#my mind is spinning you guys

[captainkirkk]

I finally saw Hamilton live and it was show stopping phenomenonal life changing - but it proved definitively that I am now incapable of listening to this musical without thinking of Cliopher Mdang

[waitineedaname]

my inner monologue is just always thinking about ritsu way too hard

[lord-squiggletits]

Wrote a scene for PPAU in which Megatron convinces the DJD to accept a peace treaty with the Autobots (that doesn't constitute rebuilding and then stabbing them in the back). And when I was outlining/brainstorming I was like, "okay Megatron is probably going to have to make an example of some DJD member who lashes out and refuses to accept it. There's gonna be a little fucked up cult violence in here"

Except no, that smooth son of a bitch gave the DJD a speech that so effortlessly tied them up in his new peacetime plans that the most opposition he got was a muttered comment by one single member. My man used the brainwashing of nationalism and patriotism to counteract the cult brainwashing. He made a rhetorical appeal so sound that any member of the DJD who tried to argue against the peace treaty would sound like they were opposed to reclaiming Cybertron, their homeland, and ensuring the well-being of their own loyal soldiers. I was like "MEGATRON THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MORE CONFLICT IN THIS SCENE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CHOKE-LIFT A BITCH OR AT LEAST RIP OFF TARN'S MASK AS A DRAMATIC GESTURE OR SOMETHING" and the Megatron in my brain went "hahaha no" and charmed the DJD so thoroughly that there wasn't even a single raised voice. Charismatic son of a bitch

[czlowiekz1nogawgrobie]

I don't think I shared this one

[vimbry-moved]

it's sad how many reviews and stuff around tmbg seem to centre linnell as the sole dark and creepy writer of the band, never really crediting flansburgh too. do "hide away folk family," "dirt bike," "rabid child," "black ops," "cloisonné" mean nothing to them, smh.

[ode2rin]

hi... (runs away)

[kayvsworld]

his new wings look so good. his new suit looks SO good. i'm so mad oh my god

[quillkiller]

What do you think of Walburga x Narcissa or Walburga x Bellatrix ,do you think it would kind of be like your pansycissa except so much sicker because its aunt and niece? Do you think Walburga ever saw herself in either of them and became extremely possessive of them?

WHY HAVEN’T I THOUGHT ABOUT THIS BEFORE…. @sugarsnappeases we need to get on this..

i talked a bit about bellas relationship with walburga when i was knee-deep in the bellareg marriage au, and i 100% think she grew up idolizing her. i think walburga exudes a lot of power and can appear very indimidating, but as bellatrix grows up she loses a lot of respect for her aunt because she realises that at the very core of it all she’s just a pawn. has always been a pawn. orion has her on a very tight leash and at the end of the day she’s just his wife. she doesn’t actually have any power, and she takes her anger out on her children while orion takes his anger out on her. she doesn’t have her own motivations or ambitions other than producing and heir and being a pureblood wife. bella grows up and realises that the real puppet master is the man of the house, and will always be the man of the house. walburga lives by his commands, by his rules. i’ve said it before, but im of the opinion that walburga’s abuse is only allowed because orion is the one to allow it. he’s the one who’s got actual real say-so when it comes to his sons. that’s not to say walburga is innocent by any means lol, it just means that i think orion would punish her if he ever thought that she went too far. anyway, i quite genuinely think bella grows up to hate walburga because she paints the picture of who she’s supposed to become. she was never powerful, and in the grand scheme of things, walburga isn’t really anything. she’s just a wife and a mother & a failiure at that <- losing sirius, the heir.

WALBURGA AND NARCISSA COULD BE SOOO INTERESTING THOUGH…….. and i can 100% see it being a pansycissa situation, and maybe even a catalyst for pansycissa in the future. narcissa is the (only) malleable black sister, the quiet and obedient one, the one on the sidelines. andy is the one who gets out, bella is the one with ambitions. narcissa could be the daughter she never had.. which could be so cunty if we think about sirius leaving & how she views regulus as a weak comparison to his brother. and here’s narcissa who just wants to do good, to fulfill her duties, to blend into the background. maybe walburga takes her under her wing, maybe a little mentor/mentee situation going on, maybe to spite druella or cygnus, maybe because having sons has been nothing but a disappointment and she should’ve had a daughter instead. Trust…. i will be pondering this…….

[ananke-xiii]

Breaking my silence: Orpheus and Eurydice myth is more applicable to Sam and Cas' predicament in s6 rather than to Dean and Cas. Because it's a story about the retrieval of the soul.

