#can you tell this was self indulgent

[lottielotl]

They can hashtag relate to each other

[biscuit-munchies]

obligatory danny phantom x fairly oddparents shenanigans AKA i am eating some fics up currently

[tsubomiiiii]

Chillest guy ever fr

[avephelis]

we are locking into BEAST MODE to unleash our SUPER MONSTER BLAST chip

[dollfacefantasy]

toji fushiguro x crybaby!fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, dacryphilia a/n: i'll probably write the mating press one at some point too i just felt like doing this instead today

Thinking of Toji Fushiguro with his sweet, sensitive girlfriend who's had a bad day.

He's lounging on the couch when you get home. His head rests on the cushion with one of his thick arms tucked behind his head. His meaty thighs are spread wide open, almost calling for someone to sit on his lap.

The second you come through the front door, he knows something’s up. You don’t have a pretty smile for him or chirpy hello. You just brush by and head straight to the bedroom. He doesn’t have to ask the obligatory ‘how was your day?’ to know his baby is overworked and overtired.

When you return to his vicinity, your clothes from going out are gone, swapped in favor of soft pants and a thin camisole. You answer the call his thighs put out and take up the spot on his lap, landing on one of his legs and curling your own to rest your feet on the other.

"s'wrong, baby?" he murmurs with a small peck to your temple. His fingers trail up and down your spine in a soothing rhythm.

You sniffle before answering and tilt your head back. Another couple tells. “Just tired n’ stuff,” you answer weakly.

“Yeah? That all?” he asks while using his arms to squish your body closer to his. His lips lay feather-light kisses across your cheekbone and down to the skin beneath your jawline.

You tilt your cranium for him, giving him more room to lavish affection on you. The rest of your body melts in his direction, eager for him to soothe more of your problems away with his presence.

He covers one side of your throat with his lips while his fingers tend to the other. They stroke back and forth in little stripes. When you don’t answer his last question, he tries a different one.

“Just a bad day?” he mumbles.

To that, you nod.

He hums knowingly. His hand on your neck slides down over your breast to your waist. He knows what you need. You don’t want to actually talk about what’s wrong. Don’t want advice or a place to vent. You just want Toji to make it better in the best way he knows how.

“Why’s everyone so hard on my girl, hm?” he murmurs. His lips drift the opposite direction of his palm, finding your cheek again and working over to your lips.

“I dunno,” you answer before his lips swallow the sound of your voice.

Soft, wet noises from kisses replace actual words. You melt against his chest, letting him support you in the embrace. One set of your digits lazily plays with the smooth ends of his obsidian locks that sit at the nape of his neck. You can feel the frayed skin of his scar as your mouth moves on his own.

The first time this happened, Toji felt like he was doing something wrong. Beforehand, he thought you’d want to feel listened to when you were sad. That you’d expect him to provide words of alleviation. Maybe you’d wanna watch some of your favorite movies or order takeout from that place you like. Instead, all you wanted was the most base form of physical comfort. And there was no way he was gonna complain about that.

His fingertips pet your waist while his other hand slides down between your legs. He cups your sex before actually administering any touches.

“My baby just needs to relax a little,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your saliva coated lips.

You nod and brush your nose against the tip of his. “Need you.”

He hears another tiny sniff in your voice. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip before he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I know,” he coos, voice low and smooth, “Need daddy to just rub all those worries right out.”

A whimper spills from you - both a reaction to the words and his thick fingers that were beginning to stroke your cunt over your soft bottoms. The sensation is too dull to provide any real pleasure, but it’s enough to stoke the sparks of anticipation into flames.

You lean back and angle your hips upward, giving him more access to your center. He pushes down with slightly more pressure. A puff of air leaves you both in sync as you each fall into the rhythm of this dance.

He doesn’t play with you through two layers for too long. When he does slide his hand under the waist band of your pants, he also bypasses your panties. His digits delve right between your folds, seeking out the tender wetness that lies there.

His middle finger finds your clit with learned precision. It gives the swollen bud a few swipes, relishing the mewl you let out.

Your body loosens up as his finger begins to work at you more. His shoulder catches your head when it falls back. Moments later, your legs spread a little wider across his lap to make this all easier for him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he praises.

Like always, he rubs you dumb. Toji’s skilled fingers get you all floaty and mindless in the span of five minutes. Your eyelids droop while your pupils find his face. You see him smirk, visibly amused by your look of love.

“Looks like you’re gonna start droolin’ for me,” he teases and swipes at the edge of your lip with his free thumb.

