#sry that this was eaten!!

[felassan]

I was responding to an ask and tumblr ate it. 😔 but it was something like:

falondin05 said: hello! all's well? I hope so. I would like to know if you think new races will be introduced in DA:D (not to be playable but just to add to the already vast lore of DA). For example, the Scaled Ones mentioned in The Descent. A reptilian race that lives underground. Or the Executors... are they another race? what do you think?  

hello! I'm well thanku, same to you ◕‿◕ I could definitely see a world where a new mysterious group like this, rather than being actually seen by us in-game is mentioned in a codex entry somewhere or something, it's happened before. it would also be neat to learn a bit more about the existing ones. like what's the deal with the Scaled Ones, and who are the Fex who are rarely seen outside of Par Vollen? what about the Parladian nation and the Voshai with their ships captained by dwarves? the lore is vast like you say and there's a lot of interesting threads and enigmatic factions.

given the appearance of one in Tevinter Nights and what their role in the last story there was, their interest in and knowledge of the Dread Wolf's plans etc, I rly hope we meet an Executor or two in the game and find out more about them!! (๑*ᗜ*) my crack theory about the Executors since reading TN (smell of the sea..) the first time is that they were made by or are otherwise connected to Ghilan'nain. (prepared to be hilariously wrong though & excited to find out more regardless). my other thought some time ago was wondering if they were connected to the 'triangle people' faction (because.. triangles), but since we learned that the 'triangle people' are Veil Jumpers, I'm not sure how likely I'd guess that to be anymore.

[i-like-forcefem]

Your writing leaves me feeling so squishy and tingly. It brings back the memory of a friend of mine who once joked about dressing me up, doing my makeup, and painting my nails. She was really insistent but I laughed it off at the time and she backed off. But I remember the butterflies in my stomach and my heart pounding like "is this actually happening?" Reading your posts gives me the same feeling. And...is this jealousy I feel? Regret? Disappointment that somebody hasn't tried to forcefem me since?

It's probably nothing, right?

It’s definitely nothing to worry about dear!

And I’m so absolutely flattered that my posts make you feel that way! Now come here so we can see what nail polish looks best on you!!!

[achivement-unlocked]

Achievement unlocked!

Unbind and rebind

Change the binds

@hypabeasts-ask-terminal

[irritablepoe]

do i drink tonight? there's probably a 50/50 chance that i'll get funny OR i get even more clingy and grumpy than i already am... so idkkkk

[hontou-baka]

god damn i love the food i make. chickpea 'tuna' melt w/ a beet and potato soup... ya cant beat a good soup and sandwich combo!!!

[antique-forvalaka]

I think i just doomed myself

[lighthouseas]

tumblr being the Very Functional Website that it is and not moving my follower count after i gain 2 followers

[svckpuppy]

genuinely our roommate is th most hilarious woman alive. grl kill yrself

[clems-corner]

super weird feeling to be in the midst of a bad episode slash relapse and just be doing. normal ass shit. like fuck this man why i am i doing laundry when there are voices and Patterns

[yumenosakiacademy]

THIS IS THE LOWEST IVE EATEN IN LIKE 4EVER?? like.. not even hitting anywhere Close 2 2000 either. a rar!ty... this will never happen again methinks. but its amazing even if 4 1 day nonetheless.

[ashtreelane]

if i dont get a zupas ultimated grilled cheese in the next two seconds i m goin g to kill a hostage

[cin3maa]

HIIII!!! HIII HELLO

Hair render practice (I drew Tomi in magma and Cin in procreate)

[a03heralding]

Bg3 blunt rotation headcanons:

Karlach: does not stop fucking laughing. She’s def wheezing at a joke she overheard in a lesbian bar three and a half years ago while in the middle of a sentence. The type who starts a story and ends up laughing so hard she can’t finish it.

Halsin: mellow as hell, is always encouraging the group to go for a nice walk somewhere while stoned to shit. Will he pass out or will he be caressing the flowers in his backyard? No one knows.

Shadowheart: Sis is asleep after a joint or a few hits from the bong. Is likely sleeping on Lae’zel’s shoulder with a blanket around her. We love her for that tho bc she looks so cute.

