#JAC Ask

[jacscorner]

You have made your love of the classic Thundercats series quite obvious. But how do you feel about the 2011 series?

To be honest, I actually really like Thundercats 2011.

2011 was a rough year for me, but I remember that the day this show premiered was a highlight for me that I actively 'fought' to see. And, frankly, there's so much I love about it.

I love the anime aesthetic. I love the reinterpretation of Lion-O. I love the backstory and the explanation of all the animal species. Every episode felt like a new adventure, almost like showing me a new aspect of fantasy I never thought of.

I'll admit, there are some aspects about the show I didn't like; the soap opera like "love triangle" between Lion-O, Tygra, and Cheetara and the resulting bounce back with Pumyra, the latter's eventual betrayal, Tygra in general.

But, overall, I'd still say the show was good and will never forgive Cartoon Network for dropping this show for a literal LEGO knockoff.

I'd probably recommend the 2011 series over the 1985 series; I personally prefer the original series, but not everyone has a taste for that era of animation. Hell, most Thundercat OCs are based off of the 2011 series, so I think it's safe to say which series is more popular these days.

But, I digress.

[stars-around-scars-collective]

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[just-a-tiny-bun]

Someone asked how my boi Aiden would react if he suddenly grew to be the size of a mountain. Petrified is the answer x3

While Wile giants can't become this massive normally, a powerful spell did the trick here. His growth was gradual, which gave him enough time to move to a designated spot where he will freeze up until the magic diminishes... eventually. Luckily his friends are there to provide emotional support.

[we-are-inevitable]

Top five Davey headcanons?

OHHHHH SHIT !!!

he’s a polyglot. this man can speak at least 5 languages at any time; i typically stick with english, yiddish, hebrew, spanish, and french but i love giving him some odd ones as well!!

he’s autistic. he’s the “let me tell you every detail of the thirty page document on this d&d world i created” kind of autistic and is really specific about a lot of different things. context clues are not his greatest strength. he has a lot to unpack with how he masks and who he masks with and yeah.

he’s queer! obviously this is a huge thing in the fandom yeah, but i think my davey has evolved a lot since i joined- i used to be a gay davey truther, and he would probably use gay to describe himself bc he’s primarily attracted to men and masculinity, but truthfully i think davey could be with anyone. i don’t think it’s just men. (as i grow older the more “jatherine truther” i become. fight me.)

he’s mean. david jacobs is mean. he’s not a pushover- he can and will put people in their place when they need it, and if he has to get mean for that, so be it. i think he’d try to be a peacekeeper, and most of the time he is, but david is opinionated and will make sure that his thoughts are heard.

david is david. he’s david, he’s dave, he’s dee, he’s DJ— but davey is someone that he’s always learning how to be. davey is headstrong and sure of himself in ways that david isn’t. david is the son of a mother and father who pour everything into him and get nothing back, and he tries to make that up. david is the older brother who shoulders responsibility and tries to give his siblings the lives they deserve. davey, though? davey is a friend to many, and davey can be spontaneous, and davey has opportunities and dreams and love. david and davey are two different people, two different responsibilities, and no matter how he tries to slice it he can’t seem to make them fit together.

all in all: david jacobs is a walking identity crisis who doesn’t know who he is or who he wants to be but isn’t that the fun of it?

[holyblanchett]

Okay but Kathryn Hahn out canvassing today and hyping up the finale gives me so much hope that we are going to be happy/satisfied with the ending of AAA. This video has restored my faith.

[jack-kellys]

genuinely i think it'd be funny and extremely successful if he faked the christianity for sympathy actually.

[justanechoflower]

For the “I want to ____ you” telling you made a while back, my answer is…

I want to tell you something…

I’m proud of you. ❤️

Nat: Thank you JacJac!! Im glad you’re proud of me for hyper fixating on undertale for four years straight! I see you have been working on your art too btw so I am proud of you as well ❤️

@thatonecreatorbitch

[roetrolls]

i went to go update my active muse list and it was already the three i was gonna put there

[korrasamibottles]

this came to me in a dream…….

Canon. The Blue Spirit incident never actually happened.....Aang unwittingly ate one of the psilocybin mushrooms the Herbalist grows "for research purposes" and hallucinated the whole thing.

