#dam first post

[starvoiddream]

Bat!sib, after completing a mission: Calm? Oh please, I was completely calm.

Jason, who watched everything go down: . . . You were totally freaking out, weren’t you?

Bat!sib: I actually thought I was going to die.

[micamone]

hewwo

[oshaskell]

better in my mind than not at all

(tags/warnings: post 9-1-1 s08e08 Wannabes, buck pov, pining, unhealthy coping mechanisms, hurt no comfort)

-

"Yeah, actually." Buck fiddles with the ring on his finger, all his weight melting onto the bar top. "I have a husband."

Drunk, sweaty and overwhelmed, he finds himself laughing. It's not just the alcohol, but the lights and the swirling room and the masses of people moving on the dance floor behind him, behind him and the stranger next to him that tips a smile in his direction. "Nice," the guy says. It sounds distant. Buck finds himself nodding along, lifting his Appletini in a swoop that sends some of it sloshing over the rim. Oops, he goes, the stranger laughing with him, and he takes a sip and smacks his lips loudly at the sweetness. Nods at the glint in the guy—Thomas, he introduces himself—'s hand, on his ring finger.

"You guys got any kids?"

"She's pregnant, actually." Thomas lights up, in that slow, three-drinks-in way. Buck does too, clinking their glasses together. The music changes, something slower, something that makes him think of Eddie.

"Congratulations," Buck says. "I love kids."

Thomas laughs, nods, me too, and gushes about his wife and family, Buck humming in all the right places, and Thomas returns the question. The next five to ten minutes go by with a refill set down in front of them and Buck gushing about Chris, he's so cool, we're so lucky to have him, and Eddie doesn't think he's a good dad sometimes, but he is, he really is, and yeah, we've been partners for seven years. I've never been happier in my life. Thomas grins, congratulating him, and he doesn't know.

That Buck's stealing these moments, fragments from a life that will never be his.

That he's inhabiting them for the night like the broken specter he is, stuck and forever left behind.

And Thomas will remain oblivious. Buck's laugh thrums with it all, a fire fueled and flashing over at this moment, until Thomas taps out with an empty glass hitting the countertop, speaking of rejoining his brother's birthday group and waving Buck goodbye with a cheers, man, great talk, and Buck is alone again.

Not for long.

He's wearing the ring when he flirts with the hot drunk brunette that grabs his ass, winding up with against a wall with her mouth pressed to his and fingers curled into his hair, tugging hard, harder, and he's wearing the ring when he sucks off a beautiful dark-eyed man with a Prince Albert in a cramped toilet stall, moaning and taking him deeper than he should, enough that it'll leave his throat hoarse the next day, sore and fucking hurting.

The end of the night finds him in an Uber home, buzzing all over, his heart worn down, shattered, and stomped to pieces. Can't get his eyes off his hand, the stupid prop ring, the whole ride. He stumbles his way into his apartment, the gaping maw in his chest aching with loneliness.

He doesn’t deserve to leave a glass of water and Tylenol in his nightstand. He walks straight up the stairs to his room and drops on the side of his bed, tugging the ring off.

It leaves an indent on his skin, a brand at the base of his finger. The mark goes white when he presses a thumb down on it, then fades back into view.

He tugs the closest nightstand drawer open. In his pocket, a buzz. A text from Eddie.

You doing anything right now?

He doesn't wait—his hand's already tapping the call icon.

Eddie picks up within one ring, and there he is, Buck thinks, aching some more. Eight hundred miles away, Eddie—cheeks rosy and his beautiful dark eyes a little warm, a little sleepy—grants him a smile. "Hey, Buck."

"Hi," Buck says. Eddie's voice is a balm. Eddie's face, a sight for sore eyes, and Buck misses him, and misses him, and misses him, his heart thumping and thrashing against the walls of his chest, jabbing hard against the backs of his eyes and begging him to say something, Eddie, please, and Buck pushes the nightstand drawer closed with a trembling hand. The ring jostles, clinks heavily against the wood inside. "To answer your question, no," he says, arranging his face into a grin, as mild and easy as he can, and thumbs at the indent on his finger again. "Not doing anything at all."

[thesillyexpresser]

Honestly what I see when Biograft death animation

I’ve honestly just accept that I’ve made this design an oc at this point instead of gaslighting myself with terms like “”””personal design”””” like look at it. Considering just calling it angstgraft because that’s all I’ll give it idk ideas are welcome

other ver below vv

blud forgot that their lack of organisty/original identity/what makes them a machine basically doesn’t excuse them of the fleeting desire to see one more day when the time of their end arrives 🙏🙏💀💀💀

Anyways yummy colors I think

[spinnincircus]

the spooder ever. (reblogs appreciated.)

