webshooterrr9

[webshooterrr9]

ASTARION/Starboy

[webshooterrr9]

— as much as the children take on his more fire-molten qualities, sylus is still very much a dragon in a family of cats

“lucian.” sylus’s groans are a drowsy grinding of granite. his fingers move to gently remove the too-warm little hand pressed to his cheek.

sylus hears an annoyed sleepy whine back. and then nothing, so he allows himself to be pulled back into the tide of slumber

until he’s plucked from the water by the fingers over his lips.

“‘fian…” he murmurs, gathering the little grabbers in his palm and placing it over his heart instead.

until the other hand is up and pressed to his eye. “stop, please.”

lucian whines again, bapping his father’s comfortable cheek lightly in a half-conscious tantrum. sylus scrunches his face up until he feels the warmth of the pillowy palm slide over to his earlobe and take hold. he sighs, he supposes he doesn’t mind that one. he leaves it, and lucian falls asleep.

maybe now—

bap.

finally sylus peels his lids open in tired surrender. to his right, he finds mochi-ball cheeks smushed against his pillow, kyros’s arm outstretched entirely to reach his chin. his sleepy eyes drooping as his fingers rub against the prickly stubble that grows there.

relief floods him when hees your silhouette against the little light through the heavy curtain come towards him. to help, he assumes— help him out of the pile. “sweeti— oof!”

your head knocks the breath out of him as you come to rest it on his belly. he watches as you turn to your side to meet his eyes, and bend your arm to place over his chest. you sigh, content. “30 minutes, Sy.”

he hums, low and resonant in your ear on his body. sure, he scoffs. you’ve never had a 30 minute nap in your entire life. but he relents, sinks back into his daze and registers the weight of his family on his body.

30 minutes, he considers. his boys on either side of his head, his face a sensory mat for their fingers, and his beloved rubbing soothing circles over his chest.

he can’t help but chuckle at the thought that your feline qualities have begun to manifest in your children too. three loves of his life, making biscuits over his skin.

30 minutes, he agrees, although he truly doesn’t mind forever.

[webshooterrr9]

Astarion Act 1

[webshooterrr9]

Eyes that speak what words never could

[webshooterrr9]

Astarion trying to wake his mortal lover

[webshooterrr9]

The duality of my husband.

[webshooterrr9]

playing as gale to romance astarion rn and like his romance pisses me off ngl bc WHY do I have to sleep w him the night at the tiefling party to kick it off

GALE WOULD NOT DO THAT

Where's the option to meet Astarion at night and say "Actually idk if I want to do this particular activity but can we maybe just hang out and talk or smth. You can feed from me if you want just I can't really start a relationship this casually"

Bc be so fr Gale doesn't casually hook up. Wyll wouldn't either. Like. Where is the romance option for the ppl who don't care abt sex at least for the moment.

I get that's the point of Astarion's character that he's only ever been used as a sex object and puppet so he wouldn't know anything else but where is the player's desire (or rather, lack thereof) factored in. Like what if I have an ace Tav that just wants to cuddle.

Obviously it would require the game to be too big, and I don't want to force Larian to change but man it would be nice to have that as an option.

This is just a larger part of my overall distress when none of the dialogue options fit the origin character I'm playing and throws a wrench in my roleplay ability 😞

[webshooterrr9]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OUR SASSY AND COCKY KING LIL S 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥💯💯

[webshooterrr9]

saw this today and my immediate answer was “both, but in different ways” and then my updated answer a few seconds later was that it’s everyone EXCEPT zayne. so here are my personal headcanons/reasonings (specifically the "you’re so pathetic"/"i’m so pathetic" part):

caleb: says it and means it. yeah this is literally all i have for him take any objections up with the therapist he doesn’t have

sylus: says it ironically. a nonchalant hum of agreement and slight air of condescension in his tone. you both know he doesn’t mean it—you both know you don’t even mean it—but he’ll let you have your fun. go along with your games, as long as they stay games (i don’t think sylus is into degradation), and entertain the idea of him being anything less than formidable. a means to an end to get you to leave your mark on him

xavier: says it in the same tone as caleb, but with the same intention as sylus. his voice is shaky and sincere as he stares up at you with his big blue eyes, but underneath the exterior is a man who knows what he wants and knows how to get it. he’s luring you in with the innocent pitiful bunny act, but he doesn’t believe it. he’s just giving you what you want so you give him what he wants

rafayel: moans it. in the moment, he doesn’t know if he means it or not—he’s just so gone and horny that he’ll say/agree to anything as long as it gets you to touch him. and then once the haze of lust has cleared he denies saying anything of the sort

zayne: doesn’t believe in degradation of the self for momentarily pleasurable but ultimately trivial matters

[webshooterrr9]

"Switch Sylus with bratty sub tendencies," I say into the mic. The crowd boos. I begin to walk off in shame, when a voice speaks and commands silence from the room. "She's right," they say. I look for the owner of the voice. There in the 2nd row stands: Sylus.

