#best story line!

[the-witch-of-one-piece]

ahhhhhh anothe kh fan! tell me what you think of kh4! i’m personally a bit eb about pirates of the caribbean being included - it was a great world but felt a little out of place, kinda wanted to see a classic old school disney world make a surprise appearance!

toy story was wicked tho!

Yesss!!! :D

TBH I'm excited for it. The graphics looks so amazing and Sora learned how to lay of the gel lol but the whole story line has always gotten my attention. I actually liked Pirates of the Caribbean being in it BUT when the pirates didn't have the moon reflected on them was a bitch to battle 💀 I honestly loved see black and white mickey mouse running to Sora and shaking his hand and running away. The toy story one I absolutely loved it!!! I think my favorite world would have to be nightmare before Christmas. I loves Sora, Donald, and Goofy's outfits and the combo move to do with Jack. The world that was a nightmare for me to play because I always got lost in was Pinocchio's or doing the tournaments in the underworld the one that was timed OMG let me tell you I would be SOOOOOOO PISSSED trying to finish it before the timer stop. It took me a moment to beat it. I think another part that stood out to me was when Sephiroth came out and Sora battled him OMG when I tell you I screamed I was literally screaming when fighting him. Off track for a moment I was soo shocked to see him on smash bros and his intro into the game I legit screamed again mofo was destroying characters left and right. xD When typing this right now all I hear is 'dance water dance' Demyx my memories of fighting him came back HAHAHA or 'reload' xigbar saying it.

omg im so sorry this is long but I legit got so happy talking about KH.

Imma call you my Paopu fruit anon!!!!  (If two people share one, their destinies become intertwined. They'll remain a part of each other's lives no matter what.)💜✨

#memories #kingdom hearts #i really wanna play it now! #best story line! #paopu fruit anon

[axolotlclown]

We need to remember that Shubble stated that Wilbur would manipulate and gaslight friends and family. With this, we must be patient with streamers that were close to Wilbur. This was likely surprising and shocking for them. They may need time to come to terms with what has happened.

I have been vocal about how important it is for men to be critical about abusive behaviors. However, Wilbur had many close friends—some would even consider him family—and now they may feel they hardly knew him at all.

There is a deep stress felt by viewers. It is difficult to think we have given any amount of time or money to an abuser. Could you imagine a close friend right now? The pain and betrayal must sear. They need time to understand what has happened and come to terms with it. Many of them may not be live in the coming days (weeks even).

That being said, as time passes, criticism may be necessary. Complacency is not an option. Men that are willing to ignore abuse to protect an abuser are just as pathetic as the abusers themselves.

Let's give this situation time to breathe. I ask that we give patience and courtesy to those close to Wilbur at this time. But please do not forget that this happened. There may be a few streamers hoping to lay low and then drop a collab in a few months. Do not let them. This is too important.

#for now #the best thing we can do is spread awareness about abuse and offer support to domestic violence victims #i also want to add #that any previous art made about him was made with pure intentions #obviously its up to each individual to decide where the line is #but maybe lets not support him monetarily moving forward #that seems to be the move #anyway #please be kind to each other and give each other space #especially domestic violence survivors that may be here with us #and those who may have realized they were/are abused from shubbles story #i want to offer her and everyone around as much support as i can #if any domestic violence survivers have any stories they want to share #my dms and askbox are open #if anyone suspects that someone in their life may be abusing someone #this offer is open to you too #we need to talk about this #thoughts of dante #wilbur soot #shubble #im tagging this under shubble even though the post isnt really about her but i want the tags of this post to reach #whoever needs to read them

[destiel-wings]

AO3 easy trick: sometimes when I want to leave a comment on a fic but I dont know what to say specifically I'll just paste my favorite line(s)/little paragraph and then write something like "I loved this so much/this fic is amazing" or even just a string of hearts.

writers love knowing what lines stuck the most and this way you don't need to elaborate too much of your own

#ao3 #fanfic #you may think it's nothing but telling writers what lines/parts of the story resonated the most with you is really the best thing you can do #ao3 comments #fanfiction #fanfic readers #ao3 writers #fanfic reading

[chalkrub]

new guy, he's an artist. and a merderer

#my art #oc #murdoch #anthro #furry #dragon #debating whether to keep this guy or finally sell one of my designs #he is growing on me at an alarming rate but he wasn't what i wanted to design....and he doesn't have a story #which is apparently a prerequisite for me to keep an oc nowadays #anyway. this guy may be a pro artist but my dumb ass once again refused to reference antlers so i just drew random lines #and hoped for the best #don't be like me i have a broken brain

[ghostbsuter]

The house of Nightingale & Constantine ( P. 3 )

> previous

.・゜-: ✧ :-

"Why are you avoiding me." Green eyes, sharp and unflinching, locked on Danny.

