#lil something >:3

[lilacartsmadsion]

Ghost of Our Pasts AU

Finally making one about this AU. (But I will NEVER rewrite the AU that shit took forever)

Dark Cacao is used to Caramel Choco Cookie’s The Founder’s voice looming over him and clouding his mind in hate…

Till a new voice entered his mind recently…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dark Cacao Cookie knew The Founder was relentless with his hatred for sweets…that much he knows…

Personally, Dark Cacao Cookie never ate sweets, it’s not a matter of discipline, he ate bitter foods from the moment he was born…so his body isn’t used to sweet things…

That wasn’t the problem…truth be told, The Founder hated anything sweet, including Cookies.

When Dark Cacao became friends with Pure Vanilla Cookie, he only scowled. ‘You dare betray your own kin?’ Is what he repeated that night. Over and over Dark Cacao never got a word of peace.

‘You think you’re so high and mighty do you? Ignoring me? Your own ancestor?!’

He heard that phrase a lot of times, he was too immune to the guilt-tripping that regarded him to obey an angry spirit who couldn’t let go of a grudge. Even then the people he held a grudge to were dead. The only remaining cookies alive? Bitter to the core. Even they had their biases against sweets…(Caused quite a commotion for the Milk and Coffee Villages)

Dark Cacao could care less if he was his ancestor. He was tormented by his own parents for years. An Ancestor was no different. If he didn’t respect him, he won’t respect him back.

Then he had a son, and that angered him even more.

‘Dark Choco Cookie?! Dark Choco Cookie?! That’s not a Bitter Cookie!’

‘You are a disgrace! You ungrateful lousy brat!’

‘After everything I gave you?! After freeing you from the pain and torment your parents put you through, you betray me with this sweet hellspawn?!’

Dark Cacao only ignored him, he didn’t care if Dark Choco was sweet or bitter, he was more grateful he was born with sweetness in his dough…

Perhaps he would be immune to the curse…that was all that mattered…

But alas, Dark Cacao barely knew how to parent…for Dark Cacao only knew the feeling of a cold embrace, to be cast out and forced to survive alone. The bitter feeling of being disowned by your own father.

And so, though not physically hurting his son, he barely made time…he was a king and to manage a son was just as hard. When their nation reached poverty after the Dark Flour War and the Great Choco Wall was made, he barely spent time with him…

He could only imagine what his son felt at that moment…being ignored by his own father…it took Dark Choco leaving and setting off to find his path in the world, did Dark Cacao realize how much his son had grown…

When Dark Choco returned, he knew he was not the same, Dark Cacao recognized the sword he used…it was his own…in the past…

The same one he used to destroy villages who dared to enslave his own kin…

He remembers the slaughters…

The cries of cookies both young and old…

Them calling out for their families to find them…

He could hear the screaming…

The Terror…

The Nightmarish Genocide…

With that sword he shed so much Strawberry Jam…he couldn’t help but freeze the moment he saw it in his son’s hand…

Because of his foolishness history repeated once more…a son who betrays his own father and homeland…a son who was disowned by his own father…

A son who was left to survive…on his own…

That night while he recovered from his wound, Dark Cacao only sat in despair and silence on his bed, the guilt eating him away as the voices of his ancestors echoed in his mind…

They ate away at his role at fatherhood.

They screamed that he shouldn’t have had a son at all.

They yelled that he shouldn’t have abandoned his past…

And he had no choice but to bear through the voices…

Soon they grew louder and louder, overlapping and echoing in his mind, almost painfully screaming in his ears.

He couldn’t help but cover his ears…

He wanted them to stop.

Make it stop.

Stop it…

“SILENCE!”

He yelled, startling one of his Watchers…or at least, a Watcher in training.

“My King?” Caramel Arrow asked, trying to reach out in comfort, but pulled away. Dark Cacao couldn’t cry nor sob…he’s lived his life knowing that it was no use to express those feelings…

“I’m…sorry..” Dark Cacao spoke, lifting his head up. (He hadn’t realized he’d basically arched his back) and palming his face.

“You are unwell Your Majesty.” Caramel Arrow spoke in concern. “Do you wish me to get the medics?” She asked, Dark Cacao shook his head.

