#perhaps... this was a mistake...

[gayerthanyoulleverbe]

Me and my friend @menaathena made kin lists today and I got absoloutely DRAGGED.

Anyway it was all in good fun go check out her artwork she fucking rocks

[lemonlimestar]

bits & bobs

text:

the crumbled note reads: Dear Kon, I miss you. Is that a cliche? I hope — before getting cut off.

the list beside the cd reads: Tracks (with im next to the T, above the other letters, reading Tim), Uptown Girl, Like A Prayer, Fly Me To The Moon, Crimson & Clover, Heaven Is A Place On Earth, Accidentally In Love.

[markscherz]

I just heard about gastric-brooding frogs. The photos are wild. So I guess my question is, what the fuck? Why/how would a species be like that?

Evolution be like Phoebe sometimes

[13eyond13]

BE COMPLETELY HONEST with me, Lawlight enjoyers:

[an-established-butt-dent]

'Dreamers' A quiet evening

Solas x Lavellan, available as print here.

Mixed media on paper

[honeyed-lemonade]

frankly I think as a fandom we’ve been blowing things out of proportion on the regular far too much

[fatedroses]

And some days, I just wish you wouldn't look at me at all.

[xxgrav3yxx]

[atoriv-art]

true art

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Weredoll: Alone

It all started with that toy. I know it had to.

I only touched it for a few seconds. God, I should've known. That pull, that imperceptible radiance, of course it was magic. But it just looked so... pretty. I didn't think twice, I just wanted a closer look, and I could feel the jolt through my system as soon as I curled my fingers around it. Magic.

It's the same feeling that was in the seashells that made my best friend a mermaid all those years ago, damning her to the sea. The same feeling as the fae that spirited away my mother's name.

Yes, they looked happy. But I always knew better. You can't abandon your humanity, you just... can't. You shouldn't be able to, you shouldn't want to. It's just wrong.

I spent the whole day frantic. Combing through forums and blogs, staring down at the listings for dubiously reliable books. If nothing happened in the moment, the only conclusions were a crawling slow-burn transformation that would take me piece by agonizing piece, or... something conditional.

The door to my room was locked. My bed was pushed out from the wall and put in the way of the door, just in case. Now all I can do is sit at my computer desk, eyes trapped in the corner of my laptop.

11:59. Any moment now I would find what fate I was cursed to. I'd spent long enough wracked by anxiety, the humanity in my soul clung to my body in terror. Now, there was nothing but a silent, helpless anticipation.

12:00.

I flinch as the number changes. I pat my body down, trying to find any hints to my curse. But I can't find anything. Everything as it should be. Warm to the touch, but not hot. Just enough give before skin squishes against bone.

I wanted to feel relief, but the confirmation just brought on a defeated emptiness. A sighing, accepting resignation to the alternative, or a confused...

...it's spreading. The emptiness. It isn't just emotional. There is a visceral feeling of removal slowly expanding from my body.

I tried to stand. My hand was on my stomach, like I was trying to feel the thing eating me from the inside. I feel the void overtake my gut, leaving me with a hollow and cavernous lack. There was no sense of hunger, my body failing to cry out with need as it should with an empty stomach. The feeling instead slotted into place, as if I was designed for it.

I try and walk to the mirror. Everything's off. My limbs are too heavy and my torso is too light. I lift my shirt up, and see the beginnings of a seam. There's a small indent that traces around the base of my ribs. Exactly like a ball jointed doll.

I feel sick. I feel faint. But more than anything, I feel empty.

I stumble to the bed and collapse. I can't keep myself upright, I can't muster the will. Fuck, this is really happening, isn't it? I don't care if it's just for the night. I don't want to let go, I can't. Being a person is all I've ever known. How could I not be scared?

My hands fumble along my side. I can feel myself hardening, the texture changing as I move upwards. The seam's already deepened, god knows how far, letting my rigid body—

A violent shudder overtakes me. I cough involuntarily. It's reached my heart.

I can't take my hand off it. The other desperately grabs my hair, trying to ground me, as I feel my heartbeat get weaker and weaker. I try breathing harder, invoking my anxieties, anything to speed it back up, but it's mere seconds until it shuts down completely.

It feels... uncomfortable. Just uncomfortable. All my panic is forced. A cognitive understanding that I really should be terrified, that my heart stopping is something every person needs to fear, but the emptiness swallows all that away. There's a passive, almost reassuring understanding. I'm unharmed, and it's not permanent.