[mariegolddoesthings]

Can we get HCs for the five YDKJ hosts, pls and TYSM

12:54 pm

Of course! I don't have that much, but I'd love to share them with you all!

Cookie:

The dude's a trans man. I totally get that he's ashamed of his manhood because his mother wanted him to be a girl. So he would be like "fuck it, I'm going to trans my gender so mother can be happy." He's genderfluid and his pronouns are he/she.

This guy can fit so much ADHD in him. His attention span is horrible, he said it himself. He's just like me fr.

He's open and honest about his feelings, especially after the Binjpipe takeover. This might be canon, but he'll go into a mental breakdown if he vents too long.

Adding onto the fact that Cookie's an artist, his suits for Jackbox Games were self-designed!

It's also canon that Cookie's a good singer, but he's ashamed of it. Trying it once in Fibbage 3? No. He's not doing it again.

Schmitty:

Despite the fact he doesn't wear pants while recording, he loves sweaters and hoodies. He'll wear one even on a sunny day.

Unlike Cookie, Schmitty isn't very open after the incidents in Trivia Murder Party 2. All his cuts, scars, and injuries are hidden under his clothes, and if someone asks him about it he'll just wave them off and tell them it's okay.

My Schmitty wears round glasses, and he tends to break them on an average of 3 times a year. He always has to replace them, but nobody ever notices.

Nate:

I've already posted this one, but he has a sunglasses collection! He keeps them in a box or chest and makes sure they're all in good condition.

He hosts karaoke nights at his house and invites his fellow hosts from The Ride.

He has this expression called "The Nate Stare" which is this look he makes whenever he's disgusted or shocked. He trademarked it himself.

He claims he has amazing fashion sense(which he does) and refuses to wear proper suits on YDKJ.

Buzz:

After getting bullied on The Ride, my boy developed social anxiety. But he still wants to live up to his cousin's reputation, so he's trying to find a way to lay it off.

He's the only host that doesn't attend Nate's karaoke nights when invited.

Living up to his name, bees are his favorite insect. He could ramble all day about them.

He's very good friends with Gene!

Guy:

Two words: Adrenaline Junkie.

He's into sports shoe collecting, but he hasn't made much of a collection...yet.

Speaking of shoes, he does own a pair of Jordans, but they're kind of roughed up.

That's all of them! I hoped you enjoyed reading through these (^^)

[bastionbibi]

Hi, just here to drop this: Hiromitsu visiting Taka’aki as a ghost but it’s during the red wall case and he sees Taka’aki get knocked out and left to die as the mansion gets set on fire. Hiromitsu tries to call for help, to get Taka’aki out but because he’s a ghost he can’t do anything. Eventually Yui gets Taka’aki out but Hiromitsu continues to stay at Taka’aki’s side until he’s sure he’s alright. Every now and then, Taka’aki feels a faint warm embrace, so familiar yet so… Bittersweet.

Hiromitsu bites back a sob as he fails to try and wipe away a tear from his brother’s eyes.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN U JUST GOT HERE TO DROP THIS AND DIP?!?! COME BACCK HOW COULD YOU 😭😭😭

THIS HUURTS

I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPAPY

Like it's bad enough that his soul is lingering around and now he has to see his brother dying too without being able to safe him!?

HURTS IT

send pain to @kuschelkissen too i refuse to hurt alone

[jacscorner]

Can a shy-ish follower message you to chill and talk? If that's ok

Eh, my DMs are always open. Sure.

[yellowkitkieran]

hi! can you please write something about comforting kieran when he’s injured? i was watching the game last night and it broke my heart seeing him like that, i just wanted to hug him! thank you in advance! have a great day/night <3

Pull Through

Masterlist

Word count: 2.3k

Hamstring.

You knew as soon as Kieran went down. There isn't a doubt in your mind that it was his hamstring, you've seen it too many times before with his teammates. Your greatest fear, aside from an ACL injury. An injury like that takes so long to heal. You don't want to imagine the mental and physical scars it will carve out in your boyfriend.