Jaheira: she is forreal trying to tell you that we’re all living in someone’s sims save or how aliens made the pyramids. Also always pulls up to the session at the most random times.

Lae’zel: when she does smoke she usually ends up tripping the fuck out and is staring at the wall like a dog that’s accidentally eaten an edible. Doesn’t partake anymore but will come and chill and act as Shart’s personal resting post.

Astarion: the one who is chatting the most shit, probably has the joint in a cigarette holder like curella de’vil. The main source of Karlach’s laughter. Is also constantly asking for Nicki Minaj songs to be added to the Spotify queue.

Wyll: straight up vibes, is probably hogging the snacks to himself tho but he’s busting jokes and laughing with Karlach about stupid shit

Gale: the person in charge of the playlist and the only one who can actually roll. He is very particular about the music bc he believes it sets the mood for the high. Is constantly denying Astarion’s request to play Chun li but puts on random shit like khazakstani jazz

Minthara: enabling Astarion’s shit talking and spilling the piping hot tea. The least faded out of all of them (except lae). Has a screenshot folder that she shows astarion so they can be shady.

Aylin: she’s productive when she’s stoned, is likely cooking something or has gone for a jog/ doing a task while wearing her socks/ Birkenstock combo

Isobel: the mom friend who is making sure everyone is drinking water and is getting fresh air while fried.

Withers: the za dealer. You have to go to his house and he only sells a min of 6gs at a time. Usually chilling and trying to hide his weed plants from the cops bc his neighbours are snitches ngl

Minsc and boo (sry I be forgetting): Brings his hamster to the function bc he doesn't want him to be lonely and believes that his best bud deserves a toke as well. Boo is a literal fucking menace and bites those who object to giving him any. There is literally always an argument bc of this but Minsc is ready to fight for his child.

[joelhoney]

do u take requests? if u do, could i have an outbreak au where reader rides joel in his truck? thank u! i LOVED #1 girl btw

open road

wanted to practice my writing skills again so here! :)

warnings: 18+ !!!! smut, pwp, implied age gap, feminine reader, daddy kink sry, pet names galore

“One of the guys called you scary.”

The sky is dull, something bland and colorless in-between blue and grey—something that’s become a norm. A clear, cloudless sky comes once every few months if a trickle of luck happens to dwell upon the area, but even for a pair that travels as much as you and Joel do, the memories of that kind of weather have become few and far between. Joel is grown, though, and he’s wise, and he knows there isn’t any good that comes out of complaining over something as trivial as this.

Anyway, he’s got a whole little ball of sunshine beside him, feet propped up on the dashboard clumsily.

“Hm. What’d you say?” He grunts back, trying to hide how the comment has begun to make him think. He’s not new to the entire scary bit, but every time the comment arises he finds himself wanting to know your thoughts, if you agree, if you know he doesn’t mind the reputation as long as you find him the opposite.

“I said no, you’re just old.”

You’re in your socks because you hate the weight of the boots you wear, and you’re wearing one of his old shirts, from years and years ago, thin with wear and the collar cut off so it hangs across your collarbones. It’s your favorite, this ratted brown color with a band on it that performed when you weren’t even born yet, you think. Joel likes this one, too, he won’t tell you just how much; he just hopes you don’t pick up on the fact that he fucks you all the more harder whenever you wear this around him.

“I’m not old, sugar.” 

“You are old. Older than me and the guy who said you were scary.” A lithe hand comes twisting at the grey hairs on his temple. He tuts and you pull back, giggling out an apology. “When’re we getting there?”

“Slow down. The open road is a blessin’, don’t you think, sweetheart?” To Joel, everything is a blessing in the height of such an uncertain time—a blessin’, in his vernacular, his drawled-out twang. It’s his turn, now, to reach across the console and wrap a hand around your thigh. It tickles, and you tense through the material of your jeans. Sometimes you wonder if you can wear your dresses on tasks like these, ones not so high in urgency, but with a destination nevertheless. You want a clicker gnawin’ off your leg, be my guest, he said once, and that was that.

