#THIS IS SO SAPPY I AM SO SORRY

[she-said-hello]

i want something like what u and @nsfwcarpetmuncher have so bad. i think we all deserve to hear more about u guys. we want to know everything! :3 i have a few questions.

can u describe emma?

what is she like out of her account?

is everything mostly sexual between you both or is it more than that?

really want to know what she looks like can you describe her face if shes comfortable with that?

is emma always dominate with you?

do you guys talk a lot?

how does emma make you feel?

-👻 ( from emmas inbox )

- emma (@nsfwcarpetmuncher) is absolutely wonderful. she is the kindest person ever, always so encouraging and sweet to me. she is ALWAYS there for me no matter what. we've had some really intense and difficult conversations where, in my past, people absolutely would have left me to struggle alone but she has always stayed with me and listened and helped until i told her i was okay. she shows her emotions and is vulnerable, but she's also SO fun and funny. she tells the best stories. she is also... whew... so sexy. she's able to turn conversations on me sooo quick until i literally have to drop what i'm doing and touch myself. she makes me soooo weak. loves to surprise me with unexpected photos/videos and sends lots of voice notes, which i'm obsessed with because her voice is my favorite sound in the whole world. she has the cutest laugh and most soothing voice and i swear one of the most common things i say to her is "let me hear you" or "talk to me" because i love hearing her. she is so beautiful inside and out.

- she is a lot more goofy than how she is on her account lol. the account is more for like the dominant, sexual side of emma (which i am very much obsessed with) but she isn't like that all the time. she's VERY romantic and sweet and soft and sentimental and silly

- there's definitely lots of sexual stuff, but it is absolutely more than JUST sexual. it's fun and romantic and emotional and sad sometimes but so exciting and fulfilling and so so much more than just sexual. she's my best friend, i love her to pieces.

- she posted a short video of her face a while back i believe! might just have to scroll back a bit. but oh my god she is gorgeous. she has the sweetest smile and the most beautiful green eyes. i love seeing her face just as much as any other part of her.

- as much as she'd like to say she's always in control, we BOTH know that is not the case hehehe. i am definitely very submissive with her, it just comes naturally, like i swear i turn into an puddle for her SO fast lol. HOWEVER i do know her weaknesses and have been in control at times. she acts like she hates it but i KNOW she secretly loves it ;)

- unfortunately we have a 6 hour time difference which definitely is not ideal, but we talk CONSTANTLY when we're both awake. we joke that it takes us hours to respond to everyone else but we read each other's texts immediately lol. so yes, we talk a lot.

- emma makes me feel a way nobody has ever made me feel. gonna try SO hard not to cry while typing this but am definitely failing lol. i have an overwhelming amount of insecurities and anxiety about myself and my body. because of this, i have never let anyone get close to me in a sexual way. emma has somehow managed to make me feel so comfortable from the very start. i have shown her things i would never imagine showing anyone, and she ALWAYS makes me feel so good. showers me with compliments and praise and i truly have never felt sexy before in my entire life, but the way she reacts to me actually makes me feel attractive. she makes me feel absolutely ravenous for her, like oh my GOD that woman is. incredible. cannot get enough of her and her body. truly, i will never get tired of seeing her. aside from all the extremely intense sexual feelings she gives me, she makes me feel SO loved and cared for. she makes me feel heard, and respected. she makes me feel pretty, which nobody has ever been able to make me feel. she makes me feel SO happy but also makes me cry a lot because of all the barriers between us. she makes me feel like i have something to look forward to every day, and that i have some sort of purpose because she makes it known how much she cares about hearing from me. she makes me feel at home.

[rendevok]

“Take my hand” pages 16-18

1 -> 3 - day 4 - swap

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

[carissime]

Literally no thoughts just Gojo after your wedding carrying you over the threshold of your hotel room. You’re not leaving for your honeymoon until the morning but he nearly trips on the doorframe in his haste.

“You really don’t need to carry me—”

“But it’s tradition, we need to consummate the marriage!” he insists. Within seconds his lips are against yours and he’s fumbling with the light switch, and you finally swat his hand away and just beg him to take you to the bed.

He works the zipper of your dress down, part of him sad that he’s not going to see you in this gorgeous gown again, but then it reveals your white lace lingerie and the groan he lets out is broken and guttural and desperate.

This is far from the first time he’s seen you like this, but there’s something about this moment here and now that makes it so much more intense, so much more intimate and he just never wants to let you go.

“Satoru,” you whisper, and his breath hitches.

He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. “Shh, I know. Just lemme take care of you, like I promised.”