You don’t know what makes him so good at this, what gives him the ability to crack you like a safe, but he does it time and time again. Your head begins to fill with clouds as tears mist over your water line. It’s as if he reduces you down to your most base instincts.

He can see the extra shimmer in your eyes. “Such a good girl,” he croons.

His scar splits with a grin. More arousal begins to leak from you, slicking up your cunt and his fingers. He drags his digit over your entrance. He doesn’t dip it in, only uses enough pressure to tease.

When you sniffle for the third time and turn your face into the warmth of his neck, he knows you’re ready for more.

His hand glistens with your nectar when he frees it from your panties. He gives you a little boost and tugs down the garments before sitting you back on his lap bare. He was already semi-hard from watching you get worked up. Palming at his bulge, he gets it to fill out some more and then pushes his own bottoms down.

As much as he loved making you ride, you were in no mood to right now. He tilts you back against his chest, kissing at your neck while jerking his cock a few more times.

You get your legs back up into his lap, which works out for the position he wants you in. One of his hands grips your hips, guiding you up so he can slot his swollen tip at your hole. He presses at it gently, popping into you and letting you adjust to the first part of him. Whining in satisfaction, you squirm against him.

“Hold still for me, baby. Daddy’s gonna take care of it,” he breathes.

His hands cup behind your knees, folding you up against him. Lifting his hips, he slides the rest of his thick shaft into you. That’s what breaks you open and beckons those waiting tears to roll down your cheeks.

He soothes you through it. You’re not in pain, and he knows that. You need this release. He's just more than happy to give it to you.

You’re so used to the satisfying stretch of Toji’s cock. It stills draws these tears from you, but the best kind. And this is the way you like to get it. Held up in his strong arms while he pumps his hips up and down.

His heavy balls sway with the movements of his pelvis. The prickle of his hair down there meets your ass every few seconds. He nestles his own face against your skin, muffling his grunts with your skin.

“This making you feel better, sweetheart?” he coos, his voice more strained than before. Your cunt was just so tight and warm. Each thrust enveloped his dick with feelings straight from heaven.

“Uh huh,” you choke out. It’s impossible for you not to clench around Toji. He just fills you so well.

His tip prods at your interior sweet spots. You arch your back, breasts heaving from the slow stream of pleasure filling your veins. His pace is nice and slow for now; designed to settle your emotions. He could speed up and drive you to more tears in a few minutes.

“Fuck,” you sniffle simply, your hand rising to wipe your tears away.

“It’s ok. You let it allllll out,” he says from behind you, voice laced with the pleasure of knowing he handled you just how you needed.

“T-thank you, daddy,” you whimper.

“s’what I’m here for.”

Once that pace becomes too comfortable, he starts speeding up. Your pussy squelches with the increased fervor of his efforts and another cry leaks from your throat.

He groans against your neck, dick throbbing at the noise. His hips rock up and down, up and down. He can feel the simmer of release beginning to sizzle in his belly, and he knows you’re probably feeling the same. It only makes him work harder.

The muscles in his legs go taut as he uses them for leverage and prepares to feel the rush of euphoria.

“Almost ready for me, babydoll?” he mutters in your ear.

You nod. Your own legs quiver while your hips buck. Your breaths come out in pants, measured despite their ragged quality.

One of your hands slithers down to rub at your clit to give yourself that extra edge as you hurtle towards the finish line. The combination of the two sensations gets you there. A whimper tangled with a long whine bursts from you and your pelvis bucks sharply as if you’re the one thrusting.

“Oh-ho. There it is,” Toji coos. His hand slithers forward, draping your leg over his forearm insstead of holding it. His fingers wrap around your throat, keeping you as close as possible while he fucks you through the high.

A sob tumbles from your mouth as the rest of your features scrunch up. Twitching and writhing, you ride out the wave of euphoria. You’re so far entrenched in the bliss of release, you nearly miss the feeling of Toji reaching his peak and flooding your pussy with a strong eruption of cum.

His hips falter when the feeling crashes into him, but he manages to stay steady as the pleasure rolls through him. His hips pump each rope deep inside you.

You’re through with it first, but he’s not far behind you. You come down together. Your body sits boneless on his lap while he stays nestled inside you.

Slowly, his arms dislodge your legs from their folded up position. He uses the freedom to bring his thumb to your cheek and wipe away any remaining tears. You nuzzle at his throat in appreciation.

No words are needed between you two, but you offer one anyways.

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. Your face looks at him genuinely but with a simultaneous desire to not get so serious.

He pats your waist. “Don’t mention it. There are worse ways you could need my help,” he says. That scar you love so much thins as he gives you an expression similar to yours.

