#idk i'm just so tired

[kreftropod]

Wish I could lie down and sleep until summer ends but alas, the rent...

[sga-owns-my-soul]

reblog to give ur mutuals a soft lil kissy on the head

[devisopod]

when I figure out how to draw, it's over for y'all

doodling when I can, there's a lot going on (𖦹﹏𖦹;)

[lena-in-her-mind-palace]

It is so, so important to me that people understand that Tim didn't figure out the bats because Dick was a "Show off". Like yes, Dick Grayson is the most flamboyant, dramatic ass man you will ever meet.

But the quadruple somersault? There's no way that was because dick was just showing off. Because you're telling me Bruce Wayne, who's so committed to hiding his identity that he literally acts like a completely different person out of the mask in public just to ward suspicion, would miss the fact that Robin regularly uses the flying Grayson's trademark move? There's literally no way.

In the comics we see Tim explain his deductive process to Dick and Alfred and they're both surprised impressed whatever. We don't see him explain it to Bruce. I think Bruce would be surprised and shocked that a 9 year old was able to put the pieces together but I don't think he'd be surprised that the quadruple somersault gave it away.

So if Bruce was possibly aware of such an obvious give away, why let it continue?

I'll tell you why.

It really comes down to the physics

So Dick was 9 when he started out right? That means the most he'd have likely weighed was 43kgs or roughly 95lbs in freedom units.

But Dick and both of his parents are gymnasts who tend to be smaller. So he was likely less than that.

In physics, rotating objects build up angular momentum (this is how bikes stay up right for example). The more rotation, the more momentum. And objects with less mass build up that momentum much faster than those that are heavier.

Robin constantly has to fight people who are nearly 3 times his size. I teach 8 year olds, they're tiny. A quadruple somersault for a small boy that weighs less than a hundred pounds is a brutal weapon. Especially if you add in the acceleration from gravity as he drops in from above.

And I can guarantee you this logic tracks because Dick literally utilizes this idea, without the somersault, in the 2009 teen titans cartoon.

Yeah, that's right. We're talking about the infamous knee drop.

Like it is borderline savage. Add in a quadruple somersault and the resulting force is nearly fatal. It's likely the main reason Batman would ever allow him to do it with the cape on.

Also, Dick landing feet first on the penguin in the first image probably gave the guy severe back issues

[identitty-dickruption]

I'm playing around with the idea that constantly not being able to be productive is a sign of needing rest in the same way that constantly thinking about food is a sign of being hungry. as someone who sucks at interpreting my body's signals (and as someone who has a lot of difficulty around feeling lazy all the time!) it can be really hard to know what "tired enough to take a break" looks like. and I think if my brain keeps wandering towards restful activities instead of "productive" activities, that might be a pretty big signal that I need to take a rest

when I first started following the rule that thinking about food = hunger, I felt like I was eating way too much food all the time, and that I maybe shouldn't be listening to my body, but that's evened out over time. it turns out I was just starving myself for a really long time, and my body needed a lot of food!

and I wonder if the same could be true with rest. it feels like I need an absurd amount of rest at the moment, and it's been really really difficult to convince myself that I actually need the rest, and that I'm not just some kind of lazy slob. but you know what? maybe I NEED that rest! maybe I've been working myself to the bone lately, and maybe it'll take a while before I can be Properly Productive again. and that's something I'll just have to be okay with while I figure out what resting enough looks like for me

[sunlit-mess]

I can only take so much, but lately, they have replaced my reflection. And realize I'm just as bad as them.

[deoidesign]

One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)

We all start somewhere!

[beelxebub]

i totally get why people make the captain a military man or ex-military in modern AUs because it makes sense but i personally believe he would simply be one of those middle aged autistic men whose special interest is wwii military vehicles

[oneshotgremlin]

happy Friday everyone

[sunnymainecoon]

And errr whatever this guy is

[theminecraftbee]

alright, so, one more thing i've been thinking about during all of this, and apologies, because i normally try to keep my blog fairly discourse-free in the grand scheme of things. but.

there are hermitcraft fans who act irritatingly morally superior about this fandom. i think it's out of some impulse to try to distance yourselves from any other mcyt fandom. it needs to stop.

the worst behavior during the polls was from the hermitcraft fans.

period.

