#they seem like a perfect pair

[hydropyro]

[originalcontent]

I can't find art of my ship anywhere so I GUESS that means I have to make it myself, here are some doodles.

[ashmp3]

it shouldn’t be this hard to find a black skort that is a skirt all over with just safety shorts but it is my darlings

[whiteshipnightjar]

Joanna Newsom in Carolina Herrera and her blue suede Mary Janes

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i think the diamond dogs should play improv games just bc it would amuse me, an ex theater kid, specifically

[halflingkima]

the brosca warden storyline is insane (affectionate) to me, and it's wild that I happened to choose it first.

I've not played through all the origins myself, but from what I gather in general, I think brosca has the least material effect on later material gameplay – all of the effect is in brosca's character choices/response, which is completely up to the player whether or not/how much to honor.

the 'dwarf commoner' origin title is misleading – brosca's casteless, classless, as low class as possible and fighting tooth and nail while being actively pushed lower. accepting the warden offer is the easiest choice in the world (even aside from escaping the dwarven death sentence) because it offers any level of respect as a person.

later, when they return to orzammar with the treaties, the city insists they were never born. there's record of their death: when they joined the grey wardens. according to orzammar, brosca's homeland, their origin – brosca did not exist until they became a grey warden, at which point they were considered deceased.

(on top of the official records at the shaperate, no npcs acknowledge that you're a dwarf, let alone from the city. you can speak – briefly – to your family, but they're the only ones who acknowledge your past. I found it frustrating while playing that the origin didn't affect much, but that affected my own gameplay; brosca's origin makes the political dilemma seem laughably simple.)

and then. when the archdemon is slain, whether or not brosca survives, they're made a paragon, which is akin to a dwarven god. brosca is immortalized in their people's mythology forever – the same people who refused to admit they existed until their legal death. (presumably bhelen minimizes or eradicates the caste system, but whether or not that takes –) the history of the paragon brosca will almost certainly erase their origin as a casteless dwarf. when, arguably, they wouldn't have become a paragon without that history.

[kelpiemomma]

The patents Nintendo is going after pocket pair for are insane 🫣 and bad, bad news for future monster catching games if Nintendo is successful is suing them. The basics are one is for the overworld catching mechanic, one is for the overworld fight after a failed catch, and one is for riding a creature in the overworld. I really hope this lawsuit is thrown out the window because otherwise I feel like it'll turn into pokemon or bust in the genre.

[titsthedamnseason]

it’s not funny anymore. i need xander and spencer’s book

[randomthunk]

Been reading Chainsaw Man and got whacked with inspiration by a chapter illustration that just gave such huge Corazon & Prudence vibes. I think we’ve all been missing them.

[batsplat]

okay what’s up with the good wife out of all the media you reblog this is the most random one ?

it's not RANDOM omg that is a top three rewatch show to me... I love my silly little lawyers.... perfect mix of fun week to week cases, excellent side characters, interpersonal mess between the main cast, plus all the ways they'd imaginatively tackle Current Events. the good fight had a similar appeal - minus the focus on week to week cases and plus far more explicit politics. didn't always work, but it's one of those shows where I just kind of appreciated how willing they were to take a swing at it and get a bit weird about it. even in the good wife, they had so many Good Bits... the nsa agents who were super invested in the main cast's relationships, the liberal judge with all his Causes, the wife killer, LOUIS CANNING!! obviously, the 'in your opinion' lady, the google guy... also this is from the good fight but the federal investigator lady who always had the birds fly against her office window was a+ plus, it's such a dumb bit but it got me every time as a great appreciator of dumb bits. such a corny pair of shows that are very much like,, About Liberalism and a reckoning with that entire era of american life from an unabashedly liberal perspective, with all the inherent pitfalls and shortcomings of that pov... but does consistently manage to do interesting stuff with that starting point. a lawyer show that's also a bit of an autopsy of a mostly dead vision of america, kinda all you need sometimes

