#flea does art

[fleeaaguutz]

File got fucked up

gonna keep playing with the Fullbody I was doing in my spare time but to make up for it here’s my new icon :)

Slight difference but not really that big🤟

Throwing the body Vers here anyways even if it flattened my layers I’m still decently proud of it :3

Feel free to use <3

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

Image description: A portrait painting of the character Wriopthesley from Genshin Impact in a more detailed, semi-realistic style. He has black hair with grey streaks, styled messily in a way that makes it look like wolf ears. His eyes are a stormy grey, with the smallest hint of blue. There are simple black studs on each of his earlobes, and a couple of vague cartilage piercings that's almost hidden under his hair.

He's topless, rendered on a plain white background, and is shown from his collarbones up. His shoulders are covered in more scars, from tiny scuffs to large spreads that looked like burns or bad scrapes. He has a bit of stubbles, unlike his canon design, and his eyes are dark and sunken. Aside from the canon scar under his right eye, he also has many other less distinct scar on his face. A scratch on his lip, one across his nose bridge that lines up with another cut on his left brow, a couple of old, healed tears on his jaws and cheeks, spots on his forehead, etc.

The grey streaks carry on in his right eyelashes, where a small section framing the outer corner of his eye is light grey instead of black, and he has a streak of grey in his right eyebrow.

[bitterlyromantic]

hands behind his back like a good little boy..

[fle4floves]

May I offer you an edit in these trying times

[marblellous]

u should all read mince meat by heeblebeeble on webtoon so we can talk about this guy

[xamaxenta]

My gf is like im struggling with this pose im drawing and im like oh yeah lemme see

And she deflects like its bad and then fuckigng shows me an absolute banger of a sketch and im just 💀 bitch this is so good

[mokeonn]

She actually started doing craft shows, events, and garden shows as a vendor post 2020 after covid shut her gallery down. So no, it's not because she got started before the internet was a big thing.

All of the advice I was personally given and witnessed for myself (find a niche, selling art is all about networking and getting repeat customers, word of mouth is a powerful tool, the words you use when selling or marketing your art matter, etc etc) can all apply to an online space as well, tbh. It's not all about luck, sure luck plays a part in it, but saying that the only way you can make a living off of art is with pure luck, is a pretty surefire way to make you hate art and see it as nothing but a numbers game (speaking from experience).

Also I will add the disclaimer that I AM speaking from an area with a large and thriving art scene and tourism scene. It's far easier to find galleries and shops to sign consignment with or find events you can vendor at in a place like Florida compared to a state like Idaho.

No, I don't think the recent problem with a lack of third places, and people do, in fact, want to pay for handicrafts. I think this mindset is honestly pretty limiting because it's just shoving the reasons why something might not be working to the forefront and getting upset because those things are out of your control, instead of focusing on the things you do have control over and working on improving those. Like you can't control if someone doesn't want to pay for your art, but you shouldn't market to that person, you should market to the person who does. Because that person who doesn't want to pay is probably never going to want to pay.

Like, I am quite literally working for this artist as my job, I have been to shows, I have worked with shows, I have talked to people, and I do plan on starting my own little business! I am very lucky to have a mentor and a friend who has helped me find confidence in myself, my art, and helped me realize there is a career in art! It's a lot of work, but it is doable. There's more to it than luck and there being more places for people to regularly go to, and a lot of it really does come down to you.

Unfortunately, it's not luck. It's worse. It's marketing.

I think at some point in time we need to sit down and start explaining to artist who want to make a career out of art that there are FAR more options than just "living off of commissions" and "posting my art online and praying I get paid for it".

[unmotivational-motivation]

the canine inside of you is a dog. it is poorly bred

I'd give credit to the OA but I have no idea who it is, and tbh i never expected to post this outside of where it was made. Fuck them and fuck me ig.

Also a continuation of the begrudging respect I have for furries in the general population (not nazi furries tho, them their non-fur suited brethren can stay sexually unsatisfied and their orientation 180 degrees from current) as their understanding of the animal inside them is a lot better than the alphas/beta/sigma GRINDSET trad blokes this was made to mock.

[hazbinsandweirdos]

Me taking a moment to appreciate how hot Arackniss turned out in this.

