KIROKAZE
almost home
Mike Driver
Jules of Nature
if i look back, i am lost
macklin celebrini has autism
sheepfilms
Not today Justin
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Monterey Bay Aquarium
PR's Tumblrdome
JVL
JBB: An Artblog!
Cosimo Galluzzi
Kiana Khansmith
Kaledo Art
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Xuebing Du
RMH
d e v o n
seen from Indonesia
seen from Ukraine
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Lithuania
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Poland
@thereticentcat
A great idea to connect the future with the past, seal your digital secrets with an old-school wax-sealing. The Top secret usb.
Man. I’m totally envisioning a Chinese sci-fi movie where the Emperor’s Orders are sealed USBs and you pull one out and everyone fucking kneels when it gets busted open…
Tiger emojis, rated
A nice boy with good fur, on the prowl 9/10
WHOAH!!!!! ACTION MAN ON THE LOOSE!!!!!!!!! 23/10
Thickly, very orange, but still fluff. A hard 7/10
I would never body shame a tiger but that is why I suspect this is a leopard, or cheetah. a tragic disgrace but still a very stalwart lady 2/10
out of focus but points for complex stripes 4/10
where’s her eyes?? is her tail ok? I think this is just a bad guess at a tabby cat 2/10
This is just a tabby cat recolor. this is like a virtual pet site where you can ‘color’ your pets in a blatant rip off of neopets, and one of the choices was ‘jungle’ or something. Cute, but not a tiger 0/10
wow! those eyes, that look, perfect stripes, you know she’s walking and KNOWS where she’s going! 10/10
A sad body, a sad tail, 0/10
A courageous warrior cat from river clan 8/10
The sass! That angle! So different, so natural. Confusing angle on the body but points for cheek fuzz. He disapproves of me 9/10
Well folks, that’s just plain a tiger 10/10
Up all night, Alain Cornu
nevver:
Up all night, Alain Cornu
Photographer Marcel Heijnen takes pictures of Hong Kong’s shop cats. After moving to a new neighborhood, he took an impulse photo of Dau Ding, a cat sitting on a shop counter, and the kitty became his muse. He fell in love with capturing the charm of local shop cats, compiled his portraits into a book, and put Dau Ding on the cover. Source Source 2
my name is catte and in the nite my human frend must neade a lite be payshent now I’ll fynnish soone I stretche my nekk I lik the moone
Outfit Prompts!
Reblog this and have followers send you asks/requests on what number outfit they’d like to see a character drawn in! You can also just do these whenever you want as a day-by-day challenge. Just remember to enjoy yourselves!
Work clothes
Colorful clothes
Blue jeans
Torn-up jeans
Cold weather pajamas
Warm weather pajamas
A tank top
Short shorts
Thigh-high socks
Victorian era clothing
A sunhat
A floral shirt
Khaki pants/shorts
Space-patterned clothing (shirt, pants, shoes, socks, whatever!)
Suspenders
Bow tie
Finger-less gloves
Paint-stained clothes
Dangling earrings
Feminine school uniform
Masculine school uniform
Tap shoes
Pastel sweater
Leg warmers
Swimwear
Ice cream person uniform
Just a towel and nothing else
Tennis outfit
GIVE ME MORE OF THESE I’M HAVING FUN.
So I used to be a martial artist
I started going to the dojo when I was in sixth grade. It was a very masculine environment; there weren’t a lot of other girls there but the male senseis who ran the place were great guys and they genuinely loved having female students because we were such a rarity.
Now back in sixth grade I was tinier even than what I am now, and now I’m only 5’2. Then I was probably even under 5’0. I mean I was a squirt of a kid. But I loved to fight; I loved to be in the ring, I loved the adrenaline rush and I loved having punches hurled at me. It was fun for me. Our dojo did full-contact sparring, which was pretty brutal. These were the only rules:
you must wear a mouth guard and gloves
no hits below the belt
That’s pretty much it.
Anyway every Thursday was Fight Night, where all we did was spar each other. And on my First Night Sensei Diven—who has since passed, bless his soul—paired me up with this really cocky and assholish brown belt to show me the ropes a little. This brown belt kid was bigger than me by a lot; he must have been at least six feet and twice my weight. But man was I excited to get into the ring! I had a fight boiling in my blood.
Now, Sensei Diven was not a stupid man and he hated high-ranking kids that showed a bad attitude. This kid had a bad attitude. So he must have seen the evil gleam in my eye from a mile away and decided it was time for a little improvisation.