and I love alicia and will, my tragic heterosexuals!! the forbidden love of it all!! I love how cruel and selfish alicia was a lot of the time and how she's mostly in control of that relationship even though will SHOULD be the one in the position of power, how she's constantly using him and then pushing him away while will is so obviously besotted, how she simply keeps finding excuses to stop herself from being happy... does she even love him at all or does she just like him in theory, does she just want to be desired... how they always have 'bad timing' and just cannot figure their shit out... "it's romantic because it didn't happen".... "my plan is I love you" the unapologetic melodrama of it all!! the deleted voice message is?? crazy?? (eli goated character btw, the cheese lobby episode is still one of my favourite episodes of anything ever.) that lift scene is peak romance... when she leaves the firm and he feels so betrayed... his tantrum!! "I took you in when nobody wanted you"!! "you were POISON"!! "you're awful and you don't even know how awful you are"!! he's so pathetic and angry for half a season that he's resorting to just arguing with her in his head!!! always with their failed communications via phone and lift doors and loaded gazes across office spaces and delicate finger touches... the romance of it all, how they really could have worked but it's also so glaringly obvious why they kept falling apart... in the end all these repressed losers create their own misery... elite

[sieglinde-freud]

playing a bit more awakening today mostly j grinding for and recruiting the rest of the second generation and im having a lot of cynthia/inigo thoughts actually… like IDKKKKK theyre so cute to me… and with frederick!cynthia and chrom!inigo LIKEEEE are we seeing the vision. are we SEEING THE VISION (cannot pair her with luci i know sorry. but lucisev has me in their grasp forever) like idk retainer cynthia dealing with unrequited feelings until its not… do you see it… guysssss

[hydropyro]

"Webs of Fate" and "Blessed Agony" Spoilers

Abdirak/Lae'zel NSFW Completely out of context smut

AO3 link here

Abdirak was panting when he tried to cast another healing spell on the bhaalist, but his magic was depleted. His throat was sore from his laughter and he did not know how many hours he had beat the man to the point of death, only to heal him again. 

“Hells,” he said. He reached for the pockets in his robes, but he was still in his smallclothes. The vampire had left his robes on the altar, and he had not taken a moment to don them. 

He straightened and stretched his spine, having been stooped over the man for some time. His shoulders and arms ached from his beating and the barbs of the lashes of his precious scourge had embedded fully into his palms and back of his hands. 

“The fun may be over,” he said, despondent, to the gith woman. 

She had been watching with earnest. Though she had not said much, he could hear when she approved of his methods. In the dark temple her slitted pupils were rounder, darkening her eyes. 

She stepped forward and held out two vials, which Abdirak accepted. It took him a moment to make out what they were in the low light, but when he did his jaw fell slightly and he looked over to her. “Are you sure?” 

“I do not wish to return to camp yet,” she said simply. “You will need one. I will administer the other.” She took one of the health potions from his grasp and bent over the limp body of the man — who’s shallow breath could only be heard by the slight gurgle of blood in his lungs — and tried to feed him the potion. 

Abdirak downed the second potion quickly. It would not replenish his magic, and it seemed that even Loviatar would not bless him with more. At this depth, in a temple to another god, she may not have the power to. He would have to savor this last bout of torment—

The gith woman was forcing the potion down the man’s throat, her thin, vicelike hand crushing around his throat and jaw, pinning his bloodied mouth open so the potion could seep in. 

The man sobbed as his strength began to return and his wounds began to heal. He began to beg for mercy again, but Abdirak had long since drowned his cries out. He had spent years traveling and training people on the love of his goddess. He spent so much time and energy focusing on their needs, their limits, their desires — determined on how to best entice them into Her embrace. 

It had been a very, very long time since he had been fully free to inflict pain on a victim . He did not like to see his partners as such — he was a teacher, he had students — but this man was his victim and deserved every moment of agony that the skilled Paingiver could inflict. 

His skin was slick with his own sweat and the blood of his victim when Abdirak next stopped his beating again. The man still breathed — barely — but he could not have moved if he had wanted to. His arms and legs were shattered, bending several places at odd angles. His spine was in no better shape, though he was not paralyzed — not with Abdirak’s skilled hands. 

“You will kill him now?” the gith asked. She handed him a canteen of water and he drank. 

Abdirak scowled at the question. After drinking he poured some water over his arms and began to wash the blood away, but it was too much. The water only rehydrated the coagulated streaks. “I am not one to kill.”

“I would be happy to do so.” 

Abdirak offered her a kind smile. “Does he deserve your Silver Sword?” 

Her yellow eyes flicked to the crumpled figure on the stone floor before returning to him. “No.” 

Abdirak looked around them. There were bhaalists above, but they seemed to know better than to try and stop what was happening at the altar. If they simply left the man they may come down and try to heal him, or give him the mercy of death. 

