#weird pick up lines

[asdro]

CW: Sexual stuff

Just a throwback to when after posting a thirsty pic on Reddit i received... This...

The plot twist it's that he was like such a really nice person

[piosplayhouse]

"svsss stans should stay in their lane and stop talking about tgcf/mdzs" is my favorite hater statement. Sorry I can be a fan of multiple things at once I guess. I also like when people say this in response to someone talking about leaving a fandom because they kept getting harassed like. Do you not understand cause and effect or

[puppyeared]

my brothers been playing elden ring recently and he let me draw his character ^_^

[creative-robot]

I like to think that Showfall didn’t actually do all that much to The Puzzler, they snatched him up and he was just already Like That

[lustlovehart]

I would like to tell Azul that I’d like to gather up all of his slime into a bottle and bathe in it. 🫶

—💖 anon

If you tell him anything of the sort, you blink for a moment and all you see is a purple puddle on the floor. But also a freaked out expression from Floyd because what??? That’s not fair :( And Jade is Jade :).

[lilyofthevalleyys]

James: Have you been gaining weight recently?

Regulus: Are you implying that I’m fat?

James: No I-

Regulus: *immediately changing into his biggest shirt and already planning to skip lunch and dinner*

James: …Because you’ve been taking up more space in my heart

Regulus:

Regulus: Why would you use that pick up line??

James: You’re so pretty I forgot

[skitskatdacat63]

Roleswap anyone??

Tell me Fernando wouldn't make a fantastic general/emperor, and that Napoleon wouldn't make a fanastic driver/tp!!

[kmcosplays]

tua season 4 spoilers

im halfway through the season and I had to stop. LILA SWEETHEART A 60 YEAR OLD MAN IN A TEEN BODY ISN’T A REBOUND!! Trying to fuck someone PHYSICALLY 18 when you're in your 30s is WRONG!! Its predatory and WRONG!!

PLEASE NO SPOILERS!! I'M ON EPISODE 5. No spoilers past episode 5 Im halfway through the season. I had to put it down because its 4am for one and I hated that predatory shit.

[nattikay]

A few favorite tracks from various Avatar media!

[blackjackkent]

There are a lot of possible keyholes for Rakha's flophouse key in the dormitory area.

However, the annoying fellow who was badgering her about the Steel Watchers is walking around, so some more exploration is in order before committing to property theft. Specifically, she's interested in the ladder that leads to the upper floor, given the note they found downstairs about it being expanded.

Rakha has had a lot of L's lately, so I'm going to go ahead and give her a W here for once and say that her skill at observation and extrapolation allows her to notice that the obvious available floor space here doesn't match what they saw on the outside. (She actually does have a +d6 to everything rn because of the Moment of Ecstasy back in the Caress.)

And from there she notices that the wardrobe has a very subtle keyhole.

The hidden room smells of blood. Immediately all of Rakha's senses are on alert. She feels herself starting to salivate, her heart rate pulsing faster.

The tables in the room are strewn with papers soaked in red.

Rakha's head aches longingly. Her fingers twitch, unconsciously mimicking the motions of cutting and ripping described in the paper.

The most interesting piece, though, is this:

The names continue, a full page of them. Rakha stares down the list, taking in each name one at a time. Stelmane. Lorgan. Dribbles.

They knew Orin and the Bhaalists were involved with Lorgan and Dribbles' death. But this shows that Stelmane's death is also connected - which makes sense, as it opened the way for Gortash's ascension. And to judge by this paper, there are many others marked for death, and their purpose is not only for the support of the Absolute plot.

The Dread Lord's Tribunal in the Temple of Bhaal.

She realizes abruptly that she is sitting down on the floor, staring at the paper and clutching at the scar on her head.

Wyll crouches next to her. "Do you remember something?" he asks softly.

She shakes her head. "No. But it's... familiar..." She swallows. And it is. Something resonates painfully about those words. The Dread Lord's Tribunal.

The smell of blood is stronger in this corner. She looks down, her eyes involuntarily focusing on the spray of blood there, parsing its meaning.

"Something was dragged," she mutters hoarsely. "Under the bed."

She shifts, running her fingers along the blood trail, following it into the shadows - and closing them around cloth.+

"Another victim?" Rakha asks. Wyll shrugs uncertainly.

The woman has another key on her body.

Rakha squints at it curiously. There were numbers carved on the chests downstairs, the ones next to each of the beds. This person was a tenant here.

-----

Back downstairs, Jaheira talks with the annoying fellow in the dormitory area to keep him distracted while Rakha loots the dead woman's chest.

All that's in it is a diary, barely used.

"Her boy." Rakha tilts her head to the side. "The one who killed her, perhaps? A Bhaalist."

Jaheira, surprisingly, has acquired a strange look on her face that Rakha doesn't know how to parse. "A child she raised, who turned on her nevertheless," she mutters. "A bitter way to die indeed."

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Yangchen and Aang: *trying to hold onto what Air Nation qualities they have while still performing their duties* Disha, to Roku: You are a spirit of NO Nation. Me: ??????

[loud-whistling-yes]

nobody touch me i just read kj encore and SO NO ONE'S GONNA FUCKING TALK ABOUT HACHI COMPETING WITH JOKER TO BECOME A THIEF???????

[princeofhags]

i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!

Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.

FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit

Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.

Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.

Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.

Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.

Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.

A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.

She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.

The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.

She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.

"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.

At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?

"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."

Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.

"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.

The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.

She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.

"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.

Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.

What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?

"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.

The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.

If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.

"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.

She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"

The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."

He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.

"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.

"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.

She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"

His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."

Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."

He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."

"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."

"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.

There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.

As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.

"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."

“A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.” 

Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company. 

She begins her prayer to the dead. 

[sweetpupii]

why not me 💔

[ra-vio]

semester is almost over. im dying

[istherewifiinhell]

Went on walk about. Mini van pulled along side to. I guess. Check on me. [Ask if i need a lift] 'cept.. There was 2 huge ass dogs in the back seats. Side Window Open. Barking like hell and wanting to u know. Check on me also lol. Well and also i saw a bear [in the distance. Relax] so turned around to the commerial area. Tho really. Forget man or bear. Cars or bears.