Y'all can call me Remy! She/her/hers Currently (and probably forever, let’s be real) obsessed with Critical Role and D&D in general. This is an utter mess, an amalgamation of obsessions and loves and characters that steal my heart
You are joking, but the soundtrack to httyd is considered as one of the most influential classical orchestra creation of our time. With the amound of motives repeating across the whole movie where each motive has multiple variants depending on the plot of the story we are talking about a full 2 hours long symphony that holds a story on its own. If you have seen the movie before, give it a listen as a whole and i guarantee you that you will be able to keep up storywise just by listening to the soundtrack.
Watch this video explaining JUST first 5 minutes of the movie to see what i mean
Real tired of people judging C3 so harshly. I get it, we ALL loved the nein, but at this point people are expecting something that not even M9 was able to give. There's nothing wrong with the pacing, there's nothing wrong with the characters, it took uns SEVENTY episodes to get to Rosohna and we're getting forgotten gods and moon city 30 episodes into C3 but somehow people are still acting as if nothing's happening and it's boring. The first time they fought Ira's furniture was episode ONE and the ball's been rolling for Ruidus lore since then. It's been building up beautifully for 31 episodes and all ya'll can do is complain.
I can't even imagine going through the trouble they went through, Marisha building the set, Matt creating this cool ass story, and then seeing them absolutely SHINE on that table every thursday only to have people complaining about everything from the background music to the opening to the party name.
I mean, Ashley is having the time of her damn life and she's so damn funny as Fearne, Travis is just been a giddy, happy bitch as well, constantly giggling at his own funny shit, I personally don't even think I've seen the both of them have this much FUN. And then we have Marisha KILLING IT as Laudna, who is just a gold mine of a character, Orym, the most flavorful little halfling battle master who I love so much, Imogen, who I can't WAIT to see go absolutely bananas insane bc we all know it's coming, Ashton having the craziest, most chaotic class of barbarian I've ever seen in my life and FCG... i won't even say anything for fear of spoiling the story.
This is such a cool campaign with a million overlapping cool concepts, but so many people are so hung up in somehow wanting exactly what they got for C2, they won't even give it a shot. People have been complaining on chat since ep.1 and MAJORLY overestimating the pacing for the M9, who also had a BUNCH of useless episodes and quests (bc they're fun!). I'm absolutely not saying people aren't allowed to complain or comment anything negative but the sheer amount of stuff I've read about the Hells is just annoying at this point and I can't understand why keep watching if you don't like it.
It should 100% be illegal for companies to make you give them your payment information when you sign up for a free trial version of their product. It is not necessary and there is no good fucking reason for them to do it. It’s blatantly just so they can steal forgetful customers’ money.
Caleb glanced up at the muffled question, biting back a smile at the sight of a very disgruntled Essek buried in a mound of furs. Only his eyes were visible, and they glared at where Caleb was furiously scrawling down his recollection of the day's events in Aeor. Only a very dim orb hovered above his journal, casting the barest amount of light. They had both agreed that a fire would be too dangerous after the events of the day. The beasts of the fallen city were patient things, and they had already proven keen enough to wait out the dome if they found it.
"I am used to a fair amount of cold, this is bearable for a while longer," Caleb said ruefully, recalling many nights huddled beneath nothing but his shabby coat and the fine layer of snow dusted over him. Essek drew him from his memories with a faint noise of disgust.
"Well good for you then," he sniped. Caleb did smile then, unable to stop it from creasing up his face. "Oh, yes, I suppose you would find it funny."
"Only that you remind me of Jester, in the early days," he explained. Essek perked up as much as he could in his current, amorphous state.
"Jester?"
"Yes, she also came from privilege and wasn't used to slumming it with us commoners."
Essek drooped. "I see."
"I did not mean it as an insult, I find it endearing."
There was a long silence after that, Caleb found that his smile was easy to keep on his face and so he let it stay as he worked and Essek stewed on whatever was making his eyes dart back and forth in thought. Eventually the other man shuffled closer to peer at his journal, a muffled noise choking out of the depths of the blanket when he finally caught sight of the detailed drawing Caleb was writing around.
"Mmm, Jester again, I'm afraid. It's remarkable really, I think there might be a dick for each day of notes I've written so far."
"You let her use your journal to draw dicks?"
"Let? No. But now that we are here and she is off terrorising pirates, I am glad that I have these reminders."
More silence, and the slow building pressure of a body leaning itself up against his side. In the part of his mind that wasn't replaying the rooms and artifacts they had come across that day, Caleb remembered a dorm room, two bodies leant up on his instead of one, and the burning pain of his mutilated arms. The cold helped ground him in the present. As did the faint, subtle scent of his companion. A hint of some spiced cologne, a hint of magic. And that crisp, nothing smell of prestidigitation that couldn't quite eliminate the stale sweat it was used on.
