#(nothing happened dw)
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
robbhoe · 1 year ago
Text
liverpool please. liverpool.
2 notes · View notes
buttonheart · 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
We'll get through this!
17K notes · View notes
musicalhistorical · 1 year ago
Text
If you ever feel stupid....
I almost set a bagel on fire at work today.
1 note · View note
pikechris · 7 months ago
Text
yeah the doctor hasn't kissed a man since 2005 but they also haven't kissed anyone on screen since missy in 2014. ten actual years. do you understand the significance of this
3K notes · View notes
cinderduck · 22 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
I had an idea what gripped me so violently that i had to make it real
1K notes · View notes
mwagneto · 8 months ago
Text
15 revealing that apparently the bigeneration was hugely traumatic and not something he could survive again is already insane but especially considering that when he was with 14 neither of them acted like it was anything other than amazing which makes me think 15 was the only one who felt that it was something incredibly damaging but he didn't wanna tell 14 coz he wanted at least one of them to be happy which is sooo.. ough....
1K notes · View notes
cor-lapis · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
cue concurrent breakdowns in Avidya Forest
Tumblr media
collei redesign by najmaviper (tumblr)
my other quest sketches :)
3K notes · View notes
angeart · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
157 notes · View notes
thetorturedlovergirl · 3 months ago
Text
I don’t think the doctor and the master know how to touch each other gently. I don’t think they can ever be able to do it again. They just don’t remember how to do it.
A hug is too tight, a touch feels like death, words hit like daggers, a glance brings tears, a kiss takes their breath away.
They’re so used to pain and anger that is scary to even find another way to interact. But even if there was, their relationship will always be made up of pain and anger. Feelings that existed for generations and are very difficult to ignore and hide.
71 notes · View notes
mndvx · 6 months ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
mtv Wishing I could travel to this #SDCC moment and hang out with @ncutigatwa & @milliegibbo forever ❤️ 📸: @carianneolder
120 notes · View notes
soup-eater94 · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
they call him the smilerrr
53 notes · View notes
rwby-confess · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Confession #123
66 notes · View notes
strawberryshortcake1495 · 11 days ago
Text
Never thought in a million years that I’d write a Transmasc Isha Drabble (+this is my first Arcane Drabble) but here we are sooooo yeah
Tumblr media
Jinx watched as Isha furiously scribbled away at the paper, the little one’s brows were furrowed in concentration. “Whatcha doing, kid?” Jinx asked with a fond smile. Isha smiled back at Jinx and turned the paper around for the latter to see. It was a drawing of her (Isha), Ekko, and Vander all together. “Nice.” Jinx nodded in approval, which was apparently not the reaction Isha wanted. She pointed at herself, and then Ekko, and then Vander. “Yeah, I can see what I’m looking at.” Jinx said with a smile but Isha shook her head. She then tried reversing the order, pointing at Vander, then Ekko, and then herself.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Jinx asked, and Isha nodded, her face looking more frantic. “Okay okay, how about we play a game of charades? Would that work?” Jinx asked, and Isha nodded, looking slightly more relaxed. She pointed at Ekko and proceeded to puff up her chest and tighten her fists. “Hmm…you wanna be like Ekko?” Jinx said. Isha nodded happily. “Kid, we already dyed your hair blue and now you want to dye it white?” Jinx sighed. Isha frowned and shook her head angrily. She then pointed at Vander and flexed her arms, trying to look as manly as possible.
“Hmmm…” Jinx tried to wrap her head around what Isha could’ve possibly wanted. “You wanna be strong like Vander?” She said. Isha shook her head, and she pointed at Vander again and then herself. “So you just want to be like Vander?” Jinx asked. Isha nodded hopefully. “Alright, let’s see…you wanna be like Ekko and you wanna be like Vander…hmmm…” Jinx mused. Isha stood by her side, letting the blue-haired woman take her time.
