#thank u anon for the inspiration

[artilite]

I loveee love LOVE your design for siffrins friend and they look so amazing and cute and I think it’s an awesome design. However can I say. They look like a one piece character

THANK YOUUU AHHHHH🥺 she's been a clear vision in my head since the fish head scene,,, it was super fun getting to put it all down hehe :]

i know absolutely nothing about one piece apart from?? this??? being a thing????

[thelasttime]

i never knew you could have moonlight ‘til the night i held you

[blindmagdalena]

honestly i love imagining the reader trying to ride homelander for the first time and him moaning/being overstimulated when she sits on him and her forgetting who he is for a second and going 'shit, did i hurt you?' and him just. being so conflicted by that phrase. of course a human can't ever hurt him and you should watch your tone but also... it's nice you care so much for him. makes him feel cared for, in a way

18+! Given the sounds he makes, no one could blame you for mistaking one for pain. That sharp gasp and the breathless keening moan that follows it.

"Oh fuck," you breathe, hand braced on his bare chest, legs tightly bracketing his hips. He's sweltering beneath you, holding your hips in trembling hands. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

He opens his pleasure-bleary eyes, confused.

It'd be laughable if he wasn't so delirious. You? Hurt him? No, it's another matter entirely. He's accustomed to his gloves and his padded suit acting as a barrier to the world, to the overwhelm of sensation, but he has none of that when he's beneath you.

He's completely at the mercy of the wet, clenching heat of you. It's a betrayal of his stamina that he becomes too sensitive to continue long before he's finished with you.

"What? No, nngh, it's... y'just... y'just feel really fucking good," he says, nearly chokes on that last word. "Too good. So much. It's so much."

"Do you want to stop?" You ask, touching his jaw. Your thumb strokes his cheek and he moans for the tenderness of it. For the care. He'd begun to think there wasn't anyone who could witness what he's capable of and still think to treat him gently.

"No! No, just... just stay... Stay like this," he says, holds you still while he recovers.

You oblige him—you always do—and bend over to kiss him. Your lips are slow and loving against his, coaxing. You cup his face with both hands and sit with him inside you, feeling you, tasting you. It's torturous bliss. He slips his tongue into your mouth, greedy for as much as he can get despite the magnitude of it all, and you lick right back into his.

With a smile, you sink down until your chests are pressed together. His hands slide up your back and he wraps his arms around you, embracing you, needing you more than he's never needed anything in his life. Your lips are like velvet against his, slick with spit and kiss swollen. It's so much more than he's ever had, so much more than he knows how to handle.

He comes just like that, without having to move a muscle, his cry swallowed up by your dreamy kisses.

[sasanka-27]

The oil under Impala mystery 🔍✨

(Inspired by the lady with expert wife tips from tiktok)

[mappingthesky]

fuck it! a drabble of pn just making out, no thoughts head empty just mwa mwa pls

religion’s in your lips (alternatively: no thoughts head empty just mwa mwa)

If Nymphia had to define perfection, it would be something like this:

They’re in bed together. Jane’s leaned up on one arm, the other hooked around Nymphia’s waist, and she’s looking down at her with this impossible sort of expression. She’s taking in every detail, trying to figure out she managed it - ending up intertwined with someone so completely made for her, someone she couldn’t have dreamed up if she tried. Nymphia just stares up, dazzled by the awed look in Jane’s eye, and feels a bit blown apart by how obvious her desire is. Her gaze drops by mere centimeters to trace the curve of wonderment playing at Jane’s lips.

“Don’t do that.” Jane’s voice is soft, low.

Nymphia’s eyes dart back to Jane’s. “Do what?

“Look at my mouth like that.”

Nymphia blinks, fluttering her lashes, feeling touched and a little powerful. She tilts her head when she taunts, but her voice is soft, almost a whisper. “Or what?”

Jane just shakes her head, looking down in disbelief. Then her hand is moving to cup Nymphia’s face, handling her so tenderly that Nymphia’s head spins. And then Jane kisses her.

