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.
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
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
♪♫♬ “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
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,
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
“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.
“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
“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
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
“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,
“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
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
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
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
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
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
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.