#her legs tire out .

[hajihiko]

Sobriety crew gets no mercy from drunk shenanigans

[monkayy]

I can't believe she turns into a FUCKING bug and no one told me

[fatedroses]

local archon messes around and finds out after interrupting exile on his morning jog.

[dismas-n-dismay]

Psst. She's got something to show you!! Check it, Tiny Falin!

[every-sanji]

[malachitezmeyka]

I'M GOING TO CALL MYSELF OUT BEFORE ANYONE ELSE CAN

How fucking telling is it that for the most part I don't care about The Dragon Prince bc it was always my sister's interest, not mine, I was just roped into watching it, BUT the four parts of it I do care about are:

1) The lesbians

2) The honestly kinda toxic relationship that is the embodiment of "Your hands are scarred with murder and yet I trust them completely"

3) The character who destroyed and betrayed herself for nothing in hopes of saving whatever remained of her family

4) The dead child whose death influenced the fate of the world

[berryblu-soda]

Anyways update i just didnt bother to post earlier:

fr God is good and the whole car crash my parents got into last week was so incredibly mild in terms of injuries!!!! worst was a bruised knee im pretty sure

ALSO-

*taps mic* HUG YOUR FREAKING LOVED ONES OR SO HELP ME!!!!!!!

[sorrowsaint]

im going to bed

heres a song i like goodnight

[mizzical]

trying my hardest to make a solid character (re)design. maybe the bow is too on-the-nose

[mars-ipan]

i lowkey wish i had a wheelchair for bad walking days

[undead-potatoes]

Finally got to that Act 2 Durge camp scene if you refuse to kill Isobel last night, and while I've seen that scene like a billion times other places, going through it with both Astarion and Shadowheart as Aurora gave me some thoughts whirring in my head

Aurora's mental state for most of the game is in the gutter. Like the level of self-loathing she carries with her at all times is honestly a bit much, leading her to be very self sacrificing and borderline suicidal. She's kept it together thus far, even finding some renewed hope and purpose after discovering her connection to Lathander at the monastery, but when she's forced to almost kill a loved one in camp she just falls apart completely.

When she's finally back to her self again, all she has left in her is tears. She's just so tired. Between the sleepless nights, the chronic headaches and pains, the constant battles both within and without her cup is already full, and now it's spilling over.

She genuinely contemplates just leaving, putting as much distance between herself and the others as she can before turning, maybe taking down some shadowy abominations with her as she goes. And if push came to shove, a dagger to the heart always does the trick.

She's kept her Urge mostly secret until now, afraid of what the others would think, and is very pleasantly surprised to discover she's met with compassion of all things. The others are wary of her, sure, but none of them seem to blame her for her affliction, and seem mostly preoccupied with how to avoid any possible incidents in the future.

And then there's Astarion, who almost got killed by her uncontrollable bloodlust, and Shadowheart, who could just as easily have become the victim had the dice of fate rolled slightly differently. The way both of them are so supportive of her, seemingly unfazed by the moral aspects of the Urge. How Astarion is being a little cheeky about the whole thing, joking about it in all the right ways to ease the tension, while Shadowheart's more earnest and serious approach still makes her feel seen and taken seriously.

To be met with such understanding and love when she has none for herself is so important to her I think, to have something more to live for than just a sense of duty and spite. Someone to keep the candle of hope lit, even when the Urge tries to snuff it out.

[ardate]

.

[desognthinking]

head still buzzing about the wn lovecraftian entities au, specifically how everyone else fits into it :

Lilith here's just like, an absolute force of nature, wild and furious and serpentine. The kind of visceral terror of unmitigable natural apocalypse, and the creature that arises tangled in it, almost indistinguishable from the tsunami itself. Melting and rippling seemingly between states of matter, sometimes viscous liquid and miscible with the water, and sometimes suddenly solidifying and churning into shore; eating up into solid land. That sort of monster. But for Lilith I'm especially reminded of a haunting, twisted version of  Peace Like a River.  The dread comes from watching the cool still surface of the lake or the ocean, having the knowledge that there's something terrible down there, and yet being entirely helpless, against that calculated invisibility and silence, to do anything. 

