#idk what compelled me to draw him like this

[rarestdoge]

Cam simps come get y'all juice you freaks

[marscringe]

moon sketch

[soupmanspeaks]

Yk if Steelwool could make an easy Hundred thousand Mikemillion dollars if they put him in Secrets of the Mimic trust

[rhiangalaxy]

Shen Yuan 🤝Ning Yingying -> Being one of the few people to make Shen Qingqiu smile. (ft a bonus warmup doodle under the cut!)

[ID: A Scum Villain Drawing. Shen Jiu!Shen Qingqiu walks alongside Cat Spirit!Shen Yuan. SJ is looking towards him with a small soft smile, with one of his hands holding an open green fan and the other reaching behind SY's back. SY as a Cat Spirit is dressed in Qing Jing green and teal robes with many ribbons throughout. He has white hair, with a half-up into a ponytail do. As well as white cat ears and tail. He has both of his arms slightly up in front of him and looking up towards SJ with a smile as if talking and gesturing excitedly. Three empty word bubbles are above him to show this as well. End ID]

[ID: A Scum Villain Doodle. Characters drawn in chibi style. CS!SY looks over at SJ with a bright, semi-smug smile/look, covered in various scratches and ink stains, his hair tied up with a ribbon. An arrow points to the ribbon with a note stating 'A'Jiu's hair ribbon'. SJ looks away from SY with a slightly angry and flushed face, his hands folded behind his back with a thought bubble saying "God damn it heart why him" End ID]

[solargeist]

"So technically Grian can meet any version of himself through Xelqua !"

Xelqua becomes the YHS Grian and Grian has war flashbacks (idk I've never watched the series)

YHS isn't canon to EvoAU ! So Grian wouldn't know anything abt that.

Fun fact, even tho I don't include it, its where I got the parent/abandonment issues from.

Xelqua has definitely seen this version (i haven't seen YHS since i was 16, i don't remember it well ^____^ )

[squid-pawz]

can't believe they trapped him inside the alarmo clock. rip link

[7goodangel]

Me, several years ago: "I'll never try digital 3D art... just have no interest to learn it. Already have learned other art forms that I barely use anyway... so why add to that ?..."

Me, currently: [Is attempting to model a donut in Blender] "... uh... I can explain..."

[drinkinggblood]

Frogs

[arsenicflame]

the thing is, right, if izzy WAS evil i would still absolutely love him. hes a fictional character, i don't care about his morals if hes compelling.

but the frustrating thing is that hes not evil, hes not even the antagonist anymore by a long stretch, hes arguably more liked by the crew than ed at the moment, but people still insist that we are reading the text of the show wrong and its going to completely 180 and turn him into a cartoon villain when there is absolutely no sign of that in the show, from the cast and crew, anything!!!

its so ridiculously annoying that i feel i have to defend my stance on a character because some people are so determined to cast him into the roll of a villain he is not, and think that we are the wrong ones for simply reading what the show is putting out

[todayisafridaynight]

if youre hungry theyre hungry too

[fr00tbats]

posted all these muppets i drew the other day and i FEAR THAT IF I SAY THE COMMONALITY BETWEEN THEM ALL EVERYONE WILL GET THEIR KNIVES OUT ON ME AGAIN LMFAO

[emdotcom]

My infatuation & subsequent obsession with media is often tied to the ways in which I am incapable of talking about them. Whether it's because of the abhorrent contents therein which demand too much; the incomprehensible nature of my feelings on the matter; the shoddy & underbaked construction; no matter what, there is always something within all my beloved interests make them hard (or even impossible) to talk about. Instead, I talk within myself in an endless echo of speculation & alteration, as a means to replicate the sounds of a room that is not so empty. I, on my own, (no matter how many of me I am in the moment,) will never be able to fully encapsulate the sounds of a room brimming with people, though, so I double down & try to chatter more, to make up my impossible deficit.

[parkersgnome]

⭐️Mima Rants⭐️

I remember coming across slideshow on tik tok this about a year ago, and even *I* (as someone who used to be grossed out by proshipping) thought was ridiculous…

This is the title of the slideshow.

Just a heads up guys, just like our favorite ships, None of these stories are real.

And if they were based on actual events, wouldn’t it make more sense to make a video about that instead of making up shit that never happened?

But, Let’s go through each of these as if they were real stories, shall we?

First one

“Caleb uses the internet to deal with his trauma”, Alright, I’m gonna stop you right there.

Isn’t “Staying off the internet is beneficial for your mental health” something we learned in, idk, fucking grade school? Cyber safety PSAs in middle school? Something that dozens of people have screeched from the top of their lungs since social media was invented?

