#relief printed fabric

[saltedsnailstudio]

“becoming” banner by jasper alexander

linocut print on fabric, home sewn utilizing recycled textiles

[diogenesprintco]

A simple periwinkle outline miniprint inspired by an illustration in Culpeper's Colour Herbal.

[owlish-fun-crafts]

Had my first play around with my new fabric inks. Mixed results and I need to practice more, but its a start. Any suggestions are very welcome.

The turquoise is Speedball Fabric Block printing ink, with a standard rubber roller, hand pressed.

The orange is a Speedball Fabric Screenprinting ink, with soft rubber roller (will be trying with a foam roller next, as yes, the consistency was much more runny and didn't roll well with a rubber roller).

[nollimet]

Been hard at work getting lavender sachets ready for my (soon to be open) shop :) ! Funny how brainstorming ways to use a pound of dried lavender can turn into a 3 month long obsession…

(2 1/8″ x 2 1/8″ Multi block print on muslin with beaded attachments)

[cornsarts]

SKANK TIL YOUR DEAD!

Trying my hand at linocut (I've done it before but only for a couple high school art class assignments). I'm Really happy with how it turned out, I just need to find the right groove with making the prints @_@

[bird-song-studio]

Crowned Skull linocut printed sew on patch on 100% recycled linen

[chloeleeartist]

Printing gold crabs on a denim skirt ✨🦀

[mildmayfoxe]

EYE BANDANAS FOR JUNE PRINT ! 👁👁👁 WAHOO!

[sabrinazoarium]

spent the snow day finishing off the first print with new blocks! think i’ve got a better hand on fabric printing without a press now.

i like that with these blocks i have the freedom to do different arrangements and color combos whereas my old block was just 1 solid rectangle that i had to tile

[konosohn]

MDNI. top amab reader x bottom könig [manhandling, unprotected sex, mating press, creampie, german]

I want him to snap my neck between his thighs. Thanks.

You can hear your security deposit saying it’s final farewell with the crack your front door makes as the wood of the jamb splinters. Though, as König presses himself into you, your (likely) damaged doorframe is the last thing on your mind. Your duffle slips from your grasp and your hands fly to his hips to stabilize him against you.

“He—” His mouth finds yours before you can even greet him. Time is a valuable resource when you spend most of it apart on deployment, and you waste none of it, eagerly kissing him back.

It’s desperate and sloppy, your tongues tracing over each other’s lips and teeth clacking together. You can taste the sweat on his upper lip and the bitter remnants of his eyeblack tracing down his face. Your hand blindly reaches for the lock and the second you hear the deadbolt click your fingers are slipping behind him and under the band of his pants.

One of your hands grabs at his ass, dragging him forward to grind your hardening cocks together. The other trails down between his cheeks, drawing a line down to his hole that has his spine tingling. Before long, you’re knuckles deep in him, spreading him open on your fingers. He moans into your mouth, hands clutching the fabric of your shirt as you skillfully zone in on his prostate.

You keep your bodies pressed together as you haphazardly make your way to the bedroom. Every step is utilized; curling your fingers inside him, pulling his pants down just a little further, pushing your aching hard-on into his hip. Eventually the heels of König’s boots hit the foot of your bed. The sheets are forfeit and you readily ignore the reality of the number of liquids and black boot prints that will find their way onto the pristine fabric.

Squatting down, you hook your hands under his thighs, effortlessly lifting his hefty frame up and over onto his back. He sinks into the mattress with a soft grunt. From this angle he looks so pliable, shirt riding up and legs up in the air, his dick lying heavy and useless against his stomach. You love seeing him like this. He towers above everybody he meets, including you, but he’s absolute putty in your hands.

Your eyes catch sight of his own mostly unpacked bag sitting in the corner of your room, clothes streaming out in the direction of the door presumably from when he heard you arrive. A small smile creeps up on your face.

You plant one knee on the bed, looming over him. Your hands slot themselves in the pits of his knees, pressing them up towards his shoulders, and you lean down to coo at him. “Were you waiting for me?”

He nods breathlessly in response, nose brushing against yours. You feel his hand slip between you to cup the erection currently fighting to get out of your pants. His fingers quickly find their way to your belt, hooking under the leather strap and undoing your buckle in record time. It’s not shocking when he nearly rips the button of your pants from its threads to get your zipper down.

His hand grabs at the band of your boxers and yanks them down enough for your cock to spring out. A breathy “scheiße” passes König’s lips as your dick slaps against the cleft of his ass. You can feel his hole twitch against the underside. It’s hot and soft, and every quiver has your cock leaking.

Your teeth catch your lip when you feel his fingers wrap around your length and give a gentle tug. It takes no convincing, you follow his touch eagerly as he guides you. You fall forward, planting your hands on either side of his shoulders. The action closes the distance, pressing your tip up against his rim.

Both of you are breathing way too hard before you’re even started, but the threat of relief after months of not being able to fuck raw until both your bodies are slick with sweat and littered head to toe with love bites has both of you by the throat.

