#this is how threats are done...

[fabulous-fic-quotes]

"If by some chance she actually dies, I will hunt down every single blood relation to the third degree of the person or persons responsible, and kill them as slowly and painfully as I know how. Next, I will dig up every single one of their forebears currently interred on British soil and turn the rotting corpses of the last thousand odd years worth of men, women and children into Inferi. With those Inferi I will proceed to lay waste to every Manor house, townhouse, beachhouse, farmhouse, warehouse, flat, shop front, hunting cabin, field, shack and garden shed their family has to their name. I will then burn the Inferi, and anything else still miraculously left standing at that point, to ashes and salt the very earth on which they once stood. And then kill them."

The Historical Importance of Runic War Warding in the British Isles - @samvelg-likes-things

[izzystizzys]

Half the jobs Fox is sent on are not within his jurisdiction. This certainly isn’t.

Planetary protection unit, they said. Military police. Orbital security force.

And now Fox is being pointed at Count Dooku on some backwater planet and told to fetch. How the mighty have fallen.

He’s pretty sure Kenobi, Skywalker and their units could’ve karked this all up perfectly fine on their lonesome; they don’t need three Guardsmen there to watch them do it. But the Chancellor says jump and Fox surpressed the urge to bash his head in with a durasteel chair. So it goes.

Which is when things start going terribly, terribly wrong, of course.

“Is that Spinder?!”, Skywalker exclaims, arms wheeling out in the air wildly to try and catch his balance. “The Count fucks?!”

Across the room, Cody rips his helmet off, several shades redder than a baseline human should be. “The Count fucks my brother?!”

Two lightsticks hover uselessly in the air, Skywalker’s zig-zagging in a relentless hum with his gesturing. Fox stands stock-still, in the hope that maybe he’ll spontaneously turn invisible if he does. Around them, 501st and 212th troopers gape through helmets. Behind him, Nuisance gasps for air amidst screaming laughter.

Ping, went Fox’s comm unit, in that unmistakeable lascivious jingle sound. Ping, answered Count Dooku’s within a split second. Match found close by.

For a moment, Fox considers what it would be like to run at the Count’s lightsaber at full speed.

…not like that.

“Count”, Kenobi says, with a face like he’s bitten into a rotten fruit. Not that Fox knows what fruit tastes like. “This is a highly… unexpected development.” He fwoosh-es his lightsaber shut, obviously having given up on fighting. “I’d call it a conflict of interest, but I’m not sure that applies?”

“Oh, it’s gonna be a conflict of something, for sure”, Cody hisses, fists clenched at his sides. He looks about ready to boil over, with Crys and Waxer inching closer in preparation. “What have you done to my brother, you monster?!”

“I don’t think you want to know that, Commander”, Nuisance gasps out between barks of laughter, proving why he’s eternally Fox’s least favourite. Cody’s splotchy red complexion slowly fades into ghostly white as a sheen of horror settles over the room. “Thanks for the fancy chocolate bouquet last week, Count!”

Dooku, who has been thus far staring at the floor with an empty thousand-klick stare, looks up at that. Fox has seldom seen a man that defeated outside of the mirror, he has to admit - but shudders when he remembers exactly what the chocolates were for.

Oh Force, he’s sexted Count Dooku into buying him gifts. Does that make him a Seppie spy? Traitor by proxy?

“I feel”, says the Count, gravely, still holding his long red laserknife in a white-knuckled death-grip, “that I have been taken for a fool.”

“Uh”, says Fox, nervously. All eyes snap to him. Oh Force, oh Force, oh Force. They’re going to invent a whole new kind of decommissioning for this and name it after Fox.

“Is it really scamming if you actually get what you pay for?”, asks Grids, considering. Fox slowly pulls off his helmet just for the comforting feeling of burying his head in his gloved palms. The sounds of a struggle ensue, and Kenobi makes a choked-off noise. Maybe if he’s embarrassed enough he’ll give himself an aneurysm.

“Grandmaster, why are you paying people for naked pictures of themselves on the holonet?!” Kenobi asks, despairingly. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“Oi, no one said I was naked!”, Fox exclaims, head whipping up.

“So naked”, Nuisance laughs, palm thumping against the floor. He might be crying.

“I’m not decrepit”, the Count blusters, and Skywalker makes a gagging noise. “I have - there are needs, and they are perfectly natural!” It takes three troopers to restrain Cody from launching himself at the Count.

[starflungwaddledee]

at long last i present... a proper starstruck dee reference sheet! 🎀✨ have a peruse and learn a little bit (but not too much!) about this totally normal waddle dee!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Try Morse Core. Women Love Morse Code.