In the distance he saw a small chasm. 

“I am not strong enough at the moment to lift him,” Abdirak said. He met the gith’s yellow gaze and her lips curled into a small smile. 

With no more respect or reverence than one would show a sack of rotten potatoes, the gith hefted the man onto her shoulder, walked to the precipice, and sent him over the edge. They stood together and listened to the wet sounds as the body struck once, then again, and maybe again—

Abdirak breathed a sigh of relief. The insulter was dead and his Maiden’s honor was avenged. It would be some time before he could sit down and repair his Scourge, but he would collect the pieces and show them due reverence. To be honest, he was not sure what the ritual was for such extensive repairs. Small repairs were often necessary due to use, but he would have to essentially remake the item. 

He had woven the leather with his hands. He had set the barbs in place, sewing them onto the core before wrapping them in the black leather. A High Whipmistress had blessed him with her Scourge as he worked — observing and instructing — though he understood the process well by the time he had earned the honor of wielding it. 

“We best be heading back to camp, then,” Abdirak said. He started back toward the altar where his clothes still rested. 

“I understand what the elf sees in you — why his hunger is never sated.” The gith’s voice came from behind — quiet. 

Abdirak held his robes, considering whether he should remove his soiled smallclothes before donning it. His robes would be bloodstained either way. He glanced up at the gith as she moved toward him. “Do you?”

She came to stand beside him, her yellow eyes boring into his, though her pupils were still quite round in the dim light. “Yes.” She inhaled, closing her eyes a moment. “Your joy as you brought vengeance upon your enemy — the skill of your hands as they delivered every wound.” her arm brushed against his. She was tall and he could look directly into her eyes. “I have seen the kith’raki tear a screaming neogi’s legs from its belly to fashion into blades, yet, they could not match your nerve today. 

“I smell the blood on you — I smell your sweat . It is enough to drive me to madness. I only lament that I may not taste it.”

He raised his eyebrows and leaned back against the altar. “Do you?” he repeated, though his tone dropped. He gave her a small smile. “I am always open to teaching anyone that is curious about the art of pain. 

“But,” he held out his arms “My magic is depleted, so I could not heal you after a lesson. And this may not be such a good place.” 

“I do not seek a lesson ,” she snapped, though there was no anger in her tone. “I seek to devour .” She began to unclasp her armor, laying it on the altar beside his clothes. 

He had seen her in her underclothes before, but never this close. She, too, had freckles across her exotic skin. “Gith train relentlessly,” she boasted as she continued to expose more of her flesh. “We know our bodies inside and out. I will not need healing , priest.

“What is more — while you have shown yourself worthy to leave bruises on my flesh — I think you would savor the skill of my hands in delivering pain.” She removed her brassier, exposing her pert breasts. Her pink nipples, stark against her soft green complexion, stood erect in the cold air. 

“Let me show you,” she said. Her voice was naturally husky, but she lowered it then. “That worm was not worthy of my Silver Sword — but you have shown that you are. Close your eyes — and submit.” 

Abdirak’s head had cleared since he’d lost control of himself — so angry with the bhaalist that had destroyed his precious Scourge — and he hesitated. Normally he would not have had second thoughts. The woman before him was eager, attractive, and more than capable of delivering blessed pain to him while observing his mortality. 

He considered it for a moment, his eyes traveling the length of her body. It seemed that gith, like elves, did not have much body hair. 

Elves. How would his elf take the interaction? They were not ‘ an item ’, as Karlach and Astarion had often joked. He was so very fond of his drow, but neither belonged to the other. He was only with them on a divine mission to protect the hero — for whatever reason his goddess had demanded. 

If Alakvyr had wanted to seek the attention and affections of others, Abdirak would not bat an eye — so why shouldn’t he? 

He leaned forward and rested a hand on her smooth waist, pulling her near him. She breathed deeply through her small nose and her pupils grew larger. 

Abdirak moved in for a kiss, but then pulled back, grinning at her quiet, annoyed grunt. As he knelt to the ground in front of her he pulled his smallclothes down, taking them off once he had sat back on his heels. 

“Taste, then,” he said.

The githyanki woman knelt with him, pushing him onto the floor, not bothered by the blood that he had spilled at the base of the altar. There was little preparation — they were both ready — and she settled herself down onto him. Her hand ran into his hair and she gripped it tight, pulling it so sharply that his neck popped as she forced his mouth over her breast. 

