#to absolutely dodge

[ironinkpen]

The dynamic in Rise between the rest of the team and Leo is. so fucking funny. Because like you've got these three extremely talented individuals who all seem like perfectly reasonable people at first glance, right, but then if you squint hard enough you realize they're actually all batshit insane (affectionate) and the clown boy standing behind them is secretly their common sense.

Clown boy will occasionally put himself and the others in danger to Prove Himself or Prove Someone Wrong (see Minotaur Maze and the movie) but like otherwise... i think people forget Leo's overwhelmingly the voice of reason in most situations?

Raph, Mikey, and Donnie are all incredibly powerful boys with very specific skill sets. They are also, as a direct result of this, the WORST decision-makers on god's green earth lmao. When presented with a problem, Raph will smash, Donnie will blow shit up, and Mikey will razzmatazz. They will all run straight toward death with the same oblivious enthusiasm of a dog about to run straight into a screen door. None of them realize this and all of them think they are Extremely Good At Problem-Solving.

And the guy cursed with the common sense to realize this is literally the LAST person anyone would expect.

When you look closely, the entirety of Rise is actually a chronicle of Leo trying to find new and creative ways to keep this team of superpowered fools alive while simultaneously white-knuckling his Cool Fun Guy persona so the others don't realize he's secretly the Boring Responsible One. Haha, you know what would be Cool and Fun, guys? Not going after the Spine Breaking Bandit lol. Getting home before the sun goes up lol. Evacuating that civilian lol. Not telling the guy dangling me off a roof "you won't, no balls" lol.

The sacred struggle of every iteration of Leonardo is thanklessly wrangling the most trigger-happy siblings in the world, and Rise Leo has not escaped it. He just does an occasional shenanigan to avoid detection and his brothers fall for it every time.

[egophiliac]

So part four of book 7 is coming out soon in English, and I'm really excited because that means I can finally go read your comics about it! It's one of my favorite parts of getting new parts of the game because Then I don't have to worry about spoilers lol

YESSSSSS sink further into episode 7 hell with me! I have saved you a seat right over here and have all the reactions lined up and waiting for you. >:D

also, I swear I mean this in a good way, for some reason this is exactly what popped into my head

I live but to serve 🤵

[raviollies]

We fought vampires

[aeon-uriel]

how im playing this game so far 😔

[starsonablackboard]

you guys flooded my first post with notes yesterday which is a little confusing for me and also insanely cool, i've never received such feedback on my art, so thank you everyone!! you gave me motivation to draw something substantial so you get an updated lamb design yippee! probably not the final one tho

also another lengthy post which is not required reading, just some stuff i've been thinking about on and off for a couple of weeks. i codenamed it "with death comes peace au" in my head and it may become a fanfic at some point but i don't want to be too hopeful

relevant to the first pic

• i do love the "single parent to a small nation" type of lamb, but for my au i see them more as an actual Cult Leader tm, which means they have to be irresistibly charming and charismatic. they put a lot off time into their looks and mannerisms and behavior (they had some practise even before their first death and before the red crown, but that is maybe for a later post), and they aim for a "heavenly angelic benevolent" type, since they're a lamb, a soft and fluffy creature that's mainly associated with innocence and self-sacrifice

• also the malnourishment-looking hc from the previous post still stands, which is a pain in the ass for them. their head-wool is their best quality one tho, so they try to get the most out of it, and style it in this cute fluffy bob (that also somewhat hides the hollowness of their face) with little braids here and there and camellias that never wilt, cause yk, for power show off holy image upkeep purposes

• they actually do like their neck scar, but the flock finds it unnerving

relevant to the second pic

• so you remember how i said that they were laser focused on survival before their first death? they lived off of spite and spite alone, they knew of genocide for all their life (being born well after it started) and were determined to not let the bishops win. they didn't get a say in their birth, so they at least were entitled to have a say in their death (at least in their mind. but what a single sheep has on four gods)

• SOOO when the survival goal failed (kinda. task failed successfully yk) and toww gave them a new goal of cult leadership and slaughter, the spite became thirst for revenge. and it is a powerful tool, but it does not translate to the most graceful style of fighting.