[reds-skull]

Sharing a mask is something that can be so intimate actually

[canisalbus]

✦ 2023 summary of art ✦

[dovewingkinnie]

i gift you a kiss funny creature

[24bughours]

Mini comic i drew the first panel of literal months ago and decided to finish in one sitting

After this incident early in their friendship, Undyne would find out that

1. BOTH of the skeleton brothers can break the laws of physics, and 90% of the time its in really mundane ways

2. She IS still buffer than Papyrus, she was just shocked he had any "muscle mass" at all

[daily-odile]

everything is the same except Odile is the one looping

oh. heheheheh. muahahahaha. hold on *digs through my pile of disorganized sketches*

Odile loops au; a sketch compilation!!

Some old fic drabbles + associated sketches under cut (a6 secret spoilers):

hc: Since equipment carries over, as long as Odile uses her book in a fight, she can write down notes and have it carry over loops

toxic doomed yuri (for a more fleshed out fic I highly recommend The Sweetest Thing by soreimoon, it's amazing)

[tonycries]

No one ever really thinks it, but Sukuna is the best at cooking - you think he'd be around Uraume that long and not pick up a few tricks here n' there?

Sure, maybe you don't want him cooking you human stew - but chicken soup for when you're sick? Lava cake for when you're on your period? Pancakes after a long night where he has you bent over the kitchen counter before they're even ready? He has you COVERED and doing it all in an apron and NOTHING else.

[hauntingrabbits]

An important thing to note about kids' shows centered around colorful horses and the magic of friendship: happy endings are not uncommon. 

(Batman MLP AU)

[sysig]

Those wacky skeletons ♥ (Patreon)

[m1d-45]

will you promise that i'll see you again?

summary: your people refuse reason, and their damage refuses to heal. when it seems as if the whole world has left you, your dutiful knight still remains by your side.

word count: 2.3k

-> warnings: implied suicidal ideation (reader + unnamed side character), reader's previous deaths are mentioned in somewhat graphic detail

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @yuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“you’re one of the only things keeping me going, you know.”

dainslef turned to you in surprise, the even neutrality to your tone a sharp contrast to the rapid pace of his heart. he wasn’t a fool, he knew that the hunt had to be taking a heavy toll on you, but this…

this was more than he expected.

he knew he was one of a pitiful few who saw through celestia’s false puppet, who knew you for you and not their mirage. he knew that the entire world was hellbent on erasing you from existence, that you’d been forced through your own death countless times as teyvat pulled you apart and pushed you back together far from the scene of your would-be murder. he saw the golden scars across your skin, the dried remains of blood lining the wounds you hadn’t been able to patch yet. he’d been the one to wash them away, not minding the refuse soaking into his gloves if it meant your hands could be clean.

he recognized the dull exhaustion in your eyes, the same as the ones he saw in the reflections of lakes. tired, worn, barely there, hanging on by one solitary string that was wound so tightly around a desperate hand.

you had always been his reason for continuing. when the traveller broke down and the ruler of the abyss hid from the sun, you were there. when the chasm’s mud clung to his boots and the memories in his head burned as nails forced between his eyes, you were there. his rosary was kept tight to his chest at all times, familiar prayers pulling him up in the morning and forcing him to sleep at night. he was alive for far, far too long, but you made it bearable. you were his duty, his promise.

he never once thought that he’d be yours. then again, he never thought that he’d have to defend you from the ones you once called friends. time never did pass how he expected it to.

“…leading light?”

you looked down, twirling blades of grass around your fingers. he had led you up to a mostly desolate area of sumeru, west of bayda harbor. it close enough to the sea, forest, and desert that you could reasonably make an escape through any of those routes if need be, while also providing a rather pleasant view. the sky was bleeding red and gold as the sun sank below the horizon, a remarkable sight that fell on blind eyes. there was no use trying to enjoy nature’s beauty when he still kept one hand on his sword and both ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger.

you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety. you shouldn’t have to prioritize based on how likely you are to get hurt, or how easily it would be to make an escape. you still flinched when the wind blew a little too quick, used to it heralding armored footsteps and battle cries. in another life, you were welcomed with open arms, able to enjoy yourself without constantly being on high alert. teyvat did what it could to adapt; the air was still, frozen in time, barely a bird chirping for miles. it was meant to be comforting, he thinks, but dead silence was more unnerving than any breeze.

“i mean it.” he could hear every shift in his cloak around your shoulders, the heavy fabric doing little to soothe your stress. it was yours more than it was his now, to the point he felt claustrophobic wearing it. how long had he been traveling with you? the days blurred.

