my very crappy art

this is just upsetting

so apparently my art has been reposted?? and i’m telling you it’s not a good feeling… 

why.. why would people even do this?? can’t they empathize with the artists and think how it must feel to steal all their hard work away and just.. do this??

well apparently not. where do they even find this if not from the source???

and don’t even give me the excuse that artists should feel “flattered” because no. this is NOT a form of flattery. reblogging from the source and adding cute tags that is a form of flattery. this just makes me feel upset and there is that feeling of regret in sharing my work.

well i guess it’s time to put in that huge watermark then because i really don’t want this to happen again.


me: *has important homework and serious fanarts to finish*
mind: hey but what if
mind: ;3c
me: hell

Oh shit you guys I got over a hundred followers today!? Thank you so much everyone, this is so exciting! Here, have a crappy picture of the guys fighting over Kyle. Since you’re all here I’m gonna go ahead and assume you ship at least one of them with Kyle, right? Right.

anonymous asked:

I'm glad I stumbled across your tumblr. Whenever I'm having a bad day I'll go through your tumblr. Thank you for putting a smile on my face. Your angst is amazing and inspiring.

I love feeding my fans the most delicious angst! I’m super glad I am able to influence positively your day ^___^

I’ll keep the angst coming!

As if I would ever be able to stop ;P

Here, let me give you a tasty bit of a super angsty thing I’m working on: a Soulmate AU where people are tied by red strings.

(more angst under the cut!)

When Madara arrives to the Nakano river for their weekly meeting, it’s to find that oaf of Hashirama moping, sitting on the rocky bank and swinging his naked feet into the water, a dark expression on his face.

Madara’s thoughts immediately go to the last time he found his friend like this and his heart lurches in his chest – that time Hashirama had just lost a brother. Did the only brother he has left…?

The Uchiha might snark and vehemently deny any affection for Hashirama in the other’s presence, but the boy with the atrocious bowl-cut and a heart full of dreams of peace has become his best friend. The thought of Hashirama going through something as awful as losing another brother – the last he has left – pains Madara.

Hesitantly, he approaches Hashirama, standing right beside him. “Hey, Hashirama,” he says, looking down at his friend. “What got you so down?”

Hashirama cranes his neck to look up at him, and Madara is immensely relieved to see that he isn’t crying – it can’t be that bad if Hashirama, prone as he is to tears, isn’t actually crying but only sulking.

Hashirama opens his mouth, already shaking his head, but Madara cuts him: “I don’t want to hear any bullshit about how ‘it doesn’t matter’. I asked, and you are going to tell me what’s bothering you.”

Hashirama frowns, black eyes meeting brown ones, but after a second he sighs and gives in, shoulders drooping. Madara inwardly cheers at being able to shake his friend from whatever dark pit his mind fell into.

“It’s Tobirama. Last week he saw his red string for the first time,” Hashirama says in a quiet, sad voice.

At the mention of the red string of fate, Madara’s eyes automatically fall on his own one, tied in a neat bow at the base of his right pinkie. The string sways with the gentle wind, Madara’s eyes following it until it blurs and seems to vanish into thin air.

Seeing one’s red string is supposed to be a joyous experience – it’s the proof that somewhere on this green earth, at the other end of that string, there’s someone who is their soulmate, a person who is a perfect match for them. Madara looks back up at Hashirama, and a question rises unbidden: in the face of such an auspicious happening, why is Hashirama so sad for his brother?

Is Tobirama’s string cut?

The thought makes Madara feel ill for a moment, and he can’t help but cradle his right hand and his own string to his chest. The thought that one day he might wake up and see it devoid of the slight tension pulling it, dangling limp and lifelessly - he can’t even bear to think about it,  that his soulmate might die before he even knows their name. (His name, because Madara at fourteen already knows where his interest lays.)

“Is…” Madara sits down beside Hashirama, observing him carefully for any signs of distress that might confirm his theory. “…is his string cut?”

Hashirama violently startles at the suggestion, cradling his left hand to chest much like Madara did just a moment ago – his string is likely tied to his left pinkie, then.

“No!” he shouts, horrified – but then he hesitates and looks away, kicking the water in frustration. “Maybe it would be better if it were.”

Madara can’t even wrap his mind around that – how can Hashirama hope for his brother’s soulmate to die? “Explain, now,” the Uchiha orders, frowning.

Hashirama sighs again, picking up a stone and turning it between his fingers. “The thing is that Tobirama’s string isn’t tied to his pinkie,” he says, holding up his own left little finger.

“Where, then? His big toe?” Madara asks, trying to make a joke – and he winces at his own failed attempt when Hashirama grimaces and shakes his head. His friend’s eyes are wide and shining with unshed tears when he looks up at Madara, miming choking himself by pressing his thumb and forefinger into his neck. “It’s tied around his neck - like a trap noose, trying to choke him. He says he can breathe just fine, but it’s tied so tightly it cuts the skin and it makes him bleed.” Hashirama’s hand leaves his neck to clench into a fist, knuckles white and bloodless.

