#my holds aftermath

[mojoomojojo]

aww didn't i tell you you needed to learn to ask for the potty? now look what happened, you made a mess of yourself.

you do look awfully cute all blushy and drippy though. my poor baby couldn't hold it in could he~

I tried to ask!!! I did!!! i just, you just, I, it, I.....

😖😖😖😳😳😳 I.....

I couldn't hold it yeah. It was too much!!!! M sorry. I'll clean it up and myself up to and get into bed.....

[lleclerc]

iceman + his concern for maverick post-hop 31

[bizlybebo]

trying to stop myself from drawing winters family as ivan the terrible and his dying son

[akirenhell]

FUUUUUUUUUCK, WHY IS NINE INCH NAILS' WOODSTOCK '94 PERFORMANCE SO FUCKING GOOODDDODODDLJHKJHBGKJHLVLJHVJG

[gmaybe666]

this composition came to me in a vision while sketching and I had to make it real

[stars-n-spice]

I need to lock these gay ass motherfuckers all in a room.

For science.

[commitmentissue]

the family also found a new home! a former survivor base that had been overran by zombies, it has everything they need and ~more~. including a basement they haven't been able to get into yet, but so far they haven't heard anything, so i'm sure it's fine!

[raddestrose]

Whooo I’m mad stressin about round seven

But I do know that the bass will be FUNKY

[peaches2217]

I have so many varied and fun WIPs I could work on but my brain continues to scream “BE WEIRD ABOUT CHILDBIRTH! SURELY YOU WON’T WEIRD ANYONE OUT IF YOU KEEP WRITING ABOUT CHILDBIRTH!” and I’d like it to sTOP

[mojoomojojo]

aww good for you sweetie pie. we're all proud of you~ have a nice evening! <33

🥰🥰 Thank you!!!! So much!!!! ahh!!! gosh! I will And thank you for helping!!!!! you have a good evening too <3

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

Alistair: So I'm not going with you, I see. Any particular reason? Tabris: I'm not going to risk you getting hurt, Alistair. Alistair: And you think I want you going in there and sacrificing yourself? You think I want you to die!? But there's no use arguing with you, is there? We don't have time... and you are a stubborn, stubborn woman. Tabris: You would do something foolish. Alistair: Maybe… I guess we'll never know now, will we? I guess this is the last chance we'll get… before this is finished, one way or another. Be careful in there. Tabris: I love you, Alistair. Alistair:

Guess who made the ultimate sacrifice...?

Me. It was me.

I made the ultimate sacrifice.

The achievement wasn't worth it.

[starbuck]

with respect to myself, this whole “i need to wait till i’m out of school to date,” “i need to wait till i’m more historically, politically, and culturally educated to date” is all bullshit. it’s the top surgery. that’s the holdup. they chop these tits off and i’m ready to go.

[miramisaki]

33(???) days until Charlie...

[at-sabohteurs]

thinking about one dr martha jones tonight

[luna-light-eclipse]

YOU SAID YOU HAD NO ASKS AND IM FIXING THIS.

LITTLE TRAVELLER WOLF. remember. I Do. i remember everything, luna. And am i still thinking about the light-suppression cuffs and the moths and the Eliksni and--

Think about it again,,, always bleeding a liquid light, trying to stop the hatchlings from trying to eat it (still crying). the family that basically adopted them while they were out of it, and who they stayed with when they were themself again. the wolf plushie...

I never forget,,,

Saladin watching someone he’s always seen as a powerful warrior deteriorate into something almost akin to a child but it is not quite that either- no it is something else, something wrong. A slow acting poison ending in death set upon Wolf by the people they should have been able to trust the most.

Do you remember Wolf in the wilds? Travelling alone to a destination they don’t remember? Resting in hunter hideouts they had made or been trusted with, admiring the light of the stars, and the moths of course.

The Traveller only wanted its favoured guardian back, taken from it for being too good, too powerful. It can do nothing but give away as much as it can until its power is warping the foundations of Wolf’s body and soul into a form that cannot remember itself. Saladin looks upon Wolf whose arms glow with bright white Light, whose fingertips are ever so slowly beginning to melt into nothing. At the near ever-present liquid Light tears running down one side of their face out from under freshly replaced bandages. Their body is covered in fissures, bodies shouldn’t do that they think- for a moment until the very capability of thought is gone again.

This Light is a gift. Each time Wolf looks upon their wounds they know that they are loved. This Light is a gift that leaves everyone questioning if Wolf is even human anymore. They can see through walls, hear what no one else can. The Traveller speaks, they alone hear it.

