#i was struggling yall

[jadecantcreate]

Kremy Lecroux and Gideon Coal had forgotten they were a simple flinch, a passing breeze, a slippery hand, or a drop of rain, away from ruin, and that ignorance was the beginning of their downfall. Hubris and rage, greed and wrath…no matter its origin, sin leads to sin, and sinners attract other sinners. Whether due to chance or fate, two paths cross and intertwine, never to split again.

my take on how gideon and kremy first met & what led up to it! beta read by my beloved mutual @szaryherbatnik

its 6.2k words so a pretty short (but hopefully enjoyable) read, id really appreciate it if you checked it out! <3

[everyonesadoptivedad]

something something height difference something?

[arcanegifs]

500 likes on this post and I will make a Caitlyn Kirammountains gifset but S2 ASAP edit: congrats kirammountains enjoyers it is done (here)

[neostellarjpg]

"i hate davepeta they ruined davesprite's character arc!!" mfw the character burdened with their identity finds freedom and joy in allowing themselves to become a different person rather than remaining trapped as a "bargain bin" facsimile of their ideal self

[oliversgarden]

Maltober day 4!! Hospitals and Helping hand (:

How yall feel about a Frankensteinian human John who puts himself together (with the help of Arthur of course) piece by insufferable piece??

[saltmalkin]

cat spirit

[roach-master]

presenting the stupidest AU ever. the real hell is working in todays economy

[toxicgaysludge]

friend requested fiddlestan so enjoy these snoozing gay nerds cuddling, may comeback to this at a later date and color it

[goddess-of-green]

BotW Link Being a Quiet (and Sleepy) Drunk

(A/N:) Playing TotK and immediately my soul is being recaptured by Linky Winky

(Edit:) This draft is almost a year old! I started it the day TotK came out, lol

Contains: GN!Reader, could be interpreted as either botw or totk link, him being CUTE

Word Count: 474

Link's face pressed into the crook of your neck, having migrated a bit since he'd put his head on your shoulder earlier in the evening.

You smiled and lightly stroked his hair, which earned you a hum--the vibrations of which you could feel in your neck.

It wasn't like Link wasn't affectionate, he was incredibly affectionate when he's certain it's not unwanted. However, even with your constant prompting and encouragement for him to be more open with his displays of affection, he still always kept a respectful distance when you were around others.

You didn't take it personally, you knew it was just the way he was; and a part of you liked that his affection was reserved for just the two of you--that you were the only one who got to see him like that.

Still, that wasn't to say that you didn't like when Link was more open about his love for you, which was something often brought out by inebriation.

He's a quiet drunk, just as he is sober, and one might not think he's affected much at all by the alcohol, but you can tell.

You can see how his eyes linger on you for longer than usual, notice the clinginess that usually comes with him being in that state. And one thing that you loved was how he became more vocal.

Yes, he was a quiet drunk, but less quiet than when he is sober; and you relish in his soft sighs and hums as he nuzzles into your neck, unbothered by the presence of the others.

Zelda smiled at the sight of you two, but the others didn't seem to take notice. Sidon and Yunobo were in deep conversation, while Riju was idly talking about jewelry to Zelda.

Link wrapped an arm around your waist, hand settling on your hip. He seemed intent on keeping his face in your neck, and you recalled him once telling you that you always smelled good.

"Hmm..." Link sighed, squeezing your hip. You continued to stroke his hair.

Even though he became more daring when he was drunk, he'd still never touch you in a sexual way in even a semi-public context. You knew he just wanted to be closer to you. (Sometimes you wondered in amusement, if Link would attach himself to you, given the opportunity.)

Link looked sleepier than anything, and you brushed gently along his ears, coming to a decision.

"Everyone, it's been amazing to meet with you all and catch up, but I think it's about time we turn in for the night." You smiled, helping Link up, who neglected to let go of you. Whether due to trouble keeping upright or simply a desire to touch you, you didn't know.

Not that it really mattered. All you were worried about now was getting your boy to bed. 