[hunterfromtheabyss]

[alebrijediscordico]

cries and sobs. purple ;;;;;;

[cringefail-clown]

on my hands and knees looking for more jakehal content. jakehalers where are you. my brethren. we are shrivered up and dying, in dire need of nourishment

[gnawonid]

is there anything more riveting than putting characters in silly little outfits

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 60

Chapter; Highlights

"The power," Fenrys said quietly to him, gripping the gore-slick wall. "It was the one thing Connall and I shared."

"I know," Rowan said. He shouldn't have pushed. "I'm sorry."

Fenrys just nodded. "I haven't been able to stomach it since then. I-I'm not even certain I can use it again," he said, and repeated, "I'm sorry."

Rowan clapped him on the shoulder.

Another thing he'd make Maeve pay for. "You might not have even found him, anyway."

Fenrys's jaw tightened. "He could be anywhere."

"He could be dead," murmured Princess Hasar.

"Or injured," Chaol cut in, wheeling to the wall's edge to survey the battlefield below and distant dam beyond it.

Aelin, a few feet away, gazed toward it as well, her blood-soaked hair ripping free of its braid in the harsh wind. Flowing toward those mountains, the destruction that would soon be unleashed.

She said nothing. Had done nothing since Nesyn and Sartaq brought the news. Her exact sort of nightmare, he realized, to be unable to help, to be forced to watch while others suffered. No words could comfort her, no words could fix this. Stop this.

"I could try to track him," Gavriel offered.

Rowan shook off his creeping dread. "I'll fly out, try to pinpoint him, and signal back to YOU—"

"Don't bother," said Princess Hasar, and Rowan was about to snarl his retort when she pointed to the battlefield. "She's already ahead of you."

Rowan whirled, the others following suit.

"No," Fenrys breathed.

There, galloping across the plain on a familiar black horse, was Elide.

"Farasha," Chaol murmured.

"She'll be killed," said Gavriel, tensing as if he might jump off the battlements and chase after her. "She'll be—"

Farasha leaped over fallen bodies, weaving between the injured and dead, Elide twisting this way and that in the saddle. And from the distance, Rowan could make out her mouth moving, shouting one word, one name, over and over. Lorcan.

"If any of you go down there," Hasar warned, "you'll be killed, too."

It went against every instinct, against the centuries of training and fighting he'd done with Lorcan, but the princess was right. To lose one life was better than several. Especially when he would need his cadre so badly during the rest of this war.

Lorcan would agree had taught Rowan to make those sorts of hard calls.

Still Aelin remained silent, as if she'd descended deep within herself, and gazed at the battlefield.

At the small rider and the mighty horse racing across it.

Farasha was a tempest beneath her, but the mare did not seek to unseat Elide as they thundered across the body-strewn plain.

"Lorcan!"

Her shout was swallowed by the wind, by the screams of fleeing soldiers and people, by the shriek of the ruks above. "Lorcan!"

Farasha leaped over them, cutting sharp turns as Elide pivoted to look and look and look.

Darghan horses and riders ran past. Some to the keep, some to the distant forest along the horizon. Farasha wove between them, biting at those in her path.

"Lorcan!" How small her cry sounded, how feeble.

Still the dam held.

I will always find you.

And her words, her stupid, hateful words to him ... Had she done this? Brought this upon him? Asked some god to do this?

Her words had all melted away the moment she'd realized he was not on the battlements.

The past few months had melted away entirely.

"Lorcan!"

Unfaltering, Farasha kept moving, her black mane streaming in the wind.

The dam had to hold. It would hold. Until she brought him back to the keep.

So Elide did not stop, did not look toward the doom that lurked, waiting to be unleashed.

She rode, and rode, and rode.

Atop the battlement, Chaol didn't know what to watch: the dam, the people fleeing its oncoming destruction, or the young Lady of Perranth, racing across the battlefield atop his horse.

A warm hand settled on his shoulder, and he knew it was Yrene without turning. "I just heard about the dam. I'd sent Elide to see if you were ..." His wife's words trailed off as she beheld the lone rider charging away from the masses thundering for the keep.

"Silba save her," Yrene whispered.

"Lorcan's down there," was all Chaol said by way of explanation.

