#if it broken dont fix it

[raphaerolo]

The jedi and his commander

[arminreindl]

The funny part is that even within crocodiles they keep evolving to take on the same headshape. These long skulls evolved independently in Tethysuchians like most dyrosaurs, osteolaemines like Euthecodon (and Mecistops), gavialoids, teleosaurs and to lesser degrees in mekosuchines (Ultrastenos), thoracosaurs (assuming they aren't gharials) and crocodylines (Freshies). None of these groups are closely related and consistently evolve from more broad-snouted forms.

people bring up carcinization or the shark shape when they talk about convergent evolution but to me the funniest example has to be eyespot patterns. nature just keeps slapping fake eyes onto things again and again and again

Evidently evoking the AGH SOMETHING'S LOOKING AT ME panic in potential predators is a solid evolutionary strategy!

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

do robots dream of electric sheep? do robots have nightmares of murders committed in their sleep?

have you slept, or are you afraid of things that in the dark creep?

[thatstomorrowsproblem]

DPxDC A Boy and His Pit Demon

Danny 

The world was green, green, green. Green beans, bean soup, Soup Time. Soupy, soupy Soup Time. 

Would Soup Time hurt now? 

Most things hurt now, because he was broken, broken, broken, but not the green. Green, green, green. 

Green isle, green sky, green eye, green soup. 

He paused. 

Green, green soup. He liked green, and he liked soup, but maybe he didn’t like green soup. 

“No eggs, just soup. I am not Sam, I am not.” He giggled quietly at the thought of amethyst eyes encircled with black and purple paint and approached the lake of green. 

It smelled like Soup had been left out in the sun to rot.

“Hot rot, hot rot.”  

He laid a clawed hand over his icy chest. Food was mean. Sometimes, food fought back. 

Food fights, fighting food, union fight, fighting Soup? Hot-rot green soup. 

He was so hungry, but hot was bad.  

Ice core, hot sore, hot-rot soup. 

He was already so broken, broken, broken, and green was good. 

The hot-rot soup was hot, and he was ice, but it wasn’t fighting back, and it might be nice. 

What did he have to lose? Lost friends, lost home, lost mind, lost all, found Soup. 

He liked green. 

He hummed happily before diving headfirst into a pit of rancid, fetid ectoplasm leaving the Infinite Realms behind. 

Damian 

Damian was nine years old, but that wouldn’t stop him from being the best the League had ever seen. 

He was almost there already, of course. 

He’d even won a fight against his mother once.  

Of course, Damian had set many traps on the battlefield in advance, but it was only proper to use every tool that one had on hand. 

Damian moved smoothly through his training stances, clearing his mind of all thoughts except executing his actions flawlessly. 

He had perfected them years ago, of course. He was not a baby, and he’d been practicing with the blade since he was four. It was important to keep all of your weapons, sharp, however, and ones own skills are the most valuable weapons. 

He often practiced near his grandfather’s pools.  

It was a place where few had permission to go unless accompanying his grandfather, after all, and the soft green glow was pleasant to be near. 

It could be dangerous, of course, but Damian was not so foolish as to risk falling in while healthy. 

A sound caught Damian’s attention, breaking him out of his fluid routine. 

His head whipped towards the Lazarus Waters which had begin to froth and bubble violently. 

Damian had never seen such a reaction before, but he’d heard from others what it meant. 

Rarely, perhaps once every five decades or so, a demon would rise from the pits. 

There was nothing even the best trained assassin could do against them. 

They were strong, fast, unkillable, and the only thing you could do if one set its sights on you was pray for a quick death. 

Damian straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, readying his blade. If he were to die, he would do so with his pride and strength in place. 

He only had to wait a few moments before a nightmarish head rose from the boiling pool. 

It was blacker than night, seeming to suck the luminescence from the waters around it. Its eyes were slitted, with sclera the same toxic green as the pool’s waters. Its mouth was a nightmare of serrated fangs bared in the parody of a smile. 