[webshooterrr9]

[webshooterrr9]

Taint Misbehavin’: The Gender-Neutral Tragedy of the Human Gooch

You’ve been lied to your entire life.

Not about taxes. Not about calories. Not even about the clitoris.

No — I’m talking about the taint.

That glorious, forgotten slab of flesh. That unclaimed demilitarized zone between the promised land and the chocolate factory. That thin, sweaty strip separating birth from exile.

Let’s set the record straight:

Women. Have. Taints.

And the fact that society pretends otherwise is the greatest act of anatomical erasure since we collectively agreed that “muffin top” was a nice term.

🧠 What Is a Taint?

Also known as:

The perineum (if you’re a doctor)

The gooch (if you’ve owned a PS2 and body odor)

The grundle (if you’ve ever dated a drummer)

The Devil’s Slip-N-Slide (if your festival record is sealed)

Technically:

“The perineum is the area between the genitals and the anus.”

But spiritually?

It’s the unspoken pause in God’s sentence. The hallway between the temple and the abyss. The place where gender, shame, and chafing meet.

🔍 Who Gets One?

Let me be clear:

Whether you��re packing heat or holding space, slanging meat or curating petals, carrying a baby cannon or a soft serve dispenser—

You. Have. A. Taint.

And if you’ve gone your entire life without realizing that, congrats: society’s gendered body-shame campaign worked.

😤 But Isn’t “Taint” a Male Word?

Historically? Sure.

“Taint” was born in locker rooms. Raised by Xbox parties. Educated in Reddit threads. And baptized in the sweat of men who didn’t understand the purpose of a washcloth.

It was linguistically colonized by testosterone.

But anatomically?

It was always co-ed.

🚺 The Untold History of the Female Taint

You think the patriarchy invented oppression?

No. The real villain is linguistic erasure.

Because while men gave their taints nicknames, stories, and occasional bar soap—

Women got radio silence.

Your undercarriage has been:

Ignored

Unlabeled

Uncelebrated

Unclaimed

You’ve spent years exfoliating your thighs and waxing your peach…

…but no one told you there’s a full-blown diplomatic zone beneath it.

A biological Bermuda Triangle. A tactile twilight zone.

Your taint.

📉 Let’s Break Down the Cultural Bias:

Body Part Coverage

Boobs Over - celebrated

Butts - Literally worshiped

Clitoris - Found in 1998

Labia - Misunderstood poetry

Taint - Ghosted

Why? Because it’s funny. And neutral. And sweaty.

You can’t put the taint in a perfume ad. You can’t put it on a billboard. So they buried it.

💀 What Makes the Taint Powerful?

Because it’s:

Genderless

Timeless

Politically neutral

Sensually charged

Biologically disrespected

It’s the only body part that:

Isn’t sexualized

Isn’t sacred

Isn’t politicized

Isn’t aestheticized

Isn’t protected

It just is.

Unbothered. Unbranded. Unapologetically indifferent.

And that makes it sacred.

📚 Linguistic Justice: Let’s Rename It Properly

Unisex taint aliases, rebranded for the equality era:

The Fleshbridge

The Forbidden Fajita™

Undercooch

The Sin Tundra

Devil’s Hallway

The Emotionless Alley

The Oathbreaker’s Strip

The Nether Yawn

Purgatory Patch

The Biblical Buffer Zone™

Choose your fighter. Reclaim your stripe. We’re not asking anymore.

🧼 Taint Hygiene: No Gender Exemptions

Let’s get raw.

Your taint:

Sweats like a liar in court

Collects funk like it’s in a blues band

Suffocates in yoga pants

Smells like the ghost of mistakes past if ignored too long

Male or female — it don’t matter.

Your taint will betray you unless:

You lather.

You exfoliate.

You show it the respect you pretend to give your “self-care routine.”

The taint is the final frontier of bodily respect. Ignore it, and it will out you in summer.

🧪 The Psychological Impact of Owning Your Gooch

Let me be dead serious.

When you finally accept your taint:

Your shame collapses.

Your ego softens.

Your sex becomes better.

Your humor becomes darker.

Your subconscious literally trusts you more.

Women who accept their taint become dangerous. Not because they’re wild — but because they’re free.

💥 The Taint Test: Feminist Edition

Ask your friend with the “Divine Feminine Energy” tattoo:

“Do women have a taint?”

“Can I call mine a gooch and still be empowered?”

“If you ignore your perineum, are you really body positive?”

Watch her hesitate. Watch her blink. Watch her glitch.

