#stop damaging his brain

[cozylittleartblog]

JUST GUYS BEIN' DOODS

redraw of the meme under the cut

original by @knightmarebug

[vaguely-concerned]

can't wait for adaar to come back to cassandra after a decade of being best friends with dorian 'thedas' nr 1 mortaboo necrostan' pavus and then hanging out with a bunch of mourn watchers through all of veilguard and embracing her like 'I love and support you more than anyone in this world and whatever you needed from them that you didn't get I'll wrestle dragons and fight gods to give you now, my love, my lighthouse, my safest place to stand. but I must regretfully report that your folks fucking ROCK actually I think dorian was right about this one'

[werewolves-are-real]

Time Travel Temeraire snippet

At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.

It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.

He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.

Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.

He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.

Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.

He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -

But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.

Then Laurence woke up.

The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?

“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”

“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.

It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.

Gerry died two years ago.

“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.

“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.

Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”

“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”

“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”

“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”

“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”

They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.

What?

Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.

Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.

“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”

“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”

1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.

The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”

Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.

The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.

_____________________________

Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.

Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.

From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.

But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!

But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.

I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.

Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...

Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.

Laurence thinks about writing letters.

He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...

Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.

Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.

Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.

One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.

One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”

A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.

“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”

“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.

Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”

Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...

Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”

Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”

“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.

Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”

Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.

“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”

It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.

For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”

But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.

“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”

Laurence flees.

[waters-and-the-wilde]

anyway new scenario i am cherishing as a treat for me is that the same night juno was using his coping skills to not drink away his feelings, nureyev got scooped at the spaceport and then subsequently dropped off at the lighthouse by ruby, and in the process of name reveal/family reunion/etc he lets buddy and vespa get him drunk (in what is probably the first time he's been actually intoxicated in lo these twenty odd years)

crucial elements: vespa is now capable of getting drunk, and buddy remains not capable of getting drunk, i don't think nureyev has worked his way up to the mortifying ordeal of both of them being sober while he is drunk and it's already mortifying enough that buddy's gonna interrogate him about his feelings which he is now working on acknowledging that he has. vespa is a.) in a secure and relaxed enough frame of mind to tolerate being drunk around nureyev, largely bc b.) buddy is sober and has the upper hand if they're actually wrong about him even now, c.) 'i don't wanna deal with your shit sober anyway'. and furthermore both of them are only going to be able to tolerate being impaired at all knowing that at least one person in the room has Got This because they are both thinking about ambushes at all times

(it takes him the entire rest of the next day to get to hyperion city and feeling presentable enough to go see juno bc his ass is NOT used to having a hangover)

[spotaus]

Fun awful doodle I did of New Age Nightmare and Error last night immediately after I posted their refs.

[baconcolacan]

I rag on Tord, but you know, Tom lowk also a trainwreck for choosing to kiss him

[annabelle--cane]

hurting me. hurting me. toby whithouse showrunner of being human uk and sarah dollard writer of episode 5.05 "no care all responsibility" you are hurting me. why did you do this to me personally.

[ozymandiasdirge]

men in youtube comment sections who think luffy would be fine with law doing the immortality surgery “luffy knows that sometimes people die that’s the whole point of what he argued with vivi about in alabasta and if oda keeps law alive just because he’s a fan favorite after introducing the immortality surgery it will be such cheap bad writing” what fucking show are you watching.

you know what i was going to end it there but i need to say more. the whole point of that conversation with vivi was luffy being angry that vivi kept putting everything on her own shoulders. vivi had to do everything so that no one in alabasta would die. and luffy said if you keep doing that YOU ARE GOING TO DIE and that is not acceptable. she is his friend. he only cares about everyone else in alabasta because it’s what vivi cares about. he was fully not going to fight crocodile because he thought she was being stupid and not valuing her own life enough and that’s unacceptable because luffy loves his friends more than anything. that’s literary the entire character thesis of monkey d. luffy.

this keeps happening. it happened with nami and it happened with vivi and it happens with robin and it happened with ace on more than one occasion and it happened with law in dressrosa, but i don’t know how you can so fundamentally misunderstand this story the think that luffy would ever be okay with law sacrificing his own life for someone else i simply don’t think you possess any media literacy. and if you think he would be okay with law sacrificing his own life FOR HIM…from the mc who said being lonely is worse than being hurt. with law of all people the first person to seek him out for an alliance and choose him instead of luffy choosing them, who saved his life so he could get back to his crew, who has literally done nothing but have his back, and think luffy would be cool and normal about law seeing his own life as forfeit even if it was to save the world i straight up don’t know what story you are reading.

[seaweedstarshine]

Okay so The Star Beast was fun and I'm hyped for Wild Blue Yonder and everything but I am shattered over the new episode of Eleventh Doctor Chronicles.

Broken Hearts is some of the best dark!Doctor Expanded Universe exploration I ever consumed, and that includes The Eleventh Doctor Year Two comics. I am sobbing. I am in tears. I am broken as thoroughly as the Doctor broke Valerie Lockwood.

Me when I can't find any Broken Hearts/Curiosity Shop stan posts to reblog or fic to read to get out the angsty energy...

(fic. I'm writing fic. and yes this is an open request for reading recs)

[catastrxblues]

—

[martyrbat]

detective comics #484

[ID: college aged Dick Grayson, in his Robin costume, talking to Mr. Haly (the circus owner) after preventing a tragedy from occuring. Dick worriedly asks, “But what will you do now, Mr. Haly? With the damage caused by the fire you might have to sell out...” Mr. Haly reassures, “No, my boy, because for years I've been recoevin these checks — anonymously! Thanks to them, the Haly Circus will remain in my control!” He shows Dick the check, who instantly recognizes it! He thinks, ‘Hmmmm, that check comes from a bank where a certain Bruce (Batman) Wayne is a heavy depositor... What do you know!’ He tells Haly, “Well, you're still on top, Mr. Haly — and I have places to go!” END ID]

[miodiodavinci]

POV you accidentally hooked your brain up to an overly complicated mushroom circuit and heard what you can physically only describe as a chorus and it legitimately altered the structure of your brain so much that your next logical step is simply to become a necromancer and start interviewing dead people

also you are scott

[g0dtier]

my cat as i make my way through a narrow corridor at the end of which sits a wizard holding the map to the fountain of youth, 10 milion pounds of kibble and the remote to deactive the saw trap threatening to blow up this entire fucking pocket dimension: omg thats crazy girl fr fr whats that right in front of your feet tho. i need to see it. please holy shit can you hear me ma'am i need to inspect your toes

[hollow-vok]

Ohh im obssesed

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

lies on the floor and has just So Many Feelings about all the ways in which pericles and cassidy are foils, one of them being the comparison between how they use constant, vocal, unabashed affirmation of the qualities they value about themselves to cope with rock bottom self-esteem.

there's so much to be said here about how pericles' 'positive' self-talk is ultimately destructive to himself and everyone around him, whereas cassidy's has both been healing for her and held her back from processing her self-loathing in other ways, and so much of that has to do with her experiencing firsthand the results of pericles' shit handling of his poor self-esteem and desperately not wanting to be anything like him. fuck me up man

[akkivee]

i have missed them so much lmao