#you must all suffer with me

[maras-cutiecorner]

Me when I remember that:

Castiel loved Dean. Even after he was brutally carved by the sharp teeth of his anger, left to die by his pride

An anger so blinding, so destructive in its truth. A betrayal passed down from the first father. The anger of a forsaken child

He traded in his heavenly mission, his infinite divinity, his army and glory for the simple pleasure of being Dean's, his companion

Cas didn't care what he was to Dean as long as he was something, anything to him. He found happiness in the most simple act of allowing what Dean had meant for him to be said and heard

And despite it all

To Castiel, he is still beautiful, still Dean Winchester

- BYB

[jay-wasreblogging]

[prahacat]

when the horrors catch up and you take an evening off to batch-process

[vaguely-concerned]

the fact that irving canonically survives through the end of asunder to be at wynne's funeral is so fucking funny to me. nothing but love and respect for MY unstoppable cockroach morally grey machiavellian mage dad!!! he's survived in his position through multiple attempted rites of annulment and blood mage plots popping up left right and center around him. the chantry keeps trying to stamp him out but his dodge game is simply out of this world, divine. civil wars, political machinations and minefields, chantry atrocities, this wily old motherfucker is dodging and weaving his way through it all, not-quite-no-hits-taken-running-it-but-honestly-close-enough-under-the-circumstances style. if solas does succeed in tearing down the veil I would fully believe that one of the like three people still alive at the end of it all would be a very weary 90 year old first enchanter irving going 'oh this shit again huh'. the maker has cursed him for his hubris and his paperwork is never finished (affectionate, it's fine he canonically loves paperwork)

[hinamie]

took 3 tries but i think i am finally free of korra plagiarism in yuuji's water tribe design

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[wishchip106]

ah shit depression kicking in

not good ☹️

cherik save me before i curl up into a ball 😨☹️

[fallen-goldfishcracker]

okay but does it ever kill you how much Wyll loves being the Blade of Frontiers? I think we tend to think of Wyll as this serious, stoic guy, but he's so ridiculously silly about his whole superhero persona. He grew up absolutely in love with storybook heros and tales of bravery and all the bard songs and legends. Look at his reaction to meeting Minsc and Boo!

He must love getting to be a figure like that for a whole new generation of kids. He loves the bard songs (even the bawdy ones!) and the title and the stories, but he just loves being someone brave and worthy and able to help. He loves being a hero!

And to add on to that, its definitely a coping mechanism for him. Perhaps a bit of a messed-up one, but hey, its working.

Which is why the body modification by Mizora seems doubly painful- it doesn't matter that Wyll got them for noble reasons, what the horns do- (and what Wyll knows they do, because he's not an idiot and he understands the common people better than probably anyone else)- is send that whole dream crashing to the ground. He's immediately marked as other. Florrick almost completely passes over him. The tiefling refugees shrink around him. The guards at the doors of his own city don't recognize him. I think Wyll could absolutely win the people's hearts back, he's Wyll Ravengard, of course he could! But in the short term, by gods that's got to hurt.

This is at least the second time in his life he's lost everything in one fell swoop. No wonder he's miserable at the tiefling party- I would be too! It's a testament to his frankly astonishing emotional fortitude that he's barely even moping.

[sapphosclown]

Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies

Nancy and Cynthia 1x06 -> 1x10

[alien-bluez]

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

+ more under the cut!

check out this fic inspired by this piece above! It's very very good.

[2-sarcastic-comments-7]

[mellosdrawings]

OOOOOO CAN I ASK HOW WOULD THE N2 SQUAD REACT TO EACH OF THEM DYING?

What have you unleashed?

(WARNING: Angst, allusions to death, all that fun stuff. Nothing graphic tho, don't worry)

Jamil

He shouldn’t be surprised.

Well… He isn't surprised. Jamil Viper doesn't get nice things. Not for more than a few months, anyway.