He was happy to take the pink nipple into his mouth, groaning around the soft skin of her areola as her dark nails raked hard down the front of his chest. She reopened partially magically healed gashes that the Bhaalspawn had cut into him, as well as drew blood by her own right into his pale skin. 

Abdirak rested his hands on her thighs, quietly marveling at the strength in her muscles as she set a bruising pace over him, her hips slamming down onto his over and over. He bit her nipple, hard enough to draw blood into his mouth, and he was surprised — and delighted — by the foreign flavor. 

She shoved him back away from her, hard enough that his skull hit the stone with a dull crack and he saw stars for a moment. 

“Goddess — yes —” he muttered. Both hands fell to his shoulders — ten claws digging into his flesh. She would not kill him — she knew his value — but she was taking her pleasure, almost disinterested in whether he was truly hurt. Or, perhaps, she had been watching him — listening to him — more closely than she let on and she knew how much he would crave the agony. 

She leaned forward over him, sinking her many sharp teeth into his bicep before she reached for her armor and drew a small blade from a belt. Without any warning she sliced the blade across his cheek, before running her tongue over the wound. 

“ Do not climax yet ,” she growled at Abdirak’s whimper. She nipped at his cheek, around the cut that she had made, while running the blade up from just below his soft armpit, down over his ribs, and over his waist until the blade met her rocking thigh. “You do not want me to cut there .” 

“You underestimate me, my dear,” Abdirak laughed. He turned his head and caught her mouth with his, biting her to hold her there while he raised his arms to cup her face. He leaned forward, lifting both of their bodies, as he grasped one of her braids in his hand and grabbed her other hand. He turned the blade and stabbed it down into the outside of his thigh, careful to miss the major artery there and only cut into the meat. 

She had been unseated by his movements, but turned around to face his legs before taking him into her again. “I do not know human anatomy,” she growled, though she removed the blade and stabbed his other thigh in the mirrored location. 

He screamed and bucked his hips, hissing when her claws dug into the meat of both thighs, squeezing the knife wounds and digging into his flesh. “Again!” he said. “ Again ,” this time a plea. 

He felt the cool, sharp metal of the blade trace along his skin, but it did not pierce him yet. She used just enough pressure to lightly graze his skin. “Tell me where to cut.” 

He was panting, his eyes closed as he concentrated on where the blade was. He rested both hands on her firm, muscled back and dug his measurably shorter, human nails into her flesh, though it was no comparison to her claws. “There,” he said, and the blade sank in. Before his scream had finished the knife was pulled out, and plunged in on the mirror side. 

All the while her movements over his cock had not stopped. She rolled her hips like he was a horse. He did not know of gith reproduction, but the way the head of his cock rammed over and over against what he would assume was a cervix was driving him mad. “Lae’zel,” he panted. The knife was moving again. “There.” 

Again, the blade plunged, pulled out, and plunged straight back in. She stabbed him twice on the opposite side, and cut two long gashes on the lower parts of his legs, deep enough to draw blood, but not near any major arteries. 

He grabbed her hips, clenching her skin as hard as he was able, and began to thrust up into her. She had asked for his submission — which he had initially been willing to give — but he was no longer in a giving mood. Maybe her drive to take had inspired him. 

He sat up and wrapped one arm around her waist, squeezing her palm sized breast brutally in one hand. “Continue along the outside of my thighs,” he growled into her ear before biting the ridge of it. He ran his tongue over the small, cartilaginous spines before nipping at her lobe. 

She had been more or less silent up to that point, other than her labored breathing and maybe a small gasp or two, but like elves her ears must have been an erogenous area because she groaned loudly and leaned her head back against his shoulder. 

The blade fell to the stone with a loud clatter and she reached behind, digging her claws deep into his back before raking them toward herself, over his ribs and the sides of his stomach. 

Her claws ripped and tore at his flesh, never gentle, but never deep enough that he had any concern for his safety, while he drove himself mercilessly into her. 

“Climax now!” she demanded in a low voice which lilted up into a scream of pleasure. 

Abdirak was not far behind. He sunk his teeth into the githyanki’s strong shoulder muscle, groaning when her nails cut into his arms, before he spilled inside of her. 

He did not know how long he had been awake since being abducted and ‘tortured’ by the Bhaalspawn, or how long he had beaten the bhaalist, but exhaustion came over him suddenly. He sighed and laid back on the stone. 