I mean, there's definitely no romantic aspect to it but Cas fancy himself a bit of a demigod/son of Apollo, goes to Hell/Hades to rescue Sam/Eurydice/Soul, doesn't succeed, goes back to earth, fall in love with a guy who rejects him, goes crazy, rejects Dionysus as his god (!!!) and then he dies torn into pieces by the women who felt scorned because he only favored men.

I MEAN.

I MEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAN.

The myth is there so the👏people👏are👏right but I don't see it the same way as most people do. It's true that the myth is ancient and has many variations but, like, the basis are still the same, so it's not about Cas and Dean. Well, no, it's about them too actually!!! but not in the sense that Dean is Orpheus and Cas is Eurydice. But in the sense that Cas goes crazy for many reasons and Dean is the biggest one of them and he gets punished for it. I THINK.

[maslosstuff]

Me trying to explain to Casphardt/Linspar fans that this line is a metaphor that the Caspar we knew is gone and will never come back due to fact of the new responsibilities and attention he thought he wanted from his father but realized he didn’t wanted and without linhardt to stir him on the right path since he was taken on the Bridge of Myrddin made Caspar go on a downward spiral and when he did managed to “reunite” or “rescue” Linhardt it was too late he was already to far gone:

[sammydem0n64]

No way it’s the lizards

Ft them without… certain “accessories” under the cut… lol

[dangoulains-devotion]

something I think about a lot when it comes to Vincent's design is that across VII, AC, DoC - the changes in his design are minor, usually shape related, but he keeps the same clothes. the others have multiple outfits, but he stays the same, adding to the fact he is, effectively, motionless in the river of time while others are able to move on or 'progress'... It gets to me ok

[ow-old-men]

Faces / Changes

Two immortal shapeshifters find each other. Again

——————————⋆♱✮♱⋆——————————

The first time Jaime becomes painfully aware that he is lovely, Kassem wears an unfamiliar face.

It’s not the first time. They’ve stumbled across each other with bodies fresh and impermanent, faces morphed or hidden before and it won’t be the last either. Time has slung them into each other’s orbit uncountable times already. The first time - at what Jaime has heard other, more temporary beings, describe as ‘the dawn of time’ - he’s pretty sure neither of them were much more than formless clouds of heat and potential. If Jamie had figured out how to give himself anything resembling eyes a few millennia before he did, there’s no doubt in his mind that Kassem would have been beautiful, even then.

No, the newness is not anything newsworthy in and of itself and that is not why the realization suddenly carves through his chest like a knife.

Kassem is leaning back on his hands in the shade, his face remade in a cascade of unfamiliar angles, his hands suddenly slender and free of the freckles Jaime spent a week mapping out sometime last century. He would recognize him anywhere.

Jaime puts his hand to the small of some woman's back, parts the sea of people gathered on the square and walks. He knows that Kassem has seen him, knows where this ends and that it still has to begin somewhere. So he stops a couple of meters away from the low table Kassem is sitting at. He wavers on his feet, two women dressed in flowy robes pass between them.

“You look good,” he says and can’t help that there is a breathy, too honest quality to it. Like he’s run miles through the cold, breath stuck in his throat and cheeks flushed. Kass just looks at him, smiles mostly with his eyes. Eyes that, Jaime suddenly notices, have retained their teint of burned amber. A flash of sunset though his midnight gaze. He would have been no less terrifically beautiful with eyes made wholly anew, and yet Jaime finds a pang of gratitude tingles through his spine.

“Thank you,” Kassem says, and like always, he manages to say it like it’s hiding some shared joke, “you too.”

Jaime runs a flighty hand over his own biceps, shrugs almost unapologetically. “Same old, same old.”

Kassem smiles until his eyes nearly close with it. He nods, almost imperceptibly. “Come sit anyway.”

Jaime does.

“What have you been up to?” Kassem asks and raises a teacup to his lips while Jamie shuffles carefully down beside him. Their knees do not touch under the table, but the few centimeters of air between them buzzes like a beehive.

He shrugs. He makes it a point not to count the years and simply let time bubble past like a river. He knows not how many years he is accounting for now, and right now he remembers only dimly exactly what he’s been. Briefly he was a wildfire along the coast of North America, wading through the flames that felt as much a part of him as this current face he wears. For an even shorter amount of time, he planted corn and traveled slowly further south, wearing a man’s face and a wide brimmed hat pulled down low. Mostly he’s waited with no real sense of what all this waiting will net him. At times he wrote flighty diary entries, through the fire scorched the majority and all were in some script he no longer thinks anyone but he could decipher.

