#well unfortunately uhhh

[meamiiikiii]

imagine if isa's confession kept getting interrupted in increasingly bizarre ways…. ASFASDASF

((this stems from a stream silly!! with my friends!! we are streaming now!! its the finale!! info rbed in a lil bit!! yeah thats it!!))

[splickedylit]

captiancap asked: I'd like to see any art you have of the Michigan Fleet cast. I do really like them. feral-engineer asked: For art requests: can we get something with trimmer? Maybe a hug, or baby trimmer causing problems on purpose? damnfool-of-a-took asked: for the art prompt request! Michigan Fleet, kid!Trimmer🔪👀?

Y'all are just too kind 🥰 I've been sitting on boatboy sketchbook scans for a WHILE not getting around to them, so here are some folks--some on boats and some not, some from published books and some not! :D

Rich and Trimmer never met each other as kids which is probably for the best because Rich was an impressionable little dumpling and Trimmer was a fast-paced, daring, precocious bump/bruise-magnet, like many fourhands kids lol

[wasyago]

Penitence

@silverskye13

[cluescorner]

I gave myself a writing challenge and I am fascinated by it

So basically I put the robins in a randomizer to give them a new order/role (because I just...kinda wanted to see what would happen + I like role-reversal AUs) and got results that are giving me a fucking brain blast.

Stephanie, the first sidekick who defines the role

Tim, the sidekick who dies and comes back wrong

Dick, the sidekick who saves Batman from himself

Damian, the sidekick who was never supposed to be a sidekick but would go on to prove everyone wrong

Jason, the youngest sidekick who is still the Kid Wonder

...So this is fucking wild. I've got some ideas and several of these fit perfectly (Dick's role is pretty similar to his one in canon), but some of these are fucking INCREDIBLE to explore (Steph being the first Robin is something I never even considered but tbh I kinda love it).

I probably won't write a fic or anything because tbh I don't like publishing my writing that much, but I might expand this into a full AU and post about it. I might randomize other stuff too (ie, stuff that I cannot change vs stuff that I cannot keep the same) but this fucking rules as a starting point.

[ravensmadreads]

What Love Means

A/N: so remember when I said I wasn't gonna write again? Yea I'm a lying liar who lied.. anyway, this came from me screaming about my unhinged love for David York to @chronically-ghosted , who then once asked me what I thought love meant to David and the thought sent me in a spiral. It's not really so much a fic as it is a stream of my own consciousness. If anyone cares though, there definitely is a whole fic about these two and their backstory.

Warnings: uhhhh bad writing? So David is probably ooc (but this version of him is my comfort character sorry), description of a panic attack, mentions of canon violence, and like the barest hint at smut.

Taglist: @chronically-ghosted (sorry ily) @fuckyeahdindjarin (i know Dave is not really your thing, but it felt wrong not to tag you- feel free to ignore tho no pressure! )

He gasps awake. Panic creeping slowly at the edges of his consciousness until it lunges and swallows him whole. He's not even sure why. The lingering effect of a nightmare he can't remember anymore. Shadowed figures drenched in blood and violence have been a part of him for so long that it's hard to distinguish the memories from the monsters. He bites his lip to stifle a cry. Fists holding tight onto flowered sheets and jaw clenched tight as he tries to remember to breathe. In and out right? It's simple.

His eyes fall shut as he swallows the bile that threatens to choke him. He's well versed in the art of fighting alone. He's been training for years. They've drilled him so hard, for so long, that he can pick an enemy apart in the dark and not make a sound. His fight or flight has been torn down and beaten until the only option he remembers is fight and win. The voices inside him never rest. Never go quiet. The pressure in his chest tightens. Was breathing always this difficult?

And then.

A movement.

He can't make out the sounds, but he knows someone's coming. His heart is pounding. It's inching closer still. Soft, steady footsteps just on the edges of the room. And yet he can't move. Can't open his eyes. Can't breathe. The voice in his head spits venom: Coward. A thud on his nightstand. A dip as the bed shifts and the world tilts a little.

A gasp that he can't hold back; and suddenly his eyes fly open.

Deep laboured breaths. Blurred vision. Every muscle on high alert. There's someone in front of him. He can't move. Fight or flight? A blink. Fight or flight?! Another gasp. Fight, you coward! But he can't move. Fight! He can't breathe. Would it really be so bad if he stopped?

"Dave!"

****

He blinks. There's another voice now. But it's outside the raging in his head. Outside the voices screaming for blood. It's soft. Softer than anything he knows. Anything he deserves. It's you. He can't make out the words but it's enough.

Another gasp.

Another blink.

You.

A lungul of air.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

One more time.

One more time.

One more time.

