#Developmental stages

[unwelcome-ozian]

[kidzplayhouselearningcenter]

Toddlers experience remarkable changes in their development, with key milestones shaping their growth. One of the first steps in this journey is language acquisition. By age two, many toddlers begin to string words together, expanding their vocabulary.

[egophiliac]

Since book 7 part 5 (the part where we meet Meleanor/Maleanor 👀) is coming to EN this month, i would love to see your take on lilia’s proposal to meleanor! i mean they were like little kids right? it couldn’t have been that serious…i think the only reason she even brought it up again is because she could tell lilia still genuinely loved her…(even if he didn’t realize it himself?) but, oh well! Let’s think about silly childhood shenanigans to numb the pain! ^_^ (orz)

oh shit?! get ready for a doozy guys, it's comiiiiiing ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

I chickened out of posting the whole thing (look, I get VERY carried away when it comes to these wacky kids and their Tragedy), but I do believe that it probably ended with Lilia getting embarrassed and just shoving the first thing he sees into his mouth to try and cover for it.

(we're just lucky it wasn't a frog this time)

[la-laliet]

Luka - broken heart

[justdrawlynn11]

Meet the young EaPs Glamrocks in the CU au!

Look at the lil cutie patooties :DDD

These drawings aren’t of them at the same time frame, but of around the time Ruin got them.

Order of kids in how Ruin got them:

Ballora, his little British baby. Had her since her day 1 and is, within the confines of this au at least, her dad.

Lefty, found him shortly after he was born/created. He’s about 5-6 months younger than Ballora.

Sunny and Moonie, he found them about a year after Lefty was born. They were lucky to be found when they were in one of Ruin’s Creator’s abandoned labs.. trying to create a ‘successful’ outcome by trying to build another young one similar to Ruin’s conception/construction. Ruin accidentally activated them and so he just ended up keeping them.

Monti was around 3-4 years old when Ruin found her. She remembers having a dad but doesn’t know where he went, he just disappeared one day. She was initially scared when Ruin found her, but almost nearly fell asleep after realizing he was safe to be around, Ruin took her back to the group base. Poor little one was so scared and tired, along with being surprisingly well hidden. Monti is also actually the oldest kid there, being older than Ballora by 6 months.

Captain was around 7 when he was found. He’s the equivalent of a stoic, feral cat to those he doesn’t trust, and a somewhat polite and well grammared kid for living alone in a dead kingdom for most of, if not his entire life. Ruin’s more surprised by the fact this child, who’s ready to attack a threat at any moment, hasn’t been infected with the virus yet. He’s also thankful that Captain hasn’t caught it yet and now never will.

[mechokky]

my favorite guy ever

[neokamui414]

I really really really really want to write like a 50,000 word essay talking about the success and popularity of horror movies within the last 2 years that reflect on and explore the late 20th century phenomena of the Satanic Panic; so stuff like Late Night With The Devil, Maxxxine, Longlegs etc. and compare and contrast them with the fact that we are seeing a simultaneous reemergence of Japanese media that does the same with what could arguably be seen as the closest cultural equivalent to the Satanic Panic in East Asia, known as the Japanese Occult Boom. So stuff like the Silent Hill 2 Remake and anime like Dandadan.

And then juxtapose all of that against the current sociopolitical and economic circumstances around the world, since it is a very well documented fact that interest in the supernatural, paranormal, mystical and occult, all grow exponentially during times of sociopolitical uncertainty and upheaval.......

The problem is that my autism and ADHD would make it very very difficult for me to actually write it down in essay format so someone should bother me on this app and get me to talk about my thoughts and feelings on this topic. Please please please let me rant about my current biggest sociological/anthropological special interest!!!!

[theaceace]

Hob is woken, not by the shrill cacophony of his alarm or the sunlight hitting his face where they'd forgotten to pull the curtains last night, or even the warmth of Morpheus' hands and mouth, but by the sudden dip in the mattress as another person flops onto the bed with them.

