#a what if scenario if you will

[staysaneathome]

Bright White

Dan Fucks can’t remember what he was doing.

Everything’s hazy and bright, and vaguely tingly in a way that he’s not not sure is pleasurable, like when the Big Guy stands up after a long time and pins and needles start to fade—

Oh, poor Daniel. It’s been hard times for you, hasn’t it?

Yes, Dan thinks with a sense of injury. Yes, yes it has. Sugah’s was raided, and he’s been chased all over the city trying to help his mortal enemy, and then it turns out the Big Guy was dying except not really, and he’s been beat up by shock troopers, and he, he killed Chief Tightass—!

You’ve been through so much. More than any respectable business owner should, really. And who’s to blame for that?

Of course it’s all Conrad’s fault, he grumbles to himself. That little shit, putting those notes on his door saying that pleasure shouldn’t be the body’s sole motivator, as if Dan himself isn’t barely getting by on the illegal dribs and drabs of the smoothness of the Big Guy’s favorite pen, or getting his usual order of coffee served just right, the impersonal touches of a barber or a coworker, looking at old photos from college and remembering when times were better.

As if his mortal enemy had any right to come and lecture him, look down on him from his high horse of being oh so above the earthly pleasures Elias needed, Dan needed to get by!

I couldn’t agree more. It’s his fault you’re in this mess. His fault everything you’ve built is crumbling around you.

Why don’t you do something about it?

There is a weight in Dan’s hand.

When he looks down, he sees it’s a bit of pipe. Nasty, dirty thing, almost like he’s just picked it up off the ground. And so hard to focus on over that white glow in his chest—

Now, now, Daniel. Focus. The solution is at hand. Make Conrad Schintz go away, and everything will be better again.

The little shit is curled against a wall in front of him. His eyes are big and frightened. The DA has a firm grip on one arm so he can’t slip away like the rat he is.

Where’s…where’s…?

—ght it, please, Mr. Fucks! Mr. Fu—!

Go on Daniel. You’re a smart man. A business man. If you can’t use something to turn a profit, what do you do?

Dan feels himself walk forward, one leg dragging behind him slightly. It throbs in time with his heartbeat.

This is natural. This is right. Conrad should have died a long time ago, saved him and the others (what others?) the trouble of having to try and keep the snot-nosed brat alive. If it wasn’t for him, Dan wouldn’t be in this mess. This is just correction. How things were always meant to go.

Who cares if the little shit is crying? He’s doing that half the time anyway.

His arms are raising the pipe. His torso twisting for the perfect swing.

That’s right, Daniel. You get ri—

Dan Fucks smashes the pipe right into Mark Bition’s jaw.

The DA spins like a top, arms flying free. He drops like a stone, eyes rolled back in his head.

NO!

“You really think you can pull one over on me, hm?!” He rolls his shoulders, trying to shake loose the burn in his arms. “Think you can get away with your little tricks like you did with him?! I’m Dan Fucks!! My urges have urges, sometimes so strange yet pleasurable I barely understand them myself! And I have hated this little shit for so long, you think I’m going to just sit pretty with your stupid plans to just kill him and not show him how wrong he’s been?!? No, my friend, we are here for a revolution!! An uprising! Down with—ghhk!!”

The white light from his chest is almost blinding. It pounds through him, like the world’s most demented drum.

KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM

Dan grits his teeth around a scream. He needs to drop the pipe. His body won’t let him drop the pipe. Even just standing still, everything hurts—!

It’s not fair, he thinks dazedly. Donna’s the one who likes hard pain, not him.

He can hear Conrad and Justin shouting, as if from far away.

KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM

“Fu-Fucking run, you little shits!” He’s barely able to gasp out. “Go!! Can’t you see I’m—!”

There’s the almost pleasurable sensation of a solid blow to the back of his head.

As Dan drops into black, his eyes catch sight of a familiar pink coat, hands clutching a copper gun.

