#spent all day working on it

[nots0nu]

New day, new post.

[millidew]

his change in career has captivated me

bonus:

[tallykale]

[hypewinter]

During a press conference for the newest Justice League member, Phantom, a reporter asks him "Do you have anything to say to all the children who aspire to be like you?"

Phantom looked at the reporter puzzled before saying, "Children wanna be like me? Why? I'm a bad influence."

[bacchuschucklefuck]

while teen while goblin while aroace while injured while doing your best

[delicourse]

lesbian pride moment 😳🌸

[choccy-milky]

older seb and clora on a job as curse-breakers💖 seb likes working with clora bc it means he can always spend time with her & keep her close, but it also still stresses him out bc of how dangerous it can be LOL. and i love worried + overprotective seb, so ofc i had to draw one of their close calls 🥺💖💖

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Quest Continues...

(part 1- part 2)

[telekitnetic-art]

slightly late to this but happy Indigenous People’s Day!! I already made a whole thread of my formline art on Twitter, so instead I just wanted to share some of my favourite formline artwork I’ve made so far here!!

[hinamie]

- wip -

u won't see this until next month but i at least wanted to share the plans

[blabberoo]

Driftcells animatic :)

[seiwas]

everytime i think about ex!bakugo, i get so emotional thinking about how he carries on with his day-to-day like the breakup didn’t happen.

he doesn’t even give himself time to mourn the relationship, to process the loss of you. he throws himself into work, practically drowning in it because he can’t bear staying idle.

you’re everywhere, still—

in the picture frames scattered around his home, in the decorative pieces that each hold their own memory. some of the clothes you returned to him smell like you.

when kirishima asks him how he is, he never answers, always redirecting the subject back to work. deku notices longer bouts of silence during joint patrols, and when he pries, bakugo’s only reply is, “s’not a concern.”

it’s unusual, because bakugo is loud and rough, he barks and barks and barks, but with this, he stays quiet.

[shroomerr]

Oh, help me God, this hellboy got me coming back for more

reblogs super appreciated !!! close-ups under the cut !

[helsensm]

farm boys Valentine's Days 💗

+ close up on the last one

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about. 

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve. 

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer. 

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too. 

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes. 

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.  

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement. 

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug. 

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

[saetoshi]

runnin’ back home to you — there’s no better feeling, really. loose pt 2 to this

You bounce on the balls of your feet, checking your watch for the nth time. There’s a flutter in your chest, wild but soft.

It’s not the first time you’ve done this—wait for Sae to come out of the airport. (Somehow, it always feels like it).

You pick at a loose thread in the hem of your shirt, twisting and turning until you feel a little pull. Again, you glance at your watch, trying to push down the lump in your throat.

He won’t take long to appear; you know. Sae’s always made it a point to avoid the reporters that mill around the baggage claim. (It was a nasty little habit you’d tried to correct, at first. Until you realized he was as desperate to see you, as you were him).

Still, the minutes feel eternal. You swear you’ve seen at least five people come out and reunite with their families.

You sigh, tipping your head back with closed eyes. Why is he taking so much longer—?

“Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”

Warmth blooms in your chest, your head settling back into place to meet a familiar pair of eyes. A grin spreads across your lips (second nature, you’ve learned). The corners of Sae’s eyes soften (also second nature).

“Hi.”

“You should be wearing a jacket,” he says, displeasure lurking in his voice.

“It’s not that cold—”

“It’s freezing,” he corrects, unzipping his windbreaker. It doesn’t take long for the scent of his cologne to envelop you, alongside a comfortable weight on your shoulders. “You should’ve waited inside.”

You blink, scrunching your nose. “It’s stuffy inside,” you reply, lightly shaking your head. “Too many people.”

He looks at you, unimpressed. “But you wouldn’t have had to stand in the cold.”

You make a face. “Sae, it’s not cold.”

“You’re shivering,” he says, gently grasping your arm before tugging you behind him as he sets off. When you reach for his suitcase, he swerves it out of your reach, sparing you a gentle glare.

“It was from excitement—do you even know where you’re going?”

Sae pauses for a second. Then, after another, turns to you, his brows furrowed. Another second later, he says, “Home.”

“What, are you gonna make us walk there?”

He clicks his tongue, slightly puffing his cheeks, petulant. His hand lightly tightens on your arm, moving you so you’re standing ahead of him.

“Take me to the car,” he says, his voice softened into a request (not a demand; never a demand, you’ve noticed).

It’s almost cute, how he still hangs on to your arm as you lead the way. You don’t want him to let go. (He doesn’t, either).

“You’re driving, right?” Sae asks, stifling a yawn. “I’m jetlagged. And real tired—too tired to do it myself, really—”

“I wouldn’t have let you, even if you weren’t,” you cut him off, a little too quick for his liking.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, his face softening when you laugh. His hand tightens around his suitcase’s handle, his lips slightly pursed as he looks at the back of your head. Softly, he adds, “Just make sure we get home quickly.”

“I’ll accept payment—”

“—in the form of kisses,” he finishes, a hint of affection to his tone. “Yeah, I know.”

“Driving faster raises the quota,” you say, turning to smile at him.

Sae tilts his head to the side just so, trying to suppress the urge to readjust his windbreaker on you. “I know,” he says, quiet. “I don’t mind.”

“You just wanna get home, hm?” you ask, your smile softening. He closes the small gap between you, leaning down to press his forehead against your own.

“I wanna go home with you,” he replies. Your heart squeezes at how cute he sounds—you relish the rare moments of this tone. “Now, preferably.”

You sigh, gentle. Then, after a second, say, “That’s gonna bump up the rate, too.”

Sae softly grunts, the sound light with humor. “How much?”

“Not much, just—y’know. Cuddling.”

He hums, his eyes full of warmth as he studies your face. “How greedy,” he mumbles, his tone humorous. Still, he lets his hand slide from your upper arm down to your own. (It never takes long for his fingers to intertwine with yours).

“So very greedy,” you say, lightly nodding in playful agreement.

“But,” he starts, gently squeezing your hand. “I can afford that, I suppose. Maybe even have more than enough to spare.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, his forehead rubbing against your own. “Yeah. I’ll always afford it—just for you.”