“i don’t doubt you.” he never would. never could. he’s not sure, even if he somehow wanted to, that his body would allow him to treat your words as anything less than fact. “but i don’t understand what you mean.”

you were a god. the creator, the first, the one that shaped the sovereigns scales and laid the foundations of earth. you predated the archons, celestia, the very skies themselves…

and he, somehow, was a driving motivation for you?

his words must have been funny, a sharp laugh tumbling out of your mouth. it was bitter, humorless, and somewhat raspy. he made note to find some water for you later. “what else could i mean?” you turn to him, some of his confusion lost as your eyes found his. even this burnt out, deep bags set beneath them, you still managed to steal the very air in his lungs. “you’re the only reason i’m still here.”

he didn’t know what to say. what was there to be said, when you were you and he was him? when the world had abandoned you, it made sense you’d cling to what remained faithful. it was merely coincidence he happened to find you first, that’s all. coincidence that you trusted enough not to run from, coincidence that you allowed to care for your injuries. there was nothing to say, because you held nothing for him in particular, only leaning on him out of need. he had to believe that. what was he left with if that wasn’t true? an awkward truth hid beneath his well-known lies, too large for him to see the edges, let alone to contain.

“please… do not say such things again.” to ask of his god what he could not ask of himself was surely some form of heresy, as was willingly laying aside his guard when he was the only one who was tasked with protecting you. he pulled his attention from the tide below, from the rustling trees, holding faith that the world would not be needlessly cruel. he stepped forward, kneeling beside you. even up close, you still seemed painfully small. “it is your own resilience that has allowed you to persevere.”

it’s the earth that leads you from danger.

it’s the water that follows you wherever you go.

it’s the leylines that whisk you to safety.

it’s the wind that warns you of what’s to come.

it’s the you from the past that protects the you in the present.

it’s the you in the present that provides for the you in the future.

it’s you, from everywhere and everywhen, continuing to fight.

and yet you sigh. you look away, across the sea, tracing fontaines skyline. “it really isn’t. i was lucky to run into you when i did.”

you had just crossed the wall back into the forest, burning hot and shaking. he was the lucky one, in truth, to be able to pick your figure out from the sand below. perched on a high cliffside, even mitachurls were reduced to small brown flecks.

you had worn a cryo mage’s cloak, which was what initially drew his attention. abyss activity wasn’t uncommon in the area, but a cryo mage in the desert… that was cause for intrigue. he stepped forward and slid down the steep face in front of him, a slight puff of dust marking his landing in the desolate sand of old vanarana.

he didn’t know what to expect. you stumbled around the jagged remains of a tree, heading for the statue of the seven. he followed, only growing more confused. cryo and dendro did not react with each other, and there was no way to “slow” a statue. a scouting mission, maybe? but why a cryo mage, when pyro would have been far more advantageous in the case of an attack?

he leaned around the corner carefully, prepared for the sight of a staff or the chanting of abyssal magic filling the air. the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, frozen in place and waiting for some trigger to continue.

he saw none of that. you were collapsed at the foot of the statue, faint wheezing only making it to his ears by virtue of the standstill around him. you held no staff, commanded no magic, your chest barely moving with air.

he’d never seen a mage seek out the archons when dying. one hand squeezed the handle of his sword as he crept forward, ready to strike should the situation turn against him. the sand barely shifted beneath his feet, his own heart sounding too loud to his ears. you did not move, showing no signs that you had noticed his approach. he still didn’t trust it.

your cloak was tattered and torn, with thick gloves atypical of a mage. they reminded him more of hilichurl wraps, which was strange considering you wore no mask. your face was instead covered by what looked like eremite cloth, just as stained and dirtied as the rest of your clothes. what he could see looked almost human; in another life, he could believe you were a weary traveller, lost amidst the sand.

he was acting foolish. if the abyss had a human tool, he needed to figure out why. he reached down, undoing the sloppy knot of your veil and letting the brocade fall limply to the grass.

…grass. he blinked, eyes flickering between the ground and your face, not sure which was harder to believe. flowers had bloomed around you, protecting your body from the blazing sands, and he’d be a fool not to recognize the face plastered all over every bounty board.

he didn’t understand. if nothing else, he thought the archons would have enough respect for their creator to know when they were being lied to, yet before him was barely living proof of the inverse. sweat beaded along every inch of exposed skin, deep-set heat exhaustion burning you from the inside out. how could you be a threat? how could they be so blind?

he looked again, the shine of elemental sight straining his eyes, catching flickers of the dendro energy pouring from the statue. you were the only one the archons would feed. you were the only one to make the very earth break its own rules, allowing lotuses to bloom from barren soil. something painfully similar to rage threatened what remained of his rationality, and it took all he had to push it aside.

