#i have way more thoughts but idk if i should say them

[transmutationisms]

hi - looking to get more into reading history books instead of just researching online… do you have any tips on vetting books/authors for liberalism, racism, etc… in the past i’ve found this very hard to do with nonfiction before actually reading the book. are there publishers, etc i should be looking out for? esp bc there’s ideas/trains of thoughts/scholars i might not recognize as biased, liberal, conservative etc. if i’m not well-versed in the discourse of the subject.

in general if you are looking for refereed (peer-reviewed) academic nonfic, you are going to have to assume the texts will reflect not only the ideological values of the institutions (universities and university presses) that produce them, but also the winnowing effect that ensures only a select few people even get the opportunity to publish this way -- these individuals also have class interests and those tend to overlap heavily with those of the institutions, both because people who can make it to this stage of an academic career tend to be bourgeois and petit-bourgeois to begin with, and because even those who weren't almost invariably come down with a case of temporarily embarrassed petit-bourgeois syndrome sometime in between phd candidacy and book manuscript submission.

which is to say I really cannot give you a good vetting list to eliminate liberals and racists from your academic nonfic reading. sorry! you will spend a lot of time reading people you disagree with, people who did valuable archival research but interpret it in chronically liberal idealist ways, people who are right on one historical point and wrong on all the others, &c. even when I read the rare communist historian I can't remember ever co-signing the entirety -- this kind of criticism is just part of the process.

I do think, though, there are some helpful things you can look for that can cue you as to whether a book is worth reading critically or is just straight up trash. ymmv and this is definitely a non-exhaustive list but here's some of what I look for:

read the methodology notes in the intro. phrases like "contextualist history" (= social and economic context) are a good sign. "history from below" or "social history" also tend to be helpful (read: this book talks about 'ordinary people' and labourers, not just heads of state and military).

intros should also signpost if the book deals with colonialism and/or imperialism; look for substantive statements about these.

in rare cases in certain subfields you may see references to a distinction between 'internalist' (idealist, whiggish, great man histories) vs 'externalist' (contextualist) approaches.

everybody in history footnotes foucault, so that means nothing in any direction. anybody who footnotes marx positively in the last 30 or so years is at least going to be a fun time, but is often also a dipshit. scan for other big 'theory' names you may recognise -- even before you know the historiography, this can help indicate what you're getting into

you can also read intro + conclusion first, and that can help you gauge whether the chapters are worth it. not always perfectly indicative, though

academic presses are all clowns but if you read a lot in specific areas you will definitely start to get a sense of certain clusters of clownery if you're paying attention to the frontmatter. like for example if a history text came out of berkeley in the 90s it might still be stupid but I do kind of know what flavour of stupid it will be and what I can expect to extract from it

on that note, it literally is helpful to skim the acknowledgments at the beginning and idk why more people don't do this lol. look for names of scholars they credit as having given feedback (on manuscripts or conference presentations), as well as the name of their advisor if it's a first book. the first few times you do this you won't recognise any names and that's fine, but when you start to see repeats or see names you've read before you actually gain a lot of information right off the bat on the author's ideological and political milieux lol

look at what journals it was reviewed in. again reviews in flagship journals don't automatically mean it's good but it tells you about the intended audience, with all the baggage that entails

books reviewed in mass media (legacy newspapers, etc) tend to be aimed at a popular audience and are intended to be more readable, with less dense scholarly references and often thinner primary source work. again this doesn't mean the academic publications are automatically good.

zero shame in reading book reviews, either before or after reading the book. reviewers are part of the same clown system as authors and publishers. but seeing how other scholars talk about the book and topic is very helpful for clueing you into what sorts of debates are happening in the field, what their ideological parameters are, and how the author in question comes down on them

you are allowed and even required to disagree if an author is wrong lol. I would say the no. 1 thing I run across in what I read is like, decent to good historical work on racialisation but the interpretation will be completely distorted by the author being a horrendous liberal who does in fact think that 'race' has some biological reality (while often not believing that they even hold this belief, lmao). when you start seeing arguments like this it's your cue to follow the footnotes and look at the data and archival material included in the book. and if there's none that's just bad methodology!

[dtupdating]

DREAM replied to another Reddit post!

Transcript under the cut!

Ludwig slightly misremembered, and didn't explain in a super fair way imo it makes me sound way worse than what actually happened

tldr;

I dmd ludwig suggesting he make a video, and offering myself for questions

ludwig replied and eventually said that I jokingly called one of his friends a whore

Due to the fact that a friend of Nicolas Cantu's had recently falsely said that "I got slapped at a party for calling a girl a whore", I asked him if that's what it was about.

He said no, and that he can't tell me more information because he doesn't think it's worth resurfacing it for her sake

I replied with a message about that, and then said I'd also provide context to the other situation just in case he was just telling me it's not about that situation (to "protect" the person's identity) even though it was, because I had no idea about any other situation.

Here's the important parts of that message that I sent him:

oh well unfortunately I guess I can't talk about this because I don't know what you're talking about at all, but I will say this as a general statement; A lot of people spread false stuff about me, or exaggerate, and have done it a lot ESPECIALLY during all of this stuff going on, as it's easy to sensationalize things because of how "hated" I seem. Intentionally, OR unintentionally. I have had to clear up so many different false stories of me being weird, or just a total shit bag, because the rumor mill runs super fucking strong when you're getting shit on 24/7. And every time it's just "oh okay that makes sense". It's not always someone lying, but it's almost always someone not realizing that exaggerating and mischaracterizing what they're saying can be a big deal, and isn't something they should do. I have never randomly called someone a whore, I have never called someone a whore derogatorily, and I would never do that.

