someone actually drew this

The Old Friends

They call you deep into the forest. They mean well, don’t be impolite. But don’t ever come with them, they don’t understand human needs. The friends will love you and never let you go, but the life they offer will kill you.

6

» LAST ONE OUT OF BEACH CITY «

[ spotify ] [ 8tracks ]

[ side a ]

last one out of liberty city :: less than jake  »  all we are :: math the band
i fought the law :: the clash  »  fifteen minutes :: mike krol
beer :: reel big fish »  take me out :: franz ferdinand
everything turns grey :: agent orange  »  aberdeen :: cage the elephant
don’t let go :: weezer  »  coming clean :: green day
natural disaster :: mike krol  »  someday :: the strokes
nine is god :: wavves »  everlong :: foo fighters

[ side b ]

territorial pissings :: nirvana  »  cut my skin it makes me human :: the gits
like a star :: mike krol  »  last nite :: the strokes
sheena is a punk rocker :: the ramones  »  west coast :: fidlar
sound system :: operation ivy  »  punk rock girl (cover) :: streetlight manifesto
too dumb to die :: green day »  drain you :: nirvana
everything :: one hit wonder  »  good good things :: descendents
she :: green day »  knockdown dragout :: weezer

youtube

Taekook | Suicide Squad : Concept Trailer (Anime Ver.)

♪♫♬ “Let me show you a world, shining, SHIMMERING, spleeeendid!

Ayo! Guess who finally drew some bees! I actually had someone a while ago ask me to draw Yang and Blake dancing together from V2′s dance, but hey better late then never, here’s to you anon!

I kind of loathe most all the dresses the girls had for that dance scene, so I decided to redesign their dresses for them. Yang’s dress kind of got the short end of the stick since I didn’t want her dress to cover up her pose, but eh, Yang’s dress will always get the short end of the stick I suppose. XD

Anyone who justifies injuring a real person because of fictional ships and characters is a fucking psychopath.

anonymous asked:

More gay divorcee au pls bc I wanna see how it goes when Tony meets his Army neighbors (also I want someone, preferably Pepper/Tony, punching Ty)

Tony was trying very hard not to cry.

Last night he’d gotten a call from Ty—from Stone. He’d been too scared to pick it up, had let it go to voicemail. When he’d finally gotten the courage to listen to the message, it had been nothing but vitriol, telling him that he was nothing, that he’d regret leaving, he’d never make it alone and he’d ruin Peter just like Howard had ruined him. Tony had saved the message with shaking fingers and sent a text to Pepper about it to tell his lawyer for the restraining order, because she—she was being an amazing friend and handling that for him while his world fell down around his ears.

With the voicemail, he hadn’t been able to sleep well. He’d tossed and turned with nightmares of Stone getting custody of Peter, of Tony only being allowed to see him sparingly, of seeing bruises on Peter’s little body and Peter’s accusing eyes, as if to say ‘you could have prevented this.’ And then those nightmares were interspersed with memories of the gaslighting Stone had had made him suffer throughout their entire relationship, telling Tony he was being silly or overreacting and laughing about it, and memories of the times Stone had hit him and then apologized and made Tony feel like it was his fault, like he’d been asking for it.

Then Peter had woken up with an earache and Tony had had to give him medicine and Peter hated taking medicine. Peter would spit out pills if they were given to him, and any attempt at giving him liquid medicine ended up with more of the dose on Peter’s clothes than in his mouth. Tony had finally had to cave and mix it in with some chocolate milk, and Peter had eyed him suspiciously the entire time he drank it because he knew he wasn’t supposed to have chocolate milk except for as dessert.

Once he’d set Peter down to play in his playpen, Tony had realized that he hadn’t done any yard work the past two weeks and stressed about that until he could put Peter down for his nap. He didn’t like to leave Peter alone but he knew he’d never be able to get anything done if he had to watch Peter outside, that dread that someone was watching them and reporting back to Stone always leaving him short of breath and with a cold sweat.

And now the fucking lawnmower wouldn’t work and Tony should have been able to fix it but he just couldn’t figure out what was wrong and Peter would surely wake from his nap soon—Tony took a shuddering breath and lifted his arm to press the back of his wrist against one eye, fingers covered with oil and muck. He would not cry. It was just a fucking lawnmower. It was just fucking yard work. He had bigger problems, like his divorce and getting custody of Peter and designing the next big thing for green energy.

“…Why me,” Tony whispered to himself, deciding that he could feel sorry for himself just for a minute.

