#NO ONE is reacting to the cold

[mercuriallily]

One of the things that bothers me the most about the Until Dawn remake is the lighting at the beginning

The game takes place in Canada in February. The sun goes down at about 5PM during that time. Sam arrives around 9PM. It looks like it's 4:30PM

Are the devs unaware of how Canadian winters work

[guardian-angle22]

911: Lone Star | Tarlos Cheek Kisses (S1 -> S4)

[fellthemarvelous]

Korkie is a Kenobi and I will die on this hill!

[soup-child]

The fact that Adaine "i don't know if im asexual im 15" Abernant and Riz "why is everyone so horny im definately aroace" Gukgak both being in the same show is incredibly important to me

[caitlynmeow]

"What? My body...It's breaking!"

I'm willing to bet you REAL money Bela listened to Alcina's warnings (like a good obedient daughter) and avoided the cold just like her mother said. When she said this line she was genuinely confused and scared at what was happening to her body which tells you that for almost a hundred years she never put herself in any situation where she was exposed to the cold because this is legitimately her first time seeing the cold's effect on her.

Cassandra, on the other hand, did say "I have to get warm" which means that she knows what's happening probably because this is not her first time dealing with the cold and its effect on her (it is probably a mix of rebelling against her mother's rules and finding out the hard way what the cold does to their bodies and also because of some maids' assassination attempts because they always want to start with the most dangerous sister thinking it's actually doable). Anyway, as I was saying, Cassandra wasn't surprised at her body's reaction to the cold because she's been there before and she was kinda used to it but Bela was dealing with it for the first time in her life and she was genuinely scared/surprised at what's happening.

[bridge-arsonist]

Contrarian-Cold Parallels

Something I think is super underrated is the parallels between the Cold and the Contrarian. Because, though they present themselves very differently, at heart, they're much more similar than you'd initially believe.

The Contrarian is someone who strives to piss off the Narrator. Whatever he does, he just wants to ruin the Narrator's day. Have some fun, and mess with Narrator; those are his two main goals. He doesn't actually have bad intentions, though. He never wanted to create a fusion of multiple princesses like in the Stranger, in fact, he seems incredibly remorseful. He never realized the weight of his actions, that's all. The Contrarian is much more caring than he seems at first glance, trying to get the player to help turn the princess back at the end of the stranger route, and softening up considerably at the Shifting Mound's heart.

The Cold is actually pretty similar to this, though he has his differences. He, at heart, strives to ruin the Narrator's day and have fun/stay interested in things. Though he's considerably less remorseful for the fate of the princess than the Contrarian, he definitely is more caring than he appears at first glance. He tries to help the Slayer in his own way in Moment of Clarity (I believe it's even implied Cold's powers were what the Slayer used to help stay sane), and he tries to help the other voices bear through terrible pain using his advice of staying numb.

So, they both:

Want things to be interesting

Want to ruin the Narrator's day as much as possible

Don't really seem care about much else other than the two aforementioned goals

Can be surprisingly feeling despite their initial, uncaring presentation

Both seriously underestimate the consequences of their actions—With Contrarian underestimating the harm you can do to the princess, and Cold underestimating the harm she can do to you (sure she's just a ghost, bud, suuuure.)

Funnily enough, though, they spawn from opposing courses of action. Disobeying the Narrator from the start until you accidentally unravel everything (including yourself), and obeying the Narrator until he unravels everything, and then having no other choice but to purposefully end yourself to escape the eternal void he's trapped you in.

And so their presentations seem opposite: The lackadaisical, mischievous, prankster type; and the stoic, serious, calm type. But they both have a major, dare I say character-defining trait in common:

A seeming apathy towards everything except pissing off the Narrator.

In Cold's main route, and most of his others, you literally stab yourself because, well, fuck the Narrator and this torturous eternal void. And Contrarian's routes are... Pretty self-explanatory. You walk away with no discernable goal but the lulz and pissing off the Narrator.

