#ruins maniac

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

Durge (sighing dramatically like a besotted Victorian debutante): Do you remember our first date? Why don’t you do anything romantic like that for me anymore?

Astarion: Our first date? What, when we had sex in a forest?

Durge: No, our first date, not the first time we had sex. Gods. What do you think of me? I’m not a beast.

Astarion: Darling, we have been trudging through the wilderness since the moment we met. We have literally never been on a date.

Durge: Yes we have! It was on the beach, remember? It was perfect. You were perfect!

Astarion: Do you mean when I held a knife to your throat outside the smouldering ruins of a ship full of eldritch horrors and threatened to kill you?!

Durge (all dreamy smiles and googley-eyed): Yes, it was wonderful. Almost as good as our second date, when you bit me and finally made good on your promise!

Astarion: Absolutely none of that was a—oh gods. Was leaving me behind when the crèche blew up your idea of a proposal?!

Durge: Of course dear, I didn’t want you to think I don’t return your feelings!

[kaleida404]

Thinks about Pav for the 27th time today

[coginthemachine]

absolute fucking travesty that Israel is allowed to perform at Eurovision, especially given they had to revise the song they were planning for being political. I knew the EBU was spineless but come the fuck on. Hope the artist gets booed to hell and back

[pokemon-npcs]

[tell-them-the-north-remembers]

Daeron the Good ended the deeply troubling tradition of grooming children into incest. He was a good father to his children. He challenged his own shitty father's crazy schemes. He wed a Dornish princess whom he was a good husband to and did his best to get rid of the anti-Dornish sentiment in the Seven Kingdoms at the time. He kept wise and capable men around to advise him. He treated his bastard half-siblings with respect he didn't even owe them. He did what no Targaryen king before, including Aegon the Conqueror could and brought Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms, not by bloodshed but by diplomacy. He put down a massive rebellion. For 25 years he was king and the realm prospered under his rule. People literally remembered him as "the good".

But sure, Daemon Blackfyre should have been king because he had a cool sword and was a "True Targaryen". Because being a Targaryen king means being a bloodthirsty tyrant who mistreats the people around him and takes only his desires into account when making a move that will affect the lives of thousands. Daeron did everything just right, like no king has done before but still he is glossed over or worse, antagonized because he was simply not "cool enough".

King Daeron II cared, and to some people that is apparently boring.

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

Thought of the Day

I hope this thought makes you unwell 🫠

[skitskatdacat63]

And here is the bull himself >:)

+ lore notes

I was like, ah I should make the shadow something interesting, and then I'm like GIVE HIM BULL HORNS???? OKAY SURE !!!!! I'm glad such thoughts can strike at 7 in the morning....thanks brain. But hehehe I'm glad bcs now this matches up super well with the Nando one!

New ship dynamic: who's the bull and who's the matador :)

I think, in this AU, Fernando is generally pretty fond of Seb when he first meets him. Like "ah yes my very own protégé, very nice, I shall mold him in my image." But then Seb starts veering off that course. Bullfighting is all about being dramatic, but Seb maybe has a bit too much(🤏) flair for the dramatic. This escalation starts while he's still Fernando's assistant but he keeps it generally at bay. But god when he becomes a matador himself, he's just off the rails insane.

Bullfighting, to me, is a sport about reckless endangerment of one's self in the pursuit of drama and performance(its literally described as a tragedy in three acts.) But Fernando thinks Seb endangers himself *too* much, not because he cares or anything, but he's making a mockery of the sport!! Especially when Seb starts doing that bull hand symbol(seen above), Fernando just keeps become more enraged with him, not anything to do with the fact that Seb is threatening his records and threatening his own wellbeing, nah of course not.

Seb's gesture is making a mockery of the sport, he's disrespecting the culture, the very nature of it, blah blah blah. Jenson once asks Fernando, after noticing him seething while watching Seb do his gesture, "Which bull are you really trying to defeat?" One could also describe Fernando and Seb's relationship as a "tragedy with three acts."

