#elastic bookmarks

[dykepaldi]

tenderly kissing my new junk journal under the moonlight……

[teaboot]

As someone who didn't learn how to actually and properly blow their nose until the past few months, I appreciate your addition of that. I'm like 22 btw, I would just stuff a tissue in my nose and let it sit for a minute, didn't realize it worked better if you pushed one nostril shut and then blew

It’s amazing what nobody thinks to teach you as like. A person

Personally, I’ve still never figured out where to put things that don’t have a category when I clean

Cause like. “Ohoho everything has its place” and yeah. Yeah, hair elastics and combs and shit go in the bathroom drawer. Loose buttons go in the sewing kit. Cat toys go in the box. Towels go in the closet.

But where do I put A SINGLE FIDGET TOY? Where do I put A MINIATURE STATUE OF STONEHENGE? What about a handful of beach glass, an enamel pin I don’t wanna wear, six elastic bands I will need later, a leather scrap, some cool feathers, a postcard, a singular Christmas decoration, three bookmarks, a plastic frog, boxing wraps, a sweater my mom knitted me when I was six, a full carton of dental floss, a bag of doll hair, a roll of stickers, rubber sticky dinosaurs, a laser pointer, two unused glow sticks and a tin of mints?

WHERE DO THESE SHITS GO

EVERYTHING HAS A PLACE MY ASS

[artemisiasmuse]

rafe catches you watching p*rn

cw: 18+ MDNI duh, fingering, p*rn mentioned, AFAB reader, ovulation mentioned, “girl” used, lots of dirty talk, he talks u thru it

you’ve been so needy all day and rafe your stupid fucking boyfriend has been gone. you know you shouldn’t be mad really it’s not his fault he has to work and you’re ovulating. not his fault your skin has been burning up all day after he kissed you goodbye, looking as irresistible as usual and smelling so good after his shower.

you’re nearly beside yourself with neediness when the clock strikes 6 and he’s still not home. you huff and writhe on the couch, sick of the pulse between your legs being unattended. you don’t know why it’s so bad this time around, maybe because usually when you’re ovulating rafe is there to take care of you. you don’t know that he’s tracking your cycle, always knowing when you’re the neediest. but he’d forgotten to check the past few days, so caught up with work.

so there you are, in one of his shirts and only your panties, embarrassingly wet from just thinking about your boyfriend. you know your imagination won’t do it though and if you thought too much about him you’d just get angry again. you pull out your phone, idly swiping through twitter, finger hovering over your bookmarks. it would be easy to dip your fingers under the band of your panties and deal with the burning in your core. so easy that you can’t even stop yourself when a video plays on your screen and your fingertips slide past the elastic.

the video reminds you of rafe because of course why else would you watch it. it’s a guy holding his girl’s legs open, slurping obscenely and eating her out like a fiend, unrelenting even after she squirts in his face. the sounds fill the room and you huff a breath as your fingers pick up their pace, entranced by the noises and how you could almost feel rafe doing the same to you. you’re so engrossed that you don’t hear the garage door open, don’t hear your boyfriend walk up to the living room. in your defense you were playing the video loudly.

rafe almost panics at the sound, the insecure and slightly insane part of him ready to knock whoever the fuck is doing that to you out. but then he realizes it’s a video, you’re not even making a sound. he walks as quietly as he can to the source, seeing the top of your head over the couch and he watches your arm move, thrust. he shouldn’t be angry he knows it’s ridiculous to be jealous over your own hand but he is. he’s also getting hard so fast he’s nearly dizzy from how all his blood rushes south. he knows if he sees you he won’t be able to hold back so he makes his presence known.

you’re on the precipice of your orgasm when you hear someone clearing their throat and you instantly lock your phone shut. hand slipping out of your underwear as you prepare to be humiliated. he rounds the couch and plops down next to you, a smirk curling his lips as he watches your pretty eyes widen and your plush thighs close. you’re nearly shaking from arousal but you still hold back because of him.

“no by all means baby keep going.” his arm rests on the back of the couch, leaning into you. he smells just as good if not better than before, his sweat and skin mixing in with his cologne, it’s an addictive scent that you know only you find intoxicating. you’re still so wet and he’s not helping.

“rafe-“ your voice comes out small, almost a whimper. you sound so desperate he feels bad, clearly he hadn’t tended to you properly.

“or how about, you tell me about it?” his arm comes down on your side easily, pulling you onto his lap. you whine at the small friction of his pants against your clothed cunt.

“i needed you all day,” you whine at him, the feeling of your release fleeting is making your eyes sting and you pout at him. rafe’s hands slide against your skin, disregarding the shirt and kneading at your waist. the tips of his fingers graze your waistband and you’re not above begging for him to dip under.

“what were you watching baby?” you whine at his question, realizing he won’t give in until you talk.

“rafe please-“ your hips grind down, his hands keep you still, firm and bruising.

“come on you wanted to be a whore, you can answer.” he slaps your clit, not quite touching you but reminding you that your still his.

“he was eating her out, reminded me of you.” you murmur and he smiles behind you, stocky and long fingers pushing your panties to the side as his hand glided over your messy cunt.

“good girl.” you huffed at his words, trying to grind yourself against his hand. “nearly dripping onto me, you miss me that bad?” you’re so wet rafe thinks you must have been needy for hours. he’s only felt this after marathon sex and even then it’s from his mouth. he can feel your clit throbbing and your folds are puffy from inattention.

“y-yes.” you nod against him, moaning when his fingers slide into you. you’re so sensitive from being worked up all day the cold press of his ring makes you shake against him. it’s a delicious contrast to the heat you feel melting your brain. rafe’s fingers and hands are one of your favorite parts of him, they’re long and thick and somehow always know where to touch you best.

“poor baby, just needed someone to touch this drooling cunt huh? can’t go a day without my dick hmm?” you can’t respond when he starts fingering you, you think you won’t even be heard because your cunt is obscenely loud. squelches fill the room as he thrusts into you, your slick connecting his hand to your cunt like a string. he can already feel a wet patch on his pants under you and he swears under his breath at how wet you are. you’re so tight around his fingers, clenching like you don’t want them to ever leave. he curls them upwards and you shriek, grabbing his arm with both of your hands. “fucking brat, take it.” your grip does nothing to slow him down, hammering at your most sensitive spot and your brain shuts off. the sparks of pleasure fry your nerve endings and your eyes roll back into your head, rafe adds a third finger stretching you open and his thumb swirls around your clit. combined with the drag of his fingertips against your g-spot you’re crumbling within seconds. “there it is, come on baby, you’re doing so well” his gruff voice coaxes you into submission. the pressure building and building until you’re screaming and thrashing in his arms. your orgasm wrecks you and the dam breaks. you’re squirting into the air in front of you and rafe isn’t slowing down, pulling everything he can out of you. you’ve already drenched him what’s the point in holding back now?

a/n: omg heyyyy did yall miss me :> i missed u all ive been super busy and dw i am writing! this just came to me and i had to post it asap and yes im ovulating next question

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Discworld.com just announced that they are doing Good Omens notebooks 👀❤

One is £15.00. They come out 8 March 2024 :), now you can preorder. Links:

Crowley notebook

Aziraphale notebook

A5 lined notebook comes equipped with a bookmark, pocket at the back for securing bits and bobs, a pen loop and a handy elastic closure to help keep things secure. 240 pages.

