#I dunno. rotating it in my mind.

[blujayonthewing]

thinking about Elyss's dad reading her the ugly duckling when she was a little girl and I'm torn between the story resonating with her, for obvious reasons, or the story distressing her intensely because if the ugly duckling was never a duck to begin with then it will never fit in with its duck family, it will never have a place among other ducks, it will always be an outsider in the only home it's ever known

[largemandrill]

I’m obsessed with an item description, please don’t help me

Also I made these to help with the illness he gave me

Close-ups of the main illustrations (I’m never fully rendering them but I still like them)

As always, I’m willing to clarify my notes if asked! I know my handwriting can be hard to read sometimes lol.

[jacqcrisis]

Re-playing the Cazador Palace and the end of Astarion's quest line reminded me of the bad end I had for him and Ronan.

Astarion ascends despite Ronan's protests, using one of the other companions to help him. From then on, there's a strain between him and Ronan, the affection and intimacy gone as the cleric seems to refuse to even address him and Astarion is angry he refused to help. Once the brain is defeated, Astarion, missing his love, stupidly feels brave enough to approach Ronan about becoming his spawn.

As they are alone and Astarion tries to sell his idea, something snaps in Ronan. Astarion finds himself divinely held, incapable of moving as Ronan glares him down silently in the same way he does any enemy that crosses his path, raising his mace and smoke billowing from his mouth. Astarion manages to escape the spell in time to avoid getting bashed in the head, pleading and begging Ronan see reason, what's gotten into him, what the hells happened, doesn't he love-

And he finds himself grabbed, physically this time, a fist around his arm tight enough it feels as though the bone may break. Ronan finally speaks to him, the first time in at least a week, telling him with every ounce of hatred and wrath Astarion knows the dragonborn to be capable of that the man he loved died with all the other people Astarion killed and as a cleric, it his duty to eradicate such a monster. Stunned and in disbelief, Astarion mists away at that just in time to avoid an onslaught of flames, gone into the night as his new ascended life already begins with an enemy gained.

It goes from there. Ronan is in constant pursuit of Astarion and the vampire can't rest for too long. His operation must always be moving, always secret as he never knows when his doors will be kicked in by a group of holy men and his spawn and undead and werewolves and pawns eradicated as he flees once more. If Ronan catches him or he gets to Ronan, it's a fight to the bloody end until one is forced to flee as with every ounce of power and control Astarion has scraped together as an ascended vampire, Ronan has matched him with his own vengeful devotion to his divine warpath.

And they don't give up, not even Astarion. While Ronan wants him dead, wiped from this plane of existence, Astarion wants Ronan to be his. While he found everything he thought he wanted with his completion of the black mass, all the power, all the unending worship, all the status he could feasibly attain as a vampire, what Astarion finds in this new existence is a lack of connection.

At one point, he had friends and allies that wanted to know him for him and he had love and affection without parameters, a taste of the unconditional, of devotion to his being that developed naturally, genuinely, free of a want or a need for anything more of Astarion than himself. As he is now, this doesn't exist; all the spawn and thralls who serve and fawn over him only do so due to his powers making that love exist and all the other vampires who devote themselves to him only do so to keep his favor. Astarion finds this reality barren, empty of warmth as he looks at lover after lover he charmed in the eyes and finds nothing but his own face staring back him and he hates it.

So he obsesses over what he had with Ronan. Yearns for his neck and his subservience and his love that he cut himself off from with one bloody decision. Every time they meet again, as Ronan is attempting to cut him down, Astarion is trying everything in his power to make the cleric his, to seduce him back into his arms with either his teeth or his words, desperate to see Ronan look at him like he used to.

And Ronan always denies him. Every time, he denies him, dressed horn to toe in plate and deaf to the pleas spat at him in a voice that haunts him that he'd give anything to hear come from the person he used to have. So they fight and neither ever wins.

Over. And over. And over again.

[kay-selfships]

don’t look at me

[l35213]

pre canon doodles i did. as a treat

[unidentified-yugi]

Tsukasa's Seal (Poll)

so here's something i've been occasionally thinking about since ch...95: if nene removes tsukasa's seal, we might get to see the twins' murder scene, as the "memories housed inside the yorishiro" thing (like what happened with tsuchigomori's yorishiro).

so, if this were definite, and you could decide it, would you:

obviously, this would destroy tsukasa, at least. it might also kill nene, if what sakura said in ch 95 is true. but we'd get to see the truth or whatever (that'd be pretty cool).