“His soulmate is hurting him and I can’t do anything!” he shouts, chucking the stone into the water with anger.

Madara is frozen with horror, gaping. For the very symbol of true love to hurt someone- it’s unthinkable, it’s so wrong it feels like an abomination, like the corruption of something pure and holy the kami gifted them with. “How is he taking it?” he asks quietly, and Hashirama sighs again, carding a hand through his short black hair in obvious frustration.

“He’s Tobirama, how do you think he’s taking it?” he asks in return, his voice dry and rough. “He pretends it doesn’t bother him. He says this is simply a reminder that this soulmate business is just a weakness for a shinobi anyway.”

Hashirama often talks of his little brother, and from his description Madara got the picture of a stubborn little genius who takes too much after the old generation - those world would not be strange coming from his own father’s mouth.

“Does he really think that?” he wonders aloud, and Hashirama gives a bitter chuckle - a sound Madara would have never imagine his friend could make. “That’s what fathers wants to hear, and Tobirama gives it to him.” All tension seems to drain out of Hashirama, who deflates and leans against Madara, his head on the Uchiha’s shoulder. “I think he wants to believe it. Granny said that a string like that means that his soulmate hates him and will likely kill him.” Hashirama makes a tiny sound of distress. “How must it feel to know that your soulmate will never love you but hate you, and try to kill you?”

Madara represses a shiver, squaring his shoulders - he generally doesn’t like physical closeness, but in this precise moment Hashirama’s warmth is very welcome to chase the ghost of death away, and he doesn’t shake the older kid off.

The Uchiha heir doesn’t have an answer for Hashirama. He looks down at his red string and tries to picture it. Picture seeing hate glowing in the eyes of the man at the other end of it, seeing him brace a kunai rather than opening his arms to greet him and- And he quite can’t. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

Then he thinks of Izuna, who is Tobirama’s age and has yet to see his own string. He pictures seeing blood well on his throat from an invisible tread, choking him like a dying hare in a trap noose and-

“You need to find his soulmate and kill her. Or him, whatever,” Madara says, voice hard, and the irony of the role reversal isn’t lost on him.

Hashirama freezes against him, going completely rigid. “What…?”

“It’s the only way,” Madara says, standing up. “You can‘t let your brother die. Ask him to swear he will tell you when he meets his soulmate, then kill them.”

Hashirama jumps to his feet, eyes wide and shocked. “How can you ask me to kill Tobirama’s soulmate!”

Madara bares his teeth to his friend, the picture of Izuna’s dying smile in the forefront of his mind - kami knows how often that vision has haunted his nightmares. How can Hashirama not feel the same fear crushing his heart? “I don’t need your grandmother to know that a red string hurting its owner isn’t a good omen! How can his soulmate love him, when their string is killing him! Are you really going to risk Tobirama’s life like that? It’s your duty to protect him! If his soulmate doesn’t kill him, they are bound to hurt him in other ways. Are you going to stand there and let it happen!?”  

Hashirama pales, taking a step back - at the ripe age of almost fifteen, he of course must know all the ways humans can hurt each other, physically or not.

“You only have one brother left,” Madara says quietly, and he can’t quite tell if he’s talking to his friend or himself. “Are you going to let him die too?”

Hashirama is silent for a long moment, then shakes his head with decision, his brown eyes never leaving Madara’s black ones, making a silent promise: I won’t.

[continues with a damn lot of angst, because by the time Madara and Tobirama brush each other’s naked skin and see that they’re bound by the same string, Izuna is long since buried and Madara’s hate for Tobirama is an obsession. 

There’s a certain, perverse justice in this: their string appeared when they were kids, it was choking Tobirama long before he killed Izuna and thus earned Madara’s hate. Does that mean that Madara was fated to hate Tobirama? That Izuna was fated to die like he did?In the many sleepless night Madara soldiers through, he learns to make a sort of hateful, grieving peace with that.

If Izuna was fated to die, then Tobirama is fated to suffer. The Senju’s pain won’t bring Izuna back, but it eases the darkness rotting Madara’s soul, and that’s enough. Madara will hurt him, will drive him to a painful, slow death.]

Okay as per yesterday’s requests for things to draw, @qui-gon-wonton suggested what Qui-Gon might look like as general in the clones wars, and @ironmyownpants suggested quiobi. So I smushed them together because why not.

So Maul’s lightsaber irreparably damages Qui-Gon’s spine, but he’s not going to let something like that stop him from charging headlong into the Clone Wars. “Just get me some more armor for my legs and I’ll lead the attack.”

Qui-Gon no.”

Alright I see the point you’re trying to make, Mace. But… have you considered… Qui-Gon yes. **rolls off with attitude*”

anonymous asked:



I have a lot more better ones but they can’t be released yet for reasons! D: I know, it kills me too. Once we reach a certain arc I can release all the rivster I want. Which will be a lot. But for now take thiiiis~ I have a few more non spoliery doodles that are half done that I can try to finish once I get a little farther in this next comic. So you might get more soon? We’ll see?