#whoops that got out of hand

[alter-ego-xxx]

nsfw

I can't stop thinking about inexperienced trans guy Evan and hypersexual Barty...

Evan has never really experienced pleasure from touching himself because there was so much shame and dysphoria that came with it, so he has no idea what to do to feel good, especially when it comes to another person.

Barty, who slept his way all through the london party scene and has experimented with both women and men and had a longer thing with Reg going on, so he has all the knowledge how to make trans bodies feel good...

Barty telling Evan exactly what to do, where to touch, how long to keep going until he's reduced to a whining mess. He doesn't fuck Evan the first time they're in this situation and solely cares for Evan's pleasure. He buys him lube and some toys, let's Evan explore himself (under Barty's hungry gaze of course) until he's ready for Barty to fuck him.

The first time they do, they go four rounds. Evan can't believe how good it feels and becomes OBSESSED with Barty's cock, Barty's words and just Barty himself.

And Barty loves to see his once so innocent, inexperimented Evan become barely more than a sex toy for him to use...

[crowleyholmes]

I didn't want to leave, Crowley. I didn't have a choice. I'm doing this for you. For us. We're still on our side.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion Jealousy Part 2

The graphic extension to this but a lil less serious and definitely not sfw.

CW: Jealous spawn astarion who is still a sweetheart, but the drow twins get under his skin. graphic sex scenes, oral, relatively tame honestly. The sex part will be under the cut btw which is m/f. Also vampire man drinks blood. mentionable incorrect language for sex workers

~

It was odd, being home in Baldur’s Gate without the threat of Cazador always looming. Odd, but equally as wonderful. It had been so thoughtful, if not a little idiotic for Cazador to end up being your first stop in the city. The fight itself had been a blur, a barrage of intense emotions and bloody violence. Astarion had come so close to losing himself back there, losing everything that made him better than the man who almost ruined him. But then… you stopped him. You saw something more in him, a chance for a better life. A more meaningful life, away from the shackles of vampiric power obsessions. 

He was officially free. Now he could exist without any fear of his disgusting master’s retribution. He could just… be. Well… not including his darling’s own myriad of enemies that seemed to follow them about everywhere. And there was still the matter of defeating the elder brain, and lord knows if any of you made it through that alive. But at least his personal demons were slain and out of the picture.

Every little step counted after all. Perhaps some of your delusional hopefulness had finally started to rub off on him, but Astarion was actually starting to look forward to his future. Your future, together. All he had to do was get through a few more perilous adventures and then he’d really have you all to himself. 

All that said, Astarion could really go without the frequent visits to the local brothel. Was it the best place in the city for gathering information? Yes. It seemed that every walk of life in Baldur’s Gate found their way into Shar’s Caress and if you were going to find alternative passage to the underworld, this would be the best place to find it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. For one there were the unwelcome advances to his own person, the concept of grace and personal space apparently left at the door. He was so very close to breaking the hand of the next person who thought it was appropriate to grab his ass. And if they could afford to get kicked out he would have by now. Your verbal, angry tirades in his defense could only scare off so many. 

But as terrible as his own discomfort was, it was nothing in the face of how often you were being fawned over. What was it about you that seemed to drive everyone mad? Yes you were objectively attractive, but this was frankly getting out of hand. First there was the green skinned druid doing something sensual to your mind, then there were the general stares and whispers as you walked by, and now a pair of gorgeous drow twins trying and failing to proposition you. 

It was getting tiresome. There were only so many times a man could take his lover being offered “free” services before he snapped. 

On one hand, he could respect the dedication they had to the craft. He could be considered something of a hired whore himself in his time, the old, “the first one’s free” was a tried and true trick. And he also knew, vaguely, that no one was actually trying to steal you from him. But on the other, he couldn’t help the fact that he wanted to claw their eyes out for looking at you so brazenly.

He hadn’t expected the eyes of the woman to wander over to him, like she was just noticing the possessive arm he had wrapped around your waist, “Is that your partner with you? How would you both feel about having a little fun?”

