#a page or just air

[thou-shall-fucketh-off]

Sometimes I go back to the stories I’ve written and abandoned and I read it as I contemplate why I dropped it (I always do drop it) because it’s decent enough, and it’s good enough, but then I realize as I read them and thought about them, the same inspiration didn’t reach me. So I close it off, left for good until someday I get the urge to look at them again randomly, or maybe not have internet to do other things, and think, “Why didn’t I finish this?”

[hinamie]

i mean he's got all the outfits now might as well show them off

bonus:

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

New dad Astarion who is about to see his newborn child for the first time.

Of course, he expects his child to be the personification of serene beauty and divine grace. Them to have their father’s silken silvern locks, his immaculately chiselled features—the artwork perfected by Tav’s wonderful watercolour eyes…

And then he actually sees the child and—well—everybody assures him that, yes, Astarion, all babies look like that barely a half hour after birth…

He kind of has to take that at face value because he hasn’t seen an awful lot of newborns in his lifetime.

But it would’ve been nice if someone had told him that newborns happen to look like shrivelled potatoes, because he’s really, really trying to not let his bewilderment show. 

Astarion swallows. 

Tav’s beautiful eyes are watching him, waiting for a reaction—an enthusiastic one, no less. 

Maybe Tav will believe that he’s overcome with emotions at seeing his firstborn child? 

“Oh my, darling, I’m…speechless,” is all he can choke out, though, being rather proud that it’s at least not a lie. 

To his luck, Tav only nods dreamily, her full attention back on the odd little bundle in her arms.

“Isn’t she perfect?”

Yes, perfectly hideous. 

Astarion only hums in a way of reply.

That—his daughter, he supposes—is with no doubt one of the ugliest things he’s ever seen, but he has a feeling that his honesty wouldn’t be appreciated after Tav laboured for hours to give birth to this…potato-baby.

“Come, hold her, Astarion,” Tav says, then, bidding him to sit next to her on the bed.

The mattress shifts under Astarion’s weight and he obediently holds his arms out so that Tav can gently place the sleeping child against his chest.

Now that Astarion can take a better look, he can confirm that his daughter’s hair is of an indefinable colour and that her features are neither his nor Tav’s, plain as can be. Surely it won’t stay like that?

He and Tav are so ridiculously beautiful, their child can only be drop-dead gorgeous, right?

Astarion’s stomach drops indeed when, suddenly, something occurs to him. 

Oh dear, what if it’s his fault? He has no recollection of his family whatsoever; it’s very much possible that he and his immaculate looks are the exception in his lineage, and that he’s passed on only those mysterious less-than-perfect genes…Tav, as per usual, can’t be the issue!

Astarion is still catastrophizing when the bundle in his arms begins to stir.

All of a sudden, gold-speckled pale green eyes are looking up at him as if to ask what the fuck this weirdo’s problem might be. 

“Oh,” the weirdo in question exclaims at once. “Darling, look, she has your eyes!”

Tav, hugging him from behind, rests her chin on his shoulder, so she can watch as Astarion’s finger tenderly strokes their baby’s chubby cheek.

Their daughter also has, as it turns out, ten fingers and toes, a cute little nose and a hungry mouth—everything that’s supposed to be there is there, and it seems to be working fine, too—which is a huge relief. 

And aren’t those the tiniest pointy ears Astarion has ever seen? Let alone the unexpectedly strong fingers grasping at his!

Astarion, worries forgotten in a heartbeat, can’t help but smile at the baby in his arms. 

She is perfect, after all. 

Tav, face hidden in the crook of his neck, begins to tremble against his back. 

For a second, Astarion thinks she’s crying but then her laughter fills the chamber. It takes her a good moment to articulate whatever it is she finds so very funny.

“She'll grow out of it, you know?” Tav giggles in between her fits of laughter. 

Astarion stiffens. “Of what?”

“The turnip look. That’s what you’ve been worrying about the whole time, haven't you?”

“I was leaning more towards potatoes—but yes, I might’ve been a little worried about that,” Astarion admits sheepishly, although a grin is already tugging at his lips.  

Regaining her composure, Tav reaches over Astarion’s shoulder, her hand joining his as they get to know their child.

“Give it a couple of days and she will look like your proper little elf—beautiful just like her father.”

A content sigh leaves Astarion’s lips, right before he presses them against Tav’s temple.

“That’s the second best news I’ve heard today, my heart, truly.”

