#im gonna disappear

[supd00dle]

AlriGHT fine, here it is, Metamy enjoyers.

I created this around February last year, but I never ended up posting it because I WASN’T DONE! I wanted to test out CapCut’s capabilities before PRO got introduced. I’m gonna check out alight motion next time…

.Anyways… BYE-

OG SONG

[randomationality]

head shots of the gang 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

also did a lil redesigning coz i cannot keep a consistent design for once

(yall im sorry i had to get rid of the funny glasses paxton had I NEEDED TO SHOW HIS OPTICS)

[temeyes]

[real-skel]

I flung out of bed to make this shit

[zanukavat]

hell hath no fury like a rancher whose entire fucking house burnt down

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 1/2

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, succubus magic, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added later.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. This got away from me so I went ahead and split it into two parts.

I've never written anything like this and it was significantly more difficult than a multi-chapter fic. I hope everything comes across the way its supposed to! And a huge thank you to my beta @imaginarydromedary for...you know... encouraging me to post this, despite everything.

From what you could tell, there wasn’t much to the apothecary. 

As you push open the dilapidated doors, your first thought is to search for supplies - anything that could help if things went south on your way to the goblin camp. 

Dried herbs hang from the rafters beneath a thin veil of cobwebs, filling your lungs with a pungent clash of scents. Empty bottles lined the shelves along the wall, caked in several months worth of dust. Large chunks of the building were missing where stone met splintered wood, some areas almost entirely overtaken by greenery.

You step over broken shards of pottery, scanning over the floor and countertops for something - anything that may be of use, but to your disappointment, it seems like the shop was entirely ransacked long before your arrival.

You sigh deeply, knowing you’ll likely never hear the end of this from your companions. It was your idea to search the village. You were the one who suggested taking out the goblin scouts, exerting everyones’ energy, and now you’re afraid you’ll have very little to show for it.

You catch a glint of gold, an object reflecting the sun's rays beneath a pile of rubble. You kneel down to brush away the surrounding debris, thankful for even the smallest promise of coin before your hands catch on… some sort of serrated edge?

You pull at it, and it easily comes loose. It's a thin, rectangular block, just barely larger than the length of your hand. You wipe away some of the dirt with your sleeve, revealing an intricately designed foil wrapping underneath.

As you speculate what this might be, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, light and familiar. You turn to face the elf with a smirk.

“You’re supposed to be the stealthy one.” You chide at him, playfully, “Or has my blood put a little skip in your step?”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been here the entire time, watching you fumble around in the dirt.” 

Crimson eyes study you, then the object you’re holding. He places his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “Is that what you’ve dragged us all the way here for?”

“First of all,” you waggle a finger at him, “You’re especially grumpy when you’re tired. I’ll have to make a note to prioritize your beauty rest. Second, I haven’t finished looking around, but check this out.”

You hand the bar to him as you stand. The cool skin of his fingers brush against your own, and you’re irritated with the way your heart skips at the brief contact. Why did the one man you found attractive in your camp have to be such a primadonna? And such a huge pain in the ass? 

Astarion’s eyes scan over the textured paper with suspicion, angling it towards the light to get a better look. The golden wrapping is stamped with an image of red lips On the back, letters twist and curve in a language you don't recognize, following a single circular pattern where they meet in the center. You’ve never seen anything like this, neither in your travels, nor within the city walls of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where did you find this?” 

You shrug, then point to the pile next to you. “It was buried right there.” 

He silently stares at the foil, mouth pursed, until your patience begins to wear thin.

“Well, can you read it or not?”

His nose scrunches. “Of course I can’t read it. It’s written in Infernal.”

That’s… odd. Why would an ordinary apothecary sell goods made by devils? Or, worse, for devils. Unless, of course, it was some sort of marketing trick, perhaps a play on the phrase ‘sinfully sweet’, or some other cringeworthy branding.

You take it back, turning it over in your hands before tearing at the corner of the wrapping. It's sectioned into dark, rich squares, and smells indisputably like chocolate.

“It looks like candy.”

“An excellent observation.” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, can we go? We’ve spent more than enough time here already.”

You roll your eyes and stuff it into your bag, setting off for camp, vampire in tow.

–

During dinner, you decide not to tell the others about what you found, knowing Astarion’s likely already forgotten the event. You set down your empty plate, thanking Gale for tonight’s meal. He smiles at you and bids you goodnight as you excuse yourself to your tent. 

You pick up your rucksack, thinking fondly of the dessert that awaits you inside. Having lived at the beck and call of your companions for weeks on end, you can’t help but smile at the idea of selfishly indulging in a small treat like this.

