I Drew Some Pride Flag Tiles! (1/2) (part 2 In The Reblogs!!)

“You look great hun”

I redrew the lily pad pond with some fish because I wasn’t happy with the other one.

Please tell me what you think? I quite like this one.

(No reposts! Reblogging is always appreciated though!)

I'm offering £20/$27.72 full colour bust commissions (cheaper than usual)

I need at least three or four if I want to make it to my next loan installment

Pls dm me if you want a commission

I don't draw furries, only humans (I can't draw animals)

Payment will be through paypal

Examples of my art:

Pls reblog I beg

So when I send my husband off to war, well, I’m the one setting it up so I’ll always be more powerful than you. // Your job is not to steal cookies, your job is to take everyone else’s lives.

[click for better quality]

I drew these

Ace

Pan

Bi

Aro

Trans

(No reposting! Reblogging is always appreciated though!)

repeat after me:

even if i don’t like my body today i will take care of it

even if i don’t like myself today i will still be patient and kind with myself

even if i do not love myself i will still take care of and be kind to myself, despite not wanting to

Aletheia, a Scott centric Empires SMP x 3rd Life fanfic

No warnings, 4301 words. Past Scott/Jimmy. Angst and emotional hurt. 

Read on ao3 here! 

Summary:

Aletheia: unclosedness, unconcealedness, disclosure, truth; the state of not being hidden, the state of being evident. Opposite of Lethe, meaning oblivion, forgetfulness, concealment.

Scott remembers Third Life, as much as he would rather not. He’s an Emperor, now, with an Emperor’s business to attend to, and that includes meeting with the ancient deer deity of his kingdom, who is far more perceptive than he would like.

Or, Scott does not want to talk about Jimmy, but that matters little when your new god can read your thoughts.

Excerpt:

He meets the Guardian of Rivendell in a small clearing of stone and spruce in a jagged crack in the mountainside only accessible by air and by magic.

It’s snow-frosted, like everything else in Rivendell, crystals hanging from pine needles and glittering in the afternoon sun, grass crunching beneath his footfalls. The trees are tall and dark and reaching for the sky in their cloaks of wintergreen, berry bushes and brambles a circlet upon the earth’s burdened brow. The berries are holly, yew, toxic-bright, like splashes of blood, like eyes. The thought startles Scott, heart throbbing in his throat, and he tears his own eyes- blue eyes- away.

He is alone and then he is not.

Why did you call me, Guardian?

You are troubled. Now, come and talk with me a while.

Please reblog if you think that “they/them/theirs” is a valid set of pronouns.

Trying to make a point to my father.