#I don't know exactly what I did

[akanemnon]

Kick that cupid to the curb!

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MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[demigods-posts]

i'm one hundred percent certain that after percy and annabeth made out underwater. and he wanted to make their relationship official. the question was not "will you be my girlfriend?" but "can i be your boyfriend?" i don't care what the canon says. percy gave annabeth the space to take the lead in the relationship. because after a lifetime of being abandoned by everyone she dared to care for. and then watching her on the brink of a panic attack at the thought of losing him the last four years. he wanted to honor a new beginning between them by follow her lead and moving at her pace.

[rocketbirdie]

face value

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a series of drawings featuring Riz Gukgak from D20 Fantasy High. In the first, Pok holds Riz's shoulders in heaven as says, smiling, when you work until the dead of night, your friends know you do it because you love them. In the second, Riz is having a group hug with his party and the text reads, but is it really love that drives you, Riz Gukgak... In the next, a desperate, pleading Riz clutches the shoulder of an indifferent, faceless person and the text continues, ...or is it fear? In the fourth, Riz is younger and digging through crystals with bleeding hands; the text reads, what use are you when you can no longer dig. In the fifth, Kalina, shrouded in darkness with only her eyes glowing, reaches towards the camera with a smile; the text reads, when you're too scared to think. Sixth, Riz is filling out Fig and Kristen's papers under the light of a lamp, serious and tired; the text reads, when you're too tired to work. Seventh, Riz is lying in bed, eyes hidden behind hair, hand on his father's picture; the text reads, too sad to keep the mood up. Eighth, Baron stares into the camera; the text reads, too lonely, too insecure, too weird. Ninth, Baron is holding a defeated Riz by the throat; the text reads, to keep moving? Tenth, Riz is standing in the distance, holding his briefcase, and behind him is a football/soccer ball; the text reads, what use is a ball that can no longer roll? The last drawing just says none in brackets on a dark background. End ID]

[naffeclipse]

A sort of mad scientist AU where Y/N is, of course, a mad scientist. You suffer from chronic illness and you are desperate to make your experiments work but you struggle without help. You refuse to take on a human assistant out of a desire to not be treated as lesser--as if you can't conduct great, horrific experiments like the other crazed scientists. You stubbornly set yourself to work without any such succor in your tower and the days pass, wearing heavily on your soot marked hands and aching, waning body.

A solution appears right at your feet one evening while rummaging around for some material in the grimy streets (dead animals, toxic waste--the usual to carry out unethical tests) and discover two abandon animatronics in the back alley, left to rot and turn to rust. There's close to zilch hope for the two but you're not a mad scientist for no reason. You drag the endoskeletons home before prompting collapsing for a day or two after overextending yourself and paying the price.

Once you get your strength back (and cursing your weakness) you turn all your effort to cleaning and preparing the endoskeletons. The celestial model of the animatronics would be helpful in your work, no? One after the solar ball of gas which beams heat and light onto the world and the other after the gray rock which brightens the night and tugs on the tides. Sun and Moon. You solder wires and revamp the servos. You hold and handle the limbs and heads of the animatronics as if they were sleeping. Soon, they will wake.

There's just one problem. They need a spark. Not a bit of ember from fire or the first crack of electricity from a splitting fork of lightning. A spark of life. And you contain such material within yourself. It's dangerous to lord over life and play god, but you need them.

The night storms when you prepare the animatronics with their chassis open, lying down on tables. You are steady despite the buzz in your veins in the face of the most dangerous experiment you have conducted yet. With these two are your side, there will be many to come. You spill your blood, split away two pieces of your pulsing core, and set two tiny sparks of life from your beating heart into the animatronics. Your head spins with pain and hope. The hum of servos whirling to life touches your eardrums. A great rumble of thunder shakes the tower. Your vision is slowly swallowed by darkness as you start to collapse but before you fall, two glowing pairs of eyes open.

