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darkwarfy · a day ago
me: idk if i should make this canon because i’ve had this oc for years but now i want to make this major change and change is scary  my single braincell: why don’t you draw the change first?  me: okay me, after drawing it and feeling a profound resonance in my soul: 
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laikaworld · 5 days ago
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“Magic. Wonder. Danger. Welcome to #Wildwood! The newest addition to the LAIKA family is now in production” Via Twitter
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asukachii · 3 months ago
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Jujutsu Kaisen || Vol.1 & Vol.14
(I don’t like putting watermarks so, PLEASE, if you want to post these gifs somewhere GIVE CREDITS! Also, don’t use them in edits/videos. Thanks~)
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missdove · a month ago
Anyone by @gentrychild
Imagine a world where your quirk determines your path and your worth. A world that has no place for a quirkless boy.
Despite that, Izuku is determined to become a hero. Until he realizes no one will let him.
So he accidentally creates a helpful (criminal) organization.
And he (not so) accidentally steals One for All.
May contain Izuku technically becoming a villain but still helping people, All Might running around like a headless chicken to find his stolen quirk, and All for One refusing to just go away.
the full version of my animatic for gentry’s fic
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mudpuppets · a month ago
teenagers r like “im a masochist” no ur just a teenage girl living in a time when bdsm is considered normal sex. sorry ur brainwashed
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jagibonbon · a month ago
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ERL Spring 2022
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solcearchive · 11 months ago
“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”
— Louise Erdrich, from The Painted Drum (via kafk-a)
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brightlotusmoon · a year ago
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kyidyl · 18 days ago
Tomorrow is my sister's birthday and I want suggestions on something hilarious and REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING to do.
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hanayumi · 13 days ago
𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬
— timeskip!sano manjirou x reader || 2.3k wc.
after the dust settles; after the battles have been fought, and after the fog clears in sheets, you can only see him for who he is, and can’t help but love him all the more.
contains lots of comfort + smut !!🔞!!
note: mikey is not in bonten but instead living a normal life with you // spoiler he proposes <3 tHIS IS MY FIRST TOKYOREV FIC EVER ABWJAJWJAHA
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snapshot ;
And, you could never forget his disheveled form when he came to you that night — breathless and with flushed cheeks — when it was years later and he held out a bouquet of your favourite flowers to you, asking you to be his girlfriend. Perhaps it was more like shouting — shouting to everyone within a ten-mile radius that you were the only one he loved and would love for eternity. (You couldn’t refuse. Not when you loved him too.)
Sano Manjiro is the fire gliding through your veins.
He is the boy who bore angel’s wings through his sorrow — a child, who’d been cradled in the arms of an invisible darkness since birth, who’d learnt how to crawl his way out of it. Taught himself how to crawl, with baby steps, out of the savageness that he was moulded by.
All you know of him is the kindness that glittered across his eyes when he saved you from those brutish delinquents looking for trouble in your first year of middle school. And you remember the silent way in which he’d trail after you in the days that followed just to make sure you wouldn’t get harassed again. His bold stature whenever he picked fights with those about thrice as big as him as if it were a gifted instinct to provoke. To challenge. To win.
There had been a subtle way in which he fell into your routine, day after day when you heard him greet you in a cheery voice as you padded into class a mere half-a-second before the bell rang. You heard that the only reason he went to school in those days was to see you. A spark, and then a flame. It was mesmerising. He was mesmerising — in every piece of vulnerability that he offered you under a meek candle flame, in every thread of sincerity that you saw woven into his words; when he stayed behind almost every day after class to watch you clean up the teacher’s desk. And when he spoke it made you feel warm inside.
And, you could never forget his disheveled form when he came to you that night — breathless and with flushed cheeks — when it was years later and he held out a bouquet of your favourite flowers to you, asking you to be his girlfriend. Perhaps it was more like shouting — shouting to everyone within a ten-mile radius that you were the only one he loved and would love for eternity. (You couldn’t refuse. Not when you loved him too.)
Memories of that scene still remain crystallised in the back of your mind, like a wobbly photograph that won’t fade no matter how much time has eloped.
Your first date is now a distant recollection. He hasn’t quite left his old ways behind, and now his smiles eclipse a darkened past — one that’s fraught with heart-rending loss and sacrifices. But there is nothing fabricated in the smile he still gives to you, the one that’s reserved for you and you only because though it tried, even fate couldn’t erode the cornerstone he dedicated solely in your honour.
You can tell, from his childlike laughter when he hobbles to you — with puffy cheeks stuffed full of the taiyaki that you’ve hand-baked for him on your tenth? eleventh? anniversary together — beckoning you to come over to his side (“A fun-filled date night awaits!”) and you can tell, that when he grins at you like this, he’s happy.
Even though fate loves to kick him in the ass when it matters most, where it hurts the most; he’s happy, because your warmth is the one thing that hasn’t been swallowed up and torn from him. (And god help whoever tries.)
“The sea breeze sure does feel great, doesn’t it?”