that didn’t matter. if he went off on some banal revenge quest, he’d be no better than them. your safety mattered more. he picked you up and set aside how calm his curse felt, beginning the trek back to his camp. behind him, the flowers already began to wither, losing their persistence without you to foster it.

perhaps that initial meeting was luck. but these was no luck involved in your trust in him. when you woke up and saw him at your side, you chose to trust him. you chose to believe that he was not like the others, that he would protect you, and he was forever grateful for that trust. nobody could fault you for being angry, for being spiteful about what you were put through and choosing to lash out. nobody would have the right to be upset if you chose to vent your wrath against those that had hurt you.

but you didn’t. you chose, again and again, to believe in the world. you chose to let them live their lives, even if it meant getting hurt again in the process. you chose a quiet life traveling with him over the comfortable life on your throne. to willingly choose to travel with a disgraced knight to spare your people guilt… he couldn’t decide if it was noble or reckless. either way, he was selfishly happy that he was the one to stay by your side.

“i won’t try to convince you. but, please.. do not give up on yourself so easily.” i know far too many who have died by the same hand. “the world and its opinion does not define you. only you get to decide where fate leads.”

you lean towards him, and he thinks you might have passed out- but no, your head lands on his shoulder with far too much precision. he stiffens, not used to existence without a constant pain beneath his skin. “how motivational. you tell all your soldiers that?”

his heart is beating too quickly, thoughts unusually hard to grasp. you’re the only one who could have this effect on him. he only wished it wasn’t now, when your belief in yourself was on the edge. “i mean it. none of this is your fault, and neither are celestial actions the people’s fault. i know that you are hurt, but i don’t want you to accept that main needlessly. you shouldn’t have to view your creation with such pain.” slowly, carefully, he raises the hand closer to you, doing his best not to disturb you as he settles it on your arm. he’s can only hope that the contact brings you as much comfort as it does him. “if nothing else, believe me. promise you’ll at least try.”

he doesn’t think you’ll agree. why would you make a promise to one who represents the heaven’s betrayal? why would you let him hold you close at all, when you can surely sense the bindings of those who tried to kill you wrapped tightly around his soul? he doesn’t know. all he can do is hope.

“…alright, dainslef. i promise.”

twilight has long since fallen, and yet he smiles for the first time in centuries.

[starflungwaddledee]

some rather strong first impressions were made.

required reading for the magical "voice" headcanon and another for starstruck's signature in particular. asked by @trainerbob23 !

[senseearly]

For a moment, imagine yourself in Mithrun's brother shoes.

Your brother - stronger, prettier, more charismatic, but also distrustful and disdainful of everyone especially you - is to be sent to the Canaries. It is the rule, it is the duty of all noble houses. But you know what goes on there, Mithrun knows what happens there. Yet you see him off, bidding a temporary farewell as you do, because someone from the House has to go and it won't be definitely you. Mithrun knows this, you know this. And you wonder, very briefly, if Mithrun hates you now more than he does already.

Your brother - powerful, agile, a good soldier just as he is as an heir, if he could only be an heir - suddenly disappears. The unit he belonged to suddenly disappeared. And you're speechless because - how? why? No one wants to answer you; they will instead try to bring back a body, they promise to you. But that is not what you want. You grieve for your brother. but your own family doesn't grieve with you. Wasn't Mithrun family too?

Then you found out: MIthrun is alive.

Your brother - now weak, despondent, his eyes always looking for something that is not here nor there - is to be sent home where people can take care of him. It is not your first choice, you want him home. But he is - sick. Not quite there. He needs someone who can look after him and you look at yourself - your gait, your constitution - and you know it can't be you. So, you follow the advice of your family and pour out all your resources to find him the best of healers and caretakers. You ask yourself, almost daily, if Mithrun would ever return to who he once was.

Your brother - strong, pretty, uninterested of anything and anyone else aside from what he calls 'the demon' - is now better. He can walk on his own now, eats without throwing up on himself. The color on his skin is back and the scars of his injuries have faded into thick bumps and discolored skin. But he still isn't quite there; still needs help and probably will for the rest of his life. And you can live with that. You can provide that. Just as long as he comes home.

But doesn't. Your brother - now a husk of his former self, and you hate thinking of him that way, but you can't help yourself, the Mithrun you knew is gone - runs straight back to the Canaries. His mission is not over, he says. He doesn't care how long it takes, he says. And you see him off, again, because someone from the House has to go and it still can't be you. Mithrun knows this, you know this, and you can't help but wish, very briefly, if things would've been different if you went instead of him.