You tear open the rest of the wrapping and snap off one of the squares, immediately popping one into your mouth. It melts - buttery in texture, with a smokey, slightly bitter flavor. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten something so rich. Maybe weeks of the same rations have made you easier to impress, but this felt especially notable.

As you break off a second piece, a strange tingling sensation begins to spread across your lips - a pleasant buzzing that starts at your neck and spreads down through your chest. 

Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You’ve heard of such inebriating chocolates, ones laced with alcohol or species of flowers that numb one’s senses for a short while. All harmless, of course, and you don’t have watch tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself. If worst comes to worst, Shadowheart is just outside with an assortment of spells and potions. Always better to ask for forgiveness.

It only takes you minutes to finish half the bar. You set the rest next to your bedroll for later and turn to blow out your candles, enjoying the lingering physical effects of the chocolate. Your skin feels flushed and delightfully warm as you settle down for the night.

When sleep finally takes you, it's dreamless, at first. Your consciousness sways, floating in an empty abyss, until colors begin to bleed onto the blank canvas of your mind.

A trickle of red morphs into the shape of familiar eyes, piercing you with their intensity..

Droplets of white spatter over a dark background, diffusing, blending into whisps. They curl and twist before settling into soft, coiffed fibers. 

Hair , you recognize immediately, his hair . His eyes.

Astarion. 

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before entirely revealing itself. 

He reaches out and seizes you, grabbing painfully at your hips as you crash into his body, hands exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass. He digs into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

His lips press hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard . You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so characteristically pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape me , unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it’s layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

–

You startle awake, gasping - loud, labored breaths struggling to make use of the unbearably thin air. The edges of your tent bleed in and out of focus, spinning at a nauseating pace as you attempt to recollect yourself.

You wipe at the sweat collecting on your brow, the muscles of your arm heavy and aching, and find that your skin is absolutely drenched. 

Hot. Why is everything so hot? 

It's as if you're being cooked alive beneath your blankets, strangled beneath the furs. You throw them off; normally soft to the touch, the fibers now only worsen the prickling beneath your skin.

Could this be some sort of illness? A fever? 

No, this doesn’t make sense. Everything feels off. 

Fleeting thoughts of Astarion cross your mind - quick flashes of a sinful smile that was not his own.

It didn’t quite match the one you’d silently come to admire, and now that you think of it, the hunger in his gaze was much too intense for the reserved elf. 

His hands, his mouth, the way he touched you -

Your abdomen cramps, bringing your thoughts to a screeching halt.

A stabbing, visceral pain; a knife plunging into your organs. It overwhelms you, forces your body to curl into itself. You hold your pelvis, grunting, and grasp at your sheets. Tears sting the corner of your eyes.

This is - well, you have no idea what this is. 

You can’t think past the pounding in your head, the throbbing in your midsection. You're compulsively twisting, writhing, begging the gods for some sort of reprieve, but it's then when you make the most mortifying discovery of the night.

You’re soaked .

N ot just your smallclothes, which may have been understandable given your strange dreams, but through your damned pants. Not even the sheets were spared. 

“What  in the hells…?” 

You run your fingers over yourself, only intending to confirm the horrifying reality of your situation - that this is not, in fact, some sick, perverted nightmare, but the lightest touch sets off every nerve. 

You wail at the sensation: one massive wave of bliss giving way to several small jolts of pain. 

Pleasure to the point of agony.

The shock of the sudden orgasm courses from your sex through every limb, clenching and releasing pitiful, warm slick. It leaks freely out of you into your already thoroughly ruined underwear. 

Your heart pounds. You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, toes curled, limbs twitching, waiting for your body to settle. 

After a minute or so, your breathing evens, and the thick haze surrounding your thoughts begins to lift just slightly, along with the suffocating heat. 

But something within you knows this isn’t the end - knows this isn’t enough . A desperation lurks beneath the surface that you can’t quite name. It screams at you. You need more.

‘Aw…’ A familiar, feminine voice prods at your mind. You quickly recognize her, the woman from your dreams who wore Astarion’s image.  

‘All alone, are we? Empty and needing to be filled? Doesn’t that hurt?’

It does. It aches unlike anything you’ve ever known. The lingering buzz of your orgasm just barely quells the worsening cramps, and they’re beginning to rear their ugly head again not minutes later.

You choke out a sob. “Wh- why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Sharp, wicked laughter fills your head, echoing off the walls of your skull. ‘I’m not doing anything, dear. Just enjoying the show.’ She hisses, ‘I told you, it’s going to be a very long night.’

You must be hallucinating. This fever - whatever this is, is simply cauterizing your senses, or possibly interacting with the tadpole? But the tadpole doesn’t speak, not like this. Never so clearly. Not with words.

Think, please. There has to be a reason this -

“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart raps on the canvas of your tent. “I heard a yelp. Are you hurt?”