Despite seemingly being completely opposite courses of action, these paths begin to converge into endings much more similar than they seem. You did everything so differently, but in the end, you're still here. With an unknown princess, and a voice who seems to care for naught but entertainment and that pesky raven in your head.

So different on the outside, yet so similar at the heart of it all; that's something I love about these two.

[marypsue]

I will also mention that, to get the full My Immortal experience, you need to read it aloud with a group of people who will complain vociferously about the whole thing but will not, importantly, actually try to stop you.

[sideblogdotjpeg]

"ultrus is right, i am weak and pathetic" / "callie believes the way she loves is fundamentally repulsive" / "all i ever cared about was being useful someday" . things i think about a normal amount

[rustedleopard]

Things that could've improved UTY:

Keeping the deja vu effect that Undertale had and have it influence how the main characters interact with Clover/Clover's flavor text in certain areas

Make Flowey operate as the Hint System, where almost all of his "helpful advice" are just thinly veiled insults directed at the other characters/are further attempts to isolate Clover from everyone else

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 62

Chapter Highlights (but let’s be real all this chapter already is)

The Crochans did not scatter to the winds.

As one, the Thirteen and the Crochans flew to the southwest, toward the outer reaches of the Fangs. To another secret camp, since the location of the other was well and truly compromised. Farther from Terrasen, but closer to Morath, at least.

A small comfort, Dorian thought, when they found a secure place to camp for the night. The wyverns might have been able to keep going, but the Crochans on their brooms could not fly for so long. They'd flown until darkness had nearly blinded them all, landing only after the Shadows and Crochans had agreed on a secure place to stay.

Watches were set, both on the ground and in the sky. If the two surviving Matrons were to retaliate for their humiliating defeat, it would be now. The Crochans and Asterin had spent much of their time today laying misleading tracks, but only time would tell if they'd escaped.

The night was frigid enough that they took the time to erect tents, the wyverns huddling together against one of the rocky overhangs.

And though no fires would have been wiser, the cold threatened to be so lethal that Glennis had taken the sacred flame from the glass orb where it was held while traveling and ignited her fire.

Others had followed suit, and while glamours would be in place to hide the camp, the fires, from enemy eyes, Dorian couldn't entirely forget that the Ironteeth Matrons had found them regardless.

Sleep had almost dragged him under when a burst of cold slithered into the tent, then vanished. He knew who it was before she sat beside his bedroll, and when he opened his eyes, he found Manon with her knees drawn up, arms braced atop them.

She stared into the dimness of his tent, the space illumined with silvery light from the glowing stars on her brow.

"You don't have to wear it all the time," he said. "We're allowed to take them off."

Golden eyes slid toward him. "I've never seen you wear a crown."

"The past few months haven't provided much access to the royal collection." He sat up.

"And I hate wearing them anyway. They dig mercilessly into my head."

A hint of a smile. "This is not so heavy."

"Since it seems made of light itself, I'd imagine not." Though that crown would weigh heavily in other ways, he knew.

"So you're talking to me," she said, not bothering to segue gracefully.

"I talked to you before."

"Is it because I am now queen?"

"You were queen prior to today."

Her golden eyes narrowed, scanning him for the answer she sought. Dorian let her do it, and returned the favor. Her breathing was steady, her posture at ease for once.

"I thought it would be more satisfying. To see her run." Her grandmother. "When you killed your father, what did you feel?"

"Rage. Hate." He didn't balk from the truth in his words, the ugliness.

She chewed on her lower lip, no sign of those iron teeth. A rare, silent admission of doubt. "Do you think I should have killed her?"

"Some might say yes. But humiliating her like that," he said, considering, "might weaken her and the Ironteeth forces more than her death. Killing her might have rallied the Ironteeth against you."

"I killed the Yellowlegs Matron."

"You killed her, spared the Blueblood witch, and your grandmother fled. That's a demoralizing defeat. Had you killed them all, even killed just your grandmother and the Yellowlegs Matron, it could have turned their deaths into noble sacrifices on behalf of the Ironteeth Clans."

