#we don't give him enough credit

[dragon0va]

appreciation post for joel's editing in his most recent hermitcraft episode, i would like more of this please

[nyhti]

I didn't know imposter Mad Hatter used drugs and hypnosis way before Jervis.

Batman #297

[pinkd3mon]

Kirby deals with existential crisis and Bandana is a good friend

[anneapocalypse]

At the end of the day you can use "Varric is an unreliable narrator" to overwrite literally any part of DA2 that you don't like. Like you can say, "Oh of COURSE Varric isn't actually against mage freedom! He just said that he objected to Hawke freeing the mages because Cassandra was interrogating him." And sure, I can't prove to you that he isn't lying about that. I can't prove to you that Varric isn't lying about anything. I can't prove to you that the entirety of Inquisition isn't also Varric making things up because he did also write a book about that and we hear Cassandra reading it in the end credits. At the end of the day if you want to you can basically wipe out Varric's entire character as presented to us and say, "Actually he was lying! He's really this."

But at a certain point you do also have to acknowledge that the frame narrative is a storytelling device that's meant to enhance the story, not like... erase it. Or at least I prefer to acknowledge that, because going too far the other way basically guts the story of all meaning. If Varric is a character we are meant to engage with on any level--and I think it's clear from his prominence in the franchise that he is!--then at least some of what we see him say and do needs to be able to meaningfully interpreted, even if we second-guess him, even if we can pick out half-truths here and there, even if we cross-check our interpretations against how he behaves in other parts of canon.

Like at least some of what we're given about Varric has to be meaningful to his character, or why even bother, I guess is what I'm saying.

[boasamishipper]

so is the whole 'sam is a leader on this team and the new highly sought after star footballer of afc richmond' storyline ever going to get brought up again, or are the writers done caring about sam now that he isn't rebecca's love interest anymore

[candicewright]

Replaying Pathologic 2 day 4 rn and Artemy really is the funniest fucker in the town

[2hoothoots]

I’m probably off base here, but the implication I got from the game was that Gristol WAS the Delugionists. As in, he alone was it in the entirety, the only one funding it, and the Psychonauts just assumed it was multiple people.

There’s probably something in the game that contradicts that but that was my first impression

see, i like that interpretation a lot, but i don't know if it lines up with what we see in game. when we're first introduced to the Delugionists in the cutscene after Loboto's mind, Sasha has these lines:

[transcript: "She was a monster - a ruthless, power-hungry psychic who drowned hundreds of her own countrymen. Nevertheless, she still has her loyal followers to this day. This file documents recent activity believed to be the work of these modern day "Deluginaries".]

(side note, is it Delugionists or Deluginaries? the game can't seem to make up its mind.)

to me this implies that a) there have been small cells of pro-Maligula supporters for a long time, and they've long been a thorn in the Psychonauts' side; and b), they're very widespread. it's not a great screenshot, but there are five locations on that map, spread all over the world.

i dunno - i guess it's possible, but i look at how the Psychonauts are apparently tracking multiple global cells of Delugionists (i don't have screens/transcripts to hand, but some of the idle dialogue in the Nerve Center has the agents discussing the different groups they're monitoring)... and then i look at Gristol. i'm gonna be honest, the impression that i get from him is that he couldn't mastermind his way out of a paper bag :P his plan is laughably terrible, and from figments and the absolute mess his suite in the casino was in it seems like he spends most of his free time lazing around and eating caviar.

i don't think there's anything in the game that directly contradicts it, but i don't know if there's any direct support for it, either. i can definitely imagine Gristol meeting up with other Delugionists, maybe even wielding a sizeable influence with them due to his status, but he doesn't seem like the kind of guy to be able to orchestrate a one-man show like that is the vibe i get. (it probably also depends on how much faith you put in the Psychonauts' intel capabilities, too! it feels like the game wants you to think they're a cool and competent spy organisation, but then it keeps portraying them as just absolutely useless and incompetent as soon as you start looking any deeper, and i've never been able to work out whether that's on purpose or not.)