“Hey!” someone called, and Tony leapt to his feet, skittering backward. He took a moment to wish he had his handgun to protect himself with and nearly crumpled with despair at the thought, because he hadn’t—he hadn’t used to think of protecting himself first thing, especially not with deadly force.

The blond guy from across the street stared at him, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, I’m so—I’m so sorry, I thought you heard me coming up.”

“Oh.” Tony hunched his shoulders, embarrassed, wanting to scuttle back inside and hide. “No, I—I didn’t.”

“I can see that,” Blond Guy said, still looking very apologetic. “I just noticed you’d been out here a long time and—Oh, is this Colonel Rhodes’s lawnmower? It hasn’t worked in months.”

“O-oh?” Tony asked hopefully, because he’d worried he’d just—been too stupid to figure it out. Logically he’d known better, but after years of Ty telling him he was—well.

“Yeah, he’s been borrowing ours,” Blond Guy replied, shrugging.

Tony could probably fix it, if he had the time to worry about it instead of worrying about when Peter would wake up and if Ty had sent anyone to keep an eye on them. Hell, if he’d known about it before Rhodey left, he would have been able to fix it while Rhodey kept an eye on Peter. Tony sagged a little, feeling defeated. He didn’t have the mental stamina to deal with this now.

Blond Guy frowned at him for a long moment before thrusting his hand out. “I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.”

“Tony.” Tony held his hand out, saw the oil still smeared on it, and shame-facedly began to draw it back. “Oh, uh, sorry—”

Steve grabbed his hand anyway to shake it. “’s fine. I’ve had worse on my hands. It’s not like I wow that was a bad idea this is so much oil.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, reluctantly amused.

“My friends tell me I’m uselessly impulsive,” Steve offered. “Listen, I usually mow Colonel Rhodes’s lawn for him while he’s gone anyway. I’ll just keep doing that, okay?”

“Oh, um, okay,” Tony said, torn between the desire to insist he could do it himself and the relief that he didn’t have to worry about this particular responsibility. “I, um—Rhodey left me some money, I can pay you—”

“Nah,” Steve said immediately. “No, it’s fine. I was gonna do it anyway. Colonel Rhodes lets me sketch his hydrangeas sometimes so I figure it’s only fair.”

Tony stared at him for a moment. “Is. Is that a euphemism?”

“What,” Steve said blankly, and then turned as red as a blotchy tomato. “Oh my God, no! I mean, no. I’m an artist.”

“Oh,” Tony said, because he never would have guessed. Steve looked more like someone who punched Nazis in the face and then bench-pressed a wheelbarrow full of kittens with each arm when he was finished than a guy who liked to draw flowers. Tony found that… rather charming, actually. “I see. That’s nice.”

“Yup, I love working on florals,” Steve agreed proudly. “My boyfriend has some of my handiwork on his body, too!”

Oh, a boyfriend. Steve looked so happy. Tony felt a jealous pang, sick and bitter, at the bottom of his stomach. Tony wished he could be happy like that. Looking back, he’d never been as proud to say ‘my boyfriend’ or ‘my husband’ when he talked about Ty as Steve did talking about his boyfriend right now. Maybe he’d known, even then, that Stone wasn’t good to him. Maybe Howard had damaged him more than he’d thought.

“I—” Tony cleared his throat. “I have to go check on Peter. Maybe—maybe you’d like to do art together sometime?”

Tony wanted to throw up as soon as he’d suggested it. Steve was—Steve was probably busy. And he was an actual artist, not someone who finger-painted and drew stick figures. Steve was a young handsome guy with a boyfriend. Why would he want to spend time with a soon-to-be-divorcee and a toddler when he probably had an equally handsome boyfriend and an apparently lucrative art business? God, Tony didn’t even want to be friends with himself right now.

“Sure,” Steve said brightly. “I love doing art with kids. They’re so creative.”

Tony couldn’t help a smile. That was so nice. “Yeah, Petey-Bird’s the next da Vinci.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Really? Wow. Peter must be really smart.”

“Y-yes?” Tony fought the urge to shrink again. He thought Peter was smart, but he was his dad, it was probably—he was very biased.

Steve beamed at him. “I’d like to meet him sometime. Just let me know when a good time is and I’ll see what I can do!”

“Okay,” Tony agreed cautiously. “…Okay, yeah. Not—not this week, but, um, maybe next-?”