Who the heck told him that being on the internet was going to help with his trauma and improve his mental health???

His feelings are valid, I get that. He has every right to be disturbed by Sage’s writings and fantasies. However, it seems that Sage isn't encouraging these actions in real life and keeps them strictly within fiction. As long as it’s in text or art, Sage has every right to express his fantasies.

Anyways, Caleb should seek a better therapist who can teach him better coping mechanisms like going out for walks, yoga, baking, or some other fourth thing instead of browsing social media where there’s a good chance he can run into something that makes him uncomfortable.

Next one…

“Jackie is 10-”

Yeah no no no no no no.. no… NO.

10-years-old. That’s, like, what? 4th grade? Shouldn’t Jackie be watching cartoons, playing with toys, or better yet, playing outside? Why did her parents give her internet access? Why aren’t they monitoring what their elementary schooled daughter is watching online?

If Charlie was going out of her way to promote this to minors then I would say she’s in the wrong, but this story never implies whether her content was specifically targeted to and/or letting minors come on to her account.

I've never seen proshippers create accounts specifically targeting children. If Charlie makes it clear her content isn't for kids, then it's not her fault if some random little girl she doesn’t know ends up consuming it.

If Jackie started to think this was normal, then it is her parent’s fault for neglecting her online safety and allowing her to access adult-targeted content at an age when media literacy is at an all time low.

The last one

“dEGenErates LiKE hiM 🤓” 💀💀

Once again, unless you can present to me a REAL LIFE incest/pedophilia case where proshipping was involved, this is not a valid argument that fiction affects reality.

Alas, we're treating these stories as if they were real. If Trey feels compelled to SA his sister after seeing writings or drawings of problematic ships, this suggests he’s likely an untreated mentally ill individual, especially since he can't differentiate fiction from reality.

What? If Trey played GTA V and started shooting and robbing a bank because he wanted to be like Trevor Phillips, should we consider banning violent video games?

As proshippers, we do not endorse real-life criminals and genuinely terrible people. The essence of proshipping is that all negative or degenerate actions should be confined to fiction. Understand?

End of discussion.

Anyway, as ridiculous as that slideshow was, please refrain from harassing or bothering the artist who made it. They have the same freedom of speech we do, and stooping to harassment and bullying wouldn't make us any better than antis who promote such behavior.

[satoruhour]

POCKET P*SSY!

a/n: idk where this came from. tagging @nc-vb @papersirens @crysugu

wc: 2.8k

warnings: fem!reader, m! masturbation (two scenes), use of fleshlight, unspoken feelings, reader listening in on nanami, f! masturbation, brief clit stimulation & fingering, pet names, ambiguous ending, n*sfw under the cut

nanami kento was an organised, work-oriented man. he submits his sorcerer reports on time, he reports to work right at nine in the morning and clocks out at six o’ clock sharp, his office is prim and proper with all things where they should be and his (various) suits are always pressed and clean, smelling like sandalwood.

so why was the sight of you so compelling and striking that he swears he can hear his heartbeat through the freshly ironed blue button-up shirt? when you’d come to his office in the school to pass him his morning coffee — which wasn’t forced, you did find yourself heading to the café more and more — and the times when you’d engage in simple conversation with him about bread and gojo (negatively).

it was always a breeze to be around you, a fresh air from the intricacies of being a sorcerer. the violence, the bloodshed, the fatigue. but it’s so much of fresh air that sometimes he wonders why he chokes on his words and feels out of breath whenever he talks to you.

nanami has unwillingly checked his phone for the umpteenth time whilst doing his report, glancing over ever so often just to make sure you wouldn’t cancel on that friday drinking outing you proposed to go on with shoko. gojo was undeniably left out of the picture because of his tolerance and the two were the best drinkers in town, but he just wished he could work out the courage to ask you to be alone with you.

but nanami valued his sanity and heart. he wouldn’t know what he would do if he ever lost you to a curse even though you could hold your own, and the amount of sorcerers who are sent out just to die never deserved any of it. but if they didn’t do it, who will?

it’s question after question that’s mixed in with thoughts of you as he stays focused on the blinking cursor of the word document. appear. disappear. appear. disappear. nanami finds that he can’t think of anything else to say in this dumb report, staring blankly yet again at the annoying flickering cursor that reminds him that this was far from done. he glances down to the first drawer of his office table, the brass lock drawing him in. he thinks that he’s not ready.

just as he wants to type his next word with newfound determination, you’re barging through the door with a loud “nanami!”, a big grin plastered on your face with shoko under your arm, trying not to fall under your intoxicating happiness. god knows why you’re so happy, and if he didn’t know better he would think you were already drunk.