Shit.

‘Ooh, this one might do!’  You feel an unwelcome… eagerness flood you.

No. No. Absolutely not.

You try not to panic. 

Under no circumstances should she or anyone else come in here.

The best strategy may be to ignore her - pretend you’re still sleeping. It seems like a good plan, but before you have a chance to follow through with it, another sharp contraction hits. This one is somehow even worse than the ones before. 

You pull your sheets up to your mouth to stifle your whine, but the half elf’s ears are sharper than most. “I’m coming in.”

She opens the flap to your tent and gasps when she sees you there - skin flushed pink, doubled over and covered in sweat. 

“Gods, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her hand reaches out towards you. 

Without thinking, you swat it away with your own. Your skin tingles at the contact, and the essence of a smile crosses over the threshold into your mind. The intruder giggles with satisfaction.

“Don’t,” you plead, “Don’t touch me.”

She scans over you, taking in your humiliating state. Her face twists with concern. “I need to know if you’re feverish. Please. You look awful.” 

‘Well, I think you look delectable.’

You groan.

At this point, you know it’s no use fighting this thing on your own. You go back and forth on whether you want to tell her the whole truth, about the voice in your head and its influence on your body, but the idea mortifies you into silence. 

Regardless, a cleric is likely your best chance of fixing this literal mess, so you nod, close your eyes, and brace yourself.

Shadowheart’s palm meets your forehead. It’s somehow worse than you anticipated. Even the simple, chaste touch sends you reeling, as if her soft hands are caressing your entire body. Flashes of heat wash over you, burning your skin, threatening to pull you back under another wave of ecstasy. 

It’s too much. You try your hardest to suppress a moan, but the muffled sound manages to escape from between your tightened lips, pitiful and broken.

The disembodied voice squeals with delight.

She quickly retracts her hand, clearing her throat. “Apologies. I can confirm your temperature is… elevated, but the rest…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You want to scream, cry - anything to release your frustration, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to risk making any more unsavory noises.

“I believe I can give you some relief by treating the fever, but I’ll have to consult the others on the rest. This doesn’t look like any ordinary sickness.”

Consult the others? No. Gods, no. Nobody can know about this. Is she mad?

You intend to protest, beg her not to share this with anyone, tell her whatever death awaits you on the other side of this would be preferable, but she’s speaking an incantation before you have the chance.

A bright, green aura envelopes you, cooling your skin and ever so slightly easing the cramps. With the pain dulled, it's as though you can finally think again. 

You want to laugh. This situation is so utterly ridiculous that you’d find it hilarious, were it anyone else, but with the modicum of relief comes exhaustion - eyelids heavy, vision blurring with weariness.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure this out.” 

Her reassuring words are the last thing you hear before you’re overcome by darkness.

[triona-tribblescore]

IM FUCKING BACK BABYYYY!!!! [Read tags for a lil info!]

(Please accept this silly doodle dump of my brainrot boys uvu ✨)

[lem0nademouth]

something so insidious abt left wing antisemitism is that its all psychological mind games and manipulation and denial and gaslighting and making you question your own perception of reality. like its not enough to hate jews, no, you have to resolve your own cognitive dissonance about being a leftist who hates jews by victim blaming and outright lying. you cannot sit in your own discomfort and acknowledge that you have work to do, so you make it our problem. you slit our throats and force us to apologize for bleeding on you.

[buck2eddie]

-Rick Riordan, The Last Olympian.

[maeo-png]

Of course it's fucking THESEUS

okay. i havent shut up about the greek myth aspects of Simon's story and i wont stop now. At first it was a statue of Persephone in the garden, with it's head replaced to be Betty, giving the implication that Betty is the Persephone to Simon's Hades, and it was Simon's status as an antiquarian. and now we've gotten Simon being a huge nerd and bringing up Theseus completely unprompted (so real)

a bit of context in case you need it, Theseus was one of those greek "legendary Heroes" (Achilles, Heracles, etc.), and previously King of Athens, but had managed to dodge most bad things that happen to Greek heroes. he was just stupid and i guess they took pity on him.

The Ship of Theseus or "Theseus' Paradox", which I'd imagine all of tumblr knows by now, but if you don't, is the question on whether if a ship, specifically Theseus', is still the same ship after having all of its parts replaced exactly. To me this makes for such an obvious connection to Simon. Simon's story factors around identity, first and foremost. (yknow. "I Remember You" and all that?) The concept of not knowing what you are fundamentally was originally Ice King's thing, as his previous life as Simon was essentially history. But now that's being brought to Simon. and Simon has the lucidity to process what that means for him.

