#it was doomed just from that

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

You know, with the news of cohost shutting down (another attempt at a social media site that could be an alternative for tumblr and twitter) I'm just reminded of how few sites even have the features I truly love about tumblr.

Cohost never had the features I appreciate having here. All the other alternatives I've seen are way more like Twitter than tumblr.

You know what I like about tumblr? Especially for this blog?

I can add both images and text intermittently throughout a post. I can write a block of text, insert some images, and then do more text. No other tumblr replacement I've seen can do that. I don't know why.

I really don't want to have to make those extremely long single image art advice posts like the ones you find on deviantart. The posts I make here heavily utilize the text block function to explain my thoughts and give more advice that isn't necessarily visual. Images to convey visual ideas, text to convey everything else.

So until another site shows up that allows me to do that as easily as tumblr does, without requiring me to pay for the ability to upload images of any useful size, without making me jump through the hoops of hosting images elsewhere so I can use their urls for html image embedding or whatever, I'm staying on tumblr.

It's the only site that allows me to make the posts I have here in this convenient format. I'm so tired of the Twitter-Instagram knockoffs. They're only good for having a little portfolio I guess, but artstation is still the more effective site if you just need a portfolio space, and at least artstation allows for some level of nude imagery. Can't even upload college art studio levels of nudity on some of these "art social media" sites.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

"You and me, Ethan. Together we go save Rose, and then we can grind Miranda into paste!"

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[critterbitter]

Ingo doesn’t know it yet, but his earnest compliments and lilipup enthusiasm has earned him a life long fan.

Masterpost for more shenanigans!

[drenched-in-sunlight]

some happiness could never be reclaimed

[heartorbit]

holy quintet looks kind of different

[airoarts]

"yellowfang? what are you doing in bluestars den? well its none of my business" -fireheart, probably

[ID: a digital painting of Bluestar and Yellowfang, two battle-scarred gray cats, from Warrior Cats. They are cuddling in loaf positions in a den with sunlight streaming in, looking towards the entrance with slight smirks. The image is drawn in a semi-realistic art style with soft colors and shading. End ID]

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

A phone call between brothers (takes place AFTER this incident and Fiddleford's phone call)

Sorry if this is OOC!

[uselessimpulses]

so like theyre an old married couple theyre divorced theyre frantic teens in love

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[ohitslen]

Sketch dump :)

[long-claw]

jjk 261 spoilers:

feel a bit sick every time someone shows gojo and geto's stitches scars side by side and gojo's are filled in black

but geto's are filled in white

[blu-ish]

🚨LONG POST WARNING⚠️

Me? Posting a long comic? Nooooo...

My Sonic 3 Prediction🌠

My dumb of ass watching a scene that will never happen

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Erdtree’s Sacred Tears.

(discussion of my inspiration to draw this under the cut)

[ghostface-knight]

outsiders fans try not to be misogynistic challenge level impossible

[raining-its-pouring]

A little tired of people saying Moon can’t stand up for herself. Like yeah I think one of the flaws she has is she is too lenient and forgiving, but also in her situation it’s VERY HARD not to be. And it’s very situational, usually manifesting with Five Pebbles.

She stops talking to you if you annoy her enough, and only starts again if you win her back over. You have to put in the work. She isn’t “rolling over” and letting things happen to her, despite the fact that she is in absolutely no position to bargain. As stated by her, her kindness and her words are the ONLY thing she has. So her taking those away from you, the player, is absolutely her standing up for herself.

Everyone brings up how she handles Five Pebbles (esp the comms thing) and it is incredible to me just how many people lay this entirely at her feet when the game states over and over again that even despite Moon’s intentional feather-light influence over him, he still resents her for being his superior. He seeks out a mentor who is her opposite.

He wants to be something more than what he is, wants to be detached from her, and she can’t do anything about that but do the best she can to exert as little influence over him as possible.

She is stuck between a rock and a hard place here, and was betting on her kindness to have fostered enough mutual respect that she wouldn’t have to resort to forced communications. She was wrong. He was driven by fierce desperation, something that she wasn’t privy to. And she paid for it.

Yes, this is a flaw of hers. But it’s not a universal one. (the rest of the iterators look to her for help- she’s the group senior for gods sake- and people act like she can’t take a stand) I genuinely doubt Moon would’ve waited so long to used forced comms if it were happening to anyone else. If it were being committed by anyone else. And that just makes the tragedy even sweeter.