#this is pure indulgence for myself

[chestnutisland]

Business AU pt1.

Pt 2 and Pt 3

[likeprongstostars]

your honor let them eat each other

[yeagrave]

night at the museum!AU bc I can :]

[ bonus sketches below the cut🫶✨ ]

[buhuiai]

🙄

[zambomarti]

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

1.04

[magnusbae]

Brandon Sanderson || art: Karl Gussow // Jean Claude Kabongo // George Frederic Watts

[spidertams]

University AU Alphonse doodles for my best friend,, First day of class (colored drawing) vs the rest of the semester (drawing on the top right)

[dumbhirano]

I really love how you give Avery the little cat mouth. The :3 expression. I also like when you draw him with the anime never opens their eyes cliche. He just looks so cute and tired. I like to imagine he opens his eyes when his rage gets too high. Like when his opens you know you fucked up and he can state at you with his cold cruel eyes that don't fit his uwu old skrunkly man face. :3c. That's what you did to Avery that made me love him even more. :3c

Please remember to feed your cat or he will cause financial damages

(i just realize how small this looks so please click it for better quality (; ω ; )

(=^･ω･^=)

sdjfs sorry for editing the post but i want to share this

[samgirard]

love, simon (2018) | ted lasso 3x6 “sunflowers”

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

the secret to happiness is doodling something catered to You Specifically. one second you're normal the next you're biting your own arm

[laundrybiscuits]

This is the start to a wholly unasked-for sequel to wait for the season that I’ve been poking at for some time. It’s definitely even weirder than that already-kind-of-weird fic, so maybe give it a miss if you’re looking for the standard fare. Steve isn’t even mentioned in this snippet. I'll post something more normal soon, I promise.

From the living end of memory, the past seems inevitable.

You had to go through that terrible thing so that you could become the type of person who would survive that later, more terrible thing that most likely occurred in a thematically resonant way—and with a little determined creativity, the thematic resonances start popping up all over the place. 

So then you arrive on the other side of the terrible thing, the second terrible thing, with your memories all worn smooth like rocks that have been jostling around in a pocket for years. They fit together now, no inconvenient angles or edges anymore. It’s all one continuous shape, the shape of how things happened, and you tell yourself that there was no other way for your story to go.

It was always going to happen this way. 

It was always going to be the concrete; the buzzing overhead lights; the placid, thoughtful voice saying “Let’s see if we can get it to wear some clothes, why don’t we?”

Embarrassingly enough, that’s the first thing Eddie remembers from his new life. He’s seen clips of the grainy footage from the months before that, but when he tries to remember lurching around and sinking his teeth into some disgusting raw slab of meat, it’s like a black hole. His mind doesn’t even want to get near the edges. He feels irrationally like if he thinks too hard about it, his mind will decide that actually, sentience isn’t such a hot shit idea after all, and he’ll tip right back down and down and down. 

———

Wayne’s old now, and it makes Eddie uncomfortable in a way he doesn’t really want to look at too hard. 

Wayne had never been young, exactly; Eddie doesn’t remember a whole lot from back when he first went to stay with Wayne, just a lot of promises that it was temporary, promises that stopped coming after a while. But what he does remember looks a hell of a lot like Wayne when Eddie was nineteen or twenty: wrinkles, bald spot always hidden under some ballcap or other, grumbling I’m an old man but Eddie never truly believing it because somehow, over the years, he’d got to believing that Wayne would always be there. Fucking stupid! So so fucking stupid from Eddie, who on paper looks like someone who should know better. 

Now Wayne’s actually old. Now he moves so slow, Eddie gets impatient just watching him through the lit-up window, doing the washing-up and puttering around the kitchen with stooped shoulders.

It’s easier on him if I don’t, thinks Eddie, but he already knows he’s lying as he thinks it. Or rather, he’s lying in a very specific way: it’s easier for Eddie if he pretends Wayne is dead, but probably not so much the other way around. 

That makes him a pretty terrible person, he guesses, but then again—not exactly a person anymore. He doesn’t know how much that matters. 

It would hurt him, thinks Eddie, tentatively, and that might actually be a little bit true. It’s just not as true as the other truth: that Eddie wants to keep Wayne locked in the box marked BEFORE because it’s too difficult to even think about explaining. That if Wayne’s back in his life, Eddie has to reckon with him as someone who will just continue to get older every single day until one day Wayne is as old as he will ever be.

It’s easier if he doesn’t. Doesn’t he deserve an easier life? Didn’t he go through purgatory? Hasn’t he paid and paid and paid? He should get whatever he wants, he should rip through the skin of the Earth to sink his teeth into the candy flesh, chew it up—

So yeah, he’s a monster in more ways than one. 

———

There’s BEFORE and there’s AFTER, but really that’s just a narrative device. Really there are a lot of before-afters. 

There was before-after Eddie woke up; that’s the big one, maybe. Then there’s before-after Eddie is Eddie again and could think in words like a human. Like a person. Then there’s before-after it becomes scorchingly, irreversibly clear that Eddie is neither human nor person. 