When you wake, you're in your bed, in the dark, and your chest is bandaged. You hardly have the strength to touch the blood-stains soaking into the gauze but a silver and blue hand stops you. Red eyes pierce you at your bedside, a dark personage holding your wrist. Standing on the other end of your bed is a tall figure with ghostly pale optics falling over you. Dread fills your marrow at what exactly you brought back from death. A raspy voice raises a question. Who are you?

The animatronics. They're alive. They want answers, and you are more than willing to supply them. You give a very detailed, breathy response about how this all came to be, and when you propose that they become your assistants in your endeavors, they silently share a glance and nod in unison.

Though you fear you got off to a rough start with them putting you into bed after making sure your heart was still beating, they prove to be everything you want—and more. They have no desire to return to whoever tossed them to the street and left them as scrap metal, and you finally have extra hands to hold together metal contraptions and nimble fingers to set the exact scalpel blade size you need in your hand when cutting into a carcass.

They do not infantilize you in your sickness, much to your aching relief. Sun, however, is poignant in reminding you that pushing yourself past your energy capability, such as walking into town and dragging back a metallic frame for a killing contraption, will result in you needing a day of recovery. Moon sharply remarks that willingly subjecting yourself to an overnight of experimenting with beating hearts and lightning strikes will most likely cause a pain flare, but they never stop you. They never decide for you. They see you—not the unending illness clawing at your edges and leaving its marks on your flesh.

Though you learn to manage yourself better—for science, of course. You request Sun's assistance for lifting heavy plates into place before you bolt and screw them down. He's all too cheerful to lend a hand. When it grows late, you allow Moon to lead you to bed before the fire in your muscles becomes a roaring inferno. He tells you softly that he's been recording the number of good and bad days you have, and that your flare-ups don't appear as often when you have a full night's rest. Your assistants are pleased—with the improvement in your experiments, of course.

It's rare, but sometimes you'll catch an odd sentence or two from Sun about where they were before, and how much nicer it is here. You give them much. You don't shout or throw things at them. He lays a hand over his chassis and smiles. Moon will look at you sometimes, and when you ask why he's staring, he says that you have never raised a hand to them. It's strange. He thought all mad scientists were the same. He's glad to be wrong.

You're glad they're with you too. Your science has never been madder and you don't lay through bad days alone anymore. You don't like talking about your chronic illness. The discussions you've had in the past with peers and professors revolved around how you're handling it and what it's doing to you today. Can you still do your work? It's not mad or experimental or new—it's just sad. Other people think you're sad and pitiful, and you would rather die trying to conduct a hazardous experiment than ever stop to tend to yourself.

Sun and Moon learn to take your mutters and curses in stride when another flare-up hits. They ask questions occasionally, wondering how long you've lived with this and if it would ever be cured but they seem to already suspect the answer. Sure, you've tried several times to manufacture an antidote to whatever poison sits in your veins, but such endeavors have only ended with you waking up, lying in your own vomit. They don't give you pity, not like the others have. No, Sun holds your hand between his large digits and asks if you've eaten anything yet. Moon touches your shoulder when you stare out of the circular window in your tower and asks if he can walk you to your bed.

They need you, and they know what great work you're doing here, crafting weapons of mass destruction, simmering glowing liquids, and putting together new creations—not like them, no. Nothing compares to your assistants.

[baejax-the-great]

If I were a writer at a big game company working on a sequel to a beloved series and the higher ups kept telling me to make the game shittier and kept sending my work back to me to be dumbed down even further somehow, and then once most of the writing was done they laid me and my coworkers off illegally without severance, I'd probably gleefully watch as people trashed the shitty game that shipped.

[glassrunner]

ELDEN RING

The Cursed Children of Marika and Radagon

[kirby-the-gorb]

[mollysunder]

The biggest tragedy of Jayce's raid on the shimmer refinery wasn't just that he killed Renni's son, it's that that kid died slowly without any sort of comfort or aid. That boy was alive and wheezing by the time when Jayce and Vi slowly (kind of reluctantly) made it down to the ground floor and was still alive enough for Jayce to look directly at him as the light left his eyes.

