#there is no prompt so it's just be background stuffs

[pangeasoftware]

This is getting ridiculous and i'm sick of seeing this stuff shared around like it's legitimate art. On most new models (SD 1.5, Grok, PDXL) you can literally just add "photo of an art installation, traditional media, painting \(medium\)" to the prompt and get passable images with backgrounds like this. It's not hard. I've been a part of this site's fan artist community for almost two decades (probably longer than you've even been on the internet!) and after that many years of spotting traces, faked screencaps and stolen OC you tend to develop a kind of keen eye for this kind of thing. I've circled the most obvious giveaways to make it easy for those that aren't in the know on here - you can tell if you pay close attention to the line width and shading in these first two. and as for these next two:

What is even going on here!? It's like the computer made the two halves of the image first and doesn't know how to fill in the gap so it left this weird trail to connect them. I don't think I need to point out that human draws like this!

If this was at all helpful please consider following me to support a real, living breathing human artist before there are none left.

[ももえ＠〜12/27虎ノ門@mme_daigaku]

[yeetushaitus]

DAY 1: Fantasy AU

HI im so late iomg.... ANYWAYS i was like "omg i have to do manosouta week but it didnt occur to me to prepare drawings. beforehand???? so im here its been so fun to see everybodys submissions..... theyre all AMAZING (also cant wait to catch up witht he new fics on their tag lol)

anywaysss i saw this prompt and was like what if i made them fire emblem so. i did knightley is loosley based on the paladin class and simon the trickster class!! the effects are based on heroes cards and i literally stole the background from the wiki page bc im lazy im only realizing now that i forgot to add the hand badge knightley has but whatever

i might be. super late w all of my entries but oh well

edit: also here r the designs!! tbh theyre really lazily done, i just slapped together a bunch of design elements until i felt like it was good enough(and i change some stuff in the final ver) but a lot people seemed to like them so here!!! maybe ill make full designs someday bc im lwk kinda invested in the idea of an aai2 x fe au.....(if u cant tell ive only played like 2 fe games lmao)

[777bae]

HIS JERSEY WILL SMITH

Summary :: Will wasn’t expecting to find you curled up in his jersey, but the sight stops him in his tracks. What starts as teasing shifts into something unspoken—a quiet claim, a piece of him that now belongs to you. (REQUESTED :: prompt 25)

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 2.5k

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the TV playing a rerun of some show you don’t particularly care about, the kind that’s easy to leave on as background noise. The comfort of the silence wraps around you like a warm blanket, the world outside your apartment fading with every lazy minute. You’re curled up on the couch, the soft cushions cradling you as you sink deeper into them. Your legs are tucked under a pile of blankets, the weight of it all settling perfectly against your skin. It’s the kind of night you don’t get too often—one where you can completely let go, allow yourself to just be.

The room feels like a sanctuary—warm, inviting, cocooned from whatever chaos may be happening elsewhere. The walls seem to hum with a quiet energy, and the dim lighting casts long shadows that dance lazily around the space, creating a sense of peace you didn’t realize you were craving until now. Your breath slows, your mind quiets, and the small comforts of home—blankets, the faint aroma of coffee still lingering in the air, the soft whir of the fridge in the other room—become everything you need in this moment.

It’s then you realize you’re wearing his jersey.

The realization doesn’t come as a shock, not exactly. You’d noticed the familiar fabric draped over the back of the chair earlier, and without thinking, you’d pulled it on, reveling in its softness and how easily it swallowed you. It’s too big on you—sagging loosely around your shoulders and flowing down over your thighs—but it’s comfortable in a way nothing else is. The fabric feels like it was made for this, made for you to wear in this space, in this moment of complete relaxation. And even though you hadn’t expected him home yet, it feels right, like a part of him has been woven into the fibers.