Damian raised his chin defiantly to death. “You do not belong here. These are my grandfather’s pools.” 

The demon’s head tilted far past what any human would be capable of, and it let out a low, static-filled hiss. “Hungry, hungry. Play, play?” 

Damian gritted his teeth. He had never heard of a pit demon ever speaking before, and the thought of it wanting to play with its food before it ate him brought him nothing but anger. 

If he were to die, he was going to do so with dignity. 

Damian sniffed. “No. One does not play with their food.” 

The creature let out another awful sound like lightning or a windstorm before its gruesome maw stretched even wider. “Fight food.” 

Damian took a deep breath before he let it our slowly and pointed his sword at the creature. “Then let us fight.” 

The creature rose slowly from the water, revealing a small, thin body, but Damian knew that size mattered little when it came to the power of a pit demon.  

It was almost human in the same way that his mother could be called almost nice. 

It had a head, a body, two arms, and two legs. 

However, its limbs were too long. Each of its hands had five skeletal fingers each ending in a razor-sharp blade. Its thin legs had an extra joint, and its stance hurt Damian’s spine just to look at as it floated above the pool dripping toxic water that could kill or poison the living. 

“Fight,” it growled in a voice filled with the cackle of a broken League communicator. 

It did not try and dodge or evade as it spend towards him, claws outstretched, and Damian thought he might get at least one good hit in before he died. 

Damian’s blow struck true, right at the demon’s center of mass, but it didn’t slow its momentum in the slightest, and Damian barely had time to get out of its reach before its claws could impale him. 

He spun quickly, keeping the creature in his sights as it turned on the ground, back arching like a cat about to pounce. 

There was no wound where Damian’s blade had struck, only smooth black skin, darker than night. 

Damian growled. 

It was still playing with him. Still making a fool of Damian, even in his last moments of life. 

Damian shrieked, darting forward and aiming a blade at the pit demon’s heels. 

If he could injure it somewhere delicate, maybe it would retreat back into the waters. 

The monster laughed, unnaturally twisting its legs out of reach and back into the air without a thought for the limitations of gravity or basic anatomy. 

Damian pivoted, slicing upwards at the beast’s exposed face, but the being only caught the sword in its bare hand. 

Damian had a solid grip on his sword. 

One of the first things he’d learned, mastered before the age of five, was how to keep a firm grip on his weapon while maintaining enough flexibility for rapid movement. 

The moment the creature wrapped his hand around the weapon, however, it was as if his favorite blade was as insubstantial as a cloud, and it went through Damian’s hand in an instant. 

The demon laughed its monstrous laugh again, tossing the beautifully forged custom blade behind itself as if it were a common stick. 

Damian knew he would die from the second he’d seen the pit demon emerge, but it was worse to know how insignificant of a threat he posed. 

With a flick of his wrist, he unsheathed and threw a poisoned dagger at the creature. It whizzed between its eyes, and the creature turned its sharp smile to watch the blade sail away. 

It wasn’t fair! 

The creature dropped to the ground in front of Damian, assuming the deplorable fighting stance of a seasoned street brawler, and Damian brought his own fists up at the ready. 

If this monster was going to toy with him like a cat with a mouse, if it liked to play with its food, Damian would be sure to win at least one game. 

The pit demon was even smaller on the ground, barely reaching Damian’s own chest, and Damian grinned savagely. 

He never got the chance to fight someone smaller than himself. 

In a quick movement, Damian darted forward, aiming a blow at the demon’s shoulder. 

Damian wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the fact that his attack had landed, or the fact that the creature hadn’t moved a single centimeter from the force. 

Damian ignored the stinging in his fist and decided to count it as a win. He’d never heard of anyone ever landing even a glancing blow against a pit demon, not even when a dozen of Grandfather’s best had been fighting one together. 

The demon threw a half-trained punch at Damian, and he stepped to the side to grab its wrist, hoping he could use the momentum against it and throw it to the ground, but his hand passed through the creatures arm as if it wasn’t there at all. 

