#if u want i guess?

[rockore]

Plasma toxic yaoi real not fake

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

elita pep talk

[deadmaidclub]

i love these normal teens

[heavyheavycream]

feedist kinktober 26 : Olympian

goat faun and ram centaur AU

[infernal-lamb]

The Lamb Slaying Death Incarnate

(Part of a larger comic....but I sort of like this panel a lot on its own!)

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[barghest-land]

drawings from paleo expedition to dagestan, done right on the trip. sometimes messy when it was cold and rainy, but i won't correct it. i think it's cool to leave it just the way it was done, and not retouch it after. there will be more drawings later, but those will be done from home

[lucabyte]

i feel like people are sleeping on the occam's razor situation of how buckwild it is to outright accuse a guy of being a clone of your friend even if you DO have a lot of circumstantial evidence. there's other options is what im saying. they could just be like. a guy. that's a sensible deduction. you should explore that deduction. ignore my shirt that reads I <3 RED HERRINGS.

i still think odile has the correct theory on lock but she's smart enough to know it needs like... a real smoking gun to be able to bring it up without sounding insane.

anyway. (mirabelle voice) i know its rude to speculate but has anyone else noticed the grieving? they seem to be grieving. does anyone have any thoughts on the grieving? i have some thoughts on the grieving.

[lapdogchase]

if you ever think "why bother posting my spotify wrapped/apple music replay nobody really cares anyway" think of ME. I CARE. i love that shit i love seeing what music people like and how many minutes they listened to music etc. PLEASE post them i love it i love ittttt it's like a holiday for me

[ayilings]

they get groceries and krill someone

based on this meme

[turtledotjpeg]

[crazymecjc]

look at yourself… you’re the true puppet.

[special-mooon]

‼️ DO NOT SEPARATE ‼️

[puppppppppy]

act 4 :(

@chipper-smol and i came to a realization

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

like this, you feel a little like a lamb laid at an altar.

wrapped up in shimmering silk, a heavy sash tied around your waist, not loose enough to slip, not tight enough to beget discomfort — layers upon layers, a pure-white, nearly translucent shawl draped around your shoulders, jeweled pins gleaming between your locks like shells under water. a pile of molten rubies. the fabric weighs heavy on your bones; were you not sitting with your knees against the floor, you might have found it difficult to keep them from buckling.

but you are. seated on the elevated flooring in one of his temple’s chambers, wearing robes that suguru dolled you up with himself; reverent, in doing so, the very point of this occasion. or so he says.

biting at the inside of your cheek, you withhold a sigh. when he said he had a surprise for you, wearing such a blinding smile, looking so pleased with himself — well, you weren’t really expecting this.

(then again, that glint in his eye has never been a particularly good sign.)

and now you’re… exposed, for lack of better words. 

the centre of attention.

suguru’s voice echoes throughout the room, laced with intention, heavy charisma. low and commanding.

”worship your god,” he almost seethes, but you can tell he’s putting effort into keeping his vocal chords smooth, in maintaining his composure. ”worship them properly.”

before him, on the flooring just below you both, are rows of people in dogeza, tucked in on themselves, bowing deeply. his congregation, gathered just for you. murmuring, under their breaths, their foreheads nearly smushed against wooden flooring, a quiet whirlwind of whispers seeping in through the gaps. praiseful lulls, recited scriptures, pure worship.

… it’s an odd sight, if anything. you can’t help but squirm, discomfort gnawing at your bones. 

suguru seems to notice, because he speaks up.

”… are they not to your liking, my love?” he asks, curious, coaxing, syrupy sweetness on the tip of his tongue. his voice is so soft, when he speaks to you, it almost makes you feel at ease with the audience before you. he crouches down in front of you, bangs swaying idly. ”should they bow deeper…?”

an inhale of air. the room smells of incense, weighing on your veins, making you sleepy. ”n-no, it’s just —” you stammer, gnawing at your bottom lip, senses finding solace in the scent of lilies and magnolias on your robes. ”i feel a little… out of place?”

a hum, buzzing at the base of his throat. then, a raspy chuckle. ”… you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

suddenly, he’s bowing too — leaning forward, until his forehead nearly meets the floorboards, hands planted firmly against them. so handsome, from this angle, the bridge of his nose catching a glint of light from the lamp above him. glancing up at you, with a smile that only makes your heartbeat sputter further. 

he curls a hand around your leg; slipping his fingers under the fabric, until your ankle is exposed. slowly, tenderly, he noses at the spot, angles his face to press a kiss there. a whispered lull of his tongue.