Absolutely fucking not. Maybe the old Astarion would have smiled and nodded, ready to do whatever was asked of him. But the man from that wretched era had died, or at the very least was dying. And he would be damned if he let you lay with another, never less participate in it. 

Astarion interrupted your overly-polite attempts stuttering of a refusal. He glared at them both, a sneer painted on his face, “We’ll be passing on that. You’d think the first no would have sufficed, but I suppose it’s not fair to expect everyone to have basic language comprehension. Now as illuminating as this conversation has been, we have places to be. Excuse us.”

Then he was pulling you away, happy to ignore the offended huffs of indignation he had left in his wake. 

“We’re supposed to be investigating, remember?” You said with a giggle, not even questioning him as he dragged you to the second floor, “Being rude is not the way we’ll find travel to the hells.”

“I highly doubt they would have been of use,” Astarion said as he pushed you into the first empty room he could find. He felt off, maybe even a little crazed as he turned to you, “Tell me darling, what is it about you that makes you so irresistible, hm?”

He crowded you against the closed door, ducking his head into the crook of your neck to breath you in. You smelled heavenly, you always did. He could trace the barest whiff of your blood from beneath your skin, always calling to him. You were the sweetest thing he ever tasted. Delicious even, for more reasons than one. 

“T-They just wanted my coin,” You gasped when he started to suck bruises into your skin, “That’s all.”

“I think they wanted a bit more than that,” Astarion bit out as he shoved his thigh between your legs, “What will it take for others to realize you’re mine.”

His hands were wandering, resting low to grip your hips. He was using them to move you, forcing you to grind against his thigh. You grasped at his shoulders, trying to bite back a moan as you stared at him with wide eyes, “You want to do it here? Does that door even lock?”

It looked like it didn’t, not that Astarion cared. Maybe walking in on him ravishing you would finally start getting the point across of who you belonged to. Astarion shrugged, "There are less appropriate venues than literal whore houses."

“But-”

“But I can tell you want it,” Astarion interrupted with a smirk, his hands barely working to move your body anymore. But that wasn’t stopping you from rubbing yourself all over him, “Just look at you darling. Desperate little thing. But if you really don’t want to…”

Astarion made a lazy attempt to step back, laughing out loud when your desperately pulled him back, your desire finally winning out over your common sense. But you were glaring at him, obviously annoyed that he was so good at riling you up. He had seen that look before, the one that just screamed that you were scheming something. 

He just hadn’t expected you to drop to your knees in front of him, huffing as you started to undo the fastenings to his pants, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a shit?”

“Maybe,” Astarion said with a strained laugh, his breath catching when you pulled his half-hard cock out, “But it seems to keep getting me the things I want.”

You rolled your eyes before licking a wide strip up his cock, like you weren’t directly proving his point. You looked amazing own there, you’re half-hearted glare morphing into a blissful haze. 

Gods, how were you real? Astarion wasn’t quite sure why you were such a fan of getting him down your throat, but he knew that he was a lucky bastard for it. 

“Sweet girl,” Astarion sighed, letting a hand drift down to tangle in your hair, “Sweet girl with a perfect mouth. And you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

You made a small, affirmative noise around his cock, taking him in deeper as you clutched at his thighs. You were so good at this, so well-trained after months of being together. He loved the soft, wet sounds that would escape your lips as you swallowed him down, the pretty way your eyes would water as you encouraged him to fuck your throat, how you would squirm in place on your knees, no doubt ruining your panties with how wet you were getting. 

And no one else would ever know. No one would get to see you like this again, feel you like this. Needy, desperate, and his. Oddly enough, that thought was what sent him over the edge. He came down your throat, groaning as you eagerly swallowed around him. 

You pulled off of him slowly, panting while you smiled up at him. There was the smallest string of spit mixed with his come, connecting from the head of his cock to your lips. You licked it up, still clinging to his thighs as you hazily stared up at him. Sweet enough to make his heart skip a beat, and his dick give a valiant twitch.