Several lifetimes' worth of instincts see him jolting awake in an instant, heart racing and sweat already beading on his back and brow. Hob may not be able to die, but he's been ambushed in his sleep more than enough times to be getting on with, ta very much, and he's not keen to do it again. Suddenly he's twenty-five, and exhausted after days of marching on Troyes, feet sore and heart sorer, waiting on a battle that never came. He's twenty-eight, and the knife that flashes in the darkness misses his throat only because Herry has ears like a bat and enough blind-foolish loyalty to leap on their attacker's back. He's seventy-three, and lying barely-conscious among the dead that need burying or burning, and he knows that he needs to rouse himself even with the arrow still in his chest, or he'll be burnt or buried with them. He's two-hundred and sixty-four, and they've come to the home he'd made for his family, to drag him from the bed he had shared with his wife some thirty years before, and haul him away as a witch.

He's gripped now by the same fear, and it has him up and moving, one hand fumbling at the bedside table for anything with enough heft to dent a skull before he realises that none of his attackers have ever smelt like peaches.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts just enough to free his face from the clutches of his pillow.

“That key was given to you for use in emergencies, my sibling,” he says, voice thick with sleep and the cotton pillowcase.

Desire stretches luxuriously between them and smiles, fox-sharp, at Morpheus. They roll their head to look at him – beneath the perfume and sweat and wet pavement smell of them, Hob catches a sour waft of alcohol.

“Oh but my dear brother, this is an emergency,” they say, and – look, Hob has been drunk enough to recognise the exquisitely deliberate care at the edges of their words. He huffs a little, pushes himself up so that he can slap a hand on the bedside lamp and blink furiously against the sudden light. It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear, and he rubs his hands over his face in a vain effort to convince himself that this is some new nightmare that Daniel is testing out, before he gives in to the inevitable and turns to examine their guest.

"And what could possibly be so pressing at –" Morpheus snatches Desire's wrist up to stare blearily at their watch "– two thirty-seven in the morning? That could not be expressed in a phone call or wait until a reasonable hour?"

"Do you know, brother mine, how many partners I found to dance with? Whose desire for me, once so integral as to be a given, I had to simply guess at? To read in the curve of a smile or the enticing lull of a question? I didn't know them, not a one, and can you guess, sweet Dream, how many of them took me to their beds?"

And Hob has heard quite enough of that. He stretches and tosses back the sheets, while Morpheus shoots him a filthy glower that softens immediately into a plea for respite with his sole visible eye. Desire either doesn't notice this silent communication, or doesn't care.

“None!” They crow gleefully, clasping their hands, and Morpheus scowls as he's jostled in place.

It's not that Hob wants to leave him to fend for himself against his sibling, only that he doesn’t fancy being in the firing line when Morpheus inevitably snaps and thumps Desire with a pillow.

Doing an admirable job of ignoring Morpheus' wounded expression, Hob groans and lurches himself in the vague direction of the kitchen. Might as well put the kettle on for this.

"Jasmine or apple tea, love?" He calls. No sense having any caffeine now. If they're lucky, Desire will wear themself out quickly and they'll be able to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.

"Apple, if you would," Morpheus replies.

"Ooh, I'll have jasmine if you're making."

"Didn't ask you!" Hob shouts back, already adding a spoon of sugar to the third mug he'd fetched down for them. 

“Oh, so forceful! You know, if you ever get tired of my stick-in-the-mud brother here…” Desire trails off meaningfully, and Hob snorts, smiling a little to himself. They know full well it's not going to happen, however much or little they remember about his desires, and even if he were – impossibly – to change his mind about Morpheus, they'd get bored of him soon enough. 

He sets all three mugs on a tray, and grabs a pack of chocolate digestives while he's at it. Morpheus would never admit to being fond of them, but he doesn't need to. Hob's watched him absent-mindedly devour most of a packet while he pecks one-handed at the keyboard. Besides, Desire could probably do with something to line their stomach. 

“Is being human always this delightfully contradictory? So baffling and solid and… damp?” Desire asks, lifting their head just enough to peer at Hob as he re-enters the room. It's a moot question, of course. They've been human long enough now to know that the answer is, largely, yes. 

“Often. But do you know, my sibling, the very best part of being human?” Desire turns lazily to look at Morpheus, smiling wide. Their lipstick today is dark purple, and smudged at the corners of their mouth. 