Startled, he turns to the younger boy, Damian? Bruce's only blood kid, he reminds himself.

"I'm not avoiding you." He denies, shaking his head, eyes trailing off.

But Damian knows, he learned and memorised the movements, signs, and behaviour of human kind.

"Do not lie to me, Nightingale."

The use of the name triggers something, and both Damian and Danny jump back, startled and cautious.

"What's the meaning of this!" The boy demanded, snatching his sword from the hilt.

The other raised his hands, pleading. "Look Damian– put the sword down and let me explain, please?"

They stood in tense silence, the sword pushed down reluctant and swiftly tugged back in.

"Explain."

Danny sighs in relief.

"You're more than aware of your parentage, yes?"

A nod, if not slightly confused. "Wayne?"

"No, al Ghul."

He keeps his facial expression and body language closed, obviously trained, and tilts his head to the Ghost. Listening, assessing.

Danny swallows as the air takes on sparks, dangerously close to one another.

If only Dick was in the mansion, maybe he'd cut the air with a knife followed by laughter and help him escape.

"The al Ghul line is in a delicate balance that can be toppled any time," he explains. "it's an old house, new compared to the houses of ancient, but powerful."

"You're saying," Damian drawls, carefully placing the words to form the sentence. "that the line of Al Ghul is... magic." He is studying the older, eyes narrowed and focused.

He knew such accusation would be called ridiculous by the younger. It would definitely earn him a few attempted kills.

"Not all dark houses are magic, just magic adjusted. The reason al Ghul is where it is today is that the founder, your grandfather, is still alive."

"You're aware such claims would have your head."

A wince.

"Fine." Damian scoffs. "We will go back to that after, tell me of the name triggering then."

"Names have power, but family names are more powerful, especially those of dark houses. If another dark house calls—"

"It registers as a warning and summoning." He finished, unfazed at the owlish blinks received.

"You were taught."

"I was, you're right, the al Ghuls are not magic. I haven't taken it seriously back then, I now see the error of my actions." The boy simply states, arms crossed.

"Calling another house of dark by name and immediately pulling a weapon is a declaration of challenge." Dannt adds after a moment of quiet. "I would rather not fight and make an enemy here."

"Not an enemy, but neither an ally?" Is quickly thrown back.

The Nightingale shrugs. "I'm not fond of your grandfather," he admits. "but it's known that every generation changes the house, I would not mind being the ally of the al Ghuls, if it meant you did the contract."

"Being an ally to my name only and to the al Ghul if asked." Green eyes, borderline neon, it reminds Danny of the zone. "Bold."

A grin cracks through, and Danny gestures to the door. "We can discuss the terms during snack time, if you wish, al Ghul."

A spark and Damian scowls harder. "Stop that." He says. "Let's do so, Father would be quite pleased knowing I've made more allies."

As he stomps to out, Danny follows with a jump in his steps, very pleased.

Nightingale 1, Constantine 0!

#the house of constanine and the house of nightingale have infinite beef #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny and john have family beef #the house of Nightingale and the line of al Ghul under Damians name have become allies #the line of al Ghul is a house of dark #danny and damian are gonna be besties in the most posh and annoying eay #way* sorry #i love these guys man and this story #oh!!! chapter 1 of the official story is in the making!!!! #why WOULDNT damian help danny by beating an older man and gain benefits from it? #the al Ghuls are not magic but gather power from a parallel dimension that is in fact the ghost realm #they have a patron ancient that i will be creaitng half assed and hope for the best #WORLD BUILDING

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

#ghost's stories #smutty party #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x you #my writing #there's a line in here that my best friend watched me write in real time IN PERSON that we both cackled about #i went 'i really shouldn't include it' and she went 'but it's HIM' #it's giving 'i'd rather be the only dark power inside you' #idk if this is good but it is what it is ya know #if the ending feels rushed it's because i felt terrible for how long it was getting lol #i just wanna love on the boy #i just wanna love him and he love me is that too much to ask #so many pet names i considered editing but the voices won

[theraedar]

a letter to you

(Letter transcription under the cut)

Mom,

I know a letter wouldn’t reach you if I wrote one, but if it could, there’s so much I’d want to tell you.