[First] Prev <--> Next

[lbhslefttiddie]

the qiong ding peak disciples 100% have petty beef with lbh for stealing their favourite didi lmao

they're not gonna Actually beat him up (without Reason) but they're very emphatic about how thoroughly they WILL if lbh messes with sy. it's like a shovel talk that never ends

sy isn't actually completely oblivious to whats going on but he doesn't get why they're like this and he thinks theyre being fucking stupid (and he trusts them to not actually bully binghe) so he's elected to ignore their antics entirely

[kabutoden]

if aradia's death was just in-character for a long roleplay, what's the deal with tavros and terezi's disabilities? did vriska have anything to do with them?

She Did Do Those Things. vriska no!!!!!!

[aroace-poly-show]

sadness siffrin doodling

[cutter-kirby]

one of my favorite things to come out of the book of bill is all of the bill possessing ford content. like both in canon and in fanworks. bipper did something irrevocable to me back in 2014 but ciphord/bord is such a unique clusterfuck of possession horror and it haunts me.

[resetmypatientviolence]

George Floyd should be here today, alive and well and celebrating the first Memorial Day that feels normal after the pandemic.

Minneapolis shouldn’t be (still) traumatized to this day after watching a murder in cold blood.

But Derek Chauvin should still be in jail for being a shit pig.

Rest in peace, George. The world needs to do better, still.

[miodiodavinci]

im being so so brave but also i am gripping you by the shoulders and leaning in and letting you know i am so tired of being brave

[trans-leek-cookie]

chewing on my hands no curly did not need to fucking murder jimmy to protect Anya. He wouldn't, not Just because of the fact murder even in self defense is deeply distressing and therefore. Y'know a last resort (and Jimmy is his friend. I am curious how long Jimmy's weird resentment has existed and if it was ever obvious before the events of the game but I'm getting off track) but also. Anya LITERALLY SAYS "I have to believe our worst moments don't make us monsters" like I'm not saying she's at all okay w what jimmy did but like!!!

She's VERY OBVIOUSLY conflicted and coping! She DOESNT want him dead (well maybe she does but I don't think it's something she thinks would actually be an easy fix. She doesn't want it Logically bc the situation is. Y'know it's a spaceship w 5 ppl and he's the fuckin co pilot)

CURLY COULDVE STILL DONE MORE AND HANDLED THE SITUATION BETTER!!! Personal opinion he didn't realize it was SA and/or didn't realize how traumatic it was for Anya until she brought up pregnancy and its a mix of genuine and willful ignorance (which Logically Makes Sense but is still not an excuse) but like. He says himself she doesn't get psych evaluations!

Murder is not an easy solution! Some survivors/victims want their abusers to die and that's its own discussion, but even beyond morality and ethics: thats 20% of the fucking staff on this stupid ship!

There's a longer post to be made about the fact capitalism is the ultimate enabler of these issues and dynamics, because the combination of isolation, small crew size, complete abscence of support, disregard for employee safety and physical danger all contributed to the fact this Could Happen and the fact this Is Such A Fucking Hard Situation even if you always prioritize the victim bc. Anya's safety is threatened either way- letting Jimmy do Whatever is obviously dangerous, but also HES THE CO PILOT! The events of the game are literally an example of why you NEED A CO PILOT (though in game he's fucking. Shit at his job which y'know) because you need redundancies to make sure you arent Completely reliant on one person (like. Imagine if Anya got seriously injured. There goes the medical staff. Maybe the others have basic training but Jesus Christ being the ONLY medical expert on staff. And even then iirc she's a nurse which not to downplay the work that goes into that but it is fundamentally one of MULTIPLE medical jobs and only having A Nurse is. FOR OVER A YEAR OF TRAVEL GOOD LORD THIS IS A NIGHTMARE) anyways. Longer post by someone smarter Abt how even though jimmy is an awful person a lot of the harm he does is only possible bc of a combination of The Situation (isolation + small group) and His Power (social power as a man over the One Woman and power as the second in command)

This post got away from me bc this game makes me think a lot but what I actually wanted to say is: Curly could have done more by being more present for Anya and being more Aware of Jimmy's actions (and intervening to make sure he isn't able to interact with Anya in isolated settings). Like I also think straight up murder isn't an ideal solution but like. There's a lot of fucking THINGS YOU CAN DO TO SUPPORT VICTIMS THAT ARENT MURDER

In the end I think it's a consequence of basing the approach on punishing the aggressor rather than supporting the victim, because like. It's less important to Kill Jimmy (no matter how much you want to) and way more important to KEEP ANYA SAFE

[merakiui]