The faint scent of him clings to the fabric. It’s a blend of ice and cologne, sharp and fresh, with just a trace of sweat from the game still hanging in the air. It’s the scent of him when he’s just finished skating hard, his body still buzzing with the adrenaline, his presence still lingering even after he’s left the rink. You find yourself tugging the jersey closer, as if that scent could somehow ground you more, hold you tighter in the warmth of this moment.

You hadn’t expected him home so early, not with his usual routine after a game. The late-night practices, the media stuff, the need to unwind with the guys after everything winds down. You figured you’d have more time, more space to just sink into the couch, stay hidden under the blankets in your own little bubble. But then, the quiet rhythm of your world shatters.

The front door clicks open. You hear the jingle of keys and the familiar sound of a bag being dropped by the entrance. Your heart skips a beat—shifting from lazy contentment to sudden alertness. The door creaks as it pushes open, and you hear the soft shuffle of boots against the hardwood floor.

And then he steps inside.

Will.

You don’t need to see him fully to know it’s him—his presence fills the space before his face even appears, an easy confidence that always seems to follow him in whatever room he enters. The scent of him—colder now, but still unmistakable—seems to fill the doorway as he walks in, the cool air from outside trailing behind him. His hair is damp from the post-game shower, still dripping slightly, the dark strands sticking to his forehead in a way that only seems to make him look more effortlessly disheveled. He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a loose hoodie that looks comfortable, but it’s the way he carries himself that commands attention. His eyes scan the room for a moment, settling on you when he spots the jersey you’ve pulled on.

It’s like the world slows for a second, his gaze locking onto you. You can’t help but notice the way his posture shifts when he notices you—slightly straightening, that familiar grin tugging at his lips. He’s surprised, but there’s something else in his expression too. Something softer, quieter. Like he’s just found something he didn’t know he was looking for.

For a beat, neither of you says anything. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and he stands there for a second, just watching you.

Then, he speaks.

“Well, well.” His voice is a little rough from the game, low and gravelly in the way it always gets when he’s just walked off the ice. “Didn’t think I’d be coming home to this.”

It’s playful, teasing, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your breath hitch. His gaze drifts over the jersey that hangs too loosely around your frame, like he’s taking in every detail of you, and it feels oddly intimate.

Your hands instinctively tug at the hem of the fabric, unsure if you should pull it tighter or let it hang. You were comfortable before, relaxed in the warmth of the jersey, but now, with him standing there, so close, it feels different.

You try to keep your voice steady. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, and that signature smirk of his begins to stretch across his lips, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. There’s something about the way he watches you that makes the air around you feel heavier, like the space between you both is shrinking, becoming charged with unspoken understanding. “Clearly,” he says, his voice low and effortlessly confident. The way he lets the word hang in the air tells you he’s already figured it out, and for some reason, the realization makes you feel a little exposed—though you don’t quite mind it.

He drops his bag by the door with a soft thud, the sound breaking the silence, but he doesn’t rush. He takes his time, each step toward you deliberate, measured, like he’s savoring every second of this moment. There’s no hurry in his movements, no rush to break the distance. It’s that slow, easy swagger of his—one that always makes you feel like he’s got the world under control, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, where he’s going. And now, it feels like he’s walking directly into your space, right into your bubble of comfort that you’ve carefully crafted all evening.

He stops just short of you, so close now that the air between you seems to pulse. Your heart skips a beat, caught between the unexpectedness of his arrival and the quiet tension that’s suddenly settled into the room. His eyes—dark and warm—are locked on you, and in that moment, it’s like nothing else exists. He leans down over the back of the couch, his frame towering over you as his face inches closer. You can feel the heat of his body now, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the sharp, fresh smell of post-game sweat. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes your pulse race a little faster, your breath hitching in your chest.

He hovers there for a moment, his eyes scanning you, lingering on the way his jersey hangs on your frame. There’s a flicker of something playful in his gaze, but then it shifts—just for an instant—into something deeper. Something more intense. His lips curve into that familiar, teasing grin, but it’s softened now, edged with something unspoken. And then, as though the weight of it all hits him, he asks in a voice that’s a little quieter, a little more intimate than before:

“That mine?”

