#but YEAH. please address it

[neurotypical-sonic]

espio was wrong for what he said to sonic during the metal virus arc, but I do like how they did it because YEAH he would say and think that. of course he would react like that. I really liked how realistic and PAINFUL it all was, the reactions and coping mechanisms etc etc. I just hope they address it. words in my head let me try to say this right. if they dont address it then it would feel like espio (and shadow) saying that was just for the reader to question sonic's morals and decisions? instead of it also actually being apart of espios (and shadows) character? I cant remember rn if other characters also straight up blamed sonic but definitely those two.

[roach-works]

you're disgusting.

i was going to be flippant about this until i saw you're seventeen, so im gonna be serious for a minute.

if you actually think i did all the stuff i've been accused of in the call-out posts that you reblogged, you're an idiot. you're a minor going after someone you think is some kind of invincible super predator with a whole mafia of supporters to bully my accusers into silence so you cone right up and do a little schoolyard taunt? that's ridiculous. get a hobby that doesn't involve direct interpersonal contact with monsters. you're not joan of arc. you're not speaking truth to power. you're lashing out in deeply stupid ways that are, at best, going to be really embarrassing to remember in ten years. and at worst will ruin your life.

and if you don't actually believe the call-out posts, which, hey, you shouldn't because they're bullshit, you're just one more asshole giving some random dude a hard time. like, i don't actually prey on anyone and i'm not actually a pedophile and exactly zero of my fanfictions actually conclude 'rape is great, go rape people'. my main crime is im very annoying, which unfortunately for tumblr users does not confer the death penalty.

so given all that, you're a jackass, and need a better hobby than being mad at whoever you're told.

merry shitscram, grow up and don't do this to anyone else.

[thetrinitytest]

if ianto jones (NOT gareth david-lloyd. actual ianto jones) walked through your door and said he wasnt dead and he needed a kidney and you were the only match what would you do

i am holding his face in my hands, kissing that man on the forehead, and asking him if he wants the left or right one

[citrusacidic]

this single clip is L G B and T all at once...

[unopenablebox]

every experiment people asked about after my talk is something i'm already working on 😌

[way-too-cool-raybot]

I'm almost certain I've said this before but while we are talking about how the Borderlands fandom hates Ava for being A Child Who Has Emotions And Thoughts can we also talk about how her one Main Game side quest literally bullies her

[fluffypotatey]

S7 😭 I can't imagine waiting that long. Personally, the progression makes sense to me considering they kept going through HUGE events. Like first Wukong was literally POSSESSED. And Macky, instead of ditching, protected the kid and faced him head on 🫡 And Wukong as a person, honestly can NOT hold grudges against his former friends/enemies. He feels BAD for what he does to them, and misses them tons. Like with DBK! He outright says "I honestly missed that guy" whatever Macky did to him couldn't have been any crazier than DBK wrecking the city, forced to be contained, or fighting the Brotherhood. Especially because Wukong loved Macky 10 times more. Then he got blasted with a thousand suns of nostalgia and regrets in a scroll until his spirit was crushed and Macky's own down bad behavior started coming out because he is ALSO a pathetic loser who misses having actual connections with people. Especially if their name is Wukong because holding rage inside is just a poison expecting the other person to get burned. They were still bickering and fighting in S5 but with development! With attempted restraint and cooldowns! And then Wukong went through A Horrible No Good Time yet again like what is there to possibly argue about then when there's so many regrets you have and the WORLD IS LITERALLY ENDING AS WE DON'T SPEAK. So hold hands, and hope that communicates everything. There is no more room for teasing and avoiding each other at that point and pretending to be annoyed so you don't have to touch that ol pandora's box of feelings. COMPLETELY against your desire for slow burn, I fully hope they hug in S6 and both of them cry and we finally confirm what happened. The writers cannot get away with teasing us like this pLEASE- the most redacted of snippets ;-;

i just think slow burns are neat, anon. and shadowpeach fits that bill. i will not mind at all if their relationship progresses faster than my assumptions bc a lot of them were made under the impression that the relationship food i wanted would be met with heavy hesitance by a Western show own by a giant toy company who cares more about profit than anything 🤷🏻‍♀️

and yet here we are! the train chugging at full speed when i expected a 3 hour delay that is typical in the entertainment station