The gith turned to face him, but her hunger — as she had said — was not sated. Using her claws, she shoved his softening cock back into her and continued to ride over him. 

The stimulation was too much. Abdirak cried out and dug his nails into her strong thighs, but it did not slow her. “ Goddess ,” his prayer came out as a strained sob, and a sharp slap met his cheek, claws and all. 

“I will hurt you, priest, but I do not wish to hear of your god.” Despite her harsh words she planted her first — and likely only — kiss where she had scratched across his face — before sinking her teeth into the flesh of his cheek. 

He knew well how pleasure could become pain, but he was not often on the receiving end of the treatment. 

She had brought herself to orgasm twice more before Abdirak was — somehow — hard again, and she only increased her pace. 

“Do not waste my time, priest,” she teased, baring her sharp teeth as she leaned forward over him. Her hands reached for his throat and she wrapped her fingers around it, pressing on the sides. Her claws dug into the skin of his neck, piercing his throat enough to draw blood but she was careful not to collapse his windpipe. “Orgasm again.” 

He could have laughed at the way she spoke — the terms she used — had every nerve in his body not been on fire. His brain screamed for air and his lungs heaved from the exertion. He could feel his legs trembling on the stone floor of the Bhaal temple, disturbing the bhaalist blood beneath them. 

He couldn’t stop himself as another massive wave of sharp pleasure washed over him, running up and down his spine in an electric shock, and he spilled into the gith again. 

She rolled her hips a few more times, drawing every ounce from him, before she nimbly climbed off of him. 

He was spent. He hauled in a breath when her grip allowed and let his arms fall to his sides into the sticky viscera beneath him. Still, the gith was not done. 

He may have asked how she had so much stamina. Perhaps it was her age — she seemed quite young to him — or it was her intense training. 

She settled over him again, though this time, her thighs rested to either side of his head. “You taste,” she demanded. 

The gash on his tongue had healed at some point during his self-healing, and so there was no pain as he stuck it out to run across the wetness at her core. He tasted himself and groaned. It was not the first time that he had — he was very familiar with his own body — but he also tasted her — a bit sweet, a bit bitter, and so foreign. 

He wrapped his arms around her thighs, pulling her down onto him. Her labia was almost bare, though naturally so, the hair soft on his tongue and lips like the first bite of a ripe peach. He nipped at her lips, delighting in her squeak, before sucking a bit too hard on her swollen clit. He was surprised, but delighted, to find that gith had such a delicious organ. 

Her claws dug into his scalp the longer he worked his tongue into and around her — kissing, sucking, biting, and lapping at her soft flesh. Her thighs tightened around his head and she ground her body down into him, squishing his nose with her pelvis as she climaxed yet again, before she sat back. She adjusted her weight so that she was seated on his chest while they both caught their breath. 

“I imagine I am your first githyanki,” she said, giving him a toothy smile. 

He smiled back, nodding as well as he could. “Yes. And you are very good .” 

“Out of this world, one might say,” she joked, though her tone was deadpan and she was not smiling anymore, and Abdirak laughed. 

She stood over him again, but did not continue to take her pleasure from him as she started to dress herself. After a moment Abdirak was able to climb to his feet, and the ache in his muscles and joints, and around the various wounds that she had inflicted, was sublime . 

They dressed quietly and left the temple together, passing the stunned bhaalists who had stood over — watching their Chosen torture him, be defeated, watched him torture one of their own for hours, before he and the gith had fucked in the blood of their kin. The remaining bhaalists moved to the side, giving the two a wide berth as they passed.

Abdirak chuckled at the absurdity of the entire situation, but Lae’zel did not not seem phased when she asked for an explanation and he had explained. Shameful that a young githyanki warrior was more brutal than the Chosen of Bhaal. 

[dearreader]

thinking of the wedding and marriage imagery in high infidelity and taylor saying “Seemed like the right thing at the time”

[thirstghosting]

this is how--now i know this is a cringe take--but this is how I justify every canon pairing in The Office.

When their entire relationship is toxic, but they're both so fucked up that it's actually the best case scenario, because subjecting anybody else to either of them would be a human rights violation.

[dreamrcven]

my brain yelling at me that while i love masuyo and her tragic love for miles, i want her to find love again and learn to move on... cough cough aka please ship with me cough

[techno-rat]

my main fandom spoiled me …