pit fighting

In addition to being thin, women (particularly in the west) are expected to maintain the illusion of hairlessness. Any sign that puberty might have bestowed upon us a spray of fuzz beneath our arms or a thatch of fur between our legs has to be eliminated immediately. Waxing, shaving, plucking, electrolysis - women have to fork out precious financial resources just to achieve what is then laughably passed off as a ‘natural’ state. For men and women similarly invested in maintaining patriarchal notions of gender performance, hair on women seems to be oddly terrifying. 

- Clementine Ford, Fight Like A Girl 

Who You Should Fight: Marching Band Edition


who wins: them

don’t do it.  don’t fight the piccolo player.  just don’t.


who wins: them

they were told you were challenging them for first chair. run while you still can.


who wins: them

threaten you with their register key.  forfeit for the sake of all.


who wins: them

you are promptly deemed a “nerd” and stuffed in a band locker by the entire section even though you only wanted to fight one of them.

low reeds

who wins: no one

 you yell increasingly bad sexual innuendos at each other across the band room for twenty minutes until you both get tired and go home.


who wins: them

punches you in the face repeatedly on the offbeats of a sousa march playing in the background.


who wins: you and then them

you win the fight easily while they’re giving their villainous monologue.  entire trumpet section later jumps you in a dark hallway for disgracing one of their own.


who wins: no one

they get distracted halfway through the fight and wander off.

low brass

who wins: them

you mock them by making farting noises with your lips.  they punch you in the stomach with their abnormally strong arms.  you can’t breath properly for days.

pit percussion

who wins: you

pretend like you can’t tell the vibes, marimba, and xylophone apart.  wait until they’re blind with rage, then run them over with the closest wheeled pit equipment.


who wins: them

show up to the fight with a shank fashioned out of a broken drum stick.  proceed to kick ass.

drum major

who wins: them

calls you to attention (you can’t disobey!) and then waits until you faint from exhaustion.

color guard

who wins: them

have you ever watched one of these fuckers on the field?  you’re screwed.

band director

who wins: them

just when you think you’ve won, they get up smiling and say “one more time!”


[Aerith] always used to talk about the next time. She talked about the future more than any of us.

Anders: No wonder they call this the Dragon Age. The bloody things are everywhere.

Anders this is literally the first place where we’ve run into any dragons, other than Flemeth and you weren’t even there. Although I guess to be fair that’s just this game.

Speculated dialogue from right before the Bone Pit boss dragon fight:

[everyone peering from behind a boulder or something]
Hawke: Well, that miner wasn’t wrong, that is a pretty huge dragon. So… has any of you actually fought one before, by any chance?
Fenris: No.
Merrill: Like I just said, never even seen one. Apart from Asha'bellanar.
Anders: Yes.
Anders: …What? I’m a Grey Warden. You seem to keep forgetting that even though it’s the reason you sought me out in the first place. The Archdemons are dragons.
Hawke: I thought you weren’t recruited until after the Archdemon was defeated.
Anders: Well, yes. But. I’ve still fought a dragon, with the Hero of Ferelden.
Hawke: That’s good then! Any tips?
Anders: Uhh… pretty much both ends and also the sides bite, so have fun with that, Fenris, Hawke. Also their breath does spirit damage, no wait the Commander said it might but it was lightning, no actually the normal ones probably just breathe fire? And may or may not turn into a bunch of energy orbs mid-battle?
Anders: Look, I don’t even know. The one we fought was actually a dragon ghost made out of lightning. …I’d love to be able to say that’s the weirdest thing I saw while traveling with her.

According to Brandon Sanderson if all of his characters fought together in a pit fight, kelsier would win because he’s the only one ruthless enough to do what it takes to survive (from the talk he did tonight in Seattle) he also said in any other book kelsier would be a villain, but that that specific moment he was what the world needed in a hero

Garrett:  Varric.  I can’t help but notice my brother isn’t exploded horribly, devoured by a blight dragon, buried under a mountain range, or lost forever in time.  He looks like the same broody asshole that ran from Kirkwall.  Huh.

Varric:  Hey, hey now.  You know it’s not a proper Hawke adventure without some creative liberties taken.  People don’t want to hear about the hero that was only a LITTLE devoured.  Think of my audience.  Regardless… Viscount Hawke, it’s my dubious pleasure to introduce Inquisitor Hawke.

Garrett:   …

Carver:  …

Garrett:  Dickbutt.

Carver:  Fuckbiscuit.

Garrett:  Assface.

Carver:  Orlesian.

Garrett:  HEY–

Varric:  All right, I’m already seeing I’m going to have to cut this entire scene from the novel.

Garrett:  You’re… you’re looking well, brother.  I guess I shouldn’t have taken Varric’s word quite as literally.  But here I am: Garrett Hawke, here to save the day and his brother AGAIN.

Carver:  Pffft, don’t pretend that I need your bearded jerkface here to save me.  I can save my sodding self AND all these people.  So why ARE you here?  You must have heard I didn’t die all those times.  I am sort of a big deal.

Garrett:  Can’t a man be worried about his family?

