Exactly

So I've been reading a lot of Spider-Man meets the Bat-family fics and originally I just wanted to see him get adopted into the family or fight bad guys.

That was until I came across fics that make Dick Grayson, PETER PARKERS DAD IN A WHOLE NEW UNIVERS!

Now I have no problem with these fics cause I'm just eating this trope up. But the first time I saw this I was really weirded out since I seemed out of nowhere. But apparently I'm not a big enough of a Spider-Man fan cause I forgot Peters dads name is Richard Parker

And all I want to do is meet the mad man who put these two together and say “huh if Peters dads name is Richard and Dicks name is Richard. Then Dick is the father”

And if you happen to know a fic or made a fic with this trope pls give me 🥹

Bro, I am so ready for this. I don't know if you've read some of these but here you go.

This is a short one, so not a lot of drama but just a funny happenstance.

Now, this has all the appropriate drama™ with an added surprise of one Teresa Parker. Honestly, sweetest duo ever.

This is a lot less Peter's pov and more the Batfam's pov. And, their verdict? Peter is smol and cute. Adoption eminent.

This is just a two-chapter cry fest. Bring tissues.

I love when fantasy worlds have some nonsensical magical force that prevents technology from working.

Like… how does the magic determine where technology begins? I mean, a gun is just a little house for tiny explosions to live… what part of that process is interrupted by magic? Does gunpowder simply not combust in Magictopia?

What about the wheel? Bifocals? Condoms? Skateboards? Bicycles? Vaccines? Pyramids? Does a flint-knapped knife not count as technology?

“Shit.”

“What seems to be the matter?” asked the Elf, in that same insufferably airy tone that would have made it a fortune doing voiceovers for shampoo commercials.

Khalil sighed miserably. “Phone’s dead,” he said, scowling at the shimmering city. “Figures. Of course it lets me take a thousand blurry cat pictures and then konks out on me the moment I find something worth photographing.”

The Elf laughed. Khalil suspected it was meant to be a scornful laugh, but his companion had the emotional inflection of an automated voice messaging system, and it lacked punch.

“Foolish human,” said the Elf. “Your ‘phone’ will not work here. No technology functions past the borders of Faerie.”

If Khalil let his eyes unfocus and used his imagination, the expression it wore could almost pass for smugness. “Now hang on,” he said. “That’s a fucking lie. No way is that true.”

“Foolish human, I cannot tell a l—”

“Oh, shut up. You say no technology works here, but you’re clearly wearing some kind of ritzy elf sword. Are you gonna try to tell me that they grow on trees here? Obviously you’ve got smelting and forges and metallurgy. You’re wearing woven fabric, and you stole a bunch of medicine from that pharmacy in Detroit. We rode my bike over that troll bridge and it didn’t stop working.”

“That’s different,” protested the Elf, a shallow groove between it’s eyebrows betraying profound distress. “That’s not technology.”

“It is, though! ‘Technology’ doesn’t just mean guns and electron—”

There was a hand clamped tight over his mouth, smothering him before he had even registered movement. “Hold your tongue before I cut it out of your head,” hissed the Elf in his ear. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

It released him, and Khalil stumbled back, staring wildly. It had moved terrifyingly quickly. No doubt it could make good on its threat if it cared to—six years of boxing and he still had no hope of defending himself against something that could move like that.

“What magic doesn’t know can’t hurt it,” said the Elf in a low and strangely unsteady voice, sounding for the first time like a living being. “Be careful what ideas you give it. Some things seem right, and that’s what matters.”

The Elf must have grabbed him hard, Khalil realized, tasting the tang of blood where his lip had been torn open on his teeth. He swallowed, and stared at the Elf in horror. “Are you telling me,” he said slowly, “That your entire magical system, the physics of your entire world… is based… on vibes?”

The Elf grimaced and did not meet his eyes.

As the Elf’s screams grew louder and more frantic, Khalil’s mind alternated between two distinct but equally insistent convictions: first, that this was the stupidest plan anyone had ever advised in this world or any other; second, that it was going to work.

The part of him that was a twenty-seven year-old peace activist recoiled in disgust even as the ten year-old pirate fanatic vibrated with excitement. If I live through this, he thought, I’ll have to tell my mom that all those hours glued to the History Channel weren’t wasted, after all.

Very gently, he tipped a little of the powder down the barrel of the gun. He had no way of knowing the appropriate amount to use and simply guessed; after all, if his suspicions were correct, it might not matter much in this world.

