#lmao LMAO

[spirk-trek]

I ALMOST SPIT OUT MY DRINK HE REALLY WENT "aww... anyway bye!"

[dipplinduo]

Update @kekstala made the mistake of threatening me with Sweet & Sour Dipplins art as revenge so naturally I am going to retaliate by taking it out on everyone.

Grab your tissues and your pillows to scream in. 'Cause if we were going on a rollercoaster before, we are now going on a ride. :)

[deklo]

i’m at a point where i’m considering going to the doctors because i keep getting headaches. that’s crazy. i simply don’t wanna go through all of that again 😭

[zharizard666]

cutest Idol group!

[thislittlekumquat]

Corrin like "instead of interrogating randos, let's find an old man to talk to! Much better :)"

Even in Birthright she thirsty....

@dirtyoldmanhole

[nirikeehan]

Happy friday! "sharing food" from the fluffuary propmts

Thanks, Blue!

Came up with some post-Barovian nonsense for shady besties tonight for @dadrunkwriting

WC: 792

---

She puts the pie down in front of him, steam wafting up from the flaky crust. Metrion’s eyes go wide, as if he’s never seen a shepherd’s pie before. They’re brown in the dim light of Herald’s Rest, but she’s grown used to his many disguises. And his true appearance, his exotic background. She had assured him he wouldn’t need to hide himself at Skyhold, but he’s done it anyway, taking on the part of the unassuming, tan-skinned human. It will take some time, she thinks. 

Thalia hands him a fork and sits on the bench across from him. She stabs her side of the pie with her own. “So. First impressions?” 

“That this is bloody better than wolf jerky.” His voice is muffled by a full mouth, his head bowed over the dish, hair hanging down in his face. He eats like a prisoner might, she has noticed: hunched and frantic, afraid each meal may be his last. Her heart tugs with a little pang of pain.

“I meant Skyhold.” She eats a forkful of gravy, meat and peas, wonderfully seasoned. The cooks know what they’re doing. It’s so good to be home. 

Metrion shrugs. “’S big. Busy. Full of people.” He glances at her quickly. “They all defer to you.” 

Thalia nods. “I am the Inquisitor.” 

“Yeah, but you never really explained what that means. I think I get it now.” He looks away, to the casks of ale Cabot rolls out from a back room. He taps his empty stein on the table between them. “Be a love and get me another pint, will ya?”

Thalia laughs, but she does as he says. This catches the eye of many in the tavern, but she ignores them. When she returns with the frothing mug, he takes it from her and slings it back. He wipes his mouth, though through the illusion, no foam stands out on his lip. “Is it gonna be a problem?” 

“Is what going to be a problem?” Thalia breaks off a bit of pie crust and chews on it. She has a feeling she knows what he’s getting at, but she intends to make him say it. 

“Me being here. Think there’s at least a dozen blokes ready to defend your honor because I dared make the Inquisitor serve me ale.” He switches mid-sentence to the accent he uses to impersonate nobility. 

Thalia takes a breath. “You’re here because I invited you. You’re under my protection. If anything, you deserve a medal of valor for helping me escape Barovia alive.” 

Metrion chortles into the ale stein. “Sure. Right. Like anyone’ll pin a medal on my chest.” 

“I can,” Thalia retorts. “I will, if you want. In the main hall, in front of everyone.”

“While sitting on your throne, your highness?” 

“It’s technically your worship,” Thalia reminds him. Metrion scoffs, burying his face in one hand. 

She chews her lip. “You don’t have to stay, you know.” The words are painful in her throat, even worse rolling off her tongue. “I just thought, after everything we’ve been through, I didn’t want to you to have to…” Return to old habits, she wants to say, but that feels too judgmental. She’s adamant about not judging him, not the way her team did. Not when he understands her in strange, unexpected ways no one else has, and would have died for her several times over. 

She’s worried, though, that this was perhaps too idealistic of her. That removing Metrion from the environment that exacerbated his worst impulses isn’t enough to break the cycle of shame she’s observed in him. Some behaviors he’s slid right back into. One she’s aided herself, by giving him the ale he requested. 

 His hands don’t shake anymore, at least.

“No, no, no, no.” Metrion waves at her dismissively. “Don’t get me wrong, this is loads better than the streets of Waterdeep or Neverwinter. Just. Takes some gettin’ used to, all right?” 

