Duke, Jason, Damian and Cass who only knew Kon and Tim during their "I would burn down the world for you" era asking the rest of the family how Tim missed their obvious chemistry, how he's been oblivious to the person he's been in love with since the day they met.
Steph, Dick, Bruce, Alfred and Babs, who all got a taste of their initial Young Justice years where Tim was one second away from framing Kon for murder, just exchange amused looks.
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We all know about magical fatigue as a whump trope for magical overuse. Now I raise you: Magical euphoria.
Magic that feels good to use. It leaves the user dizzy and lightheaded, a giddy energy rushing through their entire body. It's enough to leave the most stoic whumpee giggling madly, to make the most obedient soldier go rogue. It's a power that ultimately, inevitably, controls its user.
Mages aren’t trusted to act on their own. They can’t be, not when each spell costs them their sanity. Not when, in a daze of manic joy, they’re just as liable to destroy the enemy as their allies.
And so they need a handler.
Imagine Caretaker in this situation. Forced to watch Whumpee throw themselves into madness, to turn themselves into an unthinking weapon under the demand of some uncaring general. Having to put aside their affection for Whumpee as a person, and analyze them as a tool.
It’s Caretaker who decides when Whumpee is still fit for battle. It’s caretaker who has to look into their dazed and distant eyes, blood dripping into a too wide smile, and decide if Whumpee has anything else to give.
It’s Caretaker who decides when they’re too far gone, when Whumpee needs to stop. And if Whumpee can’t, it’s Caretaker’s job to make them stop. Even if that means using force, even if it means hurting them, because letting them run wild isn’t an option.
And when the battle’s over, when Whumpee is either led or dragged away to the medical wing, Caretaker’s the only one brave enough to tend to their injuries. They wrap bleeding, scorched fingers without a word, the only sound being Whumpee babbling, mad ramblings. Caretaker knows they won’t remember any of this. They still talk to Whumpee anyway, soft, comforting words they hope will bring Whumpee back faster.
And when whumpee’s eyes finally clear, when their body sags with exhaustion they’re just now able to feel, Caretaker feels nothing but grief, because it’ll start all over again tomorrow.
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I'm barely to the massacre and I can already tell I'm going to be screaming at every this-makes-no-sense decision made by the writers (your temple is under violent attack, and you evacuate the kids... to a barely enclosed corner in a prominent temple room? Instead of to the hundreds of sky bison that were highlighted as flying in earlier? Why?) (And Aang left to clear his head and think instead of to run from his duties? That's such a less compelling plot arc?) (And the show had him briefly monologue about being a goofy kid who loves pies and his friends instead of using the extended temple scene to show any of that? Didn't want to pay more child actors, did you, Netflix?)
Yeah I'm just. Going to be screaming at the screen instead of enjoying this. Different decisions aren't necessarily bad, but when those decisions seem to be in the direction of "show a man burning alive before we even get to the on-screen massacre" this is just... not the show for me.
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I feel like we don’t talk about this scene enough. It’s the implication that Mobius knows every terrible thing Loki has ever done and has still never seen him as a villain because of it. It’s Loki intimidating Brad by saying that Mobius—the person who understands him best—would agree that Loki is capable of getting what he needs from Brad. It’s Loki admitting that Mobius is the one who knows him better than anyone else ever has. It’s the casual intimacy of the statement, just 3 ostensibly unimportant words thrown on at the end of a sentence that ultimately reveals how familiar and close they really are to each another.
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I love libraries.
I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.
Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.
This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.
Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.
Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.
Excuse me while I go weep.
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No cuz you don’t fucking understand
Look at his fucking suit bro.
DO YOU SEE THAT?????!
DO YOU FUCKING SEE THAT???!
MILES FUCKING COPIED THE “fly ambiance down the side” FROM AARON’S SUIT. DO YOU FUCKING GET IT???! DO YOU UNDERSTAND.
AND THEN EVERYONE FUCKING MADE FUN OF IT.
“It looks like your bleeding from your armpits.” Count your fucking days Peter.
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