this was almost not worth it

Well this is a little animatic for my Storyboard class and I can tell you I’m satisfied with the result, maybe in the future I will improve it or even make an animation with this, who knows?

For last I have to say I was almost crying when I was drawing the last images.

SONG (Their covers are REALLY GOOD, go to their channel, it’s worth it)

*Neither the character or the song belongs to me (obviusly) just the drawings and the “idea”. Everything is their respective owners. I do not do this for money and bla bla bla its just for entertainment (and college work more than anything)

Y'all just ever project big parts of your sense of self worth onto a form of media or a character or a pairing and not realize it until you see someone shitting on it and your head tells you “everyone is allowed to have their own opinion!” but your heart feels almost the same as if they had been talking about you directly and you’re just like “Yikes”

yorulun  asked:

I recently found out about the Rogue Gallery (still new to DC) and couldn't help but wonder, what would they do if a villain other than them had hurt Bruce far worse than what they done. Do you have a head canon for that?

I think a few of them have some remaining standards and morals left, so they would be at least a little alarmed about the amount of damage their fellow villains had inflicted on another human being. And I know it isn’t Bruce, but when the Robins were younger, many of the Rogues had issues about hurting the kid too severely (like when Harvey almost killed Dick in Robin Year One way back when, they had major issues with that because Dick still was a child even if he’s fighting crime and trying to lock up the Rogues). There would definitely be a lot of infighting within the Rogues when it comes to the batfamily because while they do hate Batman and all of his assorted children, they kind of make the whole crime thing worth doing. And I know that the Rogues are evil villains that typically don’t have morals like most people, but I feel like there are at least a few that would have issues with critically maiming other human beings just so they can get what they want.

First fanfic attempt/mentor wanted:

So, inspired by the many amazing fandom writers we have (and the fact that I have a major assignment due tomorrow that I haven’t done), I decided (potentially foolishly) to attempt writing something myself. I only have the first little bit so far, so if anyone felt that this was worth continuing, please let me know (and also help me because I have no idea what I’m doing as evidenced by the below!)

So, this is my first attempt at writing fan fiction…

Jemma Simmons was not a woman who did things by halves. Simply knowing almost everything there was to know about Earthly biology and chemistry in a theoretical sense wasn’t enough. She wanted to experience them – properly. It was this reason which found her tramping optimistically through the forest on that particular crisp autumn morning, clad in sensible hiking boots, old blue jeans and faded red flannelette button up, rolled up to the elbows. She breathed in deeply as she picked her way along the woodland trail, feeling the stress of the last few months melt away to be replaced by the scent of the slightly damp Earth and rich wood fires wafting to up her on the breeze from the campsites a ways below. She had always found early mornings to be a therapeutic time of day, when she could be left alone with her many thoughts and the early morning sun. This morning was particularly quiet, as she had opted to take this trip without phones or ‘smart’ devices; no this one was just for her – to reconnect with the world in a way she hadn’t for a while.

It wasn’t that her situation was bad, far from it in fact. It was simply the way of life that as a young prodigy and rising star within the scientific community, there was little free time to be spent outside of the lab. There were supervisors to impress and competitors to beat for grants which would allow her to continue her passion of discovering the world. But lately, she felt as though the passion was becoming increasingly difficult to find as she struggled under the ever growing weight of others’ expectations, and if she was honest with herself, her own. Recently, she had just missed out on a prestigious international grant to another young genius and was surprised to feel… relieved? With a rare gap appearing in her demanding schedule, she had taken the opportunity to have some time away to re-evaluate. She had always loved science, more than anything. But she was young and wanting a life outside of a lab, one that was filled with friends, hobbies and maybe even relationships.

She paused on a large rock to take a swig of water before stuffing the bottle back into her neatly compartmentalised backpack. She pushed her thoughts of work aside. There was still time to decide and it was too nice of a day to become melancholy over such things. She continued up the mountain.


Leopold Fitz had grumbled and complained bitterly about his companions’ choice of holiday destination and hobbies. It had served him little better than on this occasion as he stumbled around his tent in the pre-dawn light attempting to put on his pants in a half-stupor. Emerging rumpled and irritable in crushed khaki pants and a mid-blue skivvy, he proceeded to curse quietly about lost bets, ungodly hours of the morning and duplicitous friends named Daisy as he hopped about attempting to put on his hiking boots without wetting his feet on the early morning dew. Honestly, he was far too busy for such things, and not only had they bullied him into taking “time you soooo need” off, but they had dragooned him into accompanying him into visiting the English countryside where he couldn’t even monitor his work for lack of signal. He looked up to find Daisy, Bobbi and Hunter all grinning at him from around the kettle which was perched precariously on a small portable gas stove top underneath the tarpaulin which they had rigged as a communal cooking area.

“Good morning,” Bobbi said, far too cheerfully, as she handed Fitz a steaming cup of tea.

