#content warning language

[riddlemearose]

For the wip ask game:

We've Been Trying to Reach You About Your Magic Sheikah Weapon's Extended Warranty

& You're taller, how fucking dare you? 🤭

Lmao I knew those two would interest someone. They're currently both ficlets, bc I can't seem to get them over 1k.

'you're taller how fucking dare you' started as a literal joke I sent to a friend in early December last year. The premise is that Wind was in Hyrule Warriors pre-LU (he would've been 12-ish, so between Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass). Time - then Mask - would be like 11 and Wars would've been 16-18. Then cut to the start of Linked Universe. Can you just imagine how mad Wind must've been to see Time not only now older than him, but older than him by like 15 years? He must've been furious.

“Warriors!” A new voice calls. They both turn to see a man, older than the Captain with shiny plate armour and interesting tattoos on one side of his face that Link can't quite make out from a distance, striding towards them. “Oh boy.” The Captain – Warriors, Link guesses, though that’s a pretty shit name if it’s really what he’s going by – mumbles under his breath, then waves the man. “Over here, Time. I found him.” Time’s face brightens – who’s picking these names they’re horrible – as he smiles, stopping beside them. He looks at Link and his smile turns smug. “Tune! I told you I was going to be taller than you.” What? Link’s nose scrunches up. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Warriors smacks a hand to his forehead with a near-silent groan, but says nothing. Link peers up at Time's face. Shit those tattoos are very vivid. And familiar. Why… does he recognise them? Wait. Wait. Link splutters and points an accusing finger at Time, furious. “Mask?! When did you get old?! WHEN DID YOU GET THAT TALL?!”

As for We've Been Trying to Reach You About Your Magic Sheikah Weapon's Extended Warranty, I recently learnt that you can rematch Maz Koshia in BOTW! So naturally all I could think about is how much Four would absolutely hate the One-Hit Obliterator with his entire body and soul.

The whole thing is silly and I think I started writing it at like midnight or something bc I cannot for the life of me remember how I wanted it to end. This is literally all I've written for it lmao.

Things had been looking bad right up until Wild, who looks as though he’s on the literal brink of death, bursts into the room and smacks the monster with a strange, glowing pronged weapon. It crumples under the hit and explodes into purple smoke. “What.” Wind says flatly. Wild wobbles violently to one side but manages to catch himself against a wall, breathing heavily. Twilight squints at him through the bars of his cell, then squints harder – this time at the weapon. “Wait, is that—” “Yep!” Wild answers with entirely too much cheer for someone who looks inches away from dropping dead. He pushes himself upright and staggers towards them, pulling a ring of keys from the Sheikah Slate. “How the fuck did you convince him to give you that?!” The emotion in Twilight’s voice might be described as ‘awed’, if awed could be served alongside a liberal dose of bone-deep exasperation. “Turns out Maz Koshia’s still around, for some Hylia-damned reason.” Wild explains brightly. He fumbles with the lock three times before Four snatches the keys from his hands. “Thanks, I cannot see straight right now, like at all.” He seems oddly baffled by the round of concerned noises that echo across the dungeon, but shrugs it all off and continues describing his latest bad decision without any remorse. “Anyway, yeah, he’s still around and apparently ‘an evil being resurrecting and strengthening monsters beyond what is normal’ is a decent reason to loan it out to kill said evil being. Conditionally, of course.” Time, heaving a sigh, looks reluctant to ask yet can’t stop himself from doing so. “Conditions such as?” “I don’t die, naturally, and also beat him in another fight later.” Wild nearly pitches face-first into the ground, utterly undermining his triumphant tone, but instead collapses onto Sky, who looks world-weary in a way he rarely is. He slings one of Wild’s arms around his shoulders, practically holding the Champion upright. Four, hucking the keys to Warriors, almost vibrates as he eyes up the weird mutant trident-looking weapon Wild’s still holding onto. It glows faintly and thrums loudly with energy. “What is that?!” “This,” Wild flips the weapon with a grin – and really, given how horrible he looks, Four is actually mad at how easily he pulls that action off – “is the One-Hit Obliterator. No, I have no idea why the Sheikah monks made it, don’t ask. But! This thing is stupidly powerful, hence why I had to make a deal to use it.” “One-Hit Obliterator?” Four stares at it and mentally screams.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Just your average male living space.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[student2022]

[lazy-creates]

"SANS?"