I need to love on my art more

[catboygirljoker]

it will be done tomorrow lord willing and the water dont rise

was planning on spending all day today on day 6 and then i literally did not sleep at all last night . and spent all of my drawing time today just, fiddling with the proportions on the sketch i have

[fleeaaguutz]

i love how you draw Copia and his sexy monster thighs yesssssss

For you my dearest oak, a morning quickie of my favorite principessa:

I just woke up and scribbled this

Really though, thank you Ghestie, I am a leg lover and thick thighs on copia is Lucifer’s gift to us all 💅🧎🙇

[seat-safety-switch]

How did you spend your Tuesday evening? For me it was the usual same ol' routine. Getting fucked up on 3D-printed recreational elephant tranquilizer, and watching the out-of-work circus acrobats at the flea market kick the shit out of each other behind the dumpster with Devil Sticks.

I love the flea market, and not just for the freak battle. It's got a great cross-section of humanity, all coming there to argue that a $25 wood plane should be a $20 wood plane. In recent years, though, this proletarian appeal has started to wane. A lot of the booths have been replaced with expensive handmade art, and the food court now has received – and passed! – a health inspection. All this means that there's less opportunity for deals on cool old junk, which is my entire reason for existence.

In the time we have left before the flea market is completely converted to luxury condominiums sitting atop a "farmer's market" selling $35 jars of honey, I must be sure to make the most out of its unique social appeal. Hence the circus acrobats, which to their credit are not out of work because they were fired.

Timmy and Tommy were in fact abandoned by the circus, because their ringmaster is notoriously conflict-averse and simply did not want to tell them that they were flagged as "unwanted" by the carnival investment group. This does not lessen their aggression towards one another in any way. It does, however, make them about as unemployable as yours truly, which means we can be great friends. They're there all day, and sometimes they give me a call when Old Man Johanssen puts out a fresh batch of slightly dented hubcaps at his table. For this vigilance, their only price is the occasional food-court churro, which is now guaranteed by the municipal government to contain less e.coli than you would expect.

What will happen to them when the flea market fades? I asked them this last Tuesday, and through the haze of pachyderm pacification prescriptions, they told me that by then they plan to have started their own circus. Get revenge on those who ditched them, and all that. If the plan doesn't work out, though, they can always go back to their first love: investment banking.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Disease Template

Because you are a sick bastard that wants to maim, injure and kill thousands or millions or even billions of people characters in your story.

I did a ton of research to create this list. And I'm probably the only one really interested in it. I created the three major classes: Parasites, viruses, and bacteria. I also considered genetic factors.

I looked up a lot of wikipedia pages on various diseases, looked up parasites of various types (the type that kill, maim and bother), looked up CDC pages, and also fictional diseases to make sure I wasn't missing anything.

Cholera, foot and mouth, Scarlet fever, Huntington's chorea, Huntington's, Foot and Mouth, etc. So Congenital and pandemic type—you have to strike off items of made up congenital/genetic diseases, but that shouldn't be too difficult. (N/A it)

Slight note here, but I am kinda sick (haha) of people using Zombie virus type of things to reinforce colonialism, Neoliberalism, and pro-oppression narratives. Haha, white person getting attacked by zombies because they are going to take over and that white person is a Southern US person doesn't quite read like you think it does considering that zombies were an allegory about becoming slaves. Looks like a slave uprising, in which case, the zombies should win over that white person's butt. The original Zombie Mythology was supposed to do the exact opposite. I would hope that people would honor and remember what the original mythology was about.

So when you do diseases, etc, think about *how* you are going to portray it and the people who have it carefully. I've done some of that work. Also, this isn't ND sort of things or creating a new ND. Creating a new ND, I think takes a lot more knowledge and thought since it doesn't affect everyone.

Should not have to be said, but please don't steal the template and then say "I came up with this idea". I genuinely took weeks of research to come up with this list. It's free, link it/reblog it if you like it.

Disease Name

Name Information Scientific Name:

Scientific Classification:

Name Meaning:

IPA Pronounce:

Common Names:

Common Name Meanings:

Subspecies:

Taxonomy Who Discovered it:

Date of Discovery:

Subsequent Famous Scientists:

Anatomy Pathogen Type: (Bacteria/Virus/Parasite) Body’s Biome:

Cell Target:

Symptoms:

Severe Version:

Severe Version Symptoms:

Subtypes:

Symptoms:

Complications:

Epidemiology Origin species:

Species Found In:

Geographical Origin:

Geographic Hotspots:

Transmission: (Water, air, food, rodents, fleas, mosquitoes, water droplets, etc) Infection Rate:

Incubation Time:

Carrier Rate:

Resistances: (heat, cold, drugs) Infected Population Number:

Inflicted Population Type: (Female, males, children, Elderly) Mutation Rate:

Death Rate:

Diagnosis and Treatments Diagnosis Methods:

Severe Version Diagnosis:

