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#But technically I'm done
polarsirens · 1 year
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This is death itself. This is the biggest and baddest thing in all of fairy tale, and you want to set it free.
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chrisrin · 9 months
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here's the WIP of the first minute-ish of the dave animation <3
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twilight-zoned-out · 9 months
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The Ken dance is so magnificent because it’s reminiscent of the Golden Age of Musicals when there would just be artful dance sequences for no reason other than the director wanted to have one.
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spilycoris · 2 months
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*pushes bowl off* fuck you (flirting)
bonus nari gifs i made to honour this comic
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juncopandi · 9 months
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You cannot convince me that this isn't what happened at the Old Sharlayan customs desk
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cbmagus49 · 5 months
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Hey guess what it's time for a big ol' Relativity screenshot edit sketchdump!!!!
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the-nothing-maker · 11 months
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Lazy and warm
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saracastically · 6 months
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out of reach 🌕✨ a comic about scrolling on your phone and falling in love collected in full below 💕
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fin 🌕
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difty-dift · 7 months
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joyfuladorable · 6 months
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You got this, Usagi! (He does not got this)
Silly bonus illustration for my buddy @forestwhisper3's fic Dragon of the Sun and also a Belated B-day gift for her! Go read her fic it's So Freaking Good!!!
Also, this is a redraw of the manga cover for Go For It, Nakamura!
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leveragehunters · 3 months
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Back in ye olde small phone days, I had this little pouch that clipped to my backpack strap and it was so great - my phone and transit card (and mini Maglite, chapstick, earphones etc) were right there! No having to dig them out of my pack! But all joy is fleeting and when I upgraded my phone, it didn't fit. No more convenient pouch.
Except fast forward to now, in possession of both loom and sewing machine, and it hit me that I could just...make one that did fit. So I did!
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I wove the cloth on the rigid heddle out of 4ply merino/silk and the bands on the inkle loom out of 8/4 cotton, grabbed some quilting cotton for the lining, and sewed them all up into a little zippered pouch.
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A band runs up the back with a clip that clips to the D-ring, and I sewed velcro to the side bands to wrap around the strap and secure it in place. It holds my phone and everything else, right where I need them, and I'm so chuffed!
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pocasu · 1 year
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pieces of a bygone dream
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starrysharks · 2 months
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did i mention i finished her model?
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moonwoodhollow · 1 month
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Prepping Mt. Komorebi for the Globetrotter Challenge
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brekitten · 1 month
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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.
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insertsomthinawesome · 6 months
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art slow have a WIP askljdflKSJDLGJSDG -NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-
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