#AAANGST

[sweetmaggie]

I feel like a scene like that would have changed things a bit in The Promise...

[rollofleaf]

❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜ for anyone!

Hilde and (pre-redemption) Arueshalae:

“You know, I could just heal you.” Daeran crossed his arms, staring down at the tender sight of Arueshalae sitting next to an injured Hilde. He looked pointedly at the deep scratches running along her now-unarmored side, courtesy of a scrap with a demon.

Hilde lifted her arm carefully for the wound to be inspected. “I’m fine. Save your strength, this will be enough.” Daeran rolled his eyes playfully and shrugged. Of course she’d refuse his treatment, who wouldn’t want to be doted on and cared for by that fawning puppy of a succubus? Even if neither of them realized it, they were incredibly sappy around each other.

Arueshalae held up a cloth dabbed with water and healing ointment, keeping it near the wound. “Keep still, please. This will sting a little.” Hilde had been hurt, and she was suddenly seized with a desire to help administer medicine. Normally she would have left the job to the healers, but there was something so strangely intimate about this. It was relaxing, comforting.

"I’ll be fine, I’m a tough- Ow!" Her words were broken off by a hiss of pain as the cloth pressed to her fresh scratches. Still, it was worth it. The healing itself was fine, but being so close to Arueshalae… Picking up her fragrant scent, observing her beautiful face as she worked, it was wonderful. Each dab of the cloth against her wound burned, but it was soon done. Hilde managed a soft chuckle as a flirtatious lilt came into her voice. “You know, we mortals often kiss the wound to 'help' it heal…”

Arueshalae’s content smile evaporated as she winced. Yes… Give her a kiss to make it better… Show her your love, feel her melt in your arms... She buried the demon's words down. She was better than that. "P-please... Don't."

"R-right. I'm sorry." Hilde gently rubbed at her healing wound and smiled apologetically at the succubus. Her words had just been instinct, forgetting how fragile the succubus's hold on her desires were. She took a deep breath. "Thank you, Arueshalae. It feels better already."

Arueshalae smiled. It was so nice to be trusted like this. Hilde's eyes were so trusting... It would be so easy to ruin that. Just one word and she'd be putty in your claws... She tensed up and glanced away, trying to push those desires away. "O-of course. I'm always happy to help."

[lexa-griffins]

How devasted would farm clexa be if a massive storm destroyed a part of their cottage.... the years they put into rebuilding this house gone, including the sun room Clarke worked so hard on and the chicken coop that Madi has painted with so much care

(No worries, their family and friends immediately put hands to work to rebuild it and despite not being able to help much, the kids are so excited to participate and they even help Clarke build the sun room back up again)

Brb gonna add this to the prompt list under angst :)

[primalvessel]

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to help.” ( from lys yes yes )

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I'm sorry I'm sorry."

He'd lost control. He'd lost control.

His worst fears had come to pass and innocent people had paid the price.

Still, the vessel would not be placated. He shook his head, a hand out to warn the Viera away and he backed further from his lover regardless of the other's intent.

"You can't help. You can't bring them back!"

Over and over his mind raced - monster monster monster PRIMAL. Some fucked-up amalgamation of the two. Not wholly Griever but not entirely Maru either.

Wings of grey feathers spread behind him, his horned head shook in denial. His posture changed, he crouched, thighs tense and wings poised, about to take flight.

"Leave me! Leave! I need to-"

[steel-and-fire]

@witchcraftandburialdirt

--------------------------

Igris had but a moment to let his sorrow out. The very moment he fell down, the entire world around started to twist. To something vile, wicked....corrupting and withering.

Something arrived. From Robin. He could tell that much, he could feel that much. Something powerful and dark...And hostile. Extremely, hostile.

He raised his gaze from his arms, and it wasn’t the same that hid into them. His eyes were now fully and completely ice blue. while his horns turned black.

It was a razor, deathly gaze. The tears stopped, but they still laid on his cheeks like markings. He stood up slowly, gazing at the other being while the runes on his axe started to light up. A response to a threat.

“So...You didn’t even listen. Or did you plan to make me vulnerable to kill me easy, Robin?” His voice came heavy, eerie, lacking anger and empathy, but far from emotionless.