With the distraction, Damian almost didn’t notice its other hand whipping out, and Damian could do nothing as the monster hit his diaphragm with enough force to knock the air from his lungs and send him tumbling backward to the ground. 

He heaved in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the killing blow to land. 

He had fought well and landed a hit against the untouchable. 

A soft weight settled against his chest, and Damian’s eyes flew open. 

The pit demon had settled on top of his chest. “Brave, brave, boy. Fights well, so young. Good fight.” 

Damian shuttered at the being's sharp fangs so close to him, but tried to take pride in knowing that even a true pit demon thought him a worthy fighter. 

His mother and grandfather might never know, but Damian knew that he had done his position as Heir to the Demon proud. 

The creature moved its face toward Damian’s exposed throat, and he prayed for a swift death. 

The creature nuzzled the underside of his chin before growing limp and beginning to hum softly. 

Damian froze in confusion. 

The pit demon’s mass shifted, black body becoming almost like a liquid as it pooled around his neck and over his chest. “Good boy, good fight, like boy.” 

Damian knew he shouldn’t provoke the pit demon. He knew that. However, he had already played the monster’s game and wouldn’t sit passively until it decided it was ready. 

That was one indignity too far. 

“Are you not going to eat me now?” 

“Eat!” The pit demon screeched, purring hum coming to a sudden stop. “Fight food, fight boy, eat food, like boy. Boy fight, I fight, like boy, eat soup.” 

Damian swallowed. The pit demon spoke English, and Damian was fluent in the language. He was not as sure that the pit demon was fluent, however, with how little sense it was making. 

“In return for sparing my life, you would like soup?” Damian tried, furrowing his eyebrows. 

A hand reemerged from the black mass that was the pit demon, and a clawed finger pointed at the Lazarus Waters. “Ate Soup, green Soup. Sam I am not.” 

Damian didn’t know how not being named Samuel was related to drinking Lazarus Waters, but that was irrelevant to the small, absurd hope rising in his chest. “You are satiated after consuming my grandfather’s… soup, and you have no plans on eating me?” 

The demon wheezed out another crackling laugh and patted his cheek. “Funny boy, funny soup, like boy, keep boy.” 

Its sharp hand melted back into its body, and it resumed purring. 

Damian’s mind raced at the implications. 

He had fought a pit demon, he had landed a blow and impressed the creature, and it seemed that it planned on staying. 

Damian had– He had been the first to impress a demon with his fighting prowess, and he seemed to have won its loyalty. 

He had always known he was destined for greatness, of course, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined this as a possibility. 

Damian laid a hand carefully on top of the purring monster on his chest. “If you are not Samuel, then what may I call you?” 

The demon rumbled and hummed, pressing itself into Damian’s hand. “I am P4NT0M, I am Dan, I am not Dan. I am Phantom. I am Danny.” 

Damian wrinkled his nose. Most of those names were unacceptable, but he supposed that he could make due. “Phantom, then. Welcome to Nanda Parbat. I am Damian al Ghul, grandson of Ra's al Ghul.” 

The creature purred more loudly, and Damian ran a hand along the monster’s cold brow. 

Damian grinned and sat up, cradling the black purring mass against his chest. 

He was Damian al Ghul, first of the League of Assassins to ever earn the respect of a Pit Demon. 

He would also be the first to tame a pit demon. 

[ovcii-doodles]

The Director always said it was important to have ambition, Captain Tucker. We are the Meta, and together we will be strong enough to save your friends.

meta tucker gang we've waited almost 10 years for this (I made the quote up btw)

[wildaboutchu2000]

18matsu au....................

reika belongs 2 @mushimatsu :3

[lawyer-of-louis-de-lioncourt]

Fans of IWTV that are problems

People who want to put the blame on one character.

Like sir. Uhm. How do I say this? In a way that can penetrate your mind?

They. Are. All. Horrible. People.

But they are also: All Beautiful People With Love All Consuming.

Both can be true. Because IWTV is the extreme reflection of life and people.

There is this comment on a fan edit on YT that was literally posted a day ago that I found.