I’d write about everything that’s happened in the time I’ve been gone, and how overwhelmed I’d felt at first. I’d apologize for disappearing without an explanation, but let you know that I’d be okay, because I’d found friends that stayed by my side through all of it...friends I’d cross the universe for. I’d tell you how I’d like you to meet them, but to please bear with them because they can be a bit of a handful, though their hearts are in the right place.

I’d ask if you remember how you always wished that you’d given me siblings, then assure you that you didn’t have to worry about that anymore, because there are people that look out for me now and guide me when I’m lost. I’d admit that I admire them, then think that must be what it feels like to have older siblings.

I’m sure you’d also love to hear about a boy I met, embarrassing as that would be. I’d tell you not to get any ideas, though. It’s not a romantic story, but maybe he and I got off on the wrong foot, and maybe he’s not so bad after all.

I’d wrap the letter up hoping that the house isn’t too big without me and that the fire would keep it warm enough for you this winter, because it’d be a shame if your fingers were too cold to play the piano. I’d tell you I miss you and that I’m trying to find a way home, that I can’t wait to hear your music again. I’d promise to write again soon, then sign it,

“Your one and only,

Lorel.”

#twisted wonderland oc #ace trappola #deuce spade #vil schoenheit #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #twst oc #lorel #my art #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A NEW YEARS COMIC #BUT IT TOOK ME 2 MONTHS #jade and azul both being shown for Those Lines were to account for either one of them being the lorelship route #since i ship both of them w lorel LOL #that leaves out ace tho but ace is best friend first and foremost 🥹 #also the ‘its not a romantic story’ part is just them bein in denial HFHDHDHS

[hylialeia]

you don't get it. she loved him once. she didn't have a maester, she had a brother. he sold their mother's crown to keep them fed. he said Dany, please. she loved him, once.

#I feel like the tragedy of viserys and dany is they really might have been close and loved each other normally of they'd been allowed to #barristan says viserys always seemed aerys's son but when has westeros had any sort of developed understanding of mental illness #dany knew him best and she said the last kindness left him when he sold their mother's crown #it begs the question how much kindness there would have been if they hadn't been children forced out on the streets #a brother dany says never forgave her for their mother's death giving her birth. #but who told her stories and brought her up while his own mental faculties were wearing thin #it doesn't feel like tywin keeping tyrion based on lannister name and blood alone #she loved him once. #that viserys had some inherent lecherous evil in him doesn't feel in line with that to me #it doesn't feel in line with dany please #if ned is the good guardian to tywin's bad one viserys was just a boy who found himself in that role under the worst possible circumstances #and who under duress of those awful circumstances and his own undiagnosed mental illness #(for which he never got any help or support) #failed his sister very very badly #leaving daenerys to feel the hole of his absence even when he was still alive #because she loved him. once #lol anyway! #asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #viserys targaryen

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

I would carry you to the end of the world.

Love In Translation

Our Skyy 2

A Shoulder To Cry On

Why R U

Happy Merry Ending

Never Let Me Go

The Best Story

History 2: Crossing The Line

Don't Say No

Innocent

Favorite piggyback rides (Part 2/?) as part of my favorite bl-trope collection (no particular order).

#piggybackingintosunset #love in translation #our skyy 2 #a shoulder to cry on #why r u #happy merry ending #never let me go #the best story #history 2: crossing the line #don't say no #innocent the series #bl drama #bl series #myedit #multi bl #multibl.edit #bl tropes #lgbtq+ #tvtropesedit

[newvision]