Kieran's cry of pain still echoes in your ears minutes later. The match must go on, and once the Scotsman is subbed off play quickly resumes. You find it hard to focus on the action, instead replaying that moment in your mind. Kieran went down almost directly in front of you. His shout was audible above the gasps of the crowd. You wish you hadn't insisted on sitting so close- the pain in his voice will haunt you for months.

You sit through the rest of the match, though you barely pay attention. Your phone is glued to your palm whilst you wait for any crumb of news, regardless of the source. No one says a peep- not many people care all that much about a loanee anyway. You stew in your seat, picturing all the ways this could go wrong for him.

Why does something like this always happen just as he's settling in? Kieran had just found his stride at Sociedad, finally clicking with the team and opening up chances during matches. Last week's assist is proof of the leaps and bounds he has made since his arrival- and now this. A year ending injury, one that will set him back months. Your heart yearns to see him, to comfort and fret over him. To tell him it will be alright as you run your fingers through his too-short hair, butchered by the first barber he'd tried in Spain. You want him to know you'd give your own hamstring if it meant he could play his next match.

Though having you hover over him isn't what Kieran needs right now. And even if it was, it would not matter. You're forced to wait until the match ends and the fans begin to filter out, stuck helplessly in your seat. Only then are you allowed to flash the pass hanging around your neck that allows you access to the tunnels. Even then you're escorted to the medical suite, not to be left unattended lest you spill some crucial secret about the team. Your heart skips as you blindly follow the fluorescent vest of the security staff.

"He's just up here," the slender, dark haired woman says in surprisingly smooth English. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you." She smiles and gestures down the hall. Clinical, white hospital light seeps out from the gap between the door and jamb, spilling onto the polished concrete floor of the hall.

"...doesn't look good. The sort of pain you're still feeling usually means months, possibly surgery. We'll know more with a scan."

You hover outside the door you're left at, listening to the medical staff debrief Kieran. You hear a faint shuffling of paper, and a rough pat that sounds like whoever it is has tried consoling Kieran by clapping his shoulder. You know better than anyone that he doesn't need pity.

"Support will be critical during this time. Having someone nearby to help boost your morale will help the healing process."

"I have someone," Kieran murmurs. His complacency nearly breaks your heart. He knows as well as you how long the road recovery will be.

"Good, keep them as close as possible. You'll need to stay off your feet for at least a few days until we can fully evaluate your condition. I will see you Monday, yes?"

"Yes, Monday. I'll stay off of it until then… Gracias."

Knocking softly, you push gently on the swinging door. Kieran doesn't look up but the sole staff member does, offering a polite smile. "He will recover," the salt and pepper haired man says, his Spanish accent thick. "It will take time but he should be back."

"Thank you. Do you still need him, or can I sit with him?"

The man gestures to the seat he vacates before gathering his things and leaving the room. Kieran doesn't glance up, too busy staring at a speck on the wall opposite the padded physio table he's propped up on. His eyes are empty, devoid of the spark you seek. His kit shorts are hiked up to expose his injured leg, which sits propped on a firm pillow to prevent the swelling becoming unmanageable. Where his top has gone you don't know, but the sensors stuck to his chest indicate his heart is surprisingly steady despite the blow to his psyche.

"Hey, pretty boy."

Kieran doesn't look up. His fingers twitch so you know he's aware of your presence. For now, that is enough.

Words are meaningless at a time like this. Actions speak louder than any condolences you can offer your boyfriend. Empty promises mean nothing, nor do sweet, loving words. So you sit on the backless rolling stool and wheel around to his side, laying your head on his bare, still slightly sweat-sticky chest and listen to the thump of his heart.

A heavy sigh rattles through Kieran. It is rife with barely concealed emotion, a sob caught in his throat. You read him like a book because you've been down this road with him more than once. At Celtic you supported him when he broke his jaw, as you did at Arsenal with his shoulder, and as you will now at Real. You will not allow him to become trapped in his head; you will drag him out of the murky depths kicking and screaming if you have to. Because you know in a few months time, when he's back on his beloved pitch and has a ball at his feet, he'll thank you then, regardless of how strongly he resists along the way.