The Fae males were taut as bowstrings while the young woman crossed the battlefield bit by bit. The odds of her finding Lorcan, let alone before the dam burst ...

Still Elide kept riding. Racing against death itself.

Princess Hasar said quietly, "The girl is a fool. The bravest I've ever seen, but a fool nonetheless."

Aelin said nothing, her eyes distant. Like she'd retreated into herself at the realization that this sliver of hope was about to be washed away. Her friends with it.

"Hellas guards Lorcan," Fenrys murmured.

"And Anneith, his consort, watches over Elide. Perhaps they will find each other."

"Hellas's horse," Chaol said. They turned toward him, dragging their eyes from the field.

Chaol shook his head and gestured to the field, to the black mare and her rider. "I call Farasha Hellas's horse. I've done so from the moment I met her."

As if meeting that horse, bringing her here, was not as much for him as it was for this. For this desperate race across an endless battlefield.

Yrene clasped his hand, like she understood, too.

Silence fell along their section of the battlement. There were no words left to say.

"Lorcan!"

Elide's voice broke on the cry. She'd lost count of how many times she'd shouted it now.

No sign of him.

She aimed for the lake. Closer to the dam. He would have chosen the lake for its defensive advantages. He had to be out here. Had to be somewhere. Alive-hurt, but alive.

She knew it.

The lake was a gray sprawl to her left, a mockery of the hell to be unleashed at any moment.

"Lorcan!"

They'd reached the heart of the battlefield, and Elide slowed Farasha enough to stand in the stirrups, biting down on the agony in her ankle. She had never felt so small, so inconsequential. A speck of nothing in this doomed sea.

Nothing. Elide halted Farasha. Gavriel had said he'd last seen him right here. Had he plunged behind their ally's lines and moved on from there?

He might have walked off this field, she realized. Might currently be back at the keep, or in Oakwald, and she would have ridden here for nothing-

"Lorcan!" She screamed it, so loud it was a wonder her throat didn't bleed. "Lorcan!"

The dam remained intact. Which of her breaths would be her last?

"LORCAN!"

A pained groan answered from behind. Elide twisted in the saddle and scanned the path of Valg dead behind her.

A broad, tanned hand rose from beneath a thick pile of them, and fought for purchase on a soldier's breastplate. Not twenty feet away.

A sob cracked from her, and Farasha cantered toward that straining, bloodied hand. The horse skidded to a halt, gore flying from her hooves. Elide threw herself from the saddle before scrambling toward him.

Armor and blades sliced into her, Lorcan met her halfway, that hand becoming an arm, then two-pushing off the bodies piled atop him. Elide reached him just as he'd managed to dislodge a soldier sprawled over him.

Elide took one look at the injury to Lorcan's middle and tried not to fall to her knees. His blood leaked everywhere, the wound not closed—not in the way that Fae should be able to heal themselves. The injury that had felled him would have been catastrophic, if it had taken all his power to heal him this little.

But she did not say that. Did not say anything other than,

"The dam is about to break."

Black blood splattered Lorcan's ashen face, his dark eyes fogged with pain. Elide braced her feet, swallowing her scream of pain, and gripped him under the shoulders. "We need to get you out of here."

His breathing was a wet rasp as she tried to lift him. He might as well have been a boulder, might as well have been as immovable as the keep itself.

"Lorcan," she begged, voice breaking. "We have to get you out of here."

His legs shifted, drawing an agonized groan. She had never heard him so much as whimper. Had never seen him unable to rise.

"Get up," she said. "Get up."

Lorcan's hands gripped her waist, and Elide couldn't stop her cry of pain at the weight he placed on her, the bones in her foot and ankle grinding together. His legs not even kneeling beneath him, he paused.

"Do it," she begged him. "Get up."

But his dark eyes shifted to the horse. Farasha approached, steps unsteady over the corpses. She did not so much as flinch as Lorcan grasped the bottom straps of the saddle, his other hand on Elide's shoulder, and moved his legs under him again.

As he began to rise, Elide beheld the wound slicing up the left side of his back.

Oh gods. Oh gods.

Elide ducked further under him, until his arm was slung across her shoulders. Thighs burning, ankle shrieking, Elide pushed up. Lorcan pulled at the same time, Farasha holding steady. He groaned again, his body teetering—

"Don't stop," Elide hissed. "Don't you dare stop."

His breath came in shallow gasps, but Lorcan got his feet under him, inch by inch. Slipping his arm from Elide's shoulder, he lurched to grip the saddle. To cling to it.

