#for theatrical effect

[adorablegorilla]

Guess whose been failing 14-21 for the past hour because they forgot they could switch Amiya's class back to Caster 🙃

[probablyasocialecologist]

[unproduciblesmackdown]

the interlude in rotk of frodo exerting all effort against the strains of woodwinds to drag himself a meter or so further up mount doom

[toucheholland23]

Its Karaoke night 🕺💃 (they’re singing a metal version of Let It Go)

[netfleecking]

esther's "evil" plan was so roundabout that it's hilarious, especially in lieu of the fact that she's perfectly capable of bashing someone to death with her iron cane.

so instead of straight up beating up the dead boys, she chose to:

• transform her crow into a twink

• buy a dangerous fungus from tragic mick's

• send crow-boy to seduce her targets and lure them into the forest

• spend days growing the dangerous fungus

• stalk the dead boys to observe their interactions with her crow

• release the dangerous fungus into the woods and hope it does the job

[gumi-writes]

So. I was in the mood to get my thoughts out on this part of Ais’ profile:

on ais | limits unmet, unmatched

It’s obvious that Ais enjoys a good fight, but the inclusion of how he dislikes ones that are easy is an interesting, incredibly illustrative one. Seeking out violence is one thing, and such reasoning behind it can vary widely, but wanting your opponent to be a match for you is another, far more specific matter.

You’re not searching for someone to dominate, for starters—and in fact the idea bores you to the point where surely the energy spent on such lacklustre opposition would annoy you more than anything else. A waste, and an irksome one at that—there’s no sport in something that doesn’t make him work hard.

And he undeniably likes to work for it. Ais is quick to curiosity (though less in the wide-eyed sense and much more in the kind of scrutiny to intensify an already intense gaze) but even quicker to losing interest. If the novelty of the unknown is lost, then there has to be something else worth the sustained attention, otherwise Ais will move on to the next thing without looking back.

As a result, anything that can capture his attention is likely making it hard for him in some way. It would be beneath him, otherwise—what’s the point in all that tempered strength and honed acuity if it has nowhere to go?  

But he does get restless, is the thing. An aspect of disliking isolation is surely the boredom that comes with it, and sometimes you have to make do. So you fight. And you fuck. And if you’re lucky, the person on the other end will make it worth your while. The years of experience you have in reading people might be of actual use, just like the stamina and endurance you’ve built up, and what an exciting thought that is.

Enough to make you search—rather actively—for it. And you can’t search for such a thing without seeking someone to meet your standards. Singular, because I do believe Ais would stop looking once he’s found the right person—while he’s definitely a whore (lol) when it comes to sleeping around, I don’t think he has quite the same mindset when it comes to bloodshed and the act of gratifying himself through it.

For that matter, I have a theory that Ocudeus occupying some part of Ais is a direct consequence of Ais’ hunt for an absolute equal. He definitely fucked around and found out, but it wasn’t what he was looking for, and because Ais is a glutton for particular punishment with absolutely no shame to spare, he hasn’t let it stop him. With reckless, heedless abandon, he hasn’t let it stop him.

Idle hands seemed a fate far worse, and never mind that the alternative made him look like a masochist. Not in the most basic of sense of the word, but how else would you describe his drive to find someone to get entangled with in the most satisfyingly violent way possible? It’s not about the pain, and he is annoyingly not pathetic about it, but Ais is a masochist in how thoroughly he wants his limits tested. He can take it. Have you seen him? He can take it, and—fucked up as he is—he wants to.

Especially since—and this is an additional theory here—Ais either has accelerated healing, hasn’t met anyone that can mark him to any significant extent, or both. This pairs quite well—or poorly—with how his lack of self-preservation bespeaks a morbid fascination with his own mortality, the most curiosity inducing thing of all.

Not that he’s in a hurry to get himself killed, and there is pride preventing him from being an outright deathseeker, but if the right person were to come along…

…then dying at the hands of someone worthy would have been well worth it.

[touchlikethesun]

so when i first said that wangxian are the type of couple to pretend like they don’t know each other, just so that they can flirt and experience the thrill of the chase all over again, i would like it to be known that i hadn’t read the novels at that point i had no idea that that was actually canon but boy am i glad it is

[mariocki]

Le frisson des vampires (The Shiver of the Vampires, 1971)

"This is where the living make a religion of respecting the dead. This is where the dead make a religion of preserving their lives."