I will completely and fully say that I have called friends of mine jokingly whore's / sluts / whatever, GUYS ANDS GIRLS, but only with people that joke along with it, or have expressly said they don't care, and again, only with friends of mine. This situation has been a lesson to just never say it at all though, because it's being used to make me out as a bad person. I would never use it that way, never ever meant anything negative when I've ever said it, and never have used it to insult or demean anyone, in any way.

I don't know the situation you're talking about, and obviously it's seemingly a bad look to have "multiple instances" where I called a girl a whore lmao, but I just cannot fathom that I called a stranger a whore, even jokingly, regardless of whether I was drunk or not. If I actually did, I would absolutely want to apologize and clear up anything that I possibly can with them, because it's upsetting to know that I made anyone upset or made them feel badly. I would like to say though, that it's not unreasonable to think that it is a misrepresentation of what actually happened, or is being looked at through a negative tint given recent events, when if this wasn't all going on, it would've been viewed as "oh that's obviously a joke". Given the fact that I have been a bit of a punching bag for a bit online, and you never know what motivations people have to spread things. Idk when this would've been as well, because like I said, the Nicolas stuff was pretty eye opening in a lot of ways, including specifically how people feel about those words in general. Which I never really thought about, and again, I've always been extremely careful and delicate with how I interact with anyone I've just met.

I NEVER would demean or speak down on someone like that. If that did actually happen, it was naivety on my part and not malice, and it's a word I'm removing from my vocabulary, and I hope I get a chance to apologize to them. But again, I have no idea what you're specifically talking about, so I probably won't get a chance, or even confirmation that it happened.

Either way, I understand why he didn't reply (I sent walls of text) and don't fault him for it. Although, the way this was said is annoying!

[gutsondisplay]

I think most TransHarmful people don't get "too" violent or put more pressure actually HAS a reason

If you weren't there back then, DIRECTLY after TransHarm was coined, there was a huge discourse around if it should be accepted or not, and a lot of people saw it as really bad (insert "this is why antis hate us!" Etc here)

Those who were transharmful had to chip and trim themselves so they "weren't ACTUALLY harmful!!", a large percent even going back at each other for being any modicum of appearing bad

It was seen as safe to be edgy, but never bad. and while maybe ironic to a lot of you who aren't specifically TransHarmful, but we feared being pushed out of our own community! And we really were back then!

Transharmfuls had to figure out how to not be seen as evil despite wanting to be like that, most had to water down themselves so they could be accepted, becoming the most passive and explainable identity we used to tell people who hated us

But no one ever let us know it was okay to be mean again, and it kinda seemed like when we *were* mean, it would hurt us in return

Cause when conabuse was made into a thing, people went out of their way AGAIN to tell TransHarmful people that they didn't belong! And that they were horrible in ways we didn't want to be seen as!

Cause idk if you know this, but there's a trans part of TransHarmful! Most of us didn't exactly have experience hurting others! Not in these kinds of ways!

And I think it's really REALLY fucking understated how much harm (ikik teehee) discourse around conabuse did to transharm people on both sides

Those who thought they had a connection they could have and use to get euphoria, now one side was really questioning if it was okay, was it even consent? Rethinking if someone's yes to you was actually a yes

If you have not had to second guess someone being honest with you about consent or boundaries before, you have no idea how bad that spiral can be

You could possibly lose all trust in that person being truthful about you being able to do whatever you agreed on, maybe even anyone to be truthful about those things, and if you go down enough you could possibly lose that for a fucking while to forever

And let's not forget the transharmed people here either!

Having people constantly going against you and saying your consent didn't matter because "that's not something you can consent to!" Is fucking horrible! People who talk like their "helping" you are taking away your consent more than someone you told was okay to do that to you

Parts get to you that it doesn't really matter what you actually say to them, maybe a lot of people, why didn't it matter what you said? Because it was something they wouldn't personally like?

If falls victim to the tactic used against all those who use transIDs that have perceived benefit ironically enough

People saying things like "you don't have to do this!", "you don't need to go through this to feel like you have enough pain to be a victim!", "I'll get you out of that!", "someone told you something wrong"

Etc etc. all just saying you don't get a choice because you want something "bad"

It'd be wonderful if it didn't get in the way

And now

Both sides of transharm don't exactly know how to exist, maybe they don't know this happened, maybe they don't know they can do more

But we should help them do what they want to do if they want help

I know there's some transharmfuls who really wanna go all out, go for it babe <3

[utilitycaster]

Thank you for writing up that post about the engagement of the alleged themes in campaign 3. I've seen the argument for them and honestly that plus some of the C3 stuff has almost made me feel weird playing a cleric in this setting. The implications just are so unfortunate if it really is the angle they're going for?

Hi anon,

So I have two thoughts on this. The first is that like...it's actually really difficult to make a story set in a fantasy world that deals with racism and colonialism because you have to develop fantasy racism and colonialism, which is a really fucking unpleasant headspace to exist in! And then, if you do, you have what I alluded to in tags on a different post today, where you will get people up in arms about how D&D or an actual play show or a fantasy work depicts orcs or goblins as racist or antisemitic stereotypes and then it's crickets when it comes to any real-world support of black or Jewish people. Chuck Klosterman said sci fi is philosophy for stupid people, and I disagree, but I do think speculative fiction is frequently sociology, anthropology, and geopolitics for stupid people, particularly if it's a setting with a lot of magic and fantasy races vs say, works like Butler's Patternist series, or a lot of Latin American magical realism, or (girl who just finished Disco Elysium voice) Disco Elysium, where there's a lot more grounding in our reality. I think this post covers the concept of real vs mythic, and I think the Critical Role stuff with the gods is in the realm of the mythic and people are trying to force it into a very human narrative. And yeah, the implications are really unfortunate if you do.

