#(an arsonist through and through)

[hella1975]

dabihawks are a perfect ship like they're a blue-red dynamic they're character foils one was the son of a hero and became a villain one was the son of a villain and became a hero they're heavy-handed societal extremes they're perfect opposites they're the exact same they're child soldiers they're animal motif coded there is so much there symbolically to justify the ship but if you asked me the real reason i enjoy them? they are insane. like they are both so freakishly mentally ill and they're dysfunctional and toxic and traumatised and they bug the fuck out of each other and they hate each other and they understand each other's morals better than anyone while still fundamentally opposing each other and i want nothing more than to put those two freaks in situations just to see who explodes the other first

[bebx]

[checkadii]

Corn bots taking over my favorite media tags be damned I’m still having brainrot over bg3 + fallen london on the side briefly

[stabbyfoxandrew]

happy wipwednesday my beloved <3

I hope you take it easy this week after writing so much!!! as always I want to request a little arson 👉👈

hope you're well <3

WIP Wednesday (6/12) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 182)

Andrew stares at that message for a moment, feeling like he’s been played somehow. Regardless, he snaps a quick selfie. But… Lying down with his face smushed into a pillow isn’t a good look. So he deletes that one and sits up against the headboard to try again. It’s not much better. The circles under his eyes are prominent, there’s some sort of stain on his shirt— mustard from last night's depression meal, he realizes. Goddamn it.

He’s about to send the photo anyway when he notices something else and stares at his face on the screen in horror. When had that thing sprouted on his forehead? He feels for it and grimaces. Fuck, someone kill him. Right now. Let a plane fall on his building—

Wait. 

10 doesn’t care what he looks like. Not like that. He doesn’t swing. It’s not like 10 is his boyfriend asking for a photo. And this isn’t grindr— which Andrew deleted after his first two dates were colossal failures. This is just his friend who wants to see him today.

[americanmcgees-incorrectquotes]

Alice: Why can't any of you ever clean up after yourselves?

Bumby: I have a person who does that for me.

Alice: Yeah, ME.

Bumby: I'm glad you agree.

[vampcaprisun]

everyone say hello to zor’ik the gith rogue!

he’s githyanki by blood, but he was raised in the outlands by the sha’sal khou, a radical faction of allied githyanki and githzerai who want to see their people reunited. his primary parental figure growing up was a githzerai man who he calls his father, but he was cared for and taught by many other githzerai and githyanki over the course of his youth. he can speak both dialects of gith and write tir’su in either style, though his speech has a unique accent characteristic of the outlands in both dialects. whether he refers to himself as gith, githyanki, or githzerai mostly depends on his mood — he’ll say githyanki if pressed to reveal his blood heritage or githzerai if questioned about his upbringing, but otherwise, he generally prefers to just stick with gith and let people make their own assumptions about the specifics.

he spent his childhood in xaos, the gate town that leads to the plane of limbo, living in the githzerai embassy that the sha’sal khou uses as their base of operations there. as he got older, he started to visit sigil more often via portal and eventually got involved with a revolutionary faction known as the hands of havoc. he had a love of fire and a talent for working with it since he was young, and he wasted no time putting his skills to use in service of a larger cause. of course, he still also loves fire for its own sake and is always looking for the next opportunity to watch something burn. preferably something that deserves it. the name zor’ik is a shortened version of zor’ikith, meaning “fire spirit”, given to him not for the talent he would eventually develop but because the sha’sal khou found him when he was barely a toddler after the fire that killed everyone else in his creche left him alive and inexplicably unharmed.

his general demeanor is equal parts surprisingly boisterous and terrifyingly level-headed. he’s not nearly as stoic or formal as the average gith, but it takes something truly earth-shattering to shake him. acclimated to both the chaotic rhythm of city life and the literal chaos of limbo all around him, there’s not much that shocks him and even less that makes him lose control. once he sets his mind to something, his githyanki force of will and githzerai self-discipline is a deadly combination for anyone who stands in his way. and now? this so-called absolute who dared to stick a tadpole in his eye is the first name on that list.

