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lailoken · 29 days

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The Gloaming Tethers

The Gloaming tethers are a pair of ritual fetishes that hold great significance in my personal tradition.

The first of the two pictured here (from left to right) serves a talismanic link to my Witch-Queen—who I often call Bone Mother—and to the Chthonic Realm of the Underworld that she oversees. It was fashioned from a Black Basalt Hagstone, secured by a cord strung with 13 bone beads, including six beads made from Prehistoric Horse Bone, six beads made from Prehistoric Deer Bone, and one bead made from Antique Whale Bone that I inherited. The end-piece is a token of 6,000 year old Bog Yew, carved with a triskelion, and glazed with a wood varnish made using Storax resin. I utilize this Talisman when working with Ancestral Spirits, or with Chthonic Wights, such as psychopomps.

The second of these serves a talismanic link to my Witch-Father—who I often call Wilding King—and to the Upper Realm of the Elemental World that he oversees. It was fashioned from a White Quartz Hagstone, secured by a cord strung with 13 handmade wood beads of alternating Elder, Hazel, Hawthorn, and Rowan. The end-piece is a token of local Elk shed-horn, carved to resembled a great tree, and glazed with a wood varnish made using Amber resin. I utilize this Talisman when working with Animistic Spirits or Elemental Wights.

Each of these Ritual Tethers are sacred to me. They each rest in places of power, pertinent to their respective magical nature, when not in use.

#gloaming tethers #ritual implements #ritual tools #wending way #hagstone #quartz #basalt #spirit work #Wilding King #Bone Mother #Witch-father #witch-queen #witching gods

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quiddie · 4 months

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I find idioms derived from scripture to be particularly fascinating. They seem to have this extra weight to them. One of my favorites is “out of the mouths of babes” which speaks to the surprise of wisdom coming from unexpected sources.

The phrase’s origin is a particularly funky translation of Psalm 8:2: “Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, That thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.”

Such evocative phrasing. It *almost* paints a picture.

Anyway, it’s Thursday.

See you soon.

#candela obscura #the circle of tide and bone #critical role #‘misfortune may meet any Mother’s child’ - the writings of the Ascendancy

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one-time-i-dreamt · 26 days

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You could buy dehydrated bones at Walmart and all you had to do was put them in the microwave for a few seconds and then they were hydrated. My mom chased me with them around the room. (I hate bones.)

#dream #text #March 31st 2024 #walmart #bones #mom #mother

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spookshowninjakitty · 2 years

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Shadow of Fire by Kate Schumacher (The Fires of Aileryan #1)

Shadow of Fire by Kate Schumacher Fantasy 370 Pages Published by Black-Kat Press (5th May 2022) Purchase from | Booktopia | Book Depository | Fishpond AU* | Amazon AU | Amazon US | Amazon UK | My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ I received a copy of this book from Social Book Tours in conjunction with their organised book tour. All thoughts are my own. Actual rating of 3.75 Ever since The Rift was created, Fire…

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stealingyourbones · 5 months

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Submitted Prompts #145

*hands you a fox skull I found in the woods while walking to work*

You know the classic Tattoo Artist AU right?

Now imagine it's Everlasting Trio opening a tattoo parlor together.

They can all do a bit of everything, but Danny specializes in the actual tattoo art part of it, Tucker is their cashier and designer, and Sam does the piercings.

Then one day, in walks one Bruce Wayne, on his journey to learn how to Be Batman, coming to ask Maddie Fenton to teach him all she knows, and, in his downtime between training sessions, ends up being invited on several dates by her son and his awesome partners.

When he feels like he has learned all he could here, Bruce goes with a summoning sygil in his pocket, three new numbers on his phone he calls regularly, and several pieces of art on his body created by each one of the Trio.

Fun part of having the Ghost of Time owe you favors? You can ask him to put up a Time Out so you can visit your Beloved even when he's training with a group as dangerous as the League of Assassins.

Years later, and amidst moving shop to Gotham, Danny Sam and Tucker gets a phone call from a very panicked Bruce Wayne asking how to parent a suddenly-orphaned kid with anger issues.

Dick Grayson, orphan hell-bent on delivering Justice ( and some murder) to his parents' killer, wakes up to suddenly having 4 parents, a strict but loving grandpa, and a sister who's the very personification of Mischief (something something Ghost shenanigans. I'm thinking Ellie didn't age any further until her chronological age caught up with her biological age).