Every once in a while, life takes pity on him and throws some nice, agreeable news his way. Just enough so that he lets his guard down. Just enough so that he allows himself to think maybe things will get better. Just enough so that he can pretend he isn't chained to a fate he will never escape.

A letter to NRC, a plan that goes a little too well, a couple of upperclassmen who seem to genuinely love him for who he is and not who he pretends to be.

So of course it doesn't last. Life gives and life takes.

Kalim follows, Octavinelle gets involved, Leona and Vil-

Well…

He isn't surprised.

Jamil Viper doesn't get nice things.

Vil

They look at him like they expect something from him. Horror, anger, ugly tears maybe. Just a reaction. Anything. Anything at all.

Vil doesn't give them that. Doesn't give them an opportunity to pity him. Doesn't give them food for gossip. Doesn't give them any material to make this topic last for any longer than it has to.

He knows how it works. Someone snaps a pic of him at his lowest, someone records his voice breaking during an interview, someone catches his lips tremble for but a second, and everybody will start talking about it again. And again. And again. For as long as there is a reaction from him. For as long as the topic attracts views.

Suffering brings more views than success.

So Vil doesn't react. Doesn't say a thing. Doesn't acknowledge the topic.

Better to be a cold asshole for a few weeks than to hear about it for years.

And in the darkness of his own room, where there is no camera, no eyes, and no ears to witness his grief-

Vil cries himself to sleep.

Leona

It’s just sand.

Only sand.

For miles and miles, further than the eye can see, nothing but sand.

Ruggie had the clever foresight to send all of Savanaclaw packing when Leona got the news. They would be sand too otherwise.

Who cares.

Who fucking cares.

He could turn the whole world to sand and it wouldn't be enough.

He might as well turn his own heart into sand.

It would hurt less.

[bumpkling]

what do you mean jesse spencer’s parents started an australian far-right populist political party in the 90s. what.

[ratherhavehopewithyou]

Wish I was stronger somehow, wish it was easy...

Older, Lizzy McAlpine

[thursdayinspace]

You know what really kills me about the hallway scene? That it's not them consciously and intentionally making the choice to act on this pull between them, but that it's their defences crumbling away. Their hearts have beaten themselves sore with longing and suppressed all-consuming love. And now she is trying to leave, but it hurts to even just stretch that bond between them. And he's confessing his feelings because she needs to know that his world makes no sense without her.

When she steps into that hug and closes her eyes, she's powerless against everything she feels for him. When she looks into his eyes, she's not offering him her heart, she's admitting that it's already his.

The look in his eyes, asking her if she really doesn't know? His soul is wide open, there is not a single protective wall in place. He doesn't have the strength. He's pleading, hurting, and completely and utterly hers.

They're powerless, helpless; weak and bruised and aching from keeping this secret straining against the confines of their hearts for so long. There's only one way forward that won't break them. And regardless of what happens next, they admit they want to take that step, enough to keep them from shattering.

It's the absolute anguish in the moments before they start leaning in for the kiss that makes it so overwhelming. They try so hard not to for years. But when it comes to walking away, their bodies and souls rebel so hard they can no longer pretend.

[great-master-airplane]

FengQing

12

aaahhhh thank you, my dear anon <3 hope you enjoy your angst~

[now on ao3]

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep

“Hey… are you awake?”

Feng Xin’s voice filled the small room, gruff even when hushed into nothing but the barest whisper. He always managed to sound pissed off about something even when he wasn’t, and Mu Qing struggled to hold in the scoff that threatened to give him away.

He kept his back turned, his eyes shut, his breathing as consistent as possible. It was too late to listen to whatever criticism that Feng Xin wanted to hand out now. Mu Qing was tired and hungry and sore from yet another day of working for what felt like nothing, and if he didn’t rest now while he had the chance, how could he convince himself that he could do it all again tomorrow?

Feng Xin made a small noise, something between a sigh and a huff. “Good… this wouldn’t be as easy to say to you if you were awake.”

Suddenly, awake was all that Mu Qing did feel. His heart raced, pumping his blood so quickly through his veins that his limbs felt restless, itchy.