Carver:  Let me guess: Seneschal Bran told you “no” on your dragon fight club so now you’re here to pout?  Really fucking mature, Garrett.

Garrett:  HEY.  Kirkwall is a city that smells like a skunk shat on old yogurt on the best of days.  How could replacing Chantry rubble with some gladiatorial battles on dragons going to make it any worse?

Varric:  He has a point, Junior.

Garrett:  And no, I’m not pouting.  I came to save my baby brother from his own idiocy.  Last time I left you alone for five minutes, you ran off to become a Templar and Meredith’s special smite boy.  I’m here to keep you bloody alive, you sod.  Have some Maker-given appreciation.

Carver:  You told him he could have Corypheus’ dragon, didn’t you?

Varric:  I’m a business man, kid.  I know how hard it is to get an idea off the ground.  He needs some initial assets for his plan–

Garrett:  – can your Inquisition loan me about 50,000 gold?  I don’t know how much a dragon saddle costs, but that feels about right.

A difference with Lillie and Gladion

One thing I think about with these two are how Lusamine potentially raised the two of them.

It is sad to say that I think everyone can relate to feelings of your parents manipulating your own choices in life to match their own will…

One thing that gets to me is how Lusamine herself treated UB01 and Type:Null. It is possible she could have easily projected this on her children, prompting Gladion running away years earlier.

To summarize:
UB01 - Powerful by sheer existence. The ultimate beauty. It has no will of its own, so its own will is reflected from its host.

Type:Null - An experiment created to fight the ultra beast. Keeps its helmet on until it fully trust someone.

So my idea would be along the lines of Lillie facing worse emotional trauma because Lusamine would be trying to zap her of her own will. Gladion left the foundation woth torn clothes from Null, so it might be safe to say he had more physical neglect tossed at him, even if he wasn’t meant to fight the ultra beast.

If this is the case, it is easy to understand why Gladion left so early.

a list of things sunny baudelaire could do before she could walk
  • eat carrots
  • befriend a giant and incredibly deadly snake
  • peel bark from logs with her teeth
  • eat peach pits 
  • sword fight an evil hypnotist with her teeth
  • and lowkey kill said evil hypnotist 
  • play catch with her teeth (or maybe that was just in the movie i dont know)
  • work as a secretary
  • crawl laps? run laps? either way do massive amounts of physical exercise
  • climb an elevator shaft with her teeth
  • jump down an elevator shaft (im just afraid of heights tbh)
  • express complex ideas and be understood (even if by a select few)
  • and this is all before she could actually walk

Gravity Falls Season 1 (1|2)

The Heroes Gambit

Juggling a long con, several disguises and a chance at revenge,  Vox Machina’s second casino night may turn out to be much more lucrative than the first

For the CritRole Reverse Bang, to match @curriebelle​‘s beautiful art

It turned out slightly longer than 2,000 words. For ease of reading it is also on AO3

The Luck’s Run casino was always bustling. In the five days she’d been staying there, she had yet to see it truly in a lull. Tonight, though, it seemed as if half Marquet was pressed together on the floor. The promise of a new performer and a duel in the fighting pits tomorrow encouraged all kinds of people to part with their hard won coin.

She, on the other hand, was afforded a little more breathing space. Being a high roller and a valued client kept a seat reserved for her at her favored game and a bouncer’s discouraging eye on the riff raff - which was part of why she looked up in surprise when someone pulled out the seat beside her.

“Is the Lady feeling favorable tonight?” the intruder asked, his accent smooth and sounding of somewhere far away.

He was handsome and pale, with aristocratic features and a shock of white hair that stood out starkly against his clothing. If his accent hadn’t marked him as an outsider, his clothing would have; no one in Marquet wore black in such a way. Next to his monochrome appearance, the vivid blood red of her dress stood out even more.

“Avandra’s blessings are fleeting this evening,” she replied evenly, unsure whether the strange man was worthy of her time. “The goddess’s favour comes and goes at no one’s will.”

“So it always is with gods. But it’s your favour I’m devoted to earning.” His smile was charming enough and despite her better judgement, she warmed a little.

“Devoted, hmm?”

“Of course.” He glanced at the table and back at her, his gaze pausing on the neckline of her dress just long enough to be flattering before he met her eyes again. “After all, if I wish to play, it seems I am at your mercy.”

She chuckled and shrugged the fur stole from her shoulders, leaving her decolletage invitingly bare. “I do like a man who knows his place.” Tipping her head just slightly toward the table and the poised dealer, she indicated he should sit. “For the moment though, you may as well join the game.”

She waited until he’d pulled out his chair before holding out a hand to stop him. “You have played before?”

Rather than pause, he simply took her hand in his own as he sat. “Played and won. Might I know your name? Or shall I simply refer to you as the Goddess of Beauty?

That was laying it on a little thick, but she permitted herself a small smile. “Countess Velora Whitewood of Kymal.”

The name rolled easily off Vex’s tongue after five days of constant use.

“I am Frederick,” Percy said as he bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles through the gloves that Vex had worn to hide her archer’s calluses. “Delighted to meet you.”

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