He pulled you to your feet, not wasting any time in smashing your lips together. He spun you around, pushing you towards what he prayed was a clean bed. 

He pushed you back onto the sheets, making quick work of tearing your pants down your legs as he grinned down at you, “Your turn.”

He kneeled in front of you; spreading his hands over your splayed thighs to peel off your underwear. The core of you was already glistening, slick enough to make Astarion’s mouth water. He licked his lips as he spread your legs further apart, shameless as he feasted on you with his eyes. 

You were shaking in his hold, biting your bottom lip when you whined, “Stop staring already…”

“But you’re so pretty here my sweet,” Astarion cooed, tracing a single finger over the seam of your cunt, “And you’re dripping. Poor thing, have I kept you waiting too long?”

You nodded excitedly above him, your hips bucking when he let his fingers dip in further between your pussy lips. He lightly traced your clit, softly laughing at the way the simple touch made you whine.

It was his own fault that you were so needy, a fact that brought a smirk to his lips. You always got so wet after you had him down your throat, soaked and gorgeous. 

Astarion dove right in, loudly moaning as he licked into your folds. He dragged his lips upward to suckle on your clit, basking in all the cries and whimpers escaping you.

He licked back down, teasing your hole with his tongue as your legs quivered around his head. He let the sharpness of his fangs scrape against you as he started to fuck you with his tongue, threatening your most intimate places.

He knew you liked that; little minx that you were. The slight risk of pain that was always looming. It made him want to sink his fangs in you for real, a hunger that he'd sate after he had you gushing into his mouth.

You were already close, he could tell from the way your cunt was tightening around his tongue; too worked up from the thrill of being in public and the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Astarion trailed talented fingers up to rub against your clit, his tongue still curling inside of you as you cried out. Finally falling over the edge. But that wasn't stopping him from continuing to play with you.

You had to tug on Astarion’s hair for him to finally pull away, too over sensitive to handle his talented tongue. You were still trembling by the time he leaned back, licking his lips. He rested his head on your thigh, obviously pleased with himself as he grinned up at you. He could feel your heart racing against his cheek, the sound of your blood pumping singing through your veins. It had his mouth watering for a completely different reason. 

He let his fangs drag against the delicate skin of your inner thigh, looking up at you through his lashes, "Can I?"

A superfluous question. Not when he already knew the answer before it escaped your lips.

“Y-yeah," You mumbled, lovingly gazing down at him. He would never tire of seeing that look on your face, "But be gentle? Please?” 

"Of course my love," Astarion murmured, before promptly sinking his fangs into your flesh. He had to hold you down from the way you were still trembling, your quivering only getting worse at the pleasure mixed with pain. He didn’t let himself go rabid, just enough to get a taste. He was pulling back too soon, smiling to himself at the little whine you let out. He gently licked over the wound before standing, not yet swallowing the last drops on his tongue.

Instead he leaned forward to kiss you, more than happy to share the sweet taste of your blood as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Thank you my dear,” Astarion sighed as he pulled away, “That was exactly what I needed. Now I think that’s enough investigating for one day.” 

You sighed, taking the time to card your fingers through his hair, “Agreed. Though you might have to carry me out of here now.”

Wasn’t that a wonderful idea?

Astarion hummed as he pulled your clothing back on, “I think I like the sound of that," He didn't give you time to respond, too busy sweeping you up in his arms with a grin, "I'll be taking you up on that."

You squeaked when he hefted you up, bridal style, “I wasn’t being serious!”

But it was too late, Astarion was already kicking the door open. He shrugged at you, completely shameless as he winked at a few onlookers, "Then you shouldn't have suggested it."

You groaned, hiding your face in his shirt as he happily took you outside, “I’m going to get you back for this. I hope you know that.”

Astarion laughed as he kissed the top of your head, “I’m sure you will.”

It was a childish stunt, borderline on par with a jealous tantrum, but gods, did it feel good. Good enough to sate Astarion's obsessive tendencies for an impressive amount of time. Under normal circumstances. 