In a way it does fit her: hard, and fierce, and loves like an ocean. & eventually, I think she does also find a kind of peace like a river.

Camila’s kind of at the other end of this. The mindsick illusions that stretches of (seemingly) open, empty land cast on the psyche. It’s foggy, it’s overcast, and Camila’s there, laughing, molecules thrashing in concert with the atmosphere. It’s nighttime, but the sky is awful bright. She has no wing-analogous anatomy but she flies, translucent and half-tangible in this form, settling over the plains like a shudder. Every electronic device in the vicinity goes dead. Not at all hidden – but that’s worse; this is the kind of experience that draws you into endless spirals when you lie awake sleepless afterwards, bone-rigid, questioning and dizzy. Like a physicist kept awake at night by visions of an expanding universe. Something once whispered things to the back of Camila's neck and now it whispers things to everyone too. 

Mary and Shannon haunt a beautiful mountainous region with sharp suspended caves and snowcapped brown-orange peaks jabbing through lower cloud layers. They are a little older and settled a little earlier and so have ended up inadvertently integrated deeply into the mythology of the region. At the base of one of the mountains resides a town some way away, where Mary actually leads ghost tours on the weekends and holidays. They own fridge magnets and ceramic bowls as well as other traditional crafts and artwork made by the residents,  partially because Shannon believes in supporting small local businesses, and partially because some of it is based loosely on them and it’s very pleasing. 

It is, in any case, something of a rarity for a town to be paralyzed and plagued so faithfully – by blood-curdling noises carried on winter wind, and familiar spectral glimpses that always precede the inevitable discovery of the drained-dry husks of the previously reported missing – and yet remain so protective of their own monsters. Many an enterprising paranormal investigator has been turned away unceremoniously, and vandalizing hikers are made unwelcome. Respect what you do not understand, the locals insist, and Shannon and Mary find that even monsters are not immune to growing fond.

Then Shannon disappears on a dry summer’s day. 

Mary throws herself into finding her and rips up earth and sky for it. She refuses to accept, for a long time, that the most dreaded phenomena has taken place – not death, because unnatural creatures are less susceptible to typical natural reckonings, but simply: abrupt, unexplained, indefinite Departure. From which one may still return, but which one cannot predict or theorize in any way. When finally, it becomes apparent that all she can do is wait and hope, she throws herself into the town. 

After the council votes against a new contractor who wants to develop up in the direction of the Creatures, there’s reports of a falling boulder, originally headed towards the laundromat on the edge of town, arrested mid-descent. It rolls laterally and fuses with an outcropping. A fierce fire, spreading from the west, stops at the town’s threshold, the grass at the foot of the Welcome! sign unsinged. When the townspeople go out to survey the damage, piecing together what’s been lost and what’s salvageable, they lay out the carcasses of larger game across the charred trail – for disposal, or, well, just in case. They’re gone the following morning and the trees, overnight, have screwed themselves upright, scarred bark plastered over in ropes of dirty silver. A team from a major studio comes to town, researching for a documentary on local horror oral traditions, and is shooed away. The next day, a rock splits open and spews out a broad, too-sparkling stream that curls and joins the river downstream.

Sometime down the line, Lilith comes by and has coffee with Mary on the edge of a cliff. From up here the town is blocked from their view, and even if it were not, it would be so small as to be insignificant. Lilith had loitered in the town earlier, claiming boredom, although Mary knows the sleepy place hasn’t changed much, if at all, in the last twenty years, and she has no idea what form of interest anyone could take in it.

She stands on the edge now, looks out into the clouds at a view that still prompts sharp pangs of loneliness when regarded without a familiar grin by her side, a head tilted into her shoulder mouthing at her ear playfully in an attempt to appease her for buying ‘just one more cup. And it’s so quaint, too!’

And then when Mary, just for show, would shrug and huff, ‘You know, the shopkeeper’s mom is sick and his kid needs to go to school. How can you be so heartless, Mary, honestly’.

Lilith puts her cup to her mouth and takes a silent sip. “Well,” she says drily, interrupting Mary’s thoughts. Nods down in the general direction of below. “I see you have a cult now.”

