#i was on the floor in awe

[anchy2006]

Ok this was the best crying scene since Emma Thompson in Love actually

[hinamie]

make it vicious, take a stab

[aulerean]

a bamboozling turn of events

[vintrage]

it was that white cloak that soiled me

[vynnyal]

So let me get this straight:

Hollow knight is about the journey of a small creature possessing the corpse of a god's discarded child, and the character arc that unfolds as they realize they're more than the path they were set to take, eventually defeating the corruption instead of merely postponing inevitable destruction.

Rain world is about the journeys and experiences of many small creatures sent by a bunch of gossiping computers, and the efforts to help stop the destruction caused by a corrupted god that unfolds over hundreds of years, all to postpone his inevitable death.

Man, video games are fun!

[satyricplotter]

(suggestive, slightly explicit content at the end)

Even though you’ve been expecting the visit for most of the night, the Red Hood knocking at your balcony door at 1 in the morning still catches you off guard. You scramble off the couch in a sleepy daze, book falling off your lap and cracking open on the floor. For one long second, the only thing you can think of is that whoever your last assignment was has managed to find you, that you’ve finally been too sloppy and left a trail with which to track you.

That’s your first thought. Your second thought is, of course, Barbara. But before you can reach your phone to shoot your boss a SOS, or, at the very least, an alert, a second rasp at the window panes freezes you on the spot.

“Will you open the damn door?” Red Hood’s unmistakably robotic voice grits out. “It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

You trip in your rush to open the doors, limbs loose and clumsy with relief. Hood shoulders past you with a grunt, fingers prodding at the back of his head to get at the latch of his helmet. He takes it off in a smooth motion, his hot breath forming a white cloud against the cold air of your running AC. You lock the balcony back up after him as he goes around your apartment, setting his helmet on your dinner table and shrugging out of his jacket. He means to stay apparently. You could’ve lent him an umbrella if he wanted to go back out there. Probably would’ve been best.

See, you don��t like the Red Hood much.

He invites himself over to your kitchen, opening cabinets here and there until he chances upon the dinnerware and pulls out a glass. The Gotham public infrastructure is in such state you have never once attempted to drink out of the tap, but you don’t stop him when he does. It is, technically, allowed. And he had the pitcher full of filtered water right under his nose, so. You wait impatiently as he downs two whole glasses of tap water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand (there is a perfectly usable kitchen towel draped over the oven handle).

He glances over, notices you staring. The corner of his lips quirks up. “How obedient,” he mocks. He pats at his sides, pulls a folded envelope from somewhere in his body (the Bats have endless pockets, you’ve come to learn) and tosses it on the table. “There’s your file. You better be fucking thankful. Traipsed through half the city in this shit storm just to get you these.”

“Thank you, Red Hood,” you say politely, picking up the rumpled envelope and eagerly flipping through the files. “Much appreciated.”

Red Hood rolls his eyes at you, eternally put off by your insistence on following the proper channels of conduct. “Whatever. You got anything to eat?”

“Help yourself,” you tell him.

You walk back to the couch with the file in hand and leave him to make himself whatever he will, already too distracted by the information within to care that you’re gonna have to make a second grocery run when he’s done with your fridge. Red Hood rummages through your cabinets, pulling out far more stuff than he should for a midnight snack. At one point, he asks if you’ve had dinner, and you respond him with an absentminded (and truthful) negative. The files he’s brought are the latest Robin’s swiped from the team’s ongoing investigation on a dicey arms exchange deal that may or may not involve three out of four of Gotham’s biggest conglomerates (sans, of course, Wayne Enterprises). It’s your job to process the info—a task too menial and too tedious for Oracle and Red Robin, respectively, to handle. Besides, Tim’s far more useful on the ground.

It must be about twenty minutes of you pouring over the pages scattered over your coffee table when the man speaks up again. “Dinner’s ready,” he says.

You look up to see him setting two plates of steaming stir fry on the table. He’s taken off his gloves, his utility belt, the domino mask and rolled up his sleeves—the whole nine yards. Only missing the apron. The food looks lovely, but of course it does. Cooking is listed as a specialty in Red Hood’s file, right along with marksmanship and hostile takeovers.

