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pictures titled “just a girl and her dogs” but they’re all pictures of men in a submissive stance to the woman

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pressure sensitivity on my tablet decided to leave this plane of existence so i drew this to try to make myself feel better

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He's about to rain down a million smooches

Thank you so much to @tacticallyunsoundjohnnyboy for commissioning me to draw my favourite husbands 🫶

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which of my boys would sit and let me ramble while i organize my pokemon card collection? :(

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i can’t wait for when chatGPT and ai image generation also crashes and each prompt cost $50 an attempt. oh you can’t get your stolen big tiddy anime ghibli art for free anymore? you want to buy real big boy art from real artists now? beg for it. beg for it like a dog.

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mmm hambur

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⋆.˚ .𖥔˚

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Price who didn't get married for anything as maudlin as love -- no, he got married because that was just the thing to do. Advance in his career, marry a pretty woman, buy a house, fill it with things that don't matter, that will never fill the hole he always pretends isn't missing in him.

And it's fine. It could absolutely be worse. His wife is nice, he enjoys her company. She works a lot, a higher up in some company that does some things, he's not too clear on all the details. He goes to the Christmas parties when he can, a picnic in the summer where he meets people he knows he won't remember.

Then there's the fundraising event.

His wife spent weeks organizing it. He's been home for a stretch, and he's heard all about the catering, the invitations, the ... other details. With all the scotch, some things went in one ear and out the other, but when the big day arrives, she puts him in his tuxedo and drives him to the venue.

There's a dinner, some live music, and once everyone -- including John -- is settled in, good and full and at least a little tipsy, the auction begins.

Mrs. Price, who'd been flitting around all evening, appears on the stage, grasping a microphone and explaining the rules of the auction. John quirks an eyebrow, a little bit confused when he hears his wife explain that she'll be auctioning off dates.

He's pretty old-fashioned himself, but still, it feels like an odd move -- a relic from another era, to be selling dates with people. But the wife seems excited, and the employees who come on the stage with her seem comfortable enough to have the audience bid to spend some time with them, so maybe it's just all in good fun.

John knocks back another drink or two, watching as handsome men in suits and beautiful women in dresses, all lively and relaxed under the spotlight, take their turns receiving bids. The company is raising a considerable amount of money, it seems, with some of the attendees getting a bit rowdy with the bidding. All laughs, all for a good cause.

But when his wife introduces you, he notices that things are just a little bit different.

You're the first person up on the stage that's seemed nervous. He watches you fidget with your fingers, then force your hands to rest at your sides before they start fiddling with the skirt of your gown. Your eyes dart around, glancing at his wife then back to the audience, though he imagines the spotlight blocks them all out.

He faintly hears his wife describing you, as she's described all the people before you -- you're a secretary, it seems, and Mrs. Price assures the bidders that you're "a little shy but ready for a fun evening."

His lip twitches, the closest to a smile he's gotten all evening.

To John, you're the most beautiful woman that's been on stage yet. With wide hips and generous cleavage that peeks its way out of even your modest dress' neckline, you're more suited to his taste. Not that it matters. He's married, after all.

But when the bidding starts and he sees your shoulders tense and your eyes dart around like you're desperately searching for an escape, he just can't help it.

So he bids. High. High enough that his wife declares the date with you "sold!" with an excited smile -- she thinks he did it as a donation.

John, as he watches your shoulders relax, his eyes drifting to the sway of your hips as you walk offstage, knows better.

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Officer Riley again but this time he's not a street cop anymore, he went and became an instructor at the police academy. He's still kind of an asshole though.

He is rough on the cadets, not necessarily because he wants to be, but because he wants them to be prepared for the job. He wants to train them well so they're ready by the time they leave him. So if he's the instructor that barks the loudest during PT, if no one else gets as nitpicky over the uniforms? He's just trying to do them a service, even if none of the students appreciate it at the time.

"You shine your shoes?" he asks you one morning.

"Yes, sir."

"Doesn't look like it."

He asks for 20 push-ups, then for ten more when you stand back up and your shirt isn't tucked it straight.

Simon doesn't have favorites at the academy, but you're fun. There's a little spark in your eyes, a twitch of your mouth when he gives orders that don't make sense, like you want to argue it. Like there's part of you that just hasn't learned to be good and stay quiet.

One morning, he's driving a van full of cadets out to the woods for shooting drills, and you climb in the front seat. It's cold, and you're huddled up close to the heater in your coat. Without a word he shoves his cup of coffee in your hands, his eyes back on the road before you can accept it.

Because he's not cruel, and he's not trying to be. Even when he stands over you, unleashing a load of pepper spray directly in your eyes, he doesn't find pleasure in it. It's all part of it, part of the training. He needs to make sure you're ready to do what the job requires.

(Although when he forgoes the protective gear and instructs you to try to take him down with the pepper spray running down your face, making you squint and wince and very quietly whimper, maybe he does find a tiny bit pleasure in that.)

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statue study turned ghost propaganda

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"Ken when yer in wan ae they moods where ye just want evdy fuckin deed?"

Simon turns to the Scot and raises an eyebrow at the sudden declaration.

"Not particularly."

Johnny huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, turning his attention back to the Top Gear rerun playing on the TV.

It takes longer than it should for Simon to ask,

"When was the last time you had anything to eat?"

Johnny shrugs, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Thursday at dinner, why?"

It's second nature to smack the sergeant over the back of the head.

"It's Saturday, you bloody twat. No wonder you're a miserable prick."

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Gif sets are SO important to me. Yes, please take this scene and break it up into 4 or 6 three second loops that I can study over and over to appreciate the small details of it

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SOME PROMPTS I DID!!!<3

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It’s kind of a luxury to be able to be “politically neutral” but you can’t explain that to “apolitical” people without coming across as crazy to them because there’s a bunch of stuff they just don’t think about including things that to you personally are matters of life and death and when you explain this to them they’re like surely you’re exaggerating and both sides are just as bad but no you’re not exaggerating but also now they’re not really listening to you because they think you’re exaggerating

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not to be insensitive but some of the salem witch trials were so funny bitches like “i saw her at the devils sacrament!!!” girl... what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament 👀

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