But what about your lives were normal?

[silent-shanin]

It all started with a scratch

[elyserie]

Fate's Refusal to Honour (or at least properly research) Depictions of Non-Japanese Figures 2: Electric Bogaloo ft. Wandjina from the Current JP Summer Event

Disclaimer: While I am an Australian, I am NOT of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent. Therefore, I am coming at this issue from an outsider's perspective. If there is an Aboriginal person, or more specifically of the Mowanjum people from the Kimberly regions, please PLEASE correct me if I am wrong on any front.

The culprit behind the events of the current Summer story in the JP servers has recently been revealed to be Wandjina, a creator Dreamtime figure from the Mowanjum people's culture.

In any other context, I would be thrilled to have an Australian figure in FGO, but the problem here is the figure they use.

Wandjina are sacred to the Mowanjum people, and therefore one needs to go through Aboriginal Law to obtain the right to use the Wandjina's image.

In Australia, this resulted in an actual conflict between a non-indigenous artist and aboriginals. You can read more here, but one quote to note is from an Aboriginal man of the Darug people, Chris Tobin: "Aboriginal law is very specific on what you can and can't do with wan[d]jinas." Another quote on this topic is made by the owner of an Aboriginal art gallery, Adrian Newstead: "Only a few Aboriginal artists ever win the right to depict wan[d]jina, and only then after years of initiations and ceremonies..."

I am NOT attaching an image of FGO's iteration of Wandjina due to this. Not only is her appearance only Aboriginal on a surface-level with her 'dot art' aesthetic (dot art* is only a recent addition to Aboriginal culture, created back in the 1970s), having no resemblance to an Aboriginal person (note, that while many Aboriginal people are white/pale, FGO continually chooses to depict people of colour as light skinned as possible. And yes, I know she's blue, not white. There is literally no records of her being blue skinned; is this because Wandjina's are associated with rain????) but she is also not very Wandjina looking? These figures do not have mouths, have large eyes meant to resemble the eye of a storm and are typically depicted with elaborate headdresses. That little glowing boomerang on her head is not exactly elaborate. And WHY does she have a boomerang??? Because she's Australian???? By that logic, every Japanese figure needs to have a katana. #GiveMurasakiaKatana2023.

There is also the issue of Cnoc na Riabh. While it is funny to think that she's a foreigner because of an Australian influence, Yaraan-doo is also another Aboriginal figure. And it is slapped onto a white girl for a fan service event. I'd just rather Fate leave Aboriginal culture alone and just do, like, Ned Kelly or something if they're going to continue like this.

More resources and info under the read more!

You'll have noted in the quotes that I've edited an 'n' into wanjinas. This is so I didn't confuse anyone: both can be the correct spelling! I just stuck to what I thought FGO was using for their Wandjina.

Here's an overview of what wandjinas are and their inappropriate use in art: https://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/arts/what-are-wandjinas

Here's another page about an inappropriate use of Wandjinas (note: it's only a short synopsis about a documentary that covered the incident, I'm uncertain if you would be able to get access to the documentary outside of Australia): https://www.creativespirits.info/resources/movies/who-paintin-dis-wandjina

It should also be noted that the two websites I've linked above are from the website Creative Spirits. While it is run by a non-Indigenous person, the person behind it is currently transitioning it to be an Aboriginal owned and run resource. You can read more about how this site is run in his About page.

*If you want to know about dot art's origin, here and here are some resources on them. However, this article brings up something interesting that I would like to bring back to FGO Wandjina's dot art aesthetic. It notes that "the term 'dot painting' stems from what the Western eye sees when faced with contemporary Aboriginal acrylic paintings" (emphasis mine). All three articles note that dots were used to obfuscate sacred symbols and artifacts so that those who were not initiated into their cultures could not see what these figures were. In that case, what the hell is the dot art seen on Fate's Wandjina supposed to represent? In this article, it talks about the symbolism in Indigenous art. Fate's Wandjina has none.