I think we've established Louis is the problem. He is the common denominator in all these toxic relationships. Even his and Claudia's was an unhealthy mess. [Image]

And before I go on, on why this sh*t brings the movement down and I don't and won't tolerate I just want to bash the thinking of this person.

Let me ask you, reader and watcher, if a person in an abusive relationship lands in another abusive relationship are they the problem? Are they seeking to be abused yet again? Do you think they like it? Do you think Louis du Point du Lac went into loving Lestat because Lestat showed anger issues? Insecurities? No. He saw the best in him. He still fucking does. He loves the guy despite his problems. Do you think Louis fell for Armand because he was a gaslighter? A liar? A betrayer and clear child killer? No. He fell for Armand's ability to be soft to be gentle. He fell for his understanding. His clear care and focus on what he wants. His endurance.

"Louis is the problem." The problem here is that there are lies and manipulation from all characters. Louis is a lost soul who is more impulsive than the rest of the characters. He goes through life always seeking, seeking, seeking not really knowing what he is looking for. He also has fucking depression and some deep self-resentment.

But to say he is a problem because he is a victim (and he is because even though he has his strengths in the events between the Big Lestat Drop and The Trial he has been most hurt from both events more than Lestat and Armand (if we don't count Claudia because she was the MOST VICTIM OF ALL OF THEM DURING THAT ERAS)) is disgusting. It's victim blaming. To say he is a common denominator of abuse is stupid. He is the common denominator BECAUSE he attracts powerful love interests who are unhinged.

There is a huge power imbalance between Louis and Lestat. That was unknown. A power imbalance between Louis and Armand that was known but put aside because Armand gave the illusion that he was giving Louis the reigns.

To say Louis is the problem is blaming a wife being beaten, divorcing her husband and then getting in a relationship where she is beaten again. Clearly she's asking for it. (That's how this post sounds like) And. I. Will. Not. Tolerate. It.

Okay. Now that is put aside.

Like I said before.

These vampires are broken. One could argue being beyong repair.

The purpose of the books is to show monsters in love. Monsters who act on humanity but still take it too far.

There's a whole quote that says something about Lestat loving first and how passionate he is but in that love the only way he can show it is through violence. To break it.

We see Armand who is so loving and so f*cking patient. So eager to be loved. So eager to not be alone. Because he has been so alone all these years and then he meets Louis. Louis with a daughter. Louis with a burning, eager heart to be free this time around. Louis who represents everything Armand desires. To be free of all chains. And in wanting Louis he loves only him. Sees Claudia as chain too. Because Louis broke free of Lestat. Because Claudia, to Armand, is an extension of Lestat. Louis' capturer, maker, abuser.

He loves so much that he sees this as right. To get Louis all to himself. He wants this so badly. He even says it. "I want you more than anything in the world."

Words with weight. Words he meant. Words he carried through. He loves wholly. Obsessively. He loves solely.

And then Louis. Sweet Saint Louis. A father, a brother, a man who cannot exist or see himself outside of others. He is father, brother, lover, companion, son before he is Louis. This man who cannot exist outside others. This man who because of his spiraling self-hate drags others so he can stop the self- punishment. To get a reprieve. To put this love onto others because he can only love himself by loving and caring about others.

Who cannot love himself. Who drags the body of a stranger's daughter to beg for one himself. Who self sabotages and then tries to fix it. Who loved someone who hurt him because he can't let it go. Who thought he could love a man with burdens and control that was spiraling. A man who he knew felt the loneliness he had too. Louis who begs, demands and pleads and manipulates to get this fix of love. To put it somewhere. Even if it destroys the person he loves. (Paul, Claudia, Lestat and Armand) Just a little bit. Who loves then bites the hand that feeds him. Who loves so much. So much. He gets lost in it. Then drowns. Drowns in his failures. And drags others into it.

(Lestat: You drag me into your gloom. Armand: Will I be on suicide watch for the next 1000 years?)