[for the sake of this poll, we're ignoring the current arc/timeline. choosing "no" would mean that it's uncertain whether or not we'd get to see a murder scene flashback/the odds are unchanged from what they are now.]

[bibiana112]

Game of Life - JubyPhonic ; Vane Lily - My Eternity ; GHOST - Hyperdontia ; Lukewarm - Penelope Scott ; "How The Internet Changed Found Footage Horror" by Pim' Crypt on YouTube ; Zero Win Game by kayzero

[impossible-rat-babies]

thinking. rotating even. eyrie’s way of showing love and how it so quietly bloomed during their time in thavnair w estinien. how it slowly found its way there and so much of how it was both felt. they love each other—as friends and romantically. it’s all there, utterly unspoken, but it’s there.

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Omega Caelus brain rotation

Loves whatever his omega mate can give him. Adores the feel of their folds rubbing against one another. Begs to have their mouth on his heat while he licks them with just as much fervor. Doesn't matter if it's a toy or not he's bouncing on their cock and living for every second, he promises to return the favor he's sweet like that and so are his moans.

[snowyfrostshadows]

I know @istadris proooobably meant Mr. L masks his true character under a mean, tough guy act to protect himself from further pain in their Missing Half AU buuuut.

I can't quite separate Mr. L from his iconic mask.

[offmyfuxkingmind]

such a missed opportunity that aak x warfarin shipname isn't bloody feline or even bloodcat.

[shiawasekai]

i could go sleep... or i could start 黄金の烏......

Realistically speaking, i really need a decent night of sleep.

[yoshistory]

ooooooh thinking ... thinking ...

[moonstruckme]

hiiii please could i request plus size shy reader being asked out on a date and getting anxious it’s a joke (it’s not). i would LOVE this with steve or james but i love everyone you write for so i don’t mind if you’d rather choose another character! have a lovely day/night! 🫶🏻

Thanks for requesting my love!

cw: implied insecurity around size

Steve Harrington x shy!plus size!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You can feel sweat on the insides of your thighs. Every step you take chafes. Between the heat and your nerves you think you probably look about as shiny as a glazed donut, and you worry that if you lift a hand in front of your face you’ll find it shaking. 

You don’t actually know what you’re doing here. 

When Steve asked you to meet him at the fair, your yes was automatic. He was all brown eyes and gentle features, the apple of his throat bobbing at the tail end of the question, and you hadn’t known any quicker way to get away from all that than simply agreeing and ducking into the kitchen to grab an imaginary order. Whether you actually wanted to go out with him was irrelevant, though of course you did. You still do, you think. 

But later, you’d remembered who he was. Not just Steve, who comes into your work and downs chocolate milkshakes like he’s in some sort of competition while tossing you sugary smiles that make it impossible for you to remember anyone’s orders, but Steve Harringon. King of the gum-popping populars when you’d all been in high school, who publicly degraded Nancy Wheeler just for breaking up with him and who has since been rumored to date a rotation of Hawkin’s most model-esque girls. He would know how to flirt with a girl like you. Might do it just for a laugh. Might even ask you on a phony date simply to humiliate you when you thought it was real. 

And now you’re here, looking sweat-glazed and lost in the middle of the crowd, feeling like a complete fucking loser. Well done, King Steve. 

“Hey!” 

You’re not sure if it’s worse to stay, and slowly reconcile with the fact that you’ve been duped, or leave and have to face him at work the next time he comes in. Quitting your job is starting to sound like a tempting option. 

“Hey!” 

You nearly jump out of your skin when a sure hand lands on your shoulder, and a second later Steve is rounding you with that half-quirked smile of his. His face is cast pink by the neon light of the sign you’re standing in front of. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I was gonna wait at the front, but the line for tickets was getting long so I figured I’d better get in there and grab ours.” He holds up a hand, fanning the two tickets out. 

“Oh.” The word comes out of you on a breath. Steve leans in to hear you better, not a flicker of pique in his expression for your soft voice in this loud atmosphere. “That’s smart.” 

His eyes crinkle as though you’ve said something funny, his hand dropping from your shoulder as he gives a one armed shrug. You’d forgotten it was there and yet you miss it instantly. “Well, thanks. Some people say I can be that, every now and then.” 

