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Where's my Breakfast?

Oil on Panel 30x30 cm

Artist: Daniel Arthur

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themes commonly found in international friendships

- ‘u dont have (insert food/music/restaurant here) over there??’ - ‘wait what time is it. shouldnt u be asleep’ - alternatively: timezoned/clockblocked again - ‘do u need a hug. have a virtual hug’ - weird slang terms - ‘i will fight everyone thats mean to u. i will fight them rn’ - vague embarrassment regarding ur accent - ‘dont maKE ME COME OVER THERE’ - ‘oh yeah i have a friend who lives in (insert country here) and apparently’ - no real hugs :(( - suffering - fahrenheit vs celsius - the measuring of things in feet fucks one of u up, probably

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Watch as people start obsessing over Show Stopping Number again once Will plays Hidgens

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when you're talking about the character and the person who likes the character starts typing for a long time

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So I found this little guy while I was out?

He looked lost and thirty so I brought him home and gave him a bit of water

...ok, maybe it was impolite of me to eat those crisps in front of him....

Aww~ he's drawing something for me!

Huuhhhh....

BITE ME ONE MORE TIME AND YOU'RE GOING IN THE OVEN YOU LITTLE SHI-

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The Nightmare before after Christmas!

(A bit late in my timing, I admit)

This is Barrel, by the amazing @crystallizedtwilight , I discovered her art a little while ago, and I just love her design for him! Funky little green guy!

He's entirely handmade, from his metal wire skeleton, his body parts sculpted in Fimo clay to his hand-sewed clothes.

He might be my last work before the New Year, so I hope everyone has a nice Holyday, I'll see you all in 2025!

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So... I got robbed.

Yesterday someone stole my tattooing equipment. My entire livelihood, my ability to earn money, thousands of euros gone in the span of a single night. Not having burglary insurance, I will not be getting any compensation and I am just. Desperate.

I HATE asking for help. But now I am at a point where I really have to beg.

If you want a commission, please, PLEASE give me a chance to earn money so I can buy new equipment. I'll even draw the things from my don't-s list.

Visit my Patreon or ko-fi.

Under the cut are some of the examples of my personal work and commissions I did.

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snoopy of the day

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Puppy trying to go down stairs for the first time

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Bill Nye for most of his career: Imma do science for kids. Science without politics. Nice, tame science for the kiddos.

Bill Nye now:

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The “average autistic person pays zero taxes” factoid is actually a statistical error. The average autistic person actually pays over ten thousand dollars in taxes per year. Emerald Mine Elon, who is a billionaire and regularly commits tax evasion, is an outlier and should not have been counted.

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Eddie Munson doesn't believe in love at first sight. It's hopeless romanticism, childish fantasy, another way the straights just aren't okay. He's not wrong--look how love at first sight worked out for Romeo and Juliet, both dead by the final act. Couldn't be him.

This makes him strong, he thinks. Smart.

He won't end up like his parents, infatuated for six months, and then years of his mom's sleepless nights as his dad came home less and less.

He's never been sold on the whole white picket fence thing. The world's let him know that it's not meant for him, no matter how many millions of records sold and dollars earned. Plus, he's seen the most beautiful men in the world, slept with many of them, and none of them enticed him for more than a good time.

The band's on a break--after a hit record, a sold out world tour, a couple of Grammy's, they deserve it--plus, the other Corroded guys, they have serious relationships, families, the aforementioned white picket fence. It's been him and Wayne for as long as he cares to remember, and he loves his uncle more than anything, but when the offer comes in to solo headline a festival in Australia, he doesn't hesitate.

He has songs, plenty of them, that don't quite fit Corroded Coffin's sound. There's never going to be an Eddie Munson solo album, at least he's never really considered it, so why not play this stuff in a 'one night only' kind of deal? Plus, he loves festivals, the atmosphere, the music, the delirious rush of it all.

He gets a lot of flack in industry rags for being a music snob, and sure he has strong opinions about metal, but he listens to and loves a wide range of artists across all genres. It's why he's so good at his job. At any festival, he considers it a professional duty to check out as many of the acts as he can, especially the ones he doesn't know yet.

He's waiting for a performance right now, pushed up against the barricade, hoodie on, tattoos obscured, piercings removed, hair in a tight bun, dark glasses his hiding eyes. He hadn't recognized this name in the line- up, the stylized SH, and the only stage decoration is a black backdrop, white letters spelling out, "Shhh," the outline of a finger over cherry red lips. It's cute, Eddie thinks.

He checks his phone, just for a second, and in the space of that moment, the crowd begins to cheer. He looks up, eager for his first glimpse of SH.