Anyway, Sensei yelled, “Start!” and I leapt into fight stance and the other kid didn’t even put his hands up. He was laughing at me, sneering, the whole nine yards. “I’ll give you a free one.” he joked, and he slapped his side. “You barely weigh 100 pounds and you’re a girl. So go ahead, little girl. Hit me.”
And I hit him. I cocked my leg up as high as it would go and roundhouse kicked him right in the ribs with all of my might and all of the contempt I felt for his stupid cocky face which was covered in ugly-ass freckles and his nasty-ass braces. And I heard a crack. Like a real snap! sound. And the kid has a look of surprise on his face like it was nobody’s business, and then he goes right to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Now, Sensei Diven leisurely strolls over from the group of black belts who are laughing their asses off at me, the tiny little white belt, sending my Goliath to the floor. I mean they’re laughing so hard they look like they’re about to pee themselves. They think it’s a game. And in his great booming voice he hollers:
“Brown Belt! Why are you on the floor? Do you not see this white belt has been assigned to fight you?”
And meanwhile he is just crying. I broke one of his ribs.
And Sensei Diven just squats down next to this poor kid and whispers, “Don’t you know that women are made of pain?”
I AM SCREAMING.
Such a badass.
oh my god best
“Don’t you know that women are made of pain?” might be one of the most powerful, accurate descriptions of women ive ever heard.
I swing both ways. Aggressively. With my dagger. To make sure that nobody comes near me.
@bloodofthepen
13!
You are really not interested in the romance or the other stuff. The only relationship you value personally is FRIENDSHIP. All stuff sent during the Rose Feast is because you value your friends. Friendship teeth.
[OOC: Aro ace!]
☛ GET INSIDE YOUR CHARACTER'S HEAD! aka The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Meme
Ask a question, any question! Because I have nothing better to do than to answer your questions. ... No, really. I don't. D:
1: What does their bedroom look like?
2: Do they have any daily rituals?
3: Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?
4: What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?
5: Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)
6: Eating habits and sample daily menu
7: Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time
8: Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging
9: Makeup?
10: Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?
11: Intellectual pursuits?
12: Favorite book genre?
13: Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?
14: Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)
15: Biggest and smallest short term goal?
16: Biggest and smallest long term goal?
17: Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress
18: Favorite beverage?
19: What do they think about before falling asleep at night?
20: Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?
21: Turn-ons? Turn-offs?
22: Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?
23: How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?
24: Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?
25: How do they see themselves 5 years from today?
26: Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?
27: What is their biggest regret?
28: Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?
29: Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)
30: Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)
31: Most prized possession?
32: Thoughts on material possessions in general?
33: Concept of home and family?
34: Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)
35: What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?
36: What makes them feel guilty?
37: Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?
38: What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?
39: Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?
40: How misanthropic are they?
41: Hobbies?
42: How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?
43: Religion?
44: Superstitions or views on the occult?
45: Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?
46: If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?
47: How do they express love?
48: If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?
49: Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?
Things are going to be okay for you because I have terrifying resources that quietly take care of problems.
I’ve adopted you all. The moniker you may use is of your own choosing. Y’all are family. C’mere, we’re hugging then going out to eat. I packed sandwiches so no one would get hungry along the way.
“Yes, hello, stranger, could you please let me into your house, I swear I don’t have constables on my trail or anything.” (~The Reticent Cat)
It was an unusually quiet night in the marshes. The marshwolves had moved on to new hunting grounds, far from both her little cottage and the observatorium. The rowdiness from the Medusa’s head had died down after a last, raucous fight, and even the insects were quiet.
Procella looked forward to a decent night’s sleep. She had narrowly avoided a minor disaster with a strange plaque covered in glowing red scripts that had set some of her research notes on fire. But now a low fire was crackling in the hearth to keep the Urge down, her bed was newly made with fresh linen, and the remnants of a warm meal sat on the counter to be dealt with tomorrow.
Naturally, this was when someone knocked on the door.
“Oh come on.” she muttered, but moved to the door as another knock sounded, this one a bit more hurried than the last. Whoever was out there must be desperate - no one sane went this far into the marches at this hour, and especially not alone. And she’d be damned if she let someone get eaten on her doorstep again.
“This better be worth it: do you know what time it is?” She said as she unlocked the multitude of locks and pulled open the door.
