#hope it is what you had in mind ://

[canisalbus]

✦ Fashionably late ✦

[confessionseddie]

buck being asked to babysit when he's sad :) for anonymous

3.03 | The Searchers 8.07 | Hotshots

[warningsine]

Agatha? That boy isn't yours.

[the-mourning-sun]

Moodboard inspired by @illicitaffairx

[just-null]

Do you ever do requests? If so, do you ever plan on drawing some Yandere with the Hantengu clones? :D hope you have a good day/night!!!

Mentioning an unfamiliar name

yes!! I love yanderes.. and these guys.. these guys are such good material...... nods nods..

I'm not sure about requests..I assume you mean drawing requests? I suppose if it REALLY catches my interest enough, I'd do it, but it'd probably just be line art/sketches.

[naturecalls111]

[ginnyluna]

"magnus and alex would both kill this look" yes. yes they would

(i saw this post by @helyeahmangocheese and i couldn't resist)

[captain-astors]

The Crown Prince

[fudanshidoublevision]

“Give me your love, your trust, commitment and devotion

Forget your family and all your friends

Give me your life, your faith and your soul,

until the end.”

Do not use this without permission. O>o

Double Vision from “Binary Star Hero” belongs to @concreteparasite .

Check this game out. ( ͡^ ͜ʖ ͡^)

[seasononesam]

Yoink!

[sansainthesnow]

And I want you to know, and to feel in your soul, that someone has come and gone. ALICENT HIGHTOWER APPRECIATION WEEK 2024 DAY FOUR → fashion • change • colours

[elysiae]

do you think operator & drifter treat their warframes wildly differently?

somewhat insufficient TLDR: i think the operator and drifter are emotionally attached but in vastly, strikingly different ways, and it manifested very, very differently too.

in operator's case, it isn't that they dont *care*, but they know how durable a warframe is. they know they can take one hell of a hit, and they'll be okay because that warframe takes the brunt of it (albeit with some phantom pain if the damage is bad enough). theyre less comfortable outside the confines of those large, bulky war machines because they know they're ultimately safe. those warframes can take hits. they cannot. the operator knows they were people, but they never met those people before the tragedy. besides... a lot of them really are just empty shells. they're hardly the people they once were, especially since they recreated those warframes from blueprints. don't get me wrong, they do remember the anguish of the originals - they were there, they lived it, and they still have empathy for them... but the operator knows the limits of every warframe like the back of their hand - they can maneuver however they want, they can take hits, they can run into armies and not be too afraid because they (as in the operator and the warframe this time) be fine. even if the warframe is damaged, they can fix the damage, so no harm done.

but drifter on the other hand? at first i think they never really realised the power they had. in their mind they were still them, just running, rolling on the occasion, it took them ages to maneuver those things *properly*, and probably only ever really learned with the operator's guidance. they would not let a warframe take a hit, not because they felt empathy for it (at least not a lot, last i checked you kind of need at least *some* to have effective transference?) but because they were so used to walking around vulnerable. yknow, not inside a killing machine. but what would've really solidified the difference was after they went to 1999. sure, hearing that these things used to be people is one thing, but at the end of the day, to drifter, they're still just machines. drifter never got to experience what the tenno did, they never had to deal with reaching into their freshly scarred minds to ease their anger, sorrow, fear, rein them in like the terrified animals they were turning into and hush their cries with understanding - they only knew the dead inside remnants... but it's an entirely other thing when you go to the past and see the people who were hurt. you meet them and you get to know them, become their best friends - maybe even date one of them - and it hit drifter like a fuckin' freight train. they have this entirely different view on warframes from that cold perspective they had at first. they weren't just war machines. those are people. every time they go into the head of those machines, they're looking through the eyes of *people.* people who had families and desires and hobbies, things they looked forward to, entire futures ahead of them that were snuffed out. people who were scared, people who didn't know what was happening. people who knew what was happening, who lived in fear knowing they weren't able to stop it... people who lived in fear of losing themselves. and i think it hit drifter a lot harder than they'd ever admit.

but thats not to say one of them is more attached than the other - both of them care deeply about their warframes. it's just that, they have different ways of looking at them. after all their experiences were so vastly different, it'd be impossible to look at them the same way.

