#such a great theme

[dozydawn]

Moonlighting (1985-1989) Opening Theme by Al Jarreau

[akanemnon]

Turns out this new Dark World is paid DLC

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[hajihiko]

[peaceandlove26]

my ponysona of the month

[rithion]

He who is reborn through pain, again and again // Body euphoria

[greenqueenhightower]

The ending scene at the sept is peak cinema to me because it frames inescapable tragedy as one possibly averted had Rhaenyra and Alicent not let that chasm deepen between them, and had they put aside their pride and differences and met sooner. There is now nothing left to be done and for the first time, they realize just how powerless they are in stopping the current from sweeping everyone away. They leave the sept discovering that lighting candles doesn't bond them anymore, as they have each previously lit the fuse of the dangerous war that will devour all of them, with their own hands.

[senipsenipsenip]

Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.

"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"

He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"

Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.

"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"

"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.

"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."

Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."

"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.

"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"

Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.

"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.

"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.

Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"

Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.

"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."

"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.

"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"

Stan froze. "What?"

"My first kiss, do you remember it?"

"I was there?"

"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."

Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"

"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."

Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"

Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"

"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."

"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"

"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."

Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"

Ford turned redder. "You do."

"I do? Geez, I was a perv."

"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."

Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."

Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"

Dipper balked. "What? No I - "

"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"

"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."

"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"

"What? No!"

"Some girls like nerds."

"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."

"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"

"MABEL -"

The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Holy - " he choked out softly.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"

Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.

"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.

Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"

"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"

"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"

"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"

"You brought it up!"

"And now I'm putting a stop to it."

Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"

"Stanley, please don't joke about that."

"I'm fading away - "

"Stanley."

Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."

"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"

"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."

Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.

"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."

After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.

"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."

"I regret this already."

"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."

Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"

Dipper shrugged.

"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."

[crescentfool]

reunion 🌸

[art-soboro]

wearing thin

[miss-galaxy-turtle]

Is the Gatsby musical an accurate retelling of the original novel? No.

Does it romanticize the fuck out of Gatsby and Daisy? Yes.

Is the idea of the green light being a metaphor for romantic love entirely missing the point? Yes.

Is it a really, really fun time with gorgeous music, beautiful visuals, and a wildly talented cast? You're goddamn right

[fumifooms]

Homegrown

Thistle and Delgal - Dungeon Meshi, Ryoko Kui

^ Fernando Pessoa / Killing Flies, Michael Dickman / A Brother Named Gethsemane, Natalie Diaz / Antigonick, Anne Carson v Oats We Sow, Gregory and the Hawk

[ionomycin]

2023 favorites

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content. satoru/reader. dark dark DARK, bad end au, sorcerer breeding programs, consent is not a thing for sorcerers, all sorts of bad shit.

ultra dark dystopian au where the public knows what cursed spirits are and jujutsu society isn't controlled by the higher ups.

it's controlled by the government.

sorcerers are national assets. tools, property, born and raised to be weapons against cursed spirits.

they're taken from their mothers at birth. indoctrinated and trained in facilities until they're old enough to be sent out to kill curses. they start somewhere around 13. most of them don't reach adulthood.

with attrition rates so high, where are they getting all this fodder?

special grades like satoru gojo don't spend most of their time out in the field.

as soon as he was of age he's sent to a suitable mate. breeding stock like him should create more sorcerers.

for what? to be killed?

the questions come to his mind every now and then, but he knows they're useless. he doesn't think much about why things are the way they are.

he's a weapon. he's been a weapon his entire life. this is what he's good at. what he's meant for.

however he feels about his life, satoru gojo was born and bred for sorcery, in every universe. he loves it. what do the details matter?

things aren't so different for satoru in this au. he wakes up, kills curses, creates new sorcerers, gets maybe 3 hours of sleep and does it again.

he doesn't get to pick who or when he's bred with. he's a stud. his partners are broodmares. sorcerers who managed to survive the meat grinder of exorcism.

when satoru gojo meets you, he doesn't know you. doesn't even know your name.

he doesn't need that to get you pregnant. he's sent to a room, locked in there with you, crystal-clear instructions on what you're meant to do.

it isn't his first time doing this. it's not your first time either, he's sure.

it's not romantic. it's not even sexy. it's quiet, practical, and methodical -

but oh. oh, does it feel good.

he doesn't know if it's just your body, or if this is something you actively do but it feels like you're clenching around him, like your cunt is embracing him and refusing to let go.

you're touchy, too. touching his face, his hair, his body. satoru is used to roving eyes (he's instructed never to say no; after all, what if a woman who fucked him bore a sorcerer child?) and hands.

but your hands aren't greedy. they're tender. gentle caresses like the sigh you make when he buries himself to the hilt inside you.

he nearly jerks at the feeling of your lips on his neck. kisses littered up to the underside of his jaw, featherlight fleeting. ghostly, even.

when he's rutting into you, quick, efficient motions to get him closer to the edge, you meet his ice-blue gaze and press your lips to his -

it's the first time he's been kissed on the lips.

