#breaking my own damn heart

[theluckywizard]

Season's greasons to you! ✨

For the WIP name game, I'd love to hear more about Flightless!

Also asked by @midmorninggrey Thank you for asking 🥰

This is my exploration of what it would be like if the Inquisitor was romancing Hawke and had to leave him behind in the Fade, had to make that choice to close the rift. I have written this and scrapped and rewritten this a number of times over the last two years and it still makes me cry. Here's a bit of draft one.

The sun skips across the desert over a distant ridge. I shield my eyes against its insolence. The camp is vast and unfamiliar, an unchanging soup of white canvas and wood and sand. I don’t remember where command is— or the mess, or anyone else really. I’ve walked forty paces and brushed past a half dozen-salutes, unmoored, licking my dry lips with my dry tongue, blinking grit from my eyes. Whatever I’m meant to be doing feels like a dream just outside my grasp. But just yonder, at the fringe of camp are rows upon rows upon tidy rows covered in canvas before they’re carted to the pyres. The bodies ground me. Battered and burned. Stiff. Haunted by flies. Proof they’re gone. Garrett’s not here amongst them. Garrett's not gone. The notion spurs me into a flurry of prayer. I kneel at the head of each of them, peel back the cover and spit out a chewed up bit of the Chant while I run through plots to retrieve Garrett from where we left him. “Inquisitor—” “… sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her…” “Rose.” The voice is soft, running over me like ermine. I hurry the rest of the prayer up over this elven archer. Barely a woman from what I can see. He crouches beside me and joins in. “…And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.” Beneath the bruised and scraped up skin of her face I can see traces of blue ink in her skin over her cheekbones. I stumble back, trembling suddenly. “Oh fuck,” I whisper. “She’s Dalish. I— fucked up. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have—” Cullen takes my hand and presses me with a firm gaze. “You didn’t. She believed in our cause. And you,” he says. “I don’t think she’d mind.” “I just— wanted to do the right thing. And she’s dead and her people aren’t here and—” “I need your help with something. Could you— " he swallows, his brow knit with outsized concern. "Could you help me?”

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x01 - “Heavy is the Crown” ↳ "I know you doubt your merit of your birthright, Caitlyn. There's wisdom in that. But remember: You're a Kiramman."

[vaggieslefteye]

HUSK, Hotel Bartender & Concierge | 1x04 - Masquerade

"Oh, I FORGOT — you're the wise-old bartender who's seen it all! Get the fuck over yourself and pour me a real drink."

[velvtcherie]

all this bkdk mess aside, deku rejecting bakugo's offer to join his agency doesn't make sense to his character AT ALL . he was the one who brought up the idea in the first place and bakugo never brought anyone in bc he had hope that he and dk were gonna be in an agency when they grow up just for him to get rejected ??? all deku yapped about was being a hero w his kaachan since ua so this decision is so out of the blue considering everything. hori had to be smokin a pipe when he wrote this epilogue bc wtf

[good-beanswrites]

"Prisoner @waivyjellyfish ! Milgramblrgram has judged you guilty for your crimes! It is time to meet your judgement. As the wardens' fang, I take that responsibility upon myself!" (Muahaha -- Es angst for you 👊)

Es clutched at their head. Their fingers tore through their hair. It was the middle of the night, so they resisted the urge to shout. They didn’t want to draw any attention to themself. If they remained completely silent, though, they wouldn’t need to refrain from crying.

And so they cried.

You see, there is only one sensation worse than waking up from an awful dream: waking up from a very, very, good one. 

Es had grown accustomed to the nightmares that Milgram produced. In these dreams, Es might take the place of the prisoners. Their stomach would twist with horror at the blood on their hands. Other times, they found themselves in the victim’s shoes. They’d wake in a cold sweat, feeling hands closing around their throat, or weapons swung at their temple. 

But they weren’t prepared for a dream of absolute peace. They were happy. They were laughing. There were people nearby, smiling. It was all emotion and no detail – not a single face, place, or voice, was clear – but they knew for sure what the dream had consisted of.

Es was with their family. 

They choked out another sob. 

