#if you have homework go do it

[woahiexist123]

I just went and saw the comet that people have been talking about and here are some pictures

Here’s some from a telescope a guy had ( yes ik the second one is blurry)

You might have to zoom in, but I swear it was there!

I was very happy because I could see it with the naked eye. (No one else could so I thought I was crazy but it still was pretty cool 👍)

Space is aweeeeeessssssooommmeeeee ☄️🪐🔭🛰️🚀🧑‍🚀

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good morning, Sleepyhead.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[autisticrosewilson]

While we're on the topic of De-aging AU's I wanna talk about Jason and Damian if Jason was 14 again real quick.

Do you guys think that Damian looks at this version of Jason, so different from the version he knows, nothing like the person he was told Jason was, and feels uncomfortably seen?

Damian was always told that Jason died because he was reckless, because he disobeyed orders, he was fired as Robin and he got himself killed. A cautionary tale, not a threat to his position. He dismisses Jason because Bruce does, because Dick does, because sometimes even Babs and Alfred do.

That's not the kid that he's looking at now. This Jason is happy, and smart, and full of love that has not yet soured into grief. He hangs on Bruce's every word, trains until his hands bleed and his body gives out to perfect the moves Bruce teaches him. He looks at Bruce with stars in his eyes and he calls him dad.

And Damian can't help but think, that this is the perfect Robin. The perfect son. And if Jason - sweet, loving, strong, Jason - can be fired, can die and have his room locked away and his pictures torn down, can have his last memory as Robin be as A Good Soldier, how could the rest of them ever compete? What could Damian do to stand a chance?

Jason will never grow out of the shadow of Robin, like the rest of them did. As long as Bruce, and Dick, and Babs, and Alfred look at him and see a dead kid who came back wrong, he will never get to be anything else. He will not get to be looked at through who he is now without the shadow of a dead boy looming over him.

And the worst part? Jason is exactly the same person he was back then. Bitter, sure, angry, justifiably, but he is still the boy with too much love in his heart and righteous fury festering in his gut. He is exactly the same boy who threw himself in front of an explosion to save his mother.

(The lines between the mother that betrayed him and the father that disgraced him are so very blurred. Fire or blade or crowbars or fists it does not matter. It ends the same way it always does because Jason Todd always dies, in every universe, in every timeline, Jason dies and crawls out only to be killed again and again and again.)

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

[reality-detective]

Excellent Point 👆

“It’s always the men that wanna be women trying to get in the female's bathroom” 🤔

[apnourry]

hydrangea blue never broke my heart🫶

[linipikk]

I want to say one thing about the setup for Jinx leaving.

The Silco in her mind told her to walk away to be free and she immediately thought about dying. That was the plan.

But THEN-- then Ekko stops her from blowing herself up. The thing is how. Because talking Jinx out of that mindset would require a whole team. And it does.

We can infer he told her that there is another version of her, of course. Powder and Jinx are the same, and as Powder told him "you want me to change" Jinx would think the same! except Jinx believes there is no "good version" of her

But as we know, it is not about one version being superior to the other or how Jinx and Powder being different. But it's about how Ekko has everything to recontextualize something that our Jinx knows deep down.

Because that is the same conversation she had with Silco in the cell, but this time not from a hallucination but from someone who is treating her as a real friend, part of the support system Jinx lacks, but she clings on so desperately.

So I'll go back to Powder for a sec

This is not the first time Vander and Powder have this conversation about her potential, about her leaving

And Vander did say something about it to Ekko. He knows her daughter

As well as Silco's words of wisdom.

Here he might be talking directly about Vander but, we know that it is also about oneself, after all that's what Jinx is all about. She is The Jinx because she destroys everything right? she is her walking reminder of all her failures.

And that's the Ekko's secret knowledge that saves Jinx. We don't need a recap of that episode, we just watched it. and Ekko is there to reach for Jinx, finding her, rewinding the explosion as many times as he has to. He tries very hard for her.

Jinx, as much as she claims to destroy everything, she creates, the one thing she knows how to do, and that's where she is more herself. She builds things and she might find someone worth trying for, not her ghosts or her guilt, but just herself.

Now, here they are: you've seen them, you love them, our acclaimed shimmer ray from the explosion and the ship sailing away.

Jinx leaving is about her following her dads advice and believing in Ekko's words. And I bet she does.