Mary, tired and hungry, strong but so lost, bristles with anger and launches herself at Lilith, who lets her. She thinks that to the townspeople this must look like a condensed volcanic explosion, going on and on and blackening a corner of the sky into red-veined hellfire and thunder. She wonders what they think – what they believe.

They tear at each other's throats for what’s probably hours, sending rock scraping down the cliffside and smashing into the ground below. Somehow avoiding the mouth of the little cave network that is Mary’s home – Mary and Shannon’s home, lovingly studded with knickknacks and mismatched cutlery, the shape of rooms cut carefully out of rock, linen sets they’d hauled back from the big city three hours out and carried up the slopes. 

Eventually they let up, and end up sitting quietly at the dining table inside, nursing freshly brewed coffee in miraculously intact cups. Neither of them apologize. (There is an aching hole in Lilith’s scaly, serrated chest, too.) When the stars rise to their zenith, Lilith gets up to leave and squeezes Mary’s forearm so tightly it would sever if truly only flesh and blood.

“She will come back,” her eyes are black spires pulling light inwards into indistinguishable points far within. “She will.” Then Mary watches Lilith leave, not in a thunderclap but a whisper.

Mother Superion is really not a part of such kinetic drama. She resides, in almost perfect stillness, enmeshed in her glacial home. You could say she is her glacial home: splayed out barely visibly in sensitive, trembling threads snaking through ice. She is ice because the ice has frozen up along with her. In this form she’s so distant from what people think of as a living organism – presence, and the faint transmission of murmurs and vibrations from the way snow falls and shifts around. She’s the overwhelmingly ancient unwordable sense of surrounding in research bases late at night, the thrumming in the engine not attributable to anything mechanical, or even physical. The slightest probe, or reaching-out, and the minutest responding hum, followed by immediate waves of sweating, nausea, nosebleeds. Disintegration and desquamation of the mucus membranes. If she chooses to truly act; if she moves, there will be a magnitudinous shattering, as there once was before. 

The others come to seek her and talk to her, of course, careful not to disturb too much of the snow and ice for fear of accidentally setting off some kind of reflex. Which is how it’s ascertained that, despite her lack of perceptible movement, Mother Superion is eminently capable of conveying a range of complex responses and emotions (mostly centering on unimpressed, sometimes chiding and disapproving, proud, more often than you'd expect, and on the rarest of times, overrun with grief).

[remnants]

guys.. would you still love me if i said i think rose wilson's outfit is ugly?

[the-insanity-of-mojiru]

What do you mean this audio is 6 years old, I just heard it yesterday--

[coloursofaparadox]

listen. okay. i know my car is held together with sheer force of will and gusto. but it is perfectly functional!!! yes, i have part of the panel on the trunk permanently removed so i can reach inside and manually pull the mechanism to latch it. and yeah, the drivers door handle only works because of some creative industrial strength zip ties. out of 4 doors i think two have the correct corresponding interior handles. half of them work. 2 out of 4 windows do not roll down, and 1 is on its last legs but still functioning due to a barbeque brush and silicone lube (and i have to push it down with my hands). and okay MAYBE it becomes undrivable when we go long stretches without rain because the front wiper fluid just sadly trickles down the hood and i have to use the whims of the weather to clean my windshield of grime. at least both wipers stay attached while driving and definitely 100% for sure always have (it was fine no one got hurt).

listen. she is doing her best. when i bought her the transmission fluid was brown. you know what colour its supposed to be? pale pink. sometimes oil just. leaves. doesn't leak! doesnt seem to be getting through a seal into the enginel! just. it goes. the amp and two 12 inch subwoofers in the back scream in audible pain when i rev the engine. the parking brake light comes on at random when it gets cold outside. im not sure what its trying to tell me and i dont care to find out. the clock only works when u hit it. im also like 80% sure that putting the gearshift in park doesn't actually work and the emergency brake is the only thing keeping it from rolling downhill, but also one time i drove with the parking brake on and didn't even notice the difference, so ?

anyways. uh. i forgot my point. she is driveable and functional and i love her.