#iii am rambling

[excelsior9173]

(x)

[rain-harmonia]

Love love love the narrative of revenge in Astarion’s story! A lot of ‘revenge’ stories like to preach about the double edged sword, forgiveness, being no better than them, etc etc etc. BOOOOOOO BORING! Baldur’s Gate 3 says kill your abuser!!! (I know this also comes into play with other characters like Karlach w/ Gortash, but my brain has a rot so I’m talking about Astarion specifically here)

Like, the game is sooo heavy on choices and morality and such. But it is never for a single moment a question of “should Astarion kill Cazador?” Astarion is going to kill him! It’s just going to happen. It’s a given. It’s the known outcome of his story from the moment you learn about Cazador. Killing Cazador isn’t even related to Astarion’s tipping point of losing himself. It’s the ritual that focuses on that.

“You’re right, I can be better than him” is never about not killing Astarion’s abuser. It’s about not sacrificing seven thousand souls in the pursuit of power.

I just always love to see a revenge narrative that never even brings up the concept of taking the high road or whatever!

[dylawa]

You know what? I'm gonna say it. Am I the only one who headcanons that Gale is a pianist?

Think about it. Sure, the only real evidence we have to go off of is his romance scene if you let him walk you through his tower in Waterdeep and he points out the self-playing piano in his study, but how often does he really set up that thing to play on its own? Wouldn't that cost a lot magically speaking to upkeep (and he'd probably have consumed the Weave in it in his year of self-isolation for his condition? Maybe just sheet music is enchanted and influences the piano)?

And Gale doesn't seem like the kind of guy to own a piano solely because it can play itself. Maybe he is, he's clearly not at all bad off financially and he does have a bit of clutter around, but a whole piano? I just don't feel it. He seems like he'd want to be able to have at least some use for everything of significance in his tower. I have no doubt the man reads all his books, so he wouldn't have a piano just lying around collecting dust.

"Dyl it's the DND equivalent of owning a record player" ssshhh play along with me

Besides, he's already proven to be good with his hands. I mean, he's a wizard. And there are fewer more romantic instruments to play than a piano, and we all know Gale's very romantic. He may not compose his own music, maybe he improvs his music, but I'm sure he does play. And I'm sure he would play for his significant other on shared quiet nights.

[sapphiregem01]

Silly haha critical role theory,,,,

ya know how Percy’s hair is white cuz of all the shit the briarwoods did to him and stuff,,,and how Laudna has white streaks in her hair,,,,

just. Thinking about that. Hm.

[revelisms]

Thinking about Terzo to the tune of Father Lucifer, and Dancing With a Ghost, and Portrait of a Dead Girl:

A son shackled by expectation, but never shining so brightly as he did on those stages; who piecemealed love from sex and sex from heartbreak and heartbreak from anger, and who grieved a little boy he never was but could have been; who copied his father's paints, and sang for his mother's leer, and called his eldest brother Nonna not as a tease, but because he was the closest he could claim;

Who loved a forbidden love and scorned its forbiddenness and had it ripped from him, without permission; who cried as violently as he grinned, could twist a crowd's affections around his finger but couldn't put three friendships to his name; who pulled black silks from his wardrobe and smeared a skull on his skin and said, Yes, this is as I am, as I am meant to be: your Son, your Shadow, your Nothing—

Who carried a golden award in his hands and a spike in his heart, and was still good, despite it all (or tried to be, or couldn't be)—

Who Secondo called the imbecile and Primo called little boy and Copia called only brother, brother, brother—

(He was not his brother. Not by blood, by their bastard father; only by Sister, and Sister alone—)

Who at fourteen saw a copper-headed child slumped at his side, with eyes pleading for belonging, and put a hand on his shoulder instead of through his teeth; mumbled, It's alright, little thing, instead of, Who do you think you are, taking my mother from me—?

Who sauntered on a purple-glistened stage, knowing the performance would be his last, with the weight of the world in his smile and a microphone squeezed in his hand, and thought, Is this it? What you have always worked me towards?

Who entered his retirement with a chip on his shoulder and a weariness in his bones, piecemealed love from sex and sex from heartbreak and heartbreak from wrath and said, Here I am, eh? Your last "son." Your Legacy.