“I guess,” you muster half-heartedly, fingers skating along the expanse of Joel’s hand. Two of your fingers align with one of his own. Outside the scenery is mostly grey, barely green, lifeless, but interesting anyway, the ruins and the rot, blatant reminders of what you’re all living in the thick of.

You swallow and wrap a hand around his wrist. “Do we need to be there now?”

He huffs out this laugh between exasperation, and quickly he presses two fingers to the crotch of your bottoms. “So soon?” He’d just eaten you out before you left less than two hours ago, the hem of your shirt stuffed into your mouth so nobody would hear. You buck up into his hand, which has now left, and whine lowly in your throat.

“That wasn’t fair,” you bemoan, chasing his hand. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. 

“I’m jus’ try’na enjoy the road, dove. Back then, this’d be drownin’ in traffic. People beatin’ the five-thirty rush. Now it’s jus’ you and me.” He hums some song, this soully little thing, one he likes to sing on the road when it’s just you in the car. If anyone else tags along, he’s silent. 

“Jo-el,” you whine. “No fair. You got me all wet.”

He sucks air in through his teeth, pats you lightly on the smooth surface of your cheek without even having to spare you a glance. “Be patient with me, sweetheart. We need to get there in time.” There’s an edge to his voice, hardened a bit; he’s not reminding this time, he’s warning. You pout and peek out the half-cracked window. Open road and the dim horizon, no sign of the building you’re supposed to stop at.

“Fine.” Your voice comes out like a sneer.

He clicks his tongue. “I said patient.”

“I am being—” you huff, crossing your arms and lowering your feet noisily. “It’s not fair that you touched me and then won’t even let me—let yourself—whatever.” You shuffle, bumbling irritatedly by yourself for a minute. 

If you ask Joel, some of his best moments come from getting you to behave.

Because you are virtually impossible to wrangle into some semblance of obedience. It used to be next to impossible to even get you to shut up, but over time it got easier—thumb on the pad of your tongue, knee shoved in-between your legs, hand wrung into your hair. Just like that, and you’re his pliant little baby again. If you ask Joel now, he’d sigh contentedly, say how proud he’s become that you’re no longer the bratty minx you once were.

But that would be a lie, he figures, once he hears the exaggeratedly breathy moans from his right.

He doesn’t need to look to know what you’ve wrapped yourself up into, your hand shoved into your unzipped jeans, rubbing slow circles along your pussy. It probably doesn’t even feel as good as it sounds, even if you make noises with everything he does to you. Feels so good, Daddy, you whisper into the air, and he trails a hand down to squeeze himself through his jeans.

“How good, baby?” He grunts, eyes flitting over to you. You, in that goddamn t-shirt and everything, looking delicious enough to eat. He’d told you once never to wear shit like skirts and dresses, but God the amount of times he hoped you’d wear them anyway, so he could bounce you up and down on his dick and have you barely undressed. He swears he has dreams of his favorite pink number, the one that barely even touches the middle of your thighs, tied at the back with a pretty ribbon. He loves tugging on that ribbon, watching the material loosen around you so he can grope you up and make you both feel nasty, listen to your jagged moans of daddy, don’t rip the dress while he’s toying with your clit.

“Not enough,” you say breathily. “S’your fault.”

“Mine?” He echoes with a grunt. “You’re the one whorin’ herself out t’me for a lick of my attention, baby girl.”

“Please, I’m—just a minute,” you heave out, voice wet and desperate. He wonders what’s gotten you this antsy, this restless, this needy for a taste of him. The thought gets him harder than ever, and before he even thinks to palm himself, your tiny hand is already there, and he’s shuddering from it. You know him so well, know exactly what to hold, exactly what to touch to get him to give in.

“Jeans,” he orders, eyes zeroing in on a blank patch of grass to swerve into.

Your jeans are loose already, and you barely have to shimmy before they hit the floor of the truck, tiptoeing your sock-clad feet out while he parks and wrenches his seat to a semi-lying position, dragging you over to him to sit on his lap, your thighs quivering on either side of his jeans.