“No…” He spoke. “Leave me be for a moment.”

Caramel Arrow nodded, Dark Cacao found comfort in that…that this cookie could understand his distress despite the fact he probably exiled her only friend…

She left the room, silently closing the door as not to agitate the king…as he sat on his bed in silence.

He was alone…as always…

Pure Vanilla Cookie was probably dead. Hollyberry Cookie hasn’t been seen in years. Golden Cheese? No one knows what became of her. And White Lily Cookie had understandably left without a word.

He had a son in his life…and he pushed him away too…

Now he was alone…as always…

In the silence…

In…the silence…?

Dark Cacao blinked in surprise, looking around warily…

It was never quiet…

He tried to focus on where the voices were but, he couldn’t sense them, couldn’t feel their thoughts or presence.

What was going on? Were they planning something?

He concentrated, almost as if he was having a battle with himself, what was he expecting? A threat? A taunt? A very painful headache that’s likely going to last till sunrise? He didn’t know.

He tried to focus, find whatever was causing this unnatural silence. (He calls it ‘unnatural’ since the voices literally cloud his thoughts)

“Curious one, are thou?”

He paused, blinking, he’s heard of many many voices, this was not one he was familiar with. “W-Who…?”

“You needn’t worry, thou is not in any danger…”

The voice sounded female…was it female? He couldn’t tell…

“Who are you? You’re not the Foundress…”

Indeed this cookie wasn’t, the Foundress’ voice was one he recognizes very clearly, her voice soothing him with gentle warm words that etched through his very soul…this voice….

This was not the same voice…

“Indeed…Thou is observant in this case, just as thou’s resolve…”

He scowled, he did not like this one bit…

“I am the previous holder of the Soul Jam from which Thou has now called Resolution.”

They spoke, her voice echoed in Dark Cacao’s mind for a mere moment.

“Previous…holder…?”

“Yes, indeed, thou is not the first to behold the power of the gods.” She spoke with benevolence and omnipotence. “Rather, Thou is only holding but a fraction of thine which was once held.”

“I have heard thou’s anguish…thou’s pain from the wrath of his guilt…” He trembled slightly. All his life he had been presenting himself as the strong, unyielding and unwavering King…to believe someone else, other than the Founders had seen this side of him…

The shameful, reckless and negligent King…

The one who weeps a traitor’s loss…

To hear someone else comfort him, was already shameful in itself.

“I do not need your comfort.” He spoke, clenching the blankets below him. “Nor your pity.”

“I do not seek to comfort thou’s pain, I had simply answered to thy will.” They spoke, he tried to look at the direction from where the voice was speaking in, but to no avail could he see the cookie in question. “Answered my will?”

“The Soul Jam’s power is far greater than what Thou has accomplished…simply ask it for what thou’s heart desires and it shall answer.” She explained, causing confusion in his mind. “Thou wished for privacy, thou had wished for silence…and it is with my presence did thy’s Soul Jam answered.”

So the Soul Jam summoned this Cookie to help him? Hm, that’s a first… “I’d be wary if I were thou, however, for I only answer to the Soul Jam’s desires, if thou does not seek comfort from me, I shall not give thou comfort, if thou does not seek thine presence from me, then I shall not stay.”

He thought about it for a moment, this new-found power in his soul…his mind now speaking to a voice that gave him a sense of dread…yet a moment of peace at last…

Perhaps, she could stay just a little longer…

“What is your name, Previous Holder?”

He could almost feel a smirk, or at least think they were smirking.

“Mystic Flour Cookie, at thou’s command, Your Majesty…”

[robo-writing]

Cockwarming with Logan is one of those ideas that sound good on paper, but could never work in reality. Listen up, and I’ll tell you why. (18+)

The heat of you enveloping him is nirvana itself, your hands on his body sending him to cloud nine. They linger on his chest, pawing, caressing, blazing a trail from his collarbone to his face, nails burying themselves into the darkened locks as you stare at him with nothing short of pure adoration.

“Feel good?” You ask, and he’s so drunk off you that he can only bring himself to nod, breath hitching when your hips circle themselves in his lap. Your laughter is nothing short of melodic, pressing yourself into the broad length of his chest.