[cashewally-sarcastic]

(Venlumi) okay so remember that silly wedding idea? What if they are talking about it with Jean before hand and she's like "wait who's going to take who's last name?" and the two look at each other like oh shit neither of us has a last name

Wedding's cancelled they need to invent a last name

[aurosoul]

does anyone have a link to the pierce and suck cicada post I NEED it it's an emergency

[prettyboykatsuki]

In “HOW TO BE A DOG” (which I return to so so so often because it is so extremely beautifully, carefully written and I am in awe of your talent) does Gojo ever let her return to her career? How private is he about their relationship? Does she get to meet his side of the world?

i feel like i need to make an FAQ for htbad at some point because i get a lot of questions about this specific thing which i understand!! it doesn't bother me cause i get the curiosity but i left the end open so people could imagine whatever they like

in general gojo gives reader a lot of freedom(in a way) but he always tags a long with her. i don't know if he'd let reader keep working as a teacher forever (though i think its possible for a while), but since she can see curses i can see him forcing him to work w him at jujutsu high. she is very familiar with his side of the world as are his students and thats mostly because there gojo can parade her around with complete control and no one really questions it.

obviously no one knows that he is deeply insane and unhinged but a lot of people catch wind in the jujutsu world and sort of stand by. megumi + shoko are especially conscious but again, its not like they can't really do anything so they're nice to her in his place.

a lot of readers isolation comes from the fact she no longer has any real autonomy and she knows that. gojo will reward her for good behavior, so i think its possible for her to keep her job under the basis gojo doesn't think she'll try to go running her mouth etc but reader would def do just that given the chance. i think it'd take gojo some convincing that reader could behave but in all honesty i highly doubt she would want too

[waltergamersposts]

Cuphead Show in Theatrical form

[myplasticadversary]

I wish I could taste one of their prop sugar hearts

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

By the very scientific method of "flip a coin", it was ultimately decided that today would be another Splinter Cell follow-up

Sig strode through the makeshift mess hall in the weapons factory with a confidence that drew eyes to him immediately. He swung himself up onto a chair and placed two fingers in his mouth to shatter the quiet with a piercing whistle. Instantly, he had everyone's attention.

"Listen up, rebels!" Sig barked, "There's been a change in operations! Jak’s just secured the backing of the Wastelander nation in this war."

A foreign ally? The motley gathering began to whisper amongst themselves. The majority had never even heard of Wastelanders having an entire nation. But they did know that Wastelanders had a reputation for finding rare treasures and selling them to the highest bidder. Having them fund the war against Praxis could either spell victory or trouble, depending on what they wanted in return.

"What's this gang-"

"Nation," Sig corrected.

"Yeah, that. What's their angle?" A woman named Kloe demanded.

Sig's eye glinted dangerously. "Payback. Praxis thought he could kidnap Wasteland kids and let the Marauders take the fall for it."

He slammed a fist into his palm.

"They're gonna help you shape up into a real fighting force. We Wastelanders will take point in any heavy firefights and strategic planning. You'll be crucial for intel and evacuation routes. We work together, maybe we'll bring down the Baron before he gets half the city killed with his stupidity."

Bran, a barrel-chested tailor, folded his thick arms and scowled. "And what happens when the war is over, eh? These Wastelanders planning to leave peacefully?"

"Fair enough," a youngster agreed from across the table. "That's how we ended up with Praxis in the first place, right? How do we know these people don't want to take over?"

From the side of the room, a new voice scoffed, "Oh you need not worry. I have no desire to rule this city again."

A grizzled man sat in the corner, arms folded across his chest. Half in shadow, he observed them all with keen eyes. On the scaffold above him, others in the garb of Wastelanders stood, feigning disinterest. Jak, Daxter, and Tess leaned against the railing, watching the man below with curiosity.

"I may not respect the choices you've all made in my absence, but I'll respect your rejection of the House of Mar."

He raised one brow.

"Personally, I disagree with the notion that a bloodline is what gives someone the right to rule."

Damas leaned back and let his eyes wander over the twenty or thirty individuals at the fold-out tables. The younger rebels seemed confused by his appearance. Those closer to his own age sat frozen, shock coloring their faces. They remembered him. They recognized him, even after 16 years of change. It was gratifying, in a way.

"If you mean to ask whether there is a "catch" to my aid, I will not lie to you," he said. "We are not helping you for free. But when the Baron’s head has been freed from his shoulders, you will all do with the city as you see fit, and we will return home."

One of the older members of Daxter's "Fight United" division stood up. Her eyes weren't what they used to be, but she could still operate a Titan Suit with deadly efficiency. Now she squinted across the tables to the corner.

"It really is you, isn't it?" she asked, "King Damas? Most of us were afraid Praxis had murdered you in secret."

"He would have," Damas answered bluntly, "but the Precursors have always taken a bizarre and not entirely welcome interest in the fate of my House, to the point of several Council members deeming it blasphemy to kill an Heir of Mar before the Precursors can do something absolutely ridiculous to them."

Above him, Jak choked on a laugh and hastily pulled away from the rail to hide his smirk. He knew there were enough devotees of the Precursors in the Factory Cell that laughing could step on some toes. Normally, that wouldn't have mattered to him. But since most of the devout were in Daxter's Titan Suit squad, he didn't want to make his best friend's life any harder than necessary.