He's well versed in the art of calming himself down on his own. He doesn't have to though. Not anymore. Not when your arms hold him like he's the most fragile thing in the universe. He'd scoff at the thought if he could breathe.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

He can feel again. The tingling in his skin slowly being replaced by soft warmth. Soft lips on the side of his neck. Gentle hands running through his hair. Fistfuls of cotton fabric in his hands. Strands of your hair on his cheek.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Strawberry scented shampoo. Vanilla bean candles from the corner of the night stand. Something inexplicable that he can never name but that he knows is undeniably you.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Whispered assurances in his ear. The gentle hum of the air con. The rain pattering on the window and the wind that's slowly settling down now.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Metal in his mouth because he bit his tongue trying not to scream. The aftertaste of the last cigarette he had before bed.

Inhale.

He can't open his eyes. What if this is the dream? What if he wakes up alone again? Fingers clutching tighter. Nails digging into skin. You feel solid. Warm. Present.

Hold.

His eyes blink open. Starry glow from the nightlight you've turned on. The pulse pounding steadily in your neck. The birthmark in the hollow of your neck.

Exhale.

Is this what relief feels like? What safety means to him now? Does he even deserve a taste of either after all that he has done?

He blinks, and it's you. It's all you. He's surrounded by you. Your scent, your walls, your colours, your skin, your presence. The one holding his hand. The voice in his head. Talking him out of the terror. Walking him out of the darkness. It's you. But then again, it has been you since the moment he fell off of that cliff. The only fragment of his life that remains. The only thing from before that he can hold on to.

Your hands cup his face, and he smiles. It's a small thing. Twists into a grimace far too quickly. He opens his mouth to apologize. For all that he is, all that he can never be, and all the horrors he darkens your doorstep with. For all his scars and all his pain. Even if he does deserve every single one of the demons wreaking havoc in his head and trying to tear him apart from the inside.

But you know him too well. Know what he's thinking. And you're already shushing him before the words can even form on his tongue. Pressing gentle kisses over his forehead. A warm smile and soft eyes staring back at him. He has never known quite what it is you see in him. Has tried to convince you of the monster that resides within, but you refuse to acknowledge his self flagellation anymore.

He grabs you tighter and starts to lie back down. Your heart beat against his racing one. Your arms around his neck. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Maybe he can pretend. Just for a minute. That he's someone worth saving. That he's someone worth loving? He falls before he can finish the thought.

****

He wakes up in your arms. It startles him. The normalcy. The state of nothing. He's not used to silence. Not the comfortable kind anyway. If ever there's silence with him around, it either beckons death or follows it. And he's been drilled in the art of war for as long as he can remember.

He's not entirely sure what to do now. With hands on soft skin. A quiet mind. Who is he when the sun comes up? In the gentle breeze of dawn? When there's no list of names waiting to be scratched off; and when the sun filtering through the curtains chases away any shadows where monsters like him may lurk. When your breath tickles his neck and he can wake you with gentle hands and small kisses.

"Hey." A hand through his hair. "You okay?"

Trust you to start worrying about him the minute you wake up. He smiles, and it's a genuine one this time. The muscles in his face ache from disuse. He's been smiling more and more now, even if it feels unreal, like a skin he's trying to put on. You've been relentless in chasing them out anyway, and he's still surprised every time he finds a reason to smile.

He doesn't really remember what happiness feels like anymore. Small echoes of it maybe. From a distant past. Of army buddies laughing in the trenches, two little girls giggling around him, a leader that felt like an anchor and a mentor who felt like family- now all gone; too quickly, too violently - he shakes his head. It doesn't matter anymore. You're all the reason he needs now.

****

There's a word on the tip of his tongue. It lingers there. Quiet. Subtle. Just a little bit out of reach. It comes to him in the quiet moments. When your hand is in his hand, your head on his chest. When you listen to music and he pretends that he's not watching the dimple in your cheek. When you sway as you cook a meal and he forgets to remember that he's forgotten how to smile.

It comes to him in other moments. When he's on top of you, surrounding you, clinging to you. When your eyes are on his, your nails leaving delicious marks on his back. When your hands pull his hair and the only word you speak is a quiet and reverent David. He has always hated his name, but he's learning to crave the way you say it when you're overwhelmed by him.

It comes to him in the afterglow. Lingers on the edge of his consciousness. With your hand over his heart, his arms wrapped tight around you and his lips on yours. He's sinking into sleep. The warm embrace doesn't scare him any longer because no monsters in his head could never win against the light in your soul. He reaches out to hold it, that word, the one word he never had, just as his eyes flutter shut. He smiles into the kiss. He'll tell you tomorrow. You'll understand. You probably already know. You're the reason that word exists after all. And he knows you'll keep it for him until the day he dies.

Safe.

