#who’s your daddy?

[a-not-so-sure-artist]

These if not Undertale, early Minecraft and a bit of Fnaf were my go-to favorites. I’d really like it if some of these returned with a sequel or something, I really miss ‘em :’)

[iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker]

She’s just somebody’s daughter looking for somebody to love her…

All the fairytales tell the tale of the Princess… But what about the Prince? What’s his story? Why is he so kind, so compassionate; such a gentle soul? Why would he even care enough to go looking for a Princess he never even knew existed…?

The Pink & Black Prince

Once upon a time a beautiful, wholly untainted soul was born. From the moment of his creation until his last breath, his existence was war being waged. Against all lores, and Gods, and the statistics of man, he prevailed. With grace, and humility, and endless compassion for all those that crossed his path.

Throughout his journey, each of those that drifted close and brushed by, chipped away at him, just tiny pieces at first, barely nicks, merely grazing his perfect surface and going unnoticed.

As he travelled, and the more damaged souls he encountered, he gave of himself to heal their wounds, and gave of himself to feed their egos, and wrung himself arid in an attempt to quench their thirst for tears.

And still he gave. And gave. Until there was nothing of himself he recognised. He was left to continue wandering once they’d had their fill of his light, left to continue cradling his tiny, battered glow.

I adore him; this Prince, this King of my Heart. Guardian of my Soul, and Master of my Body. I appreciate all that he is, all that he does, and all that he will ever be. Always. Not just for me, but all that he does, and how selflessly he gives to others. I admire, and am inspired by him; his beautiful heart, his gentle, compassionate spirit, his strength of will, and his courage in the face of the unknown.

I am so proud of who he is as a person, even though I had nothing to do with the building and shaping of the amazingness that is him. I am both incredibly lucky, AND ridiculously privileged that I found him, that I know him, AND that I get to love him. That is why the answer to the question “who’s your Daddy” is HIM.

Always.

[thrillofhope]

That scene between Adar and Saur—I mean, Halbrand 🙃

[mostspirited]

Meg mentions that Nero is afraid of Caligula but never says why and I like to think it’s because every time Nero tries to argue with him, Caligula pulls the ‘you know what I did to your mom’ card and after all this time Nero doesn’t have a comeback to that

[ghoul-berri]

Every single Popia stan right now……rightfully so

[glennethph]

I’m not surprised. When you think about it, it should have been so obvious lol

[hitchell-mope]

Oh my god. He’s a whore

[utterlyyinfatuated]

Just want to say that I think you’re hot af and would love to sext you lmao

Okuur if you wanna sext, you gotta call me daddy. 😂

[mafiawater]

I totally understand why Stephanie totally wanted to vanish well maybe next time she won’t be a fucking bitch to little kids you don’t do that shit you stupid Cunt

But you know what else you know what’s really cool you and Nick cannot cross that line it’s just that it’s delicate no but seriously about that luck stuff. You can’t take that either. He had no right to try to give love that he didn’t have to all these women as a joke yourself included but you can’t take certain types of luck, no matter how much you want them no matter how much other men want you to have them.

But he sure does try. He always tries to threaten and say I’m gonna give so-and-so whatever is yours you already tried that you already copied Andy you already copied Mark you already copied Josh.

And all of your girlfriends have already tried to copy me

So moving forward, Nick’s girlfriends go ahead and do your own thing and let me do my thing I don’t need any more copies of me in that way you know what I mean

Mafia I want everything

Mhm

Can you see inside the house?

There are still good white people

True most of them will be outside of the United States. Some of it is media conditioning. Some of it is narcissistic personality abuse.

Some of it you need to not believe everything that a stupid man tells you

Oh yeah what’s your clinical opinion mark my opinion is if that asshole didn’t try to suck my ass in the first place he wouldn’t have an opinion and everybody knows it, including the medical doctors, especially the medical doctors and the psychiatrist that must be so embarrassing

He secretly has no shame because he justifies his behaviour as he needed that security blanket to say that his father worked at seers tower and blah blah blah

Sears

Mark, you and your father are both blind, so go ahead and make more jokes sweetheart

Nick is still far more intelligent than you are isn’t that a sad shame he knows how to satisfy a woman in some ways and you never could

They couldn’t see that, so unfortunately, the seer stage

Well, it’s not been a safe place for women in a long long while because medicine is mostly about power and control rather than medicine

Well, Kanye West works at the seers tower and he’s my daddy so you tell your supreme pizza Cunt daughter what I said

Seer stage. Look.

Oh God forbid that child wants something fresh next thing you know Mark’s turning into Ed only thing is they were always pretty much the same person, so it just goes to show that even idiots can get jobs as a therapist

Well, if he’s that nasty it’s hard to know is he that nasty to his daughter

I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure. He has a lot of incorrect beliefs.

One of the more delusional things I guess all of this supremacy, nobody believes you, Mark

[depressed-lesbian420]

Show me who’s In charge mistress

[needycatboy]

t-cockwarming is talked about a lot on here, but if any of you sluts haven't actually had the chance yet let me paint you a picture of what it feels like:

imagine your loving dom playing with your hair while you kiss before flattening their palms and pushing you downwards, giving you just a moment to plant some kisses on their cock before shoving your face further in and telling you firmly to stay in place.

imagine feeling their cock grow harder against your tongue, and every bone in you is begging you to just play with it and worship it, but when you move even a little you get a hair pull and a harsh warning to keep still again. your saliva and their wetness combine into this thick and sticky slickness that makes your face so messy. you can feel their cock twitching in your mouth when you accidentally move and give them friction, and you are alight with the need to give them more to feel, but your attempts are thwarted before they even start.

imagine their hands petting your hair and encouraging you, telling you how warm your mouth is around their cock, how good you're being for staying so still. looking up at them, and knowing they can see the hearts in your eyes. everytime you pull away to catch your breath fully, you get to feel them shove your face back down onto their cock, and you have to suppress the urge to run your tongue along their head, suppress the need to push your tongue into their hole and make them moan, your purpose now is to be still, and be good.

imagine finally getting permission to get them off, and how lovely they'll look coming undone above you after you waited so long to make them feel good. imagine how fuzzy your head would feel after all that praise and attention.

now go tell your dom you want to cockwarm them.

[shitpostingkats]

Why did it take me until todays episode to realize how hysterical this entire show is from Kyutaro’s point of view

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[hitchell-mope]

He’s enjoying himself too much

[prettyupsetnerd]

scary hugs doo doo doo doo doo