#Goddamn soft

[ssalballoon]

Mystra showed him the secrets beneath the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. 'Chosen One' she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

poor gale :'(

- the dialogue is from ea gale's explanation about his folly

- i kinda like that she ended up looking like a mother-of-pearl inlay lacquerware!

- oh this was a subconscious choice, but Gale is sitting in seiza which is a posture for showing respect especially to elders. it's also known to be a painful position to sit in for extended periods of time, which is why it was sometimes used as a method of (morally dubious) punishment. however, experienced people can maintain this posture for much longer. food for thought :-)

- (edit: deleted this point bcs it didn't really make sense + detracted from the art a little;;)

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers EP1 | Kantbison + Nuzzling

OH. OHHH this is going to be their thing. The forehead to forehead almost-kissy-nuzzling. Ugggh UGHH this is like my favourite thing. They are such a pair of teases.

[s0fter-sin]

vampire au where they can only drink the blood type they were before they were turned. other blood has an almost poisonous effect, burning them from within like acid and drinking too much of it can kill them

in the old days, before the knowledge of blood types, it made humans they could feed on absolutely precious. they're kept safe, pampered and doted on; a vampire’s most prized possession

attacking another vampire's human is seen as the highest insult; not only is it a slight against them, it also carries the implication of "i want you to starve"

it's also used as the cruelest of punishments; starving a vampire for months, until they're feral with hunger just for their torturer to throw in a random human, watching them desperately suck down poison, their instincts begging them to keep drinking even as it kills them

ghost is one of the few who survived it; thrown in a pit so deep, he saw stars in the middle of the day, left with nothing but the dried bodies of the humans roba drained without care, others with their throats slit, blood he can't drink spilled out around them

a taunt of the one thing he needs but will never get

but ghost hasn't survived this long just to give up here

he refuses to die in this stinking, rotted pit

ghost is a force of nature as he descends over roba's manor; killing any who wander into his path until the halls run red. until he gets his hands on roba and tells him a secret:

vampires can feed on the blood of any vampire, regardless of blood type

it becomes a legend in vampire high society; if you starve another, you'd best make sure they actually die

otherwise you might end up piled in a dining room, the vampire you left for dead lounging on a throne of corpses with his fangs lodged in your throat

ghost decimates roba's empire, burning it to the ground until no one dares to speak his name in fear of incurring his wrath. it's incredibly taboo for a vampire to feed off another but ghost's too powerful for anyone to challenge him and the other vampires are too scared to try. scared of what he's willing to do, the lengths he'll go to; not that they'll ever admit it

soap is the first human he ever brings to court; delicately bathed in the finest silks and jewels, his throat always bare so he can show off ghost's ownership, his bite framed in lace

he's not like the delicate waifs the other vampires show off; he doesn't cling to his master, demure and submissive. he shows off his teeth as often as any vampire, fully willing to rip out the throats of any who insult him or ghost

a feral master needs a just as feral pet

[sophsun1]

9-1-1 – 1.01: Pilot

[lookitseddie]

"hey, what's your favourite redacted audio moment?"

oh, i'm a sam/darlin girlie, so probably the quinn arc

"that's such a basic bitch answer-"

OH. YOU WANT A REAL ANSWER? HONEY AND GUY'S FIRST KISS. YOUR CHAOTIC ROOMMATE CONFESSES HIS FEELING FOR YOU | AUDIO RP| [M4A] 17:50

[nyonismywife]

So basically:

Did I get it right

[gojonanami]

SWEET NOTHING - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: satoru always comes running home to your sweet nothings -- except maybe this time. ✴︎ cw: spoilers for jjk 236, discussions of death, fluff, angst, implications of delulu twitter theories of survival ✴︎ wc: 1,175 ✴︎ song: sweet nothing by taylor swift

Satoru didn’t know when it happened.

But he had started running home to you far before the two of you shared one. 