“she just got news that her holiday was approved,” shoko nods as she takes a drag from her cig, blowing the smoke into the office.

“please do not blow secondhand smoke into this room, shoko.” nanami’s monotonous voice cuts through the air like a knife and you would think it’s a reprimand, but both of you know the 7:3 sorcerer is just like that.

“why so boring . .” you tsk, a skip to your step when you round the table and peek at the work, and nanami has to ignore the bounce of your breasts under your outfit and the proximity in which you lowered yourself to. he tries to subtly take in your scent, not listening to your question under you wave a hand in front of him and nanami has to break away from his fantasy of you riding him while your tits bounced in his face. filthy.

“nanami? it’s already 6:02, i thought you violently rejected overtime?”

he clears his throat, catching the brief, sly glance of shoko before he turns to you, “y-yes. i do. just give me half n’ hour, ladies, and we can head over to the bar right after.” he didn’t even realise the clock had already striked 6.

shoko puffs out more smoke to nanami’s dismay, “what the hell do you need half n’ hour for?”

“just to clean up this report, promise.” he mutters, pushing up his reading glasses, “i’ll get it done as soon as possible.”

“oh? the great nanami kento doing overtime?” you giggle, reaching over to type a little cheeky “:)” into the word document before waving goodbye a little dazedly as you walk out behind shoko. the pace at which your heart raced matches the man inside at seeing him in his clear, dad glasses.

“you are down bad, girl.” 

“shush!” you swat at her arm and all she responds is with smoke in your face that she laughs and you just huff, heading off back to the morgue where she felt most at home.

nanami never did submit the report on time. he was given a reluctant extension. what was he doing? anything but the report, instead locking the door to his office and lying awkwardly on his office sofa, that was cleverly placed behind a partition wall. it took a bit of discipline — he typed a few words, deleted them, typed some more and realised they didn’t make sense and by now it’s 6:15. he takes one glance to the locked door and to the partition and down to his hard-on with that familiar feeling in his stomach. it’s been long since he’s jerked off, and sure, he has done it mindlessly just to calm the morning wood but it’s been long since he’s gotten aroused by someone.

the man palms himself through his pants, imagining it was your dainty hands instead, a soft groan leaving his lips at the feeling. his pants have never felt this tight, throbbing and just begging to be released as he slowly fishes it out. nanami was big, a pretty little curve to his cock with a tip that’s leaking pre-cum, and he strokes at it, a shaky breath leaving his mouth that it sounds pathetic. here he was, in his own office sofa fully clothed, with one leg digging into the floor and the other propped onto the armrest. 

“f-fuck . .” he swears lowly and starts setting a pace, conjuring up your face as you bob your head over his length while you play with yourself. “right there—”

nanami whines, unintelligible words muttered out as he pumped his cock. he spits into his palm and continues his ministrations with the most lewd noises that have never graced his office before. so many thoughts of you occupy his mind, you fucking yourself back onto him, how sweet your pussy would taste, the sort of sounds you’d make, how you’d feel around him — nanami cums with a quiet, strained groan, hips lifting off the sofa as he spurts his cum all over his suit, and he doesn’t care, too lost in the feeling as he squeezes his eyes shut. the idea of giving you a creampie sounds too good at the moment, how much cum he’d shoot into you, how he’ll watch it drip out—

“fuck my life.” he simply murmurs when he sees the translucent liquid settle in, and yet nanami doesn’t regret it one bit.

the next week is torment. it was particularly difficult, especially after the moodiness you possessed after getting one worded answers from nanami at the bar. he couldn’t even hold eye contact with you, how rude! he was also gone for quite a bit once, coming out of the bathroom all sweaty and out of breath and you wondered if he found a cursed spirit in the sketchy, dingy restroom of the club.

“relax. a thousand yen he’s just stressed out by . . external factors at the moment.”

“but he’s nanami! if anything, that man is internalising all that’s stressing him out,” you groaned into your hands, “also why are we betting on my love life?”

