#but it’s the romance month so why not

[hitwiththetmnt]

Happy February lovelies♡

[myrkulitescourge]

the way that one line from the new epilogue in an astarion romance is going to HAUNT me

just. what a profoundly intense thing to confess to someone.

like, just these six months of newfound happiness with you exerts a force on his heart equal and in direct opposition to two centuries of endless torment, the gnawing hunger and exploitation. this flashbulb-bright fraction of his long life holds the same gravity to him as years upon years of darkness and suffering.

in all likelihood, he hasn’t even known his lover for as long as his worst memory lasted, that year sealed away to go mad from starvation and sensory deprivation, yet he still tells them this brief time has been so fundamentally and powerfully important that the weight of even that unimaginable hell is vanishingly small compared to this present he has now and the future ahead of them both.

how am i supposed to act normal about this.

[legayfuck]

been a while. whoops.

Izzy "Brainzilla/Esquire/Explosivo/Kaleidoscope/Louisiana Wildcat", Eva "Raven Assassin", Noah "No Name"

eva is the only one who takes anything seriously.

batch 4/11: Raven Assassin and Team E-Scope

1: The Killjoys

2: The Bats

3: Dr. Death Defying and Cherricat

5: Cowqueens

[poraphia]

sometimes i like to think about that every big internet fandom has their own infamous fanfic in which its usually very smutty

i also like to think about how I was also in all of these fandoms

another reminder that fanfic authors are in fact the backbone of the fanbase

[druidgroves]

DRAGON AGE 2 | ACT 3 ↳ The Last Straw - Anders Romance

[miadearden]

maybe it’s the 5’7” lesbian in me but this trend is fascinating to me

[mcybree]

*holds a microphone up to your face* i saw in your bio that you like the coven. what do you think of wc!cleo/el

speaks into the microphone sadly. i dont see it im sorry. it’s so funny though because wcsmp has a proud fandom of like three people these days so seeing cleo/el stuff it’s like ohhhh wcsmp ohhh coven… but i dont see it… but coven…

that being said their interactions are extremely cute i just see them as a strictly mentor student relationship to more casual friends as time goes on personally

[asexualbookbird]

i also dont think i like the 'fated mates' trope, but i dont mind so much 'we've been reincarnated so many times and have found each other in every life' because that can be cute!

im thinking of romance plots ive enjoyed and its always people who generally were at the very least annoyed with each other at first, became friends or frenemies, and then had the oh! moment and hang on wait hang on thats.

ohmygod

[whispers-of-masser]

Poor Form

✧ Nebarra x human!LDB, ft. Xelzaz & Khash ✧ Fluff, maybe angst (if you squint), slow-burn with tension; 2k+ word count ✧ Mentions of blood, (poorly written) fantasy violence ♫ "Ritual" - AWAY, Echos ✒ @dalishthunder come take responsibility for this

It was the grey hour when you woke, the quiet lull between full night and the oncoming dawn. From where you lay in the tent, the only sounds you could hear were the steady breaths of your companions, the breeze rustling by outside, and the lone call of a bird, faint and dim in the distance.

Slowly, you sat up, grimacing at your sore neck and shoulders – though you had long since grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground, that didn't mean you, or your body, appreciated it. You'd have to look into getting some bed cots instead. Until then, though...

At least we stay warm through the night. The oiled leather tent kept out most of the wind, and the beasts you'd felled along the journey had long since become the bedding everyone slept on.

A sudden snore drew your attention to where Khash lay, bundled in her sleeping bag beside you, red eyes shut tight and jaw slightly parted, her sharp little teeth on display. Across from her was Xelzaz, sleeping quietly on his side with his back turned towards you; you could just make out the lump of his tail beneath the blankets. And next to him...

...was an empty bed roll, the fur still fluffed, apparently untouched through the night.

Frowning, you pushed back the blankets, habitually reaching for your sword as you rose – just in case, always just in case – and, taking care not to wake Khash, crawled quietly out of the tent.

The morning had teeth. You felt it the moment you stepped outside, the cold biting into your bare arms, gnawing through the fabric of your tunic and raising goosebumps across your skin. Your breath plumed white amidst the grey, and the dirt underfoot was cold and hard; not even the morning dew had loosened it. You found yourself wanting retreat back into the tent and burrow under your furs once more, pulling them all the way over your head and falling asleep beneath their warmth. Any other morning, you might have done just that. But...

