#badda boom badda bing

[n1ghtwarden]

her arm twitches, once practiced hand now so unsteady - a consequence of the changeling's knives; the litany of jagged wounds that had yet to heal creating patterns and webs across her skin. though the night warden is blessed by the generous aid and comfort of the absolute and her light, above all else, the body keeps score; and her body is exhausted. prone. trembling as she grits her teeth - were it not for the gift that writhes in ecstasy behind her eye, the night warden would still be screaming.

briefly, the true soul attempts to steel herself - stop the tremors as her fingers clumsily grip a blade that once was second nature to her; rapt with attention as she looks upon @murdershaped, hanging on to every word and motion the absolute's chosen makes. in her name. and oh, what a glorious name - absolute. absolute love. absolute acceptance. absolute power. the power to cut and slice and think but a word and see those beneath her tremble and grovel. it is a power she has yet to harness; but minthara knows she is blessed beyond all belief, to stand here in such love and not be made to kneel like so many others. no, they would bow to her - love her, entirely - just as the true soul loves the absolute. as she knows she loves her chosen.

is love not found in the edge of a blade? is it not the purest form of connection? red and sinews and blood - life itself and it surrounds them; scents the air sweeter than honeyed wine; mottled flesh and greying rot that alights her eyes until she seems to be burning. she'd been afraid, had she not? this place had been a horror - FORGET -- AND -- BE -- ABSOLUTE. her expression twitches - her grip on the blade loosening, for but a moment - but the glory returns; the ecstasy of it all, and the true soul straightens; red eyes glancing to the body, still breathing, on the slab of flesh between them.

the blade was a hard lesson to learn. all true souls once ran from it, after all - a hard lesson even the night warden had not been spared from. he would learn, or he was not worthy - and heretics had no place in their new world, except to rot within a mass grave of all those they would crush underfoot. oh, how he struggles against his bonds - that cocoon of flesh that had kept her safe while she learned, before her gift - his own red eyes meeting hers. vel'bol ph'dos xundus?! qualla, inbal ka'lith! comes his cries, his pleas. her head tilts - and within the fog that has covered her shattered mind, minthara thinks that she knows him - knew him. no; more than that -- they had come here together, hadn't they? NOT -- PART OF -- US -- REMOVE -- DESTROY -- SACRIFICE. instead, she looks to her chosen - and stills her blade. " where? " comes her voice; still raw and hoarse - cracking and croaking with the effort of speaking. her tongue feels like sandpaper; all she can taste is blood. a part of her is thrilled by it. " where do i begin? "

[carnation-damnation]

You are not my enemy, I'll let you prove me wrong

[raineandsky]

#128

“How’d that thing at the weekend go?”

The hero laughs with visible discomfort. “Ah, pretty good. Wasn’t too bad.”

The other hero turns to look at him incredulously. “Wasn’t too bad? I thought your kids had some big parts in that play or something.”

“Oh, yeah, they did. You know how kids are, though. Acting clearly doesn’t run in the family.”

The last the other hero had heard, the hero was ecstatic to be going to this play. Now, he’s folding his clothes and shoving them into his locker like the weekend wasn’t anything special.

“You feeling alright?” the other hero asks shortly.

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know.” The other hero leans against their locker as the hero fiddles with the code on his. “I was expecting you to be more… excited. Has something happened?”

“No, nothing.”

“You can tell me.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you.” The hero gives up and slams the door on his locker. It doesn’t shut. “It was a nice weekend. The kids did their play and it was as entertaining as it was a bunch of eight year olds misremembering all their lines. That’s it.”

The other hero watches him as he turns back to the bench, sifting through his bag. They consider pushing it, but they don’t get the chance before the locker room door gets flung open.

“Sorry I’m late!” calls the voice in the doorway. “Traffic’s a nightmare. Anyways, I know you’re dying to hear how the kids did—god, they’re stars. I took a video, look—”

The hero cuts himself off when he finally meets the eye of… the hero, elbow deep in his bag with his locker swinging open behind him.

“Oh,” the hero says faintly from the doorway. “You’re me.”

The other hero rounds on the hero inside the locker room. “Who are you?”

The hero—although maybe not now—stares at them like he’s shocked before nodding to the hero in the doorway. “He’s the imposter.”