His words seem to hang in the air, his tone a little lower than usual, like he’s considering something more than just the obvious question. His eyes move over you, not in the usual way, but with a kind of focus that makes you feel both exposed and utterly seen. He’s not just looking at the jersey—he’s looking at you, taking in the way it fits on you, how you’ve made it your own, how it’s become a part of you in this moment.

You want to act casual, to brush off the weight of his gaze, but your heartbeat picks up, skipping erratically in your chest. You can’t quite keep your voice steady, but you try. “No,” you say with a light laugh, even though your throat feels dry. “I went out and got my own personalized Smith jersey.” The words feel almost ridiculous coming out of your mouth, because you both know that’s not the truth.

Will lets out a soft laugh, rich and warm, and the sound wraps around you like a comforting blanket, but it’s the way he says the next part that makes your stomach flip. “Looks good on you.”

His words settle between you both like a quiet confession, a whispered truth that wasn’t there a second ago. You weren’t prepared for the weight they carry, for the way they shift something in the air, in the way you feel. He says it with such ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like it’s obvious, undeniable. The way he’s looking at you now, with that half-smile still playing at the corners of his lips, makes your breath catch in your throat. His eyes don’t leave you, they linger there, and suddenly, the room feels smaller, the space between you both much less comfortable than it was just moments ago.

Your skin tingles under his gaze, a heat rising to your cheeks that you can’t quite explain. You want to brush it off, to pretend like it doesn’t matter, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you—so effortlessly and with such intensity—that makes you feel like you’re both standing on the edge of something.

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but even as you do, you know it’s half-hearted. His grin is contagious, that knowing, easy smile that makes your lips curve despite your attempts to resist it. The playful spark in his eyes pulls at you, and before you realize it, you’re tugging the jersey down a little further, trying to hide behind the fabric, but it doesn’t really work. Will isn’t looking away. He’s still watching you closely, his focus sharp, like he can see straight through the act.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he just shifts, his body moving closer, closer until his hand brushes against the back of the couch where you’re sitting. The light touch is enough to send a shiver down your spine, the air around you suddenly charged. He settles down beside you, that easy confidence never leaving him as he leans back against the cushions, his knee brushing against yours in the most casual way, but you feel it all the same.

“Hope you weren’t too comfy,” Will teases, his voice warm and playful as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, the movement casual but somehow deliberate. His knee grazes yours just as he settles in beside you, the faintest touch that sends a jolt of warmth through your body. He’s making himself at home—his presence completely filling the space in a way that only he can. The familiar ease with which he claims the space beside you makes everything feel… different.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, breathless and slightly nervous, but it feels good—genuine in its lightness. “I was fine until you showed up,” you admit, glancing up at him with a half-smile, feeling the quiet shift in the room, like the atmosphere has become just a little bit heavier.

Will shrugs, his movement effortless, the way he always does, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But then his fingers reach for the blanket, pulling it more firmly around you both, his arm curling just a little closer to you. It’s subtle, almost instinctual, but there’s something in the way his hand brushes the fabric that feels different, like an unspoken promise. “Well, now you’re stuck with me,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a softness underneath the words, an undercurrent that makes you pause, your breath catching for just a second. The playful glint in his eyes is still there, but there’s something more behind it now. Something steady and quiet.

You shift slightly on the couch, trying to adjust your position, but the feeling of the jersey—his jersey—around you feels suddenly more charged, more intimate. You hadn’t noticed before how the fabric clings just a little more to your skin now, how the weight of it against your body seems to amplify every small shift, every breath you take. It feels like a piece of him, like something that’s meant to be close. But you’re not sure if it’s the jersey itself or the way he’s leaning into your space, closer now, his presence surrounding you completely.

His gaze doesn’t leave you, that same confident but knowing look in his eyes, like he’s made some quiet decision that this moment, this space, belongs to both of you. You can feel it without him needing to say it aloud—he’s not rushing, not forcing anything. There’s a calm, patient certainty to him as he watches you, and it makes something stir inside you.

