#more recent stuff coming up-

[that-one-fluffy-anon]

am i spamming? possibly!

ARTS

not sure if i posted this one- theater sans! :D in REVERSE COLOR!!!! 

this legit took forever- i kept getting distracted- but HEY! it looks okay! 

lots of white gel pen went into this. so, uh... f in the chat for my overused gel pen.

idk what’s up with his left foot- or his feet in general- i just sorta... gave up on those ones. def think his face looks ok tho. more arts on the way! 

[birdricks]

i love the stars (j'adore les etoiles)

[eldragon-x]

a reference for what Drawn to Life is like, since it's probably obscure enough for many people to not have an impression of it. DS game with cute fox people called Raposa where you draw things basically:

As for the PMD poll, I'll reveal the right answer and give context to everything else in a reblog once it's over!

[sergle]

I think my favorite thing about doing ginger red hair instead of cherry red hair is: lying to people about it

[ihateornithologists]

[girlboyburger]

wish i had a consistent character to show for this, but since i don't i just used icons :0]

blank template for those that want it under the cut

[sunnys-side-upside-down]

Blorbo's Eepiest Soldier

Thank you everyone for your kind words, I'm doing better and am back to it <3

[jacksprostate]

Tyler is hopping around on his pogo stick again. When he lands, it's with a mushy thump as he sinks into the rotting floorboards. Sometimes he gets stuck and just tips over instead of bouncing back up. It makes him stumble and jump ship. Moment of perfection ruined.

I need to renew my driver's license, I say.

"What are you telling me for?"

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

If Tyler's bed had a backboard, this is how it would sound before he and Marla pounded through to the next room.

I am Jack's throat of bile.

"Fine," Tyler says. "We'll go."

I do not say, we? Questioning Tyler is an amateur move I've managed to avoid for two months now.

Getting to the DMV takes three buses and a thirty minute walk. Presumably, they've decided you'll be driving there. Sometimes I think about the Audi I had before my Dakapo halogen torchiere speared it. One of Zeus' modern day lightning bolts, making sure the debris from my exploded condo totaled my car.

I could've gotten the windshield replaced. Somewhere, in a junkyard filled with unloved 50s salvage, there's the crushed up cube remains of this year's luxury sedan.

Tyler spends the entire time walking one half step behind me, making me lead him around. It makes me feel blind, like I'm a thirty year old boy still trying to get his father to take him places. I am the world's most easily played instrument. Whenever I look back he's grinning, chipped teeth and split lips.

It's a Saturday and we've arrived two hours or so after opening. This means that when I get my ticket stub, it reads an obscenely high number. I will be sitting here for the next six hours. Give or take.

The thing about seating in a government building is they know you have no choice to be there for at least two hours, if you're lucky. Naturally, the chairs are cheap, yawning plastic bolted into the floor at a height most optimal for slightly tall seven year olds.

Tyler and I toss ourselves into the only two person gap we can find, between a large man giving Bob a run for his money on hormone reversal and a frail woman in her eighties. Both look like I'd see them on a weeknight. I wonder if this is where Marla lurks in the time between when she's fucking Tyler and fucking up my support groups.

"You don't need this shit," Tyler says.

He's slouching into the chair, arms crossed and legs long and in the way. If I were to look where his shirt is rucked up, I'd see his skin disappear into the dark gap between his chiseled hip and the beige slacks he puts on when he pretends he's pretending to be a nice person. It's an obvious farce, since he hasn't even bothered to put underwear on.

This is one of those things that I try not to think too hard about, but I have something like four hundred minutes left to wait around here. I should've brought a few National Geographics.

I need a driver's license for my job, Tyler, I say. The old woman gives me a look.

"Christ." Tyler spits on the floor. I try not to be jealous. My seat neighbor, she gets right up and goes to the other end of the building. "Just roll over, why don't you."

I can tell, this will be a lesson. He gets this huge sureness about himself, like his dick is so big it's slapped his face into that smug false contemplation.

I need some kind of ID, Tyler.

Tyler says, "No you don't. Your bank already has you by the balls with your social security number. You ride the bus around. You're at the airport so often the airline staff recognize you. You only drive when work sends you to a small town, which happens fuck all three times a year. Tell me, you get a good fake, you think the overworked and underpaid car rental employee writing down your information would notice it unless you crashed his car? You know if that happened it'd be because you did it to kill yourself, so where's the problem?"

You could be a perfect driver and die on the road at any second, I protest.

We're attracting attention. Not Bob shifts around. Our conversation is quiet but unnerving.

Tyler says, "Does it feel nice, signing yourself up like a feedlot steer?"

Fucking hell, Tyler. It's not like anyone wants to do this. No one wants to be here. Not everyone can work three night shifts and have no identity according to the government.

Tyler says, "The only thing stopping you is the little set of rules you've set up for yourself."

What does Tyler know about my ability to do things?

"More than you," Tyler says. "You didn't think you could fight. You didn't think you could live without your perfect IKEA nest."

He's right. I still want to kick him to the floor and introduce his teeth to the tile. I notice, Not Bob has cleared the area. Retreat to safety. Bomb detonation in five, four. We've got a three seat berth on each side with people standing packed against the walls of the place.

