#And that's the beauty of fanfiction <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[shyspider]

Ehheheh were you tagging me to play or to call me out? Because I totally do that...

I suppose that is a writing red flag of mine. I do mix in epithets with my names and pronouns. But what I think my writing 🚩red flag🚩is has been constantly screamed at me in my comments - cliffhangers. I love ending chapters on cliffhangers. It nourishes me, as do the all CAPS comments lovingly shrieking at me ❤️🥰😘

No pressure tags (But I can't imagine these writers having any red flags in any of their work😉): @limited-practice @allswellinthiswell @maplesyruplover @themaskismyface, @unusualjuggernaut, @afssh, @tinydefector and anyone else who wants in on this <3

Calling out writers and mutuals

What's your red flag as a writer?

I'll go first:

Literally all I can write is straight smut. (I struggle with everything else 💀)

@writingwisterias @nessbunnie

[goodomensao3tagoftheday]

[mischievous-thunder]

Wade, hugging Logan tightly right after waking up in the morning: OMG PEANUT! I'm awake and my Peanut's still sleeping. Look at the cutie pie- my little kitty my sugar cookie my honey bee-

Logan, fully awake and mentally preparing himself right before opening his eyes to go through another day of an overexcited Wade's love overdose:

[thatskindarough]

I’m not sure about anyone else but I personally have a pretty hard time finding Aziraphale centric fics. Crowley centric fics are really easy to find, stuff that splits C/A evenly is also pretty easy to find.

So I think we should start a thread of Aziraphale centric fics (or at least ones where he gets to take a major role in.)

I’ll go first:

These are the Soul by Mikripetra—This is my comfort fic I love it with my entire being.

Starmaker and Starlight by Nohaljiachi—This one just made me very happy then very sad. It focuses on Aziraphale before the beginning, coming to be friends with the starmaker (angel Crowley)

Prax In Terris —by Oatmeal Addiction I love this one because it captures the spirit of good omens perfectly. Genuinely if s3 was a fanfiction this (and the other fic in this series) is what I’d want it to be. Now it is not exactly Aziraphale centric, it does split time pretty evenly with Crowley and Muriel, but I love Aziraphale’s role in this, and he gets to be really interesting and stubborn. (Maybe not for all readers who dislike face value interpretations of the FF though.) It’s a wip about the second coming and I’m very curious where the author is gonna take it.

If you want, please feel free to add any Aziraphale centric fics to this post and also please shamelessly self-rec your own fics

(Edited to add the author names and also to say thank you for everyone recommending things, it makes me and I’m sure other Aziraphale fans very happy!)

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: [Astarion x Tav/Reader] Human contact had always been violent or contractual for Astarion, until he'd made your acquaintance.

Three occasions when touch defined the relationship between you both.

Content: Angst, romance, humour, pre-relationship, budding feelings, violence.

Rating: M

Dividers by: @xurengu0

(i)

The road isn’t kind to those who aren't prepared.

You can see, in the way that each of them dress their wounds, that they’ve all seen their fair share of the hardships that long (and solitary) journeys can bring.

Your companions are a strange contrast of familiar and new; the sharp edges of mood and tongue, smoothed out by the weighted comfort of a back pressed against yours in the heat of battle.

You barely know them, any of them, and yet you do know that Karlach’s footsteps are as light as a cat’s, in spite of her muscular frame, that Shadowheart’s hands smell of incense in the evenings, that Wyll’s breathing sometimes stills completely when he sleeps, and that Lae’zel’s skin feels slippery to the touch right before a fight.

And Astarion.

Astarion with his cool, barely calloused palms. Astarion, who had learned how to smile such that his canines didn't drag against his lips. Astarion, whose laugh sounds particularly mocking when someone thanks you for your help. Astarion, who can mend the delicate lace of his collar with the same deftness that he uses to slide a blade home between the ribs.

Your attention never wanders far from him. He compels it, and you feel a small sense of chagrin that he is fully aware of the fact. Even with that, you can tell that something about you confuses him, that sometimes your reactions are not the kind he has been expecting.

You are aware of it even now, watching him nearby as he winces. It seemed, to your observant eye, that the slash across his side had not been adequately seen to with the healing potion he’d consumed earlier.

He is subtle about it, realising with dissatisfied resignation that he wouldn’t be able to tend to the wound, before slumping over on his side, pale skin set aglow by the campfire. Resting on his cushion, he looks, for all intents and purposes, as if he is simply relaxing after the skirmish.

Then, he notices your eyes on him. You don’t bother looking away. A lazy smile drifts across his face, the corner of his mouth curling in a manner both seductive and knowing. He traces a finger down the middle of his chest and you bite back a laugh. You shake your head and the finger stops in its passage, one fine eyebrow arching in silent query.