“Was that your plan from the start? So much for all your sweet words...I turned into a fool one last time, it seems. As for you, demon, you-” Yet his words were cut short, as contrast to his expectations, the filthy being grabbed Robin and flew away, before any further interaction could be held.

Disappearing to the sky, he remained alone in the garden. He said no more words. He turned around and walked away, as he was doing before the mage had barred his way. The land froze under his steps, and the flora trembled as if freezing from the cold while his passed through.

Another part of the spark of fire inside him disappeared today.

[potatobugz]

dog teeth

[neverendingparable]

Bradley is focused on his wound, resisting the urge to poke and prod at it in the same nervous way that Cyrus is fiddling with his ball. He doesn't interrupt the older man as he speaks. His brows are furrowed, he still looks pissed but it's not directed at Cyrus or his attempts to help.

"If I finally die for good, I'll have control again. No more restarting against my will, stuck here in the place that imprisoned me to begin with. You know I've been here for a decade? The first few years were hell. For…both of us."

He winces slightly, having poked himself a little too hard in the side accidently. He doesn't like to talk much about John, his former Narrator who was now reduced to an employee, switching places with Bradley. He doesn't know if Cyrus or Thursday even know about him. He's never told them but word has a way to travel around the Offices.

"You wouldn't have liked me if you knew what I had done back then. I was probably worse than Rex. Years of nothing mellowed me out. But it just feels like I've turned into a hollow version of myself. Sometimes I try to return back to the hateful, rage filled Narrator I was in the beginning. I never manage. I can't even do that anymore. I'm scared I'm wasting away to nothing. One day the Office will fully get to me and I'll just be a sad, empty caricature of myself."

Tears are starting to form in his eyes but he barely notices them, staring at his hands while he scratches at the dried blood on them. He's never told this to anyone, it's all pouring out without a chance to stop it.

"A-and- yeeah, life's not fair. I get it. It's not fair to anyone. But that doesn't take the sting away at all, Cyrus. Especially when I see my alternates being able to leave in a way that I can't. The Bradley before me left with his husband. Grimley lives outside. Maso can just come and go to his hearts content. But I'm stuck here and I don't know why and I know I will never be able to-"

He breaks off, biting his lip as his voice threatens to give out.

Cyrus fiddles about his room, trying to find something for his hands to focus on while Bradley speaks. He settles for a little squishy ball that Thursday gave him a while back, something that does seem to help him a little bit, especially with having awkward conversations and awkward situations altogether.

"Hmm," he hums quietly, moving the squishy ball from hand to hand before leaving it in one and kneading it. If he's noticed Bradley's sharp tone, he doesn't let on - or at least he doesn't rise to meet it. He's also not looking at Bradley, rather looking at the ball in his hand. "There are those who have died who have not come back, Bradley," he says softly, not mentioning anybody by name but it's fairly obvious he's referring to Stanley. "I do not wish the same for you."

He shifts the ball back into the other hand, takes a breath, and says, "I believe it is quite a bigger deal than you believe it is. Fair enough, this place would make it seem as though we are all immortal, and yet we are not. And neither is existence torture, unless you want it to be."

He pauses for a moment, his sharp blue eyes glancing at the younger Narrator to see what he looks like in the moment, to see if he can gauge his emotions, his eyes darting away just as quickly.

"Life is full of unfair things, isn't it? What can you do about it? Wallow? Complain? Roll yourself up in a cycle the way that obnoxious ghost did? What sort of relief do you expect permanent death to give you, Bradley?"

He considers, for a moment, telling him that there are ways of permanently dying, but some part of him is actually afraid that he'll do it. That Bradley will actually seek out those ways and then he'll not only lose him, but it'll be his fault. He doesn't want any of that.

Instead he waits as patiently as he can for an answer from the younger man.

[blockgamepirate]

By the way.... do you think that the fact that Tallulah seemed so disappointed by Wilbur not being there is a sign that she got his message in the black chest after all?

That she found out that her papi was back and was thinking of her and trying to call her back home with their song

But then when there was a chance for him to actually come pick her up (even if it was a matter of luck), he wasn't there after all

[thunderpoolisawesome]

Hi, I finally fucking watched it.

