cultrise - Tumblr blog

[cultrise]

having pinterest know exactly which board i wanna save that specific pin in is another type of hype

[cultrise]

a kind reminder to do your daily clicks on arab.org in order to help not only palestine but also their other causes (women, poverty, refugees, environment and children) <3

[cultrise]

me after i do a ten pull on weapon banner with 20 pity and don’t get arlecchino’s scythe 😔👊

[cultrise]

how i look at arlecchino when she calls a common chest an “impressive bounty”

[cultrise]

do you have any honkai characters that are maxed out?

i do! but only if we’re talking build + traces. i don’t own any 5 stars with max eidolons and i don’t rlly use 4 stars (except for lynx maybe).

my blade has his sign lc, is lvl 80 with maxed traces. other characters with maxed traces i have are: acheron, black swan and am almost done with aventurine, dan heng il and kafka’s traces ^^

[cultrise]

Black Swan commission for HSR!

[cultrise]

hello!! I recently started playing hsr and I managed to get aventurine! Can you explain how to build? Since I have seen you have Idk how to I have some relics but not sure how to use them correctly, and what I mean is I js put them on random characters like herta, etc

You can ignore this <3

hi anon! if you struggle with builds i recommend checking out the prydwen site! i personally think it’s one of the most helpful sites out there for hsr builds!

it gives you lc rankings, relic options and even stat priority! i think it also gives traces and eidolon priority?? idk but check it out, it helps me sm! ^^

[cultrise]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ REVERIE. BLACK SWAN

‧₊˚ ┊ SYNOPSIS seems the memory keeper has a burning lust for the new companion she saved in the dreamscape.

‧₊˚ ┊CONTENTS wlw, trailblazer!reader ig?, NSFW, strap riding, clit rubbing, hair pulling, wet dreaming, pillow riding, there’s a plot to this trust (´•︵•`) ᵎᵎ wc 1.1k

black swan feels her blood rushing to her cheeks, throat going completely dry. she gasps for air, seeking to replenish the lost air in her lungs, but without use.

something shatters behind her as her lower back pushes against the small table. some stupid vase from the hotel, perhaps. there is little concern in her mind at that moment. she’ll clean it up later. once she’s done with crashing her lips against yours, anyway.

there are some distant voices down the hallway, most likely people checking into their respective rooms. but she’s too engrossed with the sound of breathy moans and the rustle of clothes being taken off to take notice of any of them.

once she’s laid bare in front of you, her clothes scattered into a pile somewhere at the foot of the bed she pushes you onto the mattress, lips finding yours with urgency. the soft touches and messy kisses continue as she giggles, finally exposing your body.

black swan takes the view in as you hurry to open the side table drawer, grabbing and securing the strap to yourself. her fingers slide around your throat, drawing you into yet another tender kiss as her hungry gaze follows yours.

her skin tingles when your digits caress her hips, gently guiding her over the rubber tip. the pounding in her chest reaches her ears, so loud she worries you might hear the excitement and nervousness bubbling inside of her.

not that you'd notice, anyway. not over the sounds of your own restlessness.

black swan yelps, a high-pitched scream as you press her hips down on your crotch. her thighs shake, mouth agape as she adjusts to the size of the strap now fully inside her.

it takes some effort, pivoting her knees into the mattress and pushing upwards. you watch her start to move up and down, the strap already coated in slick.

she grips onto everything she can get, finally finding stability by intertwining your fingers. her pace quickens alongside her breathing, bouncing faster and faster on your length from tip to bottom and repeating.

the pleasure overtakes her and, desperate to reach her high, she starts circling her hips, looking down at you with lust-coated pupils. you stare up in awe, feeling wetness coat your plushy thighs as you admire the goddess resting in your lap.

you ponder whether it should be forbidden to look at her. from her mesmerising face and body to the fragile ends of her hair, she looks as if she were sculpted, painted into the fabric of the universe.

she can see it in your eyes: the want, the need, the despair. the way you react to her every sound and touch. she gets high on the gentle stares of your eyes, the affections spilt from your lips in the form of love bites and the warmth your palms exude on her skin.

she doesn’t protest when you flip her on her stomach, climbing on top of her to continue your ministrations without her purple orbs following yours.

her moans harmonise with your breaths, the slow kisses to her nape making her knees grow weaker and weaker. she doesn’t falter, however, holding her entire body weight on her limbs as your hand latches itself to her love handle, using it to draw her in.

she had never experienced such love from someone. never before has someone treated her body with such care. never has someone been so rough and yet so aware of her needs. she feels cherished even when your fingers get tangled in her soft hair and tug it back, making her back arch.

her eyelids start to droop and she swears she’s seeing white spots as you fill her up. her vision is blurred, her scalp hurts from the way you’re pulling her hair but it’s nothing compared to the way she aches for a release.