He feels everything like this—the heat of your nude body against his, the scent of your body wash, your shaky breaths—every sense on overdrive. It’s there you sit, unmoving, unwavering, every movement causing your pussy to clench around him, and in turn, makes his chest rumble appreciatively.

“Should listen to you more often,” Logan mumbles, biting his lip at the feeling of you nibbling at his neck. “Just full of bright ideas, ain’tcha?”

“Full of a lot of things,” you sigh, and the sound makes his cock twitch.

But, there’s something missing.

Your quiet whimpers, your doe eyes staring at him from above—the way your pussy clenches in response to every touch, pulsing around his cock—it’s good, but it’s not enough.

Tugging at him, an itch he can’t scratch, it gnaws away at his mind until he finds himself searching for more, and the realization hits him like a wave.

It’s patience he lacks, an epiphany that has his lips curling into a smirk. It’s a lesson soon learned when his fingers dig into your hips and lift, surprise evident on your face. His downfall, as with most things, is his lack of patience. When it comes to you, he could even go as far to call it greed.

“Logan?” You ask, not a word given in response. His palms run up your back, large digits squeezing at your flesh, and yet the feeling does little to settle the sudden flare of nerves that build in your core. The calm before the storm, the impending sense of doom, women’s intuition—or maybe it’s because you’ve become intimately familiar with the devious smile that spreads across Logan’s face.

“Logan? What are you—“

You’re soon cut short, interrupted by the feeling of him slamming you back onto his cock, your short gasp making ego soar to new heights.

“Sorry doll, change of plans,” he grunts, bouncing you on his lap without a care in the world. The sudden change of pace has you scrambling for purchase, hands clamoring around his neck as you struggle to keep up.

“Logan, wait—ohmygod—“ you whine, and the sound is like music to his ears. His attempt at soothing your worries is his hand sliding across your ass, the sharp sting of it making you jump, but lucky for you Logan’s there to pull you back onto his cock.

Up, down, up, down. A constant rhythm that finally satiates the beast within him, the dull thud of skin on skin enough to have him melting into his chair, a wave of content spreading through every vein of his body. In contrast, you feel your own becoming more tense by the second; toes curling, breath caught in your throat, an incomprehensible string of noises leaving your lips as Logan watches with bated breath.

He tuts at you, the sound nothing short of mocking. “No runnin’ away sweetheart, this was your idea.”

“Not like this,” you moan, hiding yourself in his neck. “Wanted to relax…”

Your voice trails off, unable to speak when Logan’s practically fucking every rational thought from your head. Slowly but surely, any idea of protest is drowned out by the heat that burns inside of you, a dull ember that builds into a blaze, unable to focus on anything that isn’t Logan or his cock grinding inside you.

You can hear his laughter bellowing deep within his chest, amused at your brainless state, right before he quickens his pace. “Trust me sweetheart, I’m real fuckin’ relaxed right now.”

[chloesimaginationthings]

All FNAF protagonists are artists.. and traumatized..

[suntails]

summer!

[lenaellsi]

mwah

[cali-kabi]

IM LITERRALY SO HAPPY AND HYPER NOW OMG OMG SO MUCH KIRBY NEWS KIRBY FORGOTTEN LAND NEWS AND KIRBY AIR RIDERS AAAAAAAAAAA!!!! Here’s some screenshots I took ;w; enjoy I’m so excited <3

[analog-television]

the forecast calls for - an 100% chance of deltarune tomorrow !!!

higher res pic of the duo under cut

[jkvjimin]

For you, I could pretend like I was happy when I was sad For you, I could pretend like I was strong when I was hurt

VMIN + fake love for @heybaetae ♡

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

POV. You’re a foot soldier stationed at Heaven’s gate and the sexual tension between your boss and his second in command is getting weirdly high these days for some reason

Continuation of Paradise Lost soldier Mud

Doodling more of these guys. They hate each other so much, they should kiss about it <3

[zipsunz]

oh, yuki-kun. we were just talking about you.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Some of my favourite Sonic Movie Marathon doodles

[arcanegifs]

Happy 2025, everyone! May the Arcane brainrot continue to live on 💙

[zevrra]

𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩: the last thing you had expected in your years of peace was to see a ghost from your past; joel miller. a man you had known years ago, who had left you years ago, and one you had tried your hardest to avoid since you ended up in jackson. but none of that mattered now when he shows up on your doorstep with a pale face and a wounded leg.