[cassianandfenrysaremyboyos]

Obsessed with the little illustrations in The Stolen Heir

Lovely illustrations by Kathleen Jennings @tanaudel

[omint]

Closed doors

[giftoflife]

Gift of life has returned with another update!

[idliketobeatree]

good omens as a tragedy (crowley got his slutty little waist grabbed only once when he was too high off laudanum to properly notice and next off he went to superhell)

[bmpmp3]

sorry to be a bit of a hater but i do wish youtubers weren't so scared of making their videos just like, "reviews", whys everything gotta be a "video essay" all the time. every day my recommendations are filled with 40 minute videos titled "_____: An Underrated Masterpiece" where the first like five minutes are reading the wikipedia definition of "masterpiece" in a somber voice with dramatic themed text on screen. please just tell me how good or bad you think something is and use the rest of the runtime to explain why. you dont need to put on all these airs

[hijinxinprogress]

Coffee addict Never sleeps Tim drake ❌ 

Solving cases in his sleep off 87 energy drinks Tim Drake ✅

The coffee addict never sleeps perpetually tired Tim Drake thing is a widely accepted headcanon however that was elementary school tim but after he stayed up for a week straight subsisting entirely on coffee to decipher the bat weekly patrol schedule and how it aligns with rogue attacks/Arkham breakouts, he crashed then when he woke up it was fucking wednesday so he missed his chance to commemorate his discovery with pictures of Robin and he decided that shit would never happen again and made himself an ‘efficient’ sleep schedule so he could run around doing fuck shit, add to his robin shrine, and stay on honor roll bc he was even more pissed to see the gotham gazette had pictures of Robin with an on site interview credited to Vicki Vale (listen bowl cut tim had a one sided beef with vicki vale that included tim judging who gets better pics of the bats but she isn’t even aware that she’s competing with a whole ass child 😭 he’s sitting at the table with a mug of orange juice and looks at the newspaper snorts and goes ‘fucking amateur I could do better’) 

Regularly unsupervised tiny businessman in training Tim ‘Ten hours of uninterrupted sleep?? That’s so inefficient not to mention fucking stupid’ Drake is so pissed he missed getting shots of Robin dropkicking a rogue from 6 six stories up (for absolutely no reason dick just thinks it’s fun) that he just takes at least 3 hour naps every eight hours 😭 he refuses to spend almost half a day sleeping ‘for no reason when he could be doing something productive’ 

And he still does this as a bat but it’s just easier to tell if he didn’t take his nap bc he has less than zero impulse control and he’s just fucking done with everything like the gcpd is terrified bc tim’s saying shit like ‘This guys a fucking moron, I could’ve done this in half the time without killing anyone fucking loser doesn’t he know if you keep them alive you can prolong the torture?’ and ‘you’re like all hysterical and for what 🤨 ‘you blew up 83% of Bristol waah’ stfu and fucking rebuild it?? It’s only rich mfs that live there, it’s just a matter of them opening their fucking wallets’ once a new recruit made the mistake of asking if robin had adult supervision regularly and Tim responded with ‘well if you’re gonna snitch to cps like a little bitch then yeah’ and that cop did snitch so tim fucking doxxed him

Yj has just accepted that sometimes they will find tim in an air vent, on the roof, in one of their closets, or something just fucking knocked out then an alarm will go off and he’ll just get up like nothing happened but for the first couple of months they were probably concerned bc ‘I’ve never seen you sleep?? wtf are you on man’ and Tim’s confused bc ‘I slept next to you this morning wdym??’ and that’s how yj discovers tim sleeps with his eyes open

But one of the worst things about Tim’s ‘time efficient sleep schedule’ nonsense is that it fucking works he’s one of the most well rested and coherent bats even after back to back Arkham breakouts however the absolute worst thing about his sleep schedule is the likelihood of going into the cave and seeing tim staring in a daze but wide eyed yet somehow never blinking at the batcomputer with 57 tabs open on top of being unresponsive and thinking he has a fucking concussion or he’s been replaced but he’s just doing case work while muttering nonsense in his fucking sleep for some reason

[front-facing-pokemon]

[gwyneverem]

~ I can take the suffering for you ~

Okey i know is´nt beging Mermay I was planning to post it next year as when I saw this beautiful lineart by @mdoodlerfandomart I was kidnapped by the university and couldn't paint it until July, however, when I saw that someone else posted another colored lineart I felt more confident about posting it here

For Dagur's tail I was inspired by the Triple Stryke as I thought it would really look great on him and I ended up really like the result.