“aeons! right there— oh!” she whines into the sheets, gripping them tightly. she wonders where her sudden self-restraint comes from the moment your lips tenderly touch her spine. her back arches even more and her hand travels between her legs, rubbing her swollen clit with vigour.

she can feel your hot breath against her ear and she hopes your touch bruises up her skin so tonight's memory is forever engraved on her body. she wishes you’d never pull out. all she can think of is how desperate she is to touch you, to see you unravel thanks to her hands only.

“al..almost there—“ tears build up in her eyes, a broken half-moan emerging from her throat. she’s sure she can see through the ceiling and into the night sky with the way stars seem to cloud her view. her eyes close harshly, the tears trickle down her cheeks and her legs shake.

she opens them again. her chest is heaving, her bangs are stuck to her forehead and her body feels hot enough to explode. “what.. what just?—“

she stands up halfway, checking her pulse as her heart bangs against her chest. the clock shows 4:32 am.

in one sitting, she gulps down the glass of water on her nightstand. she sits upright, staring at the wall in front of her. her legs shift under the covers and the tiniest friction between her legs sends electric signals all the way throughout her spine.

a gutted whine escapes her lips and, removing the covers, she takes notice of the soaked fabric of her shorts. “what the hell—“

in a confused hurry, she takes them off, only to see the mess between her legs. her breathing is stuttered and she brushes her fair locs of hair. broken images of her fantasy flood her mind and her hand goes to her lips, in horror.

the realisation hits her harder than any attack she had sustained before. had she fantasised the entire thing? had she been so oblivious to her own lust that it took a pitiful dream to have her ruin her shorts?

aeons, she’s disgusting. how is she supposed to look you in the eyes now? how is she supposed to retort one of those warm smiles you give her back? is that really what a famed memory keeper such as herself should be preoccupied with?

she bites down on her lip, the image of you in front of her slithering into her brain.

your gentle smile, your pensive eyes.. it sends heat straight to her core, making her throw her shorts to the other end of the room, in frustration.

it seems nothing will be able to save her from this torturous circumstance, quite the opposite. she’s aware she’ll be unable to go back to bed unless she does something to satisfy her cravings.

and so, she bites back her shame, places a pillow between her legs and a palm to her lips, closing her eyes.

you ponder whether the muffled moans of your name late in the night are the sounds of your own fantasies or something — maybe someone — else.

© cultrise | don’t steal, copy or translate my works.

[cultrise]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ REVERIE. BLACK SWAN

‧₊˚ ┊ SYNOPSIS seems the memory keeper has a burning lust for the new companion she saved in the dreamscape.

‧₊˚ ┊CONTENTS wlw, trailblazer!reader ig?, NSFW, strap riding, clit rubbing, hair pulling, wet dreaming, pillow riding, there’s a plot to this trust (´•︵•`) ᵎᵎ wc 1.1k

black swan feels her blood rushing to her cheeks, throat going completely dry. she gasps for air, seeking to replenish the lost air in her lungs, but without use.

something shatters behind her as her lower back pushes against the small table. some stupid vase from the hotel, perhaps. there is little concern in her mind at that moment. she’ll clean it up later. once she’s done with crashing her lips against yours, anyway.

there are some distant voices down the hallway, most likely people checking into their respective rooms. but she’s too engrossed with the sound of breathy moans and the rustle of clothes being taken off to take notice of any of them.

once she’s laid bare in front of you, her clothes scattered into a pile somewhere at the foot of the bed she pushes you onto the mattress, lips finding yours with urgency. the soft touches and messy kisses continue as she giggles, finally exposing your body.

black swan takes the view in as you hurry to open the side table drawer, grabbing and securing the strap to yourself. her fingers slide around your throat, drawing you into yet another tender kiss as her hungry gaze follows yours.

her skin tingles when your digits caress her hips, gently guiding her over the rubber tip. the pounding in her chest reaches her ears, so loud she worries you might hear the excitement and nervousness bubbling inside of her.

not that you'd notice, anyway. not over the sounds of your own restlessness.

black swan yelps, a high-pitched scream as you press her hips down on your crotch. her thighs shake, mouth agape as she adjusts to the size of the strap now fully inside her.

it takes some effort, pivoting her knees into the mattress and pushing upwards. you watch her start to move up and down, the strap already coated in slick.

she grips onto everything she can get, finally finding stability by intertwining your fingers. her pace quickens alongside her breathing, bouncing faster and faster on your length from tip to bottom and repeating.

the pleasure overtakes her and, desperate to reach her high, she starts circling her hips, looking down at you with lust-coated pupils. you stare up in awe, feeling wetness coat your plushy thighs as you admire the goddess resting in your lap.

you ponder whether it should be forbidden to look at her. from her mesmerising face and body to the fragile ends of her hair, she looks as if she were sculpted, painted into the fabric of the universe.

