Latest Posts by shadydoodlesr - Page 5

I love seeing people’s picrew art styles because you can just look at them and be like

“You read homestuck and it was a big part of your life for a few years, you’re not into steven universe but you did watch it, and you had an intense black butler phase in middle school and doodled their eyes over and over again in your spiral notebooks”

i remember getting my hair cut short and the lady cutting my hair was like “i wanna style my hair like this but my husband doesnt like it :(” 

like,,,is?? i dont unde rst and/ ?? this aint about him ma’am tbh @ my fellow homies ur partner should love u no matter what u do w ur body 

“my husband wont like it” tch,,pshh,,scoff,,smhuh,, the gall the nerve the audacity 

The two types of fantasy writers

1. Feverishly calculating the body mass of your dragon species, spent 5 hours last night researching the origins of steel, losing sleep over horseshoes, 20 tabs open, should a cockatrice be warm-blooded?, will die if they don’t immediately figure out when honeybees were first domesticated

2.

y’all… u dont understand how much writing in the tags of someone’s creation means to them.. whether it’s fanart, a graphic, fanfic..,, there’s a 99% chance that person looks through their tags and a single opinionated comment in the tags can rlly brighten their day it’s just a rlly wonderful thing to see

oc redesign: 2016 batch edition

hehe joongi

u guys heard of those cool automaton twins

bonus: 

reblog my art

i didnt wanna make myself but i made some ocs w it !! (order of appearance: yeonhwa,suzanne, meiyun)

i’m addicted to these picrew things!! –> https://picrew.me/image_maker/114808

oc redesign: 2016 batch edition

hehe joongi

u guys heard of those cool automaton twins

bonus: 

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE GUESS WHO HAS A NEW TABLET, BITCHES ME AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

dont reupload

hi my name’s shady and ive become a manager of bts bangtan crackheadtan

ignore this ive just been playing bts world for like 3 days straight and i wanted to draw myself again

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE GUESS WHO HAS A NEW TABLET, BITCHES ME AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

dont reupload

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE GUESS WHO HAS A NEW TABLET, BITCHES ME AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

dont reupload

alrighty until my tablet arrives in a few days i decided to do this art vs artist thing

yes my face is a void im sorry okay not everyone can live up to society’s wackass beauty standards

anyways--yknow what’s woke? experimenting with different styles, which is what i’ve been doing, as u can see here. I can’t really pin down one, but these are the ones I gravitate towards the most!! hope this is fun to look at

dont reupload or i eat ur knees

hey guess who isnt dead me. it’s me who isnt dead

anyways im back n kicking (hopefully) so here’s a screenshot redraw!

drama: Lawless Attorney art below by: me do not: reupload please: reblog hotel: trivago

studies dont reupload

messing around, thinking about spidergirl, designing a new costume

oc headshots i did to experiment w some new styles/techniques

1st one: jun 2nd one: estrella

dont reupload

Do you still like to draw TF?

no

studies dont reupload

oc headshots i did to experiment w some new styles/techniques

1st one: jun 2nd one: estrella

dont reupload

hey guess who isnt dead me. it’s me who isnt dead

anyways im back n kicking (hopefully) so here’s a screenshot redraw!

drama: Lawless Attorney art below by: me do not: reupload please: reblog hotel: trivago

I FINALLY MADE ONE OF MY OWN!! It’s not the bets but I’m happy with it.

when i was young, i was taught to be strong

I believe that I was born a romantic. I believe that we all are–we are born with the ability to see the shapes in every cloud, the sword in every stick, the magical creature in every pet. I believe we are born with the ability to see a magical forest in every garden, and royalty and nobility in every friend that we make. We are born with the ability to see magic, and we are born with a love of love.

I believe that I lost that romanticism when I was young.

I believe I lost it when my mother refused to hold my hand. She had been angry at me, and she yanked her hand away from mine whenever I reached for it. I was six.

