#comic material

[artstationable]

Pablo Munoz Gomez • "Citizens of Centuria"

Concept artist, 3D sculptor and educator

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[toxic-potions-productions]

The only thing my claws can’t break (Source: Angels of death)

*Creator Z & Hiro stuck somewhere with iron bars everywhere & Z tries to break them out*

Z: Alright, that’s it! *Spawns claws* I’m slicing us outta here!

Hiro: I don’t think that will work, Z, those are iron bars.

Z: *Clearly didn’t listen to what Hiro said about the bars* Well, until you come up with a better idea, I’m gonna try things MY way!! >:((

Hiro: *Covers his ears* Go ahead.

*Z tries to break the bars but fails. & her arm is now in alot of pain*

Z, holding her hand: *Groans from the sound of the bars & the pain in her arm* WHAT IN THE HELL?!?!

Hiro: *Uncovers his ears* It IS iron.

Z, mad: YA COULDA TOLD ME THAT!!! 💢💢💢💢

Hiro, tired & unamused: I did. 😒 --------------------------------------------------- Yes, this will be made into a comic eventually ;)

@dorkygurl-89 Poor Hiro XDD

[labradoodlesketch]

I decided to draw the prucan kids again. But this time a bit grown up and they also know have a younger sister! Introducing Maple! -Emberxylic

[morose-moron]

my sister and i have a bad habit of just sticking used pads wherever while we're switching and this one time she forgot to throw hers out, so there i was, standing still by the bathroom door as i shout "SISTER, ARE YOU AWARE THERE IS A BLOODIED PAD ON THE WALL?" to her on the other side of the house. she just runs over, stares at it for a solid second before disposing of it in the blink of an eye and quietly saying "no." as she speedwalks the fuck outta there.

[veryhappyvegan]

            I remember buying bags of beautiful white pills. They seemed to glitter in my hands as I dumped them out of their baggie. Even the bitter taste of chemicals creeping up my throat became something I savored. They were my only relief from the inner anguish that viciously ate away at everything I’d grown to be. I detested myself so much that I had subconsciously begun to revel in my own mounting sorrow. I saw what my illness did to me, but I befriended him in spite of it. I gravitated towards the very things that destroyed me. It is a pattern of my existence, I suppose. If I thought an action would afford me a speedier death or a more painful existence, I was innately compelled to do it. Don’t get me wrong, I fought these longings, but the sources of temptation were endless, and they were relentless. I would give in to smaller things, because I felt less guilty, perhaps. They would add up, I figured… They have to.

            One of my smallest indulgences began at a young age, long before I ever thought of myself as depressed. My mother told me that radiation from the microwave causes cancer, and not to stand in front of it while it was on. Ever since, I made a point to always stand so that my head was directly outside of the microwave whenever I used it, in hopes that I would somehow die faster.

            I was a kid.  I was sad. I did these things everyday, but I never acknowledged the connection. I could never look at the desperation in my own eyes. I could never really admit my true intent. For one simple reason, I was afraid that someone would help me.