#Postulation

[whats-in-a-sentence]

In fact, by definition, mass and inertia are different names for exactly the same property.*

* The late E. E. Smith, in his classic 'Lensman' tales postulated an inertia-free drive to get around the speed-of-light limit for space travel. Ordinary mass with inertia cannot go faster than light, he suggested, but mass without inertia can go at any velocity, however great. It was a fascinating suggestion and I loved it, but if we look at it in the hard light of reality, we must admit that mass without inertia is equivalent to mass without mass – a contradiction in terms. (At least, so it seems.)

"The Stars in their Courses" - Isaac Asimov

[the-barefoot-hatter]

Geometry on a curved surface is considered non-euclidean, where regular rules about lines and angles might not apply-

AKA, the AU where you got wasted on your birthday with your Muse and one thing led to another and you REALLY screwed math and now you gotta deal with the results, FORD. (he didn't know he could that! neither did the other one! and neither remembers what exactly they did to do that!!!)

[the-muppet-joker]

I am even more bald now than ever before

[leam1983]

Rise has what's probably the best Deadites I've seen. I get that the series is sort of drifting into a more serious tone, but with the Easter Egg at the end of the Fede Alvarez remake and Army of Darkness establishing that there's three copies of the Necronomicon Ex Mortis across the Multiverse more than openly suggests that there's an equally Gritty and Realistic version of Ash Williams for the two recent movies...

If that's the case... Groovy.

EVIL DEAD RISE (2023) dir. Lee Cronin

[proxycrit]

Part 1 / Part 2

Emmet remembers when he and Ingo first brought Elesa to explore Celestial Tower, back when they were fourteen and thought they were immortal.

“Allegedly, the bell chime will bring ghosts home”, ingo had told emmet with the pompous knowing energy of a child who read way too much brochures. “It’s culturally significant! We must ring it.”

“Hmmm,” emmet had responded suspiciously. “Brother. The bell is at the top of the tower.” The implication stands: Ingo, there are thirty flights of stairs between here and the top, and no elevator to speak of.

Don’t be a coward, Litwick had told Emmet with the blaise tone of somebody who’s going to be piggy backing off of somebody else. Go ring the bell. Tynamo, sensing a litten fight, floated towards a loitering blitzle.

Ingo turns his lilipup eyes on Elesa, who’s squinting at the carved stone faces of the front door.

“Elesa? What do you think?”

Elesa thinks. She shrugs. “We already made our way here,” she said in accented galarian. “Might as well make it the rest of the way. Ganbatte!”

Emmet sighs. “This is a mistake,” he tells the two in exhaustive patience, but lets himself be dragged into the building.

Last time the twins were here, Ingo caught litwick— but not before she managed to nab a good chunk of Emmet’s soul. It’s not terrible; he felt fatigued for a week and bounced back pretty quickly, but it was the principle of the whole situation— celestial tower’s a pain in the ass and Emmet will stand by that until the day he dies.

Like right now.

The map isn’t working. Emmet checked it once. He’s checked it twice. He’s taken out his pen and written on it, which he would usually never do but desperate times call for desperate measures. The compass he brought spins useless circles. It’s like chargestone cave up here, but worse because instead if electric pokemon it’s all ghosts.

“We’re lost, yyup yup!” He announced to the crew. “I vote we eat Ingo first.”

“I love you too,” Ingo told Emmet placidly. “But we all know between the two of us, you’re the tastier one.” Litwick gives Emmet a thumbs up. Emmet gasps in mock affront.

“Elesa, help!”

Elesa gives the two of them a wary look. It took two floors for her to realize this is not just a weird temple with strange rocks, but a full out graveyard. She’s not very happy about that development.

“Don’t drag me into this,” she tells them. “Teme wa urusaii.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Ingo reports back.

Emmet, who’s cheerfully struggles with Galarian on a good day, simply gives her a thumbs up.

The three painstakingly crawl their way up. And up. If all else fails, Emmet told himself, at least they can orient themselves towards high ground.

“We’re like pidoves,” Ingo gasps. He has fallen behind them on the stairs, with Emmet taking the lead through sheer spite despite his legs going numb on floor twenty two. “We, hah, we are attracted by the magnet of the bell, like, like probopass-“

“I am emmet! You are not making, sense!” Emmet called back. Elesa, who’s stuck between them and looking two steps from perpetual collapse, giggles.

“No, no hear me out, Ingo wheezes. “What if the bell’s a magnetic pole? And that’s why your compass doesn’t wo, woo, hahh, work.”

Emmet stops to rest, just because Ingo is using precious breathing air to infodump. Elesa gratefully slumps against the railing. Tynamo and litwick, lazy in their still small size, have settled on a weary blitzle and look very smug doing so. (Emmet is not jealous, he tells himself. Emmet is also lying.)

“The bell’s important,” Ingo had repeated.

“Okay,” Elesa responds. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us.”

