#i'm used to The Empty

[some-pers0n]

Is it just me or was there little to no Halloween vibes this year. Like what do you mean Halloween is less than four days away. I've seen more Halloweenposting in like June than the entirety of October

[brainrotcharacters]

makes me giggle to think of X2 Logan meeting dp&w Logan when this is a thing

[trashootie]

1000 followers Yay! 🎉🎉💃

Have a complimentary Lae'zel drawing

[yeonjune]

Yeonjun about the strain he felt while preparing for his debut solo project ✙ "GGUM" MAKING FILM

[sorryiliketoscreenshot]

[littleprincerianne]

"electric car or car that runs on gasoline?" no boo, these:

[andy-clutterbuck]

[teddybeartoji]

aanyway this is what i did todayyy:33333

+ the "man is a moral animal" poem quote poem is by frank bidart btww!!!!!

ta– daaa!!! these are nothing big nothing special but it is really fun to make them hehehehe

[delicatebluebirdruins]

God the reveal of the Lockwood's final lecture and his realisation that his parents were murdered. Imagine Cameron Chapman's acting it out? seeing the pamphlet and the date on it. Imagine the conversation with Lucy and them reading the important parts?

(also imagine Jack and Ruby acting out their scene before crossing the iron bridge when Kipps is fatally injured?)

[naamahdarling]

.

[tapakah0]

do u know cass personally? or is this a tumblr friendship? cuz its the most wholesome thing ive seen in my life

I don't even know their real name ~ But if I will be told that I have an extra liver, I will know at the exact same second to whom give it.

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[hauntingjasper]

Sketchy sketch of an Angler design I had in mind, i saw ppl making their own humanized designs for the Pressure entities so i'm giving it a shot too

*The Sailor Song by Toy Box starts playing*

[front-facing-pokemon]

[wolfram-but-art]

Cześć! (Miło widzieć polaka który lubi TF2 i maluje tak cudownie :D)

Your art is amazing! If I can ask...can you draw Sniper sitting next to a fireplace? You don't have to ofc!

aaaaa dziękuje :'3 jednocześnie przepraszam że odpowiedzenie ci zajęło tak mi długo. nie wiem czemu tak bardzo się z tym rysunkiem męczyłem, mam nadzieję że mi wybaczysz fsieugesyfsey </3

"Hi! (it's nice to see a Pole that likes tf2 and draws so wonderfully :D) [...]" "aaaaa thank you :'3 at the same time i'm sorry that responding to you took me so long . i don't know why i struggled with this one so much, i hope you can forgive me for it fsieugesyfsey </3"

[ano-po]

The canon event where you move out of your Asian household and you realize you can throw your single-use plastic bags/containers because you have glass, ceramic, or woven baskets to keep your things. Your mind says "what if there is a new thing you must contain?" but you answer with "I don't have much to contain anyway." You have one eco bag that also works as a tote bag sometimes. It's holding on. It's very sturdy. You use it for books and groceries and gadgets. It's only one and you don't feel the need to buy another. You throw away the batteries (safely) that are empty, because what's the need to keep them around, only to be forgotten? Most of your things are solar-powered and rechargeable anyway. You don't buy clothes that you think you'll use somehow. You only have 5 sets of carefully thrifted clothes or heavily saved long-lasting designers. They're all adjustable. You accepted that the human body is ever flunctuating. You realize you don't have to keep that scrap of fabric. You bought one microfiber cloth you use for every kind of surface. You can squeeze it and it's all dry, not staying in the kitchen wet and slimy. You realize you can throw away the sticks you found in the woods NOPE NOPE I NEED THESE STICKS HERE thaNk you very much these are good sticks see KALI-KALI SIZE WOW nope these are staying!