Because the truth is hilarious. And hilarity burns the shame right out of you.

🧘‍♀️ If You’re a Woman Reading This…

You now have no excuse.

That strip of skin between the peach and the abyss?

That subtle runway between entrance and exit?

That’s your taint.

And it deserves:

A name

A scrub

A shrine

A Wikipedia page

You don’t need to gender it. You just need to own it.

🤯 TL;DR

The taint is real

The taint is universal

Women have taints

The patriarchy ignored it

But your loofah doesn’t have to

This isn’t just anatomy.

It’s resistance.

💣 CALL TO ACTION

🔁 Reblog this before someone calls it “cisnormative perineum propaganda” 🧽 Send to the friend who forgot to wash hers today 🍑 Share if you’ve ever worn tight leggings with no idea what’s happening underneath 🫧 Save this if your taint is a neglected spiritual quest waiting to happen

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

This post is satire, anatomy education, performance art, cultural rebranding, locker room theology, and biological diplomacy.

It is protected by the U.S. Constitution, the Geneva Convention of Postmodern Memes, and the sacred covenant of shower-based self-respect.

If you’re offended:

Wash deeper.

Laugh louder.

Reclaim your gooch.

Because if you can’t name it — the patriarchy still owns it.

And that is the real tragedy.

[webshooterrr9]

Man as someone who’s had pet rats, Neil banging out the tunes day makes me so emotional

Most rats live 2-3 years, some much shorter though depending on their health. So even if Neil was young, he probably passed within a year and a half of the piano photo being taken

So every year, we commemorate and make art of a beloved pet who has been gone for over fifteen years who has brought joy to thousands of people on the internet

Keep bangin out the tunes, Neil 🫶

[webshooterrr9]

Go little guy, go!🎵

[webshooterrr9]

okay, what if the situation at moonrise towers was reversed?

the trader is a vampire and they offer you the potion to permanently increase your strength, but only if you let them feed from you.

astarion would try soooo hard not to let his emotions betray him. you haven't defined your relationship. the decision is yours to make. he's just using you, anyway...

but gods, does the thought of someone else's teeth in your neck make him sick to his stomach. no one else should be able to taste you, to hear the way your breath catches at the first draw of blood, to feel your hand grip their bicep if it gets to be too much.

you decline the offer, much to the pale elf's relief, and he finds himself in your tent that night. he joins you even before the other party members have gone to sleep for the evening.

his desperation quickly becomes apparent. he litters your neck with bites before moving to your chest, then your abdomen. he hardly even feeds, too busy marking what's his.

making his way back up your body, he laps at the blood he's spilled while the warmth of his breath fans across your delicate skin.

once he finds your lips, he leaves a lingering kiss there before pulling back. his expression is almost sheepish, though the sentiment is gone the very next moment.

he settles beside you wordlessly, opens a book, and pretends not to see the look on your face— knowing and amused.

bg3 masterlist

[webshooterrr9]

not sylus saying "remember to cut all the way across here if you really wanted to kill me" bc he rly would be the kind of guy to find a strange, sickening romance in the intimacy of kiss your neck, or you kissing his, especially in the early days -- ghosting his lips along the column of your throat like --

"you know how easy it would be for me to kill you like this? all this delicate, tender flesh, and you're just..." he grins, leaning back as if to admire the moon-kissed hollow of your throat, "letting me have it --"

he groans, leaning back down, nosing against the soft spot beneath your jaw, his thumb trailing up the side of your neck to angle your face and give him more access. he'd be so turned on by it, so painfully hard against your hip he's fucking leaking, but he wants to savor this, the way you might look helpless, pinned beneath him like this, but the way he knows you're anything but.

he loves that about you, how you never back down, how you can flip the tables on him, end up straddling his hips, your thin fingers (so much stronger than they look) wrapped around his throat, the coolness of your fingertips as you squeeze them gently making his vision blur with want.

"t-that's right... i'm yours for the taking, i-if you'll have me, that is."

he loves the look in your eyes when you have him like this, you perched over his body, the triumphant rider to this wild stallion of a man, bending him so perfectly to your will.

"what was that thing you used to say?" you ask, bending down to whisper against his ear, reveling in the way he shivers beneath you, his fingers digging into your hips as you roll them down languidly against his.

"that it'd be so easy to kill you like this..." you murmur, trailing your thumb over his threading pulse, kissing softly along his jugular, "all i have to do is bite down just hard enough, or squeeze... right?"

sylus lets out a choked moan; his hips jerk up as you skim your teeth along his skin.

"but..." you say, as if deliberating on the subject, answering his low throaty groan with a sweet, teasing laugh, "you'll just have to trust that i won't -- trust that every time i'm here... i'll make the concious choice to kiss you, instead."

[webshooterrr9]

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