I think it's worth noting that a lot of high-profile (and beloved) TTRPG/AP projects from actual people from colonized cultures imagine a world in which they were never colonized (I am far from an expert but just off the top of my head: Coyote and Crow; Into the Motherlands; Desiquest; Islands of Sina Una) rather than make a story where a bunch of mostly white characters explain how they are the victims of colonization from two separate sources and only really focus on the one that's way less obvious and true but don't worry they're GONNA FIX IT, maybe, idk, should we open this door? I just don't know! golly gee this is tough!

The second related thought is just that D&D isn't a game that is well-suited to dismantling complex political structures either on a narrative or literal level and also it's pretend so you can do what you want forever. I mean don't call other people slurs while playing it but if we're talking in-world? I genuinely think that people who are unabashed murderhobos in D&D are often perfectly fine, generous, and lovely people in real life, and a lot of people who are like "I unionized the goblins! We're playing non-combat D&D! I de-escalate every situation" are often the sort of person to claim it's ableist to suggest that perhaps you should try to use reusable shopping bags. Like, are you living your values in your real life and capable of critical thought? then who cares if your D&D character is kind of a dick, or the show you are watching doesn't align perfectly with what you believe? And I find people who get overly hung up on how good and virtuous they are for their media consumption tend to be compensating for a lack, or at best a deep insecurity, about how they comport themselves in their real life.

so anyway yeah if the cast actually is like "yes i see this as a decolonialist work" I am going to have Thoughts and Pretty Harsh Critiques but to grant the CR cast the benefit of the doubt here, I think it's just...a mythic, epic scale story that draws from interesting sources (creation myths, the idea of a world created as an envious reflection by a sealed hunger) and didn't come together very well. I cannot extend that same benefit of the doubt to those fans who have argued otherwise, however.

[himluv]

I agree with you on the Solavellan ending. I love the angst and tragedy and I'm eating the idea of Solas and Lavellan having a lot to unpack once in the fade. Dramatic confrontations, tears, breakdowns and a slow road to forgiveness,. Delicious food. But I'm really annoyed with a portion of the fandom that seems to just gloss over the fact that Solas killed Varric, someone who was always kind to Lavellan and was even her friend. And even if you don't like Varric personally he is in canon a relatively decent person who tried to reach out to Solas on a compassionate level. Then he used a blood magic puppet of him to manipulate Rook... IDK the way that seems to mean little to nothing to a lot of Solavellans kind of bothers me. I'm not here to tell anyone how they can or can't play but the takes have been so bad. The infantilization, excuses and woobification of our boy are so egregious. Solas is complex and morally gray. Why would we be going through the effort of redeeming him if he wasn't doing things that would require redemption in the first place? I've felt really disconnected from the rest of the fandom because of all of the softening of his character people have been doing and it's refreshing to hear a take from someone who loves Solas but doesn't want to defang him.

Thanks for this thoughtful reply to this post! Sorry this took awhile, but I've been thinking of what I wanted to say. Long and spoiler-riddled reply below, and I don't even know how relevant it is to your reply, Nonny. Sorry!

I think A Lot of folks have spent the last 10 years rotating him in their heads like one throws a clay pot, molding him into something he could be based on what we knew about him. But, we didn't necessarily account for the other forms he could take. And some folks are very resistant to who he's canonically become by Veilguard. Because it's not a good form, he got Worse™ in his decade away from friends and love (shocker!), and it's hard to reconcile this version of him with the ones we may have made.

I get all of that. But I also LOVE that. It means he could still surprise me, and I got to experience this weird duality of love/hate I didn't expect to feel toward him. I got to see his lies in real time, know he was lying because I KNOW HIM, and go, "oh, you little shit (affectionate)". Like, that's just FUN! Which, last time I checked was in fact the point of video games.

I love that he is unpredictable and dangerous in this game. That we finally see him go all out, and use every skill and trick he has. That is THRILLING, especially because he's more dangerous and lethal and ruthless than I personally expected. Which... Is my fault. I should have expected it, because look what he did to Felassan. Look how he so easily killed all those Qunari in Trespasser. Look what he did with those spirits of chaos and disruption. Look what he did to the Titans! I should have known better, the games and books showed me time and again what he was capable of. I just didn't want to believe it.

I've seen some posts talking about how Lavellan approaches Solas at the very last confrontation. How carefully she goes up the stairs towards him. I've seen several interpretations of it, but there's one I haven't seen (which could be because I'm not hanging out in the Solavellan tag much these days).

She takes those stairs slowly, as if approaching a spooked horse, because the last time someone climbed a set of stairs to talk him down from his ritual, he killed them. And I don't think for one second Lavellan believes, if she handles this poorly, he won't do the same to her.

And I think she is 100% right. He would, perhaps on "accident" as he claims to Neve was the case with Varric (debatable - seemed pretty intentional if maybe a bit impulsive from here). But I firmly believe there is a world where Solas would stab his vhenan if he had to and certain conditions hadn't been met (and yes that would utterly destroy him).

She walks up those stairs to him, her vhenan, knowing this is it. Their final stand. She will save him from himself, whatever it takes, and she is prepared to die at his hands if it comes to that. And it so easily COULD HAVE.

I don't know. I just think that Veilguard gave us SO MUCH more insight into Solas and there's so much there to chew on. I think we're going to be able to go back through all the games and codices and so many little details are going to fit together and complete a puzzle we didn't even know we were making.

After all of this, I still have so much to think on 😂. I'm going to be living in Thedas for another decade at this rate!