[cafeconbrujeria]

You must stop holding out on us. Where did you get your green ocean binder/note cover?

Chicken! I'm flattered and delighted.

It is the hokusai wave journal from Oberon Designs in the teal color, and it is built like a TANK.

Many years ago, I lost most of my material possessions to flood damage. The journal cover, which was my bullet journal setup at the time and not my grimoire, was covered in disgusting skunky gunky disgusting flood water. After throwing out the inner contents, I figured I had nothing to lose, so I tossed the journal cover into...the washing machine. With some dr. bonner's liquid soap. On a normal cycle. I think I put it through the dryer, too, for a little, on low, though I ultimately dried it in the sun. Somehow, this was fine. Then I reconditioned with straight up coconut oil, and it's somehow both lusciously soft and still absurdly sturdy. This was years ago and this baby is still going strong, and I am not easy on my working items. I mention this because Oberon Designs did a limited release a while back with the Rider Waite Smith Fool card on it, and I bought it to make a more obvious grimoire, but because it's new it feels so stiff and like an entirely different product. But it isn't! It just hasn't had the shit beat out of it yet. So my point is: these things take a TON of abuse. They're absurdly well made. They're pricey, for notebook covers, but like. Worth it, imo.

More caveats: I don't actually use it entirely as intended because I have it set up midori traveler's notebook style, because I love a modular set up. Because it's the American half latter size and I have several elastics in there, I can just fold paper in half and scribble away on my makeshift notebook insert. Or I can print things out booklet style, and put that in there. And I buy those slim cheap roughly 5.5 × 8.5 kraft cover notebooks in bulk and burn through them as necessary, because for me, the grimoire is more a lab notebook and less a coffee table book, though the covers are so nice that they probably deserve a fancy grimoire.

in THEORY, the modular grimoire is also an all in one travel altar and all I need to pack for witchcraft while traveling. in actual reality, I've never travelled light in my life.

and now, because I've been given an excuse, thank you so much...here are some example pages. still sandy from last time I took The Book to the beach.

Starting with bookmarks:

For operative reasons, there is an antique key in there. I found a flat one, so that's nice, for the notebook format. The moon and stars charm is also from Oberon Designs--they tend to throw in a little freebie with their orders. I was trying to DIY a little in grimoire black mirror for a while, and none of my attempts really worked, and then i just made the St. Cyprian chaplet with the black mirror there, so--I'm not sure why this is still in here but why not. Why are there pressed flowers in here sometimes? It's a working item, baaaaebeee. All kinds of shit happens here.

reference materials:

like I said, I wanted a written by hand/printables for ease of use hybrid format so that's what I have. pictured: some sigils and reference notes for the dia de los reyes workings I always forget about until the absolute last minute so that I'm frantically running around the house very January 6.

etc

but fundamentally this grimoire is my grimoire so there's silly things in it because I am a silly person with ADHD who is also in a rush everywhere absolutely at all times. here is an origami dragon who lived in my wallet for many years--extremely effectively, so witchblr really does sometimes offer some fun yet useful ideas. also here are some fruit stickers? also my dog. also on the opposite page pictures I do not wish the internet to see. the big red envelope came with uhh...a mini waffle iron? shaped like a heart? and now houses a paper based charm. It's sturdy enough to take out of the grimoire and toss into a purse when necessary. also: kraft notebook with painter tape label.

further etc

I love journaling and notebooks in general so I have a lot of purchased and DIY folders and stuff in here, obviously. fu talisman from when I was reading the tao of craft. absolute banger of a talisman; very strong for what I needed/need it for. see also: pocket playing card meaning thing I do not use at all whatsoever. st jude card from seraphin station. ruler in case I need to make straight lines.

storage (and etc)

and here is my very DIY storage solution, which is: a slider ziploc bag and some medical tape. dr jose gregorio hernandez wallet card from, again seraphin station, who is also on here as @karmazain. background photo print of a Baron Samedi veve, for ritual focus or you know, whatever. big holy card of la caridad del cobre, aka our lady of charity, who is also Oshun or at least Oshun's catholic mask, depending on who you ask and how they look at it (maferefun oshun, of course, forever and ever). packet of black pepper and unseen similar packet of salt for some REALLY on the go magic, if necessary. big sticker / feng shui amulet of the three celestial guardians, which is usually tucked into the pocket flap meant to secure a notebook.

and ta da! far more information than you asked for! but I love witchy gear, i love talking about our gear, I LOVE LOOKING AT PEOPLE'S BOOKS, so.

[quoththemaiden]

@mrghostrat This is now the third time since December that I'm writing about your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems (1, 2). Please come collect them, because they're causing a disturbance.

Or, if you aren't able to wrangle them, then please enjoy this scene inspired by Chapter 10 of Big Name Feelings.

For everyone who hasn't already seen the top portion of this on Discord, know that this is set sometime after the con but before the big bang.

—

"I think your hair might be getting long enough to braid now."

Crowley's eyes snapped over to him. "Braid?"

Aziraphale blinked at the sharp question. "I didn't mean anything by it." He'd still never figured out quite where Crowley's gender identity lay, or if it changed day-by-day. He suspected Crowley's public presentation of his gender was either "whatever's simplest for everyone involved" (around people he didn't know but generally liked, like at the con) or "whatever causes the most problems for everyone involved" (like with a particularly annoying security guard that had left Aziraphale remembering that being middle-aged, white, and extremely stuffy in appearance was its own form of armor). Aziraphale's own perception of Crowley's gender was just "Crowley." What Crowley felt about it was something Aziraphale had never quite managed to parse out. "You can do whatever you like—"

"Do you know how?"

"How...?"

"To braid hair." Crowley's tone was oddly urgent. "Like for your nieces or cousins or—"

"—for crafting, yes. Tassels for bookmarks and such. You want me to—" Crowley practically flinging himself down onto the sofa next to him was answer enough. "Oh."

Crowley's hair really was barely long enough to braid, Aziraphale decided as he gently freed it from its elastic band. He ran his fingers through it slowly and carefully, easing out the light tangles from a day's confinement. Crowley slumped forward in boneless contentment, and Aziraphale had to switch to prickling the top of his scalp with his fingernails to get him to sit up straight enough for Aziraphale to work.