“Mm, do tell. You know how much I crave your… wisdom,” they say, rolling the words indulgently over their tongue. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus’ book to one side so he can set the tray down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“It is that it is no longer against the Old Laws for me to do this,” Morpheus says, planting one foot against their side and shoving hard enough that they topple off the bed with an outraged squawk and undignified thump. There's a blessed moment of stillness, the same kind of breathless anticipation that Hob remembers from the battlefield, before the charge and the mud and the pain. Then they pop back up over the side of the bed with a cry and launch themself at Morpheus. He'd be more worried if he couldn’t hear the laughter in their voice, nor see how their outstretched hands target Morpheus’ ribs and armpits, rather than his eyes.

Hob's sisters have been dead for centuries now, but he remembers this well enough.  Maybe if the Endless had ever been anything like children, they might have gotten all of the murderous posturing out of the way before they grew up enough for it to be a problem, he muses. Still. Better late than never.

He takes a sip of his own tea and grabs a biscuit. Lord knows he won't get a look in once Morpheus has finished trying to jam his elbow into Desire's stomach and realises they're there.

“It was never against the Old Laws for you to be a bastard, which is lucky because you always were one!” Desire gasps, writhing away from Morpheus’ pointy limbs. Hob's been at the receiving end of those elbows before, and even when Morpheus is being gentle, they're decently sharp. He wonders idly if either of them'll tire of this before their tea goes cold, and decides not to intervene either way. Serve them both right if they have to drink cold tea.

“You tried to kill me!”

“Don't tell me you're still hung up on that?”

“I am, because you tried to kill me!”

“Well it's not like it worked!”

Not really the point, Hob reckons, but then again he's had plenty of mates that have tried to kill him. 

“More by good fortune than good judgment,” Morpheus hisses.

“Oh, so you admit to your poor judgment?”

Hob snorts, and the wounded look Morpheus swings towards him would fell a lesser man. Hob takes another biscuit.

“Ha!” Desire takes advantage of his momentary distraction to lock their arms around his shoulders and blow a loud raspberry against his cheek. Hob doesn’t think he's entirely successful in hiding his smile. Morpheus doesn't even try to hide his look of disgust. 

Well, he had to learn the downsides of being an older brother at some point, Hob supposes. 

Judging that the worst of the scrapping is over, he perches on the edge of the bed and pats Morpheus’ flank idly. Desire, loose-limbed with alcohol and triumph, flops over him to reach for their tea. Morpheus magnanimously doesn't jab his fingers into their exposed side.

“Thank you, Robert darling,” Desire says, eyes half-lidded as they drink. It comes out far less coquettish than Hob imagines they intended; too genuinely content. Morpheus sighs, and frowns, and doesn't quite do a good enough job of hiding his own ease as he sits up and leans against Hob. 

“I suppose you intend to stay the night?” Morpheus asks. There's nothing of the dignified dreamlord about him now, with his hair flattened on one side and just a little lank, and pillow creases on his cheek. He peers at Desire, half of his weight still supported by Hob, who takes another slurp of tea and polishes off the last of his biscuit. It's still unbelievable, sometimes, that he may see his dour and distant old stranger like this. Something tangible, something grounded, something he can hold. Unbelievable, too, after the way they had almost parted, after the way Morpheus had almost –

Well. Doesn't bear thinking about, really.

“Mm, yes, if you'll have me.” Do they have to work to make everything they say sound like a double entendre,  Hob wonders, or does it come naturally? He's not entirely sure they even notice they're doing it. 

“You're always welcome,” Hob says. “Guest room's all made up, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink you can have.”

“How very kind. Dream, dear, isn't your man kind?”

“Unreasonably so.”

“Ta, love,” Hob says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Desire rolls their eyes theatrically, as though that might mask how their expression softens. “Now drink your tea, I'd like to get a few more hours’ sleep before I need to get up.”

Morpheus grumbles but straightens up, plucking his mug from the nightstand and cradling it in one hand while he reaches for a biscuit with the other. 

“Should we expect any of our other siblings to join us tonight?” He asks, managing somehow not to spray crumbs everywhere as he does so, which is a bit unfair. Hob has centuries more experience talking through mouthfuls of crumbly biscuits, and he still can't do as good a job of it. “I take it you did not venture out alone this night.”

“No I didn't, but don't worry,” Desire says, tilting their head back as they drain their mug, a neat ring of purple left behind on the ceramic. “My sweet twin is unlikely to make an appearance. I certainly hope, at least – she went home with that little exorcist friend of yours. If she comes here, then something’s gone dreadfully wrong.”

They grin, cat with the cream pleased at the expression on Morpheus’ face, and flick their hand in something like a wave. “Well, goodnight brother! Robert.”

They flounce away towards the spare room, and Hob presses his smile into the curve of Morpheus’ shoulder.

“I hate them,” Morpheus grumbles. Hob kisses the bony jut of skin where his t-shirt has slipped, once, twice.

“No you don't,” he says. Morpheus sighs, sets his mug down, and returns to hold Hob's face still for a proper kiss. Not that Hob would try to get out of it. 

“No,” he agrees softly, pulling Hob down with him for a cuddle onto pillows that still smell a little of peaches. “No. I do not.”

[ultrakill-confessions]

I kinda wonder what it is about ultrakill that uh (how do I say this without being an asshole) that attracts so many systems (?)

I like statistics so I wanna like, study what it is about certain games or series that seems to collect folks like that. Is it how the fandom treats a piece of media? Is it the demographic? I donno!

Like if we all just decided to treat doom 2016 the same way we treat ultrakill would introjects n stuff start popping up over there too? (I picked doom cause it's a bloody shoot em up with religious undertones and insano angst potential, but feel free to insert any other game here too) I'm just genuinely curious about it all

-

[geospiral]

The first two shots from the very first teaser for Alien Stage really put into perspective how huge the Segyein empire must be if they're just at liberty to destroy entire worlds instead of using them for resources.

[greenapplebling]

Bruce: So in my last trip, I noticed two pairs of passengers, two senior men I named Mr. Boring and Mr. Party and two recently out of high school girls that had the most dead-inside faces I've ever seen. They were obviously two couples and those men were their sugar daddies...

Bruce: So my question is, how do I make sure my children never end up like that?

Dinah, deadpan: Well, the main reason for that occurrence is daddy issues... No- Bruce, wipe that smile out of your face, you're literally fighting a lost battle

[badkarma1998]

least popular Fallout as in one of the first 2 or as in Tactics? 👀👀

Ok I may have completely forgotten Tactics even existed lmao.

But no I was referring to Fallout 3.

Anyone I've talked to who played the first 2 seems to really love them, and when I say I love 3 the most the question tends to be "why?" Lol

Maybe its that I only ever hear endless praise (rightfully so) for New Vegas, but 3 has such bad writing and level design I fully recognize my adoration is filtered through nostalgia

[vegalocity]

"Syntax is canonically closer in age to MK and Mei" wait, he IS?!

okay not CANONICALLY in that the spiders' ages were laid out- but context clues imply he's probably more 'late 20s early thirties' than the 'forties maybe even fifties' area that the more 'adult' Adults like Tang and Pigsy and Sandy fall into

in the post this tag was taken from he's basically calling MK attractive while he's also dissing him (when he explains the cpu burn he explicitly describes the first part of it as 'you look good and are animated nice' and yes they turn it into a Jojo's joke but he WAS directly saying MK was attractive to get there) implying it wouldn't be wierd for someone around his age group to find someone of MK's age group attractive, implying they're closer to eachother's ages than not

and MK and Mei are presumably early 20s or so granted Mk's been running deliveries for pigsy for two years before the start of the show and in china you can't get your driver's licence till you're eighteen so if you assume he went right into it the second he could and didn't like 'try college before dropping out and working instead' or something then he's bare minimum 20

And also he Literally dabs when the spiders take over the city

He's got massive burnt out Late Millennial vibes to him honestly- and others say he's got gamer vibes (which i don't really, he's got massive Trekkie vibes to me lmao) if that implies anything

he probably is just somewhere in the space between MK and Mei and Tang and Pigsy in age area, because he's definitely not young enough to be misconstrued as a Teenager like the former do but absolutely not old enough to be considered middle aged like the latter are...

[hartxstarr-art]

shenanigans

[slingbats]

I just think Oswald should never be near kids ever

No, not even that version of Oswald