“He is actually trying to tell us about his kids,” the other hero says flatly. “I’m more inclined to believe he’s real.”

The hero glances between the hero in the doorway and the other hero next to him for a long second. “Look, I didn’t think I’d have to research his weekend plans, okay?”

That’s as good as a confession to the other hero. He’s already reaching for the handcuffs in his pocket—thank god he thought to take them out. “Okay. Well, you have the right to remain—”

He’s barely started before the hero bolts, the bag thrown mercilessly to the floor. The hero—the real hero—moves after him, the other hero close behind as their fake hero throws himself into the corner. He stumbles back against the wall, trapped.

“There’s no need to run,” the other hero drawls.

“I’m not running,” the fake hero say. He smiles, his back to the tile, like this was all part of the plan. “You can’t run through walls.”

And with that he leans back, the wall swallows him, and he disappears.

“He has my powers, too!” the hero cries, pointing rather uselessly at the now empty corner. “That’s not fair!”

The hero launches after him, straight through the wall. The other hero, cursed with the power of super strength, is left to take the long way round.

By the time the other hero gets there the hero already has the imposter in a tight hold. “What an idiot,” the hero says severely. “Let’s get him into a cell, huh? Whoever he is.”

“Almost had you, didn’t I?” the imposter says with a bright laugh. The other hero doesn’t like it. “Imagine what a league of us could do. Who would you trust? Who’s real? Who’s fake?”

“Oh, shut up,” the hero snaps.

“Stay on your toes. I’m far from the only one,” the imposter continues. His eyes bore straight through the other hero when he says, “Next time, it might be you.”

[cartoon-aragorn]

if you think about it, the feanorians are like an elvish mafia. oaths you can't get out of that cause you to do incredible violence? self-righteous overbearing patriarch? we're all family? mob shit.

[beaniebea]

Pov something something ducktales but Alice in wonderland loll

[mudwerks]

Out of Business

[faillen]

Fandom: บัานหลอน On Sale | Peaceful Property Series (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Peach Santiphap Tantitaymitr/Home Saharat Vimarnsukmun Additional Tags: Episode Tag, Dreaming, Pining, Angst, oh how am i doing? good! thanks for asking (bad. i am doing. bad) Summary:

But in years upon years of having this dream, the nightmare has never changed. Not once.

Until.

The thing is, even after the whole thing blows up, even after Home loses them, loses everything, ruins the one good thing he had—Peach keeps fucking showing up.

He keeps fucking.

He keeps showing up.

Every time.

Or: Home dreams.

[nohr-selphias]

Kinda crazy that Bhelen at some point clocked that his sister and Gorim have A Thing, something he could have used at any point to ruin her. But instead he played a longer game, knowing that she trusts Gorim implicitly, and Gorim is so well-read and devoted to serving and bettering House Aeducan they would become their own ruin with only a little nudge. Bhelen knew she’d never say yes to killing Trian if he took her aside alone. Gorim had to be there. And so he was… and the rest is history.

[aquariumgirls]

consider: italian american splinter who instead of being a martial arts master just watches ufc and wwe while badly replicating the moves but they always work out anyways bc hes really fucking strong

[sentientsky]

i'm shopping for new glasses bc long story short i woke up today and the arm of my poor lil glasses had completely snapped off (gonna see if i can fix it, but it's not looking good so far). anyway. i don't even wear sunglasses (and i can't see myself paying 55 dollars) but let me tell ya. the brainrot is real cause i was fully committed for about 3 seconds there,,,

[livingintheupsidedown]

aHOY LaDiEs i didn’t see you there, would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavour with me? i’ll be your captain. i’m steve harrington

[anxsity]

i have it all figured out. if i win? yahtzee babey. if i lose? well. thats what this lil bottle ah whiskeys for

[kitttttykattttt]

my toxic trait is that i think i severely underestimate how difficult it would be to make stained glass artwork

[wojit]

I literally just realised "Til death do us part" doesn't mean "we will part at death" but rather "death will part us" dang that makes more sense poetically.

[butchfaith]

practicing accents is. thee most mortifying part of theatre. even more mortifying than admitting you're into theatre

[bigslappydaily]