[thesunoficarus1]

empire now has changed me at my core I think

[waterkangaroo]

Minor spoilers for book 4 of Dungeon Crawler Carl ahead!

hey Mr System AI buddy man....you doing ok?

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Scarred Among the Mundane.

cw: death threats, magical whump, captivity, elf whumpee, skeleton walking around in a generally creepy castle

previous. masterlist. next

— —

With a rope around Finn’s neck, the sorcerer drags him forward, into the crowd.

The watching, waiting crowd.

Finn stumbles. “You–”

The sorcerer nudges her horse into a trot, cutting off Finn’s voice by cutting off his air supply.

Dust shifts beneath his boots, rising with the crowd’s low voices.

“Scum.”

“…deserve death.”

“Die slowly—”

Finn rolls his eyes with great effort. “I deserve something better than ‘I hope you die slowly’, don’t you think?” he tells the crowd. “Maybe, ‘I’d greatly enjoy watching you scream for death, and instead of granting it, I’d prolong your miserable life for my own enjoyment.’ Hm? How's that?”

A slight pause. Then someone spits at him.

As the sorcerer pulls Finn out of the town square, he can feel it dripping down the side of his face. Along with the egg yolk.

Disgusting.

Finn wishes, not for the first time and not for the last, that his hands were free. He’d claw his own skin off in an attempt to wipe the food and spit off of his face.

And then he’d strangle the sorcerer. Maybe with the very same rope she’d tied around him. That’s a lovely thought.

The sorcerer yanks harder at the rope and Finn barely manages to catch his balance. “Don’t tell me you can read thoughts.”

They reach the edge of the town– a trampled road leading into green hills. On either side, there’s tall grass and tangled trees and sunlight trapped in the branches.

The sorcerer turns her horse away from the road. “I’d save your breath if I were you. We have a long way to go.”

Finn looks at the sharp grass that rises up to his knees. At the dark forest. The rope rubs awkwardly around his throat with every breath he takes. “You’re making me walk? Have I committed some deep personal wrong against you? What exactly have I done to deserve this?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to answer that for yourself. I’m not concerned with your wrongdoings.” She pulls Finn into the grass, urging her horse on faster.

Finn has to run to avoid being dragged unceremoniously through the dirt.

The sorcerer takes no hidden path, no secret entrance, no magic portal. Merely rides through thick mud and suffocating vines and deep shadows, taking Finn with her.

What wrongdoings?

Finn laughs.

Wrongdoings.

Behind his eyes, flames dance. Destructive. Beautiful.

So, besides the fires, he’s done nothing wrong. Well. There are the screams. The ones he can’t drown out.

The ones he hears when he’s trying to sleep.

The ones that don’t let him sleep.

Behind the flames, there are always the screams.

He will not apologise for a single fire.

A low-hanging branch cuts him across his face, knocking aside all thoughts of fire and replaced with stinging and a hatred for trees.

Spitting out leaves, he calls out, “How much longer?”

No answer.

“Do you live far away because you hate humans or because you hate me?“

A bird chirps. The sorcerer says nothing.

“Stricken silent, huh? I have been told I have this effect on people.”

The sorcerer lifts her hand, fingers twisted.

Finn doubles over, eyes burning and tongue feeling like a dead weight.

Silence.

The sorcerer sighs, but she slumps further in her saddle. “That's better.” It’s almost a whisper, buried by the overhanging, overarching suffocation of trees.

The ground begins to tilt upwards at an unnatural angle. Up, up, up until Finn’s legs ache. The trees, if possible, thicken.

But by the time they reach the top of the hill, the spell has faded. Finn’s tongue only feels slightly strange and no longer like a brick. An improvement.

And then he sees the fortress.

It’s a towering grey structure– all odd angles and formidding shadows. Dead plants cling to the sides.

Finn swears he can see eyes glowing from the windows. Not a good thought. Not a good one. Nope. Please no. He doesn’t like the idea of eyes.

The sorcerer rides into the courtyard, pulling Finn behind her. He doesn’t look away from the window with the eyes.