Soft vibrations from his voice reverberate in his chest, and you grip him a little tighter feeling his heartbeat accelerate against your eardrums. You nod lightly. You can’t see his expression when you’re half-buried into his chest, but something feels off about him tonight. You’re just not sure what.
A silent rendezvous alongside city lights, with gentle waves brushing against the shore when you stand barefoot on the sand clinging to your lover — it’s warm. You want to melt into him. It feels like home.
It’s the same beach that he dragged you to when you were still kids, carving soft, sentimental dreams into the sand with washed-up twigs — and who would’ve guessed that more than a decade later, you still have him wrapped around your tiny finger?
Only this time he hopes — prays, really — that one day he’ll get to put a ring around it. (Not that he’ll tell you that.)
He rarely gets insecure. Not since you’ve spent the better part of your life supporting him through thick and thin, sweet and sour — but there’s something about the nightmares that have their ways of clawing back to him. Whispering doubt just as the sun rises and splays gold all over your slumbering form, whilst he watches your shallow breaths with a melancholic smile.
A small, minuscule, infinitesimal shard of doubt sinks into his chest. His jacket is warm; you gifted it to him. Your body’s warm.
If you’d left him all those years ago, who’s to say you wouldn’t be living out your dreams now?
Untethered. Free. Able to do whatever you wanted without having to be glued to his side. Because he’d been so reluctant to let you go that he snatched you up for himself the second he saw the chance. Perhaps he were more of a burden than he realised. (His memories always seem to remind him that.)
Perhaps you’re both walking hand-in-hand on thin ice, a pair of star-crossed lovers destined to plunge into the frigid depths someday.
He sucks in a breath through his mouth, ashen eyes unfaltering from the pinpricks of neon lights over the horizon. Cargo ships that flicker on and off belying hidden messages to those willing to decipher them.
You know, and he knows that you know.
“What are you frowning about?” you say.
“I’m not,” he says, not missing a beat. Liar.
You’ve seen enough of the same denial, the same desperation hidden so covertly between the lines and between his carefree smiles. His voice has a gravelly timbre, a slight edge, and he’s trying to mask it as exhaustion. You know it.
You’ve learnt firsthand how to pull him out of it, snap him back to reality, out of the fog and back into your arms. And it wasn’t pretty. And it took a whole lot of effort and struggle. (Everything worthwhile takes a whole lot of effort and struggle.)
“I love you, you know.”
But love is a hungry hungry, undying flame. You reassure him, just like always, head tilting up to capture his gaze with liquid, warmth-filled eyes as if he were the centre of your universe. And he feels a heavy weight pried off his core. Your body’s warm. He feels the off-chance that maybe, he might’ve just landed on the slim chance at finding his soulmate.
A tiny pinky promise is made, between himself and the velvety box that’s tucked away in his pocket. It’s there for moral support now — but the time will come when it will shine. For now, for once, he lets his actions show you his gratefulness where his words would fall short.
Lovingly he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Chuckling lightly as he leans in closer.
“Got it,” he murmurs against your lips. So, so warm. “Love ya too, darling.”
Sometimes, when his muffled groans and pained whimpers rouse you from slumber, you blink through the bleariness of sleep and your fingers instinctively reach out to him, entangling in his dusky hair. Carding through each strand. Rubbing small circles into his scalp.
His body will tremble and his jaw will clench from this sleep-induced agony and it will tear your heart in two, but only with your touches will he find a scrap of solace in his dreams, and slowly, slowly his arms will release their death grip on the sheets — he will hold you tighter unconsciously when you press yourself into his chest, willing the anguish away. Bit by bit.
Tonight his eyebrows are furrowed and dishevelled dark hair clings to his sweaty forehead. You’ve seen him have nightmares before but every time it still leaves a wretched feeling festering in your stomach.
Gentle whispers of his name coupled with light kisses to his neck serve to bring him back to you, his jagged breaths growing calmer and his scrunched-up expression unscrewing with every stroke. “(Name),” your name leaves his chapped lips, his eyes cracking open to meet yours.
“I’m here, baby,” you whisper. “You’re okay. I’m here.”
He doesn’t reply — stays silent as you coo soft reassurances in a scratchy voice, but his grip is as firm as steel and he lets out tiny, inaudible whimpers.
“Had a dream,” he mumbles into your hair. “You were gone and I—” his voice cracks, and you feel your heart constrict. “I can’t lose you,” he breathes.
“You won’t lose me,” you say. “Never ever. I promise.”
In the morning you wake up with him still clutching you like a lifeline. Like how he used to (and sometimes still does) cling to his old and frayed childhood blanket.
From his soft, almost purr-like snores, you can tell he’d most likely fallen asleep close to sunrise. You wanted to stay with him the whole night but he kept shushing you softly and telling you to go back to sleep — and he is never selfish. He was ruined and battered with worry and the hazy fog of sleep greatly numbed his ability to tell his dreams from reality, but he didn’t want you to get less rest because of him. Just want you to be here, just want to hold you, he said. That’s enough for him.