I believe I lost it when my father mocked my brother for crying when we left the Philippines after a trip to see our family. He was seven. I believe I lost it when my father, in the same breath, called me the man of the family because I refused to cry. He valued masculinity, and as a child all I wanted his approval, because he never gave it to me. I was ten. I remember it vividly as one of the few moments I felt seen.

I believe I lost it when my mother explained to me, day after day after day, how stupid she found women who valued love above all else. How kindness was an act of submission, how having feelings in and of itself was weak. That may not have been what she said–but it was what I internalised.

My brother cried every time he heard our parents arguing, which was almost every night. I would tell him to stop acting like a child. I would read through the screaming and block out my brother’s sobs, rolling my eyes dismissively every time I heard him sniffle. I believe he lost his romanticism then. He doesn’t cry anymore. We’re close–but he’s no longer as kind as he was when we were young.

We lost our romanticism when our parents decided the best way to discipline us would be to attack our character–to call us stupid, lazy, worthless. Sponges, useless, failures. And if we cried, we were weak.

So we learned to be strong. I learned to be strong. I learned to be mean and to scoff at magic, at softness, at love–all the things I adored and wanted so badly. I learned to never cry, not even privately, that empathy was wrong, and that I was worthless unless I followed these tenets.

My parents are very different people now. Before I left home, my father told me he loved me, and I couldn’t say it back. Three words I’d longed to hear since childhood, and I didn’t believe it was real. It didn’t feel real. It felt like him trying to make excuses as to why I should stay–stay because it’ll be hard on your own, stay because you’ll have a hard time living with your grandparents, stay because I love you. But I left. I didn’t cry when I left home. I didn’t cry when my sister said goodbye. I didn’t cry when my brother gave me his fidget toy unprompted as a goodbye gift. I didn’t cry when my mother finally left me alone, after staying with me for two weeks.

I wish I had. If this is what strength is, then I am tired of being strong. I want to be weak–I want to romanticise things again. I want to cry and I want to be able to admit it without feeling shame. I want to love and laugh and be kind. I want, so dearly, to be soft.

I will begin by admitting that as I type this my tears stain the keyboard. I will begin by admitting that I am afraid of posting this, of my friends seeing me differently and of people seeing me as naive. I am afraid of people seeing just how weak I actually am, but I refuse to let myself be scared any longer.

I am not actually touch averse, as I have told many of my friends. I just don’t know how to handle affection. I’m scared that they’ll actually be able to feel how much I want to be held. I’m scared they will pull away because of it.

I am one of those lovestruck people my mother loved to complain about. I want to fall in love–I want to fall hard and deeply. I want to be the devoted partner. I want to feel as though there is at least one person who is safe. I want the fairy tale wedding and the whirlwind romance. I want cheesy pet names and dancing in the kitchen at 3 am. I want to hold hands and buy them flowers and argue over whose turn it is to pick the movie. I want to love someone, and be loved back.

I want to believe in magic again. I want to go back to seeing Excalibur in every broken branch. I want to go back to believing in fairies and mermaids and that I could see them hiding in the trees and the crests of each wave.

I want to feel beautiful, and I can only feel beautiful if I allow myself to be kind, not only to others but to myself. There is no shame in empathy, in compassion, in kindness–perhaps Cinderella was onto something after all. I believe there is virtue in throwing your love into the world, even when it chews you up and spits you back out. There is virtue in refusing to participate in a circle of hate. There is virtue in proclaiming that it ends with you. There is strength in being soft, real strength, and that is the strength I now wish to embody.

I am trying to recover my romanticism. I still have to fight the part of me that wants to be hard, scary, and respected–but I have to believe I live in a world where softness can garner respect instead of scorn, because I no longer wish to exist in a world where softness does not exist.

Kindness is not an act of submission. Softness is not a loss.

For me, softness is my victory.

ayo im p sure u guys are wondering where my art is

well it s coming soon

be patient

in the meantime follow this bi positivity blog my buddy @vent-gh0st and i started up because. we could. lol

anyways it s

https://honeybee-beesexual.tumblr.com/bios

ok bye ily