Oh hi Neo.

Jeez, Ruby I think you need help.

Otherwise, MY BEES. LORD, BLESSED US WITH THE BEES. 😭😭😭💖💖

SHUT THE FUCK UP; LET ME CRY AND BAWL IN PEACE

[unhingedlesbear]

You guys don’t know this bc I don’t post my fics, but I’ve been writing about sole survivors Erin and Mark bc that’s a combination I’ve never seen before but think about it?? They’d be so completely lost after all that like… you already know they’d be CHANGED. Something about having “the nice ones” be the ones to survive Y’know. Also I just think they’re an underrated friendship.

Now that I think about it, imagine the angst of having the whole complicit scene and then also having them be the only survivors? That’s crazy.

[enhypen-scholarship]

CAN SOMEONE HELP ME I CANT FOLLOW @/groguspicklejar😭😭😭

[sweetmaggie]

Headcanon for today: Anakin calms himself by listening to Obi-Wan's heartbeat.

Then the heartbeat stops, and with it Anakin's calm.

(When this happens a second time, this time for real, Darth Vader tries to fool himself, but the emptiness is undeniable.)

[purplecolouredglasses]

Alright. Posting this to motivate myself to at least finish this during April. There's a prompt that has gripped me and refuses to let go.

"Listen to me," Jack begins what might be the most important conversation of his life. "If you tell me to go, that you never want to see me again..."

Mac flinches back. "Jack-"

But Jack doubles down, tightening his grip and tilting Mac's head until he looks directly into Jack's eyes.

"I'm gonna make sure you reach a safe place and then you're never going to see this old face ever again."

Yeah, it's angsty. I promise a happy end but if you read "although the wind" and thought that one was dark, well, this one might actually be worse, sorry

Hey, all! This is a hype post. Cairo Week is on its way! This is a chance to share a snippet of your projects in a reblog, cheer each other on in the comments, commiserate in the tags. We are so excited to see what you've got cooking!!!

And remember, if life is getting in the way of deadlines or your muse is taking a vacation, the deadlines are really more of guidelines, anyway. We will always take late submissions.

Happy creating, y'all! 💛

[yanteetle]

I WANT A I WANT A I WANT A I WANT A REALLY REALLY WANNA ZIGAZIG AAAA-

Tw: Blood, injury, Donnie crying

"I can fix this, I can fix this, I swear I can fix this..!"

-AAANGST TIME! You're the lucky winner of my random sketch drop!/j :D My art is in a flop era, so please don't mind the drop in quality! I kind of rushed the background in a spurt of energy, but I really wanted to cook up some angst while I can :))

Taglist: @dynaspamm@faetaiity@fried-milkfish@milks-thoughts@hearteyedracoon@crystallinecryogenics@m0nster-fluffer@syrinxmeadow@zxphy@mellytumbles@nekonekoastume

[circusinarun]

Mud dogs! Damn... I wanna spinoff abt them <33333

They're playing in "who will look at this bug longer, is getting the last can of food."

(Only Mickey and Leo are playing btw, because Danny ate all already. Plus, these two idiots tried to kill each other because Leo lost and didn't want to get off the game. So they asked Danny to be their referee.)

"I hope mum's ok..."

(Why? ↑↑↑ hehehe, aaangst in the next post :P)

Awh! Cmon! Don't tell me they're not besties!

And these two dumbasses are putting rings, little bagels and stolen things on his tail. heh, funny kids.

And sketch of Leonard!

(I tried to customize his design a bit, but in the end it looks like he's sick.)

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

The Tortured Fangirl Department - How Did it End?

| Gale Dekarios x fem!reader

summary: after weeks of fighting, Gale and y/n have broken up in the middle of the journey, leaving one another, and the party, bereft and reeling.

cw: aaangst, tragic break up, spiders, drinking, mentions of intimacy

an: I made myself sad with this one. Inspired by "How Did it End?" by Taylor Swift.

wc: 2.3k

Dawn broke over the horizon, painting the mist silver and cerulean, and y/n emerged from her tent alone.

Astarion glanced up from fire, towards the ephemeral horizon, then snapped his head back to y/n. Karlach’s bite of jerky fell from her slack jaw.

