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basilpaste · 3 months

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were i not experiencing The Fatigue at the moment id doodle something sooo silly

#basil blabbers #i Also want to draw sad and pathetic looking loop.#live loop reaction to 'elle'.#that only makes sense to like four other people rn but.#shhh.

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tadpoleatemybrain · 3 months

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Well That's One Way to Get Him Started

Drabble for the "Make Gabby Write a Thing" poll

Professor Ancunin AU (modern day au)

Words 620

Spoilers for Act 2 and Shadowheart's story

tw: lgbtqia+ erasure, historical revisionism

"Alright, who has a topic for today?" The professor asked dropping his bag into a chair and standing at the podium. He'd been in a bit of a rush this evening and had forgotten his collection of interesting journal entries. It was no trouble, from time to time he would answer questions or review material if someone had anything interesting. By now he had been teaching this course long enough that students knew what particular topics to bring up. Events from DR 1492 were always a favorite. The most interesting stories always came from that particular year. It was the most engrained in Astarion's mind considering without the events that transpired within it he wouldn't be standing in front of them today.

"I do!" Someone came prepared and jumped up with a book. He held out his hand and took it before he looked over the cover. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, a book regarding significant Selunites. There was an entry bookmarked and Astarion flipped to it assuming that was the point of interest.

Then he squinted unable to believe the absolute horseshit he was reading right now. Re-reading it several times over. Even checking the previous page and the next page before looking at the student who handed it to him.

"This has to be a joke right? There is absolutely no way in any of the nine hells this was published uncritically." Yet here he was looking at it.

"Oh for fuck's sake! I know it was five hundred years ago but how did they miss the plot that badly?! Dame Aylin is literally Selune's daughter, this is practically blasphemy!" The anger was apparent in his voice, but his ranting didn't stop there.

"There's poetry, there's art! Hell's they invented the phrase "Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling." What did they think that meant?! Did no one think to consult me? It was in my writings! I'm still alive, somehow and I haven't been hiding." The vampire took a moment to collect himself. There were very few topics that pissed him off quite as much as this one.

Erasure.

"If I get smit-ed in the next...fifteen minutes or so try not to be too surprised, but do make sure it goes into my obituary." Certainly not a method of death he would have considered for himself, but vastly more interesting.

"Dame Aylin and Isobel were lesbians, without a shadow of a doubt. I have been alive for almost eight hundred years-" Astarion's lip curled remembering his age.

"And I have never met bigger lesbians in all my life. And I have met a great many people. 'My mate most high, my darling Isobel, my one and only love' the praises never stopped. It was almost sickening." Among other things.

"I was right there when Shadowheart...sorry Jenevelle Hallowleaf, I still can't believe that was her actual name, rescued Dame Aylin. Gods the day the two were reunited in not so many words Dame Ayline told us to piss off so they could 'make up for lost time'. Can't say I blame them. If I'd been separated from my true love for a hundred years I want to as well." Not that he had one, but it sounded nice. In theory.

"This isn't worth the paper it's printed on, but I am going to be borrowing it. And I thank you for bringing it to my attention." That phrase never boded well in an email and it didn't in person either.

Well, at least Astarion didn't have to ask what he was going to spend tomorrow doing. Writing a scathing review of garbage always managed to kill some of the time he had so much of.

#Harold they're lesbians.#yes its oscar wilde quote.#shhh.#yes I'm saying.#erasure happens.#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fan fiction #bg3 fan fic #astarion fanfic #astarion fan fic #astarion fan fiction #professor ancunin #constructive feedback appreciated.#tw lgbt erasure

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derailedangel · 26 days

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msi fucks actually

#show me a single other artist with the same vibes #being a shitty person and having good music just works im sorry #mindless self indulgence #msi #also they should put faggot on spotify #shhh.

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thegreatyin · 9 months

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the esteemed and feared? king altair aquilae, fifteenth on the requian throne and inheritor of emperor polaris' might, power, and form,

and,

and his only trusted advisor, a fruit bat.

also featuring a bonus no-shading image, because look at that drip altair never wears and hates! woah!!

#yin art #apf #the fate of altair like the fate of rigel is to never be taken seriously except for when i do and then they. well. they are.#...........mostly.#noctule got a slight design update that i'll probably change later anyway #funnily enough due to lifespan proportions altair is actually in the prime of his youth at the ripe age of 48 and therefore #is in fact both literally and proportionally FAR younger than noctule. can you tell.#due to me forgetting their fucking glasses it is now canon that noctule wears contacts sometimes. such as here.#shhh.

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riaki · 6 months

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IF U DAW ME EDITIGBB MY BLOG NO U DIDNT

#shhh.#keep quiet!#i like it though ;3 #yapping #i am now quanxi #we’re matching!! :o

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ofovertime · 5 months

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.

#( ooc ) the mun.#if you see me liking this at this time you don’t.#shhh.