And of course, there’s the before-after Eddie finds himself outside in government-issued sweatpants and a plain blue t-shirt, looking up at the gibbous moon for the first time in his new not-quite-life, and feels absolutely nothing about it.

It hits him later, kind of. He doesn’t even try to get somewhere safe (for whom?) to bunk that first night, just curls up in the nearest Greyhound terminal and felt sorry for himself, performatively. It seems like the thing to do. Woe is Eddie, friendless nightmare beast, freakier than anyone’d ever guessed he could be, and not in a fun way. 

He hadn’t even—

Back before, like before he’d even died in the first place, he probably would’ve taken it harder. Hah. Harder. 

But it hadn’t even occurred to him to reach into his own stringless scrubs and make baby Jesus cry, not for a long time. When it had, he’d felt oddly proud, as if that was proof that he's not some mindless beast at his core. That's probably not quite right, though. He thinks about it some more and decides it doesn't mean anything after all.

And then when dawn hits the Greyhound terminal, he belatedly realizes that shit, maybe he should’ve been thinking more about what vampires can and can’t do, traditionally, and he’s a little worried about burning to a crisp but it’s already too late, so he just rolls under the bench with the last of his consciousness and hopes like hell he looks too dangerous to mess with. 

Somehow he’s okay; somehow the cops aren’t even called. This is by way of being an inference, given that once the sun is out for real, Eddie is for all intents and purposes no longer a participant in goings-on. But he wakes up in the orange light of the sunset and everything seems to be the way he left it, maybe a handful more Burger King wrappers and fresher eau de urine gathering in the corners. The slim roll of go-away-please cash is still in his white cotton briefs. He’s not in a drunk tank and nobody’s prodding him. Nobody’s even around. Cautiously, he wonders if it’s another freaky power they just never thought to check for. 

He doesn’t feel much like testing it, and also it’s actually really fucking uncomfortable to be crammed underneath a bench like he is, so he crawls out and starts trying to pull together some kind of life.

———

“Eddie,” the scientist says, while he’s still staring up at the night sky for the first time in almost a decade. 

Eddie doesn’t know her name, but they all know his. They all call him Eddie, not Mr. Munson. Not that he wants to be Mr. Munson—he thinks if one of them actually said Mis-ter Mun-son he would shrivel up immediately, slough his skin and slip down the nearest drain.

“What,” says Eddie. “I’m just saying, I dunno how the economy works nowadays, but I’m guessing fifty bucks isn’t gonna get me too far.”

The scientist pushes gold-framed glasses up her nose. “You understand that we did not have to do this at all, right?” She doesn’t sound—she’s not being cruel. She’s just telling him so he understands. “You do not legally exist.”

That’s all she says, but Eddie knows what she means. He also knows that this money’s coming with strings, and he wants to get the absolute most he can out of this while he still has something they want. 

“Okay, but—”

The scientist rolls her fucking eyes and reaches into her own fucking pleated slacks and pulls out her own fucking wallet, counting out two twenties and a ten. She probably gets paid real good. There’s a picture of a kid in the wallet, maybe five or six years old; it looks like a school photo with that weird cloudy blue-grey background. The kid looks happy. He’s grinning. His name is probably Chris or Lionel or Jacob. He’s probably in some kind of youth T-ball league where he mostly sits in the outfield and eats grass. He’ll probably get into a good college someday, maybe on a baseball scholarship after he gets really good at T-ball after all, then baseball, and then he hits the winning home run for his high school varsity team. It will be a whole different millennium and he will never, ever know that the Psych 101 class he’s skipping to dry-hump his Chemistry-major girlfriend was paid for by the three and a half years his mommy spent administering heavy-duty sedatives to Eddie so they could run their little tests without Eddie getting bitey.

“Thanks,” says Eddie, because he’s got manners. He’s still got manners.

“We’ll see you in a month,” the scientist says.

[nevarroes]

I love your art. I find it interesting that you chose to draw this very specific feeding kink and get super indulged in it - with the willingness to lose a lot of people who might turn away from the art (as you started very differently). Was this always your *main* goal (to draw fetish art) or did it just develop with your OCs over time? There are a lot of very successful fetish artists so it really is all about audience, do you plan to approach this more, or do you think you will ever go back to be more "mainstream"?

First of all thank you!💜 and I mean hmm.... the thing with this question is I do not consider myself a fetish artist in that way anyways because I am uninterested in drawing this kink in a way that'd be generally applied, if that makes sense. Like I have no interest (and also didn't really have much of it before since it fit no character that I was writing) to draw any other character in such a dynamic or just to draw the kink, so it feels disingenuine to say that. I'd say I'm just drawing whatever I'm interested in oc- and dynamic-wise without really caring about who it may drive away or attract. it's none of my concern really since I'm not a professional artist that needs to curate what I post and I just see it as not attempting to separate any of my interests