Good. I don't ever want to leave.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch 11

A/N: Hi I wrote way too much for the next chapter so I split it in two, lul. We get a little spicy in this one, but the big sex coming next ch I promise. It's already written; just have to revise!

As always, if you're still here, thank you so much. If you're new here, welcome to my hurt/comfort fic. Grab your tissues, your stuffies; whatever your emotional support method is. This fic is a ride. Happy to have you!

Rating: Explicit Word count: 4.4k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Durge (named Tav, mortal) Warnings: 18+, sexy time, descriptions of gore, references to blood drinking, liiiiight love triangle inference, pregnancy, their relationship is a mess but they love one another. It's an AA fic; idk what else to say lmao Summary: After an evening of vulnerability, passion flare hot. An unexpected interruption leads to a disconcerting understanding. However, Astarion and Tav refuse to let this possible new revelation ruin their evening.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

They’re barely past the threshold before Astarion swings them around. Tav’s back collides with the wall adjacent to the door with a hard thud; Astarion is on her seconds later. He wastes little time jamming a thigh between her legs, brushing his knee against her sex. A soft moan escapes her as she clings to his shoulders.

“Up–stairs– Astarion–” Tav struggles to say between short breaths. It’s a poor attempt at getting Astarion back on track. Beseeching him to return some caution to where it’s rapidly fading to the wind. Astarion's hand is then on her hip, encouraging her to rock back and forth on the expanse of his leg, his other hand wound tight within her hair. 

Soft whines pour like rich wine from her mouth when Astarion flexes his thigh, creating a rigid surface of friction. Sparks shoot from the apex of her thighs and throughout her core, nearly knocking the wind clean out of her lungs. Tav feels herself clench as her hips begin to rock of their own accord, chasing more and more of the salacious pressure between her thighs.

“I believe I'm having a change of heart,” he growls against her ear. The vampire lord then dips his head into the crook of Tav’s neck, kissing languidly over his mark. “How am I ever expected to deny temptation when it calls my name so sweetly?”

The hall is quiet enough that Tav can only assume dinner service is winding down. Her moans reverberate against the high ceilings of the marble hall, every tiny gasp amplified. The candelabras have burned down to a faint glow; the corner Astarion has pushed them into is thoroughly blanketed in shadow. They wouldn't be caught immediately, should someone walk by. Yet the risk still exists.

“We're exposed, Astarion,” argues Tav, grabbing handfuls of the vampire's hair. It’s a farce, more than anything else; the thought delights her more than she cares to admit. Astarion so desperate for her that he hoists her legs over his hips, pulls her smallclothes to the side and slides himself home, down to the hilt. Tav moans, loud and wanton, as she continues riding his thigh. 

She struggles to keep her eyes open as the edges of her vision draw closer together. From the corner of her eye, blinkling tiredly, Tav catches a glimpse of the painting hanging on the wall. The one she saw when first stepping food in this manor, of the vampire and his prey. The vampire’s lifeless expression bores into her soul–she takes in the woman draped over his lap. She ponders what possibly transpired prior to that moment, trying her best not to draw comparisons between her current position.

A foul chill passes through her.

“Is that so bad?” teases Astarion, drawing her back to the present. He sucks at the flesh of her throat. “I’m the Lord of this manor, and I say we can rut wherever we damned-well please,” he growls, pulling her roughly against him.

Her head swims as she clings to him, arousal saturating her thoughts. Tav would allow him to take her here, she realizes. To fuck her against the wall, in clear view of anyone who dared to look. She'd allow them a view of how loudly her body cries out for him, the beautiful melody they both sing when joined.

“Oh, but I suppose you make a good point, love,” Astarion coos. His hand drifts to the outside of Tav’s thigh and he grips it tight, lifting it over his hip. “But that would involve us parting from our current position.” He grinds himself unabashedly against her center. “Is that what you really want?”

Tav whimpers at the thought of him peeling away from her. Losing the feeling of his body against hers. Tracing the outline of her body with his hands. Lips on hers, her neck, her breasts–him being everywhere but nowhere all at once. It's too much–she needs him now. 

Desperately. 

Tav snakes a hand between them, fishing for the button of Astarion's slacks. “Now,” she says, undoing his fastenings with lightning deftness. Deftness that he taught her. “If you have the gall to tease me like this, then you better take me now.”

She watches as his lips curl into a devious smile, showing just the slightest glint of a fang. “With pleasure,” Astarion purrs.

Rat bastard.

His cock springs free as she pulls him free from his underclothes. The heavy weight of him within her palm sends a ripple of pleasure throughout her body, heat coursing through her core. Tav wastes little time wrapping her hand around his shaft, giving a few experimental pumps. She delights in how Astarion growls low in his throat, giving her the encouragement she needs to plant soft, soothing kisses against the vampire’s lips, teasing his bottom lip between her teeth. Astarion reciprocates with starving enthusiasm while pulling moan after moan from her and into his mouth. He swallows them all greedily, as though nothing could ever quench his thirst for this. For her.

Pre-fluid weeps from the bulbous tip, aiding in the glide of her hand over his cock. “Tell me to stop and I will,” Astarion groans against her mouth. His cock twitches in her hand as she runs her thumb over his frenulum. Their eyes meet, lust sitting heavy within their shared exchange. Tav only nods her head and groans as she shuffles her small clothes enough to allow him entrance. He glides easily as she positions him between her folds. The rumble that erupts from deep within Astarion’s chest tells her just how slick she is–how much he longs to slip within her tight heat. “Tavaria…” he whines against her ear, nearly breathless. His tip teases at her entrance and she catches it, the head finally slipping in, giving way to a delicious burning stretch, and then–

“Well, I see we've skipped dinner and gone straight for dessert!”