This shouldn't be good. It just shouldn't, right? This isn't the absence of life, it isn't an emptiness that destroys. It's tranquility, it's cleanliness, it's alleviation. I know this is part of the curse, but I just feel so... at ease. Any negative feeling I try to summon is just swallowed by the emptiness, tidied up and put away.

Oh yes, the transformation. It seems it's spread quite far while I was distracted. Down my thighs and up to my neck. I move my hands up to my shoulders, knowing my first joints are going to grow in any minute.

No, no. I can't let it take me. I refused to be reduced to a thing to be ordered around, some heartless construct that only exists for others. There has to be something. I can make my heart beat again, I have to, or I'll die, right? I make a fist and start pounding on my chest as hard as I can... only being met with a dull, hollow thud as the plastic dents into the emptiness inside me. There's nothing in there to start anymore.

Okay. This can still be salvaged. It's just a body, and while it may change, I'm still a human inside. I won't let that be taken from me, I just need to... a suctioning feeling settles in. My skin, just at my shoulder, feels... loose. Ill-fitting.

With a single jerking motion, I reach up and grab at my shoulder, bloodlessly tearing away my skin like it's a thick and heavy tissue paper. Underneath the scraps left behind is the beginnings of a ball joint. It's much too round, the indents where the mechanics let me move just beginning to burrow. It's as if my joints are trying to pop out of their place in my sockets, held in by the firm suggestion of an artificial material. I can already feel my muscle sinew being digested.

I need to be upset, I need to. This is an existential terror in the most literal form, a destruction of all that I am. But all change is death, sacrifice. You cannot become one thing without destroying another. It's rather beautiful to bloom... no, please, no. I refuse to accept such a fate laying down, no matter how much the curse tries to ease me.

I suppose if it can swallow my gut feelings and quell the uneasiness in my heart, it won't be long until it starts to harden this one's brain, leaving it with... leaving it. It. This one.

No. Not now, not ever. If this one can't trust its feelings, and if its starting to lose its cognition, it needs to rely on its behaviour. It will remain human, in one form or another.

Dolls like to clean, to keep things orderly and convenient for others. This one just needs to rip its bed apart! It tears at the corners of its covering, tossing its pillows across the room as it tangles its sheets into a useless mess. There, a bed no doll would be proud of. It tasks a moment to bask in the joy of a completed task.

A sickening pop. It turns back to the mirror and sees its joints as they should be. Perfect round attachments, manufactured just right to allow it mobility. All that remains are its shins and its hands. It's running out of time.

This one tries to walk back to its laptop, and is immediately distracted by its walk. No longer is there the looming clumsy tumbling from its discordant changes. There's an effortless elegance, a refinement of movement and intention. It feels rather pleasing to present itself in such a formal manner. Before the transformation began, it wouldn't have considered such a thing, finding much more comfort in more casual poses and movements. It feels silly to derive such comfort from informality now. Good dolls are-

This one freezes, taken aback by its thoughts. Good dolls are polite and dignified. It's a mantra, a commandment, a colloquialism. A reflexive proverb, as if it were so baked into cultural DNA as to be self-evident. Of course that is how a good doll is to act, it would be silly to pretend otherwise. That... doesn't have to imply anything about this one, it's still a person. This one returns to its task.

12:04. It feels as if it should have been much longer. Becoming felt so fundamentally altering it's bizarre to picture it as taking only 5 minutes, even if that is what this one's research confirmed to it prior. Oh well, it can't be helped. Good dolls are punctual, after all.

There has to be something it can do, something to keep the final throes of the transformation at bay. Dolls are meant to act, and... well, that's not entirely true, is it? Dolls are also meant to be still. To be posed, a beautiful decoration, dressed in the finest outfits...

This one finds its brain... shutting off. Floating away. This is no mere emptiness; it's a trance. A blissful, wonderful stillness. No concern for thoughts, no feelings beyond a gentle calm.

As it sees the clock change, it blinks itself back to awareness. Ah, so that was stillness. This one understands why other dolls find it so enrapturing. It will gladly return to it once it has finished all it has to do.

But first, it looks down at its body. Everything is stiff and rigid, the only movement being allowed by the segments through its hardened skin. Its behaviour has been overhauled, now much more prim and proper, only breaking its posture to help its self-examination.

Of course, this one thinks like a good doll as well. It desires to serve and obey another, and in their absence, it will simply busy itself with chores, doing all it can to help like a good doll. It seems its readings were correct, and the transformation has finished.