Breakfast turns into brunch by the time his sleepy groans infiltrate the silence, his bleary state and awful bedhead drawing small giggles from you as you beam, “Had a good sleep, darling?”
He mumbles something under his breath before nuzzling his face into your neck, resolutely declaring his craving for your homemade pancakes. You huff, because it’s the fifth day in a row he’s wanted pancakes for breakfast, but you always give in anyway. You poke at his cheek looking for your goodmorning kiss, while his eyes are half-lidded and a lazy smile graces his features.
“On second thought,” he says between pecks. “I want breakfast in bed.”
You raise a brow; he merely winks before throwing the covers off of you, ignoring your puzzled expression as his fingers begin to trace your supple skin from your collarbone slithering down to your bare stomach. Oh.
He sighs dreamily at the goosebumps feathering up on your skin, before leaving tiny, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His hands travel lower and lower, until he grips the soft flesh of your thighs, edging them apart slowly and hiking your knees up so he can settle between them. Now you know why he always insists you sleep naked. (It wasn’t because of the summer heat after all.)
“Gonna be good for me, baby?” he purrs, the pad of his finger lazily toying with the hood of your clit, gentle prodding that increases in fervency when he hears the breathy gasps tumbling from your lips.
His mouth slides onto yours, muffling your mewls as his finger drags up and down languidly, gathering up the slick leaking from your cunt and smearing it all over your hole. One finger dips in, and then another. He all but swallows up your whines as his fingers curl, looking to scrape against every inch of your pliant walls.
His pupils are blown wide when he pulls away, a deep grey engulfed by inky black. A devious smirk tugs at his lips when he sees the sheen of saliva coating your bottom lip. “Please,” you whimper, fingers clutching at the sheets and looking to him with teary eyes. “Faster, a-ah—please, baby.”
But all you get from him is a click of his tongue.
“Ah ah. You want to feel good, don’t you sweetheart?” he mutters, low and threatening against your neck, teeth grating at the tender skin where he loves to stake his claim on you. “Let me take care of you, okay?”
He nips and suckles, refusing to pull away until your neck is mapped out with love bites that he knows won’t be going away for a while. His fingers pump in and out of you in a steady motion, brushing up against your sensitive nub as your pussy sucks him in at every thrust. Praise after praise of his name leaves your reddened lips. You buck your hips to meet his hand, a heavy knot tightening in your gut.
“Gonna cum,” you cry, feeling the pleasure build up higher and higher, a warm, sticky heat pooling in your core. “Gonna cum on your fingers, a-ah—Mikey, ‘m gonna cum.”
“You look so pretty,” he coos. “Cum for me, baby. Make a mess for me.”
Your toes are curling, back bowing off the bed as searing pleasure ripples throughout your core in tandem with his fervent strokes. A soft, strangled cry wrenches from your throat as you gush all over his fingers.
His movements slow as he watches you pant, watches your tits heave with half-lidded eyes, fingers still pushing in and out of your clenching hole. Then he sighs, bringing his fingers to his lips as he sucks them clean one by one, his eyes never leaving your form.
“You taste like heaven, baby.”
Your chest still heaves, your eyes still glossy and your skin now littered with implants of his love. Something hard presses against your thigh — he whispers just how much he loves you as he presses his lips to yours, greedy and hungry for more.
And he knows, and he hopes that you know.
Ten, eleven, twelve years will not change a thing — for as long as his lungs continue to suck in oxygen at every breath, he will be irrevocably, irreversibly, inexplicably in love with you.
“Got an idea,” he grunts, when his cock bumps against your cervix and he’s bottoming out in your spent hole, warm breath tickling your neck. You brace your hands against his broad shoulders, feeling as if cotton were stuffed in your ears. Colours spin around in your vision as you cry out through clenched teeth, feeling your walls tighten around his length and convulse in yet another orgasm.
“Let’s get married tomorrow, okay?”
Tears flutter like stardust beneath your lashes. Your eyes snap open in shock — there’s a ring sitting pretty on your finger where he slid it on.
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madhmoxx · a month ago
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In all seriousness though, thank you all so much for 1,000 followers! 
I genuinely.. cannot believe this is real! I don’t think there are any words that can describe my gratitude, and- I don’t even know what to do for this! I feel like this is such a big milestone of mine and I- Jesus crispies, wow, I just feel like I should be doing something more than drawing the mini croissant with a sign of shame on her, haha!
Goodness me, if there is something any of you have in mind that I could maybe do to celebrate, like.. a discord server, or... gosh, I don’t know, just hand me ideas and I’ll consider ‘em!
Thank you all again, and I hope you’re all blessed with a lovely day, and I’m sorry for the rant, lmao, but thanks to you if you read it anyway!
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akatsuki-shin · 3 months ago
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山河令 Word of Honor Character Concept Art by the Costume Designer, Han Guangren
Cr. 韩广仁1981
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