The voice pierces through them like a shard of ice, freezing them solid. Tav clings to Astarion's shoulders out of instinct, but she feels the vampire tense beneath her. He pulls himself free of her, Tav whining softly at the loss, and he sneers over his shoulder at their unwelcome audience. Tav’s skirts fall to the floor and she drops her leg from his hip, Astarion stuffing himself back within the confines of his slacks with nimble skill.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Your Grace?” Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, fastening his pants.

The duke chuckles behind them and crosses his arms over his chest. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure it’s in poor taste for the host to skip out during dinner service.” Wyll gives a wry smile, looking over Astarion’s shoulder. “Though, I clearly see why, now.”

“Oh? Did you miss me, darling?” A touch of sarcasm laces Astarion’s tone as he huffs a laugh, alongside impatience. “What is it you really want, Wyll?” Tav swears the tips of his fingers are sharpening into claws as he clenches his hands into tight fists. The turquoise gem of Astarion’s ring glints in the dim firelight of the hall.

“I'm searching for a certain soldier who possesses hair resembling a roaring campfire.” Wyll lifts his brow in question. “Have you seen her?”

Arousal still clouds her mind, though through the murkiness, Tav realizes that Wyll isn't immediately aware of her presence. She's unsure if that’s a good or bad thing–mostly because Wyll believes Astarion to have stolen away for a quick romp with some random person. Or, conversely, he doesn't believe Tav to be the type to allow herself to be taken in the middle of a dimly lit hallway. A sinking feeling overtakes her stomach with each thought.

Either way, neither theory bodes well for her.

Cautiously, with her heart nearly clamoring out of her throat, Tav pokes her head out from around Astarion's form. “I'm here, Your Grace,” she says, feeling the heat of the blush currently rising to her face. To her horror, Marceline, Oscar, and Lester stand behind Wyll, their eyebrows also raised in silent question. Gods above, she thinks, embarrassment flooding her. I really couldn't have waited a bit longer?

A few heartbeats of silence pass over them. Astarion scowls heavily as Wyll looks them over, turning now to meet the young duke. Wyll’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly, as though to say something, but no sound is ever produced. Oscar snickers, his cheeks still possessing the rosy color from his drinks earlier in the evening. Lester adverts his gaze, choosing to look over the decor along the walls. Respectful, as always. But it's the look Marceline gives her that tugs on Tav’s heart. 

The two women have never discussed Astarion, nor Tav’s past involvement with him. Tav only ever spoke openly with Shadowheart about him, her having laid witness to the romance unfold during its infancy. But perhaps Marceline had known, somehow, that this deeper part of her existed. Maybe in the way she carried herself, or how she avoided looking upon expressions of affection between others. Perhaps it was enough to tell Marceline, quietly, that her heart had been broken once before. Almost irreparably so, and given the well-known fact that Astarion was a prior traveling companion, Tav knows without a shadow of a doubt that her colleague is actively putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

How foolish she likely seems to Marceline, having allowed the man who wrecked her so thoroughly back into her life. To still give him so much power, so much sway over her heart. To be carrying his child. Though, that’s something none of them are aware of.

Yet. 

Tav lets out a heavy sigh. A wave of strong nausea rushes through her, prompting her to hold back the urge to empty her stomach onto the floor. Either that, or to perish within a moment’s notice. Anything to stop how mortified she feels at this moment.

“Ah,” Wyll muses, finally speaking. He clears his throat. “Well, I just wanted to wish you farewell.” His gaze shifts to Astarion, then back to Tav, mouth falling into a hard line. “I expect to see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

Tav nods softly. “Of course, Your Grace.” A barely audible sound rises from the back of Astarion's throat as she addresses Wyll, his nails nearly breaking skin as he tightens his fists.

Wyll gives a slight bow of his head. “Goodnight then, my friends,” he says in jest, “Don't stay up too late!”

As the entourage exits the manor through the foyer door, Tav realizes Wyll hadn't corrected her use of a formal greeting to him. She'd said it twice–twice–and he’d failed to invite her to use his name instead. Her stomach twists again.

The door clicks shut and Tav tears herself from Astarion's hold, drawing in a deep breath. “That wasn't good,” she says aloud, unsure if it's to herself or Astarion.

“Oh, please,” Astarion says from behind her, rather cooly given the situation, “he's upset because we're having the fun he only wishes he could have! I’m sure he'll get over it.”

Tav shakes her head, turning to face him. “I wouldn't be so sure about that, Astarion. This is different. He's…” She pauses as she chews at the inside of her mouth, thoughts flooding her mind. “He doesn't approve of us.”

The vampire laughs. “Of course he doesn't! So long as I’m involved,” Astarion places a hand over his chest, “I doubt he ever will.”

“Could have fooled me by tonight's performance. You looked a touch more friendly,” Tav says.

“What can I say? I know how to play the part of a dashing rogue all too well,” he answers, a lilt to his voice. Astarion then approaches her, lifting a hand to cup Tav’s chin. He lifts her face to meet his gaze. “But I can’t help but feel as though his disapproval bothers you,” Astarion ponders. His eyes are soft, contemplative, as he looks at her.

She sits with the thought for a minute before answering. “No, it doesn't bother me.” A half truth–she doesn’t need Wyll’s approval. “But it does concern me how I'm going to continue working with him as my superior.” She shakes her head as the questions rack her brain. “Will he continue to be fair, will he hold this against me, will he–”

“He's not going to do anything,” Astarion interrupts, gruffly. “Not to you, at least. He'll settle all of his grievances with me.”

Tav blinks as her mouth hangs agape. “You?” she asks. “But you're already working with him!”