[rui-drawsbox]

ruri,,, but in keyframes by @blank-house (again) ((help im obsessed this is not a joke))

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

[pandeesall]

daud wip i might never finish

[zevrra]

—will you?

finding out your beloved boyfriend is a virgin was not something you had expected, especially with someone like choso. he was pretty popular among women, although a little shy, and older than you; how had he never been in the situation before? and he tells you all of this with a straight face. a little red hue settling over his pale cheeks but nonetheless he’s serious about it. and serious when he’s holding your hand so tender and asking you to be his first. the question makes your heart pound in your chest but you nod, eager in more ways than one.

after his fingers leave your soaking wet cunt, he presses his head right up against where his fingers had been. a wild look in his eyes as he stares down at where your bodies connect before slowly sinking his aching cock inside of you. his hands are spread out on the bed you lay on, gripping the sheets like he might lose himself if he doesn’t, as his hips shyly begin to move. he tests the waters with a deep groan echoing from the bottom of his ribcage and you can barely keep your voice down too; moaning at the stretch of his cock as he buries himself deep inside of you.

and you had expected him to be a little more timid for his first time. taking things slower, figuring out what he liked and what you liked but you didn’t expect choso losing control.

like a flip of a switch, choso moves faster. he snaps himself forward, plunging into your core with a grunt. unable to hold himself back anymore as he fucks into your pussy with almost no mercy now. you gasp in surprise, ending in a broken off sob as his speed and the roughness of his thrusts picks up. he dives inside of you again and again. head hanging low enough that you can’t really see his eyes but it doesn’t matter as he stares right at where he fucks into you.

“‘s too fast baby! mmm p-please!” you cry but it falls on deaf ears. the pleasure is overstimulating at the sudden pace change and you can barely hang on. “choso wait—!” you beg but it’s too late as you cum, body tensing, back arching, as a wave of pleasure rushes through your body. you already know you’re making a mess but it finally gets choso to stop for a moment. thighs trembling as you cover your face with your hands and groan. “sorry baby i couldn’t…“

choso stills himself as he finally looks at your face. grabs one of your hands and pulls your fingers to his lips. he gently places reassuring kisses against your knuckles. “no, no i’m sorry. you feel so damn good i—lost control. you feel so fucking good...” he mumbles between kisses, twitching inside of you.

now it’s your turn to dawn a bright red blush across your cheeks. listening to him compliment you made you dizzy and drunk on his words. so you turn your head to the side, wrap your legs around his waist and pull him a little closer. “you can keep going…” you mutter in response.

your boyfriend smiles sweetly at you. gives your hand a gentle squeeze before slightly nodding. “if you’re sure.” choso says, kissing your knuckles once more before he links your fingers together, holding your hand as he begins to move again.

[cerealforkart]

Dungeons and Daddies | Episode 28: King of the Hell

@ghostlynotion said: "i liked the scene where glenn threw taylor (on the candy cane) but i don’t remember the episode number/name"

Not sure I'm married to this Glenn design but otherwise I'm quite happy with this one!

[choccy-milky]

So I've been re-reading "The Raven and the Snake" and I love Clora and Seb together. Unfortunately, I am not much of an artist - unless you count stick figures wearing top hats as art - but it has inspired me to get back into writing. So I guess my ask is, if I wrote something inspired by Clora/Seb, would you be okay if I posted it?

OMG YES YES OF COURSE!! 😭😭🧎‍♀️& gonna highjack this to say @magic-in-onyx is actually working on an older seb/clora curse-breaker story rn, and i consider it canon and got so inspired i drew a 5 page comic based on it that ill post along with it when its ready!!

heres one of my fav wip pages from it so far that i had to share BAHAH....bc i love angy protective seb what can i say💖....(her ao3 is mageonx go sub to her shes an amazing writer and altho the seb/clora story isnt out yet, she also has an amazing wip story called pearls of golden about MC saving a merman garreth from a poacher camp) ANYWAY ALL THAT TO SAY, YES ANYONE CAN WRITE ABOUT SEB AND CLORA/ANYTHING INSPIRED BY SEB AND CLORA AND ID LOVE TO READ IT BC IM SEB AND CLORAS #1 FAN AND WOULD LOVE TO SEE IT

[cubbihue]

POV: You somehow angered your lawyer.

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