Who smiled, thin and brittle, at the siblings that stumbled over still calling him Papa; who would correct them, with a grousing tease and a dimpled thing that didn't reach his eyes—It's just me, sweetness. The titles were, eh...never a sticking point, no? You have little Coppie to sing your praises, now—

Who would make coffees in hand-painted cups and carry them stiff-boned, black-clothed down the halls, knock-knocking on their Monsignor's door, finding Primo's fish-pale eyes glowering from his desk with herb roots scattered like snakes over his parchments—

What is this? I bring you the Devil's ambrosia, and you greet me with maggots?

Who his brother swiped the soil from his varnish for, permission given with a bland sigh and an extension of a bony hand; told him, Sit down, Zito, and nudged his half-touched plate of breakfast towards him. You are not eating.

Who gave a child's giggle, and slumped like an old man: still ancient, still fourteen, still glaring at the floor with a smile that didn't shine.

It is not Copia's fault, Primo had muttered. It is not your fault.

Who dragged his thumb through a frayed sleeve, his nails painted and chipped, and sneered.

How is it not?

Who stood at the gates of Hell, with the Unnamed manifested in his finery: a demon no longer born of flesh and blood, who he could not see, could not touch, could not remember—

I miss you. I miss you, so much—

Who tied on black silks and carried leather bound books and took up his helm at the pulpit—not as their Father, but as the esteemed Replacement, as he had always goddamn been.

Who smiled to a congregation who looked for a beast's claws, and found human hands; looked for a beating heart, and found a stone-hardened knot.

Let me ask you now about the subject of Pride.

Not the pride of their litter, surely. Not of his father's own ghost.

(But who could have been.

Hell below, who could have been.)

[politemagic]

slasher iii & slasher iv

oh geez oh boy oh god here it is. i had to strangle this thing out of my brain and she came out kicking and screaming. unedited, just some fun slasher iii & slasher iv content on this saturday evening. this is... something

there's a good bit of triggers in here, please proceed with caution.

1.15k words

The two of them are just hardcore horror fans, right? They've seen all the classics a million times but as they're getting older it's just not enough. III is the first one to suggest it as he turns off the television after watching the newest horror box office flop. At first, IV thought it was a joke. An outlandish suggestion to throw him off his game. That was the kind of jokester that III was. But there was no humor in his voice when he said in a sinisterly quiet voice.

"We could just do that shit ourselves."

The thought caused excitement to pulse through IV's veins as III laid out the details of his fantasy. It was almost too perfect, he thought. Their calculus professor was a piece of shit who was always too hard on the class, so he made an obvious target. He had no family, which further eased IV's conscience. They'd be doing the world a favor.

It was an experience unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, the thrill of watching the light wink out of his horrified eyes as he clawed at the masks covering their faces, watching the fight leave his body as he fell limp to the floor. He found he didn't quite mind the feeling of his blood soaked jeans clinging to his legs.

III had done most of the dirty work, but who was IV to deprive him of the joy he received from plunging the knife into his victim's stomach? They tidied. up after themselves enough to erase their presence, and waited for someone to find him.

The discovery of the beloved professor’s body the next day came as a shock to the whole community, leaving the town a worried mess. Things only got worse as III and IV selected their next target. She was a young woman, engaged to be married, known for babysitting just about every kid in town– the two of them included. IV’s stomach soured at the thought, but the grin on III’s face stirred his excitement enough to quell his conscience. 

“Don’t worry mate, she’ll be perfect.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder and pulled him into his pickup truck, the bed loaded with enough hunting knives to butcher a stampede.

And perfect she was. They managed to slip into the garage undetected, slinking through the darkened hallways towards the illumination and chatter of the television in the living room. She had nodded off on the couch, her head tilted back and nestled into the corner, surrounded by blankets and pillows. III gave him a silent nod and IV walked around behind her, wrapping an arm around her neck and clamping his hand over her mouth. Her eyes shot open in fear, panic overtaking her body as her eyes raked down every intimidating inch of III as he knelt in front of her, sliding a knife out of his boot. 

IV could feel her gnashing at the flesh of his palm, and simply pressed the crook of his elbow further into her jugular. He could feel her resolve dwindling as she thrashed against his hold, trying to shove III’s towering figure away from her. But III only laughed and swatted away her comparatively small hands as he began tracing the tip of his blade up her pajama clad leg, the twinkle in his eye indicated to IV that he was thoroughly enjoying the muffled whimpers coming from behind IV’s hand, relishing in the way that her body lurched away from him.