The last time y/n slept in her own tent…well, no one could remember the last time she slept in her own tent. From the moment she and Gale connected, they'd been inseparable. As entwined as blood and tissue.

“Morning, y/n,” Wyll said, much more couth than the other two waking members of the party.

“Morning,” she said, walking past them and towards the path that led to the lake, a bundle of clothing in her arms.

“You don't think…” Karlach said, nodding towards Gale’s still closed tent.

Astarion shrugged. “Their fighting was growing rather tiresome anyways. I'll be glad for the quiet.”

Wyll rolled his eyes. “We have no idea what happened. Don't presume.”

Ten minutes later, there was shuffling from Gale's tent and finally, the wizard emerged. He was pale-faced and sallow, his hair ruffed and tunic rumpled.

No one spoke as he approached the fire and dropped heavily onto a log. Wyll passed him a pewter mug of ale, and Gale swirled it around, but didn't drink.

“Well, you look like shit,” Astarion said, red eyes narrowed.

Gale didn't look up, didn't even appear to have heard the vampire at all.

Wyll shot Astarion a scathing glare. “Dekarios, what happened?” he asked.

Gale lifted the mug to his lips, taking a tentative sip of the lukewarm brew. His mouth was so dry, he could barely speak, his throat raw. The words nearly choked him, shards of a misery tearing apart his tongue.

“It ended,” he said finally, more breath than language, and a tear rolled down his cheek, soaking into his uncombed beard.

The three of them gasped.

“Over an idiotic fight?” Astarion scoffed.

A ripple of anger broke Gale's stoicism, and he leveled the vampire with a loathsome glare.

“Love is dead!” Karlach wailed, flopping back onto the dirt with her arms flung wide.

“How did it end?” Wyll asked, half concerned for the wellbeing Gale and y/n, half concerned for the future of the party. If this disrupted their dynamic…

“I can't pretend like I understand,” Gale said, resting his forehead on his fingers. “But that doesn't make it hurt less.” The pain was a live thing in his chest, a serpent constricting his heart, tangling his intestines, choking his lungs. No injury sustained in battle compared to the agony of losing her. He would take a thousand stab wounds, a million lashings, over this.

Why was his love never enough?

For most of the night prior, he wondered if it would kill him. The grief. When his eyes opened this morning to see her side of his bedroll empty, he wished it had.

He wished he'd never left the tower. The safety of his books and spells. That was where he belonged, not adventuring with a beautiful dryad, exploring the realm hand in hand, heart to heart.

Now, he was lost.

“I'm sorry, friend—” Rustling from the trees interrupted Wyll, and Gale lowered his head between his knees.

Y/n returned from the lake, her hair hanging in wet tangles down her back. Her damp skin shined in the early morning sunlight, and Gale felt his heart shatter all over again.

Her eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than they should, noting the disarray of his hair, his usually immaculate clothing wrinkled. Her splintered heart gave a painful lurch, the agony stealing her breath.

It took every ounce of resolve to walk past the party, walk past her lost love, and into her sparse tent. So many of her things were still in his. So much of her was tangled with him, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever extract it all. Gale would always have a piece of her.

Tears ran down Gale's face, dripping onto the ground below as he fought to control his breathing, to hide from her, from all of them the depth of his hurt. It was his own fault, after all.

If he had just let the stupid books burn…

But he couldn't, he wouldn't. It was antithetical to who he was, everything he believed in. So what if he risked his hide in the process? That was his risk to make.

Still, he knew how badly his decision hurt y/n. How angry she was that he would risk himself, risk abandoning her in this horrible, merciless world over some paper and ink. And he knew that if she put herself in the same amount of danger he had, it would rock him to his core. He'd never let her out of his sight again.

She said she could no longer trust him or his judgement. Couldn't trust her heart in his flippant hands. And broke his spirit clean in half.

Y/n slipped into her tent, wiping hard at the tears rolling down her cheeks. She wanted so badly to be angry with him, to blame him for the death of them. She wanted to scream, to roar, but their ending was little more than a death rattle.

It was just…over. Ended.