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starkwhitestars · 8 months

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starfield is garfield's warrior cats name

#shhh.

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sevenyeargap · 11 months

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i am simultaneously so so happy and so SO unhappy with my nrmts week fic

#you know tht feeling when you have an idea for a great concept #but you dont know how to execute it #so your brain is like OH this thing could have been SO good but you dont have the skills to do it perfectly #and i KNOW its a lie!!!!! bc i believe that you SHOULD create no matter what #no matter your skills or what your brain says #but now im just like ahhhfhfh its going to be so bad #and then bonking my brain bc no it Will Not Be Bad #shhh.

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hoeetry · 1 year

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To whom it may concern.

There is no need for a luncheon today. It's come to my attention that while taking in a brisk winter stroll. There was another disturbance, something to the effect of Zombies (I chuckled even to type such a term) this was the account of a freighted adolescent. I'll press on.

Seems that young and his frightening loud but still well concealed classmate were in the midst of a long long drawn out game of hide and seek. To which they thought they were but along in the Dogg park. Surely had no intention to ruin anyones evening.

I'll see to it that a proper apology is taken care and. Should arrive via secure and we'll funded carrier. As to assure it's arrive.

#Shhh.#kids today #what wont they get into next.#poeticstories

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sicariav · 1 year

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camerica:

Steve can’t breathe in the best of ways, his arm raised and hand gripping the edge of the table and every thrust of those hips makes him squirm and arch in desperation. If he had his senses he might have been embarrassed to want it so desperately but his eyes are glossed over, lids heavy and its everything he can do to keep his eyes trained on the sight of him. Bucky.

“Oh- fuck.” He hisses. In the peak of his pleasure he finds it strangely arousing to listen to the groan of old wood and the scrape of the table’s legs and if the words didn’t fail him he’d have begged for it harder. Like it was some sort of competition who could lose themselves in the moment more. Or maybe it’s the way Bucky’s lips part with every breath, every violent snap of those hips into him and the way his head tilts back and those eyes lock on to him like a beast starving for a meal that drives him insane. It’s not that he wants to be devoured....is it?

Maybe it is, he’s complying without actually understanding what the orders being barked at him really are. Like he’s on autopilot but those hands guide him so well he doesn’t have to think. It’s a blessing cause right now he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to think about what he said when the moment’s over and bury his face in shame any time he looks at the man.

Bucky presses in against him and Steve searches for the semblance of a brain rattling around in his skull and finds nothing but want and hunger and he bites his lip to stifle a groan of need. I’ll fuck you until you give up. Fuck. His cock twitches and for a long and quiet moment he begs quietly. Just do it. Fuck him until he’s a god damn mess beneath you, mark him so that everyone knows he’s yours. God Buck-

Steve’s nails scrape along the old chipping varnish surface as the man slides back in, cheeks red and lips parted as he sighs out a forced relaxed posture and-

The sound that rumbles from Bucky’s chest, through Steve’s, and down to his aching cock sends shivers trailing after it and Steve vibrates in his hands. He’s not quiet about any of it to show his appreciation, hand lifting to cradle the back of that shaggy head and the sounds he’s making are entirely involuntary but he wouldn’t disobey. He can’t. The feeling of that cock stroking him in places that make his legs weak, knees buckling and god fucking help him Bucky’s going to have to do all the heavy lifting to keep him from sinking to the floor but the warmth building in his lower stomach tells him he’s too close for comfort.

“Wait- wait I’m- oh fuck, please...” He’s whining and it sounds so vulgar even to his own ears but god he can’t think of anything else. Sentences don’t come easy and he can’t stop himself pushing back against that body to feel him deeper, hips rolling and every part of him is on fire. In the next moment he doesn’t give a damn. Not that he’s coming, not that the thrust of those hips haven’t stopped even for a second, not that his lungs are screaming for him to take a breath when all he can do is drool into the fold of his arm as he lets the waves of pleasure drown him in pathetic little noises, feel the hot stream of his own come dripping down his thigh and listen to the sound of that voice rumbling the assassin’s pleasure into every muscle that connects them.

He is violence and want, need and mindless pleasure. Where brittle bones may break he leaves only bruises that will fade come morning, where teeth would pierce and maim there is only the impression of his lust, of wild abandon and wanton desire to take and take and take.

Take he does. Until the body housing him, quivering beneath the stroke of his hips, mewling his appreciation and adulation, seizes around him, beneath him. Darkened skies dim to stormy fronts, lashes flutter as he closes his eyes. The whole of him is wound tight and yet there is no release. Not for him. He suspects there will not be unless he takes it too and he wants to.

But not yet. Not until the body housing him pulses around him no more.

“Turn around...” Hoarse and rough, breathy, desperate, he does not wait for compliance. He aches and there is nothing but his handler to sate him. Willing flesh to enact his hunger upon and he does. Hands a vice around lithe waist it is no surprise to find it easy to lift his companion, fold legs around his waist and carry the bulk of the man through threshold to the semblance of a bedroom beyond.

