if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

I think the Ratiorine fandom really moved on too fast from the fact that Hoyo chose "charming audacity" and "dear gambler" as the first words players would hear from Ratio to Aventurine. Not the second scene. Not the third. The very first sentence players ever hear between those two.

And you know what, we also moved on much too quickly from the next scene too. Ratio was the one to start the whole "Aventurine is a peacock" thing. Why are you sitting around thinking about what alien animals your coworker reminds you of, Veritas? The joke is supposed to be that peacocks are noisy, but then they just drop that like a hot rock so the camera can do a slow pan on Aventurine's chest and Ratio can comment on Aventurine's clothing choices. Since when does Dr. Ratio care what people wear? Why were you looking?! Fellas, is it gay to compare your partner in crime to the symbol of male beauty???

KEN CARSON: KING OF CONSENT 👑

I went looking and couldn't find any record of me ever actually posting this on tumblr, oops, but a couple years back I wrote this thread on twitter about how Emmeryn's sacrifice absolutely is not supposed to teach Chrom (or Robin, for that matter) that "sacrifice is necessary" or anything like that and mmmm for reasons I am getting Upset about it again so asdfghjkl I'll actually share the Rant with my tumblr followers this time.

yes of course life is too short and love is too long and you can't take loved away, but you know what line is haunting me?? "...what's like except a love that hasn't been invited indoors?" wtf was up with that one tamsyn!!!!

Fic ask,,, The Editor,,, "You're Gonna Need to Call A Doctor."

You're Gonna Need to Call a Doctor

He's alive. For a brief moment, he thinks this unfortunate, as if he were dead, he wouldn't be experiencing the ghastly stench of his pulverized boss. Former, boss, he remembers. As the events of the past few hours return to him, he tentatively opens his eyes, and sees only complete darkness— a rarity for him. The overall silence in his mind seems to indicate a complete shutdown of the thought broadcast system, and the darkness probably means there's no power to floor 500. It's strange: he almost feels asleep.

See, to minimize any excess heat, lighting on floor 500 was kept to a minimum, which of course necessitated ocular enhancement for The Editor. As such, since being chosen all those decades ago, he could always see in the darkest of environments, even with closed eyes. Add to that his constant operator-level access to the stream of consciousness only ever deactivating for his monthly rest, and it becomes pretty clear why his idiotic human instincts are yearning for a hearty nap at the mo. How blissfully unaware of them.

Alright, enough of this stupidity: where the hell is he? He hears the sounds of searing and thick bubbling, so he can't have been out that long. The amount of heat going on is also tremendous, but living and working in an icebox for several decades hasn't exactly tempered his perception of temperature. He tries to move. There's a lot of wet resistance; his backside must be covered in Jagrafess sludge. "So disgusting," he moans to himself, pushing himself away from the chilled wall of the lifeless computer system. In his panic from Suki's bafflingly strong corpse-grip, he'd rolled himself under the main console as a last-ditch grasp at survival. A typically brilliant call on his part, seeing as the metal paneling retained its cold temperature, and likely shielded him from the onslaught of molten innards.

His struggling motion must set something off, because a single light somewhere in the room hums to life. It's on for maybe a second before it fizzles out, once again leaving him blind. "Woooow, how thoughtful," he muses to no one. As he continues to inch his way out, he notices both his legs can move completely unhindered. A devilish smirk crosses his face: "Ohh, see that, you mole? Really tried your best, didn't you?" Feeling around for the edge of the console, he pulls himself up to a sitting position. "All the good that did you, ay Suki? Still had some kindle of life in you, and you wasted it! Your husk boiled away, and I remain completely untouched!"

As if on cue, that same bulb from before reawakens. The first thing he sees after the writhing masses of sinew coating the place are his legs: his left, loafer still shiny, and about two thirds of his right— the only two thirds that seems to be remaining. "Aw, what? No, that— c'mon!" How annoying. It'll cost him at least 3,000 credits for a new one. The end of it, still sizzling, sits in a pool of what he first assumes is anti-freeze, before coming to the conclusion that no, actually: that's just what his blood looks like. He's never really seen it before; always assumed it looked like everyone else's— just how much altering did Max do to him?

Whatever. No time for an identity crisis— he's got to get out of here. For one, it smells like absolute rubbish, but more importantly, it can't be good that he's... leaking, and of course he's got to get the bum leg thing sorted. He's still got administrator clearance for the lift, he'll just go down to the 417th floor, fork over the credits for a leg prosthesis, and blend in with the citizens of Satellite Five until some new, decent opportunity presents itself. He pauses, staring at his reflection in the blue-ish pool of his own blood. His irises are so massive, and his pupils more jarringly so in the dim light. Would the masses even consider him human? The surgeons would probably take one look at the foreign substance seeping from his wound and report him to... well, himself, he supposes. This is what he gets for being too good at his job.

Maybe their expertly curated xenophobia is right, though. Would his name— his real name— even show up in their systems? What would a medical scan reveal? They'd probably find his genome more analogous with one of those cold-faring species. Regardless, It's been so long since another alien's been on the station, the medbay no longer carries anything but iron-based blood— certainly nothing resembling whatever's flowing through his veins. A frown forms, unbefitting of his face. "Bloody hell, I look pathetic," he spits. Fine. Screw it. Guess he's having this identity crisis now. Who the hell even is he without the Jagrafess's influence? Not that it was particularly grand; must've been a pretty flimsy system if it only took one fool and a lucky break to blow it up completely. All that aside, it still gave him power and purpose, and now what has he got?

He perks up— Knowledge. He tilts his head, and a foxy grin sneaks back onto his mien. He's got knowledge. Valuable, valuable knowledge. Knowledge of the Doctor, and his time-traveling capabilities. That anomaly and his human plaything may have squandered his previous, let's say, "business endeavor," but they've shown themselves to be a far more lucrative investment opportunity. He brings himself to his fee— foot. To his foot, and cackles. "Oh Doctor," he sneers, "won't you be excited to see me again." Perhaps there are some benefits to his unexpected survival. How many people in the universe know that there's a Time Lord frolicking about spacetime unsupervised? How fewer can identify him by face alone? The Editor gives another scan of the alien remains around him, and bursts out laughing. "Sorry for the late notice, Max, but my resignation still stands. I think it will greatly benefit both of us." He points at a lifeless eyeball that wound up in the chair next to him— "Can I put you down as a reference?"

As he hears the metered sound of the approaching lift, he puts on his most pathetic pitiable face, and begins weaving his sob story.

It's about time he became his own boss, don't you reckon?

schezo feeding sig vanilla extract predicted the tumblr polls

I'm sorry it took me so long to answer this ask but

He'll eat the cake in a minute don't worry Sig's effort won't go wasted. He frosted it and everything of COURSE Schezo has to eat it. The file names are just vanilla but internally I refer to this comic as I HATE SCHEZO'S HAIR I HATE HIS HAIR I FU CKINBG GRRGRRGRGHRGHRH

Rin's track record so far:

Shadowheart - romanced Mount Halsin - climbed The Emperor - seduced Wyll: Danced With, (but unlike Shadowheart wasn't willing to share) Drow Twins - Worshiped at the altar of Shadowheart's hips Mizora - Tasted the fires of the Hells That Incubus in REDACTED- Shared body, but not heart and soul

Am I barding right?

is it bad that the first kendrick diss drake put out just a better song than any of kendrick's disses on drake put together?

📝 💐 🛼 💔⏪️💭🧊🌄❤️‍🩹

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

previous ⏪ now playing ⏩ next back to playlist

Song of the Day: February 12

“This Is the Life” by Amy MacDonald

i finished season one of demon slayer last night with my partner. if you ever needed or wanted to know what kind of person i am in real life ...... well, zenitsu was like looking in a mirror.

do you know "meditations in case of emergency" by cameron awkward-rich?

i love that poem so much i memorized it <3 From memory my favorite line is, I run from end to end like fingers through her hair. I just love that image it makes me think of how i comb my fingers through my sister and my moms hair when they sit near me its such a familiar, loving gesture <3

poetry ask game!

Daisy Steiner and "The Typewriter Strikes Back" for the fic ask :)

The Typewriter Strikes Back

Tim's lips leave Daisy's feeling warm, and with poised dramatic steps, he roams onto the elevator, finally turning to her one last time.

"I love you!" She cries, hands and arms utterly helpless as they hug the typewriter close.

Tim smirks— "I know." They hold eye contact through the very last second, all the way until the doors break their line of sight and the elevator begins its descent.

A strange, guttural, chittering noise escapes Brian's throat, until he coughs it away. "Sorry, allergies. The dust—"

"No, I know, Brian," Daisy assures, "'S alright."

He bounces on his heels. "So are— are you two, erm..." His hand gestures around his chin— "You two really a couple now?"

Daisy's expression hardens, before a realization hits. An "Oh!" preludes her laughter, which would sound forced if it were coming out of anyone else's mouth. "B-because we? Oh ho, no, no no no, that was just a reference! Y'know, Star Wars. The scene where— no, you've seen it." With her hands occupied by the heavy contraption, her impassioned gesturing comes through in erratic sways of her whole body instead. She wiggles her head back and forth, seemingly pleased; "Just a tiddly bit between friends, yeah? Mates. Chaps. He likes to do it whenever he descends. Elevators, escalators— one time he did it down the stairs, but he completely toppled because he, um... went down backwards!"

Brian's eyes narrow: "The whole exchange?"

"Starting from the kiss!"

"E— every time?"

No idea who u guys are talking about but hope ur ok it sounds like horrible shit was going. ily rogie

love u anogie