You feel your eyes go wide. “Oh, no, sorry, of course you��re smart,” you say in a rush. “I didn’t mean to sound surprised, I was just…” 

“I get it.” The pink light softens the teasing in Steve’s look into something even sweeter. You feel your face warm. “Do you wanna grab a funnel cake or something?” 

“Why…” You’re suddenly conscious again of your sweaty thighs, the way your sundress cuts into your middle and leaves the skin of your wide shoulders on display. “Why would I want that?” 

Steve looks confused, his smile lingering but faint. “I dunno, do you? I’m starving, I haven’t eaten since lunch. We could have whatever, though, if you’ve got something against funnel cake.” 

You blink, the flame of apprehension that had flared in your chest sputtering back down to an ember. “No, sorry,” you say, befuddled once again. What does he want with you? When and where will the other shoe drop? “I like funnel cake.” 

Steve pays for the both of you and you’re too dazed to stop him, still reeling from the hand he placed on your back to guide you through the crowd and seems in no hurry to remove. It rests just above the waistline of your dress, gentle but definitively there, radiating warmth through the fabric. When he does remove it, it’s to sit down beside you at the picnic table so you can eat, one form of contact replaced by another as his jeans press into your bare leg and you try not to spiral out. 

“These things are a disaster for me,” he says, breaking off another piece of funnel cake with his fingers. His chin and the front of his shirt are already covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar, which is somehow more endearing than offputting. You’re currently suppressing the mortifying urge to wipe it off and lick your finger. “I love fried food, and I go even crazier for sugar, so the combination is just—God.” He shakes his head, looking blissed out in the same way you recognize from when he’s half done with a milkshake. “If you don’t want to see me again after this, I’m gonna have a really hard time staying away from your work. I’ll be screwed.” 

You stare at him. Why would he be affected by how you feel about tonight? If anything, the need to avoid Steve Harrington should drive you out of town. Guys like him can do whatever they want. If he told everyone that he’d never even spoken to you and you were making this date nonsense up for attention, that would probably be more readily believed than what seems to be happening here. 

“Jesus Christ.” Steve has discovered the powdered sugar spillage down his front. He dusts off his shirt and does exactly what you’ve been wanting to, using his fingers to wipe his face and then sucking the sugar off them one by one. He looks almost sheepish when he meets your eyes, in a boyish, humorous way. “Sorry, Robin always says I eat like a fucking animal.”

“You’re good,” you assure him. “It’s kind of impossible to avoid with powdered sugar, right?” You actually had managed to avoid it, by leaning over the little paper tray as you ate, but that’s beside the point. “You think you might want to go out again?” 

It’s blunt, not like you, and if you’d taken more than two milliseconds to think it through you know you wouldn’t have asked. Your cheeks burn. 

Steve’s brows furrow with his thumb still in his mouth, and he tilts his head like a puppy. “That’s kind of the point of dates, right?” he asks, sounding halfway between confusion and amusement. “I mean, ideally, you usually want to go out more than once.” 

“Right.” Now you’ve managed to make yourself sound like an idiot. On top of being several sizes bigger and decibels quieter than most of the other girls Steve goes out with, now you’re an airhead as well. “That makes sense, sorry.” 

“You don’t need to keep saying you’re sorry.” Steve smiles lopsided and sweet, and you can’t find even a trace of the infamous King Steve in it. Maybe in the round apple of his cheek, or the easy way he leans on the table, but not in the warmth of the look he’s giving you. The ones he’s been giving you, unreciprocated and largely mistrusted, for weeks now. “Look, we don’t have to worry about that stuff tonight. You can figure out if you think I’m worth another shot after we’re done here, and if you decide to give me a lifetime ban from your work, I’ll get it. Let’s just have fun for now, right?” 

You bite the inside of your lip, considering the soft brown of his eyes, the tiny bit of powdered sugar he’s missed just by the corner of his lips. Let’s just have fun.

“Okay,” you say. Something new and light flickers in your chest at his answering grin. “Where do you wanna start?”

[k6ssbxnny]

MDNI!!! Explicit content ahead.