there were so many instances of hermitcraft fans accusing the other side of cheating, of hermitcraft fans making attacks on the character of their guy's opponents, i have heard what i HOPE are isolated reports of racism in the grian/quackity fight (it was genuinely impossible to keep up with the blog's notes that round without both going into a death spiral thanks to the horrible behavior of scar fans during techno/scar and also without losing track instantly of where we were due to the frankly insurmountable volume of notes, so i did not see it, but unfortunately i fully believe it). i have seen people receiving awful asks - saw people being accused of 'betraying' the hermitcraft side due to voting for quackity or techno, for example.

and for a fandom that likes to act like it's better than the other guys, well. the dsmp fans were generally very well behaved in comparison. (shoutout, for example, to quackblr - i saw maybe one or two possible instances of bad behavior, but for as intense as you all were, you all were normally mostly just retaliatory towards whatever energy was thrown at you.) it wasn't supposed "outsiders coming in" that was doing this bad behavior, either.

folks, you can't blame the dsmp when the problem is inside the house. you can't blame twitter users when you're doing it here. you can't blame the reddit when you're the ones throwing the first death threats.

get off your high horses. we're all mcyt fans. we're all having the same fun. get off your high horses. you can hardly claim we're entirely all "unproblematic" when keralis accepted a sponsorship from the wizard game and xisuma periodically gets another round of getting shouted down over something he said on xisumasays. get off your high horses. you can't claim we're the accepting, good behavior fandom, unlike those other guys, when you're the ones causing the problems.

now, as always, i'm sure this is a law of large numbers thing to some extent. as technoblade, wise as he is, said: sometimes when you get a large enough group, you're going to have a few serial killers. but for the amount that hermitblr likes to act better than Those Other Minecraft Fandoms, and those Other Fandom Websites, it wasn't those guys that made me cry.

to be clear, the majority of you have been well-behaved. but there's a persistent tendency in this fandom to act strangely morally superior to other fandoms. and, y'all? you aren't.

you just aren't.

and the sooner you acknowledge that, the less likely this is to happen again, because once you admit that yeah, we can be toxic too? that's when you can start actually looking at yourself and trying not to be.

anyway, sorry again to make this post. i don't want to be a downer, hence why, outside of the official mod statements of "chill the fuck out", i didn't make this until now. (it also helps that i wanted to wait until i was no longer furious, upset, and death spiraling.) i have seen a lot of the best of this fandom over the past two weeks! i've just also, unfortunately, seen some of the worst, and feel the need to make this statement because it's just... been eating at me.

i don't want this to continue to be a trend. i think we can do better. do so.

[wardingshout]

Viridian trainers for day 5 of spesilverweek! they are my most beloved but Lance is a cursed character who is impossible to draw or portray in any way to me

[catamaris]

It's so fucked how they suddenly removed cabanela from the remastered 2010 official art. i'm assuming they thought he might be too "spoilery" of a character (despite first showing up in the same chapter as kamila)

they took him out back and shot him

[dogd0m-charlie]

wish i had a cute puppy boy to order around and train to fuck me exactly how i wanna be fucked.

wanna keep him on a leash at all times, not letting him speak, just whine or bark or whimper. no words allowed with me.

wanna lay on my back and spread my legs for him, ordering him to mount me and watching him eagerly obey and climb on top of me. wanna order him exactly the right pace and intensity that he's allowed to fuck me, pulling him in by his leash to kiss him and praise him if he's good, or slap him and tell him "no, bad puppy," if he disobeys.

wanna hold him close and tell him how good he's doing as he brings me closer and closer to the edge, but making him pull out before he can cum in me. because the purpose of him fucking me is to make me feel good, not him. he's only allowed to get his own pleasure later if i decide i want to finger him or fuck his holes, but he can't cum if he's topping me. good puppies only get to cum from being fucked, everyone knows that, silly!

[teddybeartoji]

a heavy sigh falls from your lips.

"i'm jus' having a day."

satoru huffs. "you're telling me... that you're having a day... aaaaaaall by yourself, handsome?"

you don't need to look at him to know that he's wiggling his eyebrows. dummy. faintly shaking your head, you try to brush his stupid comment off but your lips have a mind of their own, so used to a smile that they're already twitching upward. and satoru being satoru, he takes it as a very good sign to continue. "i can't believe the love of my life is having a day – without me. betrayal, i tell you, absolute betrayal."

he throws himself onto the couch right next to you, thighs touching. no inches between you.

"stop..." you whine. "let me have my day..."