Dammit, Feng Xin.

He forced himself to remain still, at least until he heard what Feng Xin had to say. Then he could decide if getting up to yell at the bastard was worth waking the royal family at this hour. He didn’t know how he’d manage to stomach the way that Xie Lian’s brows always ticked in muted disappointment every time the two of them fought nowadays. He rarely smiled now, not a true smile. Just one of those tight, fake things that made Mu Qing’s chest feel as though it had been weighed down by rocks, and then he’d spend the rest of the day with the bitter taste of bile lingering on the back of his palate.

Fighting with Feng Xin just wasn’t worth it anymore.

… Didn’t mean that it didn’t still happen. Even if it wasn’t worth it, pissing each other off was one of the only things that still felt right in this world. Sometimes, their bickering was the only thing that made the everyday stress of not knowing where their next meal would come from as he continued to run himself ragged for the Xianle family seem a little less agonizing.

Arguing to them was like breathing, and Mu Qing worried that if they ever stopped, he might actually suffocate. His only solace over having such ridiculous, silent codependence was that Feng Xin would likely suffocate along with him.

Feng Xin shifted a bit, always so damned noisy. The man didn’t know how to be quiet, his presence loud and grating on Mu Qing’s already frayed nerves. Wouldn’t he just come out with it already so that Mu Qing could go back to pretending to sleep?

“I just wanted to—thank you, I guess. Yeah. Thank you. For, uh… for sticking around like you have. You didn’t have to, but uh… Xie Lian appreciates it.” Feng Xin paused to swallow, the bob of his dry throat sounding harsh in the quiet room. “And I—dammit, Mu Qing—I appreciate it too. I know everything’s hard right now, but I wouldn’t want to do this without you.”

Mu Qing kept his breath quiet and even, but inside, everything ached. He wanted to stand up, demand who the hell Feng Xin thought he was! Thanking him as if Mu Qing didn’t have a reason to be here? As if he didn’t care about Xie Lian too? As if he didn’t care about—

As if he didn’t have reasons to be elsewhere.

Mu Qing’s anger left as quickly as it had arrived. His eyes burned, and his body trembled. He wondered if Feng Xin could tell that he was awake. Was Feng Xin even looking at him? Or had the idiot been so embarrassed that he’d turned his back so that he could talk to the door instead of Mu Qing’s supposedly sleeping form? Fucking coward.

Like Mu Qing could talk.

A breath passed, long and deafening. Then he heard Feng Xin let out a long, exhausted sigh, one that he felt deep within the marrow of his own bones.

“Anyways, that’s… that’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.” Feng Xin paused again, as though waiting for something. “… Night.”

Mu Qing listened to his footsteps start up and then fade away, and it was only once he was on his own again that he let out a long, hard breath. He felt so much more unsettled now, duty and guilt and grief all at war in his heart. He stared ahead at the scuffed wall in front of him, vision wobbling as he hissed a quiet, annoyed curse through his teeth.

That damn idiot! How dare he act so earnest when he thought Mu Qing couldn’t hear him! Didn’t he know that Mu Qing didn’t want such genuine gratitude from him? Didn’t he realize how much it hurt? Couldn’t he tell that it would only make things that much worse when Mu Qing’s resolve to keep sticking around finally shattered?

Mu Qing huffed again. Rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Huffed again.

He felt restless now. Restless and exhausted. Too wound up to sleep thanks to Feng Xin and too tired to do anything other than lay there and replay words that he wished he’d heard under any other circumstances. Part of him wished he’d turned around and yelled at Feng Xin right from the very beginning, griped that he was too damn tired to listen to whatever it was that Feng Xin had to say.

Maybe then it would’ve ended in a fight. Maybe then Feng Xin would’ve chickened out, decided that Mu Qing wasn’t worth his thanks after all, and Mu Qing could have slept peacefully.

And maybe then tomorrow would have been easier without the phantom of such bittersweet gratitude following him as he walked away.

[guess-i-do-art]

Behold:

the Goobers