#poor kid...

[ikram1909]

Gavi talked more about his season and recovering from his injury... It turns out he actually injured both of his meniscus on top of the ACL not just one...

[premamelody]

i love the different ways you can take like clover and flowey's dynamic

like if you think about it, flowey essentially created the version of clover that remains in the present

the moment they hit the underground, they became some sort of lab project of flowey. like how alphys created the version of flowey (asriel). the difference is that it wasn't alphys' intention other than to test how different organisms handle determination. flowey does it intentionally to reach a goal.

trials to get clover to do what he wants. trials to likely figure out clover's strengths or weaknesses to create a perfect run for them. an endless amount of trials is required with a lab with a high power.

flowey hypothesizes that its possible, or else he wouldn't even bother. only in the end after reaching more dead ends with an altered group of runs does he decided to try his chances with the next human. though he desperately tries to make clover work knowing the inevitable, the next human, frisk, having more determination than him.

this is it. this is the only subject he can test on. the only subject he can manipulate. this is especially revealed in the neutral route where it all is at a dead end. the run disproved his hypothesis and he must try again. he must try again and again until his hypothesis is true. until the run ends in him reaching the souls or a sufficient ending.

until clover does exactly what he wants, what he, essentially, made clover for.

and the poor child doesn't have any clue until its too late. that's why yellow's neutral route ending is so intriguing to me. its the realization that clover is nothing but a vessel for flowey to grow. some sort of experimental being.

an experimental being like him, like flowey.

[ask-red-and-solomon]

Bit curious but is Bobo completely aware of the circumstances of which he came into the world (bursting through what is assumed to be his own "Mother's" already deceased corpse)

* Bobo... is very haunted by that fact...

[monacers]

pushes the evil bastard child out of her wheelchair-post the time she was crushed by the rubble,by the way.So she wont be able to get up>:)

[llycaons]

I always get so happy when selden is given space to be. not a single character in this book feels like a cardboard cutout to serve some appearance or plot purpose and be ignored otherwise. selden's a real person, with his own perspective and hopes and goals and feelings, and the narrative lets him be that full person even tho he's just a little lad. it's so 🥺

[uvher]

🏳️‍⚧️ + a muse name for a headcanon related to gender. (For Vax)

Send me a flag [accepting] | @lcgacyofages

vax figuring out girlhood was very Difficult bc she was just in that transition period between being on the street and being brought into the crows. she didn't bring it up to viago for MONTHS bc she was worried about coming across as a burden or too high maintenance or smth and getting put out on the street again. when she finally told him about it, viago just got her on what is basically a magical hrt potion and that was that. she'd stressed herself out for nothin'

[wishfulsketching]

I have finally finished season 2 of Arcane and can now enjoy your art without fear!!! They should be happy together 🥺

I take it "they" means zaundads because that is what I've been drawing the most BUT, lets be honest, applies to like 98% of the characters in the show.

They should've been a big happy familyyyy

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

how are they gonna adequately prepare whatever child they cast for nico di angelo. it has got to be impossible for someone that young to give informed consent about playing the saddest wettest loser in all of human history. like hey kid i know youre sprightly and all of ten, but we need you to be in all five stages of grief at all times. remember, your mother was killed in fascist italy, youre eighty years old, and now youre in love with the guy who killed your sister. say this next line like you know what it's like to be an ear of corn.

[brucedefender4eva]

Bruce: *genuinely excited but keeping a neutral expression. Dressed to the absolute nines, holding a large bouquet of flowers* I have a date, I will not be back for dinner

Tim: *looking up from his iPad* ? What do you mean you have a date? I wasn’t aware you were talking to anyone? When did you start talking to them? Who is them?!

Jason: Wow, way to not sound stalkerish Timmers. Going back to your roots I see

Dick: Shut up, both of you. Anyways, Bruce we’re super happy for you! Aren’t we? *glaring at his brothers*

Damian: I do not approve Baba

Bruce: Didn’t expect you to *ruffles Damian’s hair to annoy him*

Tim: But seriously though, who is it?

Bruce: *glancing down at his watch* Oops, looks like I gotta jet. Don’t wait up!

Jason: … but seriously who is it?

- 5 minutes later -

Batboys are hunched over Tim’s computer as they frantically try to dig up information on Bruce’s date

Bruce: *slams front door shut and throws flowers in the fireplace* Love is dead and evil. Cheating bitches should die. I hate everything

Batboys: *blinking in surprise*

Bruce: *stomping up the stairs, yelling* Alfred! Where’s the key for the liquor cabinet?

Dick: So… Dames I heard you recently sharpened your sword?