For the longest time, they wondered if they even had a past to remember. But that was all foolishness – Milgram was in the business of judging humans, not creating them out of thin air. They’d tried asking Jackalope, once. He turned out just as cryptic as some of the prisoners in their interrogations. Another time, they had considered using the prison’s mysterious machine on themself. There was no way to operate it alone, though. And when it came down to it, they were always alone.

They curled themself tight, dragging the bedsheets with them. Usually when they wondered about their past, mere curiosity washed over them. Now, they were flooded with an entirely new type of longing. It filled their chest. No, that wasn't it. Rather, the feeling left a wide hole through them.

If they did have a family, had Es been stolen away? Could there be someone else out there right now, crying in the middle of the night, just as hard as Es was crying for them? The thought was not comforting.

Or, like Es, had they forgotten all traces of their connection? That possibility also did more harm than good.

Es tried to reassure themself – if this family hadn’t come looking for them, maybe it meant they weren't wanted in the first place. Maybe Es had been willingly turned over to Milgram, their parents glad to be rid of them.

That thought didn't help at all.

Something clattered out in the corridor. That must have been what woke them. They rose from bed, ready to raise hell. How dare one of the prisoners rip them from such a dream. Es could never return. The offender would pay for this. 

It took only a moment to put on their uniform and wipe the tears from their cheeks. They swung the door open to find Haruka stumbling down the hall. 

“Prisoner number one, what the –” they grabbed his arm. Only then did they notice the dazed look in his eyes. His body flinched, waking from what must have been sleepwalking.

“Ah! W-warden!” He blinked, his mind still stuck somewhere else. “I’m s-sorry! What, ah… I was dreaming... She was – she was right here…”

Es took a measured breath. They steeled their expression. There would be no unleashing hell tonight. They had lost sight of their role. They had gotten distracted with childish emotions and silly dreams. They were Milgram’s warden, not some kid like Haruka who wandered around the prison late at night looking for his mama. 

Es adjusted the hat over their hair. It was good, they told themself, that they couldn't remember a thing from the dream. They didn't need any of those people. They were perfectly fine on their own. Such a distraction would not happen again.

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

“But, my p-parents, they were–”

“They’re not here. Nobody is. Back to your cell, prisoner.”

[puppppppppy]

Ouhhhh friendship I love friendship……..

[puppy-wife]

sometimes I think DID is also waking up in the headspace of a main character in a Lovecraft-esque novel and I must shout about the horrors and the madness I have seen and witnessed and been part of, but when anyone looks I'm not yelling about Elder Gods, it's just. women

[chibishortdeath]

Great googley moogley it’s all going to shit! Every day becomes exponentially more terrifying!

And all perfectly timed to just right at the start of what’s supposed to be my adult life where I get my shit together and be useful and productive!

[sysig]

Pivotal bright spot (Patreon)

[connie-taylor]

Ronnie Hobbs, Creative Director at GUN, confirming the entire friend group dies and what order they die in.

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 66 - Welcome Home

Chapter Summary: Church fights to defy the Raven Queen's compulsion. But with his decision comes consequences.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 343K+ words; Chapters 66/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

Church’s shadow blade manifests before he can stop it — splendid, sharp, and wicked. He recoils to prevent it from narrowly grazing the elf’s trancing form.

“You’re… mad!” Church whispers, trying to disperse the spectral weapon. It doesn’t obey. “That’s not what I agreed to do!”

“Oh but it was,” the Raven Queen replies softly.

For a moment, Church finds himself back in her garden, gazing up at her porcelain mask as she recites the terms of their pact. 

“Secondly, you will be my blade in the night, cleansing the land of Shar’s Shadow Curse…

“…and the undead trapped within.”

Her hand is warm in his, even as electricity courses through his bones…

Church hears a whooshing in his ears as he falls forward, straddling Astarion’s prone form with his blade pointed down towards the vampire spawn’s chest.

Fuck! No! Nonononononono!

There’s a nudge at his mind, and Church recognizes it as Tavi attempting to break through, to no avail. 

“Shit — no!” Church gasps. Why won’t his body listen to him?!

His vision begins to tunnel with single-minded focus, adrenaline pumping through him as he watches the blade’s shadows spread up his arm towards him. 

“You must prevent the ritual from happening,” the Raven Queen insists. “You heard the cambion. This spawn is the missing ingredient. Destroy it now, and the ritual will never be completed.”