Anyways Fernando gets very tied up with this rivalry. Even after suffering a severe injury(I have yet to decide, but y'know mchonda electrocution core), he quickly returns to the sport, loath to let Seb get any more headway. And then Seb gets injured, poor little sweet Seb, and neither of them can handle it. Though I already covered this in my prev lore post 🤭 and I think I put it pretty viscerally there so!! I digress.

They're both matadors, but the bull itself is not the only bull Fernando wants to conquer. Conquer as in death? Hm.

[living-dead-guyy]

Khonshu after he dupped Marc and got Jake Lockley instead

[sporadicboinglerstealer2000]

crying

[weministertomonsters]

The Saint of Killers

The Saint of Killers comes looking for the Preacher and finds you instead.

You're not feeling very well, so you have an early dinner and go to bed. You lie there for what feels like hours, staring up at the stained ceiling. You can still feel the echo of the Saint's touch on your neck, and see his blackened eyes staring into your soul. You saw no mercy in those eyes and you're terrified that he's going to come back and finish the job. Eventually, you doze off, but your sleep is uneasy.

You wake up with a jolt. It's late afternoon, judging by the golden light streaming in through the blinds. You lie still for a moment and wonder what woke you up. And then you hear that familiar metallic jangle, and your heart just about shrivels up in your chest.

No... He's back.

You're frozen against the bed, staring at the door with wide eyes. His tall figure appears in the doorway. He's nothing more than a silhouette with a hat. You whimper something and sit up on the bed.

The Saint of Killers saunters into the room, trailing the scent of ash in his wake. His fingers are bruised and cracked, stained with old blood. He pauses ominously beside the bed. His face is smeared with ash and he looks like he just crawled out of hell. His voice is hoarse and gritty as he demands,

"Preacher?"

Your eyes fill with tears and you mumble, "I don't know."

He moves so fast that you barely have time to register your back hitting the bed and the air whooshing out of your lungs. All you know is that you're flat on your back and wheezing for air. Your nails scratch desperately at his wrist but he doesn't even flinch.

"Where is the Preacher?"

You shake your head feebly and let yourself go limp. Struggling is only going to make it harder to breathe. He squints down at you as you fight for each tiny breath. You stare helplessly up at him.

"Please," you wheeze. "I can tell you anything else."

There's no way you're going to betray your friends, so you're not going to tell him. If he kills you because of it, so be it. His eyes flick over your body. The t-shirt you wore to bed is bunched up around your hips, putting your pink panties on display. He lets out a bone-weary sigh through his nose, and you feel a small spark of hope. Is he going to let you go? That hope grows in your chest when he releases your throat and you're able to take in full, relieved breaths.

Your relief doesn't last very long because he seizes your wrist in a bone-crushing grip and tugs it towards him. Your fingers bump against the cold metal of his belt buckle and then brush over the bulge in his pants that wasn't there a minute ago. You suck in a sharp breath and flick your gaze up to his. After a moment you decide whatever this is, it's the lesser of two evils.

"I-If... If I do this, will you let me go?"

His glare tells you to shut the fuck up and not try to make any bargains. He guides your wrist so that your fingers press more firmly against him and when you take up the initiative and cup your fingers against him he lets out another heavy sigh.

"Can you let go of my wrist?" You squeak. "It hurts."

After a moment his fingers unlatch, and you feel the blood rushing back into your fingers.

"Thank you," you murmur.

Now it's up to you to touch him. Briefly, you wonder if you'll be able to jump up and dart out of here, but then you remember he has guns and you can't outrun a bullet. You flick your eyes up to his for a moment and look away, unable to hold eye contact for long. He lazily pushes his hips into your hand, reminding you that you have a job.

"Okay, okay. I can do this," you whisper to yourself.

You struggle with his belt buckle for a moment and finally get it to unlatch. Your knuckles brush against his firm lower belly as you unzip his pants, pulling it open. You don't expect him to not be wearing any underwear, so you don't expect his cock to practically slap you in the mouth either. It's hard and throbbing and looks just about as mean as he does.