Gotham comes to learn two things then:

Bruce Wayne isn't the innocent prince everyone thinks he is, even if the Brucie persona still has them convinced he's a lucky himbo, if an adventurous one.

And

Stars have mercy on your soul if you go after Robin. Not much gets Phantom out of retirement, but hurting the little bird will get you a Very Angry Parent capable of delivering nightmares to the front step of your mind.

Unfortunately, because I'm a sucker for drama, Jason still dies, but Phantom and Batman are right behind him and holding him as he goes out, the angry screeching and sounds of violence on clownkind accompanying B's gentle affirmations of love (hey, what better way to make use of your kingly diplomatic immunity than to brutally murder another "diplomat" for hurting your son? :D ).

The Pit Rage gets Bad as it always does, but Talia can't get it into Jason's mind that Bruce abandoned him. How could she, when his last memories were of his parents delivering Justice and love in his name?

Red Hood doesn't last a day in Gotham. It was inevitable that someone would recognize him, but he really should've expected the literal ghost to recognize his soul and immediately launch himself at him screeching like a Stressed Parent Bird and alerting the rest of the polycule to the presence of their missing bird.

#dpxdc #bones submissions #Danny first seeing the Joker: im giving you your One Warning #Danny after the Joker kills little Jay: I see youve chosen Death #Danny's Stressed Parent instincts work a little morw gjoslty than human #so his first thought on seeing their missing baby is back was to skother him like a mother hen #his second is to Alert the Other Parents #Bill the Goon watching it happen: damn wish I had parents like that...

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lailoken · 3 months

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To any whome it may concern; I am very saddned to announce that Ginger passed away earlier today. Thank you so much for holding her in your thoughts and prayers until now.

While we made some initial progress with her health after finding and rescuing her, the severity of her dysplasia and the time she had spent immobile in the cold led to bowel issues that became quickly critical over the last couple of days—none of which was helped at all by the stress or the gravel she ingested after being abandoned.

Unfortunately, right when we most needed to get veterinary assistance, the weather completely prevented us from seeing the people we had an established treatment plan with. We were going to have to wait another two days to get her seen, which was really distressing, given her rapidly mounting pain. All I could do was pray to my Witch Mother (who oversees death, healing, and family ties).

At the very last second, though, a vet from out of town was able to be contacted, and she changed her plans so she could come to the nearest Humane Society with just enough time for me to reach her. Unfortunately, she didn't believe there was anything else that could be done for Ginger at this point, beyond compassionate euthanasia. At the very least, however, the timing ended up being exactly right for both my husband and my mother-in-law to come during their lunch breaks and send her off lovingly with me. Together, we held her and massaged her, and I whispered a death croon in her ear as she sank into a final rest. We we all wept for the path she came to us on, but we rejoiced for the chance we've had to offer her comfort, love, and companionship over the last week. Despite everything, she had many moments of peace and connection with us, which I hope and believe improved her remaining time.

I really wanted to be able to carry out the funerary rites we normally do, as a final respect for her—which includes cleaning anointing the body and then adorning the dead with local flora for a final mourning portrait—but the harsh weather and frozen ground made a burial exceedingly unrealistic. So, in the end, I took her body to a funeral home that was willing to cremate her. It was upon arriving there that I discovered a patch of white Hellebore nearby, which struck me as auspicious, given their association with death in general, and with my Witch Mother in particular. As such, I plucked a single blossom and used it to take a makeshift mourning portrait, then took the flower home with me to incorporate in a ritual send-off for her spirit, along with a fumigation of Benzoin and a dish of treats she especially enjoyed.

May the Quietus embrace you with all of the kindness and tenderness you deserve, dear Ginger. ♡

#ginger #dog death #pet death #animal death #cw dog death #cw pet death #cw animal death #cw dead animal #bone mother #fuck tumblr for censoring my devotional grieving

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ocean-not-found · 1 month

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I know my photos of my Altar are kinnnda shit, but :) best i can do!

Altars to; the Goddess, Santa Muerte (above my jar of squirrel bones!) , aphrodite and Our Lady Mary.