He digs into the pie again, eating very deliberately while maintaining eye contact, as if to appease her. He has an intense gaze when he wants to, a way of making it seem like she is the only person in the room who matters to him. She knows this is a trick of his, a way to butter up a target, but he does it enough unbidden she suspects it’s also simply the way he is with people he likes. 

They eat in silence for a while.

“This meat really is superb,” Metrion comments, licking his fork clean. He glances at her, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He looks away, feigning wistfulness. “Not as good as Ismark’s, but. You know.” 

Thalia groans with laughter and throws her napkin in his face. 

[aerodaltonimperial]

Hook and Danhausen start "taking care of" each other's problems and then anyone who might keep them apart.

Sorry it isn't as fully written as others, I need to go eat something.

(An oldie but a goodie in terms of prompts; content warning: gore, blood, um dark shit?)

Your head throbs, in time with your heartbeat. You're aware, in the very vague story sense of the word, that something on the lower end of your body is very, very broken; you aren't quite sure what, but you've lost feeling in your bottom extremities, and you might not know much, but you knows that's bad. You blink up at the ceiling and the tiny circle of light beaming up at the texture. You doesn't know where you are.

Someone is moving on the opposite end of the room, crouched low, but it isn't until the figure moves that you can see clearly. Hook?

Hook glides closer until his face in in full view. He's frowning. "Didn't think you'd wake up."

"Where am I?" you ask. Your throat is on fire, your voice ragged.

"That's a bit of a problem," he continues, ignoring your question entirely. You don't realize there's a door on the opposite side of the room until it opens, spilling yellow brightness within, and then closes again. Somehow, the door closing hammers home that you are not going to get out of this. Hook’s been an odd flutter backstage for weeks, hovering around the peripheral with sharp eyes, and no one has been able to figure out what's going on.

Well, now you know. You wish you'd paid more attention, too caught up in your own shit.

Because Danhausen is here, too, but he's in the face paint that's all wrong. There's crimson streaked across the bottom of his chin as though he's been...eating. That's a hell of a visual you don't need. Mostly, you need to get out: this entire situation has started to shriek against your ears.

"Ready?" Danhausen asks, voice low. It doesn't sound like his normal voice, either, sort of...rough? Scratchy, almost. He's standing straighter than you've ever seen him stand before, shoulders square. It's jarringly wrong.

In front of you, Hook smirks. "Ready." It's only now that you make out the dark stains along Hook’s arms, creeping up to his elbows. Oh, holy shit. This is bad. That's red, dark red.

"You've done well," Danhausen murmurs. He slides closer to Hook and cups the man’s face in one hand. "A very obliging thrall."

"Shut up," Hook says, but he's still smirking. In fact, he's smirking right up until the point when Danhausen leans in to kiss him. It's maybe more of a demand than a kiss. Hook grabs Danhausen’s face and leaves angry red streaks behind, and neither seems to care.

You're going to die; that's obvious now. What a fucking way to go out.

"Everything should be ready," Danhausen says, when they finally pull apart. "Let's begin."

"Okay," Hook agrees. He leans towards you, fingers outstretched.

"Wait," you croak. You want to scrabble against the ground, but you can't feel anything to move. Helpless. A sitting duck. A sacrifice for whatever this is that they've embarked upon. "Wait."

"Nah," Hook says. He grins, and it's terrible, all sharp and knife-like. "Lights out."

That's the last thing you remember. Pretty fucked up, honestly.

[deepcuts]

Still never will be over the fact my mom, and multiple other, older, people told me when I was a literal child that I had ‘evil eyes’ (literally autism stare) plus the fact I have brown eyes that get mocked just as often made me so insecure about my eye’s and eye color, also probably what lead me to dying my hair to black so it wouldn’t match my eyes anymore. I’ve embraced the evil of my eyes, the evil of my soul.

[damage-incorp0rated]

happy early birthday to me from me

[virtue-and-beneviolence]

bitch (affectionate)

Bitch

[lrndvs]

compliments from girls go hard

[gophersdomain]

something something despite the all horrors and tragedies of the world, love was there and that's all that matters

[scumbagsblog]

where's that masterpost of quotes that have no right going as hard as they do. I'd like to submit "Protagonism is best left to teens and the insane"

[ericaand]

Reposting for educational purposes

writing smut like

how many synonyms for “penis” do I actually know?

[stillgotscars]

this part of stevie nicks’ interview with rolling stone is taking me out