Was it when Suguru left? Was it even before that? Or was he just always by your side at night, sneaking into your dorm room to sleep beside you. He’d tangle your limbs together so escape wouldn’t be easy for you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as you slept all too easy with him. Your soft pants and snores was the metronome that put him to sleep, the weight of your body was the only warmth he needed, and your quiet hums in the morning after he finally stirred was the thing that made him want to wake in the first place. 

“Morning,” you’d mumble, your voice all too thick with sleep, as you tried to pry yourself from exhaustion’s embrace, and he was too eager to help you with that — with sweet kisses and splayed fingers under your shirt. 

“It’s always a good morning baby,” he’d jokingly chide you, as he would kiss your neck, as you always made sure to say the phrase without the ‘good,’ if only to elicit his kisses (though he’d give them to you anyway), “cause I get to wake up with you,” 

Satoru didn’t kiss you for a long time — he couldn’t — he knew it was foolish to date anyone seriously — after everything ended in disaster with Suguru, he knew the burden of being the strongest was only his to bear — no one else’s. And besides, loving someone as Satoru Gojo was as good as taping a target to their chest, and he’d never do that to you — no matter how much he wanted to. 

But what could he do when you were the one to kiss him? Kissed him one night after the two of you shared a meal — barely a meal, scrambled eggs and bread — and he had cracked some stupid joke about Nanami that made you snort. And then you tried to shove him, but he caught your wrist, and you were close — too close because he could practically count the number of eyelashes on your eyelids. And right when sense was setting back in, and he was going to turn away, you kissed him. 

And he couldn’t turn away after that. He never could — you had pulled him into your orbit and now you were never gonna let him go. 

Not that he ever wanted you to. 

He’d come running to you, even after running away, because he couldn’t stay away. Because it was you. 

And it didn’t truly hit him, until he had come home this time, to the home you both had shared, and heard you in the kitchen, the faint sounds of clinking utensils and your humming. He removed his shoes, lips curling into a easy smile, as he stepped inside, opting to surprise you instead of announcing he was home. 

He whispered the words instead, “I’m home,” walking to find you just where he thought you would be. He leans against the doorframe, watching you hum along to whatever song was stuck in your head, as you prepared his favorites cake — only stopping when his arms wrapped around your middle, a small gasp on your lips that turns into a wide grin. 

“Toru—“ and his lips find yours, as they always did, and he could taste the sugar on your lips, but nothing was ever sweeter than you, “welcome home, baby,” 

And he gets the goofiest grin, as he sweeps you off your feet, making you yelp and laugh, a sound that vanished all the exhaustion of the world from his shoulders. From the industry disruptors, soul deconstructors to the voices that implore he should be doing more — only always taking more, and more, and more. But as he kisses your neck, the soft skin against his lips, only with you he could admit, he’s all too soft for it. And he could find more, more to life than the life that was stolen from him because of his abilities, the youth that he lost far too long ago, and the line he had drawn between him and the rest of the world. Because he wasn’t the strongest when he was with you — he was just Satoru Gojo.  

He buried his head in the nape of your neck, your arms curled around him, holding him impossibly closer, his breath tickling your skin, “I’m home now,” he whispers against you, eyes sinking shut. 

He spent his best moments in the company of your sweet nothings — your feet thrown over his as the two of you ate dinner on the couch, swiping food from your fork and stealing kisses between bites; the walks you took in the cool evenings, cicadas singing their symphony as the sun blazed against the sky in its final moments, where his six eyes would narrow to a pin, and all he would see was you; and the moments he spent beside you in bed, your touch, your presence, your being — the only thing he ever wanted to perceive with his entire being. 

Home was not a place, but it was you. And he had remarked that to you when you both were discussing the possibility of moving in the future and he had shrugged off giving suggestions. 

“Come on, Toru, there must be somewhere you’d want to live,” and his lips only curled, as he stared you — beautiful pout and all — and he knew his answer. 