Imelda Pulse, he thinks nonsensically to himself as arms come around him, something warm and clutching behind him giving a boost of oxytocin before he hits the ground. Party of one.

He wakes up staring at the underside of Hunch Curio’s chin, the now almost familiar sensation of a cold steak cushioning his head.

Dan squints.

“Are you sure we’re not in heaven this time?” He asks, suspiciously.

Hunch’s head whips down to stare at him, and his face breaks into an incongruously delighted beam. “Oh, thank god! Guys, he’s back to normal again!”

There’s a flurry of activity and Dan’s headache immediately worsens in protest to all the figures crowding into his field of vision.

“Are y’sure?” Comes The Fix’s hard drawl, accompanied by a hard, if worried, stare. “Maybe we should ask him somethin’, just to be safe.”

“Mr. Fucks, what are your current thoughts on Conrad Schintz?” Anastasia looks as though she’s a second away from shoving her notebook in his face. “The readers of the Daily Observer would like to know.”

Dan grumbles, shutting his eyes. “He’s an obnoxious little shit. M’ mortal enemy. I’m going to drown this city in oxytocin one day, see how he likes it.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I, I think that means he’s okay?” Imelda pipes up. When he cracks an eye open again, she’s hefting the copper pistol in her grip. “I can always hit him again. Now I’m thinking about it. If someone doesn’t stop me, I’m hitting him.”

Dan lets out a throaty purr of a laugh. “Careful dear, I’ll need a moment if I wanna appreciate this properly. Try to get me across the chest, okay?”

Everyone above him exchanges a look.

“Yeah, he’s absolutely fine.” Anastasia proclaims, dusting off her trench coat.

“Mister, Mr. Fucks?”

Dan lets out a groan. Please, give him five more minutes before he has to deal with—

He blinks to see his mortal enemy kneeling next to him, eyes big and watery. Justin’s laying his head on Dan’s legs, looking sorrowful as only a dog can.

Conrad sniffs, one hand scrubbing at his face. “Mr. Fucks, I’m, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see him, I should’ve—! I’m sorry, I—”

“God, Conrad, this is why people want to kill you.” Dan complains. “The, the constant apologizing! Do you have any idea how annoying that is?! If you really want to make it up to me, make the Big Guy quit his job and get laid!”

Conrad squeaks, mouth opening and closing. He seems to have been shocked out of his tears. “I—wh—?! Well, quitting might be good, but, but we can’t just—! An, and, I’m not opposed to, to, to the Big Guy having a relationship, but it shouldn’t just be—!”

Dan tries to flop one of his hands onto the little shit’s head. He’s pleased when his arm obeys with no outside interference, scruffing the hat down onto his little head.

“The revolution’s coming soon, Conrad.” He croaks wisely. “We’ll fill this city with so much oxytocin and dopamine the Big Guy’s gonna be useless. I’ll be rich. Well. Richer.”

For some reason that makes the little shit giggle.

Dan takes his hat in retaliation when he retracts his arm. He places the slightly-too-small headwear over his face, affects a lounging stretch that makes the back of his head (and his ankle for some reason?) twinge slightly, settling more comfortably in Hunch’s lap.

“I’m taking a nap.” Dan Fucks proclaims. “Wake me when you need my help saving the city.”

He’s rudely disturbed a moment later when Imelda whacks his chest with the pistol.

[chipthekeeper]

MY hottest take is saw gerrera did nothing wrong ever and if he did do something wrong it was justified 🫶

SAW GERRERA DID NOTHING WRONG

Send me your hottest Star Wars takes because I'm bored!

[halseyfan128]

Do you think if Aemond didn’t lose his eye and didn’t claim Vhagar him and Rhaena could maybe be friends? Or maybe before ep 6 and if Daemon and Lana visited Kings landing once or twice, they are both in a situation where they don’t have dragons but really want one, Aemond mostly gets bullied for it, while Rhaena isn’t bullied but feels like she isn’t enough for her dad because her egg didn’t hatch meanwhile her sister is a bit more favored and is being taught high Valyrian(idk which one it was it’s been a hot minute since I watched ep6) while she’s there praying to god that her egg hatches. Idk if they did meet in Kings Landing and they just didn’t talk to each other or they said one word to each other.