Kloe leaned out from her seat, as little less confident now that she knew the leader of this foreign ally was the lost king of her own city. Among her generation, there were still a lot of mixed feelings about his reign. Most agreed that he'd been a failure as a leader during the Metalhead War, but sixteen years had softened blame into an acknowledgment that he'd come to the throne a boy, forced into manhood too soon. To throw the weight of an entire city of innocents onto such young shoulders without offering a hand in support had led to catastrophe. He hadn't been ready to rule, but after seeing the alternative, the older generation didn't blame him anymore.

"King- King Damas." Kloe swallowed her nerves. "You didn't answer my question. What's your angle? Can't just be payback, or you'd probably have assassinated Praxis by now. What is it you want from us?"

Damas didn’t take his eyes off the gathered crowd. He pointed upward, right to where Jak stood with Tess above them.

"Him," he answered bluntly. "I'm taking Jak."

The room burst into an uproar.

"You can't just "take" Jak! He's our best fighter!"

"Jak?! Why the heck would you want him?!"

"King or no king, we don't trade kids for favors!"

"What do you even want him for?"

"Dude, that's a bad idea! Have you seen what that guy is like?!"

"Sig, you're not letting him take our tank, right?"

Sig cut through the protests with another sharp whistle.

"Everybody zip it!" he shouted.

When the room had quieted, he stepped down from the chair and walked between the tables.

"I understand your concern. Nice to see y'all showing more concern for Jak than some cells. But let me remind you that, like a couple others of you here, Jak’s a kid. Not a soldier. When this whole mess is done, you rugrats deserve the chance to go where you want. See the world. Don't you think?"

Some of the younger members exchanged glances. Well. That was different, wasn't it?

Jinx ground his unlit cigar into the tabletop. "Bull. Prettyboy, you ain't cut out for the wastes, believe me. You really gonna go with them when this is all over?"

The boy looked away.

"Yes."

"Jak?" A round-faced teen from the Scout Flies division frowned up at him. "Are you...are you really okay with this?"

Jak was quiet for a moment, like he wasn't sure what to say. Then he raised his eyes, and with an almost guilty expression, he croaked,

"Yes."

"Jak, you can't-"

"Yes I can!"

The sharpness in his words caught them all off guard, himself included. He winced slightly.

"Look- I can take care of myself, okay? It's fine. We get the numbers and firepower to take down Praxis, they get me, and I get to go as far away from the Baron's labs as possible. Everybody wins."

It seemed selfish to tell them that he had always planned to leave once the Baron was dead. Not everyone in the Factory Cell liked him, or saw him as more than a walking weapon of mass destruction. But four weeks of operating as a splinter cell was enough to forge at least a sense of camaraderie. They were all wary of him, even the ones that liked him -- except for a couple senseless kids who looked up to him for some godforsaken reason -- but they depended on him. They had expectations of him, and knowing that he couldn't fulfill them turned Jak's stomach and tightened his chest.

He pushed off of the rail and swallowed.

"I'll um. I'll see you at the next briefing."

Phobos turned and followed him up the scaffolding, through a short antechamber covered in buttons and dials to what used to be a testing room. She wasn't wearing her wrap in her hair anymore: currently it was functioning as a sling to hold Mar on her back. Bored by the adults talking and talking and talking, Mar had fallen asleep until the shouting started. He blinked sleepily over his mother's shoulder at Jak, then dropped his head back down with a tired grumble.

"So you've decided for sure?"

Phobos frowned at Jak.

"I don't want you to feel that our help is dependent on you coming home with us."

Jak tilted his head. "Would you still help if I didn't?"

"We wouldn't wait for your cell to be ready." Phobos bounced Mar a little higher on her back and glanced back towards the hall.

"If this was the city you'd chosen to live in, Da- your- your father would already be on his way to kill Praxis without you, to make the city safe for you."

"Why?"

The boy spun on his heel and forced himself to look this Other Mother -- as if he'd even known one mother -- in the eye.

"You don't know me."

"Not yet, no. Is that a requirement for wanting you to be safe?" asked Phobos, with a hint of a wry smile.

Jak shut his mouth quickly. That was a hard question to answer. Usually, knowing him meant people started throwing him toward danger. Made sense that the strangers were the ones being protective if they just saw some random teenager playing soldier. Once they saw him in action, they'd change their tune.

"But Jak-" Phobos seemed to glide forward, reaching up to tuck a loose curl behind Jak's ear. "Do you actually want to come to Spargus with us?"

He leaned into her touch the slightest bit, like a skittish crocadog. If Sig was right, Phobos realized, he was likely starved for affection. What kind of life had this Other Mar led? What, exactly, had the Baron done? The boy had mentioned laboratories. The very word made Phobos's blood curdle.

