#i must contribute

[lyss-sketchbox]

He sees the things that makes him happy ^^

[etherealtrashrat]

Making a slightly late contribution to the @linkeduniverse fandom

I hope but also don't hope you recognise the first picture

But who doesn't at this point

[kanerallels]

About to reread Into The Dark so I can contribute to the Leox Gyasi tag some more

[ursidanger]

PAY WHAT YOU WANT COMMISSIONS 🇵🇸

I will accept art requests based on ANY donation to a campaign from gazafunds.com

(website of compiled + fully vetted gofundme links; if you find the list overwhelming I recommend supporting the spotlight campaign featured on their front page)

OR the Municipality of Gaza

(whose goal is to restore access to water in Gaza City after half their water wells + 42k meters of water networks have been destroyed by Israel’s occupation)

I will accept drawing requests in exchange for recipet of donation to either of these viable sources!

Palestine will live to see liberation 🍉

SEE REQUEST GUIDELINES BELOW

•Higher donation = more time spent

•Even a tiny amount is sketch guaranteed! Anything is better than nothing

•DM/email request + receipt of new donation

•No revisions

•Keep SFW

•Hate speech/joke requests will not be tolerated

[trancegnder]

go my scarab (tfem d16)

thank u @princepqul for inspiring me to doodle this

[yourlocalabomination]

Nerdy Days

[gratefulcheeses]

Happy pride month everyone

[yourwagonisaflame]

grace + max + textposts

[morverenmaybewrites]

Revenant (Creature! Jason Todd x Reader)

Y'all ever think about Creature!Jason? 

Y'all ever think about what would have happened as he came back as something *Other*?

Ever think about what would happen if after years of visiting his grave, you suddenly stumble across him in the cemetery, still wearing the rags of the suit they buried him in? 

The seam is split where he has grown too tall, too fast, worn away by years of dirt and rot, and for a moment, he looks like a ghoul.

(And for a moment you almost don't recognize him: the years have made your memories of him blurry, like water poured over a painting, you remember him but you don't remember the details. You remember the little boy you grew up with, but it takes you several minutes longer to remember the scar on his ear, the result of the two of you trying to give him an ear piercing with a heated needle and a cube of ice). 

It takes you several minutes to realize that he still bears the scar from the autopsy. That where the buttons of his shirt had popped and his tie had gone missing, you can see where he had been clumsily stitched back together. 

(They had taken out his organs, you remembered, wrapped up in a black plastic bag and weighed like they were meat to be sold on the market, like they had never once sustained a life). 

It takes you longer to realize this: he's not breathing.

There is no rise and fall of his chest and his breath does not mist the air the way yours does.

His fingers are still caked with grave dirt, the fingernails torn and bloodied from where he had scratched open his coffin. 

(Oak, you remembered. The coffin had been made out of oak. You remember the expression on Bruce’s face as he requested the coffin be made in a smaller size than the industry standard; his eyes had been empty, his voice toneless, as if grief was a thing that carved him hollow.

You remember, too, that you knew exactly how that felt. How you could see your own blank eyes staring back at you in the mirror.)

But then the Jason of today speaks– 

(too tall, too big, with green eyes that look like broken bits of glass and you wonder to yourself if he’d always had green eyes.)

–and your thoughts split apart. 

He says your name. 

He says your name and it’s like he never left. 

And he says, “Run.” 

And he takes a single step toward you.

And you realize that he has grown much, much bigger since the day he died. The Jason you knew had been lithe and acrobatic, but this Jason is solid, made out of corded muscle.

(And you remember this: his eyes had not been green before he died). 

The two of you fall at the same time: him falling on his hands and knees from the alien sensation of a body made new– 

(You can see where the seam in his clothes have split where he had grown too tall, too fast.)