• all that is to say that, yeah, they fight like a wildfire, and never really change in that regard. you don't have to learn defense if you kill your enemies fast enough (yes, it bites them in the ass. more often that they'd like to admit)

• i also liked the idea of them having armor, because let's be frank in the game they might as well be fighting naked, that wool cloak doesn't do anything for protection. i opted for a lightweight leather one since leather is easier to obtain, suits their quick movements and it's kinda a power move to wear armor that's made of your enemies' brethren. intimidation factor is important

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

my bohemian ass woke up at noon on a friday so I'm not firing on all cylinders yet, but there is this important distinction in the novel, The Phantom of the Opera, and the musical The Phantom of the Opera. I understand why a novel length distinction is cut for time and narrative tidiness for a medium that happens on stage, but I think people draw some very unfair, unflattering and incorrect conclusions from the stage that they port into their reading of the novel.

that is: Erik, the phantom of the opera, knows about Christine and Raoul's engagement and he's actually totally cool with Christine's plan. This is not incel behavior. This is not ~toxic masculinity~ or whatever contemporary bullshit you want to spew on the intentionally sympathetic monster in gothic literature. Raoul is supposed to leave on a naval expedition to the north pole. Christine's plan is to be engaged with him until he leaves. "This is a happiness that will hurt no one," she says. I don't have the exact quote for it but later on she relates how Erik knows and approves, at least of this intended to be limited engagement engagement. Why? Because he's the happiest of men with Christine, and he wants Raoul to experience that happiness. He does also expect Raoul to, you know, fucking leave when he's supposed to, but still. Christine and Raoul are romping around the Opera, kissing and crying together, and our ghost dude here is just like: good for them.

What sets him off is not the idea of a romantic rival. He does not, imo, feel "entitled" to Christine's love or whatever batshit nonsense the Erik-as-incel narrative huffs like paint fumes. What sets Erik off is how Christine has lied to him: not about the engagement, but about the degree of visceral disgust she feels for Erik specifically as a result of his deformity. She details, in graphic detail, how she closes her eyes instead of looking upon him, how she tells him that she only averts her eyes because she is in awe of his genius. She tells Raoul how horrible even physical proximity to Erik is, how grotesque his face is, how the horror of an animated corpse proclaiming his love to her is--well, horrible, and horrifying. Erik is on the floor, on his knees, kissing the hem of her dress, and Christine has her eyes closed the whole time.

I also think contemporary audiences can't handle that. They need Christine to be a pure and wholesome Good Girl (regressive bullshit), who is the victim of an evil evil man, and only the victim (also regressive bullshit). But also because she is a female character in the contemporary mind, she is allowed no flaws. She must reject Erik because he is a bad man. It would be ableist otherwise, yes? And the contemporary audience cannot handle lack of physical beauty being the reason. There can be no nuance to Christine's reactions. She is Good. Erik is Bad. That's all there is to it. The audience member is so sure that they themselves are above moral reproach, too. That's what is at stake here, also.

Never mind that Christine herself, repeatedly, notes that Erik is right when he says that if she thought he was handsome, she would stay. Never mind that when Raoul asks her if she would still love him if Erik were handsome, Christine declines to reply.

To be clear: this is not a Christine bashing post. I think her complexity here is fascinating. I hate a flat one note ingénue and that's not what she IS, and it pains me that fic authors write her that way, as if it's superior. No! Here she's human and she's magnificent! She's conflicted! Erik is alluring but also in ways that are no fault of his own, terrifying.

We gloss over the intended body horror of the novel. I know I do. I forget that he smells like rot and death, that he's cold and clammy to the touch, that he moans like a ghoul, that is supposed to have a gaping nose hole and eyes you can only see in the dark.