“Indeed, but it seems as though our dear, sweet Wyllyam still possesses a few heartbeats that belong,” the hand on her chin lifts, Astarion tapping the tip of her nose gently with a finger, “to you.”

Tav rolls her eyes, turning away from him. “Oh, Astarion!” she laments, marching for the stairs. “He does not!” She clutches handfuls of her skirts as she begins her ascent. Astarion quickly follows behind her.

“Is it truly so hard to believe?” he calls after her in mock question.

Tav reaches the top of the stairs and whips around, glaring heavily at Astarion. He halts his approach, leaning a hand over the stair rail. “Were he to still possess feelings, Astarion, he would have used the time you and I spent apart to his advantage.” She tilts her head to one side and narrows her eyes. “Don't you think?”

The vampire scowls, mouth twisting into a hard line as he resumes following her up the stairs.. He stands tall over Tav upon reaching the top of the stairs. “No,” he growls, “I don't. Because the reality of the situation, my love, is that he was giving you space.”

She looks around, attempting to ascertain which direction Astarion’s bedroom is in. To the left is hers–she can only assume that it lay in the opposite direction. Her feet begin to carry her forward. “Space for what?” Tav inquires, slightly annoyed.

Before passing too far out of reach, Astarion extends a hand to grab her arm, halting her in place. “Tavaria…” His voice trails off into a whisper. “You don’t trust that I know longing when I see it?”

A heavy feeling settles within her chest, eyes drifting closed. 

Perhaps Astarion is right–maybe Wyll's kindness hasn’t been simply out of the goodness of his heart. She knew of the duke's prior feelings for her, assuming that he put them aside when she chose a path with Astarion. Her mind races through their interactions over the last few months, down to the most minute of gestures: all of the smiles, the kind words, the gentle touches.

Wyll is no stranger to her state of being after her separation from Astarion. She may have not spoken with him about how she felt, but he'd kept his eye on her. Watched patiently from afar, always making sure he was available should she need him. Wyll has been ever the gentleman; he’s never insulted her, nor raised his voice at her. Calm, cool, and collected under the most intense of pressure, always an ear open to her lead, her suggestions. Never giving her anything less than the respect he believes she deserves. 

But as Tav recalls their moments spent together, during their journey and beyond, she can now see so clearly the distinct gleam in his eyes when he holds her gaze. Hears the softness of his tone ringing in her ears, feel the ghost of his hand running delicately down the length of her arm…

A shiver runs down her back as she stares blankly at Astarion. 

As much as she hates to admit it, Astarion has a point. Wyll was allowing her time to heal. Giving her heart the space to repair itself, even if to only swoop in once patched back together. He’d never gotten over her. No, quite the opposite, really. Wyll had simply hardened his heart, choosing to bide his time. Waiting for Astarion to slip up, for their love affair to end with finality, all for a chance to play hero. And now that they’ve chosen to rekindle their flame, Wyll is forced once again to grin and bear it.

And she didn’t see it. Rather, didn’t believe herself worthy of his affections. They’d met during a strange time–Tav hardly recalled anything about who she was. She’d awoken in an Illithid dreadnought, newly tadpoled, learning she had all but a handful of days before death came to claim her for good. And when that didn’t happen, each day brought her closer to reclaiming her identity. But not without a few bloody missteps.

And then, there was Wyll. 

Precious Wyll–the son of Baldur Gate’s Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard. Bred and groomed to be the perfect aristocrat to assume his father’s title. Suave, polite; even his insults were kind, albeit backhanded. He is a stunning example of the type of man you bring home to your family for dinner. Perhaps not her family, but to just about anyone else’s. Why would he want to be tangled up with her? She craved blood, murder, gore. Death. She would sooner tear her hands through his abdomen, cracking open his ribcage, just to caress his spleen. To feel its curve along her fingertips. To remember the touch of the delicate blood vessels between her hands.

She would have killed him, all in the name of her Father. There’s no way to tell if she would have, but she’s sure she would have tried to on more than one occasion. Tav would have killed him and lain within the aftermath, sleeping as soundly as a newborn babe after a feeding.

She chose Astarion, in part, to spare Wyll that fate. She may have not realized it at the time, but she understands now. Astarion was already dead–she still craved to carve him from navel to neck, but she knew his heart was cold. The urge wasn’t as strong. Wyll was young, strong, and clean. Fresh. A perfect sacrifice for her Father.

Her heart sinks. 

The love she holds for Astarion can be compared to none other she’s known throughout any point in her life. But the acknowledgment that she gave up an opportunity to be with Wyll out of self-doubt…is crushing.

There is, of course, the chance that Astarion’s concerns are merely playing into paranoid delusion, as he’s so prone to doing. Tav sighs, turning to face Astarion once more. She gives him a sullen expression as tears begin stinging at the corners of her eyes. But despite her hopeful optimism, the longer the thought sits with her, the clearer the image becomes. Astarion threads his fingers between hers, pulling her closer. Sobs bubble up within her chest, threatening to rupture.

“Oh, my sweet little love,” he whispers, inviting her into his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist, resting his head against hers. “Do you now see what’s been clear to me this entire time?”

She still isn't entirely convinced, holding out the smallest bit of hope that this is all one giant fallacy, though the thought alone is enough to upset her. Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “I’m still not sure,” she says, voice wavering. Foolish as it may be, a small part of her still wishes that Wyll's kindness is of his own merit. That it isn't as Astarion claims, that he doesn't wish for something in return.