So why was her mind in shambles? A torrent of blame and guilt and fear? Gale had been her anchor, her harbor, and now she was left reeling.

Desperately, viscerally, she wanted him. So much so it hollowed her out inside, tears pouring until she floated like a ghost, bereft and empty.

Her tent flap lifted, and Karlach poked her head in. “Wyll wants us to move out in ten. Astarion is staying behind.” Which meant she and Gale would be going on a mission today. Together.

Y/n slumped back onto her bedroll. “Understood,” she said.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For the two days journey, they barely spoke. It had been a grueling treck up the western mountains though blistering wind and snow.

Y/n had been forced to share a tent with Karlach both nights to ensure she didn't freeze to death.

Gale had also placed a warming spell on her blankets, rousing himself every hour to ensure it didn't lapse. But, y/n didn't need to know that.

She'd probably rather die of hypothermia than accept help from him at the moment, a thought that brought him momentary amusement, then a deep, gnawing sadness.

Countless nights like these had been spent curled up together in his bed roll, warmed to sweltering by the cantrip and searching hands, greedy mouths.

"Gale," she'd gasp, hushed and honeyed as he lapped beads of sweat from the valley of her throat, the plane of her sternum. Her thigh slung over his hip, the hearth of her pressed against him, beckoning him closer as they rocked together, one fluid tide of movement.

The soft heat of her was everything he'd ever dreamed of, everything he'd never dare hope for. He wanted to sink into her depths, into her skin, into her bones. Bury himself like this forsaken worm into the chambers of her heart, the most sacred tomb.

An ache radiated through his entire body, rendering him unable to speak, unable to stand up straight, to eat, for the rest of their journey.

He'd never felt so weak in his life.

When they reached the summit of the mountain, a den of Giant Spiders separated them from the treasure they saught: a long-buried tomb of an ancient wizard, inside one which was allegedly a powerful relic of healing. One they hoped may rid them of their squirming ailment.

The battle with spiders was never-ending, wave after wave of arachnids descending from the web-covered stalagmites. More then once Gale’s carelessness nearly got him poisoned, or worse, flung from the side of the mountain. Y/n, per usual, fought valiantly and with unshakeable focus, a lethal fighting force unto herself. A quality he deeply admired and envied in equal measure.

Lost in his heartache as he watched her fell one of the largest of the pack, a lesser spider managed to knock him off balance, sending his staff skittering across the stone. The beast loomed over him, venom dripping with an acrid hiss onto the stone by his head.

For a horrible, exhilarating moment, he thought it might kill him. End his suffering once and for all. But then a vicious snap echoed across the cavern. A tendril of magic wrapped around the spiders forelimb more inches from his nose, then wrenched it away from him. Y/n and her thorn whip never missed. Another lash, and Y/n bound it's other legs, giving Wyll an opening to deal the death blow.

He held her stare for half a dozen heartbeats, trying to convey the torment of his soul, his gratitude, his anguish. Why didn't you let it kill me?

Y/n’s expression wavered, offering him the briefest glimpse of her heart, and cleaved through his chest like she'd lashed him.

He had done that, had wounded her so mortally. And still, she saved him.

How could ever make this up to her? He didn't deserve forgiveness, but did that mean he shouldn't try?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Halfway back to camp, during his watch, Gale noticed y/n’s breathing shift over the roar of Karlach's snores. She woke with a start, a cry at the edge of her lips as she often did at the start of their relationship.

Nightmares had always plagued her, but with Gale, they had retreated almost entirely. He'd bundle her in his arms, her ear pressed against the mark of the netherese orb, and he'd start recounting whatever he'd read that day in excruciating, mind-numbing detail, or hum whatever song was top of mind. The words mattered not, just the coordinate drone of his voice was often enough to lull her into a dreamless slumber.

Goaded by the memories, Gale began to hum, a low, throaty song of unknown origin, one he'd picked up somewhere over the last decades.

Y/n slid back under her bedroll, trembling slightly, and tried to focus on the timbre of Gale's voice, let it wash away the gruesome images in her mind. Gale's face half melted from venom. Her parents home engulfed in flame, their bodies charred and husk-like. Curled up like children.