Your lips quirk up at the unexpected kindness, but you shake your head. “None for me, thanks.”

“I said,” Red Hood says, placing his gun on the table menacingly. “Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”

Well. So much for kindness. You’re about as dumb as Red Hood’s subtle, which is to say only at your benefit and very much at will, so you only sigh and push the papers aside. He watches you rise and sit, and pick up the fork, before he does the same. You eat in silence.

After a few bites, you stop being disgruntled at his coercion and grateful that he’s got something other than a protein bar in you because you were, in fact, quite hungry. That’s not something you can say—or at least not in any way which he would accept, so you just shut up and eat your meal happily. That seems to be enough for him, as he watches you finish the whole plate with a satisfied expression.

“Good?” He asks.

“Yeah, actually,” you beam.

Even when he stands and brings the dishes over to the sink to wash, you are reluctant to leave your spot at the table. You watch him rinse and sponge the plates and pan, the knife and spoon and cutting board, and your afternoon tea mug. He washes his hands thoroughly and rinses his mouth with the dubious tap water again. A thorough, judicious man. He’s played remarkably nice this evening. You wonder if Oracle’s been pulling his ear to leave you alone.

When he finishes, he walks slowly the remainder of the narrow hallway of your kitchen back to the dinner table and leans against the threshold. The long line of his body catches you off guard, always so unexpectedly graceful despite his musculature, his brutality. You hold his gaze serenely, trying not to cave under his scrutiny.

This is why you don’t like the Red Hood. Every time he looks at you, he sees you wholly. As you are. Not, crucially, as you want. It has been this way since the first time he laid eyes on you—a single glance and he had taken the measure of you. No further explanation, no time to make amends. And what’s worse: he expects you to be honest. He expects you to say what he can read in your face. He doesn’t let it go when you deflect, when you coat your truths in niceties. He wants it raw and open.

You can’t play dumb with Jason Todd.

He breaks the silence first. “Were you expecting Grayson this evening?”

The non-sequitur catches you so off guard you break eye contact accidentally. What’s Nightwing got to do with anything?

“No?” You say, evidently baffled. “Nightwing’s been off-world all week. Why would he be coming around?”

He cocks his head to the side, sucks in the bit of flesh below his lower lip. "So you knew it was me who'd be coming around?"

"Obviously?" What is he going on about? He clearly doesn't believe you, either. It's childish when you stomp your foot and whine, but he always brings out the worst in you. "I'm serious, Hood. I've been waiting for you all evening. Just you."

Jason pushes off the wall and approaches, staring you down with slightly raised eyebrows. “Then, if you knew Dick wasn't coming with, what are you looking so fuckable for?”

Despite how much it bruises your pride, you cannot help but sputter. The staring is one thing, the passing brushes are another—even the stupid pulling at your pigtails like you’re both in kindergarten is… permissible. But this? Coming at you so straightforwardly when all you know how to do is circumvent and hide? Desperately, you respond to the one thing in that sentence you can make sense of: the accusation.

“I don’t like Nightwing,” you whine. Jason fixes you with a look of dry incredulity. You huff. How you despise him. He can’t even let you lie. “And I don’t dress for him either.”

“Hm.” He reaches over to pull at the neckline of your admittedly skimpy top, his knuckle brushing against your chest. “Sure.”

You bat his hand away, and stand up, but that leaves you much closer to him than you expected. Or wanted. “This is not fuckable,” you grit out. “This is… pajamas.”

Jason cranes his neck to take a close look at you, every bit as assessing as the first one had been. One of his large hands comes to play with the hem of your shorts, pushes it up just a smidge, and the pads of his fingers are rough and calloused against your outer thigh. Your eyelids flutter, and he has the nerve to smile.

“That’s a blatant lie, you know,” he says, dipping his head low so the words brush against your lips. “Try a little, huh?”

“This seems like a you problem, my guy,” you snap, so close you might as well be speaking into his mouth. You need to get away. You don’t.

Jason’s smug when you gasp after his hands close around your ass and bring you forward, flush against his body. The hardness in his pants trapped between you, a pressing weight just below where it should be. Should be? What are you—but Jason adjusts before you can scold yourself, lining up your crotch with his and grinding. It feels bigger this way, which is insane because it's already pretty fucking huge, and a hot flash of desire runs through you lightning-quick and just as obliterating. You slump against him, head on his shoulder.