Just watched Hannibal put on Will’s jacket in Mizumono and sobbed so hard I gagged! What kills me about it is that Hannibal is so clearly heartbroken over Will’s betrayal. It must have been so difficult and terrifying for him to reveal more and more of what was underneath his carefully construed mask to Will throughout the episodes, something he hasn’t done for anyone but his victims since he lost his sister. Throughout S2b we see him warm up to the idea of a companion. He tests Will and Will passes the tests, until Hannibal smells Freddie on him and knows she’s not actually dead. He could have left, then, with Abigail and they couldn’t have proven anything, he could have had a comfortable life somewhere else, but instead he chose to give Will the benefit of the doubt, presumably against his better judgement. Will did what I imagine must have been the very worst thing anyone could have done to Hannibal. He didn’t not understand him, he pretended to understand him to serve his own agenda. He sensed Hannibal craved understanding and gave him just enough to be able to turn on him. I think that’s why Hannibal gutted Will and killed Abigail, Will is the only one with the ability to truly hurt Hannibal and he does, so Hannibal hurts him in the way only he can — and by doing so imagines he will be able to leave Will behind, start a new life, just as alone as he has always been, as the promise of companionship was a hoax — but again, he’s doing it half-heartedly. He could have watched the life drain out of Will, but he leaves instead of really killing him, so Will isn’t truly gone from him. He leaves, yes, but he takes Will’s jacket and wears it — so Will isn’t truly gone from him. And that begs the question — would he have done that for anyone before meeting Will? I do not think so and neither did Will. When Hannibal asks him “Do you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?” it seems like he wants Will to say no, but Will doesn’t, he say’s he has already altered him, that he is just as much a part of Hannibal as Hannibal is a part of him. They are both so so torn - Will, who betrays Hannibal, but says he did want the gift Hannibal gave him, Hannibal, who guts him but in a way that won’t allow him to die. Will, who wants to catch Hannibal, but seems so accusatory and hurt when he says “you were supposed to leave”. He’s a good fisherman, but begs the fish to swim away, and Hannibal swims towards him although he can see the fishing rod. Everyone talks about Will running towards his own destruction for him, but so does Hannibal. They’re crashing into each other. I cannot get over it, ever

#the way mads delivers the lines ‘I let you know me - see me’ is one of the best performances in all of cinema #the pain in his voice dear GOD #also will moving closer when Hannibal pushes the knife into his stomach #he takes what he can get from Hannibal!!! whatever it is #thank god I don’t relate to either of them 🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣😂🤣🤣🤣🤣 feeling normal and fine #its the most heartbreaking love story of all time perhaps #Hannibal #emmys thoughts on Hannibal #nbc Hannibal #will Graham #hannibal lecter #Mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #hannigram

[in-study-hell]

Malik, how do you hold all that girlboss energy in so few polygons?

#Malik al sayf #ac1 #I watched ppl play assassins creed 1 and immediately got attached to this guy #The writers gave him some of the best lines bless #Also damn the game still holds up so well despite being more than a decade old #Might draw more memes later idk #Anyways #his sick burns are very fun but I also absolutely enjoy that he gets like closure along the story even if it means #Less savage burns #Altair is here too but this isn’t about him

[butterflybandage222]

LOVE STORY OF PETERICK 2024

#IF YOU HAVENT YOU NEED TO WATCH THE ORIGINAL #FULL SERIES ITS SO GOOD #WHETHER YOU LOVE PETERICK OR HATE PETERICK ITS PERFECT #the best way to watch it is to narrate every line out loud to yourself/with your friends btw. I have done both #my edit #crack edit #petetrick #tourdust #2ourdust #fall out boy #love story of peterick #p2

[heavensculled]

i’ll never understand anti sns shippers who are pro sasuke or naruto.

how do you separate canon soulmates and fundamentally misunderstand their character writing. god forbid traumatised 16yos arent perfect at understanding each other completely and take time to do so. but in the end finally get it and decide to stay together because they do love each other. (edited because NO. it is romantic. 🩷) they both are messy kids who fuck up constantly. both were wrong and right.

anyway, they’d hate you guys for this, they are canonically the most important person to each other and are both obsessive. 😭

naruto fandom stop demonising child soldiers, impossible!

#pro sasuke #pro naruto #pro sns #sns #sasunaru #narusasu #rant post #yall are super dumb tbh. you cannot call yourself pro — and hate on thr person they love mosy. #listen to the actual characters and story for two seconds. #anti konoha #im on a thin line with that place - naruto did his best #love him. #sakura is demonised a little too much for a girl who just struggles with empathy anf cannot understand people super well. #neji best character fr. he understands sns so well #pro itachi #you cannot like sasuke and hate him. sorry!