”this is the treatment you deserve.”

your breath hitches, in the back of your throat. feeling his warm lips on your bare skin, against such a vulnerable spot, just below your sensitive achilles tendon. despite his calm demeanor, his soothing voice, your nerves are roused — eyes darting to the rows of men and women on the floor, still kneeling dutifully. they aren’t looking at you, diligent in their murmuring, their silent prayers, but you still feel so thoroughly exposed, like they’re seeing something that should be for the two of you alone — suddenly suguru’s lips are moving, as if he’s intent on worshipping every inch of you, and —

”s-sugu—” you squeak, scooting away, gaze shying from his own — a hushed whisper spilling from your parted lips. ”i don’t want them here.”

… that gets his attention.

honeyed, amber eyes suddenly harden. a crack down a frost-slicked lake, a sudden drop in temperature. it’s as if a switch is flicked; his face settling into firm lines, left eyebrow giving way to a twitch.

and he stands up. sharp, low-lit eyes gazing down at his congregation with a tight-knit expression.

”out,” he orders, a razor’s cut of his tongue. ”at once.”

a voice as clear as the toll of a bell, hiding no intention. it rings out from the depths of his throat, echoes behind his teeth and above the gathering of people at his feet. cold and jarring. even you aren’t entirely unaffected by the dominance he exudes, like this; you count yourself lucky to never be at the other end of it, to always be met with the sun’s glow and not the sting. the room goes eerily silent.

before you can blink, his followers are dispersing, like a flock of ravens — or a group of cornered mice — rising to their feet, and leaving the room. scattering away, though not before bowing once more.

you exhale, in relief. 

it’s easier to breathe, when it’s just the two of you. even though the incense makes your eyelids heavy.

”forgive me, my darling,” comes his voice, as he crouches down to meet you at eye level again, cradling your face with both hands; gaze warm and slick with sweetness, lips meeting yours for a kiss. 

a cube of ice against a furnace. you melt into his touch. 

”i don’t know what i was thinking,” he clicks his tongue, voice sinking an octave — you can taste the bitter hints of his displeasure even when he pulls away. ”making you watch those bugs prostrate themselves. no, that just won’t do…”

regret clouds his sunsoaked eyes, smudges them at the corners. coal on soft linen. he looks beautiful, like this — silky, raven locks like a river flowing down his shoulders, eyebrows furrowed and lips dipping out into the slightest frown. a pleasant storm, in his expression, the way he sculptures himself for only you to see — but then the warmth, his hands against your face, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones. you picture him plucking apples from an orchard and feeding them to you, slice by dutiful slice. 

”i-it’s okay.” another kiss, in between your words. as if he’s still apologizing. ”i appreciate the thought, but… i don’t need to be worshipped, you know?”

a sudden silence.

(a familiar glint, in his golden eyes.)

the corners of his lips heave themselves up, like the branches of a ginkgo tree. his voice is ripe with mirth. 

”… oh, but you do.”

before you can figure out what that look even means — his heavy hands are slipping down, down, and he’s leaning forward to press his lips against the fabric of your robes, a kiss above your breast. your heart.

then he’s pulling away. standing up, leaving you blinking, a fawn in front of a chain-link fence. 

suguru steps down, the soles of his sandals meeting the flooring in front of you, his broad figure taking up the empty spot his followers left behind. with practiced ease, an elegance you cannot help but watch in mesmerized silence, he bows —

deeply, knees hitting the floor. hands clasped together in silent prayer.

and then he smiles, again. 

a shaky breath leaves your lips. his hand reaches forward, slithers around your ankle, fingers curling around your foot and coaxing it forward until your leg is ghosting against his broad thigh. you can only blink, feeling the pumping of your heart just beneath your throat, warmth blooming from the tips of your ears to the fat of your cheeks. he kisses your ankle, as if picking up where he left off — and meets your flustered gaze with nothing but sunlight.

molten lava. heat. 

(reverence, reverence, reverence.)

”well, then,” he breathes, eyes glinting under dim lights. ”allow me to worship you properly.”

[kingfuc]

Some quick outfit doodles ✨