Sleazy mechanic! Toji hears the low, scratchy rumble of tire and gravel closing in on his shop late at night and his first reaction is to roll his eyes in annoyance. Though sweaty n tired from working all day, he surges with energy when he catches sight of a you, doey eyes wet with tears, huffing and stuttering and babbling about some weird smoke puffing out from your car, how you're out here all alone, how you can't fix it no matter how hard you try, how this is all the money you have, and you really, really need help -

"'S not enough, little lady," he shrugs, knowing damn well it's plenty enough, sticking the wad of cash back in your manicured hands, wondering how they'd look wrapped around his fat cock.

"It's hard work fixin' a car this fucked, y'know?" It's not, he just likes how your tits bounce when you pace in a panic. Cute.

And you're begging and begging, pleading with him about how afraid you are of your weird, messed up car, how the only places to stay nearby are sketchy looking motels with broken doors and soiled beds, how you'll do just about anything, anything if it means he'll fix your car!

"S'pose I could make an exception, pretty girl," he muses, pretending to mull over your pleas as if he hadn't made up his mind the second he saw your ass,  "payment doesn't always have t'be in cash, right?"

And then you're squirming, thighs squished together as you get all slippery n sticky, whining for a bit of friction all from sucking his cock, nose pressed tight into his messy pubes as he sinks himself into your warm, wet mouth, bunching a fistful of your hair as he pumps into you, balls against your drool-slick chin, trying not to cum too quick. For a minute, he really does consider simply painting your pretty face, prying your mouth open and smearing his cum on your tongue with the chubby head of his thick dick. But then he sees your arched back, pushing the fat of your ass into your heels where you kneel, and he knows he can't just waste his cum on your mouth.

So he has you trapped and bent, on all fours like a bitch in heat, whimpering and mewling nonsense about how he's "too big", and that "i-it won't fit, c-can't, won't go in, please, I'll use my mouth!"

"Dunno, missy," he leers, pushing your head down with one hand and cupping a handful of your pudgy ass cheek with the other, so he can get a clear view of your sticky cunt, swollen and dribbling for attention. "Seems t'me that she thinks I'll fit." His lips curl into a lazy grin as he splits your slit with a thick thumb.

Your mouth pulls open into a soundless gasp when he bullies the head of his cock into you. There's nothing you can do except feel it, feel the stretch as he opens you up for him and he warmth of his chest as he mounts you, pushing you tight against the ground as he connects himself to you. He's rough: hard, slow, taking the time to pull his entire length out of you, linked to your pussy by a mere thread of precum, before stretching you open all over again, breaching your hole as you lose the ability to breathe properly, to think at all, reduced to all but a squealing, babbling mess, "f-faster, ah... t-too much! H-hard... s'good, m-mister Toji!"

You can't help but sink under the weight of his pounding, his heavy thrusts pushing your messy thighs apart as he beats himself into the space between your legs, calloused hands squeezing and teasing your tits.

"Don't run," he grunts, pulling your hips back to meet his pelvis as he stuffs you full, relishing in the feeble squeak that leaves your lips when he holds you still, forcing you in place while he slams into your hole, faster and faster - messier - as he nears his climax. He snakes a strong hand from your chest to your stomach, then down to your clit, rolling the puffy bud, rotating between soft, tantalizing touches and harsh, nearly sadistic pinches. You egg him on with your helpless cries, shivering and moaning some nonsense about how you "c-can't take it anymore, ah- ah! Gonna - mhm - g'nna cum!"

You clench around him so tight, pussy pulsing on him with so much strength that he gives into you wholly, prying your legs apart as he pushes his tip right up against your cervix, allowing himself the pleasure of a quiet, slight groan just before he spills into you, so much, and so heavy, and so thick that you can feel your insides twisting and churning from the impact of his dick, still throbbing into you.

When he pulls out, he makes sure to sit back on his heels, enjoying the look of his handiwork as you crawl and twitch aimlessly, semen filling the slit between your legs and dribbling lewdly over your lips, making a slow, sticky way down the fat of your welted thighs.

You look sweet, he thinks. He'll make sure to taste test you next time.

© 2024 k6ssbxnny

[insertdisc5]

Do you think the Siffrin plushie will ever come back? I got into ISAT only a few weeks ago and I'm absolutely fixated on it, and I'm heartbroken that I missed out on my chance to have a tiny depressed lad to rotate both in my mind and irl... (Also your game got me back into fic writing after 10+ years, bless/curse you)

fu fu fu... I dunno... that'd be crazy.........