[northernpansy]

possibly upsetting theory incoming but i don't think Ed suggested swapping clothes because it would be a fun bonding activity/he wanted to try on the fine fabrics

Stede explains the concept of retirement to him and Ed no doubt has the same immediate thought as Izzy - not much retirement in their line of work except death - but Ed is much more imaginative than Izzy so rather than dismissing it he immediately starts thinking of ways that he could convince everyone that he's dead

and then Stede says he'd give up everything if he could just be like Blackbeard and Ed's amazing little tactician brain goes ding ding ding!!! here's a way to convince people Blackbeard's dead, and Stede has even explicitly said he'd give up his life to be Blackbeard for even a moment! everyone gets what they want, what a neat little way to tie things up

so when Ed suggests swapping clothes right after that it's not because it's a fun zany thing to do, he's thinking about how Stede would need to be wearing Blackbeard's clothes for the retirement fuckery to work

he's checking to make sure they fit

[wickedcriminal]

Hiccup really said

[vikingpoteto]

Natsume really said these hands are rated E for everyone huh

[apoloniaspiegelgold]

Feeling very soft again thinking about how he just got back to work after being sick and the first thing he does is to come to my office and ask me to tell him all about what happened to me in the week that he couldn't be here. So I say something like "my supervisor had the audacity to criticise my paper despite saying that he hasn't even really read it yet" and I had been actually quite mad about that, but then he goes "Oh, but that's what you want, isn't it? Someone criticising your work, someone fighting back a bit?" And I stopped and felt my anger disappear instantly and I thought ... actually yeah, you're right, why are you right? Why was I even mad? Why do you know better what I want than I do?

[kingabezka]

Ideas that come to me at work- I'm gonna make Chat and John for the Tomodachi Life i got on an emulator. I'm gonna make absolutely sure they end up together. I'll keep y'all updated, and if you have done that before and achieved it, please show me i need to see.

[qcomicsy]

People I think should kill the Joker:

Generally? Harley. But that's an easy answer.

You know who I really want to kill the joker?

A random gothamite. Not a villain. Not a known character. Not Bruce. Not Jason and for the love of god Not Grayson.

I want to see gotham reacting to the shit it's being put upon them. I want to see the city fighting back. I want to see someone who is so so sick of that crazy bastard going around making everyone's life miserable, everyone's fears real.

The person might not even like batman, might not be trained nor in weaponry or combat, hell they don't give a fuck about villains or superheros. They just want to this nightmare to stop.

Batman is right there fighting joker, the middle of the city a whole fucking show, everyone is scared, but still watching it. It went so many times but it's still mesmerizing. Joker is laughing a couple of meters away from Batman, blood on his teeth. Batman is catching his breath, blood on his fist. And then when he last expect. A shot.

Bam

Right in his forehead. It's quick so quick that most people don't even see it. The screams just start when the man's finds the ground.

And then deep silence. I couldn't be? Could be? There's no way, that's devil incarnated. But it's isn't moving. Fuck, Joker isn't moving?

Batman looks behind the corpse and there's just a random person holding a gun. They're in shock, not even tears on their face. It's over.

Almost anticlimactic. That's it. There was joker and now it isn't.

It shouldn't be that easy but it is.

He was just a man after all and now he's dead.

The poor sould is going to be arrested. And tomorrow people will have to go to work. The subway is going to keep moving. The pigeons keep chirping and villains keep bringing chaos.

All that.

Joker is dead.

[ribbonprincess]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

"Do a lil twirl for me,yeah...your ass looks so good baby." Rafe chuckles,fixing his pants as they tightened around his crotch,the sight of you in a tiny white mini skirt the reason.

"You like it rafey? I bought It thinking of you" "yeah,no shit- you used my credit card" he chuckles. Moving from his spot on the bed,he walks over you,laying his hands on your hips as he squishes the skin. "You should wear it today while I go golfing,you can look pretty in the cart and if you're good enough daddy will buy you a drink."

He smiles before tilting his head down to press his lips against yours as you whine almost immediately,slapping his chest "my lipgloss! you just smeared it all over,daddy." Turning around to face the mirror as you try to deescalate the situation of your almost ruined makeup,dabbing at the area around your lips with a beauty blender.

"Yeah yeah,'s just lip gloss,it's nothing serious." Gasping dramatically you turn around,hand on your chest as if you've been shot as you point a finger at his chest "'s not just lipgloss.."

Chuckling to himself Rafe presses a kiss against your shoulder "I'm sorry cupcake, daddy's being mean yeah?" Nodding as you run your manicured fingers over his jawline,pressing your chest against his,making your tits more visible as you smile softly- a tragic contrast to your action.

꒦꒷︶°꒷︶°︶₊˚ʚɞ˚₊︶°︶꒦˚︶꒷꒦

As you sit prettily in the golf cart,sipping at your drink while watching rafe play with his friends,you can't help but feel lonely,so you decide to approach as he stands a few feet behind the others. "rayray?"

Turning around almost immediately Rafe's expression softens a bit before turning hard. "What are you doing here,told you to sit in the cart" "Yeah... I know,but I missed you" Emphasizing your words you run a hand over his chest,playing with the button of his slacks.

"Missed me huh?" Looking over his shoulder he shouts a quick "Little lady is feeling sick!" Before dragging you over the Golf cart and driving over a more secluded area of the field,covered by trees and bushes.

"Since you've been missing me sooo much,might as well show it. C'mon get on your knees" Taking one last look around you move to your knees on the moist grass,quickly unbuckling his belt as you pull down his pants and boxer just as much needed. Wrapping a hand around the base of his shaft you kiss the vein that runs on the underside of it, resulting in a harsh tug of your hair. "Don't fucking tease me."

Wrapping your lips around his tip before slowly moving down,twisting your hand around what you couldn't fit "Deeper...I've trained you better than this,kid" Rafe mumble from above you,shoving your head down until you gag harshly,tears already pooling at your lash line. "Yeah,there you go...nice and warm for me." Looking up through your clamped wispy lashes you start to move your head again,twirling your tongue around his length like a popsicle as Rafe groans from above you "Got myself the best girl,right? Sucking my dick like this where everyone can pass by"

Nodding as best as you can,you pull off him with a loud "pop". "Wanna make you feel good,daddy." Smiling to himself, Rafe wipes at your saliva coated lower lip before bringing your mouth back on him with a satisfied moan,brushing some strand of hair that have fallen over your face away. "Fuck,keep doing that and I'm gonna cum. You want daddy to cum in your mouth? Yeah,you do."

Meeting you midway as he thrust into your mouth,giving you no time to react or even understand. "shit- 'm cumming" As his rhythm gets sloppier,you suck around his tip holding onto his thigh as you feel a milky substance flood your mouth. Breathing loudly he pulls you away from him as he smirks "Show me your tongue,angel" showcasing your tongue with a proud smile you look up at him in search of praise. "good girl,what do we say now?" "thank you daddy!"

[luveline]

gorgeous can we get bombshell reader and Spencer May be the first time he’s snappy with her bc he’s stressed and she’s just so taken aback and May be even tears up? And then just a fluffy ending with Spencer apologizing

thank you for requesting! fem, 2.2k

Spencer Reid is extra kissable when he's frowning. Button up and no suit jacket, sleeves pushed past his elbows and hair on the shorter side, he holds a certain confidence in his hands where they're tucked in his pockets. Sure of himself, and clearly agitated. 

You're always on his side; you don't think twice about easing into the conference room to see what's wrong. 

"Hey," you say with a slight lilt to your tone. You're always on his side, and always flirting. "What's wrong?" 

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks. 

Not mean. Not light. Somewhere in the solid middle, his gaze loyal to the laptop on the desk he stands behind. You step close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, wondering if he can smell your perfume in turn, and if it's one he likes. You try to touch his hand and he takes the desk into his grip instead, leaning forward, out of reach. 

"That's not what I meant to convey," you say, still flirting. You're not stupid, you realise his mood, but you're hoping it's somebody else's fault. "But if you aren't happy to see me then I'd definitely suggest there was something wrong." 

"I'm just trying to figure something out." 

This close, to your own credit, Spencer usually trips up. He's been getting better as you've grown closer, your 'torturing' —as the team likes to call it— only prompting the occasional blush or stammer. You don't flirt with Spencer to torture him no matter what anyones says and you never have, you flirt with him because he deserves to be complimented. He's andsome, intelligent, and courageous. What others might miss you see in blaring neon lights: he's a catch. You intend on making your intentions known, and if that means playing the long game or the slow burn, that's okay. You like to dance. 

You put yourself between him and the laptop screen. He can still see it if he cranes his neck, and he does. "You look a little tired, handsome. Looking at a screen all day will hurt you in the end. Neck aches, shoulder cramps, eye strain. Though I can't help with the latter, the former…" His arm is solid under your hand, your fingertips running along the ridge of a stark vein. 

He doesn't quite flinch away, but he moves quickly enough to startle you, lamenting, "Could you give me some space, please?" 

That's all well and good, you rush to do as he's asked and step back because the very last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and his voice is frankly acidic, but everything is moving too quickly, you're not as aware as you should be —you smash your hand backwards into a cold cup of coffee and knock it straight into the lap of Spencer's laptop. 

"No," you gasp, grabbing the cup before the entirety of it can empty. Coffee wells between the keys and you go to grab it to– well, to do something. 

"Stop it!" Spencer shouts, voice sharp as a knife. "You always do this," —quieter, venomous— "you can't help yourself." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I would answer you if I had the time. I'll be busy rescuing my hard drive before an entire month of work is wasted thanks to your dire need for attention." 

He slips around you and stalks out the door, coffee dripping from the corner of his laptop in a sorry trail that shines in the fluorescent lights. 

Your first rush of tears are driven by indignation; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do that, why would you ever do that? But the second, more encompassing rush is a hot mixture of shame and guilt. What have you done? 

You take a hesitant step toward the door but don't bother following him. I'll make things worse, you think, bringing a hand to your face. Makeup marrs your hand as you wipe your cheeks. You stare down at the stains for a long, long time. 

I'll apologise, you think eventually, rubbing at the mascara like soot on your palm. Just as soon as I look okay again. 

You don't want Spencer or anyone to see you upset. You wear your makeup and your confidence for yourself, not to hide any insecurity but to embolden yourself, to be yourself. But to get to your desk you'd have to leave the conference room bared as you are, and you'd have to face Spencer, and the second option brings more tears. 

This is all so messy, and it's your fault. 

I'm such an idiot. I'm exactly what he thinks of me. 

You sit in the chair furthest from the door with a pack of tissues from the cubby and rub your hot cheeks dry, streaks of mascara in the shapes of your fingertips like soot left behind. It's sitting that gets you —the shock of tears at being shouted at by someone you care about amplifies into a distress you can't explain. It's stupid, it's stupid. You press your face into your hands and curl in on yourself at the table, ears ringing. I'm so, so stupid. 

—

The inside of Spencer's lip is bleeding, metallic on his tongue. He's white hot annoyance all the way to Penelope's office, choked as he tells her he needs her help. 

"Spencer?" she said. "What happened? Are you okay?" 

He realises what he's done. "Please, Garcia, can you do something? I really need to go." 

He doesn't hear her response beyond her surprised but emphatic Sure, spinning on his heel to walk back the way he came. He rubs at his temple, moving between a slow trudge and a speed walk as he assesses the damage of what he's said. What did he say? your dire need for attention. 

Your sniffing is something out of his fucking nightmares. Who does he think he is? You're sitting exactly where he left you next to that half empty coffee cup, a tissue scrunched in your trembling hands, visible in the small glass window of the door. You must be thinking of what he's said to have missed the sound of his footsteps, or perhaps he's left you too upset to want to look up. 

He sees the moment a sob works through you, watches you hold your breath in a painful effort to keep it down, raising the tissue to your eyes and catching your tears before they fall. You're doing a lacklustre job despite your efforts, the oily shine of mascara iridescent on your cheeks. Or maybe that's tear tracks. It's hard to tell. 

Spencer fights with himself. He doesn't know if deserves to come running back or if it would be more fair to send JJ or Derek in to comfort you. 

"You made your bed," his mom would say, not without affection. "You have to lie in it." 

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed to push away the memory, surveying the damage he's done carefully as he crosses the threshold back into the conference room. Your head lifts at the sound of the door, your stammer visible before you speak, "Spence– Spencer. Is your laptop okay? Did I break it? I'm so sorry." 

Gideon would tell Spencer to be nicer. Hotch would say Reid in that stern shade of voice that's half disapproval and half fondness. They'd both tell him to be better, but neither of them have ever had to see you as you look now, tearstained and sorry, eyes wide with worry but shoulders tense. He has his role models, and yet none of them could possibly give him a way to apologise that could ever make up for they way he's made you feel. 

Little dramatic, Morgan would say. Start with a hug, loverboy. Can't go wrong with a hug. 

He should ask but he doesn't, a second transgression against you. Spencer pushes past chair and the sodden circle of carpet to your chair, pausing in case you're going to tell him to shove it. You lick your lips. "Did I break it?" you ask, as though resigned for a yes  

He can't temper that amount of self-hatred on you. It doesn't suit you. He much prefers you the way you like to be, confident in everything, flirty and funny and soft, in both touch and touches. He takes your face into a careful hand, tilting it toward the light and weary of your shallow exhale. "I…" He begins and ends, stroking your tacky cheek with his index finger, as though brushing away an eyelash. If it were real he'd say make a wish, and you would wish for him or some similar sweetness, salacious smile to boot, or earnestness fit to fill a mountain. I wish you'd realise how pretty you are and stop denying me the pleasure of a beautiful boyfriend, you'd croon. 

His fingers collect at your jaw and slip behind your ear as he cleans your skin with the side of his thumb. You lean into the touch, slashing his hesitancy in two. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling your head toward his neck gently as he leans down to hold you. "I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please. Don't be upset " 

"I'm an idiot–" 

"No," he says, with the facts to back his denial. "I'm an idiot, I should never have upset you like this–"

"I broke your computer, it's just like you said–" 

"I shouldn't have–" 

"–I'm so needy I could've ruined all your hard work," you say, wriggling with guilt like you attempt to pull away. 

Spencer really doesn't want to let you go now he has you, not until he's sure you'll stay in one piece. "If it's ruined, it's my fault for failing to back it up." 

He should tell you that he's sorry for what he said. He knew it wasn't right he moment it escaped him, to speak to you like that, and accuse you of what he did. He basically called you selfish, uncaring. He implied it and worse, and for what? An accident? A mis-step that he practically forced you into? 

"I never should've said that to you," he says, breaking his hug to crouch in front front you, searching blindly for your hand as he holds eye contact, looking up. You deign to frown down. "And I walked away. And you're crying," —his voice fries with sympathy— "because of me." 

Your hand is limp in his. "I'm sorry," he says. 

"It's okay." You sniffle and nod, lips struggling into a smile. 

"It's not okay." 

"Well, I hit your coffee over, so we're even." 

"You accidentally spilled my drink, you didn't deserve to be mocked." 

"Spence…" Your eyes half-lidded, you wince down at the cradle of his hand where it holds yours. "Did I break it?" 

"I don't know. I got to Garcia's office and I knew I did the wrong thing, so I came back." 

You swallow audibly. "I just wanted to make you feel better." 

"I know, angel." He stands again as your eyes well with tears to hug you, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry. That was all me, okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you." 

What follows is agony. Spencer patting your back through a panicked bubble of tears, wretched in knowing he caused it, and worse is the look you give him as he wipes your messed up make up away in want of a mirror, like you're grateful. 

"Does it look really bad?" 

"N–no. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Are my eyes puffy?"

A little. "No. You look great." He can't apologise anymore– it won't help you feel better now, it'll just assuage his own worry. What you need is a different reassurance. "It's hard not looking at you, sometimes, you look that nice. But you know that already." 

"I don't mean to do that. I didn't mean to." 

Spencer puts his hand above your heart. "I know you didn't. I really, really shouldn't have said it. I was being cranky and I struck out like a kid." 

"...You're not just saying I look nice to get back in the good books, are you?" you ask. 

Spencer leans in, nearly nose to nose with you. "Of course not." 

You tilt your head as though you might kiss him. He knows you won't and he's delighted anyways. It means you're feeling okay. He's nearly forgiven, or, at the very least, you're not actively upset. "I thought I liked seeing you pissed off, but now I'm not so sure." 

"It's not a good look on me," he murmurs. "But it looks great on you, if you want to get angry with me."

"Well now I can't. I know it's what you want." 

"Can I give you a hug?" he asks. 

You drop all your acts and slide your arms around his neck. He wraps you up slowly, one arm at a time, careful to put all the pressure exactly where you like it. 

"That feels nice," you mumble. 

He bends into you and rubs your back. "Yeah?" 

"Don't," you warn. 

He draws a shape into your back with his fingers, slow, tiny things that make you squirm. "Don't what?" 

"You're tickling me." You don't sound unhappy about it. 

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over the sound of me being a huge jackass. Sorry, angel." 

Your giggle is honey into his shoulder, sticky and sluggish as his circles turn to stars.

[jakejeffreyperalta]

we don't give percy enough credit tbh honestly if i was 12 and my mom died and my best friend was a goat and my father was a sea god and i was expected to go around the country looking for my uncle's thunderbolt with a girl that i was pretty sure hated my guts while literally everyone in my life was hiding things from me and never giving me any information so i had to peice everything together and still being called dumb i would go on a homicidal killing spree. i think percy managed to beat up ares because of the unhealthy amount of rage and agitation that was building up inside of him. honestly i don't blame him at ALL pop off king