When IV felt his hand dampening from her tears, he audibly groaned, looking down to see her beautiful eyes squeezed shut, tears running down her cheeks. If his mask wasn’t covering his mouth he would have leaned down and licked those tears off of her perfect skin himself. But instead, he managed to catch III’s attention, nodding down to her streaming tears and III laughed evilly.

He leaned over her, wiping her tears away with his thumbs, gently caressing her cheeks as he did so, despite IV’s hands covering most of her face. 

“Hey, no use for that,” III cooed. “No point of doing that at all, love.”

Her eyes opened, a bone-chilling fear shooting through her body as she saw the murderous glint in III’s eyes. The tears flowed faster, and as she tried again to break free III restrained her arms with ease, resting his body weight on top of her as he brought his knife up to her line of sight again. 

“We’re going to have a lovely time, the three of us.”

She screamed from behind IV’s hand, making one last attempt to bite at him and managed to find purchase on the meat of his palm, causing him to yelp. She sank her teeth in until she could taste his blood on her tongue, but she found his grip only tightened. When she dared a glance above her, she could see his eyes shut, breathing labored, but when he looked down at her, she realized what a mistake she had made. 

A mixture of her tears and IV’s blood dripped from her chin, and the sight sent a shockwave of excitement through III’s body. He was ecstatic to have a partner in all this, to get to experience his wildest fantasies with his best friend. To share this new side of him with his best friend. 

“Now for the fun part.” He whispered, more to IV than to her, but the words caused her heart to sink, she felt the resolve fly from her body– there was no salvation for her. The coppery tang of his blood on her tongue that had once tasted like victory now tasted of defeat. Not only would she die at their hands, she would die with their repulsive presence invading her every sense.

III felt the familiar rush of euphoria as the blade pierced through her belly, her muffled scream like a favorite song heard on the radio. He didn’t miss the way IV’s hip pressed slightly into the couch, spreading a wide grin across his lips.

This would be the fun part, indeed.

Hours later, III laid down in his bed, resting an arm behind his head as he replayed the events of the day, that same grin still plastered on his face. He felt his eyes drifting closed, sleep ready to take his body when he heard the sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand. His heart leaped at the sight of your name, and your sweet message.

i guess you turned in early tonight. sweet dreams, i love you <3

As he laid back down, his eyes falling shut one more time, his mind conjured up the most beautiful plan for you. 

A special surprise.

[cactusnymph]

“Just gotta deal with the fact that people have different tastes”, she continues.

Gale huffs.

“Apparently I’m the only one who’s not their type”, he mumbles.

“I could describe my night with them to you, if that would help at all?”, Karlach offers, the pity in her eyes more than Gale can take.

“It really, really wouldn’t.”

[wayfinderships]

Good morning gamers! Hope you all have a good day! <3

As for me...😔 I've perhaps developed. A 4th Yakuza crush...I gotta stop! I can't keep developing more!!

[aesdi]

got an x-men og5 breakfast club au cooking up in my head and i can’t stop thinking about it

[dragonnnfly]

For years I had no idea what you weirdos were talking about!!

Like, for years people have made fish jokes about the Haddock family! Because… in English… a Haddock… is… A FISH?! I only realized this a few weeks ago.

You maniacs

You psychos

NOBODY TOLD ME

Because in Danish (my native language and the language I grew up watching the movies and shows in) the fish, Y’know… the Haddock?! It’s called KULLER

And THAT is not Hiccup’s Danish surname! NO

No

In Danish, Haddock is replaced by Havgus, WHICH IS SO REGAL

It. Means. Ocean. Mist.

Like, THAT IS COOL RIGHT!!?

It is cool… but I have so many emotions

I am so angry, because “Havgus” is Ocean mist

BUT ANE BEING ANE MADE A POST A WHILE AGO THAT SAID OTHERWISE! Listen, I live in a harbor city, which just makes me mistake so much worse

OCEAN. MIST that’s what it means, but I made a post convincing you all that it meant SEAGULL

SEAGULL?!?!

The bird?!

Am I out of my mind?!?! Did I have a stroke?!

