#im proud of myself okay

[iftitah]

i think im getting better at living in the moment

[zalexetz]

I MADE A TMA PATCH

through sweat tears and a bleeding finger I finally have some kind of tma merch (as I live in an ass of the world where shipping for a stiker costs half a kidney)

now I have three queer flags on my bag /j

[justdurgeythings]

Reference

[x-amount-of-posts]

Addon to [this] thing i drew.

@cnwolf-brainrot

[beeduoo]

wonderful

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Also turns out my artblock or whatever it is is mostly doing its thing with digital art.. i can still doodle on paper sooo have a cute automaton au moon

[noname-404s-blog]

Dear me, you can do it ❤️‍🩹

[angelpuns]

Guess who just brushed his teeth!! Yay!!!

[witchkittymeow]

bloodborne was a mistake

[3-aem]

i also don’t want to portray myself as faultless. my work isn’t ai and it isn’t copied. but nk will say i Had old pieces that were copied and referenced ai. Yet it isn’t good faith when i apologize, state how i took accountability, and explain thats definitely not the case today because i learned my lessons- to respond with well you made these mistakes in the past so how can i believe you, you are lying, and have not changed.

so i quit. how can i prove myself then besides what i mentioned in the last post. my question is will you even ALLOW me to prove myself. each time i must explain, i place a spotlight on something that was resolved agreeably with the artists, resolved by removing the works, and resolved within myself by learning from it. but by not saying something i also allow You to concoct narratives and have to watch people spread them around and come to me demanding apologies. it is a very uncomfortable very distressing process that has worn me down completely.

never mind that other artists who have copied have not nearly been requested to apologize as much as i have been. never mind that they were forgiven when they removed the works or even when they just say sorry and don’t remove the work at all. But you still choose to hound me afterwards for doing just that?

nk has stated that i have not fixed this. and that i must address it. how many times though? for how long also? who on this planet starts the conversation by recounting all their mistakes, especially when they know they are resolved.

i have had to learn my lessons through cruelty like yours. trust me its a trauma i have to bear and they are not lessons you then forget.

my anger and my feelings of defeat come from the fact that even after nk was still talking like i had not even attempted to make progress. just look at your tone here.

[didhewinkback]

good morning

a something old blurb !

---

He’s been walking for over an hour, meandering down cobblestone streets while sipping on the cafecito he got from the local bakery, relishing in the early morning quiet of the city. Feeling like one of a million as opposed to one in a million, blending in with the other early risers gently reacquainting themselves with the world. How nice to feel so human, to get to live in this paradox of a day that starts this gentle and ends with him on stage in front of a stadium full of people. 

There’s only three shows left, which is just mental when he thinks about it. When he thinks about the man he was at the start of this tour versus the man he is now - more like the man he was trying to be at the start of this tour versus the man he is now, feeling like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes since he first stepped foot on that stage in Las Vegas two years ago. 

It’ll never be this way again, which has a certain comfort to it despite how utterly devastating a thought it is. A certain comfort to how ever changing life can be, how you can’t hold on to anything before time pulls it from your tight grasp. How all you can do is just be present and be grateful and take it all in. 

And he is. And he does. 

He’s quite proud of himself, if he’s honest. The way he’s been able to manage this whirlwind by surrounding himself with the greatest people to travel the world with - talented, respectful, on top of their shit. How he’s let himself celebrate the wins - and some of them have been massive - while not letting his head get too far up his own arse. How he’s abandoned his former all-or- nothing lifestyle, the way he used to let all of his relationships fall to the side when he was focused on work and touring. Instead, he has seen those relationships flourish and thrive, making him feel more complete and whole and loved than he has in ages and full of pride that he’s once again someone people go to when they need a friend, someone his friends trust will answer the phone, will be there to listen, to care, to help, to love. 

He’s feeling quite sentimental as he heads back up to the rental, pausing at the gate to lean up into the sunshine one more time, taking a deep breath before slipping inside and shutting it tight behind him. He’s careful to be quiet as he slips inside the door, silently toeing his shoes off and taking off his hat, running his fingers through his hair before he hears a small clatter and a muffled curse coming from the kitchen. 

He smiles, softly chuckling to himself. You’re up, then. 

