#for the more sensitive lot

[pastelwitchling]

Thoughts on Percy Jackson and the Olympians, episode 3:

(Disclaimer: I loved everything about the episode except, mostly, Annabeth herself. So if you're going to get offended because someone doesn't like the same fictional character, because that's what Annabeth is, and if you're going to try to turn the argument into something else, please don't bother reading.)

So. This is a bit difficult because I feel very conflicted/wary about what's to come, mostly because Disney has not been historically good at girl power or badass female characters. Let me just say this; while I used to love the CW's Flash, it quickly went downhill when the Flash took a backseat to his own show for the CW's half-assed "girl power" message. I fear the same might happen here.

Let me be very clear about something. It makes sense why Annabeth would seem like the more formidable opponent at the start of the story. She was more or less that in the first two books because, not only is she the daughter of the goddess of wisdom and battle strategy, but she'd spent a lot of her life training for quests, studying about the gods, and she just knew more than Percy did. I didn't like Movie Annabeth for most of the first film either for the same reasons I'm about to list below, please keep that in mind.

My issue will come here; if Percy starts to take a backseat to his own show just so we can highlight how great and awesome Annabeth is and girl power rules and whatever, I'm going to be very, very miffed. Again, it's fair for me to worry about this now because Disney is all tell and no show when it comes to women. Just like they did with Marvel, just like they did with the most recent Disney Princesses, it's more important to them to show how woke they are instead of caring about the actual stories they tell. And I'm Middle-Eastern, so don't even try any of that self-righteous white woman racial crap with me, okay?

I know I'm saying what a lot of people probably think but aren't allowed to say, but -- call me crazy -- I want the show based on the Percy Jackson books to focus on Percy Jackson. To be honest, I've never loved ANY of Rick Riordan's female characters, save for Ana from Daughter of the Deep, as well as the other female characters in that book, but that's not even in the Percy Jackson world, so it doesn't count. And I ONLY say this now because, again, Disney has SUCKED with their female characters. It's all pandering and nothing but pandering.

The first book especially always frustrated me with the way Grover never really seemed to defend Percy against Annabeth's snobby behavior, so this aligns fine. I'm not really saying anything against the character either (not yet), as this frustration with how unfair and snobby she is towards Percy very much aligns with the book. I guess I was just hoping that since I always hated Annabeth in the books and she was actually likable in the second episode, that maybe the show would be better about her portrayal. I was actually thinking how cute they would be as a couple in the second episode, but now? I'm kind of back where I was with the books, I don't see why she deserves him, not yet.

Much like Grover was in the episode, I was just looking at a lot of her behavior as Really? The guy had NO reason to invite you on this quest, you NEEDED him to pick you, and you still act like he's the idiot for caring about his mom and not knowing anything about this world that he's just found out about, and it's so freaking entitled, I --

I've been part of the Roswell, New Mexico fandom since season 1, and I know just how ridiculous people get when you DARE criticize a character who HAPPENS to be played by a black actress. I don't give a crap. I'm critiquing the CHARACTER here, and I'm disappointed, not with her, but the writing itself. It's too soon to tell, I know, but I do hope Disney is better about Annabeth's character than the books were, because I saw Book Annabeth as rude, selfish, and unfair, it bothered me that everyone in the story still idolized her despite how toxic her behavior was (save for Percy, but just in the beginning, and then he was fine with her hitting him and calling him stupid all the time), and I saw glimpses of that in episode 3, so I'm hoping for better.

Also, that whole, What are you afraid of? conversation felt so weird and forced. They JUST started the quest, Percy is throwing in suggestions, Annabeth treats him like he's stupid for it, and then demands to know why he's scared of who he is, and I'm like ?? What warranted that question? He hasn't used his powers yet, he hasn't refused to use his powers yet or talk about his father or anything, so why would he seem afraid of who he is? It just makes no sense.

Honestly? At this point, I just feel bad for Leah because Annabeth is a very difficult character to make likable in my eyes, and it's made worse when the writing won't allow her to be any better.

Aside from that, I really did love the episode a lot. I wish Grover had done more to defend Percy in the beginning, but he did the same thing in the book and he eventually did step in. Medusa was actually great. I hated the actress's character in the Flash, so I was wary, but she really knocked it out of the park. I love some of the extra details they put in, like Percy giving her a chance because of his mom and kindness (fatal flaw, if you know you know), I LOVED the consensus song, and YES! I was SO worried they wouldn't have Percy send Medusa's head to Olympus, but they did and he was perfect and it was AMAZING! When Annabeth said that what Medusa said isn't what happened, I would've liked an explanation of what actually did happen. Then again, it feels like there's a bit too much exposition already, to be honest. Like there were more creative ways to explain Thalia, there were more creative ways to explain Annabeth and Luke finding camp, and I don't know if it's because I've memorized the books at this point, but it feels like so much of the episode is just dedicated to explaining things that don't really need explanation or could be saved for later to show through flashbacks or something. I don't know, just more creative than standing and sitting there while someone explains everything.