"You miss them." Essek said, and it was not a question.
"As much as you likely did when we would run out of your life and towards the next danger."
"It's different."
Caleb paused in his writing, "Is it?"
"I didn't have the right," there was that bitterness again, turned inward and poisonous. Caleb jostled the man a little, as if knocking his body would knock the thoughts from his mind. He counted it as a win that Essek only readjusted his lean rather than pulling away completely. At the beginning of their journey, Caleb had found Essek's careful distance disconcerting, used as he was to the Mighty Nein's casual and frequent touch.
"I think you were allowed to feel any way that you did about us, Essek."
"I did miss you," he confessed, barely a breath, and then a little louder, "I missed you all very much when you would leave, it was concerning at first. I thought I was ill."
Caleb snorted, and mentally filed that away for Beauregard next time they talked. He could imagine her face as he told her Essek thought his emotions were digestion. He could imagine the gentle ribbing she would give their mage, and Yasha's awkward, quiet defense of him.
"And then I figured out what was happening and I wished that I had been ill instead."
"We have that effect on people," Caleb agreed.
"Did you know my brother caught me whistling once after one of Jester's sendings. Whistling." Caleb felt him shake his head, "I am a fool for you all."
"Love is not foolish," he said. Essek stiffened against him for a moment, tensed as if to bolt, but slowly he relaxed again and Caleb let out a relieved sigh.
"And yet the word makes me want to throw myself off one of these readily available cliffsides," Essek eventually replied. Caleb closed his journal.
"It is like with anything, at first it feels clumsy, ungainly. It will not fit because you have yet to grow into it. But love suits you, Essek Thelyss, you will wear it well one day."
"Oh," Essek said faintly, curling up into himself as if he had been physically struck. "Well, fuck me."
Caleb sat in silence with his arm around the pile of furs as the drow inside silently shaked apart, and then silently pieced himself back together again. He knew that feeling, that gnawing pit inside that threatened to swallow, to consume. He knew that the process of self forgiveness happened in quiet moments between the chaos. That it often hurt more than the hatred did. At one point he had begun to stroke where Essek's head ought to be, Zemnian unbidden at the tip of his tongue.
"What does that mean?" Essek finally said, voice scratchy but firm. "That word? Leepling? You have used it before."
"Ah, liebling," he corrected gently, "It means... It means I like you quite a bit to be saying it without realising."
"Leebling," Essek tried again slowly, rolling it around as if to see how it tasted. Caleb felt a blush bloom across his cheeks and huffed a small laugh at himself.
"Hmm, maybe one day I'll tell you the exact translation."
Essek turned his head so that the small portion of his face still visible was buried against Caleb's shoulder, "I look forward to it."
Um, can I please get every neighborhood kid and animal to come walk across my driveway? Can I get a cat to just run around on there? This flock of ducks did such an amazing job!
I was 18 months old when my parents built their house. After pouring the concrete slab for the foundation, my father, world’s most sentimental man, carried me down into the hole so he could preserve a single imprint of my little baby foot in the house he was building for me to grow up in.
Naturally, I wriggled loose, so what is actually preserved for posterity in my parents’ basement floor is my mad dash through this glorious new mud pit, followed by my father’s footprints in hot pursuit, a visible scuffle where the fugitive was captured, and then my father’s prints returning to the ladder.
I still think that my favorite urban legend/folklore fact is that there are certain areas in New Orleans where you cannot get a taxi late at night not because it isn’t safe, but because taxi companies have had recurring problems of picking up ghosts in those areas who are not aware that they are dead and disappearing from the cab before reaching the destination and therefore stiffing the driver on the fare causing a loss for the company.
In a book about the tsunami in Japan in 2011, the writer talked about how there was a huge increase in reports of ghostly activity. Apparently in Japan treating ghosts rudely is basically considered the stupidest thing you could possibly do. For months after the tsunami, taxi drivers would pick up a passenger only to have them give an address in one of the devastated areas. The cab driver often looked up halfway to the destination to find their fare had disappeared. Not wanting to be impolite to the person (even if they were dead) they’d drive to the address, open the door to let them out, then drive away.
everyone on here always worried about “oh im a different person around different people so what’s my actual identity?” bitch take a drink of water and listen to brennan lee mulligan saying “people are like gems, right? they have facets to them, and some of them only get exposed within certain relationships” and maybe you’ll calm down
Sometimes I think it’s less that Your Person is someone you can be totally yourself around and more that Your Person summons the version of yourself you most like being
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