[sesamenom]

happy some-number-of-days-till-halloween!

This year's halloween costume party features Aule for the group costume theme (he is also invited).

feanor's fire effect is achieved through slightly-glowy tiny gems sewed onto a bodysuit with actual stone chunks attached. the mini-Lamps are glass lanterns containing one silmaril each and carried on a really long fishing line by the ambarussa. feanor made a mini-angainor (complete with sock monkey melkor) just for the costume.

celegorm's orome costume is a slightly upgraded version of his costume from last year's party (x)

mahtan and nerdanel (as mairon) are the only ones who didn't have to get a wig/fake beard.

curufin spent more time helping feanor with the mini-Lamps and mini-Angainor than working on his own costume. also celebrimbaby is a dwarf because why would you *not* go as aule and a dwarf when you have a small toddler.

[acerathia]

elaboration on this post cw: implied exhibitionism

it's weird, you're aware of that. to be crushing on a stranger with a mask, just because he's actually doing something good. (and because he looks so good in their outfit, muscles ripping and stretching underneath that fabric, almost like he's putting on a show...)

yet, you can't help yourself. your body shivers, fingers twitching, heart racing with every passing glance, every mere thought of this masked phenomenon. and with every single reaction, the guilt buries itself heavier into your lungs.

you have a partner, one you like so so much, one you want to spend the rest of your life with. but how can you face him with these treacherous thoughts about another person, even worse, a stranger you barely have exchanged proper words with.

your desires and the bad aftertaste swirl together into a cocktail of mixed feelings. especially as you find yourself in his arms after a rescue from an attempted thievery.

his face hidden by the usual mask and his arms are securely wrapped around you, as he's transporting you carefully to another spot. and your lungs and heart are drumming, reminding you of the tickles you feel as you think of him, only to stop a beat, giving you a taste of the heartache to be followed in the future if you don't control yourself.

arriving safely in another alley, he begins to unravel his strong grip, taking all the warmth away from you. and everything you have been bottling up suddenly pushes forward, exploding in something you can't explain. maybe you wanted some form of closure, maybe you wanted to confess your complicated feelings to him, maybe you wanted to blame him for everything.

but nothing comes out, as the moment the mask leaves his face, you're faced with your partner, all wide eyes and confusion, worry. the same person you have gone home to every day is the same person protecting the streets. the only two people being able to stir your heart is the very same person. this realization turns your muscles weak, relief flooding through your veins, and you slump against him.

"I love you", you mutter, and it doesn't take for him to do the math, to put every piece together.

yet, instead of disappointment, there's something else you're confronted with, as he presses you against the wall with his body, letting his hands roam over you as he puts the mask back on.

"This is what you like, huh?" he asks, voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine, tingling deep in your belly.

you swallow, feeling yourself getting overwhelmed, especially as you feel his bulge grow where your bodies meet. his hand touches you then where you're most sensitive, pressing against you through the fabric. you gasp and clutch at him, feeling some sense of desperation, of need.

A chuckle. "I know we're going to have fun with this..." His fingers tug at your waistband, and you let him, giving yourself to him, in all of his forms.

[sickosdotjpg]

honestly think one of the hottest things a person can do is sneeze into the cowl/collar of a turtleneck sweater or similar

[housethemd]

Did Anybody Ask For My Personal Opinion On Who Wilson’s Other Brother Is? On The Larger Wilson Family Structure? On Wilson’s Life Before He Met House?

No? Okay perfect.

The oldest is David Wilson. He’s 4-5 years older than James. He was always smart, and received a lot of praise for all his success. He is a lawyer, and is married with two children. He married young, which thrilled his parents.

Then there is Danny Wilson. I assume Danny is short for Daniel. He is 2 years younger than James. He was always kind of a loner, and while James and Danny did play together as very young kids, the older Danny got the less he had any interest in playing with others, including James. He was prone to getting distracted or overwhelmed in public places and James was always the one to make sure he stayed safe. His parents were always at a loss with what to do with him, but James always seemed to understand him.

