#I'm literally gonna explode

[princess-hope-selfships]

HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY HOPE !!! 💖💖💖

I hope you had a great day, dropping a little something for you 😌😌😌

GATE I'M FRKGgjhfhfgdf///????????????????????

GDGHD THIS IS SO NICE OF YOU I'M HGONNA FFUCKGIGN FCCRYYY AAHGJHFDKJNDSFJ LOOK AT THIS MY DAZZLER IS SO SO SO PRETTY IN YOUR ART STYLE!!!

GAAAAAAAATE I'M LOSING MY MIND THANK YOU SO MUCH WHAT THEF UCK 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺💘💞💕💗💖💘💗💕💝💓💞💘

[mnty-bubblegmyum]

MY INTRO POST PROGRESS GOT RESTARTED.

[psychicpinenut]

every time i open twitter i regret it within less than 5 minutes

[paradoxgavel]

man..... i can't play ruin until i get home from work tonight.....

[dobbsdobbsdobbs]

ggg spoilers under cut ^^

this game has been boring a hole in my brain . for so many reasons but inspekta specifically . physically cannot stop thinking about his taped on tail, about how his 'true' form is however infinitely large and imposing as he chooses, about the artbook drawing of his eyes being spotlights, about the fact he opens his coat and all that's inside of him is hands . thinking about him needing to be loved forever thinking about the bottled up fear that gets so so so much worse once king 'threatens' to become the new youngest god . thinking about capochin and the devotion burger and inspekta devouring devouring devouring . live laugh love inspekchin

[upsidedownsmore]

2024 art summary!

i uh went a bit overboard lmao

This has just one big happy mess of a year, and I wanted to reflect that as literally as possible by collaging basically every piece I made! Idk if this is comprehensible at all to anyone but me lmfao. Try zooming in!

For something a bit cleaner, I also made this artist vs art summary pic as well!

It was a bit challenging to choose just eight pieces to feature, which I guess is part of why I made that monster collage above lmao

Last year's art summary! (jesus christ)

More thoughts below the cut:

It really has been an insane year, between the Warframe creator program and Hollowframe developments and my first Tennocon as a creator and continuing to help my parents move and too many art classes and applying for a dream job and preparing for my art capstone and

It's uh been a lot

And I'm glad I got to share it with you guys :)

[spaceratprodigy]

✨🖤 Family Portrait 🖤 @grimreapersbutt 🖤✨

And it was hard, but you were brave, you are splendid And we will never be alone in this world No matter what they say We're going to be okay We were safe inside And our new son cried

Commission Info | Ko-Fi | My Links

[jeesperswar]

bro WTF

i'm crashing out i can't do this.. GUYS WHAT SO I DO

[kronkys-f-art]

OKAY WHO THE FUCK PUT "Just a man" FROM EPIC THE MUSICAL IN A JAYVIK PLAYLIST.

YOUR ASS IS MINE

[ubeng-ubas]

I'm gonna take on school tomorrow with a fever and on my period. Is this what preparing for war feels like?

[avatarofwar]

What's the matter, stray? Nothing left to lose?

[batbrainrot]

i'm watching young justice for the first time ever and jason showed up and i had to pause every 3 seconds to breath bc i got overwhelmed (why isn't anyone ever just 'whelmed' lol) and my heart started racing bc he and dick were fighting each other but neither knew who the other was AND THEN after ra's al ghul calls nightwing 'grayson' fucking talia shows up carrying baby damian and HE'S SO SMALL AND THEN JASON PULLS DOWN HIS HOOD AND SAYS "Gray... son..." AND I THREW MY PHONE ACROSS THE FUCKING ROOM!!!!!!!

[tr4shypuppy]

Wallace shitpost before I explode I love him so much

[lizstiel]

Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table eating meatloaf when it all sort of hits – and he’s desperate to remember it exactly how it happened.

With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, a dollop of meat and sauce perched precariously on the tines, his eyes wandered over to where Cas stood by the sink in a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. (One of Dean’s old t-shirts, because once Cas gets his shoulders into them they never really sit the same way.)

He’s got soap up to his elbows, scrubbing methodically at the dishes Dean just dirtied, his brow a taught, concentrated line. He’s bringing the same kind of meticulous focus to the dishes that he used to bring to leading the armies of Heaven; that singular kind of attention, both unnerving and admirable. (Dean had once tried to explain that he didn’t need to wash them quite so vigorously, to which Cas had deadpanned, “Do you know how many food particles remain on the dishes you wash, Dean?” It quickly became his job, after that.)