𝐰𝐜: 2.5k

𝐟𝐭: jackson!joel x ex-gf!reader

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: mdni, one shot, angst, hurt/comfort, tw blood, tw injuries, tw needles, ex established relationship, slight age gap, medic!reader, eventual fluff, mentions of joel being a smuggler, joel is on the verge of tears in this, he’s a lil insecure if you squint.

𝐚/𝐧: this probably isn’t any good but i couldn’t get the idea of it out of my head AAA

“H-hey, uh, can I come in?” Joel half ass chuckles before sucking in a breath from the pain, leaning against your door to support himself. 

You quickly glance over the pale man, immediately catching the scarlet staining his pants from what you assume is a pretty deep wound. And in your heart you know you’ll never turn him away but dammit if you don’t consider closing the door, stepping away, and leaving him this time. But you couldn’t. No matter what, he was still Joel, and you couldn’t leave him to die. 

“This way. Just try not to get blood…everywhere.” You say with a roll of your eyes before moving to his side, taking up one of his arms and laying it across your shoulder and guiding him into your home. You carry him off towards the bathroom, the cleanest place you can think of, settling him down on the edge of the tub. “Take off your stuff.” 

“Not gonna help?” Joel teases but the look you give him shuts him up, for the moment. He begins to strip to the best of his ability while you rummage under the sink for your damn first aid kit. Finding it right about the same time he’s attempting to shed his durable jacket. 

You set the first aid kit on the closest ledge to the bathtub before begrudgingly helping Joel out of his clothes. You toss his brown durable jacket onto the floor behind you before your fingers head straight for the buckle on his belt. You twist and turn it, like you’ve done…far too many times, before discarding it along with his coat. Your nimble fingers quickly work on his jeans next; using your own knee for support as you strip him of his stained jeans, finally allowing you a decent look at what he’s gotten himself into.

“Shit…” You swear under your breath, slightly turning his badly wounded leg to the side, just to see how far the knife wound goes. 

Joel laughs though, despite the circumstances. “That bad, huh?” He groans at the first press of your fingers, sucking in another sharp painful breath.

You don’t answer him, ignoring him for the moment as you continue to look at the wound. Blood bubbles under your examination and you needed something to stop the bleeding an hour ago. You move back to the bathroom sink, grabbing a towel and drenching it in the warmest water you can manage before moving back to the battered man. You press the soaked towel into his wound as hard as you can, fishing for another towel at your feet and handing it to him. “You know what to do with that.” 

Joel takes the towel you offer him, wrapping it around the thicker part of his thigh, right above the wound, and ties it tight around his leg; a late attempt to stop the bleeding while you work your magic. “Damn hunter,” Joel grunts through the pain, tightening the towel with every word. “Didn’t see him. Caught me on my way back to town.” 

You weren’t that interested in how he got to this point. Knowing what happened would just make your fingers tremble and your heart hurt. So you try your best not to indulge him. “You’re just getting old.” You mutter back before you press hard into the wound, your other hand rummaging with the lid of the first aid kit beside you. You retrieve a thin needle and the sutures needed for stitching the wound, nodding your head for Joel to replace your hand with his as you attempt to thread the needle as quickly as you can.

Joel starts to chuckle but the pain spreading across his thigh has him trailing off into a groan. Once successfully threading the needle, you return to your work, peeling off your now ruined towel from Joel’s wound. 

“You know I was, uh, never…good with words,” Joel frets, picking at something invisible under his nails. Dull and dim from years of working with his hands. “But uh…thank you. For this.” 

“Yeah, you made that a little too obvious, Joel.” You hum back, hoping to hurt him as much as his knife wound did, before continuing to work on the task at hand. Your fingers trail along his inner thigh, smoothing over the edge of his wound, sizing it up once more. “Now, no more moving. Or talking.” You add before placing the needle on some clean gauze, reaching for alcohol to sterilize the wound and the needle. 

