#Quarter House

[capcavan]

@noomyart + @ca-van = Roadkill on Ao3

Fox!riko propaganda!

[malinaa]

if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

[st-hedge]

Give the king a moment he just woke up

[bixels]

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.

[gogmstuff]

1908 (September) Les Modes - Robe d'interieur par Paquin - photo by Reutlinger. From gallica.bnf.fr; fixed spots & flaws w Pshop 1386X2081.

[nataliescatorccio]

RHAENYRA TARGARYEN & ALICENT HIGHTOWER House of the Dragon, Season 2 'A Son for a Son'

[sixofclovers]

progress so far!

[canisalbus]

You mentioned before that the people who would have access to Machete's bedchamber would likely already know about Vasco. How did that come up in your mind? Did they get caught in the act or was the subject broached with enough trust? How did those people handle it? Sorry if this is a bit vague but I thought about it today and I'm very interested. :)

I think it just has to be the case, I can't imagine how they could manage to hide the fact Vasco is bunking with him from everyone, for years and years. Machete doesn't live alone, he has staff and servants who do his housekeeping and run his errands. Even if Vasco didn't stay there for any extended periods of time and snuck out the back door to avoid attention, I'm assuming at least the people who do his laundry and change his sheets would eventually detect that some sort of funny business had happened. But the number of people who are in on it is still very very small and tightly controlled. His assistant Vittorio definitely knows and helps to manage this situation, so does his personal doctor, and on top of that maybe a handful of most trusted high-ranking emplyees, which he has vetted extremely carefully and pays handsomely for their discreetness and prudence.

[measlyfurball13]

I'm Still Here

Summary: Curly is rescued. He is given a voice. Supposedly.

---

It’s all a blur. Men in suits with helmets. Men in suits without. Any memories Curly might have of the rescue and its aftermath are blurred around the edges. He’s sure he drooled and screamed all through the process.

Funny. He doesn’t remember the pain. It’s as if his mind has painted over it in an easier color on the eyes. 

(He remembers her saying the same thing happens after childbirth-)

It’s only a few hours after the IV is jammed into his arm that reality crisps up again. He’s staring into the face of a nurse. The nurse is a he, and a different skin tone (than him) and utterly unrecognizable. That’s the first clue.

The second is the woman in the crisp suit. A lawyer, supposedly. Civil servant. Looking over him and sighing. Another woman enters and they discuss conservatorship. Curly doesn’t know what this means. He’s never had to worry about it. He grunts, even tries to form his lips into the shape of something, but nothing makes them turn to him and clue him in on anything. 

Next comes someone dressed in a slouched sweater pulling a cart. They’re setting up some sort of device around him. It takes several days though, and in the moments between the lawyer comes back, mutters a few things about an accident investigation, then disappears again.

The nurse usually doesn’t talk when he visits but one time he sits down in the chair across the room and solemnly says that both of Curly’s parents died in the time it took for the rescue team to find him and that his next of kin is a cousin. Cousin Sue, Curly guesses. She lived all the way in New York. 

The machine is completed. A screen hangs above his hospital bed. The person in the slouched sweater instructs him to look at the twenty-six letters on the screen, focus on the one he wants, and blink to select it. 

It takes him three hours to first produce the word “HELLO.” 

“Practice and you’ll get the hang of it.” Slouched sweater says.

Slouched sweater leaves. The nurse comes in. Moves the screen. Changes his bandages. Sets up the screen again. Leaves just before Curly can type “HELLO��� to him. 

(A single word. A single word. He would have given anything for just a single word to her.)

Now the lawyer drags the chair beside his bed and sits down. She’s holding a notepad and a pen. 

“Tell me,” she says, slowly, “what happened aboard the Tulpar.” 

He forgets to breathe. 

“What,” she says, “caused,” she says, “the accident?” 

Words pierce his brain like knives, his eye darts around the keyboard and his eyelid can’t keep up and it blinks without his command. Letters spill across the screen and he’s having to backspace them and-

The lawyer has put down the notepad and has opened her phone. She’s texting someone else. Then she takes a call. Then she answers some emails. 

-Curly finally blinks ‘send’ on the console, and a tinny voice reads out “JIMMY.” 

“Hmm?” The lawyer looks up from her phone. “Jimmy? As in, your co-pilot?” 

“Y” Curly sends, hoping that the lawyer can at least wrap her head around something as simple as that.

“Go on.” The lawyer urges.

Curly exhales against his bandages, and types “E” and “S”. 

“What about him?” 

“K”. Then “I”. “L” and “L”, the lawyer is pulling out her phone again. His eye hurts, it’s refusing to move at all now and this dumb bitch isn’t-

He flinches. God, he’s so sorry. He’s so sorry and she deserved none of this and maybe if he’d been a better man and not a goddamned coward and taken some responsibility then maybe she’d be listening to him right now instead.

The lawyer glances up from her phone. “Yes, Jimmy was found deceased. Your cryo pod was the only one functioning. It seems he gave up his spot for you. My condolences for your loss.” 