Aziraphale determined his gameplan, then, and gently eased up a few locks of hair at the crown of Crowley's head, smoothing down the top with the flat of his palm. He started working the strands into a French braid, taking it tiny piece by tiny piece to ensure every section was balanced in size. If Crowley were doing it himself, he suspected he'd get it done in just five messy joins, but every strand he brought in gave Aziraphale another excuse to run his fingertips along Crowley's scalp and he luxuriated in each opportunity. "Has anyone ever told you your hair is unreasonably thick?" he murmured, his voice huskier with fond affection than he'd intended. Crowley spared him from a tease by being too utterly sedated to manage more than a vague hum in response. Aziraphale smiled at that and kept his progress blissfully slow and methodical until he had no choice but to tie the braid off at the nape of Crowley's neck — half a French braid, half a ponytail made bushy from having had waves worked into it. He placed a soft kiss to the back of Crowley's head, padded by the thickest part of Crowley's braid and somehow all the more intimate for it. "All done, love."

Crowley leaned back against Aziraphale's chest, tilting back his head to look up at him with eyes made impossibly soft with contentment. "I'm never putting my own hair up again. Just hope you know that."

Aziraphale chuckled softly, just as fond. "I'll manage somehow, I suppose."

—

Crowley's boneless appreciation of the hair braiding had turned into boneless napping, and while Aziraphale enjoyed having Crowley fall asleep against him at certain times of day, he had never been one for naps himself and there was a limit to how long he could stay motionless sans entertainment before even he got antsy. He eased his way out from under Crowley, grateful the other man was a heavy sleeper even during the day, and was left deciding what quiet amusement he could pursue until whenever Crowley woke up and started making noises about dinner. He could always read some fanfics, of course, but his eyes couldn't help but be drawn towards his favorite muse.

His muse who had, he recalled, tempted him into joining a rigged bang and had talked him into getting a digital tablet. Aziraphale still planned to do his official art for it traditionally, because he was sure Crowley's writing would deserve no less... and, if he was allowed to be vain in the privacy of his own mind, because he still remembered the feeling he'd had when Crowley responded to his scans with barely coherent keysmashing. He wasn't in deferential awe of Crowley anymore, although he still loved his writing just as much, but part of him still hoped that Crowley might respond with just as much enthusiasm at getting to see the finished piece in person, textured paper and unprocessed colors and all. Well, assuming he could be gutsy enough to actually give it to him in person instead of just leaving it on the drafting table for him to find, which was really the more statistically likely result. But anyway.

But anyway.

His muse was sleeping in front of him, and a stylus on an iPad would make hardly any noise at all. And if he got good enough at using it, maybe he could draw some extra digital art to celebrate the fic as well.

In any case, sketching Crowley while he slept was one of life's little joys. He didn't think Crowley knew how often he did it, and that was probably for the best. If he did it all in his notebook, it would have been too easy for Crowley to flip through and find the sketches (and removing sheets would have felt damnably like a guilty conscience). With his iPad, however, he was safe to sketch as much as he liked and there was no real way for Crowley to stumble across it. Aziraphale willfully shoved aside the thought that that didn't really sound any less guilty and started setting stylus to screen. It wasn't long until he'd settled into a comfortable rhythm, his eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and where Crowley was lying face-down on the sofa, his new braid highlighted in a beam of afternoon sunlight.

Something Aziraphale did appreciate about digital art was that white could be layered on top of other colors and be shockingly vibrant, which wasn't an effect he could get easily with his beloved watercolors. Something else watercolors didn't give him was the ability to pick out very fine details, and as his sketch started coming together, he found that was exactly what he wanted to do now. While Crowley's hair was a vibrant red in his selfies or on stage, when he'd had the opportunity to run his fingers through every strand, he'd found that Crowley's hair was showing his age just as much as his own was.

The first day Aziraphale had found a grey hair had come as a shock. He'd naively assumed that with his hair being as pale as it was, even if it started greying, he might well never know. Instead, he found that the grey hairs' texture was frustratingly different from the strands that were still blond, and until they reached a critical mass fifteen long years later, they had an unfortunate tendency to stick out unattractively if his cut was anything less than perfect. He had become quite a regular at his barber's.

With Crowley's hair being as long as it was, his grey hairs had worked smoothly into his braid. From even the small distance from couch to armchair, they melded into the red strands perfectly... but Aziraphale had just spent long minutes twining them into neat twists and didn't need to see them now to know they were there. Aziraphale zoomed in close (another marked benefit of the digital display) and set his pen to a thin, sharp line, layering sleek silver strands into the red braid he'd drawn. Following the way they weaved around each other and dipped in and out of view felt delightfully meditative.

Eventually, Crowley made a soft snuffling snort-groan as he roused from his nap, slowly turning to unbury his face from the pillows. "Wha' time'zit?" he mumbled, patting around blindly for his cellphone.

"Coming up on 5:30 now," Aziraphale replied softly, trying not to startle him into full wakefulness too quickly. He rose and fetched Crowley's phone, placing it gently into his fumbling hand. "There you go."

"Mmrrr. Don't need it now." Crowley tucked the phone under his side in what Aziraphale would have guessed would be a very uncomfortable fashion but which Crowley did without even thinking. At least it wouldn't be going anywhere from there, Aziraphale supposed. "What're you doin'?" Crowley made grabby hands at the iPad Aziraphale had brought over with him.

Aziraphale handed over the iPad without even one thought, much less a second. "Oh, I was just waiting for you to wake up, really."

"...Angel." Crowley had zoomed out on the picture (with a completely unsurprising lack of propriety) and was now staring, frozen and much more awake, at the drawing of himself. "You aren't going to post this on Tumblr, are you?"

Aziraphale laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that, despite the ripple of shock Crowley's tense tone had caused him. "Come, now. When have I ever posted a drawing of you, my dear?"

"When have you ever made a drawing of me?" Crowley retorted. He waved vaguely at the screen, accidentally sparing Aziraphale from having to answer. "I don't mind being old, but I don't want the world knowing my boyfriend thinks I'm old." His frazzled waving turned a little more flaily.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale gently took the tablet back from him and set it down on the floor so he could take Crowley's hand in both of his. "I assure you, I'm not the kind of artist who spends my time drawing things I don't think are beautiful. And that includes every detail I put in."

Aziraphale would have hoped that was obvious, really. The strands of hair he had drawn weren't brittle grey; they were molten silver. They caught the light like a precious metal woven like a ribbon into cinnabar-red hair. Crowley could have been a queen, fallen asleep after a long day in her finery. He could have been a fae whose very essence was beauty, sleeping with no fear that it would be stolen away because it couldn't.

He could have been an ordinary man, who was so deeply, truly loved that even his grey hairs seemed to shine like the soft gleam of a newly-forged star when they caught the last strong beams of afternoon sunlight shining in through the windows.

Aziraphale hoped Crowley could see it, too.

Crowley made a grumpy noise. "I still don't want it on Tumblr. — Not that I can tell you what to do with your art, but—"

Aziraphale interrupted him with a warm smile. "I don't want it on Tumblr, either. I drew this just for me."