Silence falls between the two of you, allowing you to focus entirely on fixing him up. With a deep breath, you steady your hands before pressing the tip of the needle directly into his skin. You move skillfully, having also done this a time or two, pushing the needle in, stitching it across, threading it back down to tightly seal the wound. You keep your gaze locked on the work you do. Watching every press of the needle and the sutures that follows suit. You may be upset about some other old wounds of your own opening up— but at least Joel wouldn’t die to this one; not this time. 

“Just like…old times, huh?” He says through gritted teeth, tossing his head back when you press the needle through his skin.

You exhale an annoyed huff through your nose at his statement. Trying your damned best to quickly do the rest of the stitching needed to keep him from bleeding out everywhere. You didn’t want to linger too long anyway.  “Heh, yeah, before you left me in the middle of the night, right?” You say, biting your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. No, you couldn't break down crying…not right now, not in front of him.

After what feels like maybe forever, with just a few more twists of your needle, you’ve managed to completely sew up his knife wound. Quickly, you knot the edge of the thread as tight as you can, clipping the suture with a pair of metal scissors before tossing the entire kit back into its box. With a slam of the lid, you forcibly close it, turning to put the first aid kit back where it rightfully belongs— for next time. Why you would ever hope there was a next time…you didn’t know. Didn’t really need to get your hopes up. 

What you needed was a fucking drink. 

“You’re still angry at me.” Joel weakly says, clearing his throat in an attempt to try and not make everything so damn awkward…it obviously wasn’t working. 

In that moment, everything comes back to you in a rush. The feelings, the sleepless nights, the tears you shed…everything rushes up like a punch to the gut; knocking the air from your very lungs. “Dammit Joel!” You yell, turning on your heel to stare him down, unable to stop the tears from forming this time. “Of course I’m still angry! I spent months waiting on…fucking anything from you! You left me in a world full of shit!” You choke out, picking up his coat and throwing it at him with as much force as you can manage. It almost pisses you off more that he easily catches it without so much as a flinch. Your next target is the bloodied towel as you pick it up with a tight grip.

And you think the silence that stretches for mere seconds right then and there was going to be the end of it…but your thoughts just keep spilling out. 

“You would rather throw your life away than tell me goodbye! You didn’t care if you died tomorrow while I sat waiting, hoping, praying for your god forsaken safe return.” You cry out, pointing an accusing finger his way. “But what hurts the most, damn you, is that I could never stay angry at you! I knew you had your reasons! Knew in my heart I…I would always forgive you!” You finally snap, slamming down the blood soaked rag into your sink. You turn away from him once more, tension lining every inch of the muscles in your shoulders as you grip the edge of your bathroom sink for any semblance of balance. You wished you could keep going, to yell at him some more to make up for all the lost time the two of you had but your words are quickly replaced with broken sobs and hot tears streaming down your face. 

The silence, once welcomed, is now suffocating. The only sound echoing inside the room was that of your pathetic sobs. You think for a split second that maybe he’s going to just gather his things and leave you, to flee into the night, never to be seen again…but instead of listening to him run away, you feel a shaky hand press into the small of your back. 

Joel stands beside you, hazel gaze full of sadness and worry as he looks down at you. He leans heavily against the vanity, trying his best to keep up off his hurt leg for the moment. 

“I’m…an idiot. And sorry.” Joel whispers as he retrieves his hand from your back, moving it to caress the side of your face— and like a fool, you let him. “I can’t apologize enough. I just…dammit, I was scared. I’m not a good man, darlin’. I was a smuggler back then and was…terrified you might end up hurt because of it. I’ve lost too fuckin’ much. I couldn’t…lose you too.” He admits with a weak tone. 

If anything, at least you knew he was genuine about the entire thing; you truly had never seen such a vulnerable state out of Joel before. It was evident that the years had changed him; and you. 

“So you just left?” You ask with that wobble to your lip, tears still streaming down your face. 

Joel frowns, swallowing a lump in his throat, as his thumb moves to brush along the trails of tears left behind on your pretty face. “Yeah, I left. It was wrong. And I’m…a fuckin’ coward for it but I was fallin’ for ya, too hard and too fast and it scared me.” 