“‘Morning,” he croaked dispiritedly as he sipped gratefully at the brew.

“Oh come on Fitz, it’s going to be fun! Remember what fun is?” Daisy teased as she threw her hair up into a messy pony tail.

“Fun is discovering something new in the lab, or perfecting a new gadget, or… or binge-watching Netflix. Fun is not being held hostage in the cruel elements and being forced to walk up a bloody mountain at the crack of dawn,” he retorted.

Daisy, used to his grumpy moods after many years merely snickered and patted him on the cheek.

Sensing the battle was lost, he sighed and reached for his toothbrush wandering a ways apart from the campsite so as not to attract wildlife to the site with the toothpaste. To his surprise, Hunter followed his lead. Fitz raised an inquiring eyebrow at his oldest friend. 


Hint: Hunter has a confession. That’s where I got up to… I have a plan for the rest but thought I was probably off my rocker so stopped there.

Women in Westeros and misogyny- part 1 - Cersei

With many fans hyping over the next season and accusations about almost everywhere in the fandom, that disliking a woman on the show makes you a misogynist or anti-feminism, I think it is well worth discussing if women in Westeros are feminists and what exactly would it mean to dislike someone because of misogyny. I’ll start by talking about the terms I use.

Keep reading

Drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra.

The thing that is getting to me the most about news of Carrie Fisher’s autopsy report is not the results themselves, but the way the media is handling it. Like it’s a Gotcha moment—like somehow we were tricked into thinking she was a better person than she actually was.

And that is profoundly bullshit.

Carrie was open about being an addict. Her opening line from her iconic stand up show (and book by the same name) “Wishful Drinking” was quite literally, “Hi, I’m Carrie Fisher, and I’m an alcoholic.”

She talked at length and in often brutal depth about her problems with substance abuse, her compulsive self destructive tendencies, and her dependencies to both illegal and prescription drugs. She wrote about it in her books, she talked about it on talk shows. She made an entire comedic stand up performance out of it, detailing the lengths she went to in order to try and regain some semblance of safety and normalcy in her life. 

She was brutally honest that every single day was a struggle for sanity after years and years of attempting to self medicate a mental illness that for most of her life was mistaken for feckless lack of self control. 

You know how they way “Religion is the opiate of the masses?” Well I took masses of opiates religiously! -Wishful Drinking

She was bright, and beautiful and bold about it. And she didn’t have to be.

Carrie Fisher didn’t have to stand there and take the shitstorm of criticism people launched at her for decades, let alone turn it into humor. She didn’t. She didn’t owe anyone outwith her immediate family an explanation for her erratic behavior over the years, nor the flack she caught for it. (Think of all the male actors in Hollywood who are in and out of rehab centers so quickly they could harness the revolving doors as a wind turbine. Then tell me the media press about her life and now her death are fair.)

But she did it anyway, because she knew it was important. And she took those bright lights of Hollywood shining down on her like a ruthless, malevolent child holding a magnifying glass under the sun—and she turned that merciless heat and pointed it at things that mattered, often at the expense of herself, opening herself up to ridicule and the severe cruelty of others who lambasted her for everything, ranging from her weight, her mental illness or her audacity to simply grow old.

Is it tragic that her addiction likely cost her her life? Yes, of course it is. Does it invalidate any of her achievements? The strength and vibrancy with which she lived her life and touched the lives of millions around her for the better? 

“I call people sometimes hoping not only that they’ll verify the fact that I’m alive but that they’ll also, however indirectly, convince me that being alive is an appropriate state for me to be in. Because sometimes I don’t think it’s such a bright idea. Is it worth the trouble it takes trying to live life so that someday you get something worthwhile out of it, instead of it almost always taking worthwhile things out of you?” 

-The Princess Diarist

Carrie Fisher mattered, her voice mattered. The things that she said and did, mattered. They still matter. And they are no less true and poignant in the light of these revelations.

Addiction is a disease. It’s a dysfunction of the brain’s reward system which requires constant management and care and often goes hand in hand with other mental health disorders. It is not simply a question of willpower or the perceived lack thereof. And while sobriety is to be praised and encouraged—of course it is, of course it absolutely unquestionably is—you cannot possibly know what may cause a person to slip or to feel like they can’t cope without that crutch. And shame on anyone who says it was therefore deserved. 

Shame and my heartfelt wishes that you never go through the things that can lead to serious addiction. Or that you are ever abandoned, derided and regarded as less than human because of it and your death turned into a smear campaign against your memory for the sake of a sensationalist headline.

Yes. Carrie Fisher was an addict, she had drug dependency problems related to her mental health. There was a time she kept it hidden, but after she made the decision to come out about it, she stuck by that decision and became a champion, for herself and everyone like her who struggles. Because she never wanted anyone to suffer like she did in order to get help. And she did it with as much grace and humility as she could manage—and a whole lot more indignity, immodesty, crass humor and love as well. Because that’s who she was and she cared. 