[peter-patters]

there are ten episodes per season and we just got episode 8- I’m hoping against hope that rotpl gets renewed for a second season, considering I don’t know if they’ll be able to wrap up things in two episodes

[rotisseries]

if I had a dollar for every time I saw this used as justification for why actually! it's totally cool that the trio have already known the gimmick of every single obstacle they run into, in a way that conveniently allows them to avoid every point of real conflict or stakes or potential action in this action adventure series!! i would have enough money to pay the cgi department to animate riptide's transformation

[autistic-katara]

seeing ur beloved mutual reblogging some questionable shit (probably unintentionally) but not having the energy to argue or explain why </3

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

If you don’t mind writing angst or sad right now, how about a snippet from when Holly loses the rest of her Rotwell team. :))

Holly Louise Munro is sixteen years old and doesn't think she's going to make it to seventeen. Plenty of psychic agents don't, after all. And this window isn't a very good reassurance.

The night started ordinarily enough. The case was somewhat routine, disturbances and disruptions that her team was sent to investigate and mitigate. Most poltergeists don't make a habit of violently hurling knives the instant the sun goes down, though. Most wait, most build up to full attacks, most don't do this-

Holly has to remind herself to breathe, but not too loudly. It's only barely one in the morning, still comparatively early in a usual worknight. If she breathes too loudly, or moves too much, or panics, the Visitor will hear her, or sense her, or notice her, and she can't have that. She has to file a report, it's only proper procedure, she has to- She has to tell their families.

Arthur was the first to be killed. Holly was in the kitchen prepping tea, quickly and clipped and just the way she always does, while the other three made their rounds, set up chains, laid iron filings. Arthur, a supervisor around her height with a face full of freckles, stopped into the kitchen to check in with her. Holly's head was ducked, not looking his direction even though she heard him coming with his cheerful, "Oy, Munro-". The instant he poked his head of tousled ginger hair around the entrance to the kitchen, a knife flew through the air and stabbed into his neck, all but pinning him to the wall of the hallway behind him.

Holly's head had whipped up at the grisly thunk, in just enough time to see the light go out of his eyes. Her mind was utterly blank for far too long, and it was the first time she had to remind herself to breathe that night. The blank look in Arthur's eyes, the knife protruding from his windpipe and the thin trickles of blood falling down around it, are seared into her memory. She'll never forget that.

Selfishly, she'll hate herself for it later and has already kind of started, her first thought is it's in here with me. It's fuzzy and slow, the realization, but it sticks in her head anyway. She puts a hand on her rapier, tries to remember where she'd seen the knife block sitting on the counter before the sun set, and thanks God above for the gift of shock.

Poltergeists are drawn to strong emotion. If she were feeling anything in particular at the moment, she would easily become the next victim. She'd never seen a Visitor become so violent so quickly before coming to Cotton Street. There isn't an iron circle in the kitchen. They hadn't thought there was enough space or need.

"Brenton," Holly calls as loudly as she dares, "Christa," and the other two members of her team hadn't responded. Brenton refused to go by his first name, and Christa was barely fourteen years old. Arthur had loved caramelized biscuits. He'd probably been coming to beg some from her when he was killed.

For the longest time, Holly stood stock still in the cramped kitchen of a home on Cotton Street with the body of one her supervisor, who loved caramelized biscuits and earl grey tea and had too-long ginger hair that stuck up every which way and freckles almost as dark as Holly's own skin, and all she could think of was lists of details of these children she works with. Children who likely won't see another birthday. Children sent to die in a home on Cotton Street.