"...really? Even though...?"

"Just for me," Aziraphale whispered in confirmation, his eyes seeking out Crowley's and saving him from having to finish that sentence. "I've only ever drawn you for me." I love you to the point of creation, his heart sang. It wasn't quite how that quote went, he knew. It was the only way it had ever gone, for him.

"Hn..." Crowley shifted to look at the iPad where it lay down on the floor. "I suppose... Well. Despite the subject matter, you drew it well, at least."

"Well, thank you for that," Aziraphale jibed back lightly, completely devoid of malice.

"Ngh, you can't blame me for feeling self-conscious about my greys when you haven't got any."

Aziraphale let out a huff of a laugh. "Oh, Crowley."

"What?" Crowley looked defensive, then abruptly switched to looking shrewd. "Wait. Do you dye them??" He leaned forward eagerly, like this was taboo knowledge.

"Oh, where was that compliment two decades ago? No, not at all. Do you know how long I spent getting over feeling self-conscious about them, and now for you to not even realize I have them?"

"No way. You've been holding out on me!" Crowley's eyes had a light in them that Aziraphale had seen sometimes — the look of someone who has been wanting something very much and thinks he's just figured out how to get it. Aziraphale drew back instinctively in trepidation. He had no idea what Crowley could possibly be wanting, though a fluttering feeling in his chest suggested that it was, in some way, him.

Ridiculous. As if they hadn't had sex already.

"I'm going to go get dinner started."

Crowley let out a whine that cut off abruptly enough that Aziraphale suspected he actually hadn't intended to make it.

Aziraphale paused. "What?"

"Ehhh... just envious, s'all."

Aziraphale took a moment to muse about whether Crowley knew the difference between "envious" and "jealous" and decided, firmly, that he had faith that he did. "Of what?" he asked with an incredulous laugh, since he still had no idea what "envious" could possibly apply to here.

"Negghhh, you've gotten to play with my hair enough to know I have greys, and I haven't gotten to touch yours once."

Aziraphale blushed darkly at that, remembering some choice occasions in which Crowley had gripped his hair tightly enough to hurt. He cleared his throat and opted not to mention them. "That feels much more like your fault than mine."

"Just... tryin'a respect your boundaries, angel."

"Why would that be a boundary?" Aziraphale asked, baffled.

"I asked for it and you haven't."

Aziraphale didn't quite remember it that way, but it was a fair enough interpretation from Crowley's point of view, he supposed. "Well, no. It sounds perfectly nice, but I'd hate to bore you with it. I know you're much more fidgety than I am."

"Not bored," Crowley insisted, his eyes urgent. "Never bored when it's you, angel. Siddown."

Aziraphale laughed breathily. "Too late. I'm already up to cook dinner."

"Angel."

"You'll just have to wait," Aziraphale teased in a singsong lilt, casting a smile back at Crowley over his shoulder.

Crowley flung himself back on the couch with an impatient whine, leaving Aziraphale feeling very smug about his attempt at whatever the romantic equivalent of foreplay was. Crowley sounded very much like he was being left with blue balls. "Bastard."

"Only as much as you deserve, my dear," Aziraphale sang back as he went into the kitchen, acutely aware of Crowley's eyes following every step.

—

It wasn't really in question, at all, that Aziraphale would end the evening snuggled on the couch with Crowley's hands in his hair. There was also no question that he'd enjoy it thoroughly, and he also knew it wasn't the kind of thing that was likely to lead to anything more. So, instead, he just relaxed into it and let his thoughts drift.

"...do you really think I'd mind if my red fox turned into a silver fox?" he mused. The thought was languid, easy, relaxed. Crowley spluttered in incoherent surprise anyway, and Aziraphale laughed softly. "Yes, I know. There's a reason I'm not the writer of the pair."

"Y'are, though. Don't think I've forgotten that you are."

Aziraphale blushed a little at that. "Oh."

Crowley's hands resumed their meditative motion through Aziraphale's hair. "But... yeah. I'd rock it, wouldn't I?"

"You would," Aziraphale murmured with a smile. "And I'm quite looking forward to seeing it someday, my dear."

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I was a little apprehensive about the price point of Hero Magazine, but it arrived today and was worth every penny. It’s less magazine and more a work of art? Larger than a traditional magazine, and not bound together like one either (its pages are held together by an elasticated cord that doubles as a bookmark), it’s laid out like a coffee table book and the paper quality is insane - close to being 300gsm, I think?! Anyway, I am hugely enthusiastic about print media, so I could prattle on about this for ages. It’s a beautiful magazine and comes with four free posters - one of which is an exclusive photo from Ewan’s photoshoot and is fucking massive.

[gramoturtle]

Don't know if this has been posted here (tried searching for it), but there's a Xenoblade Chronicles X: Definitive Edition Sweepstakes you can enter for a blanket and journal!

Prizes Xenoblade Chronicles X: Definitive Edition - Blanket This blanket doubles as a map of Mira and can help get you ready for your next adventure. You can stay warm while taking on foes and exploring the open-world RPG of the Xenoblade Chronicles X: Definitive Edition game. Size: 58"x72" Materials: Polyester, Poly Polar Fleece Xenoblade Chronicles X: Definitive Edition - Journal Document your adventures in this library quality, hardcover journal, complete with a ribbon bookmark and elastic closure. The Smyth-sewn binding helps keep the journal flat while you write, and there's a pocket in the back for mementos. (80 sheets of lined paper)

You can enter up to five times! Good luck to anyone who enters!

[avonne-writes]

https://www.tumblr.com/avonne-writes/752019305465511936/bucky-is-very-enthusiastic-about-eating-i-could

has this dream once and wakes up to sticky sheets 😅😅 buck sees his flustered face and tries to pry it out of him

My dear anon, this is John Egan we're talking about 😏

Gale is still sitting up against the headboard and reading by the low light of the nightlamp when he notices Bucky's laboured breathing next to him. He touches Bucky's arm and the sound of his inhales cuts off completely as he stirs awake, then it resumes at a slower pace. His eyes open to blink up at Gale. He clears his throat and draws a knee up, his face flushed.

"Nightmare?" Gale asks in concern, but it melts into suspicion quite rapidly when Bucky’s eyes crinkle at the corners and his hand snakes across the mattress to drum at Gale’s thigh under the blanket.

"No." Bucky says simply, smiling, and rolls towards Gale, shimmying under the covers until his head rests on Gale’s lap and his arms are wrapped around Gale's hips. He butts his forehead against Gale's stomach and nuzzles his way under Gale’s shirt to kiss his bare skin. It’s there, covered by fabric and muffled against Gale's skin that he says, "I dreamt I was eating a peach."