“What the fuck?” Church breathes aloud, struggling to hold back his own arms. “No! Hells no…!”

“Every life has its natural end.” the Raven Queen continues. “No sooner, no later. And yet there are those who seek to prolong it unnaturally, whether for themselves or for others who they subject to undeath… 

“As I told you before, this is a kindness, my child. The ultimate kindness. Or would you see this soul used as fodder for a vampire lord’s ascension into nigh invulnerability?”

“I’ll stop the ritual!” Church insists, his desperation and strain rendering him nearly incoherent. “Astarion and I will stop the ritual together! He doesn’t need to die! I won’t let him die—!”

“The spawn doesn’t simply wish to stop the ritual,” the Raven Queen reminds him. “He wishes to claim it for himself.”

“He just wants to survive! He wants to be free!” Church grunts. “Is that so bad?”

“Yes,” the Raven Queen says simply. Coldly. “It is.”

The blade feels magnetically drawn towards the spawn’s heart, and Church can feel it beat like a drum. Or is that his own?

“S-stop—!” Church beseeches her, gasping as his hands twitch momentarily downwards. He frantically switches tactics. “Astarion! Wake up!”

The elf’s eyes fly open from his trance, blinking up at the tiefling with bemusement. 

“Well, hello,” Astarion smirks at him from below. “Looking for a cuddle?”

…and then he finally spots the shadow blade trembling above his chest, and his smile falters. 

“Oh dear,” he says in mild surprise. “Darling, I’d hope we’d have a discussion before bringing knifeplay into our arrangement…”

Church feels the Raven Queen’s presence in the tent with them, ever-watchful and unimpressed.

“My protection does not come free, child. Do you wish to keep it?” she asks him softly.

“Yes, but…!” Church thinks to her, agonized as he fights her will. 

“Then fulfill the terms of our pact,” the Raven Queen says gently. “I promise you, child. It will be fast. It will be painless. It will be a mercy, compared to what his master will do to him. And your reward will ensure that you survive to save the world.”

She sighs as her warlock continues to struggle against her will. His duty. “So. Do you wish to uphold our pact?”

“Not like this,” Church whispers, fighting to keep the blade from Astarion’s heart. 

“What’s going on?” The elf frowns in true alarm now, and Church knows that somehow, he’s stealthily readying his own dagger that he keeps by his bedroll. 

“A pity,” the Raven Queen says softly. “I give you wings, and you pluck them off. I give you a nest, and you tear it asunder. Alas, I suppose you don’t need me after all.”

“Wait!” Church gasps as he feels her presence peel away from his mind. “Wait, no…! No!”

At the very least he manages to dismiss the blade, but that relief gives way to a chill that rattles through his entire body, his vision tunneling. 

“Darling what the hells was that about?” Astarion hisses, grasping hold of Church’s hands as they fly up to claw at his own face. 

Church opens his mouth, twitching painfully as he fights off the shadows that vie for control over his tongue. 

“I need… help…” he chokes, and out of his mouth puffs black smoke.

Astarion’s eyes widen as he attempts to keep the rest of his face composed. 

“Oh… fuck,” he utters. “Oh darling. Oh no.”

[deathfavor]

@yeonban said: "can i get you anything? do you need me to do anything?" Soma inquires with a kiss to the top of Seiroku's head as he waits patiently for any potential instructions that may follow - he doesn't plan on leaving their room anytime soon, choosing to not even entertain the thought before he's sure Seiroku is alright and satisfied.

Seiroku tucks his head against Soma's chest, letting his eyes flutter close while he listens to the steady beating of Soma's heart. It's funny how something so small, something that the body does without instruction, could become something so cherished. His own has not done that in so long ; it will never do it even if the black heart and his golden threads can create the illusion of it. The steady beating of Soma's heart is a beautiful and painful melody to his ears. It's proof that he's alive.

The doctor's face is hidden, turned downwards as he lays curled against Soma. So he allows a trembling smile to form on his lips in secret. Soma is always so sweet, so caring. And for that, it hurts twice as much sometimes to know what he has done and what the future holds. Seiroku slides one hand up to rest gently against Soma's chest, over the major pectoral muscles, and along his linea alba. His touch is gentle, near reverent, because that is exactly what this is. Sometimes disgust curls in Seiroku's stomach to think his wretched hands can touch Soma like this. Like this, where he can spell his love in the caresses he gives and sweet gestures. Some has no idea how bloodied Seiroku's hands truly are, cannot see the destruction and blood that he carries with him. Soma looks at him like he's something treasured when he's something that should be slaughtered and disposed of, not treasured.

