#the relationship

[aysbes]

This is how mfs look a you while laying in the bed placed next to yours

[heyitsspiders]

fanart for "married life" by @matcha-milkies on ao3!

it's so well written! im completely hooked on the story

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 20 - The Power of Thor

You smell a trap.

On AO3.

They took the tiefling girl, the one with the eye patch. You learn this once you join the others the next morning, body aching like they all took turns taking a baseball bat to your joints. Them ghouls killed a fair number of the harpers, too, though they didn’t take Sailor Moon.

They took the kid.

It takes about a quarter of a day (you think, it’s damn hard to tell with this Shar-induced gloom) to find Reithwin town. Sailor Moon’s jesus hands been keeping the creepy mist from reaching you—spectral fingers curl away from your face like smoke in the wind, if the smoke was audibly hateful and wanted to shred your skin off your meat.

Reithwin might’a been a pretty town, once. Pale stone chiseled into graceful arches and spindly columns. Traces of faded paint still linger—it must’a been colorful, once. There’s fragments of moon motifs everywhere—and only fragments, all of them rough, like somebody took a crowbar to any and all they could reach. Shadowheart looks downright smug about that. The fuck kinda goddess holds a grudge against the moon.

Ain’t much else to the place, except molding skeletons in disintegrating armor. Piles of rotten, picked over gear. There was a fight between harpers allied with druids, and Shadowheart’s forebears. It’s tied to the unkillable fuck, somehow.

Then y’all find the tollhouse. And the gold coins scattered around.

You know it’s a trap. The others know it’s a trap. Whole town picked clean, and gold coins just glittering in y’all’s torchlight? Then something goes tha-tha-thud upstairs hard enough dust and grit rain down, and it reminds you of them predatory plants with sweet nectar to bring bugs come a-sniffing.

It is a trap. Some big, golden lady thumps around upstairs. Demands a toll, which y’all hem and haw about. That, too, reeks of a trap, though you can’t put your finger on the why. In the end, y’all give up a gold coin.

That is also a trap. Because Big Bertha over there gives an audible whiff—a bear scenting out garbage in a can—pins y’all with her flat, golden-masked eyes, and says she smells more of it on y’all.

You’re a bigger girl. People think that means you can’t walk or move very fast and yeah, before you woke up on a butthole ship with a brainworm and started your very own death march across Middle fucking Narnia, that was partially true. But being fat and being outta shape ain’t the same thing. And when a big girl uses physics—her mass and speed—she manages to pack in a lot of energy. Wallops Karlach right into the side of a fucking bank vault so hard the foot-thick steel fucking dents.

It becomes a game of keep-away after that (while Shadowheart swoops in to lay her own jesus hands on y’all’s heavy hitter).

You manage to take down a floating fucking head that Big Bertha summons up. Turns out Lae’zel was right to give you that spear. It’s pretty good for jabbing wildly at things. You get your hit.

Then you get hit from the side. Electricity blasts just under your ribs and your muscles seize and your spear clatters to the ground. You’re right on the edge of a big, broken hole in the second story floor, staring down a thirteen-foot drop, and what the fuck is with this entire world and dropping you off things?

A blur of white and silver. Hard arms catch you and whirl you away from the hole. Spicy herbs fill your nose and Astarion hunches over you as he drops you onto your back.

He’s usually all sharp edges and catty smirks, mean smarm and overdramatic sarcasm. Lately, his face has taken on soft edges when he looks at you—lips not pressed into a thin line, eyes round, the sharp lines of his face easing into something less guarded.

Now, he’s all vampire. His eyes seem to glow a little red, lips pulled back to show his teeth. His gaze sweeps over you a second before flicking up to Big Bertha rampaging at Wyll and Lae’zel in a lethal game of tag.

“Can you drink this?” he says.

Healing potion.

You nod, teeth chattering. Only fumble it a few times before you can lift the spicy burn to your lips and chug it down.

He stays over you until you’re done. Both knives drawn, body almost vibrating. It…it does something. Makes you feel something you ain’t got the time (or the will, right now) to analyze.

Once you pick up yourself and your spear, he sizes you up again, gives a nod, and sprints for Bertha. Good god, the man moves fucking fast. Almost a blur as he streaks across the room. He dives feet-first, slides right between Bertha’s churning legs. His knives flash and metal shrieks. He takes out the backs of her knees. You ain’t sure if there’s flesh in there—there ain’t no blood.

Bertha crashes down. Only for a second, as she screams and lunges after him. Still moving, still a threat, take out the threat.

It’s long enough for Gale’s echoing voice to fill the air. Makes your teeth itch and raises all the little hairs up your arms and down your thighs. The others scramble clear—

“Peruro!”

