#may go up

[forgetbeam]

why do i keep seeing whole videos on advice for artfight from “veterans” or whatever. here’s all the advice you need:

you don’t need to draw every day

you don’t need to fully render every drawing, sketches still count and the person receiving it will still love it

you don’t need a fully polished ref sheet for every single character, having a basic one or even just a colour palette along with whatever other art you’ve done works fine in most cases

you don’t need to draw a fully rendered piece every single day do not burn yourself out or injure yourself for funny little internet points good lord

boom done there’s your 15 minute video

[malenjoyer]

WE'RE SO BACK

[chloesimaginationthings]

Mike can’t handle Abby in the next FNAF movie..

[anna-scribbles]

emma dupain cheng on the brain😽🎀

more:

[miaiminnis]

and the old dalish curse means something new to me: take me as well, o fen’harel, like my hand and vallaslin 🐺🌿🌊

[lotus-pear]

learning to love

[rejoiceinsilverlight]

the suit isn't complete until martha kent says so 🗣🗣🗣

[sabertoothwalrus]

does anyone wanna hear my chilshi thoughts

[billpottsismygf]

Doctor Who: The Impossible Planet & The Satan Pit / The Legend of Ruby Sunday

[hinamie]

thank u canon plant nerd megumi for my life

bonus:

[spaceacerat]

I see you disabled people who don't know your family medical history because your family members couldn't/wouldn't/weren't allowed to go to the doctor and never got diagnosed, or don't know your family.

I see you disabled people who didn't know you were disabled growing up, physically or mentally, maybe because your parents didn't have insurance and couldn't afford it/wouldn't take you seriously/didn't think it was a problem because they had it/doctors couldn't figure it out.

I see you disabled people who have bouts of an issue that you grew up with, that are/were infrequent enough that you never really thought about it and dealt with it on your own, and when you have one in front of people who weren't medically neglected, you wonder why they look so horrified as you describe it.

I see you disabled people who didn't/haven't had any amount of care or accommodation for their disability since it started, because you couldn't get diagnosed.

I see you disabled people who grew up thinking everyone had the same problem as you and that it was normal and so you accepted it, because you didn't understand how the human body worked and had no real frame of reference nor the language to ask for help, or the people around you saw it and just ignored it.

I see you disabled people only now understanding that what you experience is abnormal, and that there are things that can be done to help it, make it easier, or at least help you understand yourself better.

I see you disabled people that will never be able to get diagnosed or get the help you need, whether from being poor, lacking insurance, or any number of reasons.

This shit is hard, and there are people who will never quite understand your struggles. It doesn't seem to get talked about as much, but I wish it was. Please know I love you, and you aren't alone.

[casscainmainly]

Jason and Cass' opposing views on murder is so interesting. Their conflict is not purely moralistic - that is to say, it's not purely that Jason thinks murder is okay, and Cass doesn't. It's their identities, their original and most fundamental worldview. Jason is a murder victim and Cass is a murderer. Yes, Jason kills people as Red Hood, and yes, Cass dies multiple times, but this never truly erases how they see themselves. Jason will always have been murdered, and Cass will always be a murderer. They are unable to fully extricate themselves from those roles, and thus will never approach life or death the same way.

[marisashinx]

"Why hasn't Silver woken up yet...?"

[em-allay]

Something about Joel wanting to help break Jimmy’s curse in Limited Life, but just missed the opportunity-

And Lizzie accidentally breaking Jimmy’s curse in Secret Life when she fell into the void-

And how all three are going down in SOS, graves side by side, the three timers over their graves ticking down each second in unison-

Knowing and accepting that no one will revive them. The canary is no longer alone.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm not going back to Gusu with you.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[noxcheshire]

I am sick, dizzy, and can barely think but you know what would be WILD?

If the DC universe was an echo of Danny’s world. What if the continents of their planet shifted enough where Amity is now in New Jersey and had then become Gotham.

And when Danny died underneath the portal a part of his death fractured and imprinted itself into those various worlds. One of them being Gotham, where Danny’s home ironically used to be where Wayne Manor used to be.

So just imagine it, you’re coming back from patrol, grimy, sweaty, and with questionable intentions by dressing as an overgrown bat when suddenly the lights dim. It dims and brings darkness, only enough light to catch the beady marble eyes of the bats you fear.

And then electricity jumps in the middle of the room, flinging itself around like an agitated snake in wide open circles.

Everyone is backing away, some weary, some cursing, some just half way out of their own suit.

And then a child — barely as old as your youngest now, flickers to life before you, screaming and screaming, wailing in pain as the scent of burning flesh mingles into the air. You can see the boy, black hair and blue eyes that underneath the bright light that burns them is causing black to turn white, and blue to turn green.

The electricity crackles and when the boy is about the drop, limp, certainly lifeless, he vanishes as if nothing had ever been there.

But he comes back, he always comes back, in the moment of calm and in the moment of despair, echoing that painful wailing of death.

It’s so wrong.

It’s very, very wrong.

It didn’t even matter anymore why the boy showed up, only that this moment of pain continues to haunt the cave of heroes.

Continuously haunting, even as some whispered apologizes when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as some provided songs of comfort when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as stories of Gotham are told and promises (though uncertain and flimsy at best) are spoken to the wailing boy who always drops fast and disappears just as quickly.

Always, it was the same.

Until one day it wasn’t.

The electricity crackled like it always did. A spark, and then a calamity of light. And the boy would be there, uncurling himself into a tense position as he would wail.

But not this time.

Instead the boy curled himself in the air, calm as can be, almost as if he were sleeping. Even the electricity that they have learned to dance away from was calm, gentle, like ocean waves.

And when the electricity vanished, the boy did not, instead dropping to the floor where Dick was quick to catch him, grunting in preparation of weight only to show alarm at how thin the boy truly was.

On that face that has haunted them all for months is just a boy, sleeping, and scarred. A boy breathing very slow, slower than what they would like, but here in the physical realm with them.

Dick brushed back bangs of black hair, and slowly, ever so slowly, glazed blue eyes stared back.