You want to say something, to stop him from speaking, but all you can manage is a whine followed by a sniffle. With the back of your free hand, you wipe across one of your tear filled eyes, trying to return to your previous cold-like state. 

But before you can, Joel with his other hand, catches your own in a firm grasp. His fingers press gently into the cup of your palm, smoothing along your soft skin while butterflies dance in your stomach. He brings the back of your hand up to the curl of his lips, placing a gentle but forgiving kiss against your skin. You watch his eyes fall close for just a split second, as if he’s gathering the strength to continue. “You may never be able to forgive me for that and…and…I’m so sorry.” He mumbles apologetically. He was never able to find the right words so all he could muster was to apologize. And he would, until his very last breath. 

Now you really can’t find the words to respond to him. Cotton in your mouth, choking you, keeping you from further speaking your mind. 

He takes your silence as an answer though. 

He coughs slightly, clearing away the pain that lingers in his own chest. “I’ll leave and this time…uh, I’ll stay gone.” Joel finally says, promising to never return. Didn’t want to hurt you more than he already has. 

And yet, he lingers letting go of you. His warm hand catches one more tear from your reddening eyes before he slowly begins to slip his hand from your face. Sculpting you— as if he wanted his hands and his heart to never forget you, if this was to be the last time he ever saw you. So when his hands finally fall away, untangling entirely from you, it feels like the weight of the world slams into your chest. You watch as he stumbles back to the edge of the tub, fishing after his stained jeans. 

Time slows as your gaze follows him. You watch him move sluggishly towards his clothes littering your bathroom floor. You imagine him leaving, for good, this time, limping his way back to his little corner of Jackson, leaving you, avoiding you for the rest of your numbered days, never to see each other again…and that thought hurts more than anything.

You were not losing him a second time. 

You reach out for him. A firm hand stretches out quickly and you grip around the thick of his bicep; stopping him in his quest for his clothes. Tears spring free once more before you can stop them, and now it’s your turn to caress his confused face. You shake your head and thankfully, without any words, Joel seems to know exactly what you mean. His hand slips over your own, tangling his fingers into yours once more, while his other hand returns to press flush into your back. He moves like a man not wounded as he sweeps you up into him; closer and closer, he needs your body against his far more than he needs anything else. Pain, to be forgotten, as his lips crash into yours. He kisses you, full of longing and passion and need and all sorts of want. As if he had been waiting for ages to get the chance to kiss you once more. 

A sob slips from your lips and into his own but you kiss him back nonetheless. He gently squeezes your hand as you reciprocate his yearning, kissing you deeper and you accept it all. Falling into a perfect rhythm, as if you two had never parted in the first place. Twisting and turning, stitched together, made to fit perfectly for each other. 

You’d never admit how many nights you had lied awake, hoping for another moment like this with him. Never once had you sought out someone to fill the hole he had left. There was never going to be anyone else— it was always going to be him, and deep down you knew that from the moment you two had met. 

You’re the first to break from the kiss. Sucking in a sharp breath, tilting your head down and away from him for the moment. A laugh bubbles in your throat but it never comes out, so Joel oddly laughs for the both of you. 

“I don’t deserve this.” He admits, shaking his head in disbelief. As if he truly cannot grasp that whatever this was, that it was happening. 

“Maybe so,” You respond, finally clearing your throat of every obstacle from before. “You’ll just have to do a really damn good job of making it up to me.”

“I’d…like that. To make it up to ya.” He echoes your request, brushing his thumb once more across the high of your cheekbone, collecting any tears that he possibly could. His gaze is softer than you had ever seen it before; even when it had just been the two of you, surviving in Boston. Regret, sorrow, and love in those damned hazel eyes of his as he looks so sweetly at you. “I wrote…letters. Tried to, anyway, was just never good at words.” Joel chuckles, restating at how bad he truly was with words…and his feelings. That much was obvious, again.

This time, you finally manage to laugh along with him. “Mhm, tomorrow, I’d really like to read them.”

[bluuscreen]

movieverse, i guess? man idk

[insert-cephalopod-joke]

[wohyunz]

GET TO KNOW ME —» BIASES ↪ stray kids: lee know