#so many descriptions
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sleeplesssmoll · 5 months ago
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There are so many items in Echoes in the Mountain. I have a lot of them which I make posts about but there I always have the same ending, "To Vienna". According to the achievements, there is an ending called "Echoes" but I haven't reached it yet.
My queue is full of items. It's posting a few a day so far but I think I might mass post them on a whim soon. Consider this a warning. A forecast!
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opia-jpg · 1 year ago
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not exactly inktober but! i will try to draw a quick cat doodle every day of october..... i just think they're neat
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skellagirl · 9 months ago
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help help help I can't stop drawing gay lawyers
Trucy should be brown and I'll die on that hill
The fact that Klavier is 5'11" and Apollo is 5'5" 🥹 I love a height difference
I am convinced they drew Valant's hair Like That (tm) in-game because otherwise we would have all fallen madly in love with him
Wesley is my favorite witness in Apollo Justice, I'm so sorry for my shit taste 😔
I've drawn Godot without a mask before but I wanted to do it Again because I am still enamored with the idea of him having white eyelashes
Aromantic Miles means so much to me
I get that it's probably just the way they drew his jacket but why is Miles's little court sprite so caked though 😭
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Part 2/2
By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.
In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.
So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.
When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.
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He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.
The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.
The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.
It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.
And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.
However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.
Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:
Children.
Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.
Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.
They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.
It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.
When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:
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Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.
Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.
"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.
Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.
He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.
Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.
He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.
Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.
He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.
He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.
"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.
He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.
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All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?
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blackbatest · 3 months ago
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wayne family adventures + text posts: batman edition
its my bisexual right to make superbat and batcat jokes in the same post. btw.
(batkids edition)
+bonus alfred (tw suicide joke)
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eldritch-ace · 4 months ago
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The Leading Man
I love how after watching Nightmare Time, TGWDLM implies that all the powerhouses of Hatchetfield were infected before the CCRP crew (also that Pokey plays favorites)
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evenlyevi · 1 year ago
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Girls' night
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syn0vial · 3 months ago
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yes, yes, boba fett finds it strange and uncomfortable when people can see his face and this is one of the major reasons he almost never removes his helmet (in the expanded universe anyway), but another factor that i think isn't explored nearly enough is just how much his helmet shapes how he sees the world. it grants him 360° vision, lets him interface with his weapon systems and slave I, and automatically dampens loud noises and dims bright lights. imagine going through the vast majority of your life seeing the world through that lens and then suddenly taking it away. removing his helmet for any significant length of time likely isn't just uncomfortable for him but downright disorienting.
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perplexingly · 1 month ago
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you know how Tolkien had a special interest in languages and you can very clearly see it in his works to a ridiculous degree, like, a consonant shift is a major plot point in one of his books
I'd like to read more writers like that.... not about linguistics specifically, just, writers going on long tangents about their special interests
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mipexch · 1 year ago
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comic about v2 and the goal they'll never fully reach alongside a dissatisfying conclusion. intimate rivalry and all (alternative ending comic. V1 dies instead of V2 during 4-4. V2 is narrating. V1 is dead.)
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sparrowlucero · 1 month ago
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this is the iconic dinosaur horror jurassic park wishes it was
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#so there's this person on twitter who is like an infamous drama starter and got a whole forum shut down once#and they wrote this (different) book that's one of the greatest so bad it's good things i've ever read#a few great things that happen in that:#characters get in a car crash and flee on foot. later it's casually mentioned one character had both her legs amputated 'due to fractures'#the character pretending to be american by wearing maga hats that have spy gear built into them#the spy gear in question is an alarm that blares if someone lies in their vicinity#'stuff protocol ' said the queen. 'i'm getting hammered tonight'#the chapter where the prime minister is trying to watch the news so she keeps wandering into bars and tv shops and getting kicked out#the dragon that's casually described as 'about the size of 1000 elephants'#the dragon that's a 'dog dragon hybrid with a chihuahua body and a giant dragon head'#the dragon that's owner punched it in the face and only lets people approach if they 'do the iconic royal wave'#the characters being described as 'the short one' 'the guy with the beard' etc#but there being a lengthy detailed description of the characters in harry potter#'apparently a dragon had burnt essex to cinders in a matter of minutes'#anyways i found out they also wrote (a political parody of indiana jones???) for this book of kids short stories years ago#and you know. we needed to know#so it took me like 4 months to track this precious lost media down#which was very worth it because it turns out it's full of many other iconic gems like CELLAR HELL by Elizabeth Elgie (12)
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skellagirl · 4 months ago
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played DA2 for the first time and romanced the possessed bisexual poor little meow meow who's totally down for firebombing a walmart
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titsthedamnseason · 7 months ago
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oh this is terrifying
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tumblerislovetumblerislife · 4 months ago
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this is canon, right?
(image description in alt text!)
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eldritch-ace · 7 months ago
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I need more bestie Will and Bev content so I make it myself. They are the only cool people to ever exist in the FBI.
Also the Fred(dies) whom I despise (I love them with my whole heart). They are my favorite AO3 authors.
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thestarsarecool · 1 month ago
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“I still feel really comfortable playing with Paul, yes. We have all that history and it comes into play when we work together. You can’t just dismiss that. You’re never going to lose the closeness of those eight years we spent together. We played some great music and we were brothers; no matter what goes on up and down, we were very close. I don’t know of any other band who got that close. And we got that close because we loved each other and the pressure that only the Beatles had. No other band has had that much pressure. So all of those factors come into play when we meet each other. We know what went on. Nobody else knows. Everybody thinks they know, and they have ideas, and they write books about it, but actually only the Beatles know how heavy that was.
Paul and I used to work very hard. A lot of it fell into place, but the drummer and the bass player have a foundation to set, for everything else to be able to go on. And as I say, he is the most melodic bass player. He plays melodies within the melodies. He’s like the sea bed, or I’m the sea bed and he’s the bottom water, and everything goes up from there. Like bubbles.”
— Ringo Starr, Club Sandwich, 1997
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