#and tbh i don't blame him

[atimodeus]

Alright, ya gremlins: it's finally here.

After writing and rewriting this essay five or six times over the last month and a half, I've finally settled on a version I think I like — meaning I think I've finally figured out how to articulate what's been on my mind.

Katsuki Bakugou holds a very specific place in my heart. I reckon writing this long ass essay in earnest may be considered pretty "cringe" by some standards, but honestly, I found it very cathartic. Maybe I need to touch grass. Or maybe, fiction can sometimes just be another tool we use to understand ourselves.

Which is to say: looking at angry kids like Katsuki feels a lot like looking at myself.

[ase-trollplays]

I hope you're happy anon bc Florah is going to be in a shitty mood the rest of the night 😣

[secretlyaraven]

A few months ago when I was playing bg3, my mum walked in and saw Wyll on the screen.

Mum: Oh he looks nice

She was very disappointed that he's not real, now every time I'm playing bg3 my mum goes "where's my man"

Mum is a Wyll stan, she knows nothing about the game but her heart is set on Wyll

[thewriterowl]

Din: (incredibly tired) So, if a stranger says they have an injured Lothal-kit in their ship you...

Luke: (soaking wet) Go into their ship and help!

Din: (sprays him again) No, Luke. No.

[pedripics]

https://x.com/fcbpg86/status/1781744102469496916?s=46&t=Y0Md76L8FR9umM1nmCkHnQ

not the slap followed by a kiss 😭

[avisisisis]

i cannot stop thinking about anissa and marky though [COMIC SPOILERS]

how did he react when he learned what his mother did? just like mark, he lived a lie. he thought his mother was kind and nice — the only thing that is true is that she loved him, but now, he has no idea if he should believe it

and. you've grown up being conditioned to believe that violence is peace, and that kindness is a lie and a weakness. you hurt people. by hurting a person, by destroying him irreparably, you found the boy you love most: your son. and you don't regret it. you hope one day, once he sees him, he'll get it. but you still don't regret it. you can't say you're sorry

marky will grow up without his biological father, because when mark hugs him he can only remember his mother and what she did to him. your father can't love you the way your mom did. you can't love your mother the way your father loved his

the worst part is, that it she hadn't done it, you wouldn't have existed. you wouldn't be here. your father will grow to love you. you will grow to accept each other. but you tend to wonder — if he never sees you as anything else other than your mother's son, then who will you have when everyone else you know dies?

[scarlettjskipper]

HSR: Spoilers for Penacony's Trailblazer Mission 2.1!

God, the WAY Sunday yelled at Gallagher at end, demanding to know why he killed Robin broke my heart. I wanted to pat his back and hold his hand, dear Lord.

I can't imagine the agony he must be going through. He's reunited with his sister after literal years, only for her to be murdered, then the people who adopted them both force him to pretend that she's alive, try to stop him from looking into her death and who caused it.

AND THAT LIGHTCONE OH MY GOD THAT LIGHTCONE The fact that he kept it securely... After all this time... He looked so young and happy, too. Oh, my heart.

There's a lot of questionable things going on with him (just like everyone else in Penacony) but my heart really goes out to him. He's one of the people who has, arguably, been having the worst times.

[nerdy-talks]

Barbatos Vs. Rats 🐀

[angeart]

With interest, Grian watches Scar heave breaths and clutch at his chest. The surrounding caves full of lava pops and hissing mobs fall away, bringing them somewhere dark and misty instead. The ground is smooth and pitch black, some blocks of it gently floating away in a way that’s entirely disturbing; a picture of a quiet and broken world. Glancing appraisingly around, Grian takes a step away from Scar, swishing his tail impatiently as he waits for him to calm down.

“Gee, Grian. Can’t you bring us somewhere nice for once?” Scar huffs out breathlessly, still slightly bent forward. His messy brown hair falls into his eyes, partially covering up his expression.

Grian itches to step closer and push Scar’s hair away, so he can see his face in full. “I can’t,” he lies, a hint of sulkiness in his voice. His nose scrunches up a little as he wrangles the strange urges nestled in his heart, and he takes one more step decidedly away from Scar.

 Taking a final deep breath, Scar straightens up. “Can’t or won’t?” he presses.

“Can’t,” Grian insists, even though the words feel like gravel in his throat under the scrutiny of Scar’s gaze. There’s something in Scar’s eyes as he looks back at Grian, and Grian can’t quite identify it—something veering on expectant. Something hopeful, maybe. Something strange. His tail sharply swishes again, agitated, and he blurts out: “What are you the most afraid of?”

“What?” Scar startles, visibly flinching under the abrupt ambush.

“What are you the most afraid of?” Grian repeats, pinning him down with his gaze. “We went through plenty things. You scare easily. But what is The Big Bad Scary Thing for you? I can’t quite figure it out.”