The empty, untouched bedroll.

You squinted into the mist, eyes searching, searching... there. A figure, seated on a rock several metres away, smudged and blurred in the gloom, but glinting a familiar gold.

As you lowered your sword, a sigh slipped from your lips, drawn from some strange mix of frustration, concern, and relief.

"...How long have you been out here, Nebarra?"

"Morning to you too, guar-face," the elf drawled, and though he didn't rise, his helmeted head turned towards you. A thin layer of condensation covered the metal, droplets falling at his movement; his bangs, escaping through the visor, were damp and plastered to his helm. "And all night, to answer your question. Somebody has to keep watch."

"Obviously. But you volunteered for the first shift last night." Frowning, you looked him up and down, not bothering to mask your concerned displeasure. "Why didn't you wake me or Xelzaz? We could have relieved you. We were supposed to relieve you."

"Oh yes, a human and a lizard! I'm certain I'd feel very safe with you two on watch. Your species' eyesight is so much better than an Altmer's, after all."

Your frown deepened, brow furrowing as you stared him down. It was too early in the morning for his snark.

Wordlessly, you brought up your sword and levelled it at his throat. "I can see that gap in your armor just fine. I could kill you right now – and the same goes for whatever may have come up on us in the night."

Nebarra gave a disdainful snort, gloved hand clamping down on your blade and giving a sharp tug. Unprepared, reflexes still sluggish from sleep, you stumbled a whole two steps forward before managing to check yourself.

"Poor form," the elf sneered. "You won't be killing anything like that."

Your nostrils flared, a dozen retorts surging to your lips, but you held them all in.

He's right, and you both know it.

"I wasn't ready", "I'm still waking up", "I wasn't serious" – excuses that could get you, and maybe the others, killed. How long had Nebarra seen this in you? Why was he only mentioning it now? Why hadn't you realised it on your own, that despite your confidence, your skills, your strength – you were still very much mortal? And when had that confidence become something more dangerous – arrogance?

"...What?" Nebarra asked suddenly, drawing you from your reverie. "You have that expression again. The one where you're about to do something stupid."

"Spar with me."

"Terrible idea, absolu... wait. What?"

"Spar with me," you repeated, staring into the black of his visor. "I'm getting rusty, fighting nothing but bandits and mindless undead. This just proved it."

Nebarra was silent for a beat, his head tilting to the side. Something about the motion reminded you of a bird; the eagle-shaped helm only added to the effect. You waited patiently for his answer, wondering what exactly he had to consider –

Metal, arcing toward your sword arm.

You barely managed a dodge and a weak parry with the flat of your blade – you'd been holding it low, unready. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Clearly, Nebarra was done thinking – the two of you were sparring now.

Fair enough. Enemies wouldn't be so polite as to give you time to gear up, either. And now, for once, the odds weren't in your favour: a fully-armoured Altmer veteran with decades of experience, versus you, young, disoriented, and unarmored, only a single blade in hand.

It was thrilling.

You sidestepped another swing of Nebarra's blade – only to connect with it a moment later, coming out of the feint you had failed to read.

Sharp, stinging pain. Scarlet, dripping from your arm.

He was trying to hurt you. And you were giving him ample opportunity.

You needed to ground yourself, regain your rhythm – something you couldn't do without an opening, and Nebarra wasn't giving you any.

A glint of metal on the left – block, step back. Movement overhead, an oncoming blow – raise your sword, throw your weight behind it, disrupt his momentum.

At least, you tried. Fully armoured as he was, Nebarra had an extra thousand angaids of weight behind his swing, if not more. The sheer force of his blow knock your sword out of your hands, sending you staggering back. But the grass underfoot was slick with the morning's dew, and you were moving too fast, too unsteadily. Before you knew it, your back was colliding with the ground, and all you could see was grey sky overhead – and a golden sword coming down.

Careless.

But there was still a chance.

Contorting violently, you grabbed Nebarra's arm as the blade sailed by, nicking your face as it passed. You didn't let go of his arm just yet, though. Instead, you pulled, leveraging your weight against his, abdomen taut as you used him to haul yourself upright. Nebarra, clearly not expecting such a move, found himself betrayed by his own momentum, drawing him forward and down, aided by your weight. Gravity took care of the rest, and he crashed towards the earth, twisting even as he fell to avoid face-planting into the ground.

As he struggled to right himself, you rushed to retrieve your sword; Nebarra was already rising by the time you turned back to him.