“Sure! Just go ahead and give us a knock when you decide on a time, okay? Bucky might answer and he’s got a bit of a resting bitch face but he’s actually—well, no, I’m not gonna lie, he’ll probably be a little gruff when he answers the door. He’s got a gooey caramel center in there somewhere.”

Tony did not say ‘that’s horrifying’ but only because he was literally too horrified to do so. “Okay.”

“Great!” Steve enthused. “I’ll talk to you later, then!”

Tony smiled awkwardly, nodding, before putting the lawnmower back together as best he could and shoving it back in the garage. He promised it that when this was all over and his life wasn’t in shambles anymore, he would spend some time fixing it.

Tony was giving Peter some peanut butter crackers when he heard the roar of a lawnmower. He smiled. “Steve’s mowing our lawn, Pumpkin Eater.”

“D’eve!” Peter garbled around the crackers, throwing his arms up cheerfully.

“Yup, Steve,” Tony repeated, walking over to the window so Peter could see him and put a name to a face.

He choked when he saw that Steve had foregone a shirt in the heat. Jesus Christ that was a lot of muscles.


Bucky sighed and flopped onto the couch face-first.

“Hi,” Steve said, looking up from his sketchbook. “Long day?”

“Fuck off.”

Steve frowned and set his sketchbook aside to walk over to him, beginning to rub his back. “What’s wrong?”

“Fucking Rumlow tried to hire me to keep an eye on his asshole client’s husband.”

“You don’t work with Rumlow anymore,” Steve pointed out calmly, still heated about how Rumlow’s checks for Bucky’s prior work kept conveniently getting lost in the mail. “Tell me you turned him down.”

Bucky jerked his head up. “I said he tried, not that he got me to do it.”

“Good,” Steve began, then frowned. “Oh.”

That meant he didn’t have a job then. Rumlow was doing his level best to make sure no one else hired Bucky as a private investigator. Bucky was the best at what he did but when he realized that Rumlow was using his information to hurt other people, he’d stopped working for him. Rumlow hadn’t taken that particularly well. Steve’s comic was selling pretty steadily but without Bucky’s paychecks their monthly budget was getting kind of tight. Bucky would probably be pissed that Steve had turned down Tony’s offer of money for the lawn—

“No, I got a job,” Bucky grumbled. “It’s from Natasha though. She’s the only one that hasn’t hopped on the ‘Barnes is a menace and a liar’ train.”

“Well,” Steve began, then stopped awkwardly. Sometimes Natasha and Bucky were the best of friends and sometimes they were at each others’ throats. He didn’t really understand most days, and he didn’t know what their relationship was right now. “Well,” he said again. “That’s something, right?”

“Protection detail,” Bucky whined. “I’m supposed to keep anyone her client’s husband might hire away from her client’s house.”

“Oh,” Steve said. Bucky hated protection details. He had been to jail for protection details and had sometimes failed to be bailed out by his clients. “Oh, well—you can, you can still say no—”

“No, I took it,” Bucky sighed, sitting up. “I need to do something. And Natasha said it’s for a personal friend of hers. If she thinks one of her friends needs protecting, then…” He tilted his head a little. “Well, she’s paying me good money for it. And she said she’ll owe me one for it on top of that.”

“Oh wow,” Steve said, because Natasha owing them one? That would be good for a rainy day, honestly. “Okay. Who are you protecting? How long is the detail? Will you be gone long?”

“Honestly after the shit day I had I was kinda avoiding looking at it,” Bucky admitted.

Steve got up to grab his satchel and pulled the thick case file from it. “Gotta love how thorough she is.”

“I guess. Can you read it to me, hon’? I’d really like to just lie here a little while longer,” Bucky sighed, flopping back onto the couch.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“You’re the best, babe,” he murmured, smiling a little. He waited a few minutes for Steve to start reading to him, then frowned when he didn’t, opening his eyes to look at him. “Steve? Doll? You okay?”

Steve stared at the file a little longer before dragging his eyes up to him, horrified. “This—this is Tony. The neighbor that Colonel Rhodes wanted us to keep an eye on? Because his husband’s a huge dick and might go after him because of his divorce?”

“Gimme!” Bucky barked, holding his hand out for the file, and didn’t bitch when Steve tucked his chin on his shoulder so he could read it too.

Tony Stark owned an electronics company that was branching out into green energy, a very lucrative business. He also had various stocks and bonds left to him by his parents’ estate, and an adorable two-year-old named Peter of whom they’d just finalized their adoption. Tiberius Stone had signed a prenup, and when Tony had served him with divorce papers, had decided to do his level best to drag it out and drain every inch of money he could from Tony, finding a judge either sympathetic enough or easily bribed enough to entertain it.