Then, as if to seal the unspoken promise between you, he leans in just a little closer, his voice quieter, his words hanging in the air. “Keep it,” he says, and there’s no playfulness this time, no teasing edge—just pure sincerity. “It looks better on you anyway.”

His words hit you like a soft wave, unexpected and gentle, but somehow grounding. The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, like it’s an obvious truth—makes something inside you shift. You weren’t prepared for that. Not for the weight those words carry, not for the quiet implication that goes beyond the jersey itself, beyond what’s happening between you in this moment.

For a heartbeat, you blink, your breath catching in your throat as you process it. You’d expected him to joke, to keep up the playful banter, but instead, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now—a softness that you hadn’t seen before. It’s not just about the jersey anymore. It’s about something more—something deeper between you, something unspoken, but heavy with meaning.

The words feel like a quiet confession, a little piece of something shared between you both, something that feels real in a way you weren’t prepared for. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you threw on the jersey, but you sure as hell didn’t expect it to feel like this. The fabric still hangs loosely on you, a little oversized, the edges of it crinkling around your thighs, but now it feels right. It feels like it belongs—like this moment belongs.

The world outside fades away, and in that quiet stillness between you, everything feels perfectly aligned. You don’t need to say anything more. There’s no need for words when the weight of the unspoken feels like it fills every inch of space between you, when the simplest act of wearing his jersey feels like a connection that goes deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

[ajfoxships]

kakagai valentines week day 1

prompt : first dates

Me: hmm I think I should add a background, maybe a noodle shop or something. It shouldn’t take too long…

*me two days later covered in blood, pencil shavings, & ink* : I HAVE GRAVELY MISCALCULATED

I am genuinely pretty proud of this work, it took some serious effort but I like how it turned out! (Tho at the end of it kks & gai are barely visible lol, I think it counts tho)

@kkgiweek

if you for whatever reason are interested in hearing me yell about background art it’s below the cut

Can you tell this took forever? Because this took forever, I mean seriously like half this canvas is covered in white-out. I wanted to add a little background but noooo I had to draw an entire frickin’ village and screw up my wrist in the process, good going AJ!

I’m pretty sure that everyone in my general vicinity has now heard me swear about architecture for the 18th time today,.

I mean seriously how do people draw this stuff without tearing out their hair over it, i redrew most of this and the perspective is still jacked up! I didn’t even finish this I just quit!

So yeah… I think I’m done with backgrounds for the rest of the week.

god I spent so much time on this, why did I do this to myself…. i-I think I’m gonna take a nap now…

I’ll be back with more tomorrow, but for now sleep beckons me…

[heretodefyfate]

I'm not the only one who think this door will be important later on, right?

[marigraphia]

I've had this pose ref saved for a while and the Superman set photos just gave off the same energy 👉🏻👈🏻

The reference is this photo of Katharine Hepburn as Antiope and Colin Keith-Johnston as Theseus in the 1932 play 'The Warrior's Husband' (and I'd love for people to turn into a draw your otp meme pls pls pls this pose is so good)

And also, of course, the Superman (2025) set photos

[starry-bi-sky]

this just in: danny fenton is just as much of a mask as Brucie Wayne? - another danyal al ghul au

Turns out, being placed in a civilian family who have no knowledge of your background is actually detrimental to the health and development of a child assassin due to lack of proper support! Surrounded by strangers in a foreign city, Danyal Al Ghul does as assassins do best. He hides. Espionage is one of many teachings one learns in the League, and it only takes half a day for Danyal to construct a new persona to hide behind: Daniel Fenton.