And when he sees the gold band on his fourth finger pressing into the skin of your hips as he sheaths himself inside of you, he nearly loses himself, sending up a prayer to whatever gods are listening that he can keep his promise to keep you safe and happy forever.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Redraw of my first post on this blog. Oh how far we've come B'*)

[bibibuck]

i know that with the way things are going it makes sense for us to be focusing so much on the buddie of it all. but i want to bring some attention to the fact that tonight we’re watching 911’s 100th episode and that is just… so special.

how blessed we are to have a show that believes in people so much, that portrays human relationships so wonderfully and admits the complexities of them while always fighting to say, “it’s worth it. humanity is worth it. connection is worth it.”

and look, we all know that 911 is not a perfect show. and though we might agree or disagree on what its flaws are i think if we love 911 and consider it our show we all understand that at its core it’s a story about not just surviving but thriving in the world, about healing others and ourselves through empathy and hope.

[autisticshizuo]

20 years ago, on this day the first volume of Durarara!! (デュラララ!!) was released in Japan. This volume contains the Dollars/Mika Harima arc, which is the start and readers' first meeting with such a well written plot, complex characters and artsy language.

Happy 20th anniversary to Durarara!! It will be forever my favorite media; no book, anime or manga can come close to the place that Durarara!! has in my heart. It will remain as a unique and one of a kind work, not only to me but to many other readers as well.

[thelaurenshippen]

ummmmmm I caught up on last night's 911 and.....hello!?!?!?!?!?!? I AM HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE

[nkogneatho]

oda was so exhausted when he came back home. the pressure was getting to him and suddenly he felt his vision blurring. maybe he drank too much today. or is it the sleep deprivation. when he opened the door, he was met with darkness. only the light from the tv screen guided him to the main switch. he shrugged his feet to get the boot of as he pressed the switch on.

there you were.

you slept so soundly with your toddler snuggling in your embrace. oda delivered a big sigh of relief. he walked closer to the couch where your body rested, his black socks still on muting his steps on the floor. he was late again today. he has been coming home past midnight lately. he turned to peek over the open kitchen, a pot rested on the table. shit. he doesn't remember the last time he ate dinner together with you two. this is not what he promised you when you were marrying him. you did not complain just yet but if this continues he thought you might. and you'd be absolutely right for it.

"i should quit." maybe it was a meaningless resolution he was making. absurd even considering this is the work he signed up for. it was a good pay too so he can give you both all the things you desire. but is it really worth losing his life and leaving you two alone? the thought scared him. his selflessness reflected when all he could think of was who will protect you after he's gone?

he settled on the floor, leg crossed and his head rested on the arms of the couch. he gazed and wondered. "you know...when you said yes to me, i felt like i had used up all the luck of my life. yet, everyday with you makes me wonder if i am the luckiest man on this planet or what." he kissed your forehead and then your baby girl's. "she looks just like you even when she sleeps."

oda threw his head back against the armrest. "yeah. i am quitting."

[6idus]

fukuzawa found him outside chuck e. cheese with One (1) slice of pepperoni pizza

[snailsnfriends]

as much as I'm not thrilled about this ending, I cannot say that my time has been wasted. I have loved every bit of the story that tommy has created. it's been full of drama, funny moments, but mostly, it's been full of love. to me, that's what matters the most. I was here when l'manberg's walls were built, I was here for the elections. I was here when they were thrown out, when pogtopia was made, when techno joined. I was here when wilbur lost his final life on the 16th, I was here for exile and bedrock bros after that. I was here for doomsday, the disc war finale, tommy's healing arc, snowchester, wilbur's revival, all of it. and all of it made me happy and had truly changed me as a person. I've made great friends, I've written so much, and I've had a lot of fun. no matter what, I am truly grateful for the awesome character that was ctommy and everything that came as a result of it. what a wild ride

[vicsy]

in the light of recent breakdown (Fernando taking photos of Lance like they're married), here's a tiny ficlet, ~ 970 words that I wrote in a spiral ✨

It's always more endearing than annoying.

Lance almost knocks the phone out of his hand. Fernando barely avoids it, laughing openly, bumping his shoulder against Lance's, his face all scrunched up, feigning faux irritation. He still breaks out in a smile, no heat behind his eyes, and Fernando makes sure not to have this touch linger. Too many people around, he can't help it. 

But he opens his camera roll, following further into the air-conditioned hospitality, Lance just ahead of him and on the screen of his phone, a fresh batch of oblique photos he'd never post; Fernando caught his profile and the back of his neck. 

He tries not to think that the bite mark there faded already. 

Lance would give him grief later, after they get through practice and share some dinner, perhaps when they finally pass the threshold of the hotel room that doesn't really belong to just one of them. There is something about Lance and being photographed that Fernando doesn't get but he stares at the screen and–

It reminds him of two days ago, eight am always too early for Lance to function, so he shoved back at the phone in Fernando's hand, whining and turning the photo blurry, but Lance still gave him that lopsided smile, all sleepy, with pillow creases across his face. They slept in despite obligations, despite Fernando remaining fully awake and simply breathing in time with Lance, content and warm, the race week yet to begin, and no bothersome cameras around. 

