#because hahah

[just-slightly-chayotic]

today a friend asked me for my ao3 username and i gave her the only possible answer. (a blank stare and an "over my dead body")

[kimeoshi]

Boss!Aven for @starryjellyfishie !!

Thank you so much once again for commissioning me! :D 💙

[salamispots]

dream from several days ago

[allastoredeer]

Vox Drawing Guides!

I think I'm going to do one more expression page for him because, despite having the simplest shaped head, I have such a hard time drawing him T.T

Link to Masterpost with my other drawing guides

[wispscribbles]

❄️ Remember to bring blankets for your recon mission ❄️

[jayladfanpage]

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn // Batman: Urban Legends (2021) #1 // ojibwa on tumblr // Red Hood and The Outlaws (2016) #9 // Unknown // Red Hood and The Outlaws (2011) #25 // Unknown // Batman (1940) Annual #25 // Unknown, Sue Zhao // Nightwing (1996) #121

[housecow]

So you tell your non-feeding friends about feedism? Like recently, or have they always known? Were you nervous to do that? Was it like, a huge weight off your chest? Did you get any weird reactions?

i told one of my best friends last summer, i think? and she was just like. “oh, so that’s why you always order so much food”

but when i mentioned feedism explicitly she did bring up some of the demonizing stuff ppl on social media see abt feedism. i brought up my point of view and experience as a feedee and in the last year her point of view has changed a lot? we were talking yesterday and she said something like “tbh being purposefully fat is punk” so i think she gets it

[sandsorghum]

Clouds & Curtains

husband!Nanami x wife!reader

wc. 1.3k

summary. Perhaps Nanami's approach to...rousing you in the mornings has changed over the years.

tags. Established relationship, Domestic bliss | Romance | Smut | Body (& Soul)Worship | Mentions of Nanami wanting to be a father

a/n: Super soft, super indulgent piece. Have your cake and eat it nanami girlies. Sometimes i just need to write him a love letter ok

Prologue

Back when you'd just begun to be intimate with each other, Nanami tended to be a little embarrassed about his subconscious (but hardly subtle) desires for you. He would rather suffer his internal, infernal dilemma than disrupt your rest. But he couldn't quite control his urges, squirming between decency and depravity, not when you'd rub up against him, so innocuous and merciless.

It was a hard habit to shake; how Nanami felt he ought to earn your every quiver against him, every whimper, however much he yearned to feel you tremble at his moans at any given moment. It was codified in him, there was a time and a place and patterns to follow, before he could permit himself the pursuit of your shared pleasures.

Of course, you'd unveil him in the evenings, the privilege of your touch stripping bare the prerogatives of his flesh. You unraveled him, his reticence, his reasoning, his very capacity for speech, by braiding your breath and fingers with his, in the friction-begetting-friction tangle of your lips and limbs together.

Yet he still thinks of these mornings, that find the two of you entwined, as an undeserved luxury. So Nanami would do his best instead to focus on your face, how sweet your peaceful expression was. It would be wicked of him not to cherish this, he'd chastise himself for wanting more, for wanting to drown in your adoring gaze, for wanting to return it with his own hungry one, body and spirit beggared by the night, by the hours not spent beheld by you.

Nanami assumed the beauty and tenderness of your countenance would quell, or could sate his appetites, would tame the primal stirrings in his belly. But nothing could be further from the truth, in fact they had the opposite, compounding effect; a lump in his throat would rise, and his desperation would thicken till he could only helplessly rut his hips against you.

And then your eyelids would flutter open, and in the crease of your knowing smile, all his definitions, his distinctions, all that distance between need and greed would collapse with a single kiss.

Years later, and your husband is so absolutely shameless about his...early head starts to the day. He pulls you into him, snug against the cleft of your ass cheeks, content to let your scent and radiance seep through the thin fabric and warm him in a way the sun, in its reluctance behind the clouds and curtains, can never hope to.

He stares at the petulance drooping off the petals of your lips, rose bud coiled tight before daybreak can coax it to unfurl for strobes of gold. Nanami is a patient man, too patient you've often thought, yet you feel his phantom touch, a tender sweep of your mouth, a zephyr whispering in the wings, billowing brocade and swelling muslin, ghost pulling you through the gauze of sleep.

You shift against Nanami to hear him sigh your name, soft and distant, thick with slumber and affection and it's this which rouses you more, not merely his growing rigidity pressed to the curves of you. Although, it helps, feeling every inch of his hunger like this, in a slow swirl and pinch at your waist, the gentlest rocking as your breasts are cradled in his palms, familiar persuasion pebbling your areola. You know he dreams of them swollen with milk, that all your memories of his teeth are girded by the desire for them to be suckled by the most innocent of mouths, baring only gums and tiny wails. Your nubs stiffen and a small smile stretches across your face at the thought that with his wish to grow a family fulfilled, he might find also a small regret, of his monopoly of your mounds contested by another, to whom he owes the genesis of your body's generosity, that sweet fullness dribbling, stolen, into your husband's mouth, enticing in its envy.

This prospect of hypocrisy is to be savoured for another day, far down the road. This morning brings neither hesitation nor urgency, all syrupy light and his maple gaze, the languor of his limbs splayed around you to be treasured just as much as the gradual grind of his cock. There's a certain smugness in its slowness, as with the self-assuredness of his thumb circling a bare sliver of your skin.

