Reblog if you support artists with OCs and original art
Hey it’s blue and I wanted to talk about how not many OC based artists are getting recognised and the only art work that actually gets reblogged is the occasional piece of fandom art. Please go out there and if you would be so kind as to reblog these wonderful OCs and the original art of the amazing and talented artists who deserve to be noticed. It shouldn’t just be fandoms that are looked at mainly but it should just be the art itself. It shouldn’t matter if the drawing is from a fandom or not, what matters is that the person worked their hardest on their artwork and hope to get it noticed. please make those artists dreams come true.
what i expected going into see Logan:
a bloody gory action packed Wolverine film with zero chill and maximum violence
what i got:
a father/ son father/daughter roadtrip flick through children of men stylescape of dystopian heartbreak that deals with issues of human trafficking and the exploitation of women of color's bodies and genetic engineering ethics that made me cry multiple times
“Lance,” he said encouragingly, “just try and feel the connection.”
“I am!” He hadn’t been, but it was easier not to admit that. Keith didn’t seem to believe him however.
“Just-” he scooted over in the chair and patted it with his free hand. “Just come and sit with me at least. Maybe she can sense that you and I are connected.”
Lance scoffed but did as he was asked, squeezing into the space beside Keith with relative ease considering it wasn’t very large. Part of his leg draped over Keith’s lap, and he averted his eyes to try and focus on something, anything, other than the feeling of the red paladin beneath him.
“I don’t think the lions know that we’re holding hands Keith,” he replied with a sigh, knowing that this was hopeless, and that they were probably going to be stuck in a strange plant goo storm and get stranded on this awful planet forever.
Because he couldn’t form a proper bond with the black lion and help save them.
Because he didn’t have what it took to pilot her.
Keith gave their hands a squeeze, and Lance’s mind went momentarily blank.
“Then maybe she can sense another connection,” he whispered. “A deeper one.”
Lance felt his cheeks flush anew, and let the grin show on his face as he stared at Keith.
“You and your bonds,” he chuckled, and Keith beamed. As if in reply, the inside of the black lion lit up suddenly, and from behind them Shiro cheered boredly.
I commissioned @sleepy-moans to draw something for my fic Stick with Meand it’s honestly the best decision I’ve made in a while. Go give them so love for creating such a wonderful piece of art!! It’s perfect!!
Hi I’m iguanodont and I don’t know how to draw monsters
They eat sea garbage and smell like 10 million rotting fish
The oldest ones are completely infested with giant parasitic hagfish that are kinda just eating them alive
Nobody remembers if they’re manmade or natural but some of em still hang around the few remaining coastal cities and slurp up their pollution (and the occasional ship)
They don’t come out of the sea anymore but rumor has it they used to trash entire cities back when they were spry young kaiju
“We both tried to grab at the last copy of that desired book at the same time and had a tug of war.” (from this post)
Sterek ficlet, T, ~1.6k words. Basically, I was going to just do a tiny little drabble as a warm-up for working on one of my WIPs, and then I was having too much fun with it to stop.
(Btw, if you couldn’t tell, I totally made up the book series in question. Any resemblance to any actual book is completely coincidental.)
It’s definitely some kind of torture that on the day the seventh and final Path of Wolves novel comes out, Stiles still has to go to school like it’s not the most important day of the year or anything.
And okay, so it’s not like anyone else in Beacon Hills has even heard of these books except Scott, and then only because Stiles can’t shut up about them, but still. Stiles spends the entire day practically vibrating out of his skin with the anticipation. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken in a word any of his teachers has said today. The only reason he doesn’t try to make a break for it during lunch is that he can’t afford another detention on his record, and even so, he’s still sorely, sorely tempted to risk it. In the end, he has to get Lydia to hide his car keys from him.
(He was going to ask Scott to do it, but Scott would have caved as soon as Stiles started begging, and Stiles is definitely not above begging, so Lydia it is.)
The instant the final bell rings, though, Stiles is out of there, flying across the parking lot and gunning the Jeep. The bookstore probably only ordered a few copies, and if Stiles isn’t holding one of them by the time he leaves, somebody’s about to get murdered.
Not that he actually expects any competition, but it’s better not to let these things go to chance. He already messed up once by procrastinating on pre-ordering until they were sold out; he didn’t think it was possible for a Path of Wolves novel to be sold out. He was wrong, and now he’s paying for it by having to physically go to the bookstore to get it.
Either Stiles vastly overestimated how many copies the store was going to order, or else he vastly underestimated how many people in Beacon Hills read these books, because when he skids to a stop in front of the New Releases shelf, there’s only one copy left. One beautiful, perfect hardcover copy.
Lucky for him, one copy is enough.
Except that when he grabs ahold of it, someone else does, too.
For a long second, Stiles can’t even believe what he’s seeing. Another hand, on his book. Another hand that’s not letting go, even though Stiles has already clearly and unambiguously grabbed it by the spine and isn’t letting go, either.
Stiles turns his head incredulously to get a look at this usurper, and it’s Derek Hale. As in, made-of-muscles, leather-wearing lacrosse captain Derek Hale.
Until this moment, Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek could read, and now he’s trying to steal Stiles’ obscure eight-hundred-page fantasy novel. What.