The air flashes hot white. You close your eyes but it burns red through the lids. Then the shock wave hits. Smashes through you, rattles your lungs against your spine and knocks the air clean out. You stumble blind. Go down on your bad knee, which pops and pain lances up your leg.

The quiet following squeezes your head. Sound comes back muffled to hell. Dull. You blink your eyes open to find Shadowheart checking Lae’zel, whose mouth moves soundlessly. That’s when you feel the trickle down the side of your neck. Slap a hand up, and fingers come away red.

Oh cool. Gale done busted out your eardrums.

Astarion’s attention snaps to you, and you wonder if he’s keeping tabs, or if it’s the blood (it’s the blood, isn’t it, holy shit he just smells it). His mouth moves, too, and Shadowheart rolls her eyes at him before turning and coming over to you, Gale meandering not far behind.

“I do apologize,” y’all’s wizard says once Shadowheart’s magic washes through your skull and swats out all the bees humming around. Man winces a little as you wipe at your neck (Astarion, lurking to the side stares. Would it be weird to offer it to him? You suspect it might weird out the others). “I’ve been experimenting with my magic and the limitations our cranial occupants seem to set. Hadn’t realized a good old lightning bolt would produce quite that effect.”

The effect being the smoking pieces of singed, golden armor and what smells like burnt, rancid pork jerky strewn everywhere. Along with a fucking heap of gold coins that exploded out of Bertha.

“I mean, it worked,” you say and nudge a piece of armor that flops over to show steaming meat. You look away.

“It did,” Gale says, that wide smile trembling around the edges. You’re pretty sure man is suppressing a full on geek out. “Which I find incredibly encouraging. And not just for myself, mind you. I am a most talented wizard—an archmage, as we call it—but I’ve found my access to the Weave distressingly limited.”

“That’s comcast for you,” you mutter, because you just got electrocuted like, twice.

Gale’s too busy being a nerd to pick up on that, bless him. “But I suspect our stowaways are either adapting to their hosts, or may even be weakening.”

Like a virus. Like a nasty virus that wipes out a new host population before it tames itself and ratchets down the lethality so it doesn’t burn through the host population and kill itself.

“Which could have interesting implications for you, my friend,” Gale says.

Your dud ass.

Except…

“If I’m adapting to y’all’s world,” you say. “I might also be fighting the brainworm? A double stack limitation?”

“Precisely.”

Huh. Magic.

You look again to the pieces of Big Bertha. It’d be real nice to catch a fucking break for once. Maybe enough you could heal your own ass.

Y’all gather up y’all’s dumped bags and gear (and the coins not lying in piles of cooked viscera—well, most of you: Astarion, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel don’t seem to mind the gore). As you dump your non-slimy coins into your pack—holy fucking shit, this is more money than you ever held before—you catch Gale watching you. His lips purse.

“I realize this may be a sensitive topic for you,” he says. “But as we may soon find ourselves face to face with the Absolute, I would ask about your exact experience with such things? If only because we’ll soon be facing a decision on how to tackle this particular issue.”

He’s smiling. A bit guarded, a bit curious, you think. Not trying to pry or be a general dick. They only got the vaguest idea. Seems like they’re familiar enough with each other’s pantheon, but you’re the wild card. The foreigner.

He ain’t the only one snooping, neither. Half the damn party’s got magic pointed ears. And while most of them seem fine minding their own business, Shadowheart ain’t even trying to hide her eavesdropping.

You sigh. Catch Astarion watching as his brainworm nudges yours and the image of a knife drawing across your cleric’s throat flashes. Excitement fills you as she thrashes and gurgles in your grasp. The delicious, heady scent of so much rich, partially elven blood spilling down her front and surely you wouldn’t mind if you had just a little taste—

He’s asking if you want him to murder her.

Your panic-face seems to quell that thought, though. The man shrugs and resumes cleaning his weapons. Flashes Shadowheart a downright obsequious smile when she picks up on something and glances his way.

Logically, Gale’s right. Classic Sun Tzu shit—knowing yourself and the enemy and all. Y’all do not know y’all’s enemy all that well. Which means y’all need to know each other so y’all don’t get outright murdered.

But that means actually spilling your guts. To all of them.

Fuck. Fucking fuckshit mcfuckity fuck.

You cannot explain it to most people back home. You learned real quick other people don’t understand, can’t understand. How easy it is. How all-consuming it is. The horror, yes, but also the good parts. The way all them people was your people come hell or high water. Y’all were Chosen. Blessed. The Righteous, and everybody else in the whole world was beneath you. That while y’all had to face your own tribulations and wrestle with your own sin, y’all would one day reign in peace and love and glory.