What's worse is that he died surrounded by shimmer, a single drop could have saved his life! Anybody at the refinery that could have helped him, even in theory, was held at gunpoint by the Enforcers Jayce and Vi brought and could only watch him die. And then his body's just left there for his mom, Renni, to see. This boy was the kid that pulled the alarm on the Enforcers in the first place, he absolutely knew why shimmer was so important to their operation and once Piotover got involved he's deprived of it's aid.

[artuurle]

So what happened to Gru's eye anyways?

This will be very very tied into my personal headcanons about both Grujaja and a little about the drain so be warned:

info under the readmore for sanity reasons hope u understand<3

My interpretation of the drain is a very bad place to raise someone. The whole place is essentially the slums of a city- though the most dangerous part of the place isn't because of anything living, but because the place is actually crumbling from poor infrastructure. Gruja was from a very low income family that lived in that area; just trying to live like anyone else.

The infrastructure expectedly ended up failing and in the collapse he got cut really badly by some of the resulting shrapnel across his face and left arm. He was one of the "lucky" ones. If you could even call it that.

He sure didn't.

[rmbunnie]

Something kinda tasteless about the way that alongside the concerns of "Batman needs someone to rein in his aggression/edginess" (mostly a meta concern,) "Robin is a symbol of undying hope right alongside Batman, Superman, and the police system," and "now that the thought's crossed my mind I think being Robin would be pretty sweet actually," one of Tim's points for why he should be Robin at the end of A Lonely Place of Dying is "we need to show the criminals of Gotham that they can't just kill Robin and expect to get away with it!" Because. They can. That's exactly what happened.

Using that line of reasoning, Tim makes the claim that the idea of Jaybin's life as disposable and inconsequential is heinous and bad, his killing something impermissible, but instead of disproving said idea they allow it to become true and devote their energy to making sure it doesn't become widely known as such. By covering his death up, they actually are permitting his murder to go unaddressed and deeming it acceptable, even taking away the opportunity for it to be consequential to anyone outside of Bruce's inner circle by not spreading the news. As much as we say "oh Bruce was a great dad because losing Jason crushed him" and "he almost considered trying to kill the Joker one time," he in all tangible areas did not do anything about Jason's death. Setting aside the question of killing the Joker or not, it's still shown in Batman Year 3 that Bruce's reaction to Jason's death in the time til Tim showed up was to hide away everything Jason owned and carry on with business as usual, a little angrier. Bruce didn't make any changes or actually evaluate anything in a significant way after the warehouse and Jason's death didn't warrant any tangible consequence, that's evident from reading the comic. I know some may disagree, and I acknowledge the room for interpretation, but in order to discuss Tim's reason we have to concede that it is explicitly written into this specific comic as something Bruce and Tim both recognize as fact, because it serves as the foundation that this reason is built on: there is good reason for the criminals to believe there would no punishment for killing Robin based on the actions Bruce did or didn't take in response. The concern about the public realizing there are no consequences for killing Robin wouldn't be reasonable if it wasn't true, if there actually were.

While they recognize that Jason's death came to pass largely without consequence, the fact itself is less of an issue to both Bruce and Tim than letting criminals actually find out that it doesn't have consequence. They know it's unjust, the notion that Jason can be killed without repercussion (and in making an effort to minimize his murder confirm it to be true,) but their concern isn't for what actually happened to Jason or the lack of proper response. At least on the vigilante side of things, the problem is public perception and continuing to uphold an image of Batman as just and diligent while permitting him to ignore injustice against those close to him. There's no efforts taken to actually disprove the idea that killing Robin would lack impact, what Tim proposes is just making it harder to prove right.