What have they done to you, child?

She eased closer.

Jak's eyes darted this way and that. He opened his mouth, but the words faltered on his tongue. After a few false starts, at last he gathered himself and looked up. His resolve broke the instant he glimpsed Mar's curls over Phobos's shoulder.

Mar was safe now. But what about him?

"I have to get out of this city," he whispered, as if afraid of being overheard. "I have- I have to- to see the sky again. The real sky."

The words spilled out despite his attempts to stop them.

"I'm not- I'm not going to leave Mar. Where he goes, I go. Please- please don't leave me here."

What a pathetic plea. Jak cringed internally. Two years -- two and a half, now -- he'd managed without ever begging for escape. Not from his captors, not from his abusers, not even from the Underground. But after the glimpse of the Wastes Sig had shown him, after the possibility of freedom had been dangled before him, how could Jak ever go back?

He couldn't quite interpret the emotion in Phobos's eyes. But she opened her arms and held her hands palm up, where he could see them. She made no moves towards him, instead asking, "Jak, may I?"

No one had ever asked him that before. He either got hugged, or he didn't. Usually, with the dark eco running under his skin, he didn't like hugs. He was wary of sudden movement, and even when it was telegraphed, the eco made his skin so much more sensitive than it would be otherwise. Which often made tight squeezes unbearable. But ever since Mar's father had used the light eco on him, things felt more...more settled. Restrained.

Did he want a hug?

He wasn't a baby, or some helpless victim. He was a monster. A survivor. An ex-hero.

....a kid.

Just a kid.

"I...uh, okay."

Jak grimaced and sternly told himself not to look desperate.

The embrace lasted for only a moment or two, but for those brief heartbeats Jak wondered at how safe he felt. Was this how Mar felt when he carried him around after nightmares? How Keira felt whenever Samos used to hug her when they were kids?

Jak had told himself often that he had plenty of human contact in the form of Daxter. But now he wondered if Tess was right about that "touch-starved" thing she was talking about the other week.

Phobos released him gently and stepped back to hoist Mar higher on her back again. Sympathy lined her eyes, but Jak didn't feel pitied. He felt seen.

Mar yawned and Phobos clicked her tongue and hummed quietly. Nine notes, rising and falling, only a snatch of a tune, but it was familiar to Jak.

Stay with me, the seas are dark and wild-

"Mar hums that, too," he said.

Phobos looked up. "He remembers?"

There was just a hint of a tremor in her voice, but her eyes lit up.

"Er...I think so. I don't think he knows the words though." Jak shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Well." Phobos bit the inside of her cheek and reached back to run her fingers through Mar's hair. "I didn't always sing the words to him."

A gage on the wall began to click rapidly, startling them both. Jak banged a fist against the panel and a jet of steam burst out from the seams.

Phobos jumped back and raised her eyebrows.

"Is it supposed to do that?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. But it stopped clicking, right?"

That earned him a snort. Phobos shook her head.

"Oh dear. You really are just like Damas, aren't you?"

Wary curiosity crept into Jak's eyes. "Am I?"

It was something he'd always wondered about. Did he get his eyes from a parent, or share their need to explore? Was he an outlier, a freak even as a child? Or would he have been enough like a parent for people to know who he was?

Did it even apply when those parents came from a completely different timeline?

"Ohhh yes." Phobos chuckled and tapped experimentally on the gage. "Your father has a lifetime ban from the mechanics' corner of the city garages."

"What did he do?" Jak breathed.

The slight awe in his voice and eyes suggested that he found the idea at least somewhat inspiring. That was...mildly concerning. But at the same time it was a little poignant. In the two days since their meeting, Jak had been holding back around the Spargans, like he was afraid to let them close. This was the first time the lonely boy had asked them a question. He sounded tentatively hopeful, like he was desperately looking for some kind of connection to make between them. Phobos could empathize with that.

"I'll tell you what," she said, glancing around conspiratorially, "Why don't you help me get Mar settled for a nap, and that way I can tell you the whole embarrassing story without Damas stopping me."

A shy, crooked smile peeked out from under the boy’s tough facade.

"Fine. You, uh, you want me to carry him?"

"No, that's alright. I'm...I'm not ready to let go yet. Thank you, though."

Phobos nudged his arm.

"Not that I doubt you could carry him easier than me. Huh. That friend of yours is as big as Mar and you just carry him around on your shoulder!"

She strolled out of the corridor with a mischievous look. "Let's pretend you got that from my side of the family, for the sake of my pride."

[messy-paws]

Hal from a high school au/rp me and @freshpyrope have been making for like a year now. Love this guy

[lelianaslefthand]

no bc mass effect really is bioware's baby... they treat dragon age like the ugly step sister im crying