She nodded, her golden eyes settling on him again with that preternatural clarity and stillness. "I am sorry," she said. "For how I spoke when I learned of your plans to go to Morath."

He was stunned enough that he just blinked.

Stunned enough that humor was his only shield as he said, "Seems like that Crochan do-gooder behavior is rubbing off on you, Manon."

A half smile at that. "Mother help me if I ever become so dull."

But Dorian's amusement faded away. "I accept your apology." He held her gaze, letting her see the truth in it.

It seemed answer enough for her. Answer, and somehow the final clue to what she sought.

Her golden eyes guttered. "You're leaving," she breathed. "Tomorrow."

He didn't bother to lie. "Yes."

It was time. She had faced her grandmother, had challenged what she'd created. It was time for him to do the same. He didn't need Damaris's confirming warmth or the spirits of the dead to tell him that.

"How?"

"You witches have brooms and wyverns. I've learned to make my own wings."

For a few breaths, she said nothing. Then she lowered her knees, twisting to face him fully. "Morath is a death trap."

"It is."

"I—we cannot go with you."

"I know."

He could have sworn fear entered her eyes.

Yet she didn't rage at him, roar at him-didn't so much as snarl. She only asked, "You're not afraid to go alone?"

"Of course I'm afraid. Anyone in their right mind would be. But my task is more important than fear, I think."

Anger flickered over her face, her shoulders tensing.

Then it faded and was replaced by something he had seen only earlier today-that queen's face. Steady and wise, edged with sorrow and bright with clarity. Her eyes dipped to the bedroll, then lifted to meet his own. "And if I asked you to stay?"

The question also took him by surprise. He carefully thought through his answer. "I'd need a very convincing reason, I suppose.

Her fingers went to the buckles and buttons of her leathers, and began to loosen them.

"Because I don't want you to go," was all she said.

His heart thundered as she revealed inch after inch of bare, silken skin. Not a seductive removal of her clothing, but rather an offer laid bare.

Manon said softly, "We could make an alliance. Between Adarlan, and the Crochans. And any Ironteeth who might follow me."

It was her answer, he realized. To his request for a convincing reason to remain.

She took his hand, and interlaced their fingers.

It was more intimate than anything they'd shared, more vulnerable than she'd ever allowed herself to be. "An alliance," she said, throat bobbing, "between you and me."

Her golden eyes lifted to his, the offer gleaming there.

To marry. To unite their peoples in the strongest, most unbreakable of terms.

"You don't want that," he said with equal quiet. "You would never want to be shackled to any man like that."

He could see the truth there, in her beautiful face. That she agreed with him. But she shook her head, the starlight dancing on her hair. "The Crochans have not offered to fly to war. I have not yet dared ask them. But if I had the strength of Adarlan beside me, perhaps they might be convinced at last."

If they had not been convinced by today's triumph, then nothing would change their minds. Even their queen offering up the freedom she craved so badly.

That Manon would even consider it, though

...

Dorian twined a wave of her silver hair around his finger. For a heartbeat, he allowed himself to drink her in.

She would be his wife, his queen. She was already his equal, his match, his mirror in so many ways. And with their union, the world would know it.

But he could see the bars of the cage that would creep closer, tighter, every day. And either break her wholly, or turn her into something neither of them wished her to ever be.

"You would marry me, all so we could aid Terrasen in this war?"

"Aelin is willing to die to end this conflict. Why should she bear the brunt of sacrifice?"

And there it was, her answer, though he knew she didn't realize it.

Sacrifice.

Dorian's other hand went to the buttons of her pants, and freed them with a few, deft maneuvers. Revealing the long, thick scar across her abdomen.

Would he have shown the restraint that Manon did today, had he faced her grandmother?

Absolutely not.

"You were right," she said quietly. "I am afraid." Manon laid her hand over his. "I am afraid that you will go into Morath and return as something I do not know. Something I shall have to kill."

"I know." Those same fears haunted his steps.