And you–

You cannot remember when you fell, only that you are scrabbling backwards and that you can feel the soft soil sinking underneath your palms and feet, as if the ground is sucking you in. You cannot keep your eyes off of him: there is a terrible solidity to him, one that told you that he is not a dream, not that a ghost, he is something real. 

He is Jason Todd, back from the dead.

He lifts his head and his eyes meet yours– 

(Greengreengreengreengreengreengreen)

And his lips are forming the words again, “Run.”

But then you hear a crack, as loud as thunder, and the pain hits you like lightning. 

The both of you freeze at the sound of it. 

(And there is a small animal part of you that recognizes the way his pupils dilate, so huge they’re almost black, it recognizes the way his nostrils flare at the scent of it.)

You look down at your palm with something like surprise. Blood flows freely from a cut that had not been a few seconds before: a cut perhaps an inch wide, running from the web of your fingers down to your wrist. 

Perhaps it had been from a broken vase, left at the gravestone of another loved one, a left behind beer bottle, you find that you can’t recall–

(And you are so focused on trying to figure out what happened that you do not see the way Jason almost curls around his stomach like a wounded animal, fighting a hunger that threatens to swallow him whole.) 

When he speaks your name again, his voice is hoarse, cracked and splitting at the seams.

And then he asks if you’re all right. 

And he crawls to you, on his hands and knees, the motions of his muscles spastic as if his nerves were firing improperly, to cup your injured hand in between his.

(His fingers are still caked in grave dirt and you wonder if he dug himself out.) 

He could have spent minutes looking at the blood that runs freely from the cut on your palm. He could have spent lifetimes.

“Are you all right?” he asks again.

(He had died and he had crawled out of his own grave to cup your injured palm in between his hands and he is asking if you are all right–)

Tenderness wells up in your throat like tears. You find that you cannot speak, you can only nod. 

Jason’s breathing is heavy as he reaches up to rip up his remaining sleeve–

(it gives easily, worn away by years of dirt and rot)

–to make a makeshift bandage for you. 

(He had died and he had crawled out of his own grave and his first thought is of you.) 

But he only gets as far as wrapping the first layer around your palm before he pauses. 

And this time, you do recognize the way his pupils as he stares at the cut on your palm, the way his nostrils flare at the scent of blood.

And you realize that the first thing he did was ask you to run. 

(And you think about how gaunt he looks, how the skin is stretched so tight over his face that you could trace the curve of his skull.

You think about how, in the autopsy, they had taken out ihs organs, wrapped them in a black plastic bag and weighed them like they had never once sustained a life

You think about how he must be starving.) 

And you don’t move, don’t dare breathe, as he carefully unwraps your palm again. As he closes his eyes as if making a decision.

As he lifts your palm to his lips.

And he drinks. 

[hazieash]

My captain, my king 🫡🐍👼

[dreamsy990]

more silly layton doodles because the british have unfortunately gotten into my skull and cannot be removed

[edwinspaynes]

I DESPISE the fanon that "I was nervous around you" meant that Edwin had a crush on Simon. Like, no, he was nervous because Simon called him slurs and snatched his clothes off. Bffr. That would kill any attraction immediately, IF it was there at all.

[shannonsketches]

thinking about gohan and vegeta and how their bond is underrated

the difference in their reactions to each other 😭

Gohan being the first one to step between Vegeta and Certain Death, twice, without an ounce of hesitation, and Vegeta saving him back despite his feelings about battle intervention.

Vegeta knowing Gohan's the best of all of them

Vegeta and Gohan both born prodigies assigned an unfair amount of responsibility to be Great and be a Saiyan Messiah(tm) way too young by a stubborn and proud if not (relatively) well-meaning father who didn't see any other option and I just think Gohan doesn't get enough credit as like. The first serious muscle behind Geets' personal growth.

[monstatron]

i’m normal about sylva and lightning (lying)

that’s it that’s the post

[mossyarts]

my soggy amnesiac who has the worst day of his life everyday

[yourlocalabomination]

Has anyone done this yet?