Natasha had been brought in by Pepper Potts, Tony’s assistant-slash-business-partner-slash-best-friend, the moment she caught wind of it. That was good, because Natasha already hated Rumlow, Stone’s lawyer, and loved going at it in the courts with him. Bucky felt his heart sink in his chest a little, because for all intents and purposes, the only thing Tony had ever done wrong was marry the wrong person, but Rumlow was going to hire someone to get information to make Tony look unfit and awful—Bucky knew that from experience.

“I’ll just hafta stay on my toes, ‘s all,” Bucky decided firmly.

Tony had enough cards stacked against him, but if Natasha thought he was worth protecting? If Colonel Rhodes thought he was worth protecting? He’d do it. Natasha was morally gray sometimes but she was freakishly protective of her friends, and Colonel Rhodes was a good man—if he thought Tony was worth protecting, Bucky believed him.

Besides, Steve had already told him how much Tony obviously loved his son. Bucky had always been pretty weak when it came to parents that loved their children anyway.

Victor with flowers in his hair probably felt lonely at the top.

Victor with actually thinning hair, though…

…he’s never alone again. Yuuri will love him even when he’s bald.

(*whispers* Basically, 離れずにそばにいて, but forever.)

Fujimaki Tadatoshi’s Interview in Entermix May 2017

Ahhhhh. Everyone was like “READ THIS INTERVIEW” so I went ahead and read this above anything else and it was so worth it because it gave me hope as a fan in despair. 

This is just a rough translation :D I just wanted to put it so people who would like to read can read it too :D

Keep reading

karmin-universe  asked:

Hi, there! first off I just wanted to say I'm a huge fan of your work. I really do think you are a talented artist with a unique art style, and speaking of art style, how long did it take for you to find your own style of drawing also any advice for the newbies in regards of finding their style of drawing?

Thanks! I hope you don’t mind that I will answer this publicly, because I figured it might help others too.

The truth is, I’ve only recently settled into ‘my’ style - within the last year or so. Some of you might have even been around long enough to notice a severe change. Here’s approximately what happened.

For a bit, I worried that I needed to train hard and draw a lot to get myself into the same standard as other artist I viewed as being above me in level. I looked at the things they did well, and I thought “they mastered this”. Or “this makes their art good” and I decided that in order for MY art to be good, it needed to have that awesome color blending, or awesome motion, or perfect detail and textures. 

That isn’t to say that practicing and training in many different skills isn’t a GOOD thing. It IS. And if you’re a beginning artists, you SHOULD try to practice as MANY THINGS as possible. All that work will be pooling into your xp and you’ll level up.

But if we look at my older art, like this:

I was trying too hard to be something I wasn’t. I wasn’t even enjoying doing the things I did for my art. I just did them because I thought I “had to”. 

But then this happened one day. 

One day, I started drawing pokemon in this style:

I specifically remember that I did this pikachu when I was DEAD TIRED and I was drawing not to please someone, but just to enjoy the motions. I actually drew therapeutically like this A LOT for myself, but never posted it, or saved it before. I considered it throw-away art. But suddenly something clicked. 

It was MY art because I LOVED doing it. 

At first, it was a bit clunky and rough, but then this explosion happened

And I think at this exact moment, it clicked for me that if I enjoyed the process of drawing things, and didn’t bother forcing myself to do things just because I thought I HAD to, drawing took less time

And if it took less time, I did it more often

And if I did it more often, I would get better faster

And if I would get better faster, I felt more confident, felt better about my art, and felt more comfortable stretching myself, looking into new things, and evolving more organically as an artist.

And even now, I realize that I still have growth ahead of me. That will ALWAYS be true. No matter how far you go as an artist, you will always be changing in some small way, usually every few months, or every few years, depending on what you’re doing.

But I think for me, the most important part was just DRAWING the things I enjoyed, the way I enjoyed. Letting go, doing it for myself, and not caring what people thought.  

I still use anatomy studies, and still color things sometimes. But now I always have a comfortable art-niche to return to where my art can be the greatest form of speech I’ve had since I was tiny. I’m back where I was when I was a kid - I draw because I WANT to draw, because it comes easier to me than talking, than doing anything else.

And that inspires me to continue.

TL;DR: Practicing is important. 
Doing and trying different things is important. 
Not giving a fuck and having as much fun with your art as you possibly can is, perhaps, more importanter.