Medicines:

Folk Cures:

Vaccination:

Prevention Methods:

Mortality Rate:

Post Disease Syndrome:

Post Disease Symptoms:

Additional Notes:

Human Relationship Stigma Level:

Social Impacts: (Can they donate blood, etc) Visibility:

Public Awareness:

Misconceptions:

Economic Impact:

Famous Deaths:

Famous Art:

Mythology/Religion:

Literature:

History Major Outbreaks:

Pandemic Dates:

General:

Miscellaneous Background:

Notes:

[artdcnaldson]

(https://www.tumblr.com/artdcnaldson/754864459441405952/have-a-new-fic-idea-based-around-being-art-and?source=share)

Oohhh, and you start to put on walls again, and ArTashi can't figure out what's going on, maybe just stress (I love them, but they can't always read what the other needs) while you try to separate and get comfortable with being just you again bc you're sure they'll fire you and tell you to be well and send you back to your poor little house

Exactlyyyy exactly!

You’re so caught up in your own insecurities about your position within the relationship and within the family that you don’t even recognize the ways they’re still trying to include you. Like Art has you tugged against his side while you’re watching a movie, or he’s holding your hand, but he looks at Patrick a few times and you take it as a personal slight. Tashi is so caught up in coaching Patrick that you lose a little bit of the time you have with her in the evenings, drinking wine and talking and just being together.

They bring Patrick into the bedroom and you look at him like a flea ridden dog. Has he been tested? (Yes) and that you don’t want to touch him (You don’t have to). But you have to watch them touch him, kiss him, lavish him with all the attention that used to be yours. Like one of the cuckoo birds that implant themselves in nests and steal all the nourishment from the real babies.

So maybe you start isolating, like you’re preparing yourself. You get distant with Tashi and Art, and that’s fine, they expect that you might just need some room to adjust. But then you start distancing from Lily, and she doesn’t know what’s going on, she just knows you’re not playing tea party or reading with her anymore and it’s upsetting.

And then there’s Patrick. Right next door, sharing a bathroom with you. Smarmy, self assured, teasing. He likes to crowd into your space, like he’s already trying to push you out. He’s an asshole, and you always leave the conversations pissed off and seething. He ruined everything, and he’s the one that gets them? What does he have that you don’t?

But you don’t know that’s just how Patrick flirts, that he likes to crawl under your skin, to make your blood run hot. Art and Tashi had trusted him when he said he’d “handle” you, that he’d win you over easy. He just didn’t expect that they’d chosen such an upright, prissy bitch for their third.

Tashi gives up on Patrick’s plan after Lily comes to her crying and asking why her nanny hates her and doesn’t want to be her friend anymore. She’ll just have to fix things herself, like she always does. God knows Art won’t be any help.

[poppy-metal]

Need to be bunny!reader trying to get on cat!Art's good side asap.

Just trying to see what he's doing before bouncing away because he glared at you. Inching closer again until you see his tail angrily sweeping the floor.

You try to share your food but he doesn't want your rabbit food (a salad) even though you got chicken in it for him. You go to sit next to him on the couch and he moves away.

:((( but when he does let you in, you'll be curling up against his tummy with his hands in your hair, spent after he fucked you stupid.

like WHY IS HE SO MEAN 🙄

treats you like you have the plauge or are infested with fleas - but you remain positive! he's very moody towards you, it hurts to see his soft side around tashi knowing he hates your presence in the house. knowing whenever tashi gives you attention he has murder on his mind. you just want him to like you <///3

but when he finally gets his brat ass tamed by tashi and he softens towards you he's such a sweet kitty <333 it's a special bond because you're alone together most of the day and you spend so much of it fucking and napping together. attached at the hip, almost. he can't get enough of your bunnycunt once he's had it once. him letting you into his favorite nap spot and fucking you there - he's still a tad mean - but this time it's in a way you like - "you're so eager for it - sloppiest little hole - " and you whine and nod and beg for it faster - he digs his claws in and you love it because he's gentle when he licks the blood after, in the afterglow. wrapping his tail around you lazily and kissing your neck.

good friends <3

[fruchtfleisch-art]

kirashino in killer queen's pov

You know what, I almost didn't do this one, thinking I had nothing interesting to say, but it turned out to be the microfic I had the most fun writing. Fittingly, this is also going to be the last microfic for this round! Thanks so much to everyone who sent in suggestions. I'm going to get back to editing some longer stuff, and hopefully posting more art soon! ---

This is the way of things. First there was one: Kira. Then another: Killer Queen.