Well, that was quite the experience. This one prepares to reflect on it... in the morning, once it's a person. In the meantime, it elegantly walks back to its bed and begins to tidy up, the much more pertinent task.

[corallapis]

DOCTOR: He'd see me dead tomorrow. MASTER: Gladly, Doctor. [looking to the Valeyard] But I'm not prepared to countenance a rival.

[waning-and-waxing]

me, seeing the differences in chapter 12 routes when you choose either to face kham directly or go to the peri trader in disguise:

[crickit-song]

One of the most fun and interesting things about the ace attorney games is that all of the main characters are deeply flawed.

From Edgeworth's disappearing/reappearing act in aa2, not to mention literally quoting his own SUICIDE NOTE in COURT:

And then in aai, his acting above the law honestly all the time because his special interest is the truth and he's certain he's the best detective around, which is justifiable but kind of extreme,

To the absolute ASS Phoenix was to Apollo all throughout ajaa, which i don't have receipts for but you remember, and his consistent trend of caustically lying to grown people capable of making decisions because he doesn't want to upset them in the moment (eg, the apollo-trucy-thalassa relation that is still hidden),

To the absolutely horrendous SHIT Apollo pulled during Turnabout for Tomorrow, which includes but is not limited to assisting terrorism (encouraging Aura Blackquill to continue the trial), asking for his close friend and motiveless colleague Athena to be arrested for murder, and leaving his ACTUAL SISTER AT GUNPOINT BY A RADICAL TERRORIST, all because he couldn't handle not having trust for like a day. If he had waited literally a day, the trial would have continued (bc at that point Terrans murder hadn't been solved) AND the TWELVE random people and FUCKING TRUCY could have escaped the space station!!! But nooo, polly, do egg on the murderously radicalized Blackquill sibling who spent years hating an actual child SURE GREAT IDEA.

Even the secondary characters have no concept of normal, with simon blackquill being a convicted death row inmate for most of dual destinies, Athena having enough trauma to kill a horse, trucy and maya with abandonment issues, pearly dealing with everything morgan and dahlia did, and Lana and ema's whole thing, not to mention the von karma fiasco.

Honestly the most normal person in all the games is klavier, who is a world famous pop star with an insane and violent serial poisoner as a brother.

I love all the characters in this game, nick and miles are my blorbos, and I adore nearly everybody else, but damn if this game doesn't make some extremely flawed little guys. Ask my parents or friends, they'll tell you how angry I got at points, lmao.

And i haven't even played SOJ or TGAA yet. I should probably be worried.

[thenerdiestmanalive]

Time to spread my Charles and Edwin are Orpheus and Eurydice reincarnated agenda

Dream, please come get your son, he keeps going down to hell to save his partner

[voidcat]

Just imagining (modern setting again) doing the stupidest nonreligious joke known to man and everyone else staring with an exasperated expression, brows furrowed and all, just cricket noises in the classroom at that point- so with a chuckle you turn to Anaxagoras for a hint of solace, solidarity- acknowledgment even and he just- turns his head (you’re positive you didn’t imagine the end of that sudden motion and the swing to his hair strands!) deeply immersed in his book, not looking your way and definitely offering you no way out.

Behind the comforting cover of the book raised to his eye level, you don’t notice his lip curling up slightly at your foolery, the joke was …up to debate whether it could be called one or not but certainly the way you delivered and all your fluttering that followed, like a fish out of water, slippery and desperately trying to jump back into whatever hole it could find, was certainly amusing— and a little adorable if he’s honest with himself for once…

[saihakkenden]

fun fact!! while rewatching, i noticed he uses the personal pronoun 私/watashi no matter who he talks to. the reason i took notice of this specifically is because 私 is gender neutral when used formally and feminine when used informally, which means he’s either using very formal speech with everyone, including his childhood best friend (which would be weird, considering how everyone else (in the show at least, idk about real life) uses their preferred pronoun and speaks informally when speaking to their friends, although o wouldn’t really put it past him), or he’s using a feminine pronoun on himself just because.

this is also part of the reason why i love nb touma

weeUGHH ACK *COUGH* eweuhbEWUAHHH aaaAWAAaaHh huhGHHH huhgH *SNIFFFF* AAAGH. hhheuuh… hhhheuyh *whimper*…hh-hhhhhghh… *sniffle sniff* wwehhh…. hhhoo…hh.. version