Scar feels his heartbeat in his throat. He purses his lips and stays silent.

They stare at each other.

Swish, swish, swish. Grian’s tail flicks from side to side as he waits.

Scar thinks Grian might explode if he won’t give him something. He releases a breath, wilfully loses the staring match and stammers out: “I—I’m not telling you that!”

Grian’s tail droops, suddenly weighted as he pouts. “Aw, why not?”

It’s a display of innocence, but Scar knows he’d be barking up the wrong tree if he wanted to find a shred of innocence in the demon that stands in front of him. (And yet a part of him wants him to willingly let himself get deceived. A part of him wants to think that it’s not as impossible as the rest of him makes it out to be.) Gritting his teeth, he pulls up every defence he can muster; unease sings in his veins, ready to be called upon once again in this dreamscape, always so, so very close to surface here. “You’ll use it! You’ll use it against me!” he accuses.

“I’d never,” Grian says simply, his lips twitching into a toothy grin.

“Pfhshs, you would, you absolutely would, you menace!” Scar protests, taking a stumbling half-a-step back, as if having physical distance ever helped him in here. (It never helps. Sometimes he feels like closer is the only right place to be. Like the further he runs, the more danger he’s in.)

The familiar sound of giggles bubbles out of Grian; his eyes are bright when they meet Scar’s again.

Running on some faulty setting, Scar’s heart skips a beat at the sight. He blames it on adrenaline—on the constant looming feeling of awaiting terror; on the lingering fear that so stickily clings to him whenever he dreams—but somewhere deep down in the pit of his stomach he knows that’s not it.

He watches Grian quiet down again, eyes grazing the surrounding dreamscape almost contemplatively. There’s a small tilt to Grian’s head as he thinks, a curve to his throat and jaw that makes Scar’s fingers twitch. He pries his gaze away and forces himself still, instead watching the world slowly float away around him and get swallowed by the void.

Is that what’s going to happen to him if he keeps standing here?

Dread curls through the spaces between his ribs at the thought, even though he’s aware it’s better than most alternatives.

Grian’s hum interrupts his thoughts, and the dread in Scar’s chest grows thicker and more insistent.

“I noticed,” Grian starts musingly, “that you don’t usually dream about other people.”

Scar blinks, trying to regain his footing in the seeming randomness of the topic. “So?”

“Well, most people dream about other people in their lives now and then,” Grian notes. His dark eyes hold Scar hostage. “Bad dreams, you know. Them getting hurt? Or getting hurt by them? Things like that.” His tail swishes. There’s something both grim and intrigued in his expression as he continues hungrily watching Scar. “But you don’t.”

There’s a flash image rushing through Scar at those words: Mumbo, drenched in blood, sobbing helplessly as he collapses on the floor and curls up on himself. Scar, hovering around him, not knowing how to help.

He tries to cover up the shakiness of his breath with false bravado. He isn’t going to let Grian have that.  “I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he retorts, his voice carrying only a hint of his fraying nerves. He doesn’t think he could bear that kind of nightmares.

Grian cocks his head, eyes still lingering on him in that scrutinising way. “Is it because you don’t have anyone? Is that what you’re secretly afraid of? That you’ll die completely alone?”

Scar’s brows pull into a bemused frown. “Are you insulting me?”

“What?” A genuine confusion disrupts the intensity of Grian’s gaze.

“I have friends!” Scar huffs out defensively.

“Wait,” Grian shakes his head, feeling like he’s suddenly two steps behind Scar in this conversation. “Why would that be an insult?”

This whole time, Grian thought there’s simplicity in fears. Everyone was scared of something. And Grian did so very much enjoy putting his hands in that particular jar of honey, so tantalising and rich and sweet. There was fascination in watching it all unfold, so raw and terrible. Seeing the frantic urgency, the rising swell of overwhelming emotions ready to consume. Yet at the end of it, there was nothing. Always, always. Inevitably, it’d end. They’d all wake up.

All but him.

They’d wake up and none of it would ever be real.

He was just playing. It didn’t mean anything.

Scar is looking at him as if maybe it meant something.

“Well, you’re—” Scar starts, a baffled edge to his voice. Wasn’t it obvious? He thought it was obvious. But Grian keeps looking at him with that same confusion etched into his features, and so Scar fumbles for a way to put his knee-jerk thought into coherent words. “You’re saying I might die alone. Isn’t that kind of like suggesting that I’m unlovable?”

There’s a beat of silence when Grian parses through his words, slots them somewhere within himself.

Scar can’t tell where Grian’s slotting them. He just wants to be understood, and for them to move on.

But Grian doesn’t swiftly move from it quite like Scar hopes.

His tail once again gravitates straight down; his wings droop and his bat-like ears twitch and pull back. “Oh.” It’s a small sound, timid and fractured and just a little bit guarded.