Then of course our beloved James Wilson. Middle child, living in the shadow of his older brother and his younger brothers keeper. His successes were never celebrated the way David’s were, because even if he got straight A’s (which he did) David always did it first, and his family seemed to find things less impressive the second time around.

Forced to grow up early to care for his younger brother, he had a hard time relating to kids his own age so he spent a lot of time at home watching movies and TV. He did extracurriculars through his school when he got to high school to pad his resume (he already knew he wanted to go to med school) and while everyone liked him, he didn’t have any close friends.

He learns how to become what people want him to be. How to cater to their needs. He spends his whole life being what everyone else needs him to be.

The first time he strays from that is when Danny calls while he’s in med school studying for that big exam. He hangs up on him, and then Danny goes missing. His family doesn’t understand how he could hang up on his brother like that, why he would do that, they think it’s so out of character for him.

He meets Sam, and desperately wanting to get back in his family’s good books he marries her quickly. He wants to follow in his older brothers footsteps, do what you are supposed to do, want what you are supposed to want. So he marries Sam.

Two years later they are getting divorced. He gets the papers right before a medical conference. He carries them around, without the will to open them. He hasn’t told his family yet.

Someone keeps playing “Leave a Tender Moment Alone” on the jukebox. He asks nicely for them to stop, he really does, he tries to be the bigger person, to keep to the persona that he only dropped once because last time he dropped it he lost his brother, but he can’t. He’s pissed off by the song, but more so he’s pissed off that his persona means he can’t do anything about it, why does everyone need him to be so nice all the time? Care about their problems? What about him? He’s a person too, what about his problems?

And the anger boils over. He throws a bottle, breaks a mirror, and gets arrested. He’s sitting in a jail cell, trying to figure out how he’s going to tell his family that not only is he getting divorced but he’s gotten arrested and feeling like he has the worst luck in the world when a police officer comes in and says a friend is bailing him out. He’s confused, he doesn’t have friends.

Outside the jail, he meets Gregory House.

For the first time someone sees past the persona. No matter what he does House always sees past it, to the person he really is. The person he convinced himself no one would like.

For the first time, he has a real friend.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

Okay I saw more of your art and had to come back (if it’s okay)

Maybe this time….King Marty? Like in a kings outfit with the septor

and crown and stuff? Idk

no problem at all! i'm just happy you enjoy :D

anyone with any remote knowledge of historical dress from any vague period or region please avert your eyes.

[impel-clown]

18. Along jaw, crocodile/buggy

(CW: Torture)

Crocodile can feel the oppressive heat before the guards even open the door, yet still he walks forward with his head held high as the seastone cuffs try to drag him low. They had already stripped him, so as the steam hits, heavy and hot, there’s not a single scrap of clothing to shield him.

“Tell me Sir Crocodile,” one of the guard’s begins as he walks him towards a massive cauldron. The thing is set into the floor, the lip slightly lower than the cobblestone and the water close to bubbling out. “Are you a religious man?”

Despite knowing exactly what’s about to happen, Crocodile keeps his voice steady. 

“No.”

He expects some sort of stupid quip back. Something to try and crack his resolve. A taunt about this so-called baptism. Instead, there is nothing but silence as the water rushes up to meet him.

Agony.

The second Crocodile hits the water it’s nothing but agony. His skin scalds. Nerves screaming. Blood boiling out of his veins. At first he had thought it had been an idiotic oversight that they had allowed him to keep his hook. But now as the metal grows hot in the water, the heat flows through it and presses against his stump in a burn he cannot escape.

Surfacing, Crocodile keeps his face impassive even as every inch of his skin is alight in unending pain. He’s not going to give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

He will not scream.

He will not scream.

He will not-

Crocodile blinks awake. There’s nothing dramatic about it. No shooting up in bed. No stuttered breaths. Not even the remnants of a scream. Just him lying in bed and staring at the ceiling as the memories of the nightmare echo away in his head. If not for the heat radiating off him and the sweat pooling on the sheets, no one would ever even know that anything plagued the former warlord’s sleep.