It’s the impassioned, meaningful kind of kiss. The kind that lingers for a moment, making room for the feeling, lips unmoving and imparting messages only they can understand. It’s a kiss that isn’t about their lips, not so much as what it means. Just the two of them as close together as they can be, trying to get even closer somehow. And then they’re moving again. Jane presses a series of short, slow kisses to Nymphia’s lips, like she’s repeating something over and over. I love you, I need you, I love you, I need you. She does it until Nymphia is smiling against her, because she knows, and then Jane is smiling too, letting out this moving little hum because she’s just so enamored and she can’t contain it. She tilts her head to kiss more of Nymphia, still soft but hungrier somehow, and Nymphia is burying her hand in Jane’s hair. Close could never be close enough. Nymphia can feel Jane’s eyelashes brushing against her as they catch their breath, can feel her palm sliding over her cheek and towards small of her neck, but she still needs more. Their noses knock together, eyes meeting only for a moment before they’re at it again. They kiss, slow and sultry, the momentary space between their lips aching until they meet again moments later. More, is the silent message in Nymphia’s mouth, more more more. Jane’s tongue swipes hot and delicate over Nymphia’s bottom lip, and Nymphia can’t stand the distance. She kisses harder, catches Jane’s bottom lip and sinks her teeth in, earning a beautiful, breathy exhale from Jane that’s just short of a whimper. Nymphia sucks and can feel Jane drawing breath as she tangles her fingers in Nymphia’s hair, pulls her towards another open-mouthed kiss that continues until they’re both breathless.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Jane pants. It’s their own private atmosphere, this space between them. It’s hot and loving and Nymphia is never letting it go. She wants to lose herself to it, give in to it completely.

“I have some idea.” Nymphia’s eyes flicker over Jane, whose cheeks are flushed and full of want.

Jane shakes her head. Her eyes are low with lust and still full of love, still lit with the embers of awe. “You don’t know the half of it,” she reaches out to touch Nymphia, to do something about it.

And then Nymphia is taking Jane’s hand, leading it elsewhere.

“Show me.”

[ddeongies]

hello my fav writer, im curious abt ur top 5 ryeji fics 🧐

OKAY this was both hard to answer and easy to answer bc i'm good at remember to bookmark my faves (and also reread them all LMAO). that being said!! the below list is not in order, there are honorable mentions, and there's just so much incredible ryeji fic out there that it feels wild to just say 5.

what’s in a name by snowandwolves

if you haven’t read what’s in a name and you read ryeji fic…… please read it right now? it’s not only my favorite ryeji fic, it’s one of my fave stories of all time (including published shit like this fucking fic is a tour de force). it’s simply one of the most beautiful things i’ve ever read and i could not recommend it enough. (this author’s writing is so good i started watching warrior nun just so i can one day enjoy their warrior nun fics i’m so for real right now)

all or nothing (unfortunately orphaned 😭)

all or nothing is one of my comfort fics. it’s a perfect little two shot and idk how many times i’ve read it. the characterization is just lovely. the ryeji relationship is warm and soft and slow and sweet and inevitable (which you know is just how i like it). perfect amount of getting to know each other, perfect amount of pining, a dreamy dreamy yeji it’s just elite

call it fate, call it karma by crushpdf

this fic….. read it please if you haven’t it’s criminally underrated. the fact that it has fewer than 2k hits is actually insane to me. idol yeji and producer ryu and they just fall in love and it’s low drama and perfect and another comfort fic of mine. idk what to say, it’s a 6k one shot, so honestly just read (or reread) it now and thank me later

muse by qaisal

i was considering not including a qaisal fic on this list, but that doesn’t feel right or honest, like there’s a reason they’re top of the tag!! i think muse is my personal fave (and one of the first ryeji fics i’ve ever read, which is probably true for many! if you’ve somehow read my fics and haven’t read muse i am confused, but it’s just cute as hell! i’m too old to write a high school au, so it’s very nice to have an elite one like this to read and reread when i wanna feel warm and fuzzy inside

you’re a mean one by snowddeong

this fic…. also one of the first ryeji fics i read. i don’t generally read gp, but when it’s good it’s good, and YAMO is so fucking good. idk how many times i’ve read it. snow has this unfair ability to tie like so much yearning and history and backstory and tension in these simple moments. and then they combine it with some really hot shit? elite smut fic like it’s an all time classic!!!

honorable mentions:

wheel, snipe, celly by lonewolflink

bite me by hwang_yeddeong

cartwheel heart by aprilflower

step by step (then a leap of faith) by snowandwolves

good boi by hwangdroid (also snow)

[banes-favourite]

Trauma asks u say 👀

Ya boy has absolutely self harmed before bane. Spending 10 years in slavery, there's no way he didnt try to escape other ways >.>

Haarlep probably has his form... They lived together and he canonically had to sell his body, it physically hurts my soul that Haarlep probably has teen Gorty memorized.