Damian: *nods enthusiastically* Indeed

Jason: Great! I need some target practice anyways. You coming Tim?

Tim: Yeah one sec I gotta text Cass and Duke, they’ll want a piece of the action *texting furiously on his phone*

Dick: *on the phone* Hey Aunt Harley, would you happen to be free right about now?

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Glamrock Freddy has an existential crisis..

[foldingfittedsheets]

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

[a11eya]

“Who did this to you?”

Bakugou’s voice is low, dangerous. His eyes are sharp as they stare at you.

“What?” You blink rapidly at him.

After a year of being friends with Bakugou, you’re used to him frequently being at some level of pissed off or annoyed.

But you’ve never seen him look so angry. Like he could tear the world apart.

“This.”

You’re not prepared when Bakugou reaches up to angle your chin towards him, your breath catching as his calloused fingertips grip against your skin. He brushes his thumb, feather-light, against your cheekbone. It’s then you remember the bruise there.

“Oh! I had a practice bout with one of the new kids at our gym. He got in a lucky punch but hit me a little too hard. He’s still learning,” you say.

You smile at Bakugou and raise your hand to pat his, the one cupped against your cheek.

“Don’t worry, Bakugou. It looks worse than it actually is.”

Bakugou grunts. You expect him to step back, let go.

But he’s still, gaze locked on your face, thumb brushing back and forth against your skin like it doesn’t send shivers through your entire body, like it doesn’t make your face feel like the surface of the sun.

Nervous about his intense attention, you bite your bottom lip. Bakugou’s eyes drop to track the movement and stick there.

You can’t breathe. Is he…?

The sound of distant footsteps drawing nearer pops the bubble you’re in.

Bakugou pulls away. He doesn’t go too far, though, and because you’re so close, you can see that the tips of his ears are red, despite his neutral expression.

“Don’t box with that kid again,” he says, voice raspy, a little husky.

You swallow and nod before his words can process. Bakugou nods back, satisfied, before turning to walk away.

He’s halfway down the hallway before you come to your senses. Wait. You make a face.

“You’re not the boss of me!” you call at his retreating back.

He stops. Turns.

“What’d you say?” he asks, eyes narrowed at you, handsome face skewed into a scowl.

You know you should be intimidated, but. You think about the look in his eyes when he touched you. The heat of his palm.

So you just smile at him.

“You heard me.”

[kosatsatosh]

Hmm I was feeling cruel, so here are more jay sketches -

[pixlokita]

Same toy phone …

[jackytaylor]

YOU S3E10 // S5E10

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Dipper knew that his grunkles switching places was necessary to defeat Bill, but--- Dipper hadn't been able to tell them apart. It distresses him, that he confused the two, that he wasn't smart nor observant enough to pick up on their trick. These were his grunkles, his family--- the same things happened with Wendy and the shapeshifter, too, he had to rely on her to be clever enough to give him a sign. He can't be tricked again--- what if the shapeshifter comes back? What if Bill comes back? What if the inevitable next big bad is also an impersonator, a trickster, a disguise artist?

He starts to catalogue the minutia of his loved ones. Stan has a small scar through his left eyebrow, and walks slightly canted to the right because of his bad knee. Ford has a series of faint scars, like repeated scratches, over his hands (which always have a faint tremble to them) and always stands stiff-backed and aware of his surroundings. Mabel pitches up the end of her sentences, and has to sleep with a night light. Wendy has a stick-and-poke tattoo, poor and faded, on her right ankle; Soos holds a screwdriver like a chopstick when he's thinking about a tough problem. Waddles has a mark on his left haunch like a My Little Pony cutie mark.

He starts a journal, not for anomalies but for details. He leaves codes and symbols for himself so an imposter couldn't use his notes to become a more realistic copy. From an outsider's perspective, it would surely look erratic, insane, messy, but that's the point. A feeling he can't name, has never felt before, creeps in, unsettling and persistent and insidious--- what if the enemy is already among them? What if he hadn't noticed, because he wasn't good enough, wasn't discerning enough, wasn't a good enough brother/friend/nephew/person? He stops sleeping, eating, gets quiet. His family becomes concerned, but he can't tell them the truth--- what if someone is watching? Listening? Looking for weaknesses?

He stumbles into his room one night to find Ford reading his journal. He thinks, at first, that the downturn of Ford's mouth is a sure sign of a shapeshifter, because he's never seen his grunkle make this face before; but, no--- this look on Ford's face is horror, and terror, and guilt. Similar to how he looked when Stan's memories were erased, but even more personal. More like... more like Ford knew exactly what Dipper was feeling.

"Dipper," Ford says, even-toned but not enough to conceal his concern, "we need to have a talk about paranoia."