#challenge may

[unholy-cat]

1) Dionysus, but this is a meme with Jesus from "Dogma" 1999.

Наша радость) Колабик с прекрасной мадамой @amymor-theend

Our joy) Kolabik with the beautiful madama @amymor-theend

[amymor-theend]

Day 1 of our challenge with @unholy-cat

[smash-chu]

make a cohost account, make a blue skies account, make a pillow fort account, make a artfol account, share your discord, make a back-up account, make another account, make another account, make another account-

[catmask]

when u go to write a mentally ill person in ur story you are presented two options. the first option is to write your mental illness realistically as you actually experience it with all the ups and downs and people who are like you will resonate with it and feel seen. except every person who reads instagram infographics on mental health that uses the phrase narcicisst for anyone who does anything that crosses them and unironically call themself a dark empath will call you scary and tell you that youre demonizing mentally ill people

the second option is to lie and write inspiration porn for those people to get hard to

[canisbeanz]

Silly doodle bc it was the first thing I thought of when I saw Pomni.

[matchapuccino]

Versions of Vergil (except Urizen and the cloaked one)

[samglyph]

I think about Darkthur…. Maybe once a week

[yallstar]

Jayce knocked against the underside of the roof, acknowledging the driver. He then returned to kissing Viktor slow and hot, seemingly content to ravage him until the very last second, ignoring the halfhearted protests. He just continued to hold Viktor close, petting along his body like he possessed the same soft luxury as the rest of their surroundings. Viktor boggled at the realization – not just that Jayce might be greedy in love, but that he considered Viktor something worth coveting.

more art for chapter 4 of differential burdens in displacement

[asturlavi]

devil never cry

[sforzesco]

2025's ides of march illustration!

I've been doing one a year since the 2022 presidential election*, so. you know! keeping up with the thematic tradition. sometimes politicians compare themselves to caesar crossing the rubicon and you just gotta. process that. do an annual re read of a bunch of different literature that use the ides as their stage. go through commentary on dante's divine comedy. watch a production of julius caesar. for unrelated reasons, ofc.

(*other countries besides america have elections)

it's also funny how people will debate whether or not the optimates/conspirators/whatever were ungrateful assholes in my inbox whenever I post one of these, like the ides of march hasn't been a well established narrative that people have been using to explore other stuff for centuries. take it to an academic conference! we have empire and autocracy and absolutely batshit press conferences to discuss!!

and as always, some reading material! for fun and whimsy. for more on brutus as an established allegorical figure:

The Brutus Revival: Parricide and Tyrannicide During The Renaissance, Mafredi Piccolomini

and on roman conspiracies narratives

Conspiracy Narratives in Roman History, V.E. Pagan

[unholy-cat]

Пошлость . . . звенящая пошлость, Хахахаха!!

3 день челенджа с прекрасной @amymor-theend

Vulgarity . . . ringing vulgarity, Hahahaha!!

Day 3 of the challenge with the beautiful @amymor-theend

[amymor-theend]

@unholy-cat and I came up with this thing✨

[stopsbeatiingg]

he's had me in a chokehold for a year now

[cup-o-stars]

These three!! (You might have to click for quality)

I ended up really liking Usopp's coloring and regretably spent more time on these than the first batch. They were fun though!

🤡🐠🌸

[jesuistrestriste]

sage i NEED dilf!art pulling down his baby blue pajama pants and getting pegged ib: the end of your last art getting pegged ask

it’s the end of a long day.

art has been working on his laptop all afternoon and evening, the sun now below the horizon as the apartment gets bathed in warm, artificial light from lamps scattered around the living room. he’s still in his pajamas from this morning. a white tee shirt. soft blue joggers. he sighs as he closes his device and lolls his head back against the couch.

you arrive back at your guys’ place just as he’s beginning to relax into the cushions. kicking off your shoes and shutting the door behind you, your keys jingling in your hand as you walk up behind him. you kiss his cheeks, stroke his short blonde hair, and then whisper to him.

“hi, baby.”

he’s melting into you like softened butter. his pretty blues blinking open tiredly as he pulls himself up from the couch and walks over to you. his arms encircle your frame. “mmn.. made you dinner, it’s on the stove..” he murmurs into your neck.

you nod and run a hand down his spine, reveling in the way it arches under your touch. curving into a perfect arc as he shudders. a soft hum of approval leaves your lips, and then you slip out of his hold to walk down the hall and into the bedroom.

it was a happy accident, really. you’d only gone in there to get out of your work clothes. it wasn’t really your fault that the strap at the back of the closet caught your eye. it’d been a while since you’d bent art into all kinds of pretty positions and made him moan so loud that the neighbors had to leave a note on your door the next morning..

you come out of the bedroom and place your hands on your hips, smirking softly as you walk up to your husband. he’s standing in the kitchen and pouring the both of you a glass of sweet wine. he smiles when he feels you approach, but his face immediately drops when he turns and takes in the sight of you. black, lacy lingerie.. his favorite set.. and the rubbery purple strap bobbing in front of your pelvis. he swallows thickly, his breathing picking up—his chest beginning to rise and fall quickly. his stomach swoops. four of his fingers swipe over your torso, and then he’s biting his bottom lip.

