#? i guess i’ll tag it like that

[doodlecrumb]

Marauders fandom!! You have been summoned. Look! It’s a James! Feast thine eyes! (I’m sorry, do what you want. I’m not the boss of you. Have a nice day.)

[800db-cloud]

i’ve been wanting to do this since day one

[obamerzslop]

I can’t stop drawing in mspaint I’m in mspain. Anyway here’s more of these funky men :]

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

I’m having way too much fun with scully’s suits

[whalesharkstho]

incredibly self indulgent one piece doodle :P

[cozymochi]

Jamtia or tiabek make ur choice now

Aight I don’t normally DO the ship thing 😩 Why you little— BUT, OKAY how about remember SR Sebek Zigvolt Ceremonial Robes vignette Part 1 WITH THE—-

this is a real moment that actually happened and if I could pay tribute to one thing—

[toriowlfluff]

Back on my bs, this time with my take on Floyd’s post trauma design!

[overtake]

Was on a train from Berlin to Amsterdam after Euro quarters and thought what if backpacking Daniel (late 20s, mild crisis about what he wants from life has led to him bumming around Europe) and football fanatic Max (just finished university, his teaching job begins next school term) were also on a train from Berlin to Amsterdam after Euro quarters

Daniel’s greasy curls are matted against his oily face and he can still catch pungent whiffs of last night's nauseating adventures, despite the two showers with gritty bars of hotel soap he’d taken before running for this train. His hair has dried down gross and stringy, crushed against the hood of the jumper he should not need in July. Suffice it to say, he is not looking nor feeling his best, and it manifests in his arms trembling as they weakly attempt to throw his oversized duffle bag onto the train rack.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters. He’s never been this hungover in his life, probably. His mouth tastes like stale beer and his eyes feel like sandpaper, and he’d really like his body to stop shaking.

“Do you need help?” A voice says from behind him, sounding lightly amused at his suffering. He turns — too quickly, very bad idea for his dizziness — to see a guy around his height but twice as broad, an orange Dutch national team kit stretched tight across his wide shoulders and showing off the round shape of his soft chest. There’s remnants of last night’s face paint still on edges of his cheekbones, the heavily smeared lines vaguely resembling what was once Holland’s flag. Blond-brown hair pokes out the edges of a garish bucket hat, and a crowd of friends in their own patriotic attire behind him are observing them with interest.

How these guys escaped the Euros viewing less fucked up than an Australian watching the sport for the first time is beyond Daniel’s comprehension, but he’s too grateful for the assistance to do much more than grunt an assent and thank you as the guy reaches up and pushes Daniel’s bag up the final few centimetres.

Daniel heaves out a grateful breath and collapses into the open seat below his settled bag, prepared to curl up against the window and contemplate all his life decisions on the six hour train journey and attempt to not spew in a public and embarrassing manner.

Dutch guy glances over at his friends, who have taken up three of the four seats at a table, and then, insanely and without invitation, seats himself right next to Daniel.

“Big night last night?”

Daniel stares at him for half a second, trying to make his brain come online enough to form words. “Uh, yeah. Was in the fan zone. Don’t think I stopped drinking until two hours ago.”

The guy offers him a big, crinkly smile. “Oh, same. Haven’t slept yet.”

“How are you so put together?” Daniel asks. He grimaces as the train begins to move, throwing one arm over his eyes and squeezing them tightly shut until the motion sickness eases ever so slightly. “I’m going to die, I think.”

“Practice,” the guy says solemnly, patting Daniel’s shoulder sympathetically, then letting it linger for a few seconds longer. Oh. Oh. Daniel’s too hungover to even think about the movement involved in sex right now, but like, yeah. This guy is big and strong and hot, and he’s quietly pleased with himself that he can pull even looking and smelling like this.

“I might need some of your training,” he says, flashing a big smile and then remembering the food stuck between his teeth that he couldn’t get out with brushing, floss long lost in the depths of his hellhole bag. He purses his lips together quickly, trying to hide the evidence.

Hot Dutch boy doesn’t seem to notice anyway. He just pulls a water bottle from his blue backpack, propped carefully on the fine hair dusting his delicious thighs, and offers it to Daniel. There’s a fancy luggage tag on his bag, and Daniel steals a glance at the MEV spelled out in delicate gold letting. Very cute, him branding a cheap backpack like that. “Thirsty?”

“Very,” Daniel says, gratefully taking the bottle — opened, he notices, which means these little plastic coils have been sucked between the plush pink of this guy’s lips and rested against the cute freckle decorating the top one — and swallowing down a long gulp.

“I’m Max, by the way,” he says when Daniel is done drinking, careful to ensure his fingers brush against Daniel’s hand when he takes the water back. He’s not aiming for any subtly in his intentions, particularly not with the intense stare he’s directing at where Daniel licks the remaining droplets of water from around his mouth.

“Daniel,” he responds in kind. When Max has placed his water back into its pocket, he takes Max’s hand and pumps it dramatically. “Enchanté, Max.”

Max has long fingers, his nails short but well-groomed. They’re a sharp contrast to Daniel’s bitten stubs, the edges of his thumbs permanently red and half-bleeding. The dark hair of Max’s arms trails up to his hands, which are moisturized, strong, and big enough to wrap around the expanse of Daniel’s throat.

“Will you be staying in Amsterdam long?” Max asks.

Daniel shrugs, tapping one worn-down, stained Van against Max’s navy blue sneakers. “Dunno. I could be convinced to extend my trip if I had a good tour guide.”

He knows Max’s friends are listening in, can see them whispering and giggling and taking photos to probably send in a larger group chat, but he focuses his attention on Max’s pretty blue eyes and the way Max’s hand is still loosely holding his.