He began to hum another song, a lilting ballad they'd danced to this past Midsummer Festival. She'd been wearing an impractical, gauzy thing, dyed the most gorgeous lavender shade. A color she'd picked just for him. He was rendered speechless when she stepped into the summer sun, and instead offered a devotional of open-mouthed kisses along every stitch of bare skin, blazing a sinful path that she felt the rest of the evening, and for days after.

He had held her so gently while they danced, his forearm bracketed between her shoulder blades, claiming but not commanding. The air smelled of saltwater and citrus, a drowsy heat dulling their worries of tomorrow.

When the song ended, Gale dropped a kiss along her exposed shoulder, up her neck, until his lips found hers, delicate as spun sugar and just as sweet.

The memory warmed her, settled into her bones and sinnew. She nearly caved. Nearly crawled across the rough, frozen ground to him just so he'd make a fuss over her, use his magic, his body, to warm her back up.

But she resisted, covered her ears against the torture of his melody, and did not move until morning.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“How long has it been?” Gale asked Wyll, clapping the tome in his lap shut.

Wyll rolled his eyes. “Twenty more minutes than the last time you asked me.”

Karlach, Astarion, and y/n had gone into town together for dinner and a few celebratory drinks. Normally, Gale would have insisted he accompany them, but he couldn't stomach hours of his drunken party members vying for his vacant spot at her side.

He knew y/n had no interest in the others beyond companionship, but Gale was jealous by nature, and was unwilling to subject himself to further torment.

Voices floated through the trees, drunken and obnoxiously loud, and Karlach and y/n stumbled into camp.

Karlach had y/n by the waist, keeping her upright. And from wandering off and into trouble, from Gale's experience. Astarion was right behind them, blood on his chin and tunic, his hair a wild halo of white.

“Have fun?” Wyll asked, his tone sharper than his expression let on.

“Hyuk—yes!” Y/n shouted, tripping over her boots and nearly collapsing.

Gale gave Karlach a warning glare, and the tiefling scoffed.

“You take care of her then, Mr. Perfect Wizard!” Karlach shoved y/n into his arms, almost knocking them both over with her strength.

“Look! All better!” Astarion cooed, petting Gale’s hair as he sauntered by. “The misery was worse then the fighting. Honestly, how long until you kiss and make up?”

Wyll grabbed the vampire by the hair and shoved him into his tent, but Gale paid them no mind, too busy staring down at the giggling bundle of darling in his arms once more.

“Hi, Gale,” y/n whispered, her eyes wide and watery.

“Hello, sweetling,” he hummed, adjusting her so her head rested more comfortably on his shoulder. It was the first words they'd exchanged in weeks, and they left Gale reeling with hope.

Stupid, feckless, traitorous hope.

She traced a finger over his nose, through his overgrown beard, and across his jaw, the muscle feathering with tension. He grasped her smaller hand gently, brushing a kiss over her inner wrist before placing it back into her lap. A tiny indulgence, a moment of weakness.

“Gale,” she breathed, fisting his violet coat.

They couldn't do this. Not while she was drunk, not while the party stood idly by and watched. Not when he knew she'd regret it as soon as inhibition returned.

He couldn't add another regret to the ledger.

“C’mon, love. Let's get you to bed.” He rose with her cradled in his arms, a gesture that once felt like birthright, but somehow became foreign.

She didn't protest, instead buried her face into the warm crook of his neck, breathing in his scent of parchment and candlesmoke. Her lips moved of their own accord, pressing against the drum of his pulse, and a shiver rolled down his spine.

He set y/n down on her bedroll, carefully removing her boots and weapons before tucking her into it. He thought she'd drifted off, her eyes closed and breathing even, limbs heavy against the ground, but when he turned to leave she caught his wrist.

“How did it end?” she asked.

“This isn't the end,” he murmured, brushing and errant lock from her cheek. “We simply learned the right steps to different dances.”

Her brow furrowed, her head shaking side to side. "I'm a terrible dancer"

For the first time in weeks, Gale felt himself smile. He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then another on the corner of her mouth.

“Then, we'll learn again, my love. As many times as it takes.”

Fin. 💜

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thank you so much for reading!

If you're interested in exploring my published work, you can find my debut novel here.

Much love,

Allie