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Let's Make a Mistake Tonight - Tennis

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me: I'm gonna steel myself against the annual summer depression. I will be fine.

me less than one week into august:

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pulling you closer by our red string of fate so i can bite you and bite you and bite you and bite you and bite you and bite you and bi

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thinking david corenswet is hot is the most embarrassing reputation ruining annoying thing I could have done tbh like ohhh my god really? tall big muscles dark hair and blue eyes kind man is hot? god fucking really. are you fucking stupid I hate myself. oh you think superman is hot? fucking superman? groundbreaking type shit going on here oh my god he’s tall should we tell everyone he’s tall and his jaw is nice wow she thinks the attractive man is attractive. you and everyone else. is pizza your favorite food too. fuck you. everyone look at her she thinks SUPERMAN is hot boundaries are really being pushed over here should we get her a medal because she thinks Mr Smile is easy on the eyes. “hear me out” and it’s a fucking marching band. should we call people magazine. vanilla. I DISGUST myself. summer blockbuster. I should be killed

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kiss prompt:

17. ...to distract for Esha x Harding

21. ...on a place of insecurity for Lucien x Bull (and/or Dorian!)

Thank you lovely!! Will finish the Lucien/Bull/Dorian one at some point but for now, have some post-Fade Prison Esha/Harding:

Esha's still shaking when she staggers into the Lighthouse bathroom. The place is a lot like the ones back home - a steaming hot pool, and a smaller cold one for after. There are no external windows, so the light filtering through the stained glass in the ceiling is a soft, warm gold.

A fresh pair of tears wells up in Esha's eyes at the sight, and when she blinks, they roll out to follow the others in the now well-worn tracks through the grime on her cheeks.

Lace looks back at her, and squeezes her hand. "Rook?"

"I'm okay," Esha tells her. And she is, relatively speaking. It hurts to walk, and to breathe, and to exist, but for all the wounds she's littered with, it feels like the worst has been lanced. The jagged, festering knot in her chest that she now knows was grief has burst open, and for all the tearing ache of it, it's - better.

Or it will be. But for now, Lace is looking worried, so Esha squeezes her hand back and moves to shrug her jacket off.

"Hey," Lace says, tapping on Esha's breastplate to make her stop. "That's my job. Your only job right now is to stand there and look pretty."

Instinct tells Esha to say the second part of that might be difficult, but she bites it back. Lace wouldn't thank her for it, and she's tired enough that it feels like she's only got a certain number of words left. No sense in wasting them. Lace's hands make quick work of her armour, and before long Esha's blight- and bloodstained outer layers are piled on a side table. Maybe they'll be salvageable, maybe not.

Her attention is elsewhere. Namely, on the way her entire torso screams when she raises her arms to let Harding take her shirt off - and then the horrified look that settles on Harding's face when it's gone.

"Esha," she says, her voice wrecked. Esha looks down and winces at the sight of herself. The bruises littering her torso have had just enough time to purple, so that she's covered in deep splotches of an oddly similar hue to her casual clothes.

"Shadow Dragon colours," she murmurs. "Y'know, for when you need to bring the light to the most fucked-up corners of the Fade."

Lace chokes on a laugh. She looks a heartbeat away from crying, too. "Pretty sure that wasn't in your job description," she says, already fishing in her pockets. She pulls out a vial of elfroot and presses it to Esha's lips. The potion goes down easy, and fresh tears track their way down Esha's cheeks at the grinding feeling of her ribs sliding back into place - and then again when she draws in a shuddering breath with almost no pain.

Kaffas, this is ridiculous. There can't be that much water left in her to cry with.

Lace kneels in front of her and Esha wants to make a stupid joke about it, but the elfroot is still burning its way through the worst of her injuries. All she can do is watch, exhaustion shuddering through her limbs as Harding unlaces her boots and guides Esha's hand to her shoulder for balance as she pulls one boot off, then the other. Her socks come next, then trousers, then her braies. Lace takes a moment to rinse her hands in a nearby basin between each blight-streaked bit of clothing; a ritual Neve came up with early on, and which they'd continued with even stronger soap once Davrin had joined them. He always - they both -

Esha's chest spasms and forces out a sob. Lace's head snaps up to look at her, but she flaps her hands in a vague attempt to indicate that the pain isn't physical. Well, not entirely. It's nothing Lace has done, at least, and as Esha sniffles and begins to cry again in earnest, the dwarf's face softens. She stands up and pulls Esha into her arms, heedless of the grime still caked on every inch of her.

"Hey," she murmurs. "I'm here, and you're safe. Take all the time you need."

Maker. Esha remembers those words. Her words, from an impossibly distant time. A hot, sunny day in the Hilt, when everything ahead had seemed easy, provided she could keep that smile on Harding's face. Esha buries her own face against Harding's shoulder now; it's an awkward angle but the soft, warm-earth smell of her skin makes it that much easier to breathe.

"We should - bath," Esha manages, around the unsteady hiccup of her chest. Lace hums, presses a kiss to the side of her head and takes a small step back. Her hands are warm and steady and sure as she leads Esha forward, into the pool at the heart of the room.