It’s early July. About 6:30pm. The window over the sink is cracked, and the front door is wide open, letting the sound of cicadas and crickets drift in with the summer breeze. The sun’s starting to set behind the field, casting the world in that particular orange glow that has always made something in Dean ache. In the other room, the record player Sam got them for Christmas plays a beat up Janis Joplin record he’d found at a secondhand store in town. The opening chords of Me and Bobby McGee have just started, and the cicadas are humming, and the crickets are singing, and the sun is setting, and Cas is standing in old pajamas washing dishes Dean just used to make them dinner and –

Cas tilts his head.

This isn’t revolutionary. He does it a lot. A very ingrained behavior, some might say. But he isn’t confused, he’s reacting. To the song. He doesn’t react to music the way Dean wants him to, never has, but in his own way, it’s almost like he’s leaning closer to hear it. An infinitesimal thing. The smallest gesture. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Dean has never loved him more than he does at this moment: backlit by a summer sunset in their house in the middle of nowhere, hand washing dishes and listening to Janis Joplin.

Cas turns when the sound of Dean’s fork clattering on the plate sounds, but Dean just scoops him into his arms, chases any worries away with a kiss, and then another, and then one more for good measure. Cas laughs against his mouth, desperately trying to keep his soapy arms away from Dean’s dry clothes. “Dean,” he chides, squirming and chuckling, trying to extract himself from Dean’s grip. “I’m not finished.”

“I’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” Dean promises, peppering sweet little kisses down the line of Cas' throat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. It tickles all the way down. “Love you so much,” he says, because he wants to. Because he’s so full with it he’s overflowing. Because if he doesn’t tell him right now, in this moment, and every moment after this one, he might die. He needs him to know. It’s vital that he knows.

Cas’ laughter warms, and he slides one soapy hand to the back of Dean’s neck, eyebrows raised in challenge when he shudders at the sensation. When Dean doesn’t immediately shoo him away, he slides the other soapy hand up Dean’s arm. “Dean?” He’s not worried, the timber of his voice is honey-smooth and light, but he’s confused. Not that Dean doesn’t tell him often, and loudly, how much he loves him, but to be fair this did kind of come from nowhere, so he understands. It’s just much too much. It’s not enough and it’s everything. It’s everything in the world Dean has ever wanted.

Janis Joplin is singing freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and Dean’s arms are loose around Cas’ waist, and he loves him, god he loves him so much, so he kisses him on one corner of the mouth, and then the other. Janis says, nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no, no – and he rocks their bodies together, slow, to the beat of the music. Cas’ arms come to wind around his neck automatically, and his smile starts to sprawl into something reserved for only the really good moments. Wide and gummy and for Dean – and feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. He presses his forehead to Cas’ and they just sort of sway there like that, smiling at each other like this might be the last chance they ever get.

Cas says – “I love you, Dean,” just as Janis is singing, you know feelin’ good was good enough for me – and it occurs to Dean that he’s dancing in the kitchen with the love of his life. He thinks back to the longest, loneliest nights he spent staring up at the night sky, believing wholly he’d die bloody and alone on the backend of some random hunt, and how the smallest (but loudest) part of him had wished for exactly this. For someone to hold him and see him and dance in the kitchen with him, barefoot and covered in soap.

He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose, the lines under his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas is wiping tears away with the pads of his thumbs and soothing hands through his hair. He’s crying, too. Laughing and crying and telling Dean he loves him, he loves him so much, he’s loved him from the first moment he saw him.

It settles in Dean then – really settles deep, and true, and good – that he was meant for this. He wasn’t born to be a weapon. Wasn’t born to be a son, or a father, or a brother. Wasn’t born to save the world or to end it – was just meant to dance. His arms were meant to hold. To sway them both around the cheap linoleum floor, to sling low around Cas’ waist and spin them both ‘til they were dizzy with it.

They laugh and kiss and Janis is saying – good enough for me and Bobby McGee – and Dean is thinking – Yeah. Yeah, it really is.

[keeps-ache]

hold my heart, hold it gentle

[platypusisnotonfire]

In one hour I'm gonna be 30.

I never thought I would see 20.

I text my brother, "do you feel young or do you feel old?"

we have orbited the sun the same amount of times. We have gone around the sun so many times apart that I'm not sure who either of us are any more. We have gone around the sun so many times together that I know we are only two halves of one person.

I am 4 years old I am 22 I am 17 I am 1000 years old and Oh so tired I am 6 and oh so scared and I need to know what the other half of us makes of the situation that we are experiencing in two different countries but together.

"I've felt old for years." he responds

Me too.

But also

I don't know if I'll ever be older than 7 and figuring out how to make us toast.