#ooh i love this!

[hinamie]

ṇ̵̛̱͌̅̃͛̔o̴̮̓̀͂́̃_̴̛̲́s̷͈̋̈́̄̋͠ị̶͔̗̐͐̐̒̕g̵̛̱̘̣̑͂ņ̴̰͔̘͇̏̒̓̇͠͝a̸̜̥̩̭͋̌ḷ̶͔̖͗͋͛͛̃͆

[egophiliac]

was this anyone else's first thought, or

[anistarrose]

[ID: art of Wirt from Over the Garden Wall, seen in profile with a slight frown. End ID.]

trying to get used to this new tablet

[pinacoladamatata]

blink and you'll miss it moments around skyhold....

[canisalbus]

You could say I was horsing around.

.

[pluviatrix]

its been 2 years since i last indulged my perennial love for the gothest superfamily in dc comics

[yutaan]

Papercraft Astarion, made as a birthday gift for a friend-of-a-friend! The designs in this game are so striking and the story sounds fascinating; I had enormous fun looking through screenshots for references and getting completely distracted. :D

[electrozeistyking]

"Never be Alone"

Started on the sixth of January and planned to be finished on the fourteenth, but landed up not doing that. Somewhere on the sixteenth, I basically said "haha whoops" and pumped out twenty panels. According to Procreate, it took 15 hours and 37 minutes to finish Panels 1-10; 27 hours and 15 minutes on Panels 11-20; and 34 hours and 8 minutes for Panels 21-30.

In total, I have no idea. I just know it took some serious time.

Unlike with She's Gone, I wrote a script. Well, all I wrote was dialogue and some minor actions for Panels 5-23, though lines were changed "in post." Everything else was by the seat of my pants. However, I can say for sure that I was planning on ending it with N being hopeful, but all I had room for was him crying. He cannot catch a break.

(also to those who suspected uzi was still in there, guess you were right all along.)

[jesuistrestriste]

Sage hear me out...

Divorced dilf art who calls his younger gf mommy

art stays cooped up in the house all day—everyday—when you’re out at your hot new job.

he thinks about all the guys your age who probably ogle you and try to make passes at you, not knowing that you’ve got a man pushing 40 waiting at home for you with dinner and a pair of warm, strong open arms.

sigh.

when you do get home, he’s there to greet you (as always). he walks over and holds you close; kissing your cheek, and then your lips and your neck. each one soft and sweet and attempting to wipe your mind of any flirtation from younger men that you may or may not have endured throughout the afternoon.

“hi,” he whispers, and you slide your fingertips down his lower back, making him tremble like a wet kitten.

“hey, baby,” you hum in return. you’re shorter than him, and so when he leans his weight into you his forehead naturally falls into your shoulder. he smells like warmth and outdated cologne and need.

he mouths at your neck in the next moment, his hands sliding to lovingly cup your waist, “i missed you so much.. can i have you now?” he breathes out, his voice shaking and pleading. you feel something thick and warm press into your hip from inside his sweatpants.

and you chuckle and shake your head. he bites his bottom lip to stifle a petulant whimper.

“i missed you too,” you nip at his ear, “but i need you to use your manners if you want something from me.”

he stiffens for a moment before he stumbles forward a bit, taking you with him and gently pushing your back up against the door. “i’m sorry.”

the apology spills from his lips with an earnest desire to make his obedience known. he’d never want to disappoint you. you’re all he has these days.

“can i… can i please have you now?”

a breath. a shake of your head. a rock of his hips against your body followed by a sorrowful, begging moan.

“no?” he shifts against you, his body aching for yours.

“you’re forgetting something, Art.”

it only takes a moment for him to process your words before he’s mumbling a slurry of “i’m so sorry”s into your neck. but apologies only go so far, don’t they? he needs to correct his behavior. he needs to show you that he knows what you want from him.

“please…” he whispers, “please, mommy..”

the honorific rolls off his tongue like honey, heavy and sweet. it hangs in the air between you two and then you let out a low chuckle, “much better.”

“mommy,” he breathes out again, his erection involuntarily pulsing against your body through his clothes, “mommy, mommy, mommy—ngh“

his tone grows more desperate with each mumbling of the word; higher in pitch and more urgent. your hands move up to stroke his short blonde hair, and then you whisper into his ear.

“what do you want?”

god, what doesn’t he want? he wants your hand down his pants, your perfect cunt wrapped around his unworthy cock, your mouth, your lips, your tits. everything.

but he knows you. he knows that this is a trick question. you’re phrasing it like you’re going to give him something, a treat—a reward, but it’s a bit of a trap.

there’s a right and a wrong answer here. pick the wrong one, and he’s in for a night of painful orgasm denial (coupled with a ruined one to end the evening).

but luckily, art is smart. he knows what you want to hear.

“i.. i wanna eat mommy out.”

you pull back gently from him; and judging by the look that spreads over your face when he says that, he picked the right response.

you smile, and then your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders. in an instant, art finds himself being pushed down to the floor in front of you. he can’t help but scoot forward and shove his boner against your ankle, rutting himself into your soft skin as he dribbles precome in his briefs.

you lean back against the door, hiking up your skirt, before you’re looking down to him expectantly.