And it's true to sense. He can't preserve his happiness. And sometimes he goes out of his way to not. Destroys it. (The killing of Lestat. The harsh words in 1970s to Armand) Because he doesn't deserve it.

This is all what it comes to:

They are humans stuck to live forever with these woes and problems and nowhere to put it. No where to put their trauma. So they make it themselves and then try to love with these jagged pieces.

They are fleshed out and more real than any character out there.

They are real. In their monstrosity. In their humanity.

They are horrible, they are beautiful, they are guilty, they are innocent. All of this. All true. All at the same time.

"I could not prevent it."

"...Was a band aid for shitty marriage?"

"This fascinating boy."

"I HEARD YOUR HEARTS DANCING?"

"Let me go."

"I love you with all of myself."

"Come to me."

"But she didn't love you. Not like he did, not like I have."

"I hate you."

"I know, I know. She's calling me."

"You and me. Me and you. You and me. Me and you."

"PICKED ANOTHER ONE OVER ME!"

"He's...a lot."

"I love you too baby brother."

"I'm not asking Arun."

"Am I all I have endured?"

"THE NAME! UNUTTERED in our home for 23 YEARS!"

"Could you imagine me? Without the burden of her?"

"I want you more than anything in the world."

"She called me an angel. Me!"

"Saint Louis."

"Are your companions?" "Yes." "No."

"I had a hunch."

"He forgave me."

"Why do I owe you my one act of cowardice?"

"Armand preserves my happiness..."

"Claudia is my coven."

"It was never about me."

"Tell her she's beautiful every morning."

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[lmanburgseulogy]

ah. Okay. but l’manburg and every person defining the nation some way. not in the like “c!tommy is the heart or the nation” way not like that. instead it’s watching you become the country that becomes your friends’ home. it’s ctubbo loving the stars and ctommy makes a joke about them all going to the moon and 2 months later there’s a ribbon cutting for the space station. it’s cwilbur starting it off on his own ideals and watching every detail be written after them. it’s looking up at the walls and remembering the present king on his knees placing bricks. the beginning of l’manburg’s story is, some friends founding a home, and with that comes the realization you have sewn your very existence into this piece of history. it is watching you, become the country, become the home that your friends’ live in. it is knowing all of you are the country, all of you are pieces of each other, and when it gets taken away no one knows what is left of themselves anymore.

[thegreatyin]

when you've completed your transformation into a terrifying celestial beast and your husband VERY RUDELY and VERY CRUELLY refuses to give you a smooch on your big fluffy alien snoot because he says you still need to do pointless things like "listen to union demands" and "apologize for all of those war crimes you committed". as though you aren't a literally a fluffy powdered donut

[3-aem]

MY BRAINS NOT WORKING AND THE CUTE BOY I WORK WITH KEEPS CORRECTING MY GRAMMAR THIS IS SO AHAIWIAKSDHDGRRRRHRNE

[pathetic-gamer]

The truly bizarre homoeroticism of noir comedy PI Hunch Curio carrying the unconscious body of Dan Fucks into his dim, smoky office and using frozen steaks and whiskey to tend to his wounds????? the raw intimacy of Dan waking up to Hunch stabbing him in the chest with a comically large syringe and thinking he's in heaven?????????? I am a changed man.

[chickensauras]

Prologue brain rot, but! I either have a prediction or a new AU 🤡

(Ref this other thing i drew)

[jrueships]

men can and will talk abt wnba players' looks first and make it sound like they're models and not athletes, but immediately scrutinize and deride women for being fans of men's sports bcs they think they're only in it for the handsome looks and don't value a person's skill outside that, and that's a valid reason for alienating and rejecting their opinion because that's a bad thing to do objectively

[unicornicdesigns]

Ravenpaw

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

got three asks asking for laughingstock in a row, im putting the doodles i have On A Shelf <3

[zer0point5ive]

lawrence and amanda should bring adam back wrong i think .. get real weird and abomination against god with it and bring him back as some sort of fragile fucked up deadalive guy who freaks out about not having a heartbeat. or something