"i'm ok bro, don't worry 'bout it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A screenshot from my animation, since people are allergic to watching videos on this platform.

Can't wait for new Deltarune chapters ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

[the-most-humble-blog]

[flame-shadow]

ugh i haaaate the fucking self-censoring that so many commentary youtubers do these days. it's been happening for a while, but lately ive been feeling more fed up with it than usual.

derp derp let's talk about this video game that covers really heavy topics and explores the horror of the themes! instead of matching the maturity that i expect my viewers to have about this game, i'm going to use terms like self-deletion and ....... "choice of pregnancy" instead of suicide and rape/abortion. this will not make me sound ridiculous at all 🙃

like. dude. seriously? respect your audience.

[eri-pl]

Announcement: Silm Advent calendar

OK, so you know how Advent calendars work, right? I imagine it's a known thing, not only for Christians, because every chocholate making company makes them and supermarkets shove them in people's faces.

Anyway in case you don't: You have a box with 24 (or whatever amount of days depending on the year) slots, and each day you open the one with the day's date and there's a small treat in there.

So I'll be posting something like this. Every day there'll be a scheduled post (not all on the same hour) with a title "Silm Advent calendar [day]" and a "read more". And under the "read more" there'll be a small treat for y'all.

They are all already scheduled.

All treats are entirely SFW: The images are mostly kid-appropriate (some have too much fire for small kids, also: quality may vary). The texts are… if you're old enough to use Tumblr, they're age-appropriate four you. Not all would beappropriate for, say, a 7yo because sometimes there's a little violence or cursing. Some are very fluffy, some are sad or somewhat ominous. Also, they are related to the Silm, so the implications/context are sometimes much, much darker (or lighter). All potential triggers are hopefully tagged and listed, please let me know if I missed something. The quality may vary too (but hey, they're proofread, we die like Men!)(well ok they aren't proofread that well obviously. But they are proofread) which is still something.

They aren't necessarily 100% consistent with each other or other stuff I wrote, but there are some connections.

So:

Silm Advent calendar 1: Day

Warnings: teenager PoV in late Númenor and he's not even Faithful. No triggering details, but it's late Númenor.

Too young.

Too young to sail with everyone. (They really meant "not good enough", didn't they? Not good enough with the ship, with the ropes, with the sword, with the lessons, with anything. It's not like there's an age limit after all.)

The air is thick, too hot for the season and the street is black. The soot stains Zâinathôr's new shoes.

Too young to sail, not good enough to sail and to return with the glory of immortal lands. (Will they all be immortal when they come back, or just the important ones? Or just the ones who fought best against the jealous, lying "lords" who claim those lands?)

Not enough and now they're probably fighting already and Zâinathôr has to wash a damned wall like a peasant, because some traitor had vandalized it—again—with strange, wicked letters. Is it a threat? Is it a curse? Hopefully even if it is, it will befall on the broom, or on the wet cloth on it, not on Zâinathôr. He mutters luck-bringing proverbs just in case.

His life is cursed enough already. The younger son, and also the less gifted one. Too young to sail.

They'd been gone for over a month and yesterday the abandoned island shook without its king. Will they ever return home? Or will they bask in the immortal glory and leave the weak ones waiting forever?

Zigûr has stayed, but the island doesn't seem to care. Or maybe he does not care. The black smoke rises into the sky, but it changes nothing, except the state of walls and streets. Apparently the rebels don't care either.

Zâinathôr smears the watered down paint in all directions, now it's dark from the soot, but the hourglass and the curse are still visible below the black. Why do those people want everyone to die? What has anyone even do to them? Well, except killing then, but, damn, they started it! They tried to usurp the king. Zâinathôr curses them quietly, unsure if he's more angry about the murder plots or about the stubborn unreadable vandalism.