he remembers your eyes watering the first time he penetrated you. next time, he makes a point to whet his fingertips, rub over your clit, kiss your breasts, your neck, until you're dripping over him.

he doesn't know why. it's unnecessary effort. all he has to do is release inside you.

but he supposes if you're both stuck here for a while, it might as well be... nice.

and it is nice. this time he feels one of your hands grasp his, a strange feeling churning in his gut as you guide his hand to your clit.

with just a few careful swipes, timed to the rhythm of your hips bucking into him, the sonnet of your little gasps and moans, he watches you start to shiver and quake.

you clench around him and something inside him lights up, tugging, bright and hot and bursting along with his climax.

it's never been like this before, never been this good. you squeeze around him like you're milking him, panting with your mouth slack and opened wide, eyes glossy and dilated.

irrationally, he leans in to cover your mouth with his, lap at your tongue, steal away your desperate breaths and feel you moan and squirm beneath him.

when he moves to pull out, your arms dart around him, holding him close. like you don't want him to leave.

and even though it's never been like this, even though he's never tried this hard or liked it this much, satoru still thinks this is the strangest part.

laying there, bodies entwined, chests rising and falling as you fall asleep against one another.

it's warm. it's hot and sweaty and full of the stench of sex and bodily fluids, and it should be disgusting, but it's not.

maybe he's just too tired to care. when his six eyes finally close, the darkness that embraces him is warm, enticing, and absolute.

he can only just make out your heartbeat within it.

there's a few days of that, until your fertile period is over and you part, without words.

in fact he can't recall if he even spoke to you. you might not even know his name, though he's rather infamous, and with his hair and eyes he's hard to mistake.

satoru thinks about you sometimes. in the dead quiet of the night when his brain refuses to stop churning. in the midst of battle.

in the beds of the others he's meant to breed, cooling bodies laying against him as he brings himself to climax inside them and then pulls away.

it doesn't even feel that good anymore. not now that he'd had it with you.

sometimes he wishes he'd never had you. most times, he wants you there with him.

none of it matters. he knows that. he kills curses, he mates with fellow sorcerers. they're walking wombs, and he's a sperm donor. an impersonal exchange.

the worst is when he's summoned to fight a curse that seems just a little too low grade for him.

usually because the sorcerers originally dispatched failed.

in jujutsu sorcery, failure is death.

but high-level sorcerers like him aren't usually dispatched against lower level curses. it's almost invariably weaker sorcerers - younger ones.

it takes him an instant to exorcise it. seconds, really.

how many people died trying to do what was second nature to him?

how many of them were children?

it's his fault, in the end. for not being able to be everywhere at once. having to breed more to replace the sorcerers that wouldn't have been lost if he didn't have to spend so much time breeding.

the system churns through sorcerers like a meat grinder. anyone who comes out alive is squeezed for raw material, to make more of them.

an unending marathon. all that's waiting for them on the other side is death, death or being reduced to breeding stock.

he wonders what happens to female sorcerers who can't be bred anymore. are they just worked until they die?

do they ever get to see their children?

it's been years. if he'd gotten you pregnant then his children might be old enough to be sent out by now. if he has any children.

at the rate they've been having him fuck, he must have at least a few.

where are they? where are you? useless questions.

there's only been one fellow sorcerer he was able to keep track of throughout the years, and he...

well. he won't be seeing him again.

but he does see you again. years later.

do you remember him? he remembers you. how many others have you been bred with? was there a dark, long-haired sorcerer among them?

someone with sharp violet eyes and a warm smile and large hands? did you have any children by him?

is there anything left of his friend in this world?

the questions bubble in his chest, staining the back of his throat like bile.

if he asked, he's sure you would answer. you smile when you see him.

but instead he buries himself inside you, in your arms, your tight embrace. this is the only time he gets to feel good.

is this the only time you get to feel good, too? during this week of your fertile window, when they send you in to anonymous sorcerers to get fucked pregnant?

breeding stock, he remembers. what will be done with you when you can no longer bear children? what do you have to look forward to?

satoru wants to ask. did you have any children by him? did any of them survive?

but instead he buries himself in you to the hilt. until you keen and stretch underneath him.

even if he did ask, you wouldn't know.

you hold him too tightly for a brood mare, for an encounter that will only last as long as your fertile window.

do you yearn for these moments, too? do you miss him, do you want to see him again?

did you bear his children? did you want to show them to him when they were born? did you want him there?

did you - you're looking up at him hopefully, arms that hold him close, it's time to leave now and your eyes are wet and empty and your shoulders drop as you lay back on the bed limply -

geto was right.

[honestlyitsjustsam]

favourite moments of bg3 -> (6/?)

[cosmicsodacan-art]

Altar for the One True God

[thecutestgrotto]

The Great Wave — Hokusai

Another non-requested set 💗 I really like doing these sets based on famous art lately, I hope it’s not too repetitive if I make it a little collection.

Also in this collection: Starry Night and Irises

• More from the Famous Art Collection •