A lone security guard floats our way.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

It's not the way that the men at fight club have started calling me sir. The security guard is looking at me like he knows about my condo blowing up, and he feels awfully sure about the cause.

I need to renew my driver's license.

Tyler says, "If we pay taxes for this building, these workers, doesn't that mean we pay your salary? You're going to kick out your kindest boss?"

"If you don't leave, I'll have to call the police."

Tyler says, "Can't even do it yourself?"

I think, every second of this day has been excruciating, and I have been awake for 77 hours.

Tyler socks the security guard right in the jaw, and the crowd goes wild.

It happens like this: Tyler hits the security guard with all four knuckles, all the people start screaming, and the security guard goes for his gun. I am standing in the middle of this hurricane, calm like a baby that's just been left in the car in 90 degree weather. I start walking.

Behind me, Tyler wrestles for the gun. He tosses it towards the kiosk that spat out my waiting ticket. He lets the security guard hit him in the gut. The face. The face again. He's on the ground, bloody spit threading his rebroken smile, and the security guard is kicking him in the gut. Tyler curls into a ball, the security guard kicks him in the kidneys. This will give Tyler bruises like size thirteen boots and make him piss blood for three weeks.

I reach the door, and Tyler's crawling after me. The security guard has come out of his haze, and now the crowd is staring at him. The headline: local DMV worker brutally bludgeons mentally ill constituent. People stare at him, now aware of the violence he is capable of. They wonder. He wonders.

Tyler limps out the door. We get on the bus and the driver stares at us and does not make us pay when we walk past him to the seats. The driver had a black eye. We saw him at fight club last week.

We sit, and I tell Tyler, because of him I'm definitely on a list now. Like they had for all those communists, but now it's for schizophrenics who might bomb their local state Department of Motor Vehicles location. I tell him if I get a letter saying I have to show up in court because I beat up a government worker, I'm sending him, and he can have fun explaining that to whatever rancid old judge presides over our case.

He laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

[welcometogrouchland]

IMPORTANT UPDATE FOR BATMAN AND ROBIN (2023) FANS!!!...he eat a burger [ID in alt]

(taken from Nicola Cizmesija's insta, who's on art for B&R issues #5 and #6)

[sprout-fics]

Google search: How to make fanfiction fun again

[anaalnathrakhs]

i feel it's so fucking stupid and ungrateful but it still hurts a little when someone gifts me something i just don't like. i don't know. i know it's dumb and inaccurate to astrain that much meaning to a simple gift, but it feels kinda like they don't know me. i guess it feels like people don't see me, like a reminder that the person i reflect and the person i feel like are incredibly different.

[honeydots]

buccaneers ⚔

[spineless-lobster]

I think it’s interesting that the Captain loves Gilbert and Sullivan so much because not only is it musical theatre, but I e noticed there are some common themes in most Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. (Especially the ones Cap mentions, The Pirates of Penzance and The Mikado)

The Pirates of Penzance (as well as HMS Pinafore) focus on themes of forbidden love, in PoP it’s because the main character is a pirate. In HMSP it’s due to class differences.

I can imagine a young Cap, wondering why the feelings he’s having towards other boys is so frowned upon. And seeing those concerns reflected in the opera.

The Mikado is a satirical take on capital punishment, the crime in the opera that’s punishable by death is flirting. Now, I’m not saying Gilbert intended that to be some Victorian commentary on gay rights; but being sentenced to death for loving someone is not an exclusively heterosexual problem.

The fact that the Captain (along with Fanny) canonically praised the opera for it’s comedy regarding this theme kind of says a lot about him. He puts up this front of a stiff upper lip perfect English gentleman but reality he despises the establishment of his era.

The last thing I want point out is that (as far as I know) every Gilbert and Sullivan opera ends with a happy ending. The forbidden lovers manage to beat the system via some sort of loophole and they get to live happily ever after.

I think the Captain loves these operas so much because he gets to see people who cannot love who they want to due to an oppressive system; people like him, receive the happy ending he wishes he could have.

He gets to have second-hand queer euphoria along with catchy songs and funny jokes, all while presenting himself as socially acceptable. And I think he deserves that happiness.

[training-trio-irl]

Random headcanon:

While Korekiyo much prefers focusing on ancient human history and culture, he has done plenty of research on more modern topics, like how humanity was impacted by the rise of the internet.

Anyway this leads to his class being baffled one day as he begins to relay in-depth the impact of creepypastas on modern horror storytelling and wider internet culture.

[mariocki]

The Aftermath (1982)

"What happens when you die?"

"I don't know, son. No one does."

"It's sad to die."

"No. Death isn't sad. We all have to die. What's sad is having to go on without someone you love. Just as we have to go on now."

[toxooz]

How do u get so good at anatomy and faces??? 😭😭😭 I adore ur art style and I just wanted to know if you had like a certain method or anything or if u guys practise :0

i just draw a fuckload and observe the human body and how it moves at all times and use references and draw and draw and draw summore 👍 u may not now how tf muscles link together but with plenty of drawing and research it will eventually click into place and you'll Get It lmfao