“Home is anywhere you are, baby,” he leaned over and kissed your neck, “so pick anywhere in the world and I’d follow you in a heartbeat,” his hand guides your hand to his chest, “because it’s yours,” 

And now, it seemed like the end was coming. He had to leave home, and he couldn’t go home to your sweet nothings — he thought as he stared ahead at the sky. Death was painless — it was easy for the dead, they held the power over the living, of leaving before being left. But he had to leave his home behind, and he swore he could see your face, could hear your screams, your pleading, your cries. And it wasn’t only yours. His students. His friends. 

Was it enough to leave? He glanced at the departing flights in front of him, his smiling friends and the regrets that were lifting off his shoulders, and wondered was it time? 

And he saw your face again, two words on your lips, “come home,” 

And his lips curled into a smile, as his legs fell back, his fingers twitching, as they had done once before when he had fallen — fallen before the sorcerer killer. He would give it all up — his lower half topples over, closer, closer to his torso — give up all the power in the world to just be with you. And he swore away his six eyes in favor of two legs and one life—

He had to run home — home to your sweet nothings.  

☆ a/n: so i was listening to sweet nothing by t. swift on repeat and got super emotional thinking about how this song fits gojo while scrolling about post-236 fan theories, so this is the result.

[see-arcane]

As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in them turned to triumph. But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan's great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat; whilst at the same moment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the heart. It was like a miracle; but before our very eyes, and almost in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumble into dust and passed from our sight. I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I never could have imagined might have rested there.

I don't know what's getting to me about this scene this time around, but I can't help imagining a cinematic beat in which Dracula, head cleaved from his shoulders, steel through his heart, looks to Jonathan. Fire-eyed, white-haired, triumphant against his personal nemesis and would-be keeper at last.

For just a moment, Dracula is whoever he was before he was an inhuman monster. A great man? A warlord? A hero or a horror in human flesh depending on the history. But a man again, whatever else. He looks at Jonathan.

Maybe he sees him.

Maybe he sees someone else. Some long ago youth who lived and died and was remade in profane immortality for the sake of supernatural strength, taught by ancient Powers beneath a distant mountain. A youth who would sell his soul to accomplish his goal.

As the sun sets red, Dracula sees that long-ago youth victorious but not yet damned--the man conquering the monster--and, for the first time in centuries, thinks he sees his reflection. The hunter, the warrior, the victor. How strange not to see him in armor. When did you change your sword? Ah, well.

You did it just the same. You did it...

(What was his name before all this? Memory is cracking, turning to powder in his mind. His name is...his name was...)

((No, no, old man. He is not you. You know. You know he is--he's--))

Voiceless, his lips move. Red a final time as his throat's foam bleeds up and out of the stained mouth.

Thank you, my friend.

There is time enough to smile before he crumbles away to sleep.

[useragarfield]

9K MAKE ME CHOOSE:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ @catoscloves ASKED: One Tree Hill or Hart of Dixie?

What's worse: not getting everything you wished for or getting it but finding out it's not enough? The rest of your life is being shaped right now with the dreams you chase, the choices you make and the person you decide to be. The rest of your life is a long time and the rest of your life starts right now.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

so REVENGE, HUH? or justice, if that makes you feel better. it tastes the same when cooked just right. 'I REALLY WANTED A BROTHER.' such a shame to burn a bridge you so desperately wanted to keep, especially when it wasnt even you who started the fire. especially when you hope that not a single fragment of that bridge ever washes ashore.[MAY IT ROT FAR FROM MY SIGHTS] an unfortunate loss! atleast he has his friends.