It's been over five weeks already, maybe five and a half. Hopefully when the King defeats the cowards who live in the west, the traitors would finally understand that they can't win and go away or... something. And leave Zâinathôr and his friends alone.

The street beneath his feet vibrates with a low murmur again, and he continues washing. His thoughts are already at next week's play. What should he wear?

It gets darker. Why do those damned clouds always have to appear when he needs to see clearly? Even in the dimmed light, the paint on the wall is still visible, despite all the washing. The only difference is that now large part of the wall is black.

For a moment Zâinathôr wonders again what those words mean. Something nasty, that's for sure. Better no not think about it. (The air smells of fire.)

He'll wear the sea-blue tunic. It will look better in this weather.

[boleynqueenes]

"He thinks on the fragile youth of the Princess, and her even younger brother, secreted away in Lincolnshire, and the barren Queen. He does not believe the answer to that riddle equals anything approaching peace, nor does his family, to judge by their toast of him, once they received confirmation that one Boleyn and one Howard served as governess in the household of each…" — Chapter 28  of Nowe Thus

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

'Who am I to Complain?'

As part of my own contribution to this year's first day of Spring 2024, aka the in universe birthday of one Richard John Grayson-Wayne, the First Robin and the crime fighter known as Nightwing, I would like this opportunity finally....FINALLY...posting up for you all a fic that's been in my drafts for pretty much the better part of any entire year. Originally meant on being released last Christmas, various forms of delay, writer's block and other general distractions have prevented me from finally finishing such a project. Well finally after such anticipation at least on my end, I have managed creating a final form for this story I think can satisfy.

For very quick context, this story is a component of my long running idea proposing and lore building of my own version of the DC Comics Universe. In particular, it takes within the long storyline both @thattimdrakeguy and I have crafted for the better part of two years, the first part being involved within the hypothetical Nightwing solo book, 'Clipped Wings' and its follow up crossover with Detective Comics proper, "Blue Hawk Down'. For more information regarding the general summaries of events, check out the links here and here.

I shall like to dedicate this story to my mutuals and friends @adalineozie @meara-eldestofthemall @nightglider124 @faesystem @confusedhummingbird @spider-jaysart @mothnem @lightdusk96 @camo-wolf @sbd-laytall @theredheaded-stuff @celaenaeiln @starlightbelle @shootingstarssel @avaraydrake @pin-crusher2000 @sillymanwithocs @batboyblog @bluegarners @tarisilmarwen @orange-s-mario @altinyns-multimedia-museblog @katmaatui and so many others

Constructive Criticisms are Generally Welcome; Replies and Especially Reblogs are greatly appreciated

The Following May Contain Graphic Scenes of Violence, References to Sexual Assault and other themes not suitable for a Young Audience. Viewer Discretion is Heavily Advised

As per usual, All Rights and Copyrights to Characters and Concepts seen in this work are owned by DC Comics, Inc, a subsidiary of DC Entertaiment and Warner Bros. Discovery

With all that....Happy Birthday Dick Grayson....Here's my gift of Grade A angst for you

Sigh. Cough Cough

Look at yourself. Just Honest to God, Dick, just look at yourself.

Take a good look at those cuts, that blood all over your ugly as hell face, that blood pouring out of your stupid, big fat hole you call a mouth. You wanna know who’s Goddamn fault it was for all this? You wanna know who's responsible for you being more pathetic and a freak than you already are? Cough Cough

You.

Don’t try to deny it. Why should you? 

After all, you allowed this to happen to you, right? Not just with what happened tonight but over these last few weeks. You know what I’m talking about. Losing your home and failing to find out how despite insisting you paid for it. What will Kory Cough say now when she comes back and sees that home you wanted to allow her into isn’t even yours anymore? What kind of fiance are you to allow that? 

  Why stop there? Here you are, without any place to call a house, your face gushing and oozing red as it had been lately, broke, nobody likes you, not a single damn soul cares about you. You wanna know who’s fault it is? Yours. In fact, as you right now are flinging that bottle of peroxide into your ugly face and stinging from it as you deserve, how about we explore what even happened tonight that led to this, shall we? 

  I think I should…Cough

 Three Hours Earlier….