“You wanna be a boy?” Jinx asked. Isha practically leaped for joy. “For how long?” Jinx asked with a laugh. Isha proceeded to run around the whole lair trying to convey his thoughts. “Alright alright, slow down!” Jinx chased after him and scooped the boy up in her arms, the two of them laughing like crazy. “So I guess this boy thing is permanent?” The older asked. The younger nodded with a bright smile. Jinx gently put Isha down and pondered. “Hmmm…do you want me to still call you Isha or do you want a new name?” She asked.
Isha shook his head. “I’m gonna assume you wanna keep your name.” Jinx said, to which the boy gave her a thumbs up. Jinx glanced at his braids and asked, “You want me to cut your braids off to make yourself look more manly?” She asked. Isha thought long and hard before shaking his head. “Your treat, then.” Jinx ruffled the kid’s hair. “You know the best part about this?” She asked. Not even waiting for an answer, she said, “I get to call you ‘Little Man’ just like Ekko.” Jinx smiled, and so did Isha. He then got slightly teary-eyed and embraced Jinx tightly. The latter relaxed and gently held the boy in her arms. Isha was a boy now! And he was her boy.
“So…how are we gonna tell Sevika?”
33 notes · View notes
stitchwraith-stingers · 12 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
in honor of the new year heres all the hazel-centric fics i could find bcuz its a desert out there u should definatly read them btw
link 1 - link 2 - link 3 - link 4 - link 5 - link 6
23 notes · View notes
gideonisms · 4 months ago
Text
okay because tumblr hates me it did not save my draft of a mini fic I wrote for a prompt but I'm posting it anyway. The prompt was:
the smut is DELICIOUS but my stupid romantic brain needs some fluff...so how about.....griddlehark sneaking into the library for some midnight reading? 👀
And I can't remember who sent this one, my apologies. Hope you see it, whoever you were! I promise this is fluff but I needed to write some original flavor Griddlehark so let's pretend this is what happened after avulsion ❤️
When Gideon crawls out from her nest of blankets, aware of her surroundings at last, Harrow is gone. Gideon should have expected this. If she’d thought volunteering to have her soul sucked out through her innards was enough to melt the heart of the lady of the Ninth, she would have been wrong. Even her hallucination of Harrow hadn’t stayed to comfort her.
Not that she needs comfort. After all, Gideon isn’t dead. She just feels like she is.
Groping around on the floor for her sword, the one lady who would never betray her, Gideon almost knocks over a cup of water. Harrow must have left this for her out of some misguided sense of pity after they’d stumbled back to their rooms.
Although it makes Gideon feel a little bit like a pet left on its own while its owner goes to town, she takes the water and drinks it in huge gulps, draining the whole thing. Afterwards, she feels almost like a person—if that person had been smashed to bits and then taped up wrong.
Now to find Harrow.
Gideon gets up, aching in every bone. She considers just lying back down, possibly forever. How much trouble could Harrow even get into on her own? She’s probably just passed out somewhere again and can wait there until Gideon comes to find her.
No, Gideon should check. After all, what good is she as a cavalier if she lets Harrow wander off and get eaten by a bone monster right after they’ve won another key? It would just be embarrassing.
So she checks Harrow’s room—empty, but she does find another glass of water in there, which she drinks hastily without bothering to question how long it’s been sitting on the nightstand. She rests for a minute on Harrow’s bed, clinging to her sword more for support than because she thinks she could swing it at something.
She leaves the room as silently as she can and closes the door behind her.
The corridors of the First House are empty and dark as she searches. She keeps thinking she sees movement out of the corners of her eyes, but after the fourth time she whirls around to find nothing, accepts that this too may be a side effect of the soul sucking.
She grasps her sword in both hands as she turns down a corridor she hasn’t taken before. At this point, she’s beginning to feel not only lost, but also dizzy, and is considering calling it quits and hoping Harrow hasn’t done anything too stupid.
