#but that's not necessarily the case

[wheucto]

with that new revelation in ii2 e16, i feel like there's... a lot less to know about the world of ii. at least, not to know for sure.

because, before then, you could extract some information from passing comments. remember the french or whatever pizza delivery guy who tried to pass as italian, but spoke spanish instead? from that, you could determine that 1. france, spain, and italy are places that exist and 2. if those countries exist, why not all the countries in the world?

but. but, according to what cobs said at least, mephone4 seems to have made everything. he made the weird looking grass. if he made that, then why not anything else? did that guy exist before he came onto the show? probably not! and if he was made that day, was the concept of "france," "spain," and "italy" made that day too?

there's no way for us to know what the normal world of ii looks like. do they have parallel countries to us? well, we know their continents aren't parallel. it follows that their countries wouldn't be, either. who knows what their history is like? how the normal objects are like? will we know?

[aparticularbandit]

"...and you think, How could I have been so blind?  How could I not have seen?  Maybe, if I had noticed everything sooner, if I hadn’t let myself love her, this whole thing could have been prevented, and the despair of it all hits you...."

me, having yui samidare thoughts while i go back through and start the second write of oaei chapters.

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

We all know the semi-canonical ‘all the Robins know to hide/duck inside of Batman’s cape, even as adults’ thing.

We also know that Danny ‘is LITERALLY a ghost’ Fenton sucks at remembering his own intangibility while ALSO forgetting to look ahead of him.

All I’m saying is, Danny Fenton (or Phantom, if you’d really like) would absolutely SLAM into Batman on accident while running on roof tops and Bruce ‘Brooding Instinct’ Wayne doesn’t even think twice about letting the kid hide and scanning around for danger before there’s a record scratch of ‘wait who tf is this?’ kicks in.

[sunderwight]

Scenario where cumplane become friends before the Abyss, and Luo Binghe determines that actually, Shang Qinghua is potentially his biggest romantic rival.

Not because Shang Qinghua is particularly seductive, and not even because of their friendship, but because Shang Qinghua actually seems to be fluent in Shen Qingqiu's weird and at times contradictory signals.

Liu Qingge and Yue Qingyuan can yearn and pine all they want, but they can't even convey romantic interest in a format Shen Qingqiu can or will recognize, so at the end of the day they're making all of these overtures and Shen Qingqiu is just like oh what nice friends :) about it. There's way less risk of him ever accepting their suits when he can't recognize them as such, and when neither of the other guys even realize he can't recognize them as such!

But Shang Qinghua...

Shang Qinghua knows that Shen Qingqiu is unaware, too. And he knows how to make him aware. He knows how to parse Shen Qingqiu's odd double-speak and mixed signals maybe even better than Luo Binghe himself. Plus he can anticipate what things Shen Qingqiu is liable to react strangely or inconsistently towards, when again, even Binghe struggles to do that sometimes!

If Shang Qinghua ever made a move on Shen Qingqiu, he would be able to convey his intentions clearly. And before Binghe has the social standing to actually present himself as a viable alternative, he wouldn't even be able to argue against the match! It would be totally dependent on whether or not Shen Qingqiu was interested, and Luo Binghe cannot say with confidence that he actually wouldn't be? Shang Qinghua may be the weakest and least dashing of the peak lords, but he's not bad looking. He even has certain traits which Luo Binghe himself shares, traits Binghe's deliberately tried to emphasize because he knows Shizun responds to them, like being pathetic, and clingy, and clumsy, and having big eyes and curls in his hair and doing important work that helps make Shen Qingqiu's life more comfortable...!

Luo Binghe starts spying on Shang Qinghua. He is going to get dirt on him, and he is going to blackmail him into swearing that he will never ever attempt to court Shen Qingqiu! At least not until after Binghe has reached his majority and can fairly compete with him for his master's affections!

Of course, this is how Luo Binghe discovers that Shang Qinghua is a spy for Mobei Jun, and is plotting to assist in an attack on the Immortal Alliance Conference.

A revelation which accidentally creates such an untenable situation that the plot shifts irrevocably. All Shen Qingqiu knows about it is that out of nowhere the System has offered to remove the Endless Abyss mandatory plot point but only if Shen Qingqiu agrees to purchase something it's calling The Espionage Path...?

[roguetelepaths]

"devotion that corrupts" this, "devotion that leads to ruin" that. no, fuck you. devotion that heals. devotion that motivates and edifies and gives those involved the will to keep fighting because now they finally have a reason to. devotion that is met with care and responsibility and warmth and acceptance. devotion that is returned a thousandfold. devotion that is projected outward to have a transformative impact on everyone in the vicinity. devotion that isn't perfect, but tries to do good.

[markodragic]

well I had so much fun making the rdr one that I made a yakuza one too 🤙 behold

[friendlyneighbourhoodelf]

au in which obi-wan drops his lightsaber when he is shot down during order 66 and, in-line with canon occurrences, cody catches the lightsaber. this (through some kind of force stuff) deactivates his chip. unfortunately, obi-wan doesn’t realise and they escape separately. cody joins the rebellion, and the lightsaber remains a closely guarded secret and a symbol of his guilt/the past. it remains like this until obi-wan is called upon to rescue leia and, for the first time in years, actually wants use of his lightsaber. the lightsaber (again, through some kind of force stuff, perhaps obi-wan’s gradual reconnecting with the force) realises this and attempts to guide cody to obi-wan. cody is however firmly convinced obi-wan is dead, and also very busy with rebellion stuff, so does not realise what is happening. eventually, their paths collide (their stubbornness is strong but the force and obi-wan’s lightsaber are stronger) and they reunite, now with shared custody of a lightsaber.

[mccoyquialisms]

wait, there’s for real, serious discourse about the bad kids killing the rat grinders? people realize they’re watching a show based on the “burn towns, get money, slaughter our enemies to save the day” game, right?

[starrypawu]

"The fall"

a TCO and TDL short animatic

putting some frames that i like below the cut :3

i love them so much u guys

[buggachat]

wait. is nathalie adrien's godmother

[i-eat-novels]

Pillow princess solidarity 😩🤝

[liauditore]

idk how many of these captions i can just make "completely normal guy who does not kill people" but cub really is the completely normal guy who is not a cannibal guy

[benjaminthecoathanger]

okay, because i saw a poll earlier and i thought the choices weren't clear enough and also the answers i saw to it annoyed me and also i'm curious:

NOTES:

I am including having watched gameplay of a game and not having played it as having watched the source material

In this context if you are writing fic/making art and you are not being commissioned to do so. This is purely for funsies

You getting into something because you saw a post/gifset/video about it and then watched the source material does not count. That's just how you get into new things.

Goncharov does not count because it's not real. I'll break kayfabe here I don't care.

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[tonydaddingham]

me in the mirror to myself rn:

[blueskittlesart]

deeply refreshing to see someone critical of Swift who also like, genuinely likes her. Like i'm neutral to positive on her, but the online discourse has been absolutely rancid. flipping between "Taylor Swift has never done anything wrong ever and she's a fucking genius" and "Taylor Swift is the worst lyricist of all time and also a bad person" is exhausting, so thank you for like. nuance or something lmao

not to make it serious for a sec but i genuinely think that being able to like things that are bad is really important. like I think that it's an important skill to be able to look at something and see what you personally enjoy about it and then take a step back and acknowledge that objectively it's flawed. and to also be able to acknowledge that liking something isn't necessarily an identity or a moral stance. and i think that fandom space in general could really benefit from more people taking the time to learn how to do that. it's okay to like things that are bad