“it’s fun.” shoko defends herself with two hands when you point a finger at her; you go back to your sulking stage soon enough. she merely settles for a hand on your back. “but you’re not wrong. this is just, a little different.”

you only can sink further into your hands when you recall how nanami pulls uncomfortably at his tie, a distraught expression on his face when you asked if he wanted another round of drinks. the avoided eye contact, the conversation mainly existing between them, it was all you needed to know about his feelings of you. the coffees and hangouts meant nothing, and yet you were so clueless at how you’ve awoken something entirely new for nanami that he’s cumming thrice a day just at the thought of you.

another day, another report to fill in. he had dealt with a first-grade curse this time, the casualties, brutal and infrastructure was severely destroyed. it was going to be a hell of a word count, he notes, but what he doesn’t want happening, or rather, the unavoidable, happens. his mind drifts back to you again and everything that you stood for, of your blinding smile and kind gestures. you knew how he liked the right amount of sugar in his coffees and the right place to massage when his upper back was hurting. there was many times he was sure you both had crossed the line of co-workers and lovers, but it was never spoken or defined.

it was a grey area, he admits. tethering along the lines that he wasn’t even sure was there any more: a gaze held longer than usual, a brush of your hand on his, the not-so-secretive glance at your ass, the quick gaze from his eyes to his crotch when gojo makes a dirty joke. it was already between the lines, yet none of you wanted to act on it.

nanami groans into his hands, taking one more look to that locked drawer, thinking it would magically unlock itself and he wouldn’t have to go though the torture of submitting to his desires and unlocking it like a sex-crazed man in the victorian era after seeing a woman’s ankles. it was humbling. but his mind seems to have a different plan, descending into fantasies that he would rather take to the grave than let gojo pry out of him and he shoots up, fumbling for the key hidden under his documents.

within a second, nanami unlocks it and lets out a breath and takes out a box — a hilarious (at the time) but stupid, stupid thing (it was a fleshlight) he let gojo talk him into buying while they were both drunk. but the more he looks at it, the more he wishes to feel your walls around him and his bulge is not going down. he takes out the fleshlight eagerly, looking at it with wide eyes before he swallows and nanami feels like a teenager again.

his heart pounds when he removes his pants. his laptop, open with his undone report and him standing wide-stanced in front of his desk like a loser and his underwear pulled down just enough for his cock to spring up, you would think he was an alien from another planet. nanami does away with all rationale when he slaps his tip along the pocket pussy, thinking it was yours before his tip slips in and he gasps. the sorcerer stumbles forward and he has to rest a hand on his office chair.

“gojo, you fucking dick,” nanami hates that he’s enjoying it. “haah . . shit—” 

he pushes it down his shaft and the instant pleasure is prominent. soon, nanami is moving the fleshlight over his cock, walking with unplanned steps to the sofa. he falls into it easily, hands still pumping the device along his dick and he already wants to cum from the tightness.

“fuuck . . baby,” there are soft pants that leave his mouth, the device already filling up with all of his pre-cum. the slick noises that dominate the room is loud. nanami is too far gone in this, hips thrusting up into the fleshlight with all his might as he imagines it’s you straddling him instead. biting down on his fist does little, sure he was drawing blood from how hard he was sinking his teeth into the skin there. the way he slips inside feels so much better than his hand, and yet there was something missing — your sounds, the sight of your pussy. he needed to know he’s making you feel good. he cums with a cry of your name and mixed in profanities, pelvis basically rutting into the pussy as he shoots his load deep inside. 

and it doesn’t end there for nanami — like a deranged man, he’s grabbing his cushions and stuffing the pocket pussy in between it and the sofa, dragging his tip along the silicone clit. this shit was embarrassing, fucking something fake just so he can simulate the fantasy of being in you, but it felt fucking divine, so much so that the soft “nanami?” doesn’t even reach his ears. he reenters the pocket pussy, body hunched over the sofa as he presses down on the couch cushion and wishing it was your lower back.

the long, loud groan nanami lets out sends a straight chill to your core and you hear it before you see it. you think maybe your chances are ruined, he has someone else and the dancing around each other was done just for fun, but you think a little peek wouldn’t help. your self care sessions are getting a little boring anyway.

the gasp doesn’t reach his ears either when you glance around the partition and you get the sight of your life: nanami thrusting into the sofa while still fully clothed, eyes closed and expression pulled into pleasure. you’re torn between arousal, modesty and relief and despite all that you still listen out for how turned on he was, the gross, dirty sounds of him rutting into something and yet you don’t know what. but you decide to play it safe, flipping back around to rest your back against the walled partition, hand reaching up your skirt and into your panties.

“(y/n) . . baby, g’na cum—” 

your eyes widen, your jaw drops but your hand on your clit never stops, rubbing in time with his thrusts as your other hand is probably making marks on your face by how hard you were trying to stop your moans from coming out. you’re already so wet that your ministrations are all messy and smeared, drawing haphazard circles just for a taste of that high as you soak and soak your panties.

“baby, baby, baby . . o-oh—” you swear under your breath, because who knew nanami kento could sound so damn good? you’re continuing the assault on your pussy, going past your clit and into your entrance and you wish it was his cock instead, but instead he’s fucking a pocket pussy imagining it’s you. too bad you don’t know that. “gonna cum in y-you—”

there’s a little crack in his voice and you involuntarily let out a soft moan and the movements are halted all of a sudden. in your panic, your foot spreads and the bottom of your shoe grazes against the wooden floor and your presence is fully made known, now.