[amelia-yap]

puts them in a microwave

[stormyoceans]

thinking about phum trying to be tough and independent and an adult when at heart he is just a lost boy who wants to be loved and be taken care of. thinking about phum making peem his 'slave' as revenge when all he wants is actually a companion a friend a partner someone who won't leave. thinking about peem who won't take any of phum's shit but also worries about him and talks to him so very softly and allows him to just be a kid sometimes. thinking about peem who doesn't want phum to break their deal and who kissed phum first but also won't make the first move to define their relationship

thinking about how easily phum would let peem push him down on the mattress if peem just wanted to. thinking about peem discovering how willing phum is to just let go and allow peem to take charge and lay on the bed trembling as peem makes him come undone while whispering sweet nothings in his ear

[zgvlt]

hi 😁

[lousysharkbutt]

i meant to post this yesterday so technically last week but still

[whatevahwhatevah]

I was inspired by this absolutely amazing piece :,)) I was listening to “We don’t talk anymore” from Charlie Puth while doodling this, so..I don’t know, do what you want with this information haha-

(Another doodle under the read more)

Wife, mother material. Made to be bred till no end, gorgeous bastard creature-

[mishy-mashy]

Something I made in a post that I think'll be lost in the texts + expanded a bit more

These panels are chronological events following AFO's pursuit of Yoichi's Factor.

AFO could tell if people were related through a Quirk. AFO and OFA also are connected to each other. In Kamino, AFO could confidently tell All Might that OFA had been passed on, so all that All Might had left were leftover embers.

When AFO killed Kudo, he asked where Yoichi was. He knew Kudo wasn't the holder of Yoichi's Factor at that time. He also realized when looking at Yoichi's hand that Yoichi's natural Factor was so weak he hadn't registered its existence. This implies AFO could sense Factors since he was young, and Yoichi's natural Factor never stood out to him.

Below are three panels of Bruce (right to left). Bruce fought, AFO killed him, and looked away in disinterest.

When he beat down Bruce, he already had a sense that Bruce didn't hold the Factor anymore. That's why, rather than yell in his face to figure out where it is and interrogate for a long time, he pulled up his corpse to inspect him better.

Bruce's corpse isn't resisting anything. Look at his feet; AFO literally dragged him. Bruce is already dead. Yet he's looking for something from him.

Bruce doesn't have anything for him. Nothing AFO wants.

When he looks away, he's dismissing Bruce, because Bruce doesn't hold Yoichi. AFO is wondering where Yoichi is, because he knows now that he's out there somewhere. Thus the pensive look to the wind.

After Bruce is killed, AFO and Garaki meet for the first time. Shinomori has Yoichi at this time, and AFO never comes close to him, so AFO is lost. He doesn't have any leads, and Yoichi has vanished.

Now that he knows Yoichi can transfer, it's possible for Yoichi to be kept out of his reach for the rest of his life. So meeting Garaki and having access to Life Force gives AFO more time to search.

Yoichi is still missing for 18 years though, because Shinomori is in hiding. AFO couldn't find him during the Fourth's turn.

This is why, when he encounters Banjo, the Fifth and active wielder of OFA [Yoichi], AFO is smiling.

It's been a long time, but Yoichi's in reach again. He knows where he is now. And this is the first time he's encountered the current holder.

Thus his shock.

[Yet... you never behave as I wish.]

It was the first time a Quirk wouldn't let itself be stolen. This was AFO's first encounter with this wall: it doesn't transfer without the holder's consent, and requires willpower stronger than all the holders combined to override that.

The holder is never going to give him that consent. To override the collective willpower, he's going to need something greater.

Meanwhile, look at Banjo's arms. Shinomori is the catalyst to tip OFA over the edge, that an unprepared vessel will be destroyed by how strong the Quirk is.

Banjo's arms are both messed up below the shoulder, just like Midoriya used to be. And like Midoriya uses Blackwhip to reinforce himself and stay standing, Banjo uses Blackwhip to hold his fist / arm together. His hand is being wrapped to stay in a fist.

(What I think is) The reason the limbs turn red, and then purple, from breakage, is a matter of blood vessels. Small, itty bitty, fragile things.

Using OFA breaks the whole area, from bones to blood vessels, causing internal bleeding. Thus the redness. But breaking those vessels again in a second go turns the area purple, because it causes instantaneous internal bruising.

But En wasn't ripped apart by using OFA. There's a cut on his thumb that lines up with the path of destruction; AFO sliced him in half. Otherwise, he wouldn't have that cut if it were just OFA.

It's hidden by the text in [... you never behave as I wish], but depending on where you see this chapter, you can see he got cut on the thumb. It's clearer where we see Nana take his hair from him, in [I only want... to make you mine!]

I have a post in drafts about En being cut in half rather than it being because of OFA, but I also hit an image limit, so I'm gonna end here. Ta.