I don't think Christine is wrong to lie. But it's easy to understand, if you let yourself, how betrayed the monster might feel when he finds out about all this concealed disgust.

So, two points here

The rage upon being unmasked isn't just because he's unmasked and she broke a rule or whatever. It's the death of his whole gambit and his last hope, and Erik is, canonically, very smart. He knows this. He knows his face IS the issue. He knows it is THE issue. He reads Christine correctly in that the Angel of Music bit is ultimately forgivable in her eyes, and she likes that he brought down her favorite horse, she absolutely is there for their shared spiritual musical raptures. I want people to understand this: ERIK IS RIGHT about his own situation, a LOT of the time. He comes to some bad conclusions after, but in terms of understanding what's happening around him, he's accurate.

And so the rage and despair post Apollo's Lyre isn't "oh no, she loves Raoul," or even "how dare she, that SLUT," as some people make it out to be. It's the realization that he's been a monster to her this whole time. All this time he thought that she saw him as a man, and she has not. All the presumably good memories he has of her and her two weeks she lived with him are now revealed as lies. She's been enduring this whole time, not acclimating. She feels horror. She feels, again, disgust. She's shuddered at the touch of his hand in hers and put on a brave face and he's believed her up until this point, and he's having his physical inadequacies and his uncharacteristic naiveté described in excruciating detail to his romantic rival. He probably feels real fuckin stupid, on top of all else. He's been duped. He also feels disgusting and unlovable, because Christine has just repeatedly described him as disgusting and unlovable.

It is, of course, wildly incorrect to then decide to blow up an opera house about it.

But it's not entitled incel behavior and that's such a boring and contemporary narrative to shove a beautiful example of gothic literature into. Intellectually lazy and artistically myopic. I think most of us, if we're honest with ourselves, can think of a time we thought somebody liked us--maybe romantically or sexually but also maybe not, maybe just as a friend, as a bestie--and we turned out to be very wrong, because the person was just being polite or avoiding awkwardness or whatever. That is: they lied, in a very understandable and justifiable and socially expected way. And how did that feel, dear reader? Not great, right?

The point of the phantom of the opera is that it's a bunch of normal human experiences turned up to the max, dialed into a sublime hum that goes so hard it turns inhuman and terrible. It's that what makes a monster, what makes a man line, which is only interesting to walk if it's identifiably very human in parts. So Erik isn't just romantically rejected: he is rejected in just about EVERY way possible, besides his divinity of music. And this is supposed to the story of his entire life, over and over again, just most vividly and poignantly illustrated by his failure with Christine, when he most desperately wants to be just like everybody else.

And I think it's a shame to lose that very basic narrative and thematic point, but also a shame to lose the nuance of: Erik wants to share his happiness with Raoul. He loves Christine so, so much that he seems to find Raoul's lovesick desire very relatable. Of course, who wouldn't allow his fellow man a glimpse of heaven? And I just chose my words carefully there, if not the rest of the post. In his approval of Christine and Raoul's playful engagement, Erik is briefly engaging on a man-to-man level. He feels human about it. And when he feels human and accepted as human, instead of a walking horror show, he's immediately kind of gracious.

It's when he finds out that he's been a monster and not a man this whole time, in the eyes of his beloved and his rival, that he seems to go: I'll show you what a monster is.

[happenssweet]

this song is so dodge mason coded... walk with me... let me present you with something...

when you'd first met dodge, you knew you wanted him as your first. your dad had hired him to help with some busy work around the church, and while dodge was neither particularly religious himself, nor interested in the way your father could turn anything into a sermon, he figured helping the man that was likely privy to everyone's thoughts and troubles could gain him some information.

what he had not anticipated was you coming up to him after a long day of getting the grassy yard beside the church set up for carp's easter breakfast.

what he had not anticipated was the way your legs kicked flowing white fabric forward, or how your fingertips felt over his as you handed him some water.

you could just tell, from the way his shirt hung from his shoulders and his adams apple bobbed, the way he thanked you in a voice full of distrust, that this was the boy for you.

he knew, vaguely, that you were the preacher's daughter. a little chaste, a bit more modest than most of the other girls your age. he'd once heard a guy make a joke in passing about getting 'struck down' being worth getting in your pants. and quite simply, that wasn't his speed. so he never thought much of you. until that afternoon.

now, dodge mason, who had been all but dubbed a recluse, was showing up for wednesday mass. who the fuck showed up for wednesday mass? dodge did. as long as he could sit next to you, letting you help lead him along during hymns, your fingertip drifting below the words long past the time he'd memorized them.

he even let you keep him after for a mini bible study each time, just the two of you discussing what had been on your mind regarding the book lately. he still didn't think he really believed in it all. but he liked the way you spoke about it, soft and kind and hopeful, a stark contrast to what he had experienced as religion in the south up until that point. until you.

so, yeah, when he asked your father for permission to take you out, you guessed you weren't too surprised. and you definitely didn't say no. he was respectful, always getting you back home on time, never going further than a few kisses and a hand on the waist or jaw. everyone else was a bit shocked, just to see the restraint. to see the way he'd soften his shell around you, letting you lean on him, talk to him all softly. even more shocked to see the way he'd do the same right back.

you supposed it didn't quite make sense. you'd known what he was like before, gruff and introverted, keeping to his family in terms of socialization. but then he took you home for the first time, and the moment you saw him with his mom and sister, it clicked. when he loved, he loved hard. and to introduce you to the most important people in his life? god, he must love you more than you ever could've guessed.

he didn't stay so restrained forever, easing you into longer kisses, then to makeouts, then to kisses on the neck and hands that wandered along your sides and arms. but they were never alone, always accompanied by an "is this okay?" or a "good?". and it always was.

once you were more comfortable, he became bolder, fingers slipping beneath fabric, tongue slipping between your lips and down your jaw. there were a few times you thought he might try and take it further, but it never turned to more than just heated makeouts. maybe he was trying not to scare you? you didn't know. but the way he groaned into your mouth before needing to cool off made you think when you finally did go all the way, it would be beyond passionate. borderline animalistic, you imagined. something you'd have to take your cross necklace off for.

but when you told him you were ready, the words dripping with implication, you could tell he was shocked. it wouldn't happen then. no, not when he hadn't prepared. not when he knew he couldn't give you all the time in the world.

and when it did, a week later, you never could've anticipated what it was. flickering candles sitting on his dresser and desk, fresh sheets, and flowers he'd handed you at the door. the faint smell of his cologne in the air, as if he'd sprayed some extra around the room earlier that day.

despite how long he'd waited, there wasn't even the smallest indication of a rush, not for the entire night. eagerness? yes. desire? most definitely. but through each and every step, dodge took as much time as he needed to treat you with the utmost care and consideration.

coming up behind you as you looked around his room, brushing soft kisses along the backs of your almost bare shoulders. gentle hands lifting the straps off of them, giving him full access to the typically-hidden expanses of skin.

he'd made sure the house would be empty for the weekend. he needed the time. needed to spend an hour just kissing you. just slowly uncovering every bit of you, not wanting to leave a single inch without reverent touch.

nothing had ever felt so right, regardless of what you may have been taught about premarital intimacy. "they have no idea what they're talking about", you thought as he held you, straddling his lap, stripped to your underwear, giggling softly as he kissed down past your cross necklace, the gold gleaming in the flickering candlelight. he laughed with you, his fingertips tracing deftly down your spine before slowly unhooking the clasp of your bra.

there was no way this could be wrong. there was no way this could be anything but holy, the way he looked in your eyes, the way he held you so carefully. this was goodness, this was God. what could be more sacred than this love?

you would both later describe it as a religious experience, in separate conversations, at separate times. that's exactly what it was. no need to take the necklace off. in fact, you couldn't imagine the experience without it. it belonged in that room, between the two of you.