For once, she wishes someone was good–kind–because they simply wanted to be. Without expecting something in return. Astarion speaks through the lens of his past, she knows. From being forced into a life where what he could give stood as a basis for his worth for over 200 years. And she knows he speaks out of an abundance of caution for her, not wanting to see her go through any semblance of the life he knew. To protect her.

“I just…hope this is different,” Tav admits, quietly.

“Ever the optimist,” Astarion comments, peeling himself from her. The smile he gives her is disingenuous; more for her sake than his. The reds of his irises shine in the dim light of the upper level. The sharpness of his face softens from the shadows cast over it; his skin takes on an amber glow.

He truly is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. Man, creature, fiend–it matters not to her what he is. It never really did. His beauty is simply an added benefit. All she’s ever cared for is his heart and soul, and his willingness to share both with her. The song he sings simply for her and no one else. She wonders if she, too, sings for him? She wonders if he can hear it. Do they sing a gentle harmony together, or are they a harsh clashing of contrasting pitches?

Tav raises a hand to hold the side of Astarion’s face. She settles her gaze on his lips, lifting to his eyes as she says, “I really don't wish for this to ruin our night.”

This time, he smiles earnestly. Astarion whisks Tav into his arms, earning a surprised yelp. She wraps her arms around his neck. “Then let us continue.”

Once she's sure she isn't going to slip from his hold, Tav allows herself to rest her head against his shoulder. The tip of her nose rests within the crook of his neck and she breathes in. It's not as strong as earlier in the evening, but his cologne still lingers. She allows her eyes to trace along the small glimpse of his collar bone, up to the scars embedded in his neck. Warmth spreads throughout her, knowing an artery lay beneath those marks–thick and plentiful with life sustaining blood.

Had she fangs, she would have supped upon him by now. A small taste, just to rejuvenate her. He'd allow it, she thinks. Why wouldn't he? Slowly she begins to lose herself to the fantasy. Swapping their blood and saliva between kisses, back and forth, until they solidified a flavor purely their own. One that none could ever replicate.

A part of her fears she may be slipping too far into him. Like a small frog in a pot of water, unaware that it’s begun to boil. But gods how she longs for this–to be so thoroughly his. For him to be so entirely hers. The sun could melt, the world plunged into eternal darkness, but none of it would matter so long as they're together.

Is she truly wrong for that? Is that not what she deserves?

Her lips find the smooth skin of Astarion's neck at the same time he leans over to open the bedroom door. A rumble of appreciation rises from his chest as he brings them both into the room, closing the door behind him. He brings her to his bed, placing her gently down on the silken duvet cover, climbing on top. Red, Tav notices from the corner of her eye. She’s resistant to relinquishing her hold on him, fearful that if she does this will all slip through her fingers. Astarion dips his head into where her neck and shoulder meet and sucks; a thin sheet of golden linen makes up the canopy draped above them.

“Astarion,” groans Tav, hooking her legs around the small of his back. She feels his hands traveling down her sides, pulling up her dress. All at once, the fabric feels too tight around her. “Help me out of this thing,” she says, more of a demand than a question, forcing herself up onto her elbows.

The vampire is silent as he complies with her urgent request. As his hands undo the zipper to her dress, his mouth lavishes attention to the other side of her neck. He peels the dress off her shoulders, Tav groaning in frustration at the brief loss of contact between them, but Astarion is quickly back on her. She pulls her slip gown over her head and pushes the emerald dress further down and over her hips, kicking it off her legs. Astarion nudges it off the side of the bed before reclaiming his place fully between her legs.

“You’ve no idea how many nights I’ve spent imaging this,” he grounds out as he travels down her chest. Tav falls back gently on the bed as smooth lips plant kisses between the valley of her breasts. He closes his mouth over the stiffened peak of one breast, kneading the other within his hand. “To have you here, like this.” He lightly rolls her nipple between his index finger and thumb. “With me.”

A moan slips past her lips as she arches into his touch and Tav dares herself to look down, just as Astarion bites the tender flesh of her breast. Not hard enough to draw blood, but she still can feel the familiar sting of his fangs over her skin. Pleasure shoots straight to her core. How could she ever go back to a mortal man after this? They could bite her, sure, but nothing would ever compare the rush of anticipation before each of his bites, knowing they may or may not pierce her skin. Leaving yet another mark on her body; a statement that it was she who nourished him.

Their eyes meet as he releases her breast from his mouth, tongue flicking over the hardened nub. There’s a blush set high on his cheeks again, eyelids heavy over pools of crimson. She lifts a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb over his face. It’s warm in her palm, and Astarion turns his head into the touch, kissing the inside of her hand. Her thumb brushes briefly over the plushness of his lips, and she’s overcome by one of her strangest urges yet.

She needs him under her. More than she’s ever needed something in her life.

“I’m considered the Lady of this manor, yes?” Tav says urgently, the question coming out more as a statement.

Astarion lifts his head, brows pulling together as he ponders. He nods his head slowly in agreement. “I do recall saying as such, yes.”

Tav tilts her head, running a hand through his hair as she smiles. “Well, your Lady has a request, m’lord.” She speaks lovingly to him, thoroughly enjoying the wide-toothed grin he gives her in response. 

He chuckles; Tav catches a glimpse of white peaking just over his bottom lip. Astarion kisses her breast again as he says, “Oh? And how may I be of service, m’lady?”

She fills her lungs with uneven breaths, pushing herself up on her elbows again. Astarion pulls back to allow her room. Lightning races down her spine, but Tav manages to make eye contact as she states boldly, “I want you under me.”

[f1ddlestan4life]

anybody else a little (a lot) disappointed in bridgerton season three?