“You okay?”

He drags his gaze away from the ceiling towards Buggy. Sat up in bed, hair hanging loosely around him, the other man looks at Crocodile not with pity or judgment, but with just the remnants of sleep in his eyes. It’s appreciated in ways Crocodile could not and would not say.

Nodding, Crocodile doesn’t move. “Did I wake you?”

“Don’t think so.” Buggy yawns. “Just too damn hot in here to sleep. Mind if I open the window?”

Again, Crocodile nods and Buggy is quick to chop off his hands and send them flying. 

Honestly, how could something as simple as a summer night be capable of leaving him like this? It’s pathetic Having nightmares as if he was some child. Impel Down was years ago. Yet here it is, haunting him.

A slight breeze blows the curtains as the window gets propped open, and only a moment or two passes before Buggy’s hands rush back to him. However, where usually he is quick to stick himself to Crocodile’s side like a persistent leech, now he keeps a foot of distance between them on the bed. The idea that Buggy may have lied about Crocodile waking him up flits through his head, but he’ll wait till morning to examine that.

“I’m not going to fucking break,” Crocodile says, extending his left arm to give Buggy space to slot himself in. “Get over here.”

Without another word Buggy shuffles over, wrapping one arm over Crocodile’s chest with the other tucked up between the two of them. And perhaps it's a testament to how hot Crocodile is, or maybe it's something he’s too tired to even put a name to, but Buggy’s touch is nice and cool against his skin. Every point of contact is like a salve, and he finds himself unable to stop the deep sigh that shudders out of his mouth.

Again, Buggy goes to pull back.

“Don’t.” Crocodile means the word to come out more demanding, but there’s a rawness to it that he hates, that makes it sound more like pleading. Either way, the clown slowly brings himself back in, breath ghosting against Crocodile’s skin. The first kiss is barely a brush of lips underneath his ear. The next lands lower, and the next lower even still as Buggy trails down his jaw. Each press is a relief against his fevered skin and Crocodile finds himself letting his eyes close as he gets lost in it. They’re not placating, but they’re not heated and needy like Buggy is expecting this to go anywhere. It is touch for the sake of touch. Nothing more.

He’s not sure how many kisses are placed along his jawline before he speaks again, the words barely thought before they pass his lips. “They baptize you at Impel Down?”

Buggy places a kiss just so that his nose brushes against Crocodile’s ear. As he speaks, he doesn’t remove his mouth, instead whispering the word into Crocodile’s skin. “Yeah . . ..”

For a man usually so chatty, Buggy doesn’t ask the question back and Crocodile silently thanks him for it. In fact, they don’t say another word for the rest of the night. Instead they just lie there, Buggy lazily trailing kisses up and down his jaw while Crocodile holds him close against his chest, cool in each other’s embrace.

[semper-draca]

Astarion sketches

[teotoffee]

havent finished lor yet but i think these two are cute <3

[katkat030]

you 🤝 me

not being normal abt the dbhc au

YEAH. LITERALLY. Define normal because I sure as heck am NOT it. My gosh is the DBHC Ethubs brainrot strong.

sooooo as promised, quotes from my DBHC Ethubs wip :D (Edit: yeah so uh. that got a bit out of hand)

I’m the most happy with these and they probably won’t change too much when it comes time to put together the “donefinalfinal2.0take3” draft as I’m prone to naming things lol

#1

There’s a fond tilt to his lips as he cards his fingers through Bdubs’ hair, the sensation of the strands slipping through his fingers and the weight of the head pillowed on his chest grounding. It feels right, just so, a surety that seeps into his bones and nestles there. With Bdubs curled up on the grass beside him, face turned outwards and the sleepy smile tugging at his expression just barely peeking out from beneath the arm thrown over his eyes, the irony isn’t lost on him.