It's as close to an invitation to talk as you’ll receive. Rising, you make your way over, dropping into a crouch beside him.

“Does it hurt?”

His eyes open a little wider in feigned innocence.

“Does what hurt?”

“Now isn’t the time to play coy, Astarion.”

“My lovely dove, I’m quite sure I don’t know what you – “

You reach across, before he has a chance to recoil and prod his side gently. Hissing like an angry cat, Astarion straightens and shoots you a glare.

“My little dove certainly wants to get her talons into me.”

“Keep still.”

The flare of healing energy across your fingertips silences him for a moment. Grudgingly, he shifts closer, expression rather petulant as you place a palm over his side.

Astarion does not give off the heat of living flesh, but there is something substantial to him, something that stakes its claim here, under your touch, in a way that demands acknowledgement. You can feel the slight shift of lean muscle in his flank under the soft linen of the shirt, the tension that eases, the small exhale of relief.  

He does not thank you, not right now, but a secret smile finds a home on your face when he closes his eyes and turns away from you, shutting off any further conversation. To anyone else, it would seem like a snub. You know better.

Astarion had never fallen asleep with his back to another.

Not until now.  

(ii)

It’s a rare occurrence to get your hands on some truly stellar ingredients, and when you do, Gale takes over all culinary matters as soon as possible.

When the boar you’ve hunted has been appropriately prepared, some of the choicer pieces set aside for curing and tomorrow’s pot, he begins to dice the meat finely on a smooth wooden plank he has procured for the purpose.

You join him after watching for a minute, curious. Gale chuckles and hands you the herbs, which you wash in a small basin.

“This is a recipe I found in an old cookbook. Herbed sausage, best with pork. You use the cleaned intestines as a casing and fry them in fat in a pan. Delicious with a savoury root mash.”

You’re practically salivating at that description.

“Sounds wonderful, but … what’s that for?”

Your chin jerks in the direction of the pail beside Gale, containing strained pig’s blood. His eyes lift, dart past you momentarily, and a small smile shifts the trimmed edges of his moustache.

“Well … you know how I love to experiment … “

“With blood?”

“Trust me.”

When it comes time to fill the cleaned casings, Gale mixes the blood with the herbed meat mixture in some of the prepared sausages. He sets these aside with care into lightly heated water, as opposed to the robust frying the plain sausages receive.  He teaches you the technique, and soon you take over that particular duty.

It’s only then that you notice Astarion, seated elegantly on a nearby tree stump, book in hand, watching the proceedings with more attention than usual. You catch his eye and wave him over. He puts down the book, sauntering towards the campfire.

“Not like you to get involved with more than the hunting, darling,” is the rather snippy comment he offers.

You grin slyly up at him, and flex your fingers, still coated in a sheen of pig’s blood. Astarion’s bravado falters, for just a moment. You see a glimmer of hunger, of interest, in his gaze.

Well then.

Your resident vampire normally gave regular food, and its preparation, a wide berth.

Gale cleared his throat.

“So, Astarion, would you give us a hand with the blood sausages? They require more of a skilled touch so that they don’t break.”

There is the briefest moment of hesitation before you feel Astarion pass behind you, out of your line of vision. He can be deathly silent when the fancy takes him, probably the reason you hadn’t picked up on his presence earlier.

Then, he is crouching beside you.

For a rogue with razor-edged tongue, steel and eyes, he always surprises you with the subtle gentility of his presence. Soft curls ghost against the edge of your cheek as he leans forward, the brush of his sleeve against your bare arm like a breeze that blows in from the sea. For all the times he has traced playful fingers across your form, for all the suggestive remarks he’s aimed and fired your way, for all the times his body has made overt, teasing contact with yours, it is this barely perceptible touch that has a tiny army of raised hairs stand all along the skin of your neck.   

Together, you work the mixture into the casing, his knuckles grazing yours in a slow, steady rhythm. You find that it is easier not to think, to simply indulge in the sensation of being this close to him, in the faint, now familiar aroma of the geranium-scented soap he uses to wash his clothes and the cool fragrance of his hair.

Astarion is unusually quiet, and you chance a glance sideways to see a rare moment of focused tranquillity, the relaxed set of his shapely mouth, the earnest expression as he tries his best to portion the filling within the casing with accuracy. The blood, its slippery copper tang rising from both your hands, seems to lure him into a contemplative trance, as opposed to the feral hunger you’d seen from him when you’d allowed him to taste your blood.

When you are done, he transfers the chain of sausages to the pan of simmering water with finesse. Gale’s smile is infectious as he thanks you both for your assistance, his attention already taken up with the brisk stirring of his root vegetable mash.