Something more burning than the fire rips through his stomach and he forces his eye back onto the screen. “E” and “D”, then space, then “E”, then “V”, “E” and “R”, “Y”, his vision is wavering, “O”, “N”, he can practically feel his non-existent hand tapping on the screen to finish the job, “E”. . .

His eyelid slams shut. He can tell, vaguely, that his cheek bandages are damp but whether that’s normal or from anything spilling out of his eye is beyond him. His neck twitches from the strain. 

He coughs. Forces his eye open. The lawyer looks at the screen. Looks back down at her phone. Looks at the screen again. Her eyebrows raise. 

“Are you sure?” She asks.

Of course I’m fucking sure! he could shout and shake her shoulders. 

“This was not the fault of Pony Express or its parent corporation?” 

“N”, then “O”, and now she’s actually paying attention. Something hungry lights up in her eyes, and she takes a picture of the screen and then starts furiously scribbling on her notepad. 

—

“-in this room right here, ma’am.” The nurse opens the door.

Curly looks over. Following the nurse is Cousin Sue, her blond locks he remembers now turned more platinum. She stops in the doorway and covers her mouth with her hands. 

“Were you not warned?” The nurse asks her.

She ignores him, running over by the bedside. “Oh you poor thing!” 

Curly tries to flick his eyes towards the screen, only for liquid lightning to pour into all his senses when she grabs the stump of his left arm. He chokes on air. The burning sensation lingers even as she jerks her hand away. 

“Take it easy, ma’am.” The nurse says.

“Why was it wet?” She mutters and shakes out her hand.

“Some leakage from blisters beneath the bandages. He’s okay. Try to be gentle.” 

“God. It’s horrific. I can hardly. . .”

The nurse drags her over a chair as if she might collapse any minute. Curly’s nerve endings are still on fire. She still hasn’t made eye contact with him. 

“H”, he types. “I”. Blinks to send. “HI.” 

“Hi.” She echoes. “He said hi.”

“The law firm hooked him up. That’s how we know the full story.”

It wasn’t the full story. It was the story told in simple enough words that the lawyer would stay awake while he typed. 

“God. What happened was. . . so terrible.” Sue covers her mouth. “I’m sure he did everything he could.” 

“I’ll leave you two alone now.” The nurse steps back.

The door clicks shut. Sue’s watery eyes rake up and down his frame. 

“It’s all that bastard’s fault, isn’t it? And to think you even invited him to a family reunion or two. I remember that.” 

Curly looks to the “N”. Blinks. Looks to the “O”. Blinks. Erases both. Blinks an “M”. Then a “Y”. Space. “F”. “A-”

“Disgusting man. Letting you get like this. I’m sorry about the rest of the crew as well, of course. At least they got the easy way out of things. . .” 

Curly stares at the wall behind the screen. Something inside his throat trembles. 

“What’s going on? Do you need something? Water? Water perhaps?” 

Sue looks around her before spotting the sink across the room. She grabs a cup from the nearby dispenser and fills it. Then she returns to his bedside, standing over him and then there’s his fingers on his chin opening his mouth and-

He gags. He sobs. Something wet splashes against the inside of his mouth (it’s blood it’s blood it’s blood) and nausea plays a soaring note above the chorus. 

He becomes nothing but a shivering pile of meat for a little. It’s more comfortable that way rather than trying to think. And when he opens his eyes again, Sue is gone. 

—

Curly knows there isn’t much time left. When Sue came back she talked about a private care home, and if there’s even a chance of the screen not coming with then he can’t risk it. He’s started typing only when there’s no one around to read it. It’s easier that way.

Sue and the nurse come in. They’re discussing something but Curly can hardly hear them until the nurse puts his hand on the swivel holding up the screen. Curly’s pulse lights up, and before anyone else can even breathe he blinks “send” on the console. 

The tinny voice reads each syllable as if it were reporting the weather. 

“I’M SORRY SWANSEA.”

“I’M SORRY DAISUKE.”

“ANYA. I’M SORRY. MY FAULT.” 

“I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED. DEAD PIXEL. INSTEAD OF THE BIG PICTURE.” 

Curly lets his eye droop down from the screen. 

“. . . what was all that?” Sue asks. 

The nurse comes over to his bedside. “Are you feeling alright?”

Curly doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t need to. 

All the words he could possibly offer are jammed. Like logs against the rocks beneath the water of the river he grew up by as a kid. Or traffic in the big city he moved to after moving out. Or a key in the wrong keyhole. (Or pills in his throat.)

All of these pictures he could paint. The only people who would find it worth the wait are all dead. Somehow Jimmy is among them. 

Damn it all. Curly stares at the ceiling. The nurse takes down the screen and then manhandles him into a wheelchair.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Fallen Order request is 'Small' for @foolinapril

Jaro would not say he forgets how small children are. It is simply that he so rarely encounters them that he has no need to recollect how tiny both they and their furnishings are. He has had apprentices before, certainly, but never one so young and therefore so small. Tiny, actually, would be more accurate. This youngling, Cal Kestis, is quite literally pocket-sized. Given what the Council has asked Jaro to take Cal into, he may very well place the child in a pocket to keep him safe.