It works great sometimes, like with Sally and Percy, but other moments just feel very... exposition-y.

I love this show. It's the highlight of my week. I maintain that we are getting the best possible adaptation. It's just because I love this story so much and it's so sacred to me that I can't help but critique. I don't think the books are flawless (i.e. the female characters), so it stands to reason that I won't find the show completely flawless either. Is it still sacred to me? Absolutely. Percy Jackson has always been too important not to nitpick, I think.

[cubbihue]

Hi! this is kinda an art request if u dont mind. And it's angst related, can you draw like where wanda and cosmo obvs have seen for a while how (human) timmy has been treated by his real parents. I just want to see like the "last straw" which lead Cosmo and Wanda wanting them to make Timmy as their own. (IM HAPPY THAT TIMMY HAS A FAMILY THAT LOVES AND CARES FOR HIM)

The "Last Straw"?

Cosmo and Wanda have seen humans at their best. They've seen humans at their worst. They've seen anything and everything that they've gone numb and used to what humans get up to.

But nothing's shaken them quite like Timmy's case did. Nothing has ever made a Fairy feel such strong human emotions than what Timmy made them feel, on that one particular night.

The thing that broke Cosmo and Wanda was Timmy himself.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[hoofpeet]

This girl has so much problems

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

[dailyink]

9/1/24

The past stores our memories, the present carries our actions, but the future...oh, the future could hold anything.

[shhroomer]

Oh, help me God, this hellboy got me coming back for more

reblogs super appreciated !!! close-ups under the cut !

[hejee]

morrigan mansplaining elvhen culture while playing as lavellan hits so close to home (ily morrigan but this is not it 😭)

[enemywasp]

I HATE tiktok and the Internet in general rn for the obsession with "oh this person's smellyyy" "Brother it STINKS over here" "BOO 💧🧼🧽🚿" and stuff like that. I wish I could put into words how demeaning and patronising that whole idea is and people implying anyone they don't like doesn't wash.

For one there's something grating about being insulted in a manner like we're in nursery again. But also WHY is that the go to insult. Why do you associate these things? Especially to those you deem "chronically online". Like I don't want to sound pathetic but it feels so nasty to me.

is it extreme to say this feels tied to ableism? And classism too?

[madame-mongoose]

guys pls be careful with anyone going into your inbox and asking for donations. unless you know them personally it's almost always a scam. look at blogs and ask yourself if it seems legit. search the contents of the ask and see if theyve sent the same ask to other people completely unrelated to your sphere. scam blogs now are reblogging some posts to seem legit but only have maybe five posts maximum, all reblogs. almost all of them being unrelated save for a topic similar to the one they are asking money for. recently theres been a scam of someone asking for donations for a family member in palestine. PLEASE check before posting or donating. use critical thinking skills. its disgusting there are people using this genocide as a way to scam others out of money. lastly please look towards actual palestinian bloggers who can verify donation links. remember: if theyre in your inbox it's highly likely its a scam

[teddy-bear-d]

With the Guess the Build crew jokingly asking Skizz if he’s colour blind or if he’s ever taken a colour blind test, I really hope they do make him take one on camera.

Not because I think he’s colour blind (I legitimately think it’s just an object permanence kind of thing) but because I had a phase in 2018 of watching people take colour blind tests and I think it would be interesting.

[knightinink]

The first time Fizz messed up an act, Cash blew up on him, shouting & cursing every worst possible thing one could say. It took everything within Fizzarolli to not break down crying until he was in Blitzo’s arms, & Blitzo hates it when Fizz cries.

It breaks his heart more than anything.

[divorceblogger]

it’s the fantasy of submission!

[byunbaekhyunie]

@monwillica & @merrybaekmas asked: which EXO member is most like you?

JONGINIE

[catacropolis]

Vil outfit design inspired by high fashion and chapter 5 Overblot design

Vil’s Overblot design reminds me a lot of a nuns habit so I wanted to bring in some recognizable themes such as candles, rosaries , gold detailing and such . For the face droplet mascara and tears meant to mirror crying Mary statues and such .

All this to say I wanted to design something based on these elements and while also being distinctly connected to vil.

I think it’s really interesting that Vil’s Overblot design is so reminiscent of nuns . The juxtaposition of vil who in the spotlight who is well known for his beauty , believing himself to be ugly , is dressed in what is considered to be “modest “ clothing covering himself from view .

Vil is an extremely interesting character coupled with his ob design being my favorite i love this part of his design .

It’s been a while since I’ve drawn vil and I missed it

[implied-divinity]

im feeling sappy tonight. shoutout to the baby tboys begging to be forcemasced. one day you will become the man you want to be. within the kink its wonderful when another man grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you headfirst in. its wonderful to share in the joy he felt when he started. in reality know youre afraid. it takes guts to let yourself be who you want. dont take your feelings lightly and let yourself explore. you are not alone but its also up to you. take care. much love.

[creativity-deficient]

South Park fans! How many things do you have in common with your favorite character(s)? I’m curious!!