I think the best way to word what comes across tasteless for me here (aside from the side commentary on the unstoppable might of the institution of police and how it's an exemplar of heroism) is that beyond Tim's victim-blaming of Jason during his stint as Robin, (discussed in more depth by people who can word it better than me,) in the base text of a Lonely Place of Dying, it is foundational to the initial premise of Tim as Robin that part of his motive for being Robin hinges on accepting what happened to Jason as something that cannot be allowed in their pursuit of justice or go unaddressed for reasons completely unrelated to the actual harm, and then intentionally erasing the event and the way in which it was allowed and did go unaddressed. No matter how much it's claimed in later comics that Bruce was faultless and Jason doomed himself, Tim's Robin came to be at least in part (in-universe) as a cover-up for the lack of action taken about Jason's death, and by extension as an effort to overwrite his time as Robin and an individual entirely. And thought it wasn't the way his character viewed it, Tim wasn't passively complicit in it or going along with a poor grieving man, the intentional and deliberate erasure of Jason as a murder victim and the injustice of his posthumous treatment was part of his opening pitch.

[cubicpeebles]

Their fate is in your hands!

[onesnoopyaday]

I AM AT MY LIMIT

Snoopy #90

30/12/2024

description under the cut

[description: a cartoon-style drawing of Snoopy's head. Snoopy is a white dog with black ears. His eyes are shut and his mouth is a horizontal line. There are two large blue teardrops, one under each eye. The text "I am at my limit" is handwritten across the top of the image.]

[group-dynamic]

Bartender: Hey, man, how's it going?

Me: Yeah, you know, it's good. Just thinking about how Gil Galad's kingship was haunted by Elrond. Like his first great failure after being crowned when he'd barely come of age was showing up too late to stop the destruction of Sirion. How he probably felt a deep personal responsibility to find Elwing's missing boys at least but couldn't even do that. Like, I know he probably got redirected by Cirdan toward all those refugees and stuff, but he probably really wanted a win, especially because he was kinda orphaned by then himself and knew how cruel fate was to the sons of greater destiny. Like all his family who'd been king before him died, like, horrifically? And then when Elrond returns all fine and he comes to Lindon and he's chosen the fate of the elves, Gil Galad's physically haunted by him again. See, but this time he chooses to be haunted by Elrond. Because I think he wants to fix what he sees as his first great failure by restoring a bright future for this kid which was robbed from him when Sirion fell--and it's probably like he wants better for him than what he got, too, because he got this kingship in exile thrust upon him when all he was doing was hanging out with Cirdan making ships or something with the other non-combatants and refugees like he and his mother who were fleeing war and violence and he was like fourth in line to the throne so he probably found out in one fell swoop that all his family's dead and oh, you're king and your destiny's out of your hands. So he's like, I'll make Elrond herald and give him all the experience and guidance on this leadership stuff I never got while also giving him better control of what kind of future he has. Then--get this--he never even marries or has kids and when his reign is coming to an end. . . Which, by the way, he probably foresaw his own death which is fucked-- because he gives Elrond his ring before the war of the last alliance, metaphorically making him his heir and also giving him the opportunity to shape his future. . .Yeah, yeah, cause Elrond wouldn't have been considered suitable to be a lord or a king or anything after he was raised by wolves the sons of Feanor. So when Gil made him herald it was like helping him gain political experience and any status he lost. So anyway, then Gil Galad dies, but in some ways he's spent a greater part of his life dedicated to the act of restoring Elrond to the path he should have been on in an alternate reality where he was raised as Earendil and Elwing's son and like correcting that first failure--but also changing Elrond's fate because Elrond has the ring, like, he literally has Gil Galad's legacy and power in his hands, something he wouldn't have had (or needed?) before. But he decides he won't be king. He'll use that power to guard the place that fulfills the legacies of both him and Gil Galad. He's rebuilt the home he lost, something Gil Galad was trying to give him, and then he makes it a place for all the orphans and the wounded and the refugees--like he even fosters a bunch of future orphan kings and like--

Bartender: Like the ending of Hamilton?

Me: *mumbling into my empty glass* Yeah, exactly like the ending of Hamilton.

[awkwardrocker]

The funniest part about George's meltdown today is that it was wholly unnecessary.

All he had to do was come out today and go, "I said my side of the story in the stewards and obviously Max didn't take kindly to that but what's done is done and we'll move on."

But instead he tried to go scorched earth and it made him look so much worse.

[chiropteracupola]

granby + iskierka + keynes