“Don’t get used to it,” comes Astarion’s quick rejoinder.

“Oh, come now. You’re actually pretty good at this. Deft hands and all that.”

“My hands are suited for less mundane pursuits.”

“Nothing about cooking is mundane, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, Gale! After all, I haven’t just watched you take an eternity to skin some anaemic-looking spuds.”

Karlach and Wyll chose that moment to make an appearance, drawn in by the scent of food. Astarion uses the distraction to make a graceful exit.

You’re about to call after him, to enquire whether he was really not interested in trying the food, when you spy the small plate in his hand, bearing its treasured load of blood sausage. You don’t know when he’d managed to sneak that from right beneath your nose, but Astarion’s sleight of hand is not a thing to be taken lightly.  

What you don’t miss is the cheeky smirk he sends your way as he dips a slice into a small bowl of what you can only assume is your own stored blood, and the manner with which he slides it into his mouth. Sharp fangs glinting with red-tinted glee, Astarion’s moan of satisfaction is nothing short of excessive.

(iii)

There is no such thing as an easy battle.

There are no rules to combat, at least, not the kind you’ve always been party to.

Bandits don’t wait for you to draw your weapons. The might of a wizard is not always a guarantee of victory after a targeted silencing enchantment. Nature, the Gods that walk an elevated plane, the Weave, none of these elements beyond your full knowing roll the dice to your advantage on every occasion.

Separated from the rest of your group, surrounded by enemies in a shadowed temple, you have nothing to rely on beside your weapon, your wit, and Astarion. Strangely, under these perilous circumstances, his presence is a fleet-footed, death-dealing comfort.

Perched quietly on a ledge, in order to give you the advantage of higher ground, you scope out the room below. Your superior vision in the dim light of the few torches allows you to follow the vampire’s movement along the edges of the room.

Faint, imperceptible to the senses of others, Astarion’s stealthy passage is less than a minute shift of shadow in deeper darkness. A thing of beauty, to anyone who had appreciation for such things. You certainly do.

Fingers tracing slowly over the feathered fletching of an arrow, you sight the position of the enemies below. Breathing controlled, posture relaxed, scenting the slight shift in the current of fresh air that comes through a vent in the ceiling, you hold your position.

Astarion strikes.

Body uncoiling from the shadows, his mouth finds the throat of the nearest bandit with unerring accuracy. A gurgling gasp is all the man manages as a dagger sheathes itself in his back.

The distraction is what you’ve been waiting for. Your first arrow sings through the air, straight through the heart of the rogue who holds no candle to Astarion. You could have spotted him a mile off in his poorly selected nook.

Astarion moves left, and you to the right. You know this dance.

Leaping lightly to another rafter, you spin on steady feet, watching as a ray of something brilliant lances past Astarion’s ear. Holy light is, indeed, a worthy attack to use on a vampire. You have to admire the warlock who ‘s clearly thinking on the fly. She must have been a great asset to her party, but no longer, not with your next arrow tearing through her neck, spinning her in a violent arc across the stone sarcophagus she had been crouched against.

Even with three members of the other group down, neither you nor Astarion slow the momentum of your attack.

There is no such thing as an easy battle.

This you know, as you watch the paladin prepare for action, now that he’d bestowed the necessary blessings upon himself.

This one was strong. He bore the scent of practiced slaughter, gaze unflinching even as he'd witnessed the fall of his companions.

You cannot take him head on, that much is evident.

Astarion isn’t hiding. Your eyes track his movements, the slow, taunt in the flourish of his blade. The paladin leaps, the downward sweep of his greatsword powerful enough to bisect a living being from scalp to groin. Astarion doesn’t move, not even as the clean, razor edge comes hurtling towards him.

Your arrow finds the paladin’s knee, knocking him entirely off balance.

Then, and only then, in a perfectly timed breath of illusion, Astarion vanishes into the surrounding darkness. Muttering a quick incantation to still gravity’s effect on you, you drop from the rafters. Your arrows become knives as you plunge them into the paladin’s back, the muscles of your thighs absorbing the impact before you leap lightly away.

The one-armed swing of the greatsword nearly catches you off guard, its metallic breath ghosting along your collarbone. The paladin is slower, though. The poison you’ve coated your weapons with is taking effect, but with an enemy like this, you cannot let your guard down for a moment.

It is now that you feel him, the slow, cool brush of his palm against the inside of your elbow.

Astarion.

He has used your presence to hide his own, a cunning manipulation of awareness. You know that to the opponent’s eyes, his form will appear all but invisible, his limbs lightly shimmering extensions of your own. In bright light, the illusion may not hold up to inspection, but within the high-ceilinged halls of this windowless tomb, it is all too effective.