And that’s a hell of a lot more than can be said for those crowing over her death like it’s just deserts.

Fuck you.

People do not exist to stand up to your demands of a perfect ideal of humanity. You do not get to place that burden on the shoulders of someone then tear them apart when they fall under that weight—famous or otherwise.

Fuck you and your whole pretense at moral piety and the horse you rode in on.

Carrie Fisher was not your unproblematic fave. She was in fact extremely problematic, and no one knew that better than she did. 

“I heard someone say once that many of us only seem able to find heaven by backing away from hell. And while the place that I’ve arrived at in my life may not precisely be everyone’s idea of heaven, I could swear sometimes—if I’m quiet enough—I can hear the angels sing. Either that or I fucked up my medication again.” 

-Carrie Fisher, Wishful Drinking.

somebody’s probably talked about this screencap already but i’m????? jesus christ???????????

this is the exact expression i wear when i’m reading through someone’s bullshit. here victor’s coming from the mindset yuri remembers the banquet perfectly, so i can almost hear him thinking “alright, your parents and sister are gone. you can come out now.”

it’s worth mentioning this was also the first time he and yuri were alone together after the hot springs scene, where victor put up some sort of peacock act. emphasis on the cock. 

and it wasn’t the only act he put up that night. 

when nothing happens when they’re alone, victor decides to probe the “real” yuri out by lowering his voice and being flirty and touching him, which just pushes him farther away.

next time we see him, he’s knocking on yuri’s door, talking about having a “slumber party” in a silly manner. that doesn’t work either, so he goes back to his room and cries until he falls asleep.


can you fucking believe victor put up not one, two, but THREE different fronts on the same night? all of which might be roles he’s used to playing very well, but are still not him? he tried to get through to yuri by being everything, everything but himself, and nothing worked, because it wasn’t supposed to. because yuri wouldn’t want a front, he’d want him.

people are always talking about how victor’s character changed A LOT after the beach scene in ep. 4. some go as far as saying the change was a conscious choice by the writers because his character was so “unlikeable”. no wonder yall think that? prior to ep. 4, we’d never fucking met victor? we literally didn’t know who he was? because he was hiding even from us?

holy christ thank you @yuri for telling my son to just be himself he URGENTLY needed it

Okay so seeing Wonder Woman was literally eye-opening for me. I always knew that movies, action movies in particular, are really sexist towards women. I just didn’t realize how bad it was until I saw a superhero movie directed by a woman.

In almost every movie I’ve seen, the woman was always the damsel in distress or just some lousy love interest. And in action movies, mainly superhero movies, the camera is always focused on the woman’s boobs while she’s fighting. Yes, I’m mainly talking about Black Widow in the Avengers movies.

But in Wonder Woman, there were no close-up shots of her boobs while she was fighting. In fact, I don’t think that any woman even showed her cleavage, at all. They weren’t sexualized in any way. 

And all of the women looked like real people. There were women with big muscles, women with scars, there were women with thick thighs and arms that would jiggle when they were fighting, there were dark skinned women. They didn’t just all look like the stereotypical super thin white girls that you usually see in big movies.

The flirting was also very minimal. There were almost no romantic scenes at all.

And none of the men tried to undermine or belittle the women, and when they did Diana would just start talking about how she could do things better than them.

And the fight scenes. They were so amazing. They didn’t try to make the women look super pretty while doing it. No, they were full on fighting. Nasty, brutal, screams-of-pure-rage fighting.

But she always had a reason for fighting, and she always did it because she genuinely believes in hope and peace and protecting innocent people and people who can’t fight for themselves.

This movie sends out so many great messages for little girls, saying that you can fight for what you believe in and even if you don’t succeed the first time, not to give up because it is always worth it in the end.

Like I was thinking about it in the movie theater. For some little girls, Wonder Woman is their first superhero. There are little girls who will grow up with this movie and cherish it because it is the first and only movie with a lead female superhero. There are little girls who will grow up thinking that they want to do some good in this world, just like she did. I almost cried during several parts in the movie just thinking about that.

So please, for the love of all things good, please go see this movie. Not only is it a huge deal for women and girls now, it will be for generations to come. 


If you have ever shipped Socky, Binu, or Myungjin; please watch this (preferably seated) and prepare to <em>scream</em>.

On the nights when your sadness comes, I hope you invite it in like an old friend. Lead it to your table and converse over your doubts and misfortune. Feed it your energy because even sadness is sustenance and let it sit in contentment long after it has had its fill because proper meals should never be rushed. It is then that you can ponder over the “what ifs, almosts, why nots, and how comes” that plague you and it is then that sadness will reminisce with you, too. Because when you acknowledge its place in your life, you’ll understand sadness has worth and will give way to another sooner than later. It will remember your graciousness and will hopefully come gentler the next visit around. And when it does, may hope and solace be gathered at your table, too.
—  thespilledinkseriesfor those particularly sad nights