"Hm." Gale hums. He puts his elbow on Bucky’s shoulder and resumes his book. Bucky’s exhales tickle the skin under his navel. When he turns a page, Bucky probably hears it because he sighs and nips Gale's belly before he emerges from his shirt.

He squints up at Gale from between Gale’s torso and the book. His fingers start playing with the elastic of Gale's pants on the back, at the tail of his spine. "It was the most beautiful peach, Buck. Round and firm..."

Gale stares down at him, trying to process the words. Bucky holds his gaze, and a slow, lascivious grin stretches his lips. One of his hands slips fully into Gale's pants, and Gale jerks in surprised realization. His hand shoots back to grip Bucky's wrist.

He blinks a few times, frowning. "Did you... like eating that peach? In your dream."

Bucky sits up to lean closer to Gale's face.

"Uh-huh." He brushes their lips together. "Still hungry though. You woke me up, I reckon you should make up for it."

Carefully, Gale lets Bucky's wrist go and Bucky immediately starts rubbing his thumb over the curve of Gale's ass. With his other hand, he takes the book away, puts the bookmark in place and sets it on the nightstand.

He looks into Gale's eyes again, then ducks down to kiss Gale's neck. His tongue flicks out and makes Gale's pulse jump.

"Okay." Gale's breath hitches. Why not? He can learn to let go, can’t he? "I'll let you have it."

Bucky moans his appreciation into Gale's skin.

[scarlettohairdye]

Hi! I love your writing, thank you so much for sharing it! I have a very silly question - I found Apatico harnesses through one of your end notes and appreciate that, but I thought I remembered a second harness artist/company you’d also linked who did softer ones of elastic and florals and such - does that ring a bell at all? Sorry if I’ve misremembered and thanks for your time!

Ooooh yes! I don't think I actually linked them anywhere because I couldn't remember the damn name of the shop at the time. I very proudly went into my bookmarks, because I know it's come up between now and then, but it looks like I once again lost the shop!!!

Okay I'm back after a VERY INTENSE search and it turns out part of the reason I lost the site this time was because they changed their name. The designs I was thinking of are inspired by formerly Lovechild Boudoir, now known as Ain't Born Typical! I did it! I found it!

[punch-love]

Could you give us some of your fic recs as well? 🙏🏼

I've been waiting for this ask. * is for all time favorites.

Classics/Required Reading:

Between Apollo and Arachne. / He is Soundless From Afar. / Blood Sickness. by elastic honey (infernoconcealed)

I got into this fandom specifically because of this author. I think all of their work is incredible but, these three are my favorites and also the first bookmarks I ever made. I like the ways they explore their dynamic, and they often explore darker scenarios between the two of them with a lot of heart and nuance.

How To Get Physical by Wilt

I like their writing as much as I like their art, but this one in particular is a consistent re-read for me. It's a trans Peter written by a clearly trans writer, and it's soft and kind and good-hearted in a way that really, really sells the history between them.

Up to the Sun (Full Speed Ahead, Mr. Parker) by SleepsWithCoyotes

The first AU I really enjoyed and also one of the best. Eldritch horror Wade that goes from a massive tentacle creature to an off-putting mercenary that gets attached to Spider-Man. It's great. The whole verse is great.

for the wrong reasons by orphan_account

This is one of my favorite Wade character studies of all time. He gets hit with a truth serum and ends up at Peter's apartment. It's sad and complicated and perfect, and I've read it more than a few times.

gunpowder and firewood / steel and flint * by periodically_puzzled

This is forever one of my favorites. It's the best first-person POV in the fandom hands down and is just so fucking good. It's got everything, idenity porn, grindr, complicated explorations of emotional manipulation, bromance, and it's so very funny.

Snake Oil by BunsofHoney

This was so good that my writing group chat temporarily re-named our chat after it. Peter is a preacher and Wade is a possessed snake oil salesman. It's very good, and also you will learn something about the 20s as it is immensely well researched.

Blazed (Smoking Weed is Gay) * by GreendaleHumanBeing

This is one of my all-time favorites. Peter is coping with his midlife crisis by being a huge stoner, and Wade has mellowed out and joins him for long smoke sessions. It's very slice of life, intimate, slow burn friends to lovers. It's one of those reads that just feels really, really good and relatable.

Paradise (spread out with a butter knife) by Sarah_Sandwich

A soulmate/slice of life work that really will make you feel something profound by the end of it. I read this one at four in the morning and didn't sleep until I was finished with it. It made me feel something big.

Dog Years by androgynousdouche

This is the only unfinished work on this list but man, is it a hidden treasure. They really build a foundation for the relationship and the intimacy between these two is so....it's really good. I wish it was finished, but even though it's not, I still think it's worth the read.

Porn:

Tip of the Tongue * by TimidTurnip

I think this is probably the work I go back and re-read the most. It's got everything. Peter Parker's insane oral fixation, his inability to come to terms with his own bi-sexuality, homies who are mean to each other dynamics, and worship based blow jobs. It's great. You should read it.

i could show you and stop (don't stop) by jilliancares

I think this is probably two of the most infamous smut works in the fandom but they both really, really deserve the hype. The first is the eating out fic of all time specifically for me but also for a lot of other people and the second is my favorite situational porn.

Meeting Minutes */ Pitter Patter by WhoopsOK

These are hands down the best watersports fics in the entire fandom. I've read the entire tag, I would know. The first has Peter being hit by a truth serum and telling his fantasies to Wade who intentionally does not sleep with him, and it's hot and good dynamic wise. The second is just a very hot scenario where Peter pisses in Wade's mouth while he works behind the counter. Great stuff.

a luxury few can afford by three-fingered (calciseptine)

I love the way this author writes them so much. It's fun and fresh and so good at building up some good old-fashioned tension. It also has some great character study moments inbetween blow jobs (my beloved)

Fucked Up Shit:

she's not going to die today / Songs for the Zombie Apocalypse / Need You Like A Gun To The Head * by (zerospoons_onlyknives)oprime

I also consider these classics/required reading but they are all very dark and go places that fans of the classic dynamic might be surprised by. SNGTDT is the best and darkest soulmate AU you'll ever read. SftZA is not only an incredible zombie AU but also one of my personal favorite pieces of zombie fiction period. NYLaGttH is one of my favorite smut fics of all time and one I often re-read (the title should be taken literally)

twisted, baby by jilliancares

The Peter "adrenaline kink" Parker work. It's dubious and intimate and exhilarating in a way that never gets old.

tap out whenever by periodically_puzzled

also known as "the fic that triggers me so bad that I've never commented on it despite reading it eight times" this is like. One of the darkest works in the fandom, hands down and if you can relate at all with the content, will put you in some sort of headspace. It's excellent. It's horrifying.