His throat burns as he swallows and draws in a small breath. Yet - if Seiroku hadn't embarked on this path, he never would have met Soma. He'd never have rediscovered these long dead pieces of himself, of who he could have been but never had the chance. It's a cruel twist on an already defiant love story. Or a tragedy? Then again, what is a tragedy if not a love story? The love is there, the desire to be better is there, but there is no escape for Seiroku. It is there, but it will not be enough. For one of them, their story will conclude, and for the other, they'll be left with all the broken pieces and the could-have-beens.

" No, but thank you. " Seiroku answers, his eyes still closed. " Just... " His voice falters yet it should arise no idea that anything is amiss. Seiroku struggles even now to speak first on what he wants if it is not a need. " Just stay here for a little while longer? Can we stay like this? " He asks softly, finally shifting his head up and tilting back a bit to look at Soma.

He purposefully bats his eyelashes and nuzzles closer, though the ghost of a smile on his lips makes it clear he fully expects for Soma to know exactly what he's doing.

" I know you have things to do today. " And Seiroku never demands from Soma; he knows the clan and his responsibilities will always come first and foremost. He doesn't expect for that to change. He would never ask that of Soma. He lifts his head, placing a kiss over Soma's heart. " But just five or ten more minutes, if you can? " He asks quietly ; for there's no way he would know Soma has already planned to not leave for a while yet. So he makes his request with elegant grace and sweetness, blue eyes searching Soma's face while he settles back against him.

[joethehoeee]

Hehehhehe...

So...someone chose violence

*cough cough* @toodrasticallydumb *cough cough*

I said you would get it back-

So...

Your welcome 🫶

I did tease that Barbara wouldn’t survive long enough alone and...

SURPRISE.

She didn’t survive-

Yeah. She tried but failed. Sorry. (Not sorry at all)

And uhm...Walter Versions for you, because you all liked the other one so much/j

I just wanna break your hearts :D

So here are two other versions, the last one isn’t canon for this AU tho-

And? I hope you guys are okay.

Guys...?

You alright...?

Uhm...

AnYwAys-

Here is sometimes special for toodrasticallydumb >:[ :

[dewgongs]

aahh ahh im in love with him andd and

[mimiatmidnight]

Will you be commenting on the Taylor drama?

I love the way this was worded, like I'm one of the siblings on Succession and the press has cornered me outside my penthouse to ask if I'll be releasing a statement on my family's latest scandal. Hehehe anyways.

Sorry but I just don't understand how anyone is shocked. Truly what has that woman ever done to successfully convince people that this is out of character for her. Like I don't want to diminish anyone's pain or anything but I see all these stans on here and over on Twitter in all this distress, having their very first epiphanies like "Hold on . . . does Taylor . . . suck??" And I kinda just have to chuckle at them cause like bless your hearts babes, but omg catch UP 😭

Lol because 1) she is a severely emotionally stunted person who thinks edgy British "bad boys" are hot like she's 12 years old, 2) she has no true deeply-held moral principles outside of issues that directly affect herself, and 3) truthfully, she seems to be suffering from a serious crisis of identity after the end of the longest and most significant romantic relationship of her life, and in my opinion is pretty clearly desperate to prove something to the world/her ex/herself.

The first reason is cringe but not news to longtime viewers, the second reason is pathetic but also not news (to those who can be honest with themselves), and the third is . . . understandable in some sense, but not pitiable enough to make me willing to humor this insufferable little episode she's having. I wish her luck on this humiliating rebound journey, but she is gonna have to walk that road on her own.

Normally, I always roll my eyes when people make these kinds of jokes, but given the circumstances I feel justified in saying: I can't wait to hear the breakup song about him, sis 🤡

[dark-elf-writes]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM6pD79Hx/

I got called out so decided you get the link to lol.

JUST BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL ACCURATE DOESNT MEAN I HAVE A TYPE

(I do have a type but like… I romance Thane and Garrus pretty equally so like it counts right? Right?)