The paladin lunges, his strike steady, but already lacking speed. You dodge around the blow, circling. Astarion moves with you. Changing tack, a leg kicks out, aiming to knock you off balance. You are too nimble for such ploys.

Here, away from the concealing safety of the high ground, danger fogs the air you breathe, electric, heavy. Blood pounds in your ears, your muscles quivering eagerly, on the cusp of reflexive movement. Astarion’s feet shift across the floor, in tandem with yours, and his grace bleeds into the soft sway of your torso. His fingers trace fine lines of fire across your back, down the rippling curve of your spine, and you know that his own lithe form echoes each movement as if he has become one with your shadow.

He is here, with you.

He is the soft return of a bard’s final note, the plaintive song of a thrush in an empty forest, the slow, visceral dance of mortality enshrined in the red, red touch of his skin on yours.   

There is no honour in this killing, no higher aim other than to survive.

But elegance, oh yes. There is plenty of that.

The next assault, goaded by your inaction, is a wide sweep, designed to slash and maim. You drop into a crouch, and you see the fierce triumph in the paladin’s eyes. Forcing you into limited movement had been his primary aim.

Such excellent control, even now, as poison floods his veins.

It’s a pity, really.

You brace yourself as Astarion’s feet leave the floor, his back rolling smoothly across yours and you heave upward, launching him forward. From formless to tangible, his twin weapons lash out, once, twice, severing the jugular of the warrior. Your thrown dagger finds the wrist of the arm that holds the greatsword a moment later, and your opponent slumps to the floor, a vivid spray of crimson decorating Astarion’s face and your jerkin with acrid warmth.

Your breathing evens, slowly, your eyes stinging from the perspiration that slides down across your brow.

It is over.

Your body, however, remembers. Astarion turns to you and smiles through ruddy blood splatter. His eyes are darker than the depths of any tomb, and infinitely more delightful.

The spoken word is meaningless here, and now, between you both. He extends a hand, and you take it, his strong, supple fingers enclosing yours with all the delicacy they lacked when they dashed out the lifeblood of your common enemy.

Your dance is complete, for now.     

There is no such thing as an easy battle, and death had never been beautiful to you, until Astarion had courted it by your side.     

@tattoo-of-a-bird Thanks for the encouragement!

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Clayton beresford x Female hockey player headcanons? Please and thank you!

CLAYTON BERESFORD X F!HOCKEY PLAYER HEADCANONS ⛸️

TW: at some point it contains sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort. THIS IS AWFULLY SHORT FOR SOMEONE LIKE ME

Author's note: I was never really interested in hockey so it was new to make. Although I hope I got everything, and if I made a mistake, please accept my dearest apologies. Also I got A LOT Clayton requests and wow..you guys are the best

Clayton Beresford who spotted you at the hockey game;

Clayton never imagined he'd find himself at a hockey game, let alone a women’s hockey match. His close friend had practically dragged him along, insisting he come to support his girlfriend, who played for the local team. Clayton agreed, more out of loyalty to his friend than any real interest in the sport.

The game was intense, fast-paced, and full of energy—much more exciting than Clayton had expected. But it wasn’t the speed of the players or the roar of the crowd that caught his attention; it was you. First, he caught a glimpse of your eyes.. somehow..and he felt something he for the long time had not felt at all. A fluttering feeling escaped through his body, unlocking the almost forgotten cell to butterflies that made him feel nervous with a deep hint of excitement

Gosh, he was there before and it didn't end well. He promised himself to stay away from women...yet he couldn't help this. He felt powerless to the feeling. His jaw tightened

He was a damn CEO, Clayton Beresford..yet he couldn't control his feelings..

"Nice game, huh?" His friend broke him out of his thoughts with a gathering pack of his cigarettes to the woman's disgust at their left

"Sir, you can not smoke in here" she said as the man hold back an eye roll

Clayton Beresford who the same night was introduced to you by his friend;

After the game, Clayton couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind. As fate would have it, his friend introduced him to the team after the game. When it was your turn to shake his hand, Clayton was momentarily lost for words. Up close, you were even more impressive—strong, yet approachable, with a warmth in your eyes that contrasted with the fierce competitor he’d seen on the ice.