"What's the prognosis?" You murmur some time later. Facts only. No 'I'm sorry' or heartfelt 'you'll pull through' bullshit. Kieran needs objectivity. Having everything laid out for him helps him attack the problem head on.

"Need a scan to be sure, but probably surgery." Kieran's voice lacks any of its usual charm. It falls flat, the edges of his accent you love so much dulled by pain and disappointment. His words scratch at your eardrums, like they were flash-frozen in his throat. You trace swirls on his chest between the sensors. His skin is hot, a symptom of his heightened stress. You lay your hand flat, trying to level out his temperature.

"Well, nothing we haven't gotten through before. It might not be so bad. Normally they always exaggerate after the match, give you the cautious evaluation to be safe. You know how these things go."

"Yeah. I know."

"Whatever happens, I'm staying. You don't have to worry about that. Just put your energy into healing."

Kieran is quiet then. The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds. You realize somewhat belatedly that Kieran now stares at his offending leg. He's zeroed in on it, as if he can heal himself through willpower alone. It would be adorable… if it weren't depressing.

And that simply won't do. Kieran doesn't move or question you when you begin hunting for something to cover up his lower half. You check under the table, in each cabinet until eventually you stumble upon a clean white sheet wrapped in plastic. You throw away the wrapping, unfold it and lay it over him without a word before resuming your vigil at his side.

Once his concentration is broken, Kieran finally finds it in himself to look at you. His red rimmed eyes are puffy. His hair sticks up every which way from how he's been tugging on it. The folded over tape on his wrists sticks to your palm when you stop him as he reaches up to tug again.

"You'll be much less pretty if you're bald," you murmur, turning his hand over to kiss his fingertips. You then slide your hand into his, offering comfort and a silent reassurance to stand by his side through this roadblock. "I much prefer you with hair, even if it's too short for me to enjoy properly."

The huff of air that passes through his nose is close enough to a laugh that you chalk it up as a small win. You'll take what you can get today; you fear pushing too hard for normalcy will cause him to shut down and close you out.

Kieran doesn't speak. The quiet permeates your thoughts as your mind drifts over what appointments you'll need to shift around to be home with him more. You don't care what your job has to say about it; it isn't like you need it anyway. It's just something to fill the time when Kieran is away, and if he's home more you don't need it. If your employer isn't willing to be flexible, then neither are you. Kieran is a non negotiable in your life- he comes first. Always has and always will.

"I'll miss the international break. Won't be able to make that for sure." You hum, encouraging Kieran to continue rather than bottle up his thoughts. "We'll qualify for the Euros and I won't be there to celebrate. The lads will, too- with Robbo in charge there's no way we don't make it through."

You feel obligated to remind him of the facts, "You'll still be there though. Maybe not on the pitch but you can attend camp, even if you're sidelined. They've let you in the past, and as long as you follow the recovery plan Arsenal and Real set out for you, I don't see why either of them would have a problem with you going."

Kieran's arm settles around your shoulders. Another small step forward. He's accepting your help. Maybe without realizing it, but he's subconsciously admitting that he needs you.

"I don't want to miss out," Kieran admits a minute later. "Like I know I can't play, but… I don't want to miss out on the celebrations. I can still go out and get pished with the lads, I don't need to stay holed up in Spain on my own. I can still be there and support my team."

You know where this trauma stems from- last time something like this happened, Kieran was denied travel and wasn't able to support his national teammates in Scotland. It crushed him to watch from his sofa in London, even more so when they lost and he couldn't be there to comfort them. He called Robbo afterwards, but being a face on a screen doesn't have the same effect as a physical hug does when it comes to comforting a friend.

"You'll be there, Kieran. I know you'll focus on yourself for now. You have a few weeks to rest up and gain some fitness. If you do that, they'll clear you for travel and you can be there for your mates, yeah? You'll be the loudest one in the stands, making sure they can hear you. They'll pull through for you Key, they always do."

Finally, Kieran sighs. It doesn't seem like much, but his shoulders relax and touch the table. That alone is enough for you to know he's calmed down enough to allow reason to rule instead of blind panic. Tension no longer creases his brow. The knuckles of his free hand are no longer white. The thin, pressed line of his mouth finally settles into something neutral, something you recognize.