Christ what time is it? I am tired, is this what happens when you pull an all nighter?

[thatrandomblogsays]

Low key want Aegon and larys and Helaena and Alicent to all run away to Essos purely so this can happen

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

I remember discussing Tintin casting choices with a friend from Germany and remarked how it was odd he often has an English accent in adaptations rather than a Belgian one, and my friend just replied "that's because Tintin gives incredibly strong English boy energy (derogatory)"

Here in the UK there's a lot of weird classism tied into accents. Today accent diversity and representation in broadcasting is actively pursued but in Tintin's time there certainly was a preferred accent to have.

imagine this exchange happens between pages 28-29 in The Crab with the Golden Claws

[lightseoul]

a/n. second time writing from bkg's perspective. this was so fun! (1.1k)

the moment that cemented bakugou’s resolve to marry you wasn’t exactly grand.

it wasn’t your first kiss.

or the first time you made love to each other.

not even the first time you met his nerd-ass friends or his (slightly) overbearing parents. although those two come as close runner-ups.

no, it was rather a random saturday morning after you spent a night at his place, now clad in what he thinks is nothing but your intimates and a burnt orange t-shirt of his that drapes loosely over your frame.

and as he enters the kitchen and closes the distance between the two of you with a few strides, he can’t help but wonder what you’re doing—deeply focused on your laptop—when you’re probably the one who’s extra pedantic about not bringing work home.

“morning,” he grunts, leaning down to kiss your cheek, which you happily accept. although, to his chagrin, your eyes remain on your computer screen, not even sparing him a single glance.

he knows it’s fucking embarrassing, how strongly you elicit feelings within him without you even fucking trying, but he can’t stop the frown that takes over his face even if he attempted to fight it.

shaking off the irrational disappointment from not even being ignored, he rounds the kitchen island and starts brewing the two of you coffee.

“by the way,” he starts, glancing at you over his shoulder, “the old hag’s birthday is coming up. she wants to have dinner with just the four of us, or some shit.”

“i know,” you simply pipe up from where you’re seated on one of his fancy bar stools, gaze still glued on whatever the fuck it is that’s keeping your attention from him.

he turns to you, a manual coffee grinder in tow. “you do?”

at that, you finally look up at him, an innocent expression etched across your features. “you don’t remember? i asked you when your parents’ birthdays were way back in march.”

way back in march.

back when you unanimously decided to decisively end the dating phase and become boyfriend-girlfriend.

“yeah?” is the only thing he manages to get out.

you let out a soft laugh that’s nothing but music to his ears. “yeah, dummy.”

before you can get to see the red that’s most definitely creeping up to his cheeks, bakugou turns his back against you, returning to busying himself with crushing the beans into fine powder and pouring lukewarm water into the machine.

only a few months before reaching a full year together, and you still manage to make him fucking blush.

over the most mundane things, too.

when he first got into his very first relationship with you at the ripe age of 28, he thought he’d outgrown and was way past the embarrassing shit that the human body was capable of when dealing with anything remotely close to romance.

it didn’t take him long enough into your relationship to find out he was so, so wrong.

sighing, he pours out the cup of ground beans onto the filter, finally pressing the button and bringing the coffee maker to life.

you must be done with what’s highly likely is work by now.

but chancing a glance at you, he’s once again met with palpable disappointment when the very same sight greets him.

before he can rein them in, the words come tumbling out of his lips.

“the fuck is so important on that laptop?”

his booming voice must’ve caught you off guard, because you startle ever so minutely in your seat.