A paltry mattress stained and grotesque lay beneath heat trapping tarp upon which he deposits his companion, fingers as talons in the sweet give of thighs, parting slick skin to press inside. Again enveloped in warmth, again burrowed in the sweet succulent flesh and his want built expeditiously spills. Floodgates opened, hips snap forward, teeth graze along bare neck leaving nicks from canines which bead imperceptibly as he pulses, buried deep and emptying.

The high leaves him in drips, small storms of disappointment and longing to be swallowed by the sands of indifference. Greedy it drinks until the last of him is splayed out and spent staring at a crumbling ceiling. It is always too short, too brief. To little to matter to anyone such a small thing. How envious he is of the lives who are fleeting before him. Another sleep, another aged face, a new one to replace it.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” A slip of the tongue. The mask diverging? Slipping? Sliding down that pretty sweat-soaked face with lips begging to be opened? The clarity in them divine.

“I don’t care that you called his name.” What a darling little lie; but only a reassurance. Curiosity asks more of him than sense.

#camerica #I know it's been a millennia.#Shhh.#I still have the other one to reply to too.

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millificent · 4 months

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Every Nico Di Angelo fan focusing more on the background of the episode than the actual plot

#I wanted something!#I understand why they couldn’t show them #but a girl’s voice calling ‘Nico!’ or even a ‘Ghost King’ high score #(shhh I know that wouldn’t work with the timeline but nor does the entire episode)#edit: thank you to the people who pointed out that we hear him (so glad he’s Italian too!)#pjo #pjo series #pjo tv show #Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson spoilers #pjo spoilers #Nico Di Angelo #solangelo #also for the record I didn’t make the picture I saw it on Twitter and knew the perfect use for it

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cobbbvanth · 2 months

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#please don't take him just because you can :(

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tadpoleatemybrain · 3 months

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Well That's One Way to Get Him Started

Drabble for the "Make Gabby Write a Thing" poll

Professor Ancunin (modern day au)

Might become a series?

Words 620

Spoilers for Act 2 and Shadowheart's story

tw: lgbtqia+ erasure, historical revisionism

"Alright, who has a topic for today?" The professor asked dropping his bag into a chair and standing at the podium. He'd been in a bit of a rush this evening and had forgotten his collection of interesting journal entries. It was no trouble, from time to time he would answer questions or review material if someone had anything interesting. By now he had been teaching this course long enough that students knew what particular topics to bring up. Events from DR 1492 were always a favorite. The most interesting stories always came from that particular year. It was the most engrained in Astarion's mind considering without the events that transpired within it he wouldn't be standing in front of them today.

"I do!" Someone came prepared and jumped up with a book. He held out his hand and took it before he looked over the cover. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, a book regarding significant Selunites. There was an entry bookmarked and Astarion flipped to it assuming that was the point of interest.

Then he squinted unable to believe the absolute horseshit he was reading right now. Re-reading it several times over. Even checking the previous page and the next page before looking at the student who handed it to him.

"This has to be a joke right? There is absolutely no way in any of the nine hells this was published uncritically." Yet here he was looking at it.

"Oh for fuck's sake! I know it was five hundred years ago but how did they miss the plot that badly?! Dame Aylin is literally Selune's daughter, this is practically blasphemy!" The anger was apparent in his voice, but his ranting didn't stop there.

"There's poetry, there's art! Hell's they invented the phrase "Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling." What did they think that meant?! Did no one think to consult me? It was in my writings! I'm still alive, somehow and I haven't been hiding." The vampire took a moment to collect himself. There were very few topics that pissed him off quite as much as this one.

Erasure.

"If I get smit-ed in the next...fifteen minutes or so try not to be too surprised, but do make sure it goes into my obituary." Certainly not a method of death he would have considered for himself, but vastly more interesting.

"Dame Aylin and Isobel were lesbians, without a shadow of a doubt. I have been alive for almost eight hundred years-" Astarion's lip curled remembering his age.

"And I have never met bigger lesbians in all my life. And I have met a great many people. 'My mate most high, my darling Isobel, my one and only love' the praises never stopped. It was almost sickening." Among other things.

"I was right there when Shadowheart...sorry Jenevelle Hallowleaf, I still can't believe that was her actual name, rescued Dame Aylin. Gods the day the two were reunited in not so many words Dame Ayline told us to piss off so they could 'make up for lost time'. Can't say I blame them. If I'd been separated from my true love for a hundred years I want to as well." Not that he had one, but it sounded nice. In theory.

"This isn't worth the paper it's printed on, but I am going to be borrowing it. And I thank you for bringing it to my attention." That phrase never boded well in an email and it didn't in person either.

Well, at least Astarion didn't have to ask what he was going to spend tomorrow doing. Writing a scathing review of garbage always managed to kill some of the time he had so much of.