Mindless Self Indulgence - Tumblr Posts
Jimmy piss boi (my art work)
He's so pretty (my art work!!)
JIMMYYYY (minee!!)
Woah… is that another zero day edit….
I’m probably never gonna be consistent in posting or in my art style ðŸ˜ðŸ˜
Little Jimmy Urine art piece. The words are a shortened lyric from the song Eat Those Words. Sorry if this is super busy and weird looking, still trying to figure out art. If interested I can post a speedpaint.
Some little doodles of Jimmy urine :3
Some close ups so you can see the flaws better xp
Sorry for the bad quality, was too lazy to try to take good pics xx
Are you a fan of MSI????? Do you like to animate digitally, on paper, with stop-motion, or literally in any other way?????? Can’t find a job??? You’re a failure!!!???? Everyone hates you?????
Ice cream will fix it… but also JOIN MY MULTI-ANIMATED PROJECT!! 3 parts are left! Anyone can join as long as you read the rules in the description :3
Here's some fan art I made for fgwsss!
This is a terrible animation but I needed to get a bad feeling out of my stomach
SHE MAY NOT BE GOOD-LOOKING BUT SHE STAYS UP ALL NIGHT
it’s not my fault im beautiful
Help mindless self indulgence is becoming a hyperfixation help me help
im swinging over a pit of hell. TOO BAD I DONT BELIEVE IN HELL LOL
This made me laugh much too hard. Pretty accurate.
The boy had been brought before me just before dusk. The sun having just begun its descent from its brightest point as the shadows of evening crept slowly past the borders of what was once known as the Great Greenwood.
He was fatally young; even when measured to the fleeting lifespan of men, his infant like face pale white, painted with the colours of battle, speckled with contrasting shades of brownish red and black. It was the Woodmen who had delivered him, stuttering and shaking, barely able to get a word out.
"My lord... your highness... great Elven King! My liege... ambushed. Orcs! I ran. He told me to run. Seek help under the canopy... Thranduil!"
He needed to be calmed. Not even the greatest puzzle masters could have made sense of the words that were tumbling out of his mouth. Such a feat is not easy; when your own fears are set alight, each tiny hair standing straight on end as the shadow of unrest creeps up on you from behind like a cloaked assassin. Thankfully, I still knew the words. Though the incantation was mostly used on animals, men were not a far cry away from being a four legged beast. As the ancient Sindarin words were uttered, the boy's breathing returned to normal, the trembling of his hands ceased and his tense shoulders began to slump.
"The beginning, child. Start from the beginning."
I listened closely to every word as the boy spoke of his predicament. He was the squire of Isildur's eldest son. Accompaning his lord as they journeyed to Imladris. The riding party had not been a secret. Every leader of every realm aware of the King’s journey and the path he was set to travel. If they were lucky, Elrond would be able to reason with the man and convince him to give up his prize and destroy it. At least on this matter, myself and the Lord of Imladris were keen to agree.
Why Isildur had been allowed to keep it, was beyond comprehension. Though tough and resourceful; men were weak of heart. Easily corrupted. Prone to make foolish choices and take unecessary risks. Harbringers of misfortune and calamity. Both of which had befallen Isildur before he could reach his destination.
The band of orcs had attacked them in the Gladden Fields. A bold move while they were being hunted like vermin in a granary. Such a scourge is difficult to purge however. Though we had done well to push them into the fringes of existence. Those that had survived the battle were unorganized, ill equipped and without any kind of leadership. No more dangerous than a pack of wolves during a particularly long winter. How an entire retinue of Dunedain had fallen to the brutes should have been an embarassment, but in the moment it was nothing but a grave concern.
Against all advice, I rode out myself, fully armoured and ready to fight, despite the fact I had barely recovered from the last one. Our speed and determination mattered not. We arrived too late to offer any kind of aid.
Bodies littered the field; both men and orc, cold enough to the touch that it seemed rather obvious the battle had ended just as quickly as it had begun. They had not been prepared and the boy had not been fast enough. There was nothing that could have been done.
A meticulous search of all the fallen lasted well into the night, yet the most important corpse could not be recovered, nor could the precious cargo he had been carrying. To call it a disaster would be an understatement. Two Kingdoms left without a King. His body unaccounted for. The Ring lost as quickly as it had been aqcuired. Although the Dark Lord had been vanquished, here he was still gaining feats.
"There is nothing to be concerned about" the White Wizard had spoken, his drawling voice echoing throughout the council chamber like a slowly spreading miasma. "The ring has not yet changed hands. I would know if it has. WE would know. Swept away by the swollen waters of the Anduin. I shall recover it myself and inform the council when it is found."
