#weird one

[stayatsam]

importing the inquisitor's romance in what i would assume is a move to make solvellan 'canon' is so funny to me because like. im sorry, i already dgaf about solas but trying to have his romance be cute is so crazy to me?

he's so so so racist that he'll only date an elven woman, while also constantly degrading her culture and that of her companions.

[liqu3d]

What r the chance that two of my dogs return home and bring a strange dog run into my house, that dog choose to stay in there and didn’t want to leave even tho we banishment (I hope I’m using the right word here) it away. And it continue to come into our house for 4 days straight so we give it food and my other dogs seem to like this. So now I have 3 dogs, what should I name it

[mareenavee]

Another Sacrifice

For the prompt: Dragon Priest

A shoutout to @changelingsandothernonsense for these caveats:

Dragon Priest's POV Nyenna is the LDB

For those of you who aren't yet familiar, Nyenna is my OC from my main fic, The World on Our Shoulders. This piece is NON CANON. (:

Hope you like the oddness. It was a fun one!

Tagging @throughtrialbyfire, @dirty-bosmer, @archangelsunited, and @paraparadigm <3 It's another Second Person POV and I know you guys have always really supported my efforts on that front, too and it is so, so appreciated!

without further ado~

Another Sacrifice

It has been centuries—untold eras since you last breathed the air of the crypt you called your final resting place. Your skin, fragile now, stretches across your bones like canvas. You need not breathe, for long ago your insides had putrefied. You are desiccated, and yet more powerful than you have ever been before. You feel the magic pulse between the spaces in your ribs where your heart and lungs used to rest. You exhale dust and ash as you rise from your tomb, awakened by a sound in your head—

“Krii daar joorre.”

So He had returned in the end, as he said he would. As you said you would. His Voice echoes across the tundras and river valleys, through mountains and caverns and into the tombs you’d sequestered yourself in waiting for this promised day when you would be called forth from your slumber. Finally, the time has come to make use of the power you had sacrificed everything for. You are to rule this place as you were always meant to rule—with absolute, unshakeable power, guided only by Alduin’s will.

Only, for a moment, it is as if the Words do not ring. The Voice you’ve been hearing is different from what was expected, its signature sideways in your ears. You open your mouth to try and speak, and find yourself unable to articulate. Your trachea has rotted through, the skin peeling from the effort of opening your jaw. How, then, are you to call to your Lord? How, then, are you to respond?

You look through eyes that are not eyes, and through the veil of magic that sustains you, a figure emerges. You know her, and yet you do not. She speaks your language, and yet does not speak at all. She crouches in the darkness, her spectral bow glimmering in the faint light. She has eliminated the ones whose life force kept you in stasis. She is why you are now awake. Not to kill all mortals—just this one. You are confused for a brief moment as you sift through your memories and try to wrap your head around this breach of etiquette. Only Alduin was supposed to call you forth. You were to rise to greet him and lead his army of thralls, and return this place to the unyielding rule of the Dragon Cult. That had been your purpose. That was the power you had sacrificed everything for.

Anger, or something like it, flashes in what is left of your mind—not so much a mind as a swirling cloud of Necromantic magics housed inside a crumbling skull. This false dragon, whose soul hides itself inside a prison of flesh, had the gall to destroy the reserves of soul-power you had so carefully hand selected, in such ways that they would never rise again. And now? Now she intends to fight you, bow brandished as if her power could hope to be your equal—or your undoing.

A vile cackle leaves what is left of your throat. The girl before you does not cower, does not bend to the enormity of your presence. Your hand grips the cool gold of the staff you carried. A shock of power runs through it and across your body. Your laughter, deep and insidious, does not stop as the magic courses through the pathways that used to be veins, muscle, sinew. You float, no longer bound by the constraints of mortal existence. Your lips, or what remains of them, twist into a sneer. Without effort, you redirect the storm you summoned, aiming for the false dragon, the one without wings, the one without authority. You will end her. That is the only directive you can follow. -> Read the rest on AO3.

[theknifeclown]

Gloom's house is weird ..

It is KINDA alive?? It's a physical extension of Gloom's emotions and thoughts, sometimes Gloom doesn't even know.. it tends to kinda sway a little back and forth, clouds are always looming around thr house and never leave the vicinity, just kinda... Evaporate after awhile, Gloom is usually in his pajamas unless he has a guest over... Which is rare because again

Gloom's house is weird

[linoguy]

Happy birthday!!!!!!!

Tyyy!!!! :]🤎🤎

[tuckerrule]

♫!

turning back the clock - adventurer

young robot - dance gavin dance

mr. owl ate my metal worm - d.r.u.g.s.

austin, we have a problem - fall out boy

apathy is a cold body - poison the well

send me a “♫” and i will put my music on shuffle and give you a 5 song

[angelicgarnet]

the way people online talk about autism is getting really weird, like do they know that neurotypicals still have interests? that someone being passionate about a hobby doesn't mean they're autistic? you guys know that right

[beepboopappreciation]

Is this anything

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[planefood]

rules for thee and not for me

[stemmmm]

one more one more

same au thing as last time

[cosmicpines]

I think a lot of people haven't actually read Flatland so you may not realize A. What Bill's eye mutation means and B. What precisely Bill did to destroy his homeworld.

Bill's home isn't completely the same as Edwin Abbott's Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions (notably, women and men can be both polygons #feminism) but we can assume most of the mechanics are the same. The basic premise is that the world is 2D. Everyone perceives the world in a 1D way, along the plane. There's a part of Journal 3 that describes this pretty well.

Bill can see up to the stars because his eye is on the flat surface instead of on the side like everyone else, like this:

(He's also slightly 3D, as we can see in the show.)

But there's one more important Flatland detail. The denizens of Flatland (and therefore likely Euclydia) do still have organs "inside" their bodies. Since there is no depth, they're just on the inner radius of their bodies. The 2007 Ehlinger movie adaptation shows that:

If Bill wanted to "give his world a new perspective" and "show everyone what they were missing," he wanted to get everyone to look upward.

Meaning he probably tilted the entire world.

Meaning everyone not only slid off of the plane, but all of their organs spilled out and everyone died.

...Hence "so much blood."

(The only issue with this is that it doesn't account for the number of times Euclydia is referred to have been burned ("saw his own dimension burn / misses home and can't return", he only has ashes leftover), but I'm sure the act of turning an entire dimension upwards expends a lot of energy.)

[whoareyoueventhough]

last night I had a dream that I met Bill and Ted, and I complimented Bills crop top and said something about how I would wear crop tops if my body was less bogus and he put a hand on my shoulder and said “what’s truly bogus is the way you think about yourself” and Ted nodded solemnly and then I woke up

[lokh]

communication is key 💪

[perfectlyripeclementine]

calling my lover "mine" but not in the way that my toothbrush or notebook are mine, mine in the way my neighborhood is mine, and also everybody else's, "mine" like mine to tend to, mine to care for, mine to love. "mine" not like possession but devotion.

[heather-chandlers-weirder-cousin]

this does not apply if you wear exclusively leggings. Those things tear all the time you need like a million on standby