All she could think was that Christa's favorite color is green and she'd had strawberry cake from a storebought boxed mix that she'd made herself for her birthday last week even though Holly had offered to bake something, and that she'd worn non-regulation platform boots to make herself look taller, and her wispy blonde hair fell in front of her eyes like mare's-tail clouds. All Holly could think is that it took her six months to find out Brenton's first name, Augustin, and that he'd been named for a Saint who preached unity even though the boy himself picked more fights on sillier grounds than anyone Holly had ever met, even all her aunts and uncles at family reunions when she was very little, and that she brought chamomile tea along even though it wasn't a standard because she knew he had anxiety and it helped to calm his nerves. And that these were the children Holly now had responsibility for, as the oldest of them, and who she can't save from this.

"Christa," she tries again. "Brenton!" Her voice is getting more shrill, she knows it, can feel it trembling in her jawbone. All of a sudden she wants to cry. She's only sixteen. She's more of an adult than any of them, but she's not, not really. She just has to be. She has to be the adult, because that's what would keep them alive. They needed her. "I need you!"

"Alright, Holly?" Came one high, airy little voice, and if Holly hadn't choked out the tiniest little sob as she dares to step out into the hallway, closer to Arthur's body but father from the knife block which she remembers now is sitting under the tiny square window with curtains she had thought earlier were pretty, with embroidered daisies and dandelions, she's a liar.

"Christa, come here right now," Holly says. "Rapier out." A rapier won't do much good against a Visitor with no corporeal form, but she isn't going to tell the other girl that. The key right then was to stay calm, to hold themselves together to hopefully keep them alive. "Was Brenton with you?" She asks, stepping out to meet Christa and keep her from seeing Arthur with a knife in his neck. They see so much in this job, but she can try to protect the littler girl from this much.

Christa shakes her head. "He was in the bedroom."

Holly nods, shouts Brenton's name again, and stiffens when she hears rattling from behind them. She doesn't dare turn around to look back toward the kitchen, but she would have and did bet her life that the knives were moving, slipping from their slots and drawers and Arthur's throat. She takes Christa by the shoulders, bends to look her in the eye because even platform boots can't make a little girl big all at once.

"Go find him and get into your chain circle. That's what he was doing, right?" When Christa nods, Holly continues. "Go tell him I said to get in the chains, right now. stay there until I say so." For the first time, fear shows in Christa's eyes. For the first time, she looks back over Holly's shoulder. She gasps and goes even paler than usual and starts to tremble in Holly's hands. "Don't look," Holly says. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

"Do you promise?" Christa asks. And Holly, trying to be the adult, trying to remind herself to breathe, nods once and firmly.

"I promise." She pushes Christa toward the bedroom, toward hopefully safety. The girl doesn't look back. She was always whip-smart, Holly can tell her parents that, always did the inventory twice as well as anyone and enjoyed the mathematics and memorized the regulations, knew what to do if she had to go off-book, too.

She was so, so bright and had mare's-tail hair and she had trusted Holly so completely that when she picked up her pace and started running on her size four platform combat boots, Holly truly thought she'd be safe in the chain circle with Brenton in only a few seconds. She hoped it, believed it so much that she turned away to return, steeling herself metaphorically and literally, to the kitchen where her bag was.

She had flares, salt bombs, precious senses of safety in there. Quickly, clipped, she collected her things, strapped extras onto her body, stared at the knives hovering just above their places in the knife block. It wasn't attacking her right now. It couldn't, of course, because it's focus was on the tiny girl down the hall. The thud sent chills through Holly, the sudden ice cold that comes with being pierced through with abject terror.

Dropping her bag, she'd run toward the sound, and come to a desperate halt when she saw the knife, the same one that had sliced through Arthur's windpipe, embedded between Christa's shoulderblades. It must have severed her spine in just the right place, because she's dead by the time Holly tries to find her pulse. She thinks, and will continue to think, that it's a mercy. Still, tears come to her eyes and she's forced to blink them away, keep breathing, keep breathing, when Brenton appears, sweaty and shocked.