“You played an incredible game,” he finally managed to say, surprised by how genuinely he meant it. Although he made sure to tear his gaze away from you and quickly scann all the girls from your team, so it would look like he's talking about them all

“Thank you” you replied with a smile, feeling a weird fluttering in your chest

Gosh, you were there before..he's just a random man that happened to just squeeze your hand a bit too long and have this extremely handsome fa-- no, you promised yourself to never look at another man after things with Luca..you can't just fall for any other guy that just wanted to congratulate your team..you're better than that, y/n

Clayton Beresford who over the next few weeks, found excuses to attend more games. Each time, he stayed a little longer after the match, hoping for a chance to talk to you. And each time, you found yourself looking forward to seeing him again. There was something about him—his quiet confidence, his genuine interest in you as a person, not just as an athlete—that drew you in. Your conversations started simple, about the game or mutual friends, but soon they became more personal. Clayton was different from the usual crowd you attracted—more thoughtful, more introspective. He wasn’t intimidated by your success or your passion for hockey. Instead, he admired it, and that admiration slowly turned into something deeper.

Clayton Beresford who invited you to dinner (aka date) after months of relationship (just because he wasn't sure to trust you after an experience with Sam)

Clayton Beresford who after months of dating asked you to move to his penthouse

Clayton Beresford who was your number one, biggest fan. Always tried to appear at your every game and if he couldn't, which was very rare, he watched it on his computer during his work

Clayton Beresford who learned to love hockey, not just because of you, but because he saw how much it meant to you. And you, in turn, found yourself drawn into his world, supporting his endeavors with the same passion he showed for your career.

Clayton Beresford whose gentle, nurturing nature was the perfect counterbalance to your fiery determination on ice. He admired your determination and strength, while you appreciated his thoughtfulness and stability.

Clayton Beresford who had with you a special game-day ritual. Before every match, Clayton (sometimes..but often) made love to you in hotel room..just a quick stress reveal session;

Clay's lips devour yours, hungrily returning the passionate kiss as he presses you against the wall, his hands wandering your body possessively "you're gonna play good for me, right baby?"

"mhm--wanna make you proud"

Clay's lips trail down your throat, leaving a trail of fiery kisses, when he murmurs against your skin "I will be, I promise... just give me everything you've got...but I'm already the proudest I could be" his tone breathless

You grabbed his curls, pulling on them slightly as he thrusted into your tight entrance in and out

He groaned so sinfully after deepened kiss, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts deeper, hitting that sweet spot "you'll make me so proud, baby. my perfect little athlete..."

His words did not help with overtaking feeling you felt that made you almost surrender to it to the point your eyes closed

his hips snapping against yours with a fierce intensity "open your eyes, baby... I want to see those pretty eyes when you come undone for me..."

"its--its hard--"

He smirks against your lips, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he reaches around and grabs your ass, pulling you closer to him "i know..but look at me, baby... I need to see those pretty eyes"

he lets out a low groan as he feels you give in to him, his hips never stopped moving as he continues driving into you "yes, baby-fuck, just like that...ya can feel how close you're making me feel, hm?"

just as you were about to speak, clay covers your mouth with his hand, his thumb pressing against your plump, almost swollen lower lip "shhh, baby...save it for when I tell you to scream."

Clayton Beresford who, after particularly tough games, takes charge of your recovery at home. He’ll run a hot bath, prepare a meal, and make sure you get a massage to ease your muscles.

Clayton Beresford who is your emotional anchor when things get intense or when the pressure gets too much

Clayton Beresford who often works out with you (mostly in the mornings). Whether it’s hitting the gym or going for runs. Although not always he wants to, his more of a guy who could sleep all day and waking up around 6am only to exercise is..not really pleasing for him

Clayton Beresford who has accepted this part of your life where you love the cold and winter sports. For him it wasn't so shocking (although he prefers more warm weather). But still, you two often go on winter getaways to ski resorts, where you spend time skiing, snowboarding, and enjoying cozy evenings by the fireplace.

Clayton Beresford who's there for you during recovery (when you're injured and etc). He's really helping you to stay positive during this time and ensuring you have everything you need

Clayton Beresford who often took you out for small (or bigger) dates in your both free schedule

Clayton Beresford who absolutely loved to tease you about most of the things

Clayton Beresford who often searched comfort in your presence

Clayton Beresford who once surprised you with custom-made hockey gear. He collaborated with a designer to create equipment that was not only high-quality but also personalized with little details that meant something to both of you—like your initials intertwined with his, or a small symbol representing your relationship engraved on the inside.

Clayton Beresford who has a special tradition for celebrating your victories. After every big win, he takes you to your favorite spot in the city—whether it’s a cozy café, a scenic overlook, or a hidden gem of a restaurant—where you can relax and bask in the glow of your success together. And if your team lose, he tries to keep you positive, not overthink it much and focus on what's important.