And Emmet finds that he agrees with Elesa. Partially because they crawled up twenty fucking three flights of stairs, but also because Ingo thinks this is important, so it is.

And here’s the thing—

— emmet doesn’t remember much after that.

The rest of that trip was a blur of exhausted groaning and burning legs, and by the time the trio managed to breach floor thirty, people’s brains have all but dribbled out their ears. Emmet remembers being disgustingly sweaty. He remembers blitzle almost tripping to death and litwick’s swearing. He remembers tynamo sticking to his neck like a damp towel. He remembers Ingo’s excited sneasel smile, and the way the sunset bounced off of Elesa’s hair.

He remembers the brassy ring of the Celestial bell. It sounded like victory.

But it was Elesa’s cackle turned scream as Ingo swiped cold hands down her neck that sounded like home.

—-

So when the conductor at thirty one, lost and disoriented in the Impossible Place, heard the sound of a familiar bell, ringing over and over and over-

-the sound of laughter-

-EMMET! Elesa cried-

-like a homing pidove, the conductor, thinks nonsensically as something in him perks up.

(Emmet had always liked winning, more than anything else, and the sound of victory calls him home.)

—

Elesa catches lightning in a bottle. Elesa, arms outstretched, finds purchase in her brother, and does not let go.

Emmet is so, so cold, Elesa thinks as the wind steals air from her lungs. (That’s okay. She’s already breathless from a terrible business called hope.)

Emmet stares back. His hands flap against Elesa’s jacket. Elesa desperately drinks in his wan face and too wide eyes and his frost bitten lips. In a tiny, meek voice, almost lost to the wind, he asks:

“Are you real?”

Elesa lets out an ugly sob. Her tears whip away in the wind as they fall. Emmet’s frightened countenance turns immediately to alarm. His shaky grasp becomes a solid grip as they spin through the air, cushioned by chandelure’s psychic.

“I think so??” Elesa warbles. She sees Emmet’s eyes dart to her mouth. He’s reading mirroring her, she realizes with giddy delight— it’s such an Emmet thing to do, to read lips, and-

“I am Emmet,” Emmet breathes. His eyes have started to water. “Yyou are Elesa- Oh dragons, Elesa!?“

Elesa reaches. Hesitates.

Emmet grabs elesa by the lapels and crushes her tight against him. Elesa holds on, and the grief and relief in her accumulates into a wet sopping mess. She’s ruining his jacket, she mourns, but its okay because he’s dripping all over hers.

She can’t hear what he’s saying into her shoulder, can’t read what he says, but everything’s okay because every part of her is chiming

You came back

You’re here

I’m not alone anymore.

Around them, the air distorts as Chandelure’s psychic wavers, flutters, and solidifies. Gravity reverses its call as they settle gently on the ground, dust billowing in all directions.

The ghost pokemon drops next to them, shaking so hard the musical clang of glass makes Elesa flinch.

You fucks, Chandelure gasps. DON’T GO LEAPING OFF BUILDINGS, I AM NOT YOUR EMERGENCY PARACHUTE.

“I’m sorry,” Elesa gasps, still giddy from the adrenaline.

AND YOU! Chandelure howls, whirling on Emmet, who’s still staring at the ghost with huge eyes. He’s gripping on to solid ground with the energy of a man who realized he could have been a splat on the ground.

YOU LEFT!

Emmet winces.

You- You left us, you left me-

Ah, ah no, Elesa thinks as golden globules of light shed from Chandelure. This is what a ghost looks like crying.

Emmet holds out his arms. Chandelure drifts into his embrace, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes.

You left me, the ghost pokemon whispers. How dare you. How could you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emmet whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Stop doing this to me, Chandelure demands. Golden brine joins human tears, like drops of sun trapped in wet glass. Stop going where I can not follow.

And Emmet holds his tongue, because he knows he can not promise staying. Not while Ingo and Eelektross are still in Hisui.

(In the back of Emmet’s hurt and shattered mind is a spark. Synapses connect. The cold breach of the Distortion does nothing to drown out the sudden flare of hope in Emmet’s chest, so great he can not breathe, so strong he can not feel, because there’s a path. A difficult, painful path through the Space that Can Not Be, but a path all the same.)

“Elesa, Chandelure-“ Emmet’s voice breaks. He wants to tell them about Eelektross. He wants to tell them about the terrible past that is Hisui. He wants to explain how the last five months were filled with horror and wonder and fear and hope.

Hope, he thinks. So he says this:

“I know how to get Ingo home.”

NOTES:

AAAAAND THAT’S ALL FOR THIS DRABBLE. ITS OUT NOW. I CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO POSTING HAPPY SHENANIGANS! (Now you know the shape of their story.)

Thanks for reading this monster of a post!