she can see it in your eyes: the want, the need, the despair. the way you react to her every sound and touch. she gets high on the gentle stares of your eyes, the affections spilt from your lips in the form of love bites and the warmth your palms exude on her skin.

she doesn’t protest when you flip her on her stomach, climbing on top of her to continue your ministrations without her purple orbs following yours.

her moans harmonise with your breaths, the slow kisses to her nape making her knees grow weaker and weaker. she doesn’t falter, however, holding her entire body weight on her limbs as your hand latches itself to her love handle, using it to draw her in.

she had never experienced such love from someone. never before has someone treated her body with such care. never has someone been so rough and yet so aware of her needs. she feels cherished even when your fingers get tangled in her soft hair and tug it back, making her back arch.

her eyelids start to droop and she swears she’s seeing white spots as you fill her up. her vision is blurred, her scalp hurts from the way you’re pulling her hair but it’s nothing compared to the way she aches for a release.

“aeons! right there— oh!” she whines into the sheets, gripping them tightly. she wonders where her sudden self-restraint comes from the moment your lips tenderly touch her spine. her back arches even more and her hand travels between her legs, rubbing her swollen clit with vigour.

she can feel your hot breath against her ear and she hopes your touch bruises up her skin so tonight's memory is forever engraved on her body. she wishes you’d never pull out. all she can think of is how desperate she is to touch you, to see you unravel thanks to her hands only.

“al..almost there—“ tears build up in her eyes, a broken half-moan emerging from her throat. she’s sure she can see through the ceiling and into the night sky with the way stars seem to cloud her view. her eyes close harshly, the tears trickle down her cheeks and her legs shake.

she opens them again. her chest is heaving, her bangs are stuck to her forehead and her body feels hot enough to explode. “what.. what just?—“

she stands up halfway, checking her pulse as her heart bangs against her chest. the clock shows 4:32 am.

in one sitting, she gulps down the glass of water on her nightstand. she sits upright, staring at the wall in front of her. her legs shift under the covers and the tiniest friction between her legs sends electric signals all the way throughout her spine.

a gutted whine escapes her lips and, removing the covers, she takes notice of the soaked fabric of her shorts. “what the hell—“

in a confused hurry, she takes them off, only to see the mess between her legs. her breathing is stuttered and she brushes her fair locs of hair. broken images of her fantasy flood her mind and her hand goes to her lips, in horror.

the realisation hits her harder than any attack she had sustained before. had she fantasised the entire thing? had she been so oblivious to her own lust that it took a pitiful dream to have her ruin her shorts?

aeons, she’s disgusting. how is she supposed to look you in the eyes now? how is she supposed to retort one of those warm smiles you give her back? is that really what a famed memory keeper such as herself should be preoccupied with?

she bites down on her lip, the image of you in front of her slithering into her brain.

your gentle smile, your pensive eyes.. it sends heat straight to her core, making her throw her shorts to the other end of the room, in frustration.

it seems nothing will be able to save her from this torturous circumstance, quite the opposite. she’s aware she’ll be unable to go back to bed unless she does something to satisfy her cravings.

and so, she bites back her shame, places a pillow between her legs and a palm to her lips, closing her eyes.

you ponder whether the muffled moans of your name late in the night are the sounds of your own fantasies or something — maybe someone — else.

© cultrise | don’t steal, copy or translate my works.

[cultrise]

got something cooking in the queue :3 (it’s more self-indulgent but oh well)

[cultrise]

(^v^)/ Aventurine's leisure time after a night of gambling! 🎰🎲🪙✨

[cultrise]

This is different from Al-Shifa:

There are images of decomposed bodies wearing what appear to be scrubs... with their hands tied. Meaning they were executed while bound. I will not be sharing them because I'm tired of showing our martyrs' bodies to people.

[cultrise]

wow my ass is NOT playing the arlecchino story quest i will sob for sure if i do.

[cultrise]

Ghazzah was once a thriving sea port, a center of medical knowledge, well-known for its textiles and beautiful patterns. It was a culinary wonder, and the food was well-known for the people's use of chili peppers in most of their dishes. Ghazzah was always special, not just within Palestine but within the broader region it existed at nearly the center of.

Ghazzah has since become a graveyard for children, through occupation, through Western imperialism, through their genocide of us. Through hatred and propaganda it was justified, by all of Western media, and the occupation's 'Hasbara' propaganda machine.

The people of Ghazzah and the city and its culture and its history have always been exceptional, that scared them; it scared them that they couldn't steal that from us. So they tried to tear it down. The circumstances imposed on us are not who we are.

[cultrise]

arlecchino’s home. y’all are invited to the wedding.

[cultrise]

reading yuri because studying sucks (꩜﹏꩜)

[cultrise]