Because You're Mine *- WaterMe

I absolutely love this one. It's a sex-pollen turned non-con work that is very dark (mind the tags) but if you want to go there, this is the place to go. I always come back to it and find something new to appreciate. Also the only second person work I've ever enjoyed/felt affected by in the way I think second person is supposed to do. (honorary mention by this author: their Arbor day fic)

Sinking by coveryourheads

This one is hard to describe, but if you're interested in some really nuanced work on sexuality, this one will sit with you for a while. Peter and Wade are in an intense D/s relationship that is both abstract and personal in ways I've never really read about before.

[floral-comet-whump]

hello! this was supposed to be the original post where both I as a whump writer and walenty debut, but I got inspired by this post and wrote a snippet

contents: captivity whump, fantasy whump (hardly mentioned), institutionalized whump, interrogation whump/tortured for information, restraints, mention of suicide attempt, discussion and threats of death, off-screen past and future torture, lady whumpee (she will probably never appear again sorry), attempted conditioning, defiant whumpee, cold/impersonal whumper, remorseful whumper, minor whumper/whumpee (16-17), (non-combatant) living weapon whumper

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Walenty blinks. That’s not the answer they wanted. Ruby looks right back, damp hair sticking to her face. They’d offered to move it out of the way if she answered a question.

“No,” Walenty puts their cheek into their palm, using it as an unneeded crutch for their head. “I don’t.”

“You do!” The prisoner snaps, yanking her head forward as best as she can. They internally note to secure it to the back of the chair before they leave so she can’t kill herself by slamming it back until her skull breaks. “You- You keep saying I’ll get stuff if I talk! I see what you’re doing with that reward system,” she hisses out, “And that incentive, and good behavior. I’m not some dog you can train!”

That’s literally just how interrogation works, they bite back. They wait to see if she’ll continue, tracing the stitching of their chair. Ruby's eyes are just as full of rage as when they’d gotten here. Maybe because they’ve cleaned her wounds? It doesn’t matter so long as they receive correct intel.

“Answer me, dammit!”

Their free hand pauses at the shout.

“This is my job,” gloved fingers interlace on their lap. “I need answers, Ruby. If tying your hair back isn’t enough, what would you like I do?”

“Let me go!” She demands loudly again, and they don’t flinch this time. “I’m not cooperating with the likes of you.”

She’s like a broken record, they think.

It’s gone in a loop for hours. They question and she refuses to answer. They threaten and she answers and they don’t know if it’s true. They question again, and she refuses again. They go through with the threat. She caves. They question. She refuses. She refuses. She refuses. They threaten something else. She caves. They question. She answers. They question, she answers. They question, she hesitates. She refuses to answer, and it restarts.

“That’s not how this works,” Walenty, too, is a broken record. “So give me something. At this rate, your wounds will get infected and you’ll die. Do you seriously want a torture chamber to be your deathbed?”

Silence settles over the dim room.

“...I’m not getting out alive anyways.” Her voice breaks, and so does eye contact with the interrogator. “At least I’ll go out nobly.”

Walenty looks down at their notepad. Everything’s encrypted anyway, so there’s no reason not to write draft reports in front of her. They close it, bookmarking their page with elastic and adding a loop for their pen.

“This isn’t working,” they finally say it out loud, standing to put the logs on a seperate surface. “And you’re obviously not gonna talk.” Walenty takes the scalpel and wipes it with already-wet cloth. “So I’ll leave you to rot down here.”

“...What?”

The enby finishes, putting both on the tray of to-be-cleaned instruments.

“You can’t be serious.”

They walk to the door, “You said you wouldn’t mind dying,” they reminded, removing their badge and imbuing the password in it, unlocking two of three locks. “So have fun succumbing to nature.”

“I haven’t told you everything.” Ruby points out as they walk back and fetch a blindfold. She’s returned to glaring. “You’re bluffing.”

They put the badge back and return to tie the blindfold around her eyes, utilizing the chair’s high back and fabric’s stretchy material to secure— “Stop that!” —the girl’s head too.

Walenty strolls over to the counter they left their notebook on and puts it in their bag. They detach the only key that’s actually just a key for this room.

“You’ll come back.” She insists, and they simply hum, inserting the key into the lock.

They twist it.

“They won’t let me die until they know everything and we both know it.”

She’s right, but she’ll begin to doubt herself soon. The heavy door creaks open. They slide the light glyph off, and only then take the key. They step out and slam it shut, showing the still-enchanted badge to the mechanism’s sensors. They hear it lock. Walenty inserts it once again, spinning counterclockwise this time. Click.

Walenty sighs, deflating. They resist the urge to actually slouch. Instead, the interrogator remains standing there. It’s so damn bright every they step out that it has to be its own kind of torture. They extract the key from its hole and clip it back in its place.

They sigh a second time, turning around to lean back against the closed entrance.

This is enough information for just one session, they think. She’ll get desperate next time, and start to believe that they really had left her to die in there, only to have her reality reshaped again when they're back.

It’s going fine.

It’ll work. Ruby will break, Walenty will have information, and then they’ll kill her. Or maybe she’ll be recruited, she’s young enough. They’ll ask around. Can’t risk wasting resources.

A third sigh leaves their lips, and the human glances around to make sure nobody is watching before resting their forehead on the door.

Breathe in. Hold.

They really have become heartless. It’s reasonable to get desensitized, they know that from observation and experience. It’s still jarring. They wish they could leave it all behind. Run away from the suffering they’ve inflicted and been complicit in without facing consequences.

Breathe out.

But they can’t. There’s no way. They’ll be found. They’ll be found again and they don’t think desertion will be pardoned this time. Even the execution will be extremely painful, but it’s not as if it’s nothing compared to the suffering they’ve inflicted. Screams and healing spells and bloodied clothes and the stench of vomit and disgustingly damp fabric and compliance and—

Don’t think like that.

Walenty sharply inhales at the still locked door, touching the corner of their eye with a glove. Flaky blood stays flaky. Phew. They spin around and begin to walk out of this dreadful place, because they’ve broken both themselves and others to have that privilege. Walenty won’t fall apart. They want to live. Even if they torture again and again, they don’t want to die.

Walenty doesn’t want to die.

[goldenstorm0]

Looking at weaving patterns online, it looks like most are for flat things, towels and blankets and table runners, etc. Most wearables are scarves, shawls, occasionally ponchos, and I found 1 pattern for a shirt

And you'd think that maybe you can just use a normal sewing pattern but use the cloth you made for it, but handwoven cloth acts differently than the usual stor bought cloth, and from what I've seen it doesnt usually play nice with typical sewing patterns. It does have the same drape, doesn't want to be cut especially into shapes other than a square, isn't as elastic, whatever.

So if I want to make wearables, I need clothing patterns that use primarily squares and rectangles with minimal cutting. Preferably something a vit baggy so I don't need to worry about the cloth having to stretch too much while I move.

So I found this article, basically the author Mira Musank was given an article from Handwoven, march/April 1996, for a top made from several basic squares. Fan-fucking-tastic, bookmarked and saved. Plus take note of that magazine name, that sounds like a magazine that will have more of what I'm looking for.