[mattodore]

the longer his hair gets the more brooding he looks

#river dipping #theodore doe #echthroi #ts4 #ts4 edit #i feel unwell........................ what if . i switched his hair again . .. #nvm that it literally doesn't make sense at all for his hair to be this long in the story atm when he cut it all off at like 17... #i need to make theo at 27-29 so i have a version of him that always has this hair #he was blessed with good skin but i think he'd lose some of the baby fat in his cheeks and he'd get some wrinkles between his eyebrows... #he doesn't emote often yk so no smile lines </3 or anything like that... but he's definitely always glaring at ppl dfjkfhnk #theo my strap is eight inches forget about matthias i can change your life 🗣️ #i’ve been thinking abt making mattodore in their thirties or forties just bc there’s this hair that i think would be perfect for matthias #who—despite his best attempts at maintenance—can’t stop his hairline from receding a bit as he ages #i just know he’d look so good with a little gray as he hits his early to mid forties too… and theo… #sorry just thought abt theo with gray hair and blacked out

[01432853]

Fighting for Love (2024) • EP 31

#fighting for love #cdramaedit #asiandramanet #cdramasource #dailyasiandramas #dramasource #asiandramasource #cdrama #wang rui chang #asiandramaedit #chang yu qing #a mai #crystal zhang #mer gifs #fighting for love spoilers #spoilers #best line that came out of this done wrong drama #he single-handedly upgraded this drama #i skimmed through the last eps so much cause i couldn't bother anymore... #the chen qi guy that actor was charming as well such a shame we didn't get more of him and that story line as well.. #the child actors did also such a good job #crystal zhang too #that scene were she was crumbled to the floor! such a shame.. everything seems now wasted #this drama is a whole “what could've been but wasn't” situation

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

“Sweetheart, if you knew the things I could do with you, you’d have run away a long time ago,” said the young man standing below the arch of the city gate.  If you looked at him full-on he seemed normal enough, but catch him in your peripheries and he seemed Wrong somehow.  Like he had too many sides to him, or like his limbs were just out of proportion, or like he moved with a grace that wasn’t quite human.  He reached out to run a finger along a stray lock of hair escaped from the pigtails of the young woman he was talking to.     

She groaned loudly.  “Don’t. We’ve known each other far too long for this bullshit.” 

The man grinned.  It was an unexpected grin, usually men like this are expected to smirk, or leer, or smile slyly, or even quirk an eyebrow if it came to it.  But the grin was real, open and glad, briefly washing away the aura of inhumanity and leaving merely a boy who very much liked talking to this girl. 

“But it’s funny.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“But it’s really funny.”

Let’s back up a bit.  Everyone knows that history repeats itself and certain outcomes always arise.  Violence is condoned through complacency.  Tyranny lasts for a while then tends to burn itself out.  Empires always end up toppled in the end.  These are our stories, at least, which crop up again and again.  The principle is true in other lands as well, they just happen to view different things as histories. 

Fulfaran was particularly high in story density as cities went.  It seemed you couldn’t turn a corner without running into a run-away princess, or a charming scoundrel, or a crone (crones were particularly bad – it was a 50/50 chance as to whether they’d try to destroy your life or give you genuinely good advice).  The markets were teeming with exotic goods, the castle at the top of the hill flew its banners brightly in the breeze, and there were established parts of town you went to only if you wanted to a. meet an orphan, b. meet a thief or c. fall down a hole.  Rather a good place for Reynard and Connie, who tended to be plagued by stories. 

Constance was a baker’s daughter who had been taken as a teenager to live in a tower by a witch in exchange for her impoverished family receiving enough gold to live on.  She never fully understood that witch’s motivations but that’s just how it went.  She had immediately proceeded with a number of escape attempts, most of which failed until Reynard had ridden below her window and she had bargained with him until he snuck a rope inside with her food deliveries.  He had claimed to be a prince, but wasn’t.  Connie knew he wasn’t quite human either, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it and she didn’t want to pry. 

She had wanted to go home, but she knew the witch would try to exact vengeance.  So, she said her goodbyes for a second time and started out in the opposite direction, which happened to be where Rey was headed as well (or so he claimed, in truth he had no direction or purpose.  But he liked Connie, she was sensible and she made him laugh). 