Your smile is soft and quick. You hide it before his eyes crack open, searching yours for the strength he needs. You open yourself up and gladly offer him what he seeks. A squeeze of his hand and a barely perceptible nod do the trick for now. He is a flower whose delicate petals have been crushed under careless feet. You are the sun, coaxing him to rise. To fight against the odds and pick himself up.

Weakness is crippling in football. In most cases, the media would pick a player apart for picking up injuries the way Kieran has, like they're collector items. They would drag them through the mud, leveling wild accusations about glass bones and paper muscles. Whining about overpaid bench warmers and unreliable performances. Asserting that their mentality was to blame- because who wouldn't mind getting injured when you're still guaranteed millions of pounds a week?

But not Kieran- because even now, with his mind no doubt foggy from pain killers and worried about the fate of Scotland, he proves his character is worth respecting.

Kieran asks for your phone and picks a photo from the team's private photography website. You watch over his shoulder while he deliberately scrolls past the ones of him with the ball and lands on one of him in obvious pain, clapping for the home fans as he is lifted off the pitch. Pride blisters in your chest as he types out his caption, 'Proud of the boys for pulling through and bringing home those three points we need. I'll be back soon, better than ever 💙🤍'

You kiss the top of Kieran's head, "that's the Kieran I know and love. You'll be back, no matter what it takes."

[crabs-with-sticks]

Small Tyrannies: Chapter Four

A Felassan/Ghilara Lavellan/Solas fic set in Ancient Arlathan on the eve of Solas' revolution.

Content Warnings: Slavery, Abusive Relationships (not main trio), Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Power Imbalance/Dynamics, Veilguard Lore Spoilers

Relationships: Felassan/Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Felassan/Solas (Dragon Age), Felassan/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Mythal/Solas (Dragon Age)

Summary: Ancient Elvhenan sits on the precipice of great change, rebellion simmers and gods stretch their reach for power ever further. Solas, Lavellan and Felassan are drawn together from the corners of Arlathan by a common purpose of resistance and a growing mutual love. But a rebellion cannot be built on dreams alone and each of them have their own tyrannies to face.

Three spokes of the rebellion. Solas; Mythal’s Second and Wolf of the Rebellion, torn between two irreconcilable visions of the future. Felassan, Slow Arrow of the Rebellion, stuck between what is necessary and what is good. Lavellan, Wayfinder of the Rebellion, enslaved but resisting, rage giving way to rebellion.

A truly overwhelming number of swear words ran through Felassan’s head as the branch snapped under his weight. Well, this certainly isn’t my finest moment, he thought as he hung like a helpless kitten on the lower branch which had the gall to catch him right in the stomach. Trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his shin and his gasping lungs, he clambered his way down from the tree. He tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, though he probably didn’t do a very good job, what with his soft but consistent grunts of pain and falling down the last meter of the climb. Brushing himself off, and trying to regain some modicum of dignity, however small, he slipped away from the tavern. Should probably give it 20 minutes or so. Give her some time to get ahead of me, he thought. Based on how his day was going so far, it was almost certain that should he not wait he would just run into her on the way back. Which would be bad. Awkward even. She might recognise him, and then he’d have some explaining to do. His brain however, betrayed him, running the memory of the brush of her fingertips on his forearms on a loop. And it was only 5 minutes until he decided that it actually might not be so very bad if she recognised him, or at the very least it would be better than this, and started to walk back to Arlathan.

Read from start

[we-are-inevitable]

is your sarah also Tall and Strange or is that purely a david thing and not a jacobs thing

oh BITTTTTCH my sarah is at least 6 feet tall in everything i write. maybe not quite as tall as davey but she’s Big and we love her for it

[piedoesnotequalpi]

for the playlist ask: javid!

- @we-are-inevitable ✨

Hi Jac! I realized a lot of my potentially relevant playlists are a) Jatherid-focused and b) AU-specific but we move as the kids say

Poet - Bastille

In My Own Eyes - Brandi Carlile

Hollywood - Jukebox the Ghost

Shiver Shiver - Walk the Moon

Talk Too Much - COIN

(Mini playlist game!)