I just.... find it so charming that the glimpse of hope Ekko gives her is not just from himself but also about the fathers she lost so many times.

and to tie up the box, we have the final lyrics of Wasteland (that the series leaves out for ambiguity imo)

bonus monkeys, i bet it is the second Jinx kind of knew that Ekko was talking about her when he said "someone very special"

"someone worth building it for"

[shroomerr]

minor spoilers for @mantequillamcwhoremick ‘s fic Chaos Plan, Chapter 20!!

How I pictured that one moment in chapter 20 when Kenny spotted Kyle and Stan

[ratislatis]

I'll find you. Wait for me.

hee hee hoo hoo AUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH PAIN PAIN SUFFERING PAIN IN ALL DIRECTIONS!!!! TO HELL WITH IT (LITERALLY)!!!!!!!!!

[jackmkelly]

i really reallyyy like the scene where jack goes to pulitzers alone and finds out kath is his daughter and stuff because you fully watch him break. not in the way he was broken during crutchies arrest or santa fe where he was alone but we get to watch in real time his facade fade. he walks in only to immediately be insulted and without missing a beat returns the same energy to pulitzer and continues to do so until pulitzer reveals kath is his daughter. then he tells snyder to come out. then the delanceys hold jack still so he cant try running. and then ONLY thing jack can come up with in response is “you stink” . THEN pulitzer brings up crutchie. Then he brings up davey and les. and we dont hear a word from that kid for the rest of the scene. he didnt even have it in him to make a comment to or about the delanceys.

[woahiexist123]

So I took this photo last year, but it has always been one of my favorites so I wanted to show you guys :)

[secriden]

something i really appreciate about prapai is that even at the start he never pulls the asshole rich guy move of trying to buy/impress sky by throwing money or expensive gifts at him/his problems.

when sky makes it clear he's not interested, prapai almost immediately bounces back and decides to 'try again'.

rather than getting angry, in an unexpectedly sweet move, mr playboy "i love my freedom" goes for actually getting to know sky.

i mean yes, he's absolutely still just trying to get into sky's pants at this point, but at the same time this isn't a move from the rich asshole playbook at all.

when prapai shows up at sky's dorm unannounced again, it's clear he doesn't really have a plan other than 'try to be sexy around sky' and he fails terribly at this because prapai is NOT as smooth as he thinks he is.

he's so, so bad at flirting, but...it absolutely works in prapai's favour because it disarms some of sky's defences. look at sky's expressions here:

it's hard to see in screenshots, but we hear that sky suppresses a small laugh, and towards the end he's very clearly fighting not to smile. prapai's not living up to sky's expectations of finding a suave playboy type. he's ridiculous and sky is very reluctantly charmed by it.

and when they have breakfast, prapai doesn't try to show off by bringing sky to a fancy restaurant or try to make a big deal about paying for sky's meal. even though he also likely overpays for his meal.

sky leaves what looks like two 100 bhat notes while prapai leaves a single 500 bhat note. (my experiences in places like this in Bangkok says that sky left a reasonable amount/slightly more than he needed to, while prapai probably left a tip that was bigger than the cost of his meal.)

so if he wanted to, prapai could've made a big deal about this but he doesn't. this isn't for show because sky never even sees the amount prapai puts down.

look at prapai's emphasis: he queued up for it since 5am. he didn't try to pay extra to jump to the head of the line or order it to be delivered to him or send someone else to buy it for him. this was prapai's time, effort, energy and he didn't use his money to take any short cuts.

purely speculative, but assuming sky is heading directly to classes, his dorm is located within walking distance of the university, and the first class is at 8am, it's possibly around 7:30am at the earliest. which still gives a conservative estimate of prapai having a whole 2.5 hour window of queuing for the food and bringing it to sky right before his international flight and a slew of business meetings.

for a man with money, with power, with influence, this is so, so much effort.

even before prapai ends up taking care of sky when he's sick, he's already shown how real his commitment is. this is intentional, focused, dedicated pursuit. of sky. not just a warm body for sex, but very specifically: sky. because prapai is not a man who has to work this hard just to get sex.

and then there's this moment:

i think this was the moment when prapai realises that his approach was working on sky. before this point, prapai's entire strategy is 'throw stuff at wall, see what sticks,' but here he realises: sky has been moved. first, by the reassurance that prapai wasn't looking for sex anymore (at least not just sex), and second by the attention and forethought inherent in making sure sky still had food ready for him after prapai left. this is the kind of care you show when you genuinely want the best for someone, not just to make a good impression or to elevate their opinion of you, and it's working.

it's super telling that after this point in the show, about 85% of prapai's wooing strategy becomes 'send sky food', whether in person or via delivery. he's paying attention and when something works he doubles down on it with zero hesitation. and everything he does give sky either meets a basic need (food, medication, a safe space to rest) or involves directly helping sky with something he finds challenging (helping him with his assignments). primarily, prapai's focus is about spending time with sky.

and none of this, none of this, was the approach you would expect from a rich fuckboy. and i really, really love prapai for that.