He pried the moldering leather bag out from under the skeleton’s arm and reached inside. A few dozen lead balls clinked together under his fingers, along with a little bundle of greasy cloth. With trembling fingers, he tore off a square of fabric and wrapped it around one of the bullets. Like a swaddled baby, he thought grimly, and pushed it down the barrel until it was nestled snugly over the gunpowder.

Almost ready, he thought. He dropped a pinch of powder into the flashpan on the top of the gun, flicked the frizzen back into position, and rose to his feet.

“Step away from the Fabio impersonator,” he said, kicking the rotten door off its hinges. “Or I will shoot you with my gun.”

“You have the name of a poet,” said the queen, studying him cooly with pupiless eyes as green and unsettling as a neglected swimming pool. “That is a good thing, Khalil of Ann Arbor. We are fond of poets here.”

The queen was beautiful, but she was not attractive. No, thought Khalil, that’s not right. She was attractive—in the way that the lights of beachside cities attract baby sea turtles away from the surf; attractive in the way that hot stoves attract curious children’s hands; attractive in the way that trays of beer attract garden slugs to drink themselves to death. 

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The room was well-appointed for a prison cell. Khalil caught himself wondering how they had managed to grow perfect cushions of lush green moss in the shape of a bed and armchair—but of course it was magic. It was always magic. Moss didn’t need light or water or nutrients or support structures when there was magic to make it grow.

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Days passed, or seemed to pass. Khalil found himself thinking of his grandfather, who had carried a Damascene pocket watch until the end of his days. No amount of cajoling or bribery or international call plans had ever managed to convince him to use the cellphone he’d been given, or even to adopt a wristwatch. His daughters teased him for being old and set in his ways, but he insisted that technology was easier to use if he understood how it worked.

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concept art 4 a horror comic about the dinosaurs that survived the initial meteor impact and are now living in a sort of last of us/annihilation-esque world

skin color ref because some of yall non-black poc and whites keep fucking up as if yall don’t know there’s other shades of brown when u racebend for woke points or something 

(non-black artists please reblog)

Please reblog regardless of your race/ethnicity.

heres a chart I made for myself showing diffrent undertones and how that affects the skin if anyone’s intrested

Use this to make a skin palette in your art program!

Also! This photography project by Angélica Dass has thousands of photos of people, with a Pantone color assigned to each! It’s very helpful as a resource !!

And some examples of the project!

“chuffed doesnt mean what you think it means”

it means exactly what i think it means its just some stupid word that literally has two definitions that mean the opposite thing

what the hell

This makes me really chuffed

This post is quite egregious

Well I’m nonplussed by this whole post.

goddamnit.

all of you go to hell

And you wonder why i am boggled at times

These are called contronyms! A word that is its own opposite.

Why the fuck do these exist

One theory is that the sarcastic use of the word became exceedingly prevalent and because another dictionary definition. 

Let it go! - https://www.patreon.com/ramonn90

I used to be that person who read two 400-page books a week. Now I carry around a book with me everywhere I go to try and remember what it feels like to feel that connection within the pages because I can’t concentrate to read further than a paragraph, or remember it, for that matter. Every time I see someone engrossed in a novel, it’s bittersweet, because I miss what it is like to get lost in the written word. I just want to be able to read like that again.

tutorial? more like small tips about how i paint skin

My coloring is really simple and somewhat flat and I focus on three things: the base color, shadows and lights.

here comes to fun part

i don’t remember the artist but he used this minimal shading for the skin and that seems fantastic to me because the skin looks matte and silky, the closest artist i can think of right now that do minimal shading is Sakimichan, the way she render the skin is perfect. She can be a good reference.

I hope this helps 

Composition Studies by Howard Hsu 

Various Light by Jyundee

Support the artist on Patreon!

I’m sure a ton of people already know how to do this, but I only learned recently, so I wanted to share one of my favorite thumbnailing tricks! Color matching is SUPER helpful to quickly map out potential color schemes :D

[EDIT] this is in Adobe Photoshop, sorry for forgetting to mention that!

WORDS TO USE INSTEAD OF: RUN / RAN

Do you ever find yourself over-using the word “run” (or “ran”) in your writing? Try using these words instead:

sigh. i still have much to learn.

@herewaskendra me too, however I love prologues and I write them too. I notice Stephen King spend a few pages and then some more pages describing the other world or a specific scene I’m using King here b/c I just finish listening to Mr.Mercedes. I wouldn’t be hard on myself and you are an amazing writer- keep writing amazing words.

I’m guilty of overdescribing things. Flowery-language and excess exposition, are my Achilles heels. I admit it.

This actually is a very good, useful article for aspiring writers, though.