(too lazy to type it out all over, but i have an example in the tags i think kinda helps pull it together more)

[notsofrozt]

A lil gift for my friend @anachronismstellar, get well soon!!!

"Bloody SQH and LBH return from a mission, everyone is shocked or disgusted, but their husbands hold them tenderly regardless."

“Shizun- ” Ming Fan burst into the bamboo shed, half-bent as he tried to catch his breath. He tried to compensate for his broken voice with vague gestures to the outside and a series of disconnected syllables.

Shen Qingqiu stared at him. It wasn't this disciple he was exactly waiting for that afternoon. Binghe had left on a mission already an eternal week ago with Shang Qinghua to pacify some insignificant territories on the border.

Binghe had insisted that it was a trivial matter that wasn't worth his time, and for once he agreed. He hadn't been hit by a wife plot for a while now, and a trip to a border town seemed like the perfect opportunity to fall into the clutches of one. Besides, Airplane had nearly bored him to death with explanations of tax tariffs and bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo.

He closed his book and rose, fan in hand, to face Ming Fan in the doorway. Up close he looked paler than usual, and rather sweaty for someone with his level of cultivation.

What could be so important that Ming Fan would run out to the peak, and look as if he had seen a ghost?

“Bai Zhan's disciples came down to make an invasion again?”

“No-

“Did your shimei get into a fight again?”

“Lu-

“Is there a demon delegation outside aski-”

“Luo Binghe and shishu came back!!!” Ming Fan interrupted him. He managed to catch his breath and bowed down. “They're in Qiong Ding's courtyard, but-

Shen Qingqiu blinked, perplex.

“Why didn't you start there???”. Why hadn't Binghe come home straightaway?

Ming Fan looked conflicted, refusing to look him in the eye as he stuttered an attempt at an explanation. He ran his hands over his face, to brush aside the hair that had stuck to his face thanks to the cold sweat.

Then, Shen Qingqiu noticed.

Ming Fan had not come from a mission, no accident had been reported to him, and he said that Bai Zhan's disciples had not made a recent raid. The red hand-shaped stain on the shoulder of his robe, of a size he knew very well, could only mean one thing.

Shen Qingqiu waited no longer. He unsheathed Xiu Ya and flew out in a rush.

He pushed aside the flood of disciples crowded in the courtyard, none in Qian Cao's robes, Shen Qingqiu noted with relief. If the xianxia paramedic equivalents were not on the scene, things couldn't be that bad.

(Nor, curiously, was there any trace of Mobei-jun at the entrance. He had been waiting since the night before.

“Junshang will come here directly. I came to wait for Qinghua” Mobei-jun explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world).

“A monster-

“…what Shishu spit out? It was a whole finger!”

“I don't know who looked more demonic, Shishu or Junshang…”

Gossip boiled around him. The disciples quivering with fear, their faces pale or green with disgust.

After a couple of sly elbowing and not so sly use of spiritual energy, he reached the front of the crowd.

Luo Binghe and Shang Qinghua stood in the middle of the courtyard. To say they were unrecognizable was an understatement. Their pristine robes were drenched in dark blood. Shang Qinghua's hair, always pulled back in a handy bun, stuck to his face and back in a tangle of blood and chunks that looked suspiciously like chopped-up guts. He was gesticulating in the air, pointing the plucked finger at his side and saying something to Luo Binghe in grunts that showed off his red-tinted teeth.

Luo Binghe's claws were still out, the black edge dripping crimson. The sigil on his forehead glowed, highlighting the blood dripping down his face and the fury in his scarlet eyes. The fluffy curls had disappeared under the weight of the dampness, turning his silhouette angular and menacing. He had left a trail of blood behind him, a halo marked with the death of his enemies.

They were the very embodiment of violence and carnage.

Well, that explained the disciples' remarks.

Shen Qingqiu glanced sideways at Mobei-jun, who had stepped out of the shadows and now stood beside him. He unfolded his fan and they both approached their husbands.

At the sight of them, within seconds, their faces changed. The only thing distinguishable amidst the dark red sea were their bright watery eyes, which soon changed from a creek to a waterfall. Now the only thing visible on their faces were the lines caused by the huge tears running down their cheeks, wiping away the blood, and the wobbly pouting on their lips.