<snip snop>
“Thanks.” You take a sip and sweet tapdancing zeebats this is very good tea. It warms your fingers, down your throat to your stomach, and all the way to your toes. You make appreciative noises. Strong enough to stand a spoon in and sweet as spore-toffee. Delicious.
“I’m not that dumb. The Colonel’s shot at me a few times, so I led the dogs around to his house for a distraction. An’ I nicked a pistol while he shouted a lot. Didn’t think there’d be anyone else in the swamp besides the nobby researchers though. Very useful information.”
Well, Miss Procella hasn’t killed you yet. “If you don’t mind me staying.”
“Yes, hello, stranger, could you please let me into your house, I swear I don’t have constables on my trail or anything.” (~The Reticent Cat)
It was an unusually quiet night in the marshes. The marshwolves had moved on to new hunting grounds, far from both her little cottage and the observatorium. The rowdiness from the Medusa’s head had died down after a last, raucous fight, and even the insects were quiet.
Procella looked forward to a decent night’s sleep. She had narrowly avoided a minor disaster with a strange plaque covered in glowing red scripts that had set some of her research notes on fire. But now a low fire was crackling in the hearth to keep the Urge down, her bed was newly made with fresh linen, and the remnants of a warm meal sat on the counter to be dealt with tomorrow.
Naturally, this was when someone knocked on the door.
“Oh come on.” she muttered, but moved to the door as another knock sounded, this one a bit more hurried than the last. Whoever was out there must be desperate - no one sane went this far into the marches at this hour, and especially not alone. And she’d be damned if she let someone get eaten on her doorstep again.
“This better be worth it: do you know what time it is?” She said as she unlocked the multitude of locks and pulled open the door.
(snipped)
“Am fine. I’m the Reticent Cat, but most people call me Retic. Or Oi You. But I like Retic. You know that thing where you’ve been running because it’s that or New Newgate and afterwards you still feel like running? Sort of like that. Feel buzzy.”
You inspect the wineglass, and set it carefully on the table. You’ve not drunk a drop and you intend to stay that way. “Don’t drink, but thank you.” Was that polite? You hope so. “Don’t want to fall off the tiles like last week, some Knotted Sock drank moonish water. It was… messy.”
Pocket a portrait. The one should be enough to pay off the King for now. “Take your pick.”
It takes Procella a moment to catch up with and decode the others chatter. She’d guess they are a former urchin - the manner, the name, not to mention to strange seriousness about paintings she can see as the other pockets a small painting before gesturing to the rest of the table.
She ignores the gesture, for now, and instead sits down on the other side of the table, eyeing the glass of wine.
“makes sense - I wouldn’t want to be on the Flit drunk either. More for me, I guess.” She pulls the glass over, setting her own empty one aside. They’re quite small glasses, and won’t affect her much, but the other person is, well, quite small also. Which reminds her.
“how did you end up this far into the marshes anyway? It’s not exactly close by, well, anything.”
Your feet choose this moment to remind you that they’ve been through a lot tonight and are considering forming a union to demand better treatment. “The place I was casing out didn’t have any good rooftop exits, urchin-proofed. Spikes and the works. Acceptable risk. One of the tomb-colonists. Bandaged Dog-Breeder, I think. Went on holiday. Left hounds with the Constables. Don’t listen half the time, but the other half they do and they’re really stubborn. Slobbery gits. I read somewhere dogs can’t smell as good near water, and I wasn’t about to disturb the Drownies so…” You gesture at the door. “Here I am.”
“You robbed a tomb-colonist with an entire score of angry dogs.” Well. They were certainly brave. The tirade put some of Procella’s fears at ease, however. “No worries about the dogs following. The smell of marshwolf is too thick out here for most dogs to stand.” Her own terrier usually stays inside - she can see his tail sticking out of a pile of fabrics in the corner. He’s terribly grumpy when awakened, though, so she lets him be.
“I don’t know about the thing with water. though: they-” she is interrupted by a sharp whistle. Damnation. The constables must have found them out…
…Or it could just be the teapot. She’d almost forgotten it was there. With a sharp exhale of relief, she sets to preparing a nice hot cup of tea for her guest.
“What’s the thing with words... curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back?” You grin. “It might not’ve been the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I did wait for the tombie to take a long break far away. I don’t hold with bragging, but now I know I’ve pulled it off, and that’s good enough for me. Means I could do it again. And I got to case the place. Useful information.”