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

These kids are too damn nice to their teachers, but to be fair, I also struggle with confrontation….. soooo I’d probably be smiling in their faces and calling them ‘sir’ and ‘miss’ while we all pretended we weren’t actively at war outside of school hours, too

[iamamythologicalcreature]

What the WIP Wednesday am I doing?

Okay, sooo apparently everyone is doing WIP Wednesday, today. (Okay maybe not the entire internet, but you know, there's a lot of wipsday action, today.) I thought, "Okay. Sure. I can get lost in this crowd. It's a good crowd."

So, I say to @alexalexinii, @monbons, @prettygoododds, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @mooncello,

@blackberrysummerblog, @fiend-for-culture, @shrekgogurt, @bookish-bogwitch, @noblecorgi,

@drowninginships, and @artsyunderstudy (who is the devil on my shoulder today apparently XD)... You are all to blame for this. Yup. Your fault. Peer pressure! (Thank you for tagging me though, I look forward to seeing what all you have happening in your creative minds. <3)

Cause. Well. I don't usually post art in progress. I'm far too anxious a person to do such a thing. It's fine if it's a sketch that's like... finished as a sketch. But in progress? *gulp*

Well, here goes.

This is what I've been working on, usually when I'm supposed to be working on something else:

Mermay!

(sorry for the low contrast, my eyes are delicate orbs that shy away from bright light...)

I did three sketches. One of which I will endeavor to color and make all nice and pretty. I've already determined it's not going to be the first one. The other two are neck-and-neck and it will likely come down to who has fins I like better. Which will it be? Tender snowbaz or playful snowbaz?

(Either way, I'm very determined to give Simon mermay wings. So that's going to happen come hell or... high water... *ahem*)

Honestly, I just really love merpeople. I'm surprised it's taken me this long to attempt this. The very first thing I ever learned to draw as a little bittle babe was a mermaid. (My teachers did not appreciate my dedication to anatomical accuracy the way I did.) Soooo Mermay? Mermay is a THING? Well, twist my arm, guess I have to snowbaz it.

(Oh, and shoutout to another guilty party, the SSCoNE server. They put the idea in my head. OH, and @cutestkilla. For general encouragment. And @hushed-chorus. For general encouragment and writing a gorgeous fic with merman Baz in it. )

Even more tagged people under the cut:

HELLO OUT THERE! @rimeswithpurple @run-for-chamo-miles @youarenevertooold @whatevertheweather @that-disabled-princess

@arthurkko @raenestee @facewithoutheart @emeryhall @agni-ashes

@skeedelvee @thewholelemon @supercutedinosaurs @tender-ministrations @bazzybelle

@ic3-que3n @imagineacoolusername @valeffelees @roomwithanopenfire @ileadacharmedlife

@aristocratic-otter @best--dress @technetiumai @brilla-brilla-estrellita @onepintobean

@palimpsessed and anyone else who wants to join in/say hi.

(I love getting tagged, because I tend to miss out on things if I don't get it stuffed into my notifications. Feel free to hit me up on Discord, too, send links. I just can't often browse tumblr as I wish. Not if I want to draw and... read... I need to do some reading...)

*Pitch Manor is still happening, I'm just taking a break to draw fish boys in between doing a few too many other things. I like being busy.

[momentomori24]

Someone on twitter said it best: The title should actually be "How NOT to show support for SA victims that don't fit your desired demographic."

"His character is reinforcing negative gay stereotypes" and it's a hypersexual gay man who died in the 30s struggling with addiction and drug abuse to get through his life of exploitation, repression, trafficking and ipv doused with fake glitter and glam so no one can see beneath the cracked surface of his tortured soul.

"I don't think I've ever come across a character so poorly represented yet so greatly praised by the general audience" Because Angel isn't "representation", but an actual character with his own unique struggles and issues and responses that thousands of people (inclusing myself) can deeply relate to and if not "relate" then sympathise with. He isn't "SA rep". He isn't "Gay rep". He's Angel Dust. He's a person, and a broken one at that. If you don't relate to him the way so, so many others do, then maybe it's not for you. I already hate you 💀

[asymphonyofstarlight]

and… I have just learned where the selected journals of LMM are in my college stacks so… I am now very occupied thank you very much