The water laps at her skin as she steps into it, and as she sinks into its warm cradle, Lace tugs her gently forward between her legs. Esha lets herself be manoeuvred and sits there like a trembling child, still crying as Lace's gentle fingers sluice water over her head and work soap into the strands. The baths are horribly quiet, and the sobs that trip from Esha's throat echo in the stillness.

Davrin should be here. And Assan, and Neve, and - and Varric. Venhedis, he never saw the Lighthouse, did he? Esha can hardly imagine the Infirmary without him, and yet he'd never been there at all.

"D'you think Varric would've - loved or hated this place?" she asks. Harding freezes, her hands going still in Esha's hair for several long moments.

"He would've hated it at first," she says eventually, putting a hand to Esha's forehead so that the water she sluices through her hair doesn't get in her eyes. "He always hated new stuff. And nothing was ever going to measure up to Kirkwall. But I think it would've grown on him, y'know?"

"Yeah." Esha shuts her eyes, and thinks about how to phrase this next bit. "I thought he was here. That he'd been here this whole time."

Harding goes utterly still, again. This time it lasts longer, stretching out in the quiet. "What?"

"The - the blood magic link, with Solas," Esha explains, around the hot tight feeling of shame crawling up her throat. She can't carry this alone. It'll break her. "It was stronger than I realised. He could… he made me think Varric was still here. That I could talk to him, whenever I needed to."

"In the Infirmary," Harding breathes. "That's why you-?"

It's her turn to sob, now. The water jug hits the side of the pool with a clatter, and Esha twists round to see Lace's face gone pale, her eyes wide with horror.

"It's alright," Esha adds quickly. "Emmrich checked - there's no link left. Solas can't touch me now."

"But he did," Lace presses. "He hurt you. He made you think that Varric… Maker, Esha, I'm so sorry."

Another sob hiccups through the last word and squeezes Esha's heart. She opens her arms and Harding all but falls into them, clutching at her desperately. "I thought you didn't want to talk about it," she says, with a horror so thick she sounds wounded. "Neve and I, we - you always seemed to want to move on. So we just stopped talking about it with you. We did exactly what he wanted, Maker, I-"

"You couldn't have known," Esha tells her. "Neither of you. I think that was the whole point. It was me who - kaffas, I'd had it used on me before, I should've been the one to -"

"You -" The word tails off into a strange, almost animal noise. Harding draws back enough to put her hands to Esha's cheeks, staring at her in wide-eyed horror. Strange to think that when they'd first met, Esha had kept the scars from her old Circle master hidden for fear of judgment. How had she ever thought Lace capable of that?

"Do we have to go back to Tevinter?" the dwarf asks. "I mean, we need to save Minrathous, obviously. But after that, you could just - we could go to Ferelden. A little cottage, somewhere near a lake. And no magister would get close enough to touch you ever again."

Esha's heart flutters in her chest. She believes it. If she asked, Lace would take her a thousand miles from all of this, would fight til her dying breath to keep Esha safe and happy and loved. And that's what gives her the strength to squeeze Lace's hands with a shake of her head.

"The one who did it is gone," she tells her. "And it's still - there's other people there, too. And if I give up the fight, they'll still be there. Still hurting, when I might've done something to stop it."

Lace whines, even as a small smile breaks through the misery on her face. "Urgh. Why do you have to be so cute and heroic all the time?"

"I dunno," Esha tells her, shaping her lips into a smirk. "Did you have other ideas for things I should be tonight?"

The kiss she presses to Harding's lips is a brief, fleeting peck - but the distraction works. Harding huffs a sigh and reaches further round to grab a handful of Esha's hair. It's a gentle grip, but Esha lets it manoeuvre her into place to be kissed properly all the same.

"Washed, for one thing," Lace tells her when she pulls back. "Then stripped down on that couch of yours."

Esha's smirk becomes a proper smile. "That sounds promising."

Lace gives her cheek a light swat. "Good. Now turn around and let me get your back."

Esha obeys. There's still the odd tear tripping out to roll down her cheek, but it feels almost comfortable now. A cleansing inside, as well as out.

By the time they leave the caldarium, the tears have mostly stopped coming. And as the waters of the frigidarium close around her head, their chill singing along every inch of her skin, Esha almost feels like a person again.

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Today is the only day you can reblog this

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some of my favorite objects!!

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hes listening to rachmaninov’s piano concerto no. 2 in C minor op.18

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i did a bull

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For derryday, for being such a cupcake. ♡

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summer trends 2025

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i. love. characters that are so paranoid and distrustful of others pushing past that distrust because of a raw desire for connection and affection

knowing logically that they're safest if they isolate themselves, but on the inside, so badly wanting to just be with someone who cares

every touch for years has brought pain, but someone offers a hug and their heart is torn in two, half of them retreating to avoid it and half of them wanting desperately for it to be real

the human equivalent of an abused rescue animal finally letting their new person pet them

that crack in their defenses, that step off the edge of total shut-down safety, that last scrap of hope left saying one last try

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cherik week 2025: telepathic bond

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me and @ferrame are writing a modern AU: in theory this is a fic about oil drilling. in practice it’s a coming of age story where the protagonist learns absolutely nothing (least of all about oil drilling)

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(So horny it’s not even eliciting a physical reaction anymore) now draw them in a strained but ultimately polite professional relationship