Dbhc Etho isn’t human, as much as he’s feeling and acting like one ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so there’s a little nugget of angst there.

for context, they’re lying in the sun - it’s set around early season 10, maybe around when Bdubs plants the forest around his area. Seeing as Etho was made for terraforming and gardening, it would only make sense for him to be helping Bdubs out with it.

Anyway. Spending a long day in the heat to dig holes, place saplings in them and cover them over again is pretty physically intensive. So Bdubs, being Bdubs, is tired and just wants to lie in the sunshine for a bit. Who’s to say Etho doesn’t join him (he does) (Bdubs ends up lying his head on Etho’s chest)

(there’s some serious angst potential here. Bdubs missed his uh, friend, when he wasn’t around before redeviating. Maybe he cries about it. Maybe Etho has some feelings about that)

#2

“Hey, you,” Bdubs murmurs, nose crinkling as his face stretches into a yawn, shifting the arm thrown over his eyes to open them for a few seconds and squint up at where Etho stands, blocking the rays of late-afternoon sunlight.

“Hey yourself, ‘Dubs,” he replies, unable to help the amusement creeping into his tone. Unregistered emotion detected, the notification flashes, which he ignores in favour of stuffing his hands into his pockets, raising an eyebrow at where Bdubs lies spread-eagled on the ground by his feet, well-worn soil stained gloves discarded and cast off to the side. “What ‘cha up to?” 

An incoherent “Mm” is all he gets in response, and it’s a conscious effort not to huff with laughter. The half-hearted glare from Bdubs proves the challenge impossible.

He could absolutely make a game of annoying Bdubs, Etho decides, mentally noting the thought and storing it to contemplate later. “I finished fixing your saplings,” is what he opts for instead, this time receiving a longer and slightly more coherent mumble he takes to mean as a thank you, and not a get your shadow away from me as it was likely intended.

“What was that?” He teases, putting a hand to his ear and leaning down slightly, blocking the sun further. “Is it past your bedtime?” 

Bdubs scowls as a breeze sweeps past, and had Etho been human he’d be completely caught off guard as the other reaches up to yank his arm. As it is he makes a show of stumbling, catching himself before using the connection to pivot and flop down besides Bdubs on the grass, greeted by Bdubs blinking blearily up at him, one eye open and the other shut against the brightness once again unobscured by Etho’s figure. 

“If you’re going to sit here, at least lie down, for goodness’ sakes,” he grumbles, but there’s no real heat behind the words. He resolutely ignores the way Bdubs’ touch lingers on his arm before falling back to his side. Unregistered emotion, the warning flashes. He ignores that, too.

formatting on mobile is incredibly time consuming but we got there in the end :’D

(This takes place earlier in the story than the first quote but shh)

anyway! I It’s far from finished and none of this is fully edited, so there’ll probably be changes in the future!

I hope you like it <333

for anyone not familiar with the au: it’s not mine, I’m simply writing a fanfic on it - go check out Shepscapades’ master post :) the art is absolutely incredible and I cannot recommend the entire thing enough

please do not repost my writing. Everyone is always welcome to reblog though ;)

[toriliashine]

Multiclassed wyll into a warlock/ranger. Best decision I've ever made, live your Disney princess with a gun truth man

[heavenbat]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Halsin/Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Halsin (Baldur's Gate), Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Lae'zel (Baldur's Gate), Gale (Baldur's Gate), Viconia DeVir Additional Tags: Werewolf Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Werebear Halsin (Baldur's Gate), Angst with a Happy Ending, Past Abuse, Viconia DeVir being Viconia DeVir, Mild Cannibalism, listen maybe Shadowheart eats a person or two as a werewolf, it's fine :), Eventual Smut, Werewolf Sex, Bear Form Halsin (Baldur's Gate), POV Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate) Summary:

Shadowheart has been a werewolf for as long as she can remember. And, for as long as she can remember, she's been taught to keep the wolf within firmly leashed and chained in place.

But then she meets a very handsome elf druid and finds that despite their differences they share an odd kinship--and he teaches her a new way to handle the beast within.

---

I wrote a fic :3 hot werewolf on werebear action (eventually)