#(real) (not clickbait)

[tiedsuccubus]

Nanami after I gave him that super soaker, sloppy, nasty, toe curling, whimper inducing, quick nutter, ball emptying, baby making, throat bulging, Ngh fuck me, sloppy toppy 3000

[pro-depresanti]

The year is 2013. Velvette runs into Vox.

Velvette: "So, how do you get dressed with that head?"

Vox: "Button ups. Only button ups."

Velvette: "..." *snaps her fingers and gives Vox a tshirt*

–10 minutes later–

Vox, holding Velvette Simba style, showing her to Valentino: "She can give us shirts!"

Valentino, who's been wearing nothing but his wings as a coat and sweetheart corsets his entire time in Hell: "Are you for real?!?!"

Velvette: *snaps her fingers and gives Valentino the ugliest shirt imaginable*

Valentino, about to cry from joy: "Welcome to the team!"

[jaes-aerie]

And now for something completely different 🐵

[reijukisser]

I saw this prompt on Pinterest and thought of them soooo

[forevermore1389]

[angebluee]

TRISTAMP S2 DROP OMGGG

LIKE DUDE

WE DIDNT END UP LIKE LAND OF LUSTROUS

WIN FOR TRIGUN FANDOM

[ranx0]

Dan berry are you okay

[alice-the-demon]

Ah yes, my magnum opus: Peppino in a cat Maid costume.

This is definitely the correct way to use my artistic abilities.

[silly-lil-guy-asher]

Okay so what actually happened in mouthwashing was Jimjam died in the crash, curly was fine, Swansea didn't relapse, Anya didn't get assaulted, Daisuke got validation from Swansea, and they all lived happily ever after.

Alternately Swansea killed Jimbo when Anya told him about the pregnancy. they were able to find more painkillers for curly, and he got skin grafts and prosthetics when they landed. Swansea stil didn't relapse and took Daisuke in when they got back to earth. Anya finally made it through med school, Swansea was able to retire, Daisuke got a job he liked, and curly got a big ass settlement from pony express for his injuries

[bozo4michael]

[coryosbaby]

Coriolanus 🤝🏻 predator/prey kink

[woahrarepairsagemare]

They ain't letting me leave my enclosure

[pandoa]

formal apology for who i’ve become after this card was released

[dirthavhenan]

i love having a trans and queer game director for dragon age. the little tangent that corinne went on about gender and pronouns being different things and assuring everyone that both will be fully customizable. her acknowledging and relating to asexuality representation. ough.

[aritany]

tw for violence & character death

Zay takes us to the fountains my third summer. They are bright with enthusiasm and I watch Seb watching them, I watch his smile twitch wider with the sound of laughter, with their quick words I can’t quite understand yet. He translates in my ear, one hand against my ribs, like I might slip away. Seb always seems worried about that. Where would I go? I hold the mist in my cupped hands and watch the droplets form in slow, iridescent beads.

It’s the nobles, Zay tells us. Their plumbing is made from mother of pearl, which makes the water shine. I believe her until Seb laughs, loud and long, and calls them a name I don’t know. Trickster, he tells me later, when I ask. Traitor, but he doesn’t mean it. Not about Zay.

Because Zay takes us to the fountains and to the markets and whispers the secrets of the city in my ear with his breath hot against my cheek, quick and disarming, and I am learning. I am learning that some of the roads uptown disappear only to reappear weeks later. That in the Quaire district, some of the plants fight back. Full moons mean tragedy down by the coast if you’re not careful. Never follow the brightly coloured birds, even if they know your name. Especially if they know your name. Zay is the key, Seb says, the key to survival; our key; ours.

-

Autumn brings fruit. The fruits of our labours—a home, a bed, a smile that repeats—and branches laden heavy in the Olacon courtyard, plums fat and heavy and leaking brilliant lapis juice onto paving stones. Bat is driven indoors, annoyed by blue dye or by our laughter, and we wander the lush garden, and it’s a marvel. Does Zay know it’s a marvel? I ask Seb, and he tells me to ask them myself, so I do. It’s home, he says, and then with a grin that’s maybe not for me to see, adds on, yours too.

And it is. Johadee looks into my eyes, and she knows we’re an infestation, we’re everything they say we are, every nasty word thrown our way in Ivlen when I couldn’t speak the language and they knew, they all knew. Parasite. Leech. Johadee knows, and she touches my cheek and brushes Seb’s hair back and asks what part of Ilylon we are from, and whether we are more comfortable with one bed or two.

In the garden, the plums are so ripe that Seb’s fingers dig into them and juice spatters everywhere—on his hands, dripping down his wrist, across his wide grin. He laughs and when I kiss him, I taste plum. I lick the juice off his hands, one finger at a time. Zay watches us and pretends she isn’t.

-

The winter in Archallow is survivable. More survivable in the Olacan house than the shelter in the forest, though when Seb asks, I will always tell him no. We pile in front of the fire, all three of us, a tangle, and it feels as though maybe this is why. Because that is the question and will always be the question. How is useless. But why? Why me? Why here? Why did I meet Seb, and why is his time different than mine?

It’s better here, he tells me. Here, he can be Seb. Here, people like Zay are free. People like all three of us. We can all be free, he tells me, and his eyes are earnest, his face upturned. His eyes are a weapon.

He’s been getting into trouble recently. Seb is bolder than I am, more comfortable than I am, but he’s strange, and sometimes people know. Sometimes they tell him so. Sometimes with words, other times with a fist. He’ll fight back, and come home bruised so Nerithara will fuss over him and heal him, slowly and methodically. Zay watches and their fingers tremble.

When the firelight crackles and Seb sleeps deeply, they tell me about their worries. She’s worried about Seb. I’m worried about him too. I twine my fingers with theirs, and I whisper his name over again, quiet, and maybe Seb is right, it feels like a key. Zay. Zay. Zay.

We can all be free.

-

The markets are loud, always, but especially in the spring. When the boats come from Lapaloa, and the fruit is bright and glittering like crystals, the markets are a throng. Easy to hide, Seb says, and rolls his eyes when Zay reminds him that means it’s easier for the predators, too.

I don’t like the noise. I stay back when Seb goes for cinnamon sticks for Bat, and Zay stays with me. As company? As consolation? As a guard? I do not know, but I am relieved, because I want to talk to her. I want to tell them that I see it. The way he watches. Zay watches me the way I watch Seb, and they watch Seb the way I watch them. It could be so easy, I start to say, and then Seb shouts.

We whirl.

He is arguing with somebody, his face is toward us, he is startled, and I know it will be bad before it is. Zay—

Their fingers are a vice on my shoulder, expression a warning. Not you. And he’s right, and I know it, and I watch the first blow in mute disbelief. It’s a stone, I think, it must be, Seb goes down so fast it can’t have been anything else.

The sound—a shriek, raspy with horror—tears out of me before I can stop it and is lost to the crowds.

And Zay is gone. She’s running to Seb, elbowing past people, calling his name. Nobody moves out of their way. Nobody lets him get past, and I can’t move. I’m stuck where I am—ZAY’S MAGIC—and I can only watch.

I am glad I do not see.

I would not carry that burden for all the living world could offer me.

When they return, Zay’s eyes are as hard as marbles and twice as glassy, and there is blood spattered on his fingers.

Seb’s eyes never close.

[los3rmonologuee]

sneaking out to hit the yart in the woods with my sigma @awkward-balloon