And then it reminds Fernando of a photo he took the weekend after Chloe's wedding, in the private comfort of just the two of them, dining at the secluded restaurant overlooking the shore. Lance sitting in front of him, a plate of half-finished duck pappardelle forgotten in favor of leveling him with an impish look, fondness written brazenly all over his face where a sunbeam kisses his cheek. In the soft, orange light of the Italian sunset, Fernando let his heart crack open and feel. 

There's even a bigger secret than the ones Red Bull has, a folder locked under an insane password on Fernando's phone, the prized collection of moments that spark a fire under his skin and in his memory when Lance is too far away but on the screen, they're joined together, even if the lighting is wrong and the angle askew. Supple skin under Fernando's palm, pearly-white droplets on Lance's stomach, an angry red mark on his asscheek; bruises on his pale neck and Lance's kiss-swollen lips; him staring up tearily with those big, brown eyes, so nicely from his knees and his lips wrapped snugly around Fernando's cock.

All that, in the palm of his hand.  

But if Fernando scrolls up to the beginning, a lonely photo of them together under the stale, fluorescent lights of the Aston Martin meeting room, Mike standing in the middle, unsmiling. It just reminds him of what he's no longer missing; that unadulterated gratification replaced the hollowness that followed him around since Ferrari and the day the title slipped through his fingers. That Fernando is no longer racing against time, trying to outrun something but rather racing ahead, bolder than ever, and the rearview only blinds him. 

Something gave way inside of him. Fernando should blame Lance entirely for it but–

He's got one photo saved, one that Jimmy sent him the day after Monaco, saying he might like it. Sometimes Fernando loses it on the myriad of screenshots, pictures of flowers and views and family; of Lance, no matter how much he protests, when they don't have to pretend or hide. And it's Lance, in that sole photo, watching him lift a trophy on the podium, his hand splayed over his chest, pressed firmly to where his heart beats, an awestricken expression painted on the side of his face that Fernando can see.  

Lance probably has no idea the photo exists. Fernando keeps it secret in the fragility of a bubble they created. He'll claw and tear for it never to burst, holding himself back from what he longs for in the secrecy of his own mind. Loss is a petrifying thing and Fernando knows it close, like an old friend. So he holds on to the photos for they are his, his, and like Lance once whispered into a feverish kiss, I'm yours, yours. 

And his hands, they are still heavy with a burden that never seizes but, still, Fernando squeezes the steering wheel and finds the strength to drag himself over the finish line high enough to have his arms strain under a weight of a trophy; turns on the camera of his phone to show what he can't put into words, to hold dearly in his hands the snapshots of someone who found a key to the lock Fernando believed to be destroyed with rust. 

There is victory and joy, other things he can't bring himself to name but Lance's name is written all over them. Other times there's anger and resentment, old and wretched like a house that burned down, and Fernando balls his hands into fists when abhorrence seeps through him as if from a broken vase but– 

A tentative touch to his knuckles, then to his shoulder; a peace offering in a form of a smile, a pliant body, a flutter of moans and hushed whispers. And all seems to dissipate. 

This is when Fernando remembers. 

He used to think it was the entire world that had to fit in the palm of his hand, so he could carry it around in his pocket, be a perpetual winner, a loner with means to an end but it always gets lonely at the top. Fernando has no use for it all anymore.

Now that he holds Lance in his arms instead.

[inkykeiji]

i’m currently making a list of reasons to stay alive and i just need you all to know that you’re on it, every single one of you.

thank you for being here with me, thank you for reading my writing, thank you for sending me the sweetest, cutest, most thoughtful little messages and questions. it means more to me than you’ll ever know, and i love you so much

[spaceratprodigy]

i JUST saw ur ask prompt so i hopee this ask is still okay butttt 📺 - tbh im getting a little weepy thinking about delilah and iris in the dark on the couch with their blankies :') who would be the scaredy cat and who would be the one thats too cool to be scared (but maybe not too cool to comfort her scared friend 🥺) ???

@oldworldwidgets — [ autumnal prompts ]

I have been nonstop thinking about my favoritest ladies in the commonwealth being besties all snuggly on the couch!! I love them sm!! Thank u for this banger prompt ily 💖💕

[earlgodwin]

From your obedient brother, Juan. Duca di Gandía. Valencia, October 13, (1493) // From your brother who loves you as he loves himself, César Cardinal de Valencia. Rome, April 18, (1494)

[swallowtail-ageha]

Underrated aspect of the Ds1 worldbuilding is that they had gramophones? I just... keep thinking about the type of music lordran had. Gwyndolin being all alone in the darkmoon tomb and putting some of those old opera like music on to feel less alone. Ciaran and Artorias dancing together to a tune before everything went to hell