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[bumblingbabooshka]

When the only person who might understand what happened- understand. Not sympathize or empathize or comfort you but understand what happened, isn't there anymore. Or: 'A Man Made Me Do Something I Didn't Want To', for when you can't talk about it or look it in the eye [Patreon | Commissions]

[frameconfessions]

I hope they don't make The Drifter and by proxy The Hex irrelevant by just leaving them in 1999 forever like how Excalibur Umbra stopped being story relevant.

[sanasanakun]

Jimithon Mouthwashing is such a good representation of untreated, enabled NPD like it makes me want to squeeze the life out of him. I'm endlessly fascinated when watching him interact with his crew, surroundings, and himself because he's so fucking lost in his own sauce. It's insane. If I'm being real, it makes him my favorite character in the game.

It's a little scary to say, but watching Jimmy is like seeing a mirrored version of myself two years ago before I truly committed to treatment for my NPD. He's like a shadow. The opening line "I hope this hurts," which I believe comes from Jimmy right before the crash, is such a poignant statement. It's a simple line, but I can tell you from experience that the desire to hurt others when in a narcissistic rage is overwhelming. It's such a good line to sum up Jimmy's character in that moment. Luckily, in the real world, I had my friends and family there to catch me when I hit my lowest, even though I'd hurt them so many times. Jimmy probably could've used friends to force him into therapy (cough cough Curly cough cough)

[puppppppppy]

i feel like. theres designing a character with certain themes and motifs in mind, and then theres making a gijinka for the water bottle on my nightstand

[seaofreverie]

Sparkstember Day 11: Angst In My Pants (The Decline And Fall Of Me)

Album two of two in the series of Sparks' immaculate new wave releases! Iconic in every way imaginable from the music to the artwork to ONE music video. I think it's more musically (and lyrically!) varied and mature in tone (besides... a couple exceptions. Yes, an album called Angst In My Pants) than its predecessor, which is a very good development. These songs will leave you chuckling and bopping along and also pondering the intricacies of human existence. Ok, maybe that's a bit of a stretch, but it can't be denied that behind much of the earnestness and theatricality here, there's lots of quite emotional, introspective and thought-provoking stuff to be found.

Thematically, this album goes everywhere. One moment we are in Sextown U.S.A, the next we're visiting Disneyland, California where we make friends among people and animals. On a more serious note though, I think the biggest emotional whiplash one could experience between different songs on an album is between Mickey Mouse and Sherlock Holmes. And yet there's still a very prominent element of humour, even in those songs that are on the more serious or dramatic end of the scale.

I said a few days ago that I'd try to return to the topic of Sparks' brand of humour and how it works, but I don't feel intelligent enough to analyse that today. And I'm pretty sure that from what I've seen, Other People And The Maels Themselves (Said It Better Than Me). So instead, as a little send-off, please remember: if a mouse can be special, well, SO CAN YOU!!! 🫵

Favourite songs (and other highlights):

Angst In My Pants: literally no other song like this one in this world. I can't tell why that is but it's just. So great

I Predict: I had a weird kind of effect where I heard this song in my early days of Sparking and it felt VEEERY familiar to me. I think it was due to the genre / style here, it reminded me of something specific, at first I thought it was very glam rock but I'm pretty sure that this is not it but something else (and I don't know what to call it in that case!). Anyway, banger song

Tarzan And Jane: whoa wait, am I already skipping to the third-to-last song on the tracklist?? I guess I am. This one's great and one of my early favs too (I wonder how long it will take until I run out of things to say about my fav songs and it all just becomes this list of 'it's very good and I like it a lot. next.')

The Decline And Fall Of Me: it's great!! I like it!! And, of course, "check out my pizzas"

Eaten By The Monster Of Love: personal reasons that lead to a printed and framed mini-comic of my making appearing on my desk, which features some of the lyrics of this song, which caused me to have it permanently stuck in my head for a pretty long period of time. And this way I ended up liking it much much more than I did in the beginning, when it still seemed somehow pretty unremarkable to me

[zeb-z]

“Red team was so selfish looking past the cursed team like that” listen man they were thinking about it often, and had evidence they were cursed too. They were convinced they were cursed too. Bad (with Pierre’s help I’ll be honest) singlehandedly destroyed any sort of civil relations and good faith between the two teams and this shot Blue in the foot when they tried to make the case about them being cursed last minute, about trying to rig it in the cursed teams favor.

There was never a cursed team in the first place, it was all a tactic to build paranoia and that feeling of betrayal and to get them to tear eachother a part. And it worked super well! At the end, neither would listen to the other about their evidence, not with an honest open ear, not with the willingness to think the other team could be cursed. It’s not a case of ‘Red just refused to listen because they wanted to win more than they cared’ they thought they were cursed too - if they were selfish, then so were Blue in the same way.

Every time Red had tried to talk first early on, it was met with extreme violence - and with Bad consistently proving he’ll play dirty to win, they didn’t trust Blue enough to listen to them in the later game. Maybe they should have listened then. Maybe Blue have listened earlier. The game worked as intended to set them against eachother.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

Highly doubt I’m the first one to point this out with seven months since act II released but. y’know the sentient terminal theory from the p-1 entry

[Start ID. An ULTRAKILL screenshot of the terminal at the end of the level 5-3: SHIP OF FOOLS. It has been tipped over on its side from the Leviathan capsizing the ship, and its Tip of the Day has been replaced with the word “Ow.” End ID]

[crescentfool]

does anyone else want to stick these two in the same room together or is that just me... i simply think they are adjacent in vibes... (+a bonus thing???)

get u a fictional guy that makes you feel like this... seeing these guys just evoke a Similar Kind of Brain Chemical and Response. Help Me.

also have bonus yosuke doodle featuring the same brushes used here...! from january 23rd, lol.