He follows the noise, pausing in his tracks when he finds you in the kitchen, standing there in nothing but an old t-shirt of his, sleepily frowning at the fancy tea kettle, the beams of the morning sun just beginning to peek through the windows. It’s the type of view men write songs about and he can already hear the opening notes of a fresh melody playing in his head as you tinker with the kettle, your distaste for mornings rendering the activity useless. 

He creeps up behind you, placing his cup down on the counter before gently pulling the kettle out of your hands. He slides a hand along your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscles while he plays with the kettle, finding the two connectors on the lid to get it to seal shut properly. 

“Hmm, the magic touch.” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist and nuzzling your face into his chest. 

“Think you’d know about that more than anyone,” he says, giggling when you groan. He squeezes your shoulders once before hugging you close, using his other hand to put the kettle on the burner and turn it on.

He leans back against the counter, pulling you into him as he spreads his legs slightly to let you settle in between, rubbing your back up and down when you melt into the embrace. 

“Sleep okay?” he asks softly, smiling when you nod. 

“Yeah, just slooow to wake up this morning.” you say, blinking up at him, the soft look on your face making his heart clench. 

He loves you at all times of day, but there is something about the quiet intimacy of your mornings together that make them his favorite. The way you’re never a morning person but always try to be for him, where he can jump out of bed first thing, a habit formed from years of work based necessity, you take your time, sleepy pliancy making your more malleable to his touch, clinging onto him more than you usually do. Where he is more physically affectionate than not, always needing his hands on you in some capacity, you are usually more selective, except for the mornings. In the mornings, you’re all over him and he lives for it. 

“Still have some of this left, if you want.” he says, handing the cup over to you. “Couldn’t finish it.” 

You arch your brow knowingly at him as you take the cup from his hands.

“Oh? You just couldn’t finish it?” you gently mock. 

“Mhmm,” he says back, a light flush blooming on his cheeks, knowing he has been rightfully called out. You’ve had this conversation many times, you never want a full coffee but always end up wanting a little bit of his, never wanting to order a whole cup to just take a few sips but also not wanting to steal any of his much needed caffeine. So, he’s taken to ordering a slightly bigger size than usual and not finishing it, always sure to leave some for you. 

“Thank you,” you say softly, eyes aglow with affection as you smile up at him before taking a sip, humming when he tightens his arms around you and plants a kiss on your head. “How was your walk?”

“Was good, yeah.” he says, your rapt attention warming him to his toes. “Got quite emotional at parts of it. ‘S a big week.” 

“Big week.” you agree, corner of your lip twitching up. “Can’t believe after Saturday, I’m going to be the breadwinner of the family.”

That shocks a laugh out of him, a full belly, head tilting back kind of laugh, relishing in the way he can feel you giggle against him, clearly proud of your own joke. You’re saved from his squirming hands poised for retaliation by the whistle of the kettle, dodging out of his hold to turn off the burner, heading over to the large selection of teas you packed, thoroughly studying your options while you finish off his coffee.

He leans back against the counter and watches you in action, mulling over your last words in his head. He knows it was mostly for the joke but it’s not the first time you’ve referred to him as your family, a slip of the tongue slowly becoming routine for you, second nature. 

Words fail whenever he tries to articulate how it makes him feel. It surpasses any of the many accolades he’s been lauded with over the last decade or so of his life, the stadiums full of people chanting his name, the critics praising his work. It’s different than that, it’s somehow more than that, the feeling of someone knowing you entirely and still choosing you anyway. It’s like how it feels when he finally gets the lyrics right to a long elusive chorus, the pieces fitting right into place, impossible and inevitable all at once. 

All he knows is he will do everything he can to make sure he is worthy of the title, being your family, of building one with you. 

He’s closing the distance between you two before he can think about it, gently spinning you away from the counter as his hands come up to frame your face before bringing your mouth to meet his. It’s a hell of a kiss, your hands clutching at his biceps as he drags his lips against yours. It’s an “I love you,” a “thank you,” a “you’re my family too and I’m going to ask you to marry me in a few weeks” kind of kiss, doing his best to convey everything he’s feeling with each slide of his tongue against yours. 