By the time dinner rolls around, Danyal al Ghul is safely and securely tucked behind the face of Danny Fenton; brand new adoptive child of the Fenton family who came from overseas. A shy, quiet little boy with a thick accent and curly hair, with brown skin and blue eyes, and an avid interest in the stars. The best fictions are always cobbled together in a little bit of truth, it's some of the only truth he ever lets through. He apologizes in a meek voice for his behavior early, he didn't mean to be rude, and he watches the three of them eat it up with coos.

Lies roll like silk against his lips, he struggles to meet their eyes and offers them his weakest, shyest smile. It's too easy. It's easy to go from there.

Danny Fenton, adoptive son, shy and awkward and unconfident but friendly. Who struggles in his classes and isn't the brightest, but tries his hardest. He makes bad jokes and has a quick tongue and a sarcastic mouth. He wants to be an astronaut. He's got the best aim in school, and is a terrifying dodgeball player. He's one of the least athletic kids in his grade.

It's like playing two truths and a lie, but there's only one truth, and the rest are lies. It's easy to pretend when he knows it's insincere.

Danyal Al Ghul, grandson to the Demon Head. Deadly, trained assassin. Has spilled blood, has had blood spilt from. Environmentalist, animal activist. He loves the stars. He owns a calligraphy set. A sharp tongue, an even sharper blade. He's clever, quick-witted, he would be top of his grade if he tried harder. He purposely doesn't.

He misses his family. He misses his mother, and he misses his brother. Mother visits a few times a year, so few times that he can count it on both hands. He cherishes every visit, as brief as they are. It helps remind him who he is.

Sam and Tucker are Danny's best friends. They've never met Danyal, but Danyal's met them.

It becomes routine to become Danny Fenton. As familiar and as easy as pulling on a shirt in the morning. Danyal wakes up and is always first to the bathroom in the mornings; stares at himself in the mirror until he can finally see Danny staring back at him. At night, he locks his door and sheds the mask.

Dying throws a wrench in his mask; splits a crack straight through the porcelain. He's able to smooth it over with sandpaper and liquid gold, but it's a little hard keeping his ghost form under wraps. It instinctively wants to shift to show his true self. Danyal can't have that, he's spent four years as Danny Fenton, he'll spend another four as him as well. Even if the feeling of the hazmat suit in his ghost form feels restrictive, like a too-small shirt suctioned to his skin that needs to be peeled off.

He'll live. Er-- well, you know what he means. It's frustrating however, trying to keep his Danny Fenton mask up even as Phantom - fighting in the air is something he needs to get used to, and the sudden propping of powers throws him off. But he is nothing if not adaptive, and he hates that he needs to slow his own skills down in order to keep pretenses up in front of Sam and Tucker.

The first time Danyal summons a sword when he's alone, is one of the few times Danyal gets to grin instead of Danny. He's fighting Skulker, and from an invisible hilt he draws a katana from thin air. It startles them both. Skulker takes a step back at the smile that spreads across his face.

They're both silent as Danyal examines his new sword.

"Do you know what people like me do to people like you, poacher?" Danyal finally asks him, the accent he began to hide a few months in slipping through. He drops all pretense, dragging the flat end of the blade slow and appreciatively against his palm. It's a good make, and when he cuts it through the air, it slices through like butter. He looks up at Skulker with a smile; "are you ready to find out?"

When Sam and Tucker ask about why Skulker seems so skittish around Danny now, Danny shrugs at them and says with a playful smile; "I don't know, I guess I kicked his butt too hard after our last fight." and he watches as Sam rolls her eyes exasperatedly, and Tucker snickers with his own joke.

By the time he reunites with Damian before their 15th birthday, Danyal is buried beneath so many layers of Danny Fenton that his brother will need a shovel to dig him out. He's not sure what he'll find.

[thisismyobsessionnow]

You ever see five men just do their thing on stage, think "I love them" out of nowhere and start crying uncontrollably?

[chiropteracupola]

kiss on a scar, heron husbands!

we watched the sun go down on Scotland / and I watched the moon come up over you...