Scar watches Grian’s face scrunch up again, in a way that’d be completely endearing if it wasn’t so alarming. Because Grian doesn’t usually make a face like this. He’s sulky, sure, and he’s chaotic. He cackles and sighs and swishes his damn tail and—

He shouldn’t look timid. He shouldn’t look like he’s about to get hurt.

“Grian…?”

When Grian speaks, his voice is even quieter, cracking with something unsure. “I didn’t know it’s…” He stops, the words hitting some dam within him. I didn’t know it’s bad, is what he almost says. His frown deepens, and he’s not looking at Scar anymore; he’s staring at the ground, as if it held the answers he so desperately needed. “I didn’t…” He trails off again, sheepish. I didn’t mean that you’re unlovable hovers on the tip of his tongue, but he bites at it until it dies in his throat.

A sharp urge to step closer and lift Grian’s chin sears through Scar.

Before he can do anything, Grian lifts his head on his own accord and meets Scar’s gaze.

Grian’s dark eyes are full of some deep pitfall, a ravaging emotion that Scar fails to identify.

“Am I?” Grian asks, words imbued with painful desperation. Am I unlovable? echoes through him, thrums through every part of him with the wild force of his heartbeat.

He shouldn’t be asking this. Why is he asking this?

It shouldn’t matter.

Why does it hurt to think it?

He should be coating the words in sharp edges. He should be using them as knives. He should be digging his claws into Scar, mocking him that yes, maybe Scar is unlovable. He should be trying to see if that scares him. If it hurts.

Isn’t that what nightmares should be about?

But instead, Grian’s the one in pain.

And yet.

And yet it looks like Scar is hurt too, somehow, anyway. There’s a faint fragrance of fear in the air, an unfamiliar tinge to it that Grian can’t quite pinpoint.

A part of Grian wants to stay and figure it out. It wants to indulge in the way Scar looks right now; it wants to step closer, to put his sharp, clawed fingers against Scar’s pulse point and find out what makes it beat like that.

The other part of him is cacophonic and loud, ringing alarm bells and frantically trying to get him to run away.

Run away from what? Run where?

This is his world. This is his place.

He isn’t supposed to hurt here.

He isn’t supposed to hurt here.

He doesn’t realise his breaths are turning rapid and shallow; his heart is throwing a tantrum, causing havoc within him. All he knows is that he has a strong urge to hide. To protect himself. To stay safe. Deeper, deeper in the dreamscape. That’s where he should be. That’s where he needs to go.

He steps away from Scar and with wide eyes and too-loud heartbeat, he watches Scar follow.

“I’m done playing for today,” he lets him know, the words raspy and wrong as they barely make it past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t give out any more chances; he turns around and runs.

The ground rumbles in the wake of his footsteps, walls pulling up behind him, blocking Scar’s path to him and rendering him unable to follow.

[springs-hurts]

Simpleton Arthur! Makes me laugh and it grates on my nerves, seeing him like this...Also, Gods! I didn't remember it was Gaius' idea, "if Arthur loses his will" Like man! such a morally grey character, I so want to know what Gaius did during the purge to stay alive! How Uther didn't kill him but I digress, it's about Arthur and Merlin!

The sword in the stone, 4.12

When he was looking at his home, Gods it killed me...like Bradley's facial expressions are so top notch man!

This man doesn't want to go, it's his home, his kingdom, how he's supposed to leave it like this, run away like this...but it's not under his control now, Gods but truly whenever I'll see this pic I'm gonna cry again and again

[olliesneweyes]

okay so this MAY be where the "aggressive tendencies" came from but i think that. this is not a valid reason to say he has aggressive tendencies especially w all the neglect and shit??? like ok yeah the guard was bleeding or whatever but. this was probably the first thing he's had in days (upon rereading he attacked the guard for a single piece of bread which is probably the first thing he had the chance to eat that wasnt literal dog food since he got locked in the kennel) and he's being treated like a dog. he's gonna be on edge what are you expecting?? (also the fact the staff only know his name because HE HAD A COLLAR AROUND HIS NECK???)

also it actually is canon that his education was super extremely limited and his vocabulary was expanded by talking to the kids from a village around the place he escaped to

also the way he's constantly referred to as ada's "accessory" in canon makes me SO ill (/neg) like

YEAH...........

[the-final-sif]

Glad to see that Dream wants to be more active in sub space!

[thsc-confessions]

"Charles is scared of clowns" submitted by anon

[statementlou]

the funniest thing about the chicken thing it's that the girl didn't even meant it like that, she was high and thought it would be funny to ask for a recipe since he's not the best cook, like bro you made the association, it's all on you baby

funniest possible scenario would have been if she just wanted a recipe and Louis was just referring to this

and it was just

all around....

[hisonetrueloveee]

my brother won’t stop singing nobody like u

[vaggietheangel]

Husk when Alastor destroys his casino, and telaports him to work at some hotel: