Sketches, a small storyboard and the lineart for the animation 👌👌

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Today's Document
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YOU ARE THE REASON
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@sherlockianh
Sketches, a small storyboard and the lineart for the animation 👌👌
Reminder that it really doesn’t matter what ways you’re marginalized, if you’re not black you’re just as capable of anti blackness as white cishet people. No amount of “but I’m gay!”, “but I’m trans!”, or “but I’m not white!” changes that.
And being neurodiverse/disabled isn’t an excuse for anti blackness either.
Don’t like this post if you’re not gonna also reblog it.
Boost my voice, don’t just like it for woke points.
I’d fucking love it if white people didn’t use this post to pat themselves on the back. I guarantee that no amount of “don’t people know this already?” or “isn’t this obvious?” will actually make you a good ally to black people.
The only things that will make you a good ally to us is listening to us, boosting our voices, defending us when we need it, calling out your fellow whites when they display overt and/or covert racist behavior, and checking yourself consistently.
to be fair though it has to be accompanied by that exact image, otherwise the format could be read as extreme disbelief/loud exclamations
Oh yes there’s no way to convey ~SaRcAsM~ through written text.
I dunno this ways always worked for me ^^^^^
Hmmmm. No. No sarcasm. Oh no. Never any sarcasm here. What. Whatever would we do if you could display sarcasm through text. Oh my. How could you suggest such a thing. Oh jeez.
That settles it. The older generations are just weak.
Worlds largest single firework shell
That’s not that bi-hoLY SHIT
This is literally the most bomb-ass D&D story I’ve ever read in my life oh my god.
Holy shit ._.
Some RP sessions have better stories than actual fiction. I mean, goddamn.
For those having trouble reading the text:
We had a campaign in D&D where we assembled a steampunk-ish time machine. After many sessions travelling through time, uncovering mysteries and learning harsh lessons about changing history, we had to stop a time-travelling cult from destroying the gods, and therefore the world. We failed.
Our machine crashed, we were stranded earlier than we had ever been able to travel. We found the Gods, but only a few of them were present - it was as if some had never existed. Then we realised - we had to become those Gods. Our party was entirely divine (Cleric, Paladin, Avenger, Invoker), and each of us was a worshipper of a god who had been unmade - and we were the only people in existence with enough knowledge of the forgotten deities to assume their roles.
But two of the players were worshippers of Io (in his twin forms of Tiamat and Bahamut, who would of course form later after Io’s ‘death’), and only one could become Io. The other would have to be the un-created Asmodeus.
So the most just, honourable and dedicated Lawful Good paladin I’ve ever seen roleplayed became the god of tyranny and evil. If he hadn’t, the gods would never have defeated the primordials, and the world would never have been completed.
In our setting, Asmodeus is every bit the epitome of evil you would expect him to be. Nobody but the gods who abide his presence know him as otherwise. He adheres to his role because he knows he has to - and that in doing so, the world can exist. He can never tell anyone his duty, and no-one who knows can ever discuss it.
In the farthest recesses of the Nine Hells, in a chamber sealed tighter than any other in existence is a pocketwatch of finest gnome craft with a photo of his family in it - his wife, son, and little baby girl.
They were killed by an orc army marching under the orders and banner of Asmodeus. Their deaths are what drove him to become an adventurer.
yo bro is it safe down there in the woods? yeah man it’s cool by Tomislav Jagnjic
I thought this was just a joke but nope, that’s literally what the artist named this piece.
Some other gems by Tomislac Jagnjic:
And I worried myself sick over naming my art. This is so liberating.
im rewriting hamlet and i think it’s going great
if anybody wants to read the whole thing it’s here
This is the greatest work of Shakespearrean literature ever drafted. The bard himself would weep in joy upon seeing this played
also that whole tale of aragorn and arwen thing where he saw her in the woods at twenty and fell instantly in love and it’s very beren and luthien? lies.
aragorn decided he was going to marry arwen when he was like, six.
and everyone thought it was just the cutest thing, baby estel with his little crush on the great immortal evenstar, and everyone would tease him about it relentlessly and he would get so mad, and pout, because how dare they doubt his word.
(arwen spent a lot of time biting back smiles and nodding very seriously when aragorn brings this up with her. no, estel, I do not know why they are laughing perhaps they have remembered a particularly funny joke.)
and then aragorn grows into this gangly teen and oh my god can you imagine being a pimply greasy teenager around fucking elves it’s a wonder he has any self-image left. His voice breaks every other word and the laundresses are beginning to wonder if something is wrong with the sheets because estel keeps washing them himself and aragorn wants to die, god, arwen is never going to marry him if he stays all elbows and skinny knees and he can’t even look her in the eye anymore without blushing, eye contact is probably something to look for in a husband–
(arwen, who never had to go through puberty because elves don’t do anything so undignified, tries to comfort him by saying she likes his blemishes. aragorn gives her a look of such utter, miserable despair that she starts laughing.)
(this is a mistake. he spends the next three weeks nursing his wounded ego and refusing to see her.)
estel is twenty when he asks for her hand. he is lean, slender and fair as a new tree, and so arwen does not feel guilt in kissing his cheek and gently refusing. he is still green, he will weather greater storms than this–and he takes it as he should, clasping her hand and swearing to ever be her loyal friend.
they write to each other–when she is in lorien, when he wanders with the rangers of the north, fights alongside gondor, travels to distant lands. it is an inconstant tie–he is rarely afforded time enough to put pen to paper; she is reserved so as not to encourage what may not be. (she signs her letters always, your friend. She likes him too well to be cruel in this.)
the years pass. his weariness and strife creeps onto the page, and she sends him tokens to fend off the darkness–leaves from lothlorien, the ribbon from her hair, snippets of poems. it is not enough it is never enough I am sorry, she writes.
his reply is gentle: you are enough. do not stop writing.
(she carries that letter tucked inside her sleeve for a long while, like a talisman–though against what evil, she does not know.)
she is in the house of her grandmother when a familiar voice calls out to her: my lady luthien!
this is when arwen looks up, sees aragorn–broad of chest and rugged, still wearing his battered mail, with one hand balanced lazily on the pommel of his sword. All the trees of caras galadhon are gold but he is shadow and silver, kingliness resting lightly on his shoulders–
and arwen thinks, oh fuck
How on earth would you feed a city of over 200,000 people when the land around you was a swampy lake? Seems like an impossible task, but the Aztec managed it by creating floating gardens known as chinampas, then they farmed them intensively.
These ingenious creations were built up from the lake bed by piling layers of mud, decaying vegetation and reeds. This was a great way of recycling waste from the capital city Tenochtitlan. Each garden was framed and held together by wooden poles bound by reeds and then anchored to the lake floor with finely pruned willow trees. The Aztecs also dredged mud from the base of the canals which both kept the waterways clear and rejuvenate the nutrient levels in the gardens.
A variety of crops were grown, most commonly maize or corn, beans, chillies, squash, tomatoes, edible greens such as quelite and amaranth. Colourful flowers were also grown, essential produce for religious festivals and ceremonies. Each plot was systematically planned, the effective use of seedbeds allowed continuous planting and harvesting of crops.
Between each garden was a canal which enabled canoe transport. Fish and birds populated the water and were an additional source of food. [x]
(Fact Source) For more facts, follow Ultrafacts
This is literally so cool. Not only does it contribute to spacial efficiency, but the canals would easily keep pests, weeds, and possibly even diseases out of the respective plots. Companion planting and bio-intensive planting would be so much easier. Water-wise systems would be inherently present. Plus it looks so super neat aesthetically. I am just all about this.
Indigenous civilizations invented sustainable development way before there was a term for it.
twitter canceled
It becomes a pattern in the aftermath.
Bruce has set up a makeshift lab in Wakanda, while the world takes stock of their dead and Wakanda mourns for their king. Bruce isn’t doing anything important, but he needs to do something, so he studies Wakanda’s vibranium supply and attempts to keep Shuri busy.
Otherwise, the grief might just be too much for the both of them to bear.
Bruce also tries very hard not to think about Tony and what form of matter Tony may or may not be at this very moment. He’s only moderately successful.
It’s on the third day of the second week after half of the world has turned to ash that Thor brings Bruce a little green snake. Bruce is baffled, but he tried to be polite about it. Bruce is heartsick, though, so that makes everything a little harder.
Then Thor asks for Bruce to see if the snake is Loki, and it takes every bit of willpower Bruce Banner poses to not burst into tears. Thor is so strong and so keen to smile, he makes it so easy for everyone to forget that he has lost nearly everything.
Bruce pokes at the snake without any further complaints. When nothing happens, the grief on Thor’s face is unimaginable.
Bruce begins spending time with both Thor and Shuri, in a desperate attempt to combat his own grief by combatting theirs.
All the while, every second or third day, Thor brings Bruce a small green animal and asks Bruce to see if it his lost brother. Bruce checks every time, with care and precision, but the result is always negative. It’s awful for both of them, but Thor can’t seem to stop and Bruce doesn’t know how to make him.
This pattern holds for a few weeks, until Thor brings Bruce a beaten and battered lizard. It’d been burned somehow and it looked like one of its limbs had been badly broken. When Thor presents it to him, Bruce honestly isn’t sure if Thor had just brought the little thing to Bruce to see if it could be saved.
“Could you check?” Thor asks, the question quiet and hurt after so many weeks of negative results from Bruce’s prodding and poking.
“Of course,” Bruce says softly, adding his portion of the call and response.
He gingerly picks up the lizard, as the poor also looks like he’d been through the wringer, and gives him a quick once over. Bruce’d been right about the broken leg and the burns were pretty –
The lizard fucking turns into Loki. A damaged, burnt Loki who scuttles backward on a broken leg while spitting blood.
Thor bursts into tears. Bruce bursts out laughing. Everyone has their own way of processing grief and shock and grief turned into shock, apparently.
It’s later, when they’ve gotten Loki a little patched up, convinced Okoye not to kill Loki (”He tried to destroy the world!” she says – “He’s gotten better,” Bruce says), and Thor’s eyes were mostly dry, that Loki finally says through clenched, bloodied teeth:
“They’re in a pocket dimension.”
“Who?” Bruce whispers, stunned.
“Everyone. I told him he’d never be a god. He was just a warlord playing at being something powerful. He should’ve fucking listened.”
JUST THIS ONCE, ROSE, EVERYBODY LIVES
Let me just ask the police..
…I almost killed myself
I put on my sunglasses, to hide my swollen eyes, over my tears. I cried all my makeup off. Went inside to have a milkshake. I don’t know why. I wanted something to drink as I figured out what I would do. I got a soda and a milkshake. Medium. The cashier looked at me and with a line around the corner of the counter he rushed away from the counter “Hold on “ he yelled to a coworker.
I filled my soda and went back and saw him looking all over. I go up and he gets close and says “I made it a large”.
That was seriously enough for me not to do it. His kindness. Someone went out of their way and as I went back in my car to cry I realized I could muster through a few other days. A few more weeks. Then I came down from that panicky high of anxiety, depression, and pain. I finished my shake. And it was enough time to let me feel better. I… I’m alive. I’ll make it through.
Try and be nice today. Tomorrow. Something as much as a smile. It helped so much.
Thank you man at McDonalds.
The milkshake saved my life
I hope you all can read this and remember to be kind
The smallest of gestures can save a life. My Mum answered her phone when I called and I am alive today because of that.
I’m glad you’re here.
It’s a phone call, a milkshake, a friend.
I feel like I shouldn’t keep reblogging this but when I do more people see what kindness can do…. I don’t know. Love everyone as yourself.