So.... with that being said, no It was never my goal since I still don't think that's a thing I "achieved" or anything. however the thing that do I wanna point out is that back then I had a lot of personal issues with art. As in... even if I did a lot of OC stories that touched on kinks and other stuff in private I'd never post anything that is less than polished/rendered when it came to art, which made it seem like I'm only an illustrator or character portrait artist while nowadays I'm finally comfortable drawing simpler stuff as well as dynamics/interactions so I do think I'm where I wanna be in that regard. Again though I really do not care about who or what exactly my audience is, I don't intend or ever did try to actively build an audience. I appreciate everyone that sticks around right now and enjoys my content and I enjoy every interaction a lot, but I'm not trying to make a name in any specific niche or something like that, I'm quite literally just sharing my art and stories for fun and if that at the time aligns with fetish content to the extent that I would be seen as a fetish artist then I suppose it does, same as with mainsteam-y art, it doesn't really concern me🙏

[sensitiveheartless]

[lavenoon]

Well, he has a point

Based on a conversation I had with my sister

[a-shadowedvales]

when jane's powers return in season four (and because they were regained by her confronting and accepting her past, rather than being retraumatised with it!) they're stronger than they ever were. when she starts getting a handle back on them, she very quickly comes to realise not only have they affected her, but her mother, too. one of the biggest losses that came about with her losing them was the fact that she could no longer visit terry in the void; while there was no real communication there, it did allow jane to sit with her, and gain a little more connection than she could in the real world. when she first visits the void after their return, it takes her three hours to find terry, something that is both unexpected and incredibly worrying. but when she does, it's something of a miracle. jane's increased strength and control over the void actually wakes terry up from her catatonic state, but only in the void. there's no way to help her mother physically, but she does do so (unbeknownst to her) mentally. terry is reborn in jane's newfound control over the vale of shadows; she becomes the woman she once was, and while her body remains frozen in a "good dream", her mind connected to jane's own allows her some freedom. jane is able to speak to her mother in the void, is able to be held by her, and while it's still unfair and jane cannot stay in there forever, it's something. this only lasts for about eight months, as each visit slowly begins deteriorating terry's physical and mental state, and jane's health begins declining after spending hours upon hours in the void each and every day.

when jane finds out these visits are actually killing her mother on the outside, she deems to stop, but terry expresses the importance of them being able to speak, that she'd prefer to die on the outside, if it meant she could have just a few months with her daughter like this. terry and jane's connection was always so strong, which ultimately led to terry "waking up" in the void, but even jane's newfound strength cannot save her from the harsh realities. each visit nearing the end of those eight months, terry fades more and more, becomes weaker in the void, and her real body eventually gives up. jane's in the void when her mother eventually passes on, and physically feels their connection weaken, like some part of her suddenly becomes lost in the shadows, a part she'll never find again. jane falls into a depressive state for weeks after her mother's death, given she's technically lost her a second time, but soon comes to realise she was lucky to have even shared those eight months together. it was better than nothing at all. there is a proper burial and funeral, (and when jane dies, she's buried next to her mother) which allows jane some sense of closure. she never fully recovers from losing terry, nor from the fact that she never had a proper relationship with her, but she does eventually find some peace with it all.

[mysteroads]

🔥It's Nice Here in Rare-Pair Hell!🔥

I feel weirdly accomplished!😎 It's as if I have evolved to a higher level of fanfic authordom. 👑 Did a search and my fic was the only one on the site with this ⬇ particular pairing! (Mr. Compress/Lady Nagant)

Does this mean I get to pick the ship name? 😉

On that note, just for kicks and giggles, if you have a good ship name, put it in the comments! 🚢

(I already talked a little in a previous post why I decided on these two as a ship, but if you want to know more, look past the break for my explanation with gifs!)

Alright, so, cliff notes on my series "It Doesn't End Here.": Tomura Shigaraki died, which he decided was no excuse not to hang out and party with his friends. All the rest of the League except Mr. Compress (because he was safe in prison), ended up getting invited to Tomura's after-death party.

Which, you know, sucked for Atsuhiro Sako, aka, Mr. Compress.

But I wasn't about to let the poor guy live a crappy life in prison. So, as per the MHA tradition, he gets involved in villain reform! Also, as the only beneficiary of Tomura Shigaraki's will, who in turn inherited All For One's fortune (completely legally, with a team of lawyers to boot), he decides to put the money to good use and creates the largest non-profit in Japan.

I REALLY wanted him to embrace all aspects of his new life, so I wanted him to find a significant other and a kid. I really don't like to write OCs to pair with major characters, so I had to find a canon character. Also, important: Compress mentioned once that someone in each generation of his family had a quirk that was good for theft! So I had to include that in my calculations. Then I had a thought:

That would be VERY useful for stealing things, wouldn't it?

And WHO ELSE in MHA has magical hair? That also happens to be purple and pink? And who would be considered a villain, and also consider herself a villain for all the lives she took? Gee... I wonder...

Now THAT'S a woman. I figured they'd also get along, since they both hate corrupt governments and spent time in villain prison, they'd have a starting point to become friends, and things would progress from there.

If you read all this, A thousand blessings be upon you, starting with my favorites: May your pillow always be cool, May inspiration come upon you often, and May your pets live long, healthy lives.

Drink water and have fun ya'll!