#not my best work but not the worst

[bylrndgm]

and if you ask me if i love him, i'd lie.

[bereft-of-frogs]

There’s that post that’s like ‘everyone should get into a tiny niche fandom at least once’ fully agree, that was really fun -- but I would like to add that everyone should get into a fandom where their opinions run counter to major fanon because it really teaches you about sticking to your guns and trusting your interpretation of the text without having to rely on peer validation

because WHAT are people talking about sometimes

[yujateaandpi]

Thought Fiddlestan was a purely comedic ship for a while but now I get it, I see the light. It’s about a man who nurtures and cares for others to the point of heartbreak meeting a man who doesn’t remember what it’s like for anyone to care about him. It’s about them being warm together around the absence of someone they both love. It’s about Fiddleford’s innate domesticity comforting a man whose deepest desire was to come home. It’s about falling in love with the same face again but in a new context that heals your past trauma. It’s about Stan’s unbridled affection finally validating someone who desperately needed the recognition. It’s also about very funny old man yaoi.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[mcondance]

nail polish — hobie brown

you’ve never been the type to be able to make decisions. everything's always so confusing to you, picking between this and that is always so stressful. and that’s why you and your boyfriend are a perfect match— he’s always eager to help, so you always make him decide what color nails you should get.

you hear your phone go off as you pull into the parking lot of the nail shop, tense shoulders smoothing down at the notification you know is from hobie.

. . . until you see the contents of his text.

it’s a video, sent with the message “this color”. you just know you don't see what you think you see. no fuckin' way.

what the fuck.

you press play. the still image of your pussy wrapped around your boyfriend's dick starts. no fuckin' way.

slaps ring out through your car, playing from your speakers, mixing with hobie’s groans and your fucked-out whines. god, do you really sound like that?

it’s recorded from hobie’s angle, cutting off right where your arch starts. you watch as the video plays— watch yourself throw your ass back onto hobie’s dick, watch hobie’s slim hips meet your ass, watch the hand that's not holding his phone grip your waist, pulling you back onto him.

there's a milky white ring around the base of cock, and every time you push off you reveal that the rest of his cock is covered in it, is covered in you. hobie's grunts and your whines send you right back to the day he filmed this, and for a second you swear you're back there, heavy chest filled with breathes that seem impossible to take.

"spread it, baby, lemme see that shit," and you do, reaching back with both hands to display your messy cunt for him, documenting for yours and his eyes the way you so eagerly swallow him up. you spot the color on your nails. it's hobie's favorite, probably the reason he picked up his phone to record. "she take me so well, she love me, i swear."

you shift in your seat. what the fuck.

"you know she do," you hear yourself purr through a smile— damn, you sound good. hobie gives you a smack on your ass in response, not pulling his hand off just to grip and slap your reddened skin again. you hear yourself make a sound that falls between a whine and a giggle. falling forward from his slap, you watch the screen turn black as he catches you.

"i got you, baby. lemme turn this shit off."

the video ends. you're left staring at yourself in black reflection of your phone. snapping out of it, you exit the video, shaking your head and huffing out a shaky breath.

"what the fuck hobie" you text back.

"what" "you asked me what color"

"whatever. i'll text u after 🙄" "we looked good in that video tho 😭😭"

"yeah we did. now go get them nails done."

[freefallintothevoid]

I believe in my heart of hearts that the Lego Batman movie exists in DC and that it was created by the batfamily as a way to throw off the conspiracy theorists

Maybe the superhero forums were getting too close to realizing their identities again. maybe one of their injuries had accidentally gotten spotted by the paparazzi. maybe they were just running out of plausible alibis. maybe they just wanted to be funny.

Bruce gave the world the "do the butts match" meme. His children give the world a cinematic masterpiece.

[copia]

endless ghifs 6/? ⛧ source — "So if you meet me, have some courtesy; have some sympathy, and some taste!"

[sadclowncentral]

i love when people get more loud and outgoing and happy to talk to strangers after having a drink or two it's fun to watch people come out of their shell however i am like that sober alcohol just makes me unable to mask my autism. which means partying with me is like this

friend: you were right man the people here are so cool i've made so many friend alrea- dude are you okay you are so quiet all of a sudden

me who has not blinked in 5 minutes: yes. can i please list aircraft designations in alphabetical order now

[fist-of-vengeance]

so what do we think fiddleford saw when he looked into the gremloblin's eyes? dude was so traumatised that stanford "oblivious to my assistant's emotional turmoil" pines took notice. it's what motivated him to INVENT THE MEMORY GUN IN THE FIRST PLACE. I'm honestly surprised i haven't seen more speculation about this

[k7ino]

forgot to post this here last night but,,hoffstrahm pikmin dads :3

[mishori-o]

Doodle requests? Umm.. Grian giving scars flowers maybe..

Boom get flowered

[ronnabyte]

sog more like soggy losers

[basslinegrave]

instead of holding this wip hostage forever, im just gonna post this version, maybe it will motivate me to finish it one day... i started it back in july and couldnt finish coloring it cause i dont like how the lineart ended up looking..... partially colored and a vers. with sketch under the cut

[trix1erose]

headcanon that jesse and lukas would have an apartment in central beacontown since their house is so far out itd probably be inconvenient with jesse’s job

[egginfroggin]

Sassy bluebird girl

[capseycartwright]