“oh, god, please..”

it doesn’t take much more than that before you’re tugging him against you and flipping him around so that you can bend him over the marble countertop. he winces when his cheek presses into the cold surface, but then he squirms—whimpers—and reaches back to pull down his pajama bottoms. his black briefs come down right after. you suck two of your fingers into your mouth, covering them in spit, and then ease them inside him. it’s so easy to work him open nowadays, it’s like your touch is a muscle relaxant.

“aah—fuck—“ he moans, his brow pinching up as he claws at the counter.

you prod at the sensitive gland inside his walls until he’s squeezing your digits for more, his cock leaking and hanging heavily between his legs.

“ready?” you ask.

he nods, “fuck me, need it, just fuck me, baby..”

you pull your slick touch away from him and then guide the tip of the dildo into his hole. your free hand pushes down on the center of his back, fisting his tee. “good boy.. taking me so well..”

he keens as he feels you slide into him and bottom out, and then he’s groaning as he tries to rock back against your pelvis.

once you’re completely inside, you slide your touch to his hips and begin building a rhythm. in and out and in and out and in and out, but it’s still too agonizingly slow for art. it always is. he much prefers when you’re thrusting so hard that he can’t even speak. it’s better that way.

“want more?” you murmur, groping his ass with one hand as the other moves from his hip to his hair, tugging his head up from the counter, “want me to go faster?”

he chokes around a wet cry; his chin is already covered in drool, glistening like quartz.

you take that as a yes.

rearing back, you pull out four inches before slamming them back in—the motion punching a ragged gasp from his lungs. you lean over his back, pressing your chest to it, and lick over the back of his exposed neck. “thaaat’s it, take it, take it, take it, artie..”

your hips move a mile a minute now as you pummel into him, the slap of skin on skin echoing out and bouncing off of the walls. he’s a beautiful, disastrous combination of shaky limbs and tense muscles and broken moans that make him sound like he’s dying. every thrust elicits a sharp gasp or a sob from him. this is the way he likes it. when he can’t move or think or speak without your say-so. when you’ve got him so close to the edge that he gets dizzy.

“t—tou—mngh!—m’fuck, ah, ah, touch—‘m s’hard, it hurts—“

you fuck him rougher.

his eyes roll back.

“want me to touch your cock? is that what you want?”

a nod of his head.

“if i touch you down there, are you gonna make a mess of our flooring?”

another nod. he gulps down a yelp.

“fine then.. only because i know you worked so hard today.. and you missed me.. and you made dinner..” you smirk.

he nods at all of it. he has worked so hard. he needs this—he needs you.

you move the hand in his hair to his length, and a swell of heat thrums in your gut at the feel of him. he’s throbbing and wet and absolutely burning in your hold. he’s so, so close to losing it, you know that for sure now. as soon as he feels your fingers curl around his shaft, his hips jolt and his balls draw up. his jaw slacks open. and then his eyes flutter and squeeze shut. you know that look. you know it too well.

he’s about to—

“i’m—!” he wails, and then he’s convulsing below you, his abdomen contracting against the counter as his knees buckle.

he comes.

hard.

it splurts from his tip like a fountain. gushing between your fingers and sticking like melted ice cream. you fuck him through it all, letting the strap bruise his prostate as you milk him dry.

“ugh, you’re cumming so hard, don’t stop,” you groan out encouragingly, rubbing yourself against the harness, watching him shudder and pant and writhe with the waves of pleasure that lap at his nerves.

you pump him in your hand until he starts to hiccup and whimper. he’s drained of nearly all of his energy, but he musters up just enough to let out a soft sob.

“t’much,” he slurs.

he’d push your touch away if he could. any more and he’d probably pass out. stars are already spattered in his vision, his face prickling with heat.

you give him one last down-stroke and let the remains of his load dribble out. his cock kicks in your hold.

“ah, aah, ah.. done, please, fuck..”

you kiss his shoulder, stroking his hair. the strap stays buried in him, all seven rubbery inches being held in his warmth. it’s almost painfully good.

“i love it when you do that,” you whisper into the fabric of his shirt.

“ngh.. do what?” he wipes at his mouth, the excess saliva being cleared away. the blush on his face burns brighter when he realizes just how much you’ve wrecked him. it’s not surprising, but it always gets him a little embarrassed.

“when you let yourself get lost in it.”

he sniffles and tries to push himself up from the marble, but his biceps are trembling too hard and he just collapses back down. a small, pained noise leaves his lips. you shush him and stroke his jaw.

“just relax.. i’m still inside you.. i’ve got you..”

it’s hard for him to not be able to see your face after he orgasms. to not be able to hold you, and be held. but he knows he’s gotta listen and calm down if he wants to get what he needs. he has to let you take care of him. and god, you do it best.

“o-okay.. can you just hold my hand?”

it’s a simple request but it’s something that makes your chest ache. his hand raises from where it lays and opens up in anticipation. its a silent plea.

your fingers slide between his and interlock.

“i’m here.”

he lets out a breath he’s been holding in. slow, shaky, relieved.

“you’re here.”

[benevolenterrancy]

I'm on chpt20 and I want to study SQQ like a bug. My man is flushed, hair down, robes literally falling off his shoulders, LBH on his lap playing with his hair and kissing him... and he finally cottons on to the fact that maybe this isn't how you have a platonic and important discussion. Enforces it for all of five seconds at which point LBH starts massaging his waist and SQQ is back to being like "yeah this is fine and normal". Amazing. Can't believe he insults the IQ of SQH's characters.