Thinking of opening art commissions with ko-fi and paypal but I’m scared... So to start out, I’m willing to draw the first 15 to reblog this with their self insert (as reference) & I’ll draw you an icon of them (for free) but if you’d like,,, *cough* *cough* *coffee*
Anything is appreciated. Any reblogs after 15, I’ll do 10 more and the self insert icons will be uncolored. After that, they will no longer be free(or whatever you’re willing to donate) and will be $6 for sketch and $9 for color.
Check my #myart tag for reference on how I draw. If you donate, please leave your blog name so that I can thank you!! Reblogs for promotion(with or without wanting an icon) are appreciated! Thank you!
Ps. I’m only willing to do human/humanoid based drawings as mechas are not my strong suit ^^;
My motherly ways has immediately clung onto each of them, Kay Kay, what do I do, I'm screaming because the one with the scar on his arm basically just told me: "Then Perish" and my immediate thought way: "EXCELENT IDEA."
User's physical and mental abilities are glaringly, obviously and super/unnaturally superior over others in their universe because their capabilities are far beyond natural levels, making them immensely stronger, faster, durable and smarter than regular beings (in that verse).
i decided to write some Patrick on this night. here’s some 4 30 AM Andersen angst!
warning for implied attempted consensual s5x, and some blood!
“Please, just breathe.”
There was a spray of blood when Patrick coughed, sending a fresh wave of warmth over the side of your neck. You groaned, his weight settled right on your shoulder as you struggled to shuffle to his table in this lofty basement, gently trying to maneuver him while simultaneously shifting his weight off of your sore muscle. He collapsed backwards into the chair unceremoniously, coughing again and licking blood away from his lower lip.
“I’m trying.” He laughed without humor, a wheezy sound that only served to deliver an arc of pain through his lungs. “What are you doing in the neigh–” He hacked, stooping over the table and groaning as he spat blood and phlegm onto the concrete. “…shit… –in the neighborhood?”
“I just wanted to help…” You trailed off, fumbling a handful of tissues out of your pocket and pressing it to his mouth. “… To help Michael.” You finished, wiping away the spittle on his chin as he heaved, looking back at you through dark circles. There was a brightness in his eyes that faded when you said this.
“No one can help Michael. But me, that is…” he insisted, grabbing your wrist softly, as if with intent to twist but hesitation spoiled the thought. He stared down at your fingers, wrapped around the blood speckled napkin. “He doesn’t want help. He loves his pain.” His grip hardened and he tugged you forward. There was sweat under his cologne, blood on his teeth when he grazed them over your lips.
“He…” You were starting to forget your words as they came to you. “He looked so tired in his videos, I didn’t want to leave him alone. Shaun did, and I can’t.”
“Shaun will come back, you didn’t come for Michael.” Patrick’s arm looped around your waist, and in one fluid motion, he had you in his lap, looking up into your eyes as he squeezed his bony digits into your wrist. “Admit that you came for me.” Despite his words, the brightness returned in his eyes, and you understood what it meant.
Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone, either. You furrowed your eyebrows and sighed, letting your head fall forward and rest on his shoulder. He buried his face in your neck, leaving feverish kisses, attempts to coax you to stay the night, so he could coax you to stay for breakfast, so he could coax you to stay the night again.
“Patrick…” You twisted your wrist in his grip. He pulled harder, hard enough to rip the seams on a doll. You felt yourself tearing. “Patrick!” You yanked yourself free, stumbling back and to your feet. He looked defeated, bleeding from the nose in his chair, his eyes bright and desperate. Bright and begging. Nothing left his mouth.
“I came for Michael.” You straightened your shirt, forcing yourself to look away. Nothing left his mouth. “Clearly he isn’t here.” You felt yourself tearing. He still had his fingers dug between your seams as you walked away. You tore more and more as you left, as you drove home. The thread held despite.
She wanted Niles from Fire Emblem, I tried! I'm not good at hair and it looked millions times better like this. I'm not good at digital art so yeah... Hope you like!