"no way, baby. we're having a day." tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and he whispers — "together."

when you turn to face him, your noses touch. he never did know what personal space is but it's not like you mind (you love it). he looks into your weary eyes, hiding his frown. he nudges his nose against yours and presses a quick kiss to it.

"so is it a 'quiet' day or a 'sleep' day or a 'bath' day or a 'film' day or a 'park' day or....?" his voice is so soft and sugary and warm and caring and you immediately get lost in your thoughts. he's so sweet. you're so grateful for him. if you told him to be quiet for the rest of his life, he'd do it. it'd be very fucking hard but for you – he'd do it without a second thought. and now he's here, asking you what kind of a day you're having. he would've probably wanted to play video games or make-out or go bully suguru but he won't even bring it up because he can see that it's not the right time for that. and you're so grateful. what did you do to deserve a boyfriend like this? a boyfriend who's so ready to put your needs above his, always and forever.

he observes you in your little mind palace, your eyes are little zoned out and it just might be the cutest thing. he places his hand on your thigh, gently pulling you back to him. he doesn't say anything, only giving you a reassuring smile. you love him.

"a 'quiet' day, i think." your head falls against his shoulder with a soft thump.

"okay."

pressing his soft lips to your forehead, he draws hearts on your back.

a quiet 'sorry' tries to hide inside the crook of his neck, burrowing itself into his hoodie. he catches it, though. like always.

"sorry for what?"

"this."

a rumble in his chest, you feel it so clearly.

"you're sorry for having a day?"

an incoherent mumble is his answer.

craning his neck, he tries to look down on you. a finger finds your nose and boops! it, making you sink deeper into him.

"my baby."

it's like honey – the sweetest coo in the whole wide world. he pours it all over you, covering you in his love, sticking you to him. you don't mind (you love it).

"never ever ever ever apologize for that stupid shit again, though."

...

and there it is — a snicker. not a full laugh but it's enough.

"like - damn, you really are dense sometimes, baby." he whistles, earning him a punch to his chest. and a smile. he's getting there.

"what the fuck is wrong with you, satoru?" sitting up straight, you force your lips into a thin line (it's so hard to not smile around him). "i'm over here begging for mercy for being, oh, i don't know, vulnerable, and you tell me that i'm dense?"

hastily you stand from the couch, leaving satoru staring up at you with a big grin. "what a good boyfriend." you scoff. but your words mean absolute jack shit to him, it's like water off a goose. he's never been more in love. he sees another twitch of your lips and he knows he has you.

turning away, you're ready to make a bit of a scene, ready to stomp your feet, ready to forget everything about your day but you can't. an ungodly strength has you glued to your spot because satoru has other plans. his fingers wrap around your wrist, easily pulling you straight down onto his lap. he mumbles a quick 'the best boyfriend' before attacking you with a quick press of his lips to yours and a smirk and you know you're fucked. this wasn't your plan. this is bad. this is extremely bad. you know what he's gonna do and you can't do anything about it. no, no, no. you were supposed to stomp away and wait for him to come hug you from the back, being all cuddly and cute — this was not the plan.

it's his ultimate power move. tickles.

you hate him.

(you love him so much that you fear your heart will literally explode every time you're around him).

and then his fingers are running all over your sides, laughter bubbling from your throat, no matter how hard you try to hold it back. he manages to hold you down and torture you at the same time, it's unforgiving (and impressive but you won't tell him that). tears brim in your eyes and he can't stop looking at you.

this is how you should look all the time. not the tears in your eyes, of course, but the smile. oh, the smile. from one ear all the way to the other. the corners of your eyes crinkling. he can't wait to grow old with you and see the smile wrinkles, these'll definitely be one of his greatest achievements. he's so serious about it.

luckily, he doesn't keep it up for too long, letting you catch your breath – your head falling back onto his chest, right above his heart.

"you're such a dick."

"you love me so much, i'm surprised you haven't proposed yet."

another weak slap against his chest and he laughs. loud and full of love.

a comfortable silence. his hands rest on your waist, soaking in the feeling of your skin, the feeling of you on him, your heart so near his. you trying to get a grip and he's enjoying his time with you. he could be watching paint dry with you and he'd love it. he hopes you know that (he needs you to know that).

"we can still do a crying party... if you want." his breath tickles your ear. "i'll cry with you."

you're so grateful.

snaking your hands behind his neck, you pull him close. "thank you."

"anything for you. everything for you."

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

---------------------------------------------------------

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro