#this fails so fucking badly

[catabolic-seeds]

do you think trolls can get set up on blind dates, expecting one quadrant, but end up with another entirely

[authenticyuri]

[adhdandcomics]

you ever fuck a menial task up so monumentally that you have to sit there for a moment wondering how you graduated college, or, more accurately, how you’re even smart enough to be alive

[fraternum-momentum]

hguyughhghghhhhhhhhggggghhhhhghhhhuhhehghdhehgghhghdhdhhhgtydhghdhghhhhhuughghygghjy

bonus:

ik pc was wearing legwarmers in the other drawings just ignore it i got lazy

[psychomusic]

old redraw of a comic from the quarantine! back when i was still learning the basics of digital art and i had just discovered layers. can't believe it's been like. 4 years

ref + another cool af piece from that comic (I LOVE THE STYLE) under the cut

[kayvsworld]

watching the gala scene with the context that this is the first time this guy has left his house socially (aside from when he went to see rhodey and got shot down) since he came back from afghanistan is awful and hilarious. immediately fumbles with pepper, christine everhart is there with news directly related to The Trauma, obadiah is behind the injunction, he's going leave to trash his workshop and then fly back to afghanistan IMMEDIATELY and fight a tank,

[theangrycomet]

*slaps the roof of Sentinel Prime*

This snow plow can hold so many bad coping mechanisms.

[familyagrestefanblog]

Sorry, I just need to get this off my chest.

You know what's shit?

That I always come back to work on my explanation posts on why Alya, Plagg, and Emonette being treated unfairly and being disregarded by Maribug's writing is by now pissing me off to similar degrees as her bad treatment of Chat Noir

But that always ends in a domino effect of me putting together more of the overall narrative that ticks me off so much cause my ADD brain can't NOT look for the continuous string of the writing pattern I follow once I'm at it.

You probably can imagine that this isn't very good for my mental health and the only reason why I'm still doing it is because I have a strong suspicion on what the new story arc will do with Cerise after this agonizing hiatus, and only once the actual new story arc proves me wrong can my ADD brain let this emotional investment of 7+ years in my "comfort show" since I was a 16 rest in peace.

Being neurodivergent is exhausting of FUCK...

So I always stop writing any of the posts about the other topics and come back to my Adrichat corner because that's the "safe space" my brain is the most familiar and comfortable with by now since season 4 to make a post AT ALL that isn't running the risk of leading me down 7 new rabbit holes I can't unsee anymore afterwards...

I MISS looking into several narrative threads in this show and voicing my opinions on them. In hindsight, I regret not having done it more when it was still possible, but I feel like it should have been alright in any other normally written show to have a fan blog dedicated to a specific part of the story. I feel like I shouldn't be the one in the WRONG for having done that.

Anyway, I honestly MISS the time where I knew that Maribug's benefit and comfort weren't the only things accepted as "valid" readings of the story. From both sides. Supporters and critics/salters.

Where saying anything that isn't immediately connected to Marinette's benefit and comfort didn't need a full-blown 20 page essay post going into any detail possible to fight for the right to even be taken seriously as a realistic reading of the story at all.

I know I'm not the only one upset at this, but I wonder how many people really realized by now how batshit insane this is right now. That only the most vanilla and vague-ass posts that do their best to not in anyway say something that would be "mean" and "non-validating" to Marinette can be posted now without it automatically being categorized as at least "critical" or running the risk of getting perceived as salt or wishful-thinking.

You can't point ANYTHING out anymore without at least one person running in and either saying "You just HATE Marinette and want to see her punished! You people never care about HERRRRRRRRRR (regarding a topic that isn't about her or is her fucking JOB as a narrative tool to DO)" or "Yeah, nah, the show would never let that happen because of the Marinette bias lol"

You can't even say anything anymore about Adrien's abuse without it being either undermined to all hell because of Marinette having been bullied and needing to be a girlboss who does to others what she's declared "tortured" for, or Félix "hypocrite and victim-blamer" Fathom. Gabriel being abusive was once the most basic ass thing to talk about, what the fuck happened?? (don't answer that, I know the answer...)

The whole analysis' side of this fandom that isn't catering to Marinette was either killed or basically exiled into the "critical" or outright "salt" tag because you can't even be interested in world-building anymore without having to fight for the post's right to be taken seriously under the crushing weight of Marinette's narrative benefits and comfort.

Because mademoiselle ain't fucking interested in ANYTHING lore wise beyond what's convenient for her (not to mention the retcons), so talking about the Guardian and Kwami lore for example counts as SALT now because it automatically implies for people that Marinette isn't all that matters and her flaws of not being interest in ANYTHING might actually COUNT as flaws she should work on. I know, the fucking HORROR! 😱

I MISS writing theories, analysis posts, and speculating about this shows future plots in even the most basic "set up and pay off" manner but I know I can't because my default approach is always complementary to the main character - meaning what challenges them and the narrative the most to grow, expand, and develop. This isn't a Marinette specific thing, I ALWAYS do this.