“I hear you went on tour?” he says instead and that makes Kassem hunch his shoulders with a sudden burst of laughter.

“A tour?” he asks and the laughter bubbles in his throat and in his voice. Jaime adjusts how he’s sitting, feels the buzzing pride in his hands.

“You wrote, last time, some poetry” he says and is again betrayed by the tone, wistful and secretive like he hadn’t planned for it to be. “I’d hoped you got to share some of it?”

And this time it’s Kassems turn to shrug. He twirls the teacup once, then twice, looks up and Jaime is treated to the freckles suddenly scattered like secrets high on his cheeks. “Most of them weren’t meant for other people.”

At times, Jaime feels crude, almost unfinished, compared to the man beside him. He is a creature of heat and fire and malleable sudden change, and yet he finds that he’s become primarily a creature of habit.

His face is easy, now that he’s learned it’s shape. It stays intact and rarely flickers. He tries, for fun or out of boredom, to reimagine what he could be and finds that he catches glimpses of himself suddenly in mirrors and he’s become the thing he fought to change.

His self seems unavoidable. The shape of his nose the only one he can seemingly dream up. And yet he knows that he changes, right then and there. No blooming freckles, no glint blazing through his iris, but there is something.

“Well, I thought it pretty great.”

“Of course you did.”

He raises his hands reflexively. “I know great art when I see it.”

He’s not sure, but he’s pretty sure Kassem rolls his eyes at him. One of his hands lands on the table with the distinct clink of a ring wrapped around one finger. And it’s like the sound dislodges something in Jaimes chest. Or dislodges something hanging above his head that’s lingered there for a while. He stares, transfixed, at Kassems hands and finds, for the first time consciously, that he is beyond lovely.

Beautiful in a way that defies the very definition of that word. He could be anything - has been anything and then some - and yet the thing that is not beauty would still cling to him. It settles like a dying star in the pit of his stomach. It is almost unbearable when Kassem at last looks over, one brow slightly raised. It is both a question and a declaration that he already knows. Mostly it’s a dare.

Behind them, the crowd shuffles on through the market square.

“Would you care for a walk?” Jaime asks after a beat, exactly like he’s been prompted too. Kassem measures him up once, a darting heartbeat of a look over. Then he nods and stretches a hand out to the side after his cane. The eye contact never wavers.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The sun is still enormous and orange. Jaime knows from the taste of the air, that the sea isn’t far, but he has no idea what narrow streets he’d have to walk down to get there. It doesn’t feel important anyway. There sits a bubbling laughter in his throat and a flighty restlessness in his palms while Kassem walks and retells most of the time they’ve spent apart.

Then he falls silent. Jaime can almost hear the waves, at least he thinks so. The very air glows in soft orange.

Kassem runs a hand across the back of his skull. One of his thumbs digs into the strong tendon right where the skull and spine become one. His hands are soft.

“I think I’d know you anywhere,” he mumbles and pulls Jaime close until their lips meet. Hungry and soft and familiar. Halfway, Jaime wants to pry his eyes open and see if Kassems face changes and yet stays the same.

He doesn’t. He keeps them screwed shut and takes and takes. His hands find their way to Kassems shoulders, seemingly without needing any instructions. Holds him careful and desperate. He knows, can feel and in no way control, how his own face morphs - folds and becomes. It doesn’t matter. He’s learned by now he can’t become something that doesn’t look like the thing he is. Can’t become something that wouldn’t fit in the way Kass cups a palm around his jaw.

So he stays the same. And changes.

[czlowiekz1nogawgrobie]

[bellhopping]

been thinking about how good of an improvised pool float via would make lately. he could curl up into a platform that you can rest on top of, or wrap around your waist for a more traditional pool float shape. he could even just squish his entire body around you as both of you slowly drift across a body of water! you'd even get to hear the squeaking of his coils as they slowly shift and move which would be cute. this guy is ingenious honestly

[nozomijoestar]

Doing research for La Vie en rose is enlightening me more on the depths to which how many people treat dates as transactions for some ass, which creates a shitty date for how little consideration they feel, I knew it was bad out there but damn the entrenched justifications for time wasting or simple short sightedness (which is a little more forgiveable but I still might not go for another date bc it shows a lack of forethought) are pathetic