You groan into his neck as you finally start to breach his entrance. König’s legs envelop your waist, strong thighs squeezing your sides as you sink deeper into him. His insides are tight and wet, pulsing around you with every inch. You feel the vibrations of his moans against your lips as you finally bottom out. His voice is low and sweet in your ears.

You adjust your position above him, straightening up to stand over him. One of your hands run from his ass and up his thigh to hook under the back of one of his knees again. “You feel so good, baby.” Your knee digs further into the mattress, your body weight driving your cock to the deepest parts of him until your balls are squished snugly against his crack.

“Fuck,” The air feels like it’s punched out of his lungs. His hands reach to grip at the backs of your thighs, drawing you impossibly closer.

Your fingers dig into the meat of his legs as you pull back out, leaving just the head of your cock inside him. The squelch is nothing short of obscene as you sink back in. Your arms are trembling from the feeling of his tight heat wrapped around you, squeezing you with every inch you slip in. You try to maintain the gentle pace, but as you catch sight of his face, flushed skin streaked with melting eyeblack, hair stuck to his forehead, and glazed over steel blue eyes, you lose your resolve.

The cry he lets out when you slam your entire length back in sends a wave of heat up your neck. His head is thrown back into the mattress, nails scratching at your thighs as you repeat the motion over and over, fucking into him like it’s the last time you’d ever get to. He moans uncontrollably in that raspy indelicate voice, his legs straining to spread further against the pants gathered at his knees.

Your pace is relentless as you pull back against the tight resistance of his hole only to thrust right back in. You groan in the back of your throat as he arches his back off the bed, putting his shoulders into the bed and pressing back against you. All that height and all that muscle and yet he’s still so good at getting fucked. You can’t wait to fill him up.

One of your hands slips down to run your thumb along his bottom lip, “You’re so pretty like this.”

He whines at your words, feeling the tip of your thumb slide across his bottom row of teeth. The skin of König’s ass is blotched with red from your hips. You hardly even notice the sting anymore, too preoccupied with burying your cock inside him over and over.

“Schatz— I can’t, ‘m gonna cum!” His words flood your senses, insides wringing your cock as one of his hands flys to wrap around his own dripping hard on.

You watch his fist franticly work his cock, his hips rolling back against you until he snaps. Thick ropes spurt from his slit, splattering across his heaving abdomen. Heat surges down your stomach to the tip of your dick as his hole constricts around you. All of your body weight goes towards getting as deep as possible inside him, rocking your hips against his until the warmth in your belly finally comes to a peak. Deep resonating moans spill from your lips as your cock throbs inside him, filling him up with weeks worth of yearning.

Your legs finally give out on you, and you topple over onto him. Your hips work gently against his, riding out your high for as long as it will let you. His arms drape across your back as you both bathe in the aftershocks. Your softening cock pops out of him, and your temporarily sated lust preens at the feeling of your cum seeping out of his entrance. You lift your head to look at him, and he meets your eyes with a look that’s equal parts adoring and exhausted. You press a small kiss to his stubbled chin, eyes taking on the gaze that he knows he can’t say no to. It comes as no surprise to him when you ask,

“One more time in the shower?”

[georgialoumay]

Salsa Jar, 2021.

[saltedsnailstudio]

in the garden banner

linocut print on fabric, home sewn using recycled textiles

[spiderlyla]

Miguel and reader gf about to go to bed but shes wearing baby blue boy shorts as underwear and he just cant stop staring at the print of her pussy so when they’re about to gts he randomly takes off the covers and stuffs his face in between her legs.

“Mhm dont even needa take em off amor just love this pussy”

female (afab) reader × miguel o'hara.

cw: cussing, NSFW (minors dni), biting, mention of fangs, miguel being pussy crazed.

miguel wasn't sure where you got those from.

you always wore one of two things when you went to bed, just the regular white pair you have dozens of or those skimpy lace ones that he-oh-so-loved to rip off of you.

but this was something new.

you wore baby blue shorts, too short and a size too small, curving around your figure, your poor thighs choked by them. you bend over to grab some candles from your bedside table and miguel couldn't help but watch how the fabric hugged your ass perfectly and jiggled when you moved. you seemed oblivious to what you were doing to him, acting all naturally, like you weren't edging him everytime you brushed past him or everytime you bend over to grab something.

they were a little sheer, so when you sat down, he could visibly see a wet print right between your thighs. the urge to bury his face between your legs only grew as he uncomfortably shifted on the chair opposite your bed. you laid on your stomach, lighting up those two candles you grabbed before you went back to laying on your back.