Clayton Beresford who is a soft dom (obviously) however he loves watching you ride him. Struggling sometimes to accommodate his thick member in your tight core

Clayton Beresford who you visit on random days at his workplace out of boredom

Clayton Beresford who proudly wears the jersey with your number during games

Clayton Beresford who often got irritated at paparazzi that usually follow you two when you're in public, as people that just want to spend time with each other outside the shared walls

Clayton Beresford who saw you create a memory box filled with mementos from relationship with him—ticket stubs from your first game, photos, small gifts you’ve given each other, and even a few of those pre-game pep talk notes.

Clayton Beresford who's really on making expensive vacation in only high-quality places

Clayton Beresford who bought you expensive gifts

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[knoepfl]

~~~ Masterlist ~~~

Hey there! I decided I want to do a Masterlist since I have quite a lot of work already published and wanted a place where it's organised and everyone can see clearly if there is something they'd like to read^^ I'll try to keep it updated as much as possible but I'm sure I'll fall behind at some point. Anyways. At the beginning you can see a alphabetical order of the characters I already wrote. So if you look for a specific character be sure to look into it to see if it's there. If you notice there isn't one you like you can always sent a request or ask a question^^ I'd be happy to fulfil and answer all of them if I can. Anyways I hope you like my work!

Last Updated: 14.01 25

Requests

Character List (Alphabetical)

✧ Arthur Fleck (Joker)

✧ Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3)

✧ Benedict Bridgerton (Bridgerton)

✧ Bobble (Tinkerbell)

✧ Bruno Madrigal (Encanto)

✧ Cedric the Sorcerer (Sofia the First)

✧ Chop Top Sawyer (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre)

✧ Clawd Wolf (Monster High)

✧ Clawdeen Wolf (Monster High)

✧ Clopin Trouillefou (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

✧ Cole Mikaelson (Vampire Diaries)

✧ Drayton Sawyer (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre)

✧ Dottore (Genshin Impact)

✧ Edward Nygma (Arkham Games/Gotham Series)

✧ Enjiro Kirishima (My Hero Academia)

✧ Felix Fickelgruber (Wonka)

✧ Fred Weasley (Harry Potter)

✧ Gaston (Beauty and the Beast)

✧ Heath Ledger's Joker (Batman: The Dark Knight)

✧ Homelander (The Boys)

✧ James Hook (Peter Pan)

✧ Jerome Valeska (Gotham Series)

✧ Jeremiah Valeska (Gotham Series)

✧ Jervis Tetch (Batman: The Animated Series, Gotham Series, Arkham Games)

✧ Jinx (Arcane)

✧ Jonathan Crane (Batman: The Animated Series)

✧ Klaus Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy)

✧ L Lawliet (Death Note)

✧ Legoshi (Beastars)

✧ Ling (Mulan)

✧ Luigi (The Mario Movie)

✧ Magnus von Hagen (Haus Anubis)

✧ Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen)

✧ Melon (Beastars)

✧ Michael Groff (Sex Education)

✧ Michael Myers (Halloween)

✧ Monoma Neito (My Hero Academia)

✧ Mylo (Arcane)

✧ Nubbins Sawyer (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre)

✧ Nuca (The Lion King 2)

✧ Palladium (Winx)

✧ Pennywise (IT)

✧ Rick (Rick and Morty)

✧ Salo (Arcane)

✧ Shaggy (Scooby-Doo)

✧ Silco (Arcane)

✧ Stu Macher (Scream)

✧ Syndrome (The Incredibles)

✧ Tim LaFlour (Senseless)

✧ Tomura Shigaraki (My Hero Academia)

✧ Trueman (The Trueman Show)

✧ Tsuchigomori (Toilet Bound Hanako kun)

✧ Viktor (Arcane)

✧ Wiggins (Pocahontas)

✧ Zac Varmitech (Go Wild Mission Wildnis)

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Anime Masterlist

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DC Masterlist

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Horror Movie Masterlist

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Movie Masterlist

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[bangchansrose]

idk i think that wade or logan going to therapy is unlikely but anything is possible if you spin it convincingly enough

[gallawitchxx]

day two • gallavich kinktober 2024

↳ 31 days of kinks & cards in 3 sentences

AFTERCARE x PAGE OF SWORDS

“Drink up, baby,” Ian coos, lifting the water bottle to Mickey’s lips. He drinks, unable to protest, but also unable to ignore where Ian’s still thick and hard against his come-covered hip—the tangible results of three mind bending orgasms on Ian’s tongue, his fingers, and his perfect cock. When he’s back from the stratosphere, Mickey promises to get right to work adding Ian’s to the mix.

@gallavichthings

[bunnidarling]

I commissioned nakitamelo to do this painting of my boys in the style of a paperback bodice-ripper novel from the 90's. Nakita is a consummate professional and was a joy to work with. I'm absolutely delighted with how this turned out. It's even more beautiful than I imagined and I can't get over the tender expressions and intimacy.