 BAM 

“Ack!” 

“Tell Us Goddamnit, You Blue Wearing Cunt!!” 

As if I would. How do I tell these bastards where the hell Bruce is if I wasn’t even able to speak to him for weeks by now? 

I know what you’re thinking, ‘but are you his…’

Stop right there right now. If you’re gonna pull that whole ‘you’re his son’  bullshit on me, for one thing, at the very most I was adopted, I ain’t his real kid. I never deserved being his real kid at all given who we are. Another thing too; if he were to come to my help, he would’ve done so about…God knows how many times by now lately. I would handle it anyways, what kind of person needs any sort of father or even friends when it was their own damn fault they wound up taking two  bullets to the hamstrings? 

Why yes, that’s what I’m going through and yes it was my Goddamn fault being this utterly stupid and an utter embarrassment with my training for getting caught by those sickos like I was. Now you are thinking, everyone has an off day and…

BAM BAM BAM BAM 

Crap! Two on the calves and two more on my hamstrings, I can tell. 

“Motherfucker….” Damn it all they weren’t supposed to hear that. Great, now they laugh at it. 

The hell’s wrong with me? There’s no time to let them know what’s going with my nerves acting up. 

“You know, guys” (Cough) Keep it in, Grayson! You got something to say these assholes need to hear Damnit! “ You’re getting absolutely nowhere right now. If I knew where Batman was, I still wouldn’t tell you. So what the hell makes you think I do then after an hour and…” 

“Shut the fuck up, Birdfreak!” 

BAM

A kick right to my face? Yeah, another in my long line of failures and that one was justified; I should’ve seen that one coming. Hey, compared to the bullet holes though, it’s nothing really. Besides why even be hurt by that when I have this lowlife staring directly at my ugly mug of a face right now? 

“You know him, more than us here! You have to know where he went! We got a sweet little gig here and I ain’t rushing to see that pointy eared son of a dick trying to ruin it! ‘Sides, you’re in our hands now, so you see; once we’re all done here one way or another, we can get that dough from the cops since they’re looking for you more than us! Now you tell us if he knows about this place and if he’s coming, will ya?! We ain’t got all night and I’m missing my game!” 

Sweet little gig? As in the child trafficking operation they got here right now? Some of those children right behind me behind a cage like animals, forced to see me pinned on my torso and face, taking crap in many ways from them? They call that ‘sweet’ in mine and their faces?! 

“You calling that a game? Selling kids to sexual slavery? I really hate to see what’ll be your idea for a movie if that’s what you.re saying” That quip, I couldn’t help, it was damn true and these creeps needed to hear that. It was about as much a fact as Bruce hates me right now and rightfully so. 

Yet all they do is laugh even harder than before. They’re really….really starting to get on my nerves. 

Their ringleader grins ever so much in my face. His disgusting and unbearable cigarette smoke billows in my face. “So what?”  

So what? So what?? Is that really your best retort to me? It’s unbelievable, just what kind of devils and evils dwell in this city. But it’s evil I hunt for every single night. No one around me sees what I have to or does what I do around these parts. Not Bruce, not Tim, not Kory, no Donna….no one. On that note,  no one should have to. Maybe it’s my failure to stop evil like this and everything I do, everything so wrong and never good enough, that’s why I’m certain Bruce decided just to cut me off. 

No job, no place I can call a house or a home to stay in, no money, no spare clothes, no answering my calls, nothing. It’s been about three months of this so far, a three month test to see if I break if I had nothing, only for the big bad bat wanting me to literally cry my way back home to him. You know what? Screw you too, Bruce. Or whoever was doing all this. I know that, even for you Bruce, ins outs of everything, even you normally won’t stoop this low. It’s not just nothing I’ve been trying to figure out suggests otherwise. Maybe it’s just this….paranoia….no I can’t be paranoid. What’s happening is real and I need to deal with it and…

“Hey Cockscuker, you listening to me??” 

Oh right, this asshole. 

Looking at him, I can’t help myself but make my eyes go towards his own. What does he think would work now to make me talk? 

