#is not the weirdest thing to happen in this show

[lutheban]

drinking buddies from canceled shows

this might seem like a very random pair but what you have to understand is that I watched Dead Patrol before anything else, and for the longest time I thought Laura de Mille and the Night Nurse were the same character. When Rouge goes down the stairs at the end of the episode I thought "oh! that's the night nurse! she followed them from the afterlife bc they're still supposed to be dead or something"

like, i would see clips of her on tiktok and just think that oh so she's just around now? does she have like, an arc of learning how to appreciate life and humanity then?

nope, that's just a completely different character

[thesecretingredientislove]

Lately I've seen people complaining about how unrealistic it was that Michonne found Rick's belongings in TWD.

In TWD?

My buddy pal friend you mean in TWD?

The show where a comatose man wakes up in a zombie apocalypse?

And then is helped just in time by a survivor (by the way they meet again way later by accident) and then finds a group of survivors that somehow is the same group of survivors his family is with?

AND THEN when his son is shot by accident, the man that shot him is luckily living with a VETERINARIAN that can save Carl?

That TWD?

[princeofhags]

i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!

Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.

FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit

Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.

Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.

Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.

Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.

Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.

A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.

She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.

The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.

She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.

"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.

At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?

"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."

Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.

"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.

The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.

She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.

"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.

Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.

What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?

"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.

The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.

If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.

"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.

She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"

The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."

He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.

"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.

"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.

She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"

His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."

Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."

He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."

"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."

"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.

There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.

As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.

"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."

“A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.” 

Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company. 

She begins her prayer to the dead. 

[oifaaa]

Wait I don’t think I was around for your gaslight the audience era. Which fake comic stories did you gaslight them with? 👀

I'm taking that information to the grave I'll never let on to which stuff is real and which stuff is fake

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

i've been thinking about how weird it is that sometimes your favorite pairings go exactly how you expect them to go and sometimes they just don't at all. specifically, in the context of crowley/aziraphale and ted/rebecca. i feel like in both cases, i was really paying attention to the details and nuances and seeming symbolism around the relationship for years. and in season two of good omens, the text itself seemed to absolutely completely vibe with everything we'd noticed as a fandom about season one, and make a logical progression from there that was really in line with what felt true about the pairing in s1. like, you could really tell the show was also extremely aware of all the small moments that the fandom had picked up on. whereas in season three of ted lasso, obviously, the show wound up just not seeming very interested at all in all the stuff i'd thought was an argument being made for why ted and rebecca belonged together. (in earlier seasons, but also even within season three!!! green matchbook what????) i pick out these two examples because, well, they just happened on my tv in front of my face recently, and because i think both had a lot of symbolism and a lot of underlying 'see, THIS is why they're meant to be together!' details. but the payoff could not have been more different!

it's just so weird how sometimes it goes exactly like you expected, like it's proven that you were in fact vibing exactly right with the text, and other times it's just like, "nope, mate, YOU'RE WRONG."

[brutal-out-here]

Watching Doctor Who is an experience. One moment you’re crying cause you have to say goodbye a version of the Doctor you loved and the next you’re watching a dinosaur spit out the Tardis in 1800s London

[yourcalamity]

we all just learn to adapt to whatever based on circumstances and everyone has tragic life altering experiences i just didnt ever fully react to the experiences that put me where i am now while trying to survive them and its kind of funny looking back and realizing how cartoonishly fictional and stupid and weird it all is like you have to laugh when youre not crying and you have to cry when youre not angry the ridiculousness of it all almost makes it feel easier to talk about sometimes at least. i really want to push through everything and make some grand piece of art to contain it all but i know its going to take quite a while to get there, i have a very deep desire to be understood and seen and heard but at the same time my baggage comes with never really having an identity beyond usefulness to others. it takes so much work to make yourself when you can. i thought id started years ago and im barely making progress now. its still worth it.

[keeps-ache]

mm i Neeed to go the beach

[felixcosm]

@networkunsupported

[angsttronaut]

dreaming of the day search results aren't clogged up with porn bots

[lusalemaart]

Just another normal sketch/study. Still nothing weird about it.

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

Its a shame nobody talked about it like this but I am still convinced there was all kinds of meta shit going on with the Peacemaker show that was really interesting to ME at least. Like the decision to make two guys that hated each other best friends now, and Adrian specifically being Peacemaker's wacky unhinged sidekick whos obsessed with him when Peacemaker made his intro to DC as a wacky unhinged Vigilante villain who was obsessed with Vigilante. Also I still think everyday about how in the show Peacemaker shot his dad with the same kind of gun that his dad killed himself with in the comics. Like.

[bonkgoesthecardboardtube]

Being a glee fan is a very strange thing, the relationship you have with it isn't a love hate relationship, it's a hate hate but God DAMN is this show so specifically weird I can't get it anywhere else relationship

I mean where else are you gonna watch

- Someone send a girl to a crack house over an audition for a show choir group

- a guy have a existential crisis over a grilled cheese that looks vaguely like Jesus

- a highschool production of Rocky Horror that goes wrong in every possible and horrifying way possible

- Sue Sylvester marrying herself (and officiating) in a full length tracksuit wedding dress (queen)

All in the same season

[floralstorms]

ah, of course I suddenly am talking maybe perhaps about 3 times my usual speed and and quite a bit more than usual (usual being not much to at all) and have suddenly donned some sort of accent I can’t quite place entirely but it’s the one I use when talking to myself for some reason! I just watched a show I’m mildly(?) hyperfixated about and exciting things happened in it & the characters have an accent which may have affected me (somewhat or not somewhat ADFKGX)

plus my rambling predictions for what might happen proved to be kind of correct thus far as much information as I have gathered and that’s very fun :D

(Idk, this happens, Idk)

[juliaanoia]

Ok, imagine this: It's your typical episode of NBC's Hannibal. We just had a scene of Jack having dinner at Hannibal's and they talked about Will. Then cut. Low foreboding music. We hear dogs barking in the distance. The camera pans across a field, revealing a house. The scroll text on the bottom appears, reading: Fly Trap, Virginia. And the camera pans further and we see Will stuck in fly paper

[rebellum]

I remember when "piss your pants" got popular and some people started saying "this person is committing an ableist hate crime AND sexually harassing me because pissing your pants is a kink"

One implication of the fact that social media companies go out of their way to stoke hate and conflict is that everyone should probably get in the habit of thinking twice before diving into online controversies, because there’s a very good chance that they’re being deliberately taken out of context, exaggerated, or otherwise framed in an intellectually dishonest fashion