"Munro?" He says weakly. She shakes her head.

"Go," she hisses, and hears metal rattling ominously. "Get in the circle," she cries, standing to her feet and running to push him ahead of her. "It's a Poltergeist," she explains hastily, shoving him roughly into the bedroom where a wide circle of chain sits in the clear space between the bed beside the door and the window at the far wall of the room. "Get in-"

She flinches, drops her grip on Brenton's arm and covers her head in fear when something shiny flashes in the corner of her eye. She doesn't know what it is, but this Visitor's hallmark is metal things, harmless metals like copper and composites free of iron or silver, cheap faux silverware and bargain jewelry.

It's an ornamental gold pocketknife and a hatpin this time, that do sweet terrified Brenton in. The knife is just large enough that she can see it sticking out of his stomach, the hatpin embedded in between two of his ribs, probably puncturing a lung. She whimpers a small, useless "No!" as Brenton crumples to the floor just outside the chain. She blinks hard and fights back tears once more, struggles to breathe even shallow shaky breaths, and clings to the small sweaty hand he holds out.

"The circle," Brenton wheezes, moving his arm like he's trying to push her into it. Almost robotically, she crawls across the chain, into the protective circle, but never let's go of Brenton as she does.

"It's going to be okay," she whispers uselessly, "You're going to be fine."

Brenton stared at her, hopefully in too much shock to feel the pain as he had bled slowly out against a chest of drawers. His eyes were wide and green and every part of him was trembling. His breaths were strained and labored and Holly knew, the whole time, that she was lying to him. He was dying right in front of her. Her whole team was dead or dying. They were just children.

Brenton fumbled with her hand, his palm slipping. Something thunked into a wall outside in the hall. "I'm scared, Hol, I'm so scared, please, Holly-"

"I've got you," she told him, "It's alright, August, I'm here, I'll-" She couldn't say protect you. She's already failed at that. "It's alright. I've got you." She says it over and over, until internal bleeding or a collapsed lung takes the light from his eyes. She keeps saying it even after he's dead as if that can bring him back or make it true.

She keeps saying it for so long that she doesn't realize at first how loud the rattling throughout the house is. Drawers are shaking, items that aren't shiny or sharp now threatening at every angle. There is a trail of Holly's dead teammates leading to this room, and there's next to no good way to fight a Poltergeist this strong. Holly is completely alone except for a thing that wants to kill her and will probably succeed, and she has to remind herself to keep breathing.

The window is her only chance. It's a second floor, but she can probably survive that. The odds are better than staying here through the night, rapier useless and team dead around her. She thinks she's going to be sick. She thinks there's almost no point. If the fall doesn't kill her she'll still be alone til morning.

She gives up on the chains and finds herself pressed against the wall beneath the window, shaking. A drawer flies open in the bedside table and a desperate sob rips out of her. She can't time it properly, can't see the Visitor's approach as it comes to take her life. She forces herself to breathe once, twice, and then turns, scrabbles at the window latch and throws it open. It screeches with disuse, takes all her shaky strength to pry it open and lift it wide enough to get out, and she almost falls headfirst when she manages it.

The noise in the house builds to a fever pitch as Holly rolls out of the window, finds herself on a tile roof, and keeps sliding. The impact when she hits brick, a chimney, will leave her with bruises and a single broken rib. She can still hear the rattling and pounding inside the Cotton Street flat, can see all three of her teammates lying dead inside. For the first time since the sun went down, she doesn't have to force herself to breathe.