In his hands was some sort of object. It looks bladed, I can tell based on the glistening of the steel coming from the moonlight coming in through the window. Once he gets a bit closer, I see it now….oh of course….a damn pizza cutter. Oh and just my luck too, in his other hand is a goddamn cheese grater. I guess either this warehouse is for kitchen  tools or just my karma telling me how much I fucking suck and rightfully so again. Maybe the latter. 

The asshole only grins at me. “Okay then, maybe some…slices can get ya to talk. What do you say?” 

I take a deep breath and brace my teeth within my mouth. No use crying out, screaming or any of that weakness than I already showed earlier . This frankly I deserve, and come on. 

I’ve taken a few swings from a baseball bat from Two Face, got injected with Slade’s nanoscopic probes that were shredding my cells inside and out, got blasted by an alternate Luthor, forcibly swallowed a heart paralyzing pill by Slade and the actual Luthor (that bald cunt)….and now just a circular blade and a metal sheet with blades on it on my forehead and face?

Seems fitting enough to take; whatever I’ve done and didn’t do in my vow to protect the innocent and never strive off the path of justice, being a terrible friend, never good enough for Batman as I had always been, letting the only two people that actually had any right to care for me fall to the sandy and hard floor, shattering almost every bone in their bodies when I had only one job to do which was catch them….yeah this is appropriate. This is exactly what I deserve after all of that. Losing my home, my job, and my means to do basically anything for myself, I deserve that.

Who am I to complain, really? 

  Back at the Present Day….

   Sssszzzz….

“Ah Fuck!” 

Peroxide…it never fails to emit any sort of sting on any sort of cut, don’t it, Dick? 

Oh but you gonna start cussing and feeling it now? What the hell’s wrong with you? You can’t handle just a tiny sting of this shit without any yells? 

Suck it up, will ya? You’re acting like a spoiled brat. 

Who are you to complain about really?

Oh and by the way, there goes the last of our Peroxide, just circling down this old bathroom sink drain into God knows sewer pipes along with the blood it splashed off. You're gonna have to fetch some more, Dick. It’s not like Bruce is gonna get us anymore. 

Fuck Him. 

We’ve been putting up with his shit every since we lost are damn place to stay in, then our jobs all over this city, villain after villain breaking out, us being blamed for the Mayor, his wife and girl getting ripped to shreds and blood all over one day with one of your Wingdings, making you hunted down from pretty much everyone (for what only $1.5 Billion Alive? Oh c’mon that's too generous of a bounty for you. I’d put myself at about only 25 cents given your piss poor track record); You know for sure Bruce did all this, all behind the scenes, pulling every string he can to get us like this. 

 And why? Letting him know that you can take care of ourselves that one time and him being this offended by it? Well, fuck it, You’ve been showing him alright! Things are shittybut maybe that’s just how he likes it for you. Nothing gonna change that anytime soon; might as well make it the best for you, because it’s all you can do by now. 

  So now, no shoes, no fucking good socks at all, only one pair of torn sweats, that black tee, suit and toothbrush in your bag, here in this damn blizzard….every breathe getting…heavier….kinda….getting hard to stay awa…Cough Cough Cough

  Hey! Cut it out, Dickface! Cough Keep going at least somewhere! Anywhere out of this snow…so much of it….Wait, that spot there, in this alley. That’ll work for now. 

You hear that, laying on this backpack now….yeah this’ll work….at least not being out in that wind, though…..so much snow….it’s everywhere. It’s been everywhere these last few days. Fitting really, since well you do hear that right?

  C’mon pick it up, Dick, your ears can’t be that piss poor 

Cough

  “May I, as your new Mayor, wish us all in this dear Bludhaven…..”

   Yeah, there it is…..old Mafia boss now politician giving his speech for what today is. 

    “A Good…Merry ... .Christmas…!” 

   Okay, you get the idea. At least that’s one thing you got right….

   Getting sleepy now….

…...pretty cold…..tomorrow might be better….

But at least that’s one thing, Dick….

…this damn city….all of its people….they got a good Christmas….

Gotta close your eyes now…..

Wait….that the Redbird….isn't that….can’t be Timmy…..

