid.
Warmth left next. His fingers felt so cold, and the empty chill crawled up his wrist, through his arms, edging toward his heart. He was too blind to see if he was falling back to his Jotun form, or if it was merely a part of dying.
He tried not to think.
He suddenly wanted to see Thor, one last time. They would someday forget each other’s faces, he in Hel and Thor in Valhalla. He choked—it was too late to wish anything else now, not when nothing could change. He closed his eyes, even when it did not make a difference.
I’m sorry, Thor.
With the last of him left, he shoved one last blow from his being.
A rush of wind.
A howling scream.
It was so cold.
And ringing, crystal clear, emerging from the storm that now died, he heard—
And then he was gone.
yes i have brothers ‘ω’)ﾉ we’re more on the Sam and Dean side of sibling-hood ~ *