His face is irreparably damaged, he knows that, it probably hurts to think about what he might have looked like with out the constant abuse reshaping his face

He's probably got food trauma... I can't imagine him being fed regularly or enough when he was enslaved.

(Have you seen his base model? He's got some (2?) little light freckles below his belly button hidden in his happy trail.)

anon i am grabbing you by the cheeks and giving you the biggest kiss known to man bc you simultaneously fed me after I've been starving for 100 years and also trampled all over my heart but I'm THANKING you for it

i can totally see him mindlessly scratching his forearms bc he used to claw the shit out of them in the HoH out of frustration (and also read my fic about his self-punching 🙌) which is why he has them covered at all times with thick ass gauntlets.

also imagining him looking in the mirror and wondering what Could have been had he not been mutilated so young,,,.

And also i love to think he would indulge in feasts and a billion sweets once he's rich and well off but you're so right with the eating issues thing,, man's has always scraped by for a piece of rotten food, he probably can't physically tolerate overeating and has to throw up or he'll die

also what do you MEAN with the light freckles!! what do you imply!!

[avenin7]

Very curious to know what Revali's idea of "a normal thing to do with one's rival in my culture," includes.

He is very normal at his rival, what are you talking about

[wisteriagoesvroom]

carcar 39 for the prompt thing hehe

prompt 39 is “dressing room” and you wanted carcar and i cannot sit on a snippet in silence apparently. so here’s a few sentences of something that may expand slightly…

————

Oscar stands at the main cast dressing room. Headset with the mic piece turned upwards and a clipboard in his hand.

Carlos’s posture is loose and sure in the mirror. He really was an actor in every sense of the word, capable of switching the temperature of a room up or down depending on his desire to, or in search of a particular payoff. Lando had that quality too. And if the social media chatter was anything to go by, this was one of the most-hyped productions of Twelfth Night that London had seen in a while. (Not to mention the most potentially profitable.)

Didn’t make Sainz Junior any easier to work with, though.

“Carlos. Can I have a word?”

A few “oohs” and jeers roll forth from the cast.

Carlos barely spares Oscar a glance in the mirror before he turns back to his conversation with Lando.

“20 minutes. We know, cabrón. No need to worry.”

“It’s not that.”

“Is it so important it cannot wait until after critics night?”

“I need you to comply with what I’m about to tell you because it’s critics night.”

Carlos’s face is thunderous in the mirror. To his credit, the look dissipates as quickly as it came.

Because Carlos after all, was a performer. First and foremost.

————

from this prompt list

[puppyeared]

you give off California Girls vibes

Its because I am

[chrysopoeias]

Not to get all emotional over your Riza as a mom post but it got my brain all churning - I saw a post recently about women choosing to break the cycle of abuse by loving their daughters and just there was this line of like, “she invented a love she never got to receive” and I just think the struggle to do that would apply so much to mom!riza (I actually only can imagine her having daughter(s) ahaha). Anyway thank you for that post!!

Yeah I think Riza will attempt that. Wether she succeeds or not is a different matter... Like explicitly I do not want Riza to turn into the archetypical ‘good mother’ that solves all her (generational) issues, simply unlocking this skill by giving birth. Where she always does exactly the right thing on instinct, and the child(ren) grow up to be the textbook definition of normal and well-adjusted.

The vast vast majority of people reproducing have absolutely no clue on child psychology and development, or how to parent in the first place. They just have their best intentions, ideas of what they will do different/the same as their own parents, and their biases and believes of what is normal. 

For Riza this is intentions to do things different from her father, and her being used to military regiment/culture. Her father neglected and abused her, so her doing the opposite and loving(tm) the kid(s) can still quickly turn into her being overprotective and overbearing, or being way too strict influenced by her own military experience. And what will happen when she has depressive and PTSD episodes her whole further life? What if instead of being consistently neglecting like her dad, she is an unreliable mother in a different way. Where she cannot always be there for the children in the way they want and need for days, weeks, months?? Just being a powerless child and watching your mother suffer seemingly randomly is incredibly difficult, perhaps even more frustrating when the reason of her suffering are invisible (mental) and hard to explain. Riza just loving her children may not be enough.

