#dark laughter

[thefrankshow]

Dark Laughter

[thenymphwithpointedtoes]

hiding place

[zu-is-here]

Can I please see more preg Cross?

He’s an angel. Hugs and kisses to him and Dream for being such good parents to Aim. (btw, when are Killer and Night gunna have a kid?😋)

[majestativa]

You transformed me into a wolf, and a wolf I shall remain. But up to now, I have only clawed my chest; tomorrow I will want other blood. Don’t beg for mercy then. You have written on my brain: carnage. And carnage it is.

— Bruno Filippi, The Rebel’s Dark Laughter: The Writings of Bruno Filippi, transl by Wolfi Landstreicher, (2009)

[alarrylarrie]

The absolute lack of human decency is truly startling these days and is leaving me at a total loss for words.

Liam Payne was a person.

He was a person.

A person.

[breezypunk]

There's nothing more relaxing than sitting on your terrace with a gorgeous sunset and the love of your life. Could it get any more sweeter? Probably not.

[liquidlightandrunningtrees]

And that’s how you go on. You lay laughter over the dark parts. The more dark parts, the more you have to laugh. With defiance, with abandon, with hysteria, any way you can.

Laini Taylor, Strange the Dreamer

[zarnzarn]

Hermes: this is unfair. you are all MY descendants WHERE is the loyalty???

Athena, sipping sedately on wine and being cuddled by grey-eyed ithakans: you're welcome to come to family debate night if you want

[wahroh]

Moving on.

[thedarksorcerer]

WAR FOR THE SORCERER’S CROWN

Aka: THE SORCERER WAR

@lead-sorcerer @the-silliest-sorcerer @sorceress-foxgirl-lilac @hat-of-knowledge @sorcery-and-socialism @sorcererest-sorcerer

Uranos, the Dark Sorcerer, stands at the top of the Island’s volcano. The sky is dark with storm clouds. Crimson lightning heralds the deep rolling thunder that sounds almost like war drums.

(In the minds of every sorcerer, a voice dictates his message)

SORCERERS! HEED MY CALL!

LET ME REMIND YOU OF WHY WE FIGHT AND WHY WE ARE SO FEW!

(Just as the voice spoke, a cacophony of images enters the sorcerers’ minds. They show a war, long and bloody, and at the center of this war, a crown. The Sorcerer’s Crown, which grants the wearer dominion over all sorcerers.)

(Then, how the war ended. @sorcererest-sorcerer cast a spell to erase all participants of the war from time and memory, so that war never happened, destroying nearly all the sorcerers on Wizard Island Island.)

NOW RALLY, AND LET US SETTLE THIS MATTER ONCE AND FOR ALL!!!

[lotusyiyen]

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 7

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1554

Written: 22nd December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

He's been relegated to picking up supplies. You'd thrust a list at him that morning, and he'd almost seen a tail behind you, flicking and curling like a question mark.

It isn't the first time you've had him wrapped around your finger, requesting his assistance. Normally you only ask when you're sick, desperate for supplies and he's available. (He'll always be available.)

Still, this time you've handed him a list for crafts, shoved him from his own base, and you peppered his face in kisses before he can even respond or argue. 

Not that he would, but he wishes you would at least come shopping with him. He's found himself enjoying the domesticity of you puttering around aisles while he pushes a trolley. If he takes his eyes off you, you'll steal the trolley and go skidding down an empty aisle.

Which is how he stands now, in the living room of his base, hands full of arts and crafts supplies, while he stares at a tree he doesn't remember buying.

It's twinkling with lights half done, but otherwise it bears no decoration. The twins are balancing on each other's shoulders trying to throw the multicoloured flashing lights up towards the top of it. You're there underneath, ready to catch them if them.

He's pretty sure someone's going to end up with a broken bone. (Which he does not want to explain to the doctor.)

With a flick of his finger, black and red swirling mist quickly remove lights from hands and twist them around the top of the tree. Gently, and carefully.

He's only slightly smug, smirk in full, when you turn to him in surprise. He's even more smug when your face instantly warms, eyes twinkling at him.

If he were really a crow, his feathers would poof up and he'd preen. Instead he wipes his hand on his shirt collar and extends the bags he's holding, "For you, kitten."

Your whirlwind of activity rushes over, the twins wobbling before they manage to detangle themselves, grabbing at the bag and pulling them to the floor. Separating things out.

He watches absently, but you're focused and tapping on your chin as you think, so he abandons you to your considerations to make himself useful. Warm drinks in hand before he returns to you.

Sylus finds you showing the twins how to fold and make ornaments with coloured paper. He hesitates at the door, if you had wanted ornaments, why did you not just ask for them? He could have ordered any number. Any colour. Anything you wanted.

He's again unsettled by a strange uncomfortable dissatisfaction, you do not make it easy to provide for you. To satisfy every desire. He wonders how you became someone who holds them so close to the chest, scared to want, all over again. He offers hot chocolate to the twins, and frothed coffee to you, (the smell never gets better), before sitting next to you on the floor, cross legged and curious.

You look over and grin, and for a second he sees ears tilting forwards in mischief, pupils blown and ready to pounce. "We didn't have a lot growing up, so me and Caleb would make ornaments for the tree with Gran. The twins wanted to try..." there's a question there that you want to ask but you can't quite... get the words out.

He can read you well enough to know the hesitation, and he leans in, voice low, fingers brushing your cheek, "Show me."