[lususnatura]

okay, SO although this account is based on a heavily canon-divergent and reworked version of mister bloom, there are some thing's that he says in the comics that i think are REALLY accurate to blamore's way of thinking and/or something that he'd say because he does have this mindset that gotham is past the point of saving... so it would be better to just raze it all to the ground. BUT in such a way that will make it seem like a revolutionary because it preaches that it wants a 'better life' for all gothamites + that they should rise up and TAKE what they want, though he is in fact turning people against each other in the process and killing people because some people don't survive consuming a seed at all... and the ones who do STILL tend to die later. so this is the biggest panel that i think still relates to it:

as well as this one, because blamore really DOES sometimes believe in his own hubris that he is a savior and someone who will bring a new beginning to gotham that everyone needs. except no one will be there to enjoy it besides maybe him and a few others, so his logic is beyond flawed. though i truly do believe that the immense amount of stress he was put under combined with actually dying for about three minutes made something snap in blamore... though, that doesn't excuse his actions or anything he does, of course. i'm just saying that it may do a good job of pretending like it's okay a good amount of the time, but it is SO angry and full of resentment towards humanity in reality. because blamore spent what was about eight years of his life studying to help people and years actually doing so as well, but in his point of view, it didn't seem to help. especially after blamore's father got shot.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

just wanted to let you know that your art changed something in my brain chemistry. i love how you design the bad kids, especially riz. it makes me love him even more 😭😭

thank u! fantasy high as a series banks a lot on heightening and exaggerations, and trying to work with that general sensibility while translating the designs into something I have fun drawing has been nice to do :]

[zecoritheweirdone]

been thinking 'bout mystery skulls animated recently!!! so, i decided to try my hand at drawing a mr. lewis pepper for the first time!

[piplupod]

pretty sure i just got a spider bite while trying to fall asleep 🧍

[sysig]

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Handplates

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: Handplates - Skelebros

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: Handplates

Thursday:

2:30 PM: Handplates

Friday:

2:30 PM: Handplates - Eye glows

Saturday:

2:30 PM: Handplates

Sunday:

2:30 PM: Undertale - Flowey

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)

[aletheialed]

me: i will not add more muses. i will not add more muses. i will not add more muses to this blog, i already have enough-

me: ...but what if i tried writing gregson though...

[mantisgodsart]

(via @cordycepsbian)

We can answer this actually we love talking about Cool Art Stuff.

Despite what one may assume, sharp edges in watercolor is actually quite easy! Come, sit, allow us to share our secrets. It's like 50% "materials" and 50% "we spent a long-ass time figuring out how to do sharp edges in watercolor and now we're really good at figuring out the exact combos of consistency and brush stroke required to make those really hard edges"

The first trick is, of course, to not try and do it at the beginning of the painting. When you're just starting to block shapes in to your watercolor, pursuing sharp edges is a fool's ordeal, and you can only really get those sharp edges in as finishing touches near the end of the work.

The second trick is to work wet-on-dry - this limits the spread of the watercolor and allows you to prevent bleeding, but you have to make sure your painting is COMPLETELY dry before painting, or you'll risk having some ill-defined lines and bleeding.

The third trick is to work with... cake watercolors? There's a tern for it, we just can't remember it - dry pan watercolors, where you have to wet the paint to "activate" it, offer you a LOT more control over the consistency of your paint, and using a relatively thick paint will allow you some REALLY sharp lines! Fair warning, your mileage may vary based on the specific paints you use just because pigment is Expensive and cheaper brands of watercolor will almost definitely be, like, cutting out as much pigment as they can manage in order to cut corners, and the sharp edges will be less obvious the more transparent they are.

As a general rule of thumb when you pay for Fancy watercolor you're paying for the insane amount of pigment that they put in their Fancy Stuff and that lends itself a lot more to Sharp Lines (plus one thing of it will last Fucking Forever). The black we use Specifically is an Artisanal Fancy Brand that we don't remember the name of and we've been using the same ~$10 thing for more than a year without even using up half of it, but honestly the actual paints you use are the Least important part of doing watercolor, you can do like the exact same thing with dollar store paints it'll just be a bit less pigmented.

The fourth trick is to just, like, practice a TON. You WILL have to spend time getting it right. It will take a Long-Ass Time. You will have So Much Trouble. Unfortunately this step cannot be avoided but we can still warn you that you'll be trying to make really sharp lines for like an hour and it still won't quite work.

The last trick is to uhh

[schizononagesimus]

so clearly i arrived fine and the start to my "trip" is going great! now it's 2am and im feeling the gravity of my situation 😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄

[br1ghtestlight]

terrible personality trait of mine is that i always try to appreciate things for what they are rather than complain about what they're not or what they couldve been but then everyone else wants to complain and im like. well i thought it was fun :(

[tariah23]

keep going about goiji if you want, I love that ship!! It's like if your love interest was a god AND your really annoying capricious boss it's so fun ❤️

I looked up their their horoscope to check Goiji’s compatibility for the first time and it’s so ugly akkaaka

[1800duckhotline]

yesterday i also watched the movie "poor things" and i have several thoughts about it , most of them not enthusiastically positive, but i have a soft spot for franeknstein-like scientist/doctors with a passion for giving a new sort of "life" to creatures and who are misunderstood as "monsters" despite doing what they do for a pure unadulterated Lust for Life. thats just something im Always drawn to. That's dragica, and to some extent, salice as well