But there, at the end of the hallway, is a closed door. And underneath the door, a light shines. Not the light of the old-fashioned florescent bulbs or even the warm, glowing lanterns she’s seen some of the priests carrying around. No, this light is a wan, flickering candlelight that only serves to make Gideon feel colder and more unwell. Gideon would recognize that light anywhere. It has to be Harrow’s.
As she creeps towards the light, she lowers her sword. When she reaches the doorway, she tries the brass handle—locked, of course. She knocks, and behind the door, she can hear the unmistakable sound of bones clattering.
“Harrow,” she tries to say, but it comes out as more of a croak. She hears a rustling opposite the door. She tries again. “It’s me, you numbskull. Let me in!”
She’s seriously not feeling good. Maybe this whole standing up thing was a mistake.
The door suddenly opens—Gideon sways forward.
“Gideon?” Harrow says. And then Gideon passes out.
When she comes to, she’s resting on a dusty couch, head pillowed by something soft and warm.
“Harrow?”
“Shut up, idiot.” Harrow sounds small and frightened. Gideon blinks her eyes open to see her adept looking down at her from quite close up, fingers hovering in midair as though she can’t decide whether to touch Gideon or not.
Gideon thinks deliriously that she might as well, since she’s already got Gideon’s head in her lap.
Gideon looks around. There are bones strewed on the floor—probably from Harrow’s efforts to get her to the couch. And they’re in some type of library—quite small, even by Ninth standards, but Gideon can tell that it once would have been cozy.
There’s a fireplace set into one wall with ancient chairs across from it. Everywhere books are piled up; this isn’t the tidy organization of someone who owns a library for the aesthetic, but the more familiar jumble of books and crumbling papers from a person who once loved their work.
She looks back to Harrow, whose face is once again painted, but hastily. The smudged circles of black underneath her eyes make her look tired and worried.
“Gideon?” she says again. “Are you all right?”
Although Gideon has looked her death in the eyes more than once this week, it’s the tone of panic in Harrow’s voice that makes her feel like she must truly be dead. She reaches up to pinch herself on the arm, but Harrow catches her wrist.
“Woah, hold it, that’s my move,” Gideon says.
But Harrow just checks her pulse. Her thumb sweeps over the place where Gideon can feel her heart beat hardest. Then she does touch Gideon’s face—fingers brushing her hair aside to feel at her forehead.
“No fever,” she mutters. “Probably dehydrated.”
“You’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you? You have a lot of experience, my sickly scion. Malnourished monarch.”
“This isn’t a joke! If you had collapsed somewhere out there, where I couldn’t find you in time—”
“Dehydration duchess.”
“You could have died! Did you even read my note?”
“What note?”
“You idiot,” Harrow says again, with feeling. “I left it beside the water cup.”
“So that was you. Thought it might have been the monster.”
“There is no—” Harrow breaks off and pinches the bridge of her nose, breathing in slowly. She smudges her paint when she does. There’s a little bit of skin poking through just at the top of her nose where it meets her forehead. Gideon almost reaches up to touch it without thinking.
“You will not leave the room without my permission in the future,” Harrow says.
“Like hell I won’t! You snuck off without me. What did you expect me to do?”
It’s just like Harrow to use this as an excuse to keep Gideon locked away somewhere. What else did Gideon expect?
But Harrow looks down at her with huge scared eyes, as deep and dark as the tomb itself, and Gideon can’t even be angry. Which sucks, because she’d planned to be angry with Harrow for the next few hours at least. But now that she’s with Harrow, now that she’s assured herself Harrow isn’t dead, just holed away in some obscure corner of the House reading as normal, a sense of calm steals over Gideon. She could almost go back to sleep here.
As though Harrow can read her mind, she says, “I expected you to still be asleep.”
“Tough luck. I’m as awake as I’ve ever been. I could fight off a billion bone monsters right now. Just give me my sword, and—wait, where’s my sword?”
Harrow gestures to the edge of the couch near Gideon’s feet, where to Gideon’s great relief she finds her sword propped up.
“I haven’t taken anything of yours,” Harrow says. “I only—I needed to do more research, and I thought you were safe in our rooms.”