When they find her in the morning, the flat's owner and DEPRAC and a Rotwell department head, still lying against the chimney barely aware of the world around her, she's cried herself out. She's dehydrated and exhausted, but there's no more rattling inside the house. She'd cried for hours, rattling sobs wrenching out of her, in the dark against that chimney. It was loud and ragged and she doesn't know how none of the neighbors heard her. She cried so hard her head hurt and she couldn't even speak to explain what happened to her for nearly a full day.

The scene inside the flat had spoken for itself, though. Holly was the sole survivor, of course. And she got to see her seventeenth birthday, not that it mattered much. She was taken off of active duty, assigned a desk and inventory and peperwork that she did twice as well as anyone else in honor of Christa Wells, who didn't live to see fifteen. She drinks chamomile tea when her hands shake because she remembers how scared Augustin Brenton was when he died, and she keeps a pack of caramelized biscuits in a well-oiled drawer in her desk because she sometimes still expects Arthur O'Connor to come by and ask if she has any.

She is very good at her job, no matter how angry she finds herself at the adults, real adults, who so fail the children in their care and instead leave the children to each other. Even in that, she finds herself numb more often than not and wonders if this is what it's like for Visitors. She doesn't know why she survived and they didn't. She doesn't know why she's alive, or how to be.

Holly has to remind herself to breathe sometimes.

[samuraisharkie]

ok I genuinely think @is-the-owl-video-cute has gone off the deep end. what makes you act like that on the internet for real. I don’t even have a real stock in this bullshit drama but they are just the most reactionary asshole to people? how can y’all look up to them they are genuinely so immature and pissy. they’ve been throwing a fit over users they personally dislike and using absolutely no proof at all to say they doxxed ppl. there’s like zero proof other than they don’t like them LMAO. can y’all log the fuck off please?? before someone actually gets hurt??

[fearforthestorm]

listened to living thing by anna tivel and ouhhhh.. SUCH a good album. i think my faves are two truths and altogether alone but Real things had me constantly going "oh. oh. ohhh..." the cover art is so beautiful too

YEAHHHH she's so so so good oh my god. anna's got such a breathtaking way of writing songs that feel so real that you have to sit with them for a minute and it's just phenomenal. i would say all of those tracks are favorites of mine too but lbr i love the whole album lol. if you're enjoying living thing i also really highly recommend her previous album, outsiders! i bought a vinyl of it when i saw her last october & even though i'd seen her play black umbrella multiple times by the time i got home and listened to the record it still absolutely knocked the wind out of me. everything she makes is gorgeous and i'll probably be recommending her music to anyone who will listen for the rest of forever lmao. i'm so glad you listened to and liked the album!!!! :D

[starlooove]

2 me besides the fact that su didn’t handle colonialism and genocide well at all; the real issue with rose quartz is that she didn’t get that other ppl were tied down by promises obligations and commitments. This is where the colonialism issue comes in; but I saw a vid of someone saying ppl are mad but rose quartz wanted freedom and got it and that’s not a bad thing which is true EXCEPT for that she is a pillar of a colonizing planet and she provided the fuel for them to try and actively exterminate the planet she found refuge on. It’s true that ur allowed to cut ppl off who hurt you but rose also started a rebellion which others joined under false pretenses and got damn near everyone killed. Like ppl are mad the diamonds didn’t have any teeth but that HAD to happen bc the show shifted from the homeworld destroying earth plot to dysfunctional family and that’s why it sucked sorry

[cruelsister-moved2]

nostalgia for a lost past is like largely morally neutral i think it's more in how that past is imagined (and how much we acknowledge that the past is inherently imaginary) where we start to see issues but its like. really really weird to see how many self-styled left wing people seem to feel that reminiscing over a charming and idyllic is somehow inherently progressive. like what does the word progressive mean on its most fundamental level come ON.

[vaultsixtynine]

anapanion (anathema but as a companion) basically requires you to visit raphael's house to complete one of her major 2 sidequests and also. heavily alters the underlying lore of the house of hope. not because i didn't like it, but because the idea was Good but Not Fully Executed As Interestingly As It Could've Been. imo