“I don’t actually live in Amsterdam,” Max admits. He bites at his lower lip, dragging it through his straight, pearly-white teeth. “But I don’t mind sticking around for a bit.”

One of Max’s entourage leans over, says something to Max in Dutch that sounds like a protest, but a dark-haired boy slaps him in the stomach to shut him up and rolls his eyes at Daniel as if to apologize for his friend’s behaviour.

“You can rent a car and drive yourselves back,” Max snaps at him in English, then turns his soft attention back to Daniel. “So, tour guide. I better work on a good list while you sleep.”

Daniel drops his head down to Max’s shoulder, already making a plan for how he can casually rearrange his body to end up with his head on those plush thighs. “I guess we should find a few things to do around the city while the cleaners replace our sheets, yeah.”

Max laughs. “Do you enjoy football? We can go out and watch semis together, maybe.”

“To be honest, I’d never watched before,” Daniel admits. “I’m mostly into UFC. I just thought it seemed like a good time.”

Max brushes his fingers through Daniel’s gross hair as if it’s something soft and precious. “I’ll explain it all to you. It’s really such a good sport. Do you know anything about English football? Virgil plays for Liverpool.”

He’s off after that, explaining leagues and players and rules to Daniel, doing all these cute hand gestures and making himself laugh with all his little jokes. Daniel doesn’t even mind that he can’t drift off to sleep. He’s content listening to the rumble of Max’s voice, steady like the movement of the train, as he curls himself up into a tiny ball to rest his cheek on the smooth, pale skin spreading out of Max’s terrible khaki shorts.

He thinks he’ll like Amsterdam.

[stars-obsession-pit]

Right Actions, Wrong Target

So i just had an idea…

What if the GIW’s course of action was actually right?

Or, well, more accurately: what if it was mostly right for the situation they started in, and their main failures were in where they took it from there.

Expanding on my ideas/thought process here:

So in this idea, the GIW was founded in response to a specific discovery by the government:

An underground pool of a strange substance that didn’t resemble any known chemical. It glowed a toxic green, perpetually churned as if boiling, could be lethal to the touch for living things, and could cause things to spontaneously animate in the area around it.

Stagnant, corrupted ectoplasm (not that they had any idea what ectoplasm even was at the time).

Those original researchers encountered ectoplasmic entities around the pit, but not ones like those in Amity Park.

Inhuman things.

Shades whose memories of life had all but faded except for the strongest emotions (usually negative emotions like anger, pain, or fear). Animals driven mad by the pit’s influence. Reanimated food and other organic material.

Things that objectively were dangerous to normal people and that couldn’t be meaningfully communicated with.

So, lacking any better option to respond (or even the knowledge of if such a path was possible at all), they set protocols to contain (and, potentially, dispose of) the entities.

And this is perhaps a bit of a tangent but their ridiculous uniform cleanliness standards could also have a justification too.

The unknown substance would eat through or change just about any material they tested it on. Considering the dangers they had already witnessed it pose to living things (never mind the possibility of other long-term side effects), they decided they had to be extraordinarily careful with their safety precautions.

Thus, incredibly thorough decontamination protocols were set up and strictly adhered to.

White clothes were the best option to allow easy identification of any stains. For agents in the field without proper equipment to run a full scan, it was safer to treat all dirt like a potential hazard.

And so on.

Their policies may not have been perfect, but were created with actual logic behind them in response to their situation at the time.

But then when they expanded outwards to research other similar phenomena, that’s where they truly failed, both as scientists and as basic moral people.

They didn’t adapt to new data. Rules that had been created with scientific reasoning behind them became instead a form of gospel and a means of exerting control over others.

They declared that all ghosts were unfeeling monsters to be locked up, studied, and disposed of (despite all evidence to the contrary). Cleanliness changed from a precaution to a ritual to be practiced unfailingly in all circumstances as a sign of loyalty (thus the “cleanliness breach” thing the agents comment on in the show in a few places).

[aceofthyme]

obsessed with this instagram account that I'm now following that's just. a travel journal, basically, for one of those Marty McFly teddy bears, like

how cute is this??

[sweetest-honeybee]

Me: I don’t think I’m gonna do ship stuff

Also me: Okay but hear me out-

[mars-ipan]

y’know i was talking about genderfluidity and trying to find a way to make my body as satisfying as possible for me with my mom and i mentioned not wanting top surgery but instead wanting to get tattoos of the scars and she worried about it coming off as offensive to other trans folks or people who’ve had mastectomies. SO i figured i’d ask the people of these communities myself!

*a realistic tattoo would be designed to look as accurate to actual scars as possible, whereas a stylized tattoo would be more cartoony- think the “eyelash/starburst” scars you see in a lot of transmasc art

reblogging for sample size would help me out a ton with gauging community opinions and such but obvi there’s no pressure :] just looking to know how ppl feel! thanks in advance folks

[phantomrose96]

I started Harrow the Ninth and I gotta say… the second-person is a hard sell

[only-lonely-www]

Hello

[hoshizoralone]

never posted her here. my utau lilith that i made last year for cv fest! it’s cv fest again so i might do something with her… and i liked this design i came up with :^)

sounds like this:

(katayoku no tori vsq by justin yuuki and edited by me).

partnered with rice’s utau phillip (check out this cover) and also partially circus’s aido vb he made during cv fest last year (because he held me at gunpoint to record her).

and extra arts of her and janly (last art done by yan).

[vindikat]

Okay I don’t even read much fic but @elodieunderglass got me with the dungeon meshi/his dark materials crossover (His Delicious Materials) so here is my best girl Palinode with Kensuke.

I am much better at drawing cats than dogs but grandad had a Great Pyrenees so they will always have a special place in my heart.