Nah, keep rebloging it. It gives hope.
walked sobbing around a city once wearing a summer dress in mid-september thunder and rain. basically dragged myself into LUSH as the smell of the store always made me smile. the shop was empty and dead due to the weather, just this blonde short woman behind the counter who smiled at me. i stared at her feet and asked ‘do you have anything for people who are scared a lot?’ (i was so out of it i had no clue). she showed me two bath bombs, one pink and one blue, and said both were good - i chose the pink, paid for it and left. i then sat at a bus stop clutching the LUSH bag in one arm and my prescription meds in the other - i’d lied and ordered a refill so i could just drift away with sleeping pills. when the bus arrived and i was out of the rain, i decided to have another look at my bath bomb, smell it and what not. opened my bag and saw she’d put the blue one in there for me as well and written on the receipt ‘feel better soon :) hope you like x’.
no one had ever been so selflessly kind to me before, i didn’t know what to do with it except hang around long enough to use the other bath bomb.
Actually I’m going to reblog this again because of the truth of the inverse: think of any time you have been casually cruel or petty to someone for humor or because you weren’t in a great mood.
The power of small gestures goes both ways.
three main parts of d&d culture are
1. *drops to 0hp* “I’m dead.” “You’re not dead yet”
2. rolling a bad perception roll and your dm is just like “you don’t have a fucking clue where you are. a room maybe?”
3. when the dm is narrating a scene for another character and your character isn’t even there so when you make a smartass comment about what’s happening the dm shouts “You’re not here”
sometimes a descriptor is just that, guys: a descriptor
oh, goat?
PLEASE give me context for that
so, our party was traveling in a mountainous area and the DM mentioned there was a goat a little ways away, just a little scenery building. the party immediately spent the next (real-life) 20 minutes insight checking the goat, detecting magic on the goat, questioning the goat, ect. eventually the sorcerer ended up killing and eating the goat. DM was very exasperated.
oh my GOD
i have the solution for this, my darlings: describe everything.
players do this when you’re usually sparse on description; they’ll fixate on the things you do describe, because whether consciously or not, you’ve trained them to think that you only describe important things. if you say, “it’s a 20x20 room with pillars along the walls, and at the end there’s a throne with a red brocade cushion on it,” they will fixate on the cushion. because it’s the only movable object in the whole scene! it’s the only thing with a color or texture!
so instead, you say, “this is clearly where he held court before he became a lich. it’s a pillared arcade of honey-colored marble [a nature check will reveal it was imported from a thousand miles away, very ostentatious] with square pillars in the southern style. a dusty carpet runs the length of it; where your footsteps stir up the dust, you can see the carpet was purple once. between the pillars are carved wooden chairs, some of the gilding still intact, where courtiers and functionaries could’ve waited for an audience. at the far end, beneath the rags of a moth-eaten banner, is a throne of age-blackened wood. unlike the other chairs, it was never gilded, but its brocade cushions are still there and still red on the underside where the light hasn’t bleached them.”
now you not only have plenty of things for them to investigate, most of them more informative to their goal, you’ve immersed them in ATMOSPHERE, which is what turns a game from a mere exercise in dice-rolling to a cooperative storytelling experience. your lich king is now more than just a dungeon boss, he’s the sad but frightening remnant of a once-great civilization, clinging to the shadow of its dust-smothered glory.
that’s the kind of thing that raises your ‘adventure zone’ and ‘critical role’ type adventures above the bored number-crunching of freshman weekends. and also avoids the frustration of a zillion pointless digressions.
OOF! OOF! how does FIFTEEN POINTS of DAMAGE TASTE?!
I’ve been searching for this for 20 minutes.
D&D Character Ideas 3
A gnome who is convinced they are an elf and a cleric to the holiest jolliest god of them all
A drow who praises a sun god
A lawful good rouge
A half-orc that was cursed and shrunk and is basally a goblin
A character that seems like a bard in every way possible, but is actually a necromancer
A character who is literally George Washington, but never tell anyone
A sumo wrester fighter
A barbarian trying to calm their temper and be cultured, aims to be a bard or any other class not focused on battle and violence
A poet bard who is in a group of other poets. They have an ongoing challenge to make chains of rhymes. This bard always speaks in rhyme out of habit and competitive spirit
A pink dragonborn who’s elemental breath is bubblegum based