And they do

........... behind a paywall.

...............................

I think for now I'm going to start looking for historical patterns and see what I can do to make the patterns a bit more modern. Like part of me wants to dress like a peasant but I also want to make stuff I can wear to work. I also plan to swing by the library once I'm certain I'm not contagious and see what they have to offer

I think the knitting and crocheting communities have spoiled me, or maybe I just know where to look to find quality free stuff and know how to bullshit a pattern, but dear god it feels like a ton of the weaving material is hidden behind different paywalls. I'm still gonna dig around and see what I can find, I just.. don't want to have to pay for a subscription or class to figure out how to do what I want

[mysteriesmuse]

Kirishima and the Washing Machines

You lived in a pretty large apartment complex about 150 residents in all. And yet, somehow, you always found yourself using the washer and dryer after this one individual. Every. Time. 

And you now what, they never remember to clean out the lint tray after they’re done.  

You sigh through your nose, inching out the door of the lint tray and seeing a very full cage. Reaching in and deftly scooping it all up in one hand and dropping it into the trash can without second thought. 

Whoever this person was they had the most ridiculously long and lacking hair care routine ever. Seriously, 5-6 inch long firetruck red hairs that were coarse and fried to hell littered your clothes now. Probably because said person never emptied the lint tray after their laundry so now their hair littered your own wardrobe. And this would naturally urge anyone to choose a different washer and dryer out of the apartment laundromat. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t tried, it just seemed that whoever this person was seemed to read you mind — move laundry machines with you, so you’d given up.  

Subjected to a life of dyed red hair in all your clothing. A lifetime supply of lint rollers in hand at all times.  

And in Kirishima’s defense he was a busy prohero — but you’d never seen him in the apartment complex, much less seen him patrolling the neighborhood in order to make the connection.  

Although he’d seen you — only a handful of times though — over the past few months of living here. He thought you were pretty — the kind where you have to mentally acknowledge a strangers beauty just because they are so attractive.

Except for today. 

And You were having a good day.  

You’d hit massive stroke of luck to this week to find that this red-haired person and your secret domestic enemy hadn’t been to the laundromat before you. You couldn’t be more pleased as you sat down on one of the lobbies padded chairs. Content with sitting and reading your book as you waited for the little chiming song of the washer and dryer to alert you that this batch of clothes was free of a strangers weird hairstyle. 

And you were ready, sliding back in the chair, tittering your hips, slipping your finger between the fresh crisp pages and into the sweet spot where your little impromptu receipt bookmark lay nestled next to the spine — a perfect morning.  

you’d gotten through that euphoric breath part of the process before the awkward spinning doors to the complex blew open and you’d dropped the book into your lap — staggering in was a beefcake of a man.  

It was the first thing you noticed, and how could you not? The stranger was shirtless and only clad in a pair of worn joggers that bear the emblem of the most famous hero producing highschool — hung snuggly around his hips, but just low enough that you could see the elastic of his boxers peaking out. And up from there was the defined muscles of his abdomen, not full on bread rolls, but a smoother definition and one that fit him nicely. The slight healthy layer of fat smoothing over the man’s defined and sturdy trunk — which lead to a completely hairless chest — a conscious decision. And then his arms were huge like the rest of him, but had a very strange reverse farmers tan to them. Another conscious decision?  

You didn’t even make it to his face before he was already in the room — and he took up space.   

somehow you found the conscious effort to close your mouth when he turned in your direction flaming locks of hair reaching his broad shoulders. 

Beefcake had noticed you as soon as he had walked in. The gorgeous h/c woman. And he could see the whites of your eyes and the pink of your tongue from the door. 

He flashed you an award winning smile full of sharp canines before awkwardly tugging on a few small strands near his face. The book in your lap now open to a random page, a receipt lay fluttered close to your feet.  

Kirishima chuckled, deep and low, bending down on one knee to hand you the receipt that’d been flung out on the ground from your shocked stare — yeah, that was a perfectly normal reaction he got often as a pro.

 “Sorry to startle you, beautiful. Here’s your bookmark,” he said, holding it out to you. You blinked back surprised before taking it back from his outstretched hand rather stiffly. He could see a crinkle between your brows as you seemingly took in every single detail about his face — tongue prodding the corners of your mouth as you did so.  

You were not, in fact, openly checking him out as much as Kirishima was secretly kind of hoping — a reaction he would naturally have gotten fairly often since you presumed he was a hero of sorts with his build and those flashy alum joggers.  

No — you were busy studying his hair: eyebrows, eyelashes, stubble, the whole lot. All of it thick and black — unlike the hair on top of his head, but similarly matching with the sometimes atrocious roots on those long hairs from the laundry machine.  

“Aha—“ you thrust out the hand with the reciept and waved it in front of Kirishimas face. “It’s you! My laundromat enemy — you’re the guy that always forgets to empty the lint drawer!”

Kirishima blinked back at you crossed eyed. A vague recognition of what you were taking about slipping past his eyes like a montage. He couldn’t remember a single time where he emptied that lint drawer, now that you mentioned it. He swallowed thickly

“I — I, how? How do you know it’s me?” He garbled. 

You shoot him a pointed look that reminded him of his best friend, “You really think there’s that many other people around here with hair like yours?” You hummed, gesturing to his still damp locks. You answered for him, “yeah, me neither.”   

Kirishima was shocked at your certainty, but he was also pretty certain that you were absolutely right. He gulped nervously, adams apple bobbing in that thick neck of his. 

of course he had luck like this, upsetting the beautiful woman in the apartment complex before he’d even meet her. You called him an enemy. A domestic enemy — he was supposed to be a hero! 

He started, “Look . . .”

“Y/N” you supplied. 

“Look Y/N,” he said, noticing the way you perked up more at his use of your name. “I’m really sorry to have bothered you by forgetting to clean out the lint in the dryer. There’s no excuse for me forgetting, or actively ignoring, that in a communal space. That’s really un-neighborly of me and I promise to actually take the time to do it from now on.”  He finished, hand strapped across his heart like a knight of old making a pledge to you.  

he watched as you slowly uncrossed your arms and tapped at the cover of your book. Your eyes of some beautiful color — that he would commit to memory if you looked up at him, stared down in your lap.  

He put placed his hands on the side of the armrests, pleading with the best puppy dog eyes he could give, “anything I can do to make it up to you?” Practically begging. 

you looked up, ahh so they were e/c then.  

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, nose wrinkling. 

He seemed genuine, and charming and polite, but he was large and intimidating — and in your personal space, “you do owe me quite a handful of change in lint roller money.”  

Kirishima grinned, that he could do. 

“How about I take you out ��� this time, next week. There’s a really cool bookshop cafe on my patrol route. I’ll come by and pick you up.” He noticed your hesitation, a worrying shimmy closer to the back of the seat and away from him. He removed his hands from the armrests and reached for the wallet in his pocket, “— we could just walk then, if that’s not comfortable for you. Or you could meet me there. Here see, Kirishima Eijirou prohero alias Red Riot.”  