[fbfh]

I want to fuck Daryl Dixon so fucking bad. y'all don't even understand the primal need I have to milk him dry, suck his soul out through his heavy uncut dick. and I KNOW the feeling is mutual because we all know Daryl's the typ to suppress and ignore his emotions, right???? which means OBVIOUSLY he'll be too focused on staying alive and keeping the group safe to even think about sex, too exhausted from fighting walkers and scavanging supplies, just making it through the day to even whack one out. and all of that sexual frustration just builds and builds and builds deep in his subconsious until one day he's out hunting and comes across you. he doesn't expect to see someone alone and without a group, especially not such a hot piece of ass like you. he's older, you know there's an age gap between you, but you are both adults, and only meeting for the first time now. you justify this to yourself, mentally trying to figure out if anything between you would be legally or ethically yucky. you decide that it's fine - especially given the state of the world - to indulge your feelings.

Daryl brushes it off for as long as he can. He ignores the way you look at him, and all the dreams of you sneaking into his tent and riding him until you squirt, he ignores the stray thoughts that leave him a little bricked up happening more and more. He ignores it until one night, you actually do sneak into his tent. He thinks he's dreaming at first, seeming as gruff and chilly as ever, but you don't care. You just crouch next to him and hug him, hiding your face in his bare chest.

"I... I had a bad dream." your words are simple, but they really speak volumes. He knows first hand how bad the nightmares can get, and your skin feels so nice on his. he's so touch starved that he doesn't even realize why he's pulling you into his lap, holding you close and rubbing your back, he just knows it feels... really good. like, really really good. so he tries to calm you down and help you settle back down for sleep, laying you down next to him. you cuddle up to him so painfully close that he doesn't know what to do. You wrap both your legs around one of his thighs, squirming a little as you settle down.

"'m sorry for keeping you up so late," you say, pouting up at him and he is SO close to folding. he has maybe one or two scraps of self control that are fully stripped away when you squirm some more, rocking your core against his thigh, and he feels it. He feels the slimy, slippery wet patch growing wetter and wetter as you "get comfortable".

"Do you think there's something that could... y'know... tire me out a little?"

and he folds. of COURSE he folds, anyone would with you being all cute and sweet to them, ESPECIALLY someone whose heavy, full balls are bluer than the lonliness and pain in his heart. he uses his last ounce of self control to say your name like a warning, but it only serves to make your pussy throb against his leg - something he definitely does not miss.

"You're playing a dangerous game here, kid..." he warns. You inch closer and closer to him, batting your eyes up with a cute little pout.

"'m not a kid," you protest. your eyes flick between his eyes and his lips, and you can't stop your hips from grinding down onto his thigh. "...you want me to prove it?"

but with how fast he flips you over and pins you down and folds you in half, you really don't have time to prove anything.

[bird-inacage]

Love Sea Episode 2 BTS | Clingy Fort

[noyoucantdonteventry]

back again with another brent spiner video that im failing to be normal about

[lacemistress]

You know what I want?

I want a pretty subby boy to make me breakfast. I want him to wake up first and decide to surprise me. Then I wake up before he’s done, bc the bed is empty. I’ll slip on his shirt and follow the noise to kitchen where I find him cooking in nothing but his boxers and humming to himself. And then I’ll wrap my arms around him and he’ll jerk with surprise at first but then just melt into me. I want to mark his neck to the point where he can’t think and we have to stumble back to the bedroom.

Then I want to peg him missionary where our hands are intertwined and he feels so good he’s babbling. And finally, every time he says my name, mommy, mistress, thank you, or please I give him a forehead kiss and I don’t stop until he has cum and is so incoherent with pleasure he can’t talk at all.

That’s what I want. Please and thank you.

[themoonstonechronicler]

I thought it was a shame that since everyone in Aurora is travelling, no one gets to dress up, so here is Erin in what I imagine he would wear back in Asera! (click on image for better quality)

@comicaurora let him be fancy!

[outerjersey]

"I'm not sure about this," he says, looking down at your scarred hands as if he could read your mind. Soft. Human. He doesn't want to hurt them. Your scars should tell him his concerns are too late; there's nothing he could do to you that hasn't been done before.