I do not want it to be suffering and tragedy 24/7 in this AU timeline, but I do like to emphasis and explorer the darker and tragic sides more. Interpersonal relationships are difficult, even with your own children. I dislike when in fanon having children is treated as the ultimate reward at the end of a story after all the conflict is over. Like this is the big happy end goal, and we can all sigh in relieve as long as we know our otp reproduced and got their reward, phew. When having children is such a massive source of conflict and challenges lmfao.

But I’m just a friendless childless doodle blogger, so what do I know ヽ(；▽；)ノ

[swordheld]

how did u choose your username?

oh, this is a fun one!! i think i considered being swordtold at first, for that very ancient myth vibe of the sword being this narrative tool for adventure and structure and physical time, the parable being passed down through the centuries until it meddles into modern day rhetoric and ideology – a kind of fantastical tool, a spark of magic, of possibility.

i like the arc of the story of a place being physical / having it be held by time and hand alike, wearing with the years and having it become something different to each holder, each reader, each experience fantastical and individual.

having that kind of physicality to it; swordheld is the action of taking up and holding the sword yourself, choosing your own narrative, leading your own story. self-identity has always been something i struggle with (a novel concept i know, i know), so it felt right for this blog, since most of my older blogs before this one have been just me silently reblogging and never really posting anything myself, and i wanted this to be the change to that.

i've always had trouble wranging my social anxiety, esp. on the internet, and previously thought that keeping my words to myself helped keep the timeline cleaner, in a way, no messy thoughts for others to sort through, especially ones i believed no one would want to read anyway? but it never felt right, keeping myself apart from it all, esp. not in the way i so avidly enjoyed reading others' posts and additions, keeping their words close to my heart.

i wanted it to reflect that this was a space i was holding for myself? and i'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but this - this i think i got right. i love being here, on this blog, and the joy that it brings me. everyone else enjoying it too has been a wild ride that i never expected, and still surprises me, one that brings a little extra thrill to my heart whenever i think about it.

i had other urls that i liked, but i didn't want this blog to be tied directly to any of my fandom/story interests, since i wanted it to really just be a sort of archive of artistic inspiration and resource, like a little library or museum. i use them now as lil sideblogs of more niche interests now, which is rather lovely.

it hasn't always felt like it fit perfectly, the way that i'd like, but for some reason i can't think of really wanting to change it anytime soon. it feels mythic yet modern in a way that feels like puzzle pieces finally slotting into their place, something my own and inspirational to me, like a lantern i'm holding to make my way by. my own kind of light, if that makes sense – a star i know by name.

[lorelune]

Your Blade the Architect series got me on a chokehold. Made me realize some of the missing pieces that I do not get in many Blade fics. He's one of my most favorite character for his lore and your writing of him just takes the cake, it scratch the itch of the things that I cannot describe on why I can't indulge enough in most Blade fics. I'm more inspired than ever

AH thank you anon!!! i'm glad you enjoyed the architect and its parts and it's scratching that bladie ITCH!! blade is so... so deeply interesting. from his lore as yingxing to his current place in the stellaron hunters and the disposition he keeps, it's just like?? fascinating. i love him. he is so miserable little fucked up guy.

[daisychainsandbowties]

actually (i’m not sorry) let’s talk about force-bonded jedi knights Shannon and Mary.

“A Force-bond was a powerful connection between two Force-sensitive individuals that bridged their minds, allowing them to communicate through the Force both visually and emotionally.

