“It’s hard to picture, honestly. That Cazzador could never beat you in a fair fight. Not the Astarion I know”
Karlach you precious angel
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imagine having a consistent john design
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tmn when cad first joins them is so funny to me theyre like What a freak i think hes going to kill us. wait but he's nice and he might rly genuinely get lost without us. wtf he can read minds. oh wait shit he cooked us a food and doesnt know how money works and only wants to talk about like 2 things and now him and jester are besties so whatever lets give him 500 nicknames
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The prompt was Halloween but honestly, I wanted to draw them in Dia De Los Muertos clothes, I hope I did it justice! Very fun :D
tap for better quality (and look at the details, there's some that I looove) 🎃💀🍬 & reblog aaahh this took me so long , ty byee
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since reqs r open im humbly asking for a pouf 🙏
day 2
where are the shaiapouf fans at!!!!
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fellow queerplatonic f/o havers i am loooking and you and shaking you by the shoulders…
imagine not being qpps with them yet and them just enjoying whatever time they get to spend with you, however short or long. with the way you smile at them or the way you laugh or even the slightest brush of a hand they think about these things after you part most definitely, with the way you’re so special to them. they’re pining for you extremely and very much treasure the relationship you have— maybe they’ve thought of asking to be qpps but feel shy or feel like they’re not ready yet and just waiting for the right moment. maybe you beat them to it and they’re thankful you brought it up or silently going noo… i was going to do it…!!!!
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THAT WOUND. THAT VILE WOUND. it throbs in time with your speeding heart, and the ache it carries through your veins is oppressive, its hot, it tangles around your jaw and through your spine and behind your eyes. there are needles, sprouting from the lacerations like the most heinous ivy, and it strangles your lungs, rips tears from your eyes, lures bile to your throat. it hurts. oh god it hurts. you cant think, you cant breathe, you cant swallow, you cant see. you cant see. you cant see.
you cannot see but you know when your eyes are closed, because there are colors stained upon the backs of your eyelids. they form images of loved ones, of viscera, of bile and blood and blackened mud. its jarring, they make anxiety spike outwards, frantic ferro fluid, frightened from faces too scared, too pained, too dead, too piercing with eyes staring straight at you, straight at you.
actually, you cant tell when your eyes are open.
SAUCE FREE VERSION UNDER THE CUT.
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