“That’s my problem,” he murmurs against your ear. His thumbs press just under your asscheeks, playful. “You gon’ do anything about it?”

[fiveredlights]

It’s a fucking awful sunrise the next morning.

They couldn’t check the weather, Michelle had paid off Issac and Izzy to steal it from them the second they walked into the house, so they half heartedly argued for a bit what was considered sunrise time—5:45 am apparently—and that was that. The alarm clock woke them up, and left the house bundled in warm clothes for an uncharacteristically cold spring morning.

Grace had offered Matilda Bay as their spot. A stretch of grass that sits opposite the Perth skyline, the river in between. There are tall gumtrees littered along the shoreline, and Max steers them to one furthest away from the public eye.

It’s just them here. Bark, digging into the skin of his back. The damp dirt, where he sits. Daniel, the heavy, solid, unmoving weight in his hand.

“This is a really shit sunrise,” Daniel mumbles into his shoulder. He’s curled away, in between Max’s legs where they make a V-shape. Daniel’s knees dig into his right thigh, and has tucked his head into the crook between Max’s neck and shoulder.

He’s not even sure he could call it a sunrise. It’s overcast, the grey clouds are spread out as far as the eye can see. There is sun, but it shines from behind the clouds. The light from it slowly rises with time, but it’s barely noticeable.

Max hums quietly in response, tracing stars above his hip. “I think there’s going to be a couple of bad sunrises,” he says softly. “But there will be good ones again. Maybe not right now, or next week. But there will be good ones again.”

“We should come back here.” Daniel pushes himself up and shuffles until all Max is seeing is Daniel.

It’s always been Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.

“We should come back here,” he repeats, snaking his hand up to the base of Max’s neck, threading Max’s hair through his fingering ers. “When the sunrises are good again.”

Max leans forward and kisses his curls. Kisses his forehead. Kisses the corner of his eyes. Kisses the hook of his nose. Kisses his lips. Kisses everywhere he can, hopes that each one will resemble any semblance of peace Daniel so desperately deserves.

“It’ll be good,” Max whispers in between their lips as they pull back slowly. “It’ll be good again.”

[sforzesco]

I love how much Lucullus can't stand Pompey, and also this

Pompey the Great: A Political Biography, Robin Seager

with something from this thrown in for extra flavor

Crassus and Pompey, on the other hand, ridiculed Lucullus for giving himself up to pleasure and extravagance, as if a luxurious life were not even more unsuitable to men of his years than political and military activities.

Plutarch, Lucullus

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[skrunksthatwunk]

skwisgaar punished arc

[cartoon-thembo]

I HAD TO MAKE SOMETHING OR I WASN'T GOING TO BE ABLE TO SLEEP WHAT A CHAPTER HOLY FUCK

@buggachat

[lonestardust]

9-1-1 :LONE STAR : 5x06 "Naked Truth" Owen calls the 126 to Come Help rebuild the barn for Marlene, featuring Home by Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros.

[codacheetah]

This specific dialogue interests me because it feels like the closest thing we get to a direct correlation between the True Ending and Loop giving up. I mean yea obviously the True Ending is literally the "TRUE ENDING" of SASASAP there was even a whole dialogue change to twohats in the latest update to super canonize it for the people who didn't get it. But the way this is phrased (as the direct progression of "something terrible" into "i'm here") makes me think that Loop waking up in that meadow again directly led into them making their second wish.

[sallytwo]

Do you wanna know how far you've come?

id in alt.

[skyward-floored]

So I’ve been thinking all day about Lost having a dog after his adventure and @luna-loveboop said something about giving him a samoyed and um. I really liked that idea. So I doodled it a bit (along with some random other Lost stuff). Doggo is unnamed as of now, but I’m thinking of something like maybe Winter or Snowball.

I also discovered I’m not good at drawing samoyed dogs ✌️

A couple close ups under the cut

[cherrywhite]

Congratulations hayward and carpenter for doing absolutely nothing this episode. I think it's high time THEY get to be silly while other characters get to go through the worst experience of their lives. You know, as a treat

[mash4077confessions]

OUCH! savage trapper 😬