He pulls away slowly, both of you catching your breath as he kisses along your cheekbone, resting his lips on your temple before pulling back to look at you, eyes grazing across your features, his favorite face he’s ever seen. 

“Bloody hell. What was that for?” you ask, laughing when he does. Being able to see the effect he has on you stoking the fire burning in his belly. The simmering look in your eyes, the way you’re biting at your swollen lips. 

“Thinking about what you said,” he says, sliding his thumb along your cheekbone before trailing his hands down your body, wrapping his arms around your waist and ducking down to drag his lips across the skin of your neck. “About y’ being the breadwinner of our family -” 

Your nails dig into his shoulders ever so slightly, breath hitching. So you had realized you said it, then. He pulls back from your neck to kiss you, your hand sliding up into his hair as you kiss him back, the phrase “our family” rattling around both of your heads. 

“And was just thinking…” he continues, pulling back slowly to kiss along your jawline. “y’ know, with me out of work next week, ‘m gonna have to start really pulling my weight in other areas.” 

He emphasizes his point by sliding a hand down to squeeze at your arse, living for the way you gasp in his ear. 

“Been told ‘m a good interview,” he says, “‘nd I’ve got a list of special skills I’d think you’d really enjoy -” 

“You are such an idiot,” you say, as he giggles into your neck, pulling back to stare at you, living for the way you’re softly laughing at him, his favorite sound. “But you do make some good points. Think you’re gonna have to take me to bed to be sure you’re a good fit for the job.”

“Hmm, ‘s that so?”

“Gonna be a tough one, innit?” you say, a soft smile growing on your face as you rake your hands through the hair on the nape of his neck. “My very own stay at home boyfriend.”

“”S my dream job. ‘S the dream -” he’s mumbling nonsense, praise and ramblings about his dreams against your lips,  something snapping in him as he crashes his mouth to yours. He slides his hands down your thighs, encouraging you to jump into his hold as he starts to carry you back towards the bedroom, biting down on the urge to correct you, to make you say fiancé or husband, the title boyfriend not feeling like enough for him anymore. 

The calm energy of the morning has given way to something electric, something that makes sparks shoot up his spine every time you moan into his mouth when he kisses you just the way you like it, a type of chemistry only the two of you create. 

He wants to spend the rest of his life just like this, just right here, he thinks, as he lays you down on the bed, hastily pulling off his clothes when he watches you do the same. The morning sun making you somehow more luminous than usual. You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and you’re all his and he’s all yours and in the early morning hours, you’re not beholden to anything but each other. No interruptions from the outside world, nothing but the two of you right here. He wants to live in this forever. 

A lifetime of mornings with his girl. What could be better than that?

---

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[fatuismooches]

EVEN MORE CUTE DOTTORE MOMENTS TO MAKE YOU SMILE 🙏 (because I am too tired to post anything of quality)

[dissentersbedamned]

I don't think a blunt and a shot of estrogen would fix him but it would do something funny + other bullshit on the canvas

art commissions

[dailytogachako]

I can't even imagine how much Toga suffered just by existing. I wish that Toga meet Uraraka when she was a kid, and I know that both wanted the same thing :(( To be loved, is to be changed.

[field-guide-to-mud]

Happy Pride!

[skitskatdacat63]

"Non paeniteo potitus."

+ details & process

And, process !!

The jump btwn the second to last and last always surprise me whenever I make one of these because I always forget to take snapshots after I start painting. It's always like: oh yeah heres the lineart with some colors- BOOM fully finished✨️

What he's holding are the Austrian imperial scepter and orb, seen below:

I was going to draw the crown too but decided I don't hate myself that much(maybe some other day), and gave him a golden laurel crown, bcs I'm obsessed with that as a motif, and also its very remincient of the boy king statue that started this whole thing!

There's some symbolism of this, both intentionally but also just historically. I love that the orb represents that the monarch is holding the world in their hand, basically every old monarchy has one of those, and I think it's very cool for symbolism. But also bcs of that, I was forced to basically draw catholic fanart so, you win some you lose some. The star halo above him head is both to reference those religious statues with star crowns(I saw them a lot in Europe and they imprinted onto my brain), as well as: his four championships of course!