#tumblr stop ruining my quality challenge

[charlunday]

Outfit ideas, if they should help inspire. The dolls are AMAZING

-White tshirt and smock or apron stained with paint or flour/baking supplies

-cozy pajamas and sleepy eyes

-warm flannel for fall

Basically anything comfy and cozy and snuggly or work clothes

And yes he can [long bleep sound]

Here he is, with Katniss, to remind you people he has a WIFE. (And because I drew her a pretty outfit too)

Okay @millennium-queen we're getting slightly sluttier now...

Now THIS........ this I can get behind...

NOW THIS ‼️ THIS IS SLUTTY ‼️‼️ @bellairestrella

Anyway. You guys are monsters and I am feeding your sins. Hope you enjoyed today's episode of Objectify That Man.

[lunapegasus]

Drown in darkness

[naughtydogg]

oh i have thoughts about this

[sun-ea-sports]

updated sona ref :3c

[writingjourney]

Berlin, 06/06/23

📸 me

[camelspit]

the boys™

@skylilac @callas-pancake-tree @arson-anarchy-death @neverseen-nevermore @steal-nightmares-leave-dreams @abubble125 @purplesoup-lad-le @gay-otlc @thefoxysnake @the-one-and-only-aroace @ravs6709 @theseasonismerrybutimnot @you-have-been-frizzled @kamikothe1and0lny @presidentroarie @cowboypossume @even-if-in-another-time @that-glasses-dog @katniss-elizabeth-chase @stop-stealing-tomatoes

[mythosphere]

Garnet Eaves was not a mechanic nor a radio man or a telegraphist by any definition of his own, which was what really mattered. He defined himself most often as a poet, a creative, a man of sensitivity and romance, a great lover of the classics. He was twenty-one years old, so life hadn’t had the chance to beat this out of him just yet.

[zeb-z]

happy The Outpost eve to those who celebrate

(alt version under cut)

[skele-bunny]

Oh, GO SOMEWHERE. I am SO sick of his ass. (Tumblr stop ruining my quality challenge: GO!)

[eyeonyou]

My Immortalstuck 9 - Tumblr stop ruining the image quality challenge 2k24 edition. Btw, this is probably obvious but I'm omitting most of the references to self-harm for Personal Reasons :]

There's a New Character next week. I will be very amused if anyone guesses who.

First | <- Prev | Next ->

Fire font by Billy Argent fonts :)

[darkstripes]

tumblr stop ruining photo quality challenge 💔

I’ve never posted my art on here before, but i’m kinda happy with how these came out so I figured I’d post em. So! Here’s a couple of messy Darkstripe refs

First ref is before Tigerstar’s (first) death. A pretty lanky dude with emo bangs. His fur is more medium in length, but he slicks it back (probably with some kind of sap?) and keeps up with it pretty well, so you can’t really tell his fur is on the longer side.

Second ref is after Tiger’s (first) death. He really lets himself go. Doesn’t really groom his fur anymore, so his longer fur is actually visible now. He’s lost weight, but it’s hard to tell under the fur. He’s got eye bags, too—probably not too noticeable though, at least farther away, because he’s got darker markings under his eyes. He probably started to let himself go a bit after Tiger’s exile, but only a tad; it actually gets bad after his death.

Please don’t repost without credit :)

[cowlovely]

tumblr stop ruining the quality of my drawings challenge.

[ashwithapen]

in honour of me getting my account restored, here—have this 'personal statement' i joke-wrote back in june. i just found it when i was cleaning up my files and i re-read it and thought "tumblr. immediately." lmao

(p.s. if anyone has any advice for writing personal statements for uni applications, my inbox/comments/rbs are open 🥲)

We were sent a PDF today about how to write a personal statement. #5: “Stay positive and interesting. Avoid dwelling on negatives or making excuses” And it makes sense, but what if I am my mistakes? 

What if I am the shattered coffee mug on the kitchen floor? And if I am the apology forlorn at the fresh end of a friendship? What if I am the hole dug by a puppy or the chair ruined by a cat? The brush of a coat against the big red button labelled: “WARNING: DO NOT TOUCH”.

And if I have been built by my faults? A lie here and there to save my own ass, and maybe sometimes for the hell of it. Maybe that is what makes me unique: the dumb, deluded prowess with which I traverse the years. The broken toes, the margin doodles penned in blue ink. The misspeaks, the miscalculations.

And then she handed out worksheets with a simple table. “Who are you?” I nearly laughed, because if neither my therapist nor my teenage memoirs know, then how should I? But I go with it for those next 20 minutes and scour my past for an inkling as to who I am. I write down what I want to pursue. What are my hobbies, my interests? My achievements? Most dauntingly, what are my skills and qualities? 

If I bang on the keyboard for hours at a time until something satisfactory comes out, does that make me a pianist? And if my fingers grow sore atop the fretboard over a melody I’ve been wrestling with all week, does that make me a guitarist? By writing this personal statement, am I an author? Or does somebody need to quote me first? And what if I quote myself? Give a line or two in italics as if it will prove me over another. Chapter 2: I am a growing person who is learning about what pride is in their own, exciting little way. Call it a day and cross my fingers with that same dumb, deluded sense of accomplishment knowing I have sent my future 4000 characters about my mistakes. 

Maybe I blame it all on autism and stain one of the most integral parts of myself in an attempt to wedge my way in just so I can sit in the lecture hall in my guilt and wonder: “How many others deserved this spot more than me?”

I blame it on the scenes I write about the girls and boys I wish I had a chance to know the taste of. Tell them—anyone passing who pauses to ask—that I am studying and close the tab with a practised flick of my wrist. Smile and nod until they leave me alone again with what I can feel growing into a mistake beneath my fingers. 

Some people have said that mistakes are the back end of mental illness. People you pass in the mall who stare a bit too long and make you uncomfortable; you should have worn something with long sleeves. People who can make you think: “Was it a mistake?” To me, no. It was not a mistake. There are days when I regret it, and there are days when I am a growing person who is learning about what pride is in their own, exciting little way. It was a challenge, and now, to make light of it, I wear my grin and call it “writing experience”. I know it is pride; I know I have overcome that challenge. 

A mistake is what you make when you don’t know. I am 17; I would be more surprised if I did know. A mistake is something conceived in a test that the teacher insists you shouldn’t be stressing over. Mistakes are the poems I send to my friend late at night on the quest for approval. Mistakes are the lyrics that never went anywhere, each with their own litany of reasons why they suck attached. A mistake is this PS; a long drawl in which I go back to my roots of defiance and let my coat brush the big red button and do exactly what I have been told not to. 

And a thousand more. Not knowing when to stop or to ask for help. The drinks at the Halloween party. The glimpses I pretend not to steal as they sit across the table from me and kiss. The bruising of the bowstring and the twisting of my wrist, to name some of this last year’s. And they are me at my simplest before the truth is warped. I am my mistakes, and I lay them out in the daylight so that you know I am human. 

[theman]

Tumblr stop ruining the quality of my posts challenge

[ask-littlebabyman]

tumblr stop ruining the quality of my drawings challenge level impossible

[ballisticmelody]

tumblr stop ruining the quality of my images challenge go