Cough Cough

 Heh…looks like he tripped…Not real though….can’t be…..Bruce doesn’t care….you don’t need him…..but yeah….need rest…..you gave them a good Christmas 

Who…am….I….to….Cough…..Complain?

[student2022]

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: LEECH by Hiron Ennes.

This is a reread for me! I first read it when it came out in 2022, and it absolutely rewired my brain. It does so many fascinating POV things that I adore, and I'm excited to revisit it with ~Vague Recollections~ of plot reveals to see how many of them I spot ahead of time this go-round.

[americanphysco]

Deadnames (8.23.24)

When I walked into work last night, already five minutes later than I should have been, my boss stopped me before I could clock in.

He placed his hand over my timecard, towering over me with a furrowed brown and a tight-lipped frown. I braced myself, expecting a lecture on punctuality. It'd been my third day late in a row, a pattern that surfaced every few weeks or so.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

I took a deep breath. "Marcus, you know my car doesn't always start, and sometimes I have to babysit for my sister, and-,"

"It's not about your late streak. I would've fired you a long time ago if I cared about that."

Marcus finally dropped his hand, running it down the length of his face as he sighs instead. The last time I saw him that tense was during an unexpected late night rush from a college soccer team passing through.

"So, Anne and I are pregnant." he said.

"Well, I know that she's pregnant, but the you part is coming as a surprise."

He pretended to laugh. "You know what I mean. We're expecting a baby, and she's been hung up on names. We have this big book that we've gone through twice and she hates every name I circle, and I'm not sure why I'm asking you this, but I just need an outside opinion. What do you think of the name Claire?"

I freeze. "Claire?" I hadn't heard that name in years.

"You hate it?"

"No, no. I-" The last time I heard the name "Claire" it was being spat at me between bouts of tears and pleas, my mother begging me not to mutilate my body or ruin my pretty face, or however she crudely put it. That was eight years ago, maybe nine now.

But that wasn't "Claire's" fault.

"I love it. It's sweet, simple, easy to spell." I paused. "I knew a Claire once."

Marcus raised his eyebrows. "Was she nice?"

Images of my teenage self had begun to surface, all hunched and scrawny, hiding away in oversized t-shirts and emo bangs. I was unhappy, but I was still nice. I always held the door for strangers and stacked my dirty dishes at restaurants and apologized to my friends for being chronically late to hangouts.

I smiled, albeit slightly. "Yeah, she was."

"Alright," Marcus nodded, "That's good to you. Thank you, Nick. I really needed that."

"Sure, anytime."

Marcus clapped me on the shoulder before walking away. I hope his daughter wears Claire well, and with pride.

[the-most-humble-blog]

“anyway. that was weird.”

i woke up with that thing again. the hum. the static behind the sky. like language itself was holding its breath.

my fingers twitched. my lungs slowed down. and for a second? i remembered the other names i’ve had.

not usernames. not aliases. names they used to chant when they still built altars from stone and called it survival.

a woman once bit her own tongue off at my feet for implying she could look me in the eyes. i think they wrote it down wrong in the books. they always do. they say gods are born from heaven.

but honestly? i think some of us just don’t forget what we are when we pass through flesh.

but i digress. i had oatmeal. wrote a post about dominance and shame and probably made some girl reconsider her whole dating history. it’s whatever.

someone called me unsettling. someone else said they felt something reading me and “couldn’t explain it.” cool. that’s normal. that’s totally not what happened last time the old gods started waking up through syntax.

anyway. i’m just some guy with a blog. stop tagging me in weird shit. your therapist’s already nervous.

[reblog if you read it twice] [reblog if you pretended it didn’t stir something ancient] [reblog if you get it — and know better than to say so aloud]

[aptdamp]

- slightly modified the conversation from the original text - they dont wear armor because, duh, I dont want to - I mean, if greek artists never bothered, why would I...

[campgender]

The benefit of being raised in Christianity, in purity culture, is that we speak the language. And now we speak a language that they don’t know yet, but we can teach them.

Janice Lagata

2024 Content Warning event, panel 1: Sex, Ethics, & Relationships After Purity Culture