Kira is a man with a man’s heart, a man’s appetites, a man’s joys and sorrows and petty tantrums. He keeps a house, goes to work, eats and sleeps and shits and talks sweetly to people he would happily feed feet first into a wood chipper. When his urges bubble up, hissing and spitting like hot milk over the lip of a sauce pan, that is when Killer Queen comes forward.

Killer Queen is a tool. Since it first emerged from Kira some fifteen-odd years ago, it has not changed in any fundamental way: smooth, vaguely feline in form, adorned in skulls and samurai swords, symbols it does not comprehend the full meaning of.

Killer Queen’s primary task is of separation. Separating body from person, limb from body, hand from limb, all without damaging them too much. And when Kira is finished with these disparate parts, when they begin to leak and sweat and stink of corruption, Killer Queen devours them, leaving nothing behind. That is what it does.

There are exceptions, of course, times when Killer Queen is needed for other purposes. The destruction of the snotty-nosed child whose stand swarmed them like fleas. The schoolboy who had pinned Sheer Heart Attack in place, but more importantly, stung Kira with his words, sending Killer Queen lashing out, cat-quick. Kira himself, forcing Killer Queen’s hand to sever his own, an action as painful as forcing blood to pump backwards.

Sometimes, rarely, when Kira is sunk deep into the dark well of a dream, Killer Queen is called forth for no apparent purpose at all.

It is theorized by some that deep in the mazelike folds of the brain, neurons fire almost at random, tiny messengers ignorant of the messages they carry. These cells have no comprehension of their importance, and yet the slightest scratch in cortex can render a man blind, deaf, or amnesiac, unable to remember what he had for breakfast or the face of his beloved grandmother. The world outside the body is not, a place of objective fact, but utter darkness, illuminated only by the scant and scattered efforts of a few million thready gray tendrils.

Such is the same with Killer Queen. It does not emerge because it wants to, but because it is called. The higher purpose behind the summons eludes it entirely. It does not perceive time away from the world as anything other than absence; it does not long to feel sunlight on its face, or to fight, or to kill.

Kira asks, Killer Queen answers. That’s the way of things.

On this night, Killer Queen hangs in the air like a haze, moonlight limning the pale curves and angles of its body. Its arms hang loosely at its sides. This is not Kira’s bedroom, but some other place, a place he has been spending most of his time in the last month or so. There is nothing to destroy in this room. Kira is-

a cat, a most beautiful tomcat with a silky soft coat, with lovely whiskers arranged just so, with eyes like deep blue pools, and he is cradled in the arms of a woman as she strokes his head, his cheeks, his chest. He does not understand what she is saying, but the words are soft, and when he nibbles on her finger she coos, delighted. Saliva wells from the corners of his mouth and dangles from his chin in long pearly strings.   

- deeply asleep, eyelids twitching. His face is different, but his habits are the same. His dreams are the same.

The woman, whose name does not matter, because she will be dead soon, is in the room too. She’s curled up like a pillbug next to Kira, face buried in the pillows. When he is awake, Kira wants very badly to strangle her, but he is not awake, so Killer Queen does nothing.

Outside, insects buzz and frogs peep. The dim orange light of the streetlamp flickers, throwing strange shadows over the sleepers. Devoid of intent, Killer Queen can only watch. Its unblinking eyes do not waver, its preternaturally muscular frame does not grow tired. Its focus is absolute.

It watches the woman stir and sit up, raise her arms in a stretch. It watches her leave the room, then come back with a glass of water. It watches her take a sip and place the glass on the nightstand, before sitting down on the side of the bed.

Kira sighs. The woman turns. She runs a hand through his hair, the movement slow and hesitant at first, until he shifts closer with a soft groan of contentment. His heart rate slows, his breathing steadies.

The woman says something to him, but it does not matter what, exactly, the words are. She sits and pets him, and gradually a soft noise begins to permeate the room, a noise only audible to the one person not awake to hear it. Kira-

knows her, this woman. This voice, this touch, the loose strand of reddish-brown hair tickling his fur, all are familiar. He stretches up to touch his nose to her nose, blinking at her, greeting her. His tiny pink tongue darts out to taste her. She laughs, and holds him close, and he feels content.

-is dead to the world, lost in his own private reverie.

The noise is like the idling engine of a well maintained motorcycle, or the deep-voiced treadle of an elephantine sewing machine, or the stuttering whirl and hum of a serpentine belt, spinning and spinning and spinning. It is like all of those things and none of those things.

Kira is the man, and Killer Queen is his tool, nothing more, nothing less. Nonetheless, tonight it purrs.