i need society to learn what improvised actually means

cant tell you how bad it feels to constantly tell other artists to come to tumblr, because its the last good website that isn't fucked up by spoonfeeding algorithms and AI bullshit and isn't based around meaningless likes

just to watch that all fall apart in the last year or so and especially the last two weeks

there's nowhere good to go anymore for artists.

edit - a lot of people are saying the tags are important so actually, you'll look at my tags.

#please dont delete your accounts because of the AI crap. your art deserves more than being lost like that #if you have a good PC please glaze or nightshade it. if you dont or it doesnt work with your style (like mine) please start watermarking #use a plain-ish font. make it your username. if people can't google what your watermark says and find ur account its not a good watermark #it needs to be central in the image - NOT on the canvas edges - and put it in multiple places if you are compelled #please dont stop posting your art because of this shit. we just have to hope regulations will come slamming down on these shitheads#in the next year or two and you want to have accounts to come back to. the world Needs real art #if we all leave that just makes more room for these scam artists to fill in with their soulless recycled garbage #improvise adapt overcome. it sucks but it is what it is for the moment. safeguard yourself as best you can without making #years of art from thousands of artists lost media. the digital world and art is too temporary to hastily click a Delete button out of spite

I'm crying from laughing so hard, this improv is so damn hilarious omfg lol

adventure time lore is insane. it starts off just being a goofy kids show that has magic for no reason, but then you learn that all magic users are manic and/or depressed (what betty calls sadness and madness). because it turns out magic is actually a cosmic force beyond mortal comprehension, that itself was learned from cosmic entities that predated the existence of time itself inside a sea of monsters. and "magic" really is just understanding more about the nature of the universe than most people. that, in a way, reality isnt "real" and understanding that allows you to mold it. and thats magic. but that drives you to insanity and/or apathy. and there are beings who hold significant cosmic importance who are more prone to magic. and the reason magic became prevalent on earth is because of a nuclear war a thousand years ago, which released the entity that represents the destruction of all life onto the world. and after a nuclear apocalypse this gave way to a new earth, where magic could thrive. but a lot of the beings we see arent even magical, theyre just mutants from what happened 1000 years ago. and humanity as we know it has been all but wiped out. but everything stays the same because cycles of war and violence continue. and it doesnt matter if its nukes or magic. everything stays the same, but still changes.

matt ruling that the technical damage from the explosion was irrelevant due to the power and weight of fcg’s sacrifice is what really got me. even if sam rolled the max possible number on the dice, it wouldn’t have even brought otohan to below where she was before she took the health potion. mechanically speaking, she should have survived that blast by a LOT of hit points. but this was a player willingly killing their own character, beyond reviving and even potentially beyond resurrection, to give the rest of the party any advantage they could, and he rewarded that with the death of an antagonist that has haunted this campaign from the very beginning. unreal fucking plays by both matt and sam tonight.

I couldn't resist. More Ear, the hypothetical child of @canisalbus 's oc's Machete and Vasco. Sopping wet thing <3

Tested something out. It's as messy as his memories. ❤️🖤🦔

Hey ! ❤️ sorry to bother you but I can't find the post where there was a list of all the scenes that were improvised in Good Omens. If you happen to find the post, or to know the few scenes that were not in the script, I will be so grateful 🥹

Hiya! :) Improvised scenes (haven't seen the post I'm afraid :)<3):

In the First Season:

The end of the bench scene in the dinosaur park

Shadwell's "Sergeant Pepper" when he meets Crowley

In the Second season:

Crowley ordering the sherry

Aziraphale hugging the tumour jar

Crowley's Flower of Scotland

Furfur mispronouncing Aziraphale

Crowley goofing with the fez in the magic shop

TUMBLR LEGWND ITSDEIFNITLEY ALSO DRAWS SANDERS SIDES?!?!???

i dabble

Like fine wine

drew one of the memes in this person's post again

reblogs > likes

Our Flag Means Death 1x1 | 2x2 | 2x6 ⇉ Wee John + tailoring

as someone who has never watched any of the episode of critical role that they’re adapting into tlovm it’s very wild to me that the show will drop absolutely banger lines like “you’re at the bottom of my list” or “darling, take off the mask” or “do not go far from me” or “take me instead you raven bitch” or “i was made to pass through fire” and then i log on here and learn that they were all originally IMPROVISED in the original campaign

There is a man with fire-red hair running a bookshop in Soho.

He hasn't always been the original owner, as almost all residents on Whickber Street know, but it is a fact you never bring up with him. Hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and layers of rough sarcasm, he is a shadow moving silently between shelves and plants, the Bentley parked outside seemingly more for decoration than actual use.

Previously, there had been a white-haired man with gentle eyes and a favour up his sleeves living among his books, and while he barely sold any of them, he was a pillar of the community just like the building itself. When he disappeared, an unspoken vow to never discuss the subject matter in the vicinity of the shop was made.

There is a woman with fire-red hair sitting in St. James's Park.

She feeds frozen peas to the ducks and puts the fear of God into everyone who dares to offer them bread or attempts to scare them away. The bench is hers, always empty, awaiting her arrival; sometimes she brings a bottle of wine, other times she cradles a Polaroid in the palm of her hand, and even the dark shades cannot stop the occasional tear from dripping down her cheek.

Rumours of her companion and his absence spread quickly, yet no one dares to ask, and the spies scattered around the park form a mutual understanding to avoid her.

There is a person with fire-red hair wandering the streets of London, wearing sunglasses and no coat, no matter the weather or time.

Their head is tipped back, their eyes glued to the sky, and yet they navigate through the masses parting around them with an unnatural ease. No one stops them, no one dares to ask why, and even if they did, they wouldn't offer an answer, not when they are asking themself the very same question.

When it begins to rain, they stop moving, stretching out their hands in a weak imitation of a prayer and allowing the water to seep into their clothes until they're as dark as the wet concrete beneath them.

There is a man with blinding white hair stepping out of an elevator that does not exist, and the end of the world comes with him. If someone were to listen in, they would realise that the man with fire-red hair meets him in the middle of the street, the air thick with lightning that will never find a home.

As they talk, nightingales all over London begin to sing.