Sylus prides himself on learning, he's good at picking up skills, but he cannot be said to be creative. He is, however, good at following steps. He does, however, enjoy trying.

It's not a new skill that will be useful for anything other than moments like this, but truthfully if he only ever learned skills for moments like this, he'd be a happier fiend than he has any right to.

The twins decide to get pens and decorate the shapes he folds, while you sit nearby fretting over a new challenge. He finds himself looking over and peering but you catch him and point at his hands in an unspoken order. Focus.

He chuckles, only you would dare to order him about, and only you would gain his obedience as he follows your orders.

As they end up with a pile of... he's not sure he'd call anything he and the twins have made art, the fish would surely have something to say if he tried, he already dreads the upcoming conversation, but you're thrilled and excited as you come over to look. Picking up paper baubles and stars that the twins have drawn silly faces on.

There's a happy flush to Luke and Kieran's face as you wholeheartedly approve, and he swallows a lump in his throat that he doesn't really understand. Yet he wants to cry, he thinks, and he's not really sure why. Or what caused it.

He doesn't linger, doesn't have time, as you're pushing him towards the tree, "You get the top, Luke, middle, Kieran, bottom." Then you're running off.

He's starting to think the holidays are a little too much trouble... (Warm, vibrant, comforting.) That lilting voice that sounds like yours again.

Your soul is always so noisy, he muses, warmed and placated.

They're almost done when you come back, this time you're not as energetic. There's waves coming off you, nerves and anxiety rippling under skin. He pauses, where he's about to hang a star, and looks down  at you. As soon as he does you swallow, shoving a cardboard box into his arms.

Not a box? It has numbers on it?

"We-" you swallow past the nerves and push on. Ever ready to fight a monster. Even if the monster is yourself, "also used to make calendars for each other. It's late, so it's only twelve days." He catches your hand before it scratches at your arm, smoothing his thumb over your fingers and then rubbing circles into your palm. He blinks down at the thing, and sees today. He drops the star he's holding unceremoniously and presses the little cardboard flap open.

The calendar is decorated with a picture of a crow surrounded by presents. He remembers the fish encouraging your artistic pursuits, and while he's not sure if it's good, he never seems to be sure if it's good... he knows he likes it.

Inside is a hand wrapped chocolate and a small note.

Day one - A reminder that I love you, and appreciate you always, thank you Sylus.

You're still fidgeting, and at this point the twins have peeked their heads over to stare at his bounty. The longer he stares, the more he realises he has to speak, has to respond but his throat feels closed and his chest is so tight. It hurts. It hurts.

"If it's stupid you don't have to-"

He drops his calendar and he presses you into his chest. He's sure if he were better practiced in his emotions he'd cry. Instead he just encompasses you in his body, squeezing and holding and drowning in you. He nips at your cheek, hand squeezing your face, he wants to bite and chew and claw and scratch.

He can't understand and he doesn't want to hurt, but he breathes you in. Relieved he has no tail to betray him, wagging furiously. You're giggling at his reaction, trying to pull away from his rough handling, calling his name out like knives in his heart, and he finally kisses you. Over and over and over. Tasting his name on your lips and your love in his heart.

Then he startles, pulling away quickly to see that thankfully the twins had caught his gift, the note and the chocolate. Placing it on the side. They're giving him a look like he's a fool, he might be, because he has an evol that can move things for him. Instead his foolish body betrayed him.

"Hunter! Do we get one?" Luke calls, pouting, and you keep a hold on Sylus' hand. Grounding him as he looks at your note over and over, pressing your thumb into his wrist, and smoothing his rapid uneven heartbeat there.

Still you extend a makeshift calendar to the twins, one each, identical except for the names. He can tell that you'd been careful to match every line. "Of course."

He absently notes that you've left four more on the side. The fish, the doctor, the prince and an untouched one for your family. The note is finally placed in his pocket, right over his heart, where he knows he'll keep it until it's worn and unreadable. Not that it matters, because he'll remember it always.

As you watch him smooth his fingers over it, you laugh, "You know there's eleven more days of those right?" Your nerves are still simmering, he can tell, but you're thrilled for his reaction and eased with his earnestness and joy. He lets your words settle and then darts to the calendar on the side, he hears the twins opening theirs but barely cares.

You panic when you realise he's going to just tear the thing open for more of your feelings recorded in pretty stationary paper, before you throw yourself at his back, "Sylus! No! They're for other days!"

[hi-intrepid-heroes]

WHY IS SHE LIKE THIS

[majestativa]

Should I really […] unveil myself before you?

— Bruno Filippi, The Rebel’s Dark Laughter: The Writings of Bruno Filippi, transl by Wolfi Landstreicher, (2009)

[definitelynotshouting]

having the constitution of a sickly victorian child is so fucking funny sometimes. "dearest friends, i have greatly enjoyed this single hour at the jackbox soiree, but i am afraid my strength is failing me, and i must now retire lest i suffer a megrim. please excuse my absence; i will be recovering in my rooms." its like im sending myself to the seaside for my health but the fresh air is just me crouched in the middle of a dark room petting the cat

[thebellekeys]

Superior Subgenre: Race Satire by WOC

Here are my recommendations for satirical contemporary books by women of colour about racial fetishization and white neoliberals. Highly recommend these three books if you want to laugh, introspect, and marinate on how American society and institutions are being cooked by the culture war.