ALIEN SCARAMOUCHE WITH OVIPOSITION MERA ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME 😭 I need more, what would he look like, what are his motivations... Omg... Maybe some kidnapping going on...some experiments on humans...him studying how humans reproduce and if his race can use them... Aaaa my mind is going crazy with ideas, please do share yours too! <3

What if he doesn’t have a form of his own (something that sort of ties into canon Scaramouche’s obsession with wanting a heart and a purpose)? And maybe he’s more like a shadowy mass that can take the form of anything so long as he’s encountered said thing (i.e. made contact with it? Or maybe he has to kill the original in order to take its form? Or it’s something like a reflection where if you happen to look at him long enough he’ll have a good enough idea of how to replicate your form from staring and analyzing it.) and since he’s so dedicated to having a form that really fits, that truly feels like him, he’s continued to adapt and evolve as the years pass throughout every planet in the solar system.

Perhaps he does have a few features of his own, but maybe they’re sort of scattered?? Or they aren’t really features his species is known to have? He’s like a mixture of various things he’s observed over the time he’s spent on your planet in an effort to shape himself into something beyond the formless shadow he’s lived as for so long. Like a patchwork copycat composed of so many different parts because he’s desperately trying to understand all of these things. It’s like his version of trying on clothes and new fashion styles. So maybe he has horns or maybe cat ears because he’s seen so many stray cats and they’ve always fascinated him for some unexplainable reason (maybe in order to have these features he’s had to ingest part of the living thing he wants to replicate??? Just something a little extra horrifying for our beloved alien mouchey. <3) And maybe the only thing he has from the one who created him (Ei) is the same piercing stare in a pair of brilliantly colored eyes she graciously bestowed upon him.

Maybe Scaramouche can’t understand human emotion in the usual sense that other humans might, so he assigns flavors to these unusual feelings. When he hurts the things he likes or is interested in (cats, the human he stole his current appearance from (i.e. Kabukimono; let’s pretend they’re two separate individuals hehe), and even other gentle things or creatures who are completely innocent), the taste in his mouth is sour or bitter or so very intolerable. I think over time he hardens himself and learns to live with the foul flavors he often encounters when he attempts to blend in with humans and utterly fails because he can never replicate their emotions as well as he can copy behaviors or appearances. He starts his journey so curious and sweetly innocent, albeit murderous and eerie, and he tries so hard to learn and be good and explore the world with the eyes his mother gifted him and yet he always finds himself hurting. He hates it. It tastes terrible. It feels terrible, and he has never truly felt before. This is new.

When Scaramouche is captured by Dottore, a human scientist who is a little too dedicated to the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, he finally tastes the cruelty of humankind—learns of the lengths they’ll go to in the name of scientific breakthroughs. The researchers run dozens of tests on him. He can’t feel external or internal pain from wounds or injuries; he’s sturdy, birthed from a substance foreign to humans, intended to survive the harshest conditions. But Scaramouche feels pain—the emotional kind. He’s never felt fear; he’s what humans would call an apex predator. He’s strong. He’s never needed to feel fear, and so he doesn’t fear the unknown. He isn’t scared of the sharp tools, of the peculiar creatures he’s shown in hopes that he might replicate them and their features, nor does he fear the trajectory of this new life. The concept of ethical practices means nothing to him even though he’s aware he’s a lab rat, a grotesque curiosity that doctors poke and prod at. He reacts to everything in unique, defensive ways. He impaled a doctor through the throat with a strange shadowy spike. It moved as though it were liquid, yet it struck very solidly, sharply, deadly efficient. Dottore likens its movements and behaviors to that of an octopus’s tentacle; Scaramouche is unsure of this comparison. This is merely a shadow of something he has observed—a reflection. A cheap copy. He has never been original.

You’re the first human he meets who isn’t adorned in sterile white. No lab coat, no gloves, no goggles, no protective gear. Just clothes. Normal clothes. The both of you are separated by indestructible glass, placed in two very white rooms, and you can see one another so clearly. Scaramouche hates the purity of white because he knows that when he’s forced into a white backdrop he’s meant to stain it red. And lately he doesn’t want to break things that are undeserving of it. Perhaps he’s feeling too much. Perhaps he ought to tear these human feelings out and go back to the blank, shadowy slate he once was. How he intends to accomplish that, he has no idea.

