“All I do anymore is want you”

I’m actually on my knees. I’m actually crying. I’m going to throw up. I hate it. I love it. I’m dying. Send help 😭

Started a hotline for this fic. I’m very sorry. Gonna go sit in the corner and think about what I’ve done. And what I’m going to do

Look what I made >:3

inspired by @GayArts69 on Twitter

save this for later, lol

Old Dog

On their quest to find Falin, ¿should the party bring along a talented culinary ally? ¿A hungry, underappreciated loner? ¿Some asshole who could very easily get distracted and fuck it all up? ¡¡¡You decide!!!

(Please reblog and explain in the tags)

not to over-indulge in my own tags and this extremely hyperspecific au but walk with me for a minute. it's this scene from the series finale of LOST except make it rick and michonne. and instead of it being them reuniting in the afterlife it's them reuniting after the poof! no apocalypse timeline reset and they're getting flashbacks of the original zombie apocalypse timeline. do you see my vision.

when underdogs >>>>>>>>>>>>>>

@scrtilegii said: the sharp ends of her form frighten him not, permitting for them to pierce his form as he seeks to stand as close to Dreya as possible. behold the tribute in blood that I bring to you!, silent yet nonetheless implied. a ravenous thing, desire. and he ought to know better than to permit it to consume him, though, alas, none other in the world should be more deserving of his adoration than her.

capturing Dreya's form in his wanting arms, Parma presses his lips against the inviting skin of her neck, all the while enduring the sharpness of the spikes piercing his body in full. oh, but it is not his blood alone he would offer her. how else should he show her the bottomless pit of his want? how else would he write the words of the spell he wishes to cast on her, if not in his own blood? come, oh Goddess, do surrender yourself to me! I shall rebuild your altar, I shall offer you proper libation. for now, let my arms encircle you, let my mouth worship you, let my blood stand as sacrifice! ( hello AJAHSHSHS )

The realm beyond moves with activity ; like the waxing and waning of the moon itself, like the ebb and flow of the tides, so too does her realm in activity. Sometimes it is tranquil and other times it pulses with activity, like the hum of a star being pulled together. The latter is the state now, with more of her enhanced creatures roaming the landscape of the realm though they grant Parma access unharmed as if he belongs to the realm. And is that not the case? If he belongs to Dreya, then so does he belong as everything else in this realm does to her.

Real gods require blood in the same way mortals require water - they require conflict and grit and resilience. As the emergence of her moon draws nearer through the steady march of time, more sharp edges appear on her, piercingly sharp and as black as a starless void. They fold and lap together - some as platelike armor, others like weapons. They pierce through flesh with ease, her head turned to watch him when he bleeds for her. That is true dedication ; willingness to let yourself be torn apart for that which you worship with every inch of your being. What is more generous than a deity letting you tear yourself apart upon them? To let you lay hand and lips upon them? To feel your blood upon their hand by their acceptance alone?

Dreya tilts her head to grant him easier access to the skin of her throat, where galaxies and supernovas run through her veins beneath the surface. One hand lifts to press against the small of his back, urging him closer still. When she sighs in pleasure and delight, its the soul of the universe itself that sighs in tandem with her, through her. What it cannot speak, she can. What it cannot touch with hands, she can. Already impaled upon her, fingers press and press - not with razor claws or ferocious violence, but part through flesh and blood with tender care, like the splitting of an orange or lovingly opening a closed book. Her fingers brush across his very core with a lovers embrace, as gentle as the delicate touch of petals despite the blood on her hand. She caresses him and so does the universe through her, accepting his burning want and reciprocating in kind through the intimacy of the blood and contact.

Her head turns to where he's pressed to the graceful beauty of her throat and pulls back only so she can kiss him proper, while her hand remains buried within the chest, touch ever gentle and loving in its morbid scene. But he is beyond mortals as well, he can endure such a loving gesture from a goddess. She draws them together under red infernal moonlight. Want. Want. Such a strange concept to be reintroduced to beyond knowledge. She wants, and so she accepts his own wanting in kind, feeds it in kisses and blood sacrifice and in the tilt of her head when she allows him back to her throat and accept his gaping hunger while her own shows in the possessive hand on his back on the loving touch, the claim of this one as hers no matter what any other dare say.

Im a sucker for soft Silco and I cried 🥲

Please cry into this cup here, I’m so thirsty thank you

Charles Lee ALSO died in New Jersey.

Hahahaha, loser.

Why is Mephisto single?

He's probably not single, he just assimilated all his lovers.

Yeaaah...that's terrifying, right?

Imagine being with a creature that wants you so much, they want to become you.

Falling for Mephisto would be the most explosive love/hate relationship that ever existed. With a demon that might care, or might not--

Could you imagine if your lover knew everything about you, including every moment of your past and future? Every white lie? When you will die? All of your likes and dislikes? Things that could potentially be used to manipulate the course of your life.

A few days ago, I was on team Mephisto.

This week I'm back on Big Bad Mephisto.

(But don't worry, I'll change my mind again.)

all this romanticizing of the gremlin lifestyle has done wonders for my self image