You adjust yourself so the thick of his cock is pressed directly to your panties, and grind forward. He stops you, his hand coming down to slap against your half-bare ass. “I just wan’ed to get to the damn meeting on time, get the shit we needed, and go the fuck back to the zone.” Another spank. “Do you have to be such a goddamn brat, sweetheart?”

“I just—I needed you,” you half-lie, the lace of your pretty underwear delicious friction with what little movement you’re allowed. “Even wore the pair you like, Daddy.”

“Yeaaah, you did.” He sucks air in through his teeth, watching your cunt swallow the thin material of his favorite pair of yours. Pink and lacy, looted from a mall two cities away. “You know Daddy can never resist her, can you?” He thumbs roughly at your pussy, coercing the panties through your folds. “You know he’s dyin’ to fuck ‘er real bad, too.”

“Need it, I need it,” you babble, your movement causing the shirt to droop off. He gropes at your barely-covered chest, a low growl thrumming out of him. 

“What’s got my bunny all revved up, huh? Your energy beats the truck’s damn engine.” He lifts you up so he can let you drop onto his cock, bullying his tip into you until tears sprout at your eyes from the size of him. He’s always going to be huge, and it’s always going to be a whole thing, having to bottom out inside.

It helps that you’re wet, sopping and dripping onto his cock, his balls, his spread thighs, your own inner thighs—your slick is everywhere and it’s obscene. Every movement either of you make causes a squelching sound to resound across the stale space of the truck. “Fuuuck,” he grunts, watching your cunt swallow him whole. “I love this pussy, you know that, honey? Could lick her up for days, mark it as mine. Bully her when you’ve been bad.”

“I haven’t been bad,” you protest highly, eyebrows knitted and pink lips bitten. “You really are scary.”

“But you like it, don’t you?” He places two decisive hands on your hips and thrusts upward, so hard your head almost hits the roof of the truck. “Like it when Daddy’s a l’il bit scary, sugar? Like it when he spanks you, plays around with you a tiny bit? Hmm?”

Ah, ah, ah, uh, mmmf are all the sounds your mouth can produce, drunk on his huge cock, fat and splitting you in half. Ye yea yeah yeah please yes Daddy love it, you moan, each whimper punctuated by the tip of his dick kissing your cervix. You do love it when he’s bossy, a bit scary. He knows so. He knows how wet you get when he’s got your chin in his hand, cheeks smushed together. How much you drip onto the sheets when you’re bent over, spread open, and he’s deciding which hole to fuck.

“Makin’ a beautiful mess on my dick, baby, come on, give it t’me. Give Daddy your cum, I’ll give you mine back, won’ I, princess?” His gruff voice is demanding and rambling and all at once, you’re beginning to convulse around him.

“Close,” you whimper, “gonna cum, Daddy—”

“Yeah, come on, that’s a good bunny,” he grunts as you begin to gush slick around him. “Daddy’s gonna give you the milk you’ve been wantin’.”

[sashayed]

"why would king charles commission this portrait" listen man idk but as someone born inside the spiked crown of the death machine, as someone whose kindergarten classmates were the heirs to the american empire, i suspect that the very privileged cannot imagine how to take responsibility but DO want to tell you that they know they should. sometimes powerful people want to believe that acknowledgement is as good as atonement, or that recognition is as good as reparation. the "sry 😔" of royal portraiture. i think plenty of the old men who pilot the dragons gnawing the heart of the world are HOPING to dissolve into a fine red mist. i think they know that fading into their own bloody ancestral legacy is probably the kindest fate they can ask for. they are glutted and exhausted and full of flesh and they know it's their turn to be eaten, but still, they'd really rather you do it symbolically. "look at this painting, isn't that enough? isn't that what you wanted? will you please stop being so angry now?" edit of course also he might simply be very stupid

[didderd-reblogs]

o boy o boy o boy hehe! ty for writing this. i feast, and offer a feast in return uwu) (previous CWs still apply here)

Snaps almost doesn't recognize the monster that pounces on the one that had jumped at him.

but after taking a few more steps back to ensure he's a relatively safe distance away while the monster goes to town on the other's throat, the image of Kelek's face covered in blood after defending himself from his attacker flashes through his head, triggered by the sight of what he realizes now is the Kelek of this au's face covered in the dog monster's blood.