"No you don't," you growled, charging the mer, sword raised.

His hand shot out, a ward rippling to life, though it buckled slightly under your sword's impact. Nebarra staggered, his half-risen stance precarious, unbalanced.

Now. Now. Now.

Once, twice, thrice more your sword glanced off the ward – and on the fourth blow, it shattered, leaving the Altmer open to your assault.

Metal clanged as you brought your sword down, colliding with his gauntlet as he struggled to block with it, not given enough time to raise his own sword in defense. You let the blade slide off, intending to follow up with its momentum, but Nebarra didn't give you a chance. The moment the sword glanced off his gauntlet, he lunged, catching you in the abdomen and bringing the both of you to the ground.

The tussle that followed was a blur.

His sword arcing down, yours blocking. Hilts catching, blades flying, yanked out of your grasp and his.

Panted breaths, heaving chests, grappling and rolling across the grass.

A glint caught your eye – your sword and Nebarra's, just within reach.

He saw it too, the both of you reaching out in unison for your weapons, desperate to be faster than the other.

Leather-bound metal brushed against your palm – the hilt. Your hand closed around it, drawing it in close. Brought it swiftly upwards, blade against Nebarra's neck.

At its touch, he froze – and so did you. Because resting against your own neck, biting into the tender flesh, was the edge of Nebarra's blade.

Stalemate.

Ears ringing, heart racing, you shift your gaze from the sword to the one holding it.

Hunched over and straddling you, a leg to either side of your waist, there was hardly any distance between your bodies. The beak of his helm was close enough to brush your nose; your breath fogged on the metal. His gasping breaths may has well have been your own – you could feel them, swift and hot, slipping through the gold feathers that covered his face, carrying the faint scent of wine.

Of course, he'd been drinking. It had probably kept him warm through the night – and he'd still managed to keep you off-balanced for most of the fight.

You were in worse shape than you'd thought.

That, or... maybe Nebarra was better than he'd ever let on.

"...Tonight," you breathed, staring up at him. "Let's... spar again tonight."

Nebarra grunted; you could hear the sound echo faintly in his helmet. "Fine. Don't expect me to go easy on you."

A smile tugged at your mouth – you could feel your lips crack and stretch at the motion, dried out in the cold; you gave them a brief lick before answering. "What, and this was?"

Another affirmative grunt. "I'll be sober by tonight. Unfortunately."

You snorted, then fell silent once more. With your eyes, you found yourself tracing the curves of his helm, pausing at the sight of his bangs peeking through, dark and tangled threads of gold. Something about them was like an itch you couldn't scratch, and you had the sudden urge to brush them aside, or at least tuck them back into his helm.

As your gaze drifted upward, toward the visor, a glint in its shadows caught your eye. Again, you paused, staring intently into the dark.

A reflective sheen, a gleam of crimson –

"Are you done breathing on one another, yet?"

Xelzaz's voice shattered your focus, and both you and Nebarra snapped your heads toward the sound.

The Argonian stood just outside the tent, arms crossed, head bare of its usual hood, scales shimmering in the pale light. Beside him was Khash, a shadowy smudge in the mist; her wide red eyes seemed to float amidst the grey.

"Good morning," you said stupidly, even as Nebarra scrambled to get off you.

"Why were you fighting?" Khash asked. "Did something happen?"

"For your – obviously necessary – information," Nebarra sniffed, dusting off his armour, "we were sparring. And you had better get used to it. Our dear Dragonborn and I will continue to do so, apparently, starting today."

As you sat up, you distinctly heard Xelzaz mutter, "By the Hist." When he turned his head to you once more, there was something incredibly deadpan about his gaze, an unspoken, "Really?" in his eyes.

"What?" you mouthed back, blinking at him in confusion. He only shook his head, and have no answer.

"Right... Well, let's get the fire going again, and I'll see about getting us all breakfast."

At that, Khash's gaze snapped towards him. "Ohh, Xelzaz, can I have some Hackle-lo with it?"

"Khash, you've eaten almost my whole stock."

"Oh..."

"...I'll see if I can't spare a few more."

"Yay! Heh."

"Horker stew for you, Nebarra?"

"I'm too tired to say no... but I'll watch you every moment of its making."

"Yes, yes, as usual. And what of you, friend?" Xelzaz turned towards you, and for a moment, you couldn't answer him – you'd been too distracted watching the scene unfold, a smile on your face.