A man crosses the stage towards the mic, guitar slung across his chest. He's wearing a yellow polo and a pair of Levi's so tight Eddie's already about to get down on his knees and repent. He's got this coiffed shock of brown hair, a face dotted with freckles, perfectly kissable pink lips. Eddie's seen the hottest men in the world, slept with most of them, but this guy, this guy, is the prettiest one, and somehow he'd never considered pretty.

SH lifts his arms to wave to the crowd, and his polo is short, right, maybe cropped, so the move exposes a large expanse of his stomach. And Eddie, he knows abs, but never before have they been this perfect for biting, can already imagining the give beneath his teeth.

Eddie is transfixed, mesmerized, totally enamored, and he doesn't realize at first that the noise of the crowd, of SH's banter, has blanked into nothingness. It's only the shape of him, the awareness of his existence, that bleeds through.

He watches the stage, mouth wide, as the man's fingers find their places on the strings, as he begins to play music Eddie can't hear over the electric sizzle of his blood, the fuzzed out distortion of his heartbeat.

He has a moment to think, no, this isn't supposed to happen to me before SH begins to sing. The crisp tone of his voice is the only thing Eddie hears, hits him like the sharp buzz of an amplifier, reverberates through him like a plucked guitar string.

Oh no, he thinks. Not this. But there's no outrunning it.

He watches the performance in awe, eyes never leaving SH, immovable for the entire set, slack-jawed with wonder and sensory overload. Too soon SH is introducing the band, names Eddie can't decipher, says, "I'm Steve Harrington, thank you!"

Steve. Steve Harrington. Steve dances in a circle around his brain.

Even once Steve leaves the stage, Eddie doesn't move. He stands at the barricade, knuckles gone white where they clutch the metal, mind whirling. He's done for, a goner, how could this happen, how could this happen, how could this happen.

He stays as the crowd drifts away, as crew pack up instruments and cords, and different crew brings out new equipment. He stays as people trickle up for the next scheduled act, until he's surrounded, and only then does reality click back into focus.

Shoving his way out of the crowd, he rushes backstage, hastily presenting his VIP badge to security. He's too late, he's sure. He spent too much time processing, and surely Steve is gone now, back to an RV or a hotel or boarding an airplane. And maybe that's for the best, Eddie isn't meant for this, Eddie isn't--

Voices stop him in his tracks, a gaggle of children shouting over each other, blending into a cacophony, and in the middle of it all is Steve.

"All I said was that your set starts in five minutes. Why are you yelling at me?"

A girl with long red hair puts a straw to her lips, a spitball hitting Steve square in the forehead.

"Who says we're mad?" She asks, as the wet paper unsticks from his skin, plopping to the floor.

With that, the whole crew of them bop towards the stage, leaving Steve with an annoyed smile on his face.

"Those fucking kids," he says to someone out of Eddie's line of sight. The undertone is alarmingly fond given the sentiment.

Suddenly, the distance between them is too much, and his feet are moving, bringing him closer.

Steve is still talking, but Eddie's movement catches his attention, has him throwing a glance down the hall. He stops mid-sentence, sitting straighter in his chair, a bemused little smile spreading across his mouth.

It's too much, stops Eddie in his tracks, takes his breath. It doesn't stop Steve, though. He's standing and crossing the distance between them before Eddie so much as blinks.

"Hi," he says, when they're toe to toe, when he can see every green speck in Steve's shining hazel eyes. He takes off his sunglasses.

"Hi," Steve answers in a half-whisper, awestruck.

They stare at each other, both smiling.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie asks.

"Might die if you didn't."

He wraps his hand around the back of Steve's neck, draws him in, holds their lips a hairsbreadth apart. With a sigh, Steve closes the distance, slotting their mouths together.

Eddie Munson doesn't believe in love at first sight, but as Steve's lips part for him, he has to admit this might be one of the rare occasions where he's wrong. After that first taste, there's no doubt that his happiness begins and ends with Steve Harrington. Irrevocably, forever.

They part, gently, noses still touching. Steve's smile is like the sunrise, bright, breathtaking.

"I've been waiting for you," Steve says.

"You have?"

"My whole life."

"Sorry I made you wait, sweetheart. It won't happen again."

I swear that I saw a post with a pic from Djo's first Coachella set with a premise that it was Eddie's first glimpse of Steve and he falls hopelessly in love with him, which obviously inspired this fic, and I can't find that post at all to give credit. So, if anyone knows remembers a post like this, let me know so I can credit for the inspo!

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so many male characters are held back by the fact that they're not wearing earrings when they so clearly should be wearing earrings

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So do you think anybody is going acknowledge that Hind Rajab should have been celebrating her 7th birthday today with her family? Do you think anybody is going to acknowledge that?