Her fingers tightened on his, pressing harder. As if she were trying to imprint his hand upon the heart racing beneath. "Would you stay here, if we had this alliance between us?" He heard every word left unspoken.

So Dorian brushed his mouth against hers. Manon let out a small sound.

Dorian kissed her again, and her tongue met his, hungry and searching. Then her hands were plunging into his hair, both of them rising onto their knees to meet halfway.

Manon drew her hands from him to remove the glittering crown atop her head, but he halted her with a phantom touch. "Don't," he said, voice near-guttural. "Leave it on."

Her eyes turned to molten gold, going heavy-lidded, tipping her head back.

His mouth went dry at the beauty that threatened to undo him, the temptation that his every instinct roared to claim. Not the body, but what she had offered.

He almost said yes, then.

Was almost selfish enough, greedy enough for her, that he nearly said yes. Yes, he would take her as his queen. So he might never have to say farewell to this, so that this magnificent, fierce witch might remain by his side for all his days.

Manon reached for him, fingers digging into his shoulders, and Dorian rose over her, finding her mouth in a plundering kiss.

A shift of her hips, and he was buried, the heated silk of her enough to make him forget that they had a camp around them, or kingdoms to protect.

Stay. The word echoed in each breath.

Dorian gave Manon what she wanted. Gave himself what he wanted. Over and over and over.

As if this might last forever.

What was left to be said anyway?

She'd laid out what she wanted. Had spoken as much of the truth as she dared voice.

In its wake, a sated sort of clarity shone.

Such as she had not felt in a long, long time.

His sapphire eyes lingered on her face, and Manon turned toward him. Slowly removed her crown of stars and set it aside.

Then she drew up the blankets around them both.

He didn't so much as flinch as she scooted closer, into the solid muscle of his body.

No, Dorian only draped an arm over her, and pulled her tightly against him.

Manon was still listening to his breathing when she fell asleep, warm in his arms.

She awoke at dawn to a cold bed.

Manon took one look at the empty place where the king had been, at the lack of supplies and that ancient sword, and knew.

Dorian had gone to Morath. And had taken the two Wyrdkeys with him.

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

the costume designer from throne of blood who made lady asaji's clothes squeak as she glides from room to room deserves 3 gazillion yen

[minmos]

grahhhh i wish i could call a nurse line or something to figure out if there's Any cold medicine i can take with my meds/which ingredients specifically interact with them... it's presumably too late rn....... i cant stand it

[fear-no-mort]

slams fists down on beautifully crafted oak desk

[sysig]

CAN I DO ANOTHER ONE FOR THE MEME maybe DAX with yellow 1B just because i like seeing him cry lol. and maybe ZEX with yellow 4C? PAIN AND SUFFERING or yellow A2 lol i can't decide

Then perish (From here, meme still open ♥)

[greentrickster]

Me going into this weekend: Well, it's time for the local anime convention, the one that I've been preparing for since December and worked super hard so I'd have lots of mage plushies in the store I sell them at downtown, all ready for excited anime fans to buy them!

This weekend: Protesters gridlock downtown on Saturday (aka, the Busy Day, aka the Profitable Day) because they can't handle the concept of a drag queen doing story time for kids at the library, someone escalates this to a very effective bomb threat that's fortunately fake but still forces local shops to close and the reading to be cancelled for the sake of safety, it pours rain, and is the coldest weekend we've had all month to boot. All the shops and the downtown farmer's market that brought in extra stock and produce in preparation for what is traditionally a very profitable weekend for local businesses due to exploring convention members are left in the lurch.

Me, now: (lying in my bed trying to console myself with humour) ...this did not go according to keikaku.*

*keikaku means plan

[lizasweetling]

Smack a Grand Duke in the face and suddenly he's commanding the cold between stars

WHICH btw- is entirely within my imagining. The void of space is nearly 3 degrees C above absolute 0! I know exactly how much cold there is between stars!! This is a known quantity!

I wouldn't want to "feel it" though. That seems unfun.