A smile pastes itself to the cracked glass, teeth dripping white. The eyes blink and then vanish.

Finn shudders, mouth like cotton.

The sorcerer dismounts in one fluid motion.

Licking cracked lips, Finn forces a smile. “You own all this?”

This time, the sorcerer smiles back. It’s a deeply unsettling smile. Keeping one hand on the rope and the other on her horse, she nods behind Finn. “My father does.”

Finn turns. His false smile falters before failing all together.

There’s a raised garden in the courtyard, and standing over it is a human skeleton. Bone-white. Eyes gaping and dark.

Finn takes a stumbling, rushing step back.

The skeleton, with stiff fingers, begins to weed the garden. Pieces of grass fly into the air, green and yellow.

But Finn can’t get the image of gaping eyes and dull teeth out of his mind.

It’s a long moment before Finn is able to speak. His voice is a choked whisper. “That’s–”

The sorcerer grins. “Was my father. The property is still in his name. Never got around to changing it. Don’t worry, he’ll only come after you if you try to escape.”

Finn’s knees threaten to give out on him.

The sorcerer tightens the rope. “Come. We don’t have all day.”

Numbly, Finn follows her inside the fortress. She takes him down a winding staircase– lit with light that has no source.

The darkness deepens with the cold. They step into a long hall, doors lining either side. The sorcerer kicks open the first one.

“In you go.”

Finn stares at the aching emptiness of the small room. He blinks, swallows hard. You have got to be kidding.

“Elf, I saved your life. The least you can do is show a little gratitude.”

“I said thank you.”

“Your life is in my hands. Do not try my patience.”

Finn snarls. This is bad.

Bad bad bad.

“What exactly does a necromancer want to do with an elf?”

Again, that unsettling smile. “You’ll find out in the morning.” She unlocks the chains around Finn’s wrists and unties the rope around his neck. “And I’m not a necromancer. The name is Verne.”

“Didn’t ask.”

Verne waves towards the cell. “Get in.” Her voice allows no refusal, no argument, no banter.

Finn steps in. Dust rises up in a soft cloud around him. And as the door slams shut, he tries not to flinch.

tagging: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast (lmk if you want to be added/ removed)

[rosedhall]

Young Jimmy fervently demanding to play conkers with Harvey the moment they start falling from trees. Except the entire time he just uses his turns to thwack Harvey as hard as he can over the face, before playing it off like he missed. He also starts gathering all the spikey shells and scattering them across ballroom seats where people will inevitably sit on them. He'll play conkers properly w his ma', though she's a wicked shot and usually wins

[fruitybashir]

I just realised I'll still be with friends on sunday and I want to spend all the time I can with them, so no holidate sunday for me, but! I'll be on the train for like... 14-16h on monday/tuesday, so guess who will have to try to not grin stupidly and kick my feet etc around other people there 😌

oh, OOOH youre gonna have to abstain from tumblr tomorrow then hahaha or filter all the holidate tags bc i have a suspicion theres gonna be some uhm. reactions. to the last chapter :D

and also me being super sappy about it 😭 but youre gonna have a great time on that train and plenty of reading to keep you busy hahaha

[bebx]

people who listen to Hozier are automatically granted the access to heaven

[t4t4tclethian]

hmm. thinking about the parallels between the Roomies and the Scottage

[maskyartist]

no updates on the hole in none au im still figuring that out ngl i just know its got vibes so anyways here-

this is the cliva vibe of the hour if anyones curious :)

[hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon]

I'm pretty sure that the Mechanisms provided no real timeline as to when in-universe the various band members joined, and while having hundreds of years or more between each new member joining is very fun and the general assumption, please join me in imagining that the vast majority of Mechs canon happens within a couple years because it is WAY FUNNIER.

Like, in Carmilla's immortal perspective, it would be the equivalent of adopting a kid one minute and then a week later having multiple adopted children and their friends kick her out of her new house.

[disorentedfae]

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

ahh i'm so sorry, I set your inbox on fire

🥺oh you didn’t, just for me?