[geekasaurus-rex]

Day 11, Wander

[clover-the-awesomest]

Major respect and gratitude to all these wonderful artists and logical people!! I'm an amateur artist myself who has never seen the appeal in AI art at all, or just AI in general, but I never really thought too much on how the situation affects people with disabilities. This thread though shows me and other regular people how free and creative art is. And how "Art" as a concept really doesn't have any limitations! You don't need a robot to do something that only a human can truly understand, and you shouldn't have to!

Thanks for sharing all your POV's on this situation and I'm glad we still have some sensible people in such a shitty world. <3

Plus, AI just sucks overall.

"ai is making it so everyone can make art" Everyone can make art dipshit it came free with your fucking humanity

[romantically-yours]

I desire romantically doing makeup with somebody

[gender-euphowrya]

wait ew samsung's galaxy ai just straight up has built-in wallpaper generators

[skyland2703]

It’s 3 AM, but fuck it, we’re being domestic | Prompts

Alternatively, just some fluffy domestic romance prompts, but they feel more cute when they’re in the middle of the night because one or both of the ship characters are insomniacs.

Dancing together in the kitchen, in the refrigerator light, and then sitting on the kitchen counter, eating ice-cream directly from the carton.

Walking barefoot on the dew covered grass, hand in hand, under the stars.

Sitting on the floor trying to piece together IKEA furniture because one person got obsessed with finishing it the same day.

Middle of the night cooking, except it’s making the weirdest most absurd dishes imaginable, just for fun.

Making love, except it’s on the bedroom floor.

Cleaning cupboards or attics and finding lpppittle mementos, childhood pictures, etc and talking about memories.

Midnight drives with street food pit-stops and making out with the car radio playing in the background.

Tossing a smiley stress ball around the house watching it knock into furniture— Bonus, if one person is tossing it and another is scrambling around trying to make sure no furniture falls over, causing squabbles.

Gossiping about annoying relatives/friends, parents etc.

Making each other coffee, except the rule is: adding all of the other person’s favorite ingredients PLUS one mystery ingredient which might be good bad or ugly. For funs~

Late night massage sessions because they’re old (they’re not even thirty. Maybe they are.) and their back huuurts.

Ramp Walk/Modelling sessions where one person tries out every single outfit in their closet, and the other one rates or judges them all and gives (mostly useless) opinions.

Doing laundry except they can’t put the clothes out for drying because there’s no sun, so they spread them all over the furniture (only the stuff that doesn’t go bad with the water-) and switch on all the fans.

Weird selfie poses and filming random tiktok dances.

Alternately, sitting side by side on the bed (or the floor—) deleting old pictures from their phones to make storage and laughing about embarrassing old pictures. (A “my phone might die of lack of storage but that super embarrassing picture of yours from six years ago isn’t going anywhere!”)

One of them randomly googling super random shit and telling those facts to the other person, and the other one, super sleepy, just nodding along to everything.

Painting dates where either both of them are amazing artists or neither of them are, (or one is and the other isn’t) and they switch canvases periodically to finish each other’s paintings. (Chaos for the ones who can’t paint, and two beautiful art pieces for the ones who can~)

Alternatively, one is an artist and the other models for them while being utterly sleepy bc Artist has insomnia :D

One is a musician and keeps the other up all night with the music. Or alternately, the partner has insomnia and the sleepy musician plays them something to pass the night (and what if it turns out to be a lullaby-)

Turning the junk, broken and useless stuff in their house into a rage room for the night.

Learning crocheting from YouTube and making each other weird little woollen mementos. (Could go for anything really. Learning shit with esch other in the middle of the night from YouTube—)

Annnnd that’s about all I got :3 I’ll probably be back with more! Prompts welcome~

[djevelbl]

cOMING IN LATE BUT COMING IN STRONG LET'S GO DOUBLE POST

A drawing a day with word prompts for the month of October!

[syncope-syndrome]

Sorry for the unexplained absence there, I became a Whumpee myself and got ridiculously sick with a sinus infection for the past two weeks. But, we're back.