How bad you wanted it, sometimes. How even when the backs of your thighs throbbed and stung after a switching, when your belly ached from hunger or your hands cracked and bled, you’d close your eyes in your bunk, surrounded by the breathing of your sleeping sisters, and you’d curl your face into your wet pillow and weep for the love of the lord.

People got a hard time with that.

But somewhere around here is a fortress filled with psychic brainworms, and getting killed at this point—by another fucking cult no less—would be fucking embarrassing.

So you sigh again. Tie up your pack and move outta the stinking debris field. Stop once you reach the first floor and wait as the others file down after you. Then you set down your pack, plonk down on top of it, and clasp your hands tight in your lap.

“Mother came for me when I was four or five,” you say.

[aquinnix]

Joel shouted until his throat was sore, then continued, the pain only adding to his rage. Flames still tickled the edges of his vision, coating his thoughts. Burns ran up his arms, the skin of his hands red and bubbly. He glanced over to Etho whose eyes were red with hostility. Holes were burned into his mask, exposing his barred teeth. Smoke filled the pair’s lungs. Joel rummaged through his tattered pockets, pulling out a small piece of metal and a stone. It was time to watch the world burn, revenge was long overdue.

[queerhollyleaf]

yes most of my thoughts this book are about them

[glasscannonviktor]

full disclosure i haven’t watched beyond the first episode yet bc I’m SCARED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[redfour0]

die first by Nessa Barrett is just codywan. both. the entire relationship.

[baaaa-king]

NEW WELCOME HOME AU

OK, so this has been stewing in my head for the whole day. I call it

Curator's Collection Au.

This Au takes place in a modern fantasy world.

Wally:

Wally is a low level demon in this au. He was orphaned at a young age and bounced around from being an indentured servant, to having a shitty restaurant job, to being a servant in the Prince of Pride's palace. Is currently the most prized possession within the Curator's collection. While he still retains his kind and wonderful nature, he's become a little bit of a spoiled, bratty, greedy diva due to all the pampering the Curator gives him. Is a lot like a trophy wife, but actually does things around the house and fulfills obligations on the Curator's behalf.

Y/N:

Y/N is a very old, very powerful and very RICH demon. They are popularly known as the Curator currently. They like to collect all manner of beasts and items that catch their eye, and display them in beautiful forms within their home like a museum/zoo. To have something 'Collected' by them is considered a very high honour. The item in question is often seen as the best of the best that type of thing has to offer. The only thing that could bring more prestige is an audience with one or more of the seven princes. 'Collected' Wally during a ball at the Prince of Pride's palace. Very protective of Wally and, to an extent, all he deems important. Loves to spoil Wally and is friends rotten.

Home:

Home is what is known as a 'Tethering demon'. Semi-sapient demons who have the ability to permanently spiritually bond with, AKA 'tether', Themselves to sapient demons. There used to be a specific species of demon who was able to tether themselves to these creatures, however, during The Great Betrayal most of these species were in the employ of Azazeel; the former King. These demons were then either persecuted in order for neither side to make use of their power, or were executed for being loyalists to the former king after the war. Now, even the most powerful of demons can only make temporary contracts, and hold the bare minimum of loyalty required from Tethering demons. Home is currently possessing the Curator's estate and is Tethered to Wally.

I have to think of the rest but, a snippet of the story might come out sooner or later!

[1-jar-of-stars]

On Friendship.

[jakeperalta]

saw this very [ben affleck depressed smoking image] comment and thought why does blue job / pink job sound like an established concept so I looked it up.....

what's next?? having a bank account is a blue job 💙🏦☺️ not being legally recognised as a person in your own right is a pink job 🩷🥰💅

[gongyussy]

good thing from jp twitter this week is queen of old man yaoi michiru sonoo discovering the term old man yaoi

update: somehow it got impossibly more wholesome

quick translation: おかえり: welcome home あ 終わった 終わった: ahhh, it's over! it's done! コーヒー? お茶?: coffee? tea? コ~ヒ~ ありがと: coffee, thank you~ ネクタイレア★★ ネクタイ取るレア★★★★: seeing him with a tie on, rarity level ★★, seeing him take a tie off, rarity level ★★★★ にあうな~: it suits him~

also please do follow: AraigumaSha: sensei's twitter account marureviere: maru, who does such valuable work highlighting bl manga for an international audience

[ayyildiz]

[sleeplessv0id]

what doesn't kill you makes you weird at intimacy

[habken]

People don’t understand the concept of liking two characters’ relationship in multiple contexts. They can be lovers in one setting and just friends in another, their dynamic doesn’t have to be consistent in every piece of art I make.

[color-ns]

Sometimes tweeter people know their stuff- this is the right kind of toxic angst I want to read.