That caused you to relax and lean forward, as you examined his hero license.  

He really was a hero. You were already pretty sure with those UA joggers, but it felt good to know you were right. One that wore an oddly terrifying dog-muzzle? You glanced back up at his strong jaw littered with a stiff 5 o’clock shadow. And surely enough there were faint lines of pale skin surrounding his mouth and just under his eyes that confirmed the weird existence of this accessory. Again, what is with the fashion choices here??

You raised a brow, “Ever think this is a little unusual for a hero?” You asked pointing at his ID.  

Red Riot glowed like his namesake. “I thought it was cool back in highschool — now it’s part of my image.” He chuckled, a hand touching at the place where it would be.  

you wondered what that would feel like having that cage against your skin all the time — surely uncomfortable.

Kirishima wondered if you’d consider yanking him by those bars to bring him into a kiss. Metal clanking on metal as the pretty ring on your finger gripped around the edges of its frame. If you’d be a woman he could come home to after a long mission and be fall into lovingly seering embrace like some of his pals. . . 

Clearly two very different trains of thought going on here, but Eijirou was always a hopeless romantic at heart and nothing but a gentlemen. 

He heart leapt into his throat when you placed a cool hand against his forearm with a little conformational pat, “I’ve got work next week, but I’ll go ahead and meet you there.”  

He grinned standing up to his full height and pocketing his wallet, face morphing as a realization dawned on him. He quickly scrambled for his phone, “I — wait you don’t have my number and I haven’t even told you where it is. And it’s pretty far, so I don’t think you’d know it — because it’s all the way in Fatgums district and —“  

and now you were laughing at him. Kirishima tucked a thick strand of hair behind his ear as he looked down at you — washing machine songs lighting up the atmosphere.  

“Actually I do have your number. We — apparently — live on the same floor, Kirishima.” You snorted holding out your phone with the familiar floor group text that he was apart of. A ridiculous dorky contact photo of himself as Crimson Riot as the contact photo he send in the chat.  

Plus Ultra! Forget red, crimson — he was scarlet right about now.  

“Ah right . . .”  

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you waved, “you’re much cuter in person. Ya know, for a laundromat menace.”  

Kirishima scratched awkwardly at his chest which was hardening there randomly — oh wait nope, it’s because he heart was thumping a mile a minute and he was on a mad adrenaline rush right now in the middle of the apartment complex lobby bc was talking to the beautiful stranger of his complex. 

You rose from your chair and stood in front of him, book clutched to your chest. 

the only thought running through his head was don’t move. And you watched as this handsome young pro hero stood stock still — every muscular plain of his body becoming rock hard and just towering over you.  

the chimes started up again. 

“Uh excuse me, you’re kinda blocking the entire door?” You giggled. 

In a flash this Kirishima was hardening even more and now you could clearly see a set of abs in the early morning dim lobby light as he stepped further into the elevator so he wouldn’t be crushed — although with that quirk you think the elevator might take most of the damage. 

Now he was too cute.  

And as he backpedaled into the elevator you could hear him audibly sigh with relief as the sound of your book pages started flicking. 

“Kirishima—“  

he looked down, the apples of your cheeks light and bouncy — such a pretty little smile on your face, “you should really invest in some conditioner.”  

And the last you saw was a sliver of a grin and framing tan lines from that muzzle/cage looking mask of his. He beamed staring at the space you were in before the doors closed, a blissful whisper as he realized he was replying to an empty elevator, “yeah I do.”  

[martinamonster-art]

Cover on my new junk journal!

I was looking for a pin to add to the elastic and found random junk that I had been holding onto for years, such as the key I added to the ribbon bookmark. I didn’t like any of the pins I had, so I opted for this random button I found. After sewing the button on, I knew this needed more and I turned to my jumbled stash of trims and got the hot glue gun out.

Once the hot glue gun came out, I was really cooking! I couldn’t stop gluing stuff on it, but I am so pleased with the result. Will the heavy objects fall off? Probably! But I’ll just glue them back on. 😄

[ghuleh-recs]

It's gotta be RainDrop themed this week because they CAN'T KEEP THEIR HANDS OFF EACH OTHER.

you in the moonlight - @kkaisarion - E, 2.4k

When Dewdrop finds out that Copia accidentally summoned a new water ghoul, he’s ready to throw hands. He’s been the only water ghoul at the abbey for so long, there’s no way he’s about to share his territory with whoever just showed up.

boiling point - @waywardsamaritan - E, 5.2k

“You really want me to hit you?” Rain’s voice drops, taking on a dangerous hue now. He advances towards Dew, slow and intentional, predatory. Dew gulps, his eyes locked on Rain’s as Rain backs him into the corner with measured steps. “‘Cause here’s the thing, Dewdrop,” he continues, letting out a little bark of laughter when Dew startles as his back hits the wall. “You’ve been irritating the shit out of me. I’m sick of it. And you know what I realized today?” He pauses, taking a moment to savor Dew’s wide-eyed stare. “I do wanna fucking hit you.” In which Rain and Dew both get much more than they bargained for.

Change My Mind - @papaslittlesunshine - E, 2.1k

For the RainDrop fanclub. You know who you are. Dew is down bad for Rain after he steps up onstage. Inspired by the videos from this tour. You'll get it if you've seen them.

rotten work (not to me) - @riconas - T, 2.6k

“What happened?” Aeon asks timidly. “What’s wrong?” “Bad headache,” Rain murmurs. He holds a finger up to his lips as he strokes Dew’s hair, braid now messy and poking out of the elastic. “Happens sometimes. Because of the—” He pauses, cutting himself off. “Doesn’t matter. It happens sometimes.” or Aeon stumbles upon Dew and Rain after a show.

All Water Holy - @miasmaghoul @st-danger - E, 6.5k

“Rain, I’m not- I’m not kidding,” he manages, but the laughter removes the seriousness and urgency from his voice and Rain can’t stop himself. “Not kidding about what?” he asks, mock innocent. He would have thought it would be taking more out of him to keep Dew pinned beneath him, but he seems increasingly weak the longer it goes on, wearing himself out. “Fuck you,” Dew spits, pained and forced to smile through it anyway, “seriously, I’m gonna piss myself.” Or, As always, Rain gets what he wants, and Dewdrop suffers (affectionate).

Petals Falling on Demand - @crimsonclergy - E, 1.9k

the boys find out that rain has a thing for panties… or maybe he just has a thing for dew, that sappy little rascal

Floodwaters of Phlegethon - @belle--ofthebrawl - E, 5.8k

He should have called one of the others to check in on Dewdrop, Rain thinks as he stares down Alpha. This could have been avoided. Everyone underestimates Rain. Alpha won't make that mistake again.

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