"Ah... it doesn't matter to me, I suppose. Surprise me."

And so, thirty minutes later, as the sun climbed through the sky and burned away the mist, breakfast was served.

But for some strange reason, all throughout the meal, you found your gaze drawn... repeatedly...

...to Nebarra.

[faunandfloraas]

You make me want to listen to FNF every time but I hate that song it makes me SO sad

someones not catching uuuuuuh uhhhhh uhhhh upppppppp

[mintaclestentacles]

I saw your post about dick using affectionate pet name with jason and it's ugh *chef's kiss* and then after their relationship become public dick just straight up using jay's name like

Dick: oh is that "Pride and Prejudice"? my jason loves that book so much!

Justice league:

Titans:

Jason: *choked on air*

"MY Jason" :O !!!!! :D !!!!!!

Dick is so proud and absolutely happy to be in a relationship with Jason and can't stop bragging about it. At a Titans get-together he starts bragging about how Jason confessed he's had a crush on Dick since he was Robin and Jason is of course super embarrassed by this. Dick bragging bout how his Jason can do chinese medicine and how good of a cook his Jason is and how his Jason has been a good influence on him in taking better care of himself and having a better routine. Jason gets increasingly flustered because people keep staring at him incredulously, until he feels the need to pull Dick to the side and ask him to tone it down because he feels like it's too much.

Dick does listen and tones down the bragging and only casually talks about Jason in public anymore, but he also makes more of an effort to compliment Jason to his face and in private. Hugging Jason from behind and gently kissing his neck after a long and hard night, telling him how beautiful he looks even in that exhausted state.

[zevrans]

i finally finished bg3 2 nights ago ya'll 😭🥺

[miamierre]

first day in 12 hours everyone pray for me pleaseeeeeee

[foxgloveinspace]

I won’t lie, even tho I’ve never Had One, my favorite holiday is Valentine’s Day, I love love, I love pink and red and hearts everywhere and I love the cozy vibes Valentines Day has and I just…. Idk.

[hexcitrine]

randomly looked at this account to update my age and holy shit it's been a while since i posted here..........i have a small pile of art i have yet to post but hbhbshdbshbd too lazy

[poinsettia89]

RP Scenario 2

Scenario: Angels and demons, reverse morality, and, of course, preg. I'm writing this with m/f pronouns currently, but I'm open to any gender for these concepts (not looking for mpreg though, thank you!)

After being discovered and taken in by an angelic creature, a woman develops feelings for him. They start a relationship, and after a few months, she finds out she's pregnant. Believing the angel to be genuine, charming, and kind, she's thrilled about the development despite any fears of complications or pregnancy.

However, as she nears her due date, things start getting more and more suspicious. Others who know of the angel are beginning to become more intense and rabid in their following, planning out massive events and doing dangerous things in their worship. The angel switches between lavishing her with attention, or lashing out, or ignoring her entirely for the most part.

In her loneliness, she begins spending time with a creature that the angel has locked up and silenced- a demon. He is displayed as a trophy for the cult, but she pities him. After unsuccessfully trying to convince the angel to let him go and free him, she starts spending time with him, bringing him trinkets, food, and other things to help him feel less lonely. They find ways to communicate without words, like sign language, writing, or drawing. The two develop feelings for one another, but given the situation, and her attachment to the angel, neither can act on it or admit it. She begins confiding in him about her own loneliness and her nerves about what's going on, but he's stopped before he can tell her what he thinks is really happening with the angel. When the demon's imprisonment guards find out he's trying to warn her, they no longer let her return.

In the last bit of her pregnancy, she finally discovers the truth- her angel has other plans than what he told her. She is to be a sacrifice, and her child is to be a cult leader for his followers to spread his power. Horrified at this, and not wanting her child to be doomed to such a fate, she attempts to escape. She's quickly discovered, leading to her near-capture as she suffers at the hands of the cult.

However, she's saved by the demon, who was given time to break out in the chaos of her escape. The two hurry to freedom, traveling to a small town and looking for other demons. No longer under the control of the angel, and far enough away to be safe, he's finally able to explain to her that the angels are not what they seem. He and a small group of demons are attempting to make sure that the angels stop targeting vulnerable creatures, including other demons and humans. These cults are becoming incredibly dangerous. However, he promises to keep her safe, and she swears to do the same for him. The two are finally free to act on their feelings and be together, but the threat of the cult and an angel missing his prize loom on the horizon.