And contrary to popular belief in this fandom, I get by perfectly fine doing that for the majority of other pieces of media I consume. It is MIRACULOUS and this damn Fandom that now genuinely did it's best to convince themselves that this level of main character centric morality and revenge porn level writing is NORMAL when it's seriously NOT.

There is a REASON why this show hardly ever gets recommended on social media the way one would think despite its success. Or why the Fan backlash is so enormous despite a solid part of the Fandom already having left long ago and the young target demographic not uniformly having a voice in the social media discourse.

Or why people actively advise others AGAINST watching the show, AGAINST forming an emotional investment, and AGAINST going anywhere near the Fandom.

Cause no fucking shit, this isn't normal.

[slashthrashandcrash]

How does child!ramona handle against other killers in the fog? Do they just know to let her go because danny will be a pain in the ass about it?

Or does grandma keep her with danny exclusively because he's mr. Employee of the month?

Nah, she still has to run trials just like all the other survivors, but the difference is that these survivors will absolutely risk their own lives/escape to ensure that she's the first one out no matter what. Some killers don't even bother going after her since she's just a little girl anyways, but there's just as many other ruthless ones that would have no problem slaughtering her like every other prey.

So far she's the only one with a 100% survival rate (: Hope that lasts

[talentforlying]

john and his niece going for a walk, arm-in-arm, so gemma can confide in him about her ghost problem without worrying her mum......i'm severely unwell about them.

[navree]

the one thing i always hate about that line about daemon whinging on at viserys for not making him the hand is that the hand of the king is a political position that requires political skill in order to function well and get the job done and daemon has spent the entire series showing us that he has the political instincts of a lobotomized tuna fish

[pup-pee]

kon on the practive whiteboard,,,,,save me save me pls

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

this but carlo & moretti😔🤨 thats all thank you

[galpalaven]

I need to you all to understand that I am so so so unwell about G’raha Tia and the Warrior of Light

[starpirateee]

Can I request some just pure curtwen angst lol. Like one of them is injured on a mission and the other is UNBELIEVABLY worried or they have a conversation abt self-hatred or something

You know what I don't do enough? Owen being in the line of fire... So y'know what? I'm gonna experiment a little here, I'm gonna get this man bloody, beat him up a little, and see where it goes

Owen knew the way, he was confident of that much. The place that Curt had told him to rendezvous was familiar enough, all that was left was to get there. And that was where it got difficult, because it was currently a chore just to keep himself upright, let alone keep himself on track. Presently, the only thing stopping him from highlighting his every step with a trail of blood was the spare cloth he'd found in his kit bag, that was doing numbers in alleviating the flow of blood spilling from a gash at his hip.

Every other step he took burned with a kind of intensity that he wished he wasn't familiar with. Knowing himself as well as he did, this wouldn't be the last time he found himself in a bar fight for the sake of the job— it certainly wasn't the first occurence, in any case— but next time, he promised himself that he wouldn't be so sloppy.

He felt his weight start to shift, grit his teeth, and kept on pushing. He always would, as long as physically possible. If he focused on something else— the sound of his footsteps against the pavement, or the way his leather jacket felt in this position, or every breath that thundered through his ears— the pain wasn't… That bad.

He regretted thinking that within the moment.

In fact, it was that bad. He'd lost a fight, hilariously outnumbered, and now he was paying the price for it. God, where was Curt? Surely this rendezvous point couldn't be this far away…

"Owen, Jesus Christ!"

Time had passed. Owen wasn't sure of how much, but he did know that he hadn't made it. At some point, he had hit the pavement, and no matter how much he forced himself to try, he couldn't pull himself up without succumbing to the violent tremor that overtook his system.

He hadn't found Curt, but Curt had found him. Enough time had passed for him to have gotten concerned. Owen had a habit of mentioning that he would return by a certain time. Normally, he stuck to it. His timekeeping was impeccable, and Curt knew to trust that, so when he missed that margin, there was normally a cause for concern.

Owen looked up at him, registering the way his brow was drawn. "Curt…"

Immediately, Curt had noticed the blood staining Owen's shirt, and the cloth that he was trying to press against his side. He helped him to his feet without a word, and made sure he was well supported. "The hell happened to you?"

Owen readjusted, making sure that the cloth was still firmly planted against the gash. "It… didn't go as planned…"

"Are you kidding me? That's what you're going with?"

"Don't worry about it, Curt," Owen tried to insist.

"Don't worry? Don't worry?! O, I don't know if you you've noticed, but you're bleeding out on the street right now, and you're more than an hour later than you said you'd be."

"Yeah, I got held up. It's fine…"

"What, held up against a wall while someone beat the shit outta you?"