it was in the way he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them off of you without ever breaking eye contact. it was in the way he kissed up your thighs, singing your praises, little whispers and breaths dancing across the tender flesh. this was his sacrament, getting his first taste of you, giving you your first taste of the rest of your life.

it was in the way he let himself come last, both literally and figuratively. it was in the way he let you look at him, hold him, observe him, before even thinking about spreading your legs again and settling between them. it was in the way he ran himself through your folds, making sure he was coated enough to not cause you even the slightest discomfort. it was in the way he held your hand next to your head, fingers interlaced, as he gently slipped in, asking how you were after every inch, making sure you were totally comfortable before letting a soft string of curses out through his lips.

and it was in the way he held you the whole time, made sure you knew how much he adored you every single second. there was no denying it anymore, if you ever could before.

every single minute of time he'd carved out for you, he spent worshipping you. even once he'd cleaned you up, even once the two of you had dressed again. until the second he had to drive you back home, he was holding you, kissing you, checking in on you, and loving you. making you feel as divine as the being that had brought the two of you together.

every single laugh, every single kiss, every single touch. that was what was holy.

[boyguk]

me watching eurovision 2024 go up in flames

[paradoxgavel]

got both endings in hw2 and now it is time for me to be really, really sad about cassie's dad!!

[rudjedet]

Me and flips have not been friends ever since I landed on my head/neck during a double back when I was 18, so of course deciding to finally learn a front flip half twist is going to be good for me. Living by the whole "if I'm scared I'll do it scared" thing now, working out well for me so far.

[ace-and-ranty]

I want everybody to take a minute and thank your deity of preference that Nimona was adapted from a comic into an animated movie, as is the obvious correct and better choice.

Because movie makers are so dumb. So dumb. This could have been a live action.

[cephalog0d]

While I'm thinking about A Lonely Place of Dying and Tim being a weird gremlin right from the start, though, this panel lives rent free in my head and I think about it all the time.

Because on the one hand I think fanon has a tendency to exaggerate the level of deliberate neglect on the part of the Drakes. They didn't just leave Tim living alone in a house as a middle schooler, they put him in boarding school so he would have, you know, adult supervision to some degree, which is probably the responsible thing to do if you're going to be traveling internationally most of the time and not there yourself.

ON THE OTHER HAND. What Tim is actually saying here, in response to Alfred's very reasonable and concerned question of "Where are your parents, random child", is that apparently nobody is looking after him right now. His parents are traveling, his school is on break, and he just traveled across state lines repeatedly to track down a dude who is basically a stranger and apparently no one has noticed.

Which means, presumably, that his parents think he's at school and his school probably thinks he's with his parents and he's probably lying to both of them because he had Batman Business to attend to and that's clearly more important than any adult who's responsible for his well-being knowing where the fuck he is or what he's up to. (Chasing Batman around taking pictures, breaking into people's homes, getting into a fight with a clown, etc.)

[crocodilenjoyer]

the biggest suspension of disbelief in one piece is that ace is somehow an only child when roger was trucking and fucking well into his 50s unless roger, like, was almost exclusively into getting pegged and aces birth (the only time he’s ever topped rouge) was an honest to god miracle

one piece au where the world government tries hunting down all of roger’s illegitimate kids à la Dipshit Joffrey Gameofthrones by looking for every dark-haired kid with no bio dad, a strong bone structure, zero self-preservation instincts and a problem with authority. the whole story is from ace’s pov though and it’s just him realizing with mounting horror and every successive headline just how much roger Fucked

[memorys-skyscraper]

please pray for the hephaestus sprint nuke in these trying times

[percydedragon]

Does Vex do Mounted Archery off Percy in fights?

// HELL YEAH SHE DOES! And they are great duo when you take in mind a ranger of precise aim and dragon who can spit fire like bullets //

[container-of-apple-juice]

Really wanted this image without the horrible B*ruto design so I fixed it <3