(Like father, like son, whispered a voice in SHEN QINGQIU's mind. He proceeded to put that thought into a box and set it on fire.)

Shang Qinghua let out a pitiful howl, and ran straight to bury his face in Mobei-jun's pecs, which were barely muffling his sobs.

Shen Qingqiu narrowed his eyes. That leeching rat.

“My King… I missed you,” Shang Qinghua said, in the most pitiful voice a throat could produce. Shen Qingqiu got shivers from the cringe.

Mobei-jun picked Shang Qinghua up off the ground, cradling him unbothered by the blood and questionable bits of flesh that were surely sticking to his robe.

“This King missed Qinghua too,” he said with a soft smile before opening a portal and disappearing from the courtyard. Shen Qingqiu didn't miss the smug smirk that Airplane threw at the crowd.

“Shizun…” Luo Binghe called out to him, a plaintive tone matching his large, lamb-like teary eyes.

“This lowly one has missed you so much... but didn't want to appear before Shizun in such a pitiful condition” Luo Binghe apologized, hesitating between clutching Shen Qingqiu's sleeve as he always did, seeing his soaked hands.

“Nonsense. Let's go home so you can wipe off the dirt” he would later ask Shang Qinghua how exactly it was that they ended up like this.

Shen Qingqiu grabbed Binghe's arm anyway, and pulled it back to accommodate him on his sword. If it weren't for all the disciples present, he would wipe his husband's face, but that would have to wait until they were alone at home.

The tears had stopped, giving way to a big smile that made his heart tremble. He brushed past the looks of concern and distress from the disciples, and took off for the bamboo hut with his husband pressed firmly against his back.

It was going to be a long night.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

You know what would be cute? Sam and the reader get their first apartment and while Sam is putting stuff away, Vinnie comes up behind him to take it back out which turns into a little game

SAM MONROE stood in the small kitchen of your first apartment, in the middle of unpacking a box labeled «KITCHEN STUFF». Brows furrowed in focus on his smooth face as he carefully placed a stack of mismatched plates into the cabinet above the counter. This was completely new to him--having a space of his own, one he could call yours. He wasn’t sure if he’d get it all right, yet secretly he was ready to do his damn best. The space wasn’t much, but it was - again - yours, and he wanted to make it feel as put-together as possible - especially for you and the little guy

So,just like that, he didn’t notice the little pitter-patter of feet behind him or the tiny hands reaching quietly into the box. Vinnie toddled up smugly, doe eyes locked on the shiny object in the box: a metal whisk. With a delighted squeal, he grabbed it and turned around, making his way back to the couch like it was the greatest top-secret mission.

Sam straightened up with a sigh, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. Turning to grab another item from the box, he froze, brows knitting together as he gazed at the empty carton. “What the...?”

Sound from the living room caught his attention. Sam leaned over the counter and spotted Vinnie sitting on the floor, the whisk wrapped around the pudgy hand while he tapped it against the side of the couch back and forth with the proudest grin

“Vinnie,” Sam called with tone more confused than scolding. “What’re you doin’, bud?”

Toddler burst into giggles, holding up the whisk like it was his best trophy.

“So we’re just takin’ stuff now, huh?” He walked over, crouching in front of Vinnie to take the whisk back gently. “This ain’t a toy, you know,” words followed by a shook of his head. “C’mon, kid, let’s not make more work for me, huh?” and with that, Sam moved back to the kitchen, placing the whisk back to it's place.

But it wasn't even five minutes that passed by as Vinnie was on the move again. This time, he managed to sneak in just when Sam's back was facing him. Reaching for a small plastic bowl from the box, he waddled back towards the couch as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Sam didn’t notice at first, muttering to himself about how his mother gave them new, ugly (for him) dishes while he tried to organize the whole place, especially the messy counter. When he finally turned around, he did a double take, eyes narrowing, mind working harder. Eventually, he just struggled it off - maybe he's just tired? It has been a hard day after all. Just as he put another object out, he heard a soft crack of wooden floor and a click of vessels against each other.

He twisted his neck to the side, seeing Vinnie proudly take out a spatula “Hey, hey, no way, little dude,” Sam muttered, wiping his hands on his jeans as he walked over to take the plate from Vinnie’s hands. “You’re gonna end up breakin’ this, and then we won’t have nothin’ to eat off of.”