“sorry,” he quickly adds on, albeit through a mutter; frustration with himself and his inability to modulate his voice added to the increasingly long list of emotions he’s having to fucking deal with right now.

waving him off, you shoot him another one of that disarming smile of yours. “‘s funny that you ask. i was just about to ask you for your opinion.”

with that, you gesture him to come close with your fingers. curious, he once again rounds the island, ultimately occupying the spot to your right and leaning down to peer at the small text on your screen.

before he can even get a word in, you hurriedly explain yourself. “mitsuki-san mentioned her personal sewing machine broke, so i’ve been thinking about getting her a new one.”

you point to a sleek, off-white model among what looks to be a vast array of selections, “i researched the specs and i think this one’s the best. what do you think?”

a million things course through his mind in an instant, but what he ends up sputtering out is: “you’re such a fucking nerd, you know that?”

at that, you look up at him, your seemingly perpetually moisturized lips now formed into a playful pout, and it takes everything in him not to just pull you in for a kiss and completely abandon the conversation in its entirety.

but he’d like to think he at least has the slightest bit of self-control.

even if you do wear him the fuck out on a daily basis.

“i just want to make sure it’s perfect!” you argue, shifting to stare at your laptop again and bringing him back to the present. your voice is way smaller when you continue. “…i want her to like me.”

he doesn’t even miss a beat. “she already fucking does, dumbass.”

and she really does.

the morning after bakugou first brought you to meet his parents a whopping two months into calling it official, mitsuki texted him something along the lines of having the family heirloom slash ring already adjusted to fit your finger.

he immediately called the old hag after receiving the message just to reprimand her ear off for being too fucking forward and for meddling too much.

but, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he was angry not because mitsuki was imposing, but because he couldn’t believe his mother beat him to that important realization.

the realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re the one.

and now, as he studies you as you scroll through more and more iterations of the best sewing machines on the market with your eyebrows adorably furrowed in utmost concentration, it dawns on him.

it dawns on him that that maybe just turned into a definitely.

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon

˖⁺‧₊ this one made me smile like an idiot while writing lmao. as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!

[greykolla-art]

Unstoppable villain, meet immovable agent of friendship!

I was wondering in what circumstances Charlie would just OFFER her soul to Al.

And he would short circuit as all his manipulation plans become unnecessary.

Cause Charlie cares about her friends and if they need help she won’t hesitate.

[fcthots]

Jason Todd with sharp canines that he accidentally nips you with all the time. At some point you kinda just have to shove your hand in his mouth to take a look and find out what the fuck he has in there that could possibly be doing this shit. He just sort of lets you without question and complains in muffled gibberish around your hand.

He does apologize profusely every time he knicks you though (and depending on what he was trying to do, he’ll lick or kiss it better). Unfortunately he refuses to do it on purpose.

But if you distract him enough with your hands tugging on the roots of his hair while he’s trying to leave a hickey… let’s just say he has a hard time focusing on being careful.

[irhabiya]

there's few things i hate more than people watering down what it means to be antizionist. it's in the fucking name. if you believe there's any capacity to reconcile palestinian liberation with the existence of israel you're not an antizionist, you might as well take that watermelon emoji out of your bio.

it is not enough to be "pro-palestine," we're over a year into a live broadcasted genocide, recognizing and denouncing the genocide and siding with its victims is the bare minimum and should be the standard at this point. after 15 months of live streamed genocide, you'd think that would prompt people to investigate what led us to this point, how we all failed palestinians, and what it means to truly stand by them, but no not really. some dumb fucking cunts really think they're well and truly antizionist by advocating for a ceasefire and politely asking israel to pull their rabid, bloodthirsty settlers out of the westbank. as if the settler colonialism started in '67, and the ethnic cleansing that preceded is always either left not acknowledged or outright justified.

palestinian liberation means the abolition of the settler colonial, apartheid nation state that is israel, and giving the land back to its rightful owners, nothing less, not even an inch less.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Desert Bandit - DubCon

