loakamossi

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might be my favourite post ever from the twitter menswear guy

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The first rule of Fight Club is that fights can neither be created nor destroyed

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Op turned off reblogs but I think everyone should see it

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tumblr discourse after 13 years on this fucking website

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2023 Art Archive is out now on Gumroad!! Just $5 for 600++ pics https://pswkua.gumroad.com/l/pkmsz

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In the club

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Over 10 years ago I drew this mother naga with her kid and a bowl of gulab jamun, and I was blown away to see people still reblogging it and saying kind things here. I decided to draw a sequel, the PTA (People That are Anacondas) meeting is over, and she finally gets to have some gulab jamun. c: I really hope this cheers you up some.

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my lowest moment

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when you're feeling full hater mode about a piece of media but you know one of your beloved mutuals enjoys it

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some aa doodles i did while procrastinating

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i saw a sub/dub comparison of this scene on youtube years ago and it has refused to leave my mind ever since so i'm recreating it here since i can't find the original video anymore

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THE SHAPE MY FUCKING CAT IS MAKING RIGHT NOW?

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you dont have to be a picklepuss to enjoy sinking your teeth into the green, juicy, crisp fruit of the improved cucumber 

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“There you are…”

The warden's voice is soft, almost tender, as if afraid to disturb the fragile quiet of the satin-lined cell. She pulls the hood back slowly, letting the smooth fabric slide over Byulu’s hair. Her fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary, brushing against Byulu’s cheek.

“I knew they’d cover that face. They always do. Rules and all… but it’s a shame, really. You’ve got the kind of face that makes people forget why you’re here.”

She steps back, tilting her head as if admiring a painting, her lips curving into a faint, bittersweet smile.

“You look like someone who should be anywhere but here. At a park. A library. Not… in this place. Not in this cage of satin.”

The warden’s voice lowers, almost conspiratorial now.

“They call it maximum security, but it feels like a dollhouse to me. They dress you in satin as if to soften the bars. As if the fabric could change what this place really is. But it doesn’t. Does it?”

Her eyes flicker with something unreadable—regret? Curiosity?

“I don’t care what they say you’ve done. That face… it’s not one meant for darkness. So I’ll keep looking at it. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll pretend for a little while longer that you’re as innocent as you look.”

She exhales, quiet and slow, her fingers twitching like she wants to reach out again but doesn’t.

“Don’t give them a reason to put the hood back on, Byulu. I don’t want to lose sight of you.”

She lingers for a heartbeat more, then turns, the whisper of satin the only sound as she walks away.

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Meanwhile in a maximum security satin prison, all of its masked prisoners were being roll called.

"Inmate Byulu! Hands behind your head while we inspect your cell."

"Hmmphh mmph mmh mmph!"

The masked inmate's hand slowly reached to her own bust and crotch. The hands began massaging them. She knows that if she was caught, she might be punished.

...by her favorite warden, that is.

"...mmngh. mmmnghm..."