You jump, very slightly, at the kettle, but the thought of hot tea smooths your hackles. Your eyes dart to the pile of fabrics, following Miss Procella’s gaze. Best not meddle with it.
“The water thing might’ve been a myth. It was a scrap of maybe useful information I got as part-payment for something else.”
reblog if u :3c
Case to the Face!
The Screaming Map was beginning to frustrate Ella. Quite honestly, she could scream, pun very much intended (though perhaps not very good.). At least now she had an idea where the right half of the map might be – in the store of the Enterprising Astronomer. But, to even get there, she’d need a suitably … odd reputation. That wasn’t too hard, it mostly just required adequate dress. She just wished that didn’t cost so much…
The idea for busking had come to her while she’d been considering this during her daily violin practice. And so it was that – after some investigation into the legality of it, as Constables where the last thing she needed on her back right now -she found herself not too far from the centre of Veilgarden, playing her instrument, with a mason jar and a note in front of her. Her back was to a wall that was around waist-high, on which her violin case rested.
Ella was lucky she enjoyed this artform so much, otherwise she would likely have become bored of these public performances, as they were quite uneventful, and only barely met Ella’s rather low expectations for financial gain. It was on the fifth day that she was considering calling it quits because of this.
Unfortunately, that seemingly jinxed it. From the corner of her eye, she could see someone moving towards her at speed, and a glint of light on metal, a blade. Ella didn’t have time to think. Dropping her bow, she grabbed her empty violin case and aimed for the stranger’s face. The blow connected with a mighty WOMP that caught Ella by surprise - she hadn’t realized quite how hard she’d swung. Oh well, all the better for her, she thought, as she grumbled and swore in german, dropping the case to pull her own skyglass knife from its sheath, while her other hand remained tightly clenched around the neck of the instrument.
She was certain she looked ridiculous like this, as she staggered back to gain some distance between her and her opponent, but it wasn’t about to deter her from fighting back. If only she could figure out what to do with the violin…
You were taking a break to enjoy some violin music after an unspecified, but probably shady, if not downright illegal, task in Veilgarden, legs dangling off of the edge of a building. It is filthy, but if you got bothered by that you wouldn’t get anything done (a grubby “picnic mat” carried around helps). You are now taking significantly more interest since the busker with fabulous hair just rearranged a Jack’s face. This is the most entertaining thing you’ve seen all week.
Nice Hair looks like she can take care of herself, but you feel slightly bad for planning to yoink her shinies jar after that spectacular swing (and also grateful that it wasn’t you on the receiving end). You pull out your slingshot and a peppermint from your satchel, and take careful aim…
The next few seconds passed like a blur for Ella. First, she realized who her assailant was – not the person themselves, she’d never seen them before, but something about them just screamed Jack. A Jack-of-Smiles. Of-bloody-course. The most sensible course of action at this point was probably to yell for the Constables. But how long would it take them to get here? A better idea was probably a general call for attention.
“JACK!” Ella yelled loudly. “IT’S A-” She was cut short by something small, red and white (was that … a mint humbug?) hit the Jack in the eye. They’d only just been recovering from the violin-case blow and were now forced to pause again, with a disgruntled outcry.
Ella took the brief respite to glance up to the rooftops – the only logical place the mint could have come from. Having taken a quick look, she couldn’t quite make out the figure, but she mouthed a quick “thank you” regardless, and backed up further. She had to sort herself out. Putting the violin on the ground was the best solution possible – sure, it might get trodden on, which would be absolutely horrible, but it was less risky than keeping hold of it, and … as precious as the instrument was to her, Ella still valued her own life just that liiiiitttleee bit more.
She dashed further back, crouched, and left the violin behind. Now the best course of action, she thought as she dodged a lunge from the finally recovering Jack, was to get her hands on the case, and use it as a shield. Easier said than done, mind you.
Nobody likes a Jack.
You fire off a few more mints for good measure, but the Jack seems to be solidly focused on Scary Violin Lady. The slingshot disappears to a pocket inside your vest. You wedge a foot into the crumbling face of the building you’re on and, slowly, you make your way down to a ledge, where it’s possible to drop to the cobbles below without breaking your ankles (mindful of the violin).
Lamplight glints off the shiv suddenly in your left hand. The eolith in your right doesn’t gleam at all, the blood on it having dried long ago. It’s really unhygienic but you can’t get it off, no matter how much soap you use.