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rules his tribe with an iron fist. Heartless, he's called. His soul as unmoving and unkind as the desert itself.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who prays to no God but the desert and her bleached bones.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who dreams every night of a woman, a lover as dear to him as water in the hamada.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who finds your caravan by pure luck. People seldom travel this route - the springs are fickle and even one dried well is a death sentence.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches from a distance, dipping behind the dunes if anyone looks his way for too long.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who hears the desert wind whispering in its sibilant way and knows this caravan is special somehow. Who calls his band together to raid you, even though they've already hit three camel trains in the last week.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who waits for nightfall before he brings steel and fire and choas down on you. Who revels in the blood he spills, each drop an offering to the desert.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sees a figure running from him, their cloak streaming behind them. Yandere! Desert Bandit whose blood is up, who wants nothing more than a good hunt.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rides you down, his scimitar close enough to cut your cheek before you dive away from him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leaps from his horse without even stopping her. Who looks to you less a man and more a jinn. How else could he be so quick and so cruel?

Yandere! Desert Bandit who catches your wrist as you swing your dagger at him, laughing like you're nothing but a hare in his trap.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sees your face and feels his blood turn to ice.

It's you. The woman from his dreams.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who realises suddenly that they were no mere dreams. No, they were a premonition, a promise. A gift from the desert herself.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who won't let his promised bride slip away, no matter how you twist and turn in his grasp. Who grips your wrist so tightly you have no choice but to drop your dagger.

Yandere! Desert Bandit with eyes rimmed in kohl, glinting gold with the reflected firelight. Glinting gold with lust.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who brings his sword to your throat and threatens to spill your heart's blood all over the thirsty sand if you don't come with him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who forces you onto his horse and is quick to climb up behind you. One arm wrapped around your waist so he can savour the curve of your body. A woman in his arms, his woman.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who calls to his men to meet him at sunrise so that he can steal a few hours with you.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who feels your hips rubbing against him in the saddle, no matter how fast or slow he rides. Who has to grit his teeth against his desire.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who smells of smoke and musk and blood.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rides almost half the night to bring you to an oasis.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leads you to pool of water and commands you to drink. Who watches the water drip down your neck and catch on your collarbones.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who has never been more desperate to lap up spilt water, even with a reservoir to infront of him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sits down in front of you and unwraps his litham. His hair is dark and smooth as oil. It falls past his shoulders and he gruffly tells you to brush and braid it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who wants to moan when he feels your nails running along his scalp and neck.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slowly turns to face you when you're done. He's on his knees like a supplicant and he doesn't even know it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rests his hands on your thighs. You fear the heat of him - his hands, his eyes - will surely burn you alive.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who offers you a choice. You can stay here in the oasis and he'll leave you as you are - virginal, untouched.

Or he can make you his bride. On this night, in this place.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches your breath hitch, who sees the doubt creep across your face.

Why?  You ask. Why not just take what you want?

Yandere! Desert Bandit who plays with your hair while he speaks. Who does it so absent mindedly that it's almost proprietary. Like he owns you already.

I can steal gold and jewels. I can steal the breath from a man's lungs and the life from his body. But this, this one thing, must be given willingly.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches your heart war within you. The desert has you trapped more tightly than chains or bars. Even in an oasis, you can't survive on your own. You need him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who holds perfectly still as you lean forward and kiss him. It's chaste almost, a shy press of your lips against his. And he's thinking that there'll be nothing chaste between you before the night is done.