A familiar motion that stirs a memory, fuchsia-tinted for the both of you. You remember your then boyfriend stammering and scarlet-tipped, matched to the rosy tips of his ears, excuses lost in the shuffle of sheets and stutter of hips.

"I-it's just-just the t-temp-ah-temperatuur," he'd slurred, the excuse as thin and transparent as the sticky film he laved across your throat, dangerously growing gossamer and feebler with every twitch and each strong buck against your body.

"Mmhmm," you'd hum, carnal ache turning you conciliatory. Such complacency. You had been the one to smirk back then, canines gleaming coy, as you offered ruin in the guise of reprieve.

"Want me to warm you up, darling?" Hands already reaching for him, mind already marveling before your fingers could be reacquainted with their hubris, his girth.

"P-please, anythin-nghing" he'd panted, all wide-eyed desperation to be devoured, sweet thing.

You'd been such a fool.

To not know not greed was a two-way street, this ravenous osmosis, this vicious ouroborous.

You think perhaps, in fact, you got the worse end of the deal, trembling against your spouse now, thighs clamped together.

"My dear," Nanami hums, a teasing timbre dripping honey as he sinks his fingers in, "always so ready for me."

You squirm, eyes screwed shut and fisting the sheets, trying to grasp the pale image of the boy who'd once writhed and blushed beneath you, a spectre all but vanquished. You miss him, sometimes.

You arch your back into Nanami, the way you know he's addicted to, just to hear him groan your name, ragged with the dregs of self-restraint or slumber, you're not sure which, but it's a close enough echo to send pleasure juddering through you, the recollection churning hot in your gut, of when he was wrapped around your finger, instead of your cunt around his.

"Sweetheart."

The tenderness of his tone pries your lids open. He doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to say anything but he does, because he knows you are too stubborn to ask for what you need to hear.

"My love."

He claims your gasp, in the crush and curl of his mouth, in the crook of his fingers.

"My girl."

Another smattering of kisses, chasing the flutters of your belly down, down, down to your creases weeping nectar. He licks a whine from you, pitching high into the air, his husky moan vibrating within you.

"My wife."

You feel the hot gust of Nanami's breath over your clit, as he pauses.

"My wife."

There's a reverence as he repeats himself, pathetic attempts to vanquish his disbelief, wonder glistening in his gold-flecked irises, staring at you in awe, searching for proof this isn't some frenzied fever dream of his.Of course, he finds it in your own unwavering eyes.

You've been such a fool.

There, in the locked gaze your shared history glimmers, that shy boy paralyzed by his worship of you, prostrate as the man before your parted legs now, offering his soul, his past, his future.

You reach for him, and he surges upwards. The collision is wave returning and rising from oceans, over and over, is starburst, is incandescence, is the fission of atoms never, ever meant to be split.

It burns away all notions of him as your acolyte or priest, any concept of deity and devotee.

"My life," he breathes into you, and you feel the throb in your ribs, the furnace of his lungs.

"My life," you repeat to your husband.

Adam. Prometheus. Kento.

This morning and many after, he lavishes you with irreverence, a ravishing of irrelevance; his goddess, his woman, his joy -all that matters is that you are his and he is yours; Together, you forge a paradise that exists for as long as the melding of your souls persist, boundless as horizons and sure as sunrises.

@houseofsolisoccasum

[chiptrillino]

you mentioned youve been drawing for over 15 years,,, can i ask if you can show any older art?

im a rather young artist but ive been drawing for around 3 years so i feel very discouraged with my progress. around what time did you become comfortable with your art?

(ID in ALT text) at least i tried roughly i am sorry

this took me a while to reply, hope you are still around anon. I really mean it when i say "i have always been drawing". i could dig up even older drawings i did (courtesy of momerrino's inability to trow anything away) but sorting through that could take forever...

so here is a brief selection. some can be found when you go back to the beginnings of my tumblr here. or on my old DeviantArt account or twitter.

i was around 14 in 2009 i am 30 now. idk improving takes time and patience. and perhaps even to learn to appreciate your own pen ship.

[artofalassa]

The Earring

the missing piece from my Zack Lives AU set in post AC

[sparxyv]

quick nosebleed seb doodle 😗😗

[littlecrittereli]

Have you ever thought about Young Chris in Reprogrammed?

dude 14 year-olds are so scary, Guardianship AU Chris would beat the shit out of Diego

[greenbirdgreen]

been listening to malevolent w my friend!! not super far, but it's been fun :D

[doctorsiren]

Picture of little baby me, I wanna say circa 2014? Maybe? I would have been like uh 9, maybe 10?? This was on a field trip LOOK AT HOW GOOFY BILL’S PROPORTIONS ARE

[kunikiiida-kuuun]

Compilation of some of my favorite Kunikida BSD wan moments

1. Kunikida and Atsushi going camping together on a father-son bonding trip

2.1. Kunikida's dream Armed Detective Agency

2.2. Kunikida getting drunk and ripping off his sleeves

3. Kunikida concerned when 'Dazai' texted "I want to die" and trying to reach out to him.

3. Planning a beach trip for the agency, truly the leader.

4. Kunimom

Bonus: Dazai wants to hypnotize Kunikida and reverse his personality and imagines a "relaxed" Kunikida.

[salamispots]

gonna try inking this traditionally for fun (and also because my brain didn't like any of the digital attempts/wouldn't let go of the idea mkghjgg)