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
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Prompt 177
Now Dan is no coward. He’s not.
But this stupid child body does have an effect on his reactions to things and honestly it’s a horrible thing that’s too small and too weak for him to use all his abilities. He could barely manage a fireball if he concentrated, yet everything caught fire with a mere outburst! His control was utterly gone, and a tantrum resulted in having to wear a stupid child leash backpack.
It wasn’t like he was really a child, and it wasn’t like he’d get lost or some stupid shit that Danny would insist. Ugh, this isn’t even fair, technically he was older than him yet was stuck in a smaller body that he kept tripping over!
Urgh, he’s even insisting on rewarding ‘good behavior’ and shit- must have talked to Jazz or something- because… Oh. No he wants the constellation bear, give! His star bear now, no takes back and, urgh, stupid baby body!
Well, on the other hand, it’s utterly hilarious how much Danny sputters whenever he calls him Mom, not to mention strangers’ utter befuddlement. He ignores how Danny seems to be trying his best to live up ro the title.
But! As he was saying, he’s no coward! He’s also not an idiot though, and having no control over his powers isn’t exactly a good thing. It’s really not a good thing when there’s a murderous-looking hero that he thinks he might have maimed in the future- which they apparently remember- staring down at him. So, he has to call in the big guns to fix this.
“Mom, there’s a creepy fruitloop staring at me!”
“There’s WHAT?!”
Hah. Take that hero he doesn’t remember the name of.
(Behold the Grumpiest of Babies)
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Off-Air (Alas/tor)
Stuck in bed for days, watched this show twice. Wrote a quickie drabble of my super bae (spoiler, I usually pick the ace character to mess with bc relate) so, here's our resident asshole Radio Demon being a little shit with some snz--anywayhereyougoenjoy!
Alastor was taking a stroll. Just a stroll. Leisurely. Perfectly natural. It just happened to route him to VoxTek. Coincidence, of course. Of course.
He grins up at the jutting, gaudy building--nothing like the unobtrusive yet classier radio tower he himself owns--and enters.
The demon workers attempt to stop him. Or, he supposes, they would, were they not so taken with such scandal--all gaping mouths and stretched jaws. Tactless.
He cruises on, not breaking stride, even as his curling smile fuzzes the monitors as he passes.
As expected, Vox cannot restrain himself enough to wait patiently for his arrival. Vox storms onto the second floor, grainy white noise snowing his screen. The attempt to surprise Alastor fails, as the much less cranky of the two reclines on one of the dime-a-dozen roller ball chairs, his lips forming a perfect V in a way only a demon’s lips can.
“What the electric fuck are you doing here?” Vox spits, his decibels rising feverishly.
Alastor sprouts from the chair and languidly flows around the room as if inspecting it. He hums, the amplitude of his voice slightly distorted. “You could do with better maintenance, my good fellow.”
Vox's left antennae twitches in annoyance. He pulses a reverb of angry signals. “Always. With. The Damn. Insults.”
Alastor ignores him. “I had an idea that might interest you,” the radio demon trills.
“If you’re here to make a deal, fucking forget it. Get the fuck out of my office,” Vox jabs an electric blue thumb over his shoulder.
Alastor glides along the edge of a desk, tutting disappointedly, his sleek clawed fingers skating across the cool surface before rubbing them together with a staticky cluck of his tongue.
“Such filth,” he rolls his fingers as if coaxing a spark to life.
“What’s it to you? I didn’t invite you, and it’s my--”
“You know,” Alastor shorts out his sentence mutely, “I was once quite riddled with a fierce dust allergy.” He turns a bemused expression, finally meeting the screen’s gaze. “It was rather…” he taps his daggerlike teeth with a red-tipped pinky, “capricious.”
Vox scoffs, but he visibly stiffens, fists curling, “You wouldn’t. You’re not even…”
Alastor snakes a sharp finger under his nose, head tilting to the side impishly, “One never truly knows when…hhh--!” his pitch jumps, throat buzzing as it leaps into the speakers on the desks, the walls. A whine sings from the hallway, piercing a dozen ears.
“HZZT-!” Another deep hitch stretches the limits of the bandwidth before the decibels crank higher. “H’pT٨ـZz٨ـzZT٨ـﮩ!”
A violent pop and two of the speakers in the room begin emitting smoke. All the screens flare blue, code running in a tizzy. Vox spins his head in a 360, eyes flashing red with rage.
“You mother--!!”
“My deepest apologies,” Alastor clutches his cane to his chest, giving his nose a coy knuckle rub and a staticky sniffle. “Such a shame,” he tsks.
Before Vox can demand it, Alastor picks up his heels, spinning the cane and strolling toward the door. “Perhaps I should return when you have upgraded to more…ah…durable equipment.”
He saunters toward the elevator, lazily waving the back of his hand. “Ta~”
Vox’s eye glitches, his teeth all fangs. “I. Fucking. Hate him.”
There is no venom quite like lies.
And no art like deceit.
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