(If anyone can do better image IDs please do!! :)

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pbnmj · 5 months

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tfw the man you love against your better judgement gets a kid to help him with his photojournalism and dies trying to expose the criminal he's been blackmailing and then the kid puts on a uniform that's way too big for him and calls himself spider-man after ben urich and you know he's going to get killed trying to serve justice to all the criminals in new york. and now there's a sixteen year old kid bleeding out on felicia's doorstep and again despite her better judgement, she cares. how much of that is a misplaced sense of responsibility for her dead lover, and how much of that is the deep feeling of injustice over how this child is the one fighting, and how felicia knows that she could never turn him away. what then </3

#we need more jaded old man who hates everyone and is overly harsh to the young girl theyre protecting but they end up like family #except the its a jaded old woman and a young boy. and i think noir peter felicia could be set up like this :)#especially bc i rly dont think felicia has a parental bone in her body. the dynamics get better/worse due to this #i really really need that feeling of guilt and helplessness and the 'YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER' fight with them #i also think they need to have an awkward touching talk about ben and the mess he leaves behind and EVERYTHING #first thing that is coming out of the drafts in so long and its deranged noir takes what else did anyone expect tbh #spider-man noir #spiderman noir #peter parker #felicia hardy #my art #noir #felicia

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spacedace · 1 month

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Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

#batman #batman au #batman rogues #batman rouges gallery #dc penguin #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #dick grayson robin #bruce wayne #the joker #tim drake #dc robin #gotham city #open season au #i don't go in for Jason being the 'angry' robin or the 'violent' robin #he was the lil chainsmoking ball of sunshin robin that made sure to do his homework first before going out to fight crime #dick was the scariest robin because he was BOTH incredibly violent & full of rage AND a ball of sunshine & unrelenting hope #Jason was a Gotham kid (an Alley Kid) and I think a lot of the rogues would have respected that #dick got his respect by teaching them how many of their bones a tiny 9 year old could break in a single kick #feel like there's a scene in the extended au in which Tim gets kidnapped but instead of being held for ransom or threatened #it's just the Rogues aggressively mother-henning him and trying to make sure he's alright #Dick gets a call from Harley later that the newest Robin is fine he and Riddler are coming up with deadly traps together #No she doesn't see anything wrong with that - it's just some enrichment activities for them - why do you ask?

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thisisnotthenerd · 1 month

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thinking about riz gukgak and how he feels so alone and yet how his words, his works, are the first thought for his friends when they don’t know what to do

thinking about how love is work, how love is the act of giving and giving and giving until you have nothing left and yet he cannot ever prioritize himself

thinking about how he takes every nickname, every gift, every moment of care with an eagerness that far outstrips the gift in its giving

thinking about how his every stress comes from a moment of devotion and care for his friends, from unraveling the mysteries that permeate their lives

thinking about how he could call them to action with a single warning because they trust in him so much

thinking about how he justifies what he gives to his friends even as his mother asks him to consider himself for once

thinking about riz ‘the ball’ gukgak

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #riz gukgak #just the aroace experience of it all #riz took his deepest fear #of being left behind by the people in his life #who will all find someone else #and now he's holding on to them #holding them together #with the same hands that clawed at a crystal palimpsest #desperate to be free to help his friends #tutoring and investigating and campaigning and going to every extracurricular #riz has the skill to simply succeed at what he does #and the extension of that #of taking stress for his friends because what would he be without them #the lonely kid giving out business cards on the first day of school #something something his father was devoured for the sake of a long running scheme #and his mother works herself to the bone to both provide for him and advocate for those trapped by the system #is it any wonder that riz is so capable?#always the one asked #because they know he will get it done #it's not a question of whether riz can do it #he can #it's just a matter of how much he will take on #making himself indispensable #irreplaceable #is it any wonder that sklonda asks

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demigods-posts · 22 days

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I've seen a lot of discourse about Virginia Kull's portrayal of Sally Jackson in the Percy Jackson and the Olympians TV series, and I'd like to say that I loved her. Don't get me wrong. I love Sally from the original book series, and I, too, would fight the God of War on her behalf. But something that I enjoyed about Virginia's portrayal of Sally that we don't get in the books is the character depth. We don't hear much of Sally's backstory in the TV series, apart from a couple of flashbacks with younger Percy and that scene with Poseidon (Toby Stephens). However, those scenes do an excellent job of showing us that alongside being Percy's mother, Sally is also a young woman who fell in love with a man she could not be with and is enduring the natural consequences of having Percy. She struggles to communicate with him when she's frustrated, gets teary-eyed when she lies to him to prolong the inevitable, and actively sacrifices her happiness to ensure his safety. Virginia Kull's portrayal of Sally Jackson reinforces the character's humanity, imperfections, and determination, and it's everything to me.