#but i wanted to fill up the space

[tansypansydandy]

finally finished clem’s ref sheet!!! it’s not much, and this outfit is post meeting the turtles, but its still somethin :] i’m still working on her comic, but feel free 2 ask any questions! im down to doodle some responses <3

[hinamie]

realizing how much i like drawing him a million years too late :<

[tee-dohrnii]

Gale doodles (?) / practice pt. 6

Feat. Puppy dog eyes Dekarios

[sodatelle]

forbidden jay (he’s lost)

[radioactvunicorn]

i don't really post my art on here but i'm learning how to do digital art so that's cool ig

[kalicocal]

Let's talk about that CaitVi Scene

For me, what made this scene impactful has to do more with the fact that the prison cell is the physical representation of Vi's mind more than the fact that it's where they first met. (Although the latter does add merit to Fortiche's capacity for telling circular narratives.)

We know this because we see Fortiche use this same motif in S108, where we see half of Vi behind bars and the other half unobstructed, which signifies how Vi is torn between going back to help her sister and helping Caitlyn take the gemstone back.

In this context, though, Vi is shackled by the mantra, “Whatever happens, it’s on you,” and we know this because Vi admits it herself, “I choose wrong every time. And because of it, I’ve lost everyone.” 

And the implication of Caitlyn unlocking this cell and entering this space—this space filled with emotional and physical scars, this space haunted by phantom pains and memories with teeth—was just like an “I got you” moment, the perfect affirmation that finally releases Vi from the shackles of this inherited responsibility. 

Caitlyn not only predicted it, but she actively took measures that enabled Vi to free Jinx safely. By doing this, Caitlyn implicitly confirmed that Vi didn't choose wrong this time and that she wasn't alone in the decision to offer Jinx a second chance.

I know some people have their own opinions about them doing it in a jail cell without explicitly talking about what happened between them in Act 1, but as much as I appreciate the idea of open communication, romance, and making love in a bed, I understand why they saved the talking for later. After all, facing imminent doom and Armageddon can influence people to rush into things. 

All jokes aside, there is one thing about this scene that makes my heart ache with joy: that Vi finally has one memory that outshines all that was made in the prison cell. And that memory is of warmth, a gentle touch, and soft eyes—the only memory that matters.

And for me, that's enough.

[sunnymainecoonx]

I don't think I ever published these so ig.....

There's a last one but err warning for gore and blood(mostly just ripping an arm off)

[spacesheeeeeep]

Actually so tired that people mainly focus on the bdsm when they talk about La Pianiste when we literally have this dynamic right here. Like, that's insane.

What if you were a little girl in her 40's who couldn't grow up because of your mother-wife who made you sleep in her bed and forced you to repress every sexual desires and thoughts of becoming your own person just to keep you close to her ? What if you fought back and yearned for dangerous things out of her reach ? But also, what if you let her because it's all you've ever known and been taught to want ?

[lucasoliko]

1911 javi i miss you......

[ashipiko]

THIS CHALLENGE WAS LIKE WAYYYY TOO FUN. TBH

YOU COULD NEVER GUESS MY TYPE IN FAVES. HAHA. HA. ha 😔

[cogneartive]

tgaa doodle dump + simon but tbf he thinks hes in tgaa

[magician-under-the-m00nlight]

aptx!kaito au in which Shinichi doesn't know aptx exists and feels insane that his leading theory is "a six year old is the mastermind behind Kaitou Kid"

[transmechanicus]

I’m being very brave at 1am this tuesday morning, there’s a queer gathering event for my grad school tonight and if i want The Rewards Of Being Known i am going to have to endure The Presence Of My Ex and every neuron i have thinks i’m being hunted by tigers just for saying yes to the invite. We’re not even on bad terms (afaik) i just have no data on how many ppl there will be, and i’m terrified of seeming like a creep just for showing up in the same space as them. Fuck and Damn and Hell.

[meddlehaven]

chongyue !!! ☀️

[bee-can-art]

Waterparks is just three lads in a trench coat

• Click for better quality (16/08/2024)

(Shoulder stack sticker here!!!)

[dadforker]

Now that I got this blog I'm thinkin about all the stuff someone with a tumblr would write about their dad.

The way he's kinda distant, but nice. Maybe you'd bond with him over small things like old movies you watched together, the type he used to watch when he was young. But he's older now, greyed- and so worn, still warm though and rough with a heartbreak smile in his truck, sturdy enough to bear the brunt of burden.

Would there be a desperation to keep you around? Like an ex boyfriend who keeps calling, asking if "Hey, remember that time we..." and the memories flood by the time you were away, but you're not so young anymore yourself, busied with things like a real life and real problems, not fucking your dad problems or worrying about if the old man on the subway next to you might give you a chance problems.

In rumbling roads and rasped out words, too awkward for the either of you in some push of sense, it's easy to see how lonesome he is without you, the smell of him fills the house- smoking indoors again when he said he wouldn't, yet there's not an empty bottle of beer astray- some kind of perverted consideration, you aren't any girlfriend to impress.

It's how in taking care of someone like this, the roles have reversed. Hands lightly clutch his shoulders in a stumble towards his room to follow hours later- TV still running its mouth distantly before you close the door, just stilled with the sounds of his breathing, your steps and the creak of the bed when you lay him down there to rest on his side.

He's handsome. Thick scruffy beard, rugged face, even when so tired and worn it looks kissable- your dad, shirt rolled up exposing messied fur across the valley of his stomach...you could imagine how it'd feel to run fingers through it, up across his chest in gentle groping to feel all the man of him and what made you.

It might end there, and you could sleep on the couch with some old movie playing in a mock of time lost, but you'd much rather prefer a sight between his legs, or rather the obstruction of it.

A rough calloused hand tousling your hair with insistent pushes down his thickness, untoward thickets of manly smell led by the trail downwards, and any shape of a vague obscurity would be drawn about in peeks of your memory of the barest hint of skin and of the wag he'd give in a shake of his fist, you'd lick your lips at ebbs of another kind of finish, reminders of how you'd ask questions about it and he'd just tell it like it is, all something inches of him, who his first was and just how into it he is when a girl does this and that.

"Hey buddy." He'd mumble all groggy, hand on the wall by the hallway as he shuffles in towards the kitchen. The hand in your pants is stilled, but you're out of view enough to try and remain calm and sensible- for any person jerking off about their dad. Any thoughts are absent clouds, a build up of heavy rain. He'd stand by the counter as if lost though, and you'd all but come up at the chance to guide him back- but he'd turn and give you this look.

One that tells you he's seeing you in the scenery of a thrown on blanket and couch cushions pushed back to make space, all in the dim light of what something AM thought whooshing in his head that has him taking that first step forward, then sitting on the couch next with that dip that has you shoulder to shoulder, a contagious heat in a world where blankets are suddenly too warm. Television so visible, in fact it's hard to keep your eyes off it. You don't know what you'd see if you turn, what kind of facsimile of expression to convince yourself he sees something in you the way you see something in him.

"It's late," and it is. "I should head back to bed," he'd say.

His arm slings across your shoulder though in a hug. He's still kinda sweaty, and in any case, his heavy breath and the silence only makes what part of depravity that's taken root in your mind begin to stir again. Just a little bit longer.

"Love you."

He pats your back with the same hand, trailing it down your back from your arm, the kind of gentleness a stranger to you. Not just friendly, but lingering and you're too scared to look at what his eyes are saying. That at his core he's just as tender as the waft of beer still on him, because it's only temporary.

"Good night, son."