a wave of mixed feelings washes through Snaps. excitement at meeting another Kelek, shock after seeing a Kelek kill without being attacked first, mild arousal at how this Kelek dealt with that monster in such a quick and feral manner, but mostly concern for this version of his boyfriend.

seeing the face of his boyfriend so skinny and pale, and with wounds stitched and unhealed, even missing half an ear, put a pit in Snaps nonexistent stomach. not to mention, neither of the Keleks he'd met could hurt a fly unless it attacked him or the people he cares about. his Kelek can't even do damage with his magic. so this Kelek attacking so easily, and even using his own summoned weapon to do it is a testament to how much shit he's been through, that not only his nature, but the nature of his magic had changed drastically.

Snaps wants badly to help him, but he can't just drag him away to a better place. that never goes over well with horrors, sans or not. he has to go at this carefully and gain his trust first and foremost.

for now he needs to figure out if this Kelek killed that monster because he thought it was an easy meal, since they were distracted with him, if he did it to protect him, out of some universal Kelek instinct (not that he needed it. he could've killed them easily), or if he wanted to insure they didn't steal his kill.

once this Kelek locks eyes with him, Snaps decides to test the waters (from a safe distance) with what had worked on all the Keleks before this.

flirting.

he stretches his smile into a smirk, and speaks in a teasing tone. "thanks for saving me." pause for affect... "or did you just want me all to yourself~." he says this last part with a lowered tone, accompanied by a slight tilt of his head and a widened smirk.

@didderd's tags on this post ;3 oh boy a reason to word doodle

cw: death, violence, cannibalism, general horror-tale awfulness

Scar's home was very obvious in its decay. The underground didn't feel right, smell right, and it was so quiet. A universe of horrors that has been left to rot away for a while. Long enough for the magic to taint and sour, leaving dust - liquid and particulate - to gather slowly from a decomposing monster instead of vanishing the corpse in an instance.

It gave the others more opportunity for survival.

As a result its extremely obvious to those in the vicinity when a monster so full of life suddenly appears. Scar is one of the first to stalk his way to Snaps and investigate the succulent smell of heavy magic.

He's a little surprised when he sees a skeleton monster, but not one he recognizes. Not that he is personally familiar with the local bone boys. His body shivers and jitters from where he hides and stalks from a distance.

He's so hungry. The sharp heat of magic is already filling his mouth and coloring his jaw while his vision narrows on the possible prey. Hungry but its bones and theres something thats distracting him. Hungry but its bones, distraction, hungry, bones.

Bones have marrow...

He claws at the stitches running up the left side of his scalp, pestering the wound thats never fully healed.

He could break the bones and eat the marrow.

He had to duck and fall back some distance when his ears caught a starving snarl and realized it was from himself.

There was... Something smelled heavy of magic.

Scars mind didn't focus anymore, not really. It easily fell into cycles, forgetting the previous until something sparked in him and led to frustration and aggression.

But when it was a hunt...

Bones smelled heavy of magic. Dogs liked bones.

Wait.

He will wait.

His breathing and the jittering of his body eases, his body relaxing into a predatory stalk. The absent thought of 'at least the trap is nice to look at' flutters through his mind and is quickly swept up in the cyclical torrent.

His ear flicks at a distant disruption and he moves soundlessly into place.

Its a nameless dog monster, fur mangy, patchy, matted, and eyes crazed. It pops out of the brush to attack Snaps driven mad by their desperate hunger even if they stood no chance against the skeletal monster.

A chance they don't even get to roll.

The instant they make their move, Scar makes his. Lunging from the brush, landing on their back to then scale twistingly with fangs and claws. There's only a moment of fight between the two until Scar's legs are secure around the desperate dog's neck and a deep ruddy glow of magenta magic ignites in his hand.

The dog monster drops with a dripping rapier piercing through their skull. Scars tail cracking behind him. He doesn't even look at Snaps before he's tearing into the other monster's throat, desperate to insure his kill and also for the fresh warm meat.