You don't know it but a kiss given willingly is all he needs to appease the desert.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who lays his palm across the nape of your neck and pulls you back to him. Who bites at your lips until you give in and open your mouth. Who holds you in place when you try and pull away from his tongue and its ruthless advances.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who guides your hand to his cock and groans at just the touch of your fingers through his clothes. Who throws his head back and grits his teeth when you hesitantly stroke him, your hands so much smaller and softer than his own.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches you through the tangle of hair that's blown across his face. His little blushing bride. His desert prize.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who knows only roughness and cruelty. Whose first instinct is to throw you down and rip the clothes from your body. Who has to dig his hands into the sand to stop himself from doing just that.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who lays you down on the soft sand, the firelight casting his face in flickering shadow. There is more than lust there, though you can't see it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who runs his hands slowly down your waist, grabbing the fat of your hips before moving lower. Your thighs are squished closed and he works his fingers into your flesh until he practically pries them apart.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leans down and spits on your cunt and uses his fingers to work it in.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who clicks his teeth in irritation when you look away from him. Who grabs your jaw and guides you back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit whose fingers keep digging into your cheeks as he gets ready to enter you. He sees the doubt, the fear, the guilty lust in your eyes and he wants to drink it all in.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who tries so damn hard to be gentle and slow. But once he has the tip in he can't even try to hold himself back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slams himself the rest of the way in. Who snarls through his gritted teeth like an animal and digs his hands into the flesh of your hips.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who doesn't even register the way you scream or try and twist away from him. He has you now and he's going to fuck you hard and fast until he's satisfied.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who pounds into you with all those years of longing and lust and nights when he would have fucked just about anything because he dreamt of you.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who uses your hips to pull you onto his cock with every thrust. His escaped hair hanging around his face and his canines gleaming.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who hooks one arm around your lower back and literally lifts you off the ground so he can go deeper.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leans forward and bites into your tits. Hard enough to leave bruises that turn purplish blue by the morning.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who deep down in his conscious mind knows he's hurting you like crazy. But it's all animal instinct in control and he doesn't stop even though you're begging him to please stop, please, it hurts.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slams into you as deep as he can when he comes. Who forces a rough, biting kiss onto you even though you try and turn away.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who digs his hands into the sand next to your head and just spends a minute trying to get his breath back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who finally pulls out of you. Who slowly becomes human again.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who realises his bride is a crying, bleeding mess under him. Who makes you wrap your legs around his waist so he can slowly pick you up.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who walks into the water and holds you close as the blood and tears wash away.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who coos at you until you lift your head from his neck and look at him. He looks apologetic almost, but his gold eyes are still filled with want, with devouring lust. You are the bandit's bride and there's no escaping it.

He truly was the worst of thieves.

[ovegakart]

skimmed the Lore of fe; engage and theres NO LORE on where the rings came from. from my brief scan. just that dragons use them as weapons? doing whatever now then, link'll break him out somehow.

theres a previous part to this here

and now more here

[arrgh-whatever]

[eaissilyy]

Unused crib.

I swear I am very normal about this. AU where Marika once cares but it's not enough and her priority lies elsewhere. Here's the inspiration I wrote in company time because my ass was not working.

She looked at her children and thought despite everything how could I still love you. Why was there a place in her numb heart for these two when they resembled everything she hated. She threw them into the pit below and tried not think about it. But how could she? When she looked at the empty space where the crib used to be and thought how can I forget them

(There's the second pic as a treat because ?? They don't exist? Marika has never had a twin with Godfrey? Godwyn is an only child? There might be a locked room in the Sanctuary where servants are not allowed to peak inside, the key is hidden and the room forgotten. But that's normal, isn't it? Every palace has a storage of abandoned things all the time. So what are you talking about? haha I am obviously NOT crying.)

[knifearo]

being aromantic is like. hey btw you're going to live a life that is the culmination of most of society's worst nightmares. sorry lol ✌️ but then you turn around and take a really good hard look at it and it turns out that living in that nightmare is fucking awesome and you get to wake up every day and take that fear that other people have and laugh and hold it close until it's a great joy for you instead. and being happy is a radical act that you define instead of someone else. and you're sexy as fuck that's just a fact of life i don't make the rules on that one

[in-som-niyah]

Pressing the call button on Jason’s contact was the last thing he needed. You knew he was busy on patrol and you knew he couldn’t be coming back for something as trivial as your hurt feelings.

But just a phone call wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Jason?”

“Hey darling, everything ok?”

You hesitate and swallow hard

“Y-Yeah, yeah I was just calling to-“

“Tell me the truth.”

You try your damnest to stifle the sob that threatens to blow your cover, but Jason catches it anyway.

“I’ll be there in 10.”

[puppppppppy]

good morning sifloop nation