The lightning still doesn't convince me completely but honestly I don't have the artistic skills to do it better, however, I really liked the result and I hope I was able to do it justice.

[sea-buns]

I understand not wanting your party members to walk into a lake and drown themselves but also Laudna has the fuckin WORST bedside manner lol. Yes, your much-needed long rest was just interrupted in a creepy abandoned town where you know weird charm-shit happened and the LAST thing you need right now is for anyone to lose focus. But also "Can you not wait? You can wait 5 minutes." talking to someone who has waited months and doesn't know if their loved one is even ALIVE and has confessed to you how much he misses them and how much it hurts and they could be outside breathing alive right now—

And on the surface, it looks like Chet is enabling a bad decision when he says "You probably heard Dorian. He's probably outside." and yeahh, okay, maybe he is a little bit. But right after that he's about to protest with something about Orym and it's like yeah. ORYM said he heard something. When has there been a time when ORYM heard something, and it wasn't real? How many times has Orym heard something and it's saved our asses? Before Chet is being hit with his own need to check out the lake, he's giving Orym the benefit of the doubt. And while he is an enabler by nature, he's keeping his voice soft rather than his usual, over-the-top "let's fuck around and find out" energy that he brings to dangerous situations like this.

You can't have everyone in the group treating a dilemma with the same amount of sympathy and care. What makes the BH so fascinating to watch is the variation in responses and different ways they interact with each other. You need a balance of someone who will take the cold, unyielding stance against something that is so obviously a trap, and someone that is aware of the risks but willing to speak up for that person and humor them when they're so clearly struggling.

I have a lot of feelings about Laudna and Chetney's instinctual responses and I think both stances are fascinating and they've both shattered my heart to pieces

[notllorstel]

Shattered Reflection p1 / next

[cringefail-clown]

ive classpected my old edgy ocs for funsies because i wanted to see what their sburb session would be like and ive got this:

rouge of time

thief of space

prince of breath

bard of blood

knight of void

seer of life

i think theyd krill each other five hours into the session

[deeplyridiculouslyinlove]

"There was no oath stronger, unless it was the one a woman took on being made Aes Sedai, and the oath rod bound her to that as surely as to a part of her flesh.

But this oath. By what she had been taught, breaking it would be not much less than murder, maybe no less."

The Fires of Heaven, Chapter 1 "Fanning the Sparks"

[latibvles]

friends.

more OCs? more OCs. anyways hi there, plucking from the HBO WWII Rewatch Prompt list — I figured it’d be fun to use it to throw more OCs at the wall and gesture like a crazy woman introduce characters who have been hiding in my docs! Yay lady-pilots and women in the military. Anyways here’s Viv, here’s Willie, and here’s me capitalizing on one of the 100th’s Training Stories that is deeply amusing to ME. if you remember reading this little number — it's the same crew! :) hope you like it

—

“Heard some of them ended up in Vegas.”

“Vegas? No shit.”

“Mhm, word up the ladder is it’s not looking too good for the Colonel.”

There’s a vacancy in the Officer’s Club tonight that was hard not to notice. Not many had made it to their destination — save for the three all-women ones, talking in their hushed whispers, as though recognizing the obvious would get the wings snatched from their uniforms. There wasn’t much time to celebrate a practice exercise well-flown, even if they’d earned it. Even if they were expected to fail and yet were the only demographic of the 100th to pass with flying colors. 

It was a bad look. Most of the 100th was at present spread across the Western U.S, over half of them entirely missing the airfield meant to be their target. Which, if you asked Vivian, was just telling of how many of the men were able to get comfortable quickly — a luxury that she and her crew didn’t have.

Ah, but no one’s asking you much of anything these days, are they, Viv?

Her gaze lifts up towards the approaching figure, fingers curled around two bear bottles. Willie’s expression gives about as much away as it typically does; which is to say, it gives away nothing at all, lips pressed into their neutral state of a tight line, brows furrowed as she sets one bottle on the table and slides it towards her.

“Here I thought you were standing me up,” Viv offers, which gets Willie to crack — just enough that she’s exhaling sharply through the nose and rolling her eyes with subtle affection.

“Right, cause you’ve been stood up,” Willie fires back as Vivian takes the beer bottle from her. “Fat chance, Savorre.”

