#THE CRACKERS ARE DONE

[foxyk7]

{COMMISSIONS}

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Congratulations to TEAM CHEESE for winning the popular vote on the Charcuterie poll!

[crickit-song]

Insane insane insane

"The failures of your mentors and parallels were that they were alone! You are not alone, Miles Edgeworth! You have Mr. Wright!" Lana that is so fucking cheesy I'm going to go insane

The homoerotic subtext is FUCKING TEXT.

"Yeah Edgeworth, we'll discover the truth together! We (I have to emphasize this) COULD ONLY HAVE DONE IT TOGETHER"

[xivymoonartx]

✨ Emoji Commission for @veiledbyart ✨

[ivefallenforyouandicantgetup]

[hyperionwitch]

Meanwhile oh my goooooddddddd KOS-MOS

[spiderbitesandvampirevenom]

you know you're cooked when the scouser is the most valuable white contributor to a training exercise about cultural awareness

[kittaykattz]

[memento-morri-writes]

whump wednesday - part iii

tw / tags: concussion, blood, bleeding out, loss of consciousness character: Rook (who else?) status: canon (took place several irl months ago as part of Rook’s first “Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Weekend”.) wordcount: 525

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Another continuation from earlier. The party has now made it back to the Winters' manor. Having lost a lot of blood since being revived (on top of his concussion), Rook is in pretty bad shape. His mentor, Sigmar, is attempting to get him to the Winters' healers.

Rook’s eyes drifted closed, the oblivion of sleep calling to him. A sharp prod at his side dragged them reluctantly back open.  “Rook, you need to stay awake. Just a little bit longer, until a healer can have a look at you.” Sigmar’s voice was serious as he half-dragged, half-carried Rook down the hall of the Winters’ manor.  Rook groaned in response. He was exhausted, and every inch of his body ached. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and fall headlong into unconsciousness. Sigmar prodded him again. “Tell me what happened to you. How you ended up in this state.”

Rook thought hard for a moment. How had he ended up like this? He remembered Celestia, and healing the party, and then- Oh, right. He started to explain, his words running together as he spoke. “This werewolf guy showed up. Deadringer?” Sigmar’s body tensed but he said nothing. “And he wanted Warren. Warren and Cherry, I think.” He paused, trying to remember what had happened after that. “He… he wanted to hurt them. So I told him he’d have to go through me first. And he said ‘Deal.’ and threw me across the room. I… I think one of his werebeasts killed me.” He felt rather than saw Sigmar shake his head. “I should never have left you. If I’d known she’d bring Deadringer into this… I shouldn’t have let you go off to fight someone like him without me.” Once again, Rook was surprised at the weight of the emotion in his mentor’s voice. He wanted to say It’s not your fault. Or maybe, I would have done it anyway, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. So instead he just rested his head on Sigmar’s shoulder. The damp chill that had come over him on the way here was getting stronger and he leaned into Sigmar’s warmth. “‘S cold,” he mumbled. Sigmar picked up the pace a bit, a worried edge creeping into his voice. “Come on, come on. Just a little further.” Rook’s eyes were heavy, and his awareness of the world was fading. He heard a door open, was vaguely aware of a brightly lit, white-painted room, of being laid down on a bed. He could hear people talking urgently, unfamiliar voices joining Sigmar’s. His muddled mind only caught fragments of their words. “Concussion… Severe… Significant blood loss… Not enough… ”  Sigmar’s raised voice cut through the fog. “Help him, damn you!” It sounded very far away, as though coming from another room. Multiple sets of hands touched his skin, and the familiar warmth of healing magic (when had being healed become familiar again?, he wondered dimly) flooded his body. The cold, clammy feeling faded away. The constant pain he had stopped registering some time ago subsided, leaving blissful neutrality in its wake. His head cleared slightly too, blurred reality coming back into focus for a brief moment. Distant voices reached his ears, borne by that momentary clarity. “It’s safe for him to sleep now. He’ll be fine after some rest.” As if his body needed no further reassurance, Rook’s mind relaxed, and within seconds he sank into a deep sleep.

[celiacdyke]

fish & chips w lemon dill mayo

[snarp]

They think they eat cheese

(the cats)

[riveroverthesky]

Book: Irene Adler “The Woman” is a famous opera singer and actress, and one of four people to ever beat Sherlock Holmes in a battle of wits. Adler loves her husband dearly and only keeps hold of the blackmail she has over the Duke in order to keep herself safe, and will never reveal the photo to the public as long as he leaves them alone. Holmes never shows any romantic interest in Adler, or anyone for that matter, and only ever admires her for her wit and cunning.

Every adaption after: Irene Adler is a femme fatale, hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes, and some combination of a wanted criminal and dominatrix. Adler is allowed to beat Holmes ONCE, in order to teach him humility, but after that he needs to beat/save her in order to adhere to the status quo, and undo the lesson Book!Holmes learnt in the first place. This is somehow more feminist.

[thelastspeecher]

I just discovered that in Roman Catholic Communion, gluten-free versions of the little crackers or bread aren't provided bc the Vatican has decided that it has to be wheat in order to be valid.

and while most people may just be able to have the wine or whatever and avoid the crackers, the priests have to have BOTH. even if they have fucking CELIAC'S.

which has resulted in the Church saying "maybe we shouldn't allow priests who can't have gluten and/or alcohol".

(which is ableist but I mean do we expect better from the Catholic Church)

I am so incredibly riled up over this and I'm not even Catholic.

[gingerpeachtea]

i feel like i keep swinging wildly back and forth between "yeah i definitely need therapy" and "why am i doing this i don't need this i'm fine on my own i can cope perfectly fine"

[goldengodcannibal]

the conviction with which people so truly believe in God.

[cranephdr]

@sillyjokes continued from here

"I've seen the reports." The dim hallway lighting separating their cells glares at Jon's glasses. A ghostly pale and icy blue eye meets the face of stark white skin and seemingly painted red lips grinning across from him. "The pictures of the crime scenes. Very profound." He adjusts the wireframes back onto the ridge of his aquiline nose. "You're quite the talk among the water coolers. None of the other doctors can figure out what's wrong with you."

His voice is raspy when he speaks, and his hair brushes against his thin shoulders with every turn of his head. A long fall from grace, he who once found himself on the other side of these bars now finds himself surrounded by them. A voice across the hall is his only company—the one patient left unanswered. Long fingers grip around the window bars of his cell. He smiles at him, lips shut. "You're rather popular inside Arkham walls."