Owen faltered as they turned the corner, and tried to pretend like that wasn't entirely accurate. "It doesn't look that bad, does it?"

"That's what happened, isn't it?" Curt sighed when Owen nodded silently, and tried to focus on getting them both to the rendezvous point. "Where?"

"Bar. Some bellend packed a knife—" He staggered, and Curt's supporting arm gained a reflexive, brighter grip as he fought to keep Owen upright. He sighed, despising the way his chest seemed to shake upon his every breath. "And I got caught up in the crossfire, that's all."

Curt didn't say anything further until the two of them were inside. It was painful enough watching Owen try to shrug off what was quite a serious wound in his side, but it was even more painful when they got to the rendezvous point and he started grabbing the supplies to fix himself up like Curt wasn't there at all. The more he tried to ask about it, the more he knew Owen was going to shrug it off, so he almost let him get on with it.

Almost.

"Owen, why d'you insist on doing that yourself? I am right here…"

Owen pulled from his pocket the flask and stared down at the equipment for a while, half lost in the offer and half waiting on his mind to catch up and come up with something viable. Nothing happened, though. He didn't try to contradict Curt's offer, nor claim once again that he was fine, nor try to think of any reason why he was so reliant upon his insistence to claim independence out of this job.

Because, as a rule, he didn't have to.

And he knew he wasn't entirely okay, as far as that word would be stretched. The way his hands were shaking was enough of a tell, for starters, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do a good job of himself like this.

"Because if I do a bad job, then it's fine, because it's me. But I don't want my blood on someone else's hands, so to speak…" that answer seemed well thought out enough to qualify as something that had come from him, at any rate.

"Y'know, that's half the reason I'm here. There's always a good chance that you're gonna come back in a state like this, and what happens when you can't take care of yourself, huh?"

"Curt, I—"

"No, what happens then? You just expect me to leave you to bleed out or what?"

"That's— quite dramatic." This was not a good call. The longer they spent fighting about this, the more blood he was going to lose, and he really couldn't afford that. He took a drink from the flask— strong and fiery, though not very much to his taste. At least it took the edge off…

Once he was suitably deterred from feeling the full effects of pain, he finally removed the cloth from it's position, and grimaced at the sight of the blood still pouring from the wound.

"No, it's not," Curt answered defensively, and then he got a good look at the wound too. "I mean, look at that thing!"

Owen raised an eyebrow at that. "Never been in a bar fight before? If you don't have at least one poor lad on the ground, spillin' blood on the carpet, then you haven't done it right."

Curt's mouth opened, looking for something he could possibly say to that, but all that came out was a blank stammer that meant no more to him than it did to Owen. "Jesus, I— how many times have you been the guy on the ground?"

"Enough…" Owen muttered as he started to do what he could to clean that parts that he could see. That's what did it for Curt, and he'd risen, knelt by Owen's side, and had taken the alcohol soaked cloth that he'd been using before either of them could think twice.

"I worry about you, y'know that? Sure, you might not be impulsive like I am, but god, you really know how to get yourself hurt… And don't try and tell me you're fine, because I'm sitting eye level to the reason that you're very much not."

"You and I are—" Owen inhaled sharply. Curt apologised. "We're the same. Don't tell me you aren't also in the habit of pretending you're fine…"

"So you admit you're pretending?"

A single breath of laughter. "I won't admit that either way."

Curt knew what he was doing when it was someone else. He was surprisingly thorough, on top of the distraction of this assuring conversation, that was helping, for all it was worth, to keep Owen's mind off the current happenings.

"Why? Why say you're fine when I hadta come and look for you?"

"Because you know fine well that this isn't the worst I've ever been…"

"Yeah, I know," Curt reached for the bandages. Owen nudged them towards him with the hand that wasn't holding the flask, then took another swig. Curt had to fight a laugh at the way he winced. "Maybe you're not a man after my own heart, after all," he teased, to which Owen shook his head.

"I don't know how you drink that shit."

"I don't know how you can't."

"It's fucking awful."

Curt laughed, partly because Owen was halfway to letting his accent drop— and hearing him swear when he was trying his hardest to remain proper was always amusing— and partly because of his reaction to the whiskey, which never failed to delight. "Nobody said you had to drink it, if it's that bad."

"You can't exactly equip yourself for a mission and pack a flask of wine…"

"Wine, huh?"

"What? If you're going to go in for day drinking, there is a way to do it, and that is certainly the best."

"Imagine tryna give yourself pain relief with a glass of red, though."

"Maybe you have a point there."

Curt shifted back a little, prompting Owen to move from his board stiff position to see how the bandages felt. He seemed to think tey were fine, until Curt brought him back into place and seemed to inspect them for a moment. He muttered something Owen didn't catchm and then picked up another roll.

"What's the matter?"

"You're bleeding through."

"Great…"

"Hold on a moment, I've got this."

[skeletood]