This was the inspiration I sent. I thought it would be perfect for them and I was right.

Read about Averyll and Astarion here:

[crowleystits]

“I hope it’s not indecent of me to say so, Crowley, but I do understand now why humans spend so long on such activities.” 

Crowley snorted, pulling up his undergarments before turning on his side to gaze at Aziraphale’s delicate side profile.

“Not any more indecent than what we got up to just now.” 

Aziraphale’s cheeks grew flushed, and he too covered himself and turned to face the bewitching creature that observed him. 

“I do believe I remember you uttering Her name a lot. That ought to make it holy.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes, evidently amused.

“You remember no such thing. That never happened.”

Aziraphale smiled, a genuine upturn of lips that betrayed the deep fondness in his chest, bringing his knuckles to Crowley’s face, brushing away errant strands of hair. 

“You know, there is no way this is not what She intended for me. For us. Nothing has ever felt so perfect.” he dropped a kiss on the tip of that darling crooked nose.

“Shut up,” grumbled Crowley. “Plus, don’t say it’s perfect. That’d negate the need for practice. And I intend to practice a whole bloody lot.” 

Another work complete! This one is a sequel, so that gives you a total of 11 chapters to spend with these two dorks. Thanks for all your support on it!

[leenathegreengirl]

Only the undeniable charm of Phee could make Kahrin, the girl who’s seen it all, blush like this🥰💜💕

💜Tag List💜

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream @rex-targaryen @freesia-writes @heidnspeak @queenjiru @commanderfury @kyda-atshushi @deezlees @justanotherdikutsimp @aknightreaderr

[keirawantstocry]

qfit finally coping with having gynecomastia bc his boyfriends also have tits and are taken seriously as men

boobs for everyone

Fit spent years hiding the extra tissue on his chest. He wasn't quite sure what caused it and he had tried everything he could think of to fix it. Exercising, eating less, eating more. There were no doctors in the wasteland, nobody who could tell him what was wrong with his body. All he could do was wrap. It started with cloth wrapped round and round but it grew to be uncomfortable. Fit had stopped for a while to see if the pain lessened. And it did, but his embarrassment and fear of people noticing and calling him less than a man was stronger than any pain the wrappings caused. 

Things were so incredibly different on the island. He still binded his chest, ignoring the pain but there was something that felt… calm about the island. 

And then there was Pac and Tubbo. They were his best friends. He had honestly never thought he could care about people to the extent he cared about them. They were strong. The awe he felt seeing them in battle was indescribable. And part of him couldn't stop and think, now these are real men. 

Fit was thinking it now as he relaxed down in the soft blankets that Tubbo had gathered for the three of them. Tubbo was brash and protested affection until he was blue in the face but he cared. So much. That was why he did things like this. Made sure Fit and Pac got the sleep they needed after sleepless nights working and watching over their kids. 

The kids were with various other islanders currently. Ramon and Richas with Mike while Sunny was spending the night with Tina, Bagi, and Empanada. 

They had the house to themselves. 

Fit tried to relax but the bindings around his chest made it hard to breathe. He tried to keep any visibility of it away from his boyfriends. Truthfully he knew they wouldn't care but the fear from deep down was stronger. 

Tubbo gave a contented sigh as he looked over the pile of blankets and pillows, hands on his hips. “I don't know about you two but I'm so fucking ready for bed.” 

Pac and Fit laughed in unison but Fit's laugh died as he watched Tubbo peel off his shirt. They had never all slept together in sleepover fashion like this before so the sight that met his eyes was surprising. 

“Uh,” Fit said, trying not to stare but failing tremendously. 

Tubbo blinked at him as he reached down to the bottom of his sports bra. “What's wrong?” 

“You're wearing a bra.” 

Pac turned to look at him curiously while Tubbo continued to stare. “Uhh, yeah, man. It hurts to bind for too long so I wear bras half the time.” 

“Bind?” Fit repeated slowly. 

“I have tits,” Tubbo said plainly. “You know that right?” 

Fit shook his head. 

Tubbo's expression turned to one of surprise. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry, man. I thought you knew.” A sliver of self doubt was forming in his stance and Fit snapped himself out of his surprise to reassure him. 