I never trusted him. A snake in Maiar costume. For months I watched him creep around the fields. Searching for that which was never found as darkness moved into the Greenwood, reaching further and further each time I dared to speak against him. Yet it still came as a great shock when I began to ignore the council summons. A legion of fools. That is what they were. Blind to that which they did not want to see. For who else but a fool would gaze upon a building storm and pretend as though the skies are clear?
The unmistakable stench of blood hung in the air. A scent all too familiar to someone who had survived far too many tragedies for one lifetime. A sticky, salty sweetness that clung to the breeze and set every one of his senses on edge. Silent as a spectre, he moved through the trees, eager to set his own sights on the anomaly the locals had described to him. Surely they had been mistaken in their verbal depiction. The creature of which they described sounded like something out of an ancient tale deriving from ages past. A great hulking, warm-blooded beast with fur as black as night, possessing sharp claws and shimmering eyes. It was likely a bear. Some were still foolish enough to wander into the dark, infested woods in search of food. Winter was fast approaching, and the great scavengers were getting desperate to eat their fill. The insectoids would not think twice about taking down a creature as large as a bear, but not for the sake of consumption. An animal that large was too big to carry up to their webs, and over the years they had learned not to spend too much time on the ground.
As the smell became stronger, he was immediately able to pick out two distinct aromas. One he knew well. The fragarence of the spiders had a sickly, venamous stench, but the others he could not so easily identify. As he crept closer, his keen eyes picked up on something large and dark in the exact clearing the small band of Southland hunters had described to him. He drew his blade and kneeled down low to the ground, inching closer and closer until he could gain a clear view.
The beast definitely wasn't a bear. It looked more like the great cats that roamed the North. Giant, daggertoothed felines. He had never heard tales of a black one. Though he had heard some say that they could be white. The sizable felines could not be tamed, but rumours spoke of those who had learned a way to gain their trust. What one was doing so far south, he would probably never figure out. Like all ancient beasts, even the ones in the North had been hunted to near extinction. For glory, mostly. Fur—sometimes. For the liver that was said to cure those lacking the ability to walk—on occasion. Perhaps it had been forced from its hunting grounds? The last of its kind. Wandering in an aimless search for others, or perhaps simply peace. Maybe that was why he felt responsible for it. It had entered the woods seeking the protection and coverage of the trees, completely ignorant of the terrible things that had recently moved in to call it home.
Using extreme caution, he crept even closer, his footsteps soundless despite the fact that fall was upon them and the forest floor was littered with fallen leaves. The beast was injured, and injured animals were unpredictable. Even the docile grazers that roamed the flatlands in great sprawling herds were known to have a violent streak when faced with death. Though it soon became apparent that the great animal was unconscious. He was nearly close enough to touch it now, and still it hadn't stirred. He could see the softt must have been the spiders' poison that had left it in the predicament it now faced. rise and fall of its chest as it continued to breathe. The wounds it bore looked superficial. It must have been the spiders' poison that had left it in the predicament it now faced.
Thranduil was no healer, though he had picked up a few tricks of the trade along the way. Tangible methods were usually best. Especially when dealing with venom. No skill required. Only knowledge. The small amount of antiserum that rested forgotten at the bottom of his pack would likely be wasted on the creature. There was a great possibility that the beast would attack him the instant it rose from its poison-induced slumber. But it wasn't as though he would ever need it. The air of humans was all over the great cat. A sorcerer's familiar, perhaps? Or maybe even a sorcerer himself? Either way, he wasn't going to allow the thing to die a slow and painful death, only to have its body parts scavenged by humans who had been too cowardly even to simply end its suffering. Was he being driven by curiosity or a pathetic sense of pity that always seemed to strike him at the worst possible moments?
Laying his blade down on the ground beside him, he moved just close enough to place a hand on the creature. He could feel its heartbeat slow and staggering. It did not move. The poison currently coursing through its veins was fast acting. It had not been laying there for long. Delicately, he reached into the bag slung across his shoulders, digging around until he could feel his fingers curl around the tiny glass phial settled at the very bottom. He used his teeth to uncork it and proceeded to spill whatever was left inside into the open flesh wound. Giving the animal a delicate pat on one of its muscled shoulders, he spoke mostly to himself.
"And they say it was curiosity that killed the cat.".
Drawing back his hand and tossing away the now empty bottle, he reretrieved his blade and sat back against the trunk of a centuries-old giant oak. Only time would tell if his efforts had been successful. Laying the sword across his lap, he settled in for the long haul. Watching and waiting, with one hand poised ready on the hilt of his sword, just in case things decided to take a turn for the worst.