Like I swear I was not okay in my head that day, because I typed it and went “not this is wrong” and then I went

TO GOOGLE TRANSLATE

No I didn’t check the dictionary. I checked. Google. Translate and I promise I normally don’t do that, I ding know why I did that day

And now this post has gotten away from me, but to summarize: Hiccup’s surname, wether it be English or Danish, has given me nothing but headaches

[excelsior9173]

neeeeeed to know what the conversations are like in regards to stage costumes/outfits for sleep token

like. we see iii especially being a fashion icon and switching it up- wearing some really cool outfits and shit (and mostly attainable? brands. like they’re not cheap- but he’s not wearing insanely expensive shit either. the average person with good pay/money management can get those clothes too)

i wanna know if like. the band plans these outfits together like throwing together a mood board or whatever of the vibes they’re going for, or if iii just shows up to rehearsals with a new wardrobe and the others just roll with it. especially considering ii and ves and espera are so consistent and always wear the same thing more or less. iv is consistent even if he switches it up a bit too

i have to admit i really do love the idea of iii just living his best life and showing up in more and more elaborate outfits and everyone else just rolling with it

[sneak-a-cat]

tfw you never watched Wordgirl as a child but stumbled across the fandom recently and now you have, *checks notes* nearly 15 thousand words planning for a slow burn Tobecky fic written in the last week. jesus christ

most of -if not all- the conflict is internal stuff exploring how they feel about things plus fun headcanons on the gaps in the shows lore and I intend for it to sort of show how they're dynamic changes as they grow up and all that. Basically, to avoid spoilers, the plot is self discovery as they grow up and their relationship to each other and the rest of the cast

I still haven't watched the show. I'm busy ok, I'll get on that-

I've gone a little bit rabid over this, icl, I've never had a fic plan come together this quickly

[loopspoop]

Maybe I’m reading into this a bit but…I was thinking about how strong Goemon is. Because he is strong. They’re all strong of course but Goemon is strong. And it kind of dawned on me like…do you think it gets to him? He’s been compared to an angel before (as far as I’ve seen because I’m only almost done with part 2) and those are pretty powerful entities like it literally showed him as an angel deflecting that missile that one episode. As far as I’ve seen, nobody has compared Jigen to death or the like or Fujiko to like..a siren??? (Idk but you get my point) Lupin has been thought immortal because bro is literally unkillable and true..I’m sure that weighs on him late at night too but..do you think it gets to him? Viewing oneself as human while others place you at a status that is literally unobtainable?

[petty-arsonist]

Sometimes I Pause and think about the fact Brave is 13

Which. Never feels weird while being close to a main characters age. But if you stop and think about it. There’s no way I would’ve been able to do or handle any of this at 13. Or now for that matter or ever

He’s just ?? He’s just a kid ?? He and the others and especially Custard and it’s not like Chili is the most responsible as well

Custard is like. Eight. He’s a healer. how many do you think he’d been unable to save

They’re *children* and for some reason the only ones actually fighting the most powerful force the other side has ?? Gingerbrave is literally at the Republic. Like we have Wildberry and Crunchy and then we have. This middle schooler. Who isn’t even in school???

And probably has never been ??? Canon-wise he escaped the oven and then basically hasn’t had a break since. He’s spent his entire existence fighting.

“Stop thinking about this too deep they’re just exploring it’s literally a kids game the protagonists are gonna be kids for their target audience” BUT WHAT ABIUT THE IMPLICATIONS OF GHIS WORLD!!!! WHY R CHILDREN FIGHTING IN A WAR??? WHEN THE HEROES ARE RIGHT THERE??? ALL OF THE ADUKTS???

I just think they should be allowed to be kids And not have to worry about this at all.

They had moments in the Hollyberry Kingdom they didn’t actually do much there story-wise there. But that’s it ?? If we don’t count the side stories and events these kids have never gotten a break.

They make me sooo. There’s something about them. They’re just kids.

[malaceye]

dilemma.

drawing sephiroth is difficult. the urge to make his M shaped hair vents as strong as they were in 90s art is. profound. yet it would look really silly.

so i sit here drawing sephiroth while, at the same time, analyzing my sweet darling boy lieutenant oscar. who the hell do i focus on when im hyperfixated on both.

[froggi-mushroom]

Nothing but love and respect for MY king