The range of the bond was vast; it could span the galaxy, keeping two beings united in a psychic link despite the physical distance between them. As a result, both parties would manifest in each other's location at the same time, making it possible for them to see, hear and feel each other through their bond.”

thinking of Shannon standing in the hallway watching death approach and reaching out, finding that familiar hand, half-memory and half-desire. clutching it even as she raises her saber in the last extreme defense of Ava.

burning her life because she used to dream of holding a blue saber, of going out in glory, but love taught her to long for balance, for harmony, for peace. for green.

and she would have lived in peace, with Mary on some far-flung planet. tinkering with ships and growing too old, too fast. fixing up droids and complaining about the weather and painting the shutters in spring.

but she’s a jedi, so what she has is only an instant of that peace as she feels Mary come awake in a distant place. one last prayer on her lips. “let it be safe. let it be safe and very far away.”

whispering, ���i’m sorry. i couldn’t face this part alone.”

distance had never stopped them and it doesn’t stop Shannon from dying with Mary’s arms around her.

they grow up hand-in-hand, youngling Shannon missing a piece of herself until she finds Mary. this odd, thoughtful girl from incredibly far away, who knows about engine specs and torque but not the laws of physics.

telekinetically passing her notes in class, sending them adrift like little white birds. Mary initially dumps them all in the wastepaper bin at the end of their classes, head spinning with physics and math and chemistry and kinetics and protocol and all the myriad things a jedi must know.

but eventually she unfolds them, hiding her blush with her binder of notes. chickenscratch handwriting and little diagrams of a cartoon Shannon (labelled) bonking a cartoon Mary on the head with a saber.

back when Shannon thought hers would be blue.

Mary most at home with a practice blade in her hand, trying to get used to the airy spaces in the jedi temple, quiet courtyards and the soft shuffle of pages in the archives. she sneaks into the hanger bay (as Ava will, in another decade) to look at the ships, to touch them, remembering the desert and the podracers kicking up sand. storms sweeping in to eat the sun.

scowling when Shannon takes her lunch tray over to sit at the far end of Mary’s table, so she can wink at her.

and then, one day, looking up and finding her beautiful.

after that they sit next to each other. binary stars slipping into orbit, trading from tray-to-tray; blue milk for the strawberry one. Mary eating Shannon’s greens when the jedi look away.

Mary growing closer almost against her will to this whirlwind of a girl. how she spars in the early morning with the empty air. she wakes up early to watch, pretending it's the dawn that draws her down, peering around a pillar, stunned at the grace of Shannon pivoting through the air, flipping over imaginary opponents.

asking her, as they perch on a balcony to watch the sunset over the endless cityscape, “why did you bother with me?”

Shannon has her face pressed sleepily into Mary’s shoulder. she plays with the hem of her tank top, “what d’you mean?”

“it just… seemed like you wanted to know me before you even knew me.”

“i did.”

Mary, turns her head, looking at the profile of Shannon curled up against her. warm. “yeah, but why?”

“i don’t know. i just had a feeling.”

they go together to Ilum, to get their kyber crystals, running through the icy cave systems. Shannon helps Mary when they climb and Mary clutches a half-conscious Shannon to her chest when they fall into freezing water. “i got you.”

“i k-k-know.” through chattering teeth, Mary letting Shannon slip her cold hands under her shirt for warmth. a wicked smile in the ice-warped dimness. "s-s-score."

saber fights late at night with blue offshoots of light dancing around their bodies. green sparks shattering against the stars. laying there tangled in their exhaustion, always drawing even. Mary kissing Shannon’s forehead, looking at their lightsabers sitting side-by-side. blue and green.

“we should kiss.” Shannon says this out of nowhere with the air of someone who has been thinking about it for a long time.

she’s half-draped over Mary’s chest, head on her ribs. “i can hear your heart,” she adds, when Mary loses the ability to speak.

Shannon sits up, turns. she’s about to say something when Mary lurches up, takes her by the jaw.

they kiss, and nothing is ever the same again.

[inkykeiji]

I'm sorry but dabi looks sooo hot in the S7 trailer and I just. Imagines him storming into your blog, seeing you simping for all these new men and just dragging you out by your ear like 😡 can't leave you alone for five minutes, a TV, really? 😆

HAHAHAHA his hair looks soooo fluffy and it just <333 makes me wanna pet him and thread my fingers through the tufts and pull >:) bUT ANYWAY HEHE THIS IS SO FUNNY TO THINK ABOUT????? because he so would. he’s storming through the doors with his big black boots shouting at the top of his lungs, just bellowing, all i can’t take my eyes off of you for a goddamn second, can i!? and then he is indeed knotting his knuckles in my hair and dragging me off to remind me of who i belong to and all of that fun stuff~

[dedmx]

For a drawing request: Noisette with a big hammer? Please?

Noisette with a big hammer !!1