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I am fairly sexually conservative I think and yet I have to say many of my brothers and sisters in Christ have a visceral hatred of sexuality I can only describe as pathological

[archangel-1]

Am I really a domme… or am I so much of a sub that I’d dom if that’s what my partner wanted

[bookishjules]

anyway i just think that if simon dove into fantasy worlds as a way to cope with the grief and heaviness after his father died, and followed clary so readily into a real-life fantasy world in part because of his affinity for them, and then forgot about the reality he found among the fantastical, and then was reintroduced and found a new family that he established formative memories with only to lose one of those new cornerstone members of his life just as he's claiming the fantasy world as his own.. where is he to go from there. he can't escape back into reality when the reality of grief has caught up with him, here in this world so like the ones he'd learned to hide in as a kid.

[colleybri]

I’m trying to have positive thoughts during the long and bleak wait for Andor season 2… I’m so fascinated that there is going to be a whole year’s gap between each arc. On the downside, this makes things very difficult to predict. But the considerable benefit is that fanfiction writers are going to have so much opportunity for coming up with canon-compliant fics to populate all those gaps. That should keep us going for years! 

[my-name-is-mine-to-know]

I rewatched Madoka Magica, and now I've been ruminating on the similarities between the Incubators and TMA's dread powers. Fundamentally, both are sustained via emotion, granting some individuals inhuman abilities, eventually resulting in manifestations of negative emotion.

Now I'm trying to think of an AU and perhaps how to make that into a fic...

Kyubey doesn't usually go for boys or those below their preteens, but a child who has already suffered so much despair from the death of both parents to the neglect of their caregiver to a supernatural encounter that no one believes them about would certainly sacrifice a lot for even a little bit of hope or protection in the form of a wish, and would certainly fall to despair soon after, considering his lack of support system.

All Martin wants is the love of his mother: he wishes for her to be healthy because it would be awful to just magically change a person's emotions so this is the next best thing. Of course, now she can take care of herself, and is even more resentful of his presence. He doesn't need to be there anymore, so why does he insist upon terrorizing her still? Luckily, he's not home much anymore. He works two minimum wage jobs, and when he's not at work, he's hunting witches. The small bit of hope he feels when cleansing his soul gem is the only thing he has that resembles happiness nowadays, and the seeds seem to take away less of the darkness each time, as his depression begins to dirty his soul as much as his magic expenditure does.

What entity do you think the incubators would be? I feel like it would be the End, considering so much as interacting with one dooms a person; but it could also be the lonely, given how terribly isolating it is to be fighting a battle that no one else could understand except for those who find you an enemy, even though you've technically on the same side; or perhaps Hunt, forcing so many into an endless search for the grief seeds that will prolong their life, but every time you find one, you lose even more of what it would restore in an endless cycle of hunt and kill.

Or perhaps it's too simplifying to try to fit in a single category. That's likely the case.

[sigmadaily]

[marjanovic]

Peter, give us some of your gayest pics of jokic please

well idk abt the gayest but i can certainly give you my favorites:

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

they are waiting for their van outside arrivals :)

[laggam]

Donc là c’est normal de devoir envoyer CV + LM + PLAT PRÉFÉRÉ ?! + Test OBLIGATOIRE pour postuler à un emploi en 2024 ? 🤡 💀

[amaranthsynthesis]

An Ill Considered Bargain // early durgetash breast torture

An Ill Considered Bargain || durgetash || E || 6,941 words|| chapters 1/1 || Pre-Canon, pre-Bhaal's resurrection, Tit Torture, Shibari, Predicament Bondage, Impact Play, Riding Crops, Caning, Boot Humping, Submission, Humiliation, Slut Shaming, Feminine Objectification of a Trans Male Character, no misgendering, Trans Male Character, baby's first submission goes better than can be reasonably expected

“I will not ask again. Do you trust me? I promised to hurt you, did I not, and I’m going to still—let me do as I will to you, or bid me untie you now.” The hand on his face gentles, caressing: the one at his breast bears down harder still. Unclawed, the pressure is bruising and not cutting, but bruise fiercely it will. “I shall give you another second to consider, but only the one.”

A curious Dark Urge makes a trade with Gortash, hoping to find mutual satisfaction in the endeavor. He finds quickly that he ought to have been more cautious.

This has been sitting half done in my drive for a couple of weeks and I finally powered through the back half of it on my day off yesterday, phew. Reasonably soft, as far as these two go, especially in the early time period!!!!!! Hope you all like it ;)

Read here :))))

[tweedfrog]

Was thinking about the Maegor/Aenys relationship yesterday and the general Targaryen Weirdness and Feudal Society weirdness about second sons and I think it it's so wild because personality wise and visually Aenys is the consummate second son but he's the one with all the power of the eldest. Meanwhile Maegor is (theoretically) everything an eldest son should be but is continually constrained by being cast as Aenys' supporter with his eldest son nature posing a threat to the actual eldest son.

The two of them are an excellent illustration of what if the birth order was incorrect (eg Sam and Dickon Tarly) but also what is a second son but a wife gone wrong (Viserys and Daemon). Perfect little microcosm of everything fucked up with having an heir and a spare.