“don’t make me do all the work, baby,” you practically purr.

art’s hands scramble up your thighs to your panties, which he peels off of your sticky core with wide eyes, letting the thin fabric garment fall to pool at your heels. you giggle.

you kick them off to the side, feeling your boyfriend’s hands clutched around your legs. you sling a leg over his left shoulder, spreading your folds for him to see, and he wastes no time in parting his lips and engulfing your heat with his mouth.

you groan, letting your head loll back, and you move your fingers—letting them wander to the back of his hair once more to push his face further against you. you grind on his eager tongue, feeling him flick it over your clit as he whimpers and suckles. what a slut.

his baby blues look up to you with weighted lids, lapping at your cunt like it’s something he’s been starved of for years. his pupils dilate intensely as he stares up at you like you’re a god; something holy and unreal. and when you shake over his mouth’s ministrations, getting close, he lets out a long, drawn-out whine into your core.

he’s murmuring something that sends vibrations up your spine from the coil deep in your gut. it’s hard to make anything out when he’s drowning in you and loving it, but you can decipher bits and pieces.

“please, mommy”

“come in my mouth, mommy”

“give it all to me, mommy”

“i can take it, mommy”

you’re everything he’s ever dreamt about. you bend his perception of time and space and reason and logic. how could a sweet, beautiful, young thing like you ever want a washed-up, older athlete like him?

he prays that you don’t only like him for his money, and then he closes his eyes and mouths at your sensitive bud. he drools all over it like a sick dog, his brows pinching up as he moans out incoherent pleas for you to finish.

and holy fuck, you come hard.

a strangled cry jolts out of you as your back arches, mixing with a helpless sob from art, and then you absolutely soak his tongue with your juices. it gushes all over his face and he swallows as fast as he can; hell, he nearly chokes on it.

“ffffuck! art! oh my god, good boy, good boy, such a good boy!”

you rock over him until your orgasm recedes, and you pull his head back from you shakily by your tender hold on his hair. strings of your slick cling to the lower half of his face and the tip of his nose; a lewd squelch echoing out as he’s forcefully disconnected from your body. a dazed smile graces your lips and you peer down to watch as art’s hips shake against the hardwood floor and a dark stain appears at the front of his sweats. it’s a pathetic sight, really.

but you watch him moan softly and keep his gaze trained on you as he wipes his chin messily with the back of his hand.

“was i good?” he whispers, like he’ll cry if you say no.

he needs to hear you say it when he’s not lost in the throes of your climax.

your chest is still heaving while you try to slow your labored breaths, but you lean down anyways and meet his lips with yours. you taste yourself on his tongue. he shudders and winces.

you pull back, your bottom lip brushing his.

“so good, baby..”

art kisses the corner of your mouth softly, just once. he’s melting into you.

he loves you. but he swallows that down for now. he opts to murmur out something that’ll sum up everything he feels in a more palatable manner. something that makes him seem less desperate to keep you all to himself for as long as you can tolerate him.

something that he’s earnestly dying to say.

something that he knows you deserve to hear.

“thank you.”

[denim-wizard]

all scars // no gods

[somnimagus]

My page for @kairizine. It was such a huge honor to be part of this wonderful book with everyone, I had so much fun!

[id in alt!]

[catliker49]

Surprise!

Quite literally! I have Finally drawn again! I am so Happy! My style is a bit rough.. or perhaps I should say... ruff! (Haha, sorry!) but that's just because I have not drawn anything other than my Final Piece for the past few months!

OH!! SPEAKING OF! I GOT DISTINCTIONS IN EVERYTHING! HAHA! (The highest grade for everything! Yay!) OOH! And! Final thing.. I am starting to use my name for my Signature, so, if you can spot it, that is why it does not say Catliker :O)

[doodle-empress66]

“I need to get back to my daughter”

Moxxie smiles as soon as Blitzø says this, the rest of Blitzø’s words fading away. The reason he trusts Blitzø so quickly is him showing care for his own kid.

After his upbringing, i can imagine how greatly he values that.

[myoonmii]

I think the downright most horrific and brutal detail in the show is that Kilgharrah actually used Merlin to make sure Arthur's death happened with the pretence of protecting him

[tiredandoptimistic]

Genuinely one of my favorite details in MASH is how every character manages to display their unique identity through clothes, despite the uniform. They've all got a couple personal garments of civilian clothing mixed in with their preferred ways of modifying their fatigues, and that's so cool.

Hawkeye wears his undershirt untucked and his overshirt unbuttoned, plus he removed his epaulettes (Trapper is more or less the same). Radar has his overshirt unbuttoned but still tucks in his undershirt, and he wears that iconic hat that's definitely not standard regulation. Henry has his fishing gear or college sweater, and only pulls out the proper uniform shirt and hat if big brass are coming to camp. Frank and Charles both button and tuck in their shirts, but Frank usually wears his hat while Charles does not. Potter buttons his shirt, but never tucks it in. Margaret starts out dressing pretty uniform standard, but by the later seasons she usually replaces her shirt with a sweater or sweatshirt of some kind. Klinger, of course, has a variety of iconic fits.

BJ is definitely the most dramatic example, and it feels very intentional that by the later seasons the only part of his uniform he wears are the pants. He's got his iconic pink henley, plus an army shirt he made into a vest or a pair of red suspenders. He never even wears combat boots, it's converse all the way for him! To top it all off, he's got overlong hair and a goofy mustache; that man is showing disrespect for army regulations in every aspect of his physical appearance. It's very similar to Klinger, in my opinion; except BJ skipped right past the veneer of trying to prove he's crazy to "this is what I want to wear and I won't let this fuckass institution police how I'll present myself"

There's just so much character in how all of them choose to express themselves, despite living in a situation intent on stripping them of their individual humanity! I could do individual character analysis for all of their outfits, even though they're supposedly wearing the same thing.

[beatrixshifts]

wouldn't it be so fucking cool if hogwarts had a yearbook and a newspaper

like 'the hogwarts express' but it's the school newspaper??

voting 'most likely to' at the end of the year???

i have so many ideas omg