The boy says goodbye to his clanmates, accepts a few clumsy hugs, waves one final time, and joins Jaro. His lightsaber swings on his hip, the hilt nearly as long as his leg. He has a tiny carryall that likely only carries a few changes of clothes. Jedi, after all, do not have possessions. That’s alright. They will need to stop by the quartermaster to pick up the necessary supplies a growing Padawan will require.

And Cal must grow. Fast.

The boy stares up (and up) at Jaro, gamely trying to mask the tears shimmering in his eyes. “I’m ready, Master Tapal.” His voice is so small it sounds like the squeak of the Temple mice.

Nodding, Jaro leads the way out of the youngling dorms. Cal’s footsteps pitter patter rapidly behind him, and Jaro remembers he must slow his pace for such a small pair of legs. He should review standard Human growth patterns. He knows enough to recognise Cal will be small for some time yet, and even fully grown, he will be significantly shorter than Jaro.

It is early morning and the Temple’s corridors are quieter than ever. So many Jedi are absent, called into service for the GAR. Jaro and Cal will only evade that fate for a few short months as they adjust to their new partnership.

They reach their shared quarters. Jaro opens the door and shows Cal in. They enter his chambers. Cal looks around wide-eyed. Jaro took care to requisition new furniture to avoid the likelihood of triggering Cal’s psychometry. A desk, a chair, and a rather tall cabin bed. Cal’s clan master, Petra Entola, told him Cal liked high places.

Yes, they have much to do in these few short months.

“Do you like it, Padawan?”

“Yes, Master,” Cal says, placing his bag upon the floor. “I’ve never had my own room before.” And then he shrugs. “Not that I remember anyway. I like it.”

There is, however, a slight buzz of confusion in the air.

“You are certain?”

“Uh huh!”

He sounds cheery enough. Jaro gives Cal a brief tour (there isn’t much to see beyond a common living space, a small kitchen, a refresher that must seem very large to Cal, and Jaro’s own room. They leave again shortly after the tour to gather supplies from the quartermaster, stop in the mess hall for breakfast, and then take a walk around the Room of a Thousand Fountains. After lunch, they meditate together and Jaro allows the boy to burn off some nervous energy in the dojo. As expected, Cal warms up as the day goes on and finds lots of questions to ask, all of which Jaro is happy to answer.

By the end of the long day, Cal yawns and drags his feet all the way back to their quarters. He is surprisingly efficient in the refresher, and is soon clad in pyjamas, rubbing his eyes, and off to bed.

Jaro has just made himself some tea when he hears a rather distinct crash. Rushing to his Padawan’s room, he finds Cal safely on his bed…

His desk, however, has tipped over and hit the floor face first.

“What happened?”

“Oh, I didn’t see a ladder so I figured this was a challenge!” Cal says brightly.

“A challenge?”

“Yeah – how to get into bed. So, I stood on the desk and jumped, except the desk kinda… fell.”

Suddenly, the morning’s brief hint of confusion makes perfect sense.

“Tomorrow, we will find a ladder,” Jaro says.

[nonbinarylesbianherb]

guys... I think agathario could genuinely have the potential to become a hyperfixation for me as intense and as long as rhaenicent has been...

[insanelyadd]

Saw something and was reminded I needed to post the updated version of this image.

[the-owl-house-blorbo-brawl]

Main Bracket Quarter Final 4: King Clawthorne vs Hunter

The winner of the poll qualifies for the semi-finals. The loser is relegated in the loser bracket.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

QUARTER-FINALS MATCH 3

Claude propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

Milo propaganda:

“they were in the last contest sure but i feel like they could get farther. like they're literally a nonbinary grim reaper that's also an influencer and sure sometimes the influencer stuff can get kinda overwhelming i feel like it's very clear that they care about you and want to be around you. you guys go on a reaping date. their eyes and nail colour change based on their mood too and i think it's a really cute detail!! also SLIGHT SPOILERS but they even reference rocky horror in their special ending. they are perfect to me and i love them and i believe they deserve a second chance <3”

"Vote for Milo because they deserve it

They're literally so attractive

- They are a social media influencer

- They are obsessed with an adorable little kitty and will do everything in their power to make this cat the most beloved creature in existence

- They love makeovers and helping their friends rebrand (this includes working with Damien and the PC to help Jerry the Murderer rebrand so that they really has a brand identity)

- They are a grim reaper and even help the PC plan the PC's own funeral (special ending) and they give a great speech and it's super sweet

- They will sometimes take the PC on reaping jobs with them and shenanigans ensues

So in summation, vote for Milo because, as I repeat, they deserve it"

[kelvingemstone]

always thinking about young cersei lannister in casterly rock! the walls the same colour as her hair. her eyes the same colour as the hangings on the walls. her golden lannister mother dead and the only people left her golden lannister family. the bards playing the rains of castamere every other month under her windows. the crest embroidered into her clothes and stamped into the doors and engraved into the pommels of her guards. the sandstone building up on the hill looking down at its people and sandstone cersei never emerging from it -- golden bird in golden cage becoming golden cage...her blood the same colour as her house!!!!