He’s uninterested in you at first. You’re a human. He’s seen humans. He interacts with them daily. He’s killed plenty. But you spend nights in that white room and he watches you sleep. He tries to sleep in the same way you do; he has no need for sleep. He regulates his energy differently. He tries to breathe like you. He blinks at the same times you blink—or he comes awfully close. He tries to copy your movements and mannerisms. One night he presses himself to the glass and takes your form and watches you, counting every rise and fall of your chest as you lie so comfortably on the very uncomfortable cot. With hands that mirror yours, he pokes at these human features. He fits one hand in the other and pretends he’s holding your actual hand. There is no warmth, though. Humans are warm; Scaramouche is not. He’s frigid. His home planet is gloomy and cold and desolate. He thinks humans are lucky for cyclical days—for being in close proximity to the sun. There is no sunshine where he hails from. He likes the way the sun feels on him. It used to burn terribly when he first arrived on this planet. Now it’s like a hug—a hug that still singes, but a hug nonetheless. He’s never known what a hug is, but he thinks this is what it must feel like—like the burning warmth of a sun.

Scaramouche feels true, raw, animalistic, paralyzing fear when you’re taken out of the room after two weeks and replaced with a new human. You’re gone. Replaced. Are you dead? Did he kill you? Did he stare too long? He’s distraught, overcome with a horrifying emotion that has him curled and trembling in the corner of his white room (a cage if he’s ever known one). Why aren’t you here? And why is he so…restless? He can’t call it fear because he doesn’t know that word. But oh he’s scared. He’s so scared. You were the first human to smile at him, to put your hand on the glass where his rested, to sit close to the glass and eat meals alongside him. You were like the stray cats he’s interacted with: kind, soft, gentle, sweet. He’s so scared he loses the ability to remain in his human skin, and he practically melts into a shadow, clinging to the corner like glue or slime. He’s empty and alone. It tastes terrible. It feels terrible.

The humans that follow are terrified of him. Either that or they’re disgusted, baffled, cautious. He hates every one of them, so much so that he’s tried to break through the glass numerous times to dispose of them. Weeks pass; he’s forgetting your features. There are no mirrors here, so he must rely on the reflections shown in the glass. Some days he thinks he looks just like you; other days he’s certain he’s a monstrosity—a sloppily stitched version of you. The you he saw did not have pointed fangs or curling horns. He hates his reflection because it isn’t you. Most importantly, he hates that the humans he’s forced to look at are protected by this thick layer of glass. If it wasn’t so indestructible, he’d tear through every human nuisance until he reaches you.

Scaramouche is not sure how many months pass, but you return. And when you do the fear ebbs away. He feels…happy? Is that the right term? He’s pleased to see you, and for the first time in a while he returns to his human appearance—to the one he took from a young man many centuries ago. You’re back. You’re here. He’s so happy. He detaches himself from his corner and he tries to smile in the way you do. And, though it’s awkward and strange and sharp-toothed, you smile right back.

Dottore decides then that you are to be the next subject in this experiment. He’s observed Scaramouche’s reactions to you and compared them to reactions to the other humans and found that you are the best suited to this role. If anything, the alien couldn’t have picked a better specimen to adore. You’re helpless and so naïve. You need the money; it’s why you allowed yourself to live in that room for a few weeks. You were paid handsomely for it. He’ll pay you beyond handsomely if you agree to what’s next. And, really, when you’re in between a predator’s jaws do you really have much of a choice?

Scaramouche needs a human match, and the scientists need to study more than just the social biology of an alien. They promise you he won’t hurt you, and if he does it’s all right. They’re kind enough to respect the wishes of the dead. You must let Dottore know if you’d prefer a burial or a cremation. There’s nothing special in this distinction; it’s just a precautionary measure. You’ll agree to participate in this experiment whether or not you want to.

Your new home is the white room that faces Scaramouche, and after some more time and observations to ensure you won’t be killed the moment you step foot in his space the glass barrier will be lifted. Dottore wonders how Scaramouche’s kind mates and reproduces.

There’s only one way to find out.

[vivitalks]

more adhd jason grace or die by my sword

[mc-critical]

Curious that in the wake of Süleiman's first campaign, both Hürrem and Hatice are scared of forever losing the people they've come to love and have latched onto in order to keep going and find new meaning for themselves after their seemingly dealbreaking past and recent losses, all the while Hafsa reveals her intention to marry both of them off all in the same episode, thus reinforcing the alienation they would feel in Süleiman and Ibrahim's absences and threatening to fully cement it, cutting them off from their actual loves and bringing misery to them both.

[metallicdawn]

I made a post abt it on twt, but Everyone talks about the tunnelers, the return of the NCR, or a possible Yes-Man betrayal as the biggest threat to the courier post-game, but real ones know it’s Joshua once the legion eventually crumbles and he has unrestricted access to recruit disenfranchised ex-legionnaires HE FORMERLY TRAINED to his version of New Canaan.

He’s already been made a living martyr, and I know damn well he’ll take full advantage of that.

[essektheylyss]

okay I finished the fear research book and it was GREAT, like I want to print out the last two pages and post them on doors and signposts across America great