Unfortunately, it seemed the two of them were not fated to have an easy path.  For one, events kept transpiring which forced Rey into situations where he was expected to betray Connie.  Said events seemed rather upset every time he simply told her everything and they worked out a solution together.  Connie, on the other hand, was continuously being offered chances to fight royalty and claim a kingdom.  It wasn’t that she wouldn’t like a kingdom, she commented once as the two of them wandered through the woods, but she didn’t think she had the training to run one.  She was, after all, a baker’s daughter.  She could make excellent bread but she didn’t care for administration. 

They also stubbornly refused to fall in love with each other, which seemed to make the stories very distressed indeed.  This was not helped by how within a few hours of meeting they had become firm friends – Connie rather thought they had been expected to be unlikely allies who hated each other at first.  But it wasn’t in either of their natures to hate very hard and she liked Rey – he was clever and cutting, but never cruel.

Eventually the events all became too much, which is why they had come to where they were, the main gate of Fulfaran.  The storied city.  Surely someone here must know how they could get out of this. 

Connie felt herself smiling back despite herself.  “Fine, it’s a little funny but I honestly don’t know how you can say stuff like that in public without wanting to curl up into a ball and die,” she said starting to walk again, under the gate into the crowds.  Rey fell into step beside her. 

“I have no shame,” he shrugged, “besides, I don’t know any of these people. No one’s paying attention and even if they were, they’d think it’s normal.  I’m pretty sure I saw at least three pairs of ‘people who definitely hate each other’ coming in after us."

Connie was going to reply, but she was cut off by a harsh voice that had snuck into their path. 

“Child! I see greatness in you—”

“Oh not today, thank you!” said Rey, doffing his cap to the aged woman in the dark cloak swaying before them.  Connie summoned up her best customer service smile, the one with just enough of a hint of rage in it that it tended to shut people up without them knowing why, and slipped past the figure. 

“Wait!” the crone cried, “there is a prophecy—”

“Probably not me,” said Connie cheerily over her shoulder.  “Try that girl with midnight-blue eyes over there, that’ll do the trick.”  She rolled her eyes at Rey who grimaced. 

“When we get to the inn we’re taking the most boring room imaginable,” he said emphatically.  “Nothing on the top floor, nothing with secret passages, just four walls and a bed.”  The two of them had long since given up on multiple rooms, or even multiple beds.  No matter how hard they searched every inn was always just a little too full. 

“We better do it quick, I want to sleep before dinner.  Who did you say this place was recommended by again?”

“Basically everyone I know who’s been here,” said Rey, scanning the buildings as they passed.  “They say it’s lovely, really quaint and unique. We should be there right around this corner—”

He halted.  Connie almost hit his shoulder but she hardly noticed, too focused on the inn they had found.  It was small and smoky, almost crumbling beneath the weight of the sky.  Hooded figures passed in and out, glimmers of gemstones sometimes flashing out from beneath their clothing.  The sign was covered in enough grime that it couldn’t be read and there was a large board on the front with dozens of papers stuck to it advertising quests, monster-hunts, missing people, missing dogs, various balls, festivals, and competitions, and the best shops to find weapons in the area.  Connie’s heart sank and Rey’s expression told her he was feeling the same thing. 

“I saw a TreacleTavern down the road,” he said under his breath.  TreacleTaverns were in every city and they were all huge and identical.  Connie nodded vigorously.

“Let’s go, let’s go.”  She all but shoved him back down the way they had come. 

As they left she shot one last look over her shoulder.  A young man was staring at them.  He had chestnut brown hair and an intense expression, as though he had seen them before.  He seemed oddly familiar to Connie, though she didn’t know how she might have met him. 

It was probably something very important that she would have lingered on had the circumstances been different.  Unfortunately for the stories, however, she was still extremely invested, come hell or high water, in getting her pre-supper nap.   

#my writing #we are SO back #this is not in fact the first connie and rey story but I never finished the other and I had them floating around #anyway I've read one too many fantasy novels lately where the leads don't actually like each other #also screaming scratching throwing up at the corny-ass lines these men pull out of their asses #once again I present you with a male/female best friend dynamic in which they wander the country and deal with Events #tomorrow I will probably give you the same I have one (1) look