"Oh," you murmur, intimidated.

He watches you silently, his hands clenched in loose fists at his sides. You take his cock in your hand, surprised at how hot it is. As you slide your thumb over his slit it leaks clear, sticky precum into your hand. He makes a low grunt in his throat. You shift closer and open your mouth, letting your tongue feather over his tip. His precum is warm with a distinct slightly smoky taste. You grow a little bolder and take him into your mouth, letting the thickness of him fill your mouth. Your jaw pops slightly trying to accommodate his size and you wince.

You're lying awkwardly angled on the bed now, and the muscles in your neck threaten to cramp. You pop him out of your mouth, wet and glistening.

"Can you... Get on the bed? I can't do this right."

His grey eyes peer down at you. He grabs your arm and pulls you off the bed. Your knees clunk down on the thin carpet and you grimace but go back at it, curling your fingers around the base of his cock and guiding him back into your mouth. His cock brushes over the sensitive part of your tongue and you gag, pulling back slightly.

Your knees burn from the friction of the carpet and your eyes run with tears from the ticklish feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat, but you endeavor to continue. His hips jerk slightly as he thrusts lazily into your mouth. He's so quiet that you have a hard time judging whether he's enjoying this or not, but the fact that his cock remains hard and leaks continuously with precum reassures you that you're not doing too bad.

Suddenly he pulls back, his bruised hand fisting over his cock.

"Get on the bed," he instructs.

You shake your head. "Isn't this enough?" You quiver. "I... I'm not on birth control."

Well, he doesn't give a fuck. He yanks you upward and your struggle is brief and futile and he presses you face-first onto the bed, wedging his body against yours. You squeak when he uses one hand to pry your legs open. Your cotton panties are no match for his strength, he simply rips through them.

You sob out a protest, sucking in a sharp breath when he guides his cock between your legs, the hot tip of him dragging over your clit, which pulses despite everything. He sheathes himself in you with one thrust and the air is forced out of your lungs. You whimper, his hips flush with your plump ass. He shudders as your pussy clenches down on him. It's a tight fit, but the fact that you're humiliatingly slick helps. Ever since that night, he put his hand around your throat you haven't been the same. You're terrified of him and yet you feel a magnetic pull when he's near.

"No," you moan, your face flushing with shame as he too realizes this.

One of his hands plants down on the mattress, giving him leverage as he slides out of you and thrusts back in with a squelch. His breath whooshes out, warm against your hair as he pauses.

"You're wet," he says, a statement, not a question.

You bite back a whimper.

"Why?" He growls.

"I don't... Ah!" Your hips begin to rock back against his thrusts. "I can't help it," you whisper in shame.

Something about his terrible strength and the lack of mercy he has displayed in all your encounters turns you on so that even now that he's forcing you, your nipples are hardening, rubbing against the mattress with the force of his hips against you. A yelp is yanked out of you when his cock enters you at a particular angle and he groans lowly in response, his fingers digging into the mattress at your side.

Something must be wrong with you...

[saucyzoo]

Ruined Hex Maniac!

[pokemon-npcs]

[designingxdaffodils]

Hey!! Did you guys know I stream now?? I do!!! And Bulbasaur was a fun idea and recommendation that I couldn't pass up!! So here's our favorite living his absolute best life! Looks like he discovered the find of a lifetime!!

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Commission info | Support me on Ko-fi | Follow me on Twitch

[bleakbittersoul]

Diogenes: Did ...Did you cut that shirt to make it fit?

Bright: No it's worse than that.

Diogenes:.....

Bright: I glued it.

[scrollll]

My friend just informed me that as of today she has a hedgehog.

When I ask what his name is, she said that she does not have a name for him yet and so far only calls "little buddy".

I can't explain to her why I didn't react like a normal mortal to this news.

[okletsgetnuts]