He panted and panted, fresh blood sliding from his back, too.

This ride would be agony. But they had no choice. None at all.

"Now up." She didn't let him hear her terror and despair. "Get into that saddle."

He leaned his brow against Farasha's dark side. Swaying enough that Elide wrapped a careful arm around his waist.

"You didn't rutting die," she snapped. "And you're not dead yet. We're not dead yet. So get in that saddle."

When Lorcan did nothing other than breathe and breathe and breathe, Elide spoke again.

"I promised to always find you. I promised you, and you promised me. I came for you because of it; I am here because of it. I am here for you, do you understand? And if we don't get onto that horse now, we won't stand a chance against that dam. We will die."

Now would be the true test: that mighty push upward, the swinging of his leg over Farasha's body, to the other side of the saddle. Elide positioned herself at his back, so careful of the terrible slash down his body. Her feet sank ankle-deep into freezing mud. She didn't dare look toward the dam. Not yet.

"Get up." Her command barked over the panicked cries of the fleeing soldiers. "Get in that saddle now." Lorcan didn't move, his body trembling. Elide screamed, "Get up now!" And shoved him upward.

Lorcan let out a bellow that rang in her ears. The saddle groaned at his weight, and blood gushed from his wounds, but then he was rising into the air, toward the horse's back.

Elide threw her weight into him, and something cracked in her ankle, so violently that pain burst through her, blinding and breathless. She stumbled, losing her grip. But Lorcan was up, his leg over the other side of the horse. He slouched over it, an arm cradling his abdomen, dark hair hanging low enough to brush Farasha's back.

Clenching her jaw against the pain in her ankle, Elide straightened, and eyed the distance.

A long, bloodied arm dropped into her line of sight. An offer up.

She ignored it. She'd gotten him into the saddle. She wasn't about to send him flying off it again.

Elide backed a step, limping.

Not allowing herself to register the pain, Elide ran the few steps to Farasha and leaped.

Lorcan's hand gripped the back of her jacket, the breath going from her as her stomach hit the unforgiving lip of the saddle, and Elide clawed for purchase.

The strength in Lorcan's arm didn't waver as he pulled her almost across his lap. As he grunted in pain while she righted herself.

But she made it. Got her legs on either side of the horse, and took up the reins. Lorcan looped his arm around her waist, his brutalized body a solid mass at her back.

Elide at last dared to look at the dam. A ruk soared from it, frantically waving a golden banner.

Soon. It would break soon.

Elide gathered Farasha's reins. "To the keep, friend," she said, digging her heels into the horse's side. "Faster than the wind."

Farasha obeyed. Elide rocked back into Lorcan as the mare launched into a gallop, earning another groan of pain. But he remained in the saddle, despite the pounding steps that drew agonized breaths from him.

"Faster, Farasha!" Elide called to the horse as she steered her toward the keep, the mountain it had been built into.

Nothing had ever seemed so distant.

Far enough that she could not see if the keep's lower gate was still open. If anyone held it, waited for them.

Hold the gate.

Hold the gate.

Every thunderous beat of Farasha's hooves, over the corpses of the fallen, echoed Elide's silent prayer as they raced across the endless plain.

Hold the gate.

[agonybell84]

I need him. I need him for health, education, happiness and life.

He so silly looking I love him<3

(Pic edits by meee)

[vulpinesaint]

hrt is so awesome. like i've enjoyed my face and sometimes my body before but testosterone makes me feel like the sexiest boy alive

[chaosintheavenue]

Me, gently picking up Courier from [REDACTED] and placing her in an enclosure (the Mojave) with a leafy twig and a rock to hide under

Courier: This is nice and all, but... when do I get to go to space?

(imagine this in a movie trailer-esque sequence of quick text frames with booming SFX)

#chaos plays the outer worlds

coming

2025

[yaboiferalzzz]

Dont post here much but heres a recent animation practice I made ^^

[seafoamsol]

Here're my previews for the @tf-bigbang 2023 event! I was partnered with SnowfirePax ( Chryscare on AO3 ) for their fic Under The Stars, a messy love story mixed with political strife, murder, and could-have-should-have-beens.

It's a beautiful fic, and I'm honored to have been given the opportunity to illustrate for it. I look forwards to sharing the full pieces with you on Sept. 22nd!

[amarithecat]

Bitches be like "I miss my ex-husband."

My brother in Christ, you set him alight and threw him down the Grand Canyon.