The toddler grinned up at him, crouching down to grab his plastic, blue bowl and hold it with both hands like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Vinnie,” sam's voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Didn’t I just tell you--”

Sam let out a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re gonna drive me nuts, kid,” he muttered, scooping Vinnie up. The bowl clattered to the floor, but the boy only squealed in delight, kicking his legs as Sam hoisted him into the air.

“You think this is funny, huh?” his lips quirking into a reluctant smile. “You’re makin’ this harder for me, dude. And you want your new place to look nice, yeah? So no more sneaky stealing”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne

[userjiminie]

come as a pair, do not separate 🦦🦦 for @bangtannism

[taintandviolent]

From smut prompts can you do a combo of 2 and 57 for Remy Lebeau x female!Reader?

Love your writing and can’t wait for part 2 of Taco tuesday!

warnings: smut (doggy-style), dirty talk, uhhhhhh i dunno what else. mirror sex? yeah.

His groans are more frequent, breathing ragged. Suddenly, he reaches around to your face, his strong hand gripping your jaw, straightening your head gently. Your eyes are still closed, painfully heavy with arousal. He’s fucked you senseless, and without his current support, you can barely hold your head up. 

“Look at your reflection, cher.” he murmurs. His voice is sultry, laden with arousal and you peel your lids back, swallowing hard. You’re suddenly faced with your own reflection; the mirror on the back of your door. It’s parallel to your bed, and until right then, you somehow forgot that. To Remy, it had been an intentional, calculated move. The position you two were currently in was one that felt impersonal to him sometimes, but because you had a mirror, he still got to enjoy all the subtle nuances of your arousal, and the way you responded to his body.

Doing it doggy-style, you’re on your knees and elbows, and Remy is tall behind you, all brawn. Your eyes flit to your own image somewhat apprehensive, for no man has ever made you look at yourself during sex and you’re not sure what you’re about to find. To your surprise, it’s not embarrassing, nor is it something that kills your high. 

The way the light filters in from your bedroom window casts you in a dreamy yellow haze, flushing your skin with a light glow. Your gaze is lust blown, your cheeks are flushed, your ample cleaveage is rocking back and forth with the force of his movements, and your hair mussed up from where he’d been holding onto it. He thrusts his hips into you once, hard, and your expression contorts into one of pleasure, body shuddering against the action. Seeing it in the mirror is a new experience, but the visual turns you on even more. If you were going to be honest with yourself, you were hot.  

You grip the sheets, making fists in the fabric as Remy hammers into you. Your jaw drops, and a low, erotic moan of pleasure tumbles out over your flushed lips. He, too, looks so good – the way his handsome features look almost tormented with pleasure, the way he’s moving against you, his muscles rippling with each exertion. 

“Look at how gorgeous you are.” He continues, his words choppy from the power of his thrusts. Despite that, his voice is deep and commanding, and he holds your hips, using them as leverage for his thrusts. “So gorgeous when I’m fuckin’ you like ‘dis. So pretty for me, and only for me, huh?”

You’re only able to moan in response as the sensations overwhelm you. He’s hitting all the right spots, taking you in a way that you’ve never experienced before. 

“Ain’t ‘dat right, cher?” He urges, watching you in the mirror. You nod, breathlessly. He cocks a languid, half-smile; pleased that you’re appreciating yourself, even a little bit. If you saw yourself through his eyes… 

He suddenly leans forward, pressing his toned stomach against your back, and urging himself farther inside of you. His voice, when he speaks, is husky and low, almost a growl. 

“I ain’t sharin’ you with anybody. You’re mine, and mine only, and Remy gonna’ make you remember ‘dat.”.

The way he fucks you then is ruthless, staying true to his previous claim. His hips hammer into yours, cock bullying your cunt with reckless abandon. Your arousal climbs higher, and higher until it reaches a peak; you can’t hold it back any longer Your eyes fly open again, brows pulled together in tortured lust, as the coil snaps and you collapse the front half of your body forward, soaking him and arching your back up until it aches.

Remy’s close behind you, but his stamina is better than yours. Another new experience; men usually come first (too quickly, at that), but not him. He’s got you in ten different positions, three orgasms deep before he paints your insides. 

“Ah, cher… c’mere.”