“I didn't. But it's okay. It doesn't matter to me.”  

Pac laughed, sounding a bit nervous. “I should hope not, considering we both do.” 

Fit turned his head to look over at him. “You… you do too?” 

Pac nodded, flatting the front over his shirt to show how the fabric clung to the roundness of his chest. “We thought you knew, Fitch.” 

Fit shook his head slowly. “Um.” His heart was racing, thoughts buzzing around his head. “I'm not. Trans. But I have.” He shrugged and reached back under his shirt to undo the bindings. He let them fall onto his lap, feeling his body visibly relax. When was the last thing he took those off, he wondered but was interrupted by both of his boys, throwing their arms around him.  

“Thank you for telling us that,” Pac murmured in Portuguese, Fit catching the translations as they flew up above his head. “I know it can be hard coming from such a backwards place to accept yourself.” 

Tubbo didn't say anything, just let his body language speak for itself as he held Fit tightly, tracing his fingers over his back where the cloth had dug in so tightly. 

Fit was too overcome for words. He just let his body fall back, both of them still in his arms as they snuggled into each other and the blankets. 

“Wait,” Tubbo squirmed out of the grip before pulling off his bra. “Can't have that thing on.” 

“Why not?” Fit asked as Tubbo settled back down. He was so incredibly warm. 

Tubbo squinted at him. “Cause it hurts your chest. It's not meant to be contained like that.” Understanding dawned in his eyes and he smacked Fit on the arm. “Have you been wearing that thing for years?? No wonder you have so much body pain.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Pac said, butting in. “No more of that.” He shook his finger threateningly in Fit's face. “We're gonna make sure you take care of yourself. No binding for a while. We need to assess the damage to your chest and figure out when it will be okay for you to bind again.” 

Tubbo and Pac fell into frantic discussions of medical stuff that flew right over Fit's head. But he didn't mind. He was relaxing. He was safe. And he was laying with two of the strongest men he had ever met. Nothing about their bodies could ever change that. He smiled and pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads before drifting off to sleep. 

[rookeryyy]

i mightve made the fatal mistake of thinking and talking too hard about yttd again. Gin Ibushi Webfishing

[dutifullylazybread]

The Baldur's Gate Master List

Rolan x Tav Fanfiction:

f!Tav (AFAB, she/her, wizard with guild artisan background)

Deeply and Immovably So - [WIP] [explicit] - [pining/slow burn/hurt/comfort/fluff/smut] - [long fic] [ch. 1] [ch. 2] [ch. 3] [ch. 4] [ch. 5] [ch. 6] [ch. 7] [ch. 8] [ch. 9] [ch. 10] [ch. 11] [ch. 12]

With You. At The Start. - [COMP] [explicit] - [fluff] - [one-shot] [slight NSFW - fade to black] - Ao3 Link

At the Tail End of Things - [COMP] [explicit] - [domestic SMUT] - [one-shot] - Ao3 Link

The Kiss Roulette:

A Drunken Kiss [ft. Rolan x Tav]

A Kiss After a Bite [ft. Rolan x Tav]

An Accidental Kiss [ft. Rolan x Tav]

Another Accidental Kiss [ft. Rolan x Tav]

A Kiss on A Scar [ft. Rolan x Tav]

A Kiss Against A Wall [ft. Rolan x Tav]

Headcanons:

Rolan Headcanons

Rolan (Established Relationship w/ Tav) Jealous of Gale Headcanons

Does Rolan Like Giving/Receive Love Bites?

Cal Headcanons

Cal Realizing That He Has a Crush on You General Headcanons / Cal Realizing He has a Crush on You as a Romanceable NPC

Nightmares that Characters Have ft. [Cal] [Lia] [Rolan]

Tiefling Bachelors w/ Pregnant Partner ft. [Cal] [Rolan] [Zevlor] [Dammon]

Tying Tiefling Bachelors to the Bed ft. [Touch-Averse!Tav] [Rolan] [Dammon]

Dom!Zevlor Headcanons

Zevlor as a Father-Figure for Tav ft. [fem!Tav by request]

Why is Gale Ripped?

Commissioned and Gifted Art:

A Lovely Drawing of my Tav by @faerunsbest

Lovely Artwork based on Ch. 8 events in Deeply and Immovably So by @darkurgetrash

Tav and Rolan Commission based on Ch. 12 events in Deeply and Immovably So by @orangekittyenergy

Tav and Rolan Commission based on Ch. 13 events in Deeply and Immovably So by @elspethdekarios

Portrait Commission of my Tav by @pepijopa

Half Body (Waist Up) Commission of my Tav by @slumpsnail

My Tav:

My Tav's Appearance

Get to Know My Tav

Tav Character Worksheet

Tav - 5 songs/4 outfits

Random but Important to Me:

I found Ramazith's Tower on the BG3 Start Screen

An Interactive Map of The Sword Coast

Border art by @saradika

[athousandbyeol]

first, last, only, forever. [phoomvicha / forcebook fanfic]

"you're back?" "i'm sorry. you've waited for so long."

this is their untold love story, now told and free to roam.