Then once they are free from their quite literal shackles they remember the hands that stemmed their bleeding, who cried once their blood stopped running red, who walked them through the city and bought them the one thing they had ever wanted.

Eliksni arrive to the city and Wolf can feel the Traveller welcome them, even if the humans do not. It is awkward, always, for they worship the traveller and it’s Light is Wolf’s body. There is little else left. Though they are not alone in their stilted interactions with Wolf- no one is quite sure about how they are supposed to speak to them, to the one the Traveller loves. Except for the ones who held them together when no one else would, those ones still treated them as human.

The Eliksni endure the animosity thrown at them. Ask for nothing from no one. They have endured, they do not need gifts to survive. But the Traveller still answers their silence, through Wolf’s voice it tells them that they’ve found peace, finally, they’ve done good, they can have the Light now.

…But not in so many words, Wolf has never been one to speak after all. Let everyone decipher their actions instead.

[trevisos]

beneath the cut is a xarrai/astarion wip i’ll probably never finish but still stands alone as a nice little piece. please enjoy :)

His heart beats in his dreams. It always has, as long as he can remember dreaming - as long as his reverie has been stripped from him, the whole breadth of his unlife. He hardly notices it, the thrum of life beneath his skin, this aberration born of a mind that still aches for life centuries after its end. His heart beats and beats and beats until he opens his eyes and finds it stopped. When he wakes from nightmares like the one he’s had tonight, a twisting mess of shrill voices and red eyes and collapsing stone, the sudden stillness still sends icy panic down his spine. For a moment he lies motionless, unbreathing, until the dream recedes and the last orange embers of the firelight burn through his eyelids and, slowly, he lets the cool mountain air fill his dead lungs.

“Bad dreams?”

Astarion nearly jumps out of his skin at the unexpected voice. He sits up, and there Xarrai is: perched high on a rock, cutting an unusually graceful silhouette against the star-drenched sky. He manages to compose himself, pushing his curls back out of his face and mustering his best indignant huff. “What makes you think that?”

The near-dead fire casts just enough light that his vision can’t properly adjust, and so Xarrai is more phantom than man sitting above him, one knee pulled up to their chest, the other leg dangling off the rock next to their swaying tail. “The thrashing was the first clue.” He doesn’t have to see their expression to know the smug tilt of their lips. “And you look dreadful.”

“I do not!” He reflectively snaps. He starts to turn away, but then they laugh and his eyes are dragged back toward them of their own accord. Even this far apart, the perfume of their skin is overwhelming, all salt and wood and dark vanilla, tempered by the earthy smoke that clings to their hair and the sharp metallic tang of blood. His first, his senses remind him again and again, his first.

“No, I’m just fucking with you,” they lilt. “Come sit a while, if you’re not going back to sleep.”

A glance at the state of his bedroll, with its twisted covers and crumpled pillow, tells him they are not, in fact, “just fucking with him.” He scowls. “You’re just lying to make me feel better,” he sniffs, but it doesn’t stop him from clambering up the stone to sit beside them in the moonlight. The valley below opens up impossibly wide, washed blue by the night air. He kicks a pebble and watches it bounce and roll until it finds the lip of the vast maw and disappears into the blue night.

“Of course I’m lying,” Xarrai says, flicking open the little black and gold case sitting on the stone and retrieving a cigarette rolled in black paper. “But it’s bold to assume I’m doing it for your benefit, sweetheart.” Astarion watches perhaps more closely than he should as they clamp the thing between their lips and light it with a lick of blue arcane flame from their hand. They meet his eyes with a knowing smile. “Maybe I’m just incapable of telling the truth.”

“Oh, that’s not in question, '' mutters Astarion, tearing his eyes from the scar across their cheek, silver in the moonlight. The memory of his heartbeat still buzzes in his chest, and he tries in vain to rub a little warmth into his frozen fingers. Despite the summer heat in the lowlands, the night air is cool and crisp this high into the mountains. “What are you doing up this late, darling?”

“You want one?” They nudge the gilded box toward him and glide past his question. “These ones are only tobacco, I’m afraid, but it’s better than nothing.”

The game the two of them play, this endless dance of deception and seduction, demands Astarion press them for an answer. It demands he chase the lie and pretend it is the truth. And perhaps he would if the sun were up, if his empty chest didn’t ache, if he weren’t so godsdamned cold, if there wasn’t a tadpole in his head and the smoldering ruins of a monastery filled with charred corpses behind him, if, if, if.

He takes the last cigarette without a word. They conjure another arcane flame to light it, leaning in close and resting their other hand on the back of his neck. In the blue light, he sees nothing but dark circles under bright eyes and a dusting of freckles across scarred skin.

This is more honest, anyway.