“I do love when you sweet talk me,” Vivian coos, to which Willie rolls her eyes once more as she surveys the space, taking a seat on the opposing side of the table.

If you’d asked Vivian a long while ago, she’d swear up and down that Wilhelmina Neumann did not like her — for some inexplicable reason. To which the other women in their bunkhouse would attest to something similar. Her black-haired companion always had that very slight frown to her lips, that furrowed brow that suggested she was either disapproving of something or deep in thought. That, and she didn’t talk much. Nowadays, Vivian was more than proud to boast about her multiple successes in making Willie laugh. Willie, not Wilhelmina, because according to the woman herself, it was just “too many syllables.”

She, like the rest of their crew, knew that when Willie had something to say, it’d be in their benefit to listen.

“Any word on Alkire?” Vivian asks, curiously. Willie shakes her head.

“Heard he ended up in Vegas.” Vivian snorts, then fixes Willie with a look, trying to discern if this was one of Willie’s deadpan remarks as opposed to a serious observation.

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was. I think another plane ended up in Tennessee,” Willie looks towards the door, her brows furrowed. “How many of them are losing their wings, do you think?” Irritation creeps into her tone and Vivian doesn’t blame her. Thirty women, three crews, all sitting uncomfortably as their CO says in so many words what it meant for them, specifically, to fail. There was already the doubt in the air that they’d actually see combat, that they’d be doing much of anything besides practice flights over the states. If they weren’t already aware of the uncertainty of their situation — their CO had a specific fascination with reminding them that at any moment this could all get shut down and they’d be sent packing.

“It’s not gonna be us, that’s all I care about,” Vivian shrugs, candid. “Put us in the lead and I bet everyone and their mother would’ve made it to California.”

“Would’ve made it all the way to Hitler’s house.”

“Careful Willie, you’re turning optimistic on me,” At that, Willie smiles, hidden behind the neck of her beer bottle, shoulders shaking in a small laugh as she shakes her head. Rarely did they ever talk like this, rarely were they ever allotted the space to do so. It had to be confined to the walls of their fort — girls whispering secret praises for doing things that the boys did. God forbid they were anything but gracious for the opportunity given to them.

They could embrace these few hours of smugness before reality would sink back in and sour it. Although, after this, Vivian wasn’t sure if she planned on being quiet and humble immediately thereafter. Let them be embarrassed. No sweat off my back. Willie just barely knocks Vivian’s ankle with her foot, then shrugs.

“Is it really optimism? How’re they gonna find England if they can’t find California?” The question hangs heavy in the air, but something about Willie’s face, the way she avoids Vivian’s gaze, has Vivian’s mouth curling into a grin. She’s leaning over the table slightly.

“You know something.” Willie’s brows furrow.

“I do not.”

“Yeah you do. It’s all over your face. Oughta wash it sometime soon.”

“You’re not funny,” Willie narrows her eyes and Vivian’s grin becomes wider. They hold each other’s stare for a few long, silent, seconds, and then Willie looks away once more, sighing in a quiet, bewildered surrender. “Eckley says that Crosby gets pretty bad motion sickness so I’m just thinking about… things like that. Little things. How many crews actually messed up ‘cause of small things or stuff they can’t help,” she shrugs, looking down at the table. “It just…it could’ve been us, y’know? In Vegas.”

“Think we could sort it out before it becomes a problem in the air,” Vivian assures, “if not me or you, then one of the eight other people with us. You better not be getting cold feet on me now,” Trying to weave her reassurance neatly with the joke seems to work, if only a little bit. Willie scoffs and knocks Vivian’s ankle with her foot once again.

“Takes two to fly to Hitler’s house.”

“Exactly,” Vivian affirms with a nod, tilting the neck of the beer bottle towards Willie, who looks at it questioningly. “Call me a bad teammate but I’m gonna enjoy this tonight. Let them figure out what they’re gonna do with their guys who can’t find California. ‘Cause it’s not gonna be our crew and it’s not gonna be us.” Willie nods, clinking the neck of her beer with Vivian’s and then taking a drink.

“Now who’s turning optimistic?”

“Well I’m always optimistic. You’re the one switching things up.” Willie opens her mouth to fire back, but the door opens and her gaze falls on whoever just walked in.

“Why is it so quiet? Someone put on a record — you guys got Goodman?” Willie looks back at Vivian with a wholly bewildered expression — and mouths one phrase as the Officer’s Club seems to fall back into the bustling behavior it was so accustomed to: Guess Egan made it.