Gideon looks around. Books are piled up on the reading stand next to the couch, right next to an ugly ninth house candle Harrow’s using in clear violation of every fire safety rule Gideon has ever learned. Harrow has of course littered the floor with books too. The candle smells waxy and unpleasant, but the familiar flickering of the feeble light makes something in Gideon’s chest unclench.
“And was it worth it? Did you find anything?”
Harrow shakes her head. “Nothing of note. This seems to be a room for the more…esoteric interests of the Lyctors. There are books here on almost everything—anatomy, various discredited magical practices, historical romances that seem improbable at best. But nothing that helps us. It’s all just…what they liked. It doesn’t tell me anything about how they achieved Lyctorhood.”
“Do they have any skin mags?” Gideon asks hopefully.
“No, you moron.”
“But how can you know if you haven’t checked for them?”
Harrow doesn’t dignify this with a response. Instead, she picks up a book from the table and starts idly thumbing through. She doesn’t dislodge Gideon from her lap. Gideon thinks about getting up, going back to her room. Maybe forcing Harrow to come with her. But the thought of leaving this couch sends a wave of nausea through her stomach, so she decides she can best do her duty as a cavalier by staying here and watching for threats.
It's seriously weird to be in Harrow’s lap, and it would normally disgust her to be so close to her adept.
From this close, Harrow smells of bloodsweat. It’s not a pleasant smell at the best of times, and it’s grown worse over the time they’ve been at Canaan House. But the warmth of her—better than the empty fireplace in the corner, anyway. Gideon’s eyes start to drift closed.
Then something occurs to her.
“If you aren’t finding anything useful, then why are you still here?”
Above her, pages turn slowly. Harrow is silent for a long moment.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says finally. “I needed a distraction.”
This might be the most honest thing Harrow has ever admitted to Gideon. Gideon has long suspected that Harrowhark spends so much time studying bone magic because she doesn’t have any other hobbies, aside from conjuring skeletons to trip Gideon while she’s going down the stairs. It’s nice to have that confirmed.
Maybe once Harrow has seen the appeal of books that aren’t dusty academic tomes, she’ll grow more lenient about Gideon’s preferred reading material.
Not that it will matter. As soon as Harrow becomes a Lyctor, Gideon will never have to see her again. Harrow will never again tell Gideon what she can and can’t read. She’ll never again feel Gideon’s pulse, checking for life.
She probably won’t even care if Gideon lives, once she’s a Lyctor.
Gideon squirms around. She hates to call it nestling, because it’s not. But she finds a more comfortable position on the couch. Harrow adjusts herself above Gideon too. She props her elbow on Gideon’s shoulder as she turns another page.
“Will you read to me?” Gideon says. She must be out of her mind with exhaustion.
“I don’t see why you would want that.”
“I need to stay awake. Protect us from threats and all. It’s not because I crave your dulcet tones, don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried about that. I know you hate me, Nav.”
Gideon almost agrees on instinct, but something stops her. Maybe it’s the quiet of the room, or maybe it’s the warmth of Harrow’s horrible little body, but she doesn’t have it in her to put up the usual fight.
Anyway, Harrow doesn’t seem to need a response. After a moment, she clears her throat and begins:
“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.”
And although this intrigues Gideon, although under other conditions, Gideon would have loved to hear a story that wasn’t about how bad nuns go to hell and good nuns get to serve the King Undying, Gideon nevertheless finds herself drifting off into a comfortable doze.
She tries to keep her eyes open, but Harrow’s clear, calm voice reads on, and Gideon’s eyelids droop until she can no longer watch the flickering of the candle. At the very edges of her consciousness, she thinks she feels Harrow’s fingers brush lightly over her forehead again, smoothing back her hair.
“You can sleep,” dream Harrow says. “I’ll kill the light.”
46 notes · View notes
cinderduck · 17 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tale Weaver Part 1!
Refs / Next
1K notes · View notes