"mm, mig, won't you come to bed, honey?" the way you said his name hypnotised him, like a siren's call. "I'm reading, amor." he truly wasn't. the book was long discarded on the little table beside him, its been sitting there ever since he laid eyes in you in those shorts.

you spread your legs a little while checking your phone, oh, you have to be doing this on purpose now. " 'nough reading, please. come to bed." that little 'please' was enough to convince him. he got up and walked over towards you. as soon as he did you dropped your phone on the counter and spread your arms towards him. he chuckled and laid down, and immediately, you rested your head on his chest, with a hand around his tummy and a thigh on top of his leg.

you pulled the cover over the two of you and got cozy. hee could feel the wetness between your legs stain his own sweatpants, and each time you moved, your knee brushed against his hardened cock. this was unbearable. truly and utterly unbearable.

he tried to take his mind off of all those filthy thoughts he was having but with the way your breath fanned on his neck, and those little sleepy hums of yours he truly couldn't take it. as soon as you started feeling comfortable enough to slip into sleep, miguel moved.

fast.

"mig? what are you doing?" he kicked off the sheets and moved on top of you, quickly making himself comfortable between your legs. he left a kiss on the exposed skin of your inner thigh, fangs grazing against the plush skin. you let out a small moan, trying to move away. he wasn't in the mood for teasing, his calloused hands kept your legs in place as he continued to push himself in between your thighs. "where did you find these?" he mumbled, noticing how the print got bigger everytime he bumped his nose into your clit. you squirmed in place, "in—in my drawer—they're old but really comfortable—ah, mig.." his tounge licked a strip over the cloth, not bothering to take it off. "y-you can take it off—"

"no." he moved your legs over his shoulders, all while marking your thigh with bites. "no need. not right now." to relief himself a little, he grinded into the mattress, just the scent of you driving him wild. your hands had found his silky tufts of black hair and with every tug he felt himself getting dizzy. the tip of his nose kept brushing against your clothed, puffy clit. "we should sleep like this.." the vibrations of his baritone voice ran up your core, and you let out a moan that could be perfectly described as pornographic. "..love being between your legs, amor." His lips brushed against the wet spot—that has since quickly turned into a pool, soaking your shorts.

"so wet for me, didn't do anything yet." his fingers found the waistband underneath your oversized shirt, and he slowly peeled the shorts off, leaving you completely and utterly exposed. your slick dampening your wine coloured sheets.

miguel looked up at you, his irsis swirling with something you recognised all too well, pure and utter desire. he leaned in silently, his mouth mere inches from you.

"all for me.." his tounge ran across your cunt, you could see his eyes blow wide as soon as he tasted you. he glanced up at you with a grin, saying only one sentence before he went back to the matter between your legs.

"wear these fucking shorts all the time."

[owlish-fun-crafts]

Decided to do another quick round of testing this morning. Did some reading last night, and today I played with damp vs. dry fabric; building up the ink; using various amounts of ink; and using a heavy rolling pin vs. my spoon.

Conclusions

1. Heavy is gives the deepest result, but some fine detail is sacrificed.

2. Rolling pin moved the block too much.

3. Damp fabric seems to be neither here nor there.

4. A padded surface underneath is so-so.

[princessbrunette]

⋆˚✿˖°🧸ྀི

sometimes, john b would drop the nickname ‘pup’ or ‘puppy’ just too many times and it would push you into this certain headspace. true to the nickname, you’d get all dumb and clingy— barely able to think straight. this was one of those times.

he’s working on a map, cap still planted on his head, wearing your favourite printed shirt of his, and worst of all some grey baggy sweatpants he’d changed into making him look just extra daddy. he’d been chiding you all day, “just let me finish this, ‘kay puppy?” or “hey, hey— don’t get all impatient on me pup.” it was driving you insane, more so— driving you into what you can only describe as ‘puppyspace’.

he’d been so engrossed in some old textbook, attempting to translate some part of his map when you’d appeared between his legs — totally bare from the bottom half, winnie the pooh style as he’d call it — and your soaked through panties carried between your teeth, hanging from your mouth. he snaps himself out of his concentration, hand instinctively coming to stroke your head, scratching you behind your ear only pushing you further into the undiscovered headspace.

“aw, what happened here?” he coo’s, voice rumbly and amused — not sounding surprised in the slightest. his reaction, or lack thereof was comforting.

he takes the fabric from your mouth, assessing it briefly as he lays it on his thigh, looking down at you.

“tried to hump the pillow, daddy.” you press your cheek to his inner thigh, nuzzling against him and he nods slowly, calmly.

“yeah? how’d that work out for you?”

“bad. s’not the same.” your hot breath wafts over his bulge through the soft fabric of his sweatpants and he clears his throat, sitting up in his seat a little.

“well atleast you tried, i guess. you need me that bad?”

you respond by pressing your lips to his covered cock, practically making out with it through the material with greedy little sounds attached. he winces, glancing at his maps and deciding maybe it was time for a break.

“jesus— why don’t you come up here, hm? got you a treat.”

you clamber onto his lap, and you feel him reach behind you and pull his cock out, rubbing it against your ass as it hardens by the second. you hum in relief, leaning forward and waiting for him to stick it in. puppies always did love their bone.

⋆˚✿˖°🧸ྀི

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.