“hello?” man, what the fuck? now they’re really not going to answer. nanami sifts through the possibilities: it couldn’t be any of the men, they know not to interrupt nanami when he’s working. shoko would only for alcohol . . you? you dig a deeper grave by making an incoherent noise in your throat and that’s when nanami’s fear really settles in. he wasn’t hallucinating anything — there really was someone calling out to him the first time and the gasp and now the little moan? but nanami has anything but luck, not being able to catch the person because you’re booking it out of there immediately, not exactly quiet due to the clicks of your heels and you want to go back into that exact grave to die.

you can hear and feel your heart in your throat, back lined with sweat more than it would be when fighting a curse. whilst, there was only one thing on your mind that slowly induces you into a downward spiral; he called your name, your name, your god-given name, the people address you by, he called—

standing by the little zen garden of the tokyo school, you can feel your clit throb and the breath taken out of you as the vision replays again and again in your head and you think yourself stupid for running out of there. but before you can turn back, gojo’s approaching with a big, shit-eating grin on his face and waves to you (“yaga told me to come get you, you’re not busy, are you?”).

swallowing, all you can do is shake your head, but not before you spare a last glance to nanami’s door which is now closed shut. you hear a click.

[ailius-suffers-through-art]

band au now. Here it is. God damn it.

So anyways this is all Emmy’s fault. Girlie just wanted her own rock band and made it everyone else’s problem. Now there’s a group of mid-twenties to forty somethings trying to relive the glory days.

On another day:

And lastly:

And to top it all off I have a relationship sheet. Sometimes you think Desmond is baby girl, sometimes you remember that by curious village he’s a 43 year old man. Sometimes that doesn’t stop him from being babygirl. He’s like the trap of the group, where teens will see edits of him online and start stanning him. Bro doesn’t know what that means and is too scared to bother finding out. Emmy finds it hilarious.

In this au, Desmond works as a renowned archeology professor with a loving wife and a daughter under a fake identity. His relationship with his father is none-existent, having cut all contact in his teens. His brother, Theodore, was taken by child-protective services in his youth and doesn’t remember Des at all.

Emmy, is a journalist for the company, Targent. She used to travel the world in search of good stories, but recently settled down in the area to follow the story of a famous archeology professor, one Hershel Layton. She also recently connected with her cousin Desmond. He is unhappy about this.

Clive, is also a journalist for a competitor company, World Times. He and Emmy were fast friends due to their mutual love of compelling stories and teasing. They get drunk on Saturdays and complain/gossip to each other. He seems to have a vendetta against a local politician, Bill Hawks, but Emmy can’t quite pin down why.

Bloom is a local investigator on the force who keeps the police in line with Targent’s goals. He influences the top brass and the police’s young prodigy. He and Emmy see each other often during Targent briefings and are close workmates, though not entirely by his choice.

anyways that’s all from me idk man that original drawing of Clive wasn’t supposed to have lore

[bluiebirdie17]

From Chapter 57 of @contumacious-arcadia's fic, What a Soul Can Accomplish! Go read it. It's such a fantastic slow burn and I am always intrigued by sci-fi mystery elements lol. Here's the scene the art is based on:

"The Overlord is staring down into the package, one massive claw clasped over his mouth in shock.  He seems to be… glitching?  It’s a strange sight, and though Lucifer’s ability to read him grows more skilled with each passing day - he has no idea how to take this reaction.  Alastor is stock-still, completely unmoving.  He isn’t sure the Overlord is even breathing.  His static aura is fluctuating wildly and the room has darkened so much that it almost seems like the little seating area suddenly exists within some otherworldly void.  

He unconsciously braces before he realizes that Alastor isn’t transforming, at all.  

This isn’t rage.

All he can think to do is wait, and so that’s exactly what he does. " 

Confession time, I actually have another scene in this same fic sketched out, and I was working on it when I read this scene instead and then I couldn't get this image out of my head. It demanded to be drawn first, I guess. And I gave the seating area Al's fireplace. Idk if that was accurate, but it made for some fun lighting lol (and honestly the newspaper clipping was fun to draw too). Thank you to Contumacious Arcadia for such a compelling well-written story!! Radioapple aside, the plot has me completely hooked and I always stop what I'm doing whenever I see there's a new chapter out. This is currently my favorite fic, and I really hope to make more art for it soon :) I hope you enjoy this one in the meantime.